Chapter 17: Limits and Discoveries
The Romanian forest was quiet in the late morning, the air cool and damp. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in dusty shafts, painting shifting patterns on the mossy ground. Cyd walked ahead, hands in his pockets, moving with an easy, silent grace that seemed at odds with the heavy tension hanging between them. A few paces behind, Jeanne trudged along, her steps less sure, her shoulders slumped.
The silence stretched. It wasn't comfortable.
Finally, Jeanne spoke, her voice small against the backdrop of rustling leaves.
"Hey… I think… I should transfer all my Command Spells to you."
Cyd stopped. He turned around slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Why?"
"Because…" Jeanne looked down, scuffing her armored boot in the dirt. She remembered the dismissive look in Vlad's eyes, the way Darnic's attention had focused solely on Cyd. "I think you're better suited to be Ruler than I am."
"Your God tell you that?" Cyd asked, his tone flat.
"No. The Lord didn't say that…"
"Maybe because there isn't one out here."
"The Lord exists!" Jeanne's head snapped up, her cheeks puffing out in a rare show of pique.
"Even when His followers are lost? Even when they're burned alive on false charges?" Cyd walked back to stand in front of her, looking down at her upturned face.
"That… that was a trial. A test of faith," Jeanne insisted, her blue eyes wide and earnest. There was no trace of bitterness in them, no hidden resentment toward the deity who had let her die screaming at the stake.
"Pretty cold test," Cyd muttered, shoving his hands back in his pockets. "No answers, no last-minute rescues. Just… fire."
"Well…" Jeanne floundered. Before she was the Maid of Orléans, she'd been a farm girl from Domrémy. Theology wasn't her strong suit. But she couldn't let his cynicism stand. "The Lord guides me. In His own way."
"I've got a compass that points to whatever I want to find," Cyd said, pulling the intricately crafted bronze disc of Hermes' Compass from inside his jacket. He flipped it in his palm. "Handy little thing. No faith required."
"What do you want from me?!" Jeanne exclaimed, her composure finally cracking. It was a frustrated, almost childish outburst.
"I want you to relax," Cyd said, catching the compass and tucking it away. A faint smile touched his lips. "The you from five minutes ago, the one who had the guts to stare down Vlad the Impaler in his own throne room? That was the real article. Right now, you just sound like a worried kid who lost the instruction manual."
"I am being serious!" Jeanne huffed, turning her head away. Her pride was stung. "Leaving the Red faction aside, the Black faction's Servants clearly respect you more…"
"The Reds are pretty fond of me too, for the most part," Cyd mused, rubbing his chin. Except for that Assassin, Semiramis. She'd looked at him like he was a bug she wanted to dissect.
"Ugh… See? That's exactly why the Command Spells should be with you!" The admission hurt. Why was the gap between them so vast? They were both Rulers! She'd only taken a few hours to pray and get her bearings!
"Don't need 'em," Cyd said with a dismissive wave. "I've got things that work better than Command Spells. And let's be real—our job as Rulers is basically just to make sure the masquerade doesn't break. Keep the magic hidden from the normies. The rest? Not our problem. We'll probably never even need to use the things."
"I, um… I've already used two of mine," Jeanne whispered, raising her hand weakly.
Cyd stared at her. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to three. "Okay. New rule. The next time you even think about using a Command Spell, you run it by me first. Got it?" He reached out and gently—but firmly—took her head in his hands, turning her to face him. "And you don't wander off on your own! Stay close."
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Good. Now, let's go see if we can track down the Black faction's Assassin. Get a feel for that piece on the board." Cyd stretched his arms over his head, his joints popping. "Gotta say, being a full spiritual body has its perks. No sleep, no food, no bathroom breaks. Efficiency."
"About that…" Jeanne's hand crept up again, her voice even smaller. "Due to… circumstances… my manifestation is an Incarnation-type. So…"
"So?" Cyd tilted his head.
"I think… I've hit my limit."
Thud.
Jeanne's eyes rolled back in her head. She crumpled forward like a marionette with its strings cut, hitting the forest floor with a soft, rustling sound. In an instant, the gleaming silver armor and flowing battle skirt made of magical energy dissolved into shimmering motes of light, leaving behind only the simple, modern clothes of a teenage girl—jeans, a t-shirt, and a light jacket. The towering banner of Orleans was gone. The fierce Saint had vanished.
In her place lay Roche Frain Yggdmillennia's classmate, the high school girl named Rethyia, utterly unconscious.
She wasn't a proper Servant spirit. She was a living human soul acting as a vessel, a fact that came with all the messy biological limitations. She could ignore hunger and fatigue in her mind, but Rethyia's physical body could not. It needed fuel. It needed rest. If she hadn't gotten sidetracked by the whole homunculus drama and the tense standoff with Vlad, she might have made it back to the attic of her borrowed church to collapse. But she'd pushed it. And now, with the immediate crisis over and a seemingly competent colleague present, her body had simply… shut down. The sheer, overwhelming need for sleep had bulldozed her saintly willpower.
"Hey. Hey! Are you kidding me?!" Cyd dragged his hands down his face, letting out a groan of pure exasperation. He knelt beside her, poking her cheek. "Ruler? Jeanne? Hello?"
The girl—Rethyia—stirred slightly. Her eyes fluttered open for a second, hazy and unfocused. A soft, utterly un-saintlike smile touched her lips. "Mister… Cyd… Sorry. Please…"
And she was out again, her breathing deepening into the rhythm of deep, exhausted sleep.
"I give up. Why don't you just sleep through the entire war? Save us all the trouble," Cyd muttered. He sighed, looking from the sleeping girl to the dense, unfamiliar forest around them. With a grunt of effort, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily. She was lighter than he expected.
"At least tell me where you're staying," he mumbled to her unhearing form. He adjusted his grip, the cold metal of the Pandora box on his back pressing against his shoulder. "Great. Just great."
---
"So, uh…"
Kairi Sisigou sat stiffly in the vinyl booth of a small, dingy café on the outskirts of Trifas. He was trying very hard not to stare, and failing miserably. Across from him, by the window, sat the violet-haired woman. She hadn't touched the menu. She hadn't said a word in ten minutes. She just stared out the grimy glass, her expression hidden behind a pair of dark, purple-lensed sunglasses, as still as a statue.
"I'm fine. You two decide," the woman said finally, her voice a low, smooth murmur. She didn't turn her head.
"We'll take two of these! The big ones!" Mordred snatched the laminated menu from Kairi's hands and shoved it at the bored-looking waitress, jabbing a finger at the picture of the most expensive steak platter.
"Hey!" Kairi hissed.
"What?!" Mordred shot back, already draining her mug of black coffee in one disgusted gulp. She slammed the empty cup down. "Ugh! Bitter bean water! How's that supposed to fill anyone up? I can't fight on an empty stomach, Master! You want me to slack off?"
"You got completely frozen by a look last night!" Kairi jabbed a finger in the direction of their silent companion. "And I fed you a whole cow before we went out!"
"Th-that was different!" Mordred's face flushed with embarrassment. She'd been boasting about her prowess, only to be rendered a helpless statue in seconds. "I wasn't beaten! I was just… temporarily inconvenienced!"
"Oh yeah? You wanna go, mage?!" Mordred made a show of rolling up the sleeves of her modern jacket, a fierce grin on her face.
The violet-haired woman slowly turned her head. Her hand moved to her sunglasses.
"AAAAH! She's kidding! Total joke!" Kairi lunged across the table, clamping a hand over Mordred's mouth and forcing her head down below the booth's divider. "Idiot! You saw what happens when you make eye contact!" he whispered fiercely in her ear. "I know you're strong! But our friend here is playing in a whole other league!"
"Mmph… mmmph!" Mordred struggled, then slumped. "If I was in my real body… it'd be different," she grumbled into the table once he released her.
"Sorry about that," Kairi said, forcing a strained smile as he straightened up. "She's… spirited."
"It's fine," the woman said. She had put her sunglasses back on and resumed her vigil out the window.
The awkward silence returned, thicker than before. Kairi cleared his throat. "So, uh… I don't believe I caught your name. Properly."
"Medusa."
The name dropped into the quiet café like a stone. Kairi's eyes went wide. His first instinct was disbelief. The Medusa? A creature from the Age of Gods, dead and gone? But then he remembered the petrifying gaze, the aura of ancient, monstrous power that clung to her even in this human form. It was impossible… and yet, it fit.
"Master, your pickup lines are the worst," Mordred snickered as two massive platters of steak and eggs were placed before her. She immediately started sawing into the meat.
"You… do you not see what's happening here?" Kairi muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Medusa didn't react to their bickering. She was utterly focused on the street outside. Then, her posture changed. She went from relaxed to wire-taut in an instant.
"Found him."
The words were no longer a murmur. They were clear, sharp, and laced with an emotion Kairi hadn't heard from her before—a kind of fierce, desperate recognition.
She didn't offer an explanation. She simply stood up, pushed past the waitress, and was out the café door in a fluid rush, moving faster than any human should.
"What the—?" Kairi scrambled to the window, pressing his face against the glass.
Medusa was sprinting down the sidewalk, her long violet hair streaming behind her like a banner. She was heading straight for a figure who had just turned the corner.
Kairi's breath caught.
The man was impossible to miss. Snow-white hair. Strange, ancient-looking armor. A large, black case strapped to his back. And in his arms, he was carrying a sleeping girl with golden hair Kari feel himself sigh of relief.
"We're moving, Saber! Now!" Kairi barked, tossing a wad of cash onto the table. He grabbed Mordred by the back of her jacket collar and hauled her out of the booth.
"Wait! One more bite! Just one! You're gonna pay for this, old man!" Mordred howled, desperately trying to spear a final piece of steak with her fork as she was dragged, kicking and complaining, out into the street after the Servant and the ancient monster now converging on him.