How long has it been since his journey started?
How long has he fought for his beliefs and his dreams?
It's hard to remember at times. The years gone by are but a blur in his memory. The friends he met, the loves he found, all begin to blur as the years press upon him. Friends have come and gone, loves entered and left his life. He has been surrounded and left alone over the years time and time again. He mastered his weapon, honed his body into a blade. His battle instincts were unmatched. His body was covered in scars from the countless foes he faced. Dead Apostles and Demon Lords had fallen to his blade. Evil Magi trembled at the mention of his name. Unholy abominations fled in his presence.
But his life had left him marked. His right eye had been gouged out by a Dead Apostle. His left hand had to be replaced with an artificial one enhanced with magic. His body ached in bad weather. His chest was missing two ribs exchanged to kill that which was said to be immortal. His armor had been beaten back into shape a hundred times.
Yet still, he yearned for this journey. This endless battle.
Alaya had offered to make him a Guardian, but he refused. He was born a man, and would die a man. He was given great gifts by his Father and Mother, and that was all the power he needed. Time and time again, power had been offered to him. Time and Time again, he refused. All he needed was his armor, and his weapons. Everything else he could gain on his had worried for him, afraid of what road he might take. The path of Asura, however, was not his way. His path was different. A life of pain and sacrifice, but ended with salvation. They said he could not save everyone, but he ended a battle without casualties on either side. He bartered peace between blood feud enemies.
How long has it been since his journey started?
Ah yes, he remembered. He had been young, twenty five probably. Now, here he was, eighty nine years old, yet built like he was thirty. His body was covered with iron hard muscles, with traces of hundreds of scars. Some had been near fatal, but none had ended his life. Time and time again, he threw himself at his enemy. Time and time again, they fell beneath his skill. Yet, he knew he could not keep it up for much longer. His body was beginning to fail. Time waits for no man, and death will not be denied forever.
Yet still he fights, never compromising who he is. What his justice is.
They who threaten his family will fall.
They who thrive in the darkness will meet their justice.
They who cry out for aid will receive it.
This is what he is, this is what he has done for years. While most of the others settle down and find families, he found he could not...not completely anyway. From time to time, he would rest, recuperate, and revive himself with those he held dearest, but it was not to last...
No, the road called for him.
The people called for him, and he would answer.
His Father and Grandfather dreamed of being Heroes.
Grandfather's dream was distorted and left a broken man behind. Father's dream clashed and clarified his identity. Both dreamed of being Heroes.
Not him, he would be a vagabond, a random card, a joker. He would fight where he willed against who he wished bound to no master. Bound to no organization.
He would be a black knight.
And so he stood, straightening his back that was beginning to stoop and looked to the horizon. With a smile of satisfaction, he walked forward. Undaunted by what may lie behind the horizon, he would continue forward, always forward. Others might regret and try to undo the past. Father, Eiko, Haru, all of them did what they thought was best to undo it all. Not him, he was satisfied for what lay behind him. Forward, always forward would he march to the next opponent.
What became of Emiya Kiritsugu is unknown. Some say he died to prevent the end of the world. Some say the weight of his black armor finally wore him down and crushed him in his sleep. Some say he fights an opponent for all eternity never resting lest mankind face such a horror.
But a few, a small few believe he has gone on to right the wrongs in other places. Places unseen and unheard of by men. Perhaps, perhaps. Whatever happened to him, the world would remember the Last Knight Emiya Kiritsugu. The last exemplar of chivalry in this modern world. Possibly the greatest swordsman the world has ever known. As the ages pass and time moves on, his deeds will be remembered and and told anew through the history of man.
Let none forget the sacrifices he made to keep us safe.
Let none forget the battles he faced.
Let none forget, and perhaps, perhaps, he will come again when we need him most.
