Love of Fortune and Steel

Part 1

Just as the environment between the two became more relaxed, Bisera's stomach growled loudly, interrupting the silence. She blinked in surprise, a rare flicker of vulnerability flashing across her face. Instinctively, her hand moved to her abdomen, and she tilted her head, sniffing the air. The rich aroma of freshly cooked food hit her senses like a wave. Her nostrils flared, and her sharp blue eyes followed the scent.

In the corner of the cave, she spotted two plates piled high with food, steam still rising from the dishes. There was a mixture of grilled meats, eggs, roasted tomatoes, and some sort of fried bread, all unfamiliar to her. The smell was intoxicating, especially after the days of meager campaign rations she had been surviving on. Her life on the road, constantly in battle or on the move, had left her with little more than hardened bread, gruel, and sometimes dried meats—nothing like the feast in front of her.

"What is that smell?" Bisera asked, her tone filled with curiosity and hunger.

James smiled awkwardly, clearly pleased with her reaction. "I thought you'd be hungry when you wake up, so I, uh… got some breakfast from the voice earlier. It's called an English breakfast. Here." He stood up, picked up one of the plates, and walked over to her. The simple gesture seemed filled with significance, given everything they had just been through. He set the plate down in front of her with a casual smile. "You should try it. I think you'll like it."

Bisera eyed the plate with suspicion, though the aroma was too enticing for her to ignore. She reached for the knife and fork James had handed her, though she handled them awkwardly. In Vakeria, the fork wasn't a widely used utensil, particularly not among soldiers. Bisera was more accustomed to using her hands or a simple knife for meals, especially on the battlefield. However, the warrior in her adapted quickly. With measured precision, she speared a piece of sausage and lifted it to her mouth.

The moment the meat touched her tongue, her eyes widened in surprise. The flavors exploded in her mouth—rich, savory, and unlike anything she had tasted before. Her body seemed to relax instinctively, her hunger pushing aside any remaining doubts. She cut into the eggs next, cautiously trying the unfamiliar food, and again she was met with a flavor that was both comforting and delicious.

"This…" she said slowly between bites, still trying to process the experience, "this is incredible."

James grinned, sitting back and watching her enjoy the meal. "Glad you like it. It's pretty common where I come from. English breakfast."

Bisera was not one to devour food hastily. Even in her state of hunger, she maintained a sense of decorum. Her training as a noblewoman had taught her to eat with a certain grace. She continued eating with deliberate movements, taking her time to savor each bite. Every piece of the meal was a revelation—the sausages, the grilled tomatoes, the crispy bread. It was unlike anything she had experienced on the campaign trail, and for the first time in days, she felt truly satiated.

"We eat mostly bread and porridge while on campaign," she said after a few more bites, her voice filled with amazement. "This feels like a feast from the high table of a prince."

James chuckled, still amazed at how easily she had shifted from warrior to a more relaxed, almost playful version of herself. "Well, I'm happy to feed you. You needed it."

Bisera paused, looking up from her meal, and a glint of amusement crossed her eyes. "Is that common in your land, James? For men to be so eager to feed women?"

James blinked, caught off guard by her tone. There was something teasing in her voice, a playful jab hidden behind her sharp gaze. "Uh, not exactly," he replied, laughing nervously. "But I figure if anyone deserves a good meal right now, it's you."

Bisera smirked, cutting another piece of sausage and lifting it to her mouth. "Careful," she said between bites, "where I come from, a man who feeds a woman this well might find her asking for more than just food."

James blushed, clearly flustered by her words, his mind racing for a proper response. "Well… I'll keep that in mind."

She laughed softly; a sound that surprised even her. It was rare for her to let down her guard like this, to engage in such casual banter. But something about the moment—about James's sincerity and the warmth of the meal—had melted the tension away. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a human being again, not just a warrior.

As they ate, the warmth between them grew. Bisera continued to savor each bite, her hunger finally satisfied as the food worked its magic. When she finished the meal, she set the plate down with a contented sigh, picking up the small cup of tea James had offered her earlier.

She brought the cup to her lips, taking a tentative sip. The tea was warm, its taste rich and slightly bitter but comforting in a way she hadn't expected. "This drink is amazing!" she said softly, her eyes thoughtful as she savored another sip. "It's strong but soothing. A drink fit for a king."

James smiled, leaning back as he finished his own meal. "It's just English breakfast tea. Pretty common where I'm from."

Bisera nodded, setting the cup down and letting out a long breath. "If this is what you call 'common,' then your land must be one of great luxury."

James chuckled but didn't argue. "I guess in some ways it is."

But as the last traces of their meal faded, Bisera's sharp gaze drifted across the cave. Her eyes fell on the lamp, now turned off but sitting in the corner. She stared at it for a long moment, her brow furrowed in confusion. Slowly, she glanced at James, suspicion creeping back into her expression.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing to the lamp.

James followed her gaze, realizing for the first time how foreign everything around them must seem to her. He hesitated before speaking. "Oh, that's a lamp. It runs on electricity."

"Electricity?" Bisera repeated, the word foreign to her. "What is that?"

James swallowed nervously. He knew this would be difficult to explain, but it was better than letting her mind jump to more dangerous conclusions. "It's… like a form of energy," he began, choosing his words carefully. "It powers things—like lights, machines, and many other things."

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting from the lamp to the strange devices scattered around the cave—the medical supplies, the equipment that had appeared seemingly out of thin air to treat her wounds. Unease flickered across her face. "This is magic," she said flatly, her voice hardening. "You wield magic."

"No, it's not magic," James said quickly, sensing her growing discomfort. "It's science. Technology."

Bisera's eyes widened, her hand instinctively moving toward the small talisman she wore around her neck, a symbol of her faith. "Science?" she echoed. "No fire, no smoke, no tools—this is not something natural. Mages wield powers like this. Rare, powerful. But they are feared. Many say their power comes from demons. Others claim it comes from the Universal Spirit."

"I'm not a mage," James insisted, trying to calm her. "Look, I get how strange this all must seem. But it's not magic, it's just... science. I didn't create this stuff out of thin air." Then he realized that he kind of did.

Bisera's eyes remained sharp, full of suspicion, but James noticed her gaze falter slightly, as if she wanted to understand. He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to tell her everything he had experienced.

"There was something… before I ended up here," James began, his tone more serious. "Before I ended up in the pond, I was actually in a museum in my world, and I was studying an artifact. Then, suddenly, this melodic feminine voice called out to me. Next thing I know, I was in this weird place, like a void. It was completely dark, except for this swirling light, like a vortex. And then… I saw a figure." He glanced up at Bisera, watching her carefully as he described it. "She had eight wings—flaming, brilliant wings. They were glowing with this intense light. There was this overwhelming feeling of power coming from her."

Bisera's grip on her talisman tightened, but she remained silent, listening intently.

James pressed on. "She called me her knight. Told me to go forth but didn't say anything about what I was supposed to do. And then everything changed. I woke up in this world, with all these strange powers—I can hear her voice and she offers me things." He paused, searching her face for a reaction. "That's how I got the medical supplies, the equipment. But it all comes with a price."

Her eyes sharpened at the mention of a price, her hand moving over her heart. "A price?" she asked, her voice tinged with wariness. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing too sinister," James quickly clarified. "Just money. Every time I accept something, the voice takes some of my money as payment. It's like a transaction." He shrugged, his explanation feeling shallow compared to how bizarre it all actually was. "Honestly, I don't fully understand it myself. It is strange to me too. But it's the truth. Call me crazy…."

Bisera was silent for a long moment, absorbing what he had said. When she finally spoke, her voice was filled with thoughtful caution. "Eight flaming wings, you say. That is no demon, James. That was an archangel."

James blinked, caught off guard by the confidence in her words. "An archangel?"

Bisera nodded slowly, her expression growing more reverent as she spoke. "One of the eight archangels, sent by the Universal Spirit. You encountered Seraphina, I am sure of it. She is not the most powerful, but she is one of the archangels serving the will of the Universal Spirit."

James felt a chill run down his spine. "So… this was all part of some supernatural plan?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes gleaming with certainty. "You were chosen."

Before James could argue or fully process what she was saying, Bisera's expression changed. Her brow furrowed slightly, as if another thought had crossed her mind. "The price you pay…" she mused, her voice softer now, contemplative. "Perhaps it is meant to maintain fairness."

James tilted his head, unsure where she was going with this. "Fairness?"

Bisera slowly rose from her seated position, pushing herself up onto her knees, her eyes filled with the same intensity as when they had first met. She knelt before him on both knees, her voice soft but sure. "The divine must balance grace with fairness, love with justice. For every blessing, there must be a cost. Perhaps it is the law of equivalent exchange."

James frowned, trying to make sense of her words. "So… you think the price is just part of that balance?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "The Spirit grants us grace, but fairness demands something in return. To keep the world in harmony, we must give as much as we receive. You, James… you gave up something to save me. That is not the act of an ordinary man. You are no mere moneylender. For a moneylender like you to give up money is like a warrior giving up his sword. It is no small sacrifice."

James blinked, startled by her words. "But it's just money," he protested weakly, not fully understanding her meaning.

"But I feel it in my heart," Bisera continued, her eyes full of quiet reverence. "You sacrificed a piece of yourself to save me. You did it as a knight of Seraphina. I am in your debt."

Before James could say anything, Bisera moved suddenly, reaching out and grasping his hand. She pulled it toward her and, to his utter shock, she lowered her head, pressing her lips against his knuckles in a slow, reverent kiss.

James froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never seen anything like this before. In the world he came from, such a gesture would have been incredibly romantic—a lady showing deep affection for a man. But here… the weight of her actions, her reverence, left him completely dumbfounded.

His face flushed crimson as his mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. Bisera had pushed herself out of her blanket and was now kneeling before him, her lips brushing his hand with an intensity he hadn't expected. He could only think of it in terms of courtship, his modern sensibilities making him blush furiously.

"Uh… Bisera?" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "What are you doing?"

Part 2

Bisera lifted her lips from his knuckles and finally looked up, her piercing blue eyes wide with sincerity. "I am showing you the deepest reverence and devotion," she said softly. "You saved my life, James. Not just by chance, but on behalf of the Universal Spirit. You were sent to me by Seraphina in answer to my prayer."

James felt a flutter in his chest. He had witnessed many strange things since arriving in this world, but being treated like a divine emissary was something else entirely. The weight of her devotion bore down on him, intensifying his already flustered state.

"Uh... Seraphina?" He scratched the back of his neck, trying to keep his voice steady. "I don't know about that. I just—" He stopped himself. How could he explain that he was just a regular guy who'd been pulled into this world without sounding dismissive of her faith?

Bisera straightened her posture, still kneeling before him. "You were chosen, James. Sent to me in my darkest hour. How can I not pay you the same respect I would pay a saint?"

James swallowed hard. Saint. His mind scrambled for some way to steer the conversation away from these lofty titles. "Look, I'm just a guy. I didn't—"

He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed Bisera's expression shift. Her brow furrowed, and her intense gaze softened into something far more... concerned. James blinked in confusion. Then, slowly, he felt it too—his face was burning. He was sure he was as red as a tomato. Bisera misread his embarrassment entirely.

"You are red," she observed, her voice tinged with concern. "You must have drained your mana saving me." Her eyes widened, and before James could protest, she pushed herself up and moved closer to him.

"Wait, no, it's not—" James's words caught in his throat as Bisera closed the gap between them, her pale, fair skin glowing softly in the morning light. The blanket had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her wrapped in nothing but the remnants of her torn tunic and bandages. The stark reality hit him all at once—she was barely clothed, and her physical beauty was now impossible to ignore.

She was breathtaking.

Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, glinting like gold in the sunlight. Her body, now without the imposing armor, was both powerful and graceful. Her muscles were sculpted like that of an Olympic track and field athlete, but there was an elegant, almost supermodel-like quality to her proportions. Long, lean legs that reminded him of sprinters, toned arms, and an overall build that seemed to scream strength and endurance. Yet, despite all the power she held, there was a striking femininity to her—the curves of her hips, the way her shoulders tapered down, and the elegance in her posture.

James's eyes drifted for just a moment too long, and his mind betrayed him. He imagined her on the cover of a magazine, like one of those swimsuit models he used to see in summer issues, and suddenly, he was even more flustered. Bisera was stunning. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of it. Focus, James. Focus!

But Bisera, oblivious to his internal struggle, knelt before him again, her face inches from his. Her hands reached toward his temples, as if she was about to tend to him, her expression serious. "You must rest," she said, her voice soft. "You must have used too much of your mana for me. I can see it in your eyes."

James's heart hammered in his chest. Her proximity—her earnestness—was too much. He had never been this close to someone so... well, alluring and exotic. And though he was already trying to ignore how her closeness made his pulse quicken, the fact that she still smelled faintly of battle didn't help. A mix of the smell of blood and sweat brought him back to reality with a sudden jolt.

He coughed awkwardly, leaning back as much as he could without appearing rude. "It's not… it's not mana. I mean, I'm not out of mana or whatever. I'm fine. Really."

But Bisera, still misunderstanding, frowned and moved even closer. "You can be honest with me, James." She brushed a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, her blue eyes narrowing with determination. "You saved my life, so now I will guard the cave while you rest."

James swallowed hard again. "No, seriously, I'm fine! It's just—" He fumbled for a reason, any reason. "It's just... I'm not used to people being... so close. Or, you know, kissing my hand like that."

Bisera blinked, finally pausing her actions. "Oh, right... I forgot—you were a moneylender before."

James managed a weak laugh, feeling heat rise to his face. "Well, it's not that. It's just that, where I'm from, it's a little... different. Hand-kissing is usually... um, a gesture of courtship or affection towards ladies, or sometimes a sign of respect towards nobility. But I am neither."

Bisera froze, her blue eyes widening in shock. Her pale cheeks flushed a deep, burning pink, her face visibly struggling to process what he had just said. She stiffened, as if she had been struck by an invisible force, her warrior's confidence momentarily shattered. Slowly, almost rigidly, she withdrew her hands, clutching the blanket tighter around her as if it were a suit of armor.

"Courtship? Affection?" she repeated, her voice suddenly uncertain, all traces of her earlier confidence evaporating. She blinked several times, her brow furrowing as she grappled with the implications. "So... when I kissed your hand... you thought I was...?"

James panicked, waving his hands frantically in front of him. "No! No! It's not like that! I swear, I didn't think you were... you know... trying to court me or anything! I know it's different here!" His words came out in a jumbled rush, desperate to fix the misunderstanding. "I mean... you're just... it's hard to explain, but it's fine! Really! Everything's fine!" He was flustered beyond belief, scrambling to navigate the cultural minefield without making things worse.

Bisera stared at him, her earlier regal poise utterly shattered. The fierce commander—the noble warrior—was gone, replaced by a woman completely out of her depth, grappling with an alien concept. For several excruciating moments, she just stared, her mind clearly racing. Then, to James's surprise, a small, hesitant smile began to tug at the corners of her lips.

"You are from a strange land indeed," she said, her voice still shaky, tinged with disbelief and something almost like amusement. She shook her head, though her smile lingered. "Where I come from, gestures like that are sacred, meant to show reverence and honor. And now you're telling me that you thought..." She trailed off, visibly mortified yet somehow amused at the absurdity of it all. She pressed her palm to her forehead, groaning softly in embarrassment. "Romantic? Of all things?"

James let out a sigh of relief, grateful that she wasn't furious—or worse. "Yeah... it's, uh... cultural differences," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He could hardly believe they were having this conversation, but at least it wasn't escalating into something worse.

Bisera lifted her head, her cheeks still flushed, but her composure slowly returning. "In Vakeria, or even the rest of Balkania," she said, her voice gaining strength again, "these are gestures of respect and reverence. Not... courtship rituals." She shook her head once more, her blue eyes glinting with an exasperated but amused light. "And now here I am... embarrassing myself in front of the very man who saved me."

James smiled sheepishly, unsure how to handle the situation without digging himself deeper. "Well, you didn't know... And hey, I'm still here, right?"

Bisera let out a long sigh, though this time, there was a hint of a chuckle. "I suppose," she said, her voice softening. "But, James..." She gave him a long, pointed look, her noble dignity slowly returning. "Let us never speak of this again."

James couldn't help but laugh at that. "Deal," he said, holding up his hand like he was making a solemn oath.

The atmosphere had shifted again, but this time, it was lighter. Bisera settled back, her playful smile still in place, and for the first time, James felt like they had reached some sort of understanding. Though his thoughts still swam with confusion and embarrassment, the awkwardness was replaced with something warmer—something he couldn't quite name.