Demeter knew Leon's three magics inside and out.
All three were absurdly powerful, unheard-of, never-before-seen, ultra-rare spells. But every last one of them was utility-type. Strong? Absolutely. Useful in a fight? Not directly.
First magic: Genesis Origin. To Demeter, an inexplicable status-type spell. To Leon, the System itself.
Second magic: Heaven and Earth: Fortune's Blessing. On paper, a ritual blessing spell of unknown origin.
Third magic: Leon's Grimoire. A spell that recorded other spells without occupying magic slots.
So when Leon asked about commissioning a custom staff, the goddess only needed a moment's thought before the pieces clicked.
"Your third magic..." She twirled a strand of hair around one finger, amber eyes gleaming with understanding. "Oh my... you've finally recorded a combat spell through that mystery method of yours? Congratulations, Leon~ You finally got what you've been waiting for."
Her lips curved with genuine pleasure.
"A primary combat spell, paired with that ridiculous mana pool of yours... yes, a properly matched staff would be an absolute force multiplier. Indispensable."
"As for connections, I can find someone for you."
Her tone shifted, lazy warmth gaining a teasing edge.
"But~ a word of warning first. When it comes to a mage's personal armament, the price tag... well, let's just say it might stop your heart. Brace yourself so you don't faint on me~"
He'd already steeled himself, but the word "price" triggered something primal. His expression locked up for a split second.
A resigned sigh escaped him. "Can't be helped. This isn't something I can compromise on."
"As for the cost... I'll be counting on you to negotiate, Lady Demeter. I've got the blueprint and the primary material covered, so that should cut the bill down considerably."
Genuine surprise flickered across her face.
"Hmm?" Her eyes widened slightly, body leaning forward with open curiosity. "Well, well~ When did you secretly strike it rich, Leon? Making big money and not even telling me? We're supposed to share the joy, you know!"
She drew out the last syllable, warm breath carrying the faint scent of flowers past his ear.
Silence.
The twin assault on body and willpower left his defenses crumbling.
"It was today! Literally today!" He rushed to clarify, grasping for composure. "The money's barely warm in my pocket and I came straight here to share the good news with my goddess!"
"Is that so?" Demeter blinked, sly as a cat. "And here I thought you only remembered I existed because you'd hit a problem you couldn't solve."
Nothing. He had absolutely nothing.
Pinned with surgical precision, Leon's mouth opened and closed without producing a single useful sound.
Savoring his rare moment of helplessness, Demeter nestled against him like a contented cat and stretched her honeyed voice to its limit.
"Buuut~ since this is the very first time little Leon has come to ask me for something so earnestly... I accept!"
Business settled, the mischief in her eyes melted into something warmer, more liquid. Slender fingers reached out, a fingertip tracing the line of his jaw, her smile devastating enough to be classified as a weapon.
"So... now that the serious talk is done, shouldn't we move on to something more... interesting?"
"As you wish, my goddess."
His voice came out low and rough.
Under Persephone's stare, which had gone cold enough to crystallize the air, Leon scooped the laughing goddess into his arms and carried her toward the staircase to the second floor with the ease of someone who knew the way.
Persephone's teacup hit the saucer hard enough to crack. The sound followed them up the stairs.
The bedroom door barely latched before Demeter's fingers were in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. She kissed like she did everything else. Unhurried. Thorough. The kind of kiss that made him forget he'd nearly lost an arm twelve hours ago.
He set her down and she kept hold of his collar, walking backward until the edge of the bed caught her knees. The gold belt came undone with a practiced flick of her wrist. The pink dress pooled around her ankles. Underneath, nothing but a thin silk slip that left very little to the imagination.
"You're staring, little Leon."
"I'm appreciating."
She laughed, low and warm, and pulled him down onto the bed with her.
His mouth found her neck first. The hollow beneath her ear, where her pulse kicked. She hummed and tilted her head, giving him more skin. His lips traced down along her collarbone, slow, deliberate, the way she'd taught him she liked. Her fingers tightened in his hair when he got it right.
The slip rode up as she shifted beneath him. His hand followed the curve of her thigh, pushed the silk higher. Demeter's breath caught when his palm settled on her hip, thumb tracing lazy circles against bare skin.
"Off," she murmured, tugging at his shirt. He sat up long enough to pull it over his head. Her eyes tracked the motion, then the bandage still wrapped around his left arm.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
She pressed her lips to the edge of the bandage, feather-light. Then her hands were on his chest, fingernails dragging slow lines down his stomach. His muscles twitched under the touch.
He eased the slip over her head. Honey-gold hair fanned across the pillow, and the last barrier between them was gone. Her breasts were heavy and full against his chest when he lowered himself back down, and the sound she made when his mouth closed over one nipple sent heat straight to his groin.
"Mmn... right there."
Her back arched off the mattress. He worked his tongue in slow circles, one hand kneading the other breast, and felt her thigh press up between his legs. She could feel how hard he was. The smile she gave him was pure goddess.
"Someone's eager."
He answered by sliding his hand down her stomach, past her navel, between her legs. She was already wet. His fingers parted her folds and found her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and her composure cracked for the first time.
"Ah... yes, like that..."
Demeter's hips rolled against his hand. The teasing, the games, the drawn-out flirtation from downstairs... all of it had been foreplay for her. She'd been ready before they reached the stairs. He could feel it in how slick she was, how her thighs squeezed around his wrist.
He slipped two fingers inside her and curled them. Her head pressed back into the pillow, throat bared, a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan tearing free.
"Leon..."
He freed himself from his trousers and settled between her thighs. She hooked one leg around his hip and pulled him closer, guiding him with her hand. The moment he pushed inside, they both went still.
Tight. Wet. Hot enough to blank his thoughts for a solid three seconds.
"Move," she whispered against his ear.
He did. Slow at first, grinding deep, feeling her adjust around him. Her nails bit into his shoulders. Each thrust drew another sound from her, quiet ones she muffled against his neck. The sheets were already damp where their bodies met.
This goddess is going to kill me before the Dungeon gets the chance.
The pace built on its own. Her hips rose to meet him, finding the rhythm, and the restraint they'd both been holding dissolved. The bed frame knocked softly against the wall. Demeter's moans lost their composure, turned ragged and open-mouthed, and the wet sounds between them filled the room. Her legs locked around his waist.
"Harder."
He obeyed. His grip on her hip tightened, pulling her into each stroke. She reached up, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and dragged his mouth down to hers. The kiss was sloppy, all teeth and breath. The goddess who'd been teasing him all evening was gone. What was left underneath was raw.
"Right there... don't stop..."
He didn't. Her thighs shook around him, her breathing hitched, and then she was clenching around him so hard his vision whited out. She came with a ragged cry against his mouth, shaking, nails leaving crescents in his back. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt, every muscle locked tight as the tension snapped.
When he opened his eyes, her fingers were already combing through his sweat-damp hair. She was smiling. Not the teasing one. Something quieter.
"Stay for dinner?"
"You're asking after?"
She pinched his ear. He stayed for dinner.
...
Stars hung thick in the sky and the night had deepened to ink before Leon emerged from Wheat Manor in a fresh change of clothes, looking thoroughly refreshed.
He carried a small, elegant bag: a prototype from the Demeter Familia's newest line. Ice White Grape Juice, the label read.
A "prototype" in name only. He knew full well that even this sample was worth more than most adventurers earned in a week.
The goddess has excellent taste. A private smile crossed his face as he glanced back without thinking.
Lamplight and moonlight mingled across the courtyard. On the second-floor balcony, a figure in a silk slip dress leaned against the railing.
Demeter's smile could have outshone both light sources. Those amber eyes, still glistening, followed his retreating silhouette until the darkness swallowed him whole. Only then, reluctantly, did she look away.
...
...
The next day arrived before he knew it.
When he'd left Wheat Manor the previous evening, Leon had handed over both the Great Sacred Tree Branch and the crafting blueprint for the Scholar's Staff to Demeter.
One week. That's all it would take before his personal staff was ready.
He rolled out of bed, tested his left arm. The lingering stiffness from yesterday had vanished completely. Carefully unwinding the bandage, he found the skin beneath flawless, not even a hairline scar remaining, courtesy of Airmid's miraculous healing.
"Perfect. Full range of motion." He flexed the arm with satisfaction, then remembered the young physician's warning. "Though she did say to hold off on heavy training for one more day..."
"Right. Trust the professional."
...
Breakfast was two generous bowls of savory rice porridge with a pair of crisp side dishes and slices of bacon-and-cheese toast fried to a golden crunch. Leon ate until contentment settled deep in his bones, marveling at how good life could be.
The windfall, the unlocked potential, the staff on its way. He caught himself humming.
"Six months since I got isekai'd, and the rough patch is finally over. Things are actually looking up."
After the meal, he tidied the house in high spirits and, careful not to strain his arm, gave the place a thorough deep clean. A hot shower followed. Then, like a retiree with nowhere to be, he grabbed his favorite tea mug and settled into the stone seat beneath the old tree in his courtyard.
Afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, painting the ground in dappled gold.
He half-closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift.
The last few days had been a rollercoaster. The constant highs and lows had kept his nerves wound tight, and now that the pressure had finally eased, the stillness felt almost transcendent. Mind and body, both lighter than they'd been in months.
Is this what they call... achieving inner peace? Leveling up my zen stat?
A quiet laugh at his own expense. He sipped his tea, content.
The peace didn't last.
A flash of arcane light stabbed into his peripheral vision without warning.
What?
A magic circle?
He whipped his head around. In the corner of the yard, beside the planter boxes, a magic circle had materialized from nowhere. Densely layered, impossibly intricate. Runes spiraled and blazed with mounting intensity.
A deep hum vibrated through the air. The shockwave of raw magical energy rippled outward, setting every leaf in the yard thrashing.
"Wait... that signature... is that..." A wild guess flashed through his mind.
Before he could process it, the circle flared blinding white. Leon threw his arm up to shield his eyes.
"Holy shit!"
The surge faded. He lowered his arm and stared.
At the center of the magic circle stood a slender, striking figure.
She wore a simple navy linen dress cinched at the waist with a woven belt, and soft leather half-boots with a modest heel.
Golden hair was plaited into a single thick braid that hung still and heavy at her waist.
A presence radiated from her like a held breath: clear, resolute, and pure enough to scour the world clean. The word that surfaced unbidden was paladin.
"Are you my Master?" The girl's voice rang cool and steady, pulling Leon out of his stupor.
What.
A jolt of recognition. Familiar and impossible at the same time.
The residual glow dissolved. When he saw her face clearly, Leon physically recoiled.
In the span of a single heartbeat, his brain fired off a cascade of keywords like a wiki page scrolling at triple speed.
Maid of Orléans. Holy Maiden of Salvation. La Pucelle. The village girl who was secretly gentry. The blonde saint in chains that launched a thousand fan artists. Jeanne "literally broken" d'Arc...
He sucked in a sharp breath. A chill shot from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his skull. He could already see his luck stat for the foreseeable future plummeting into the abyss.
This isn't some "survived a disaster so good fortune follows" deal. The cost-to-reward ratio here is completely out of whack.
Cold sweat soaked through his shirt. He forced himself steady, his voice carrying the faintest tremor as he tested the name aloud.
"Jeanne d'Arc?"
"Jeanne d'Arc?"
"Jeanne?"
Even as the words left his mouth, connections fired in rapid succession. The Invitation. The vanguard role. Support abilities. XP compatibility. Every criterion he could think of surfaced and overlaid itself perfectly onto the girl standing before him.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Every single condition matched. Even the hidden ones. Especially the compatibility score.
"Master? That's not wrong, I suppose."
Leon set down his teacup, drew a deep breath, and walked up to Jeanne. He extended his hand.
"Leon. Leon Hart."
"Welcome to the new world, Jeanne."
"Huh?"
Confusion broke through the girl's composure. She raised her hand on instinct and clasped his.
The instant their palms touched...
A pulse of warm, sacred light bloomed from where their hands met. Something subtle, something that resonated at the level of the soul itself, locked into place between them.
"Then the contract is sealed."
"Welcome to the Hart Familia."
"We're family now."
...
...
Jeanne's mind was blank.
Her last memory was the stake at Rouen. Flames licking skin, devouring consciousness, and then nothing. The final void.
But in that instant before oblivion claimed her, a jet-black letter had materialized from nowhere in her fading awareness...
When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in this quiet, unfamiliar courtyard.
Before she could gather a single thought, she'd already formed this strange contract with the young man in front of her.
Dazed, she followed him inside and sank into a soft sofa, sitting motionless for a long while as the memories, the ones the fire had burned away, came flooding back like a returning tide.
"I'm... alive?"
She looked down at her hands. Whole. Unmarked.
Clear blue eyes filled with something too vast for words.
"This... this is impossible..."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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