Ritsuka needed some time.
The place had gone mostly quiet now. The audience that had consisted of more than half of the city had dispersed, and for now, it was just them, sans Cu Chulainn and Kojiro.
There was still a buzz in the air, even when the crowd had been long gone and the stage had been taken down. They were just sitting with a few makeshift chairs now, mostly in comfortable silence. The only real sound in the air was Elizabeth's humming, a reminder of the dreamlike scenery he witnessed only half an hour ago.
But those sights remained in Ritsuka's eyes, burned into his cornea.
He doubted they would ever truly leave him.
The songs– The crowd– The speech by Marie and Jeanne– It was all like a fever dream.
But it wasn't.
He perfectly planned all this.
He gathered his pawns, analyzed the playing field, and struck at the most vital moment.
He was the perfect master for the Grand Order.
King stood by idly, gazing outside the city. No, he wasn't just looking outside the city, he was looking in the direction of Orleans, Ritsuka realized, the home base of Jeanne d'Arc's impostor. He was always on the lookout, always ready, always perfect.
Even now, he had taken it upon himself to fix their reputation problem, even when it was supposed to be Ritsuka's task. All this, while also recruiting two out of the three servants misled by their enemy, with one servant of said enemy in tow.
All in all, Ritsuka had done nothing and King had done… everything.
'...Man, I am useless, huh?' There was a mirth in Ritsuka's thought, one that now he had more than accepted, he now almost welcomed it.
Maybe there was no need to tell King after all. Right, he should just quietly resign once this singularity was over. Leave it all to King while he…
…What would he be then?
"...Master?"
"Hm?"
It was Kiyohime, who had been strangely silent the whole time they had been in France.
"What is it, Kiyohime?" Ritsuka asked. There was something on her mind, it was rather transparent on her face in the form of a grimace of… envy?
"...Do you like things like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like her." Kiyohime said, her index finger harshly pointed at the form of the still-on-cloud-nine Elizabeth Bathory, twirling on her heels and humming still. Though, for whatever reason, her humming now sounded less graceful than it did at the show.
"Oh, you mean idols? …Yeah, I guess I do." Ritsuka said. Most people his age did.
"...I see."
Kiyohime walked off, away from him, and to King. There was a brief conversation between them, though one-sided, until King responded only by a nod. Kiyohime then skipped her way back to Ritsuka, smiling.
"I'm part of the group now, master!" The berserker announced, poorly imitating the twirl Elizabeth did earlier.
"...Congrats?"
"So, look at me, alright, Anchin?"
That sent shivers down Ritsuka's spine, but he supposed having more idols was a good thing… hopefully.
"What the hell did you all do while we were gone?"
Ritsuka turned to the sudden voice. Cu Chulainn was there, blood dripping from him like a rushing waterfall, the ground beneath him was stained red as far as he could see.
"Oh, thanks." The lancer said, flexing his suddenly not bleeding arm. Ritsuka's arm was held up. He had casted the healing spell without thinking.
"Y-yeah, you're welcome." Ritsuka said. What if a servant died under him? What would–
"We have a few things to report." Kojiro said beside Cu Chulainn, unscathed by comparison.
"...So do we." Ritsuka said.
"Idols? Alright, you're losing me here." Cu Chulainn deadpanned.
"I understand, but it was really effective!" Mash said.
"Still, you said there were fifty thousand people gathered here?" Kojiro said, the skepticism clear in his voice as he looked around the now empty wide area.
"Hmph, of course! They all came to see the great idol Elizabeth Bathory!" Elizabeth said, dramatically gesturing to herself.
"...I doubt that somehow." Cu Chulainn said.
"No, her singing really was great, good enough to draw that crowd."
"Finally gone insane, huh, Archer?"
"Well, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks! We're going on a France tour now! Right, President?" Elizabeth asked King, who simply nodded in confirmation, causing the girl to squeal in joy.
"I see. So, where and when is the next show?" Kojiro asked, relenting.
…
…
"...Ah."
"W-well, I haven't thought that far yet…" Marie admitted shyly, averting her eyes to the ground.
Amadeus chuckled. "Maybe you should think before you speak next time, Marie."
"I-I know that!"
"It's fine."
Olga's voice turned everyone's attention to King, his communicator, more specifically.
"We've talked about it, and I'm sure that this has been King's plan all along, but for your convenience, we've laid out a plan for you all to follow. Mash, get ready to receive some documents."
"A-ah, yes!"
Sure enough, some neatly stacked and connected papers appeared from Mash's shield.
All of them circled around as Mash began to flip the pages, her face becoming more and more shocked with each page.
Olga smirked.
"It's time for Project DragonFever."
The show was over.
Olga Marie Animusphere felt exhausted. Far more exhausted than she had been just staying awake for the last thirty hours. How was that even possible?
'I'll tell you how, a goddamn idol show in Medieval France, that's how.' She thought, complained, and balked at the same time to no one in particular. The sentiment was shared by the rest of the command room, Olga could see, or hear, as a pin could drop in that very moment and it would be the loudest sound in the room.
Skritch Skritch
…Except for that.
For the last ten minutes of silence, five of them had been filled with the sound of something. Friction was the best Olga could describe the sound, and it had come from her right. She glanced towards the other two contacts with those in the singularity. Romani was starstruck, to say the least. She knew he loved idol shows, and she dreaded the fact that, for once, it might actually come into play here. James… had his shades on the tables, not on his eyes. Huh, it seemed like he wasn't completely emotionless.
Still, it seemed like neither of them had noticed the sound, or anyone beside her, for that matter.
'...Why don't I just look at it?' She could just turn her neck towards the source of the sound… but for whatever reason, she felt that would be a bad idea.
Just an intuition.
So, Olga settled on peeking. Pushing down the embarrassment of acting like a shy high schooler, she glanced to her right.
Skritch Skritch
To find the girl that she had an 'argument' with.
Sketching on a drawing paper, portrait.
"I-I'm sorry, director!" The girl bowed her head low in front of Olga's desk. Tears were pooling in the corner of her eyes, but The Director couldn't care less.
"Sorry? You're sorry?! Is that all you can say?!"
A slam. Sheets of paper flew in the director's office as the girl in front of her almost buckled down in fear. On them were drawings, sketches, art pieces, none of them necessary for their line of work.
"Eep!"
"If I see another one of your… works again, I'll have your position up for hire by the next day." Did the director really mean that? Nobody knew, not even herself.
But the girl could not risk it.
"..."
"Understood?" Olga glared directly into the girl's eyes.
"Y-yes, director!" She cowered, and ran out of the office.
Olga sank into her chair as she saw the door close on the shrinking figure of the girl. She took one last glance at the papers laying face down on her floor, scoffed, and called for the janitors to clean it for her.
By the end of the day, it was just a fleeting memory for Olga.
But for that girl?
'...Oh.'
That was why.
That was why Olga berated her.
That was why the girl hated her.
'...What a meaningless reason.' Was she that unreasonable before? …She was, wasn't she?
Looking back at it now, she disgusted herself. Did she really blow up on her just because she was irritated that day? Using her hobby as an excuse? She almost felt sick.
'...But have I really changed?'
Had she? She was talking about it like it was years ago, but it hadn't even been two weeks since she decided to try to live up to his expectations, to be a leader for Chaldea, in spite of her lineage and circumstances. Yes, that was what she had vowed to, yet–
–She still hadn't bothered to learn the girl's name.
She still hadn't bothered to truly acquaint herself with Chaldea.
…Would she ever change?
No, she never would.
Unless–
Olga Marie stopped peeking, and turned her entire body towards the girl. She still hadn't noticed. It was up to her to make the first move, as it should be. It was her mistake, her incompetence, her responsibility.
So why did her chair pull her so?
Olga wanted to get her ass off her chair, walk to the girl, and then… and then what?
She tried to apologize in the hall back then, but she remembered the swift rejection she got. She deserved it. she didn't remember what she did to that girl, it was almost like her identity was an afterthought for Olga at that time.
But even if Olga was genuine this time… would she be forgiven?
Olga was afraid.
So she was stuck here, a prisoner of her own chair, her position, her fears.
She could only stare at the drawing the girl skillfully and beautifully etched on her canvas papers.
They were… Elizabeth? Achilles, too. Even Marie and d'Eon.
She was drawing the idols.
Olga's eyes latched themselves on her sketches, made with precision and speed, like it was something else that guided her hands. A sketch of Elizabeth posing solo, done. Another of Elizabeth and Achilles as a duo, done. A focus of Marie and d'Eon as the dancers, done.
Then suddenly, her hand stopped.
Olga dared to look up.
Their eyes met.
"I– I–!"
"That's it."
Olga's words cut her off.
"Romani!"
"W-wah?!" The doctor nearly tumbled out of his chair at the sudden call of his name. "W-what is it, director?"
Olga turned to look at the girl, she was shaking again, like she did yesterday.
This time, Olga held her hand out to her, for her papers. The girl closed her eyes and Olga could see tears forming in their corners.
The director eyed her pieces, gently flipping page-by-page until she hit the last page of that day, the image of Eliazebth's first song.
"Your drawings."
"..."
"They're great."
Olga immediately turned her back to the girl. There would be time for the director to atone and for her to know just what she had done, but for now, there was work to do.
"James! Take these to the offices. Have them scanned."
The man in shades wordlessly and listlessly walked to Olga, took the sheets of paper, and walked out of the room. All while the girl watched, confused.
"Romani! Write up a new project."
"P-project? About what?"
Olga smirked.
"Idols, Romani, your sweet, precious idols, and propaganda."
The sun shone on King's face.
He didn't even bother to shield his own face.
It was a new day, with new problems, not that the old ones left.
In short, it was nothing new for him.
"Good Morning, King!" Romani said suddenly from King's communicator, before yawning.
"...Yeah, morning to you too." King replied.
"Last night was crazy, huh? I mean, I knew you were up to something when you cut the communication with us for a long time, but wow! Running your own idol show… Damn! I'm so jealous!"
No, Romani, you're not.
"Also, what do you think of the name we gave your group? DragonFever… I came up with that name, you know? Pretty good, huh?"
"...Yeah, it's pretty good." King said dismissively. He was on another planet.
"Haha! Glad you liked it, President King!"
Wow, from a Pitbull, to a Producer, and now a President all in one day, huh?
What a fucking lucky guy he was.
King sighed. Well, this was him reaping what he sowed, he supposed. No sense in getting mad at anyone but himself.
And by God, he wanted to strangle himself.
"Yo! President!"
King twitched. Getting called master was awkward enough the first time, but every mention of 'President' made him want to rip his hairs out.
"Marie. What is it?" Still, didn't mean he was going to show it.
"Nuthin' much! How bout you? Whassup?"
…
"...Sorry, I was just practicing on modern lingo. I wanted to do better for the next show…" Marie said, a rare, actual blush on her face.
"...We're not in modern times." King said, tired.
"Oh! I suppose you're right." Marie said while chuckling, abashed. "A-anyway! I wanted to tell you that the other half of the team has already departed." She reported.
Right, they split up again. He was to take on the role of… President and hold the shows, while the others would be more focused on a more… logistics part of the project, for a lack of a better word.
King didn't know which one of them had it harder. But what he did know was that he was starting to regret even talking to Elizabeth two days ago.
A humming sound caught his attention.
Elizabeth Bathory was walking down the streets of morning Paris, a few secretive glances were thrown her way as she did, though they, and all of Paris, knew who she was now. She was Paris' idol, and soon enough, France's idol, and the highest respect an idol could earn was reverence from a distance.
Their eyes met, and Elizabeth came to a halt. She smiled at him, genuine and radiant, before continuing on her way, her tone sweeter than before.
…Well, alright, maybe he didn't regret meeting her.
"So! President, I wanted to ask, where should we hold our second show?" Marie asked suddenly, and King was pulled back to reality. He held the sigh in his throat now, he didn't want to be rude to Marie, it was him that roped her in after all.
'Well, let's see.' King thought back to the documents Olga had made and sent to them. Honestly, even the existence of that document left him stumped. It was only some thirty minutes after the show ended and she couldn't have known about it beforehand, so what possessed her to make a fifteen page document about how to properly spread propaganda using an idol show in that short timeframe?
King shook his head. Whatever it was, he had bigger fish to fry at the moment. He recalled the map of France on the document, marked dutifully by Chaldea to show where it would be most advantageous to hold shows. Thiers, Marseille, and… Lyon?
Well that reminded him. There was still one person missing from their ranks.
"Let's go get Karna first."
…
'What… THE FUCK HAPPENED?!'
That was what 'Jeanne' thought of her current situation.
She hung her head low, lest the gossiping soldiers might see the veins nearly burst on her forehead.
Exactly one day had passed since she ordered three of her servants to strike her enemies at their most divided.
Exactly one day had passed since one of her servants suddenly decided to hitch a ride with her enemies.
Exactly one day had passed since three of her servants had gone off and lost even with the odds in their favor. How dare they?
And it had been two hours since her day started, and two hours since a new round of gossip had spread in her ranks.
"I heard one of The Saintess' paladins went berserk." They whispered. "Heard one of em was a vampire." Another said. "Really? I heard The Lady Saint was actually responsible for the dragons!" One almost shouted. "Did ya hear about that show in Paris?" Someone asked enthusiastically.
They thought she couldn't hear them, and she might not have, had she been a normal human. But, she wasn't one, and oh, she did hear every single word.
So did Gilles, as he stood beside her, the perfect facade of Jeanne d'Arc's most trusted marshall slightly cracking, showing a twitch on his otherwise still mouth.
"It would seem that we have made a grave mistake." Gilles whispered.
"You fucking think?" 'Jeanne' growled lowly, shielding her face to hide the snarl on her face from the surrounding soldiers.
She had thought that the last two days were a blessing. No more going to some far off city to meet that man, no more pretending to be good little sister 'Jean d'Arc', no more lousy speeches from her nemesis who acted like he knew her or some bullshit.
But no, he just had to be plotting something to take her down. Couldn't he leave her alone for just. One. Fucking. Day?! What the hell was this all about an 'idol show' and 'country-wide tour'? What the hell even were those?!
"It would be rather dire if we let this continue. We must act to both stop their momentum, and quell these rumors." Gilles said.
'No need to tell me twice.' 'Jeanne' scoffed internally.
"Quelling these rumors should not be too hard. In fact, we must not acknowledge them, if at all possible. We are not here for the long-term, after all. One speech, and they should all fall in line. As for these… 'idol shows'... Well, we have a mole, don't we?"
'Hmph, mole, he says.' If d'Eon truly went to Marie to be a mole, then they should've said that already. Well, maybe they could use it to their advantage.
"Do be ready if that man calls you again. I doubt next time you two meet will be as simple as last time."
The mere mention lit the ground under her on fire, and a few soldiers scrambled to put it out.
"So… you need us to make… merch?"
"Yes."
Olga's resolute and blunt answer only confused Ritsuka more.
"Promotional banners and the like would help as well." She added, her tone far too serious for the subject matter.
"Who do you suppose can do that for us?" Kojiro asked. "I am a mediocre artist at best."
"I've only done it in passing." Archer said.
"I've never touched art in my life." Cu Chulainn said, annoyed.
"Well, I've never drawn seriously, either. What about you, Senpai?"
"...I got an E in art once." Ritsuka admitted.
All their eyes turned to the once person in their group that had yet to talk.
"I-I guess that leaves me?" Murasaki said, her face transparently nervous.
Archer sighed. "That's ridiculous. Caster here was a novelist, why would you think she can–"
"I-I can try."
"...You can?"
It was the most shocked Archer had looked since Ritsuka met him.
"Well, in principle, it shouldn't be too different from calligraphy, which I did study. T-though I can't guarantee the quality of the more, uh, complex designs." Murasaki said, twiddling her brush in her fingers.
Olga nodded. "That will be enough. Thank you, Murasaki Shikibu." She said, before her image flickered off from the comms device.
"Well, that's decided. So, we're going back to Thiers?" Cu Chulainn asked.
"Yeah. King said that he's holding his first show in Lyon to get Karna back too. So we're going to their next venue after that. Build up hype and all" Ritsuka explained.
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go then!"
The mission has been going great. Mostly because of Master King's plan. I would have never guessed that I would one day write a song, but I suppose one's life in the Throne of Heroes would always produce these unexpected moments. If I were to be honest, I had thought the songs I wrote to be lacking at best, but I can't deny the cadence in which Lady Bathory and Lord Achilles sung them, and saying that their songs were lacking would be disrespectful. As such, I would like to believe that I excelled in my part.
The surprises did not stop there however, as Lady Antoinette announced that we would tour France! Not that I am part of the stage, of course. I am far too old to assume such an image anymore, not that I thought I could ever be one! Still, I do not mind being relegated to the duty I've been tasked with. Though… I might have made a mistake.
It's my first time, but… is this really okay?
"Caster? Are those shirts ready?" The voice of Archer rang out, piercing through the door of Murasaki's room in the inn they rented.
"Y-yes?! I-I mean, n-no– …Well, in a way?"
"...Can we see?"
Murasaki's grip on the blank shirts she had painted over tightened. Truthfully, she had finished them more than ten minutes earlier… but, but–!
How could she show this to them?
"Miss Murasaki? Everything alright in there?" It was her master's voice now. Murasaki closed her eyes. She couldn't keep it from them forever. Come hell or high water, she needed to do this.
Slam
"I.m sorry!" Murasaki said, bowing down to a 90 degree angle before the others could say anything.
"I-I was able to make the shirts, but– but something went wrong! I don't think we can sell these! I'm– I'm very sorr–"
"Calm down, Lady Murasaki. At least let us see your work first." Kojiro said, cutting her off.
Murasaki hesitated as she raised herself, her fingers still tight on a stack of shirts with the different designs Chaldea had provided, only in her hands they had been… modified.
Without words, Murasaki laid the shirts on the ground, baring them to the group.
"These are…"
Murasaki looked away, a crimson color filling her cheeks.
"...Kanji characters?" Ritsuka asked. Elizabeth and Achilles were there, and the original designs were preserved, but on every single design, there was a big, almost garish Kanji character accompanying them, both as the background and also surrounding the idols.
"Y-yes… I tried to revise it multiple times, but… they came out like that everytime." Murasaki said. She knew why they turned out the way they did.
Drawing was not of any trouble, a few of her own books were illustrated after her death, which seemed to had been ingrained into her legend, but tracing the original image onto the shirts manually would take far too long for mass production, so she used her Item Construction to transplant them onto the shirts.
But of course, her magecraft was limited only to the magecraft taught to her, Onmyoudo in the form of the written arts.
As such, she could only produce the designs if they were accompanied by Japanese characters.
"They're…"
Murasaki closed her eyes.
"...Great! You did a great job, Miss Murasaki." Mash praised, lifting one of the shirts in awe.
"Hmm… Well, they're a bit weird looking, but I can see people buying them to go to the shows." Cu Chulainn commented.
"People will buy all sorts of stuff when they get swept up by the atmosphere. Don't worry too much, Caster, these'll do fine enough." Archer said.
'R-really?'
Really. As Murasaki would find out by the fact that she was already walking towards the spots where they would set up shop they had surveyed earlier before she knew it.
"Alright, we should split up. There are six of us and we set up four booths, so… let's go two, two, one, one?" Ritsuka suggested, carrying his part of the merch.
Cu Chulainn shrugged. "Sounds good to me."
So in the end, it was decided. Ritsuka and Mash would man the western part of Thiers, Cu Chulainn and Archer to the east, to both of their dismay, Kojiro on south, and finally, Murasaki on the heart of Thiers.
And that was how the novelist found herself as the lonesome shopkeeper with a small booth consisting of tables, a chair for her, and various banners indicating what she was selling. On those tables were stacks upon stacks of shirts, numbering in the thousands, making Murasaki look like a speck among them.
A few curious glances were sent her way, with some of their eyes lighting up upon seeing the banner. It would seem that Marie's speech did spread the word.
Murasaki gulped as her eyes occasionally glanced down to the shirts. Would people truly like them? Did the original artists of the designs feel disrespected by her unintentional influence? Would people really buy them given the high prices they had set?
Eventually, one man was curious enough to approach her, he raised his eye at seeing the outrageous prices for mere clothing items, but went and asked anyway.
"Good day, miss. Is this for the uhh… aidol… idol? Idol Show?"
Murasaki trembled in her seat. This… this was the first time she had to do anything of the sort. Sure, her books were eventually sold to the general public, but that happened after her death. The only distribution she knew of was when she would hand her manuscripts to the court entertainers for them to read to the nobles.
"Ah, umm…"
"Why yes, good sir. They are."
Murasaki's head whipped behind her.
"L-Lord Bune?"
The well-dressed man simply continued to smile at her customer.
"Oh, well, uh, okay. And what are these, then, eh?" The man asked, gesturing to the many stacks of clothing.
"Well, Miss Murasaki? Enlighten us." Bune said.
"A-ah, well, yes! These are to show your support of our shows! These shirts bear our emblems, you see, and if you were to buy them and wear them to our shows, then it would mean a lot for our cause." Murasaki explained, managing to not trip over her words.
"...Alright. You know what, I'll take three for my family. Tell you what, I always thought that Saintess girl was bad news. Just talking but never actually doing anything." The man whispered, throwing sideway glances to make sure no soldiers were around.
"Then, you can support us by telling your friends that we, and the true Jeanne d'Arc will be here tomorrow." Murasaki said, handing the three shirts while looking the man in the eyes.
"That I will!" The man said excitedly as he took the shirts and handed the coins to Murasaki, leaving 4997 shirts still to be sold. The man left the stall and blended into the crowd, leaving Bune and Murasaki by themselves.
"Magnificent job, Lady Murasaki."
"Thank you… N-no, wait, what are you doing in Thiers again, Lord Bune?" Murasaki asked.
"I am heading to Bordeaux tomorrow, actually. I am simply stopping by here." The man said, scratching his thin beard while he looked up and down at the stacks of items to be sold on the tables.
"I see… What a coincidence, we are headed the same way!" Murasaki said. She might not have to do this alone, after all!
"Truly? …Well, then I suppose we could be business partners once more then!" Bune said, breaking into a hearty laugh.
"Are you not busy with the pamphlets, Lord Bune?" Murasaki asked, concerned. She wouldn't want to interrupt his noble mission.
"Oh, that? You need not worry, I've managed to spread it across France. You could even say that I have some free time!"
"You do? I suppose that's fine, then. W-what about those two figures? I've not seen them since, so w-what if you're their target, Lord Bune?" Murasaki asked, her eyes darting to the roofs and streets of Thiers.
"Then I would have someone strong to protect me, wouldn't I?"
Murasaki blushed. "You flatter me…"
"No, not at all." The merchant said, breaking into another laugh, which Murasaki now joined.
"Now… let's get this shop started, shall we?"
So they did.
And the shirts flew off the tables.
Was it Bune's charisma? The way he sauntered up to people who are curious but on the fence? The rearranging of the stalls to make it easier to see? She supposed she was an amateur– no, less than an amateur at the arts of trade, but to see her companion sell so many so quickly… it left her speechless.
By the time the skies turned orange, they were all sold out, all five thousand of them.
"Well, that's all of them." Bune said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
"...You are one slick merchant, Lord Bune." Murasaki said, staring at the now empty tables in the middle of the town square.
"Haha! Would you believe me if being a merchant is not my main profession?"
"R-really? I would have never guessed…"
"Try to guess what it is then." Bune said, hand on his hip and a teasing smile on his face.
"...A duke, perhaps?"
"Close, but maybe in another life I will."
The two broke out into yet another laugh.
"...Well, today has been good, Lady Murasaki, but I'm afraid I must take my leave." Bune said, his gaze directed west, to Bordeaux.
"So soon?"
"You servants can travel fast, don't you? Well, not me, so I'll be leaving early, but we should see each other tomorrow if luck wills it."
"Yes, I hope so. …Goodbye, Lord Bune."
"Farewell, Lady Murasaki."
Murasaki's eyes stayed on the man until his form shrunk and disappeared into the evening crowd, leaving Murasaki by herself.
I met with Lord Bune again. He truly saved me today as I was a true beginner in the arts of trade, yet he lent his time to help me with not just some of the merchandise, but all of them. It is such a shame that we must part ways after this singularity is resolved. He would no longer have the memories that we spent together, and while that saddens me, I am glad to be able to call him a good friend. Though I do wonder how we sold every single piece of merchandise. Had Lady Antoinette's speech reached far more than we thought?
Either way, tomorrow might be our last meeting if things go according to the director's plans. I plan to try and make it a memorable one.
Murasaki's diary closed with a snap, and she returned to her inn, her mood brighter than when she left it.
Two pairs of eyes gazed at her as she left, as they had since she first sat on the town square. A click of the tongue could be heard from one of them before they vanished.
"How did it go on your end, Archer?"
"Sold out. Somehow."
"Tell me about it! People kept coming because we were loud or something."
"That was because you kept getting bored and I had to keep you from leaving, dumbass." Archer grumbled, to which the lancer scoffed.
"A few people recognized me as 'The Dragon Slayer from The East', and they flocked to me once word went out." Kojiro said while rubbing his chin. There was a faint smile on his face. He enjoyed that nickname.
"I see. We sold out too. I… think people thought we were poor kids." Ritsuka said, scratching the back of his head.
"Still… I wonder if we really should set the prices so high…?" Mash asked, slightly worried.
"If we want people to perceive us as important, then our prices should reflect that. Besides, they bought it anyway, didn't they?" Archer said. He couldn't quite comprehend the consumer mind. Spending what would be a week's wage in this era on some overpriced shirts, insanity. But he supposed their hedonism was beneficial to their goal, and there was no reason for him to look in the mouth of a gift horse.
"Well, we did what we could. Now it's up to– No, King will take care of the rest." Ritsuka said, absentmindedly staring at the general direction of Lyon.
Archer eyed his master. Since the idol show, it would seem that he had been more… subdued. No longer did he even make suggestions at their plans, or stubbornly tried to help when they had encountered wyverns on the way to Thiers.
It was a rather sad sight for the previously assertive boy.
That was good, Archer thought. No need to risk his young life when someone as qualified as King could do it by himself. The more he understood his limits, the better.
He was being harsh, Archer knew that, but seeing someone as young as his master being thrown to the fire unnecessarily, he had to take every measure possible. Better that the kid grow up to hate him rather than not grow up at all.
Though it didn't seem like Archer had to worry about that, looking at how resigned he was. Did Archer feel guilty about it? Slightly. Did the necessity of it outweigh his guilt? By far.
As such, Archer was content with the results. He just needed to wait until this singularity was over, and he would only have one master.
"Say, some soldiers passed us when we were selling, but they ignored us, what was that about?" Cu Chulainn asked.
"That is Mister Kojiro's doing, right?" Mash said, looking at the assassin.
"I would not say so. It was Saint Martha that pulled back the curtains on the true situation surrounding France. I am merely carrying the rest of her will." Kojiro said.
"Word travels fast, and soldiers never have too little time to talk." Archer snorted. He knew damn well just how loose the mouths of soldiers could be. He was glad it was to his advantage for once, though. "Citizens are far more receptive to us now as well."
"Well, you got me to thank for that." Cu Chulainn said proudly, pointing to himself. Archer scoffed. Another stroke to the blue lancer's ego, just what he needed.
"Let's call it a day off. We need to prepare to do this again for Bordeaux tomorrow." Mash said as they all went back to their inn.
"...Hey, Archer?"
"What is it?"
"Do you think we can win with this?" Ritsuka asked, his gaze pointed at the ground.
Still worried even after he resigned himself, was he? Well, Ritsuka was an empathetic boy from what little time Archer had spent with him. Maybe he was worried about King, instead, though Archer didn't feel that was necessary.
"Well, with an idol for people to latch on to, I think we have a chance now."
"So, our idols are going to be… idols, huh?"
'...He got me with that one.'
Night had fallen over France.
Yet the lights were brighter than day.
"Say, Siegfried, is that proof enough?"
"...Yes I suppose it is."
The two warriors' voices were calm as the moonlight that had shone over them, yet their battlefield was as chaotic as the lights in Lyon that were shooting up to the sky and the ravenous roar of the crowd before it.
"I can feel Lady Marie in there. I suppose you have been honest since the very beginning, Karna. I'm sorry."
"It is alright, your concerns were understandable. Though, I suppose that means that our battle is over."
"...Yes, yes it is."
There was a tinge of disappointment in their words, though drowned by the levity of the situation.
Their grips on their weapons were still tight as they faced each other. There was an implicit agreement there. They would settle this one day, maybe in a different summoning, in a different circumstance.
As they were, however, there was no need for further fighting, and they began walking back to Lyon through flattened ground and massive holes, now as allies.
Yet, their hands' grips over their weapons remained as hard as ever.
"My Boars! Are you ready?!"
A roar of affirmation was the crowd's answer.
"Alright~! Now, get ready for–"
"For dragon excellence!"
Kiyohime danced past forward Elizabeth, taking the center stage. The audience reacted with even louder cheers. Elizabeth silently growled. Marie and d'Eon continued their backup routine like nothing had happened.
And King? King just sat backstage.
Amadeus and Jeanne were his only companions as he stared blankly at the stage.
'...Looks like people really did spread the word.' King thought as he looked at the girl responsible for said phenomenon, Queen Marie Antoinette, dancing wildly on stage.
This… wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. He just needed to appear for the show's introduction, the majority of which was carried by Marie anyway, and sit backstage for the rest of the show.
All in all, it was mostly a desk job.
"Just you wait and see" Elizabeth sang through gritted teeth.
"This Star is gonna shine so bright it hurts" Kiyohime sang with taunting eyes.
"And I will prove to you" Elizabeth continued, inching closer to her partner.
"That I can be so much more than what you see right now" Kiyohime followed, accepting the challenge.
On that stage, the two idols almost headbutted each other.
Not that the crowd noticed, or cared.
They glared at each other, a spark of electricity running between their eyes. King gulped, the last thing he needed was to break up a fight between them again. And he doubted he could bluff his way again like before.
"We will reach a new peak! Get to the top!"
Thankfully, Achilles was there, and he burst through the tiny gap between the two girls, separating them and continuing the trio's performance. Intentionally or not, King thanked him silently.
Mercifully for King, the song ended just after that, leaving the audience none the wiser about the fight that was barely avoided as the at least thirty thousand strong crowd cheered even louder.
"Well, that calls for a break." King muttered, slumping back into his chair.
"I'll prepare, then. I believe I will be called up on stage after the next song." Jeanne said, walking off.
"I, on the other hand, need a break from this dreadful, unnecessarily intense music. If you would excuse me." Amadeus said, sauntering off outside the backstage himself.
Which left King alone. That was fine, he thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe he could take a break himself.
'...With what, though?'
The wooden chair beside King creaked. He looked at it.
It was d'Eon.
King stiffened.
"Good evening, President."
'Good evening, my ass!' King thought, crossing his arms where he sat, a habit he was far too familiar with in these situations. Eventually, King settled with a simple nod as response, too afraid to say anything else to the enemy in their midst.
d'Eon chuckled. "I wanted to take a little bit of a rest myself. Just a sip of water, but then I saw you, President."
'...Is this how I die?' King asked for what felt like the hundredth time this week.
He could call his servants, all three of them, right now, but could he even do that? d'Eon did not look as strong as Karna or Achilles, but if he recalled correctly, even the weakest servants were ten times stronger than the average human. The red markings on his right hand itched, but who knew if he could even use them fast enough?
So, King stayed still.
Minutes passed, but d'Eon kept true to their word as they briefly went to get a bottle of water Chaldea had provided before going back to King's side. They twisted the cap off and gulped down the water inside, paying little attention to King. Was this some kind of mind game? A way to lower his guard to the enemy saber?
'...Does it matter? Not like they need it to kill me.' King thought, even if d'Eon didn't know it.
King's eyes were locked at d'Eon, the movement of their throat as water made its way through, their closed eyes, the sway of their hair. In front of his potential killer, every movement lasted longer than they actually were in King's eyes. He couldn't stay silent for much longer, who knew if d'Eon would take that as a sign of weakness and strike? He needed to say something. Anything.
"So, I've been curious…" King started. His eyes frantically scanned the saber up and down, they wore the same outfit as they always did, a knightly yet formal wear suited for princes, yet with colors that would suit the dress of a princess. Their hair, long and blonde, yet attached to a face that was more handsome than pretty. Their figure, which left everything to imagination. In all honesty, they had all blended together to a concoction that was a question in King's mind ever since he saw them.
"Are you a man or a woman, d'Eon?" King asked the first thing that came to his mind. It was a rather rude question to ask, he realized, but this was a matter of life and death. He'd apologize later if he had the opportunity.
d'Eon's eyes opened, they stared at King. The knight took a moment to finish the bottle's contents, finishing with an exhale. They turned their head at King, eyes confused but with a touch of hesitation. "...Yes and no." d'Eon said eventually, their voice trailing off.
"So you're in between, then." King replied quickly, but honestly. His knowledge on the topic is limited, to say the least, but he had to keep the conversation going if he didn't want to look like he had his guard down.
"I could be. I'm whatever you need me to be."
'Whatever… I needed them to be?' …That didn't make sense. He knew that he knew little about the concept, almost only relegated to their existence, but he always heard that they were important to each person's identity, to the point that it could be life threatening if rejected. So giving away that decision to someone else? especially to King? He wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility! Nor would he ever be!
"I mean… wouldn't it be more comfortable for you to decide that yourself?" King asked slowly, slightly afraid that he might push some buttons.
d'Eon fell silent for a while, their gaze pulled down to the floor. "...Maybe. But I need to serve my master more than I need to be comfortable."
King's heart fell to his ass at the mention of their 'master'.
'Shit. Shit. SHIT!' He needed to change the subject. Quickly.
"You know, I thought you could've been an idol when I first saw you."King said, going back to their first meeting while doing his best to keep his face as still as possible. Marie too, to be honest. He just didn't want to burden Murasaki with that many songs. Yet.
"I see. Should I be an idol with the others, then?" d'Eon asked.
"Well, if you want. Sure."
"Do you need me to?"
'...I don't know, man.' King thought, tired. He'd damn near exhausted every single dialogue option at this point. "Maybe." He said, that was all he could say with how this conversation was going on.
d'Eon opened their mouth, then closed it, and took off their hat. "...You asked me whether I was a man or a woman. Which do you think would suit me better, as an idol?" They asked.
"Man, woman, anything in between, they don't really matter. I think you can be whatever you want and still be on the stage." King said from the bottom of his heart. Really, he couldn't lie his way out of an otaku subject, could he?
"...I see. Thank you, President." d'Eon said. They stood up from the chair, and walked out of the backstage area.
'Thank you? For what?' That was confusing, but… he survived, didn't he?
King sank into his chair with a relieved sigh and put his hand over his face. Why did d'Eon decide to leave? He wanted to ask, but honestly, he just wanted to forget about them for now. d'Eon came, they talked with him, they left. Let's just leave it at that.
King opened his fingers, peeking through them and into the stage. The crowd was waiting patiently with minimal shuffling around as Elizabeth, Kiyohime, and Achilles talked with each other near the curtains, behind a few stage props that obscured them from the audience. The dragon girls bickered with each other, puffs of flame coming out of Kiyohime's mouth while the air pressure from Elizabeth's was visible to the naked eye. Achilles was off in his own world, admiring the crowd before gazing down on himself, nodding in approval.
All while this was happening, all King had to do was watch from the sidelines, as was the role of a president. Honestly. he could get used to this. He could do without having to be part of the introduction before the show though..
Well, as long as no accidents happen, he should be in the clear to–
"President! Marie and d'Eon are missing!" Elizabeth shouted as she burst through the curtains.
…Ah.
It was dark in Lyon.
Far from the marvel of a lightshow happening some one or so kilometer away, the streets of Lyon were empty, almost abandoned and derelict. One of the only few signs of life was the sound of the concert rebounding off buildings to reach Marie's ears as echoes.
Another was the fact that she was not alone.
"Good evening, Marie. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Her voice was that of Jeanne d'Arc's, her armor was that of Jeanne d'Arc's, her face was that of Jeanne d'Arc's.
But she was not Jeanne d'Arc.
Not after Marie had spent time with the true Jeanne d'Arc.
"Yes it had, Jeanne. Same to you, Sanson." Marie replied in an equally sweet tone.
The executioner, her executioner, nodded. His face was as stoic as she remembered from below, but it was different now. This was not the Charles-Henri Sanson that she knew in life, and there was only one person to blame for that.
"So Jeanne, why have you come to Lyon? I believe you said that you were focusing your efforts on smaller villages and cities last we met." Marie asked, her tone still the normal playful tone she held when talking to those she loved.
"Why yes, I was doing exactly that when I saw those bright lights, Marie. Then I sensed your presence and I wondered, what could my friend be doing there? So I came here, right, Sanson?" 'Jeanne' replied with the same cadence. Sanson nodded again.
A facade, it was all just facades here.
"Although, now that we're both here, I have to ask you, Marie." 'Jeanne' said, her voice sickly sweet. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, huh?"
Marie almost fell. Her body shook violently, knees buckling under invisible pressure exuded by the smile 'The Saintess' wore with closed eyes while she approached Marie
"...So they were right. You are the one responsible for the dragons. You're here to destroy France." Marie said. There was a tremble in her voice, she was afraid. 'Jeanne' clicked her tongue and scowled at the queen. It was all so wrong, Marie thought. That annoyed look, that heinous sneer, the way she impatiently tapped her spear on the ground, none of those belonged to Jeanne d'Arc.
"No, I am still here to save France you see." 'Jeanne' said, chuckling. "And what better way to do that than by cleansing all the filth inside, wouldn't you agree, Queen Marie Antoinette?"
Marie froze.
"Come on now, don't make that face. I know exactly what you went through." 'Jeanne' said. She was close to Marie now, close enough that she could pierce her with that spear end if she wanted to, but she didn't. "A queen that loved France, a queen that gave everything she could for France, a queen whose people cheered as her head got lopped off by the guillotine." 'Jeanne' made a gesture across her neck, her eyes glaring daggers at Marie. There was a brief pause, and Marie unconsciously glanced at Sanson. His face didn't change, but there was the tiniest movement in his hands, his grip on his sword, tightening.
"So! Why not ditch those guys, huh? It looks to me like we should be in agreement. A saintess who was burned for wanting to save France, and a queen who was beheaded for wanting to love France." 'Jeanne' trailed off. She was right in front of Marie now, close enough for their breaths to intertwine, but Marie didn't feel air in her lungs. 'Jeanne' smiled and opened her eyes, different shades of blue met one another. "You should understand me better than anyone here." 'Jeanne's' voice was low. It was a threat…
"...I should understand, huh?"
…But it was a plea too.
Even if this girl with Jeanne's face didn't know it.
Marie closed her eyes. This girl in front of her was not Jeanne, she knew now.
"...I do, and I won't pretend otherwise." Marie said eventually.
'Jeanne' huffed in satisfaction and turned her back to Marie, walking away. "Good. I knew you would see reason. Well, let's go and kill them while they watch that dumb fucking show, yeah? Hell, I already got some dragons on the–"
"But do you?"
It was now 'Jeanne' that froze. Her neck turned slowly, not by intention, but rather as if something was pulling at her while she resisted. Flames seemed to gather around the girl's form as she turned to look, glare, at Marie, and if looks could kill, Marie was sure that she would be cinders now.
"...What?" 'Jeanne' growled. Gone was the faux cheer in her voice, replaced by pure, unadulterated anger.
"I ask you again, do you understand your own rage, witch who wears the face Jeanne d'Arc?" Marie asked.
"...I'll have you know, I am the true Jeanne d'Arc. Not that inferior copy who forgives her killers and tries to save them like a dumb bitch! I am the complete, perfected, righteous Jeanne d'Arc, you hear me?!" The venom out of 'Jeanne's' mouth was enough to kill a man, and the flames around her raged even fiercer. There was no longer any trace of the cordiality she offered just a few minutes ago, only raw anger and hatred.
"...Sanson."
The assassin's head perked up at Marie's heed. He stayed silent still beside the bubbling volcano that called herself 'Jeanne d'Arc', but with every moment, Marie could see cracks in the facade he had adopted, or perhaps forced on to, start to appear. A twitch on the corner of his lips here, a movement of his eyebrows there.
"When you freed my head from my body, did you see hatred in my eyes when you gazed into the bucket? Did I die hating France, Charles-Henri Sanson?"
Sanson opened his mouth for the first time, and sound struggled to come out, but eventually words were formed. "...There was no pain in your eyes, Marie. I did my job perfectly, I saw the last vestige of Marie Antoinette, and–" Sanson paused for a brief moment, a glance thrown at his master, who he could see was awaiting for his next words with bated breath, perhaps unconsciously. "-She had hatred for France, yes."
"There! Testimony from your very own executioner, Marie Antoinette! Do you reject me, even with this?!" 'Jeanne' yelled. There was a thinly veiled desperation that clung to her words now, and panic that Marie previously thought impossible in her eyes.
"Hold on, Witch. Don't be rude. Let Sanson finish." Marie said, her eyes still locked in on Sanson. 'Jeanne', perhaps in rage, turned to Sanson as well, demanding, begging him to finish.
"...I saw hatred, yet… I also saw love."
"...Love? You're telling me that she felt love for her citizens? The same one that demanded her head?!" 'Jeanne' yelled at Sanson, stomping her way towards him and grabbing him by the collar.
"And that is exactly where your folly lies, Witch."
'Jeanne' turned her head again, to Marie this time.
"You claim that you hate France, just like I did, but you don't." Marie began, and she could already see 'Jeanne' start to seethe. "I hated France in my last moments, and even before that, but I loved them too. That's why I hated them, and they hated me. Because we loved each other." Marie continued. The confusion on the Witch's eyes were clear as day even through her anger, the questions she wanted to ask apparent even without voicing them. "Just recently, someone told me that I could be loved just as a woman too, not simply as The Queen of France, and they did. On that stage, I understood their love more, and their hatred too. So did I understand mine. I loved them, they hated me, they loved me, I hated them."
Marie looked at the girl with Jeanne's face, resolute eyes piercing into crumbling ones.
"That is why I can say with absolute certainty that I hated France, because I understood the love I held." Marie said. "What about you, Witch? Are you anything more than your 'vengeance'? or are you just a blind sheep shepherded by something you don't actually know?"
"You… You–!"
"Marie!"
Jeanne's voice rang out from behind Marie, the voice of the true Jeanne d'Arc, concerned, honest, determined. It was really her this time. Marie turned to face them, but her blood ran cold when she did.
There were three of them that came to her aide, Jeanne, Amadeus, and King, several paces away from her. She should be relieved at the sight of them, but there was one anomaly, one behind King. Jeanne seemed to notice eventually as Marie's gaze was transfixed on King. Slowly, Jeanne looked at King, and so did Amadeus– to find the tip of d'Eon's sword threatening to pierce his neck.
"...Hah, looks like he's not so invincible after all." The voice of 'Jeanne' came, mocking them.
d'Eon had yet to move, but there was only a hair's distance between their sword and King's nape, and the intention was clear.
"They pissed me off when they went off with you without saying anything, but I suppose I'm willing to forgive them if they kill that man." 'Jeanne' said nonchalantly.
If any of them moved, King would die.
If none of them moved, dragons would destroy the show.
Marie looked behind her, Sanson was approaching her, no doubt under the influence of The Witch. "My apologies, Marie, but my blade… it longs for your neck. I cannot fight it." Sanson said, a serene smile juxtaposed the sound of his sword dragging across the ground.
"...Your sword did give me a swift release then, but it's rusted now, the innocent blood you've claimed under The Witch has rusted it, Sanson."
"...Yes it has. I'm sorry."
Marie closed her eyes. She had been keeping up Crystal Palace for Elizabeth's sake, and it was taking a toll on her as is. If she were to fight Sanson here… she would stand no chance.
So, Marie accepted her fate. She had done enough this time. She helped France, loved France, and even made friends with Jeanne d'Arc! All just as a girl, not a queen.
She had no right to be unsatisfied.
…Right?
"Marie? Can you hear me?"
Everything stopped.
It was King. His voice rang out through the dark street, casual, as if he didn't have a sword almost piercing through his neck, as if his enemies were not here, as if he was just talking to Marie.
"...Yes I can, President." Marie replied. She could see Sanson stop moving as well, perhaps he was curious too, or maybe it was The Witch who was curious and ordered him to stop.
"Oh, good. Well, I just want to say something."
Marie was confused, and she assumed everyone present were, too. Was he… feigning ignorance? It couldn't be. No one would buy that a man like him hadn't already noticed the three hostile servants, especially the one behind him. Was he just stalling, then? She doubted it, everything he did so far, no matter how inexplicable it seemed at first, was always done with purpose. So what was it now? Why did he decide to simply talk when his life itself was at stake?
"I-I see! Say, what about Elizabeth and the others? I don't see them with you." Marie replied, matching King's own tone.
"Oh, them? I told them to stay."
Smart, Marie thought. They needed the show to go on, no matter what, for France's sake.
"...You know, Marie. I want you to be one too."
"...Be one too?" Marie asked slowly.
"An idol, I mean."
Marie's heart skipped a beat.
"...d'Eon too, actually."
"...Can I ask why?"
There was a brief silence, and for once, Marie could no longer hear the sound of the concert from faraway, only her heartbeat.
"You two looked like you had a lot of fun."
…That was it, wasn't it?
There were no grand reasons why he did this. He just wanted to see her on that stage. He wanted to see her fulfill her selfish wants.
He wanted her to see through saving France.
"I'd like to see you be an idol too, but…"
Maybe it was far more proper for a queen to die here, to not take any risk and simply lay down her life so that others could shine more.
"Only if you want. I don't want to see it otherwise."
But she was just a girl now, she could indulge.
And she wanted to be on the stage too, along with Jeanne and the others.
So, Marie moved first. Then, flames ruptured.
Charles d'Eon de Beaumont was a noble. He was raised by his father to inherit nobility and continue the family name, as was expected by his position.
Charlotte d'Eon de Beaumont was a spy. She used her wit and cunning to infiltrate many of France's enemies by the orders of those who sat far above her.
Chevalier d'Eon was just a knight that followed orders. They had only one path, but nothing of them was set in stone. Gender, sex, life, love, all were malleable for them for the sake of fulfilling the orders given to them. They were the water under The White Lily.
This time too, they followed their master's orders, even if it was to destroy the country they had served, even if it would destroy the world. For that was The Knight of The White Lily, Chevalier d'Eon's way of life.
Which is why when King had asked them to decide for themselves, they could not quite formulate a response that would really satisfy the man.
And they supposed they still couldn't.
It was a shame then, that they couldn't properly apologize to the man they were currently holding hostage.
The man, their 'President', King, stayed still as a statue even as d'Eon's sword entered through the gap between the hairs hanging over his nape. They were too close to him, enough that they could commit the deed before Amadeus or Jeanne could react. One flick of the finger, and their sword would pierce his skull, ending this pseudo-war they had been waging.
Then, he began talking.
d'Eon flinched then, and the tip of their sword almost touched the man.
Almost.
His voice was nonchalant as he talked to Marie, about being an idol, and d'Eon couldn't help but be reminded of their small talk earlier.
Seldom was it that their employers would ever ask them of their opinion on their mission. Especially those regarding themselves. To atone for their sins of their aristocratic indulgence, they had vowed to become a tool for France above all. Their life was no longer theirs to decide, not a single part of it. From that point on, d'Eon never once was the one to decide on who they were.
But they used to.
One day they would play a noble heir selfishly giving orders to his servants, the other they would play a haughty writer who dismissed those lower than her. They had thought it was all a disgrace when their eyes were opened for the first time to the filthiness of the nobles, they thought it was a sign of their overindulgence that they could choose whatever role they pleased each day. So they casted it away, leaving everything of theirs to the royal family, for that ability to choose was a flaw.
But was it really?
"...d'Eon too, actually."
d'Eon jerked slightly, but for others, imperceptibly.
"You two looked like you had a lot of fun."
They closed their eyes. They did, didn't they? Being an idol, or at least their dancers, none of it was part of their orders, and they never did dwell on what they felt on that stage, feet stamping the floor following the rhythm, heartbeat flowing with the roar of the crowd, all by the side of the queen they once served, but if they looked back, d'Eon knew deep in their heart.
They enjoyed every single moment.
"I'd like to see you be an idol too, but…"
Chevalier d'eon couldn't, or more accurately, shouldn't make their own decisions, but–
"Only if you want. I don't want to see it otherwise."
–They could try.
d'Eon smiled wryly. Forcing them to make a choice, was he?
The knight closed their eyes. They couldn't disobey, not now, not ever. But they wanted to try to act for themself, just once. Out of curiosity, if nothing else.
So even when the fireball came flying for their face, d'Eon decided not to move.
Heat seared on the knight's face, embers flew through Lyon's streets, giving it much needed light. It had all happened rather quickly, their body was thrown off King's back, and he turned to them, there was a silent, simple exchange of stares. There was no need for words, d'Eon knew what he wanted to tell them.
When the crushing blow struck their back, d'Eon did not attempt to block it either. Were these all going against their master's orders? No, that fireball was far too fast for them to dodge, and this blow was far too powerful for them to block. That was what they told themselves.
d'Eon made no attempt to halt their body skidding against hard gravel as they made their way back beside their master and fellow servant. The knight glanced up from their prone position. Sanson looked forward, apprehensive, while their master was aghast in the same direction. d'Eon picked themselves up and directed their eyes the same way. In the once dark now illuminated by flame, there were two new additions to their enemy, both with pale hair, one with a sword, the other with a spear.
Karna and Siegfried, d'Eon remembered.
d'Eon cast their gaze to their master, her teeth grinding to the point of sparks and flames. "You two! Kill them!" She ordered, shouting.
And d'Eon could not decide otherwise.
But they could decide on the smaller things.
But what smaller things could they decide in their situation? Wounded, face scarred by fire, fighting against two servants whose powers vastly outmatched their own by their master's orders. There was nothing they could change outwardly, not those within hand's reach, not what they wore on their backs, not even the specks of dust covering their eyes.
Then it had to be something within them. Maybe… their own identity.
And today… she supposed she was a woman. Charlotte, she would prefer others call her today, though Chevalier was fine still.
Today, by no one's volition but her own, Chevalier d'Eon decided that she was a woman.
"...Haha." She laughed. How could she not? It was funny.
It was funny how such a miniscule, unimportant, selfish decision no one here would ever know brought her so much joy and clarity.
She never minded that her identity was changed day-by-day to suit their orders, nor would they mind if it were to happen again in the future, but deciding it herself?
It brought a new color to her life's spectrum.
"What the hell are you doing, Saber?! Stop drowning in your own drool and fight them already!"
…Right, her orders were to fight, weren't they?
d'Eon gazed at her enemies, the lancer known as Karna had his spear aimed at her, waiting for her to make the first move.
d'Eon closed her eyes. Whether she was Charles, Charlotte, Chevalier, or all at the same time, she was still a knight, so she obeyed her orders.
d'Eon charged. Her opponent drew his weapon back, fire gathering at the tip of his spear, and launched a thrust.
In between seconds, the knight took notice of the attack. It was fierce, and done with killing in mind. It would be best to divert her steps elsewhere and rethink her approach.
But he was her enemy, wasn't he? So, throwing herself onto him, surely, she was obeying orders still.
So, the golden, flaming weapon burst out her back, and her master lost yet another servant.
On top of the spear, d'Eon's gaze went to Marie, averting her eyes and closing them, then to Amadeus, who gave but a solemn silent farewell. Finally, she looked at King. He did not grieve for her the same way the others did, but she supposed that was proper.
He gave her the gift of choosing, didn't he? Nothing to feel sorrow for.
It was a shame that she could not properly thank the man who had helped her so.
Golden light slowly covered her form, and she knew her time was over. There was not much she could do anymore, and in the end she supposed she failed her order.
But she felt happy, still. Happy that The Queen would have one less obstacle to save France, happy that she decided something for herself for once, but there was sadness too. Unfulfillment.
Her gaze still looking towards King, d'Eon uttered the one thing she wanted with her last words.
"I'd like to try being an idol too, next time."
Hey
Glad you all liked the last chapter so much. Meant for it to be one of this arc's big climax moments and I sure am glad it hit.
Unfortunately, this chapter isn't as bombastic as the last one. Whether you take that as my failing as a writer or an intentional calm after the storm, that's up to you.
So yeah, mostly a setup chapter, but I did sprinkle in a mini arc with d'Eon in the end. Didn't plan to initally, but the thought came and I couldnt help but see it through.
And yeah, I might have taken quite the liberties with d'Eon's character, and honestly, I tried looking into their chartacter more during writing, but they had the misfortune of being a year 1 servant with only 1 interlude, and you can guess how much that shed light to their character. Their other main story appearance was Agartha too, and in there it was mostly for crossdressing jokes. So again, I took a lot of liberties to fit their character with the theme of this arc.
I'm not an expert in any way whatsoever about gender identities, so if one of you are and something about how d'Eon's section feels off, just let me know through a comment (preferable on AO3).
Next chapter, we're ramping up to the finale (of the arc, not the story).
Later