"The same goes for this one. I have witnessed many soldiers wield such primitive weaponry in fair Rekordia. You are as expendable as a bargain bin toy soldier with none of the usefulness. Those, at least, are capable of distracting the children during the cold winter nights."

There's an odd smile on Hildegunde's face at those words, and an odd slew of emotions that bubble within her at it. None of which included anger.

Expendable. This was true. Everyone and everything was expendable. Even since coming to Vaal Shakta and becoming overwhelmed with all the messy rules and practices that complicated her once blissfully simple worldview, she knew this to be true. Even those who sat upon thrones and thought themselves gods, or were even treated as such. Death made all equal, and she was a hunter. And despite his words about her weapon, she knew that, if she really wanted, all it would take is a single gunshot to prove it. 

And yet, the thought made her sick. Her sick, and something happy. Maybe a buried part of herself she wished not to acknowledge. Perhaps the devil from the old fairy tales of [i]Der Freischütz [/i]she likened herself to. Whatever the case, she felt her stomach twist itself in knots.

None of the usefulness. Perhaps that was true. While she was a sharp shot in her own right, none of it compared to the pin-point, horrific accuracy of her Ethos. And her Ethos was just barely in her own control half the time. She knew there was potential, no matter what this arrogant prick said.

There had to be a use. She had to be useful. There had to me more she could do this with gift and curse. The image of a ifeless, glassy stare burns into her mind's eye, and her smile fades. She could tell herself she was here for her parents' sake as much as she likes, but deep down, she knows why she's really here.

She will not let his death be meaningless.

Hildegunde hardly acknowledges the horned woman's words. Clutching her rifle, she seats herself; knuckles white and face dark.