Chapter 6
The morning sun, weak and pale, did little to warm the streets of Trifas. It did, however, illuminate the surreal scene unfolding inside a particular fast-food establishment, a globally recognized beacon of fried chicken.
Kairi Sisigou, professional mercenary and necromancer, was currently experiencing a unique form of social torture. He stood at the counter, trying to project an aura of 'harmless, slightly-scruffy patron.' It wasn't working.
"Look, kid, it's fine. I'm not a bad guy," he said, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile. As the only one in their little group with actual, physical cash (and a wallet that wasn't metaphysical), he'd been voluntold to handle the ordering.
The young woman behind the register stared at him, her eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. She looked less like a fast-food employee and more like a hostage negotiator facing a heavily-armed terrorist. Her gaze kept flicking to the fresh, deep bite marks on the hand he was using to hold the menu.
Again with this, Kairi thought with an internal groan. It brought back memories of his Clock Tower days, being 'politely questioned' by multiple constables in a row, only escaping through a series of carefully-worded hints and misdirections. His instinct was to drop a hint and bolt.
But then he remembered the specific, petulant demand from his newly-summoned Servant. He sighed, a sound of profound weariness, and reached into his coat's inner pocket for his wallet.
"I'll take—"
"I'm sorry! Please! Take it! Just don't pull out a gun!" the cashier squeaked, thrusting her own personal wallet across the counter towards him.
Pfft— Ha!
Two distinct, utterly unhelpful laughs came from behind him. One was a short, amused chuckle. The other was a loud, snorting guffaw.
Kairi closed his eyes, took a deep breath that did nothing for his blood pressure, and slowly turned his head.
Leaning against a nearby table, watching the whole debacle with clear enjoyment, were his two companions. Cyd, the Ruler, looked vaguely apologetic but entertained. Beside him, Mordred—Saber of Red, the Knight of Treachery, currently dressed in a leather jacket and shorts that screamed 'rebellious tourist'—was clutching her stomach, howling with laughter.
"You're so lame!" Mordred managed between laughs, wiping a tear from her eye.
Kairi turned back to the terrified cashier, his expression flat. "Just… give me two of every burger, three large fries, and twenty-piece nuggets." He shoved a wad of bills across the counter, well over the required amount. "Keep the change."
The cashier took the money with the reverence of someone accepting a royal pardon and fled to the safety of the kitchen.
Humans… stop judging by appearances! Kairi screamed internally. Yes, I'm a mercenary. A necromancer. I spend my time on battlefields causing chaos and collecting corpses. I sleep in graveyards. But I am NOT a weirdo!
A few minutes later, he returned to their table, his arms laden with enough greasy, paper-wrapped food to feed a small platoon. He dumped it unceremoniously between Cyd and Mordred.
"Thanks for the trouble," Cyd said, reaching over to give Kairi's uninjured shoulder a sympathetic pat.
Chomp, munch, gulp… Mordred was already three bites into a double cheeseburger, eating with the focused, voracious intensity of a starved wolf.
"Ugh… I'm exhausted," Kairi sighed, slumping into a chair. He picked up a drumstick, eyed it with distaste, and put it back down. "Is this really breakfast food?"
"My thoughts exactly," Cyd agreed, taking a sip from a carton of orange juice.
"Relax! A Servant's constitution can handle it," Mordred declared, giving a greasy thumbs-up with her free hand.
"Servants don't even need to eat," Cyd pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"Saber, then, please explain the strategic purpose of consuming enough calories to put a sumo wrestler into a coma," Kairi said, gesturing at the mountain of food.
"A king cannot lead on an empty stomach!" Mordred shot back, her voice muffled by a mouthful of fries. She said it with such absolute, self-important conviction that Kairi could only stare.
"Great. My funds are taking a serious hit on day one. Guess I'll be foraging for cemetery weeds later," Kairi muttered, eyeing his noticeably thinner wallet. "Hope the local grass tastes like chicken."
Mordred's chewing slowed. A flicker of something that looked suspiciously like guilt crossed her face before being buried under a wave of bluster. "Fine! I get it! I'll win the damn Grail and you can buy a whole chicken farm, okay?"
Cyd, who had been idly observing the other patrons, glanced toward a particular booth. A beautiful woman with long lavender hair, wearing sunglasses indoors, sat with a small, silver-haired girl. The woman was sipping coffee with an unnatural stillness. The child was methodically dissecting a pancake.
Black Faction's Assassin? Interesting…
"You're heading to the church next, right?" Cyd asked, turning his attention back to Kairi.
"Yeah. Gotta check in with the 'team,'" Kairi said with a wry smirk. "Doubt we'll be best buddies. I don't really play well with pious types or schemers. Probably end up operating solo most of the time. But for the big clashes, I'll show up. Gotta scope out the Black Faction's forces too."
"Means we fight seven now, then six later. Same difference," Mordred said, sticking her tongue out. She'd finished one burger and was already unwrapping another. "Hey, Ruler. Why're you tagging along with us?"
"After being attacked by one of your 'teammates' last night—enjoyable as it was—I figured I should at least ask for an official explanation," Cyd shrugged. "Standard procedure."
"I am not associated with that idiocy," Kairi said quickly, sitting up straighter. What kind of morons does the Clock Tower hire? he fumed internally. You don't attack the referee! You bribe him, or at least try to get on his good side!
"It's fine. I'm just asking questions," Cyd waved a dismissive hand. "I'll be paying a visit to the Black Faction's castle later, too. They are the ones who started this whole mess."
"Seriously, who thinks 'step one: piss off the all-powerful arbiter' is a good plan?" Kairi groaned, rubbing his temples.
"I'm done!" Mordred announced, slapping her flat stomach with a satisfied grin.
"Then I'll be on my way," Cyd said, standing up. He swung the unassuming black box, [Pandora, Reforged], onto his back. Using a simple application of magical energy, he'd woven an illusion of modern casual clothing over his usual attire, making him look like just another backpacker. Passersby gave the large box a curious glance, but nothing more.
"Hey, Ruler," Mordred said, falling into step beside him as they left the restaurant, Kairi trailing behind. She reached out and gave Cyd's shoulder a companionable slap. "What's your True Name, anyway?"
"Saber! You can't just ask that!" Kairi hissed, his headache intensifying.
"It's alright," Cyd said, unfazed. "I was only active for a few years. My legend isn't exactly packed with hidden weaknesses. Knowing my name won't change much."
"Cool! I like your style, man," Mordred grinned, throwing a muscular arm around Cyd's shoulders in a classic 'big sister' pose. "Next time some other Servant tries to gank you, I'll smash 'em for you."
[Oooh, she's looking down on you~]
A familiar, raspy voice echoed in the back of Cyd's mind. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.
I thought you were playing dead.
[I'm breathing just fine, thank you! I've just been… keeping a low profile. The company you've been keeping lately is a bit much for a respectable dragon-nervous-system like myself.] The consciousness of the dragon bound to his arm sounded genuinely cowed. [The Forge God who made this body, the King of the Gods, the former King of Time… and now the bloody Counter Force itself! I'm surrounded by entities that could unmake me by thinking too hard about it! Especially the Greek ones. I get the feeling if they knew I was piggybacking in their precious hero, they'd scrape me out like old gum. I'm not breathing, I'm holding my breath!]
Then keep holding it, Cyd thought back, effortlessly tuning the psychic chatter out.
"Saber, show a little respect. He's still a Ruler," Kairi muttered, rubbing the fresh scabs on his hand.
But his mind was racing. A hero who was only active for a few years… Snow-white hair and pale complexion… The ornate, draconic gauntlet on his right arm… And that bracer on his left wrist. Kairi's eyes were drawn to it again—the flawless jade, the thirteen glittering crystals, each a different color, humming with latent, world-shaking power.
His brain, still wired from his recent, intensive research on a certain divine tablet, began making connections. The pieces clicked into place with terrifying, exhilarating clarity.
The hair. The timeline. The artifacts. The sheer, effortless presence. The way he'd caught Mordred's sword like it was nothing.
He looked from Cyd to the mental image of the youth carved on the stone slab. The resemblance wasn't just passing; it was definitive.
"No way…" Kairi breathed, his mouth falling open.
"Huh? Master, you look like you've seen a ghost," Mordred said, tilting her head.
Click.
Kairi's movements were smooth, professional. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket, activated the camera, and took a quick, discreet photo of Cyd's profile as they walked. He didn't look at the result. He just slid the phone back into his pocket, his expression shifting to one of grim, focused determination.
"You know what," he said, his voice now all business. "I think I'll go meet that priest right now." He picked up his pace, leaving Mordred and Cyd to follow. He needed to verify a hypothesis, and he needed to do it before this war got any more complicated. If he was right… then the Clock Tower's "failed" summoning hadn't failed at all. It had summoned something far beyond what they'd been aiming for.