A violet-like fragrance drifted into Roy's nostrils and seeped into his lungs, enveloping him in the sensation of strolling leisurely through a sea of flowers under a warm countryside sun.
But that comfort was fleeting and was soon replaced by a lifeless chill. A frigid wind, thick with the scent of death, pierced through his body and stirred his soul, casting a sudden and dreadful illusion that he had already died and fallen into the underworld.
If this were the world of Campione, even in death he might have had the company of the goddess Athena. But to die here, in the Land of Shadows, meant becoming a slave, forever bound to that queen.
Soft…
As full consciousness returned to him, Roy realized he was resting on something soft, softer and more inviting than any velvet pillow.
Lap pillow!
His rich experiences instantly connected the sensation to that word. Snapping his eyes open, he was greeted by a vision of deep violet, a stunning silhouette.
It was nothing like the time he'd awakened in the Netherworld and seen Pandora. Then, he'd opened his eyes to a flat expanse and immediately seen her face. Now, however, his field of vision was obstructed by two towering "peaks." Through the valley between them, he glimpsed a pair of wine-red eyes—eyes that no longer carried the icy detachment from before, but instead radiated a gentle warmth, like that of a nurturing elder sister from the neighbourhood.
The feel of the back of his head was also completely different. Pandora's legs were too slender, resting on them felt like lying on a wooden board. But Scáthach… her thighs were perfectly full and firm, strong yet yielding, not too soft, not too hard. Resting on them was unbelievably comfortable.
For a brief moment, Roy felt he could lie there forever, eyes dazed with bliss. But reality soon intruded and he remembered how brutally Scáthach had humiliated him before, in a manner that bordered on torment. That memory shocked him fully awake, and he quickly leapt up from her lap, eyes wary and alert as he faced her.
The woman wrapped entirely in violet was kneeling on the cold, hard ground in a seiza position. Her posture was graceful and alluring, radiating a potent, mesmerizing femininity. Even Roy had to admit that Scáthach embodied womanhood to an almost terrifying degree, a perfect fusion of martial strength and seductive charm.
Looking around, Roy confirmed this was still the Land of Shadows. His wounds were nearly all healed. While his status as a Campione—a God Slayer—gave him naturally extraordinary regeneration, he suspected Scáthach had also lent her aid. She wielded mastery over the Primordial Runes, after all, and healing him would be well within her power.
"You didn't kill me?"
Seeing Scáthach kneeling silently, her twin cursed spears embedded behind her, Roy decided to break the silence himself.
"Do you remember what I told you before you passed out?" she asked softly.
Her voice was tender, utterly unlike her battle-wrought persona. She wore her half-face mask, but her wine-colored eyes shimmered with almost maternal warmth.
Roy furrowed his brow and shook his head. "…Something about dying… I don't really remember the details."
At the time, his mind had been in disarray. Every ounce of his being had been focused on defeating this terrifying woman, he hadn't the bandwidth to truly process her words.
"You don't remember? Then let it be. All you need to know is this that your courage, will, and strength have earned my recognition."
Scáthach's voice remained gentle, almost comforting.
"And why should I care about earning your approval?"
Roy's tone held a note of irritation, it was immature, bordering on even being petulant. Although he had been tricked by Aleister once, most of Roy's life had been smooth sailing. That ease had bred arrogance, and deep down, he looked down on the world.
In truth, he was still immature and still too young.
But that was only natural. It had only been a little over a year since Roy had truly grasped his power. He had vaulted straight to the summit without any journey of growth, without struggling from weakness to strength.
With his current capabilities, had he arrived in the Nasuverse, few could stand against him. The Servants that modern magi feared were nothing before his divine authorities. After all, Servants were not on par with True Gods, not even close.
Whether his fortune was good or bad was uncertain. Instead of entering the inner world, Roy had ventured into the realm beyond worlds, a space not even bound by material laws.
Scáthach wasn't angered by his haughty words. In her eyes, Roy was still just a child. She had trained countless heroes from Celtic myth, and every one of them had once stood before her with the same pride, the same defiance.
Yet Roy was undoubtedly the most powerful disciple she had ever taught, even stronger than when she once mentored Cu Chulainn. If Roy had encountered that version of her, their battle might have been entirely reversed, and she would have been the one struggling to win.
But "if" was just that, an if. The current Scáthach was no longer that woman of the past. She had surpassed the world through martial enlightenment and attained unmatched power, tempered by wisdom drawn from the abyss.
"I don't dislike your arrogance. On the contrary, I quite admire it. If a person can't even take pride in themselves, then they can only live in cowardice and mediocrity, and I have no fondness for such people. But arrogance must have its boundaries. First, you must have a clear understanding of yourself that you know your limits, recognize your talents, and acknowledge your flaws. Only then will your arrogance hold any true value."
Scáthach's voice carried the weight of a teacher imparting life lessons to her student. Her tone was both gentle and firm, stirring memories in Roy of the times he'd been sternly reprimanded by a teacher back in his school days. Almost instinctively, he straightened his posture.
"You possess boundless potential for growth. I too look forward to witnessing your development. Do not disappoint me."
As she said this, Scáthach slowly rose to her feet. With her body fully upright, her previously enchanting and seductive aura transformed into one of commanding heroism. The speed at which her presence shifted left Roy stunned.
He felt the urge to retort, but in the end, he swallowed his words. Arguing in front of someone vastly more powerful than himself would be the height of arrogance, a fool's conceit. Only childish braggarts feel the need to push back when clearly outmatched. Just as Scáthach said, he needed to learn the limits of his pride.
"I get it. You're stronger than me right now. Whatever you say, goes."
Though the words sounded petulant, Roy did take her message to heart.
"A teachable child indeed."
Scáthach gave a faint smile. Her voice, soft yet edged with steel, drifted out from behind the mask that covered the lower half of her face.
"I don't even know your name yet, foreigner."
"Roy. Roy Crowley."
It was just a name, nothing worth concealing.
"Hmm... Then Roy, tell me, what is it that you came here seeking?"
Scáthach gave a small hum of acknowledgment, then after a pause, added, "...Speak honestly. Tell me what lies in your heart."
Roy had been about to say, "I didn't come here of my own will, I just somehow ended up here." But the words caught in his throat, and he fell silent.
What was his true desire? Why had he come to the world of the Campione, and why had he ended up here? The answer had always been there but he just needed to admit it:
"To find the opportunity to become stronger!"
Yes. That was the core of it. His true reason.
Scáthach nodded in approval. Her eyes curved slightly as she smiled, "Then your opportunity lies before you. Become my student, and I will teach you all that I know."
"Become your student? Then as a teacher, shouldn't you at least show me your real face? This half-hidden look of yours doesn't exactly inspire confidence."
Roy wasn't even sure why he said that.