Chapter 21
Formation Pour L'Apocalypse
"You think they will be alright?" asked Roux, Chevalier leaving Torsten's home with a spiritualised Saber in tow. She turned to Lancer, looking for reassurance.
"They will be fine. I cannot speak for the priest, but Saber can protect them both. Of that I'm sure." Lancer placed a hand on her Master's shoulder as they returned to the living room from the front door. Torsten was already seated on the couch, resting his leg.
"Lancer is right about Saber," he agreed. "And you don't have to worry about Chevalier. Guillaume may have been bested once, but I doubt that will happen again. He's… something else." Roux nodded and slumped into her usual armchair, Lancer standing by her side as usual.
"How's your leg?" Roux leaned over to look at Torsten's injured leg that was lying across the couch. He swung it round and stood up smoothly, if slowly.
"Feels a lot better, actually," Torsten said, with a light wince. "A still a bit sore but I can walk at the very least. And I'm safe from any harm Saber could do to it today too." He walked around in a circle, proving his point.
"Good!" Roux exclaimed, surprised by the speed with which Torsten was already back on his own two feet without help. "But now what to do about Berserker. It's going to be no simple matter fighting that beast." Lancer cleared her throat.
"If I may make a suggestion, Master?" Lancer asked, trying as hard as possible to be respectful. Roux just shook her head.
"We've been through this. You're my partner. You can say what you like in my presence, okay?" Roux insisted. She noticed Lancer's eyes dart away and sighed. "What do you suggest we do, Lancer?"
"Well, the problem isn't so much Berserker, is it?" Lancer proposed. Both Torsten and Roux shot the Servant quizzical looks.
"What do you mean?" Torsten asked, sitting back down.
"I mean that you two aren't going to fighting Berserker directly. At least, that is by no means our intentions, is it?" Lancer began pacing in front of the two Masters as she explained herself. "Saber and I can handle Berserker. It may be a beast with awesome power, but combined I know we can defeat it. If it is a conflict between Servants, Saber and I can endure." Torsten started to understand the meaning behind Lancer's explanation, nodding along.
"However, it is the two of you I worry about. You have to face Berserker's Master. Saber told me what he was like, and Torsten should know. None of us saw his skills, but judging by the blade he held and his demeanour, he is not one to be underestimated under any circumstances." Lancer stopped and turned so she faced both Masters. "Which is why the two of you need to make sure you are prepared for the fight ahead?"
"Lancer's right. We need a plan to fight Berserker's Master over Berserker itself," agreed Torsten.
"Lancer," Roux said suddenly.
"Yes, Master?"
"You should talk more." Roux stood up and strode out of the living room.
"Where are you going?" Torsten asked after her. Roux's shoes could be heard pounding up the stairs.
"Just to get something," she called back. "Be back in a sec." Torsten gave Lancer a confused look to which she could only give an equally confused shrug.
Guillaume Chevalier walked with a brisk pace to the Church. Having reached the outskirts of central Lyon, Saber saw it fit to materialise. It was a suburban area with very few people, not to mention Saber's attire, while odd, was not completely out of the realms of possibility. The pair walked in silence for a time, the thoughts of what they might encounter ahead floating around in their minds. However, Saber had questions he wanted answered.
"So tell me," the Servant asked casually. Chevalier did not turn his head. "What dae ye know about this War?" Saber eyed the priest as he asked his question. He seemed unresponsive.
"You've asked me that already, haven't you?" Chevalier said with a small smile. He finally turned to Saber, a grin on his face. "I know as much as you do, Saber." Saber scoffed as loud as he could manage without making himself look stupid.
"I find it hard tae believe that the Observer of the Grail War, a tool of the Church, wasnae enlightened tae more than you originally told us." Chevalier, not skipping a beat, let out a chuckle.
"You've never trusted me, have you, Saber?" Chevalier shot the Servant a cold look. Saber could see little in his eyes but hate for split second, but only that split second. "I have told you all that I know. I am not your enemy."
"I never said ye were."
"You didn't have to." The priest was blunt. Halting in his tracks, Chevalier held his gaze upon Saber. Neither backed down, standing in a moment of tense silence, until the priest shook his head in disdain. "This is ridiculous."
"Oh aye," Saber agreed, frustrated. "We're supposed to taking a look at the Church."
"Yes, because I was the one that made the accusations that led as to this point in the first place." Chevalier's sarcastic reply made the Servant give an unintentional twitch of the mouth. The priest sighed. "The only thing that I know that I have withheld, I have withheld for the sake of Torsten and Josephine."
"I knew it," Saber roared out of excitement rather than anger. "Wait, for their sake? Why for their sake?"
"Josephine should already know this, but it's more the implications of it that may not have dawned on her." Chevalier began walking again, this time, slowly and meditative. Saber followed. "I believe I've already mentioned it before, but never elaborated."
"What are ye talking about?"
"Why do you think the Great Grail is on the Roux family's grounds?" Saber had no answer to give to priest, giving only a shrug of his broad shoulders. "The Roux family was the family to find the Homunculus. The head of the family, one Xavier Roux, insisted that a Holy Grail War be conducted using the Homunculus and the dismantled Great Grail. That is why it is being conducted in Lyon, in the Roux family's own backyard."
"Surely ye arennae implying...?" Saber said. Chevalier's grim looking face was answer enough to the Servant. "Ye really think that this Xavier knew this would happen?"
"I don't know. All I know is that Xavier Roux is a powerful man; a dangerous man," Chevalier said slowly and in a low voice. "He has a single minded obsession, Saber."
"And that obsession is?" Saber asked.
"The obsession that plagues many a great Magi's mind: reaching the Origin."
"That's what you wanted?" Torsten asked as Jo strode into the living room once more, the scythe that once belonged to Cecile delicately balanced on one shoulder. She replied with a wave of her finger and handed the scythe to Torsten.
"Analyse it." Jo tapped her foot as she waited in front of Torsten.
"Uh… What?"
"You're good at projection, right? Analyse its structure and project it," Jo began to explain. "You've been using that stupid knife for long enough. If we're going to have any chance against Berserker's Master, you're going to need more than the Amsel Crest and a knife."
"Point taken," Torsten said, standing up and holding the scythe by his side. "But you're forgetting one thing: I have no clue how to handle a scythe. I can barely use that damn knife! Regardless, I actually have the scythe. Reinforcement is probably better than making a weaker projection of it."
"Huh. You know, I had forgotten all about that. No matter, you still have a weapon to use better than a knife."
"Uh, Earth to Josephine? Didn't you hear me say that I have no idea how to use this thing properly?" Torsten asked, exasperated. Jo said nothing and merely gestured for Lancer to stand by her side. As Lancer did as she was requested, Jo placed a hand on her Servant's shoulder.
"I think Lancer can take care of that little problem." Jo flashed a huge toothy smile as Lancer turned to her with a look of horror on her face.
"W-What? I'm supposed to teach him how to use that thing?" Lancer blurted out, her usual calmness and grace melting away in the face of her embarrassment. "I don't even use a scythe myself!"
"Now, now," Jo said, attempting to placate her Servant. "I only expect you to spar with him so he gets the hang of handling it. It'll be fun!" Torsten's jaw dropped.
"I'm not fighting Lancer! She'll kill me!" Torsten cried. Lancer's face fell and Jo gave a snort.
"Lancer wouldn't do that, would you, Lancer?" Jo joked, making a fool of the pair of them.
"I don't think this is the best idea," said Lancer, summoning Gungnir. "But I'll do what I can to help you learn the ways of combat; in a way that only a Valkyrie can." Smoothly lowering into a combat stance, Lancer prepared to charge straight at Torsten.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" falling back onto the couch behind him, Torsten raised the scythe in front of him clumsily.
"Not here, Lancer!" Jo yelled, Lancer springing back to her usual straight and tall posture and her cheeks red. "You'll destroy the whole house!"
"You're right. That was foolish of me. But do you have any other ideas of where to conduct this training?" Lancer, as the pair of Masters saw it, raised a good point.
"Ideas?" Jo asked Torsten who was still reeling from almost being attacked.
"I thought I wasn't supposed to aggravate my leg! I mean, I could get pretty badly hurt if I try to spar on it," Torsten argued, ignoring Jo's question. For her part, Jo slammed her foot down to the ground.
"We don't have the time to let you fully rest up for the training. Assassin will know that Caster and Cecile are dead now and will go out of their way to pick another target. It could be us! Not to mention Berserker could on the move right now," Jo explained. "And, the less said about that homunculus the better. The War must end swiftly so that we can deal with that thing. I'm sorry, but you simply need to be in good shape for a conflict against Masters." Torsten nodded. He knew she was right.
"Fine then." He raised himself from the couch, scythe in hand. "We can use the attic. There's still a hole in the roof, but I cleared out the place to prepare for summoning Saber. It's not much, but it will have to do."
"It's certainly a possibility, eh?" Saber agreed, thinking about what he knew of the Holy Grail War. If this Xavier Roux did indeed intend to reach the Origin, the beginning and end of all things and the record of all existence, the Holy Grail War was indeed a method suspected to be able to achieve that goal. The almighty Holy Grail, said to grant any wish, could surely grant access to the Origin itself. "Dae ye think the lass has any idea?"
"I'm sure she does." The priest had increased his pace, worried about taking too long to return to Torsten's apartment. It may have still been only 10:37am by his watch, but he did not want to linger in the open for too long. As far as he was concerned, the Homunculus could have easily escaped the confines of the Church and be roaming the streets of Lyon. "However, I doubt she fully agrees with his end goals. I'm sure she never mentioned her father's intentions or the fact her father urged the War go ahead because she would be ashamed of it. I've known Josephine since she was a child. She… does not have an easy relationship with her father."
Saber cocked his head, stretching in the early morning sunlight. "But how would Xavier be granted his wish of the Origin without bein' part of the War? Why send the lass?" Chevalier smirked.
"That, I do not know. Perhaps he intends to show up at the last minute, having planned for a victorious Josephine to wish for it? Perhaps he expects Josephine to simply wish the Origin reveal itself to him?" The priest raised many a question to which he had no answer. Saber couldn't help but feel even more uneasy about the current War. "Or perhaps… Perhaps we've overlooked something."
"Maybe we are…" Saber trailed off for a second, thinking. The pair rounded a corner, and the Church could be seen in the distance. "And here we are. You ready, Father?"
"Ready."
The pair accelerated to a steady jog, reaching the gates that led the Church's front courtyard. The courtyard was as Chevalier left it: deserted. Saber materialised his massive blade and the Chevalier readied two Black Keys. Slowly, the pair made their way through the courtyard. It was when they were only a few feet from the large front doors to the Church, which were currently sealed shut, that an overwhelming stench became apparent.
"Putrefaction and… blood," Chevalier said, scrunching his nose at the odour. Saber showed no signs of being put off by the small, accustomed to it from his own time and life.
"This cannae be good," breathed the Servant, moving to the large church doors and waiting for Chevalier to get ready.
"Kick it in on three?" the priest suggested. Giving a nod, Saber backed up a single step and prepared to unleash a kick on the door. Chevalier did the same for the opposite door. "One… Two… Three!"
WHAM.
The pair kicked the heavy Church doors in, following their swinging motion into the hall of the place of prayer. As the doors rushed open, the stench blasted outwards. Its foulness and pungency would have induced nausea and sickness in lesser men than the priest and the Servant. The source of the smell was immediately apparent as the pair looked down the Church hall.
Lining the middle aisle of the Church, between the two sections of pews and spread across the floor were the visceral, partially rotten remains of what appeared to once be humans. Some were disturbingly far along in the decomposition process, flesh and muscle decaying, almost liquefied. Faces were recognisable as a part of the body, but not distinguishable from one another. Eyes had sunken into sockets or already burst and leaked into the mess around them. The contents of stomachs were layered among the rotting remains of the dead and all became one in a sickening layer of rotten flesh that had stuck fast to the floor.
"Good God…" Chevalier forced out under his breath, looking upon the horror that filled his Church. "These must be locals… How are they all so decomposed?"
"I donnae know, but it's safe to assume that if these poor souls have been killed up here, the Homunculus is loose." Saber took hesitant steps through the remains, the sickening squelch beneath his feet far more disconcerting than the almost breath stealing odour. Looking at the back wall of the Church, behind the pulpit, the Servant noticed a strange pattern scrawled across its surface. "C'mon. There's somthin' back there."
Trudging through the unavoidable mess the pair, at the very least, attempted to not disturbing corpses themselves, instead preferring to move through the fleshed that had began to peel from them. In what seemed like hours but was, in reality, minutes, Servant and priest had reached the pulpit at the design on the wall could be seen.
לִוְיָתָן
"I've never seen that language before…" Saber uttered, staring at the design on the wall that had clearly been created from the rotten entrails of the dead that lay around them. "Father?" Chevalier swallowed in astonishment.
"It's Hebrew," he answered, failing to turn to the Servant. "Its read 'Livyatan'… Meaning Leviathan. Holy mother of God…" Finally glancing to Saber, Chevalier found the Servant was staring right back at him. His face was like stone.
"We'd better check below, Father." Saber turned on the spot and moved further down the wall to the door that led to the back of the Church. Chevalier followed in silence. The door to the back area of the Church opened easily and the pair stepped into what seemed like a different world from what they had just left.
"It's… pristine…" Chevalier said, astonished at the fact the room was as clean as he had left it, save for the blood trail he had left when he had originally escaped from the Homunculus.
"What way tae the dungeon?" Saber asked, striding into the clean room. The priest noticed the trail on red he left on the floor with each step. "We donnae have much time if it's still here. It'll know we've come."
"This way." Chevalier moved deeper into the backroom, exiting it through a door at the rear and turned right. The pair soon came face to face with the entranceway to the dungeon which should have held a door. Instead, the door was lying in pieces on the ground. Carefully, the pair moved down the stairs with Saber on point. It was not long before they could see the entrance to the actual dungeon where the Homunculus was supposed to have been trapped. The iron door that was to seal it was crumpled on the floor just inside the stone room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Saber was met with a blinding white light from the centre of the dungeon.
"Oh my God…"
"Ready?" Jo asked Torsten, her words almost echoing in the relatively empty loft. Torsten replied with a rigid nod. "Then Reinforce the scythe, and have fun!" Lancer stood across the attic, ready to leap into combat with the Master of Saber. Torsten began to pour mana into the deadly weapon in his hands. Being careful not to permanently damage the weapon, he hardened its structure.
"Prepare yourself!" Lancer suddenly yelled, lunging forward at Torsten. Barely being able to finish his magecraft, Torsten leapt to one side as Lancer's spear flew at his stomach.
"Holy crap! You could have killed me!" Torsten stumbled as he tried to retreat.
"You're not going to learn how to use that scythe without the proper pressure," the golden maned Servant said, twirling around on the spot, Gungnir's pointed spear head swinging around an inch away from Torsten's face. "So I'll have to apply that pressure."
"Sounds like you two have everything under control!" exclaimed Jo, standing in the doorway. "I'm going to go make lunch for the three of us, assuming Chevalier left enough ingredients from dinner last night. You guys play nice, okay?" Narrowly avoiding a thrust of Gungnir to the face, Torsten quickly looked at Jo, dumbstruck.
"You're just leaving us here?" he wailed.
"Yep. I'll come get you both a little while," Jo said turning and leaving.
"Aw shit…" Torsten moaned. "Whoa!" Lancer took another lunge and him. Taking an unsteady step to the side, Torsten barely avoided the thrust. Lancer kept up her momentum and ran past him, reaching the far end of the loft and swing around to face her opponent.
"Why haven't you used the scythe yet?" Lancer asked, loosening up her shoulders and cracking her neck. "It's why we're here, aren't we?"
"You're too fast," Torsten panted, realising he was already out of breath from trying to evade the Servant before him. His leg was starting to ache again. "I-" Before he could finish his thought, Lancer disappeared from Torsten's view. He quickly looked down to see Lancer down low, already halfway across the loft, ready to skewer him.
"No," she said quietly, rising upwards with Gungnir. It tore up the side of his face, making a thin red line from jawbone to temple that quickly began to bleed. "You're too slow." Again, Torsten stumbled back.
I have to do… something! Torsten thought. Still reeling, he brought up the scythe and took an unsteady swipe at Lancer who easily ducked the attack and moved out of range.
"Good. That's some progress at least. Now, can you actually hit me?" Lancer had decided to do away with a soft demeanour.
I can't tone my power down any more than this. I'm just going to have to force him to work harder.
Torsten almost fell sideways with the weight of the scythe swing. Retaking a steady stance and firmly grasping his new weapon with two hands, he looked Lancer dead in the eyes. "You bet."
Lancer made the first toothy smile Torsten had ever seen. "Nice answer."
The source of the brilliant light within the dungeon came into view for Chevalier and Saber at the very same time as it seemed to speak.
"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" said the angelic figure that stood at the centre of the light with his back to Saber and the priest. There were ragged scars on either side of his back where it looked as if there should have been extra limbs or appendages. The man spoke with a voice that echoed more than the dungeon walls would normally allow, and a voice that sounded peaceful, even inviting. He turned to face his guests. "Ah, a Servant like myself and a man of God."
"You're a Servant?" exclaimed Chevalier, raising his prepared Black Keys. Saber noticed the change in the priest demeanour, just like when the pair had fought the familiars of Assassin together. The priest's stance had tightened, his eyes had changed. There was rage within his eyes. Chevalier's next words were forced out through gritted teeth. "Who are you?" The angelic figure's eyes narrowed.
"Are ye gonna answer or not?" Saber pressured, readying his own blade. The unknown Servant's eyes quickly glanced to Saber, then back to the Chevalier. "We donnae have all day."
"I was wrong about you," the angelic figure said in his honeyed voice. He pointed at the priest accusingly, the hand he raised coated in blood. "You are no man of God I know. You are a slave to the Templars. I know those eyes, that face, that stance; a dog that would seek to manipulate the Church to your own ends." Chevalier scowled. He made a face at Saber, indicating he would explain later.
"Ye havenae answered his question: Who are you?" Saber asked, gripping his blade tighter.
"I am Saviour," the angelic Servant crowed. "And…" Saviour trailed off, his eyes appearing unfocused.
"And what?" Chevalier growled. Saviour's eyes refocused on the priest.
"And I have no time to waste on wastrels such as you. My Master is in need of my presence." The angelic Servant straightened himself and looked to the ceiling. Saber and Chevalier followed his gaze and saw that Saviour stood under a gaping hole that led to the surface.
"You're no' getting away!" roared Saber, lunging at Saviour as he dissolved into a shining gold mist that rocketed out of the dungeon with great force, creating an almighty roar. The Scottish Servant's sword hit nothing but air as he brought it down, breaking the hard stone of the floor as it collided with it. "Shit."
"That wasn't him…" Chevalier groaned, back to his usual self. "That was not the homunculus!"
"Then jes' what the hell was it?" exclaimed Saber. Chevalier stayed silent and thought for a while.
"He said he was a Servant: 'Saviour'. I've never heard of that before." The priest looked around the dungeon. It was empty, save for Saber and he. "Wait, what's that?" Chevalier noticed more scrawling symbols on the back wall of the dungeon that had been obscured by the figure of Saviour. The priest moved closer to read it with Saber following him.
"What does it say?" asked Saber.
אפוקליפסה
"It's means…" Chevalier began, pausing for second. "'Apocalypse'."
It was hard for Torsten to tell just how much time had passed since beginning his fight with Lancer. Exhaustion, in combination with his injured leg becoming more and more painful by the minute, destroyed any perception of time he could have mustered during the battle. Barely able to stand, he used the scythe to hold himself up.
My legs… They won't move any more… But I have one last chance…
"It seems like you're finally out of energy." Lancer was decidedly unaffected from the sparring session, still brimming with untold vigour. She had deliberately tried to slow herself down in order to allow the injured young Master to stand a chance, but he had been unable to land a single blow. He had, however, avoided any further injuries since the first cut to his face. "You've done well, considering the state of your leg."
"I can keep going…" Torsten managed through ragged breaths and winces of pain. Taking a hand from the scythe, he wiped at the blood that poured from the cut to his face. The wound itself was not deep, but the blood that had flowed from it had begun to harden and itch on his face. "Once more…"
"Are you sure? You've already managed to use that scythe far more effectively than when we began," Lancer said. "You are most certainly far more balanced, and can swing it without risk of injury." Torsten did not answer.
"Very well." Lancer charged forward, Torsten stepping back as she closed in on him. Sidestepping, the golden haired Servant attempted to flank the young Master.
Now… Flashed through Torsten's mind.
Making a wild horizontal swing, Torsten forced Lancer to stop and duck. As the scythe passed over the Servant, Torsten released a single hand from it and brought it high above his head. Using the last ounce of strength he had left to spare, Torsten swung his arm down while simultaneously projecting a second scythe. Lancer's eyes widened as she saw the second deadly weapon bearing down upon her. Rolling backwards, she avoided the attack and the scythe stuck hard into the wood flooring of the loft.
"Ugh… Shit…" groaned Torsten as he collapsed to his knees, releasing the projected scythe as it dissolved into the nothingness from which is came then dropping the real scythe with a loud clatter.
"What the hell was that?" A voice suddenly resounded from the doorway to the loft. Lancer and Torsten turned to see Jo staring in amazement at the spectacle she just witnessed. "That was great, Torsten!"
"Well, it didn't work, so I don't see how you came to that conclusion." Torsten remained on his knees, further slumping down out of exhaustion and pain. Lancer stood from her crouched position and knelt before her sparring partner. She held out a hand, in which she held a single golden strand of hair from her own hair.
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," she said with a smile, Torsten taking the hair from Lancer in disbelief. "I'd argue that counts as a hit. Wouldn't you?" Lancer directed her question to Jo.
"That I would," concurred Jo. Torsten's eyes lit up.
"You're lucky I was only fighting at less than half of my normal speed," Lancer said in a cheeky tone of voice. Torsten hung his head.
"Gee, way to tear a guy down," he joked.
"Well, come on you two. I made us lunch." Jo turned around and left the loft with Lancer standing to follow. Noticing Torsten remaining on the floor, she stopped herself.
"Aren't you coming?"
"Uh…" Torsten said, wobbling from side to side where he knelt. "I don't think I can walk." He beamed the biggest smile he could muster.
"Oh," Lancer said simply, kneeling back beside the young Master and offering him a shoulder which he gladly accepted. "Three, two, one, up!"
"Thanks, Lancer."
"I want you to promise me something," the Valkyrie said suddenly. Before helping Torsten move forward, she turned her head to face his. Her brilliant blue eyes were speckled with fine points of silver, Torsten now noticed.
"Promise you something? Promise what?"
"I want you to promise me that if something should ever happen to me, that if I cannot perform my duties as a Servant, that you will protect Josephine with your life in my place." Lancer's gazing was piercing and analytical. She studied Torsten's face for hesitation.
"I…" Torsten began before he paused to think through what he had been asked to do.
"If you really do love her, you can do it. She would do the same for you," Lancer continued. "Please."
"She would as well…" Torsten softly chuckled. "You know, she does way too much for me. I'm probably not worth the effort. And you know? I never thought about loving her. Well, in that way anyway. But I guess I never needed to think about it."
"It sounds like you have it all worked out." Lancer began to help Torsten to the doorway. "When I first met you, I thought you were spineless despite Josephine's attachment to you; a weakling that would drag my Master down." Torsten gulped in spite of himself.
"But you know? I've never been so glad to be proven wrong." Lancer gave Torsten a small smile. He decided Lancer deserved an answer to her request.
"It's a promise, Lancer. I promise I'll keep Jo safe." Lancer turned her attention towards the stairs as they began a slow but steady descent.
"Thank you, Torsten."
"They were all… dead?" Jo said in a quiet voice. It was around 12:30pm by the time Saber and Chevalier had returned, finding Torsten dead asleep on the couch while Lancer and Jo talked. Having just finished their description of the state of the Church, the pair sat in silence in the living room, Chevalier and Saber with Torsten on the couch, Jo and Lancer in their usual spots, to let Torsten and Jo take it in. Chevalier nodded solemnly in reply.
"And… The thing you met wasn't the homunculus?" Torsten asked.
"No. No it wasn't. Like I said, it was a Servant that called itself 'Saviour'." Chevalier gripped his hands tightly together, his knuckles turning white. "I've never heard of such a thing. It has to be the homunculus's doing. Do either of you know of a 'Saviour' class Servant?"
"No, it's complete aberration," Jo proclaimed matter-of-factly. "The Servant was either lying, or the homunculus has managed to abuse its position as the catalyst of the Holy Grail and has summoned some form of alternative Servant that should not exist."
"So what dae we dae?" Saber asked. "Things have gotten a lot more complicated now. The homunculus is gone, it seems tae have summoned its own Servant and, judgin' by the scrawling on the walls of the Church, it really thinks its Leviathan and wants tae bring aboot the End o' Days."
"Warning the other Masters won't work, like we've already talked about." Torsten mulled over options out loud. "It's almost like the best scenario would be the homunculus targeting the others at this point."
"I say we stay the course until the other Masters know about the situation or we're forced into a conflict with it," Jo proposed. "The only Master I could see listening to reason would be the Master of Assassin. Berserker's Master does not seem like the type that would ally with us even if he knew we were telling the truth."
"But Leviathan could be out there killing people right now!" Torsten exclaimed. "Can't we do anything at all?"
"We could go after it if we have to," Jo said. "But we have no idea what it's capable of. We need a proper plan to deal with it. I want to go after it too, but we can't rush blindly after it right away." Torsten nodded.
"I know that. Isn't that a good reason to start planning to take that thing down then?" urged Torsten. "If we're going after the other Masters, we may find it anyway. We'll need to be ready when we do."
"Indeed," Chevalier agreed. "Chances are its more powerful than when I left it if it could summon its own Servant. The mana from dead Servants flows straight into the homunculus that acts as the Grail, remember. For all we know, it could have powers beyond any of us, including Saber and Lancer." Lancer perked up at the suggestion of the priest.
"I wouldn't be that quick to assume it has a power any more than a normal Magus. The homunculus shouldn't be able to utilise the mana that goes towards the summoning of the Holy Grail," argues Lancer.
"But a homunculus that was supposed to be completely soulless and docile shouldn't have suddenly come to life and almost killed me either." The priest was frustrated at his own inability to control the situation.
"Okay, hauld on everyone," Saber interjected, holding out his arms like stop signs. "This is goin' nowhere already. For the time being we should just handle what we come across while we're out and about. We cannae go hunting Servants, Masters or homunculi with Torsten injured as he is anyway."
"You're right. I can't really do much but hinder everyone at the moment." Torsten looked at his leg. He had checked under the bandages after eating lunch to find, much to his relief, that his wound was still closed if a little extra swollen from too much activity. "Maybe training wasn't the best idea?"
"Trainin'? What trainin'?" Saber asked. Torsten looked at Lancer and Jo accusingly. "What the hell were ye doing with my Master, you two?" Jo giggled and Lancer stepped forward.
"My Master thought it was in his best interests to prepare himself for combat with Berserker's Master. I took it upon myself to spar with him in your absence." Lancer explained the situation as if it were something normal to do. "He is now, at the very least, experienced in handling a scythe. How well he handles it, is another matter."
"Ye used that scythe tae fight her?" Saber asked Torsten who replied with an innocent smile. Saber made one of his signature cheeky grins. "You get a hit in, lad?"
"Kind of? I took cut a single strand of hair off her head…" Torsten said. The room went silent for second before Saber burst into a roaring laughter, clutching at his sides. "What the hell is up with you? Jo said it counted as a hit!" Chevalier started to chuckle, then Jo descended into giggles.
"I think you did well," Lancer said quietly in the middle of the cacophonic laughter that was bouncing around the room. Torsten mouthed a small 'thank you' while waiting for the rest of the room to quieten down.
"Real mature guys, really." Torsten crossed his arms as if in a huff.
"Och, I was only jokin'. Frankly, you're lucky she didnae kill ya!" Saber exclaimed. He turned his attention to Jo who was still trying to calm herself down. "Nice thinkin', lass. He could have come out a cripple afterwards, but ye got lucky this time!"
"I doubt it had much to do with luck," Chevalier added. "Torsten is a reliable guy when it comes down to it. Even if you do have to threaten him with the thought of death." Torsten shot the priest a look and before he could shoot back a jab of his own, Saber snapped his fingers.
"That's right! What's this about you been' a Templar?" Saber blurted out, remembering the words of Saviour in the Church dungeon. "Not of the Church are we, Father?" Chevalier gave a grim smile.
"I didn't expect that little fact, of all things, to come to light during the War." The Priest sighed and placed a hand to his face.
"What's this?" Jo said, almost jumping out her seat. "You're from the Order of Templars?"
"What's the Order of Templars?" Torsten asked.
"Yes, I am a Templar. And, Torsten, the Order of Templars is an organisation that sometimes cooperates with the Church, exactly like I am doing right now. We aren't always on the friendly side of the Church, however," Chevalier explained.
"I can't believe you're of the Order!" Jo exclaimed. "No wonder you're such a good Executor. The Templars excel at the hunting and disposal of heretics. They breed killing machines." The priest gave Jo a nervous smile, unnerved by her enthusiasm.
"How did ye get a gig like the Holy Grail War if you're not a real member of the Church then?" Saber asked.
"I'm on loan from the Order to aid the Church as a member of the Executors. In recent years or relationship has strengthened to the point where we can work together. As such, as a symbol of good will from the Church to the Order, I was given the honour of presiding over the Grail War," Chevalier explained, sounding exasperated. "And now look what has happened: the War has gone completely awry under my watch."
"No wonder you didn't want to contact the Church before," Torsten said. "But you must have been a member of the Church since Jo and I were children, considering that is how we met you." The priest nodded.
"Indeed. By recent years of a cordial relationship, I meant roughly fifteen years. You have to remember that I'm an old man of forty two! I have been with the Order since I was a boy and an ambassador of the Order to the Church since I was only twenty." The priest smiled, thinking about the past. "None of you have to worry about me or my allegiances. I volunteered to work with the Church to help bring all three our organisations together. Unfortunately I don't think this Holy Grail War is going to help with that goal."
"Sadly, unless we can stop the homunculus, I think you're right," Jo said glumly. Then, as if flipping a switch, she clapped her hands together and brightened up. "I think we've talked enough for now. The lot of you are exhausted, be it mentally or physically. I think you should take a while to rest. Lancer and I can spar for a while to make sure I don't fall behind." Jo gave a wink to Torsten.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," Torsten immediately blurted, slumping into the couch. "If I'm ever going to walk again I think I need some sleep at least."
"I'll go and make myself something to eat then, shall I?" Chevalier said, rising from the couch and leaving for the kitchen.
"I think I'll join in that nap there, lad," Saber said, emulating his Master and collapsing into the couch.
"Shall we get started right away then, Master?" Lancer suggested. Jo leapt from her seat and made her way to the stairs, Lancer in tow.
"You bet," Jo said with a sly smile on her face.
Author's Note:
Another chapter, another milestone! Over 100k words! ^^
As usual, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
Tune in next time, folks! Some serious shit is going to go down!