There's no accusation, no judgement, in the way Ravus takes in that answer. At least, towards Ignis. Ravus doesn't interrupt, doesn't bother making a case of his own defense of being amidst the Empire's rank, the spearhead of multiple campaigns and base establishments in conquered Lucian lands. His only claim to anything less is that he never much cared for using the MTs, or their production. Though, like all the high ranking of the army, he'd been complicit in knowing the horrors of Verstael's work, and not raising a hand to stop it. Not that he could, even if he had.

Yet there is one wholly true thing, no caveats attached, that Ravus does stand on. Not once has he enjoyed the suffering of those he's been against without it being a repayment. No torture, no cruel force or punishment. Occasionally, justice, but not else. Something in his conscience had held fast to that. As callous as he's made himself, Ravus could never find it within him to sink low enough to pull apart another human being like a pinned, squirming animal on a vivisection table.

And if he were In Ignis' place, if he were the one with that axe and graves to dig, Ravus knows he'd feel the same as him. He's killed lesser threats for lesser crimes in Lunafreya's defense. In every downward cut, Ravus knows the weight of the axe, and what it means.

"I understand," he says at last. It's plain in his eyes that he means it, and doesn't demand more justification than that. "I don't rightly know what drives men to such cruelty. I suppose I would have liked to find out, to see where the path diverged. Not to walk it, but to map it. To see if a better course could be charted... but I suppose dead men don't speak much." With a sharp exhale, Ravus stands, and offers out a hand to Ignis.

"Would you prefer I dig, or shall I be the one to perform graveside rites?"