After a surprisingly civilised breakfast, albeit seasoned with Mirajane's usual, highly effective teasing and Erza's adorably explosive, entirely predictable reactions, we decided, or rather, Erza decided for both of us, that it was high time we dragged our tired backsides to the Fairy Tail guild and looked for a new, exciting, hopefully lucrative mission.
The sun, with an irritating, entirely unsuitable joy for someone still feeling half asleep, shone brightly in the clear blue sky, illuminating the path we followed through the bustling, noisy city of Magnolia, and the weather was, I must admit with a certain regret, perfect for an adventure. Or, in my humble, generally ignored opinion, for a long, deep, refreshing nap under the shade of a leafy tree with a gentle breeze. The options, unfortunately, were not open for debate.
As we walked side by side, in a silence that wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but wasn't entirely relaxed either – mainly because Erza still seemed to be stewing over the morning's provocations – I couldn't help but notice, with secret amusement, that our little, stubborn Titania-in-training was still rather… visibly irritated.
The memories of Mirajane's somewhat suggestive jests about 'perfect wives' and 'sharing Azra'il' still hung in the air like a miniature storm cloud stubbornly hovering over her red head. And she, with her characteristic stubbornness, her strong sense of possessiveness regarding… well, me, and her total inability to take a bit of teasing in her stride, seemed not in the least bit inclined to let them go so easily.
[Ah, young Erza's morning drama and her unrequited romantic insecurities… or perhaps just an acute case of possessive jealousy regarding her older sister/best friend/object of confused affection figure,] Eos's voice, always so timely and as subtle as an elephant in a china shop, sounded in my mind, laden with her usual, irritating tone of condescending amusement. [It's almost as entertaining as watching those other-dimensional reality shows of yours about the mating rituals of exotic species. Almost.]
(You and your entirely unnecessary comments on others' emotional lives, Eos. How about focusing on something more productive, like calculating the probability of us encountering a giant sea monster on the way to the guild?) I retorted mentally, with an eye-roll she certainly detected.
[Probability of a giant sea monster in Magnolia: 0.0003%. Probability of Erza exploding with jealousy if Mirajane gives you another hug: approximately 87.9%. My teenage drama analysis algorithms are razor-sharp today, Azra'il.] Damn AI and her ability to read the situation with frightening accuracy.
"I still can't believe it, Azra'il!" Erza exclaimed suddenly, breaking the tense silence with an indignation that was almost palpable, her voice still laden with the morning's ill-contained frustration. "That cheeky Mirajane had the audacity, the complete, absolute shamelessness, to say she wanted you to be her wife! Just like that, in front of everyone! It's preposterous!"
(And here we go again…) I thought, with an internal sigh.
"I know it's just a daft joke of hers, to provoke me, Azra'il, but still… it's utter nonsense! And totally, completely inappropriate!" She gestured dramatically with her hands as she walked, almost knocking over a flowerpot of petunias from a particularly unfortunate resident's unlucky windowsill.
I smiled, an amused, perhaps slightly condescending, but genuinely entertained smile, as I listened to her passionate, slightly exaggerated complaints. It was incredibly amusing to see her so… emotionally invested in something so trivial. "Ah, Erza, my little, jealous protector of questionable honours, you know full well, better than anyone, that Mirajane loves to tease everyone who breathes, especially, and with particular sadistic pleasure, you. It's her favourite pastime, besides, probably, polishing her imaginary demonic horns and planning new ways to get on your nerves. And the inconvenient truth is that, in a way, she was just mucking about to wind you up. And, let's face it, my dear redhead, it worked marvellously, spectacularly well."
[Objective successfully achieved by Unit Mirajane. Unit Erza's irritation level: Elevated. Unit Azra'il's amusement level: Considerably high. Morning provocation mission: Completed with honours. Next phase: Observe the inevitable sparks when they meet at the guild.] Eos's precision was, as always, impeccable and a little frightening.
"Mucking about or not, I don't like it one bit!" Erza replied with adorable stubbornness, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling a determined expression that made her look like a particularly cross squirrel in armour.
"No one, absolutely no one, should have the audacity to call you a potential 'wife', especially when I, and only I, am your best friend! And that's final!" Her logic was simple, direct, and, I must admit, a little frightening in its possessiveness.
"You're so adorably protective, little redhead," I commented, chuckling softly, which only seemed to irritate her further and make her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red. "But don't you worry about such nonsense. You'll always be my number one stubborn troublemaker. No albino demoness with culinary ulterior motives or any other creature in the multiverse will steal your spot. I promise." I winked at her, trying to calm her nerves… or perhaps just amuse myself a little more with the situation.
Erza, oblivious to my internal amusement and Eos's analyses, cast a quick glance at me, looking a little less furious, but still decidedly determined not to let Mirajane's morning provocation go entirely unaddressed. "Well, if that cheeky Mirajane carries on with her daft jokes and absurd insinuations about you, I'll have to show her, once and for all and with concrete proof, who here is really the strongest and who truly deserves your culinary attention… and your friendship!" The veiled threat in her voice was almost palpable, and I didn't doubt for a second her ability to turn the guild into a battlefield over a misplaced comment.
"That's right, Erza! Show her who's boss! Defend my honour… and, more importantly, my precious kitchen skills!" I encouraged with feigned enthusiasm and an amused smile, laughing inwardly at the situation. "But perhaps, just perhaps, my little, jealous warrior, you could postpone this epic battle for my affection and culinary talents until after we find a minimally interesting, challenging, and, above all, lucrative mission at the guild. Priorities, my dear. Priorities."
We both continued to walk towards the imposing, ever-chaotic Fairy Tail guildhall, light conversation, amusing teasing, and Erza's occasional indignant complaint about Mirajane's audacity and lack of respect accompanying us along the way, whilst the morning sun warmed us and promised another day of… well, peculiar, utterly unpredictable normality at the Fairy Tail Guild.
When we finally reached the guild a few minutes later, we were greeted, as usual, by the familiar, comforting, entirely predictable sounds of loud laughter that sounded more like roars, enthusiastic battle cries that were probably just a friendly argument, distinct noises of valuable, easily breakable things being, well, broken, and the constant, cheerful clinking of ale tankards clashing in raucous toasts, all mixed with the ominous, frequent crack of solid wooden tables and chairs being merrily, routinely reduced to mere kindling for the fireplace. It was to be expected, of course.
Even first thing in the morning, such an edifying, culturally enriching, entirely free spectacle as a full-blown brawl was already in full swing in the main hall. Ah, the sweet, predictable, chaotic routine of Fairy Tail. It never changed. And, secretly, I loved it.
Curious as two cats with a particularly interesting, noisy ball of yarn, we both approached with calculated caution – after all, one never knew when a flying barrel or a drunken mage might cross one's path – to get a better look at what, or more likely who, was causing all the morning commotion and gleeful destruction of guild property. And, to our utter, absolute lack of surprise, as if it were an immutable law of the universe, we found the famous, infamous, apparently inseparable dynamic duo known as "fire and ice" at the exact epicentre of the confusion, as always.
There they were, in all their youthful glory and contagious stupidity: Natsu Dragneel, the self-proclaimed Salamander with bubblegum-pink hair, a mischievous, irritating, eternally hungry grin plastered on his face, launching powerful jets of fire magic in all directions with destructive enthusiasm and a total lack of aim, whilst Gray Fullbuster, with his dark, rebellious hair and, for some reason I would probably never understand or accept, wearing only a lamentable, entirely inappropriate pair of rather dodgy boxer shorts (apparently, he had the irritating habit of stripping off in moments of excitement or combat, which was unsettling on several levels), retaliated with equally impressive ferocity, using his creative, versatile, dangerously slippery ice magic. An instant classic. An unmissable morning spectacle.
The two lads, who apparently had a chronic, incurable, mutually destructive allergy to each other, traded creative, colourful, anatomically questionable insults that would make a drunken sailor blush. Clumsy kicks that rarely hit their mark, noisy punches that sounded more like pillows clashing, and a truly impressive amount of misdirected fire and ice spells that ended up hitting everything except their opponents. They created, with enviable efficiency, a chaotic, noisy, surprisingly amusing scene with a high potential for collateral damage that, from what I had patiently observed and analysed over the past four years, seemed to have become an almost sacred morning routine, a daily rite of passage in the guild.
The atmosphere in the main hall was, to say the very least, electrically amusing, dangerously unstable, and highly prone to accidents involving fire, ice, and broken furniture. All normal, then. Until Erza, who was visibly impatient with their monumental stupidity, probably hungry for more of my delicious Tamago Kake Gohan and with zero tolerance for morning clowning, decided, with her usual subtlety of a tank in a china shop, to intervene and bring some order to the mess.
"THAT'S ENOUGH, YOU TWO NOISY, DESTRUCTIVE, AMOEBA-BRAINED IDIOTS!" she yelled, her surprisingly powerful voice echoing through the hall with a cold, unquestionable authority that made even the toughest, most experienced guild members stop what they were doing to look on with a mixture of fear and admiration. And then, with a speed and strength that still surprised me, despite having witnessed it countless times, she simply grabbed the two troublesome juvenile delinquents by the scruff of their necks, one in each hand, lifting them off the ground as easily as one lifts two disobedient, noisy kittens.
Natsu and Gray, caught completely off guard in the midst of their epic, utterly senseless battle, were momentarily stunned, their expressions changing from angry confusion to one of pure, abject fear as they realised who held them. They knew full well, from numerous, painful past experiences, the frightening strength Erza possessed and her total, absolute lack of patience for their childish antics.
"Can't you two, you mage-wannabes with a few screws loose, go a single, blessed morning without getting into stupid, senseless fights that result in the destruction of half the guild's property?! Behave like minimally civilised mages with an ounce of respect for others' property, or I swear by all the strawberry cakes in the world I'll use you both as training weights for my new set of armour!"
Erza put them back on the ground with a firm movement, a look that promised pain, suffering, and possibly a few broken bones, whilst the two poor blighters, now pale as ghosts and trembling like leaves, tried to recover from the little, furious redhead's steel grip and her sudden, terrifying, highly effective intervention.
This peculiar, almost ritualistic interaction between the three had already become as predictable and familiar a routine in Fairy Tail as sunrise, Natsu's insatiable hunger, or the Master's endless speeches about the power of friendship. As soon as the initial brawl inevitably cooled under Erza's icy glare and she turned her back on them, visibly pleased with her temporary display of authority and order, Natsu and Gray, driven by a stupid impulse of youthful revenge, a stubbornness that defied logic, or perhaps just plain, simple chronic stupidity, would invariably join forces in an unlikely, temporary, utterly doomed alliance to try and attack Erza from behind, in a pathetic, suicidal attempt to avenge their public humiliation and physical pain.
And, of course, as always happened and as everyone in the guild already expected with a mixture of boredom and amusement, they would end up being brutally, hilariously crushed, totally humiliated, and, with alarming frequency, forcefully, precisely hurled through some wall, window, or guild support pillar once more, to the raucous delight, contagious laughter, and lively betting of the other guild members watching the daily spectacle. It was a vicious, painful, utterly predictable cycle of stupidity, pain, and free entertainment.
And, I must admit, it was hilarious to watch.
And as if all that, all that gratuitous destruction and morning slapstick comedy, were just a carefully orchestrated, rehearsed show for her exclusive, sadistic personal entertainment, Mirajane, who was watching the whole scene from the safe, strategic comfort of the bar counter, with an amused smile that didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes and an unmistakable glint of pure, crystalline malice in them, didn't miss, as usual, the precious opportunity to tease her eternal rival.
"Just look at you, Erza! With all that uncontrolled brute force of yours and your incredibly delicate, subtle way of resolving interpersonal conflicts, you look like a furious, PMT-ing gorilla trying to break up a petty squabble between squirrels! All you need to do now is beat your chest and let out a few guttural grunts to complete the look!"
The little, stubborn, now doubly irritated redhead, whose mood was already not at its best thanks to my own subtle earlier provocations and now Mirajane's direct, venomous ones, shot a withering glare, laden with promises of pain and suffering that would make a basilisk envious, at the albino girl with the falsely angelic smile, who just laughed heartily at her predictable reaction.
"You're not staying out of this argument, you meddling albino demoness with a terrible taste in metaphors!" Erza retorted through gritted teeth, her voice dangerously low, as she visibly braced herself, fists clenched and an aura of power beginning to emanate from her body, to enter a new, different, probably even more destructive and noisy brawl. Ah, teenagers and their uncontrolled hormones. So predictable. And so amusing.
And so, with a speed, an inevitability, a lack of surprise that was almost poetic in its repetition, things in the Fairy Tail Guild quickly transformed, once again, into new, glorious, utterly free-for-all chaos.
The two strongest, most promising mages of Fairy Tail's new generation, Erza and Mirajane, eternal rivals with a clear, mutual antipathy bordering on the pathological, began to trade surprisingly powerful punches, accurate, flying kicks, and impressive, highly destructive spells, merrily, contagiously enthusiastically destroying everything and everyone unfortunate enough to be around them, whilst Natsu and Gray, completely, conveniently forgetting their previous differences and their recent, painful defeat at Erza's hands, joyfully, admirably opportunistically joined the generalised confusion, trying, with terrible aim and a notable lack of strategy, to land a few cowardly blows on their respective, now distracted rivals and, mainly, desperately, panickedly dodging Erza and Mirajane's furious onslaughts, flying debris, and stray spells.
It was, for all practical, observable purposes, just another typical, normal, utterly predictable, wonderfully chaotic day at the Fairy Tail Guild. An ordinary day, full of contagious laughter that sounded more like roars, spectacular, entirely unnecessary fights, unshakeable friendships forged in the heat of battle (or some monumental drinking session), and a vibrant, chaotic, contagious, utterly unique energy that made anyone, even an ancient, cynical entity with relationship issues like myself, feel, deep down and against all my resistances, that here, in this nest of noisy, destructive, loyal lunatics with surprisingly enormous hearts, was exactly the right place, perhaps the only place in the universe, where someone like me, and someone like Erza, could truly belong. Or, at the very least, it was, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, the most amusing, most interesting, considerably less boring place in the entire bloody, predictable universe.
After things, miraculously and against all expectations, finally calmed down a bit – and that only happened, as usual and to the relief of the building's structure, after Master Makarov, with his divine patience and blood pressure probably through the roof, appeared floating in mid-air with an aura of restrained fury that made the glasses tremble and a vein dangerously throbbing on his shiny bald head, to finally stop the generalised brawl with one of his famous, long, moving, fiery speeches about the true meaning of family, friendship, responsibility, and, most importantly, about the exorbitant cost of guild repairs, especially after a particularly expensive, rare, irreplaceable barrel of red wine imported from Bosco had been accidentally, tragically, utterly stupidly broken in the confusion by an overly enthusiastic Natsu – Erza and I, now a little less irritated by the morning's provocations, a little dirtier from dust and debris, and considerably more focused on our original goal, decided it was finally time to look for an interesting, challenging, and, above all, financially rewarding mission on the guild's famous, chaotic, ever-updated request board.
With a clear objective in mind, and skilfully trying to avoid the curious glances, amused comments, and possible teasing from other guild members still slowly recovering from the last glorious free-for-all, we walked with determined steps and an air of professionalism that probably fooled no one to the large, imposing, traditional dark wooden board that dominated one of the more intact walls of the main hall, where dozens, if not hundreds, of mission requests of all types, difficulties, and danger levels were pinned in a totally disorderly, overlapping, vibrantly colourful fashion, like an abstract work of art by a chaotic bureaucrat with a terrible sense of organisation.
The variety of tasks, challenges, and adventures available was, as always, impressive, somewhat bizarre, and, occasionally, utterly ridiculous. There were missions ranging from incredibly mundane, tedious, probably underpaid tasks, like mending the leaky roof of a lonely, likely very talkative elderly lady living on the outskirts of town, finding the spoilt, fat, pompously named pet cat that had run away from some eccentric noble with too much money to spend, or even something as prosaic as delivering a secret love letter to a reluctant recipient. And, of course, there were also the epic, grand, potentially deadly challenges, like dealing with a giant, smelly monster with terrible morning breath that was sadistically terrorising an entire, peaceful village in the distant mountains, or investigating an ancient, mysterious, almost certainly cursed ruin full of ingenious traps, unsolvable puzzles, terribly resentful, relationship-issue-ridden ghosts.
The board was, as usual, a chaotic, fascinating mosaic, filled with papers of every imaginable colour, varied sizes, and different levels of desperation and urgency, each one telling a small, unfinished story of adventure, danger, mystery, and, most importantly for two young mages with bills to pay, a tempting promise of a hefty, welcome cash reward.
"Right then, my dear, now officially named Titania," I began, with an air of false importance and an arched eyebrow in contemplation, as my blue eyes scanned with critical, calculating attention the diverse, varied, occasionally hilarious job offers pinned to the board.
"Let's see what interesting, minimally challenging, and, if possible, low-probability-of-painful-death-or-dismemberment options we have for two mages of our undeniable calibre and refined taste for adventure today. This one, for example," I pointed to a yellowed piece of paper with shaky handwriting, "says we urgently, compassionately need to mend the leaky roof of a lovely old lady who lives near the river and is, apparently, afraid of pigeons. The offered reward is a generous basket of homemade biscuits, probably made with love and a bit of arthritis, and her eternal, noisy gratitude. Seems… a bit dull, with a clear lack of danger and a considerably low return on investment of time, effort, and dignity, don't you think?"
Erza pulled a face of genuine, total disapproval, clearly sharing my utter, absolute lack of enthusiasm for unpaid manual labour with a high probability of having to listen to endless stories about cats and grandchildren.
"Absolutely, Azra'il. That's clearly a job for Macao, Wakaba, or some other guild member desperately in need of some biscuits and a surrogate mother figure. We need something more… exciting! Something that truly tests our skills, our strength, our courage! And, most importantly, something that pays well enough for us to buy that incredibly expensive, delicious strawberry cake we saw in the confectioner's window yesterday!"
Her practicality and love for sweets were admirable, entirely understandable.
I continued to read aloud, with a tone of growing amusement and disbelief, some of the more… peculiar, bizarre, utterly absurd mission descriptions available, for our mutual, growing entertainment. "Here's one that looks promising and has a surprisingly high reward, considering the apparent simplicity of the task: 'Defeat a band of terribly sneaky bandits, with dreadful personal hygiene habits, a limited vocabulary, and a clear lack of respect for others' property, who are sadistically, repeatedly robbing innocent travellers, greedy merchants, and the occasional, unlucky postman on an important, supposedly safe trade route on the outskirts of Magnolia.' This, my dear Erza, looks like it has potential! A bit of righteous, necessary action, the glorious chance to help the needy and oppressed, and, most importantly, a good, considerable sum of jewels to line our pockets."
"Ah! Just look at this mission here, Azra'il! This one is simply first-class in terms of pure, crystalline bizarreness!" I continued, letting out a small, amused chuckle as I read the next notice, which was written in elegant calligraphy on perfumed paper. "This, my dear, is a true work of art! It says we need, with utmost urgency, discretion, and delicacy, to help an extremely spoilt, obese Persian cat, with a pedigree longer than my arm and a ridiculously pompous name like 'Sir Reginald Fluffington III', find its way safely back to the sumptuous mansion of its rich, eccentric, probably lonely owner with an unhealthy love for felines. The offered reward? A truly absurd, utterly disproportionate amount of hard cash and, get this, a lifetime, unlimited supply of the best, most expensive tinned tuna imported from somewhere exotic. Now, tell me, Erza, what's so special, so valuable, so irreplaceable about a simple, fat, probably arrogant house cat to justify such an extravagant, frankly ridiculous reward?"
Erza couldn't suppress a small but genuine, amused smile upon hearing the description of the feline mission and its princely reward.
"Why, Azra'il, don't be so cynical and materialistic! Perhaps Sir Reginald Fluffington III is, in fact, secretly a legendary, incredibly powerful mage disguised as a pet, who is merely testing the kindness, patience, and tracking skills of the pure, noble hearts of Fairy Tail's adventurers! Or perhaps, who knows, he's a rare, ancient mystical creature, with the power to grant wishes, predict the future, or find lost socks! One never knows what to expect from cats, especially those with such long names and such rich owners!"
Her fertile imagination and incurable optimism were, at times, almost touching.
"Or perhaps, my dear, dreamy Erza, and this is my far more probable, logical, considerably less magical theory," I laughed, shaking my head at her overflowing imagination and inexplicable love for animals, "he is merely, solely a fat, spoilt, lazy cat with an excellent, highly selective nose for the finest quality tinned tuna, who, in a moment of feline boredom and in search of adventure, got lost whilst chasing a particularly plump, appetising, probably imaginary mouse, and now his rich, eccentric, lonely, desperate owner is willing to pay a veritable fortune to have her precious, irreplaceable furball back in her arms. And, honestly, who in their right mind can truly blame her for that? I, personally, would do exactly the same, and perhaps even more, for a good, large, delicious piece of chocolate cake with extra icing." Priorities, after all.
We continued to discuss, analyse, and mock the diverse, varied, frequently utterly absurd missions pinned to the board, and each new, bizarre, unbelievable description I read aloud seemed even more ridiculous, more implausible, more absurd than the last. There was one, for example, that spoke of the pressing, urgent need to find a single, delicate transparent crystal slipper that had been mysteriously lost by a spoilt, clumsy princess with a terrible, utterly irresponsible sense of responsibility for her royal belongings, which made Erza smile subtly and roll her eyes with almost imperceptible elegance.
"I don't know, Azra'il, if I'm exactly the most qualified person, or even minimally interested, in running around looking for a lost crystal slipper belonging to a probably frivolous, forgetful princess with balance issues," Erza joked, with a small, almost imperceptible eye-roll that was, in itself, a work of art of subtlety. "I'd probably end up accidentally breaking the bloody slipper with my brute force, or, more likely, using it as an improvised, highly stylish weapon to bash some particularly irritating bandit over the head."
"Ah, but you could, my dear, sceptical Erza, become a true, noble, incredibly charming knight in shining armour – or rather, an enchanted princess in stylish armour – by finding and returning the precious, probably uncomfortable lost crystal slipper to the beautiful, helpless, perhaps slightly clumsy princess," I commented, with a mischievous smile that promised no good and a glint of pure, crystalline malice in my eyes. I loved to tease her. "With that natural charm of yours as a knight-errant and defender of the weak and oppressed, that undeniable aura of pure, noble heroism, and that shining silver armour of yours that makes hearts sigh, I am absolutely, unshakeably certain you would win not only the princess's soft, grateful heart, but also, who knows, the entire kingdom, and perhaps even a pet dragon, without the slightest, most infinitesimal effort! Who needs a white horse and a title of nobility when one has a Titania on the rise?"
Erza became visibly, adorably, utterly embarrassed by my shamelessly flattering comment and the rather ridiculous mental image I had so enthusiastically painted. Her previously pale, concentrated cheeks now turned a vivid, intense shade of red that rivalled the brightness and intensity of her scarlet hair. It was a glorious sight. "Do… do you really think I'm… charming, Azra'il?" she asked, in a tone so shy, so hesitant, almost incredulous, it almost made me feel sorry for her. Almost. Her eyes avoided mine with palpable embarrassment.
"Absolutely, positively, unshakeably, stubborn little redhead!" I replied with genuine enthusiasm, unshakeable conviction, and an even broader, more teasing smile forming on my face. She was so incredibly easy to tease and make flustered. It was practically a sport. "You have all the raw, untamed charm of a force of nature, all the indomitable, stubborn bravery of a lioness protecting her cubs, and all the inherent nobility of a true, predestined heroine from ancient fairy tales and bards' songs! It's practically, utterly impossible for any being with a modicum of good taste and a still-beating heart not to fall head over heels in love with you at first, or perhaps, for the slower ones, at second or third, sight! Even the ugliest monsters and cruellest demons probably develop a secret, platonic crush on you before being brutally, efficiently, mercilessly defeated by your strength and withering glare."
Erza turned even redder, if that was humanly or magically possible, her shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of my exaggerated compliments and shameless teasing. And I, of course, couldn't help a small, satisfied, perhaps slightly sadistic chuckle at the hilarious, adorable situation. The way she became embarrassed by sincere compliments, or even by light, well-intentioned teasing, was incredibly, irresistibly adorable and, to be completely, painfully honest, made the moment much more fun, much more rewarding, much more… special for me.
After a few more minutes of careful, highly professional analysis on our part, some heated debates full of logical (or not so logical) arguments about the pros and cons of each bizarre mission, and many, many laughs and teases (mostly from me), finally, and to the relief of my stomach, which was rumbling again, we made up our minds.
"I think, considering our current combat abilities, our uncontrollable desire for a bit of real, dangerous action, and, most importantly, our pressing need for a decent, financially satisfying reward to fund our future, inevitable strawberry cakes," I suggested, with an air of calculated seriousness, pointing with a decisive finger at the bandit notice we had read earlier. "We should, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, take the bandit mission. It seems these poor blighters are really causing a lot of trouble, disruption, and losses for innocent travellers and greedy merchants in this region, and stopping their nefarious, morally questionable activities would not only be a noble, heroic act on our part but also, and this is crucial, an excellent, welcome source of income."
"I entirely agree, Azra'il," Erza said, with a firm nod, her usual determination and indomitable fighting spirit returning with full force. Her previous embarrassment had vanished as if by magic, replaced by a fierce, almost predatory glint in her eyes. She was ready for battle. "We'll finish off these cowardly bandits and their dreadful hygiene habits once and for all! And we'll ensure that innocent travellers and honest (or not so honest) merchants can pass along that route in complete, absolute, unquestionable safety again! And afterwards, we'll eat lots of strawberry cake!" Her priority regarding the cake was admirable.
With the decision finally, irrevocably made, and Erza's stomach already dreaming of strawberry cakes, we took the crumpled mission paper from the board with an air of newfound professionalism and headed with firm, determined steps to the guild counter, to officially register our choice with Mirajane.
The albino demoness, who was busy polishing some glasses with visible boredom, looked at us with a smile that was a peculiar mixture of genuine amusement, a hint of envy at not being able to go with us on a real mission, and, probably, some new, brilliant idea to tease Erza later. As soon as I, as the 'older', supposedly more responsible of the duo (which was a joke in itself), officially accepted the mission to put an end to the reign of terror of the bandit gang cursing the outskirts of Magnolia, a small, discreet, familiar notification from my personal AI system, Eos, pinged softly in my mind. A translucent tab full of useful information about the mission opened in my peripheral vision, and Eos's calm, efficient, slightly bored voice began to read out the relevant details.
[Arbitrary, Occasionally Generous Reward System Mission successfully accepted, Azra'il. Official Mission Title: 'Operation Rustic, Uninspiring Route Clearance Level'. Primary, Non-Negotiable Objective: Defeat, preferably non-lethally and with minimal collateral damage to the local landscape, the low-threat, poorly organised, likely strategically unintelligent bandit gang currently causing trouble, disruption, and a significant decrease in commercial flow on the route north of Magnolia city. Estimated reward for successful mission completion, to be paid by the system in easily convertible universal currency: 30,000 jewels. Estimated Experience to be gained upon mission completion, for the development of your skills and strengthening of your current body: 2,500 experience points. Bonus skill points to be distributed as per your preference: 1. Optional secondary objectives, bonuses for flawless performance, lethal efficiency, and/or creativity in problem resolution yet to be duly determined and calculated based on your field performance. Good luck. And try not to blow up anything too big this time, please.] Eos's precision and veiled sarcasm were, as always, a comforting constant in my chaotic life.
I smiled internally, with genuine satisfaction and a touch of avarice, always appreciating the numerous, convenient, frequently lucrative advantages of having a personal, super-advanced, omniscient, occasionally generous Artificial Intelligence system integrated into my immortal, adventurous soul. It wasn't exactly a surprising novelty for me, as good old Eos had accompanied me, for better or worse, for countless, frequently tedious ages and in countless, varied worlds, but knowing we'd have a significant, guaranteed reward directly from the system, besides, of course, the rather modest payment the poor, desperate merchant who had originally posted the mission request would pay us, and on top of that, we'd gain precious experience points to strengthen this limited body of mine and a valuable skill point to invest in some new, interesting, possibly amusing form of causing controlled destruction… I mean, of helping the needy and oppressed, was always an excellent, welcome, highly motivating incentive to perform even the most mundane, repetitive, potentially dangerous tasks with a smile on my face. Or, in my case, with an air of resigned boredom and a great deal of sarcasm.
(Excellent, Eos. Simply magnificent. Besides the hard, probably dirty cash we'll receive from the poor, exploited merchant who had the misfortune to post the request for help, I'll also pocket a good, considerable extra sum directly from the system, which is always delightful. And, to boot, I'll also gain a decent amount of experience to continue strengthening this current, frustratingly limited mortal shell of mine, and a precious, coveted skill point to invest in some new, interesting, possibly amusing form of causing controlled destruction… I mean, of helping the needy and oppressed, of course,) I thought, with satisfied inner reflection and mental planning already underway regarding the numerous, promising possibilities this small but significant power increase would bring to my near future… and, consequently, to Erza's safety and well-being. After all, a stronger Azra'il meant a more protected Erza. It was impeccable logic. And entirely altruistic, of course.
[And don't forget, Azra'il, a small, crucial detail you seem to conveniently ignore in your cost-benefit calculations,] Eos added, with that irritatingly omniscient, slightly condescending tone of hers that I so detested and, secretly, appreciated. [That you also can, and with a high probability, will, level up with the experience accumulated from these small, frequent 'charity missions' of yours. Which means, in practical terms and for your limited human understanding, that your current skills and powers may increase even further and, who knows, with a bit of luck and a lot of effort, you might even start to unlock some of your true, glorious real abilities a little earlier than predicted by my algorithms. Which, in turn, means more power and control for you and, consequently, many more headaches, worries, and extra work for me in trying to stop you from accidentally blowing up this planet or starting some interdimensional war out of sheer boredom.]
Her optimism was, as always, contagious.
Erza, completely oblivious to my complex, frequently contradictory mental conversation with my personal AI and my philosophical considerations on the intrinsic benefits of being a mercenary adventurer with an integrated reward system, was, predictably, completely, utterly focused on the mission at hand and the prospect of some righteous action. She looked at me, her eyes shining with fierce determination, contained excitement, and a thirst for justice that was almost palpable.
"We'll do our best, Azra'il! And we will, most certainly, show these despicable, cowardly bandits what happens to those who dare mess with the mages of the Fairy Tail Guild and threaten the peace of Magnolia! They won't even know what hit them! And afterwards, we'll celebrate with lots of strawberry cake!" Her confidence was, as always, admirably contagious. And a little frightening in its intensity.
With a slight, almost imperceptible sigh of resignation, which was more a reflection of my centuries of experience with missions that invariably spiralled out of control than any real lack of enthusiasm, I mentally prepared myself for another 'simple', 'easy' bandit-hunting mission. The inconvenient truth, which I would never admit aloud to the fervent Erza, was that I felt nowhere near the same youthful excitement, heroic idealism, or thirst for justice she displayed with such passion.
Especially so early in the morning and before I'd had my second, or perhaps third, strong, bitter coffee. For me, an ancient entity who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the death of stars, and the creation of universes, this was, at best, just another mundane task to be completed, another small problem to be resolved efficiently, another tedious day at the office, so to speak. But, if it made the little, stubborn, incredibly strong redhead happy, if it helped her grow stronger, more confident, and find her place in the world, then who was I, a cynical, weary traveller of time and space, to complain? "Right, right. Let's be off then, my little, furious, occasionally adorable Scarlet Valkyrie. Just another routine mission. Nothing major. No dramas, please," I murmured with a certain, familiar laziness in my voice, a laziness that contrasted comically with Erza's urgency and excitement, as we headed out of the guild together, towards imminent danger, uncertain glory, and, with a great deal of luck, a minimally decent financial reward. And perhaps, just perhaps, a really good strawberry cake. There was always that hope.