The sharp scent of herbs hung in the air, tangled with the metallic tang of blood. Jack moved through the rows of healer tents, watching the hurried rhythm of men and women sorting flasks, basins, and bandages. There were far too few healers for the size of the army, barely a handful compared to the sea of soldiers waiting for the war horns to sound.

Half of them were women, but not just any kind. They were Erza's maids, famous for combining grace and violence in equal measure. Beneath their spotless aprons and restrained expressions were fighters skilled enough to bring down an armed man before he even realized he was in danger.

Their role was clear: hold ground in safe zones across the battlefield, turning each into a small haven of healing. The wounded would be carried there, patched up, and sent back out if they still had the strength to fight. But not all of them stayed in tents. Erza had chosen a smaller group to work in motion, crossing the front lines to offer aid in the middle of chaos. Those were the most dangerous of all, women as deadly with a blade as they were deft with a vial of antidote.

Jack watched one of them sharpen a short dagger, the glint of steel flickering across her emotionless face. Beside him, Quinn rubbed his chin, studying the scene with wary amusement.

"If one of them shows up in the middle of battle, covered in blood, dagger in hand, saying she's there to heal me, I won't know whether to be grateful or terrified," he muttered with a dry laugh.

Jack shrugged. "The only maid who's actually nice is Anne."

Quinn turned toward him, incredulous. "You mean the scariest one? That cold stare of hers, the way she moves… and she's also, you know, not exactly human."

"She might look terrifying, but she's the kindest of them all," Jack said. "The rest…"

His gaze drifted to another maid pouring the thick, dark blood of a fire salamander into a basin without a flicker of emotion. "Those are wolves wearing silk."

For a brief moment, he remembered what Luke once said, that maids were pure, beautiful, delicate beings, like living jewels. The memory made him smirk. Those women had completely shattered Luke's illusion.

He adjusted the strap on his axe and took a steadying breath. The murmurs around the tents felt distant, muffled beneath the weight of anticipation before the coming storm.

"I should get going. I need to meet up with the main group soon," he said, already turning to leave.

"Good luck out there," Quinn replied, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder.

Jack nodded, but before he could take a step...

"Hey, Dustin? What the hell are you doing here?" Quinn frowned as the man stumbled out from between two tents. "Aren't you supposed to be stationed on the other side of the field? Get moving!"

Dustin raised both hands, laughing at himself. "I had to pray, alright? Might be my last day alive. And also…" He paused, lowering his voice theatrically. "I got nervous and, uh, my stomach didn't take it well. You ever try taking a dump out in the open with a thousand people watching?"

Quinn groaned. "For god's sake, just get back before someone sees you loitering here."

"Of course, sir!" Dustin said in a mockingly formal tone, flashing a crooked grin as he jogged off.

Jack watched the man hurry past, trying not to laugh.

"The strap on your sword's sheath is loose," Quinn pointed out.

Dustin glanced down, then chuckled. "Appreciate the heads-up. Had to take it off for… you know."

He shook his head and walked away, still laughing to himself.

For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, watching him disappear into the crowd.

"Let's just hope no one else abandons their post for bathroom breaks once the war starts," Quinn muttered, half amused, half serious.

Stolen story; please report.

Dustin was already gone, swallowed by the lines of soldiers.

"Didn't he fight with gauntlets before?" Jack asked. "Why's he carrying a sword now? Thought his class was brawler-type."

"Maybe he leveled up, or picked up a skill that lets him use blades. Like the maids," Quinn replied, still looking in the direction Dustin had gone.

Jack lifted Luke's axe, testing its weight, his other hand gripping his own wand. "Guess it never hurts to have an extra weapon."

"Absolutely," Quinn said.

A gust of wind swept through the camp, flapping the tent covers and mixing the scent of blade oil with that of healing herbs. Jack took in the scene one more time—men tightening armor straps, women preparing potions, soldiers pretending not to be afraid by keeping up meaningless chatter.

***

Franky hissed quietly within the rune. "You'll just use me. If I break the seal now, there's no guarantee you'll keep your word. I'm not falling for it."

"That's exactly why I said it'll be after the fight," Luke answered. "Once I defeat that monster and return to my world, everything ends. My problems, this place, all of it. Until then, you'll keep pestering me. But after the battle, I'll release you, deep in some forest on Earth, far from everything."

The stone pulsed faintly in silence.

"So?" Luke asked at last. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"You'll die, human. That's what I want most," Franky replied, his voice thick with contempt.

Luke gave a short, tired laugh. "Fine. If I'm going to die anyway, what harm is there in you saying yes? Or will you back out because you're afraid? If you back out, that just proves you know I can beat whatever's in that castle."

The reply came as a broken, twisted laugh that seemed to rattle off the ruined houses. "You won't win. You'll die."

"We have an agreement?" Luke repeated, steady.

The rune flared, pulsed, reluctant. "No."

Luke arched an eyebrow, pleased. "So you admit I can beat what's in the castle."

"I don't want to fall for one of your tricks again. You're a clever little rat, bold, you might even kill the creature, and in a humiliating way. Your methods are dirty."

"Thanks," Luke said with a half-smile. "And you can bet I'll play dirty. You think I'll die with honor? I've only got one life, and I'll use any method to keep it."

The rune's light wavered, tracing for a second the sinuous outline of a serpent. Franky went silent, thoughtful. "If I accept this deal, it's worse for me," he murmured. "My enemy would show me pity."

Luke rubbed his face, frustrated. "Man, you're impossible. I'm offering a permanent solution to our problems and you refuse. Fine. Let's go back to the other idea: I hand you to someone else, you make a friendship pact with them."

"No! Never!" the spirit hissed, the sound sharp with anger.

"So what then, little snake? You want to spend the rest of eternity in my inventory?" Luke glared at the stone, shaking his head. "When I get back to my world, I'll have a mess to clean up. Unless you want to be the living reminder of the time I killed the castle boss while you hid inside a rock… The deal's still a good one. Forget honor and debts, I don't care about that."

The stone pulsed, its glow flickering like a reluctant heartbeat.

"But I do care," Franky answered, voice thick with resentment. "I don't want to owe you anything. I have principles. And I definitely don't want to spend whatever's left of me stuck to you, even if I'm only a stone, in case by some miracle you make it back."

Luke sighed. They had circled this argument long enough.

A soft click of tongues echoed from the runestone. "You'd really let me go?" the serpent asked, tone lower now.

"Sure. Why would I want you around?" Luke said. "Accept the deal or don't. I kill what's in the castle, you become my familiar, I drop you in some forest in the New World, and you can live your life away from the family that abandoned you."

The rune's light brightened.

"Take me out of the necklace. I want to look you in the eye."

Luke took the stone out of the pendant's pocket dimension and held it in his palm. The serpent engraved on its surface glowed, the mystical scales tracing living lines.

"You really going to honor the pact?" Franky asked.

"Yes," Luke said. "With a few ground rules, obviously. I don't want a vengeful snake showing up to bite my family."

"I don't care about your rat family," Franky snapped.

"So we have a deal?"

"We have a deal," the serpent replied. "The pact is sealed, 'friend.'"

The stone began to vibrate in Luke's hand; he almost dropped it.

"What's happening?" he asked, startled.

"I accept the pact… on my terms," Franky said. His voice threaded with the sound of glass cracking. The stone lifted into the air, hovering before Luke, wrapped in blinding light.

"On your terms?" Luke asked. "You were supposed to do that after I defeated whatever's in the castle, not now."

"Instead of owing you a favor, I help you kill what's in the castle. That frees me from any debt. You release me in your world, and we never cross paths again."

The rune started to crack, a living energy spilling into the air.

[The Familiar Rune is breaking.]

[The Familiar Pact with Frankzaroth (Jormungandr) is being forged.]

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