I once discerned no God,
I once believed no God,
Until I beheld God;
Atop an ebony horse, jewels of scarlet three.
Those were my own eyes.
***
Mephisto should have known something was wrong when he walked up to Crownslayer in his territory, the Reunion commander grasping her hand as it was bleeding and broken. He had assumed there was a fault slip up that occurred when the assassin had intruded on his territory with her small group, attempting to get the jump on one that was larger than hers.
Who could have known that this blasted monster in human skin—damnable pretty boy—was most likely the one who left her in that state single-handedly?! It was inconceivable, and yet, all evidence had pointed to that event transpiring before he had arrived. The biggest telling story of them all, was...
"I expected Reunion to have an upper-echelon with the chaos they've effectively spurred. To think it was an ill-equipped child was among them?" Jugram fiddled with Faust's ballista bolt in his hand. "How fitting. Perhaps your terrorist group is less of a threat than I initially thought."
...Barehanded, he caught Faust's ballista bolt.
Worst of all?
He was spouting shit—!
—Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
"Vulgar language. Now where have I heard this before?"
That bastard was musing to himself!
Mephisto growled, shaking. "Faust! AGAIN!" He needed to die, he needed to die, he needed to die!
A second bolt, same color, same ripple, same prose; darting toward his sworn enemy who would soon dare to tarnish Reunion's mission.
Jugram sweeped his wrist, the bolt he was holding liberated from his hand, intercepting the other ballista bolt with tacit accuracy. The counterforce obliterated the second one, leaving a small pulsing shockwave to cascade across the scene, shifting the flattened grass beneath them.
"Impossible..." Mephisto's face became more pale, his foot sliding back. "That's...! nobody's...!" Death's vice grip wrapped around his neck, making it hard for him to intake air—his breath becoming a torn towel.
Rhodes Island sucked in a deep breath, Amiya in particular looking even more panicked, multiple thoughts about "exertion," and, "heart problems," cycling through her mind. To the point she had almost forgotten about Mephisto's presence, or his sadistic streak.
"Doctor, we have to leave, now!" Amiya ran up to him, grabbing his arm by the cloak.
"You're in his line of sight, Amiya." Jugram glanced back, giving his warning.
"Ah..." Amiya blinked, seeing a glint crossbow bolt deep in the forest, a black figure pointing their weapon toward her.
"No, stay close." Jugram moved her closer, the rabbit letting out a small squeak. "None of his bolts will bypass me."
"Understood... but, your heart—!"
"A chance for seizure, or becoming skewered by the ballista bolt?" Jugram threw in. "The former is rather desirable in comparison, wouldn't you say?"
"...You're right." Amiya gravely nodded. "Then, we've already issued a retreat by Dobermann and Ace, let's go!"
Just as she finished her words, loud growls were heard, the ground in front of them becoming liberated from its bounded position.
"You're not going anywhere!" Mephisto shrieked, expression crazed. "Faust, don't let them escape!"
Then, the strangely inactive Reunion members surrounding them had become animated, in the sense that they were no different from rotting ghouls charging toward them than anything else. The retreating Rhodes Island members gathered around each other, lashing out their weapons, lashing out at the hordes who came too close for comfort.
Cycling crossbow bolts could be heard, as hidden turrets stationed by the enemy started firing toward them. Under pressure, they had no choice but to turtle up together, raising shields and forming a shell while lethal bolts bounced off their shields, scratching them.
Thankfully, the Reunion members with zero sense of self-preservation still charged them while the turrets fired, becoming pelted and falling to the ground.
"What is wrong with them?!" Dobermann found herself becoming more confused by the second.
"Doesn't matter!" Ace yelled out, keeping his position. "It benefits us!"
"A-aside from that, where's the Doctor?" Guard called out toward the two, scrambling around, before he caught sight of him.
Dobermann had found them too, whispering under bated breaths, "What are he and Amiya doing?" She saw two crossbow turrets focus on them from a distance, eyes widening and ready to give the group a warning—
A flash of blue.
The turrets were destroyed.
***
"By my approximations, if I charge in and take their leader's head..." Jugram's voice drew out a dangerous suggestion. "Then the chain of command—will in the literal sense—break apart." His eyes glint, blue orbs focusing on the white demon, sweeping between the mad Reunion soldiers.
Mephisto saw his gaze, the message underneath it, and quaked. "A-attack him! Focus their leader!" He pointed, feet pushing himself back, unable to bear the pressure pressing down on his shoulders. "Every single pawn, now! And focus two turrets on—" His jerking head became more frantic "—where are the turrets?!"
"Doctor..." Amiya whispered, Jugram resting his hand on his blade, a common action telling of when he was about to make a move. "...If your heart gives out again, I swear..."
"Then I'll do my best to hide it," he gave his best attempt at humor. In the end, he was sure it came out dry, but the reassured look the Cautus gave him was... he didn't know how to put it into words.
"You're impossible to deal with..." She gave him a small genuine smile. "Good luck, then, Doctor, we'll be waiting for you!" Amiya pointed her hand forward, Arts charging in her palm with greater resolution. "I'll clear out a path! And don't worry about me, I can hold out on my own!" She shot it without further command, the spiraling mass of a darkened sphere ripping through mindless soldiers.
Wordlessly, Jugram dashed forward, cloak becoming a white landscape behind him as his body cut through sharper than any blade.
His sword thrust forward, its exact path having been made. A Reunion troop—heavily armored as compared to the rest, most likely stolen gear—had dropped to the ground. No injuries were ripped across their body, as the pinpointed attack had been just enough by the aid of Hirenkyaku to cause a phasing effect.
"More, cover him! Don't let him get through!" Mephisto frantically commanded, waving his arm while backpedalling, the retreat wounding his pride more, a blade sinking even deeper inside his flesh. "Faust!"
Another ballista bolt. Another grab. Another throw.
Then advance forward.
Taking into account his current heart's condition, Jugram had decided another burst of HIrenkyaku would not compromise him much further. Once more chance was given to him, and he was going to make the most out of it.
Mephisto saw it, despite the horde of mindless puppets strung in front of him, acting as his fleshy barriers. Jugram priming his weapon, leading it toward where he was, focusing on nothing else but the target marker.
He was the target marker.
Jugram's eyes were crimson.
"You...!" Mephisto continued to back away, forcing all of his horde targeting Rhodes Island to focus on the blonde-haired man. "You ruined everything!" His rage became palpable, a thick lard filled with toxin.
"I can ruin more." He straightforwardly stated, his split irises vanishing, the enemies converged upon his location. He was Jugram Haschwalth, the one who shall take everything from him.
"Damn you!"
Rhodes Island was still rushing to his position as he stood primed, blade pointed toward the retreating Mephisto, unfailingly focused. From the position he was in—even if the world had braked before him—he had already foreseen what was bound to the whims of fate.
So, even when the horde was upon him, even when he saw amethyst crystallizing from the distance, there was not a dab of worry streaked across his body language.
A flash of light, boundless and all-encompassing flooded the battlefield, caressing his own figure as he stood steadfast to his original goal. He could see from the corner of his eye, golden locks of a different shade, but not a far cry from his own hue, vibrant in the zephyr. The exemplar of chivalry.
A knight, as radiant as the burning afterglow of the sun's peak.
The Reunion troops gathered around had all been blown back from the radial Arts emitted, the pillar of light finally subsiding and looping the scene back to normalcy. Mephisto stood there with an ever-increasing madness, a turbulent anger, while relief from the Rhodes Islanders could be heard.
"Sorry we're late, Doctor," the woman with blonde hair turned around, meeting Jugram's own. "Margaret Nearl, Radiant Knight of Kazimierz, at your service. Reinforcements have arrived, and we're here to take you home." There was a tinge of confusion, most likely of the same kind as Dobermann when she had first met him, but she was able to rein it in.
"Thank you for your assistance," Jugram curtly said, attention never once having left Mephisto. "Then I believe we should put an end to this." He had expected her arrival with brief access to The Almighty, and had already used his Soul Distribution Powers on the woman the moment he felt her presence in order to make her previous Arts attack far more potent.
"Wait, Doctor, you shouldn't be so hasty—" Nearl's mind briefly flashed back to the reports she had been given about the Doctor, of his inability to fight, his uniform, and his prestige in commanding.
When she blinked, he had vanished from her sight with darkened teal motes blipping through the air, traversing toward where the enemy commander was.
"Gah!"
The shrill cries of a child was heard, and a passing rumble cascaded across the park, rippling the grass and tearing them from their roots. All attention turned toward what had happened, converging upon Mephisto.
Nearl blocked a strike from a Reunion troop, but was able to see the results of Dr. Haschwalth's advance, eyes widening at the display of sheer skill and speed—along with his ruthlessness that left rivers of blood in his wake.
Something then caught her the corner of her vision when she bashed the enemy away. "Dr. Haschwalth! Ballista incoming, six o'clock!" Her warnings went to heed.
The same purple light emitted from the ballista appeared and then vanished. Its split halves could be seen gliding separately, dying just as it had been birthed.
"Amazing..." Nearl blinked. The files never told her this side of the Doctor.
At the very front of the stage, Jugram stood with his sword having finished a full arc, blood sprayed across its trajectory and some sealed itself inside of the blade, to suffer in its cold steel. An arm was detached—thin and pale—flailing uselessly.
Just in time, unfortunately for Rhodes Island, the unseen crossbowman named Faust had already diverted Jugram's attention with the ballista bolt, giving the phantom enough time to drag the white-haired boy out of harm's way, and avert the lethal blow.
"M-my arm!" Mephisto began to be dragged back by Faust, flailing from the pain. "Y-you bastard! How dare you?!" A multitude of curses were sent Jugram's way. "Kill him! KILL HIM!"
He landed on his feet like a leather, a wreath of gold fluttering. Readying his sword for another strike and giving no respite, he paused when the shadows churned. From deep inside the forests, he felt multiple crossbows be pointed his way. He deduced those aggressors were elite troops.
"You have a good friend," Jugram said toward Mephisto and Faust, the glare of light reflecting off his eyes. "Keep him close." He pointed his sword forward.
The white-haired boy flinched, Faust attempting to wrap bandages around his severed stump while retreating, before an entourage of crossbow bolts taking wing his way.
"Dr. Haschwalth."
Jugram registered the voice, stepping back as Nearl leapt in front of him at blistering speeds, light kissing her figure. A wave of thick needles pricked her adamant shield, bending the light. The light repulsed back, bouncing off the hollow projectiles from the radiant-endowed structure and clattering uselessly on the ground.
"That's...?" Nearl muttered. "Less troublesome than I thought." She found herself at a loss at how easily she had blocked the attacks, hardly feeling any resistance. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "The enemy is retreating along with the rest of the troops, now would be a good time to leave, Doctor!"
"I take it everybody has already come to that consensus?" Jugram sheathed his sword, making sure his heart wasn't going to act up.
"Yes," she confirmed. "We are waiting for you." Her defenses eased, but she knew well enough to not overindulge their triumph.
"Then don't let me be a hindrance." Jugram turned toward where Rhodes Island was, watching the surviving Reunion troops disperse. "You've done well."
"No, you've done well, Doctor." Nearl started to rendezvous in the direction of Rhodes Island, Jugram following along with her. "Though, I wish to ask, you don't match the descriptions—"
"I'm not sure myself," Jugram interjected.
"Ah?" Nearl wondered what he was implying, her face turning to him with confusion evident. His seldom white militaristic attire underneath his long cloak completely contrasted Rhodes Island colors. "Pardon?"
"The rest of Rhodes Island can provide you with the details." He waved her off after raising his hand from his cloak. "That is when we reach a point where we can take reprieve from the incessant battles so far."
"...Understood."
The two of them turned forward, seeing the bulk of Rhodes Island reach the exit gate of where the park was, stopping and turning around to wave at Jugram and Nearl.
"Isn't that cloak difficult to move in?" She decided to make some small talk.
"Hardly."
"Is that so? I don't remember anybody ever talking about you wearing cloaks. That's..." She noticed the emblem on its back. "That emblem on the back."
"Save it for later." He saw Rhodes Island coming closer, a few other ones from the squadron sent for reinforcements also catching up. "We do not know when the enemy will strike at us again."
"I'll stay vigilant. Bear no worries, Dr. Haschwalth, I will be your chariot," Nearl affirmatively stated.
The exit to the park was predicted by Nearl's gallant route, and now they had converged directly with the rest of the group. Amiya, who had been kept in place by Ace and Dobermann, immediately broke out of their grasp and rushed the Doctor.
The two let out an exasperated huff, but Jugram waved them off.
"Y-you're safe!" Amiya rammed into Jugram's chest with a hug, but even with such inadvertently charged might, he didn't budge much. "I was so worried for you..."
"You have Nearl to thank." He drifted his chin in her direction.
"Miss Nearl," Amiya peeked from the side, still not breaking off from the Doctor.
"No need, I'm always happy to provide my aid." Nearl watched the scene with a warm smile, putting her hand up. "We've all made it out of the mire, so let's go."
Dobermann spoke up, "I'm in agreement with Nearl on this one. Though, Dr. Haschwalth, your actions back then were quite abrasive."
"That's right, Doctor!" Amiya pulled back, turning up to his face with a miffed look. "I thought you had disengaged when reinforcements arrived, but—"
"Lecture me some other time," he said. "We are at the cusp of exfiltration."
Nearl raised her hand. "I believe I'm lacking context here, but I'll save it until we arrive at a safer location. Come on, let's go."
A wide berth of agreements were sent her way, as Jugram fished for PRTS, leashing it out with one swift motion. The group started to move, with Amiya closest to him, all breaking off into brisk jogs toward the exit. They didn't forget to leave two canisters of smoke bombs in their wake, just in case any Reunion members were spying on them or tailing them from behind.
They made it to a labyrinth of alleyways once more, the darkness hidden from the sun and encroaching clouds above—from horizons away—providing an enshrouding sheet. A long needed breather.
Once they were deep enough the chasm of buildings, Operators immediately stuck themselves into a specific formation. Backs touched the wall as if glued to them, flattening their bodies against it. Jugram followed along with them, wondering if he should drape his white cloak over Amiya in order to provide cover in such a way.
"Where are we going?" Ace asked Jugram, the Doctor who was the lead of the group.
"This location." Jugram pulled the PRTS device to the group, pointing with his index finger where he was headed toward. "Close to the exfiltration point, and disengaged from possible locations of high enemy concentrations. As suggested by PRTS."
"You're welcome."
Everybody turned to the device, hearing the digital vice coming from it.
"It certainly has sass." Dobermann narrowed her eyes toward it, Amiya feeling the same way. "We've dabbled with it a few times, and it was with the same attitude. Is that its basic programming?"
"Ignore it. I don't know either." Jugram dismissed PRTS, just as the A.I. voice was about to say something. "We have our route, and we will adhere to it. Does anybody else have any other suggestions?"
"None," Dobermann said.
Nearl agreed, "It looks to be the best course of action we can take. We'll follow you Doctor."
"As always." Ace peered over a corner. "It's all clear, so might as well book our way there. Silently, of course, don't want to alert any enemies."
"Then let's go." Jugram pocketed the device. "Amiya?" He turned toward the Cautus close by him. "Is something the matter?"
Amiya, who looked somewhat dazed when seeing the pinpointed location on PRTS' screen, snapped out of it. "Er, no, sorry. I just thought I saw something familiar. Let's go, Doctor, I don't want to hinder our arrival."
Wordlessly, they began to move again.
***
"That bastard, I can't believe it—agh!" Mephisto kicked his legs, feeling the intense oscillation of pain thriving at the bloodied part of his stump, the one with bandages wrapped over it. "He took it... he took my arm, that bastard...!" His blood boiled, running, the pain serving enough decadent food to fatten his wrath; leaving it to fester and swell.
The chemicals injected in him to staunch the agony didn't do much to stop it.
"Don't move so much." Faust, attempting to become the voice of reason in the moment of tragedy, gave his suggestion. "You're increasing blood flow, we need to lower it so it doesn't disrupt coagulation."
"Grk..." Mephisto grumbled. "I swear, I'll kill him, and... and if I don't, Talulah will, I'm sure of it!" He took the advice, even if his anger had not cooled in the slightest. "He can't get away with what he's done, right Faust?!"
"He won't." Faust tightened the last of the bandages. "Don't worry." His fingers somewhat quivered when remembering the blonde-haired man's approach, his white cloak lended by Death.
Too fast. Too fast to react to.
"That's right! We have to alert Talulah as soon as possible!" Mephisto growled. "She knows what to do, she'll wipe out the smug looks on Rhodes Island's faces, those pretenders attempting to destroy Reunion!"
From the side, the Phantom Crossbowmen stood on guard, hearing the conversation silently in the background. Despite the mask hiding their faces and expression, worry was the most prominent feeling stirring in their viscera.
"We need to—" Mephisto's irked voice was about to make a suggestion, but the shrinking temperature around them caught his attention. "Huh? This...?" For a moment, his gored nerves seemed to freeze for just a moment. "Ah, I know this from anywhere."
"FrostNova," Faust completed it for him, not yet taking a glance back as he analyzed the rest of Mephisto's condition. After he had, he stood up. "What brings you here?" He stood in front of Mephisto who was sitting in front of a bench, the Phantom Crossbowmen stepping like curtains to reveal who was at the center.
"Faust, Mephisto." A chilled voice belonging to FrostNova leaked out, like frosted mist in the arctic winter. "I should be asking you that question." She stood, white hair no different from snow—other than it silked as snow would not—a mark across her nose, and silver-crossed eyes. "I don't believe this is your designated sector." Rabbit ears, white like her hair, was the most noticeable feature.
A group of white cloaked men tailed her, fur at the hems of their hoods. The Yeti Squadron.
Mephisto clattered his teeth together, not knowing how to respond. His pride would now allow him to, especially with how much he had pontificated about his soon-to-be-made accomplishments in conquering Ursus' Chernobog.
Faust answered for him, "We were forced to retreat." His words caused a flash of confusion to be present on FrostNova's face. "Because of Rhodes Island," he added. "They were much more formidable opponents than we had thought." More than Mephisto had thought.
FrostNova nodded, swishing her attention to Mephisto. "So you went after something out of our objective and paid the price for it." She watched the stump of his lost arm. "I don't know whether I should be surprised or not."
"Shut it!" Mephisto glared. "They are our enemies, they took my arm, killed our brethren and sisters; and insulted Reunion! They're against everything we stand for!"
"Tell me." FrostNova shut her eyes, sealed by the cling of ice. "How could this have been avoided? How could you have prevented your arm from being cut off?"
"What are you talking about?" Mephisto glared. "Of course, of course, what? I could have planned better, expected more, took into consideration variables—"
"That's not it." The white-haired Cautus had almost felt the urge to sigh, but she knew the gust of ice that would come from it could cause immense troubles. "How could this have been avoided?"
"I already gave you my answer!" He glared.
"Do I need to spell it out for you, then? You could have avoided this whole ordeal by avoiding Rhodes Island," FrostNova clenched her fist. "We already have the Ursus Guards defeated. We already rallied as many troops as we could. Now you—a commander of Reunion—has lost his arm. Let me guess, will you call for Talulah to clean up your mess again?"
The words were harsher than any frostbite Mephisto had felt back in the Northern Tundras, and he could do nothing as he gritted his teeth against the winter-stricken woman.
"FrostNova," Faust spoke up again. "We won't make the same mistake." Resignation was written all over.
Mephisto couldn't believe it. Was he... "Faust—!"
"That's good to hear. I hope he can abide by that," FrostNova interrupted him, nodding her head. "Nobody wants to see you losing another arm." She paused. "But it wouldn't be a lie to say that some wouldn't mind it, Mephisto." Her expression fell into a deadpan.
"Che!" The white-haired boy was just about to spring from his seat.
"Stop." Faust kept him in place. "Your coagulation."
Mephisto's mouth opened and closed a few times, feeling himself be slowly pushed back down on the bench. His gaze never left FrostNova, the Yeti Princess responding in kind.
"The Catastrophe will arrive soon. You'd best prepare," FrostNova gave her last suggestion, before turning around leaving.
***
Moving through the alleyways provided ample enough time for conversation while they made it to their designated location. Explaining his condition to Nearl and her squadron had been requested, though it felt like a repeat of what had already been told to Dobermann and Ace. Still, it needed to be done in order to bring them on track.
Amnesia.
She was quick to understand, thankfully, and had even compared him to a friend she knew who suffered a form of amnesia. The reinforcements didn't share the same sentiment unfortunately, racking their heads attempting to understand it. Namely, why the Doctor had looked so different from what they would have expected.
Could somebody with such long blonde hair, about as long as Nearl's when it was untied, be able to hide every aspect of appearance? It was a hard thought to swallow, especially for people such as Amiya and Ace who had known him for much longer.
"Sorry, I just gotta say..." Defender said. "Nearl, Dr. Haschwalth, you both look really similar."
"Is that so?" Jugram pivoted his head.
"Really?" Nearl turned her head.
"Uh, yeah." Defender shifted awkwardly as the two took a moment to assess each other. The resemblance was uncanny. Golden hair, sharp features, an air of authority—though Nearl's presence was radiant, while Jugram's was... well, more like an immovable wall. "Was a huge surprise to find the Doctor looking like that when we got him out of the Sarcophagus," Defender added, his tone shifting to a thoughtful one. Now that they were out of battle, he had to admit, Dr. Haschwalth was quite the looker.
"Is that a compliment?" The blonde-haired man turned away from Nearl, toward Defender.
"Yes," Defender said genuinely, then hesitated. "Like... really, you ever looked in a mirror? You look... erm..." He wasn't sure if he should be the one to say it.
Amiya completed it for him, "Gorgeous. You look gorgeous, Doctor." She watched his expression, and... he didn't seem to be phased by it at all. She pouted—not even she knew what his face looked like back then, and now it was hard to elicit any reaction from him.
"That's agreeable." Nearl cupped her chin. "If you were a participant in the Kazimierz Major, the folks advertising would definitely attempt to sell that part to the audience. Most likely, to significant success." Her tone when mentioning the "Kazimierz Major" became dour for a moment.
"Acknowledged, but what is this mention of a 'Kazimierz Major'?" Jugram remarked.
He received a few puzzled looks, but not from his ignorance about the Kazimierz Major, but something else. Defender, Ace, and Guard exchanged glances. Two girls had just complimented him outright, and he barely reacted. What would it take to get a proper response out of this guy?
Dobermann snorted from the side. "Tell that to any patriotic Kazimierzian and they'll rip your throat out."
Nearl ignored her remark, tail only twitching. "Competition between knights in a tournament arena." She shortened it to the best explanation she could. "It is made for the entertainment of the people... and as a form of making money. A vast sum, to be exact."
Jugram imagined the lights shining on an arena, two "knights" standing under the showers with their hands spread out, bathing in the showering cheers of the crowd. "Then I assume it is popular amongst the folks of... Kazimierz?" He assumed Kazimierz was a country. If anything, the best comparison he could make was the World of the Living's Olympics.
"Very much so." Nearl nodded. "I used to be a participant." She left it at that, something seemingly bringing up bad memories.
"Don't sell yourself short, you weren't just a participant, you were the 22nd Major's champion," Amiya added in. "I've watched a few of your matches. You were breathtaking on screen."
Nearl's expression softened, but she didn't linger on the praise. "Thank you, Amiya."
Jugram watched her golden tail swish, pondering if it was a bother for combat or not. "Is that why you called yourself the Radiant Knight?" The title certainly suited her.
"Oh, but those times are past me now," Nearl said. "I was the Radiant Knight, but I've been exiled from Kazimierz."
He tilted his head at the mention of "exile" with a beat of stillness.
"It's not a private matter, so you don't have to worry about it, Dr. Haschwalth." She gave him a reassuring look. "I'm sure everybody in Rhodes Island knows about it, and I have already come to terms with it a long time ago."
"Then let's leave it at that," Jugram said, thoughts drifting elsewhere. "I have a question to ask." Temporarily, his eyes settled on the Operator's choice of weapons, ranging from crossbows to melee weapons.
"Is that so? Ask away," Nearl said.
A blade was used for annihilation, as old and weary as the ancient times of war—the next step after sticks and stones had been crafted together to form rudimentary tools. Of course, it had been pioneered into obscurity once the advancements of weapons came to be, where guided missiles could orbit across continents, where ranged firearms could decimate legions of troops in mere seconds.
For supernatural beings who could launch atomic bombs with a swing of their swords, whether it was in the form of a pistol or a sword didn't matter. For Jugram Haschwalth, the same concept applied. What didn't make sense, was how the people of Terra don't have access to firearms, opting for overcompensated crossbows—which certainly fit the bill for their unnatural strength and supernatural abilities.
Besides, that brought him to his next point. The gap between the average power from what he has observed wasn't too far off to the point firearms would become a mere decorative display of how one executes their Reishi or Reiatsu. In this world's case, Arts.
"I see a majority of troops taking comfort in using weapons such as crossbows and swords," Jugram said. "Tell me, are firearms a concept?" He felt a few Rhodes Islanders glance at their armaments.
"Firearms? They certainly are." Nearl was the one to answer him. "Glad to know you still remember a few things despite your amnesia. I'll be happy to clarify anything you want to know."
"I'm curious as to why the enemies we've faced have only used crossbows and melee weapons thus far," he clarified. "Certainly, it would do them wonders to have access to firearms."
The group, including Nearl, all turned to each other. There was seemingly an all-knowing piece of common knowledge between them, as deeply embedded as a traditional belief. Jugram slightly frowned, wondering if what he said was weird.
"It seems you don't remember that part." Nearl cupped her chin. "Well, to make it brief, not everybody can have access to firearms. It's more accurate to say that they are monopolized."
"And no efforts have been made to steal and spread it?" Jugram raised an eyebrow. With how fast the World of the Living was able to procure firearms for nearly every inch of the world, he would have expected the same to happen in Terra. "Or are the weapons recently new?"
"Not necessarily new, they've been a concept since centuries ago, and its cultural significance as time has expanded is nothing to scoff at." Nearl shook her head. "Back to the first question you said, firearms aren't easy to use."
He tilted his head, pondering the relation between her answer and his question.
"To put it in simple terms, you need a high degree in certain Arts mastery to be able to utilize a firearm. Add that on top of the fact that Laterano's demographic—the country which has monopolized them—are more naturally talented at using firearms compared to other people... then I'm sure you can see why it's been mainly kept to them."
Jugram hummed. "So even if it becomes an industrialized product of worldwide proportions, the fact still remains that those who are able to use it, and those who aren't, will still be a segregating factor."
"Indeed. Even if somebody were to steal the method of creating firearms, putting it into mass use would still be a mountain they would have to cross," Nearl said. "Unless their militia or army comprises mainly Sankta, then the appeal for guns would immediately be lost after only a bit of thought."
Jugram stored the new information: that guns needed a degree of Arts to utilize effectively, meaning this world's weapons industry was... bound to be far different from the World of the Living. Whether that meant they were stagnant or ineffective in other means or not compared to his previous world, still remained to be seen.
After all, these Arts could be a large factor, shifting war and battle into means that would be seen as unorthodox back in his world.
He would find out fully someday.
***
The Azazel Clinic, Amiya was able to recall this place. It was the location Jugram had found by fiddling with PRTS—even if he struggled slightly at the beginning. When entering the building, the satisfaction between Rhodes Island Operators became visible. They had all done a rudimentary check around the building, before setting down on couches or chairs which were in a state of disrepair.
Articles of clothing, toys, and equipment alike remained littered on the ground.
Amiya spoke, "Rhodes Island attempted to help them, but we were firmly turned down."
She remembered it, the hand turning up, the solemn refusal. They were paranoid... but Amiya was sure anybody would feel the same if they were stuck in their shoes.
"A damn shame if you ask me," Guard spoke from the side, glancing around the ruined area. "We could've come to an agreement and both come out well, but..."
"Reunion had come their way too, I'm pretty sure," Amiya continued on, eyes coming across the litterted toys, broken chairs, and collapsed shelves. "I don't blame them. Chernobog is in a time of ruin right now, and it becomes hard to trust others during a time like this." Her hand traveled to her heart, placing it over and shutting her eyes.
There was no blood littering the room, meaning they must have been able to leave without being killed or attacked. But the thought that they could have also died in an attempt to escape the walled nomadic city—a non-zero chance—made her feel ever more stoned on the stomach.
"Perhaps they wished to confide in themselves, a form of solidarity." Ace crossed his arms. "That way, they would feel the safest. I wouldn't fault them so hastily, Guard. They've got no other choice."
Guard placed his hands in his pockets, contemplating it over. He heaved, the air stuck in his chest leaving.
"...You're right," Guard admitted with a sigh. A hand traveled to the back of his neck, rubbing it as he tried his best to relieve the stress building up in his stomach. "Just... It's been a long day. Feels like the best we can hope for is to get out of this place in one piece. Preferably, in one piece, I mean."
"That's good to hear, Guard." Amiya smiled, watching the Operator take a seat down on a beaten and withered chair.
"Hey, we've got the Doctor with us." Ace smirked, pointing with his thumb finger toward the blonde-haired man gazing at something. "Commands, fighting prowess, he's got it all."
"Mhm!" Amiya smiled more brightly, turning toward where he was pointing—a different room. "Doctor, how are you doing so far?" She didn't receive a response. "Doctor?" In the immediate sense, worry started to swelter in her chest once more, hastily walking up to him, preparing for his heart problems to occur at any moment.
"I'm well," Jugram finally responded, as Amiya made it to his side. "Merely... lost in my own thoughts." His eyes still remained down, directed toward something below. The conversations between Guard and Ace could be heard from the other room, albeit muffled.
"There's more to it, isn't there?" Amiya glanced up at his facial expression, not receiving a response. The same, not a single change in them. Her empathic connection—now working on him once more—was telling her something else in contrast. She turned down to what he was staring at. "That's a... toy crossbow."
"Indeed." His voice was absent, hand traveling out to grab it, but before it was brought up, his finger tenderly dusted off grime tainting it. When it was brought to eye level, the Doctor's eyes gazed as if they were staring at something familiar—something nostalgic. "A rudimentary, basic shape—with no distinct features."
"Doctor?" Amiya stared at the object with him. It was indeed as he described, crafted in a shape that would be seen only in mock crossbows, unable to fire off projectiles in any mortal velocity. "Does it remind you of anything?" Her voice leveled lower. Were memories coming back to him? Did the Doctor ever have a crossbow? Were there any Operators who used a crossbow that were close to him?
"To an extent." Jugram fiddled with it, his eyes dangling above. Every single contour he twisted across the toy crossbow with his fingertips provoked a memory inside his mind.
"Do you remember something...?"
"Perhaps a friend," he said. After that, he was quick to dismiss Amiya. "As it stands, nothing to be taken much note of." Jugram set it back down on the table, gently.
Her rabbit ears flattened, wanting to say more, but couldn't do so as something else had caught their attention.
The door creaked open, revealing Dobermann walking into the room, arms crossed. "How are you two holding up?"
"Well," Jugram looked away from the crossbow, turning toward Dobermann.
"Likewise." Amiya nodded.
"Good," she said, Ace lingering behind her with a casual air. Atopic loomed in her head, wondering how she should ought to present it. "Listen, about what happened back with Mephisto, Dr. Haschwalth..."
"I severed his arm," Jugram stated, interrupting her. "Without fail."
"Eh?"
"Huh?"
"Damn."
Amiya, Dobermann, and Ace let out surprised sounds in that specific order. Amiya, who hadn't seen the final outcome herself, pictured the white-haired boy with his arm flying off by Jugram's blade, sending a small shiver down her spine. She shook her head to vanquish the feeling, knowing that Mephisto was the enemy.
"The maneuver was a success, and we benefited from it with their retreat." Jugram stated as a matter of fact. "I had already predicted Nearl's squadron would arrive as reinforcements, and that was where I accounted for any risks."
"Really? You predicted her arrival?" Dobermann looked skeptical.
"It was intuition."
"That again..." She let out a sigh. "Still, it was a dangerous move. Amiya expected you to come back when their focus all turned toward you, but you hadn't. Success or not, there was a high margin for error in that chaos."
"A high margin of error for you, but not for me." He foresaw the future with The Almighty, and deduced the best possible actions he could take.
"As difficult as ever, and I've only known you for a few hours." Dobermann became slightly more sour. "Your heart condition would have something else to say with that so-called 'low margin of error'."
"But it didn't come to pass."
"There was a high chance for it to come to pass."
"Alright you two," Ace piped up, stepping into the room. "As long as overly risky actions aren't taken next time, then you're fine with it. Right, Dobermann?"
"As long as it doesn't jeopardize anybody's safety—including his own—then I'm willing to leave it as is," Dobermann relented. "With his heart conditions right now? Doesn't seem likely. Especially since he has been stuck in cryostasis for so long."
Ace folded his arms, a casual grin forming. "I get it, I get it. Let the man breathe. But—" He glanced at Jugram "—you're not the type to sit still, are you?"
Jugram's gaze flickered downward, then back up. "No," he admitted.
Dobermann sighed. "That's what I thought."
"Well then, I guess the first order of business after we return to Rhodes Island is getting the Doctor into better fighting shape, eh?" Ace suggested mirthfully.
"Ah, no, we should check on his medical condition first." Amiya shook her head hastily. "That should be the second order of business."
"Third order of business," Dobermann declared. "I agree with keeping him in a leading position, and perhaps extending a few training courses here and there, but he's more suited for the physician role, isn't he? That's why we call him the Doctor in the first place, lead researcher of Oripathy and Originium."
"It's hard to say that with how effectively he's been acting on the field, you know?" Ace countered. "His memory in the medical field has been wiped along with his amnesia, and we don't know if it's gonna return as rapidly as his muscle memory in leading operations in battle—or if it's going to return at all."
Amiya, ever so silent, immediately knew a second argument was in the making. She glanced at the doorway, noticing that Nearl was glancing inside the room, and leaning on a wall; listening in on the conversation with the other Operators. They must have already finished treatment with everybody else, excluding the Cautus herself.
Dobermann crossed her arms. "We already have more than enough firepower in the Operators under Rhodes Island's jurisdiction. What we do lack, however, is a strategist who can command them with precision, skill, and wisdom." She jabbed her thumb to the side. "Sending him straight to the frontlines to do muscle work would hinder a good portion of his time in the medical field, far more than being a simple strategist would."
Ace hummed. "Good point, but the Doctor wasn't ever one for standing far—and I mean, far—in the back, if you've seen how he's acted before his amnesia." He pointed up with an index finger, throbbing it. "He reacts in real-time, gauging everything in the middle of the frontlines, it's his whole style. Doing a little muscle work here and there to smoothen things out would hardly detract from any time. That sorta presence can't be replaced."
"...You've made a point before, 'what if his medical knowledge doesn't return as quickly,' was it?" She paraphrased, receiving a nod from Ace. "The same could be said for his heart condition, what if it doesn't recover from whatever happened in that Sarcophagus? If we encourage sending him to the frontlines recklessly, we'll just lose him as quickly as we regained him."
"I get it, I get it." Ace pressed his hands in the air. "But most Operators are dissatisfied being led by people behind the desk, just having a presence on the battlefield is enough to get their morale jogging. Win them morale—and you'll go a long way with leadership. It's just not the same with somebody behind the desk, you know? That... feeling you get when..."
"Standing side by side with a leader you hold absolute trust in?" Dobermann noted, receiving a nod. "I understand that, too. But—"
"You two..." Amiya thinned her lips, stepping forward with a sigh. "Please, leave it to the Doctor's choices."
Another voice entered, one from outside. "I agree with Amiya on that one." Nearl walked into the room and stood beside her, catching Ace's and Dobermann's attention. "I believe we should let him decide on the matter." Her attention turned back to Jugram, golden locks following along her neck motion. "What do you say?"
Jugram was standing there, unbothered. "It sounds preferable. I have no complaints." His casual remark—as casual as his etiquette allowed—had a few raised brows, as if he hadn't been testimony to a small argument.
Dobermann placed a hand on her hip. "We'll talk more about it in Rhodes Island with everybody else."
Ace adjusted his sunglasses. "Get their opinions on the matter too? Yeah, seems like the best course of action."
"And, Amiya." Nearl turned away from Dobermann and Ace who had deescalated. "We need to check on your Oripathy condition before we get going again. Medic is ready in the next room."
Amiya's rabbit ear twitched "Have they been waiting for me?"
"Not for too long," Nearl said. "They have been worrying about your Oripathy progression with how powerful your Arts have become compared to normal, however."
"Ah, that. I don't know how that has come to be either." Amiya put on a thinking posture. "Let's get to it, then... and Doctor." She turned to Jugram, who was listening from the sidelines. "I think this would be a good learning experience for you, too."
He nodded.