Fantasy worlds had lots of bizarre things that Jack knew from his ARPGs, but being used as a living, breathing dish rag for Jeanne to clean her clothes with was not one of them.
She rung him out.
Filthy, brown water poured from what felt like Jack's very soul, the gurgling echo of it matching the churning disgust in the core of his being.
Jeanne was naked. Well almost. But he couldn't even enjoy that because he was utterly humiliated.
"Why are you still wearing your gloves?"
Jack's squeaky voice was barely audible over the dripping. She froze. Her drenched blond hair covered her blue eyes. A drop of water slid from her chin, landing on the white leather with a faint pat.
"You truly are not familiar with the Church's doctrine?"
She tilted her head, "Aren't you a demon incarnation? Talking monsters were reincarnation of demons."
A scoff left her. A smug one. And maybe something else. Pity. She saw him as less.
Jack fought back the wave of fury.
"Ow."
She winced, touching her side where a deep gash from Keith's blade wept crimson into the river.
"A priestess that can't heal themselves? Some holy mage you are," Jack retorted, feeling a spike of smug satisfaction himself.
A small, holy light glowed at her fingertip. But as she moved to touch the wound, it sputtered and died like a wet match. Jeanne sighed. It was a sad and tired sound.
"You're right," she whispered.
He could only understand it because of his enhanced slime hearing.
But then she wobbled and fell face-first onto the mud. The wounds on her body weren't clotting and she was bleeding out. The fall knocked Jack from her palms.
"You're dying." The words left his core before he could think.
"Heretics don't get easy deaths," she said.
Her eyes, glassy from blood loss, fixed on him. She managed a weak smirk.
"I can still cast a few spells to silence you forever, demon spawn."
A cold dread washed over Jack. Even at death's door, her pride and her faith were the only armor she had left. He looked at her hand that glowed.
He took a few step back. In case he had to run away into the forest.
"Maybe-"
Jeanne rolled her body away, showing her back to him.
"Begone demon. I'd rather die by the mother's judgement than be saved by your foulness."
Her breathing was shallow, a wet, rasping sound that echoed in Jack's core. He saw how her fingers dug into the damp earth.
"Really? I can leave?" He asked.
"Run back to your hell."
A part of Jack wanted to stay to help her in whatever way he could. Yet the part of him, the part that was rational told him to leave. Run away and get stronger. That's what he needed if he wanted to live. Being chased by paladins was not ideal, it'd be better if he started in a new city.
He bounced on the spot. Leaving Jeanne behind who tried to kill him would be poetic justice. The forest was quiet. It was daytime and sunbeams broke through the canopy, illuminating the path he needed to take.
Bunnies were in the distance, enjoying the day. For them there was no paladin, no priestess with a bleeding wound.
"Why do I even want to help her," he mumbled.
He saw himself at 12 again. Sirens flashing. His dad ruffling his hair.
Do anything for the ones you love.
Jeanne wasn't someone he loved: they were strangers, enemies, complete opposites sides.
"Right. I barely survived with 1 hp from her magic."
The rational side of him won. He kept walking. Even if he did manage to hold her hands and get points. It wouldn't matter if they were killed by the church.
[Host wasn't in any danger.] The system chimed in.
"Trying to get me to go back, are you?" Jack said.
He looked over his shoulder, half-expecting a blue screen to materialize behind a tree.
"She killed that Keith guy. She could have killed me."
[Holy spells are unable to miss. Unless it's purposely.]
Jack stopped.
Purposely.
The system's cold, factual words hung in the forest air, heavier than the scent of damp earth.
Shaking his head, he bounced again.
"Doesn't change a thing. I was left with 1 hp and could've died from fall damage or a rat attack."
What he was saying was the truth. He made up his mind. Survival. Then strength.
Then what? He needed to start collecting coins again like he did on earth; something to keep him sane.
"Hey you should give me a quest to level up," he said to the system. It would be the perfect way to get xp. But nothing popped up.
[Quests are generated when the Host interacts with quests givers.]
"Who are quests givers?"
[Varied. Gods, strangers, magical items, a dying priestess. The last one is hypothetical of course.]
Slapping his forehead, he slumped his shoulders.
"Jeanne is a quest giver?"
[No, it's hypothetical.]
"Hypothesis confirmed," Jack grumbled.
The damn AI was playing with him.
[The system can't lie but it can omit facts. Jeanne is not a quest-giver. She does have two hands. Holding hands can provide the user with Handholding points.]
"I don't have hands!"
With a final, irritated bounce, he put Jeanne, the paladins, and his infuriating system out of his mind and focused on the forest. He hopped from damp rocks to mossy roots, a tiny, determined splash of color against the brown, green and white of the Uryen forest.
Awooo!
His movement froze. The distant howl was more than a sound; it was a vibration that tickled the edges of his slime form.
"That sounded like 100 different howls..."
Jack quickly turned back in the direction of Jeanne.
"Good karma couldn't hurt right? The mother would be glad to know I saved a follower right?"
It was definitely not because there was a real chance of getting mauled by wolves.
[Cowardness is an efficient survival trait.]
He zipped back, leaving a faint slime trail on the earth.