Avalon:Chapter Test

Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy

"Did you hear!? They're back! They're already back!"

Reynald could barely contain his boiling excitement as he bounced down the granite steps, ahead of his two companions. Short statured with fiery red hair, he lit up the gloomy castle corridors like a radiating torch.

"How could we not? With you reminding us every three minutes," Parzifal replied with an exasperated exhale. Despite being built with the lean musculature of a runner, his powerful legs strode into the corridor with gentle grace. Then, with a faraway gaze: "do you know how many we lost this time?"

"Just three from the entire school, and the whole campaign took but a season! The Holy Father has graced Weichsel with a great victory this year! Those barbaric Vastergotlander invaders lay crushed and humiliated, while our mates return in glorious triumph!" Reynald pumped his meager fist into the air for good measure.

"Three out of four dozen." Parzifal stared at Reynald with a stiff gaze, but the younger redhead didn't even notice. "How is six percent a good number, especially given how young they... we are, to be throwing good lives away."

"There is no glory without risk, brother! Come on! I even heard that one of our class became the youngest Captain in national history, decorated by the King himself no less!"

"I heard about too," added Ariadne, but with a soft, cautious voice that still tested the waters. "The girls have been chattering about the latest news for days," she intertwined her delicate fingers with Parzifal's for a some reassurance before continuing: "Anna Marie's fiance works on the Marshal's general staff, and he says that Pascal was serving as an adjutant for his father--"

She felt her boyfriend's fingers tighten, and she squeezed back while trying to hide her painful grimace.

"--When the situation changed during the Battle of Parchim, Pascal modified the orders he was carrying to the artillery-mage units to bombard a weak spot the enemy revealed in their line. Marshal von Moltewitz gave Pascal due credit of course, but also publicly reprimanded him for overriding command orders instead of merely appending his recommendation. Yet when the King heard about it... he personally promoted and knighted Pascal."

Both of the men groaned, thereby identifying that they were still boys.

"Great, leave it to the King to undo our Field Marshal's brilliance; that princeling needs to be taken down a notch and even his father knows it..." Reynald's mood plummeted straight to grumpy, and not even a serious case of childhood hero worship for the elder von Moltewitz could rebound it. Then, as he opened the last door along the corridor and turned into the theater-like classroom: "and speak of the devil, our Runelord's celebrity status seems to have further exaggerated his supercilious aura of majesty."

It didn't take familiarity to spot Pascal. Even with eyes shut, he still sat with a regal poise that cleared all doubts. Framed by soft golden curls just long enough to cover his ears, his appearance stayed lit by a gentle, Mona Lisa smile. His broad yet lean build gave his polished military uniform the best look a propaganda poster could seek.

But that wasn't what naturally made him the center of attention. Sitting on the front row's left wing, he was surrounded by a semicircle of beautiful girls, all of whom sat at least two arms' length away yet kept him in their eyes. Meanwhile, over half the men scattered across the room, and even a few women as well, looked towards him with scowling faces.

It was an understatement to say that Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, first son of Field Marshal and Landgrave von Moltewitz of Nordkreuz, stood far above the crowd. But regardless of how assured and confident he looked, no one could doubt the ill symptoms that too often followed any childhood prodigy:

Amongst a roomful of chattering peers, he sat alone and silent.

----- * * * -----

"Captain and Knight's Cross recipient at the mere age of nineteen..."

"He took the fourth years' exams while on campaign and aced them too!"

"...I heard even common mercenaries from the Empire have heard of his name!"

"Of course! He's engaged to the Crown Princess of Rhin-Lotharingie isn't he? Didn't she teleport over to personally congratulate him..."

"...Feels like he's even further beyond our reach now."

The noble daughters that surrounded him whispered in hush voices, but all they accomplished was focus Pascal's auditory senses. He did not want to, but no properly raised nobleman, bred for political intrigues of the court, could subconsciously dismiss what others spoke of him.

...Day after day I'm surrounded by insignificant fools, with no greater role in the world than a mere name, barely altering the statistics of census records and enrollment sheets.

Pascal couldn't help but wish that one of those rumors were true, that Crown Princess Sylviane really did pay him a visit. She was one of the few girls he knew worthy of her nobility -- who not only had the beauty to match her prestige but also thought with the farsighted intellect of an aspiring ruler. Unfortunately, proper queens-in-training also lacked time, and it was all she could spare to congratulate him last night through a Farspeak conversation spell.

Of course, not everyone spoke of his accomplishments with admiration. That included a number of young lords within this very room, their voices filled with contempt, as though ridiculing others somehow recovered their masculine pride from the cowardice of doing nothing.

"...His father is just pulling another publicity stunt; von Moltewitz is already famous enough, so why not claim it was his son's doing and gift the amateur with some credit?"

"Must be nice being awarded just for having daddy as the commander..."

Pascal wasn't agitated by those who could only mock his back from afar. No, he only cared enough to track who foolishly marked themselves a foe. Their actual complaints were beneath him, unfit for extended consideration by even a single brain cell. It was the fact that he had to waste time near such lowlifes that really bothered him.

Whining cowards and pining damsels, with the sheep-like idiocy of peasantry. At least those who joined had the valor to follow our aristocratic military heritage into war.

The Kingdom of Weichsel prided itself on the competence of its military aristocracy, and the curriculum of its noble education followed that tradition. The Konigsfeld Academy of Magic was among the best on the continent of Hyperion in the arts of administration, diplomacy, strategy, and of course, sorcery.

...Or so Pascal once believed.

I've already learned everything they offered in the past two years, so why must father force me to take another two with these common nobles? I'm wasting my time here!

Pascal knew perfectly well that he had a long way to climb before emerging from the shadows of his father's renown. Furthermore, for an aspiring officer who already felt the power of decisiveness on the battlefield, a return to the mere books was like being told to go back to the sandbox.

"Settle down, everyone," announced the balding professor Albert von Marienfeld, exactly one minutes late as usual to his Advanced Magical Communications and Organization class. "I realize that the return of our cadets from the front lines bring exciting news, which is why today's class will be a discussion and analysis of field experiences gathered by your peers!"

His announcement gathered most of the class' attention in an instant.

Even Pascal stared back with a hint of admiration for the adaptability shown by his muleheaded advisor, whom, a few months ago, insisted Pascal follow his father's wishes and continue his education as it was somehow 'good for him'.

"But first things first, I'd like to inform everyone that all third year classes will be canceled this Friday for your familiar summoning ceremonies."

All chatter broke loose across the classroom again.

The professor turned to prepare the classroom's illusion projectors, calmly whistling a short tune while he patiently waited for the students to empty their minds of burning curiosities so they may receive fresh wisdom.

The only other person who wasn't excited was Pascal himself.

...As if I need the presence of more dumb animals around me.

Silently, he scrolled back through his memories, thinking of every mage's familiar he came across during his years. Some of them made trusted mounts on the battlefield, some of them served as eyes and ears, a few even trained as valets of simple households, but not a single one ever showed more intelligence and creativity than one could expect from a magical beast.

But then... why must I be limited to beasts?

Pascal drew a scroll of parchment and copied down the incantations and gestures of every core Summon Familiar spell variant he knew from memory. Within a minute, he had them broken down into a tree graph of individual spellcraft components which defined every effect -- scan, calling, charm, summon, transport, compel, binding, connect, sharing...

He didn't need a servant. A traditional familiar under magical compulsion was no better than a yes-man. Loyal, but nevertheless a fool of limited use.

Paying no heed to the conversations around him, he tapped the syllables that represented the 'animal calling' aspect of the spell on his parchment.

What I need is a person near my level, a companion who will always be with me to share thoughts with...

Images came of a twin who shared his outlook, and merely the prospect of mirrored words made his mind recoil. Pascal didn't want some voice of agreement and approval. His fondest memories of intellectual exploration were filled with heated debates.

...Someone with a completely different outlook upon the world; a dissimilar foundation of knowledge and wisdom, yet diverse enough to rival my own.

Moving into the future, he thought of his impending career on the battlefields of war and diplomacy, where only a balance of words and swords guaranteed survival.

...Must be capable enough to serve as my second on the field, an advisor and analyst, but also able to fend for oneself with the powers I shall grant through our bond.

A brief flashback brought his thoughts back to his childhood, when he and Princess Sylviane could spend hours lounging on the shores of the small lake in the von Moltewitz estate. Their conversations naturally flowed from one worldly topic to another with no regard to time, when he had all day to admire the intellect that lay behind her bright lime-green gaze, or the vast understanding that hid under those coffee black hair.

...And she needs to be cute too, he finalized with the perfect image coming to mind.

Twice the professor clapped, drawing the room's attention back to the fore where an illusory, three-dimensional overhead projection of the Parchim battlefield lay.

"Captain Sir Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, as you are our most honored hero of the war, it is only fair that we begin today's lecture with your... unregulated contributions to the war effort."

Muffled snickering drifted forth from the back of the room, but Pascal ignored them as though he heard buzzing flies.

"Yes sir."

Rolling up his parchment as he stood, Pascal's steadfast determination revealed not the slightest sign of offense or hesitance. Albert's choice of words made it instantly obvious that the professor agreed with his father. Pascal understood the reason behind the Field Marshal's reprimand -- rules were rules after all, and no army would be able to operate if junior officers could freely change the orders they received.

He just thought it was unfair that rules of the average should apply to him.

It would be many hours of late night studies before Pascal could finish the work he began. But even at its end, even after triple-checking his modifications with satisfaction, Pascal would never notice his one critical error due to sheer inexperience:

Beasts were simple-minded. It was easy to find a physically and mentally healthy critter to call forth as a familiar.

Humans were another matter entirely, and the divination scanning component he wrote into the spell was nowhere powerful enough to search through the multiuniverse for a precise match to his exact specifications. Magical energy naturally diffused towards the nearest shortcut: to modify a subject that meets most criteria instead of aiming for an exact match. Of course, shaping minds was a difficult and dangerous business, but molding forms could easily be achieved through sorcery.

Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will

"Remarkable, Miss von Zimmer-Manteuffel, you've clearly bested all three of your older brothers in the family tradition," Professor Albert von Marienfeld's awed words of admiration mirrored his gleaming-onyx eyes as they examined the beautiful wings of Ariadne's flawless white pegasus. "Between such potential and your top-ranking grades, I'm sure the Knights Phantom eagerly await the day of your graduation!"

"Thank you, Professor Sir," Ariadne returned a courteous reply as she stood up to brushed back her waist-length golden cascade. Pleased with her own summoning, she finally let go of the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. With a step forward in the magic circle inscribed using crushed sapphire dust, her birthstone mixed with holy water and her own blood, she placed a delicate kiss on the forehead of her new pegasus familiar to seal the bond.

"Very well done, everyone..." Professor Albert -- since his cousin of the same surname also taught within the academy -- looked around to survey all the familiars. The menagerie of magical beasts ranged from the common, like Emilie von Kiessler's silvery celestial hawk, to the powerful water drake that Howard de Angelis was conversing with. Then, spotting the lone individual that stood by the windows, Albert just barely caught himself from swearing: "Sir von Moltewitz, my apologies. I almost forgot you had offered to go last."

"No problem, Sir. I'm the one who disrupted the order," Pascal remarked with nonchalance as he strode to the one remaining clearing in the center of the dance hall. "I didn't wish to cause an interruption when something unusual happened, since it's my first time accomplishing this." Somehow, his drawling, aristocratic intonation managed to make even humble words sound arrogant.

"Show-off," several people muttered from among the crowd.

"Well, let's see what your future brings."

Professor Albert took care to suppress his eager curiosity, mostly because he agreed with the other students over Pascal's motivations; part of it, at least. In the meantime, he stood over Pascal with the examining eyes of a retired general as he watched the young lord retrieve one rune-engraved stone after another from an extra-dimensional belt pouch. After carefully positioning sixteen of them, Pascal connected the rocks with series of tiny malachite gems to form a perfect circle. Three larger runic stones followed, this time linked by lapis lazuli gems to draw the smallest equilateral triangle that would contain the ring.

"Amazing..." came a feminine murmur while others nodded in consent, "trust the Runelord Pascal to always do something creative."

"I believe you and Professor von Kirchner are the only two experts of Ancient Northern Runes on campus, and I'm not a quite an expert on gem magic," commented Albert. "So would you please explain your setup to everyone?"

"Of course," Pascal relished at the opportunity. "As you know, runic magic was created by the ancient Northmen to reduce the casting time of their battle magic. The runic glyphs on these granite stones replaces the incantations of the ritual, as well as substituting for the verse of personalized words we chant during it. Each symbol is carved deep and inscribed with blood appropriate for bonding magic, and each gemstone is infused with my ether to supply additional magical power. The outer triangle, laid with the gems of truth and wisdom, will enhance the seek and search. Meanwhile the inner malachite ring, also known as 'the mirror of the soul', will serve as the primary focus of the ritual."

"As expected, you've put plenty of thought into preparing this. Very well, you may begin."

"With the runes handling everything, the ritual itself is quite simple and leaves no chance for errors," Pascal began with assured confidence as he gently cut his right index finger with a dagger. Carefully aiming, he dripped a drop of fresh blood into the top rune of the inner ring. Like water flowing across routed channels, the stones and gems lit up one after another, bathing the shadowy room with a combination of crimson, forest, and indigo light. Magic strong enough to be felt pulsed outwards as each glyph lit up, releasing a dense mist that soon enshrouded over the entire dance hall.

Minutes passed as everyone stood within the concealment, unable to see yet unwilling to disrupt a magical ceremony in fear of the often deadly consequences involved.

"The ritual is complete," Pascal announced as he quietly recited a wind spell to clear away the mist.

The focus stones and precious gems had been reduced to a ring of worthless gray dust. But what drew gasps from everyone was the small girl that now lay unconscious, dressed in baggy clothing and holding onto a thin bag taller than herself.

"Sir von Moltewitz, please explain yourself." Professor Albert kept his cool, but he was willing to bet his life that Pascal was somehow involved in this unnatural conclusion to a sacred rite of magecraft. In hindsight, he should have expected something like this, when Pascal was not only using magic beyond the supervisor's expertise but also showing off. The last time Albert saw that particular combination during a practical magic exam, the young noble not only painted the entire castle every shade of the rainbow, but also filled it with swarms of brightly glowing pink flamingos, just to prove he could.

But Pascal himself paid no heed. His eyes were transfixed upon the unconscious girl. His body barely contained his boiling excitement as one thought shouted across his mind in triumph: it worked perfectly! followed closely by oh Heavenly Father has granted me an angel.

At barely five and a quarter feet tall, the thin girl gave off a fragile, almost doll-like appearance. Her figure lay concealed beneath a short-sleeved jacket and pair of pants that looked far too big to fit, but the small hands and cute face revealed her flawless white skin. She had an adorably tiny nose and thinly curled lashes, while straight, biege-white hair ran all the way down to her thighs.

"Did he... just summon a Samaran girl for a familiar?" A student named Gerd von Straussen voiced aloud.

"With that white hair? Probably."

"But why a Samaran? Not only are they commoners... Republicans," Reynald spat out the word as though it was filthy, "but they're also nonbelieving heretics."

Meanwhile, Pascal knelt down in a dramatic one-kneed pose before taking the unconscious girl's right hand and kissing its back, thereby completely the familiar bonding ceremony.

"Sir von Moltewitz, you have some explaining to do!" The retired general was not used to being ignored, even from this young upstart, and his rapidly rising temper had already reached a simmer.

"It is exactly what it looks like, Professor Sir," Pascal replied while picking up unconscious girl in a cradling carry, his arms supporting her back and underneath her knees. "I decided to summon an actual, intelligent person, and now the ritual has already been completed."

He left the words and there's nothing more you can do about it unsaid as he strode out the dance hall, leaving behind a roomful of bewildered eyes, gawking expressions, and one incensed advisor.

...

By the time Pascal reached his dorm room, the adrenaline from his excitement was beginning to wear off, followed closely by the feeling of exhaustion. The girl within his arms was as light as she looked, but his late working nights was finally catching up, not to mention the summoning ceremony and its preparation which sucked him dry.

With a swift gesture, his Unlock cantrip was recognized by the door's magical enhancement, and he carried the still-unconscious girl across the threshold into his room. It was officially a 'dorm', but in a school built for nobles, the spacious bedroom and its included bathroom was larger, and far better furnished, than entire apartments.

After gently laying her across his bed, Pascal went through his drawers to find some more appropriate clothes. He had been preparing for this all week, which included picking out apparel according to his tastes through fast mail order, sized based on his expectations of the summoning spell. The exact fit wasn't even a concern, as the garments were of the highest quality and magically self-adjusting.

He never realized how wrong the whole scene would have seemed if someone else had walked in the door.

----- * * * -----

Kaede has never felt this tired after waking up from a nap. His entire body was sore. Worse yet, it felt weak, exerting just to push against the bedcovers, with barely an ounce of his usual strength.

Wait a sec... I fell asleep on the sofa. There was only a few more hours before I needed to met up with the club and leave for the archery tournament.

Fear of oversleeping lit up his mind in a flash. His eyes sprang open, his arms reaching out by force of habit in seek of the smartphone he used as an alarm clock, only to promptly freeze as recognition came.

Where the heck am I?

He didn't recognize the old-fashioned four-poster bed he laid in, or the redwood furniture that lined the walls, and certainly not the dimly lit room itself.

He felt his pulse quickening as uncertainty washed over. Being both too young to drink and uninterested in alcohol, or any kind of drugs for that matter, it was improbable that he blacked out from some kind of wild club party.

...Especially not before the tournament.

Sitting up on the bed to get a better view, he suddenly realized that his back and shoulders were bared and chilly. By contrast, his chest was covered by a fabric smoother than anything he was used to.

Wait... something's not right...

He looked down, first noticing that his arms were one, far thinner than they should be, and two, wearing silky white gloves... long gloves reaching up to his biceps... while sleeping...

What kind of a weird prank is...

Then his downward tracing eyes saw 'his' chest, and his mind promptly blanked out as every thought came to a crashing halt. His senses and mental capacities had to be rebooted one as one as a result.

Realization #1: He, or perhaps she was a better descriptor of this body, had small mounds of outward bulging flesh on the chest that could only be described as breasts.

Realization #2: She was wearing a pure white halter top of... charmeuse? some kind of glossy satin-weave, with some kind of crest laid onto her chest, bosom, in delicate white gold, and not a stitch covering her back.

Realization #3: Rubbing and shifting the thighs found nothing in between, therefore identifying, once again, and this is a she.

Realization #4: WHAT THE HELL!

...

Okay, deep breaths... calm down and think.

Kaede had no clue how long had passed since he, she, whatever one should refer to themselves in such outrageous circumstances, blanked out for the second time in a row.

Unfortunately, after two mental shocks and still without a moment of startled awakening, Kaede concluded that this was probably not just a weird dream... which meant that the situation was truly nightmarish.

Some pervert with access to incomprehensible mad science had turned him into a her, and then left her in a fancy room with an extravagant bed dressed in scanty undergarments.

Kaede wasn't used to rape alarms going off in his head.

I've never even done it with any of the girls I dated before! Oh this is so, messed, up...

Nevertheless, fear did wonders in concentrating the mind, and her hyperactive mind soon realized exactly what should be done:

Objective #1: Find something weapon-like and get out of this room.

Objective #2: Figure out how to return to normal, probably by beating the pervert responsible for this unconscious and then force it out of him.

Pulling her legs out of the bed, Kaede noticed that the charmeuse halter top went down to form a single, seamless piece with both her underwear and the semi-translucent skirt covering it. Two garter straps also held up over-the-knee socks, or more like solid white stockings.

What is this, bridal night wear?

A terrifying chill sent shivers down her spine and made her skin crawl.

With her feet on the carpet, she tried to stand up, only to sway once before collapsing back into the bed. Realizing that she still lacked the instinctive motor controls to easily handle her new body, she repeated the simple action, this time pacing herself with focused concentration.

This much effort just to stand and walk... this is beyond ridiculous.

Taking each step with care, Kaede gradually made her way over to the chair where her blue windbreaker jacket was draped over. She also recognized the bag containing her greatbow leaning against a nearby table, but mentally sort the information away for later. After covering herself with the jacket, she found her best option for self defense in a form of a fireplace poker, which sat next to an unattended, still-burning hearth.

Kaede was self-trained in both eastern and western swordsmanship, so he could effectively use any blade of reasonable length. But she, with her thin arms and reduced motor skills, found the 'heavy' poker about as agile as an oversized baseball bat. Her first warm-up swing almost sent her crashing into a long dressing table. Her right hand managed to grab the edge just in time, but not before the poker plunged straight into the giant mirror behind the drawers.

The loud shattering noise was a dead giveaway.

Hearing faint but rushed footsteps beyond the door, Kaede rushed to take cover behind a protruding wall corner near the doorway. With her iron poker raised and ready, she could feel every heartbeat as the door opened and soft steps made its way in. The door was slow to close, but in the meantime the silhouette cast by the bright hallway lamps marked the intruder's exact position.

Kaede went into action the moment the door closed. Stepping out from behind the corner, she swung the iron poker with a two-handed grip, its metal spike facing forward. With her weak arms, she knew that maximizing damage on the initial hit was her only chance of winning.

Carrying a tray filled with sandwiches and a bowl of steaming hot soup, the intruder reflexively lurched the tray forward to use as a shield. Its contents hurled straight towards Kaede, especially the scorching soup which passed right through the middle of her opened jacket and onto the thin halter top.

Her painful yell muffled the young man's clenched grunt. The iron poker bounced off the silver tray with a resounding 'clang', but not before its metal spike slashed into his exposed left fist and broke his index and middle fingers.

Tossing the tray towards his left, he used the tray's edge to catch the spike and disarmed her of the metal poker. Ignoring his broken digits, the man pressed her shaking body onto the floor and pinned her arms back in one fluid motion. With a twist from his wrist and two lightning-fast words, a linked pair of steel shackles appeared out of thin air, binding her hands behind her.

"OwwOwwOwwOwwOwwww!" Kaede continued to thrash about on the floor as her chest burned under the scalding soup.

With a deep sigh, the young man waved his hand again and the searing liquid disappeared. The mess left on the floor soon followed with a few more gestures. All that remained was the lingering pain of recent burns on her sensitive flesh.

"Sheesh, I leave to get you some food and this is the thanks I get?"

You're the one who turned me into a girl and you expect thanks!?

Still breathing hard, Kaede rolled onto her back, glaring at her foe through tear-stained eyes even as her thoughts slowly returned. Fluent in three languages and versed in another two, she only recognized his words as similar to Old High German, which she had no business understanding. Yet somehow, she did.

Six-foot-high with broad shoulders accentuated by his stiff red-on-black uniform, the man turned to sit down on the four-poster bed while keeping her within his glance. Turning towards his bloodied hand, he took out a small pebble and pressed it into his left palm. He then covered the left fist with his right, while a large turquoise-set platinum ring began to glow from the exposed ring finger.

His eyes, as crystal clear as the aqua gemstone, held onto hers with a piercing gaze.

"Please don't do anything so stupid again. I'm an experienced soldier and I really don't want to be forced to hurt you. Now... if I release your hands, will you be good and talk this out like rational people?"

Still glaring with angry eyes, Kaede took a brief moment before nodding in consent. With basic experience in martial arts, she could tell from his movements that the man's prowess was several magnitudes above hers... even before the body change.

He turned the ring towards her again. With a simple "dismiss", her bonds vanished as swiftly as they came. Kaede quickly brought her hands forward, rubbing her chest just above the breasts in an attempt to ease the lingering pain. Surprisingly, there was no longer a single spot of stain on the pure white fabric.

"Here," he reached forward with the glowing ring, hovering just beyond her chest without touching. A soothing cool spread over Kaede's inflamed skin, remaining so even after he pulled back. "Surface wounds are easy, just sleep on it and you won't even notice it by morning."

"...Thanks," her reply was weaker than a whisper.

"On to introductions: my name is Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, son of Weichsel Field Marshal von Moltewitz, the Landgrave of Nordkreuz. What's yours?"

A Prussian Landgrave? Didn't the Germany Weimar Republic abolish the nobility?

Kaede didn't have a clue on what was going on, and only begrudgingly forced out a basic answer in her new wispy voice: "Kaede Suvorosky."

"Are you Samaran? Your family name sure sounds like one." He went on while the turquoise gem continued to glow.

"My surname is Russian! I'm half-Russian and half-Japanese," she countered while sitting back up into a formal Japanese kneel, shifting uncomfortably as she felt her cold, satin-covered heels pressed against her bare buttcheeks. "Well, with some Georgian, Kazakh, and British blood mixed in... Where's Samaran referring to anyways?"

"People from the northeastern Grand Republic of Samara, usually pale with white or silver-blue hair; social egalitarians who worship the sky-god and believe in spiritual reincarnation." Pascal explained in an irritatingly aristocratic, drawling accent. Then, with a confused look that he wasn't used to: "I've never heard of Russian or Japanese or any of the others."

Even Kaede was stomped now.

"Uhhh, where are we now then? What part of the world?"

"We are in the Konigsfeld Academy of Magic, forty-nine kilopaces outside Konigsfeld itself, Capital of the Kingdom of Weichsel. The Grand Republic of Samara lays to our east, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie to our west, the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea to our south, and to our north is the Greater Jarldom of Skagen, the North Sea, and across it -- the Kingdom of Vastergotland. All of this on the continent of Hyperion."

Well... trash.

Kaede only knew 'Samara' as a Russian river, and the other names mostly sound either Germanic or Scandinavian, except the continent name which matched Greek mythology. But it didn't take a linguist to realize that all those foreign nation-states, not to mention the keywords Academy of Magic, meant only one thing:

"This isn't Earth," her words left in a dazed whisper.

"Of course not. The ground is three levels below," his left eyebrow arced upwards in curiosity.

"Why... how...?"

"I summoned you, for a familiar. And either you're some backwater stupid peasant--"

Kaede stood back up in a flash and almost fell over again. Her rose-quartz eyes narrowed back into a furious glare. Nobody had dared to call her any synonym of 'stupid' for years, let alone 'backwater peasant'.

"--or... I guess asking for someone with a 'whole different world outlook' got me more than I bargained for."

Somehow, the man was looking more smug by the second and increasingly proud of himself.

"Why the heck did you summon me?" Her arms flailed dramatically. "And why the hell did you turn me into a girl?"

"The spell picked you, not me... wait a second, you're male?"

"Last I checked before waking up!" Her otherwise wispy voice had climbed up to a soft yell.

His brows furrowed in confusion again:

"I didn't put that into the spell."

"Well whatever you did, fix it!"

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't!"

His ring finally stopped glowing, and he stretched out his left hand, whole again without a single scratch. With his eyes examining healed result, he answered with a tone of uncaring nonchalance:

"I mean I can't. A familiar contract isn't meant to ever be broken. Familiars also rarely live past their masters; so even if I can break it, you're likely to die in the process."

Then, his penetrating gaze locked onto her widening eyes once again:

"And if the summoning spell really did transform you physical body, that means it also materialized -- or better said, naturalized -- you for our world. That means I can't just banish you back to wherever you came from. So for all purposes, you're a denizen of this world now."

"...As a familiar?" Kaede could only shake her head slowly, her eyes quivering in denial of the words coming from her mouth.

"As my familiar, yes," Pascal nodded, hints of a smile tugging at his serious face.

This time, it was irritation and anger that dragged Kaede back into reality.

"The only way I'll ever consider calling you master... is after I leave a permanent footprint on your face!"

"You don't have to," he simply shrugged it off. "I'm not one of those teens who need to have their ego constantly stroked."

That is clearly not. the. point!

"Oh come on, it's not that bad. As long as you're nice to me, I will make certain you are well taken care of and live a comfortable life of luxury."

"I had a perfectly good life back there!"

"--And you will have just as good of a life here. I promise."

"You can kiss my ass!"

"--And a cute ass it is. I wouldn't really mind." Pascal eyed the semi-translucent skirt poking out from underneath her jacket and chuckled.

Kaede quickly pulled the bottom hem of her now-oversized jacket down, with shades of embarrassment working into a pale face red with frustrated anger.

After glancing at the wall clock, Pascal decided to wrap this conversation up:

"Alright, look, we can continue discussing this tomorrow -- since it'll be weekend. I'll also need to fabricate you a new bed to fit in here, although I don't quite have the energy for that tonight. So just sleep in mine for now."

He pulled back the bed cover before starting to undress next to it, clearly intending to sleep in it himself.

"You can't seriously be expecting me too... and like... wearing... this!"

"Don't worry. A proper nobleman like myself would never do anything without consent, especially not when you're sleeping." His reassurance proved anything but reassuring as he finished unbuttoning his undershirt, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath.

"B-but you changed my clothes while I was asleep!"

"Of course. Your jacket and trousers were dirty."

"That's not the point! Do... don't you have any common sense!!"

He turned back around and his handsome, perfectly proportioned features lit up with the perfect smile:

"Plenty, just my own!"