Medea's words, tinged with cunning and seduction, were like a stone cast into the center of a lake, rippling outward through Leo's heart.
It was not rejection, but a complex emotion mixed with helplessness, bitterness, and a longing that seemed forever out of reach.
Want to see my face?
'...This is practically an impossible task.'
Leo laughed bitterly to himself.
He understood better than anyone what lay hidden beneath that V3 helmet—a true Pandora's box.
It was not a blessing, but the most vicious of curses.
Once opened, the first victim would be the divine-age witch who had just formed this fragile bond with him.
He could almost effortlessly imagine the scene that would follow: the moment Medea saw his face, all the curiosity, teasing, and innocent girlishness in her eyes would be instantly replaced by something thick, scorching, and irresistible—an obsessive possessiveness.
She would become an even more thorough "witch" than the Colchian princess of mythology who, driven by love to hatred, had slain her own children. She would stop at nothing to imprison him here, using the most powerful barriers to transform this small guest room into an eternal cage.
By then, forget winning the Holy Grail War or lifting the curse—he would lose his freedom entirely, becoming her sole possession.
And his original intention of 'wanting to lift this ability and minimize the number of victims during this process' would become a complete and utter joke.
No, such a thing could never be allowed to happen.
'At least... until I win this Holy Grail War and successfully achieve my wish, the relationship between her and me will likely never progress to that final stage.'
This clear and cruel realization pulled Leo swiftly away from that brief moment of romantic fantasy.
He raised his gloved right hand and somewhat clumsily scratched the smooth back of his V3 helmet, producing soft "click-clack" sounds.
"Ha ha... well, let's just forget about that."
He let out a dry, awkward laugh, attempting to brush past this dangerous topic, "My face isn't worth looking at, really."
However, the more he avoided the subject, the more Medea's curiosity burned.
Her beautiful violet eyes stared at him unblinkingly, as if trying to pierce through that cold metal and plastic to see the true nature of his soul.
"Oh? Is that so?"
She leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them, a faint fragrance like flowers after rain lingering at the tip of Leo's nose, "You speak such sincere words, yet hide the most crucial part. Master, you can't win a lady's trust that way."
"Or perhaps... beneath that helmet of yours is a face so ugly it cannot be shown to anyone?"
Her tone carried a hint of provocation, but Leo keenly detected the pure curiosity beneath her words.
He knew that if he didn't provide her with a sufficiently convincing explanation today, this topic would forever become a thorn between them.
Concealment and deception could not earn true trust.
He needed to reveal his most fundamental secret to this ally—even if only through words.
Leo fell silent for a moment. The only sound in the room was the faint "crackle" of the oil lamp burning.
Finally, he lowered his scratching hand, straightened his posture, and spoke in a tone of unprecedented seriousness: "No, quite the opposite."
"Hm?"
"If I had to describe my face..."
Leo carefully chose his words, his mind flashing through countless handsome faces before settling on the most representative image, one most likely to trigger her vigilance, "It would probably be the kind you... hate and distrust the most. A devastatingly handsome man."
Medea's expression faltered slightly.
Leo didn't pause, continuing his description in a steady tone, as if speaking of someone completely unrelated to himself: "Skin as white as snow, probably from never seeing sunlight. Black short hair, features... everyone says they're very delicate. Oh, and there's a beauty mark below the corner of my right eye."
He paused here, then delivered the most crucial comparison.
"If I had to find a reference, it would be... something like a youthful version of that spear knight famous for his 'seductive beauty mark,' Diarmuid Ua Duibhne."
"Diarmuid..."
When this name left Leo's lips, Medea's face changed instantly.
It was no longer curiosity and teasing, but a complex expression mixing wariness, vigilance, and sudden understanding.
As a divine-age witch and a participant in this Holy Grail War, she naturally knew of that tragic hero from Celtic mythology and the magical beauty mark that could make any woman fall for him.
She finally understood what Leo had meant by "curse."
"You mean to say... your face also possesses a similar magical quality?"
Medea's voice became serious. She stopped joking and began investigating the nature of this "curse" with the professional attitude of a top-tier magus, "Does this effect only work in person, or can it be transmitted indirectly through paintings, mirrors, and the like?"
"Both."
Leo gave a definitive answer, his tone tinged with weariness, "Regardless of whether it's a photograph, painting, or even a reflection in water—as long as the opposite sex sees it, they're immediately affected."
"Is there no exception?"
"There is."
Leo nodded, "If the other person already has an unwavering true love in their heart, they might be able to resist briefly through sheer willpower. But..."
"Once exposed to my image for an extended period, that resistance will gradually weaken and collapse."
"The final result is... my image will completely cover her original image of true love, replacing it entirely."
'It's basically that kind of feeling... exactly like the original Tomie manga, an ability system that operates without any logic whatsoever.'
'Everyone who sees it goes insane, wants to monopolize it, then dismembers... though my situation isn't that grotesque, the essence is the same—a source of contamination.'
Leo silently complained in his heart, but the words that came out of his mouth were filled with heavy realism.
"Precisely because this ability is so troublesome, so domineering, and even distorts others' will, that's why I want to eliminate it, or perhaps... seal it away completely."
He finished speaking.
Revealing his greatest secret without reservation before this servant who had just formed a contract with him.
The room fell into a long silence.
Medea lowered her head, her expression unclear, but her pointed elf ears twitched slightly.
She seemed to be processing everything she had just heard, the information was too massive, even overturning her understanding of the concept of "charm."
After a long while, she slowly raised her head.
Those violet eyes no longer held any trace of frivolity, replaced instead by a complex emotion mixing deep sympathy and lingering fear.
"So that's how it is..."
She murmured softly, her voice somewhat hoarse, "No wonder... no wonder you have to keep wearing this strange helmet."
She now completely understood.
The man before her was not being mysteriously aloof, nor was he some pervert.
He was simply a pitiful person who had been the victim of a cruel joke by the gods, forced to carry a "beauty" capable of destroying all human relationships, walking through the world.
He wore the helmet not to hide ugliness, but to seal away that beauty capable of driving people mad.
It was a form of self-imprisonment, and also a form of protection for others.
"I take back what I said earlier, Master."
Medea looked at him, her eyes incredibly serious, "Please, absolutely do not remove your helmet in front of me."
Her tone carried a hint of lingering dread that was hard to detect.