Oh, I know. Why do you think I've taken on so much work? Things that exhaust the brain and the body? I'm still furious at that mage. I'd be happy to reach into his chest and eat his heart right in front of him, then make a public sculpture of the corpse for all to see.

[A more localized vengence, but it has stuck with Alucard over a year later. Anger is hard to shake, and harder when it is indulged in the way they are now. Under more normal circumstances, Alucard would take everything Jaskier said as a sign that something is truly wrong. That he needs to worry. That he should at least tell Ciri that somthing's not right, if not Geralt himself. But here, now, who cares? And why should they? In helping Libertas there has been no time for outrage, only duty and sadness.

A dark laugh with no joy in it escapes the dhampir's throat.]

That's the kind of thing Hector's for. Send the dead, then dispatch them so they can move on. Everyone wins except Thorne.

[Mentioning Hector is something Alucard avoids around the bard, out of respect and also because he can still be unkind about the necromancer. But right now, just saying everything feels better. It is catharsis, or at least that's how he's labeled it for now.

But as Jaskier makes things grow, Alucard's face sours.]

If I let them go, or try to favor one over the other, I die. Wallachia taught me that in the aftermath of their deaths.