@VitaVitaAR@vietmyke "Did you think it was by accident that he was so effective at teaching you how to kill a man?"A voice like splitting granite, firm well beyond its years and dripping with a bitter disdain cut through the silence before it could even begin to brew, filling the air after Robin's impassioned, desperate rebuke of the claims laid before her. Its owner had taken to leaning against the wall behind him, trio of confiscated swords still well in hand and tucked under his now-folded arms. The gloom seemed to lengthen the shadows cast over his sharp features more than it should have, but even then...
"A soft man wouldn't find throats so easily. Ask the Valheimr." Rudolf pinned the scene before him with a dull glare, not quite focused on friend or enemy specifically— rather, looking down on all of it. In truth, the question was a pretty even split between rhetorical framing and genuine query as to what
went on in her head, but he spared no time waiting for an answer.
"Really, the only thing that's surprising is that he settled down so close to home. Not two days' ride from the barracks. An old soldier of the kings' armies wouldn't have such a fondness for the swashbuckling. It breaks down in formation. You can't utilize your mobility the same way if you adhere to structure the way you need to. But if you encircle the unsuspecting and unprepared, the angles open up.""Lord Istvan". "Ardor Fey." There they were, unprompted and freely spoken despite nothing on their persons save Robin's own swordplay priming the scumbags for it. It was ridiculous. An acrid taste on the edge of his tongue— just how often would they be haunted by ghosts of their collected pasts? Valon had been bad enough, and Rudi had only met him in passing. His and her pasts entangling like this was practically a cosmic joke.
His eyes narrowed. His voice curled around him like smoke.
"The initial fighting mass of the Raiders weren't proper recruits— the conscription pool ran across the bulk of western Edren and its countryside. The holdings of Earl Edric Demet were hard to police in previous decades— so Shilage, currying favor, rounded up any band of thieves, highwaymen, or bandits that he could crack the skulls of after tracking down. The choice was to fight under the banner, or deny yourself a second shot at life." though he droned through the history lesson dispassionately enough, he couldn't hide the scoff in his tone.
That man offering second chances seemed like such a paradox to him now, even if he had little argument for his stake in claiming one. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, a wry smirk on his face.
"'Redemption' was a personal matter, beyond the reclamation of dignity through service and the standards upheld therein. It stands to reason that when these guys split, they'd go back to what they were doing beforehand. Without the Raiders' banner protecting them, the past was likely to follow one way or another. May as well get out ahead of it, right?"One detail was nagging at his head. He drew one of the blades and held it aloft, as though presenting arms, before eyeing the length, shifting his grip on the hilt, bringing the point up into a tight fencer's guard near the brow as though trying to envision the stance and feel the form for himself. As though checking it against an old lesson. His gaze flickered down to the man being interrogated, then to the last one that had spoken.
"Seventeen or eighteen years, was it? The Lord's second son would have caught something nasty on the wind around that time, barely a year after he was born. Probably nearly met Danube early. It's little wonder you all picked then to sneak off— with Shilage's attention split, he probably put plenty of distance between himself and the barracks before any action could be taken. Timeline fits. I'll give you this much— it was a wise move to follow his lead and make yourselves scarce."For a moment, it seemed he was about to toss the blade he was fiddling with to the ground, with little more than a disdainful flick of the wrist.
"There's nothing that man tolerates less than betrayal within the ranks. You may have not even made it to see the front."He instead returned the blade to the crook of his arm, casting the thought away in its place.
"Too much of this works to be a lie." he bluntly stated, gaze now shifting to stare into the stricken Songbird.
"And with no reason to be brought up save for recognizing how you fight, in a way that needs them to be intimately familiar with the why of everything being done therein. With how it feels. Not something these types could haphazardly guess at, Robin."A hard truth. But one that clearly needed saying. She was brittle and inflexible as it was, to deny all the evidence that had been laid out. If she built up any more dissonance, it would shatter her. They had lost too many people as it was.
"Fighting styles change hands like secrets and money. With intent, and as tools to be put to use. Ascribe to them nothing more. After the turncoat dragoon and Izayoi's master rising from the grave she put him in and nearly returning the favor, I'd call this being the checkered past he avoided telling you about 'getting off light'." 
