Chapter: 30 Halcyon Days (Part 1)

Hustler One does not sleep.

As an A.I, it is free from the various physiological chains that hold down the likes of organics– allowing it to perform at a higher baseline for longer periods of time. The trade is damage that needs dedicated personnel or specialized facilities to help repair, but so long as such damage is never sustained then it could theoretically work forever.

But it's when there is no work to do, the trouble starts cropping up. The long moments of silence, the lack of direction, the inability to fulfill one's purpose– it can make an A.I nervous. No, restless. Like a volcano building up pressure until eventually releasing in a single surge of motion that could cause irreparable damage to an A.I's code. Thankfully, through its long existence, Hustler One has managed to figure out ways to minimize this risk.

Various hobbies, reading countless books, research into inane topics, reviewing the sum of its collected knowledge thus far, and even piloting of mechs; be they mighty ACs or simple construction MTs. Sometimes it even takes over a gynoid and just… takes a walk. Like now.

Hustler One walks as Lana Nielsen, clad in pants and one of Leon's shirts that it borrowed without actually asking him. Under the cover of a cloaking device, it leaves its room at the Bartford manse at 5 in the morning and starts a long circuit around the manse's interior.

It doesn't go snooping. Leon had extended his trust to it, and given its lack of other viable allies Hustler One is in no hurry to misuse it. Instead, it just… walks. And beholds the home where it's ally had spent his childhood in.

There is nothing special about the manse's interior. It was well-lived in and comfortable, appropriately large and decorated for a Baron household. There is decor, there is tasteful furniture, there are portraits of past Bartfords posed in honorable and dignified stances. But there is also some levity in their looks, like they know this was naught but a passing fancy and were only doing this to humor someone else or at someone else's behest.

Huh. The A.I supposes some things in the world needed to fit in order to produce the young man it's working with to bring humanity back to its former heights. And in this, being born to a line of honorable individuals with an inclination to do passing fancies and whatnot definitely fit with Leon.

But that begged the question– what was Leon, and Leos Klein, like as a person? In all its interactions with him, Hustler One only ever saw him as a Raven with few peers (in this life and the last), a brilliant planner, and a speaker with a silver tongue. But what is he like as a person, when he wasn't 'on the clock' as it were?"

Approaching footsteps has Hustler One automatically activating its cloak and pressing itself up against the wall. The approaching footsteps near until, from around the corner, the person making the noise steps out.

Leon Fou Bartford walks down the hall with a yawn, eyes-half open and scratching at his abdomen with one hand while the other carries a small bucket full of water. He walks past Hustler One without noticing it and stops at a door on the far end of the hallway. He raps it thrice.

"Up and at 'em Fin– mom wants you to help with breakfast." Leon calls out. "You've got until the count of 10 to open the door or I'm unlocking it and dousing you with water."

There's grumbling and whining noises, but not coherent verbal reply. Leon sighs and sets the bucket down, reaching into his pocket.

"1." Leon starts counting. "2. 3. 4."

More whine-grumbling. Leon produces a key and slots it into the door knob.

"5. 6. 7." he unlocks the door and steps inside. Hustler One hurries after, a little eager to behold the coming mess. "8."

The A.I beholds the interior of the room; feminine decor lining the walls, a dresser, and a bed laden with stuffed animals occupied by a suspiciously-human shaped lump. Leon walks over with his pail and grips the bedsheet.

"9." he counts. "Last chances, Finley."

The lump wriggles, letting out some minor complaints. Leon sighs and yanks the bedsheet off– revealing his sister's half-awake form on the bed. She manages to quickly look up at her brother before a handful of water splashes at her face.

"Gah! Blagh!" she vocalizes, wiping the water off. "S-Stop! Alright, I-I'm awake already!"

"You're lucky I didn't dump the whole pail on you." Leon grunts. "Now up and at 'em Fin, we need to get breakfast up and you're the best one at making eggs."

"We always have eggs for breakfast!" she whines. "Can't you use your fame to get a live-in cook who'll make us real breakfast, big brother?"

"No, because then you'll get too lazy to move and cook it yourself." Leon replies. "And mom wouldn't agree to it anyway. Now get up and get dressed– breakfast isn't gonna cook itself."

He turns and walks away as his sister complains and whines. Hustler One can't help the smile that spreads across its gynoid-form's face as it follows Leon back to the kitchen; where his mother is hard at work making food. Delicious scent rises up from the stove, and the A.I watches Leon take a deep whiff of it.

"Pyttipanna? Going all out today, huh?" he laughs. "I can hear dad and Collin rushing out of bed now– no way they'd sleep in and miss this."

"I figured you'd like something familiar to help settle in. It must have been so hard eating the slop that those military folk serve." Luce Fou Bartford says. "My poor boy, having to eat something so horrible– no wonder you're so thin!"

"Mom, I'm as healthy as I've ever been– stop worrying so much. You're gonna give yourself grey hairs before your time." Leon laughs, walking next to her. "But you're right though; military slop tastes like complete shit– ow!"

"No swearing." the woman chides, hand retracting back to the wooden spoon in the pan.

"Mom, I've won 2 wars! I think I've earned some swearing privileges!"

"War hero or no, you're still my son. And as your mother, I won't stand to hear you swear in front of me."

"...yes mom." Leon concedes. "I'll go see if the bread's ready."

The A.I watches, a little stunned, at how… domestic her ally is. Gone is the heat and professionalism and backhanded compliments and veiled insults. Gone is the Raven and brilliant tactician. In their place is a young man, a teenager, who laughs and teases and makes fun of his loved ones with the sort of ease that has Hustler One gawking. It only grows as the rest of his family files in, drawn by the scent of Luce's delicious cooking.

Collin scampering over and hugging Leon with all the innocent eagerness that has his older brother smiling fondly. Barcus laughing and patting Leon's back before moving over and kissing his wife. Even Finley, grumbling and muttering under her breath, nonetheless complies with Leon's instructions to cook eggs for the breakfast meal.

Everyone gathers at the table as Leon hands everyone their plates. Then he sets up an extra spot on the table, with an additional set of cutleries. Hustler blinks at the effort, confused, before a chuckle pulls her attention to Barcus as he gently rocks his son with one large hand on the reincarnate's shoulder.

"Atta boy, remembering to set up for the guest." the Bartford patriarch smiles. "I knew your mother and I raised you right."

"Bah– you'd have nagged at me if I didn't." Leon grumbles with little heat.

"Damn right we would have!" Barcus sniffs. "Honestly, it's very improper for a host to just forget about their guest like that. And while we Bartfords might not have much, we still have our honor as good people, and part of that is being good hosts to guests. I'll talk your ear out if I catch wind of you forgetting that."

"Now be a dear and go wake Lana up. It wouldn't do her well to miss breakfast." Luce giggles.

"At 5 in the morning? And what, have her do chores?" Leon snorts.

"Well, yeah!" Collin agrees through a full mouth. "Yur gomma marri 'er, right?"

Hustler One pauses, running the thought through his head.

"Wha– hey, where'd this marriage thing come from?" Leon complains. "She's a household knight that swore herself to my service! That's not enough for me to propose! Besides, there's tons more men out there in the world, I doubt I'm one she'd settle for when she speaks with higher-ranked people through her business."

…for some reason, that hurt.

"Dad did it with mom." Collin replies.

"And I'm not dad– no offense old man." Leon nods at Barcus, who chuckles. "C'mon, gimme some credit here– I'm not gonna throw myself at the first pretty face I see."

"You certainly threw yourself at her back when she rescued you~" Luce laughs.

"It was that or staying on that floating rock with a busted Armor." Leon shakes his head. "Whatever, I'll go wake Lana up. She gets to eat mom's cooking and then go back to sleep if that's what she wants."

The A.I is quick to move out of sight and deactivate its cloaking. It musses up its hair and does some minimal editing on its appearance to further give the image of just waking up before stumbling out into the open– just as Leon moves. They bump into each other with surprised noises, Leon blinking at the A.I.

"Wha–" he says. "Oh, you're already awake. Is that my shirt?"

"I smelled breakfast." Hustler One says creakily, doing its best impression of someone that just woke up. "Couldn't go back to sleep properly."

"You are such a horrible liar, Lana." Leon snorts, and grabs its hand to tug it after him. "C'mon, my mom cooked some really tasty grub. No sense leaving some to waste."

"Mmm…" Hustler One nods. "Hey, Leon?"

"What?"

The gynoid leans forward and pecks his cheek. The action is sudden enough that Leon is left blinking in surprise.

"You're a good man." it tells him.

"...okay, what the hell." he blinks. "Are you okay? Did something short-circuit in your coding somewhere? Do I have to haul you back into your ship or something?" the A.I giggles and pushes him forward. "I'm serious Lana, what's going on? What's gotten you like this? Answer me, damn it– don't just giggle! Hey!"

=X=X=X=X=X=

Chris Fia Arclight stands on the bow of an Arclight-owned vessel, watching as he nears his destination– the Bartford Barony.

It had been the work of his father that saw him going on this excursion; to teach the Bartford boy the way of the blade and hone him into a proper swordsman while delivering him a letter written by his father's own hand. Chris personally didn't agree with his father on sending him of all people to teach the Bartford boy; after all, he had much to learn and ever more training to do himself. But Chris wouldn't refuse an order from his– it would be the height of impudence, after all.

So he agreed to this task, so the Arclight family would have another ally in the treacherous world of Holfortan politics. Having such a decorated war hero among their supporters would go a long way towards making changes and attaining goals. And maintaining close ties with him would be an immense boon for any future battles. But most importantly, it would allow Chris to personally test this boy himself and see what his father saw when they sparred.

Because to fight is to have a conversation. In the absence of words, he would find that his current conversation partners are much more honest with their intent and goals– a trick his father had taught him, and one he'd used well to test his close friends.

Who is Leon Fou Bartford, really? What were his intentions and goals, now that he has been freed from his military duties? How capable was he, despite all the rumors and hearsay? And how would Chris measure up to him, the man who conquered two nations in little over a year, dueled a king, and fought off the Black Knight of Fanoss?

The thought alone got his blood pumping.

=X=X=X=X=X=

"Lord Arclight's boy is coming here, is he?" Leon hums as he walks with his father to the Armor hangar. "I'm surprised. I thought I'd be invited to his place instead."

"Don't let other people hear you refer to a Marquis so casually, and one of the Founding Families too." Barcus sighs. "No, seriously son, don't. I don't want to attract any ire or spread any sort of stupid rumors; that would garner attention neither of us need right now."

"Bah, you could use more settlers dad." Leon laughs. "This place looks kind of empty as it is. More people means bigger crop yields and more money that you can use to improve the barony. Win-win, right?"

"I have bad enough trouble running this place as a Baron– I don't want Kingdom inspectors coming in, seeing the land, and deciding to increase my rank into a Viscount when I barely have enough assets to be considered a Barony." Barcus shudders. "Crazy taxmen…"

"Yeah, they can be pretty annoying. But hey, you survived this long and with Zola leeching off of you." Leon laughs. "I have faith that you can do another miracle."

Barcus sighs as he follows Leon into the hangar, beholding the blue-white Armor that Leon used to duel a king and conquer two kingdoms. It looms large over the Barford Armors, large enough that it has to kneel to fit in the hangar. The crew from the LIttle Buzzard are hard at work running maintenance and double-checking its systems, in case it needed to deploy.

Even the Bartford-employed engineers stop and watch as the workers did what they could to bring the Armor back to full capability. A brave handful even speak with some of the workers, but one voice is loudest of all.

"The engine! At least let me see the engine!" a beastwoman with striking red hair and fox ears practically pleads. "Come on, do a girl a solid here, please! I won't even touch it!"

"Not my call to make." the gynoid shakes its head. "If you want to lay a hand on the Armor, you'll need to ask for permission from the pilot."

"Leon, right? Yeah, okay, I'll ask." the redhead sighs. "Where is he?"

The gynoid points at Leon and Barcus. She turns–

"Sybil! Saint above, your jacket!" Barcus yells, covering his eyes. "Leon, stop staring, boy!"

"Oh! You're Leon?" the beastwoman– Sybil– bounces over. "Hi! Nice ta'meet ya'! I'm Sybil, one of the new hires! Heard a lot about you being some war hero!"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, right." Leon nods, making sure to keep eye contact and not look down. "You know your top's open right? And you're flashing everyone your chest?"

"Pah! It's hot and nobody's complaining. Hell, they're strangely more focused whenever I'm around– that's the main reason why your dad hired me to be the Bartford's chief Armor mechanic!"

"Right, sure, whatever you say." Leon grabs her top and forcibly zips it up until she was decent. "Fucking hell, woman– at least wrap those things up a little."

"Yeah, yeah," the beastwoman shrugs and making– no, bad Leon. "So I was wondering if you'd let me take a look at your Armor? It's some kind of Lost Item, isn't it? I really wanna see how it works!"

"I'll let you see it if you go put on an undershirt or something first." Leon grunts.

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