At some point during the burial and precession, Ludvig's outfit seems to have changed again.
Suit, cardigan vest, necktie in an Eldredge knot, slacks, leather shoes, sunglasses. All black, as well as the leather belt holstering three iron spikes and a steel dagger on his right hip, and a decently-sized book on his left hip.
Behind all that black, still peeks a little of that favourite pink long-sleeved polo around the neck and past the suit's arm sleeves.

When the projection froze, Ludvig was the first to break the ensuing silence, removing his sunglasses with one hand and clasping his face with the other, gritting his teeth.
It was one thing to look at a corpse with a huge uncertainty about the method, circumstance and/or reasoning for its death. It was another thing entirely to witness it happen, almost first-hand. Witnessing the clerics in their suffering, and the executioners who visibly enjoyed inflicting it.

[sup]『 [i]Ludvig[/i] 』[/sup][indent]"[i]Verdammt[/i]... Ah, I'm such an idiot.
You're right. You're all right, we should've killed them."[/indent]
He let go of his face, glancing at the closest person to either side of him. There was a brief attempt at a smile, until there quickly wasn't, and his blue soulless eyes wandered off before being covered again by pitch-black sunglasses.

[sup]『 [i]Ludvig[/i] 』[/sup][indent]"Sorry. Excuse me."[/indent]
Ludvig briskly paced, walking past his teammates while trying to avoid clashing with their shoulders, walking towards his horse. He didn't begin to climb it, he just visibly stood there, beside the horse. Slowly, his forehead plopped onto the saddle, his right arm over it clenching its fist.
Evidently he may have concluded it to be a grave mistake to spare them. There was an intense budding intention to rectify said mistake, personal oaths be damned.

This 'General' person. This has to be the true mission laid out for him. Why else would the powers that be contact [i]him[/i] after all this time? In such a vague manner, hiding it in the guise of checking up on some Paladin and his entourage's wellbeing?

His mind is clouded, too distraught to mull over those strange rocks that emitted black fire, or even to regret selling his bone dagger to some artificer wizard decades ago thinking he'd never have to use it again.
He unsheathes his dagger, staring at his own face reflected on its impeccable polish. Then occur in his mind, glimpses of another version of himself with blood splatters all over.