Headed by a Snake



⟬ On board Divine Armor Starfury. ⟭

"You trust that woman?" Natalya asked, "Della KwAhhH~?'"

Her pronunciation was correct, but her tone was... a bit off. 

"I don't trust anyone," Tycondrius replied. 

Trust was a broad, overly sweeping term. 

He trusted certain people with certain tasks. He could trust a Sea Wolf to swim, but not to fly. 

"Well, *I* don't trust her!" Natalya pouted.

"...Very well."

Tycon wasn't sure what to do with that information. It didn't seem to affect him, at all.

"Then why," Natalya began, "did you give her that disgusting artifact?"

The artifact? 

Ah. 

The artifact. 

When Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe fell in battle, Tycon retrieved a mysterious metal rod from his corpse. 

From what he understood, Wroe had a blessing or three from the Sword Goddess. 

The rod of blackened Arcanite had something to do with his deity (despite its appearance somewhat ironic to the fact.)

As it radiated divine power, it was an artifact, as Natalya said.

However, Tycon had difficulty associating the term 'artifact' with the most curse-laden object he'd ever come across. 

He had activated the rod's curse-magic once, in the past. 

At the time, he needed a ⌈Dimensional Anchor⌋... but using the cursed artifact in lieu of a prepared Spell scroll was the equivalent of using a keg of Orcish Sugar as a seat while building a fire. 

It worked, but in hindsight, it was needlessly dangerous to do so. 

Even after the event, Tycon could not discern the Arcanite Rod's true usage. He even made a request to the Witch-Goddess, Bella Sapphira, to examine it, but even she was left perplexed. 

Since the god-artifact was useless to him, he decided to give it to someone who could potentially use it. 

"It was appropriate," Tycon explained. "Chantal's contracted beast has a similar affinity."

Natalya looked back to face Tycon, "And what manner of creature is her contracted beast?"

"That is..." 

Tycon chose to withhold a proper answer. 

Chantal was contracted to something Ancient even by Ancient Elven standards. It was an existence wholly unacceptable to persons indoctrinated in the Holy Country. 

And, that, Natalya was. 

The Archbishop sitting in his lap shook her head, clicking her tongue. 

"Keeping secrets from your wife?" she sighed, "Are you not afraid of the death penalty?"

Eh?

"That... is not a punishable Tyrion offense."

--or that was what he hoped. It sounded ridiculous. 

"Did you forget?" Natalya laughed, "My name is synonymous with Tyrion law."

That was blatantly untrue. The Holy Country was a Republic. Its laws were made by their Senate. 

Tycon very much wanted to disagree.

However... an argument with Natalya was not in his best interests. 

His presence was expected in Port Town Jad. 

But in order to avoid riding a lizardhawk, Natalya was taking him as a passenger aboard her Divine Armor. 

Starfury's piloting chamber was illuminated in a warm, golden light. 

Its direct control panel, all its delicate, little levers and mysterious gauges and fat, colorful buttons-- most everything was lined with expensive (and highly mana-conductive) Arcanite. 

The Ancient Divine Armors of the Holy Country... 

For centuries, other nations developed their arcanotech hoping to emulate the Tyrion mana constructs. 

None came close... save perhaps Whitehearth's Arcanite Princess, Ophelia Moonwell. 

Despite their Divine Armors being 10 to 20% smaller on average, Ophelia still managed to create maneuverable war machines, twice the size of a typical human dwelling. 

But glorious advancements of the human race aside, Tycon found Starfury's piloting chamber... somewhat inconvenient. 

Natalya insisted that transporting him would have no issues. 

However... there was only one seat.

This was logically sound, as a Divine Armor only needed a single pilot. 

He piloted[1] a Divine Armor before-- and that only had one seat. 

But... by the time Tycon realized there were potential seating issues, the lizardhawk riders had already departed.

Thus... 

Tycon volunteered to stand behind the single seat. 

That notion, Natalya seemed to find offensive. 

She insisted that he take a seat on her lap. 

...He gave that a try. 

It did not work. 

In that position, Natalya had great difficulty reaching the controls. 

Finally, Tycon took Natalya's place, sitting her in his lap. 

She tried to complain but had nothing meaningful to say. 

The third arrangement was best, considering Natalya's vehement rejection of the first. 

And from that point onward, Tycon attempted to assuage her concerns. 

He reassured the woman that her weight was not a hindrance. 

That turned out to be a mistake. 

An argument ensued. 

But thankfully... and after Tycon apologized for several minutes for half-a-dozen things that had nothing to do with him... Natalya seemed to forget her complaints. 

--and Tycon had the rare wisdom to not question his fortune. 

The 60-fulm tall Divine Armor had flight capabilities similar to its maker's previous model, the Dawnbringer. It sped over the waters of the bay at an excellent pace. 

It was both faster and safer than riding a lizardhawk... as long as Natala was paying attention. 

From what Tycon understood, the main Command Station of the Wyrmslayer Alliance was located somewhere in Jad. 

Despite the death and destruction of everyone he knew and cared for being relatively imminent... it behooved him to check the reports detailing his forces. From there, he could make any last-minute arrangements, as he saw fit. 

"Snake."

Natalya didn't turn around as she called to him. 

Tycon found it odd that she was acting so cold. 

He wondered for a moment if she made it a practice to sit in the laps of other men?

He cleared his throat, "Ahem. Did you mean... husband, perhaps?"

"AgainnNnn with 'husband,'" Natalya groaned, "Tycon, must you mock my every word?"

"Perhaps I was serious," Tycon said, wrapping his arms around the Archbishop's waist. "Natalya, will you marry me?"

Tycon immediately regretted the question as Starfury tilted sharply to the side. 

They were falling-- rapidly losing altitude, yet it felt like gravity had pulled his heart into the pit of his stomach. 

This woman-- did she hate the thought of their marriage so much?!

[1] Pilot: Tycon joins the battle with Divine Armor Talks-with-Fire in Chapter 734.