"Ah," said Assassin with a smile. "I did not expect things to be this easy."

They stand on the castle rampart together, each holding a glass of wine. Assassin had dressed for the occasion; no longer in indistinct blacks, he wore his cardinal's red. Redder than the flare of the dying castle.

"An individual with a sword," he touched his breast, just below his crucifix, "I would have had difficulty with, despite what Dumas did to me. But the fool conjured a castle and an army, and that was checkmate. It takes a truly naive view of human nature to imagine that a holy army, united in purpose, is a coherent or sustainable thing. Even Bohemond knew that it wasn't, and he was far before my time and my sophistication."
Actia leaned forwards on the balcony. The fur on her black ears rippled in the breeze. Her eyes were locked onto the battle, blue technomantic lights playing across her eyes and face. 
Assassin appreciated her quiet. He did not have many opportunities to give sermons, what with his responsibilities.
"For you see, while I am most commonly," his lip sneered as he touched the basket hilt of his rapier, "remembered for rolling in the gutter dueling mere musketeers, my true work was the destruction of a continent. The Holy Roman Empire is remembered as a joke; I was the one that made it so. In my day, it was unsurpassable; a monolith of blood and faith and gold, a pan-national array of wealth and splendor. The oceans ran silver with the wealth that poured in from the Americas and the Bishop of Rome would humble himself by placing a crown atop the head of the Emperor. All the world existed within the Hapsberg palm, and against it, mere France."
The Cardinal extended his closed fist and opened it. Sand ran through his fingers, blowing away in the breeze. "But all of this was built on the hearts of men," he declared, "and the Lord our God teaches us above all that men are but dust and ashes. It was not I that lit the fire of heresy, but it was I who fed and fanned it. I did not possess the treasure of Spain, but what little I had was enough to procure swords. Put a sword in the hands of a slave and she is a slave no more, and no amount of gold can buy back her servitude."

He spread his hands as his speech reached its crescendo, and from behind him poured an endless flock of doves. Unlike the Messenger of God, these did not bear olive branches - they carried with them letters, sharper than thousands of daggers.

"Behold, the weapon that ended the Empire," said Cardinal Richelieu. "My Noble Phantasm: The Thirty Years War!"

*

The Army of Vengeance falls. 

A vast, bloody conflict has erupted within their ranks - loyalists verses traitors. It is not a clean break or a unified treason, but it is not meant to be; it is a quagmire. The loyalists gain an advantage and Assassin's dark magic strengthens the traitors. More mana has to be poured in to support them, and it works, grinding back against the tide, solidifying Avenger's position. But just as victory seems to come closer another regiment defects and the castle falls into bloody violence again.

The genius of this skill is in its manipulation of hope. Every time victory's jaws snap shut over empty air they got a [i]taste[/i]. It was so close, only one more obstacle, only one more crisis and then everything would be perfect. The recognition that there will be no clean end to this is to be delayed until after it has taken far too much in the struggle.

*

"Wait," said Actia, ears focusing. "Stop."
"Stop?" scoffed Richelieu. 
"Diaofei just went in there - the [i]idiot[/i]," hissed Actia. "She has no chance. Stop your spell."
"My child, I could no more stop this than I could stop the moon," he said.
Actia turned to him, command seal burning bright. Assassin kept his composure. The two stared bloody daggers at each other.
"Fine," said Actia. "Whatever. Keep it going. But we're going to get her out."
"Why?" said Richelieu. "We are quite safe here. We are gathering power while our enemies tear each other to pieces. It's everything you wanted."
Actia was quiet, ears focused, jaw set.
"And besides, what is she to you?" said Assassin. "A stone you stepped on in passing. One who is responsible for this very horror with which we confront ourselves. A distant death in a distant land."
"I didn't know she..." said Actia. "We're going. [i]We're going.[/i] It's not because I owe her anything, but she deserves better than this."