[Bonus Chapter 2]
"Is that....The Golden Fleece?"
Roland accepted the radiant sheepskin from the Shadow Army's outstretched hands, its soft golden glow reflecting gently in his eyes. The moment he touched it, a strange warmth seemed to soak into his soul, as if even despair might be softened by its presence.
The Shadow Legion, shaped by their master's will, would always respond according to his nature. Their efficiency and loyalty remained unquestionable, but their expressiveness, what they brought forth reflected the one they served. And under Roland, they were precise, almost eerie in their perfection.
Of all the Heroic Spirits Roland had knowledge of and could reasonably summon, Sorceress Medea stood out.
A magus of the Age of Gods, brilliant, ruthless, and methodical. In terms of magical prowess and teaching ability, she was unmatched. Even her temperament, if you could look past the reputational haze and betrayal narratives, was compatible with Roland's own ideals.
She wasn't so much as unpredictable as she was misunderstood.
That alone made her reliable.
It's decided.
He suppressed stray emotions and extended his hand toward the summoning circle, focusing solely on the ritual. The room quieted. Even Sakura, standing off to the side, was frozen in uncertainty, too used to pain to trust in peace.
Despite 'Worn a thousand wisdoms' granted by the Holy Lord's soul, Roland approached the summoning with complete seriousness. This was the moment in the Nasuverse most prone to backfire. Even knowing the theory didn't guarantee safe execution.
Sure enough, as he recited the chant, something shifted within him.
Power stirred.
It flowed through his limbs like liquid lightning, as if a dam had been shattered. He trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer overflow. It wasn't a transfer. It was an awakening.
And the magic circle responded.
Light gathered. The air turned heavy, like something ancient was being pulled from beyond the veil. Spirit particles condensed in visible whorls, and wind blew outward as if the very world exhaled.
In the center of the circle, a figure emerged.
Shrouded in a deep hooded robe, slim and small in stature. Lavender hair spilled like twilight silk, and alabaster skin glimmered where the robe parted. She held a crescent-moon staff almost taller than herself.
Her voice cut through the storm, clear, cold, and imperious.
"I am Servant Caster. True name Medea. Are you my summoner?"
She appeared delicate, somewhere around 1.5 meters, but not weak. The way she held herself hinted at formidable strength held in check. The half-hidden face beneath her hood offered no warmth, only precision.
She was not what he expected. Not exactly.
But something about that steely calm, that weight of magic and cold clarity... it was undeniably her.
Roland, however, remained quiet a moment too long.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Master? Are you dissatisfied with summoning me?"
There was no change in her expression, but her tone dipped sharply.
"No. Quite the opposite," Roland said calmly. "You are precisely what I hoped for. In this Holy Grail War... let us work together toward victory."
For once, something felt stable. In a war full of betrayals and shifting allegiances, Medea was a firm foundation.
She didn't respond. Instead, her violet eyes flicked toward the girl standing near the circle.
Matou Sakura instinctively took a step back and ducked behind Roland's leg, peeking out warily.
Medea's eyes narrowed further.
"That child is an apprentice?" Her voice was neutral, nearly lifeless. "Why did you bring her?"
"To act as a magic battery," Roland answered plainly.
A pause.
"Why?" she asked flatly, as though she hadn't expected such an idiotic answer.
"Even from the perspective of the Age of Gods... your body is steeped in true ether. A miracle in both quality and volume. There's no need to rely on a child for such a thing."
Her tone wasn't skeptical. It was closer to confused awe.
True ether, the divine fuel of ancient magi, hadn't flowed in the world since the gods withdrew. But this man before her... his body produced it naturally, as if from a separate realm unbound by this world's decay.
To call him a magus was wrong.
He was more akin to a god.
"I see..."
Medea's gaze pierced him. "Even if you wish to preserve your strength, I can obtain superior resources for workshop construction. There's no reason to exploit a child."
Roland blinked.
Wait... is she implying I'm a scumbag making a child do the labour?
Before he could respond, Medea continued coldly, "Very well. If that's your decision, then I suppose I don't need to terminate this contract. Yet."
That snapped him out of it.
"Wait... what?"
"Don't you have any wishes you want to realize?" Roland asked, genuinely puzzled.
"No," she replied without hesitation. "This world is just another shade of the one that betrayed me. Should you ever give me a reason to break the contract, I'll be glad to vanish."
His lips pressed together in a frown.
This wasn't right. She had just been summoned. She hadn't even experienced the cruelty of this war yet, and already she spoke like a prisoner waiting for execution.
His eyes darkened. Slowly, they turned scarlet.
"Medea. Show me your Noble Phantasm."
Without flinching, she pulled forth a dagger, its lightning-bolt shape glimmering. A treasure designed to shatter all contracts, reverse any binding.
A C-rank Noble Phantasm in name only, its utility was worthy of Ex-rank.
She lifted it calmly.
"You feel threatened, don't you? This blade, made for betrayal, makes you uneasy. Are you afraid the servant you summoned will one day turn it on you?"
"Do you intend to use a Command Spell, Master? Or cancel the contract now?"
Roland stared at her evenly.
"I'm not great with words. I'm worse with women. But... I prefer actions over promises."
He raised his arm.
"By this Command Spell, I declare—Medea, if ever you feel I have betrayed you, you may use your Noble Phantasm to dissolve this contract at once."
The silence that followed was crushing.
Medea, who moments ago had all but given up, froze in place. For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved.
Then her voice, shaky, barely audible.
"Are you mad?" she whispered. "I'm a Caster. Magic flows through me, controls me. Even the slightest emotional twitch could trigger such a spell. I wouldn't even intend to use it, and I'd obey without question."
"I know."
"Why?" she whispered, voice trembling for the first time.
"Because I want peace of mind. For both of us." Roland's voice was quiet. "If you're afraid of betrayal... then no one's at peace. Trust must go both ways."
She opened her mouth again, but Roland cut her off.
"I trust you."
A pause.
Then, something shifted in Medea's eyes. The hard edges didn't soften, but they cracked, just slightly. She took a small step forward. Then another. And then-
"Then let's get along, Master," she whispered with an elegant smile, stepping close.
Roland blinked. Her scent was light, barely there, but strangely nostalgic. And then, suddenly, her arms were around him, and he felt her breath against his neck.
"Too close," he warned.
He gently pushed her back, just enough. As he did, her hood slipped down.
What he saw left him momentarily stunned.
She was beautiful. Radiantly so. But she didn't look like the mature sorceress he expected.
She looked younger.
There was an odd blend of purity and seduction in her features, an ethereal nobility laced with something darker, more mischievous.
He blinked.
"Medea... Lily?"