Love of Fortune and Steel

Part 1

"You don't seem as eager to flee this time," Bisera teased gently, stepping into the room with a tentative smile, her sword sheathed at her hip within easy reach. Her blue eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and uncertainty as she closed the door behind her. Adjusting the patterned kerchief that covered her hair, she added, "Perhaps it's because I no longer smell like filth, or are you stunned by how civilized I look now instead of the primitive barbarian you're used to?"

James blinked, momentarily mesmerized and caught off guard by her directness. His mouth went dry as he took in her transformed appearance. Gone was the imposing armor and the unrestrained mane of blonde hair; instead, her hair was neatly tucked under the kerchief, giving her an air of modest elegance. Yet, even in civilian clothes, the sword at her side was a constant reminder of her warrior spirit. Bisera stood before him adorned in the attire of a Vakerian noblewoman. The fine fabric enhanced the quiet nobility that radiated from her, but the hilt of her sword gleamed, an emblem of her indomitable strength.

He was accustomed to seeing her as a fierce commander—her towering height and authoritative demeanor dominating any space she occupied. But now, without the armor, James could see how the tunic clung to her athletic form, revealing the lean muscle beneath. Her long, toned legs, honed from years of riding and fighting, seemed impossibly graceful in the simple garment. The curve of her hips swayed subtly as she moved toward him, the sword at her side moving in rhythm with her steps. His eyes traced her form—from her strong, defined arms to her full bosom, which filled the tunic in a way that made him swallow hard.

Wait a moment—was her armor hiding... that? He blinked rapidly, forcing his gaze upward away from her bosom. Was she actually an E cup? James felt his cheeks heat up. He scolded himself for entertaining such thoughts, especially given there were far more pressing matters at hand—though, in that moment, he could no longer recall what they were.

Noticing his gaze linger a bit too long, Bisera's cheeks flushed faintly. She hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of her kerchief while her other hand rested on the hilt of her sword. There was a different air about her now—something softer, almost shy—yet the way she kept her sword at her side showed the steadfast warrior beneath the elegant exterior. She felt exposed without her armor, which she had entrusted to Velika, her most trusted aide, for cleaning—a task she permitted no one else to undertake. For a warrior like Bisera, armor was sacred; each dent and scar bore witness to battles fought. Yet, even in civilian clothes, she wore her sword at her hip, unwilling to part with its steadying presence. To her, the sword was as essential as breath itself. Were it not for her religion, Bisera might sooner go without her cloth than without her blade; it was the life within her.

She cleared her throat softly. "I... I came to check up on you," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "To make sure you are feeling well after the bathhouse."

James snapped out of his daze. "Oh, that's very kind of you," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I appreciate it."

Bisera offered a slight smile, though her gaze flickered away. She absently adjusted the sword at her hip, ensuring it was within easy reach. "I know it's unusual for an unmarried woman like me to visit a man's quarters in the evening," she admitted, a hint of guilt threading through her voice. "But since you're an emissary of Seraphina, an honorable great mage, and a newcomer, I thought... perhaps it might be permissible."

James suddenly remembered the strict social norms of her time. "Wait, won't this damage your reputation?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Bisera shook her head softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I've long given up on that," she confessed. "I'm not the ideal noblewoman by any standards. Though no one dares to say it, there are rumors among the nobility—whispers that I'm unchaste because I campaign with men." Her hand tightened subtly on her sword's hilt, a gesture of defiance and comfort. "I've grown used to it and learned not to care."

She paused, her gaze distant. "After all, I know that my suitors are interested in my position and the power it wields. None of them truly desire me for who I am."

James felt a pang of sympathy. "That's... unfortunate," he said softly. "You deserve better than that."

Bisera looked back at him, her eyes searching his. "Perhaps," she murmured. Then, attempting to lighten the mood, she offered a gentle tease. "So, is my new attire more to your liking?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. The movement caused the light to catch the polished metal of her sword's pommel. "More like a lady of your world rather than some primitive barbarian whose filthy scent alone could drive men away? It's too bad that Alexander and his men couldn't be driven away in the same manner."

James chuckled nervously. "That is too bad. Could have saved a lot of lives." Then he chided himself inwardly. What am I saying?

Bisera blinked in surprise, a small smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, a gentle silence settled between them.

"Sorry," James stammered, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I meant to say you look... different tonight—in a good way."

Bisera raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening as she studied him. She had never seen a man react to her this way—most were either intimidated by her strength or too focused on her rank to notice her as a woman. But James... his reaction was different. His gaze wasn't fearful or dutiful; it was something else. She stepped even closer until there was barely any distance between them, her sword lightly brushing against his leg.

"And how exactly am I different, James?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low murmur as she looked up at him. Her sharp blue eyes searched his face, noticing the quickening of his pulse.

James opened his mouth to answer, but his words caught in his throat. He was acutely aware of her presence now—the subtle scent of lavender from her bath, the soft curve of her waist where her belt cinched the tunic, and the way the fabric clung to her frame, highlighting the powerful, lean muscle beneath. The sword at her side gleamed in the dim light, a stark reminder of her strength and the battles she had fought. She was beautiful in a way he hadn't expected—like a high jumper from his world, all grace and power, yet with a femininity that took his breath away.

"I—well, you're... stunning tonight," he admitted almost sheepishly. "I mean, not that you're not impressive in your armor, but this..." He gestured vaguely at her, his hands flailing a little. "It's different. You look... very beautiful."

The word hung in the air between them, and for a moment, James feared he had overstepped. But to his surprise, Bisera's expression softened. There was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, making her seem less like the fierce warrior he knew and more like a woman unaccustomed to such compliments.

For a second, Bisera said nothing, and James felt his stomach twist in nervous anticipation. Then she offered a faint smile. "Beautiful, huh?" she said quietly, her fingers brushing over the hilt of her sword. "You wouldn't think that if you'd seen my scars."

James blinked, momentarily thrown by the comment. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. "But I have..."

Silence.

Bisera's eyes widened slightly, and James's face flushed crimson as he realized what he had just blurted out. He scrambled to explain, his hands flailing awkwardly. "I—I mean, it wasn't on purpose!" he stammered, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "It was when I was treating your wounds in the cave... I had to remove your armor and... well, I didn't see much! Just what was necessary!"

For a brief moment, James was sure Bisera would be angry—her conservative nature would surely make her furious at the idea of him seeing her bare skin. But to his surprise, instead of anger, Bisera's lips twitched in amusement, and she let out a soft laugh, her blue eyes sparkling with genuine mirth.

"You accidentally saw my scars?" she asked, her voice teasing yet lighthearted.

James nodded, still mortified, his face as red as a beet. "I—I mean, it wasn't like I was trying to... look!" he blurted out, waving his hands in a desperate defense. "It was just part of the treatment procedure! I swear!"

Bisera's laughter grew, and she shook her head, clearly enjoying his flustered state. Her hand rested reassuringly on the hilt of her sword, the familiar weight grounding her. "James," she said softly, her voice carrying both amusement and warmth. "Relax. I'm not going to kill you for seeing a few scars."

He exhaled, heart still racing, a wave of relief washing over him. "I—I didn't see much," he repeated, still eager to clarify. "Just what was necessary. But honestly, they're... nothing compared to your overall beauty."

The moment the words left his mouth, James wanted to slap himself.

But instead of embarrassment or anger, Bisera's expression shifted. The amusement in her eyes faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. She looked at him intently, as if trying to gauge his sincerity.

"Do you truly think I'm beautiful?" she asked quietly, her usual teasing tone absent. Her fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of her sword, as if seeking assurance.

James nodded, his voice softening. "I do," he said more confidently. "Scars or not, you're... beautiful."

Bisera's gaze remained locked on his, and for the first time, she seemed genuinely touched. Her hand moved absentmindedly to her side, where the worst of her scars lay hidden beneath her tunic. The cool metal of her sword pressed against her hip, a comforting presence.

"What do you think of my scars?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

James hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. "I didn't see many," he began slowly. "Just a few. But they're part of who you are, aren't they? They tell a story."

Bisera's lips curved into a faint smile, her hand still resting over her side and brushing against her sword. "A story of battles and bloodshed," she said softly, eyes drifting as if recalling distant memories. "Not exactly the kind of beauty most men seek in a woman. You're a strange man indeed."

James stepped closer, his voice gentle. "Maybe I am."

She tilted her head, her gaze returning to him. She hadn't truly looked at James like this before. Standing this close, she noticed the muscles in his broad shoulders, the way his shirt stretched over his chest and arms. His physique was lean but muscular, like someone who trained regularly, though his features were softer—too delicate for a warrior, she thought. Yet, there was strength in him, a different kind of strength.

"You look stronger than most of my soldiers," Bisera remarked, eyes narrowing as she assessed him. Her hand rested on the pommel of her sword, a habitual gesture. "Yet you claim not to fight. How did you get these muscles, James? And why does a moneylender need them? Don't tell me you use them to intimidate people to repay loans."

James grinned, chuckling as he leaned back slightly. "Well, in my world, we don't fight much with swords and shields anymore. We have these places called gyms," he explained. "People lift heavy objects and run on machines to stay fit. It's more for looking good and feeling healthy than for battle."

Bisera's eyes widened with amusement, her lips quirking into a smirk. She tapped the hilt of her sword lightly. "So, you build your muscles for show?" she teased. "To look good and feel healthy?"

"Pretty much," James admitted with a grin. "It helps with business; makes you look confident and impressive. It's kind of ridiculous when you think about it, but it works."

She shook her head, a low laugh escaping her lips. "In my world, strength is earned through battle," she said softly. "Not from lifting objects to impress others."

James shrugged. "Well, I doubt I'd last long in your battles anyway. You could probably easily beat me in raw strength."

A mischievous glint sparkled in Bisera's eyes as she stepped closer, her sword clinking softly against her belt. "What if I don't use mana?" she asked, her lips curling into a playful smile. "Let's arm wrestle—with nothing but raw strength. You look like you might stand a chance."

James blinked, confused. "Mana?" he asked. "Wait—what was that?"

Bisera raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You didn't know? Mana is the energy that flows within us. With practice, some of us can channel it to enhance our strength and speed." She rested her hand meaningfully on her sword's pommel. "That's how I manage bursts of superhuman ability now and then. I assumed you knew, considering that you are a mage."

He stared at her, his mind racing. "Mana?" he repeated, still processing. Thoughts of myths from his world—chakra, qi—flashed through his mind. "Wait, are you telling me that stuff is real here?"

Bisera chuckled softly, amused by his reaction. "It seems there are still things in this world that surprise even you, my dear great mage."

James let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "You have no idea. My world didn't have any of that. But now I'm wondering if all those old legends about chakra and qi were more than just stories."

Her smile deepened. "Perhaps you'll find out one day," she teased, adjusting the kerchief on her head with one hand while the other rested lightly on her sword. "But for now, I'll spare you a demonstration. No mana—just you and me."

He laughed, feeling the tension between them ease into something warm and familiar. "I think I'll pass on that challenge," he said with a grin. "You'd still win, no doubt about it."

They stood there, the space between them minimal, their laughter fading into the soft glow of the room. The presence of her sword was a constant, yet somehow comforting, a symbol of who she was—a warrior, strong and unyielding. It was a moment neither had expected but felt natural—as if the outside world had faded away, and for just a little while, they were simply two people finding solace in each other's company.

Part 2

As the room bathed in the soft glow of moonlight that filtered in through the small, narrow window near James's side, the two of them stood close, the comfortable silence stretching between them after their shared laughter. Bisera's sword hung at her side, the blade ever within reach.

James, a playful glint in his eye, broke the silence. "So," he began, "did you really come all this way just to check up on me?"

Bisera blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his teasing. A faint smile curved her lips. "Well," she replied, her hand instinctively touching the hilt of her sword. "That was part of it."

"Only part?" James raised an eyebrow, feigning suspicion. "Should I be worried about the other part?"

She chuckled softly but then hesitated, her gaze drifting away. The initial ease between them gave way to a sudden shyness. "Actually," she began quietly, "I was wondering if you could... check on my wounds."

James's expression shifted to one of concern. "Your wounds? Of course," he said earnestly. "Are they bothering you?"

"A little," she admitted, her cheeks flushing despite her efforts to appear nonchalant. She adjusted the sword at her hip, a nervous gesture. "I thought perhaps you could make sure they're healing properly."

"Absolutely," James agreed. "I can take a look now if you'd like."

Just then, the familiar voice of Seraphina echoed in his mind. "Tell her to come tomorrow morning with an additional piece under her tunic," it advised. "It's inappropriate now."

James frowned slightly, puzzled by the interruption. "An additional piece?" he questioned internally, but the voice offered no further explanation.

Returning his focus to Bisera, he spoke gently. "Actually, the voice just told me it is better for you to come tomorrow morning with an additional piece under your tunic."

Bisera's eyes widened slightly, a deep blush spreading across her face as realization struck. Under her civilian tunic, she wore only a thin chemise. If James were to examine her wounds now, lifting the tunic would leave her entire lower body fully exposed. The mere thought made her heart race. The fact that Seraphina brought it up made it all the more embarrassing, serving as a sudden reminder of the archangel's presence and the need for propriety.

"Oh," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, seeking comfort. "Yes, that might be more appropriate."

James noticed her sudden embarrassment and felt a bit confused due to his limited knowledge of medieval female attire. However, he chose not to press the issue. "Great," he said with a reassuring smile. "We'll make sure everything is healing as it should by tomorrow."

She nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze as she tried to steady her fluttering nerves. An awkward silence settled between them, the earlier ease replaced by a tension neither fully understood.

Bisera fidgeted with the hilt of her sword, her mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts. There was something else she had wanted to ask him, but in her flustered state, the question eluded her.

"I... there was something else I wanted to ask," she said softly, her brow furrowing in concentration. Her fingers traced patterns on the sword's pommel.

James offered a gentle chuckle. "No worries," he replied. "If it comes back to you, I'm all ears."

She managed a small smile, appreciating his patience. The silence that followed was more comfortable this time, filled with unspoken understanding.

Bisera couldn't help but feel a rising wave of emotion. She wasn't used to this—feeling so drawn to someone, especially someone she had known for such a short time. Her attraction to James caught her off guard, and she found herself questioning it, unsure why she felt this way. She had always been a warrior first and foremost, her focus on protecting her people, on leading her armies to victory. The sword at her side had been her constant companion, a symbol of her duty and strength. Romantic feelings were not something she allowed herself to indulge in, especially not now, in the midst of war and uncertainty.

But as she stood there, the gentle light casting shadows across her tunic, she couldn't deny the warmth that had bloomed in her heart. It was unfamiliar, a sensation she had only felt once before, many years ago in her youth. Back then, she had briefly fallen for another warrior, a man from her battalion—someone strong, respected, and capable. He had been one of the few who didn't see her as just a comrade but as someone worthy of more.

At least, that's what she had thought.

Bisera's mind drifted back to those days, to the young man who had captured her interest. He had been taller than her, with the broad shoulders and thick arms that were so highly prized among the nobility. His eyes were kind, his words always respectful, and she had dared to imagine, just for a moment, that perhaps he had seen her as something more than a warrior.

But that illusion had shattered during their long campaigns together. As the years passed, she learned that he viewed her only as a comrade—someone he respected but never saw in the way she had hoped. His ideal wife, as he had confided to a friend during one of their long marches, was the perfect noblewoman—short, delicate, obedient, and gentle. A woman who would embody grace and submission, who would serve as a stool to display his status and power. A year later, he was married to a woman who fit that exact mold.

Bisera had been devastated at the time, but she had buried the feeling, focusing on her duties as a commander. And now, a decade later, standing in this room with James, those old memories resurfaced.

Why was she feeling this way now?

Her gaze flickered to James, who was leaning against the window, his broad shoulders illuminated by the soft light. He was a strange man—so different from the warriors she had grown up around. His features were softer, more delicate than what she was used to, yet there was strength in him. His physique, while not as bulky as the soldiers she commanded, was lean and muscular—the result of his strange, otherworldly practice of "weightlifting" training, as he had explained. He was a moneylender, someone who valued looking smart more than wielding a sword, but somehow that didn't make him any less appealing to her.

And then a thought struck her, one that hadn't crossed her mind until now. Was James married? He had never mentioned having a family, but surely a man like him—a man in his early thirties, tall and wealthy—was most probably married with a child who was at least ten years old. The thought made her heart sink, though she couldn't quite explain why. Was it simply curiosity? Or was it something more?

She couldn't resist asking.

"James," she began, her voice low, almost tentative—a stark contrast to the commanding tone she usually used. Her blue eyes flickered to his, uncertain but determined. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, grounding her. "I... was wondering. Are you... married?"

The question seemed to catch James off guard, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he straightened up from his position against the window. For a moment, the silence between them felt heavy, the unspoken implications of the question hanging in the air.

Bisera's cheeks flushed, a sudden wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized how direct the question sounded. Why had she asked that? It wasn't like her to care about such things, especially not about a man she had known for such a short time.

"I—" she started to speak again, feeling the heat rise in her face, but James's voice cut in, gentle but curious.

"No," he answered, his lips curling into a small smile as he noticed her reaction. "I'm not married."

Bisera blinked, momentarily thrown off by how quickly he answered. Not married? She hadn't expected that. She had been so sure that a man like him—coming from a world of wealth and success—would already be settled down, especially at his age.

"Really?" she asked before she could stop herself, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I mean... you're—"

"—old enough to be, right?" James finished for her, chuckling softly. He scratched the back of his head, his gaze drifting out the window for a moment before returning to her. "Yeah, I get that a lot. But no. No wife. No family. I've been... focused on my career, I guess. Haven't really had time for that kind of thing."

Bisera nodded slowly, processing his words. She could understand that—being so dedicated to something that everything else, including personal relationships, took a backseat. In her world, men like James would have been married off young, their families securing alliances and wealth through strategic marriages. But James came from a different world, a world where a rich man could apparently remain unmarried without raising any eyebrows.