Seeing the girl named Beatrice spiral into a panic, Nero gave a wry smile. She wasn't trying to scare the kid—there was a demonic presence nearby, and that was cold, hard fact.
"Y-you're serious?" Beatrice stammered, her voice trembling.
"Dead serious," Nero replied.
"I-I'm going back to tell my father!"
Hiking up her skirt, Beatrice scurried off toward the town in a flurry of tiny steps. Since she was the local lord's daughter, the townsfolk would probably start keeping their guard up. Until the demons showed themselves, that was about as good as it got.
Now for the real question: how the hell did Nero end up in the fourteenth century?
Hell Gates link to the demon world, and time flows the same in both realms. Nero had never heard of anything like a "time rift" in the Devil May Cry universe. Which meant…
She was probably in a completely different world.
Had Yamato gone berserk and dragged her to a place totally unrelated to Devil May Cry?
She needed answers, and fast. Beatrice clearly didn't know squat about demons or the supernatural, so asking her was a bust. But there was someone nearby who might know something.
Nero looked toward the town. Behind the retreating Beatrice, a silent figure had been watching the whole time.
A girl with golden hair and emerald eyes, her twin tails tied up like wings, exuding a feral aura despite her blank expression. She'd been there since Nero's chat with Beatrice began, but Beatrice hadn't noticed her at all.
Nero took the initiative. "You show up and don't say a word? What's the deal?"
The girl wore a flowing white robe in an ancient Greek style, gold-trimmed sandals, and golden chains wrapped around her arms and ankles. A feathered crown studded with emeralds sat on her head. She fixed her gaze on Nero and spoke in a flat, emotionless tone. "You're an intruder."
What's that supposed to mean?
Nero, not one to back down, put on a confident front. "You've been eavesdropping this whole time, and you don't even introduce yourself?"
"What soars in the sky is wisdom. What runs on the earth is strength. What roams between them is freedom," the girl said impassively. "And all of this is my name."
What is she, a freaking riddler?
Nero stared, utterly baffled, as the girl spouted her cryptic nonsense. Why was she suddenly supposed to play guessing games about her identity? If this were any other day, Nero might've just gone, "Riddler, meet fist!" But she needed answers, so she bit her tongue and played along.
Thinking it over, her first guess was a word puzzle. The riddle was about the girl's name, and all that sky-earth-wisdom-strength talk might tie into it. But something felt off.
Then it hit her: the act of giving a riddle itself was a clue. Introducing herself through a puzzle meant "riddler" was a hint to her identity.
A person tied to riddles.
A person famous for riddles.
Nero's mind latched onto something. There's one riddle so well-known that its creator is sometimes used to describe riddles themselves.
If she approached it from that angle, the riddle started to click.
"Sky" clearly referred to the highest part of a creature—physiologically, the brain; spiritually, the "sky of the soul." That tied to "wisdom." So, the first line's answer was "a human head."
"Earth" pointed to the parts touching the ground—limbs and body. In European culture, the creature symbolizing "strength" is a lion. So, the second line's answer was "a lion's body."
With just those two, Nero could already guess the answer. The third line was a no-brainer: "a bird's wings." Combined with the riddler act, the solution was obvious.
"You're the Sphinx?" Nero asked, her tone firm.
"Correct," the blonde girl—or rather, the Sphinx—replied, a faint, slightly haughty smile curling her lips.
"Allow me to formally introduce myself," she continued. "Sphinx, Heroic Spirit of the Ruler class. A pleasure to meet you, wanderer from another world."
"Name's Nero," she replied, giving a slight nod.
Thanks to the Sphinx's intel, Nero finally had a grip on where she'd landed. The mention of a "Heroic Spirit" and "Ruler class" ruled out myths like Norse legends and pointed straight to one thing.
The Type-Moon universe—or more specifically, a branch of the Fate series' FGO timeline. Summoning Heroic Spirits wasn't a thing in Type-Moon's pre-Renaissance eras, so no Holy Grail Wars here.
But something didn't add up. In Nero's memory, the FGO singularities affecting human history around the fourteenth century were tied to France, post-Hundred Years' War. Right now, it felt like the early Hundred Years' War, and she was in England, not France.
What was going on?
Before Nero could press for more, the Sphinx turned away, her form starting to fade. "Hey, wait!" Nero called out.
"The history of this place is being distorted," the Sphinx said without looking back, her voice calm. "The sun is devoured by hatred, and an arrogant king is about to emerge. If you wish to escape, unravel it…"
Her voice faded with her figure, and Nero gritted her teeth, lowering her outstretched hand.
At least the Sphinx had dropped a hint about getting out of this world. Nero couldn't exactly complain.
As she'd suspected, this was a singularity warped by the Holy Grail, one that could burn millennia of human history to ash. FGO's protagonist, Ritsuka Fujimaru, would probably show up soon to fix this mess and erase the singularity. If the Sphinx was right, that'd be Nero's ticket home.
No way was she saying goodbye to Kyrie and the others for百
She had to get back to the Devil May Cry world. As long as she could make it home, she'd have plenty of time to enjoy the trip.
Speaking of Devil May Cry, her thoughts drifted to the Hell Gate she'd destroyed. Was this little dimension-hop tied to some quirk of that gate?
Could that Mephisto have followed her here? Was that demonic aura tied to it?
In that instant, the faint demonic presence she'd been sensing spiked hard. Without hesitation, Nero whipped around, lashing out with her whip-blade.
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