[Ruler], a servant class designed to mediate between other servants in a [Holy Grail War], was a powerful ally to have. Servants summoned into this class were typically known for their ability to hold their own against almost all classes of servants and their lack of greed in regards to wanting to have a wish of theirs granted by the grail. There were not many Ruler class servants in general, but there was one among them who practically every servant knew of.

Jeanne D’Arc, the Saint of the Flag, was a renowned woman in her own right. The devout servant was both a valuable ally and friend to their master. Though a bit too straight-laced and serious at times, she had a maidenly and easy going side to her that earned the affection of many other servants. With her long, flowing blonde hair and her flag raised high, the saint was a protector of the peace their master was grateful to have met even before she joined him as a servant.

As an [Avenger] class servant, she made him sick.

The King of the Cavern, The Demon of Vengeance, The Lightning-Clad Avenger (according to his Master’s after witnessing his Noble Phantasm), he was the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantes. Well, the servant version of the literary figure at the very least. The grudge and history of the original Count fueled his very existence.  Salvation? Redemption? As an Avenger, those words literally sparked his fury. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile off of the faces of all members of Ruler class who were so ‘goody-goody’ and ‘holy’.

Unfortunately, that morning, he was not going to get his wish.

“Kuahahahahaha! What kind of laughable farce is this? Of all of the ghastly things that could transpire, who would have ever seen this coming? Now I’d like someone to tell me there is no drama in real life!”

He laughed. No, he cackled. It was out of a combination of amusement, anger, and disbelief. To him, it was unbelievable that he had been caught so off guard. The unexpected had befallen him when he decided to try and spark the Holy Maiden’s wrath that morning. It was as though the world was making a mockery of him, telling him to stop his incessant attempts to anger her.

Still, reducing him to the size of a bug was not something he expected the world could do. Did he have enemies that specifically chose to target him? No. His position was not sufficiently elevated enough for that, certainly. Even as a servant, the number of people who would fight him in Chaldea was limited. It had to have been a widespread attack by some other servant. 

“Ah, life is a storm. You bask in the sunlight for one moment and the next you’re shattered upon the rocks,” the count continued to laugh. What else could he do? He was in front of an ever imposing door that, even with his powers as a servant, he would be unable to open let alone reach the handle. He estimated his loss of height to be a hundredth of his original scale judging by the fact that the height of the crack beneath the door was the same as his own.

Jeanne D’Arc’s room was before him. He stood in front of the doorway decorated with a painting of Jeanne D’Arc’s flag. It stretched high up above his head towards the skies. It pained him to admit he was uneasy standing in the hallway, but that was understandable, honestly. At 1/100th his original size, he was as vulnerable as an ant. 

“There’s no helping it in this situation,” he lowered the tip of his hat to conceal his face to nobody in particular. “Such chaos must be due to the Holy Grail. That foolish master of mine could be in trouble. As much as it infuriates me, I’ll have to seek her assistance to settle this affair before I can continue letting her know of my resentment.”

That was the man’s decision. While he knew how to wait and hope, he also knew how to take action. Holding his cloak and hat tightly with his hands, he bent his knees and hunched his back to crawl underneath the opening below the doorway. Being less than 2 cm tall, he was now easily able to enter Jeanne’s humble bedroom, an accomplishment he couldn’t normally do since destroying the door would cause trouble for his master. 

His intrusion went without a hitch. To his surprise, he found the room Jeanne had taken up residence in had not been altered from a standard Chaldea bedroom aside from a carpet in the corner of the far corner of the room and a few candles placed here and there for lighting. The Saint of the Flag really did not try to decorate her room with anything too luxurious. He could, however, spot a few luxurious knick-knacks here and there that he was certain had been gifted to her and that she took a liking too. A few stuffed dolls were on her bed, including a small hippogriff that the spunky pink haired rider rode. The Ruler class also kept various outfits on display on a clothing rack on one side of the room next to a mirror. He could spy outfits ranging from a formal dress to a swimsuit to various casual clothes.

“Women are slaves to fashion, are they not?” he mumbled, bemused at the thought of the Saint of the Flag showing some semblance of human nature. He looked left and right attentively from his position right at the entry way of Jeanne D’Arc’s room, attempting to search for the holy woman.

He did not have to look for very long. Considering how much bigger she was than him at that moment, he’d have to have been blind to not see that familiar braid of blonde hair. Kneeling on the carpet that she had placed on the room’s floor, Jeanne D’Arc was motionless, praying silently in full servant’s garb asides from her metal boots.

If he were a good, ordinary man, he would have considered the sight of the saint’s calm, still figure holy from her golden braid of her to her almost luminescent, smooth skin. The woman was a majestic beauty who, at his scale, had literal monumental proportions. The statuesque sight of a living breathing saint a hundred times his size would have made any devout man drop to his knees.

However, he was a count, not a saint. Moreover, he was an Avenger. He would sooner vomit his stomach contents than vomit praise for her. His priority was on alerting the accursed Saint of the Flag of his presence and getting to their master. As such, he was dashing across the room to approach her. At less than 2 cm in height, the 5m distance was now 500 meters unfortunately. Even with his lightning speed, it took him half a minute to reach Jeanne. All the while, the distant woman seemed to rise higher and higher into the sky with every dash he made. When he finally made it to the praying saint, he found he could not see the top of her head even when he craned his neck back.

“Hey! You half-baked saint! Down here!”

He shouted as loudly as he could in an attempt to get heard. At his size, his voice would be heard as a squeak to a regular sized ear. His miniscule voice could only travel so far, however. The praying Ruler couldn’t even hear him.

“Ignoring me, huh?” the count scowled. He supposed it was understandable considering his size, but lightning still sparked from his body. He did not like the idea of being ignored. If his presence had become as insignificant as an ant, he was going to have to go all out in being the most incessant ant he could be. Even ants could bite after all.

He jumped onto the center of the saint’s right foot, clad in the woman’s dark blue stocking. His anger burning brightly, the count gathered a massive amount of energy into his palm. Being just fabric, he could easily burn through it and give the servant a powerful shock. Even though he was only trying to get her attention, he didn’t hold back. He would have loved to have the flaming lightning blast surge through her body and cause the Ruler class servant pain so he wasn’t afraid of being reckless. 

“Zeeyah!”

With all of his might, he fired off his attack, a burning beam of light, heat and energy, into the Ruler class servant’s stocking.

“Hmm…?”

He ceased his attack, when he heard a sound from above. Looking up, he could see the titanic Ruler class servant’s hand approaching him.

“Yes. Looks like you felt… it…? Oh n-Gwargh!” the count started to cheer but immediately that the hand was descending far more quickly than he expected. He was going to launch another attack, but realized he had to avoid the woman’s hand or else get struck down. Unfortunately for him, the giant Saint was far too fast for him. Jeanne scratched her foot, a simple action on her end but a titanic assault from his perspective. He was unable to react before the speedy towers of Jeanne’s fingers knocked him off of her foot and onto the floor.

Having fallen off, the count saw the saint look down in his direction, but the look in her eyes told him she hadn’t noticed him. He ground his teeth. To be unnoticed by the saint despite his efforts angered him. Even more energy sparked from his body.

“I’ll show you to ignore me, you false holy crone,” Dantes scowled. In one fell swoop, the count released his as much of his rage in a single blast aimed straight at Jeanne’s face. The distance of over 100 (centi)meters was cleared by his near-speed of light attack before Jeanne had a chance to blink. He successfully hit the woman’s cheek.

“Ouch!”

“Yes!” the Avenger class servant pumped his fist as he saw the woman wince in pain for an instant. Unfortunately, he did not get a chance to cheer for long at all. “…Huh?”

Stomp!

“Gwargh!”

“What was that? Static electricity?”

Unable to avoid Jeanne standing up, the count found himself under the right foot of the Ruler class servant. Her blue stocking covered him and the weight of her body battered his tiny form. If it weren’t for the power of whatever had caused his affliction, the count would have been crushed into red paste beneath Jeanne that very instant.

Even so, he was not enjoying his predicament of having survived.

“G-Grk… Got to… get out…”

The count attempted to claw at the holy maiden’s sock. He didn’t expect having his entire body crushed under the weight of a single woman to agonize him more than any of the trials of Chateau d’if, but being 100 times smaller did not mean dealing with a woman who was 100 times heavier… No even more than 100. The weight of Jeanne D’arc felt like several thousand tons to him relatively. Even a demon pillar wouldn’t survive under the force of the maiden’s foot.

Unfortunately for the count, his attempts to get noticed failed. Having been surprised by the sudden weak jolt of static electricity, she stopped her prayers. It was then that she glanced at the clock.

“Oh my. I promised Marie I’d see her later. I should get changed since she wanted me to dress up.”

For her to speak about a get-together so innocently and naively, how was a Ruler class servant with the power of Revelation unaware of what was going on? He would have loved to ask that question, but unfortunately, he had to deal with thick, musty fabric shoved into his mouth and hot beads of sweat soaking his cloak and suit.

Moreover, much to the count’s further dismay, he found his body rising as Jeanne took a step forward. He was being taken along with the woman’s stocking as she walked which meant further pain for the servant as Jeanne’s right foot slammed into the floor again.

“Gwargh!” he spat from the pain of the impact. He felt his body twist as the ball of the blonde maiden’s foot followed her heel. A simple footstep slammed his body against the hard floor and squashed it under thousands of tons of woman. He could feel the floor yield to the Ruler servant’s weight. His very being recognized the difference in scale between them. His immediate conclusion was to abandon grabbing Jeanne’s attention and prioritize escape.

But there was no escape for the man who had escaped Chateau d’if. The next step came as quickly as the first and crushed his physical form again. Then came the third and the fourth. He had no time to think as intense sharp pain twisted his body. He was nothing more than an insect to her, easily crushed without any notice or thought.

Relief only came at after the fifth. Dantes found his body vertical as Jeanne D’arc lifted her right foot off the ground. “G-Guh…” What was going on? Still stuck to the foot of the Saint of the Flag, he could feel massive movements from the woman but could not see while plastered face first to her foot.

It was then that the Avenger felt something dislodge. In an instant, Dantes plummeted. The giant woman had taken off the stocking he had been ground into, and he descended along with it.

Thankfully, the descent was gentle and quick. The sock Jeanne had stripped off had landed on the chair by the room’s mirror above the left stocking. From his position, he could see the long bare legs of the holy maiden as she selected her change of clothes.

“I despise the fashionable world…” groaned Dantes, knowing full well his pain had been caused by a woman changing clothes. Having wisdom when it came to crises, he knew he had the safe opportunity to scorch the sock he was stuck and pry himself free. “Now what am I to do against this brobdingnagian lass?” 

Looking up, the Avenger class servant’s face flushed red and his gentlemanly instincts took over. He pulled his hat over down over his eyes. Jeanne D’arc was undressing. Not only was she had she taken off her stockings, but her mantle, armor, and top as well. The only thing left covering the titan of a saint was her blue camisole and matching lace panties. The landmark monument of a woman in nothing but her skivvies distracted the Avenger, and he was becoming even more distracted as she undressed further. 

“Hm… Let’s see… Which one should I pick? I know nobody will see these, but it’s important to mix things up from time to time…” he heard from high above. 

Fighting temptation, Dantes turned away as he heard a soft thump hit the floor far beneath him. Behind him was an entirely naked maiden of the flag. Out of his decency as a French gentleman, he refused to peak despite knowing the dire circumstances of his situation.

“Women are sacred. While I may hate this saint with my very being, I mustn’t look,” the count fought his inner demons.

Dantes needn’t look away  any further, however, as his vision soon vanished. Darkness descended as something fell atop the chair he was stranded on. A dome with intricate patterns inscribed into it covered him.

“Hm? This dome is…,” the count realized what had trapped him the moment he looked up, but he couldn’t complete his sentence as said dome quickly started to move. He was hit by a thick wall that smelled of detergent and taken along with it as it plummeted.

A bra, woven finely with a flowery design on white fabric, had encircled the 2 cm man and fallen off the chair. The holy maiden had dropped two of the ones she had been deciding between onto the chair in order to compare them, but the one he had fallen on had slipped off the seat. He was greeted to a naked and statuesque Jeanne D’arc holding her endowed bosom with her right arm as she looked down. On the floor again, he realized just how big the woman was when her naked legs seemed to stretch into the sky.

“Hm… Which should I wear?”

Immediately upon hearing such words, he knew what was to come. Luck was never a thing the count had. There was no 50/50 chance of safety. Jeanne would pick the one he was in, and that was precisely what happened. In a quick and fluid motion, the blonde saint selected the bra he was in and put it on. He felt the incredible, overpowering speed of the woman’s experience in putting on her undergarments as he was lifted up, whipped through the air. 

“Bwarf!” the count spat when he was slammed into a peach colored mass. He tried to push away from the mass, but the bra firmly held him in place. He was being pressed again the Flag Saint’s left breast as dressed up. To further complicate matters, Jeanne continued to put on her clothes.

“Fufufu~! This school uniform is as cute as ever,” Jeanne D’Arc’s giggle caused her chest and him to vibrate. The pressure pinning him down had increased as Jeanne had added a dress shirt and blazer to outfit. The fashionable world was a bit too much for the count’s miniscule body. “I can’t wait to show Marie this.”

“Curses…,” the Avenger bit his lip. He was certain the woman’s bra was a size too small for her because of how firmly he was stuck to her breast. To think he’d be caught like a moth in a spider’s web. The saint’s bosom was sizeable even at regular size, but at 100 times his scale, it was comparable to the Sun King’s pyramids. He didn’t want to admit that the sweet scent of the woman’s shampoo was engulfing him. He simply continued to struggle while smothered by the French woman’s breast.

“Hmm~ Hm~ Hmm~ Hm~!” he could feel Jeanne’s humming as she put on her uniform’s tie. Her cheerful mood irritated the incarnation of vengeance.

“Damnit! That’s it!” the King of the Cavern finally had it with being taken for a fool. Despite being restrained, he was still capable of outputting all of his mana from his servant body. With all that he could muster and his Iron Determination, the Count of Monte Cristo unleashed his strongest burst of searing energy, aiming to force the saint to feel his presence.

“K-Kyah~! What in the-?!” he heard as his full power surged into Jeanne’s left breast. While he couldn’t pierce through the thickness of all of the woman’s clothes at his size, he was able to hurt her. One of the missions he had been hoping to accomplish had been finished, but now that he was out of energy, he realized his body was limp.

But the Avenger’s actions had brought about the miracle. The Saint of the Flag had felt him and moved to take off her clothes to see what had suddenly hurt her. After taking off her blazer, unbuttoning her dress shirt, and unhooking the clasp of her bra, Jeanne covered her nipples with one arm and held onto her bra with the other arm. This allowed Dantes to see the light of day again along with the stunned blonde’s expression.

“W-W-W-what?! Is that you, Count?!” the saint turned a flustered red from she recognized his tiny form with her True Name Revelation skill.

He was discovered. Finally, after all of that effort, he had succeeded. How did he escape? With difficulty. How did he plan that moment? Well… quite honestly it had all been a spur of the moment thing, but he was pleased to have finally gotten somewhere. Having reached his destination and gotten to both hurt and fluster the Saint of the Flag, he wasn’t going to lie that he didn’t receive some pleasure out of that. He still refused to admit that it was relieving to see Jeanne’s face, however.

“C-Count? Are you okay? Hey, speak to me. What were you doing in my bra? What’s going on?!” completely embarrassed, the tomato red maiden tried to ask him despite not realizing he was both too small for her to hear and too tired to even speak.

Lying in the left cup of the woman’s underwear, the count sighed wondering just what was to happen next. Would the Saint consider delivering some divine judgement onto him for the unlucky pervert events he had gotten thrown into or would she immediately learn of what was going on and assist? Whatever the case, he had exhausted himself in his anger.

His exhaustion meant little to the little man, however. There were bigger troubles on his priority list: their master’s safety. Thinking about it, it was ironic for him to be leaving things in the hands of a Saint, especially when his body was literally in her hands, but in his state, he had to wait before his self-restoration helped him recover. Until then, he knew there was only one other thing he could do as the panicked, undressed maiden continued to pry him for answers she wouldn’t be able to receive – Wait and hope.