In the dead of night, the clash of steel against steel rang out like thunder, the motions of the fighters the lightning. A blurred green shape moved at speeds which the human eye could not track, while across from it darted something which could not be described beyond the furious shouts it emitted. The two forces collided once again, sending sparks into the sky from the meeting of their weapons. They continued to move, skidding across the battlefield so that they had returned to where the other had charged from.
The green blur, now distinguishable as what was really a man wearing green robes, still kept a tense stance as he turned to face his foe. The wind caused by their motions still caused the looser parts of his outfit to billow wildly, along with his magnificent brown beard. His hands tightly held onto a large halberd-like weapon, and his stance was that of a man who knew how to win his battles. His face, contrasting his warrior-like pose, seemed tranquil.
Opposite to him a good fifty meters away stood the other blur. When still, it could clearly be seen to be a man. Unlike the almost ceremonial garments of his adversary, this man wore little save for a large fur, wrapped around his legs as if a kilt, and going down to his feet, which bore the only other article of clothing on him in the form of mail boots. Aside from those, his pale, muscular body was completely exposed to the night's chilling embrace. Despite this, he appeared to be in no discomfort; rather, the upward curving of his lips suggested he was enjoying himself.
The muscular man let out a sort of mocking laughter. As he did so, he "sheathed" the massive blade he carried into the grass he stood on. The sound, deep and powerful, mingled with the howl of the same wind that toyed with the man's blonde hair. The robed man displayed no visible reaction to this gesture of casualty.
"I guess you're tougher than that dress you wear lets on, aye Lancer?" he yelled following up his laughter. Once again, his opponent did as much as twitch, let alone respond. They waited for several minutes, Lancer never moving more than a centimeter at a time, the other leisurely awaiting some kind of reaction.
"Very well, I guess a fight's always more entertaining than small-talk anyway. " With that, he once again became little more than a howling blur. Despite his superhuman agility, Lancer still waited for the last possible moment to dodge the charge, like a matador sidestepping a bull. The blonde-haired warrior, seeing the evasive maneuver, quickly launched himself towards the deep blue, star-filled sky above them. As he landed, his blade bit into the ground where Lancer had been standing a moment ago, the raw force of the impact shaking the vicinity and wounding the earth with a deep gash.
Lancer was not a person who wasted opportunities. The moment he spotted the opening left by his enemy effectively depositing his weapon in dirt, he moved to strike. The distance he had put between himself and his foe, so that he could avoid the previous attack, he closed in a fraction of a second. His weapon, held with masterful skill, darted like a striking viper towards exposed flesh.
Lancer had struck the perfect blow… yet his effort was fruitless. Although he certainly knew that just because his enemy lacked armor, in no way meant he was unprotected, he certainly did not anticipate this.
When the steel of his weapon met the white skin of its intended victim, it drew no blood. In fact, it did little more than leave a red mark where the tip moved across his skin, as if deflected. The blonde warrior seemed to barely notice he'd been attacked as he tore his blade from the ground and swung it in a mighty arc. Fortunately for Lancer, surprised had not caused him to dull his reflexes. He quickly spun around the massive polearm so that its shaft met and blocked the incoming blow. The power behind the swing of the sword struck hard against the shaft, knocking the wind out of Lancer's lungs and causing his stance to slip ever so slightly.
It was enough of a slip. The swordsman quickly seized the opening and launched a counter-attack, which Lancer avoided only though hurling his body to the side. He would not get a chance to recover; seeing Lancer sprawled on the grass, his adversary quickly brought down his blade so that the tip of it was neatly pointing at Lancer's face, which by now seemed nowhere as calm as it once had.
"You know, if might not have turned out like this if you weren't so serious about one of us killing the other." He mused, twirling a lock of his add to his insultingly relaxed tone. "But I guess it was going to come to this at some point in the war. Better to get it over with sooner than later, aye?"
And with that said, he lunged.
"No, I don't think anything is going to be decided this soon."
The voice, coming from behind the sword-wielding warrior, caused him in to pause in the middle of delivering the fatal blow. He was indeed quite surprised, as a new addition to the battle changed everything. He half-turned so that he could both keep an eye on his pinned-down enemy and observe the newcomer. As he did so, he did not see a person, or even the field on which he'd been battling, but rather a blinding flash of light.
A moment later, the tables had turned as he lay pinned down on the ground while Lancer was once again on his feet. He could not even properly discern what was pinning him down, as he could still see little beyond a radiance that seemed to envelop him.
The stranger's voice rang out again, this time calling out an incantation the swordsman wasn't particularly inclined to interpret. The light which surrounded him seemed to shrink and become more solid, and soon enough he could glimpse what resembled a golden, ethereal wolf snarling over him.
He believed he understood well enough what was going on, and more importantly, he soon realized the beast holding him down wasn't particularly strong when it didn't have the element of surprise. He lifted himself off the cold, dewy grass, the 'wolf' dissolving into magical energy as it impacted the ground after being thrown. He once again turned his attention to where the strange voice had come from, his sword held with the intention to kill.
Next to Lancer, who once again held a skillful combat stance, stood the newcomer. The wind itself seemed to be milking the dramatic effect of the situation, for it blew in a way that caused his long hair and trenchcoat to dance wildly in the breeze. Even the several metal chains around his neck made a soft ringing sound as they lightly brushed against each other. His face, one of age and experience, appeared fierce as his eyes stared down the swordsman.
"So, the poor little puppy needs his master to bail him out? How do you expect to win the war like that?" he blond man shouted, obviously trying to goad the so called 'master'.
"None of your concern, Saber," the old man responded coolly. His referring to him by that name seemed to amuse the man who, appropriately enough, was brandishing a sword. "Lancer, we're finished here, understood?"
Lancer bowed and answered with a respectful "Yes, Master," but Saber did not appear dissuaded. Twirling his sword in his hands as if it were a child's toy, he casually stepped towards the pair.
"Come on now, what do you have to fear? It's two against one, isn't it? This should be easy enough for you!" Saber said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.
Rather than giving a response in words, Lancer's master swiftly made a sign with his hands, as if he was making a cat gesture to Saber. Some words were quickly uttered, and another surge of radiance pierced Saber's retinas like hot knives. Three of the wolves appeared before him, glowing teeth bared and ghostly claws raised as they leapt towards their prey.
It took Saber but one mighty swing of his sword to dismiss them, but his enemies had bought all the time they needed. Lancer, carrying his master around the waist, leapt into the distant horizon, moving so quickly even Saber's unnatural speed would not be enough to keep up with him.
"Tch, cowards." Saber grunted, idly impaling the ground his sword and leaning on the pommel. His eyes and left hand went to his side, where Lancer had tried and failed to deliver a decisive blow. The stroked the scratch-mark with his fingers, pleased that it didn't as much as sting. "At least I'll have something interesting to report," he thought out loud. With that, he picked up his sword once more, only for it to suddenly vanish into the nether. Saber started walking leisurely in the direction opposite to the one his enemies had fled towards, humming an old chant he recalled from his youth long ago.
The night was much less lively in the town than it had been in the now-empty field not far from it. Aside from scattered street lamps, there was little light, as the occupants of every little home that littered the sidewalks had by this hour already given into the sweet allure of sleep. This made the sight of a seemingly Asian man, wearing ornamental forest-green robes and carrying a clearly deadly weapon, even more unusual, but it also meant there was little risk of anyone actually seeing him. Anyone besides his equally unusual companion, who appeared exhausted now despite not having been the one to engage in melee combat.
"I apologize, Master." Lancer said in a low voice, so as not to alert anyone of their presence, "I failed my duty as your servant by requiring your protection."
"You definitely have. But don't go getting suicidal about it. You're still my servant, and I still have every reason to believe we'll win this war," the master replied, walking briskly along-side him. His head was tilted upwards, gazing at the majestic sky through the locks of unkempt gray hair that invaded his field of vision.
"I will not disappoint your beliefs," Lancer said, trying to assure his master today's events were a fluke. After all, this had happened only because he did not anticipate his enemy's level of defense. He still recalled well the feeling as he attempted to impale the exposed skin of that strange foe. It felt rather like striking a rock with a dull knife: his flesh had easily resisted a blow from a weapon that would have easily ripped apart metal armor.
Of course, he had known that his foe was, like himself, no mere man. They were both something beyond, something much more powerful. They were, in a way, living legends. Embodiments of ancient heroes, their true identities having long ago faded, replaced by characters in epic tales. Men who had surpassed their fellow men to become paragons of their time, now called upon to serve humanity once more. Heroic Spirits.
However, this alone did not explain much. Even among their own kind, protection of the caliber displayed by Saber's mere skin was still considered unnatural. Even the most durable of Heroic Spirits would, under normal circumstances, still be cut open by a well-delivered blow, although the actual damage such a wound would cause is debatable.
The one he had fought had something beyond the mere endurance inherent to his status as an ancient hero. He had possessed a mysterious power. A power borne of the facts and myths which intermingled to form the hero's legacy. The physical embodiment of the items and deeds associated with the hero in question. In short, the protection was due to what Lancer knew was a Noble Phantasm.
Of course, any servant in Lancer's place could have easily gleaned as much after the battle. This information still didn't tell him much about the nature of his enemy's protection. In fact, Lancer wasn't even quite sure he was right in his assumption. There was a possibility that it was not a mysterious power of legend that protected the enemy, but rather it was merely a skill he had picked up in life. Considering how dangerous this Saber had proved to be in their very brief duel, he was not very eager to get another chance to study it closely.
"Something on your mind?" the old man asked, noting Lancer had appeared to be in deep thought.
"Just wondering, Master. Wondering… what exactly I am facing this time."
There was something about being addressed as 'Master', the man thought, which made him feel satisfied. If anything, he felt it suited him better than his own name. Johannes had always sounded terribly feminine to him, and Fleischer just didn't sound very appealing, nor did he enjoy the fact that it implied his being a "butcher". He had no love of killing, after all: he did it only because, in his current circumstances, it was unavoidable.
"It's far too soon in the war for us to be sure of that. Technically, the war hasn't even started, since there yet remain servants to summon before all seven are here." Johannes said, though that made neither of them feel very comfortable about their lack of knowledge.
"As you say, Master."
And with that said, the two said not a word save for in their own heads, quietly slipping away into the night.