Been working on this one for two weeks, so I'll just upload it I guess.
Guest: I'm taking the light novels and anime into consideration. I know about Garden of Avalon, but I haven't seen a translation for it. Also, my Arthurian knowledge is really rusty which meant I remembered at the last second about Mordred's Orkney fam.
Ripples pushed against the stone fencing in the water.
Arrows greeted flying targets.
Mordred and Karna went into Sighisoara to kill time while Achilles napped in the library. Almost too convenient. She half-expected them to pop up every time she halted to reset the targets.
If she ignored the architecture and conjured up a smell reminiscent of the untouched forest, then she could pretend for a little longer that she was home. But if she did, it'd be like admitting she didn't have a very present problem about her mental state.
She couldn't help the snarls every time she thought about it. Even little trails of blood followed her footwork, gnashing her teeth against skin. All Atalanta knew was how to hunt, how to fight, how to kill. That was why she craved winning the Grail with all her body and soul—to fulfill her wish without further blood.
But to protect her family...
...doves flocked to and fro, carrying disproportionately-sized pieces of leftover materials for the Hanging Gardens.
It is easier to kill your problems than to solve them. These Black Servants won't listen to entreaties or olive branches.
Atalanta hadn't bothered asking Semiramis if she could take them or not, knowing that it was for the better that they don't speak unless it was necessary.
Atalanta poured all of her uncertainty into every shot. She continued to stride and jump with the gales taking refuge in the fortress, sliding from balcony to balcony, Tauropolos drawn, to drown herself in drills.
Boots padded along the stone path.
Forcing herself not to react, her head turned sharply to confirm that indeed, Shakespeare removed himself from the solitude of his workshop. For what reason—except to cause more chaos, was she what suspected.
"[These violent delights have violent ends]. Verdant Archer, what has possessed you to practice so ardently? Aren't you already one of the supreme bowmasters of ancient Achaea?" Shakespeare took a seat on the bench, looking rather smug.
Tauropolos's twangs answered him.
Shakespeare coughed.
Atalanta ended up hurling Tauropolos at the last dove, knowing it'd be able to dodge at the last second.
He had the gall to cough again while she strode to the somewhat vexed bird. It expressed its complaints in a series of long and short squawking but she didn't really care. As Semiramis's familiars, there was already a certain oddity about them, like they weren't natural. Because of that, Atalanta couldn't treat them as animals.
"...I'll keep pestering you until you respond. Do you really want to engage in a war of patience? From the way you traverse each balcony, it is quite apparent to me that you wish to concentrate on this endeavor."
Atalanta muttered entreatries to the bird as she judged the cons and pros, deciding in the end to acknowledge him. "Did you not listen to the report Mordred and Karna bestowed on the priest? Or are you deaf as you are superfluous?"
The rest of the doves settled down, like gossiping old women waiting for the feed dispenser.
"Please Archer," Shakespeare huffed. "It was a straightforward question."
Atalanta rolled her eyes and replied, "Then forgive me for assuming you were after an unpleasant answer."
"Ah...well…"
She waited for him to continue, but as the seconds ticked on by, he got more self-conscious and embarrassed. After a half a minute elapsed, Atalanta picked up Tauropolos and shot an arrow into the hem of his cape, pinning him before he could muster a response.
He opened his mouth but closed it after tugging at it. "...this is my favorite cape," Shakespeare protested half-heartedly.
"Then take this as an example of what happens when you prod predators." Atalanta shrugged in reproach. "I'm quite frustrated that you are interrupting practice."
Shakespeare ripped the arrow out of his cape immediately in a mood whiplash as he became rigid. "And speaking of which, you did not explain why you want to drill yourself to the point of grinding your bones to dust!" A frenzied light entered his eyes.
Atalanta took a step back in disbelief. Is he trying to analyze me like Achilles?! Your insolence knows no bounds!
"—There is no way that you of all people would be so uncertain!"
She reared back further and glared. "Shut up!"
"And you aren't frustrated, but frightened, are you not? Just like a child who's unable to escape into sleep after hearing a scary story!"
"You bastard...!" Atalanta barked out, stalking forward before she realized it to rip him apart.
"What did you see in that mist? What did you perceive? But it's nonsense. No matter what you saw, it is already merely a remnant of the past. We are still ghosts of the past, and if ghosts regret the past, they will morph into vengeful specters—"
She halted.
Shakespeare stood up, his voice filling the water garden with his suddenly spectacular shouts. Rich and full of liveliness, he threw out an arm for her, hand opened.
"—We must live in the future. To devote our bodies to the yet-unseen world. Archer, you also want to see it, don't you? The world that your wish would grant! Even if it tears you apart! Even if means you have to cast aside unnecessary emotions."
How did he know?! No, no, no, that's not right but not impossible. He's the greatest playwright, so he understands the inner workings like the back of his hand but that doesn't mean I want that!
Atalanta snapped, "What I desire of the Holy Grail is equal to my precious people! My power wasn't enough to protect either one. Because of my weakness, my failure, my clouded judgment—I wanted to kill Karna!" She choked as she tried to breathe, to feel the crisp air entering and exiting her throat. Heart leaping into her throat, she choked out, "...how...how can he still bear to face me?"
Her heart shuddered under the ministrations of Shakespeare's prodding, which had finally materialized the thoughts she hadn't wanted to confront.
Shakespeare was calmer now as he came closer. "[It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves]."
It sounded as if he was reassuring her even through his insolence. Speechless, her throat grew wet and her heart stopped pounding.
"...by Artemis." Atalanta almost smacked her face, in spite of herself. So she averted her eyes.
Shakespeare wasn't done. "[O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable]. Really, Archer, let us be candid. Please confide in me what ails you."
Atalanta exhaled and inhaled.
"If it pleases you, then I swear solemnly on my pride as a playwright that this will never leave my mouth or pen afterward."
She raised her head to meet his questioning eyes. They were genuine, she knew that much. Then looking down and staring at her hands; she saw them covered by black gauntlets. A long time ago, she launched arrow after arrow at her enemies in these. In a sense, they hid the humanity in hands that had also loved children. "For them and my wish, I'll do anything. For Achilles's sake, I'll materialize my wish so he can witness it. For Mordred's sake, I'll be her family. For Karna's sake, I'll live."
Atalanta squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to slow the palpitations cursing her heart. "I'll kill everyone on the Black Faction if it means I can have both. There is no reason why I cannot still become a beast of calamity without Agrius Metamorphosis. I just need to be the strongest."
"Oh my, can you do that with your beautiful hair and nails?" Shakespeare asked in a coy voice.
Her eyes snapped open.
He wisely didn't comment about anything else after seeing the murder in her eyes.
Yet she could help but think about how Shakespeare was one of the weakest Servants in the War and he feared no one.
Am I really some helpless animal in the end that can't even strike fear in anyone?
The day was sunny but a storm raged inside her.
"In the end, you will still mock me for such a pure desire?"
Atalanta moved before Shakespeare could respond.
Blood burned her nerves as she roared and slammed a fist into his stomach.
Stunned, he floundered as she trapped his neck between Tauropolos, yanking him close to her face. His legs folded underneath him as she forced him down.
In guttural tones she whispered,"I will cut off your head, let it rot down to the bone, and use it as a drinking cup. Do you dearly wish this much for me to end your story?"
"..." Shakespeare's heart fluttered before flatlining as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, only his retchings escaping.
Atalanta counted down the seconds, her gauntlets dug into the weak muscle of his throat. As welts impressed his rapidly-paling skin, she throttled him, shaking him for good measure. "Well?"
When he tried to talk, she let up on some pressure but kept her hands close.
"...I...y–yield," he forced out.
Her eyes narrowed. "I think it's time for you to take your leave then."
Atalanta moved out of his space and stalked over to where she had paused the hunt while Shakespeare rubbed his neck frantically, apprehensive when glancing at her every other second.
Tauropolos rested in her hands like a familiar club, and she noticed the slight skin fragments hanging off it. ...only those of a beast's build may touch it. Sighing, she formed a small piece of leather cloth and set to rubbing along the string with wax.
"...Perchance, verdant Archer, may I pose one last question?"
"You may."
"When I asked Achilles about his opinion of the love poem, he said that he decided to compromise on that with your opinion—not that I decided to write one anyway." He held up his hands in reassurance after she squinted. "I'm not that invasive, I swear."
It probably wouldn't hurt to tell him and he knew the scope of her anger now. "I think that you'll find there's a certain persuasion when it comes to threats of bodily harm."
He pulled at his collar, loosening it as he tried to respond coherently. "You injured the mighty Achilles?"
"As ridiculous as you appear, you can't be that foolish. I know you understand Tauropolos to be a weapon awarded to me by the gods."
He burst into rowdy laughter, as if it was an inside joke they were in. Atalanta noted with no small amount of satisfaction Shakespeare's jaw trembled. "Then I'll be taking my leave, verdant Archer! May you find comfort in this conversation!"
"The only comfort I'll be taking in is anointing you with my arrows. Do not forget anything about today."
Shakespeare beat a hasty retreat after falling into a shallow bow, which was the only graceful aspect about him.
And then, blessed silence. But she stood there for a while, trying to breathe in and out, as if Atlas had asked her to assist him in shouldering the sky. Her imaginations stuck with the idea of sensations beyond the scope of crushed lungs and bones; to take a dip in the Phlegethon River and come out with melting bones and welded limbs.
She readied a new hand of arrows mechanically. It's better if I don't think about it. Even if Caster spelled it out for me. I just have to be the last one who'll get my hands dirty.
Doves scattered to random spots after picking up new fruit again.
Chewing the inside of her mouth, she had no idea if he would've said something else if she mentioned that she still possessed the remnants of the Calydonian Boar's pelt.
Tauropolos's medley of death chased her troubled mind like a tottering lion drunk on blood.
—
O God, I know my sins are beyond reckoning, too great, too gross, too mean, and too many.
But I shall confess some small part—a drop, say, of that ocean, and pray that the waves that break with a roar on the rocky shore may yet ebb back into silence as you "hear in heaven and forgive.
"I have abrogated your commandments, I have broken your law, I have closed my heart, I have dirtied my mouth with slander.
I have exercised bad judgement, I have failed those who trusted me, I have gossiped, I have harbored grudges—
—Avicebron looked up from his piece of parchment, black ink sliding off his quill.
He had been struck by the sudden desire of transcribing Keter Malchut, Crown of Sovereignty, down again out of an odd feeling that it was about to realized. However, why he was here was due to Darnic's suggestion. Leisure time, Darnic had called it. To replenish what little mana he used up in supporting Spartacus as well but it wasn't necessary. He had sighed to himself. Even though Darnic remained a first-rate example of the clinical Magus, he was a human in the end, so Avicebron found little satisfaction in their conversation once they moved on from the Grail War itself.
Still...he found it preferable to Roche's enthusiasm. He supposed that a part of him envied Chiron for his ability to mingle with peers and pupils alike, even finding passion in passing on his sagely wisdom.
For an always ill man like him, being able to maneuver in social situations would have gotten him out of those frivolous gatherings and return to his workshop.
Though he found that fellow golemancers still existed today was a comfort in itself, but so did his loathing of humanity's idiocy. Roche remained a child and he knew age had nothing to do with cruelty. This arrangement would probably last until he would find the right situation to realize his dreams.
For a while, the sound of dripping liquid had filled the pavillion. But the flutter of beating wings soon accompanied it. White doves flocked to the unoccupied side of the table. After glancing around for anyone in the area, he held out a finger warily.
A large specimen speckled with heather gray hopped onto the offered platform. In its beak was an opaque bottle, a stopper fastened. With a leisurely fashion, he untied the bottle from its neck and then it hopped off, pecking at the table.
"It is unfortunate I don't have bird seeds or any substitutes," he said to himself. "Good heavens," he continued as he unrolled the tube.
Like the arrangement with Roche that suited him for now, the same went for the Black Faction. Both sides of this Holy Grail War can have the Greater Grail if it means Golem Keter Malkuth was able to be created fully. However, there were always the issues of Heroic Spirits winning and having a wish that was detrimental to creating Paradise on Earth. But that required a second culling, of the victorious Faction.
[What is it you desire?]
[The salvation of humanity.]
This reply was a little slower in returning to him.
[There appears to be several coincidences in this War.]
So they'd thought it'd appeal to him?
In the end Golem Keter Malkuth satisfied any requirements. While golems were in a sense, only embryos and falsities, they were still a kind of imitation that meant they could grasp the power just before their fingertips. What he sought was the return of the great king, able to lead suffering humans into the garden of eternal prosperity again.
Avicebron secured Darnic's permission to release the Noble Phantasm as he wished. Finding a Reactor Core was not an issue. Though he preferred to utilize the escaped homunculus, he shouldn't ask too much when substitutes were found here. If possible, he preferred not having to get his hands dirty more than what was necessary.
For a while, he and Assassin of Red began to correspond over the details of their arrangement. Ethics are hurdles to be surmounted in the end, it seems.
[My Master wishes for humanity to be saved, apparently.]
[I'd like to inquire about how they would do so, but I'm certain you will not reveal the details.]
[Truly a wise golemancer you are. Well, Solomon ibn Gabirol, what would you require to activate that Noble Phantasm of yours?]
The doves shared sight with their puppeteer, then, and with her Master subsequently.
[A Magus will do as the core. I have two solutions, so I'd prefer you to avoid killing any of the Masters if you can help it.]
[As if any of the Masters would dare to ride onto the battlefield with rambunctious Heroic Spirits of a high caliber about. But I will acknowledge it.]
Despite his dislike for socialities, and Assassin of Red's brusque writing, they fell into a conversation about the merits of salvation. He suspected it was because of the topic—there was also the unconventional conveniency of the bluntness directed at each other.
[My Master has seen hell at the end of his quest as his reward for a valiant motive. Let's leave it at that. And you?]
[My dream is truly monstrous], but he didn't lament over it.
[I must be humanity's ally and enemy, if I want to pursue my dream. For the sake of achieving Paradise, it is inevitable that significant casualties will follow. But, if I consider the world's population today, then it is insignificant then.]
His grip on the quill tightened as he contemplated the fact that there was seven point six billion people on this earth.
[Overpopulation. Shortage of resources—lands, food, jobs, and so on. Neverending strife and dystopian regimes. Two World Wars, systematic erasure of people and their cultures, over the color of one's skin. Persecution for love.]
He sighed from the consternation that followed him from life. Nothing had changed and nothing will until his Noble Phantasm will be activated.
[Only the worthy should be allowed to continue. Humanity really is a wretched species, amounting to nothing except being blights upon this earth. A plague. This is the thanks they return to this earth for caring for their ancestors?]
[What a world you envision. Then it let it be sealed in this contract that you may try to achieve your 'monstrous' salvation before my Master.]
Avicebron wet his quill with ink again, deciding to start on a different poem. The dove that first gave him the message remained perched on his shoulder, tweeting in time with his quill's movements.
It wasn't superstitious to rest on his laurels for him but it should wait until he could breathe life into the Primordial Giant.
...My song is a crown for kings and mitres on the heads of governors.
My body walks upon the earth, while my spirit ascends to the clouds.
Behold me: at sixteen my heart like that of a man of eighty is wise.
—
Sitting on the floor, Atalanta roasted an animal she hunted earlier, eating it with a branch for a skewer. Achilles laid on his back, discussing wrestling styles with a cross-legged Mordred. Karna was the only one who stood, off to the side, looking like an impassive guard for what little it mattered to Semiramis.
"I'm telling you, that's a mistake."
"Little brothers should listen to their older brothers." Achilles tried to ruffle her hair.
Mordred retaliated like a bellicose snapping turtle.
She ignored it and what brought it on—they seemed to have a tendency to settle petty arguments with quick roughhousing, with this marking it the third time in the throne room.
...brother? How quaint. Semiramis drummed her fingers on the armrest as they rolled around back and forth, starting from the wall.
So she's found her acknowledgment, has she? Among this motley gathering of simple-minded heroes—they have no issue with taking her in. She sighed. I should have foreseen this happening. Her validation rests in the form of Atalanta, Karna, and Achilles.
But I would like to see this to the end. It is not as if anything has stopped a human from taking what they want. Certainly, like with Ninus—that thug had only one glimpse before he decided on lusting for my flesh and heart.
I must see this to the end.
Amakusa Shirou rubbed his face as he whispered to Semiramis, "Caster is on his way."
Semiramis slowly released the irritated sigh that had been building up for fourteen minutes. "That foolish fop doesn't know the meaning of punctuality. But my expectations for him are so low, that as long as that pet project he had better been slaving away at is functional, he might actually be in my good graces. For however long that lasts."
He chuckled. "He is an eccentric, whether he be a human or a Heroic Spirit, to be fair."
She brushed hair out of her eyes. "If that reassures you, then think of it that way."
Hearing a frustrated growl, they glanced at the source. Achilles and Atalanta were laying on their fronts, arm-wrestling.
"Achilles, if you do not yield right of first advance to me, then I shall regard you as I did to the Calydonian Boar." A vein popped in her chosen arm as she glowered. "I need not say further on the subject as to what would happen."
He snorted in derision and smirked back. "Oh, then you'd better be ready for the fastest sprint of your life to hunt me down."
Noticing a bored Mordred, Amakusa Shirou spoke up. "Are you not interested in becoming the vanguard?"
She shrugged in an uncaring manner. "I'd rather use Clarent Blood Arthur on an enemy Servant."
"Then, who would you be in favor of?" Amakusa Shirou asked.
"Atalanta." She turned to the Archer in question.
Achilles released her hand from and stood up.
"Can't you widen Phoebus Catastrophe's range to encompass the majority of the field?"
She nodded and Mordred snorted.
"There's that. So let her do it. Anyway, I don't want to be on your chariot when it dematerializes after you waste time mowing down stragglers. I'm not interested in being part of the soil."
Achilles's raised brows shot back down to a narrow stare. "Hey." He scowled. "I resent that. At a full mana capacity, I can use Troias Tragōidia for at least six minutes."
"The mana needed to power that Noble Phantasm at worst," Karna commented, pouring oil on the fire. "is enough to summon another Servant."
Achilles threw a betrayed look to Karna who didn't react at all.
Turning to Achilles, she said, "This isn't the best example you're setting up for a younger sibling. So your mana upkeep isn't too terrible compared to Karna's, but still weighty."
The door slamming wide open censored Achilles's vulgar retort.
"Exactly! Does it not add drama to the situation, of how the heroes will triumph? It is not a question of winning or losing, what matters is how they pull off a miracle!" It was the perfect timing for Shakespeare to enter so Semiramis wouldn't have to listen to them bicker lightly anymore.
Or anymore dents in the Hanging Gardens from these play fights—this was a fortress of vanity, not an arena of glory.
Blinking, she was drawn to the item in his hands which the sheathed blade, Miike Tenta Mitsuyo rested. Semiramis arched her brows after sensing the magical energy within it—a Noble Phantasm's energy marked it as such.
Achilles left Mordred's personal space and took a seat next to Atalanta who offered him a meat kebab without looking at him.
"Since we're here now—" Semiramis glowered at Shakespeare who reacted with a sheepish chuckle. "—we can finally get on with discussing our strategy." Before Atalanta and Achilles could start growling for the oh-so-covered position of vanguard again, she continued: "Saber, you are going after Archer of Black, correct?"
Mordred narrowed her eyes and sounded annoyed as she nodded. "Yeah—I'm gonna decapitate him and no one here can stop me."
"How quaint," Semiramis remarked, feeling some annoyance as well. "But that settles it; I am—"
"—going to do our good knight a favor and destroy the forest and then some for her?" Shakespeare interrupted shamelessly. He wiggled his eyebrows as Semiramis stared him down, and everyone else gave him irritated looks.
"And how exactly are you gonna do that?" Mordred scowled at Shakespeare's smirk before meeting Semiramis's eyes. "Assassins like you don't have any grand Noble Phantasms or whatever."
"Hmph. This is the Grail War, so I suggested it to my Master, as a means of showing our prowess. You needn't assume ranking by appearance."
Atalanta and Achilles exchanged dissatisfied looks but didn't say anything else.
"That's true enough...but by the way, Assassin—this is a fortress, and you expressed to us that we are to barricade ourselves in this, so what's the deal here?" Semiramis shook her head and gave a sweet smile at Achilles's words.
"My dear Rider, you are mistaken about the nature of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon." She drew in great pleasure at his dissatisfaction.
Achilles's pupils dilated. "Then enlighten this Heroic Spirit already."
Not speaking, she laid a hand on the gem embedded into one of the throne's armrest, to activate the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Rumbling and shaking ensued as Semiramis stood up, interested in their reactions.
The other Servants exchanged glances as if an earthquake was forming but then it stopped as soon as the fortress left the ground.
"Why don't you go see for yourselves?" Semiramis said before Mordred could comment something rude.
Following that suggestion, they rushed outside while Semiramis, Shakespeare, and Amakusa Shirou walked at a leisurely pace. Though Shakespeare's was more brisk.
"I don't understand why you would like to tease them like this." Despite this, there wasn't any reproach in Amakusa Shirou's tone.
In front of them, Shakespeare made a noise of delight. He must be seeing it already, then.
"It's the only way they'll acknowledge my decisions without having to get my hands dirtier," Semiramis chuckled as they saw the speechless Servants observe the fortress in motion. Even Karna's eyes were slightly widened as he looked down.
"Hey now, what kind of joke is this?" Achilles muttered in authentic awe.
Perhaps then he'll shut up and respect her power then.
"..looks like she's not all hot air," Mordred said with a slight grimace.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said in a sweeping voice and took pride in their reactions to her Noble Phantasm. "Though its speed is nothing to praise, consider the fact that this is an aerial fortress, and you have yourselves a sure-fire boon to victory. Protection would be a waste of its potential."
"Yes," Amakusa Shirou said as he came to stand next to her. Glancing, she realized he was almost quivering in excitement. The shortness to his breathing—the swiftness to his heartbeat, told her all she needed to know.
The Greater Grail is almost at your fingertips, I see.
"Everyone, let us prepare for battle. At this rate, it shall be an hour before Yggdmillennia can see us approaching."
The atmosphere formed into fighting spirit, though Semiramis understood little of bloodthirst like that.
Amakusa Shirou turned to Shakespeare who looked as if he wanted to start drafting a poem at the marvel of the Hanging Gardens. "Caster, do you have my sword ready?"
"Ah, yes!" Shakespeare passed the sword to him.
Achilles threw his head backward to see Amakusa Shirou testing the sword. "Hey, Shirou, what are you using that sword for? I've got a feeling that—no…I don't want to say it."
"Man, he really is useless…" Mordred muttered under her breath.
He smiled as he unsheathed Miike Tenta Mitsuyo. While it retained the design and build of a Japanese sword, something inside it gave off a certain quality. "I'm to fight in lieu of Caster. But don't worry, I'm quite refined when it comes to the battlefield."
Semiramis held a chuckle back as Achilles and Atalanta tried to dissuade him. Despite their distrust for him, it seemed they still regarded him as a Master, albeit shady—even though he already became theirs during the other night.
"No, no, no, no, no. I won't say anything bad, but wouldn't it be better for you to remain holed up here like a Master should?"
"He is right, you know. You may have accumulated quite a bit of training, but you are still confined to the level of humans. If you come across an enemy Servant, then it will be the end for you."
Mordred and Karna's stares were less concerned.
"The hell did Caster do to make it possible for that confidence to be true?" Mordred tilted her head.
"Ah! I am glad you asked, my good knight." He ignored her disgust and started acting like he was in a play to draw all their attention. "Archer and Rider, listen. I once wrote this in the past: [The better part of valor is discretion]. And I have never seen anyone with as much discretion as Father Shirou here. Furthermore—"
He thrust his arms outward. "—I have bestowed an enchantment of some note onto this blade. To be clear, it is now equal to a C-Rank Noble Phantasm."
Differing from regular attacks, even a C-Rank Noble Phantasm can be the equivalent of a A or A+ rank normal attack. Even so, a regular Master could not fully materialize this boon. But they didn't know Amakusa Shirou Tokisada. He had told her some interesting tales about the Third Holy Grail War—it was not the result of commanding enemy Servants to commit suicide to grant him victory.
("I only did it twice—on Ramses II, who almost succeeded in taking me with him. Hua Mulan was a little slower when her Master was threatened.").
Everyone else stiffened and erupted into a conversation about Shakespeare's actual apparent usefulness while she was lost in thought.
"Well...I can't argue with that then." Achilles scratched his head in resignation.
Semiramis talked again when a lull finally formed. "Now then. Though we may have our generals gathered, it's sloppy to have zero troops. Even if the enemy has gathered only a mixture of homunculi and golems, they will be somewhat troublesome for us. I am able to produce nigh-infinite amounts of Dragon Tooth Warriors—would that be satisfactory?"
"Don't strain yourself," Achilles's mocking undertones ruffled her.
"As long as I am within these Hanging Gardens, there is nothing impossible for me to do."
Then Amakusa Shirou clasped his hands together, looking like a kindergarten teacher rounding up these childish heroes. Well, she, Atalanta, and Karna couldn't really be counted. "Speaking of which, before we begin, do you mind if I ask why you seek the miracle of the Grail?"
Achilles went first. "I want to live as a hero—so the same as always."
Amakusa Shirou shifted next to her, frown almost resting on his lips.
She did not miss the unspoken exchange between he and Atalanta. The latter gripped her arm that Amakusa Shirou exorcised recently while the former bit his lip almost imperceptibly.
Well, if he wasn't going to comment, then she would speak for him. Semiramis arched an eyebrow. "How surprisingly tame for the great Achilles."
"Shut it, Empress. This is my decision, so don't think that I'll just let that remark go just because we're on the same side."
They glared at each other until Amakusa Shirou intervened. "The concept of 'vulgar' or 'grand' does not apply when it comes to wishes. What matters is the commitment you give to reach it."
"Oh, are you speaking from experience, Master?" She hid a smile behind a hand.
He dipped his head, masking it as acknowledgment for Achilles.
Achilles clicked his tongue. "I'm tired of having my path decided by the gods. This time, it doesn't matter whether my side is right or not. I'm fighting because I want to fight. For that matter, it'll be with these guys."
"Well said," Mordred snorted.
"And you, Saber?"
Semiramis could only describe the expression the knight sported as perplexed, stumped even. Oh...have you experienced a change of heart? Regardless, Semiramis coveted coaxing the wish out of her.
"I'm going to draw Caliburn and rule over Britain my way," she stated.
At first glance—Semiramis thought this to be an appropriate punishment against the king who never acknowledged her, and to have a bastard rule the kingdom better, is the ultimate backhand. So why did Mordred hesitate?
Has your new family changed your mind for you? There was also the possibility of her just having second thoughts with an outsider's perspective on it but Semiramis perceived it to be the result of internal circumstances. There was no way that someone could come out of the highly coveted position of being the king's son and slayer only, not allowed to be anyone else, without suffering from mental issues.
Still, she had to hand it to Mordred, for a surprisingly sophisticated revenge plot.
Amakusa Shirou's head bobbed in understanding. "By the way, I don't want to seem rude or out of place, but how are you getting along here?"
"Well...the way I see it, if I hadn't split with my Master then I wouldn't be as annoyed standing here." Mordred made a noise. "There's also the issue of not having my friendships with Atalanta, Achilles, and Karna." Ire showed in her eyes as she rolled them. "You can go ahead and say 'I told you so', or any shit like that if it'll inflate your ego."
"Such things aren't necessary," he told her. "But I'm happy you've found a place here."
Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and Semiramis fought the urge to cackle.
Atalanta moved to face them. "My wish is for a world where all children are loved. A cycle of life where the young can be raised in the loving care of parents. Anyone daring to interfere with this desire of mine shall receive no mercy from me."
Shakespeare stifled a cough.
For a woman who was raised in the wilderness and grew to think like an animal—you are strangely human in these affairs. What happened to that extreme realist?
Though they were both abandoned out of shame by a careless parent and shared pragmatic strategy, that was where the similarities stopped. Semiramis sympathized with Atalanta for her father's folly of trying to marry her off and what happened afterward—and in the end, she found herself mulling over why Atalanta bothered trying to avenge what was already in the past.
It is simple to explain—human nature dominated all that existed.
"Archer, do not take this as offensive or cruel…but that kind of world is a pipe dream."
Primal anger coated her voice and it was exactly what Semiramis expected. "Then why do we seek the Grail? If it cannot grant my wish, then it is not worthy of its name!"
"Sis…" Achilles murmured behind her.
Karna's warning eyes made Semiramis almost roll hers at the show of force. How idiotical of him to assume he is not vulnerable to my powers. I'll make you regret that insult should you turn on us.
"Oi, Assassin, that's pretty stupid of you to think of it like that way," Mordred growled and Amakusa Shirou took it as his cue to intervene before Semiramis could rise to meet that insult with punishment.
"It is as you say. The Grail will grant your wish in some form." His words placated Atalanta, though she and Mordred glared at Semiramis one more time before backing off.
"By the way, Saber," Semiramis said in a calm voice after soothing her ruffled feathers, finding it worthwhile to inform her for the reaction alone.
"Huh? The hell you want?"
That punk attitude of yours is no good either, that's for sure.
"I was made aware that you are a homunculus, so I have the foresight to inform you of what you face on Yggdmillennia's battlefield."
"And that is?" Jade eyes narrowed in distrust.
Semiramis sighed. We are still allies at the moment, my good knight. No use in acting like an attack dog until we fight. Resting her head against a hand, she explained, "The bulk of Yggdmillennia's army aside from golems are mass-produced homunculi."
Mordred's face shriveled up into a perplexed frown. "Hah?"
Semiramis caught the confused blink from Atalanta and Achilles's facepalm. Karna was stoic as usual though he glanced at Mordred, waiting. Nothing seemed to faze her fellow demigod unless it was related to Saber of Black. And even then, a small smile at that and a miniscule amount of more emotion. Meatheads. Always the bloodthirstiness with you charitable champions.
But she smirked in satisfaction. "Oh? Have your new siblings not informed you of our enemies? How foolhardy they are, Saber."
Before Achilles could snap at her to "shut the hell up" or any other crude variant, Mordred took matters into her own hands. She shrugged off Atalanta's hand on her shoulder and strode forward.
"Regardless of whether they are homunculi or not—" Semiramis noted the slight hesitation on 'homunculi'. "—they're still participating in the Grail War, so they're enemies to defeat. Simple as that." Mordred finished by shrugging indifferently.
"I wonder, can you hold to that?" Shakespeare said, looking like a villain twirling his auburn mustache.
For a few minutes, Atalanta continued to try and kill him with her eyes for Mordred. Even if Atalanta somehow managed to kill Shakespeare back then, she believed it wasn't any great loss.
Semiramis wanted to laud her for being the only Servant to put in him in his place but she had an image to keep up. There was also the issue of them being on edge with her—so she probably wouldn't accept it anyway.
"Karna, do you possess a wish as well?" Amakusa Shirou asked him as Shakespeare tiptoed over to Semiramis's side silently.
Foolish. she stared at him in disgust. He rubbed his hands together with a sheepish look.
Atalanta's pleased huff echoed while Karna nodded. For some unknown reasoning, Achilles, Atalanta, and Mordred separated from them, falling into a different discussion. They must already know it then. Semiramis didn't give a damn, but as long as they didn't try to break this fortress, it was fine.
"My wish is to wield this spear of mine—there is no desire I have besides fighting Saber of Black, or anyone of a similar caliber." But then Karna stopped, mouth slightly open as if further words rested on the tip of his tongue.
"Hoh? Are you actually unsure?" Semiramis raised an eyebrow. "But just so you know, Saber of Black is incapacitated."
"That isn't the reason why, Assassin." She found herself locked into a battle of wills, between gold and sapphire irises full of sharp intent. How irritating.
Amakusa Shirou and Shakespeare observed them, with the latter muttering something asinine relating to his works.
Slowly, she smiled, not breaking their stare. "It appears to me that, like Saber, you desired a family of a sorts." Her smile slipped into a sneer as she unearthed a possible cause. "Are you going to force the Holy Grail to realize their desires? Who knows, with your will being your greatest boon, you might actually achieve such a thing—all for the sake of making them happy."
His small smile was uncannily close to becoming knowing. "I could say the same for you and your Master."
Semiramis forced herself to release the startled gasp into a sigh. To think, this spearman isn't just audacious in his indifference to everything. Floundering for a comeback, her mind went to his circumstances in life.
"Mind your tongue, Lancer. You are still a charioteer's son. Remember that you are in the presence of royalty."
Anger flashed across his eyes—but so did interest for Shakespeare's. That Caster is going to be the death of me.
Biting tones accompanied his cold retort. "Indeed, royalty that was gained through marriage and political maneuvering. As you wish, I shall remember it, O Assyrian Empress."
She tried not to scowl and turned away, signaling their conversation was concluded. A small sigh followed and so did the footsteps of golden greaves fading off as he joined Mordred, who was heading back inside. Achilles and Atalanta already went off somewhere, she realized.
And so did Shakespeare.
Amakusa Shirou stared longingly at the horizon as she smoothed her features back into a pleasant smile.
"Even a Saint like you cannot hide your excitement when what you want is right before your eyes. You're still a child in that regard." His trembling and smile ceased at her remark. "Perhaps that boyishness still lives."
Amakusa Shirou turned to Assassin next to him with a slight pout.
"I don't mind as long as you hold yourself back from jumping in excitement. More importantly, Master, if you should die, I will die, and if I die, all of our preparation will amount to nothing. You understand that, right?"
"Yes, of course," Amakusa Shirou answered, sounding far away, making her sigh.
"Despite that, you intend to go out onto the battlefield. I can't fathom your motivation. Right now, you are a Master who supports a Servant. So why are you risking your life by heading to battle?"
There was no problem, but… there was still that one‐in‐a‐million chance of something going wrong. Semiramis had absolutely wanted to refuse Amakusa Shirou from joining the death matches that were soon to follow. But no matter how many times she explained her reasoning, he had stubbornly refused to listen.
Amakusa Shirou responded in a reluctant voice. But as he went on, his voice swelled in his resoluteness. "If my plan is something that goes against God, then I will definitely be struck down on this battlefield. I might have the misfortune of fighting a Servant and dying, or I might let my guard down and be killed by homunculi or golems. I might even get caught up in the blast of an ally's Noble Phantasm."
Semiramis almost started backward as he dropped the constant smile and became absolutely calm in his assuredness.
What she couldn't comprehend most of all, was his lack of hate for anyone that stood in his way. Not even when the famines clawed at the peasantry, the shogun that ordered them to be executed—not even after his arms were taken from him. The arms that brought many miracles.
"If that happens, I will solemnly accept my death. God couldn't forgive me. That is something that I can't do anything about. But if—if everything goes well..."
For a second, she saw a backdrop of hellish flames behind him, casting his face in a solemn light.
Even when she weaved the web of manipulations to poison Ninus, a gamut of exhilaration and more importantly, vengeance, engulfed her. There was none to be found in Amakusa Shirou Tokisada. That had to be impossible—yet there was actually a being in front of her with no hate, love, or fear.
"Then that means God approves of my deeds. That my wish for the Greater Grail, to love and heal all humans is just. If I can be certain of that, I will no longer waver. I will know that there is indeed worth in betraying even what should never be betrayed."
Well...she had been convinced of his willpower but not his motive. She supposed that was the difference between two people in political and active warfare.
"How irritating, that I can't comprehend it clearly in the end. However, if you don't do this, you won't be able to move forward. ...Then it can't be helped. I'll allow it but make sure you survive." Semiramis still couldn't help the reflexive tenseness. I won't, until he comes back.
"Thank you, Semiramis."
Semiramis erased the odd feeling she was given from his words and smiled to herself. "Leave the protection of the Hanging Gardens to me then and fight to your heart's desire."
For a while they stood in comfortable silence until the hard outlines of the Yggdmillennia's fortress formed. Amakusa Shirou's attention was dragged back to it and she couldn't help but sigh again.
"...It seems that it's time to do Saber a favor." She stretched out her hand and connected to the fortress's defense mechanisms.
Black coffins moved in accord with her mind.
—
Karna hadn't felt that kind of resentment in a while, not since his days with Duryodhana. Though he saw the Empress's nature and accepted it for what it was, the hypocrisy that popped up now and then was another story. She was so blind to the faults she derided in others. He forced himself not to bite his lips as he and Mordred went through the dark hallways.
A natural result, he told himself. She has convinced herself with two narrow categories for typical men and women, and I fall in neither. So I am merely a source of annoyance.
Running a quick hand through his hair, he tried to leave it alone.
Meanwhile, she had been rambling about something which he knew not.
But she must've taken his silence as reassurance because Mordred grinned and bumped her shoulder against his lightly after she finished. Karna was more than a little thankful as they lapsed into a comfortable silence afterward, until Semiramis's opulent throne entered their sight.
"I'll go talk with Atalanta like she wants before we fight," she told him, arms folded behind her head as they stopped. "There's nothing else you need, right?"
"Actually, there is something that's been tugging at my curiosity. Forgive me if I error by touching upon this subject, but I believe you had blood siblings in life?"
"The Orkney siblings are a bunch of idiots who couldn't agree on how to fight properly. That's all I want to say about it," she grumbled with no small amount of distaste.
"We choose our friends, but families are another matter." Karna rummaged his brain to find the saying but it yielded nothing. "...or something similar."
Karna still sensed the air of disappointment hanging over her head like a cloak. So with care, he said: "I envy you, sometimes. Even though it's not good at all for someone like me."
"Eh?! Are you for real?" Her arms fell to her sides as she gaped. But her eyes narrowed. "You've got no reason to feel useless."
Karna put that aside. Concern for him shouldn't be the principle topic now. "While you are blunt as a boulder, you seem to at least recognize that it is harmful," He answered and added, "Yet that distinction doesn't seem to halt you very much."
"This is our second and only life. Like we've got the luxury of tiptoeing around the subject." Mordred frowned. "Hey...was Assassin correct in her hypothesis?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yes. As you said, we're siblings now. Is it not a brother and a friend's responsibility to help you find happiness?"
"You said I'd be a good king to serve under." Mordred stared at him but looked away and sighed. "If I really look at it...I'm a third-rate knight in the eyes of the Round Table." But she didn't sound to regretful, despite the forlorn note to her low voice. "To my brand of chivalry, I've surpassed my father and everyone else."
Karna tilted his head. "Do you not wish to become king anymore?"
Mordred was silent for a while again and he was content to let her muse. It's still a difficult subject for her to swallow, then.
After a few minutes, she licked her lips and Karna forced himself to maintain a stoic respect as she took his hand in hers, kneeling. In that moment, Karna saw the image of a silver knight and he was rendered speechless from her sincerity.
"I don't think it matters anymore and it's not like I have a great chance of seeing Father again. He never turned around to see me—and I hate him even now—but I can't let myself drown over absent phantoms. Not when I've got my reasons right here."
Firm posturing and a solemn face guided her words.
"So, I'll be your knight, and you, my spearman." Mordred pressed a kiss to the dorsum of his hand and inhaled, peering up at him with tense eyes. "I entrust my sword, my honor, and my life to you. Even if I was a third-rate knight of the Round Table, will you accept my offer?"
The way her hand unconsciously crushed his told him all he needed to know.
"I accept, Sir Mordred." Karna forced himself to reply and covered her hand with his as well, pulling her up. "But I would prefer for us to be on equal standing."
The huge relief in her grin had him almost frowning from the abrupt realization of how everyone must have seen only her brash side. Even heritage bares its fangs against others.
"Bah, that was just part of the usual romantic chivalry of my time. Might be irritating as hell, but it's got uses."
Her lips on his skin occupied his thoughts as she left soon afterward, shooting him a broad grin and a wave. Karna raised his hand to stare at where she kissed him even after Shakespeare's footsteps stopped next to him.
"I see, I see! So that's the difference between a stranger and a friend's affection being doled out! A man and a girl born to thankless mothers brought together by the need for family! Ruined by their heritage, they advanced through merit. Though many would assume the man to be the protector, it is the girl who takes up her sword as his shield."
He resolutely ignored the last bit. "I think," Karna said in a dry voice. "That many people would choose to be embraced by those of the familiar category."
Mordred had willingly showed affection in a gentle way. Knowing that, he couldn't help the trepediation of accidentally offending her, with his bluntness.
"Quite so. Though if you do not mind me asking, why are you at ease with me? Or as much as you can without being on guard?"
"I do not trust you completely but that does not give me free reign to be so discourteous. Assassin is another matter entirely since she will not commit to trusting me at all. Moreover, there is no such thing as having a useless Heroic Spirit. Even if you were to die in one hit—"
Shakespeare's eyes furrowed in concern. "—erm—"
"—there are many support roles you can undertake. Such as your skill [Enchant]. You may be able to do anything with the right tools."
"But you must understand; I can't write about myself. That would just be an essay. Right now, I only have the tools to spin other people's tales and cannot write anything besides that."
Karna took it as another clue to the hints of his Noble Phantasm. So it might be related to reliving certain moments of a Heroic Spirit's life. The others must not be in this man's presence if he unleashes it, then. It's up to me since I have no particularly worrisome memories.
Sighing, he nodded. "…Then it can't be helped. Your goal is to depict the stories of others instead of yourself. Regardless of whether the end of the story is ruin or tragedy, you must write it to the very end. Therefore, your goal is to survive till the very end. Fighting on the front lines is out of the question."
Hearing those blunt words—instead of blanching, he smiled in glee at being understood. Karna was close to being grateful that he didn't offend anyone for once.
"Yes, that's precisely right! I want to witness the ending of this Great Holy Grail War! I must witness it! Whether it ends in fortune or misfortune, or even a despairing truth, watching everyone's story right till the end as a spectator is the duty that I have been charged with!"
"And your survival to fend off the Black Servants for me will ensure it!" Shakespeare's voice dipped back to a normal level as he sidled up to him. "How fares your spiritual core? I realize now, though it granted me some amusement in the short run, I may have distracted you."
"I don't blame you. While highly unnecessary and inappropriate at the time due to my condition, I understood it from the start—
"—[It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover]."
Karna stared at Shakespeare until his smirk faded and averted his eyes, and continued. "As you said earlier, you are a playwright, so it is only natural to want to figure out the extents of the actor's limits."
He nodded furiously. "Listen, Lancer. I took a gander at the Mahabharata for myself, and I've found no reasoning for your conviction of being useless! Indeed! If you, a demigod, is useless, then that would make me less than the dirt we step on! If I, a common-born playwright, became the world's greatest writer, then there is no reason why our ancestors can dictate our roles."
Karna raised an eyebrow, not deigning to comment on that part. If he engaged with this man about his worth, then it'd give him ammunition.
All he said was, "Different circumstances make for different perspectives."
Shakespeare harrumphed. "You should've been concerned with a certain other 'event'; your epic surprised me with the amount of 'death flagging'." He started trying to muffle his laughter, chuckles flickering through. "I was so sure you were to meet your fate before the Kurukshetra gathering!"
"Yes, that does tend to be most people's reactions."
Shakespeare moved away from him so his back was to Karna. "Even your loyalty is laudable to the point of me being able to praise it from the bottom of my heart. [This is the monstrosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite and the execution confined, that the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.]."
"[They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform]," Karna murmured under his breath after some consideration.
Shakespeare whirled around to react with a dramatic gasp. Karna regarded him with a straight face, figuring that anything else would set the playwright off into a spiel.
"I took a look at it when Achilles sparred with Mordred."
"And, how did you like it?"
"I felt myself being occupied with the actual happenings of the Trojan War," he answered. Love is all the same in any capacity. So there is no use in focusing on nonexistent romantic potential in any epic.
"How cruel…" he moaned as arms kept close to his chest, twisting from side to side.
"What is cruel, Caster, is crafting a story for the sole purpose of retelling tragedies for the audience to weep along with."
Never could he understand why that man had the confidence to quote his works so carelessly. Pride was a foreign concept—the sort of selfish pride held that astounded Karna. His own pride rested in bringing glory to his lord father and Duryodhana.
"Is that so?!"
"Yes."
They ended up wasting time on reading out his plays in the library.
—
She heard Chiron entering first, stepping lightly, as if he retained those grievous injuries. Apparently this did not escape Vlad's attention because he launched into inquiring after the door shut.
"I must apologize, for how your injuries have gotten the better of my priorities. Will you be fully healed in time for tomorrow?" Vlad sat in a velvet chair diagonal to her, while she and Caules flopped themselves on the couch near him, table in front.
Jeanne supposed that if he had a glass of wine to sample, it'd seem like he was taking pleasure in her current misfortunes.
"I believe so. But I must take care by avoiding further wounds if I can help it. It seems my spiritual core's ability to recover has been weakened."
"...Saber of Red's Noble Phantasm is something to watch out for then."
Her face was one with polished wood accompanied by a math textbook and heavily-scribbled papers. Caules flipped through the textbook
"Je n'ai aucune idée..."
Thump.
Frankenstein bumped into a table in staring at the room's paintings.
"This looks simple enough to me, but there's a lot of formulas involved."
"Maman taught me the basics for bartering during market days and that's all, unfortunately." She sighed. "I tried to learn more beyond my name because I believed I required more than memorized prayers to the Lord. Then I found myself being unable to read books at all. Even my Marshall laughed at me after I told him and he promised it was enough."
"Clearly it wasn't." Caules's pen scribbled against paper.
"And yet, you are trying to be studious? What brought this on?" She reluctantly left the sanctuary of her wooden mask as he walked over to her.
"I promised my host Laeticia to finish the math homework for her." Her cheeks could fill in for a sauna.
Chiron laughed. "Unfortunately, I have more experience in fighting and sagely wisdom. Though if you would like a hand in finishing it the old-fashioned way, then I am more than happy to assist."
"This way of learning should be left to the scholarly and those who crave knowledge. There is no use in forcing someone to understand what they do not want to," Vlad remarked.
Jeanne blinked. "But this age allows for the majority to have it in their arsenal, for the sake of it. I think that's a hallmark of progression. Isn't having the option available better?"
"Fair enough," he hedged and looked at Chiron.
"I see you're ready then." He sat down opposite of him.
Vlad gave her a measured look. "Ruler, I wish to ask you for advice on this subject, as a fellow believer of God."
"...if it does not come into conflict with me being neutral, then I'm fine," she said after looking between the both of them. "Um, is it to be the three of us?"
Everyone turned to stare at Caules. Frankenstein continued to look at paintings adorning the walls.
Perhaps sensing the heat directed on his head, Caules looked up slowly, pencil halted.
"...Caules." Chiron coughed in his hand.
He stared into space for a few seconds before realization appeared. Faint blushes blotched his face.
"...oh! My bad, Archer—" after scooping up the papers and book, he scampered out with Frankenstein, but not before telling Jeanne: "Don't worry about it!"
"He seems almost as bad as I am," Jeanne sighed to herself and sunk into the cushions. "My guess is Darnic decided to do whatever it took to see my needs are met."
"He has told me how long he's been waiting to utilize the Greater Grail for Yggdmillennia. Sixty years is quite a long time for mortal lives." Vlad folded a leg over the other. "It is hardly surprising to anyone should he try to increase his success rate."
"And therein lies the topic, Ruler," Chiron said.
"You do not trust Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia then," she guessed. "But isn't he just a pragmatic Magus like many are?"
"He is prone to flattery like any Master with a royal Heroic Spirit—to manage their needs and mitigate aggression." Vlad's smile was thin. "And one of my Noble Phantasms, is something everyone is familiar with—the disgusting name that made my name feared for the wrong reasons."
"Are you asking me to utilize my privilege to prevent this in the case it does happens?"
"This is the only request I have of you." Vlad then hesitated, but got up and murmured the properties of Legend of Dracula into her ear.
"...if you pose it like that, then I can't refuse. That would go beyond the scope of a normal Grail War."
"My thanks." Vlad sat back down.
"I suppose then I should be watching out for him than the other Masters?" Jeanne asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable in the end, having been saddled with an additional task.
Both of them nodded.
Certainly, Vlad's request was reasonable but she believe it should have been too soon to ask her. For all that the Lord knows, he may be trying to show me his way of respect. There's no reason why he can't be one of those unorthodox monarchs.
Sighing, she continued, "I expected something like this, since learning of how Yggdmillennia provides for their Servants."
Vlad's questions sounded more like orders. "Do you have an issue with the Black Faction's use of homunculi as magical energy batteries? And on the matter of the homunculus who escaped; do you honestly believe he is innocent?"
What should have been the general in her, accepted it as an ideal situation. The farm girl in her accepted it as a misguided venture.
Jeanne kept her voice calm, deciding to go for the second inquiry. "He has told me bluntly that he doesn't want to have anything to do with the War. Additionally, he is not a Master or a Servant, even if Siegfried's heart lives on in him. Therefore Sieg is not a participant of this War."
"Sieg," Chiron muttered to himself before a smile formed. "A wonderful name."
Jeanne nodded while Vlad replied. "He doesn't consider himself a part of Yggdmillennia, then, for you to accept it like that."
"He's different from the homunculi I spoke with a few hours ago and they all confirmed their wills in assisting their creators. So, while they are manufactured...it is still their will." Jeanne tried not fidget under Vlad's stare. "So I must respect it. The Ruler-class Servant hasn't been granted the right to bear arms for those who don't wish for salvation."
"A while ago, a homunculus guard asked me if Sieg was alright. There was definitely some relief in her face when I spoke of his well-being," Chiron commented.
"While this is all true, the fact stands: Servants take priority to bring victory to the Black Faction," Vlad said, not unkindly after seeing Jeanne's unsettledness. "That reminds me. Ruler, I've been mulling it over, and while it's not impossible—it does require a great deal of suspension of disbelief, but is it possible for Ruler-class Servants to have been summoned in the past, but not as the mediator?"
Jeanne wrung her hands together in newfound consternation. She tried not to give away her tumultuous thoughts as she said, "Under excruciating circumstances—no. Oh, Lord." She gulped and forced her jaw to work, the answer's light blinding her in its obviousness. "If...the Einzberns summoned a Ruler in lieu of Assassin and they survived...then that might explain quite a bit when it comes to my locked abilities."
Chiron frowned. "Still, there is the Assassin theory to consider nonetheless."
"Either way, it's two guesses closer to deciphering the mystery of the Red Master." Jeanne's annoyance grew larger than her apprehension after that realization. If the Red Master is truly a Ruler, then they are not acting as a proper Ruler. Therefore, it is my duty to eliminate them. "Theoretically, this may be why I have been summoned by the Grail to stop them."
"Whether theory is correct, you still have our support. ...though you still look rather irritated. I apologize for pushing what must be a tremendous burden on you." Vlad furrowed his brows.
Jeanne blinked and waved it off hurriedly. "Ah—there's no need to be concerned!" She fought to control her rising temperature. From a rather unforgiving person like Vlad, she hadn't expected to see that side of him.
He arched an eyebrow, probably seeing through her flailing. "I appear to be an inconsiderate person to most. It is rather detrimental, to say the least."
"Perhaps it is the way you tend to speak your mind and make it known, like a certain student of mine," Chiron teased.
They launched into an entirely different conversation on the merits of honesty and trickery, leaving Jeanne to stew in her thoughts for a while. Most of it consisted of her plans and possible ramifications.
She almost bit her lip. If the Red Master seeks a disastrous result, then this would not be the Greater Holy Grail War anymore. Red and Black Servants would become Heroic Spirits following a Ruler. The more she delved into the theory, the more it appeared to be plausible.
The Greater Grail confusing her for another Ruler meant not letting her gain the same abilities completely, as it would consider her a "cheater" in the simplest terms possible.
Jeanne jerked upright. A dull pain coursed through her command spells as she received a revelation. She gritted her teeth and stilled to bear the full brunt of this vision, flashing through her immediate consciousness.
Vlad and Chiron's sudden silence was a faint afterthought. The latter opened his mouth.
Blood. Archer's Master. Rider and her Master. Corpse.
Chiron vanished in the next second by a command spell.
Jeanne didn't have to focus at all to sense the new contract between Astolfo and an another Master.
Vlad vanished from his seat, a remarkable display of the Lancer-class Servant's Agility. Doors and walls became casualties as she sprinted after him, putting on her battle attire mid-sprint.
Shaking off the revelation, she steeled herself for an inopportune situation. Though apprehension tugged at her body, her eyes were clear.
Yggdmillennia was in an uproar as she followed his wake. Homunculi and golems were on standby already but the leadership was in chaos. A gauntlet of noises ran amok in her ears. Darnic was nowhere to be seen, but Caules came out to meet her after exiting the castle's new backdoor.
Frankenstein must have already went on ahead then.
Jeanne skidded to slow down when Caules shouted a question, "We just heard Lancer's blitz and came! What happened?"
"Archer was summoned by a command spell—but I must follow!" Jeanne ignored the stunned reaction and resumed sprinting.
Jeanne dashed through the forest, clearing trees acting as hurdles in each jump, praying that she wouldn't arrive before it was too late. Like when she hadn't come in time to stop Siegfried from sacrificing himself.
After what felt like several seconds stretched out into endless greenery, she dug in her heels at the sight of the forest's edge. Grasslands sprawled out from the boundary, almost completely intact if it weren't for the dent-like holes.
She softened her approach with lighter footsteps at seeing Vlad's back to her.
He hadn't even turned around.
Vlad was quietly speaking to a pink-haired girl—Rider Astolfo. While she responded with loud and childish answers, he remained a dispassionate king in search of answers. But Jeanne suspected that inside, he was fighting the urge to skewer her with stakes as the closest target.
Glancing to the side, it wasn't hard at all to find the dead body of who should have been Astolfo's original Master askew. The corpse was riddled with holes, as if a machine gun had peppered her completely.
Jeanne took one look at Chiron's defensive posturing around his unresponsive Master—who had fresh blood splattered over her clothes. Deeming him to be the safer option, she joined him.
"Rider's Master, Celenike, struck out on her own to get revenge on her Servant, it seemed." Chiron didn't look away from Fiore's blank face.
She killed the Master, then.
"...this gets more and more complicated," Jeanne sighed to herself before scanning for others present.
There was only one other, a homunculus gawking—Sieg.
He sat on the ground clutching his sides. He was breathing in such a way that made her own lungs seize up.
"Sieg?!" Jeanne gasped, striding forward to take his hand in hers and checked his body. "What possessed you to come back here? You know the risks you face by doing so!"
"Ruler—I…" he wheezed, as he straightened, and tried to pull her hands off his. "My hand." Sieg withered like a dying plant under her stern stare. "Please see for yourself."
Jeanne pursed her lips in concern and faint annoyance. "...Sieg, I won't pretend to understand why you came back, but—" Slowly she removed her hands and her heart plunged into her nauseous stomach.
Three dragon-shaped command spells covered the dorsum of his hand like a slave's brand.
He's Astolfo's Master now. He must participate in the Great Holy Grail War or give up his rights as a Master. Those were the logical conclusions that came to her.
But—Jeanne snapped to attention when she sensed Vlad approaching them out of instinct. Astolfo followed close behind, tensed.
"The homunculus?" He said to himself in a low voice.
She tightened her grip on her flag. It may seem like I am betraying the accord but this is a part of my duties! But Sieg took matters into his own hands—taut and hard mettle destroying his placid heart like a sudden storm.
"—Sieg. My name is Sieg." His eyes turned fierce and his voice strong which belied his gentle face.
"...of course. My apologies—this surprise has taken the better of me." Vlad said instantly, suddenly not looking like the unmoved monarch he played earlier.
Sieg nodded his head stiffly and Vlad turned to check Jeanne's hardened face.
"To call into question of Sieg's name is to betray the principles I hold in pursuit of my wish's realization. I of all people, should realize it."
"Yes, of course," Jeanne said stiffly before helping up Sieg.
He clung to her offered support like a dog to a stick, looking between her and Vlad's impassive face in gut-wrenching dread.
"...as I said before, Sieg is not a typical Master, so I must intervene," Jeanne said after a moment of silence. "His status cannot be determined until there is time to talk—of which we have little."
"And yet, his Servant is someone whose allegiances belong to the Black Faction." Vlad's words held no malice, but nor did they held forgiveness.
Astolfo opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it after he shifted.
"Indeed, this homunculus is not a part of Yggdmillennia anymore, but he has trespassed onto our territory. Wouldn't you say that he needs to take responsibility for it?" Darnic's arrival had been anticipated and sensed for, but Jeanne couldn't help the wariness.
"I won't let you!" Astolfo barked, barreling forward so she could stand between the two.
In the corner of her vision, Chiron formed his bow.
"Rider, do you mean to commit further insubordination?" Vlad asked in frigid undertones.
"Of course not! I may be a Servant but my Master's safety also comes first as of now. So consider that, king."
"Rider!" Chiron managed to reprimand Astolfo before Vlad could spray the grass with her blood.
"Archer, do you stand with Rider and this new Master or with the Black Faction?" Darnic turned to Chiron.
Perhaps this what the Greater Grail meant, when "it goes from zero to hundred". The atmosphere was like a pressurized can waiting to go off.
Chiron moving in front of Fiore was taken in account, from the way Darnic's eyes narrowed. Vlad's stare was close to becoming a glare, though no one knew who the target was.
Jeanne rose to her feet.
"I—"
"Darnic! The Red Faction's arrived!" Roche's transmitted voice dissolved the tension in one shout.
Everyone stopped and looked to the blackened sky.
There was no way that even vision-impaired Magi couldn't see the hulking fortress looming closer each second.
"I can sense the Master that I have to meet with," Jeanne murmured to Chiron who narrowed his eyes.
"Rider—" Sieg glanced at his new Servant.
"Sieg, my vow still holds true here," Jeanne whispered to him.
Before Sieg could respond, Astolfo suddenly smacked herself until her cheeks turned red and eyes sharpened. "...I'm still a Servant so fighting in this War is a part of my duty in the end," she muttered, though more to herself and turned sharply to Darnic who studied the duo. "...I'll keep fighting for the Black Faction and you'll keep your dirty hands off my Master."
"And that includes forcing him to fight any of the Red Masters," Jeanne added.
"...it's not like we can afford to deal with losing even a single Servant," Darnic said, subdued venom still creeping into his silky tones.
He glanced at Vlad who nodded wordlessly. "I accept these terms," Darnic said to Astolfo who sighed in relief. "Rider, I would have you and Berserker go first to the battlefield from the rear."
"My, my, how troublesome," Astolfo murmured with a conflicted grin. "Master—don't do anything troublesome without me!"
Sieg was too confused to respond, from the dazed eyes alone.
Though Caules gave her a concerned look, Fiore nodded. Then Astolfo, Frankenstein, and Caules departed.
"Rider…" Sieg muttered, looking lost of all sudden.
Jeanne kept his hand in hers and squeezed it. He gave her a strange look but she deemed it to be a result of being a homunculus. After she made him smile with her hands, she understood he hadn't any experience with feeling anything besides the desire to live.
With that settled, Darnic focused on Fiore who snapped out of her stupor, when he arrived. "We'll have to take refuge in the castle, Fiore. We have no choice but to leave the battle to our Servants."
"Alright, Grandfather," she said uneasily.
"Exactly, Darnic. These grasslands are to become the Servants' domain soon," Vlad said. "And it seems, on top of intruding into my lands, the Red Caster has seen fit to spread those filthy skeletal warriors all over. Such insolence must be met with swift judgement."
Chiron regarded at the fortress wearily before turning to Jeanne. "Ruler, what is your plan?"
She stayed silent, pursing her lips in newfound uncertainty. But she still had objectives available to her. "The most important objective is to ensure that I can confirm the identity of the Red Master who ordered my assassination."
"Then will you take up your flag and enter the battlefield?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. If I were to traverse in search then I would disrupt the battles—they may order the Red Servants to go after me, and ignore you, as their supposed opponents. I will remain on the outskirts if possible, until a chance opens up. If they come close enough to steal the Greater Grail, then I will move in."
"And Sieg?"
Jeanne narrowed her eyes. "—shall remain by my side. If I can help it, though. He may be a Master now but please do not forget his original status."
"Of course," Vlad interjected before Chiron could reply.
"Understood," Sieg sighed behind her.
"Then I wish the best of victory's luck to you, my lord. Let's go back now, Fiore." Darnic nodded to Vlad and started walking back to the castle.
Jeanne blinked. Her senses tingled, like a smaller revelation that bled into her mind over time.
That is—
—killing intent swamped their senses. The Servants reacted with sharp glances to the fortress while the Magi stumbled from the unblemished waves.
What followed was a beam of light falling from the fortress's outer frame, razing the forests to the ground. Debris of mostly-vaporized trees littered the new clearings.
No one spoke for a few seconds at the display. That magic could only be from the Age of Gods.
Vlad's face tightened in silent fury.
"It seems Saber of Red decided to have her grudge dictate Caster of Red's advance," Chiron remarked in a half-dry, half-amazed tone.