Chapter 18: Lures, Theology, and Cat Ears
"So, according to the intel…" Cyd began, then paused. He let out a long-suffering sigh and reached over to tap the top of Jeanne's head. She'd been muttering under her breath for the last five minutes. Snippets like "It's not my fault I need sleep…" and "No, I'm not complaining about you, Rethyia…" drifted up.
"Huh? Oh! Did you… say something?" Jeanne jumped, a guilty flush spreading across her cheeks as she looked away.
"I'm seriously considering sending you back to your coffin for a nap," Cyd said, his tone completely serious.
"I'm fully rested!" Jeanne protested, shaking a fist for emphasis.
"Our schedule is investigation by day, operations by night. If you conk out on me mid-stroll again, it's going to be a real pain," Cyd pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"It won't happen!" Jeanne insisted, her face turning even redder.
"Hey, speaking of pains…" Cyd's eyebrow twitched. He reached out and snagged Mordred by the scruff of her neck just as she was attempting to stomp on his shadow. "What do you think you're doing?"
"OW! Leggo! I was just checking if that Medusa lady is really in your shadow!" Mordred yelped, squirming. Cyd's A-Rank Strength wasn't a joke; she felt like her skull was in a hydraulic press.
"I am so sorry, she has the mental age of a hyperactive badger!" Kairi hurried over, pushing Mordred's head down in a forced bow.
"Who're you calling a badger, old man?!" Mordred snapped, driving her heel into Kairi's kneecap with a sharp crack.
"Gah!" Kairi's face went sheet-white. He slowly, painfully bent double, clutching his knee. This was beyond 'an arrow to the knee.' This felt like the knee itself had been replaced with ground glass.
"Hmph." Mordred sniffed, turning her nose up at her Master's suffering with zero remorse.
"You're aware the local magus population has been… cleaned out, right?" Cyd said, giving Kairi's shoulder a sympathetic pat as the bounty hunter straightened up with a groan.
"Yeah. Noticed the distinct lack of backup," Kairi grunted, rubbing his knee. His eyes, against his better judgment, flickered once more to Cyd's shadow stretching across the cobblestones. After seeing Medusa melt into it back at the tomb as naturally as slipping into a bath, he understood the massive, ominous shadow in the ancient tablet carving perfectly. An Age of Gods monster was literally riding shotgun inside the Pure-White Hero. He couldn't shake the eerie feeling that the shadow itself was watching him.
"My Master says to stop staring," Atalanta said flatly. She was dressed in modern attire—a hoodie and jeans—her cat ears flattened against her head in irritation.
Kairi's eye twitched. She really is watching.
"So… what's the play?" he asked, hastily changing the subject.
"We shall follow the Lord's guida—" Jeanne began, only to be cut off as Cyd's hand clamped over her mouth.
"We're going for a walk," Cyd said.
"A walk?!" Kairi blinked. "Shouldn't we at least examine the, you know, corpses? You seemed pretty urgent about this earlier."
"What's to examine?" Cyd unfurled the newspaper, pointing at a heavily pixelated photo. "They're chopped to bits. Textbook Assassin work. Knowing the gory details doesn't help us find him."
"Then how do we find this guy?" Kairi ran a hand through his hair. "Trifas isn't huge, but it's not a broom closet either."
"That's where you come in," Cyd said, slapping Kairi on the back with a grin that was all teeth. "This Assassin is hunting magi for a reason. Probably desperate for mana. He's run out of local snacks. Then, suddenly, a magus with a decently strong circuit wanders into town…"
Kairi's face fell. "…And I become the obvious next meal. I'm bait. You dragged me here to be bait."
"Don't worry, Master!" Mordred thumped him on the back, almost sending him stumbling. "A lousy Assassin? I'll carve him up before he knows what hit him!"
"Such confidence," Kairi muttered, massuring the new ache between his shoulder blades. "So the plan is to lure him out by pretending to be a clueless tourist, instead of actively hunting."
"Using my Ruler authority, I could likely pinpoint his general location. Failing that, my compass would work," Cyd said, flicking Jeanne's forehead. She yelped. "We're going for efficiency. And a touch of theater."
"But the Lord's guidance is just as efficient!" Jeanne rubbed her forehead, a pout forming. Both she and Rethyia felt a sting of indignation at their faith being dismissed.
"The gods are efficient," Cyd conceded with a shrug. "They make crops grow, guide fishermen home, bless households. When they feel like it."
"Do not forget, the Olympian gods you speak of brought as much calamity as blessing," Jeanne retorted, her eyes narrowing. "Their capriciousness and cruelty are legendary."
"At least they showed up. You've never even seen your 'Lord,' have you?" Cyd's tone was teasing, but with an edge. "Bet if you did, you wouldn't understand a word He said."
"That's not true! I heard His voice clearly!" Jeanne insisted, rising onto her tiptoes to try and lessen Cyd's height advantage.
"Oh? What'd He say?" Cyd asked, calmly pressing down on her head until her heels touched the ground again.
"He… well…" Jeanne floundered, her face scrunching in thought.
"'Study hard and do your homework'?" Cyd suggested, ruffling her hair.
"I… I couldn't read…" she finally mumbled, her defiance crumbling into embarrassment.
"You have the Grail's knowledge infusion. You can read now."
"..."
A long, awkward silence followed. The girl's posture shifted slightly, the fiery righteousness in her eyes softening into modern, flustered awareness. She brought a hand to her cheek.
"Um… sorry about that. Jeanne says she… doesn't want to talk to you right now." Her voice was higher, more hesitant.
She'd been argued into a mental shutdown.
"Ah, so you're the host," Cyd said, leaning in with interest. "Rethyia, right?"
"Y-yes! Rethyia. It's an honor to meet you, Cyd-san." The girl—Rethyia—bowed formally, clearly awed to be speaking with a figure from legend.
"Pleasure's mine. You've got a better head on your shoulders than the tenant, I can tell already," Cyd said, giving her shoulder a friendly pat. "It must be terrifying, getting dragged into this. If you want out, just say the word. I can have Jeanne evicted before you can say 'ambulance.'"
"N-no! I volunteered for this!" Rethyia said quickly, shaking her head with a nervous smile. "And, um, Jeanne says please don't make jokes about ejecting her. It's… unsettling."
"Ahem. So," Kairi interjected, clearing his throat. "This 'walk.' How, exactly, are we walking?"
Rethyia's eyes landed on Kairi. She took in his rugged, scarred face, his trench coat, the general aura of a man who'd seen too many dark alleys. Instinctively, she shrank back, hiding half behind Cyd.
Kairi: "..." He was used to this reaction, but it never got less depressing.
Mordred pointed at Kairi and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.
"I-I'm sorry! I know you're not a bad person!" Rethyia peeked out, her expression full of apology. "It's just… your face is very… intense! Sorry!"
"Yeah, yeah. Story of my life," Kairi sighed, glaring at the still-chuckling Mordred. He briefly considered swatting her, but the memory of her teeth sinking into his arm was still fresh. Self-preservation won out.
"Alright, here's the plan," Cyd said, clapping his hands together. "To demonstrate what a wonderfully careless, mana-rich magus you are, Kairi, you're going to wander around town. Look at sights. Buy a souvenir. Be conspicuously un-guarded."
"And I'm the subtle bodyguard, I assume?" Mordred asked, perking up.
"Nope. You're on vacation." Cyd's hand shot out, a blur of motion. He plucked Kairi's worn leather wallet from his back pocket and tossed it to Mordred. "Go wild. Try the local cuisine. Buy a tacky t-shirt."
Mordred caught the wallet, her expression a hilarious mix of duty and temptation. "But… the mission…"
"Go on," Kairi said, forcing a casual shrug. "Assassin's not likely to strike in broad daylight with two Rulers in the vicinity. If things get hairy, I'll use a Command Spell. You'll be here in a flash."
"You better call me!" Mordred said, clutching the wallet to her chest.
"I will. Now shoo. Try not to bankrupt me."
With a final, conflicted glance, Mordred turned and bounded off down the street, the promise of unrestricted spending overriding her knightly pride.
"Atalanta," Cyd turned to the Archer. "I need you to do a perimeter sweep. Look for signs of the Assassin's passing—unusual animal behavior, traces of bounded fields, any residual mana that smells wrong. You're the best tracker we've got."
"Understood." Atalanta gave a sharp nod, her hunter's instincts already engaged.
"And one more thing," Cyd said, his expression turning uncharacteristically earnest as he placed a hand on Atalanta's shoulder. She stiffened, meeting his intense gaze.
"Yes?"
"Can I please, please touch your ears? Just once?"
The air around Atalanta seemed to drop ten degrees. Her golden eyes narrowed into slits. Her tail, which had been lazily swishing, went rigid.
"I will bite your hand off at the wrist," she growled, the words dripping with lethal promise.
Cyd wisely took a large step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Worth a shot. The hunt is on, everyone. Try not to get eaten."