Father Pastore glanced up from the scripture, having detected something. Although faint, he heard the sounds of powerful blows being exchanged even in the Church, as the slight tremors rippled through the ground and vibrated his feet.
Walking to the top of the roof, he looked out to the west of the city, past the many concrete and glass buildings and late night lit windows, where the source of the destruction originated. Despite his age, his eyes seemed to penetrate the darkness through several kilometers, zeroing on the battle that raged. But it could not quite be called sight that he used to observe the conflict. Rather a detection from years of experience allowed him to grasp a faint understanding of the contestants.
Although the outwards projection of the battle was dimmed by a bounded field, there could only be so much done to conceal a battle between Berserker and any other Servant on the outskirts of the city. Combined with the Priest's enhanced detection, he had no problem finding the location of the battle, a furious storm of blades and gunfire raging between Saber and Berserker.
From a distance, he observed the battle, capturing the fight with careful thought. "My my, is that the great hero of strength from the scriptures? What fury, befitting his tale, I suppose." Looking at Berserker, he remained unfazed by the ferocity of his attacks, which were digging deep gouges in the surrounding concrete landscape. Instead, his face was one of amusement, before his eyes fell to the turban wearing Saber.
"And is that a leader of the brother faith?" The priest looked at the Islamic warrior with hints of both respect and entertainment. "To think I could still see such wonders at my age. Perhaps I should join them." Musing to himself, he shifted his attention to the newcomer who had joined, charging in on an elephant that shook earth with every step. "Then again, these old bones of mine might not last very long if I engage in such strenuous activity."
Sighing, the priest glanced once more at the ongoing conflict, before issuing a small prayer of salvation for all those involved and descending the stairs.
"What? This is a Church, how is there nothing valuable here?" The husky voice of a young man echoed through the empty church, tinged with panic and the anxiety of uncertainty.
"Maybe they hid them, Richard. They would at least be smart enough to hide their valuables if they are going to leave the front door unlocked."
"Yeah, good point, Emily. Look around for hidden vaults or something."
"The door is unlocked so that those seeking salvation may find it here." Father Pastore entered the main hall of the Church, standing in the doorway. "I must inform you that the wealth of the faithful is not material, but spiritual. You will find no gold or riches here, I'm afraid."
"What?! Why are you still here, old man? Shouldn't you be asleep?" The man assumed to be Richard spun around, his face concealed with a shoddy cloth mask. Standing the same height as the priest, the young man held a pistol in his right hand. "Don't come any closer!"
"Yeah, we don't want to hurt you, just let us take whatever valuables you have and we'll let you go unharmed."
Father Pastore merely shook his head as he walked towards them unperturbed, his arms folded behind his back, "I have already told you, child, there is nothing valuable to steal here, only the gift of faith to give. What do you hope to do with that toy in your hand? You're shaking so much I fear a sneeze will knock you over."
"Sh-shut up. Hand over your donations then or something. And don't come any closer!"
"Now now, put that away before you hurt yourself, child." Stepping face to face with his robber, the priest could see the fear that clouded his and his partner's eyes. Letting out a small sigh, he grasped the barrel of the pistol, gently pulling it from the man's grasp. "Really, you should take care of yourself better."
"Ah-" The man remained frozen, unsure of what to do next.
"Then what are we supposed to do?! We snuck in and tried to steal your stuff!" The young woman spoke up, her voice shaking, "Are you going to shoot us?" Although she remained standing, the fear that saturated her voice seemed to indicate she could collapse any second. She was confused why, but the old priest seemed to send cold shivers down her spine. But that made no sense. His words and movements were nothing if not gentle.
"I know not what drove you to such depths of desperation. But look at where you stand. This is a house of mercy and salvation." Father Pastore gestured to the interior of the church which suddenly seemed much bigger. Unloading the clip and ejecting the round in the chamber, he placed the empty gun on a pew beside him, before raising his hand, as though to bless the two. "I pray that you two find strength and safety in all that you face, and that the Lord may be with you. Remember, the doors are always open to those seeking. Now, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave, as I have some guests I must tend to soon, and I don't wish to keep them waiting. Do take care."
"Uhhhh, alright." Although somewhat confused, the gentle tone the priest spoke in seemed to put the duo at ease. With their jumbled minds, they left through the doors of the Church, slightly startled by the events that had transpired, but feeling a welling sense of joy having experienced such a gentle refute. It was almost as though the priest had reached into their hearts and filled it with mercy. That was the only way to explain their joy. Upliftingly, they walked down the road, enthusiastically discussing their possibilities, the desperation and fear they earlier felt now but a shadow.
"Huh, why were we so desperate back there?" The young man took off his mask, trying to understand their botched burglary.
"I think we really needed the money for that internship at the gas company."
"Really? It all seems so fuzzy. Ah well, I'll just get a different job."
"Yeah, seems like a good idea."
"Excuse me, but can you point me in the direction of the Church?"
Huh? Is that an Irish accent? The young woman turned her head, seeing a purple haired woman wearing a suit. "Oh, at this hour? Well, there is a nice old man there right now, I guess. Just keep walking down this road, it'll be on your right." What is that slung over her shoulder?
"Yeah, he's really nice. Are you looking for a priest?"
"I guess you could say that. He's nice?"
"Yeah, totally. I think you'll understand when you see him."
"Hm, okay. Thanks." Turning, the purple haired woman continued walking down the street towards the Church.
"You say he was nice, but didn't you get shivers when we were in there?" Emily suddenly turned towards her partner.
"Mmmh, yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember feeling something like that. But I thought that was just because I was cold or something."
"Maybe."
Father Pastore waved goodbye as the two stumbled out of the Church. He appeared unaware of the six other bodies that remained in the building.
The Dead Apostle hanging by his feet from the rafters felt his lips curl into a smile, satisfied that apparently they had remained undetected. Vorel was the leader of this group, an experienced Executor and Mage killer, having slaughtered countless individuals until recently. His face swept around the room looking towards his companions, four others surrounding the old priest, ready to pounce.
Klara-in was perched atop the cross that hung behind the altar at the front of the room, her body like a statue dozens of meters above the ground. Hujin and Fengli were on either side of the balconies that overlooked the pews, ready to drop down and pounce on the priest. Jane was crouched above the entrance of the doorway, ready to pounce on anyone that tried to flee.
All of them shared a telepathic connection. Having moved into position after the Priest went to the rooftop, they had waited for the two thieves to leave after manipulating them in the first place. If they had shot the old man, that would have been fine, but either outcome was acceptable. In this case, they had served as a valuable distraction, and gauge against their enemy. At the moment, at least, the priest appeared unaware of their presence.
Killing this old man is going to be far too easy. It's a shame that we had to let those two meat bags go. Vorel prepared to leap from his position as he transmitted his order to the rest of his entourage.
Was Serith that concerned that he would be a threat? Klara-in, communicated from atop the cross, her thoughts saturated with bloodlust and an eagerness to carry out the mission. Too bad his blood will be old and stale.
Some of these Church members have great quality blood, from what I hear. Years of holy devotion and asceticism supposedly add flavor and depth. Not dissimilar to monks in the east. Fengli, a muscle bound undead, licked his lips.
Then we will find out won't we. Uttering his last command, Vorel crouched upside down, pulling himself closer to the ceiling rafters, before pushing off like a spring, the force ringing the metal like a bell. Wind rushed past his body as he zoomed towards his target, the metallic clang acting like a signal as the others all sprang into action, leaping towards the unguarded priest.
The only one that remained in position was Jane, crouching above the door acting like a guard. She was the swiftest and would catch him if he tried to run.
Almost simultaneously, the four Dead Apostles closed in on the priest. Klara-in would run her hand through his chest, while Hujin and Fengli would smash both his arms. Finally, Vorel would rip out his throat. They were all seasoned Dead Apostles, and would tear most Executors and Mages to bits. On numerous occasions, the Mage's Association had teamed up with the Church in an effort to exterminate them to no avail. Their plan was impeccable, and would have spelled doom for even the most experienced combatants, even more so a powerless old man. They had severely misjudged the abilities of their enemy, however.
Initially standing still, Pastore seemed to be the perfect target. Without warning, his body seemed to suddenly appear to the left of where he had been standing, as he sidestepped the stab aimed at his back. Klara-in had a moment to register the surprise of her attack slicing through empty air before a downwards elbow smashed her head, splattering it on the ground. A crack rang out as the impact echoed through the dark church.
Reversing his motion, Father Pastore now took aim at the dead apostles on either side before they had a moment to react. Raising his right leg, he twisted his lower body through the air in an arc, his shin smashing through the skulls of Hujin and Fengli before they could guard. Two more cracks sounded as their immortal lives were instantly cut short. His roundhouse kick sliced through the air covered in blood, as though painting a crescent of crimson. All this happened in less than a second.
WHAT?! Vorel had a moment to defend against the punch that flew towards his head, raising his forearms to defend. The upwards angled fist slammed into him like a cannon, fracturing his forearms before smashing him through three pews. Disoriented, the century old Dead Apostle stood up, confused. Taking a moment to understand the fate that had befallen his companions, he shouted, his voice confused and shocked not yet fully comprehending, "WHO ARE YOU?!"
Father Pastore's gentle face had vanished into a wall of stoicism as he walked towards the undead individual. "I am a Servant of the Lord, and lead those who seek salvation to it. You are not welcome here." Without warning, he kicked the ground with his rear leg, propelling his body forwards. Stepping in close before the Dead Apostle could react to this new blow, he launched a straight punch, destroying his brain instantly.
Jane, who had watched her comrades get slaughtered, had a moment of shock as she remembered Serith's warning. "Be careful, or you might die." Her face and tone had all indicated that she was joking, her bubbly tone reassuring there was nothing to fear from this old priest. Clearly, they had been mistaken.
Dropping down, she burst through the doors of the Church into the city night. Moving with an agility that bellied physics, she was still unsure if she could escape. She was not sure where to run, just anywhere away from here.
It was an unusual phenomenon. Most Dead Apostles, upon achieving their new form, had felt the emotion of fear dull as they became immortal. Jane was one such vampire, having forgotten the helpless feeling in the century of her immortality. Now, the pressure was overwhelming, like a force that threatened to crush her. I have to get out of here.
About to take off, she saw a woman with purple hair in front of her walking towards the Church, just as she also noticed her. Jane needed something to quench this fear. Seeing that the person in front of her, she detected a noticeable amount of mana running through her veins and darted forward. Their blood would calm her down.
It mattered not to her that the mage might have defenses. She was the fastest of the group, and would simply tear this mage to shreds before they could react, like so many others. After all, the mages she had fought were helpless in close combat.
Crouching, she dashed forward, her feet leaving marks in the concrete as she launched her body forward. Her acceleration turned her body into a blur as she made a beeline for the mage's neck.
In her fear and panic, she never detected the fist before it ended her life, smashing through her temple instantly. Bazett had immediately put up her guard seeing the girl stumble out of the Church. Instantly reinforced her limbs and with mana running through her runes, her strength and power had increased to truly inhuman proportions that surpassed even that of a Dead Apostles. With a twist of her upper body, she delivered the overhand right that ended the Dead Apostle's surprise charge. Like a cannonball, her fist smashed through the Apostle's Head with enough force to reduce concrete to rubble, splattering it's brains everywhere.
"I'm not dying to a surprise attack again." Muttering, she flicked her gloves, shaking off the blood, before inscribing a rune on the corpse. A small pulse of mana, and the corpse began to burn away. It would leave a burn in the pavement, but the evidence would be destroyed.
"Now then, I think I can guess what you were running from." Turning to face the Church once more, she pushed open its doors, being greeted by the bloodstained scene in front of her. Standing over one of the corpses in the center of several destroyed pews, an old priest looked up from his prayer. "Oh, I apologize for this unsightly display."
"That is alright. I assume you are the one who did this, Father Pastore?"
"Yes, that is correct. As a member of the Church, it is one of my sworn duties to eliminate those that have abandoned humanity if they cross my path.."
Hmph. Who was stupid enough to try and assassinate a ex-Burial Agency candidate? Bazett took a final look around at the destroyed bodies before turning her attention to the priest, who now bore a much gentler expression. "Bazett, of the Mages Association. I am here as a supervisor for the War. I hope we can work together." Better than my last collaboration with a certain priest, at least.
The priest smiled. "Of course. Though I am surprised that you are not participating yourself. It is also rare that the duty of a supervisor is assigned to someone outside of the Church."
"Well, the last two wars in the Fuyuki ritual showed that having a contingency is prudent. The actions of the Supervisor there, Kotomine Kirei, caused widespread destruction and threatened the continuation of Magecraft. That is not to say that most Church members are like Kotomine Kirei, but for these reasons Lord El Melloi the Second has seen fit to send another neutral representative to keep a close eye on the situation. But I will leave the mediation largely to your discretion. Instead, my focus will be directed towards investigating suspicious activity and neutralizing threats before they get out of hand, as might happen in a Holy Grail War."
"I understand. Then, allow me to introduce myself as Father Pastore. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." Taking one last look at the destroyed Church, Bazett turned around, preparing to leave. "It is a bit abrupt, but do you know why these Dead Apostles decided to search you out and attack?"
The priest thought for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, not specifically. I suppose my regular encounters with such beings has masked the fact that this is one of the few times they deliberately targeted me. Not that you mention it, it is irregular that they sought out myself as a target."
"I see." Bazett seemed to nod to herself, before stepping out of the Church. "Good luck, Father Pastore."
"May the Lord be with you, Bazett."
"Ah… I feel like an old man." John rotated his right shoulder, testing its range of motion and intactness after pulling that stunt of his on the rooftop. Although it ached, his harness had saved him most of the damage, and his right shoulder appeared functional, if sore.
"Is that so? You shouldn't say that in front of someone older than you." Obe sat in a plumply padded chair in front of him. The two were currently in a nearby hotel, in a different room that John had arranged ahead of time. It was one of several safehouses he had planned in case his primary base of operations became compromised. Normally, he would have balked at the costs such a plan would have racked up, but now things were different with a Lord backing this venture.
"Of course, my apologies." John tilted his head, before looking at Obe again. "Now then, I suppose we should discuss our next course of action? Namely, how we we going to win this war."
"That is correct. I do not care at the moment whether or not you have a wish for the grail. We will cross that bridge when we reach it. Instead, let us focus on the Servants that we agree should be focused on first before we turn against each other. Individually, we stand little chance, so there is no reason for betrayal. Assassin?"
"Right, I guess that's my cue." Assassin materialized besides his master, his small stature and dark figure blending in like a shadow behind the chair, despite the well lit room. "So, I discovered a particular servant that will wipe the floor with both of us while scouting out the other Masters. Berserker is a beast I don't want to mess with, though I've had a stab at his True Name just from a glance."
"While it wounds my pride somewhat that you suspect we would stoop to betray an ally, I understand your reasoning." Lancer stood behind his master, arms folded, listening in on the conversation. "In war, it is a tenuous balancing act of risks one must master. But what is it about this Berserker that makes them so fearsome?"
"Glad to hear you're understanding." Assassin smiled, amused by Lancer's response, "Well, you see, spearman of the east, Berserker seems to be a certain strong man originating from the Bible, as well the corresponding sections of the Torah and Quran."
Lancer's hand twitched, hearing how Assassin addressed him. "And, do tell, what makes you so certain about his identity?"
"For the same reason I know the True Names of Archer, Caster, and you, son of the dragon. I just need a glance to know the name of a hero."
Lancer tensed, hearing Assassin's proclamation. "Then, you know my identity when I have yet to unleash my Noble Phantasm?"
"What?" John felt his a flash of cold knowing his Servant's identity had been revealed so early on. "How is that possible?"
"Hahaha, relax, you could still kill me easily, no need to be so on guard. Hell, even knowing your identity doesn't give me any advantages fighting against you. It's a nice skill that comes with who I am, but knowing is just half the battle. I know Berserker's identity, even his weakness, but that is meaningless if he squashes me before I can exploit it."
Assassin's voice suddenly became slightly more serious, as his tone indicated the weight behind his next words. "And you stand no chance alone against that beast. I could say the same for Caster. And although I can't confirm it, I am almost sure the Archer I fought was holding back. Your outlook on a solo victory is virtually untenable. You may be an incredibly skilled hero, trust me, I know, but you have limits. That's not even mentioning the possibilities of Saber and Rider."
"Hmph. Although you know my True Name, it would seem you do not know everything about my abilities. So long as I hold this spear, victory is always possible. But you have a point. It makes sense that we should join forces for now. Your intel is invaluable, and combined with my frontal attacks we stand a greater chance for victory together."
"Glad to hear it. Anyways, the name of the Berserker we need to watch out for is Samson, the strongest man in the Bible."
"Samson? The one with long hair and incredible strength?" John racked his brain, trying to recall the tales he had learned from his interactions with the Church.
"That is correct." Obe spoke up now, "The same one that once slaughtered dozens of people in a fit of range with his bare hands to take their cloaks. In a single day he killed a thousand armed philistine with a donkey jawbone."
"Yeah, I remember. Not unlike Heracles, he slaughtered a lion with his bare hands as well. Damn, he is going to be a tough enemy alright. In terms of power, he is on the level of Cu Chulainn and Heracles. Though, considering his widespread influence as a figure in the Bible, he might even be a level above." John sighed, thinking about the future enemy. "Say, what does he look like as a Servant Berserker then?"
"Huge," Assassin grinned, "That's the best word to describe him. His muscles have muscles, and he looks like he's ready to crush everything in front of him. Good luck taking him on in a head fight."
Lancer looked down in thought, before turning to his Master, "Based on what the Grail has told me about this Servant, I have just a chance at victory, but even with a Command Seal it's a long shot. Furthermore, in a battle of endurance, I find it unlikely I would last long enough to deplete his Master's mana before I took an unlucky blow. Assassin isn't wrong about us needing assistance to fight him."
"Yep, he's a scary alright. But he also has a glaring weakness. Namely, his hair.." Assassin's voice returned to his light hearted tone. "In the tale of Delilah, he was coerced into giving up the secret to his power. His uncut hair is symbolic of his covenant with the God of Israel. Considering how widespread this God is worshipped, including the different variations on the tale, it is safe to assume Berserker possesses incredible power. Of course, conversely, that means his weaknesses are ever more prominent. Now, that knowledge is meaningless if I'm alone. After all, just a glance let me know that he is going to be guarding his weakness fiercely, and I would need someone else's help to successfully cut his hair before being squashed. And if we don't cut his hair, we'll likely just end up wasting our energy."
"Very well. That sounds reasonable." Lancer nodded in agreement at the analysis.
"Then, I suppose we should take a break for now. Running on fumes will get us nowhere. We can formulate an effective strategy tomorrow, as well as discuss the other Servants." Obe said.
"Yeah, you're right. I suppose you don't want to talk about the identities of the other Servants yet. A nice bargaining chip. We can worry about that later." John stretched, stifling a yawn. "This first day has been exhausting."
"I am glad to see you are doing alright now." Obe's face cracked a smile, before he stood up to leave. "Then, shall we meet again at this location?"
"Sounds good." John nodded, before sitting back in his chair, watching as Obe left the room. After staring at the ceiling for a few moments, listening to the sound of his new ally leave, he turned to Lancer who watched the door with his arms folded. "Are they gone?"
"It would appear so." Lancer let his arms fall to his side, before turning to his Master once more. "I believe we can trust those two for now, even if he is the Assassin servant. It is as he said, he has no reason for betraying us before Berserker is eliminated."
"Yeah, I know." John sighed, still staring at the ceiling light. "I'm just worried about how things will work out after. I have a job to make sure that the Grail doesn't fall into the wrong hands, and the easiest way is by winning it. But now, I've placed myself squarely in the field of Assassin's realm."
"I understand your concern, my Lord. But I swear on my honor to protect you with everything I have. In the meantime, I recommend you take a break. A tired warrior or commander is as dangerous to themselves as they are the enemy."
"Yeah, you got a point. I have to finish something first, though." Sitting up, he reached into his pocket for his phone. Checking the time, he winced at the display, before contemplating a later time to wake up. It's already 1:30. If I sleep at 2:00 I should probably set back my wakeup time. Is it going to be alright, sleeping in during a war? Scratching his head, John silently contemplated his choices, before shrugging. Most battles should be fought at night anyways. I just need to trust Lancer to keep an eye out in the meantime. Besides, ensuring I get enough sleep is going to be crucial to supplying a steady stream of Mana to Lancer.
Dialing in a number, he braced himself to talk with his employer. Anxiously tapping his left finger on the couch, he waited as three beeps passed, before he heard a raspy voice, tired from overwork respond, "This is Lord El Melloi the Second. To whom am I speaking?"
"Hey, this is John here, are you doing alright?"
"John?" A silent pause followed as the Lord fell silent. "OH. Dammit. Right. John, do you have an update for the Holy Grail war?"
Did he just forget who I was? Is he getting overworked? "Yeah, I summoned my Servant, Lancer. It's as you said, these dudes are crazy strong."
"Hm. Just make sure he doesn't die."
"What?"
"Don't worry about it. By any chance, are they Irish?"
John looked back at his servant, dressed in Chinese armor, his face listening intently to the conversation with a calm stare. "Uh, no. Why?"
"Hm. Just making sure. Anyways, found anything new about the war specifically?"
John's reflected back on the encounter several hours earlier on top of the roof. From his overlook of the city, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. "No, I was just attacked by another Master. Caster and his Master almost took me out before I even made it through the first day." Recalling the event, he rolled his right shoulder, as though the mere memory renewed the intense physical punishment. "Seriously, how is it that people currently living can fight against a Servant? Shouldn't that be illegal?"
"Hm. That IS unusual. In most situations the Mage's Association relies on the Grail War being a self contained event, wherein the Servant's strengths are cancelled out by each other rather than on the world. The command seals are also supposed to be an absolute check on their power, so no matter how powerful the summoned individual is, they cannot present a threat without their Master. And if all else fails, the existence of a Servant requires a Master to anchor them to this world with a supply of Mana."
The Lord paused for a moment, remembering something, "Though, there are instances where if a Servant can find an external source of Mana they can potentially sustain themselves even without the supply of a Master. Other cases occur where the Servant has an ability that nullifies the ability of the Command Spell entirely, or the Master is a willing or active participant in the Servant's genocide." The Lord's breath seemed to deepen, as though he had begun physical exertion. It appeared some of these memories were rather taxing to recall. "In such a case, the standard procedure is to eliminate the Servant using the power of other Servants before they grow out of hand. Worse case scenario, the Mage's Association is a cast society with enough manpower to suppress even a Servant, though even this is tenuous depending on the specific Servant and situation. The same can be said for the Church, with their executioners."
"Yeah, but what about singular individuals going toe to toe with a Servant? Any information about that?" John thought, recalling the massive power the female mage wielded, nearly wiping him out.
"Although it is exceedingly rare, there do exist individuals who could challenge a Servant with a sliver possibility for victory. Several ancient bloodlines or mutations in the Mage's Association, weapon wielders from the Atlas Institute, or special individuals from the Wandering Sea are all possibilities for those that exceed common understanding of limitations. The Church has it's Burial Agency." Another pause passed before he continued. "Have you read the report for the Fifth holy Grail war yet?"
"No, I was in the middle of doing so before I was rudely interrupted by my aggressor. She was the one who managed to pressure my Servant before almost reducing me to cinders."
"Well, I mention that because in the Fifth Holy Grail war it was reported that there were three instances wherein non-Servants successfully injured or even defeated Servants. One was reinforced with Caster's magic and used the element of surprise, one used close range physical combat against Caster, and the final had an ability that let him counter the Servant's ability, albeit with assistance."
"So, in all these cases mentioned, there is more or less a caveat to each encounter. None of them could overpower a Servant without outside assistance or finding a specific chink in their armor. Then, do you have any recollection of someone with enough magical energy to overwhelm a Servant in a head on battle?"
"Such a person would transcend the common laws of magecraft…" The overworked voice on the other side of the line fell silent as he sorted through his thoughts for possible names. "Perhaps someone directly connected to the grail could output enough magical energy to overwhelm Servants… wait. What did this mage that you fight look like?"
John was caught off guard by the question and sudden tone change, before he began to picture the image in his head. "Uh.. Woman that looks about my age,Northern European descent. Scandinavian if I had to guess. Slim build, wearing a formal small dress… Kinda cold and aloof? Why do you ask?"
The frustrated sigh of the Lord could be heard through the phone. "I thought that was just a rumor. But if I am correct, that was Svenia Centauri Sol Yggdrasil. If she is a participant, she is likely the one you want to watch out for."
"That's quite a mouthful." John tried repeating the name to no avail. "What should I know about her?"
"If it's her, then I can understand your question. Even among Mage bloodlines the Yggdrasil family is ancient, and their pedigree is supposedly leagues above others, despite their relative isolation. On top of that, she is a genius within the bloodline, a mutation with incredible potential. She's blessed with the highest quality magical circuits, a vast quantity of them, and the skill of a seasoned mage."
"Kinda anti-social for someone that is so recognized." John thought back to their meeting on the rooftop, and the terse words interspersed between the fireballs. Kinda pretty though. Or is that the adrenaline speaking?
"Well, the family is notoriously isolated, and her presence is even more protected as a prize of the family. Her whole existence has been dedicated to refining her potential even further. But it is this culmination of factors that lets her compete with Servants."
"Ah. Damn, so her magical capabilities are that potent, huh. So how do I beat her?"
"I'm sorry, but that is the extent I know about her abilities. Her specializations and affinities are a closely guarded secret. Your best bet is probably using your Servant to eliminate her." The Lord's voice exhaustion seemed to grow as he bemoaned the growing complications. "Which Servant is she using?"
"Caster apparently. He also almost killed me." John remembered the tidal wave that had nearly crushed him before Assassin whisked him away.
"Huh. Strange, I would have imagined her using Berserker with her vast amounts of Mana."
"Anyways, I should continue with my report. I've allied with Assassin for the time being, and he is providing valuable intel. Lancer is a capable warrior whose ability in frontal combat I am confident in. Caster and his Master are the sole participants I've made contact with, and nothing seems out of the ordinary from above."
"Understood. You should make contact soon with the enforcer I sent your way. She is there to act as an independent investigator in the Holy Grail war. Although she won't be a Master, you can count on her strength."
"Can you send me another profile? My last documents were destroyed in the battle."
"Hm. Her name is Bazett Fraga McRemitz, a Sealing Designation Enforcer. Her combat capabilities are top-notch in close combat. She has purple hair and stands taller than the average woman."
"I'll try to make contact with her tomorrow." Stifling out a sigh, John checked the time once more, noting the approaching 2:00 mark. "I should get some rest if I want to make it to the complimentary breakfast. It's your money I'm using afterall."
"Tch, no need to remind me about how much this war is going to cost me. Why do you even need five rooms?"
"Well, you know how I can't set up a bounded field, so I have to use other methods to create safe spaces and opportunities to rest up."
"Was it necessary to only reserve four star hotels?" The hint of annoyance had grown as he finished the sentence, emphasizing the sizable fortune John's strategy had taken.
"Check in with you later." Hurriedly ignoring his employer's remarks, John hung up. Taking off his kevlar reinforced summer shirt, his mind wandered to the encounter he had faced today. Glancing at his vest on a nearby table, he stared at the magazine with a white cross painted on it. It was a weapon of last resort, but after his experience today, he was now unsure about it's reliability.
"Ah damnit, when is it going to get here?" Briefly, he wondered if his order had been caught or disrupted. "No, the wards should guarantee that it arrives intact. If not I'll have a serious talk with Glasses when this is over."
Taking off the rest of his sweat stained clothes, he checked his right shoulder for signs of damage, the only marks being red streaks from where the harness rubbed against his skin. "Ah, I could really use a shower."
"I suppose it should have been a given that you were well trained." Lancer voice interjected, startling John.
"Gah! I thought you were busy watching the door."
"I am."
"Well, focus on that." John tried to recover his composure as he grabbed a towel before proceeding to the shower. "Thanks for the compliment, but it kinda seems trivial compared to what some Mages can do, and even more so in the case of you Servants."
"Is that so?" Lancer averted his eyes, noting that his Master was not entirely wrong. Without Magecraft to reinforce their bodies, even the most well trained individuals had their physical abilities dwarfed by supernatural beings.
"Well, not completely I guess. Since I'm not a Mage, I need to use every advantage I get. If I can push my body just a bit more to increase my chances of victory by that slightest margin, I figure I should do it." Turning on the faucet, he stepped into the warm water shower. Like a switch, his fatigue seemed to melt away as he continued talking with his Servant outside. I guess this is a benefit of urban warfare. No sand in my ass this time, at least.
"I wholeheartedly agree. Your efforts to better your physical abilities through training is a trait I find highly respectable. It was not dissimilar to my own experiences when I was alive."
"Hahaha, really? Thanks, Lancer. It is really great hearing that from a Hero of History." John laughed, before choking on some water. "Anyways, you seemed like you wanted to say something while I was on the phone with Waver. Something up?"
"No. I am not sure. It could simply be a trick from me being summoned to this era, but the man on the other side of the device sounded incredibly similar to a man in my time. He wasn't exactly the same, but his demeanor and essence seemed incredibly similar."
"Oh? Who is that?"
"The strategist Zhuge Liang. A man who I respected immensely despite not being a warrior."
"Really? That's quite the compliment to give to the 'Lord female students most want to sleep with.' I suppose he does fit that intellectual narrative especially well though, given his lack of aptitude for Magecraft." Stepping out of the shower, John toweled down before putting on his sleep wear, a simple t-shirt and shorts. Looking at him drying his hair, one could have forgotten that he was at war if they missed the mini armory on the nearby desk.
After toweling his short hair vigorously, he blasted it briefly with a hairdryer before walking over to his bed, collapsing into its sheets and sinking into the covers. "Ah, thank humanity for civilization." Crawling into the pillows, John slipped underneath the blankets, too tired to be on guard. There was hardly a reason to, after all. He had made sure to leave no traces. Not being able to use Magecraft had some perks in concealing the presence of an individual from non-magical users.
But in the unlikely event of being found out, he felt his black polymer handgun resting on the nightstand next to the alarm clock that now said 2:00. "Alright. I trust you, Lancer."
"I'll be keeping watch in my spiritual form to minimize my Mana uptake."
"Night night.