540 Ghost?

After escaping the lair of the Archbishop, he wandered about the Basilica grounds, asking for a young, cheek-scarred male. 

He found multiple witnesses who recalled a wandering young gentleman-- one who looked rather gullible or easy to take advantage of. That was undoubtedly Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark. 

In theory, Lone should be able to take care of himself. He was a grown man, after all... and he'd survived worse odds over the past two or so years. 

...It still worried him. 

The Basilica was an immense and impressive castle-type structure with multiple courtyards and various lines of defense. 

The design was intentionally confusing for would-be attackers. It was very plausible to be lost within its walls for several bells. It also had many sensitive areas to avoid and too many personalities to possibly and plausibly offend. 

Mister Lone... had the uncanny ability to encounter life-or-death situations... and did so with an unsettling level of regularity. 

Tycon's search brought him to a massive empty room with stained glass windows and a sky-scraping ceiling. It was spacious enough to comfortably fit a century formation... as well as an attachment of cavalry-- and a small host of winged angels, hovering overhead. 

Other than the several dozen marble statues arranged about, he hadn't encountered any living and breathing persons for the past twenty or so minutes. 

He might have been... in a place considered 'sensitive'. 

He... may have willfully ignored a mundane barrier or three. 

Theoretically, he was worried for his trouble-seeking Ranger. 

Factually... he had grown bored of waiting. 

The place he found sated his curiosity. 

He walked about leisurely, admiring the collection of Tyrion art and architecture. It was rather relaxing, enjoying himself free of the errant noise that humans tended to make in groups. 

Then... he sensed something behind him. It stopped moving at roughly the same time he noticed it. 

Tycon restrained himself from drawing his Shatterspike longsword. 

The Basilica was the safest place in the Holy Country. Any hostile creatures that dared to show themselves would be utterly destroyed by the half-dozen or so powerful Gold-Ranks within the capital. 

Drawing a weapon would make *him* that hostile creature. 

Instead, he instilled mana into his form and turned as fast as he could, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever ghost was haunting him. 

There, he saw a girl. 

⟬ Unranked Human. ⟭ 

Not a ghost-- at first observation, anyroad. 

Tycon furrowed his brows and relaxed his posture. A mere human girl was nothing to worry about. 

Tycon approached the young lady, his echoing steps the only sound in the spacious, high-roofed room. 

Looking her over, he noted the particular subtle smile she wore. She looked amused, as if she knew something that he did not. 

...It made him want to tease her. 

Tycon lightly flicked her forehead, eliciting a surprised gasp that broke the silence. 

Not a ghost-- or the probability was low, that she was. 

The girl put her palms on her head, shutting her eyes.

It was a gross overreaction. He hadn't hit the girl hard enough to leave a mark.

The young girl recovered, pouting as if offended. 

She poked him back. 

Tycon allowed it. It was an equivalent exchange. 

...After that, their 'conversation' came to a halt. 

He wondered who this strange girl was... and why she wasn't speaking. 

...She was probably wondering the same thing, of him. 

However, the rules for the 'game' had become established. If he could keep his silence for longer than his mysterious opponent, he would be the 'winner.' 

Smiling politely, he turned his attention back to the Tyrion statues, hoping to bait a reaction. 

He got one... a ringing sound. 

It was reminiscent of a bell... a small, glass bell, smaller than a palm... lightly shaken. 

Tycon slowly turned back towards where he heard the noise... 

The young girl was covering her mouth with her hands.

Hm... 

If she wasn't a ghostly spirit, with that sound... one particular bloodline came to mind.

Celestial. 

If that assumption was true, the young woman could speak... but it would sound nothing like that of a common language. 

What was strange... was that his System classified her as human. In order to fool Tycon's senses, the young lady either had a very high level of illusory or transformative skill... or had a very specific, very rare ability. 

Thankfully, she did not seem to be an enemy. 

The acolyte lifted her hands up and began to flash a series of gestures, [Why are you angry?]

Tycon frowned. He wasn't upset. He was just--

He had a naturally upset-looking face. 

Trying to twist his face into a more agreeable expression, Tycon signed back, [I'm not angry.]

[You look angry.]

[I'm not.]

The conversation stopped there. Tycon was fully expecting some sort of... challenge, asking why he was present. Nothing came. He waited several more silent moments until he finally gave in to his curiosity. 

[Did you have a question?] He signed. 

The purple-haired girl smiled and nodded... [What is your name?]

Tycon hesitated. He much preferred to speak his name than to sign it. 

If the young lady had the blood of angels coursing through her veins, she could easily be older than he was. An Ancient who resided in the Holy Country had a strong likelihood to recognize his name... and that of his family. 

...Also, it was troublesome to sign all the letters in 'Tycondrius of Charm.' 

"My name is Tycon," He bowed graciously. "Might I ask for yours, young lady?"

The acolyte took on a look of panic-- which hinted that she may not have been an Ancient, after all. 

She performed a somewhat clumsy curtsy, then signed, [My name is Τ - Ρ - Ο - I - Α.]

Tycon nodded. It was a fine, aesthetically pleasing name, "Hello, Miss Troia."

[Hello.]

"...Would you like some pork jerky?"

...

Tycon and the quiet girl browsed the art and statue gallery while snacking on pork jerky. She kept by him, asking mundane questions, and over time, overcame her initial shyness. 

Troia had a pet named Scar. 

Tycon's favorite color was... green? 

Troia's favorite gladiator was Ranger Quies, on the account that he was dashing and brave. 

His was... himself-- for the same reasons, of course. 

It was... the most pleasant afternoon he'd had, as of recent. The quiet atmosphere of the empty room was... serene and safe... thoughtful and somewhat nostalgic. 

The topic of food came about. 

They talked about only that for nearly a bell. The young lady professed a love for cooking-- but admitted that she was a terrible baker. 

That was reasonable. Cooking was... an art, with improvisation able to yield excellent, if varying results. Baking was a practice in precision and building upon long-established rules. 

If Tycon didn't have his System for timing and temperature measurement, his baking would suffer tremendously. 

After a lighthearted (but somehow fierce) debate over the merits of different types of pastries, the young lady stared at the ceiling with starry eyes. 

...Slowly turning to him, she signed, [What is your quest?] 

Tycon sighed... thinking back on how to answer. 

He woke up in this world without his memories. The only major clue to his motivations was that he was indebted to someone... his blood-related mother. Delving into his past, he learned that he needed to perform three tasks in order to repay that debt. 

One such task was to restore the honorable name of House Vanzano and its mistress, the young Athena. Initially, he'd planned to do so with heartless calculation. Over time, he grew fond of the young lady's smile. 

As long as Athena was placed on the road to success, his task would be complete. However, with the friendship he'd developed, he sought to support her with all his power. 

Athena's enemies were his. 

He would lead the charge into Caeruleum by himself, if he had to. House Vanzano would gain influence and respect through overwhelming military and personal strength. 

That.... was all far too complicated to explain, especially through sign language. 

Instead, he signed the 'correct' answer, [I wish to kill villains...]

Troia nodded wistfully... then signed, [Why do you journey?]

He hadn't thought much on why. He had allies... some he lost along the way, some he gained. 

He used them. 

Granted, he sought a fair exchange. He would instill into his friends and allies, strength or coin or honor-- whatever was desirable. They, in turn, would help him achieve his goals. 

[ I wish to repay my debts,] Tycon signed. 

The young woman took a deep breath... her hands moving almost reluctantly, [Why do you kill?]

Tycon laughed. That was easy. 

[Because I enjoy it.]

[That's not true!] Troia puffed her cheeks, signing angrily, [Don't lie!]

[I'm very good at killing,] Tycon chuckled, signing whimsically. 

[You're a good person!]

What? Tycon couldn't help but laugh aloud... [You're mistaken.]

Troia pouted... [You are a kind and just Prince.]

A cold chill washed over Tycon and he narrowed his eyes... 

She knew who he was.