Pre-Story Notes:
Oof, keep getting distracted by shit. Not gonna make any promises, new chapters will come out whenever they come out from now on, I guess.
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Chapter 13 - A Hero Without Borders
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"What is this?" Jophiel asked as the underground doorway slid open, propelled by the Headmaster's staff.
"The tomb of the man that brought the 'Davy Crockett' to these lands," the elder stated before he started walking into the pitch-black room the moment there was enough room to squeeze through, mumbling a quick chant which caused the end of his staff to light up brilliantly, shining like a fine modern electric lantern.
Jophiel's eyes widened, then he followed without another word.
From what he could see, the tomb was built like a long hall, decorated with fine tapestries and painted stone Norse warriors bearing round shields and one-handed swords. Like soldiers guarding the quarters of an important noble.
Hanging from the ceiling were unlit Magelights... Louise must have accidentally disempowered them when she'd cast dispel.
The air was thick and stale, a fine layer of dust covered everything, but that was the only thing off about the chamber. It was otherwise very well taken care of, almost reverently so. The paint on the walls was unblemished, the brilliantly dyed rugs unfrayed. Clearly, Osmand respected this man a great deal to put so much effort into providing him this tomb under the academy, then going to such lengths to ensure it was so well kept.
It didn't take very long at all to reach the other end of the underground structure, and soon enough, Jophiel laid eyes upon the sole occupant, resting within a lavishly decorated glass casket.
He felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart skip a beat. Osmand's head was reverently lowered, seemingly in prayer, leaving the otherworlder to approach the body in silence.
The colour, the design, the gear… he recognized that uniform. Nearing the casket with held breath, and circling around to get a clear view of the unit patch…
A broken white skull with an eyepatch on a field of black and yellow, bearing an unmistakable name written in the English alphabet, "Militaires Sans Frontières…" Jophiel breathed in disbelief. An MSF trooper… one of Big Boss's men, from Metal Gear Solid Peace Walker.
The Davy Crockett... it looked exactly like the model from the series, but…
With a creased brow, the Canuck took a step back to collect himself. He'd recognized the weapon, but… he had been indeed looking at a genuine piece of Metal Gear technology. He was now looking over the likely magically preserved body of a man that had personally knew and been trained by Big Boss, the Legendary Soldier himself...
"Soldiers Without Borders…?" The Headmaster repeated, lifting his face and giving Jophiel a measured gaze as his grip on the staff in his hand tightened apprehensively. "You recognize this man," the elder wizard declared.
Jophiel simply nodded with wide, unblinking eyes as he continued to stare at the olive-drab garbed man, his features hidden beneath a distinctive black balaclava. He was otherwise missing anything beyond the basic balaclava and combat fatigues.
"...Yes. He's from a…" He wondered how to best put it in a way that wouldn't technically be a lie, but also wouldn't make him come across as completely insane. Something that would make sense to a person of early modern cultural development... "A mythological army, or, what until now I thought to be a mythological army known to my people. One said to have saved the world itself from nuclear armageddon."
The Headmaster's expression was difficult to read for a moment, eventually casting the fallen soldier an unreadable look. "You say these Soldiers Without Borders saved your world from the threat of nuclear weapons… yet he was carrying one such weapon with him. A curious contradiction…"
Indeed, MSF was a paramilitary organization which operated outside of the jurisdiction of international law, had ambitions of building themselves into an extranational nuclear superpower, and hid their operations from the United Nations knowing full well how very criminal their actions were.
A heroic organization they were not. But that was neither here nor there, and Osmand clearly had a great deal of respect for this man to have gone to such lengths to honour him with this tomb. There was little to gain from disillusioning him as to the nature of his saviour.
"He was likely in the middle of a mission to steal the weapon from an irresponsible nation. To dismantle the warhead and ensure it could never be used for its intended purpose," Jophiel offered. "He simply never got the chance to complete his objective, having been… having wound up here."
Osmand was quiet for a spell, staring at the MSF trooper for a moment before closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. "Yes, that makes sense. A heroic organization would hardly be content with just allowing such dangerous weapons to exist."
Silence hung between the pair for a few moments before Jophiel noticed, and motioned to the plaque above the glass casket. "What does that say?"
"A hero," Osmand replied simply.
Of course, the soldier's dog tags would have been written in English…
His eyes widened in realization. "He'll have had a necklace bearing a pair of simple metal pendants with writing on them, his identification tags. If you give me access to the casket, I can tell you his name."
The Headmaster nodded and with a wave of his staff the box smoothly opened, granting Jophiel access.
Approaching, Jophiel paused, but quickly suppressed his urge to not touch an entombed body and reached into the trooper's shirt, quickly fishing out his tags.
"Corporal Dmitry Kuznetsov, of Russia." he announced before returning the tags back to their resting place. "Corporal is his military rank, Dmitry his given name, Kuznetsov his family name, Russia the nation of his birth."
Osmand was still, seeming to ruminate on the words before finally speaking aloud. "Corporal Dmitry, I thank you for granting me a second chance at life. I will ensure your name is remembered, and the heroism of your order known."
Jophiel was quietly looking over the man, eventually nodding and closing the lid before moving to step back-
"The chest at the base of his casket," the elder mage started right before the Canadian took a few steps. "It contains the equipment he came with. Take it."
Jophiel turned sharply towards Osmand as his heart skipped a beat. With the revenant way he'd treated Kuznetsov up to that point…
"If Soldiers Without Borders is truly so heroic, he would want you to be as well-armed as you can be for this battle, would he not?" Osmand asked while giving him a quiet stare.
"...Yes, he would," Jophiel allowed. More truthful was that an MSF trooper would probably just want their gear handed off to their nearest ally, but… Jophiel was probably the closest thing to one of those around for, what, several dimensions?
With a nod, he obeyed and moved to open the chest which Osmand audibly unlocked via magic…
And his eyes widened in shock at the sight of a Colt M1911A1 service pistol laying on top of a black plate carrier and heavy metal limb plates, along with three magazines, one of which was visibly fully loaded with seven rounds of .45 ACP.
"Lord Pholus," Osmand interjected again with a lap tap of his staff against the floor. "There will be time for questions and such later, for now, please hurry. Every moment we dally is another Fouquet has the opportunity to create distance from us.
Nodding quietly, Jophiel proceeded to gear up, equipping Kojima-tech military equipment as he prepared to step into battle.
---
"Armed and ready, eh, Partner?" Derflinger declared appraisingly as Jophiel adjusted the straps holding the rerebraces in place on his upper arm.
"Apparently," the Canuck replied warily.
Amazingly, everything fit. Moreover, everything was fucking heavy. Full-sized rifle bullet-resistant plates which covered the body from the neck down… the entire set had to weigh eighty god damned pounds.
He wasn't sure how useful the M1911 on his thigh, the flashbang grenade on his hip, or the combat knife would be, but… they didn't add that much additional weight altogether, and better to have something and not need it than otherwise.
Luckily, the runes would take care of that when things got heated, if Derflinger was to be believed.
"And you're sure Louise will be fine?" Jophiel asked again worriedly.
Osmand replied again, wearily. "I assure you, Lord Pholus, the young lady merely suffered Soul depletion and will have made a full recovery after a good night's sleep, you needn't worry about her so."
Were it so easy.
At any rate… as the pair approached the pursuit party, all eyes were drawn to Jophiel, understandably enough. A deep black fabric tactical plate carrier with enormously thick full-limb plates which wouldn't look out of place on power armour on his arms and legs in an utterly alien style to their own armour aesthetics…
If he stuck out when he initially arrived with his out-of-place olive drab fatigue jacket, black denim jeans and black hiking boots… well, now he was a fully armoured Hideo Kojima soldier in an early modern fantasy setting.
The lack of a helmet was already driving him up the wall though.
"Armour from my culture," he immediately interjected before questions could be raised from those gathered as he stepped into the crowd. "No time for questions, we've got to catch Fouquet. So what's the plan?"
The tiny albino girl with the massive shepherd's crook staff motioned towards him using said staff before speaking up with absolutely no inflection whatsoever, her face displaying all the raw emotion of a zucchini. "You, ride Sylphid with me. Strongest, powerful magic, best chance against a Square class."
Jophiel's eyebrows cocked in surprise and confusion at that. "Sylphid?" He asked inquisitively as he shifted his weight somewhat.
She redirected her staff to the top of the fortress walls… upon which was perched a large blue six-limbed dragon, staring down upon the gathering with massive solid emerald green eyes glimmering with a curious gleam.
He was expected to ride… a dragon. With no safety measures to speak of. Not even a saddle by the looks of it.
"...Ah," Jophiel started with wide-eyed apprehension. "I… I see."
That would prove utterly terrifying.
He shook his head and turned aside to face Osmand. "I'm sure you intend to join the pursuit, yes?"
"If you intend for me to serve as a suicide distraction, I suppose I could," Osmand began, tiredly playing with his pipe in his free hand. "I used up almost all of my Soul producing magic to hold up the academy main building, and the same applies to all of the school staff save for those in our immediately company Lord Pholus. I will not be able to cast a worthwhile combat spell for twenty-four hours, at minimum, I'm afraid."
He'd mentioned that before… was the Academy building really so architecturally unsound? Just how much did these people rely on magic for the absolute basics of their society?
"...I see," Jophiel began with a displeased sigh. "So, altogether, who's going after Fouquet?"
The actually kind of cute pocket-sized albino girl, Guiche, Kirche, and a few of the armoured guardsmen held their wands, staves, and swords aloft.
"I-I would not dare bring shame to my family name by standing aside while such a grave danger stalks my nation's countryside!" Guiche melodramatically declared as a conveniently timed gust of wind caused his curly golden locks to billow majestically. "You have my wand, Lord Pholus!"
Nobody seemed particularly impressed by his theatrics as Kirche piped up next. "The fires of my burning passion have been stoked, and I'll not sleep through this event like some glorified side-character in a penny dreadful! My flames shall kiss the criminal Fouquet and leave him scorched!" She triumphantly and confidently asserted, making a point to cast a hand through her long, silken parrot red hair as she stood with a hand on her wide hips.
Jophiel simply blinked, however. 'Penny dreadful' was a term that originated in the 19th century United Kingdom- and he should probably not think too hard about Kirche's usage of it and just assume it was the translation magic doing its thing.
The tiny albino girl blinked her red eyes once. "Already said I'll help," she intoned unenthusiastically.
Jophiel blinked right back at her owlishly. This wasn't the sort of behaviour he'd come to expect from nobles. "...I actually have yet to learn your name, miss…?" He began.
"Tabitha," she replied coolly.
A moment passed as he waited for her to finish.
She just stood in silence.
"...Tabitha…?" He pressed, expecting to get a full name out of her.
"Just Tabitha," she replied as she stood in place like a particularly bored mannequin, blinking her large bespectacled doe-like eyes.
"...I see," Jophiel said, not sure what to think of that.
"Miss Tabitha is a Chevalier, Lord Pholus," Osmand interjected with an attention-grabbing wave of his staff and an authoritative, reassuring tone. "Meaning her martial prowess is recognized by the crown itself. You need not worry yourself about her worth as an ally."
The Canuck nodded at the affirmation, and directed his attention to the four guardsmen that were also present.
It took them a moment to realise that he seemed to be expecting something out of them, as the most decorated one jumped when he noticed the attention and elbowed the rest into attentiveness as well.
It took them a moment, and a bit of staring from the gathered nobles for them to share a few looks and gather that they were expected to say something as well.
"...We'll kick his arse!" The shortest one declared, to which the other three nodded and cheered in agreement, raising their spears and swords into the air.
The gathered nobles looked particularly unimpressed by the crass declaration with the exception of Tabitha, who just continued to look bored, but shook it off with an amused grin on Kirche's part.
"...I will also accompany the party," Colbert suddenly, but quietly spoke up from his spot to the side of the party.
All gathered looked surprised by the statement, none quite so much as Osmand, who looked rather taken aback as he quickly shuffled over to the Fire magic teacher.
"Stephen, what's gotten into you?" He asked in a hushed tone as he sequestered Colbert away from the group hurriedly. "You know that you can't-"
He was cut off by distance, leaving the group standing alone, looking among themselves-
"And I thought you looked big to begin with," Kirche started while sidestepping a bit closer to Jophiel with a lecherous smile plastered on her face. "That armour makes you look positively enormous, powerful. I like it…" She purred while batting her long lashes at him.
Jophiel blinked owlishly again, this time at her. "...Why? This armour's actually kind of unpleasantly heavy and cumbersome." He stated in a thoroughly confused tone, adjusting his over-weighted arm as he did so.
Everyone just stopped, and collectively took a moment to turn and look at Jophiel with wide, dumbstruck eyes.
Kirche herself was visibly caught off guard, but seemed to recover quickly enough with her grin redoubling. "Oh, yet you seem to unbothered by the weight of such heroic armour… you must be remarkably strong, strong enough to hold someone up for extended periods while engaging in virile exercise, yes?" The tall exotic Germanian asked with all the subtlety of a charging bull as she leaned over in a way that would give Jophiel a perfect view down her bountiful cleavage.
The gathered men were giving Jophiel envious or resentful looks, until he responded.
"...I see what you're implying," he started, his eyes narrowing almost sensually- "I'm not carrying Fouquet back here when we catch him. One of you can levitate him back." Except he had actually been narrowing them accusingly.
Kirche was flabbergasted, while Guiche and the guardsmen's mouths were simply hanging wide open like fishes out of water.
"...You can't be serious right now," the dusky-skinned woman stated in a disbelieving tone.
"None of you are invalids," Jophiel declared as he crossed his arms in front of his arms defiantly. "And I am no beast of burden. Leash him to the dragon with ropes if need be, but I will not be denigrated in such a manner."
Several moments passed in utter, stupefied silence.
Then Tabitha pointed her crook of a staff directly at Jophiel and declared: "Immune," then pointed it at Kirche and inquired: "or ineffectual?"
Kirche's passion returned in full force, though now directed at the little white-haired girl an entire head shorter than her through gritted teeth. "What did you just say you little-" She started furiously.
Only to be cut off by Osmand stomping back into the circle with his brows knitted in plain fury. "Lord Pholus, Miss Tabitha" he began in a very measured, low tone. "We must have words before you all depart. Now." His tone brooked no argument, and so Jophiel obeyed without missing a beat as he was lead away from the group and Colbert, as did the tiny pale-skinned girl.
"What's the matter?" Jophiel asked in a concerned tone, his fists clenching apprehensively.
"Fouquet is Matilda Longueville," he stated matter-of-factly.
Jophiel's eyes widened as he stared back down at Osmand, his nostrils flaring in-
"...Who?"
Confusion.
Osmand's expression fell blank for a moment before he facepalmed at the response. "My secretary," the Headmaster clarified.
It took him another moment to realise who the elder was talking about. "Oh… oh! Oh shit, really? How do you know?"
"Stephen knew," Osmand began again, throwing a particularly venomous glance Colbert's way, the fire teacher standing aside with a thoroughly guilty look on his face. "Intercepted a message she'd sent to her employers two weeks ago…"
It was Jophiel's turn for his mouth to hang open before it snapped shut and he leaned in towards the Headmaster and hissed a response. "What!? Why in God's name didn't he say anything!?"
Osmand took a deep, calming breath before replying. "He intended to capture her in the act himself, for the 'glory' of it," he practically spat the word out. "And as a consequence, were he anyone else I'd turn him in for being an accomplice to all of this, but…"
The elderly wizard looked back to regard Colbert for a moment before continuing.
"Well, simply put…"
"Trustworthy?" Tabitha interjected, giving Colbert a measured stare from beside Jophiel.
"...He was grossly negligent, but not malicious," Osmand explained through gritted teeth. "Plus, considering that… to be blunt, I am uncertain that you two can be trusted to defeat Longueville- Fouquet- the thief," he spat out the term, "without killing her. We need an experienced warrior on the field, one that is proven against fellow Square-classes."
Jophiel cocked an eyebrow at Osmand at that statement. "Firstly, why are you specifying Tabitha and myself? Secondly, Colbert is a Square-class!?" He pressed in shock.
Osmand gave Jophiel a heavily-lidded stare. "Lord Gramont and Lady Augusta are both quite unproven from what I know, and the guardsmen are mere Line-classes. While their aid is appreciated, I don't expect them to serve as much more than support or distractions for yourself, Miss Tabitha, and Stephen against a Square-class… and yes, Lord Jophiel, he is a Square-class-"
"Headmaster!" Colbert interjected with wide, concerned eyes as he damn near leaped out of his skin out of the blue. "Fouquet has spotted Sam, they know we're watching and have started fleeing in earnest!"
"Brimir's raging cock!" Osmand suddenly and furiously declared as he slammed the butt of his staff into the ground angrily. "You three, after Fouquet at once! The others will pursue on droogback immediately!"
As Jophiel sputtered and cursed ineffectually at how the situation just went from bad to worse, Tabitha motioned to the top of the walls, and her big blue dragon easily large enough to hold all three of them comfortably hopped from its perch with a mighty leap and a loud crash.
"Get on," the girl declared as the smooth-scaled beast lowered to the ground, and bopped the dragon on the head with her staff when it moved to return to its full height once she was on. "Stay down, extra passengers."
The dragon protested with a rather unexpectedly adorable high-pitched cry of "Kyuu!" and a disgruntled shake of its head as it remained low on the ground.
"You two go on ahead," Colbert shot at the pair as he moved for the main party. "I will follow with the rest of the group, they will be grossly underpowered for handling a Square-class on their own if Fouquet tricks us and the runners encounter them alone."
Jophiel paused, uncertain about the plan, when Osmand cut in.
"Fine! Just hurry, Sylphid is our only hope of catching the thief before they get away! Move damn it!" The old wizard commanded in a rushed, agitated voice.
Jophiel nodded, and rushed over to the dragon…
The dragon he'd be riding without a seatbelt, saddle, or any kind of noticeable safety measures…
"Get on," Tabitha repeated to Jophiel, bored as ever.
"W-what am I supposed to hang on to?" He asked with much uncertainty.
"Me," she declared matter-of-factly.
That… didn't sound particularly safe-
"Have you gone daft!? Move damn it!" Osmand bellowed out at the back of the Canuck, who was quickly spurred into damn near leaping onto the dragon's back and wrapping his arms around the very slight waist of the girl that was much smaller than him, even more so than Louise.
He'd actually be able to rest his chin on the top of her head if he'd wanted to.
With a jerk of sudden G-forces Jophiel hadn't been expecting, Sylphid launched herself off the ground and into the air with a powerful flap of her massive wings, eliciting a terrified scream from the man as he desperately clung to Tabitha for dear life and his sword laughed at his misfortune quite heartily.
Tabitha, for her part, was really wishing that he'd remained on the ground and that the idiot gloryhound had chosen to fly with her instead as wind whipped around them, her form stuck to her familiar's back with a simple and effective spell while the academy rapidly shrunk beneath them.
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