If Greece is the birthplace of European culture, then France is the country that carried it forward, especially in literature. Beginning in the 17th century, French classical literature entered its golden age, producing literary giants such as Molière, Stendhal, Balzac, Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo, Flaubert, Alphonse Daudet, Zola, Guy de Maupassant, and Romain Rolland. Many of their works became treasures of world literature.
During a leisurely road trip, Maierin, along with Kanon and Deathmask, entered France.
They could have taken a ship across the Mediterranean and landed in Spain, but…
Deathmask got seasick. The moment he boarded a ship, he started feeling nauseous and vomiting. With no other choice, they had to travel by land.
Maierin found it amusing—wasn't Cancer a sea creature? Why would someone like Deathmask, a candidate for the Cancer Gold Saint, get seasick?
Maierin recalled the events in Saint Seiya—during the battle of the Twelve Temples, Deathmask was once rejected by the Cancer Gold Cloth. While this was due to his personality and actions, Maierin couldn't help but wonder if his seasickness played a role as well.
Still, Maierin remembered one important thing: although there were no sealed artifacts in France, a future Gold Saint was born here. Given his calculations, the boy should be about the same age as Aiolia. This detour wouldn't be a waste of time.
Shortly after crossing the French border, in a small village, Maierin was fortunate enough to find his target.
A young boy with long, water-blue hair and a refined, slightly cold face—his presence was impossible to ignore.
"Master, that child…" From the moment they entered the village, Kanon had sensed his Cosmo—a Cosmo filled with frost, yet warm beneath the icy exterior.
"Yes, he's the one we're looking for," Maierin nodded.
"He's like me?" Deathmask asked.
"Yes, like you, he has the potential to become a Saint."
"Hah, we're pretty lucky then. We just got here and already found him. I'm starting to think my goddess is actually the Goddess of Fortune rather than Athena or you," Deathmask joked.
"That's too disrespectful, Deathmask!" Kanon snapped, almost ready to strike him. Over their time together, he had come to understand Deathmask's personality—somewhat wicked, arrogant, but ultimately good-hearted deep down. However, the way he spoke so casually, even with Maierin, was already pushing boundaries. This time, his words had crossed into treasonous territory.
"You mean Tyche? Among the second-tier gods, she's actually quite weak. She doesn't even have the qualifications to gather her own warriors. If she hadn't remained neutral in all wars and if her domain weren't so peculiar, she would've been killed long ago," Maierin replied with a smile.
"So she's still alive?" Deathmask asked. Kanon also perked up—when it came to gods, they could always become enemies.
"I don't know. At least, before I went into hibernation, she was still alive. After that? Who knows? Maybe someone killed her, maybe she escaped into space like the Norse gods, or maybe she fled to some unknown world. As long as she doesn't get involved in wars, we don't need to worry about her," Maierin said.
"Alright, boss, whatever you say," Deathmask shrugged.
"Hey."
The three of them froze for a moment. They had been wondering how to approach the boy, but unexpectedly, he had come to them first.
"Child, is there something you need?" Maierin asked.
"You're from outside the village, aren't you?"
"Yes, we are."
"Do any of you know medicine?"
"Hmm… we aren't professional doctors, but we do have some knowledge of healing. Is someone you know sick?"
"Can… can you come with me?" The boy hesitated, a hint of excitement burning in his otherwise cold eyes.
"Of course, child. Can you tell me your name?"
"My name is Camus."
—
Guided by Camus, the three arrived at a rundown house in the village.
"Papa, Mama, I'm home."
"Camus, you're back. Did the Grey Skins give you any—Camus! Who are they?" A woman's voice, slightly harsh and full of worry, came from inside. The moment she saw the strangers, she panicked, pulling Camus into her arms and stepping backward.
"Don't be afraid, ma'am. We are not the 'Grey Skins' you speak of," Maierin reassured her, releasing a gentle Cosmo wave to calm her down.
"Mama, this man said he's a doctor. He can help Papa," Camus explained. His demeanor had completely changed—now, he was a pure, innocent child, shedding all of his previous coldness.
"You're a doctor?" Camus's mother asked warily.
"I wouldn't say professional, but I can treat common injuries," Maierin responded.
"You're really not with those Grey Skins?"
"No."
After hesitating for a moment, she decided to take a chance. Her husband's wounds couldn't wait any longer.
"Come inside."
Following the mother and son, they entered the inner room, where a man lay on a bed. His skin was flushed, his forehead drenched in sweat, and his right shoulder was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.
"Ma… Matilda… who… who's there?" The man's weak voice barely reached them.
"Dear, it's a doctor—Camus found him."
"D… doctor…"
The man struggled to lift his head but lacked the strength.
"Please relax, sir. Your condition is serious. The gunshot wound on your right shoulder was a through-and-through wound, so the bullet isn't inside, but it has become infected due to lack of treatment. If this drags on, your life will be in danger," Maierin explained, gently pressing the man back down.
"Are… are you really… a doctor?"
"I may not be a professional, but treating your wound is no problem."
"Th… thank you…" The man mustered his last bit of strength to say those words before losing consciousness.
"Brand!"
"Don't worry, Matilda. He just passed out. I'll heal him now," Maierin reassured her.
"Thank you… truly, thank you. I'm sorry for doubting you earlier," Matilda cried. She had searched the entire village for help, but due to their situation—and because France was under German occupation, with soldiers and secret police everywhere—no one dared to assist them. Even the village's only doctor had refused out of fear.
If not for Camus, Matilda might have already lost hope.
"It's alright, Matilda. Helping the wounded comes first."
"Sir, is there anything I can do to assist?"
"Nothing is needed. It'll be over soon."
As he spoke, Maierin placed his hand over Brand's wound. A warm, gentle light radiated from his palm, tiny sparks falling like stars. Brand's pale face gradually regained color, his rapid breathing steadying.
"What the—! What's happening?" Matilda gasped, covering her mouth in shock. She had expected traditional medical procedures, not… this.
Camus also stared intently at Maierin. His gaze was the same as Deathmask's earlier—the gaze of someone who had just discovered a kindred spirit.
A moment later, the light faded. Maierin turned to Matilda and said, "Your husband is fine now. However, he's still weak. When he wakes up, give him some thin porridge, preferably with vegetables."
Matilda was about to speak when—
Outside, the sound of metal clashing and loud voices erupted.
"Damn it! It's you! It has to be you!" Matilda's expression twisted in fury as she glared at Maierin.