"This town's a sore sight to see, don't you think?" The man (a noble, perhaps?) said, branching his arms to the lavish decorations put up throughout, likely Lady Marie's doing.
"These garish makeovers, fancy ornaments, all of them only serve as paint to conceal the citizens' grief and dismay. A fitting solution, considering a queen planned it."Well, I highly disagree, I think things like these are highly important wh Lord Bune explained. It seemed like he was well aware of not only our, but also our enemies' identities.
"...Hm? What are you doing, Lady Murasaki?" The man said, his steps halting. One of his eyebrows dropped in confusion, while his eyes were pointed at my–
"O-oh, it's nothing. I'm merely documenting what I've experienced so far in France. It's a… habit of mine."
"Ah, I see, a journal of some kind is it? I understand. It's important to take into account even the smallest details, is it not?" Bune bellowed into a laugh, before continuing to walk.
Murasaki followed suit, still writing every action the man took to the letter, every single minute detail turned into Japanese characters in the empty book she had created.
Truthfully, she didn't quite know the purpose of her current order, but if her master, a man whose words can even drive away a legion of servants, said so, then who is she to argue?
"Ah, here we are. Lady Murasaki, if you would, could you help me with these papers?"
The nobleman came to halt. Murasaki observed their surroundings, it seemed like they were in a crowded part of Marseille. 'Maybe this is the Town's Square?'
Looking down, the Japanese caster read, or at least tried to read the papers Bune was showing her, decked in lines upon lines of French.
"Well then, let's get going."
"W-wait! Can you tell me what these papers are, at least? I'm afraid my French is very… basic." Murasaki recognized some of the words, 'Money', 'Citizens', and 'Opportunities' among them, but the time she spent with Jeanne and her master only lasted so long.
"No worries, these are merely to… uplift the citizens of France, as you'll see soon enough."
True to his words, Murasaki could see the eyes of the people light up as they read the piece of paper as both of them went from person to person.
Some of them reacted with a modicum of disbelief, as if the words written promised everything they wished for, and Murasaki was beginning to suspect that might be the truth to some degree. Bune, in his part, simply nodded along to the commoners' excited responses, much like how some court nobles would during Murasaki's stay in the imperial palace, furthering her theory of his identity.
Still, that begs the question, why would a noble go out of his way to help commoners? Especially in such a direct way…
Murasaki's mouth began to move when she noticed a glint in Bune's eyes as they very briefly shifted east, before turning to her.
"Well, that's the last of them. Before you ask, my Lady, there is but one more thing we, or just you, need to do. Come."
Murasaki bit her lip, her question postponed by the noble's words as she followed him again, this time to just outside Marseille, where the horizon had just begun to split the sun.
"Ahh, it seems fate indeed has a taste for irony."
The sentence was said in a singing voice, not cheerful singing, or even celebratory like how the songs and dances that often graced the court when Murasaki was alive.
No, the melody was more… lamenting, for a lack of a better word, though she wasn't sure if that was the most fitting description either.
"I saw him just before I entered Marseille. He is another one of you servants, is he not?" Bune whispered into Murasaki's ears, both of their eyes trained at the still passive servant.
"You must be a writer, yes? My soul tells me so." The source of the voice, a gaunt man dressed in a more modern formal attire, asked, pointing his sharp claws at Murasaki. His face, partly covered by a grotesque smiling mask, frowned.
"...I am, and you must be the other part of our equation, then." She knew as well, something inside her told her as much.
"Ahh, fate is such a cruel mistress. My destination halted by my very antithesis." The man lamented yet again, the metallic palm of his hand falling to his forehead.
"I apologize, Lady Murasaki, truthfully I came to you and your companions to seek help against this foe. If you are not confident, perhaps we can call upon your friends?"
Murasaki didn't answer, not yet at least. Instead, she opted to look at the man, no, the character in front of her.
She didn't know his identity, his name, if he was even a real person, but that matters little.
Writers treat characters as their tools. They give them their motivations, loved ones, tribulations, and finally, an ending, not always happy nor sad, but a closure nonetheless. And with this closure, the author satisfies themself and begins another story.
Writers also create them to do evil, at times without any good reason. Murder, revenge, carnage, done simply because the story needs something to overcome, to vanquish. Though at times, they do exist with a reason, a motive, an ending.
Yet, none of these will ever end in a 'happy' way, for they are antagonists. And with their defeat, the author turns to the next page, their existence discarded for the next scene.
For that, Murasaki felt a duty to face one of her peers' creations, to see what became of a villain after their roles were fulfilled.
"No need, Lord Bune. This, I shall do myself."
Murasaki stepped forward, a blank scroll in her left hand and a brush in her right.
The man in suit responded in kind, approaching the Japanese author, hand outstretched.
In a heartbeat, the caster flicked her brush, Japanese letters materializing in the air faster than the common man can blink.
In response, the masked man lunged at her, his sharp nails stopping Murasaki's hand dead in its tracks.
The brush that writes met the claw that was written.
A brief silence, then–
"I am Murasaki Shikibu, caster, author of Tale of Genji."
"I am Assassin, bequeathed the title Phantom of The Opera by a man of the name Gaston Leroux."
–a battle between the boundaries of ink and paper began.
"Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but what is a young lady such as you doing here? The roads are unsafe with all these–"
"None of your fucking business."
"Eep!" The foul mouthed reply was more than the pampered merchant could ever expect from a young girl, a frantic whipping, neighing, and hastening sound of hooves marking his departure behind said girl.
'Jeanne', or 'Jean' as she will be in an hour or so, paid no mind to the retreating man as she continued to march to the direction of Marseille, back in her original, gray-haired form.
Slung over her shoulder was a bag containing whatever items fit the term 'labor equipment' that the French soldiers happened to have lying around. It wasn't heavy, not for a servant by any stretch of the word, yet it still made every step she took feel like a drag.
Even now she was barely able to keep her mouth from breaking into a scowl as thoughts of that scarred face kept popping up in her head.
'Who the fuck does he think he is?! Asking me to do his damn errands like I'm his goddamn maid! AND I'M FUCKING DOING IT!'
Sure, Gilles said that this was to keep up the image of a girl doing everything she can to make sure her sister is okay. Sure, that was a pretty good explanation. Sure, she saw the logic and reasoning behind this 'plan'.
But does that soften the blow to her pride? Just a little?
No, not at all.
'...Is this even worth it?' Is this man, King, really so integral to the enemy that she has to endure this humiliation on a daily basis?
Her mind flashed back to the last two days, when he blatantly pointed out her true identity in that fort, when he cracked Gilles' plans that she didn't even know about beforehand, and today, when he somehow got himself and his servants into Marseille with little problem (Jean made a note to have a talk with that airhead queen about this particular incident).
'...Fuck.'
Yes, yes he is.
A wave of curses made their way from an unrolled scroll into the air, then flying through it. In the hands of Murasaki Shikibu, even mere words turn to deadly weapons as her brush flowed endlessly on paper.
The Phantom of The Opera in turn danced through the incoming attack, as if their battlefield was a theater, and he, the graceful monster of the play.
And eventually, he found himself face to face with his dance partner.
As he saw his own ugly reflection in the author's eyes, The Phantom's mouth opened. As was written in his story, his voice was everything his face was not, and as such, it has manifested into an ability to charm those who were unfortunate enough to catch his singing voice.
Yet no words came out of his gaping mouth.
It was then that he saw a symbol right in front of his paralyzed mouth. Though he had no idea on what it meant, it was most definitely eastern, Japanese most definitely.
Murasaki, though, knew what it meant. The word 'silence', written in hiragana by her own brush just as the assassin's mouth began to twitch.
Without missing a beat, the Japanese caster unfurled her scroll and used it as a makeshift whip, staggering the mute assassin a good few meters away.
The Phantom grunted, Murasaki's breath was ragged.
Once again, Phantom readied his claws, but–
"...It's over, Lord Phantom."
A string of curses suddenly surrounded him.
It was a trap, he realized, those previous curses had missed on purpose.
"Now, Phantom of The Opera, let me write your final chapter in this story!"
A few strokes of her brush was all it took. The curses gathered into a maelstrom, the assassin in its eye.
Slowly, the words dissipated, and all that was left was the mangled form of The Phantom of The Opera.
"Ahh, such an inevitable outcome…"
"...Perhaps it was, Lord Phantom, but if it is any comfort… you played your role to perfection."
"...Indeed I have. My apologies, O Great Author."
The battle was over, and The Phantom of The Opera scattered into golden light.
"Wonderful, Lady Murasaki! I had no idea a refined lady such as yourself could have such fortitude!"
"E-eh?! N-no, truthfully I was rather nervous… That was my first true battle against a servant after all…" Murasaki's voice trailed, her eyes lingering on the spot where The Phantom was just mere moments ago.
"I didn't quite expect it to go so… smoothly."
"Ah well, you are an author, and he is a character, didn't you say? I'm not fully familiar with these 'servants' that you are, but perhaps that has something to do with it?"
"...Perhaps." Murasaki conceded, it would make sense for her to have an advantage over a novel character, though it still felt too easy.
Speaking of… "...How did you know about servants, Lord Bune?"
"Hm? Oh, I merely happened to have a few mages as clients in my line of work, and we simply traded information every so now and then!"
"I see…" The explanation was logical, at least. Murasaki herself has limited knowledge of the magical society, much less western ones, so perhaps these kinds of things are more common than she thought?
"Well, I suppose our partnership is on hold for now. Though, I'd be pleased if you would take some of these on your journey."
"These are…" Murasaki stared at the deck of flyers handed to her, the very same they both gave to the citizens of Marseille.
"Yes, my lady. You saw just how much these simple assortment of words can uplift our citizens. I'm not asking you to be my employee, but if you do not mind, I hope you can give some of these to the people you encounter during your travels."
"N-no, Lord Bune! The pleasure is all mine. After all, are those not the purpose of written arts?" Murasaki said, taking the huge stack of paper wholeheartedly.
"My, I wish my daughter would grow up just as cultured as you, Lady Murasaki!"
"M-me?! N-no, please! I guarantee she wouldn't like that–"
Murasaki's stammers were cut off by the noble's laughs, to which she softly joined in.
"...Well, I suppose that's it for us. Let's meet again if we ever get the chance, Lady Murasaki."
"...Yes, let us."
They won't. Even if they do, this history and his memories would be replaced by the 'true' history.
But, that's fine. Some things are meant to be ephemeral.
"..."
Once more, Murasaki took out a book and a pen.
Lord Bune was a courteous and gentlemanly noble. It would seem that he is on a quest to give hope to the common citizens of France through his flyers, a quest that I now share.
If we do happen to meet again, he would surely make for a staunch ally.
The caster closed her book with a satisfying snap, before making her way back to Marseille's inner walls.
From afar, two cloaked figures watched the servant. Their eyes trained on her like hawks to their prey. They momentarily stared at one another, then promptly disappeared into the forest.
The creaking wood stung King's ears over and over again as he kept walking in circles. Why was he doing this? Was he hoping for divine intervention? An angel over his shoulder? Saitama? Or maybe, he was simply waiting for time to run its course.
But time waits for no one.
A knock on the door froze the master in place.
"Hey, get out. We need to do some work."
King forced a large lump down his throat.
Since becoming a 'hero', he's seen some ridiculous shit from monsters, even more ridiculous shit from his peers, and some truly outlandish shit from Saitama.
None of them compared to the sweat running down to his nape as the knocking continued.
"Hey. Hey! You there or not?!"
When was the last time he did any kind of physical labor? His Hero career? College? High School? Middle School? Elementary? Hell, Preschool?
Try as he might, the only thing he could remember was flunking his P.E. Classes whenever the dreaded time came. Though for whatever reason his failures always looked like accidents, so the teachers passed him anyway.
Regardless, the same dread trickled down his spine at this very moment.
"If you're not here, then I'm breaking this door in three, two–"
Slam
King opened the door as fast as he could, now staring down at the aged innkeeper.
"Oh, there you are. Come with me, I got something hard we need to take care of."
'...Jean, please come here faster.'
'Jean' stomped her way into Marseille, uncaring of the odd looks shot her way by the villagers, confused as to why a young lady entered their town at such a late time.
She briefly scanned for servants in the city, her other most importantly. The spells Gilles used to cloak her presence have worked wonders so far, but what good would that do if her 'sister' sees someone that looks just like her in this situation?
'...Good, all of them are on the opposite side of the city.'
Her two 'allies' on the other hand were in the town hall, presumably making more trouble for the mayor judging by all the colorful ornaments strewn throughout Marseille.
Well, not her problem. In fact, the more stressed out they can make him, the better. Maybe she'd even be willing to forgive whatever reason they had to let that man and his servants in without so much of a fight.
'Jean' came to a halt. This is the place he said they would meet. 'Le Petit Noble' the sign read, though whatever 'nobility' the title might've suggested immediately fell apart once she took a look at the building itself.
'A shabby inn. Was this all that they could afford?' 'Jean' thought, her nose turning up slightly at the noticeable smell of alcohol, even from outside. She honestly expected better out of them.
The door to the inn opened with a bang, and with it, out came two men, one rather burly man, presumably the inn's owner, and the other…
"...King." 'Jean' spat out.
"Hm? Who is this young lady? A relative of yours?"
"...You could say that. She's here to help."
'Jean's' upper lip twitched slightly. 'Calm down, calm down. You've got way more important things to do.'
It was cold comfort.
"Well, the more hands the better. Come, let me show you what we're going to work on."
The owner beckoned for King to come as he walked away. The scarred man did the same, only to her, instead.
"..."
'Jean's' teeth sank into her lower lips.
Her shovel made contact with the pile of gravel with a stinging thwack, as did her fellow laborer and employer.
The monotonous repetition of rocks being flung over to a wheelbarrow was beginning to erode the patience that 'Jean' had meticulously prepared after her last time in this identity.
And once that wheelbarrow was full, another took its place, and the cycle repeats.
'Jean' was sure that it would be enough to kill a small child, the sound alone that is.
It wasn't hard, not for any servant, but the combined irritation of the sound and the chill of nighttime made the experience uniquely harrowing, one she can't relate to any of her memories of war.
The one sole silver lining was that her enemy, her goddamn nemesis, was experiencing the same thing.
Of course, if he wasn't doing this, then she wouldn't be either, so really, that silver lining was also the root of her woes.
"Alright, we're done here."
'Phew, finally.' Now that they're done, she can go see her 'sister' and get this over wi–
"Now, to my house."
…
"...Jean? I don't want to scare you, but there's a bit of fire next to your feet."
The fire was snuffed under 'Jean's' heel.
The same cannot be said for her burning hatred.
"What the hell do they feed kids in… Where are you from again?"
"Domremy."
'Jean' ignored the owner's still inquisitive gaze as she heaved up another stack of hay on her shoulders, letting out a faked grunt to keep up the facade of a human.
"...Well, I guess it don't matter as long as you do your part." The owner gruffly said.
'My part? MY PART?!' Oh, how 'jean' wished she could send every single one of her dragons and servants here. Alas, she begrudgingly walked up the ladder to the owner's warehouse to put away her load, before coming back down.
If only she didn't get caught by King that fateful night.
Speaking of her very target, the scarred man stared at his own workload on the ground, a single large box.
Then his neck turned, their eyes met.
There was a pregnant pause, a staring contest between the leaders of their respective factions, not that he knew.
'Jean' spent more time than she cared to admit in this… position. Why? She couldn't quite tell, but she felt as if the master was trying to communicate something with his eyes.
Suddenly, alarm bells went off in her head. Had he found out? If so, how?
But soon enough, a realization went off in her head, a dreadful eureka that she would've much rather never had: His box is still on the ground.
'I-is he… telling her to lift it for him?!'
What else could it be? The condescending stare aimed at her, the wooden container still sitting by his feet inconspicuously, his arrogant posture with his arms crossed, and of course, the fact that she is currently maintaining the 'worried country girl' persona.
Is there any way he could humiliate her more?
'Jean' could not keep her face from seething, and opted to lower her head while walking to her co-worker's job, before chucking it directly to the elevated warehouse.
"...I gotta hire this girl."
Not. A. Fucking. Chance.
"This is the last trip, just down this alley."
Whatever relief that sentence would've brought to 'Jean' had all but disappeared by now.
Never could she have thought that such menial tasks could be so draining. Give her people to kill, enemy servants to fight, hell, torture her! Anything other than carrying one more box across this damned town!
But, this is the last one. After this shit is done, she can go see her 'sister', pretend that she's worried, and go back to plotting France's ruin.
"Say, is my sister far from where we are? I'd like to go see her right after this." An unnecessary question, she knew exactly where her 'sister' was.
"Hm? I think she's pretty close from here, actually."
"Ah, is that so? Thank goodness."
Well, at least this won't go for much longer.
"...Say, I hope you're alright. After last time."
'Huh? What is he–' Ah, did he mean her… antics after his dumb comment?
"Oh, it's fine. I don't hold it against you." A lie, but nobody needed to know that.
"If anything, I was just… annoyed at my sister! Yeah, that's it!" A half-truth, but how much truth and lie in that statement, even she didn't know.
"Well, it's her fault, anyway. Talking about what happened to her as if it was no big deal. Just keep going on like– like it's…"
'Why am I saying this?' Because she needed to distract him and keep her facade, obviously.
But somehow, part of her felt like that wasn't the entire reason anymore, not that she will ever admit it.
"You're a good person, huh?"
'Jean's' mouth came to a halt. Her body did not fare much better.
Slowly, her neck turned to King, her eyes focused solely on him.
The erratic movement of her face contracting the stillness of her body said everything her mouth couldn't. The scarred man himself continued to walk, as if he didn't just say the most ridiculous thing she has heard since her existence as a servant.
Eventually, 'Jean' settled into the closest she could be to being calm after King's outlandish statement and continued walking as well.
'...What did he say?' She might be delivering righteous judgment on France, but good? Ha! No, this is simply paying evil unto evil, just the way it should be.
'Me? A good person?' What a load of bullshit.
"Really, that's what you think?"
'Jean' covered her mouth. Crap! That wasn't supposed to come out of her mouth!
The ensuing silence was awkward, to say the least.
"...I mean it, though."
'This again?' What? Is he the same type as her preachy bitch of a 'sister'? Just because she had a bit of accidental outburst now he thinks she's some kind of lost soul that needs to be saved?
Alright, she'll bite.
"Hmph, where'd you get that from?" There, a piercing question. What reason does he really have to spout shit like that anyway? That damned bishop who condemned her couldn't say anything before she killed him, and she bet that her 'sister' wouldn't be able to say anything either if she asked.
So, just how will you answer, King?
"..."
'All that lip service and you can't even respond to that?' It almost made 'Jean' laugh. Really, the arrogance of these people.
'Jean' smirked and shook her head, satisfied by shutting up her 'co-worker'. Her steps quickened, now in front of King.
"...You're worried about your sister, for one."
'Gah!' 'Jean' tripped over the sudden reply, almost literally as her hands shakily kept the box she held in balance.
"More than that, actually. I can see a barrier between the two of you, irreconcilable perhaps, yet you care about her, in ways she could not to herself."
"W-what?" 'Jean' could no longer contain her feelings to her thoughts, the shock coloring her voice.
"Am I wrong?"
"Y-yes! I don't care a single bit about that dumb bitch!"
"So you say, but your actions show otherwise."
"H-how?! In what way do I even look like I care about her?!"
"Then why do you insist that Jeanne is 'wrong' about how she feels?"
"B-because I–"
"I don't know your family issues, but it's clear to me that no matter the rift between the two of you, there is an unmistakable bond between sisters that both of you possess."
This was not going how 'Jean' wanted or expected. Complete and utter bullshit, that's all that she heard out of this man's mouth.
So why can't she refute?
"I see you've finally run out of excuses. I am not telling you to accept what I said, or even agree, but surely there's an inkling of truth to my words if you're as shaken as you are."
'No! No there fucking isn't!' The words were stuck in her throat.
'Jean' had half a mind to just cleave his head off here and now, put an end to the madman's ramblings. Definitely not because a part of her felt a light pang with each word he spoke.
"Listen, you! I-"
"What are you two bickering about?"
The voice of the old owner shut down the argument, with 'Jean' looking like a deer caught in the way of a rushing carriage.
"...Well whatever, just put the things there and you're done."
'Jean' was far too eager to comply.
No more of that man's preachy bullshit, lest her ears turn to mush.
She swiftly moved to the warehouse, dropped the package and to the inn's owner, away from the pretentious mouth of that damned master.
"Uh, Sir? Thank you for the opportunity (fuck you for roping me to this), but I actually have urgent business here (get me the fuck out of here). I had a great time, but I'd like to excuse myself now (when my dragons get here, I'll personally skewer you from ass to mouth).
"...Really? Don't you want payment or something?"
"N-no! I just came here to help a… f-f-f-friend." The word friend crawled out 'Jean's' throat like a premature baby wrapped in rose thorns, meek, half-complete, and painful.
The old man's gaze casted downwards. "They don't make them like you no more." He muttered.
"Tell you what, you can take a bath back there if you want." The old owner offered, pointing to a secluded area where a big bucket of water peeked around the corner.
Normally, she would balk at the offer.
But after that, it might be a good idea, 'Jean' thought.
Otherwise, Marseille might be cinders before sunrise.
'Jean' could contain the sigh no longer, a huff of air escaping her lips as she dejectedly walked over to the makeshift bathroom.
'Jean' carelessly took off the basic civilian clothes that acted as her disguise and threw them on the nearby clothesline, eventually baring her body against the moonlight.
The cold night wind felt breezy on her naked body and surely the water would not stray too far from that description, but she couldn't bring herself to care about that.
Right now, she just wanted to let the water wash away the words King had imprinted.
'Phew, I sure am glad Jean's here.'
King wiped off a furtive sweat on his brow. This is what? the third trip to the warehouse now? He shuddered to even think of how long it would take if it was just him and the owner, but with Jean's help he might be able to get some sleep before midnight!
Though he had to admit, a part of him was getting nostalgic for times like these, back when people didn't see him as a god, just a big dude. He could buy his visual novels in peace back then, go to conventions, even see an idol show!
'If only there were otaku events here…'
"Say, is my sister far from where we are? I'd like to go see her right after this."
King turned his neck to his co-worker at the sudden question. 'Jeanne, huh?' If he remembered correctly, she was to help out with the owner's farmer friends with a few errands not too far from where the warehouse was.
"Hm? I think she's pretty close from here, actually."
"Ah, is that so? Thank goodness."
A small smile made its way to King's face. 'She sure is a good kid.' How she immediately agreed to helping him out even when she didn't need to he'll never know.
She even lifted up that heavy box for him! He didn't even say anything, their eyes met and she immediately went to help him!
To be honest, he was starting to feel bad, like he was taking advantage of their partnership (which he supposed he did by the simple fact that she is working with him, but hey, he was desperate).
"...Say, I hope you're alright. After last time." King said. He really hoped that his words back then didn't offend her too much. The consolation was the least he could offer back for her help.
"Oh, it's fine. I don't hold it against you. If anything, I was just… annoyed at my sister! Yeah, that's it!" Her words made the master pause.
"Well, it's her fault, anyway. Talking about what happened to her as if it was no big deal. Just keep going on like- like it's…"
'...Oh, I get it now.'
"You're a good person, huh?"
'Ah, shoot.' The words came out of his mouth unconsciously. Well, hopefully she won't be as tilted as last time.
His hopes were dashed as the following silence was almost as uncomfortable as the weight on his arms. King winced, she definitely heard that. 'Well, what now?' Does he retract or double down? In the first place, how does he even retract a compliment like that? "No, nevermind actually, you're a horrible sister."
Yeah, no.
"...I mean it, though."
"Hmph, where'd you get that from?"
King recoiled at the response, though not physically, lest his toes be crushed by the box in his arms.
Sure, last time she got ticked off because he mentioned her sister, but now she's taking offense to a simple compliment too.
Thinking about it more, the fact that he barely even found anything regarding Jeanne's family except for their existence could only mean one of two things; one, the majority of her family died early in her life; or two, their relationships are strained to the point that they were barely involved when Jeanne went to war.
And the fact that Jean is standing beside him right now leaves only one of those possibilities.
Which means… "...You're worried about your sister, for one."
The girl in question almost tripped over nothing.
King gulped. Is he going a little too far? He is just a stranger to whatever problems the Arc family might have after all. Then again, he might have already crossed that line when he gave Jean that unsolicited advice last night. So maybe, it's best for him to go even further, maybe help her with her sibling relationship and more importantly, clear him off her shit list.
King dug deep into his memories, into the mental library of mangas he read over the years. Sure enough, the theme of sibling rivalry runs deep in the annals of his reading history.
"More than that, actually. I can see a barrier between the two of you, irreconcilable perhaps, yet you care about her, in ways she could not to herself."
"W-what?" Strike one.
"Am I wrong?"
"Y-yes! I don't care a single bit about that dumb bitch!"
"So you say, but your actions show otherwise."
"H-how?! In what way do I even look like I care about her?!" Strike two.
"Then why do you insist that Jeanne is 'wrong' about how she feels?"
"B-because I–"
"I don't know your family issues, but it's clear to me that no matter the rift between the two of you, there is an unmistakable bond between sisters that both of you possess." Strike three and she's out, her body slightly shook as she fell into silence,
Alright, she's stunned! Seems like he got a critical hit there. Now, time for a coup de grace, as he read in those books.
"I see you've finally run out of excuses. I am not telling you to accept what I said, or even agree, but surely there's an inkling of truth to my words if you're as shaken as you are."
There! That should be enough to… to…
…What was his endgame with this again?
'I mean I did it so that she won't have any misunderstandings about me, but what reaction was I expecting anyway?' Definitely not the clenched right hand she held right now.
…Wait, she won't get violent, right? Shit! Who knows what that farmer strength of hers will do to him if she does! '
"Listen, you! I–"
"What are you two bickering about?"
'Thank you, owner!' The interruption was probably the first and last time King would ever feel grateful to the old man.
"...Well whatever, just put the things there and you're done."
At the owner's words, Jean dashed away before King could say anything, cutting their conversation short.
'...I hope she doesn't hate me now.' Well, at least it stopped before she got really mad.
King felt a rough hand slam on his shoulder, enough to make his whole body shake. Still, with the miracle (and mostly experience from body tremors) he managed to stay his ground.
The old owner stared at him. "Brother, that's a good kid. Be proud to call her a friend."
'...Thanks, I guess?'
The older man sighed. "Well, your job's over either way. You can take a bath there before you call the night off." He gruffly said, jutting his thumb to what King assumed is some sort of open air bath. Well, he doubts it's as sophisticated as an actual hot spring, though.
Still, King couldn't quite ignore the stickiness between his skin and the fabric of his clothes, so sure, why not? "I guess I will, thanks." King said as he moved towards the aforementioned bathing place.
The old man responded with a mere grunt as he himself made his way to the inn.
"...Wait, I probably shoulda told him that the young lass was still in there. …Ah, well, what's the worst that could happen?"
King sadly, was out of earshot.
The scarred master whistled as he leisurely made his way to take a bath.
'Man, it sure was worth it to call Jean here.' A bit of advice (and argument) for help with heavy labor? A fair trade if you ask him.
She sure was combative about it, though.
Still, in the end it did look like she almost accepted the idea, before she almost blew up, that is.
Family is family in the end, he supposed.
"It's around here, ri– What the–!"
King's body moved even faster than his mouth did, pressing his back against the wall around the corner of the bath area.
'Fuck, why didn't that old guy say anything about her using it?!' King thought, his heart beating much faster than normal.
'...She didn't notice, right?' Against his better judgment, King peeked his head around the corner ever so slightly, just to make sure.
King breathed a sigh of relief, maybe the sound of the water splashing muffled his voice, seeing as Jean didn't even register his presence.
The master turned his back and decided to find some place to wait for his turn.
'Whew, almost made it into her shit list, again.' King thought, relieved. He did catch a full glimpse of her naked back, but he didn't ogle her, he's not a creep and she's far below his age range in the first place.
King let out a few forced coughs to erase the image from his mind, but-
"Still, didn't expect her to have something like that." King mused to himself, before the ambience of the night remained as the sole noise in his ears, accompanied by the occasional splash of water.
"Oh? You sure are used to this, aren't you, young lady?"
"Ahaha, it's nothing. I grew up on a farm after all."
"Really? Tell me more!"
'Jean' watched on as her 'sister' continued to chatter with the locals, likely the owner's friends, as she slammed her hoe back down into the soft ground.
"I know she looks a bit different right now and I can't explain it in full, but that's your sister, just in disguise."
'I know.' 'Jean's' rebuttal went unvoiced, simply nodding in response.
The two accomplices' gazes lingered on the Maiden of Orleans for a bit longer, but one of them was unfocused.
Maybe it was the water, too cold that it snuffed out all of her fire, or perhaps it was the night's chilling breeze that did it.
She couldn't even bother feeling disgust at how her lesser self so cheerfully helped tend the small farm owned by people who would callously turn their backs to her if she needed their help, and the thought of killing the man beside her barely crossed her mind.
All she felt was apathy.
'...Fuck this.'
'Jean' stood up from her crouched position and turned her back on King and her 'sister', not a word slipping from her mouth, and walked away.
"Jean."
She stopped.
"About what I said…"
She braced herself.
"You should come to your own conclusion in the end."
'Jean' didn't have the will to respond to or even think about his mad ramblings, not anymore.
If she did, she might remember their talk again.
As such, tonight's meeting ended with an awkward silence.
The noise of graphite scribbling on paper was the only thing that reached the ears of Chaldea's director, along with the sound of her teeth grinding against chapped lips.
It would be close to midnight now, maybe. She hadn't quite cared to check the clock in the last few hours, but the occasional glimpses of people leaving the command room from her peripheral told her as much.
The number of individuals in the room had decreased to single digits by now, her, Roman, James, and a few critical members of the rayshift operation team.
There wasn't much to do for now, really. Communications with the masters and their servants had been mostly silent, as it always was by nighttime, leaving mostly idle maintenance as the only thing those at Chaldea had to do.
Olga Marie, however, was far too absorbed in her journal to care about 'rest'.
Her thumb, index, and middle finger pressed into her pencil, their tips reddening while she haphazardly made one line after another.
'No, no! That won't work either!'
The writing on her journal was near indecipherable by the average person, and too messy for anyone to want to read it anyway.
Her hand came to a halt, her eyelids suddenly felt as if they had weights attached to them and her posture slowly became more rounded, almost crescent like.
It was then that she realized her body could not fight the same battle she could and would fall before her mind did.
Nothing some pills couldn't fix.
Olga's hand landed on a small plastic package on the table, took out the pills inside, and swallowed every single one in one go.
Her throat muscles forced the capsules down her throat. If Chaldea's director had any reservations about swallowing seven different drugs in one go, it didn't show on her face.
A few eyes turned to her in concern, but no tongue made it known.
'Right, time to get back to planning.' Olga thought, her fingers back on her pencil, and the tip to the paper once again.
…
…
…
She's going nowhere.
A frustrated sigh leaped out of Olga's mouth as she leaned back into her chair. Her eyes glanced down to the paper she had written on.
CHALDEA
Masters
King
Ritsuka
Servants
Archer
Karna (Lancer)
Achilles (Rider)
Murasaki Shikibu (Caster)
Sasaki Kojiro (Assassin)
Cu Chulainn (Lancer)
Mash (Shielder)
Jeanne D'Arc (Ruler)
THE OTHER JEANNE D'ARC
Master
Jeanne D'Arc (Ruler)
Servants
Gilles de Rais (Caster)
Vlad III (Lancer)
Elizabeth Bathory (Assassin)
Atalanta (Archer)
Lancelot (Berserker)
3 Servants (Unknown Identity)
SUMMONED BY THE HOLY GRAIL
Siegfried (Saber) (Allied with the impostor)
Marie Antoinette (Rider) (Allied with the impostor)
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Caster) (Allied with the impostor)
On paper, they match up rather evenly, almost on Chaldea's favor, really.
The problem comes in when they factor in external forces.
Olga slowly traced an arrow from the names of Cu Chulainn and Sasaki Kojiro, uniting them at a point, which she marked France's populace. At the same time, she drew arrows on the names of the impostor and her 'paladins' to the same place. Finally, she drew one last arrow, from the point to the name of Jeanne D'Arc.
'...We really can't do anything, huh?'
What are they supposed to do, here? Even when they're catching their breath, no doubt the other Jeanne is sending dragons after the smaller villages and blaming them on the real Jeanne. Not only that, the army is on her side. How do they even counter that? The momentum is swung far too much to the other side?
A possibility would be to summon a Heroic Spirit of France to make an idol out of, but without even considering the still uphill battle that would be, would the Throne of Heroes even summon one in the first place?
The tip of the pencil tapped the paper for a few more times, before it was put down as Olga Marie let out another sigh.
'...I should do something else for now.'
Maybe a quick walk around can help the drugs get digested faster.
The director stepped outside just as the dates turned forwards, her day starting off with an unplanned tour around Chaldea.
Olga's steps echoed through the mostly vacant halls of Chaldea, the lights dimmed to save power for the rayshift operation. Other than a few of the staff who briefly greeted her, the place felt… desolate, almost.
The director absentmindedly visited several departments on her way, noting the absence of noise and activity as she passed by the respective areas. It wasn't like this before, not before the incineration of the earth, but before she took over as director, when Marisbury Animusphere was still the man behind the operation. It was more… alive, back then.
She wandered these halls every so often back then, even at nights like these occasionally. Why? The director couldn't quite remember. Maybe it was simple curiosity, maybe it was to take in the sights of the place she then thought she would never inherit, or maybe she was hoping to gain more knowledge, perhaps stumble upon a secret that would give her the edge over her father's preferred heir and make her something in his eyes.
She stopped doing that after her father died, after she became director. Too much paperwork and politics to maneuver to wander around.
It made her wonder, 'Has it always been like this?' Did Chaldea degrade that much in the three years since the seat of the director changed hands?
Maybe she was being too self-conscious, maybe it really was because of the destruction of the world.
But she knew that she had a hand in it. If she was a better leader then, they would have been more prepared, more efficient, more ready.
But her past conduct and competence matters little for the future.
'...That doesn't matter now.' Right, what she needs to do now is live up to her position, do what her father did and more, and of course, meet King's expectations.
A hard bump on her shoulder cut Olga's thought short, her legs wobbling from the impact.
"Oof." "Ack!"
The sound of a girlish yelp accompanying her own grunt turned Olga'as attention.
"Ow… I-I'm sorry– Director?!"
It was, in fact, a girl. One not too different from her in stature.
"Yes, I'm just… taking a walk." Olga answered vaguely, offering her hand to help.
Strangely, the girl had a rather odd reaction to the gesture, staring at it with a mixture of fear and apprehension on her face before getting up by herself, her light brown hair fluttering as she did.
Fixing her glasses, the girl's eyes were now level with Olga, who took the chance to size her up. She wore the standard female uniform for Chaldea, the orange color glaring in Chaldea's dark halls. The girl carried around with her what seemed to be a clipboard with a paper attached to it. 'Is she a records clerk?'
The sound of rustling paper turned Olga's gaze down, to numerous papers sprawled over the floor. 'Ah, she must've been carrying these.'
"...Sorry. Let me help–"
"N-no, please! I can do it myself!" The girl almost shouted, cutting the director off.
"At least let me–"
"Don't touch them!"
The reply was a shout this time, forceful enough that Olga was taken aback by it. The girl seemed to just notice that she shouted a few seconds after the fact, her eyes fearful.
"I-I'm sorry!" The girl apologized, her head bowing low, something that jogged Olga's memories.
'Do I… know her?'
"I-I'm sorry, director!"
"Sorry? You're sorry?! Is that all you can say?!"
"Eep!"
"If I see another one of your… works again, I'll have your position up for hire by the next day."
"..."
"Understood?"
"Y-yes, director!"
Right, something like that happened not too long after she became director. This was the girl, now she recalled.
Why did she blow up at her like that in the first place? The fact that Olga couldn't recall no matter how hard she tried is probably enough of a sign that it wasn't worth getting angry about.
Either way, she was probably at fault back then.
"Look, I know I was… unreasonable when we last talked, but I hope we can put the past behind us and work together from now on." Olga offered, extending her hand to the girl.
"N-no!" Only to be met with sound rejection.
The director's hand retracted in surprise. The reaction the girl had was intense, even if Olga wasn't exactly expecting immediate acceptance.
"I-I mean, you don't have to apologize, director." The girl said, her hand frantically picking up the papers she dropped as she squatted down, her amber eyes seemingly magnetized to the floor.
"A-anyway, I-I'm going to my station now. …Good night, director."
"Wait–" The girl was gone before Olga could complete her sentence, no, it was more accurate to say that she pretended not to hear as she quickly ran away from the scene.
The director of chaldea stared blankly at the now empty hallway and let out a sigh, weak but the frustration could be heard nonetheless.
'...I didn't even catch her name.'
She supposed it was her own fault for her incompetence when she first took up the mantle of director, but knowing that even in this situation her reputation was still in the gutter was like a sharp jab in her stomach.
A simple speech can't overturn perception that had already built up after all.
'...Just like in France, huh?'
Fujimaru Ritsuka could barely keep his eyes open.
Every step he took felt as if it added teeny tiny little weight plates on his eyelids, accumulating to the point that he felt like he fell asleep every few seconds.
He supposed it was his fault, to be fair. He slept like, what? three hours later than he usually did? He wanted to blame Archer for it, he really did.
But that would require that Archer say something wrong to begin with.
Try as he might, Ritsuka couldn't quite refute what his servant said to him last night, even as he spent those three hours staring into the leaf-covered night sky thinking about the… scolding he received, for a lack of a better word.
Archer was right, that was the conclusion he came to. Nothing the white haired man had flaws to poke holes in, no malice, just the harsh truth.
Maybe it was for his own good, too. Maybe he should follow the advice. Maybe, he should ask the director to resign from being a master.
But…
'...Maybe– Maybe I should ask King about it first.' Was it a desperate last move from him? Maybe. Is it somewhat pathetic of him to still cling on to some other answer even after he agreed with what Archer said? Definitely.
But the master of Chaldea felt like something was missing, something that the other master of Chaldea could answer.
Speaking of… "Say, Mash, where are we going to rendezvous with the other team again?"
"Thiers, Senpai. The doctor said that he detected two servant signals from that city."
"Yep, that's right. James here even took the time to analyze their signals, and guess what? They're normal! We should get there before the other Jeanne can get her claws into them!" Romani added while gesturing to his aforementioned co-worker, who Ritsuka still couldn't tell was awake or not.
"So we all do some get together thing, yeah? Recruit those two servants then we go back to what we were doing before?" Cu Chulainn lazily asked, yawning afterwards.
"Yes, well, except Karna anyway. It seems that he is still battling Siegfried even now." Romani replied.
"Damn, why can't I get to fight the hard enemies? Beating up bandits gets old pretty fast, you know? At least the samurai here can fight dragons!"
"I assure you, Lancer, these dragons are not much harder to slay than the swallow I used to train myself. It becomes dull too, eventually." Kojiro assured, his fingers twiddling with the end of his sword's grip.
"Are you sure it's not boring for Karna too? I mean, he's gotta be fighting for almost 24 hours straight now." Ritsuka added, going by what King reported last night.
"That's right, Senpai. I wonder how mister Karna is doing right now…"
"Are you sure this is fine, Karna?"
"Every war ends as night falls, then so too must every battle start with a pleasant morning."
The Germanic hero chuckled at the response as he took a drink from the hands of a peasant beside the two legends. The human could hear his own saliva going down his throat as he handed another drink to the Indian demigod.
"Ah, delicious. If I may know, what is this? I am… unfamiliar with France's drinks, I'm sorry."
"A-ah, no worries. That is Lyon's very own blend of beer, sir. Made with apples and pears." The peasant explained, his eyes bouncing between the two figures frantically.
"I see, the smell was rather familiar." Karna added as he downed the glass, followed by his foe doing the same.
"You can go now. I'm sure it was rather harrowing to deliver beverages to a battle, I'm sorry."
"Y-yes, my Lord. …I bid you good luck." The man said, taking the glasses back as he quickly jogged back to the safety of his city, stumbling through broken ground and avoiding large holes as he did.
"I must ask, are you still unsure about our allegiance, Siegfried?"
"...Truthfully, my doubts have mostly been cleared. Your conduct in our battle thus far has been… more than honorable. I'm sorry for my hostility, Karna."
"You apologize a lot, Siegfried."
Siegfried chuckled. "Yes, my wife told me as much."
"...Do you want to end this now, then?"
"...The rational man in me tells me yes." The dragonslayer admitted, his sword arm retracting to his hips.
…Before drawing it once more behind his head.
"But this battle has become something important to me. So, if you would, let me use the lack of evidence as an excuse for a bit longer."
"Hm, an excuse, is it?"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
Karna let out a laugh, one that was rambunctious by the stoic demigod's standards.
"No need to apologize, Siegfried. If I have to say… I feel the same."
"...Then, let us."
"Yes, let us."
The exchange of words between myths ended, and the ground, once horizontal now jagged with misplaced rocks and punctured with massive holes, shook once more in anticipation.
Then the exchange of blades began anew, and all over France one could see pillars of light and fire emerge from Lyon.
"I can see them from here. Doesn't seem like he's bored." Archer said, his voice sounding out for the first time since the sun rose this morning.
Ritsuka almost flinched at his servant's sudden comment. He had been trying to avoid contact with the bow-wielding servant, and it was a blessing that it took this long for him to speak again, but he supposed it was inevitable.
"Well, not much we can do but put our trust in mister Karna, then."
"...Right, Mash."
"Fou!" Ritsuka nearly jumped in surprise at the agreement coming from the small animal in his sleeve.
The young boy chuckled. "Yeah, thanks Fou." At least he could look at this one companion of his without feeling some shame.
"...What's that, director? The two servants in Thiers are fighting?! Guys, you need to move quickly! King's team is already engaging the two rogues!"
The abrupt news put all of them on alert.
"Copy that, doctor! Senpai, hold on to my shoulders!"
"...Right!"
With that, the master and his servants glided their way to Thiers, the feet of the heroes going faster than any horse could.
Though she couldn't feel it, Ritsuka's fingers dug slightly deeper into Mash's shoulders, the boy's eyebrows furrowing as his hair was swept by the wind.
"Take that back you green snake bitch!"
"Ho ho! Big words coming from a virgin dressed like a skank!"
"I'll make you eat your words, you big fat serpent!"
"Fat? Alright, that's it. I'll show you what a real dragon is!"
"You wish! Eastern Oversized Viper!"
"Blood Pervert Dragon!"
"Uh… your orders, master?"
Achilles' request fell on deaf ears as King could only stare at the scene in front of him, dumbfounded.
This was Thiers, a town which apparently had two servants in it, according to Romani's readings. They left as soon as the message was sent, bidding farewell to Marie who said "I hope you won't take too long on that promise of yours now. I'll be waiting~"
'Yeah, I hope so too.'
Going to Thiers, King was expecting a lot. Were these two heroes allies? enemies? strangers? If they were fighting, was it because of honor? or ego?
Instead, in front of him, two women, no, girls, no, not even, little girls caused havoc, tearing down the tents used to shield market goods and destroying the flora used for the city's decorations.
So far, the heroes that hailed from this world were larger than life figures, demigods, martyrs, legendary swordsmen. All of them deserving to be on a pantheon to be worshiped for generations after them.
King could understand that.
But these girls looked barely high school age! Hell, the one in the kimono looked like she's just starting middle school! The only thing that indicated that they weren't just cosplayers were the very real horns on their heads and weapons in each hand.
In this instant, King's image of the heroes of this earth shattered. Maybe he should've thought better. There are two teenagers and even one 10 year old in the S-Class after all. But those were professions! If these two girls were servants, that meant they were legends!
"These two seem… rather lively, aren't they?" Murasaki asked without an answer in sight, nervously laughing afterwards.
'...That's one way to say it.' King thought dryly as the two servants kept fighting, the green haired girl with fire coming out her mouth countered by… Is that sound waves coming from the pink haired girl's mouth?
King shook his head. Whatever the case may be, what's undeniable was that the citizens are hiding in terror because of these two girls.
And he supposed it was his job to stop them.
'...Even in a different world, I still get jobs I don't want thrown at me, huh?'
The more things change, the more they stay the same. He's accepted it by now.
'...Alright, now what do I do?' Stopping them by force would be the most obvious and straightforward answer, of course. He doubted that both of them, even combined, could stand against Achilles, Jeanne, and Murasaki. He probably wouldn't even need to intervene.
However, that didn't feel right to King.
Those are servants, right, yes, he knew that.
But a big part of him could see nothing but little girls throwing tantrums.
So, his mouth moved instead.
"Stop it. You're embarrassing yourselves." King declared, his voice booming even through the chaotic sounds of the two servants' fight.
It seemed to work, seeing as the scene suddenly came to a still, the horned girls' bone-like spear and fan dropping to their sides. For a moment, it looked like it was going to work.
Well, at this point, what's the worst that could happen?
Maybe they're even reasonable girls! Yeah, they're probably just ticked off because of something petty. They should come to their senses after they realize what they did.
"Hah? Who are you?"
"Yeah! Back off, you… pitbull!"
Nope, that's not how this was gonna go apparently.
'Also, pitbull? Is that supposed to be me?' It seemed like it, judging by the fact that the pink haired girl with horns is staring daggers into him, probably about to attack him, too.
'Well the diplomatic approach is out of the window. Time for battle, I guess.' King thought, seeing the animosity of the two servants rise with his continued silence.
"You all know what to do." King said to his servants. Unlike last time, it was now they that outnumbered the enemies, so he shouldn't even be needed here.
And so, King waited for his servants to strike.
And waited.
And waited some more.
And waited until small beads of sweat started to run down his head.
Until finally, puzzled, he decided to look behind him, where his servants were.
His eyes landed on Achilles, then to Murasaki, finally to Jeanne, and despite their diverse backgrounds, in that moment all of them had something in common.
'WHY AREN'T ANY OF YOU DOING ANYTHING?!'
"I get it, you want to solve this peacefully, huh, master? Don't worry, we'll stay put!"
"I see… I suppose I should have expected that from the start."
"I agree with you, master. I, too, prefer winning without any blood being shed."
None of his servants seemed concerned, and all of them seemed to have faith in the approach that he had apparently 'decided'. Achilles and Jeanne didn't even bother having their weapons on hand.
"I suppose we should avoid hurting them if they are to become our allies, yes. I approve of your plan, King. I'll leave it to you." Olga chimed in through the communicator, the same faith showing through the dark circles under her eyes.
'…Saitama, please come here like you always do.'
"Well, got anything to say before this spear goes through your chest?!"
The pink haired girl's threats were enforced by the tip of her lance pointed at King, who to his credit, showed no signs of reaction.
Because he's damn near close to passing out.
"...Are you mocking us?" The girl in the kimono asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"...No, I am not."
It wasn't convincing enough for them.
"...Elizabeth, let's put aside our differences for now, shall we?"
"Yeah, there's a dog that needs to be put down."
'Well, I'm a pitbull now, I guess.'
A pitbull that was about to be roasted and skewered in seconds, seeing as the two girls rushed to him, lance in the hand of one and fire following the other.
The distance between them and the scarred master shrank, the air blew hot past his ears as he stood still,
But–
THUMP THUMP THUMP
The sound of beating drums stopped both dead in their tracks, a slight distance away from its source. Their eyes apprehensive, they stayed their weapons, eyes uncertain.
And so, just like it had done so many times before, the pumping of his heart once again became the single line between the scarred 'hero' and death.
His three servants looked on from behind, the rider impressed, the caster expectant, the ruler focused.
None of them knew shit, King thought.
For the first time since the girls turned their attention to him, the man called King moved. He forced his feet to step forward, closer to his would-be killers. His arms crossed against his chest, holding on for dear life so his body didn't shake and fall over.
"You two… What are you thinking?"
"Eh?"
"W-wha?"
"Do you two really think that petty squabbles have a place at a time like this?"
"P-petty?!"
"I'll have you know, we were fighting for–"
"It doesn't matter!"
The booming anger in King's voice took them aback, the pink-haired girl's knees almost buckling under the pressure, while the other girl almost fell on her ass.
It was a split second decision by King.
Between the seconds of his silence and answer, he came to an epiphany.
They were just teenage girls in a catfight. With spears and flames, yes, but teenage girls in the end.
And as an adult almost twenty years older than them, he could, no, should scold them for what they did.
Of course, that rationalization did little to his shaking fingers, fortunately concealed by covering them within his flannel jacket.
But if he stopped talking, their weapons might reach him again.
So, his mouth kept moving.
"Wyverns are running amok, servants that will kill you might be heading here as we speak, and you decide to be troublemakers in this city?"
"Erm…"
"Well…"
"Stop with your excuses."
King didn't yell that time, but it seemed that the gravity of what they did finally settled on their shoulders. The girls now knelt in front of him, head lowered down as King continued to chastise them, point by point.
Behind him, his three servants looked on with amusement, impressed.
"Well, leave it to master to have two servants looking like spoiled brats in front of him." Achilles said while using his spear to lean back, as if watching a comedy movie.
"...Hm? What is it, Miss Jeanne?" Murasaki asked, noticing that the ruler had covered her mouth, as if stifling a laugh.
"It… kind of looks like when my older brother would scold me and my sister after we played outside for too long."
"Is that so? Were you a naughty child then, Miss Jeanne?"
"M-me? No, I was a rather obedient child… But I supposed I did run away from home."
"Ha! Which one are you then? A rebel or a saint?"
"...Both, I suppose, Achilles."
The three servants laughed as King continued to scold the kneeling servants in front of him, frantically stringing up words that came to mind.
"Confirming visuals, two servants, a lancer and a berserk… kneeling in front of Mister King." Mash informed, almost sounding unsure of herself despite seeing the scene with her own two eyes.
"Huh, seems like we're late to the party." Cu Chulainn grumbled, annoyed.
"We should count our blessings, you damn battle junkie. We can have more time to regroup now rather than spend time fighting those two servants." Archer said, which the lancer only acknowledged with a grunt.
"Well would you look at that, they didn't even need our help! Then again, with both Achilles and Jeanne D'Arc, there are very few servants that can stand up to them in a fight. …What's that director? The servants didn't even do anything? It was just King? How?!"
'...Yeah, how?' Ritsuka wondered. Hecould only focus on the other master, standing tall over not one, but two kneeling servants, something he did by himself, not using his servants.
How did King do it?
How long had King been carrying his dead weight?
And how could he justify being a master anymore?
Hey
It's been a while.
A lot of things happened to me.
You can chalk the first two weeks to Ghost of Tsushima releasing on PC, had me hooked and didn't really do much else. The third week was tests, which I had to focus on. If those were it, then I could've probably release this maybe a week ago.
But then my phone bricked. Completely.
Lost 6 years worth of photos and my manga history.
Got a new one already, but it stings.
At least my FGO account survived, on account of telling some of my friends to safekeep the transfer code for cases like these.
Losing that almost 4 year old account might actually send me over the edge.
Anyway, on the topic of the chapter itself, I can kinda understand if it's hit or miss, but I have a plan and I have to see it through.
As always tell me what you think and if your review is in the form of a long criticism or question, you should probably comment on AO3, where I can respond directly.
Later