Alright, more third person POV to cover things properly~

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Red splattered the walls as Gilbert fell to his knees, wide eyed. He had done it. He had made her commit suicide. The Order was as good as nothing as dead. So why did he feel so awful, like he was the villain? He never felt this way when executing an assassination. Perhaps it was because she was his grandmother? But no, she had proved to be someone else, the grandmother he knew was long dead.

Then why? Was it the fact that he had driven someone to the point of suicide? Wasn't it just a different method of assassination? Yet this one felt so... Wrong. How in the hell did Arthur do it so nonchalantly? 

Vladimir raced through the hallways, using the panic that had somehow initiated, after all, he wasn't aware of the suicide yet, to stay unnoticed. Out of the corner of his eye, Natalia could be seen stabbing anyone she laid eyes on, fury radiating off her. Best stay away from her before she accidentally murders him.

Blood splatters in a room caught his eye, and he skidded to a stop. There lay the leader of The Order, a woman, an old one, a gun in her hand and blood gushing from her head, mixing with the color of her robes.

In front of it all lay Gilbert on his knees, unmoving. Vladimir was in front of him in seconds, thinking him injured, but no, nothing. Just stray drops of blood from the suicide. 

"Gil? You okay?" The Romanian prodded the albino, an uncharacteristic frown adorning his features. 

The albino blinked a few times, seemingly snapping out of his stupor, yet the first of his answer came in his native tongue. "Ja- Ich- ugh, I mean, yes, I am." 

"What happened...?"

"Oh, nothing. I just made my grandmother commit suicide."

"Huh?!"

"I'll explain later, we need to call a meeting, The Order's done for. Though we need to get rid of the normal members-"

"There's a certain Belarusian on the job, and last time I checked, the Feli's grumpy brother too, unless he changed his mind. He's like a girl on her period, I swear."

Gilbert let out a light chuckle at his friend's words, already slowly reverting back to his usual demeanor. He gratefully took the hand that Vladimir extended to help him up, then the two looked at the corpse. Now what? They were still a lot of unanswered questions, and would her death answer them or leave them hanging?

Vladimir stepped towards the corpse and gingerly stuck a hand inside of the red robes, checking to see if there was anything. His fingers clasped around the leather spine of a book and he pulled it out.

Flipping through it, he saw handwritten pages with dates. It appeared to be a diary. If this was her diary, then he had hit the jackpot. 

Meanwhile, Romano was absently shooting members at random while conversing with his brother because, to quote, he wouldn't report back to that potato bastard if his life depended on it. He had found out of the suicide only about a few moments ago and attempted to get the message across without saying it directly, though he ended up near-yelling it in Italian anyway.

With those news delivered and intact, the LON had called a meeting on that very day as soon as everyone was back in Berlin.

For once, rather than Ludwig hosting it as was the usual, it was Gilbert. He recounted the events, stunning many into silence, including his younger brother. Vladimir then proceeded to take out the diary he had found through which he read, and read a few key entries.

Now, going through all that information would be pointless, as you readers had it delivered to you beforehand in the previous chapter in italics.

About the marriage between Arsenia and Gauthier, their expanding rift, the beginning of their terrorism and assassination, then their fight that settled it all.

By the end of it, the entire room was wide eyed, especially the Vargases and Beilschmidts, they were constantly looking at the diary, at the Romanian, then back at each other. Their families were related. No one knew how to react.

Arthur, on the other hand, had left the room, unnoticed except by Francis. The Frenchman stood, excusing himself, and went after the Brit, whom he found just outside, leaning against the wall, his head in his hands, trembling. 

"Arthur? Mon ami?" He asked gently, tentatively, as he knew that the Brit was prone to outbursts if he didn't tread carefully. 

"She had to bloody put all the details in there. She had to write how it burned, she had to write about the screams, about everything, who in the bloody hell does she think she is?" Arthur's question was shaky, his voice devoid of it's usual cockiness.

"Dead, that's who she is. It's in the past, you needn't get worked up about it now. Calm down." Francis kept his voice hushed as he reached out to rub soothing circles on Arthur's back. When he didn't get a negative reaction from this, he pulled the Brit into a hug.

The two were the damn definition of frenemies. 

In the meeting room, when the initial shock wore off, the first to break the silence was Feliciano who latched himself onto Ludwig, exclaiming: "I always knew we had a connection!" 

Almost as though on cue, Romano fumed, cursed the German, and turned away huffily. 

"What a cute family! Ooh, this means we've got to tell you about our idea. Feli?" Tino moved that task onto the Italian smoothly, beaming.

Feliciano grinned: "We're all going to go out like normal friends!"

The amount of reactions this got were too many to list.

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Welp, this is it. After this is an epilogue, then I'm going to write little extra things, backstories of the characters, mainly~

Also, a shoutout to @Twashcat360 for suggesting the idea of backstory extras, and for keeping up with this story and giving pretty motivational comments every chapter! Thank you hun!