Chapter 13: Lines in the Sand
Astolfo's furious, desperate shout echoed in the throne room long after he was dragged away, his own Master using a Command Spell to forcibly teleport him out. "Teach him some discipline," his Master, a sharp-faced woman with a stern expression, had muttered. But everyone had seen the unrepentant, stubborn fire in the pink-haired Rider's eyes. While his Madness Enhancement made him unpredictable and illogical, it also made him unshakably true to his own heart once something was set in it. That fire wouldn't be so easily extinguished.
It also wouldn't change a damn thing. He wasn't the free-spirited Paladin of Charlemagne here. He was a Servant, bound by contract and rules.
Jeanne, watching him vanish, unconsciously clenched her fist at her side.
"Now then… the farce is over. Let us move to the main event," Vlad III said, rising from his throne. He extended a hand toward Cyd, a formal, kingly gesture. "Pure-White Hero. I ask you formally. Will you join our side? As you can see, your teacher is a member of the Black Faction."
Chiron winced internally, a flicker of discomfort crossing his normally stoic face. He didn't want to be used as leverage against his student. But the facts were undeniable: he was the Archer of Black. His summoner, his Master, was here.
Jeanne looked at Cyd, her expression a mix of concern and professional warning.
"I don't have a Command Spell linking me to any of you," Cyd pointed out, gesturing to his unmarked hands.
"For us, your value far surpasses the security of a Command Spell," Vlad replied, his voice gaining a confident edge. Cyd's lack of an immediate rejection gave him hope.
Darnic, standing to the side, couldn't hide a flash of avarice in his eyes. If Cyd joined them, the war would be over before it truly began. Even without a Command Spell's control, his sheer combat ability would shatter the Red Faction. The Grail would be as good as theirs.
"You cannot," Jeanne's voice was firm, cutting through the tense air. "You are a Ruler. You must not interfere on behalf of any faction."
"Jeanne," Vlad's gaze snapped to her, his eyes narrowing. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. A palpable, blood-soaked aura of killing intent—the pressure of the Impaler who had turned battlefields into forests of corpses—swept through the throne room. The homunculi attendants, their minds fragile, all dropped to their knees simultaneously, trembling uncontrollably.
Siegfried moved without a sound, a single, deliberate step that placed his massive frame squarely between Gordolf and the wave of spiritual pressure. He absorbed it like a mountain weathering a gale.
"Hmph… meddler," Gordolf muttered under his breath, though a flicker of grudging relief crossed his face.
Jeanne didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her own saintly aura—a calm, immovable resolve—holding firm against Vlad's intimidating glare. "My duty is to ensure fairness. Soliciting a Ruler is an act that threatens the very foundation of this war."
"Relax, I'm not signing up," Cyd said, his tone breaking the deadlock with casual ease. He waved a hand. "I'll stick to my job description. Referee, not player."
"Is that so? A true pity." Vlad sighed, the murderous aura dissipating as he sank back into his throne. He studied Cyd with a shrewd look. "Surely a hero like you must have a wish to entrust to the Grail? Something you desire?"
"Who knows?" Cyd's non-answer was itself an answer. He didn't deny having a wish.
A sudden, sharp thought pierced Chiron's melancholy. He had always assumed Cyd was here because he had perished fighting Kronos—that was the natural end to his legend. But now, looking at his student's relaxed, almost mischievous expression, a niggling doubt surfaced. Did I miss something? A footnote, a variation…?
"We shall leave it at that for tonight," Vlad said, his regal composure returning. "You are welcome to remain in the fortress. If you wish to tour it, feel free. And should you… reconsider… you need only speak to me." He glanced at Darnic. "See to his needs."
"As you command, my King," Darnic bowed.
"In that case," Cyd said, immediately taking advantage. "Can I go have a chat with my teacher's Master?"
In her wheelchair by the wall, Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia felt her heart skip a beat. Her hands tightened on the armrests. He's still worried about his teacher. Even now.
A faint, approving smile touched Vlad's lips. "By all means."
"Um… We Rulers really shouldn't get too involved with individual Masters' affairs…" Jeanne whispered, tugging hesitantly at Cyd's sleeve.
"Just asking about her wish for the Grail," Cyd said, blinking innocently. He then gestured to Fiore with a friendly nod. "Let's step outside for a bit."
"Of… of course," Fiore said, steeling herself. She gave her brother, Caules, a small, nervous look.
"I'll come with you, Sis," Caules said immediately, shooting a meaningful glance at Franky, who stood watching from a corner. He moved behind Fiore's wheelchair and began pushing her out of the throne room.
Franky tilted her head, the large bolts on her neck creaking. She then turned and let out a series of guttural, warning growls at Cyd.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Cyd chuckled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "No hurting your Master. Scout's honor." He gave a final, casual wave to Vlad and followed the Forvedge siblings out, Chiron falling into step beside him with a quiet, resigned sigh.
Jeanne was left standing alone in the center of the vast throne room. The silence was suddenly oppressive. Vlad had closed his eyes, effectively dismissing her presence. Darnic was bent low, murmuring instructions to a cowering homunculus. Gordolf stared into space, his brow furrowed, lost in some troubled thought. No one acknowledged her.
The memory of Astolfo's defiant roar and the heart-wrenching look in his eyes as he vanished replayed in her mind. That, and the sight of the begging homunculus being carried away like broken equipment. After a moment's internal struggle, Jeanne turned and strode purposefully from the room. She would find the Rider of Black. She needed to understand.
"Darnic," Vlad's voice echoed softly in the now-empty-feeling hall. His eyes were still closed.
"My Lord?"
"Do you know why I chose to ignore the Saint?"
"I cannot claim to fathom your wisdom, Your Majesty."
"It is simple. You saw it as well, did you not? Those eyes. Clear, direct, filled with conviction… but utterly devoid of personal desire." Vlad accepted a glass of deep red wine from a homunculus who had finally stopped shaking. "I do not trust such people. A person with no desires is a person whose motives are a mystery. They cannot be predicted, only reacted to. The Pure-White Hero… he has a wish. He wants something. That makes him comprehensible, even if he chooses not to act on it. The Saint? She is a pure ideal. And ideals are the most dangerous things in the world."
---
"So, uh…" Fiore began, her voice small in the quiet of the stone corridor. Cyd had stopped and was simply looking at her, his head tilted in assessment. The silence was unnerving. "What did you wish to speak about?"
"Just what I said. Your wish." Cyd rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "For the Grail."
"Oh." Fiore's shoulders relaxed a fraction. She placed a hand on her own lap, over legs that hadn't moved of their own volition in years. "It's… simple, really. I wish to walk. To be healed."
"Hmm." Cyd held up two fingers. "Not a disease. Not a curse. Congenital defect in the neural link to your Magic Circuits, right? The Circuits are trying to operate a biological system they're wired into, but the wiring's faulty. It's causing a constant, low-level system conflict. Paralysis is the side effect."
Fiore's eyes widened. His diagnosis was startlingly, terrifyingly accurate.
"So, I see two clear solutions," Cyd continued, his tone as casual as if discussing menu options.
Caules leaned forward, hopeful.
"Option one: Remove the legs. No legs, no faulty connection problem. Clean, efficient."
"Option two: Remove the Magic Circuits. No Circuits, no system conflict. You'll be a normal human, but you'll walk."
THWACK!
Chiron's knuckles connected with the top of Cyd's head with a sound like a wooden mallet hitting a rock. "Master, please disregard him. He finds this brand of humor amusing. He always has."
Cyd just grinned, rubbing his head. "So? Was it Funny?"
"That was the opposite of funny. It was glacial," Caules deadpanned, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Joking aside," Cyd said, his expression softening into something more genuine. He reached out and gently ruffled Fiore's silver hair. She flinched at first, then stilled, surprised by the warmth of the gesture. "The correction you need is precisely the kind of 'miracle' the Grail excels at. It can rewrite reality on that small, personal scale. But if you want my personal, unsolicited advice? Lose the Circuits. You and your brother…" He glanced at Caules. "You don't belong in this world. The Mage's Association, the backstabbing, the scheming over dusty lineages. It'll eat you alive."
Fiore looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "I… will consider your words. Thank you."
"I'd help you myself if I could," Cyd said, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking out a nearby arrow-slit window. The first hints of dawn were painting the sky grey. "A little healing blessing, a nudge from Apollo. It wouldn't affect the war's balance. But there's someone else here who makes that… complicated."
"Complicated?" Chiron's wise eyes grew understanding. "Ah. Her. Yes, that would be a complication."
"But," Chiron placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Cyd's shoulder. "Whatever choice you make, whenever you make it, know that I support you. Teacher or Servant, that hasn't changed."
Cyd nodded, still looking out at the lightening sky. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Speaking of complications… where are you hiding?"
---
"Medusa…"
Kairi's voice was a dry rasp. He had positioned himself, muscles coiled tight, between the approaching woman and his Servant. Every instinct honed by a lifetime of bounty hunting and mage-killing was screaming at him. Now he understood what true, primordial fear felt like. It wasn't panic; it was a cold, sinking certainty that every nerve ending was firing a final, futile alarm before the end.
The woman walking toward him through the misty Romanian forest was tall, with long, flowing violet hair that seemed to drink the faint moonlight. She moved with an eerie, silent grace. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of opaque, purple-lensed glasses.
"You… are the Saber of Red, and his Master?" Her voice was low, melodic, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was the sound of stones shifting at the bottom of a deep, dark well.
"That's right," Kairi managed, his throat tight. He wanted to run. He wanted to throw every grenade, every cursed bullet he had. But he couldn't. A cold sweat beaded on his brow.
[My body… I can't move!] Mordred's furious, strained voice echoed in his mind, laced with a shame she'd never admit aloud. [It's not magic… it's just… looking at her! One glance and my limbs locked up!]
That was it. Just a momentary, accidental meeting of eyes before Kairi had snapped his own sunglasses-clad gaze away. That single glance had completely petrified Mordred's formidable combat abilities. Kairi could only move now because he wasn't looking directly at the woman's face.
Why is a monster like this in a Holy Grail War? he thought, despair mixing with his fear. And why did I have to be the one to find her?
Medusa stopped a few paces away. She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear. "I am looking for someone," she said, her voice still that same, chilling monotone. "A hero. White hair. He carries… a familiar hope. Have you seen him?"
She wasn't even here for them. They were just an obstacle, or a potential source of information, in her path. The realization was almost more terrifying than if she'd declared outright hostility.
Kairi, master of death and pragmatism, knew in that moment that the most dangerous player in the entire war might not be a King of Conquerors or a demigod of spears.
It was the quiet woman in the glasses, asking a simple question.