Triumph of the Lord Impaler


Wicked Dragon's Hundred Year War


They dashed through the ruined city.

Smoke and blood fumed low and stagnant between broken walls, strangling them as they avoided the very people who made the concept of vampires famous. Carmilla was watching like a hawk as Asterios blocked Lord Impaler's with his sheer mass. But Vlad was stronger than his frame would suggested; his spear pierced Asterios' flank and pushed him off balance. The clumsy Berserker tipped over and rolled once on the ground before going still.

She, on reflex, shouted his name and dashed to aid Asterios – but Mash gripped her shoulder like vice. Nevertheless, it was the only slip Vlad III needed to slaughter his enemies. He sliced his razor-like spearhead, aiming at the Master's head.

Mash had none of that.

She pulled at Fujimaru hard, sending her tumbling on the ground. Vlad's spear instead hit Mash's tall shield, leaving no single scratch. She spun the shield and the spear wrenched from Vlad's grasp.

Infuriated, the Lord Impaler grabbed whatever at hand. A branch as long as his forearm broken off of a fallen tree became as dangerous as any spear in his palm, sharpened until it was polished like steel. He threw it almost blindly, but it was still a calculated move. On reflex, Mash dodged the spear, but realized too late that she made the situation worse.

By dodging the spear, she let the only shield that protected the Master fall. The spear passed through the defense with a single whizz, smoothly between her hair, and pierced Fujimaru from her back and through her shoulder. The branch, about 30 cm in length and 5 cm in diameter, pinned her to the ground when she still disoriented from Mash's pull. Despite not hitting anything vital, the injury was serious through sheer hemorrhaging. It all happened entirely on the three seconds spent on her falling face down on the ground, almost like the time itself had slowed down just so she would not die immediately from the accumulated shock.

It felt like forever. Fujimaru didn't realize she was screaming, only later felt her throat had grown so raw that she could barely answer Mash's frantic cries when they retreated to a forestry.

She had never been injured that badly before. In Fuyuki, Mash and Cu Chulainn had protected her so closely that she had never been injured other than simple scratches. Like a spoiled kid who had never knew suffering suddenly turned destitute, only in this situation Fujimaru realized the full implication of 'battle' (Holy Grail War). Everyone can die, she was no exception.

I'm going to die, I'm going to die I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

There was no voice coming out of her mouth but her mind screamed so loudly her temple might burst. Then, again Mash's face came to her line of sight. She was crying.

How embarrassing, she made her kohai cry.

She tried to pull at the stake, but stopped herself. Pulling it out would just make it worse; she would bleed out and then she would be beyond help. But they could not return to Chaldea until the Singularity has been corrected – until then, Dr. Roman could not do anything except watching through the transmission and offering oral instruction for first aid.

Thus, in the entirety of Orleans Singularity, Ritsuka Fujimaru run around the medieval France with a 30 cm long stake lodged in her shoulder.

One week after the Singularity (time pocket) had been shattered, she stood on the summoning circle with the extracted stake clutched in her hands. The blood that stained the wooden spear had mostly flaked off, yet when she rubbed the spear off, her hand would always end up with a lot of rusty brown no matter how many times she rubbed on it. She snorted. Not everyone could boast that they was impaled by Vlad III himself and survived.

Throwing the stake into the circle along with three Quartz. Sung the aria. Watched as the pillar of light slowly dimming.

Only then, she realized that something was wrong. The man inside the summoning circle was not Vlad III. Or at least his bearing wasn't – there was no doubt that, physically, the man was the Lord Impaler. But the way he hunched over, the way he snarled, the way his eyes were more like a wild and bloodthirsty beast, none of them was like the Vlad III she saw in Orleans.

Despite Jeanne Alter had bind him and others in her thrall, their basics were no different than they truly were. Martha might be the most obvious, but the others were too fundamentally the same. That even though he had fallen into the Berserker-chant, he still carried himself like a noble man, a prince (Voivode). He stood straight with his chest pushed high, his shoulders were so wide that his slender limbs did not diminish his intimidating authorative aura. His furrowed frown was as elegant as he was rugged – a frightening man with a frightening infamy, and yet was nevertheless a beautiful one.

The one she saw standing in front of her was nothing more than a chimera she had Cu Chulainn slain and ate like a beast it was. A frightening man with a frightening infamy, who had since let himself go in an aimless bloodshed.

What is going on? Did I made mistake?

She thought hard, trying to recall whatever sign of mishaps. But it seemed Vlad had also noticed his Saint Graph was altered much to his distaste.

He curled his hand into claw. Leonidas who was watched over the summoning session noticed the threatening gesture and readied his shield. But then Vlad relaxed his stance and stood up straight. After seeing that, for some reason, the red-haired girl's spirit immediately brightened like she had recognized him. He tested his voice, his throat strangely parched.

"I'm here at your request." He bellowed, "Are you the Master who shall offer me you blood?"

And just like that, the girl's spirit was flattened. Why would she do that? Wasn't she the one who summoned him as Dracula? He had his moves prepared; if he dashed fast enough he could leap over the distance and tore the girl's throat in one go before the vanguards could react. He did not care whether he would continue on this world or the Holy Grail War, as long as the wretch who stained his name with the legend of the vampire die by his hands.

But the girl's reaction was strange. Like she didn't expect him to be this way. Perhaps it wasn't her attention to summon him as a vampire after all.

So he put aside his plan for now to listen to this girl's explanation.

"I don't understand. I thought I heard you said you hate your vampire reputation."

"Isn't that how you see me? Isn't that how the world see me?"

"I won't pretend that I know about Dracula beyond cultural osmosis at first, but then I met you and I know it isn't true." She fired back heatedly, "You became the last man who resisted Mehmed II the Conqueror of Constantinople and impaled 10,000 Turks on the forest of stake to protect your land. The name Dracula the Bloodsucker was an embellishment of the later generations, just like how Richard the Lionheart became a Muslim boogeyman."

"Nevertheless, this is the state that you summoned me in. Despite your own wish, you summoned me out of your fear for the vampire Dracula, not from your witting knowledge for the Lord Impaler. That is simply the truth."

The girl wilted, saddened and ashamed. She clenched her fist, full of regret. But then, her clenched fist seemed to change its resolve.

"Then, never again. I will never summon another Servant out of my fear." She whispered out of her gritted teeth.

What a simple girl. An earnest, simple girl who knew no guile. What you read from her was what she really was, and what he read from her was a Master that would not betray nor lie to him.

Such purity made him somewhat sad.


Eternal Madness Empire


The Master had brought him along with three others to the second Singularity to aid the Whore of Babylon. What a mess, he stood in the same room with the woman who lit Christians as her cities' torches. How he wished to do the same to this decadent harlot.

But it was a bad manner, as the woman was nothing but a courteous host to them. Though it was a difficult and violent time, she was treating the Chaldeans with five star treatment. A large-hearted emperor, with as large an ego, she was an almost obnoxious friendly sort who wouldn't take a humble no from her overwhelmed guests. Each of them was given their own chamber with their own servants, before announcing that Fujimaru would be crowned the viceroy of the territories occupied by the Alliance Empire should she succeed in the war.

Everyone agreed that it isn't going to happen.

The next battle was against Julius Caesar himself, based from the scout report. Attacking Gaul under his command was like the most ironic thing could happen to Caesar, and Lord Impaler was in the mood for some irony. So instead of busying himself with his hobby, he polished his spear until he could see himself on the blade.

A loud, screeching sound heard speeding up into the sky before it exploded into a small white firework from the outside of his window. A signature Chaldea starshell, Fujimaru had taken it along to give signal of possible attack against her in a full-on chaotic battle. An attack just occurred outside of the Rome's walls, Lady Mash should have already engaged the enemies.

He grinned.

Vlad III arrived in the fight with style. Turning his body into black mist, he engulfed the enemy soldiers and drained them out of their blood. Leaving his anemic opponents behind before disarming three spearmen who attempted to jab his back, he clothlined their bodies with the shaft of his own spear. His Master had a policy against human opponents; thou shall not kill. It was a strange policy in a war where her life is very much in danger, but it was something that she was very adamant on.

Monsters, on the other hand...

He jumped and sliced the stinger tail of a chimera. The beast howled, before exhaling a mouthful of poisonous breath. Vlad could feel his eyes tearing up, but Arash – unaffected because of his physical prowess, shot through the poison cloud and nailed the beast right on its forehead. The arrow passed through the skull and it exploded out of the back of its head. The beast was dead before it fell down fully on the ground.

"Are you alright, Lord Vlad?"

Arash asked him, but it sounded so far away. Vlad tested his condition and breathed deeply. His chest immediately seized up.

"It seemed the poison is affecting me more than I would like to care."

He finally admitted. Arash nodded and he helped Vlad to regroup with the other Chaldeans. His Master fussed over him, asking Nero if she had something to neutralize the poison. Chimera was a quite common beast in the period, and so Nero ordered her advisor Seneca to procure some antidote for him. However, despite he was not in any danger, his Master was nevertheless hung around him like a ghost.

"Pest. Do you not value your own life?"

He finally threatened. Fujimaru only tilted her head in a genuine confusion.

"Of course I value my life. But it has anything to do with right now, how?"

He expended every willpower he had to restrain a facepalm. His Master was truly too innocent for her own good. She and Mash were really made for each other.

He sighed before answering, "You don't stay with me wherever whenever. Your worry and attention are misplaced for someone like me."

"If I'm not with you, am I really a good Master?" she said, her voice low. "You, who had forgiven me, are telling me to stop looking out for you."

Suddenly, the mood was visibly going dour. It was heavy. Her gaze was too heavy.

"I can't do that. Not when I'm carrying 47 lives with me. Not when I'm carrying every single lives in Chaldea. Stop telling me to stop taking care of you, I have no purpose here other than being your Master!"

She cried, fat tears rolling down her face. It was an ugly crying, with snots and drools, but her sobbing was barely heard. Like she didn't want anyone else hearing her crying.

"I can't save the Director. I don't know what to do with other Master candidates. I put burdens on you without considering your feeling. I can even send you to your death and you will still forgive me. If I can't be your Master, making sure that you're okay the best I can, then..."

She rubbed her face hard with her sleeves.

"I'm sorry, Lord Vlad. You have to see like this..."

"...It's alright."

He took the time to observe his Master. A young girl, a child, crying that she wasn't good enough. He put his hand on her head, then slowly stroke along the length of her hair. She still didn't register the gesture, or perhaps she simply didn't know how to react.

So he let her fall into his shoulder.

"It's alright. I understand." He said, his voice rumbled soothingly, "No matter what, I – no, we will always accept you, just the way you are. If you make mistake, we will forgive you. If you're virtuous, our tongues will be wet from praising you. If you fall, we will be there to help you stand."

"So don't think of yourself lesser than anyone."

They went silent after quite some time. He didn't even need to look down to notice she had since cried herself to sleep. His hand was in autopilot, stroking her hair.

"I'm not your mistake." He whispered, "You've done nothing wrong. It's not your fault."

He said over and over, hoping that she could hear him in her sleep. A knock was heard from his chamber door.

"Lord Vlad, may I enter?"

It was Mash. Even from behind the door, her intention was clear.

"Yes." He sighed out, and the girl timidly peeked out.

"Lord Vlad, did you see- oh."

"She had a hard time."

"So I see." Mash glanced over their Master, seemingly calculating something. "Perhaps, it will be better if she's staying here..."

"Is there a problem?"

Vlad quirked his eyebrow when Mash stuttered.

"No, it's just... Well, maybe it's a problem. The point is, I'm asking you whether it's okay for her to stay here. At least, until we can solve the 'problem'."

"That would be no problem."

"Thank you," Mash then bowed to him, "Then, I will not bother you anymore."

"Wait."

Mash stopped on her track, crying out a yelp like as small animal. It was almost hard to believe even after all this time that this girl was a Demi-Servant.

"If she return to your side, try make her feel a little."

The girl was sharp. She immediately got the hint. Easing up slightly and gave him a smile, Mash excused herself and closed the door.

He didn't know just what she had talked with the other Servants, but he was sure the reason of why Emperor Nero announced an event in the coliseum five days later was because of Mash. So many materials, so many loots, so many glories. Seeing his Master showered by rose petals, a laurel wreath crowning her head as she smiled a smile of a victor, brought a smile to his face too.

Just this once, he would look over the decadence. Even discipline needed to be rewarded.


Singing Pumpkin Castle Adventure


He finished up another stuffed bat. It was put along with the rest of them inside a wicker basket.

"When I'm looking at you like this, I feel like I'm meeting you for the first time."

He raised his eyebrow.

"You've met me for the first time twice already."

"I mean, the first time – first time. In Orleans, I saw you as a prince even more than as a vampire. Despite everything."

"Is that why you're so upset?"

"Pretty much."

He looked over her. She was knitting a scarf, simple enough for a beginner. While the cold temperature of the snowy mountain had no effect on the interior of Chaldea itself, looking outside the window and seeing only unending blizzard really done a number toward everyone's placebo. Despite neither hot nor cold, the staffs were all dressing like they were in winter and always eating hot meals. And his Master was knitting a scarf for everyone, despite Servants do not feel cold.

"I regret summoning you like this." She said as she busied her hands, "But I know it will be difficult to manipulate your Saint Graph without starting from scratch. The you right now will be no more."

"And that's why you will not do that."

"Don't you hate being a vampire?"

"I just need to deal with it like a responsible adult. I will become the Vlad you wished me be, even with this body. Don't you think I'm doing a good job at that?"

"Yes, you are." She laughed. "I just need to never do it again. I'll study about people I will summon, so there will be no people like you anymore."

"Knowledge is power, Master."

They fell into a comfortable silent, with only the sound of their needles hitting each other a rhythmical harmony echoing inside the common room. The sound of festivity was far and in between, but did not matter for the two.

"Vlad," Fujimaru started, "Thank you. For everything."

"If you really want to thank me, then you better pay it in blood... Just kidding. I'll take a home-cooked meal just fine."

"Well, I'm not Emiya, but I'm still pretty. Not to brag, of course"

He laughed, and she contagiously laughed also. She put away her needles and made him a simple cream stew and a cup of coffee. She was right; she wasn't as good as Emiya, but still pretty good nevertheless. He took a spoonful in between a conversation with his Master, talking about nothing. It was peaceful, but this peacefulness was an anomaly within the Holy Grail War. When the entire concept of the war was for Heroic Spirits to kill each other for sake of the wish granting device, this moment where they're living together and spending time in other's hospitality was a strange thing to be had.

He remembered when his previous Master betrayed him. Forced into a body he loathed with every fiber of his being, he wished for his Master's destruction.

But this Master was different. And being at peace was good. But that peace would not last forever, for they were summoned because of a conflict. Soon, they would leave her behind and they would never see her again. And they would forget of ever seeing her, leaving her behind for good just like she would leaving them behind.

"I won't mind an eternity with you. I know it will never become too boring when you're by my side."

It was an impossible wish. And yet, he said it anyway. She laughed it off.

"Really? I think I'm actually pretty boring."

"Not when you seem to attract some of the most colorful individuals."

"Like Liz?"

"Yes, like that child." He nodded, "When you learn to know someone, you'll stop thinking of them as an empty face. You'll learn to love their good, and grew to hate their bad. However, we have to always try love their good, because hatred was such a despicable thing to have toward your friends."

"Then..." Fujimaru hesitated for a moment, "Do you hate Radu?"

He observed her, never letting out any sign of surprise toward the question. It was an honest question, but it was nevertheless a question you asked when you wish to be struck down.

"No." He finally said, "I don't hate him."

"What about Mehmed?"

"I don't hate him either. When I and Radu were imprisoned by the Ottoman to ensure our father's loyalty, the sultan made us Janissary. We trained and studied and communed with the then Prince. I do not hate him as he was my friend."

"You must have been really good friends. But why were you fighting, then?"

"That's because we are kings. We are kings because we have subjects. The subject have needs, and it is the kings' duty to perform it. The subjects wished for us to fight, and so we fought. When it comes to duty, friendship was a folly of naive young men."

"That's so sad."

She did not understand. Of course, she wouldn't. She was born in the era where anyone could be king (leader), chosen by their people. The king (leader) was the people's wish, what the king (leader) said was what people said. When the people was virtuous, the king (leader) would shine bright with everything good and chivalrous. When the people was wicked, then so the king (leader). A personification of the people, molded to fit to the people's desires.

But his kind of king (noble) was not like that. A king (noble) was his own self. His voice would sway the masses, his deeds would bring fame among his people. His people would mold themselves to the king's image. Nevertheless, the king (noble) was just one man, a fish swimming the upstream. They could win against the countless voices of the people, but they often succumbed. Succumbed and drowned in their responsibility, lost their self and sacrificed their personal interest. The path of a king was a road a king had to walk alone. Such was the lonely life of a king.

He didn't hate Radu, he didn't hate Mehmed. They simply spoke the voice of their people (Muslims), just like he spoke the voice of his people (Christians). What happened between them was king's responsibility.

She did not understand, that's why she said it was sad that he and Mehmed fought.

They didn't talk about it again, and after quite some time he forgot about it entirely. At least, until he found a secret passageway inside his Master's room. Not many people knew about it, most likely so she could escape from her stalkers at moment's notice. He knew Emiya knew about it, so did Cursed Arm Hassan, but he didn't know anyone else. Perhaps Mash, perhaps Dr. Roman, perhaps Medea – he knew the passageway from her hush-hush, after all.

It was a staircase toward the underground chamber that was recently dug, not a part of the original Chaldea facility. The stairs were made by chiseling into the Alp while also extending Chaldea's bounded field. Both magecraft and Servant's pure brute strength made it possible for this little space to survive the incineration of human order. A staircase went quite deep into the mountainside, about 10 meters from Chaldea's first floor, before it stopped just before a simple metal door. It wasn't locked. He would need to lecture his Master about security.

He pushed the door and it swung soundlessly. As he took the room's interior, his eyes immediately met about dozens of shelves, pushed deep into the fairly large room's far wall in three columns, filled from shoulder to shoulder with materials and books of various subjects. History, myths, native customs, novels, general science – it was difficult to determine the similarity between these books if one doesn't know what kind of person Ritsuka Fujimaru was.

However, the most eye-catching detail was not the shelves, but a single study desk sitting in the middle of the room. It was a lonely desk on the otherwise cramped place, sitting there by its lonesome. At least, if you ignore the conspicuous items hanging like a clothesline from one desk lamp to another. A golden medal with Nero's face minted on it, a single bear-shaped dumpling made of solid gold, a small stuffed bat, a flame-shaped charm, and various Christmas accessories. It was a hideous decoration, the kind that made the study lost much of its charisma as a place of research and more like a school desk of a teenage student.

It was nevertheless an endearing quirk.

He walked inside, careful not to knock anything down. The place didn't smell like old tomes like so many magus' workshops, but of fresh wood with a hint of mint blown from the chamber's air conditioning. The lighting was reasonably bright from both the desk and the ceiling lamps, and room was painted in the same shade of white like the rest of Chaldea.

He looked over the desk. It was a simple metal desk with a monitor installed on its surface. On its side was a coffee machine, nailed permanently into an open cabinet of the desk, and three mugs. Several tomes stacked on one side of the desk's surface while another was filled with writing implements. The tomes were all leather-bound, made of a haphazard mass of notes written before they were compiled and strapped together with a metal wire. Each of the tomes' titles was stamped into the leather with wax at the spine and the front. They were about the information of the Servants Fujimaru had summoned thus far.

He open a random page and came face to face with hand-written notes about the Bloodaxe King.

Today, I met Erik's wife, the Mother of Kings Guunhildr. She was talking through him because his Mad Enhancement made him barely coherent. She was passing through Erik's conversation and yet speaking from Erik's mouth. It's like reading a translation of a language only for another translation to translate from the translation; I think I misunderstand him more than when I talk to him with Mad Enhancement.

Anyway, Guunhildr tried to kill me because I separated her from Erik. Since I'm here to write this passage, obviously I survived.

Vlad flipped the book several pages prior the one he had read. It was containing general information for Erik Haraldsson. Things like small summary of his legend, height, weight, and a small comment written as a personal note from Fujimaru. A photo of the Viking king, grinning proudly as he sit on a dead chimera's head, was glued on the page.

The tome was classified based on the Servant Classes, and then the name was alphabetized. He easily found his section. A photo of him triumphantly paraded when competing in the coliseum, showered with rose petals, made prominent at the front page. But his eyes came to the small comment she made about him at the bottom.

The grace he had as Lancer has disappeared.

But then, another note was added later under that line.

But not all of them are gone forever.

He flipped the page into the end of his section and found himself remembering about that conversation.

Vlad talked about his brother Radu the Handsome and his friend Mehmed II the Conqueror. They maybe cannot talk about their affection for each other because of the circumstances, but when the world is in danger, it's the best time to have a heart to heart.

I wish to summon Mehmed, so he and Vlad can talk long and a lot just like Nero and Boudicca. It might not completely erase the hostility, but it helps a lot. But I've promised Vlad that I will never summon anyone before I know about him personally, so as long as I haven't met him, I will never summon Mehmed the Conqueror.

But I don't worry about it. If they really are friends, then their feeling surely will come across.

What a naive, foolish girl. He could not wait for that time to come.