Some say he didn't exist. Others say he did.

Undeniably, his purported existence inspired an entire esoteric movement.

A series of anonymous manifestos birthed him into the focus of the world, tales were told of his great journey, ideals were founded through his wisdom.

It could be said that in today's society of Magecraft, he was an instrumental factor for the spread of magic culture across the entire planet.

From the far East to the far West, his influence is so widespread that it is oft forgotten.

And forgotten, no, ignored it is from the minds of many of us. Many judge his existence allegorical, without much basis.

Yet his legacy cannot be ignored.

Are these the ramblings of a mad man? Or a desperate man?

Are those not one in the same?

After all, that is my quest. My objective. My goal.

Rosenkreuz.

The older man, looking in his mid-thirties, leaned towards the small campfire, the reflected glow of the flames hiding his eyes from sight behind his rectangular glasses. His unkempt auburn hair swayed gently in the mild breeze as he ran out of things to say. The forest around them, save the flickering fire, was still and lifeless.

Accompanying him on the opposite side was a young, beautiful maiden that could no older than her late-teens. Her incredibly long, flowing platinum hair somehow kept its tidy shape in the breeze as she stared with wide, garnet eyes. She was enthralled by the story, yet it ended too soon for her liking.

"Tell me more, Ridley."

"That is unfortunately the gist of it. There's little else to add to it, Giselle. That is, in its simplest, my true personal objective here."

Originally, a certain influential official of the Clock Tower proposed a certain candidate for a certain delicate task that required attention. This candidate was Ridley Lampert, a freelance magus bounty hunter, one of the few of his kind that could actually be said to be "successful". He was middle-aged, and was a nobody that people wouldn't question about if he were to disappear suddenly. An ideal, forgettable professional for the job at hand.

Of course, he couldn't anticipate being paired up with this mysterious woman. Only known as Giselle, she admittedly had beauty that defied any sense of the term "human". She was more of a goddess in appearance than anything, not that Ridley would openly admit that. Sometimes, he felt like this was more of a babysitting job...

"That's a shame, then."

Her tone only slightly indicated disappointment as she blew into her cup of tea, before gently sipping it.

True enough, Ridley did not come to the island of Bellamarre for a vacation. Though, it wasn't exactly a typical business trip either. Something a bit grander was taking place here. That being said, wasn't like it all had to be gloom and business.

"Remember why we're here, girl. It's not a holi-"

"The Grail, correct?"

Indeed. The Holy Grail. An omnipotent wish-granting device that is the stuff of legend... usually. Mostly, wars were waged between magi for these devices, teams of Masters and Servants representing various lineages to compete for the prize.

However, several years ago, the Fifth Holy Grail War ended... and with it, the retirement of the sixty year, blood-soaked tradition. The original Grail of Fuyuki City was deactivated and dismantled, as per the orders of the very same individual that had sent Ridley out here.

After all, who knows what kind of disturbed thoughts were conjured up in his head when he was informed of another Grail appearing in an isolated location. It was blamed on madness and deceit, yet truth was all that was found.

"-... Quite. We're here to do work... though I suppose we could take it easy during daybreak."

To a couple of unique individuals that specialized in two different kinds of Magecraft, night time was no hindrance at all to any of their attempts at surveillance and reconnaissance. Giselle finished her tea and put the cup away into her handbag.

"Night time is fun time. Daylight makes me sleepy."

She was like a cat, considering how nocturnal her habits seemed. Plus, she liked to be treated appropriately and was sufficiently lazy when the situation called for it. Thankfully, Ridley was enough of a gentleman to accommodate that type of princess complex, though not to the extent of fully spoiling the young lady.

"If you fall asleep while maintaining the field again, I'll hide your treats like last time."

"It goes both ways, old man. I'll bite your glasses till they're wonky."

Giselle stuck her tongue out at her partner in crime, clearly a past victim of that type of "abuse". Ridley chuckled as he whipped an ornate-looking cigar from inside his leather waistcoat. Lopping the end of with a cutter, he lit it in the campfire before placing it between his grizzled lips.

"Sure, sure. Now then... let's get moving so we can pretend to be productive till the sun rises."

He gave the lady a coy smirk as he stood up, puffing out a clod of thick smog that didn't seem to bother Giselle at all. He scritched away at his stubble chin before snuffing out the embers of the campfire with a firm stomp.

"They're watching, after all."

They packed up and mobilized. Indeed, from the shadows of the trees around them, many eyes were judging their every move. They had a given task to fulfill. A trained dog can bark, sniff and defecate at its own leisure, so as long as they remain obedient to their owner's commands.

"By the way... where did you manage to acquire that tea?"

As the unusual pair made their way out of the woods, a pair of ravens left their unusual perches and glided in vague pursuit. The sun was just about rising, giving way for the early dawn in the island of Bellamarre.

"I picked some leaves from the roadside and boiled them in water."

As its cluster of inhabitants would start to wake up, so would a chain of events that would lead to the turbulent chaos that will come to be known as the Bellamarre False Grail War...

"... Remind me to teach you what proper tea is."

Arcs of lightning struck the open field, leaving smoldering marks wherever they touched.

A figure ran through the assailed plains, dodging back and forth between fierce bolts. It was not a natural phenomenon. Even if weather could be sporadically destructive, it could never have such directed aggression.

No, this was a battle between supernatural beings of supreme power... a battle between Servants.

The fleeing figure, clad in a black with a beige mantle, took cover in a ditch as the lighting strikes ceased. The sky was clear, as the rising sun made apparent. This quelled any suspicion that the lightning was natural... though it was even greater than mere Magecraft, as well.

Crackling with energy, a grand figure descended before the ditch in which the fleeing Servant took cover. Hovering with the power of electromagnetism, the handsome Servant held his crackling gauntlet towards the opponent, ready to strike again at a moment's notice.

The darkly clad Servant stood from the cover, spreading his arms to his sides. It was time to cease the attempts of escape, and time to launch a counter-attack. After all, when it came to this lightning-launching Servant, escape was impossible except under extraordinary circumstances...

So all he had to do was create such circumstances himself.

In a glimmer of unnatural light, two contrasting blades of unknown origin appeared in his hands. One white, one black, he lunged straight up towards his attacker. Swift and fierce as a leopard, yet graceful and intricate in motion as a crane...

He was an entity that responded to the calls of the World itself, even though he had no place in this war-

"-I am the bone of my sword..."

A faceless, nameless shell of a hero whose story was not what it seemed... like living a distant dream-

"... So, as I pray-"

A flash of lightning cleansed the area in blinding light and rippling shockwaves, as the two Servants clashed.