Chapter 2: The Queen's New Home
The journey back from the Forest of Witches was a blur of strained silence. Asta marched ahead, a new, restless energy in his step, flexing and unflexing his freshly-regrown hands as if he couldn’t believe they were real. Behind him, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on.
Finral kept opening spatial gates with a kind of violent, jerky precision, his usual smoothness gone. He wouldn’t look at Asta. He just stared straight ahead, his jaw working.
Noelle walked as if on a parade ground, her spine rigid, her face a mask of noble disdain that didn’t reach her flickering eyes. Every few minutes, her gaze would dart to Asta’s back, to the powerful set of his newly restored shoulders, before snapping away, a flush rising on her cheeks.
Vanessa was the only one who seemed anything like normal, if normal meant humming a bawdy tavern tune under her breath and smirking every time Noelle flinched. But her fingers kept twisting a loose thread from her dress, winding it tight around her thumb until the tip turned white, then releasing it.
And then there was the Witch Queen.
She glided behind them, a seismic event in a black dress. Her presence warped the air. Ancient, arrogant, and carrying herself with the calm of a predator who had already won. The fact that she was following them, voluntarily leaving her sanctum, was the most disquieting thing of all. She observed the Black Bulls’ territory—the scarred, chaotic landscape surrounding their base—with a detached curiosity, as if inspecting a mildly interesting anthill.
They crested the final hill, and the jagged, monstrous obsidian spire of the Black Bulls hideout stabbed into the twilight sky.
“Home sweet home,” Vanessa muttered, her smirk not reaching her eyes.
The usual chaos greeted them at the entrance. Magna’s fireball singed the doorframe as he practiced a new spell. Luck’s maniacal laughter echoed from inside, followed by the crash of something expensive-sounding. Charmy was chasing a panicked-looking cow through the main hall, rolling pin held high.
Gauche, polishing his mirror, was the first to notice them. He glanced up, then did a double-take, the cloth freezing in his hand. “You’re back. And you brought… a guest.”
His flat tone drew the attention of the others. Magna skidded to a halt, his flames winking out. Luck popped his head around a broken pillar, eyes gleaming with interest. Gordon mumbled something unintelligible from a shadowy corner, his form seeming to vibrate with anxiety.
Yami emerged from the kitchen, a toothpick in his mouth and a week’s worth of stubble on his chin. He took in the scene: Asta, grinning but tense; his three squad members looking variously traumatized, jealous, and shell-shocked; and the impossibly powerful, voluptuous woman standing behind them like a queen observing a peasant uprising.
He removed the toothpick. “Alright,” he said, his voice a gravelly roll. “Who’s the tall drink of water?”
Before anyone could answer, the Witch Queen stepped forward. She didn’t just move into the room; she occupied it. The ambient noise died. The very dust in the air seemed to still.
“I am the sovereign of the Forest of Witches,” she announced, her voice not loud, yet filling every crevice of the chaotic base. “This one,” she said, gesturing lazily toward Asta with a hand that had recently woven his arms from blood, “has performed a service for me. An… unparalleled service.”
Asta rubbed the back of his neck, his grin turning sheepish. “Yeah, she fixed my arms! It was a whole thing.”
Yami’s eyes narrowed, flicking from the Queen’s imperious face to Asta’s, then to the distinctly uncomfortable body language of Finral, Vanessa, and Noelle. He was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. “Service, huh?”
“Indeed,” the Queen continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “The terms of our agreement have been met. His companions were spared. His limbs restored. But such a transaction… resonates.” She placed a hand flat against her stomach, over the dark fabric of her gown. The gesture was deliberate, a punctuation mark in the silent room.
Vanessa’s thread snapped. Noelle stopped breathing.
“A life has taken root,” the Witch Queen said, the words simple, clear, and devastating. “His life. My vessel. Our child.”
The silence that followed was absolute, profound, and short.
Grey, who had been peeking from behind Gauche, let out a tiny squeak and melted into a puddle of shifting goo on the floor, unconscious.
Finral made a sound like a stepped-on frog. “A… a… but you… he…” He pointed a trembling finger at Asta, then at the Queen’s midsection, then back again, his complexion matching his hair.
Magna’s mouth hung open. Then a slow, dawning, incredulous grin spread across his face. “No way.” He looked at Asta. “No. Freaking. Way. You dog!”
Luck zipped over, his face inches from Asta’s, his electric blue eyes wide with manic glee. “You fought her? And you won? Is that how you won? That’s an amazing kind of winning! I want to fight her too!”
“Idiots! That’s not what happened!” Noelle shouted, her voice cracking, her face a brilliant, furious scarlet.
Zora, materializing from a trap sigil on the ceiling, looked down at the scene. “Huh. Usually the bastard just brings home stray cats. Upgraded to a queen, huh, Asta? Gotta respect the grind.” He gave a slow, approving nod.
Gauche simply stared, his mirror forgotten. “A child,” he murmured, his thoughts instantly flying to Marie. His gaze at Asta became a complex weave of resentment, confusion, and a grudging, horrified respect.
Yami took it all in. He looked at the Witch Queen, whose violet eyes held a challenge and a deep, unsettling satisfaction. He looked at Asta, who was now scratching his head, bewildered by the reaction but starting to puff up with a naive pride.
Yami started to laugh. It was a deep, rumbling sound that shook his shoulders. He walked over and clapped a massive hand on Asta’s back, nearly sending him sprawling. “I knew you were an unpredictable little shit,” he grinned, showing his teeth. “But this? This takes the cake. Knocking up a thousand-year-old witch queen to get your arms back. That’s the most Black Bulls thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Captain! It wasn’t like that!” Asta protested, but he was smiling now, caught up in the bizarre approval.
Vanessa watched the celebration, her earlier smirk gone. Her eyes were fixed on the Witch Queen’s hand, still resting on her stomach. A cold, sharp feeling coiled in her own gut. It wasn’t disgust. It was a fierce, competitive heat. He did that, she thought, a strange thrill running through her. He really did that. To her. Her gaze drifted to Asta, to the easy strength in his new posture, and she felt a flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with thread magic.
Noelle watched Magna and Luck slapping Asta on the back, Yami’s laughter booming. She watched the Queen stand there, a monument of serene conquest. The happiness for Asta’s arms was real. The relief that Vanessa was safe was real. But beneath it, a corrosive ache spread through her ribs. She saw the Queen’s possessive posture, the way her very presence claimed a piece of Asta that Noelle could never touch. A hollow, screaming wish echoed in her mind: Why her? Why not me? She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms, and forced her face into a deeper scowl to hide the tremor in her lips.
The Witch Queen allowed the cacophony to continue for a moment longer, a faint, amused smile on her lips. Then she spoke, and the room quieted again, drawn by the sheer gravitational pull of her voice.
“The forest is… insufficient, for now,” she stated, as if discussing the weather. “I will require proximity. A dwelling will be constructed on the northern rise. It will be ready by dawn.” It wasn’t a request. It was a decree.
Asta blinked. “You’re… moving in? Next door?”
“For the foreseeable future,” she said, her eyes locking with his. “Our… arrangement… will continue. You will visit. Regularly. To attend to your obligations.” Her meaning was unmistakable, a dark promise hanging in the air.
Finral finally found his voice, a high-pitched warble. “Obligations? What obligations? What does that mean?”
The Witch Queen’s smile was a slow, scarlet curve. “He is the father. I am the mother. The child will require his… involvement.” Her gaze swept over the room, over Vanessa’s tense form, Noelle’s mortified glare, the stunned faces of the men. “All of you will adjust.”
With that, she turned, her gown sweeping the filthy floor without touching it. She walked out of the base, back into the gathering night, as if she owned the very darkness. A moment later, from the direction of the northern rise, there came a sound like grinding stones and groaning earth. Black, jagged spires of obsidian erupted from the ground, twisting and weaving themselves into a haunting, miniature castle that mirrored her sanctum, a permanent shadow now cast over the Black Bulls’ home.
Inside the base, the silence returned, heavier this time. The celebratory mood was gone, shattered by the weight of the new reality.
Asta stood in the center of it all, looking from the door to his own hands, to the shocked faces of his friends. The joy of having his arms back was now tangled with a thicket of consequences he was only beginning to understand. He had gone to the Witch Queen for a fix. He’d gotten more than he bargained for. Way more.
And she was literally moving in next door.
The heavy silence in the main hall was broken by Charmy stomping her foot. "Enough moping! My sheep are getting secondhand anxiety." She grabbed Grey's still-melted form, hefting her like a wobbly water skin. "We're using the hot spring. Now. You too, metal girl and wine aunt."
Vanessa shrugged, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly at the prospect of steam and solitude. "Fine by me. My threads are all knotted anyway."
Noelle opened her mouth to protest, to retreat to her room and scream into a pillow, but Secre—who had slipped in quietly during the commotion, her mission cloak still dusty—gently took her arm. "You're shaking," Secre murmured, her large eyes missing nothing. "The heat will help."
Noelle allowed herself to be led away, her pride too bruised to argue.
The indoor hot spring was a carved grotto deep within the obsidian spire, the water magically heated by geothermal runes. Steam curled in the damp air, smelling of mineral salts and lavender someone had tossed in. They shed their clothes in silence, the only sounds the drip of water and the rustle of fabric.
Noelle slid into the steaming pool up to her chin, wishing the water could wash away the sick, churning feeling in her stomach. She stared at the swirling surface, seeing the Witch Queen's triumphant face, Asta's oblivious grin.
"Okay," Secre said softly, leaning back against the smooth rock. She’d been briefed hastily by Gordon on the walk down. "So. The Witch Queen is pregnant. With Asta's child. And she's building a castle next door."
"Yep," Vanessa popped the 'p', sinking until her hair floated around her like crimson seaweed.
Charmy, already munching on a rice ball she'd produced from somewhere, nodded vigorously. "She's gotta eat for two now! Maybe three! I'll need to prepare triple recipes!"
Grey just made a small, overwhelmed squeak, her form stabilizing in the warm water.
Secre watched Noelle, who was clenching her jaw so tight a muscle flickered in her cheek. "Noelle," Secre said, her voice calm. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," Noelle snapped, too quickly. She sank lower, blowing bubbles to avoid their eyes.
Vanessa, Charmy, Secre, and Grey exchanged a single, knowing glance above the mist. It was a silent, unanimous pact. They closed ranks around her in the water, not touching, but forming a circle.
"So," Vanessa began, her tone deceptively light. "Must be weird, huh? The Queen being all permanent-like now?"
"No weirder than anything else here," Noelle muttered.
Charmy swallowed her rice ball. "Do you think the baby will have his hair?"
Noelle blinked. "What? I don't—how should I know?"
"Second question," Secre interjected smoothly. "Are you upset Asta's arms are back?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Third," Vanessa said, tracing a finger through the water. "Was it the, you know, the actual... process of how he got them back that's bugging you?"
"No! That's vulgar!"
"Fourth," Grey whispered, gaining courage from the group. "Do you... dislike the Witch Queen?"
"Obviously! She's horrid!"
"Fifth," Charmy leaned in. "Is it because she's prettier than you?"
"She is not prettier than me! How dare—I mean—that's not the point!"
"Sixth," Secre continued, relentless. "Do you believe Asta should have refused her... terms?"
"He had no choice! Vanessa was going to die! We all were!"
"Seventh," Vanessa's gaze was sharp. "Would you have made the same choice in his place?"
Noelle faltered. The image flashed in her mind: Asta on his knees, herself in Vanessa's place, the Queen's foot on her throat. "I... I don't know."
"Eighth," Charmy said, "Do you wish you were the one who was there instead of Vanessa?"
"Don't be absurd!"
"Ninth," Secre pressed. "Do you think less of Asta for what he did?"
"Never! He was being brave and selfless! He saved everyone!"
"Tenth," Vanessa's voice dropped. "Does it bother you that he touched her?"
The steam felt suddenly suffocating. Noelle's face was on fire. "I'm not thinking about that!"
"Eleventh," Charmy was relentless. "Do you think about touching him?"
The air left Noelle's lungs.
"Twelfth," Secre didn't let her breathe. "Have you imagined it? Him with you?"
"Thirteenth," Grey added, her voice soft but clear. "Do you get a funny feeling in your stomach when he smiles?"
"Fourteenth," Vanessa cornered her. "Does it make you angry when other girls look at him?"
"Fifteenth," Charmy finished her rice ball. "Were you jealous when that Rebecca lady kissed him?"
Noelle was trembling, cornered by truth and steam.
"Sixteenth," Secre delivered the blow gently. "Do you want him to look at you the way he looked at her today? Not as a squadmate. As something else."
A tear escaped, mixing with the condensation on Noelle's cheek. She swiped at it angrily.
"Seventeenth," Vanessa asked, her final question quiet in the hushed grotto. "Do you love him, Noelle? Not just a crush. Really love him?"
The dam broke. A choked sob racked her frame. "Yes! Okay? Yes, I do!" she cried, the words tearing free. "I want to be with him! I want him to see me! But he's so stupid and loud and he never notices, and now she's having his baby and she's forever and I'm just... I'm losing him before I ever had him!" She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.
The others were silent for a moment, letting the confession hang in the humid air.
Vanessa sighed, a long, weary sound. "You're not on that island alone, princess." She leaned her head back against the rock. "I think about him too. More than I should. Especially since... well, since I saw what he did. What he's capable of."
Secre nodded slowly, her pale cheeks coloring. "In the royal capital... when we were alone... I had thoughts. I still do. At night. In my bed."
Even Grey, in a burst of courage, stammered, "H-he saved me. He's so strong and k-kind. Sometimes... when it's dark and quiet... I... I touch myself and think it's him."
Noelle lifted her head, eyes wide, shocked out of her own misery by their admissions.
"It's not just us," Secre said, gaining confidence. "There's the sister, the quiet healer from the witch forest. There's the tough woman with the scar from his village. There's the gentle, pink-haired girl from the Golden Dawn who blushes whenever he's near."
"Mimosa?" Noelle whispered.
"And the fierce one with the lioness spirit," Secre continued. "The scary, powerful one who fights like fire. They watch him. Their eyes change when he's near."
"Sol? Mereleona?" Noelle’s mind reeled.
Vanessa nodded. "There's something about him. He's a loud, reckless, commoner idiot with no magic." A genuine smile touched her lips. "But he looks at the world, and at you, like you matter. Like you can do anything. That look... it gets inside you."
Noelle wiped her eyes, a strange, wild idea beginning to form amidst the wreckage of her despair. "Then... why does she get to win?" she asked, her voice hardening. "Why does she get to claim him just because she's powerful and pregnant?"
"What are you saying?" Vanessa asked, her interest piqued.
"If so many of us feel this way... and he's... one person..." Noelle took a shaky breath. "What if we didn't fight each other? What if we... shared?"
The word hung in the steam. It was outrageous, scandalous, utterly against every noble convention Noelle had been raised with.
Charmy grinned, a wild, approving light in her eyes. "Asta-sharing pact! I like it! He has enough energy for everyone, I bet!"
"A communal resource," Secre stated, as if analyzing a historical document. "It is... a practical solution to a problem of high demand and limited supply."
Grey just nodded, her face bright red but her eyes shining.
Noelle’s mind, now set on this crazy path, began to race. "We'd need agreement. A consensus." She looked at Vanessa. "You have the communication mirror. We need to call them. All of them."
One by one, the calls were made.
To Mereleona Vermillion, the answer was a roar of laughter so loud the water in the spring rippled. "Share the brat? You nobles are finally speaking my language! He's a fine sparring partner. I'd enjoy... other kinds of matches. I'm in." Click.
To Sol Marron, it was a long, thoughtful silence. Then, a low, amused chuckle. "The little lion cub? He has spirit. And his hands... they look strong. Yes. I find this proposal acceptable. Do not disappoint me." Click.
Mimosa's response via a flustered, glowing plant-message was a series of embarrassed sputters that eventually resolved into a whispered, "If... if it's with Sister Noelle... and it makes everyone happy... then... I consent." The plant wilted from her embarrassment.
Mariella, reached through a forest-witch relay, was hesitant but honest. "He saw me. Not just my magic. He is... light. If this is a way to be near that light, without intrusion... I agree."
Dominante Code's voice was crisp and analytical over the line. "Asta's genetic material is clearly robust. A shared... custodial arrangement for its... application... is logically sound. Fanzell has been insufferable. I agree."
Rebecca, in Hage Village, was the most confused. "Wait, share Asta? Like... all of us? At the same time? Is that even... oh. Oh. Well, he is always talking about never giving up... I guess this counts? Sure, why not!" Her cheerful perplexity echoed before the line cut.
The final call was not made. As Noelle lowered the communication mirror, a ripple passed through the steam not from the water, but from a presence materializing at the pool's edge.
The Witch Queen stood there, having entered without a sound, her form shrouded in a dark, sheer robe. Her violet eyes gleamed in the mist. Only Noelle had sensed her approach, her water magic tingling at the arrival of another potent liquid—blood.
"You are all surprisingly loud for a secret pact," the Queen said, her voice a husky murmur that filled the grotto.
The other girls gasped, scrambling to cover themselves or stand defensively, but Noelle held her ground, meeting that ancient gaze from the water.
"We're not hiding it," Noelle said, her voice steadier than she felt. "We're organizing it. You don't get to have him just to yourself. Not if we have a say."
The Witch Queen's lips curved. She had heard every word, every confession. She looked at their faces—defiant, embarrassed, resolved. "You think to manage a resource I have already claimed," she mused, stepping to the very edge of the pool. "A child grows within me that is his alone. That is a bond you cannot replicate."
"No," Vanessa said, rising from the water to face her, unabashed. "But we're bonds he chooses. And from the sound of it, he's got plenty of love to go around. More than one person can handle."
A long, assessing silence followed. The Queen's gaze traveled over each of them. Finally, she gave a slow, regal nod. "A court," she said, the word tasting of dark honey and inevitability. "A harem of his own making, though he knows it not. Very well." A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. "I permit it. But understand this: the first seed is mine. My claim is primacy. You will arrange your schedule around my needs."
Before anyone could respond, she faded back into the shadows of the entrance, her final words hanging in the steam. "Begin your preparations. I will send my demands."
The five women were left in the water, the reality of what they had just set in motion settling over them like a new, heavier layer of steam. It was insane. It was scandalous. It was, for the first time since the Queen's announcement, a shared front. Noelle looked at the others, their faces a mix of shock, fear, and a fierce, defiant hope. They had a plan. It was unorthodox, it was messy, and it was theirs.
And somewhere, blissfully unaware in the chaos of the main hall, Asta sneezed.