We found her, unconscious inside a tomb. The doctors said that there was nothing wrong with her, but she showed no signs of waking up. I will check up on her later.
She looked pale. Almost like a corpse. Her body was cold. There’s something wrong with her, I can feel it. I’m afraid. Everyone said that she will be okay, even the doctors. They said she was breathing fine, but I don’t think I could feel anything from her. I don’t know what to think.
Is she dead? No, she can’t be. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s my chalice. It messes up your senses at times. Even Nicole said so. It’s just it. She’s alive. The doctors know more about the human body than me. I must trust them.
Forgot to mention: The puppets are gone. No idea why.
Entry; 24th August 1918. Kamlann, Leo.
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“Great as ever, Sebastian.” Said the black haired lady to the butler, standing by her side. She sat gracefully, alone in the mansion’s living room while sipping her green tea that was imported straight from the mountains of Yunnan. Rather than the phonograph, the sounds of a radio broadcaster filled the room with noise, owing to the lady’s rather wild and populist preferences. This was not the common treatment, of course. Her frequent visits to the house made servants remember every bit of her taste.
“Thank you, Madam Kattar. Your compliments are always the most welcome.”
“You flatter me, Sebastian. I barely look like a proper lady. You should be more relaxed while around me.”
The butler smiled, simply bowing his head in reply.
The room was now only filled with the songs from the radio once more as the two enjoyed the ambience once more. The faint fragrance of green tea filled the room with a calming atmosphere. It was especially helpful to Nicole who was almost dead in her chair despite being as elegant as ever.
“So,” started Nicole, “How is he?”
“Unfortunately, master has told us to not share his condition.”
“That bad?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”
The lady sighed. The man’s loyalty was both incredibly frustrating and admirable. “Is he still using that shiny cup then?”
“Yes, sadly.”
“He’s almost sixty but he’s still in peak human condition. His energy output is still high as ever. Doesn’t take any sleep or breaks, but barely shows any signs of fatigue,” she rested her head back, the taste of the tea still lingering inside her mouth, “He’s overusing it. He’ll implode any second.”
“His death would be nothing but a waste. Not in the battlefield, but in either a hospital bed or his desk, dying from a ‘disease’ that nobody understands. It’s like his brain cells drop to zero whenever anyone tries to take care of him.”
“I am sure that he knows more about himself than anyone, madam.”
“Hm? Sure, I will take comfort from knowing that my oldest friend is a suicidal asshole who would ignore any future consequences that could happen to himself simply because he thinks it’s worth the risk. It’s not like I know more than him.”
“We need to trust him, madam. Master is a little too selfless at times, but he has shown time and time again that his ways are the most effective.”
“We don’t need him to be effective. We need him alive and well. The war is over. He can retire all he wants. There’s enough good people that he can trust to lead the army. If they return while he’s still in this condition, he’s endangering everyone.”
“Is that why you brought her here?”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, exasperated, “If there’s something that could kick that head of his is the fact that his daughter is safe and sound. And even then, I don’t even know if that’ll work.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a silly woman who tries too much to take care of the most dangerous man in the world. Hell, I don’t even know him anymore. The only two things he exists for is to protect this world and his daughter. Outside of that… He’s just a stranger wearing his face.”
Sebastian stood still, his face emotionless. He didn’t respond, simply letting the ambience dissolve the silence. He has a lot to say, she knew that. He has been serving Francis for 20 years after all.
Nicole simply took another sip of her cooled tea, content on waiting for the events that transpired next.
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Time stopped. Her mind raced. Her heart beats fast. She wasn’t even supposed to feel that, but she felt them anyway. A thousand emotions flooded into her, even the ones she didn't know existed. Her eyes met her father’s brown, his dumbfounded expression showed everything she needed to know about what he felt. Just for a few fleeting moments, they stood still, simply staring at each other in silence.
Alma gulped. “Good morning… Father,” she said, starting their conversation.
Her father seemed to have frozen, seemingly not listening to Alma’s words. He looks surprised, happy, and somehow, scared.
“Father?”
“I-Is that you, Alma?”
“Y-Yes, father.”
“W-Why are you here? How are you here?”
“I…” Alma hesitated, her thoughts being taken over by thousands of what ifs, “I wanted to talk. General Kattar brought me here.”
“I-I know you’ve just woken up. Are you fine?” Asked Francis, breathless.
“I… I’m fine. I just woke up yesterday. The doctors haven’t given me extensive reports, but so far I’m okay.”
“That’s… Good. Yeah. That’s good.”
A wave of relief washed over him. Her father looked at her, as if examining her every move. They both stayed in their awkward silence, neither continuing their conversation. For once, she had the chance to take a good look at her father. He looked old and tired. Wrinkles decorated his face like wild grass in an unkempt garden. His black eye bags showed signs of overexertion, covering a huge portion of his face.
“H-How about you, father? People keep saying that you’ve overworked yourself… Are you okay?”
“Me?” Francis replied, taken aback by her question, “I don’t know if I’ve overworked… But I’m fine. Thank you for asking me, Alma.”
Her father smiled. It was just a slight smile, the edge of his lips pulling upwards just a tiny bit.
“S-So, what did you come here to talk about?”
There was a slight hesitation in his voice. He looked more comfortable, but Alma knew that there’s still wariness inside his mind. Alma took a deep breath. Anything could happen from now on.
“The puppets,” she started, steeling herself, “what happened to them?”
Her father let out a sigh. “I expected you to ask that. Before I continue, can I ask something?”
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Alma nodded softly.
“After everything that has happened… Will you still fight them if they return?”
She looked at her father’s eyes, pleading at her. She saw it ten months ago, before their last assault. It was not a strange sight by any means, as she sees this expression before every precarious mission. Every time, she just ignored it and continued with her orders, being the good soldier that she is.
A father only wants his child’s safety and happiness. The butler’s words rang inside her head. Neither was an option for her, much less the two of them.
She was an awful daughter.
“I… I can’t run away. If they--no, when they come back, I must fight them in the frontlines.”
She saw her father’s face, his smile turning into a frown.
“Why?”
“I’ve devoted so much. Everything I’ve done in my life was so I could destroy them. I can’t quit.”
“And what are you going to do now?”
“I’ll prepare for them. I’ll get better. When-”
“You’re a defect, Alma. You can’t get stro-”
“And that means I can’t stand in the frontline?” replied Alma, raising her voice. “I got to this point by my own strength, father. I’ve fought countless times. I can get stronger. I can fight them.”
She was strong. She knew that. Even if it wasn’t hers, it was hers to use.
“You’ll die,” said Francis, his expression darkening as he tightens his jaw.
“So will you, father!” she shouted, her voice echoing around the room. Their gazes stared straight into one another, both filled with bottled up feelings, “You’ve overworked yourself to death! Look at you! You think I didn’t realize, father?! What would mom say if she saw you now?!”
Her father’s face darkens even further, anger now fully shown in his face, “Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t act like I’m wrong, father. You’re doing this for her after all.”
Her words resonated around the room as a tense silence permeated around them. Neither of them dared to look at anything as they stared across the room. Time stopped and their surroundings expanded infinitely. There was nothing between them. Only their pride and feelings remain.
“Fine,” said Francis, still clenching his fists, “if you truly want to die in battle, then show me.”
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He stared at his daughter standing in front of him. She wore a white short sleeved shirt and brown trousers while her short, brown hair was let loose. There were countless small scars riddled on her face and skin, but the most noticeable one was the slash across her nose, sticking out like a sore thumb. She took a strong stance, holding a dull claymore with two hands.
It felt like a dream. If her hair was blond, it would’ve felt like he was looking at his wife who returned back to life.
Except, she was not.
Her skin was as pale as a pile of ash and her body looked thin and malnourished. A faint stench of blood and rotting flesh came from her. A single glance at her made him feel the massive urge to destroy and kill, something he has been holding back.
He felt a breeze of wind tickling his skin, softly shaking the grass and the leaves. They stood across each other in his yard, free from any prying eyes. He saw his daughter’s expression harsh and focused, as if she was a tiger looking at her prey. Ready to pounce and kill in a moment’s notice. He could only return the favor. He flared up his energy, ready to create and shoot the flaming rocks he was known for.
“Alma,” he called out, getting his daughter’s attention. “When I win, you will tell everything that happened to you.”
The young woman narrowed her eyes, “What do you mean?”
“Don’t try hiding it. Something happened to you. Someone who is alive and well doesn't look like that.”
“Very well.” She said, adjusting her grip.
Then, a flash.
In a split second, he formed a stone pillar to block Alma’s overhead swing. She was faster than he had expected. She was now in front of his face, her furious expression fully visible. His stone pillar and her claymore pushing against one another.
“Then if I win, father, you will retire,” there was an intense ferocity in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen in anyone for a long time, “and you will tell me everything you know. Especially about that chalice.”
What?
With a burst of strength, Alma pushed him backwards, destroying the stone pillar. She rushed him down again. This time, she held her sword back, ready to thrust. He channeled energy to his legs, empowering it. he jumped to his right side, dodging her attack. That was not enough. She will keep closing in on him.
He swayed his hands, summoning forth tiny pebbles of gunpowder. Then, with a snap of his fingers, they exploded and sparked, burning the grass around. He had her distracted, stopping her charge.
That wasn’t enough. He can’t run away. No matter how much range he gained, it’s only a matter of time before she closes in once again. If that happens, it won’t be too long before she’ll manage to trap him. He underestimated her physical ability.
She was recovering. He needed to be fast. He transferred a trickle of energy to the ground, trapping both of her feet. She was still on her stance, ready to dodge and deflect anything that comes her way. He can’t just rush in. Flicking his left hand, a flurry of rocks bursted from the ground, which she dodged backwards with ease.
She managed to deflect and dodge all of them, but it did what the rocks set out to do--setting her off balance. Reinforcing the muscles of his body, he rushed in with the full intent of finishing her.
He was so close. Despite her ugly pale skin, he could clearly see her expression and his reflection on her eyes. There was no fear. There were only the cold, calculating thoughts of a proficient warrior. Then, he felt something on his ribs. An impact, a bruise on his chest. It threw him to the side, a few meters away. His clothes were now dirty from the ground he landed upon. Had the punch landed on his jaw, he would’ve lost the fight in an instant.
She was physically strong enough to break herself free from his trap. It took a good combat caster to free themselves from one of his. Clearly, something had happened to her. Something abnormal.
They stayed still, both on their knees. He was on his knees gasping for breath. His reserves were as good as ever, but his body was failing him. Alma, however, doesn’t look fazed. Instead, she closed her eyes, as if meditating or focusing herself.
He needed to take his chance. He didn’t care about playing dirty if it meant winning this battle. Her chin was hidden, but it was still there for him to hit. Francis channeled another burst of energy, just enough to put her to sleep.
Then, it happened.
She grinned and opened her eyes once more. She grabbed hold of the rising stone pillar and destroyed it with her bare hands.
Instead of two brown eyes, a pair of clear blue crystals stared back at him.
He felt a punch connecting to his stomach, throwing him twenty meters away. The strength she exerted was completely different from before. If he hadn’t reinforced his body, the impact would’ve ruptured his torso and cut him in two.
“You’re quite strong, oldy. If you gone at her back when she was a normal human, that attack before would’ve killed her already,”
“Who the hell are you? What have you done to her?!”
“Me?” she smiled mischievously, making an expression Alma would never make “A tenant, a spirit, a hero, a bored man, a dead man. You could describe me however you want, really. You could describe me with anything you want. I don’t care, really.”
Her smile darkened as Francis felt a wave of danger surrounded him. “As for what I did to her…”
A flash. Faster than before. Before he could react, she was already beside him, “Let’s see what end of the deal you land on.”
She launched an overhand at his face, which he blocked barely with his arms. It felt as if he was hit by a speeding train.
“C’mon, oldy! I thought you were stronger than this. Where’s the world’s most dangerous man gone to?” she taunted, a grin still smeared on her face.
He stood up, dusting himself off. He needed to do more. He raised his hands, sending dozens of rocks down range. It came like a monsoon, destroying anything and everything in its path. The pristine yard was now in shambles, small craters marred everywhere. His attack wasn’t going to hurt her, he knew that.
“Bravo, oldy! That’s what I’ve been looking for!”
As the smoke and dust dissipates, her silhouette appears. Standing strong, still sporting the same hellish grin. But that didn’t surprise him. It was her form, her ashen white skin accentuating the blood, gore and bruises that he dealt to her. Alma--no, whoever inside of her didn’t bother dodging or blocking his barrage, letting his daughter’s body take the brunt of the damage instead.
That attack used a lot from him. He could reinforce himself, but any overwhelming attack was out of the question. He needed something more.
He held out his hand, channelling every ounce of energy that he had left. “Connect, return, reborn. I summon forth-” Alma’s grin faltered and her eyes widened, charging at him once again, “Knight’s Chalice! Answer my heed!”
A bright, blinding light shone from his right hand as a golden chalice appeared on his hand. It radiated to his soul, invigorating him with an endless supply of energy. He looked at the charging figure in front of him and channelled another burst of energy. This one, bigger and more powerful, enough to stop a rampaging puppet. Then-
Blood splattered onto the green grass.
The energy stopped flowing, his channelling stopped.
He felt nothing from his right hand. Nothing but the one true feeling.
Pain.
Francis looked to his right, seeing the chalice taken from him, including his arm. Alma held both of them with her hands, splotches of blood smeared across her face. Her face showed a grim expression, as if she was rejecting her own action.
“You left me with no choice, old man.”
Francis fell to his knees, clutching his other hand in pain.
“I’d suggest you something, Francis,” said the person inside her, blue eyes looking into him, “do not bother yourself with Alma. Forget about her. If you can’t, then you could at least try. Her burden is only hers to bear.”
Alma walked away from their battlefield, slowly getting further and further away from him. His knees gave out, his old body slamming down to the soft grass. Her daughter’s skin turned back to a normal, healthy color. As his vision slowly turns to black, he remembers something. Something he had forgotten to tell her.
What was it again?
It was the 21st of May.
He forgot to tell her again, did he?