Chapter 1
Le Début

"Was it you who summoned me, Peon?"

"I have come from the Heavens in response to your summons, Master"

"I have a feeling this partnership will bring big returns, Master"

"You're my Master, right?"

"You are my Master, ja? Gut."

"Ma-…ster…"


From within a small Church on the edge of Lyon, France, a single voice could be heard on a cold autumn night.

"Six Masters have been chosen. Finally, the Grail War is ready to begin." The source of the voice was talking to no one but themselves. "All that remains is one more Master and the ritual can commence."

The voice let out a small sigh of satisfaction before it resigned itself to silence.


Today is the day, thought the young man strutting proudly down the cold night time streets of Lyon. I finally get my big chance!

Torsten Amsel was excited. That night was the night he could follow through on the promise he made with his father. After his father, the only person who believed in his abilities, passed on, this promise became all the more important. He was to fight in the Holy Grail War, despite his ineptitude as a Magus. Ineptitude that was enough to get him expelled from the family at his father's passing.

Torsten was the first Magus in the Amsel House history to not be compatible with the family's Thaumaturgical Crest; the record of spells held by the Amsel house that was formed over centuries by passing it down the line of males through transplantation. As such, he was considered useless by most of his family. His father had always stuck by him, helping him learn the art the best he could. But even then, he was nowhere near as skilled as other Magi of the family. He even had a partial transplant of the Crest within him to this day, but he could not make it function.

Thus, this promise was more than just something he should do as a member of the Amsel family, but something that would be the last gift to his father.

But it wasn't the time to linger on the why he was going through with the summoning. It was the time to think of the how.

I should recap what I need to know for tonight, he thought. Just to be sure. So, as he walked home through the cold streets of Lyon, he recounted in his head the details of the Holy Grail War, and the part he was to play in it.

First of all, there are seven competitors in the Holy Grail War. Each competitor is a Magus, a user of the Art. To compete, each competing Magus summons a Heroic Spirit to use as familiar in the war. The summoned Heroic spirits are split into seven distinct classes, each having their own strengths and weaknesses. The classes are Archer, Rider, Saber, Caster, Berserker, Lancer and Assassin. The summoned Heroic Spirits are known as Servants, the Magi as Masters. The Servant- Master pairs conduct a battle royale and the remaining pair claims the ultimate prize, the Holy Grail. It's said it can grant any wish imaginable. And it's through the Grail's power that the summoning of Heroic Spirits can even take place.

Before Torsten knew it, he was at his front doorstep with time to initiate the summoning at hand. He opened the front door energetically, letting it fly from his hand and slam into the wall. Torsten ran straight down his front hallway, reaching the bottom of stairs to the second floor before running back to lock his front door. Quickly slamming his door shut and locking it tight, he ran down the hallway, up the stairs then up the next flight of stairs to the loft entrance.

To save some time, he had drawn the magic circle needed for the summoning up there the night before using the last magical jewels he had in his possession. Now all that was needed was a physical connection to the Servant that he intended to summon.

In his dusty loft, Torsten had concealed the only thing of worth he took from his family before leaving. In reality, this item was left to him by his father, given to him on his father's death bed. However, the rest of his family not wishing to part with a possible key to entering the Grail War, had promptly took it from Torsten before he left. He promptly stole it back, taking this as a chance to steal some magic jewels at the same time. That was six months ago to the day and he wasn't chased after. He had to wonder if either was missed at all.

Torsten retrieved this item from under some junk, deliberately placed on top to dissuade any interlopers. He held in his hands a wooden case. The case itself was of no importance, but its contents were priceless. He gently placed the case near the magic circle on the floor and opened the latches that kept its contents sealed from the world. Inside laid a leathery looking fabric cloth. It was like an extra wide scarf, that wasn't nearly as long as it should be, and joined by a tassel at one end to a tassel at the other. In reality, it was a bauldrick for a sword and it was to serve as the physical connection of a Heroic Spirit in this summoning.

Pushing the wooden case well outside the magic circle and placing the old and fragile bauldrick in the centre, Torsten moved to the edge of the circle and stood prepared to start the ritual.

Here it goes!

He cleared his throat loudly, more for effect than to actually cleared out his vocal chords. He began to chant the verse that would bring a Heroic Spirit back to Earth from the venerable Throne of Heroes.

"Ye first, O silver, O iron. O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the contract, hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Schweinorg"

The magic circle began to glow a deep red.

"Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Five perfections for each repetition."

The glow of the magic circle became brighter, illuminating the room, as he poured enough mana into it the circle to begin the summoning. The Holy Grail handled the rest, lending its power to perform the miraculous task of bringing an ancient hero to life.

"And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead."

Burning pain shot through Torsten's arms. The mana from the Grail poured into him, bringing with it a burning hot sensation that coursed from the tips of his fingers, up his arms and around his body.

"Set. Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade. If thou submittest to the call of the Holy Grail and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond."

The pain increased all around his body. It almost sought to break Torsten's concentration, to befoul the ritual and result in a failed summoning, but he couldn't let that happen. With the very fate of his father's promise on the line, and the threat of a failed summoning possibly resulting in a dangerous backfire of mana, he had no choice but to endure the aching hotness that permeated his body.

"I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heavens. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades."

The magic circle was blindingly bright, forcing the young Magus to squint. The mana from the Grail started to burn at Torsten's very nerves, the pain changing from a throbbing ache to an jarring stab-like feeling.

"Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!"

The magic circle shone brighter than ever for a split second then immediately went black. The ritual was over. For ten straight seconds, Torsten stood in agony over the darkened circle, breathing hard. Nothing happened. Torsten wheeled around where he stood; he looked for a trace of a Servant but there was no trace to be found.

"Fuck… FUCK!" yelled Torsten, rage taking over, "I did everything right! I had the bauldrick, I made the perfect magic circle… Could I just be that bad a magus?" The pain of the failed summoning finally made his knees buckle from under him. Torsten snapped shut his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to run down his cheek.

"I tried Father… I'm sorry" he whispered, his voice beginning to break.

"Oh, so it failed did it? Bad luck." A voice rang out through the loft from dangerously close behind Torsten. He immediately spun around, a small knife forming in his hand through use of the Art. He tried to put on the fiercest face he could muster, but the tears that ran down his cheek subverted the look entirely.

"So you still have some fight in you? I admire your fervour, young peon," laughed the source of the voice, now visible to Torsten. It was a tall man, standing shirtless, with an ornate robe like skirt. He wore a tall cylindrical hat that grew slightly wider the higher it got from his head. However, the most striking feature about this man was his face, namely, the ornate eyeliner that traced his eyes, giving them a cold and harsh façade. Torsten could tell immediately that this was a Servant of some kind, and it certainly didn't seem like his.

This is bad, was all his frazzled brain could muster. As much as the Servant was about six metres away, still barely in the doorway of the loft, Torsten was sure the Servant could close that distance easily if he had to.

"At least you are properly bowing to your superior. It's a shame you are still a risk even if this was a failed summons. You could have been one of my favourites." The Servant sounded disturbingly melancholic as he patronised the young Magus before him. The Servant took a step forward. It was then Torsten finally noticed the implement in the Servant's hand. It was beautiful golden sword, with a deadly looking curve beginning about a third of the way up the blade. A blade that, as Torsten understood, was called a Khopesh. It was an Egyptian weapon, and an ancient one at that.

This is REALLY bad Torsten thought, I cannot fight with a Servant. Torsten slowly started to stand, keeping his eyes on the Servant in front of him and readying the small knife in a fighting stance. He knew nothing of fighting, but if he just parried a single blow, he thought he may be able to get behind the Servant and run.

The Servant seemed to be able to figure out what he was thinking, and a haughty sneer formed on his golden skinned face.

"Now this is no good. No good at all," the golden Servant remarked. "One sentenced for death should not stand to meet his superior and executioner." He took another step forward. The Servant was dangerously close now. Torsten was just within striking distance.

CRAAAACK. A loud noise of likes of snapping wood echoed from above. Both Torsten and the Servant quickly looked up, the Servant still with his sneer and Torsten with a look of dread at the possibility of more problems.

For a second, moonlight flooded the loft until a dark shape blocked the hole. The shape fell through the hole, giving way to the moonlight once again, landing between Torsten and the other Servant. The dark figure, illuminated clearly by the moonlight, was a very large man; over six feet at least, wearing rough leather boots, tartan patterned trousers and a ragged old shirt. The figure faced the Servant, blocking his face from Torsten's view, but it did not block the figure's weapon; a massive sword, at least five feet in length if not more, that the figure seemed to wield with both hands.

"Are ye my Master then?" Spoke the figure in booming voice, thick with an accent Torsten knew, but couldn't quite place. Torsten clearly didn't answer fast enough, as the large figure repeated himself louder and with a hint of annoyance.

"I said, Are ye my Master then?"

Torsten didn't hesitate this time.

"Y-yes!" he stammered, trying to sound confident. He's my Servant! I did it! Torsten thought, a new confidence awakening within him.

"Aye, that's more like it. Call me Saber." As Torsten's Saber spoke, he always kept his gaze on the Servant in front of him, "Right then, we'll have tae get rid o' this dandy looking guy then". At the end of that utterance, Saber gave a huge swing with his sword at the golden Servant.

CLANG. A loud reverberating, metallic smash assaulted Torsten's ears. The golden Servant blocked Saber's blow with his curved blade. Both Servants stared into each other's eyes, and although Torsten couldn't see it, a large smirk could be seen forming across Saber's face. The other Servant, on the other hand, had the look of a King faced with a disobedient subject. Part surprised, part contorted in supreme rage.

"HOW DARE YOU STRIKE AT ME, PEON!" screamed the golden Servant, losing all composure, his blade locked with Saber's. The Holy Grail War had officially begun.


Author's Note:

This is the first thing I've ever written so I'm not going to pretend it's a brilliant piece of work, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! ^^

I have stuff planned for the short term, but my release schedule will be very strange. University WILL get in the way, and it comes first!

Anyway, if it is 'that bad'... be kind? XD

But seriously, criticism is welcome and appreciated. :)

Again, I hope you enjoyed it and come back for more when it arrives!

P.S Torsten gets better, and yeah, Saber's identity is pretty obvious... But that's kinda the point. At least to the reader! XD