Of Swords and Redemption

by Saber is a Cutie

He had failed. The grail had been closed but at the cost of everything he held dear. Now, reborn in a new world, Emiya Shirou was left to contemplate the horrors and failures that had befallen him. He had deluded himself in believing he could escape from destiny. There was only one path left for him: to be the sword he had always been fated to be.

4. Chapter 4

"They started it."

The childish excuse left my mouth before I could really think of a proper one. Not that it wasn't accurate, of course. Those boys did start the fight despite my warnings, and they were the ones that threw the first strike. Still, saying such a cliché phrase at my age—apparent appearance notwithstanding—felt just ever so slightly embarrassing.

Oh well. Zenith did mention that I should act more like a child anyway.

"I don't care. You should know better, Shirou!"

I couldn't help but mentally roll my eyes at her suddenly high expectations of me. It was absurd, I thought, to instill in me the importance of enjoying my childhood innocence with the same breath she was using to lecture me on maturity. I was not some child that needed to be babied and protected. Her concern was unnecessary, and quite frankly, bordering on troublesome. I had accepted her words earlier in a moment of weakness, when they had evoked memories of the past, of people who had given me the same loving words with that same loving tone with that same loving smile. But I knew where that path had ended, and I was apprehensive of traversing down upon it again.

A snappy retort laid at the tip of my tongue, ready to let loose my thoughts on her concerns, to brush aside her thoughts as nothing more than the worries of a woman who didn't know any better. To systematically dismantle her words and rip it into shreds in front of her,

The words I had in mind were direct and straightforward but also extremely snide and rude. Flippant to the point of offensive. Dismissive to the point of scornful. They were meant to plunge the proverbial knife, dripping with derision and ridicule, into the fragile woman and twist it to truly drive the point across because there was no better teacher than pain.

Of course, Zenith had no way of knowing that. She had no way of knowing that her child wasn't a child, that anguish and pain far beyond what could be considered healthy had already shaped and tempered me, and it was that thought that reeled me back, giving me pause as I bit my tongue. The brief moment gave me time to contemplate the traitorous thoughts that had infiltrated my mind, and I grimaced at the bile that rose in my throat.

It was nauseating to think that such words had come from me. They weren't spoken aloud, thankfully, but it had been close—too close.

It was not me. Those words weren't mine. Those thoughts were more akin to something Archer might have said, ever the tactless and rude soul.

It bothered me that his thoughts were popping up in my head. It was happening more as of late, as I settled further into this new world. A snide remark here, a sarcastic quip there. His words were become more and more ever-present like a parasite, infecting my mind like a virus, slowly rotting it until what was left wasn't Emiya Shirou.

The worst part was I was slowly losing the energy and will to struggle against it. In the beginning, I had fervently denied it with all my heart. However, the parasite had patience in spades, content with losing the battle for its eyes were set on the war. It had come back again and again, and with each occurrence, my fervor had lessened in intensity until in the end, I spurned myself more for thinking such thoughts rather than the thoughts themselves.

At the rate I was going at, I might as well just put on a red cloak and dyed my hair white.

"Calm down, Zenith. Let him explain first."

"I AM CALM!"

Unsurprisingly, my unexpected defender was shut down rather quickly.

As much as I appreciated the gesture from the somewhat absentee parent, this issue was something I would need to deal with myself.

"They did start it. When I was out exploring, they were bullying Sylphiette," I explained, nodding my head towards the girl on my back. Cold azure blue darted over to the girl, and Sylphiette leaned back, her self-preservation instinctively making her wary of the livid woman.

"They were bullying you?" Zenith asked the frightened girl.

I could feel the poor girl shivering as the full attention of Zenith's icy scorn was directed at her. Slowly, trying to overcome the paralyzing fear that blanketed the area, Sylphiette's head craned down and then back up in an affirmative nod.

"…Y-Y-Y-Yes…" she answered meekly.

Zenith took in the girl's answer, humming to herself in thought. Then, those hard eyes softened, and the woman gave her a pensive look.

"I understand," she said, prompting a confused look from the girl in question. I raised an eyebrow as well, curious if she really meant those words. Zenith was a strong woman; I didn't know much about her, but I would've thought that her headstrong personality would've deterred others from bullying her. Still, everyone had to start somewhere, and I supposed that I had much to learn about the people that called themselves my family in this new world. Off to the side, Paul gave his wife a sideways knowing glance at her words, and the subtle gesture drove home just how in the dark I was about the people I lived with every day.

"And what about you, my dear rebellious son?" Those arctic orbs returned, casting their chilly gaze towards me. Her frigid tone angrily biting into my skin as her words wafted over me. Though unlike Sylphiette, I wasn't particularly affected by her menacing aura. I've been lectured by far scarier women, after all.

"I don't regret it," I shrugged. This wasn't something I would compromise on.

Unsurprisingly, that made her angrier.

"Even if I explicitly tell you that you're wrong?" I blinked in astonishment as the gentle woman's voice rose to an angry snarl. For all I had known her, Zenith had always been kind and gentle towards me, overbearingly so at times. Just this morning, she had been her usual joyful self.

"…Lady Zenith, maybe you should c—"

"Lilia, I swear, if you tell me to calm down…"

Zenith left the unspoken threat hang in the air. The maid shifted uncomfortably in place, looking as if she was standing next to a bomb with a lit fuse, which, for all intents and purposes, wasn't too far off from the truth. On the other side of the fuming woman, Paul was giving Zenith a contemplative look, gazing intently at the interaction between the two women.

With some of her anger let loose, the blonde matriarch huffed once, closing her eyes and releasing a deep exhale that seemed to stretch for an eternity. She crossed her arms and repeated breathed out once again, a shorter one, this time.

An uncomfortable pregnant pause passed, and to her credit, Zenith was beginning to show signs of increasing guilt. She awkwardly shuffled in place, teetering slightly from side to side as she lightly bounced on her feet. Her once closed eyes were half-lidded with regret as they were firmly cast towards her toes, and her crossed arms were let down, one arm at her side while the other folded across her chest to grasp it by the elbow.

"…Sorry…" An apology leaked out of Zenith. It was made with the barest of breaths, so feeble and quiet that it was carried more by the gentle afternoon breeze than the strength of Zenith's voice, but it reached its intended receiver's ears all the same.

Lilia's lips curved upwards in a small understanding smile.

"It's okay, Lady Zenith," she said, bowing in deference for good measure.

A slight nod towards her direction was all the indication that the woman heard her. Inhaling one last great lungful of air, Zenith stilled herself, closing her eyes once again for a moment before hard icy orbs snapped back open. The frozen ire was still there, but it was companied by something else, something I knew all too well. With anger came acceptance. Acceptance at what she saw, what I told her. And then that acceptance gave way to defiance, an unwillingness to continue accepting me. And from that defiance came determination.

But even I could see the fragility of her strength, that her resolve could be shattered like glass. It couldn't, wouldn't, last much longer. However, just like before, something held me back.

"Let's take this inside. We can heal your friend, and then you can tell us more about happened."

Continuing with her frosty attitude, Zenith spun on her heels and walked back into the house. Lilia followed suit, and in the front yard, it was only Paul, Sylphiette, and I.

I stepped forward to go back into the Greyrat household when an unexpected voice stopped me mid-step.

"Wait."

The surprising source of the voice almost made me stumble. I craned my head to the side at the person I had just walked past, golden orbs staring blankly upwards at the man. He was at least several heads taller than I, yet from an outsider's perspective, it would look like I was the one looking down on him. Judging from then small beads of sweat trailing down his forehead, the slightest of trembling of his knees, and the way his right hand kept emptily grasping air—no doubt he was instinctively reaching for a weapon in times of discomfort—the sheer difference in our physical statures meant little to Paul.

I cocked my head to the side, staring at him as I waited for the unexpected development to unfold.

Paul took a deep breath, stilling himself, before allowing himself to speak again.

"Zenith…is not normally like this. You noticed it, right?" To his credit, his voice only seemed slightly shaken.

"She's lectured me on similar topics before," I confessed, recalling our earlier conversation, "but this is the first time she's yelled at me."

The woman was normally fairly docile and gentle, but I supposed that everyone had their limits.

"Yeah, I figured. Normally, she's glued to you. Overprotective too," Paul said.

"It was surprising, I admit," I agreed.

The conversation slowly trailed off there as Paul's initial reason for talking was resolved. Satisfied, I turned back to the house.

"Wait."

The voice interrupted me again, freezing me in my tracks. Paul walked over to me, but the subject of curiosity was not me this time, but person on my back.

"…Ahh…" Sylphiette leaned back apprehensively, but it didn't deter Paul's advances at all. He gave her a thorough once over, experienced eyes roaming over Sylphiette and peering at her form. It didn't seem particularly malicious, so I wasn't too worried, but the same could not be said about the girl in question, who already had one terrifying encounter with a Greyrat parent.

Giving her one last look-over, Paul stepped back, giving Sylphiette some much needed space.

"You're saying you just rescued her?"

"I did."

Humming contemplatively, Paul took in the image in front of him, casting a thoughtful gaze over us.

"Well, you're certainly starting earlier than most…" he mumbled to himself while stroking his shaven chin.

I raised an eyebrow in question.

Starting what?

Sylphiette squeaked behind me, burying her face into my back.

"No—wait—that makes sense actually...if he's really my…of course he wouldn't…control himself." His mumbling deteriorated into incoherent phrases that I couldn't quite make out. He nodded to himself as if he realized some important detail and started back towards the house.

"At least you know how to pick 'em," he said, giving me a playful chop on my head as he walked past.

Strange, Paul was never quite this talkative nor friendly before. Was the tension in the family resolving itself at last?

Still, his parting comment confused me.

"Sylphiette, do you know what he's talking about?" I asked.

"N-N-N-N-No." she answered after stumbling with her words for several seconds.

Weird, why was she refusing to meet my eyes?

Shrugging helplessly at the confusing exchange, I turned and followed Paul back inside the house.

---

"Took you two long enough," the authoritative voice greeted us as soon as we stepped through the door. "What did you two even do out there?"

"Things, nothing important," Paul answered. Zenith gave him a half-lidded stare at his purposefully vague answer, and Paul sighed in defeat. "You know, just your typical father-and-son talk. Had to make sure Shirou didn't pick up some…dangerous habits from yours truly," Paul smirked, walking further inside into the dining room. Zenith was already seated, taking her place at one end of the table, and Paul sat at the other end, befitting of the two heads of the household. Off to the side, Lilia was maintaining her respectful and deferent nature, choosing to stand at Zenith's side. A chair had already been pulled out from the table and was placed on Zenith's other side, facing towards her.

Picking up the hint, I strode over and gingerly deposited Sylphiette into the empty seat. From the way her arms lingered just a bit longer around my neck, she was probably still shaken from earlier.

"Don't worry. Zenith is an expert."

Sylphiette seemed to accept my words, nodding once before balling her hands into fists in her lap and meeting Zenith's eyes, which were narrowed in observation.

Meanwhile, I took a page out of Lilia's book and like her, I chose to stand back inside the living room, content with placing myself away from them and just watch from afar.

Judging from the way three pairs of eyes lingered on me for a few uncomfortable seconds, I definitely did something wrong.

Thankfully, the silence was broken rather quickly.

Zenith huffed at Paul's cocky attitude and raised an eyebrow. "A father-and-son talk? Seriously? Now?"

Paul met with her frostiness with his own brand of nonchalance. "Sometimes these things happen."

Those bone-chilling eyes came out once again, boring holes into verdant orbs as they pried into its deepest, darkest depths—searching, probing, looking for even a single crack in Paul's stalwart indifference, so they can wrench it open and gaze into the secrets hidden within.

It was a game, one between two players unwilling to show their hands yet hesitant to force the issue. Zenith and Paul were both testing the waters, seeing if the other would let slip something vital. Their recent exchange illustrated their little contest perfectly. From a surface-level introspection, it was a fairly innocuous conversation, but with if given just a bit of context and knowledgeable about those two, and the dialogue suddenly becomes far more interesting, with a whole other, deeper layer added to the exchange and double entendres mixed into every phrase.

Of course, what those secrets they desperately wanted to know, I had no clue, nor the purpose of whatever game they were playing. Truthfully, the only reason I knew what was happening was because Tohsaka had found it prudent to teach me how to properly "read a room", so to speak, as an exercise in understanding other people and their motives, something that quickly became useful when I found myself on the wrong end of the sharp tongue of many deeply exasperated women.

From the way Lilia's eyes occasionally darted back and forth between the two, lingering in one spot before moving on, she was definitely privier to the hidden facet of their words than I was.

Honestly, it was a tedious affair. They should be more honest with themselves and each other. They should just lock themselves in a room and just lay out their feelings in a direct manner, but maybe that was just my own bone-headedness talking.

"I suppose it is."

Zenith moved those eyes towards me, and I felt the subconscious need to straighten my back even further at her glower. It didn't last long as she turned her attention onto Sylphiette, who had been nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt the entire time. Once again, her demeanor softened in an instant, and I recognized it as the same warmth she had shown me in the past.

She tenderly reached out, extending a hand down towards Sylphiette's leg. Five feminine fingers, dainty in size yet containing callouses from her adventuring days that did not detract from their beauty but added to it, slowly curled themselves around the injured ankle. Due to the lack of treatment, it had swelled considerably, and the skin had taken on a slight blue hue.

She lightly tugged it upwards, and after a moment, Sylphiette realized the woman was silently asking for permision, slowly raising her leg higher in the air until her ankle was in line with Zenith's eye.

Gently holding it in the air with one hand, Zenith moved her head around the appendage, inspecting the damage from every angle. Once again, I had to remind myself that Zenith was a seasoned adventurer with years upon years of experience dealing with life-threatening danger under her belt. She had been the healer of a prolific adventuring team with countless quests finished. No doubt that she had been forced to quickly assess injuries and complete procedures under duress with little time to spare. Compared to that, healing Sylphiette was trivial, almost insulting to her skill-level, but it spoke of the woman's professionality that she treated this case with the same seriousness as any other. Yes, if the firmness in her voice and hardness in her eyes from before was an indication that the housewife of the humble house she lived in could very easily flip the switch in her personality, then the way her eyes analytically roamed over Sylphiette, dissecting her and peering past her skin to visualize the bones and muscles underneath was a punch in the face that there was more of Zenith than she let on.

"A high ankle sprain. It doesn't seem too severe, but she definitely put weight on it. It's a lot worse than it should be. I'm guessing you kept running after you fell?"

A meek nod was her answer.

Humming in thought, Zenith looked back at the ankle.

"You kept straining the tendon, and then there's another sprain here actually, on the lower end." She pointed towards a smaller swell near the base of the ankle. "Your body put more force on the other parts of your leg to make up for the first sprain, but it gave out eventually, so now there's two," she explained.

True to her skill level, Zenith immediately diagnosed the injury as well as further damage that I didn't realize, not to mention explaining the cause to Sylphiette in an easy-to-understand manner.

"…Y-Yes…That's what happened…" Sylphiette looked stunned at Zenith figuring out what happened to her with only a cursory glance, surprise and amazement alight in her eyes.

Zenith hummed as her explanation proved true. "Good. You probably didn't notice you were in so much pain because of your adrenaline. Your body stopped you from feeling anything since you were in danger. Without it, you wouldn't have been able to move and worsen your ankle without a lot of pain."

Recognition flashed in Sylphiette's eyes.

"U-Um…Yeah…S-Shirou told me…About it when he was c-c-carrying me…."

The woman turned her head to the side slightly, just enough to look at me from the corner of her eye. Those piercing orbs were focused on me once again, not bothering to hide their judging and appraising gaze. Zenith's facial expression didn't change, but I could tell that gears were turning in that head of hers as more and more pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

"Did he now?" she said, leaving it at that.

With that offhand remark, she was back to working on Sylphiette, and I could not help but feel a sense of trepidation at her words.

I was not a natural actor or liar. I couldn't feign being a child even if I tried. From the look of things, Zenith has finally caught on—or has she always known? Paul was a given because of his reluctance to accept me, and if Lilia did show signs of wariness towards me when I was younger. That's all three members of the Greyrat household, so being cast away would only be a matter of time.

"Regardless, I'm trying to make sure I know exactly what's wrong with you before I do anything. I just like to be professional about things," she waved off. Sylphiette nodded in satisfaction, relaxing her stiff posture and becoming more pliant in Zenith's care. Seeing her patient's tension leave her body, Zenith got to work quickly.

"Let this divine power be as satisfying nourishment, giving one who has lost their strength the strength to rise again—Healing!"

With a familiar cry of magic, an inviting green glow enveloped Zenith's hand, the same as that had mended me when I was even younger. I had the opportunity to experience her magic up close but seeing it from an outsider's perspective was helpful as well.

Zenith brought her hand back onto Sylphiette's ankle, and I could only raise an eyebrow as the ugly purple bruises and inflamed tissue that had plagued Sylphiette's foot slowly disappeared until healthy, pale skin was all that was left, leaving not a single remnant of the injury in sight. Zenith examined the ankle once, turning it over and flexing it every which way to ensure everything had healed properly. With one last glance, she gently dropped the limb.

"Congratulations! You'll make a full recovery!"

"It was just a sprained ankle…" Paul interjected.

His wife didn't care to comment on it—probably for the best—and Sylphiette seemed to not have heard the comment as she got up from her chair and smiled in gratitude at the woman across from her.

This time, I watched the healing process from an outsider's perspective as opposed to being a toddler in Zenith's grasp, and I had to wonder about the differences between thaumaturgy and this world's magic. I wasn't too knowledgeable about the former myself, being a third-rate magus and all, and I was certainly no Tohsaka that would have relished this opportunity to dissect the differences in magical systems. I wasn't too interested in the possible applications for myself since I highly doubt they would work, but knowing the strengths and limitations of magi in this world could serve as invaluable information.

Not that I was looking for trouble or anything. Really, it's more that trouble finds me.

Zenith used an aria or chant before the actual healing spell activated, so I assumed that they're either help the activation process or are required for it entirely. Regardless, the usage of an aria didn't seem too different from what I saw from Tohsaka or Illya, who both used some sort of incantation in some of their spells. From what I gathered from their lectures, it was some sort of self-hypnosis, a way for magi to channel magical energy more effectively during spellcasting. It seemed correct; at the very least, I found myself subconsciously uttering an aria before using thaumaturgy, the words popping into my head because they felt right.

As for the actual spell, I would need a magus in this world to explain the entire process to me because there was only so much I could glean from sight alone. For all I knew, spells in this world could be rigid and have a fixed result, not allowing for much room in altering the end result. Does Zenith speak certain words, and the effect materializes with no other input from the caster, or is she actually changing the ebb and flow of magical energy to heal Sylphiette's body? Visualization was an important aspect of my personal magecraft, but as I've been told repeatedly in the past, I was more of an exception than anything else.

"T-T-Thank you, Miss G-G-Greyrat! I'm not s-s-sure…how to p-p-pay you back though…" she finished meekly.

Zenith smiled in understanding at the girl. She stood up, her tall size dwarfing the child in front of her. "I didn't do it for any kind of payment. I did it because I wanted to. Believe it or not, I used to be an adventurer, you know?"

"R-R-Really?" Sylphiette perked up

"Yup. I was part of a pretty good adventuring team with that oaf over there." Zenith jerked her head towards Paul, who rolled his eyes and sighed. "We went on many adventures, traveled everywhere, and met were lots of people. We were S-rank too, but we retired when we had Shirou." Zenith shrugged her shoulders.

"W-Wow…" Sylphiette trailed off in amazement. "A-Adventuring sounds like a lot of fun!"

Zenith's eyes glimmered in amusement as the girl's fascination. "Does it? Here, let's take a bath upstairs and get all this dirt off you," Zenith waved a hand over Sylphiette's still dirt-caked clothing. "We'll get you a spare change of clothes. Lilia, I believe some of Shirou's clothing should fit her."

"I will procure them at once, milady." With a graceful bow, she disappeared upstairs.

"I-I-I'll be wearing S-S-Shirou's c-c-clothes?" Sylphiette stammered out, her face doing its best impersonation of a tomato.

"Yup! We have some clothing your size since you and Shirou are about the same size. Now come on, we'll take a bath, and I'll tell you all about the adventures I went on." The promise of being regaled more stories seemed to snap Sylphiette out of her thoughts, and taking Zenith's hand, both went up the stairs to the bathroom.

With the exit of both women and Sylphiette, silence took over the dining room as Paul and I were left alone. Admittedly, I didn't really know how to approach the situation. I didn't dislike Paul, per se, but we didn't particularly have a connection. Unlike with Lilia or Zenith—the latter far less certain now—I wasn't too sure where things stood between us. As far as I knew, he hated my guts with a passion, enough so to almost completely block me out of his life. To him, my existence was a mistake, a symbol of the end of his happiness. I represented Zenith's supposed infidelity, and while Paul did apologize, how much of his apology was genuine was something only he knew. Zenith wasn't a type of person to cheat, but no one is perfect. People make mistakes, and even if Paul trusted Zenith, there would always be that parasite in his mind, a voice in the back of his head telling him, "But what if?"

To him, I was surely that voice, a constant reminder that there was always a smallest possibility, an iota of chance, that his happy marriage had already ended, and everything he believed in was a lie. It was to that end that he almost ignored my existence.

Until now.

"Shirou."

Realizing there was nothing more to be done in the house, I had started to make my way towards the front door, but Paul's voice gave me pause. Like clockwork, my foot stopped just shy of the ground, body leaning forward midway through the door and just a few inches short of exiting the house. In a motion I was quickly getting familiar with, my neck twisted, and amber eyes cast a blank gaze on the still-seated man.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Paul stood up. The harsh screech of the wooden chair scraping against the floorboards was almost a blessing as it dispelled the stiff silence of the room.

"You…you've been training, haven't you?" he started unsurely. I blinked owlishly at his question and raised an eyebrow in return, neither confirming nor denying his statement. At my vague response, he said, "Your hands…Zenith may be an experienced adventurer, but she doesn't quite have the same eye for these sorts of things as I do. You've been training, haven't you?" What started as a poor mimicry of Sylphiette became far more confident as he continued, and the question he repeated was less of a question and more of a statement made with the certainty granted by over a decade of wisdom and experience.

I looked down at my hands, and true to his words, calluses were beginning to form on my palms and fingers where they had gripped the hilts of my traced weapons for several hours at a time during my secret training sessions. I curiously stroked them, one part proud that I was achieving results for my efforts yet one part disappointed that I had forgotten about such an obvious sign of my clandestine activities.

Pathetic, really. Not even five years before I was found out. For shame.

Paul strode over to me, his large frame easily crossing the previously seemingly large distance between us in a few large strides. Before I knew it, he was kneeling right in front of me, and he took my hands in his, my toddler-sized appendages easily swallowed by ones over twice their size. Cautiously yet assuredly, Paul turned them over, inspecting both sides of each hand with a trained eye. He ran a thumb over one particular patch of hardened skin, humming almost appreciatively at the feeling.

I couldn't help but compare the sight before me with the scene that had just taken place a few minutes prior with Sylphiette and Zenith. The similarities were quite striking.

"I…have been training, yes."

With the damning evidence presented to me, there was little point in denying it. Internally, I braced myself. Paul wasn't particularly fond of me in the first place and judging from the memories in his sword and what I knew of him, Paul was impulsive and emotional. There was no way he would take finding out that I have been sneaking behind his back well.

"There's no mistaking it. These aren't a boy's hands. These are a warrior's hands."

I internally braced myself for his inevitable fit of rage. From his position, there was a number of things he could do. He could quickly grasp my hands to ensure I couldn't escape, with almost nonchalant flexes of his wrist, break both of my arms using his superior strength and watch me squirm on the ground before he finally takes pity of me and caves in my skull into a bloody mess of tissue and bone with a stomp of his boot. He could just as easily not bother with that at all and just end it with an empowered kick or punch. I could survive one if the first hit doesn't liberate my head from my neck, but with the fragility of my body, a second strike would surely be my last. Or worse, drag me upstairs, shove the undeniable truth in Zenith's face, and lock me in the door with the fearsome beast that would awaken.

"Then let me help you."

With so many options, I was surprised he chose none of them.

"Why?" The question left my mouth before I could even think of what to say, and I stared questioningly at the man in front of me who had donned a determined expression.

It didn't make sense, though I suppose that nothing in this day did.

"If you're going to train, then do it right," he explained, but I mentally rolled my eyes at the answer. It didn't answer the question I was truly asking, and from the slight wavering of his eyes, Paul knew it too.

Still, I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I wasn't aware I was doing something wrong."

"I don't know for sure if you're doing something wrong, but I'm going to make sure you're doing it right," Paul clarified. Suddenly, he smirked and pointed a thumb at himself in a cocky display of confidence. "I know it doesn't look like it, but your pops is a certified badass. I'm advanced in not one, not two, but all three styles of swordsmanship. And, not to brag or anything, but I could've gone further if I really wanted to, probably even King-tier. I wasn't too serious about it. Just imagine what I could do if I had even put just a bit more effort. Alas, things came up. You know, wife and kids and all. Gotta settle down eventually, you know?" Paul shrugged his shoulders, as if he was saying, "What can you do?"

I…wasn't too sure how to respond to his little spiel. It wasn't entirely necessary, considering I already knew about Paul's large wealth of experience and talent, though I suppose that he didn't know that.

"Sure."

Unheard to him, he continued his long-winded boasting. "See, I know Zenith mentioned it earlier, but we used to be in an adventuring party. We were pretty good, S-rank good in fact. See, unlike other people you might learn from, your man's got the theory of all schools of swordplay, and the experience to be able to actually apply it to the field." He was suddenly much closer now, close enough that I could feel the hairs of his freshly shaven chin tickling against my cheek, and he spoke with a breathless whisper as if he was telling me some profound secret. "People learn all these stupid moves in their stupid dojos and think they're the shit. They go out into the real world, become adventurers, realize that whatever they learned doesn't actually mean anything, and die. Horribly, probably," Paul finished, his derisive words not quite matching his blithe tone.

Words caught in my throat as I struggled to formulate a proper response.

He stood back up, towering over me as that arrogant smirk found its way back onto his face once again. "But if you're with me, you don't have to worry about that. My techniques are tried and tested." I swear that his canine flashed a bright light to punctuate his point. "So with that in mind, what do you say?" He extended a hand out cordially, lips curled in a friendly grin.

I didn't have a reason to refuse, and while his… pitch was questionable, he wasn't wrong. Paul's vast experience could serve only as a boon to a budding Hero of Justice.

"Is your arm okay?"

The question stumped Paul as he looked confusedly as me, arm still extended in offering.

"It…. is?"

"I was just concerned, that's all, in case you broke it from patting yourself on the back."

My words took the wind out of Paul's sails as he doubled over, the metaphorical punch to his gut knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Cheeky brat…So this is what fatherhood feels like…." he trailed off, groaning at my lack of amusement at his antics.

Dear lord, it was like Zenith all over again.

Thankfully, the man stood back up and composed himself. Paul gazed sternly at me, ridding himself of the lopsided smile he donned earlier in exchange for setting his lips in a straight, neutral line. The nonsensical shine in his eyes disappeared, and what was left staring back at me was the determined look of a man on a mission.

"But seriously, take my training. I promise it will be good for you," he suggested.

I sighed.

"I already said I would. You just ignored me."

Paul blinked incredulously at me.

"Seriously? Damn, I guess I'm not very good at this." He slapped a hand over his face, dragging it downwards to wipe the shame off himself.

"It can't be helped. You don't have a lot of practice," I offered as a meager consolation.

He turned towards me, and through the gap between his fingers, verdant orbs narrowed as a more mellow, genuine smirk took hold upon his face again.

"I guess I don't. Oh well, gotta learn eventually."

The hand removed itself from his face and extended outwards, his finger pointed towards the flat space in the back of the house.

"Let's go over there. Who knows, maybe Sylphiette will be watching, eh?" he said, suggestively raising his eyebrows repeatedly. To add to his point, he crouched down and started repeatedly gently nudging me in the ribs with his elbow.

Well, I suppose that he and Zenith wouldn't have gotten married if they weren't similar in some respects. I could do without the Fuji-nee-esque teasing though.

"I doubt Sylphiette would be interested in this kind of thing."

Paul gave a doubtful hum.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Somehow, his smirk widened, almost mocking me as if he knew something I didn't. "Anyway, you wait there. I'll grab our practice swords. I'll be back in a bit," he said while walking back inside the house and waving his hand over his shoulder.

When Paul returned outside, he was carrying two wooden swords of different lengths, one in each hand.

"Catch."

With an underhanded throw, Paul tossed the shorter of the two towards me. I raised an eyebrow at the practice blade whirling end over end through the air like a wooden buzzsaw.

Honestly, he really needed better awareness. If I was an actual toddler, the sword was going fast enough to give me a concussion if I failed to catch it correctly.

With a quick and deft movement of my arm, I snatched it from the air, wincing slightly as hard hilt audibly slapped against my palm as it came to a stop in my hand. Holding it in front of me, I inspected the sword.

It was maybe seventy centimeters long, just a bit unwieldy for someone my size, but perfect within a year or two. I tossed it to my other hand and back again and then gave it a few experimental twirls of my wrist to test the weight of the blade. I let out a pensive hum. The weight of the blade was uniform throughout, befitting of a practice weapon. There was no use in creating a sense of personalization in a sparring sword when its purpose was to find it in the first place.

Instinctively, I channeled some magical energy and focused, putting my entire attention onto the sword in my hands. The tree it was crafted from was an old one, grown in one of the northern regions of the continent. Due to its age, the wood harvested from it was strong and hardy, and its quality reflected well upon the end product. The sword was sturdy and well-made, no doubt able to take countless blows before it breaks.

Speaking of craftsmanship, the two swords Paul brought out seemed to be especially made for this occasion. They were created fairly recently, perhaps within a month or two from now. With travel and communication time factored it, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire commission process took place over the past few months.

"You like it?" Paul asked from across the field.

"It'll do. Thank you."

"Always so polite, huh?" Paul gave an exasperated sigh, but from the small smile he had, there wasn't any real annoyance in it. "Well, you're welcome. I just dug these up from storage from my younger days in case I ever needed them. They should still be good to go though." Paul gave his sword a few spins of his own, familiarizing himself with the weight. Satisfied, the wooden sword stopped tracing circles in the air, coming to a stop so that the substantially longer blade was pointed directly at me.

"Since I know you've been practicing. It's better if I get a sense of where you're at before we train for real."

Hmmm, how to approach this? On one hand, I could go at him with the full extent of my nonmagecraft abilities. It would definitely show my seriousness and by pushing myself to my limit, I could surpass it sooner. On the other hand, I could just completely throw the fight and come at him like some overconfident kid. I trained, yes, but for all he knew, I could've just been idiotically swinging my sword around. It would certainly make sense for a child to be completely unskilled and stop any possible questions about where I learned my skills from.

Deciding the latter to be the best course of action, I took hold of the grip of the sword with both hands and kept both feet at shoulder width, brandishing the weapon in front of me in response to Paul's challenge. He gave a crooked grin in response at my stance.

"Not bad."

Sensing the match was about to start, Paul took a stance of his own, mimicking the basic one I was in.

"Begin."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that Paul took the initiative, dashing forwards with a push of his feet that left a large dust cloud in his wake.

Ten meters separated us, just enough to react to his movements but not enough to actually move anywhere before he reached me.

With two lengthy strides, he was upon me, right arm extended and practice sword arcing down to club me to submission. My own blade rose to meet his, clashing mere centimeters before my face in a clash of wood.

WHAT THE HELL?!

The force from the strike traveled throughout my body, dispersing the immense power into my undeveloped bones and tissue. I was forced to one knee, my feet carving trenches in the ground as I pushed against from the overpowering blow. My wrists groaned from the exertion, threatening to break if the stalemate continued.

Seriously, was Paul trying to kill me?

In comparison to my struggling self, Paul was having a grand time.

Between our crossed swords, I could see him looking down on me, green eyes blank as he gave an even stare at the one-sided display in front of him. I could see him thinking, analyzing, dissecting every one of my movements. He didn't even look to be putting the slightest bit of effort in maintaining the sword pushing closer and closer to my face, holding it with one hand as the other lay limp by his side.

A test, huh? Well, that certainly made things more complicated.

Realizing I had no hope of retaliating against his superior force, I leaned away from Paul and jumped back. Expectedly, without any footing, Paul's sword broke through my guard, sending me sailing through the air with considerable speed. Spinning uncontrollably, I audibly gasped as I hit the ground, the impact driving the air from my lungs. Going along with my current momentum, I continued tumbling onto the ground until I was able to reach out an arm, righting myself back onto my knees as my legs and hand dug into the soil and slowed myself to a stop.

I gave an annoyed glare to the man who was rushing towards me, barely giving me time to recover. Honestly, all this for a four year-old? At the very least, I didn't need to downplay myself defensively considering it was taking all my effort to not get punted across the field like a ball. Throwing the fight while maintain the illusion of not being able to fight was difficult considering Paul's experience would allow him to decipher any minute hesitant movements that could hint at my true abilities.

Paul lazily swung from the side and as with the same result as last time, my hastily-made guard nearly caved in, my sword nearly pressed against my face as I could barely block his strike. Whether the distinct creaking in the fight was from the strain in my joints or from the wooden sword I was holding, I wasn't sure.

Thankfully, Paul wasn't too eager to sit there for any longer, following through with the swing of his sword and pushing me away as I skidded across the ground. The ensuing dust clouds obscured my vision, and I rapidly blinked out the dirt causing tears to gather in my eyes.

Knowing Paul, he's going to take advantage of this.

Paul wasn't above using cheap tricks and cunning tactics in his swordplay, as he should; there was no shame in doing everything you can to win a fight. If honor existed on the battlefield, it'd only be a poor excuse for the act of murder.

True to that adage, the dust cloud suddenly parted, revealing a long, adult leg with a burly, sizeable boot attached to the end.

A boot that I quickly became acquainted with as I tilted my sword to the side, letting the limb ram itself straight onto my face.

The kick wasn't too hard, to my gratitude, or else my injury would've paled in comparison to what Zenith would do to Paul if she had to heal a broken nose and concussion.

I went flying a few meters back, landing undignifiedly in a heap on the ground on my stomach. I groaned in pain as I pushed myself back up, using the sword as a crutch to support myself as I looked at the slowly approaching man across of me.

"Honestly, this is kinda therapeutic."

"Glad I can be of service," I shot back.

"Appreciate it," he said, smiling mockingly all the while. "Your guard's not bad, I'll give you that much."

"Satisfied?"

"Not quite." He gave me an apologetic grin, but I could tell it wasn't entirely truthful.

I suppressed a sigh at the impending future of more beatings.

"Your defense is fine, but now let's see you take the initiative." He stopped shy of three meters from me, arms spread open invitingly to an attack. Still, I wasn't fooled by the arrogant gesture. Proper defensive stance or not, Paul's physical prowess was more than enough to block any possible strikes from me, even if I was going all out.

Stepping forward, I held my sword up in a two-handed grip and charged, bringing it down with all my strength to slash across his torso. With a flick of his wrist, Paul blocked my diagonal strike, quickly sending me back with a burst of strength and returning us to our initial positions.

I came at him again, this time with a heavy lateral chop that could've maybe given him a bruise. Of course, such a telegraphed move was easily countered, and Paul's sword came up once again to block it. This time, he let his weapon come up at an angle to use my strength against me. With the amount of power I put into it, my sword very quickly slid against the blunt edge of his blade until it produced sharp ping of wood on wood as it met the cross guard. However, I ended up dangerously overextended, and my overcommitment to the move left me with little recourse at his guard.

Once again, my breath was driven from my lungs as Paul's leg lashed out in a kick that blew me back a few meters. I was sent tumbling away, gathering dirt all over my clothes as I rolled on the ground. With a herculean effort, I brought myself up on a single knee, failing to hide my flinch of pain as I instinctively brought a hand to my ribs. Several of them were bruised despite Paul's weak efforts mainly due to my poor constitution. Fortunately, none were broken, so my movement was still relatively unimpeded. Trembling fingers curled themselves around the wooden handle of the sword laying at my feet, and my erratic breaths steadied into an even rhythm.

I irritatingly glared at my impromptu sparring partner, who was patiently for my recovery. That oh-so annoying voice in my mind was back again, telling me to give Paul what he really wanted, to end this farce of a fight. But it was quickly squashed, the suggestion all but forgotten and the voice receding into nothingness—not for the last time, I was sure.

I charged forward again and like clockwork, Paul met my advances.

A stab to the gut was easily batted aside.

A diagonal slash from his shoulder to hip was redirected with contemptuous ease.

A horizontal strike that could've bisected a man in two with a real blade was stopped before it gathered enough force.

The dull thumps of our weapons clashing against each other echoed throughout the field. My every attempt, however false they may be, failed to pierce through Paul's defense. Throughout the tedious affair, Paul's expressions remained even and indifferent, neither boasting about the one-sided match as I expected him to nor offering words of advice as an instructor should. He was noticeably quiet after his first few snide remarks, placing his full attention on judging my performance, his face not betraying any of his true thoughts.

It was only after one particularly harsh counter that sent me stumbling backwards did he finally break his silence.

"Alright, I've seen enough." Paul held up a hand to stop the fight, and my sword dropped from twitching fingers as my body finally got the much needed rest it sorely needed. Haphazard pants brought in precious oxygen to overworked muscles, and with every breath, I could feel the constant soreness that pervaded every crevice of my body slowly diminish. Paul had the decency to at least give me a break, opting instead to mutedly look at me as I recouped from my current pathetic state. I could feel that brain of his working, breaking down every moment of our "fight" though at this point, whatever he was thinking past that was beyond me. Whether or not he got what he wanted, I wasn't sure, but at the very least, I had given the impression of an eager brat that thought a sword was a baseball bat. And while I was mildly annoyed at being treated like a pinata, I could appreciate the extra training at the very least. Forcing my body to work beyond its limits, deprived of air and energy, would bode very well in the future when my enemies would not be willing me even the briefest of reprieves.

When I finally had my breathing under control, I gave Paul an even glare.

"Happy?"

Paul shook his head. "Not really."

Honestly, this guy….

"Was my performance that lackluster? I apologize," I retorted, with just a hint of snark.

"You're four years-old. It wasn't bad by any means. The fact that you can even swing that sword with any amount of strength is more than what most people your age can do," Paul said. His expression then morphed into a face of disappointment. "It's just that…. Well, I was expecting more."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What were you expecting?"

He was the one that had asked for this training session for some reason, after all. I wanted to know what he could have expected from the display I put on.

His face twisted into a complicated expression, and he averted his eyes away from mine. From the creases on his forehead, he was putting a lot of thought into what he wanted to say next. I wasn't surprised. Just like me, Paul wasn't good with words if his current relationship with Zenith was any indication.

I sat down on a patch of ground next to me, feeling the blades of grass tickle my legs. Paul can take this time thinking of his words; I was content to wait since I really had nothing else to do today. Perhaps I could even get an explanation for the abrupt change in his behavior. Even though he was perhaps a bit rougher than necessary, none of his strikes had any real malice behind them, so taking out his anger on me under the pretense of an instructional training session wasn't his motive. Perhaps he was coming around to me? No, that didn't make sense. I haven't done anything towards that particular end.

"Damn it." Contrast to my calmness, Paul was almost throwing a fit. His fingers were buried in his brown locks, handfuls of which were grasped in his hands in frustration. "Shit, whatever. Fuck it, I was never any good at this." Coming to a decision with a throw of his arms into the air, Paul turned to face me.

Seeing his seriousness, I stood back up and looked at him squarely in the eyes, waiting for his grand reveal.

"I know that you've been training. And no, I know you've been training for real, not whatever that god forsaken show was," he quickly added.

I furrowed my eyebrows at his words. He knew that I've been training in secret for the past few years? I clicked my tongue in irritation. Damn, my plans to run away may have been decided for me already. At the very least, the fact that he came forward with this information was a promising sign. It meant that he was willing to talk things out.

"What do you mean?" There was no use in folding yet. I would let him talk and figure out the rest from there. Depending on what he believed, I didn't need to reveal everything quite yet.

"I've seen you training at night. I looked out the window one day and saw you practicing your forms."

So that's how it was, huh? To have been found out by something so trivial. Well, Archer did have E-rank luck….

"Wait, why were you even awake? I made sure to practice at the dead of night."

"Forgive me if the current house situation isn't very good for easy sleeping," Paul shrugged.

I begrudgingly acquiesced the point to him.

"I see. How long have you known?"

"Several months now."

So he knew for so long? Well, since he hasn't seemed to have told anyone and was willing to let me interrogate him, he looked to be tentatively on my side at least.

"Why now? Why haven't you told anyone? Why go through all of this?" I waved a hand towards the field we were in and the swords we were holding.

A tired sigh escaped his lips, and his shoulders drooped in exhaustion.

"That's a good question. Why didn't I do something about it?" He looked upwards, as if asking the heavens themselves for an answer. But the skies remained silent at his prayers, knowing that only Paul himself could answer his own question.

As much as we try to prove otherwise, human are beings of emotion. Intelligence and wisdom may have what separated us from animals, but passion and sentiments are the root of our souls. The ability to think and believe are our greatest gifts, with all the weaknesses that comes with it. That which blesses us also curses us all the same. Matters of the heart are fickle and seldomly listen to reason, as Paul was quickly learning.

The winds of the afternoon breeze caressed my skin, my body indulging in the cool air in the wake of the tiring spar.

A part of me was eager for Paul's response. I had already come to my own conclusion, but my mindset and circumstances were unique. What answer would someone like Paul reach, I wonder.

An eternity passes by in an instant, and Paul found the confidence to speak once again.

"I hated you, you know."

Hated?

"Honestly, can you blame me? Imagine being me, meeting the hottest woman on this side of the Central Continent, and she tell me that I can't mess around with other people!" I gave him an unimpressed quirk of my eyebrow as he jokingly complained. "Well, it wasn't a bad deal. After all, why would I need to be with other women if I got her?"

Paul twisted his head to the side, eyes pointed at the closed window on the upper floor where the room with the basin for bathing was. His eyes were forlorn, looking fondly at the woman he loved even if his gaze didn't reach her. A melancholic sigh escaped his lips before he continued.

"We settled down after that. We quit adventuring and used the money from our travels to buy this nice little house. It's not much—it's no nobleman's castle—but for us, it was perfect."

He turned back to me, but I could tell he wasn't quite there, eyes cast off in the distance, perusing through pages of the past. It was a look I was familiar with, for I probably wore it as well when I knew no one was looking. Regret flashed across his face, another emotion I was all too familiar with.

"You now, I was quite the brat when I was young. I hated my dad since he was so strict, lecturing me about his stupid rules and honor. Looking back on it, he was right. Never giving a damn about other people. Thinking I was better than them. Fooling around, chasing skirts. That's the kind of person I was. Pathetic, right?"

I took in his confession with blank face, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but Paul didn't need my answer regardless. He knew very well the kind of person he was in the past, but at least he had the courage to admit it and face the mistakes of his youth. In the end, while the Paul in front of me was no saint, he's a far cry from the one that plagued his memories.

"When I bought this house and moved in with this beautiful woman, with a child on the way, I honestly thought I was dreaming. I mean, imagine it—"he spread his arms wide, a self-deprecating smile on his face"—a bastard like me living the dream!" He laughed, a twisted bitter chuckle devoid joy or happiness filling the silent field. "Ironic, isn't it? That even someone like me could find happiness."

His eyebrows furrowed together, the regret intensifying tenfold.

"What would my dad think, I wonder. That I was going to be a father, of all things! That his pathetic excuse of a son finally found some place he belonged."

The words reach my ears, and before I knew it, a wellspring of memories flooded my mind, reminding me of the past that forever haunted me.

"But I guess it was wishful thinking. The world is cruel, you know. One day, you're the happiest man in the world, and the next, everything's gone to shit. I should've known that when Lilia showed up that it was beginning of the end, that I would finally wake up from this dream."

Paul's eyes finally focused, and they were directed squarely on me. A cold fury smoldered in the depths of his gaze, but whether or not it was towards me or himself, I couldn't tell.

"I was so excited to be a father, to get the missing piece to this dream, to start this thing called family everyone seemed to gush over. My own family wasn't anything special, considering I ran away from them and all that. I'd finally get a chance to try it out: do all things that my father couldn't, be all the things my father couldn't be, and teach him the lessons I was too stubborn to listen to. A wife. Kids. A house. What more could I want?"

It was a good life. I was not surprised Paul clung to that dream as a drowning man would clutch onto a raft. This world is cruel, and happiness is scarce.

"And then I had you, and everything went to hell."

I smirked at his brutal honesty. Judging from his own grin, Paul wasn't entirely serious.

"Red hair and golden eyes. I'm no expert in family lineages and all that, but something didn't quite add up. Being the idiot I was, I lashed out at you and Zenith. I thought you weren't my son, and I thought Zenith went and cheated on me. Zenith! Can you believe it?!"

I thought for a moment, pondering the honest and kind woman breaking her vows, and discarded the notion as the very heights of ridiculousness.

"And especially after she was like, 'You can sleep with me, but only if you never touch any other woman again', only for her to cheat on me. Honestly, the thought is so stupid that I have trouble remembering how I convinced myself it was the truth."

"But you eventually figured it out," I said, speaking for the first time since Paul started revealing his true thoughts.

Paul nodded. "I did. Zenith eventually forgave me, god bless, but it didn't do anything about how I felt towards you."

I nodded, accepting the anger and indignance he felt towards me. Paul was perfectly in the right to feel that my existence was a mistake.

"I ignored you, pretending you didn't exist, that this carefully crafted life I built from nothing wasn't a lie, teetering on the edge of collapse. If this house was made of glass, you were the rock that broke it all down, and I was the madman deluding myself that I wasn't the one that threw the rock in the first place."

Paul grimaced at himself, self-loathing piling more and more into itself.

"Zenith didn't forgive me for that. Ignoring you, wishing you didn't exist. As a mother, she knew the truth, and even if I wasn't the father, she would have defended you all the same. That's just the kind of person she is."

"Zenith is far too kind," I agreed. Such kindness would be a weakness others would exploit.

Paul smiled knowingly. "She is, isn't she?" he said, a wistful curve of his lips on his face. "That's what she was truly mad about, you know. I never acknowledged you as my son, so to her, I was not only insulting her, but you as well. My family, my pride and joy. And since I was being a neglectful piece of shit, Zenith had to do the work of two parents."

Realization dawned on me. With Paul's effective absence in my life, Zenith had taken it upon herself to provide the love and affection of both a mother and father. Her endearing yet overbearing nature. Her constant insistence on being by my side. Her almost skit-like mannerisms. It all clicked together in my head. All of it was to try and provide a warm and caring atmosphere, to fill in the hole Paul had torn open.

I swallowed down the bile that had risen up my throat, and my chest felt heavy with guilt. To think that people like this existed in the world, only for me to come and ruin their lives. Paul was right all along.

"So what changed?"

Verdant orbs shimmered in reminiscence, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Your training. I said you've been training for real, but you've been doing more than that. I watched you train every few nights, swinging that sword around for hours. You could hardly be called a toddler with that skill. Your movements were too clean, too refined. While the speed and strength aren't there yet, technique-wise, you could be an intermediate-level swordsman with ease. No, I'd say if you weren't a child, you could definitely be an advanced-level swordsman."

I appreciated the praise, but none of those skills were mine. I was just recalling the motions of various sword owners and incorporating them into my fundamental sword technique. I had no doubt that a true sword master could best me in a fight.

"So you were impressed by my skills?"

Paul shook his head, smiling all the while. "No, it wasn't that. I was young and amazing too, you know. No, it wasn't your talent that made my change my mind. Well, not directly at least." He raised his sword, the wooden weapon pointed straight at me in challenge. "You've been watching my train, haven't you?"

A brief pause settled between us before a tentative nod gave Paul his answer. He wasn't wrong. I did watch him train, mainly because his skills and experience were a valuable resource to learn from. While I was couped up in the house under Zenith's watchful eye, committing Paul's swordsmanship to memory allowed me to pass the time in a productive manner. And in the dead of night during my training, the memories from his sword were just one of many that I called upon to sharpen my technique.

In the wake of my thoughts, Paul started walking towards me, slowly but surely, every step sound and measured. His wooden sword was held firmly in his hand, brandished out to the side like a knight stepping forth for an execution. I eyed the weapon but made no move to avoid it. Whatever judgement Paul administered, whether or not he decided to remove the disturbance from his life, I would accept it all the same.

"It shows. I thought I saw a few of my moves in you. I mainly use the Sword God style, but I throw in some stuff from the Water and North God styles too. I'd like to think my personal brand of swordplay is complex enough that you can't just copy it at first glance."

I didn't have the heart to tell him I could.

"I've studied you extensively."

Paul gave me a small smile of satisfaction. He stopped in front of me, just barely within my arms' reach. At this distance, his figure was imposing, casting a large shadow that dwarfed my body.

"When I was watching you, I guess I realized something. Watching you train, doing the same things I do, the sight seemed so familiar. A lonely boy practicing by himself, wielding the one thing he had in this world. Then it all just…. clicked in my head." He kneeled, bringing his face level with mine, and this close to him, I could see the bright glimmer in his eyes, my own visage reflected in his emerald orbs.

"You…reminded me of myself." The sword was dropped to the ground, the fingers holding it losing strength. The same hand rose, carefully, slowly, until it hovered just above my shoulder, trembling all the while. A pensive look flashed on Paul's face, contemplative, as if asking it was really alright to do this, but the one he was asking was not me but himself.

The hand hovered, still and unsure. Then, after a poignant pause, it slowly descended, the motion laden with uncertainty and fear until it came to a rest on my shoulder.

Paul's hands were large, easily wrapping five long, calloused fingers on my shoulder with room to spare. While I could feel his trepidation at the gesture, the warmth exuding from him could not be denied.

His other hand followed, snaking itself hesitatingly around my back. Before I knew it, I stumbled forward as Paul gently pulled me towards him into an embrace. His head settled on my other shoulder, his freshly-shaven beard tickling the bare skin of my cheek and neck.

"I don't think I've held you like this since you were a baby."

I was at a loss for words, my control of the situation completely uprooted and destroyed. What had started as a calculated show of incompetency had turned into an emotional confession by Paul, one that I wholly unprepared for. I was ready for his hatred, his wrath, his scorn, to spurn me as his son and let loose the years of contempt he had felt towards me. Handling his rage would have been a far easier affair.

I wanted to push him away, to reject his notion of family and show him the divide between us that could never be crossed. Kiritsugu was the one that had saved me, instilling a purpose, upon that dying corpse of a child. He had raised me as his own son, and while his last wish had damned me for eternity, my gratitude towards him had never faded.

That's right. Kiritsugu was my true father, and Paul was only a caretaker, merely providing a body for the soul of Emiya Shirou to occupy. I could not accept his desire to be his son because I already had a father to call my own. I could not return his genuine feelings with the same affection he felt towards me. I was not his real son, and his dream of a family could not be achieved as long as I was a part of it.

My arms came up, bracing themselves against his chest to push him off me and make my stance on the matter clear, that his wishes could only remain a distant ideal if I was here. My hands clawed at him, his shirt gripped in bunches between my fingers.

"Is this what you want?"

His voice spoke up again, the question ringing in my mind.

Pragmatism necessitated that I push Paul away, here and now. I was not a part of the family he so desperately yearned for.

And yet I did nothing to refuse him, indecision paralyzing me, that perhaps turning my back on him would be a mistake.

Conflict brewed in my heart, and my body froze in indecision as emotions I had thought long been buried resurfaced.

The life of a machine.

That was what I had promised to live as when I faced Archer on that hill of swords.

To pursue that singular wish with everything I had, uncaring for everything else.

And yet, why did I stay here all this time?

I don't want to see anyone cry.

The wish I had so fervently pursued, the ideal I swore to uphold. Even if it hurt me in the end, causing me endless pain as I try to follow it.

My hands left Paul's chest, and then with the same unsure motion as the ones that had come before it, two small arms came to wrap themselves across Paul's broad back.

Paul flinched, surprised at me returning his gesture before he relaxed in acceptance at what was happening. I could not blame him; my own actions surprised me.

Time stilled as we remained in that position, two lost souls rejoicing in each other's company. While the wish Paul chased was different from mine, it was no less a beautiful ideal, one worth fulfilling. I had once seen a glimpse of the dream he sought, when that large and empty household was suddenly filled with laughter and joy, an unlikely congregation of people crowding around a table far too small yet felt just right.

Yes, it was a beautiful dream indeed.

Suddenly, I could feel a tremor, and it took only a moment to find the source to be the one in my embrace. Despite his large frame, in my arms, Paul never felt any smaller than he did right now.

"It's a sad day for rain, isn't it?"

I looked up, the shining rays of the afternoon sun greeting me. The sky was crystal clear blue with not a cloud in sight.

I felt a wet sensation on my cheek, and I didn't bother looking to the side, knowing that Paul did not want to be seen in this state. His tears stained my shirt wet, but I found that I didn't mind.

"It is," I agreed.

Another pregnant pause followed before Paul found it within himself to speak again.

"Thank you—"he choked back a sob, his words catching in his throat"—Thank you…for forgiving me."

"There's nothing to thank, and to me, there's nothing to forgive."

While Paul made mistakes, I certainly didn't do much to alleviate the pain he found himself in. While I had a hint of the suffering I had unintentionally caused, I carried on with my life, letting his feelings fester. In the end, it was Paul who pulled himself out of his hell. My own efforts were nonexistent, amounting to nothing. No, Paul should not have been thanking me. It was through his own will that he had found his answer while I was stumbling for mine. Between the two of us, Paul was far stronger.

"When I had you, I had made a promise: to treat you with the respect that you deserve. My own father had never given me my fair shake, and I vowed to never be like that. But I ended up breaking that promise and being the very thing I swore not to be."

Broken promises hurt. They cut through your soul, the unfulfilled wish leaving behind a wound that could never heal. Each time you break a promise, you lose a piece of yourself in the process, a fragment of the spirit forever gone. And the greater the promise that was made, the harsher the pain that follows.

I had committed that sin once before. In that god-forsaken church, with the weight of countless lives weighing on my shoulders, the fate of the woman I loved on the tip of my tongue, I had swore to save her at any cost, even at the expense of unnamed people I vowed to save. I had turned my back on the very thing that had kept me alive to that point. I had betrayed the world.

No, Emiya Shirou had betrayed himself, and that is the worst betrayal of all.

As for my retribution? Well, the results spoke for themselves.

In a sense, I had a hint of the burden that Paul felt. He agonized for his traitorous self, cursing it with every fiber of his being, and only now could he atone for it.

"But you ended up coming through in the end," I consoled.

"I did…but only because of you. You reminded me of what I forgot."

"Don't be ridiculous. You did it all by yourself."

He scoffed, clearly not taking my words to heart.

"You're so stubborn, you know that?" He paused. "Wait, you're my son. Of course you're stubborn. Just like me and my father before me."

I didn't bother replying, content to let Paul believe whatever he wished. A comfortable silence settled between us, and only when I thought of finally letting go did Paul move, placing both hands on my shoulders and pulling away until we were face to face. His once green orbs were red and puffy, and rivers of tears still flowed down his cheeks from the unshed teardrops still pooling in his eyes.

"Shirou, thank you, for giving me another chance."

Paul's lips curved upwards in a grateful smile, and whether it was the bright rays of the sun or the beauty of Paul's smile that briefly blinded me, I wasn't sure. However, through squinted eyes, perhaps it was just my imagination, but an image briefly flashed. It was a familiar image, one of a black-haired man looking down at me, smiling with all the joy in the world as if the boy before him was the salvation he had long sought for.

For the briefest of moments, both men, despite never having met and having lived completely different lives, wore the same smile, one of pure happiness at a boy that deserved none of it. And then I blinked, and the image disappeared, the fleeting memory fading as quickly as it appeared.

I had no doubt that this choice would come back to haunt me, destiny and fate intervening to set me back on the path of the sword. And yet, looking at Paul's face, his heartfelt smile radiating that familiar warmth I felt so long ago, I could not help but feel that perhaps, while I could not say it was the correct choice, it wasn't so wrong after all.

---

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to make things so dramatic." Paul awkwardly laughed off the tense atmosphere, scratching the back of his head. After the ratheremotional conversation, Paul had finally pulled away, letting me go after gathering his thoughts and communicating what he wanted to say all this time. Now, we stood across from each other, swords in hand just like how we started. Paul's tears were finally spent, the man having exhausted months of pent-up anxiety and stress, releasing it in a period of a few minutes.

"It's fine."

"God, Zenith is going to give me hell later if she hears about this," Paul grimaced at the thought of giving his wife more insult material.

"You two are on speaking terms now?" They didn't seem so friendly earlier. I doubt that Zenith would joke good-naturedly with Paul about his break in composure.

"Not really, but one step at a time, Shirou."

I nodded, agreeing that these sorts of things took time, and human relations are especially hard to mend.

"Anyway, enough of this feel-good bullshit. I might vomit at this rate. Last I checked, we're men, not little girls."

I rolled my eyes. It didn't surprise me Paul would try and save face when he was emotionally breaking down.

"And your idea of lightening the mood…is this?" I asked, waving my sword towards him to punctuate my point. "I hardly think that you giving me even more bruises is the best note to end this day off on." Contrary to his words afterwards, Paul certainly didn't transmit the same gentle tone with his sword. In fact, some of those strikes were certainly slightly harder than necessary.

"Ah, sorry again about that. I…got caught up in the moment," Paul admitted sheepishly, eliciting a sigh from me. "But that's why we're doing this. Clearly, I'm not exactly the best with words. Or feelings, for that matter. This—"he waved the wooden sword in his hand"—is the best way for me to get my feelings across. I'm a man of action, and nothing screams action like father-son sword duel."

That…was certainly one way to interpret things.

"They say great swordsmen can talk not with just their mouth but also with their blades. For those who are especially skilled, clashes of steel can convey far more than words can," Paul explained.

I wasn't too convinced, but I wasn't going to argue. I readied myself in a stance, one far more practical than the one I used earlier. My right leg was set back while I shifted my left leg forwards, tensed with anticipation and ready to spring forth with reinforced strength. I held the sword in a tight two-hand grip, bringing it down to my right hip. If Saber was here, she would have been proud that her teachings finally amounted to something.

Sensing my determination, Paul poised himself for a fight as well.

The idea of underselling myself crossed my mind as well before I discarded it. Paul wanted a genuine fight; for someone like him, who stumbled over his words and thoughts, the only place he was ever truly honest was on the battlefield. As someone who wasn't very good as expressing himself, I could relate to him on that front. While there may be questions I would have to answer later, I didn't want to trample upon Paul's sincere wishes.

We circled around each other, two pairs of eyes analyzing, probing for an opening in the other's defenses. Almost coming to an unspoken agreement, we both launched forward, leaving behind only dust clouds in our wake as our blades met, a loud bang echoing in the field as wood bit into wood.

While Paul wasn't going all-out, for that would leave me with no chance at victory, he was definitely taking this far more seriously than our first fight. Unlike before, he was not willingly to stand back and parry my attacks or throw half-hearted strikes into my guard. Instead, he fought with all the technique he would usually use, only weakening the force of his blows to equalize the physical differences between us. Still, that did little to comfort me. The murderous gleam in his eyes told me Paul had no intention of letting me win. I was fine with that result. I only aimed to give him a good fight.

I quickly broke away from him, not eager to waste precious energy on a contest of strength I had no way of winning. Refusing to let me recover, death rushed straight at me, cold and silent, sword cocked back and ready to take my head off.

I dashed forward, feeling the dull blade taking hairs off my head as I ducked underneath. From the slight widening of his eyes, Paul clearly didn't expect me to dodge into him, and his surprise gave me the opening I needed as my own weapon rose, slashing diagonally upwards to cleave Paul from hip to shoulder.

Unfortunately, the strike failed to end the spar then and there as Paul instantly jumped backwards. However, the sudden change in momentum was not without its consequences as with an audible thump of wood on bone, my sword hit Paul's right arm during his retreat. He looked at the offending limb, eyes brimming with bewilderment as if the greatest puzzle in the universe was presented in front of me. With a smirk, he tossed his sword to his left hand and placed his right arm behind his back. If it was possible, the intensity in his expression increased even further.

If that's how he wanted to play it, I wasn't going to complain.

With my small stature and smaller weapon, I naturally had to get closer to him in order to effectively fight. However, the sheer difference in our bodies granted me an unexpected boon. As long as I could minimize the distance between us, hitting me with my speed was far more difficult for Paul, with his wide reach and longer sword, than it was for me. Unfortunately, it also exposed me to the danger of Paul using kicks to deter me from getting close, but it was still by far the best card I could play. With the use of Paul's right arm disabled, the decrease in his fighting abilities just might have swung the fight into my favor.

I came at him again, sword raised in an overhead chop. He responded with a horizontal slash just before my sword could gather sufficient force on its way down. The impact almost shook the weapon from my fingers, but I endured the sheer force of Paul's strike, focusing through the pain to crouch and continue moving towards Paul. The blunt edges screeched as my blade slid against his, my attack only serving only as a misdirection for my true goal. I had only put the barest of energy into the block, letting Paul's overpowering force misdirect his weapon on his own as I had changed the angle of my sword at the last second. With him overextended, I raised my sword above me in earnest, bringing it down onto Paul.

To his credit, he was prepared for my counter. Using the momentum from his swing, he pivoted on one leg, the other whipping around at breakneck speed to bludgeon my face with his foot.

Fully expecting for him to use his legs as a last resort defense, I ducked underneath, letting the limb pass above me harmlessly. While Paul's leg was still extended in the air, having just barely missed me, I sensed an opportunity to put the nail in the coffin. I crouched even lower and swept his other leg out from underneath him with my own. The large man lost his balance, tumbling down and crashing onto the ground.

I rushed forward, sword arcing downwards to take advantage of his vulnerability. To his credit, Paul kept calm and collected, barely even disoriented from the fall. He rolled away from me and in an instant, he was back on his feet, slightly panting but otherwise unscathed and unaffected by the losing exchange.

I grumbled at the poor result. Twice now, I had gained the upper hand, and twice, I had failed to land a winning blow. At this rate, Paul was bound to catch onto my tricks and skills, and it would only be a matter of time before my poor stamina gave out on me.

I heaved in a lungful of air, trying to calm my breathing, but the exhaustion from the previous fight still lingered, and my magical reserves were still lacking. I couldn't afford to cede the initiative to Paul and waste energy being on the defensive. I had to move decisively soon, or else it would be my loss.

I pumped even more magical energy into my legs, crossing the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Paul coolly met my charge with indifference, unconcernedly parrying my sword to the side. With both of our blades briefly out of the fight, the space between us was completely clear, and I only realized my mistake on his foot came up once again, planting itself against my chest. I was blown back, launched several meters away into an undignified heap on the ground.

I didn't have time to think about my next move as instincts screamed as me to move, and not a moment after I pushed myself away from the spot I landed did Paul's sword come crashing down where my head was a quarter-second earlier. He followed the almost deadly blow with a series of attacks from several directions that left my wrist and arms screaming in agony.

A downward slash almost shook my blade in my hands as I had barely managed to block in time.

The follow-up thrust was dodged at the expense of my balance, the overwhelming force and speed of the blow forcing me to throw my body rashly to the side.

His sword arced towards me in a lateral slash across my chest, one I managed to guard against as I placed left hand on the flat of the sword to stop myself from being pushed back.

With both hands occupied, I was at the mercy of Paul's next move, and while the attack was expected, it did little to alleviate the pain as Paul once again propelled his boot into my gut.

Spittle flew from my mouth as the air left my lungs, leaving me a gasping mess as I sailed through the air. More habit than anything, I managed to keep myself on my feet, but with my stamina spent blocking his ferocious blows, I had little recourse. In one great stride, Paul reduced the distance between us to zero, sword coming at me with blinding speed.

In one final attempt to win, I whipped my sword at him, the motion producing a sharp crack as the blade rushed towards him like a speeding bullet. His guard hastily blocked the projectile, the sword spinning end over end upwards as Paul had deflected it instinctively. By the time Paul's eyes moved back towards me, I was dashing in front of him, both of my hands grasping on his sword hand to disarm him. Ode flooded muscle, magical energy filling in every single crack and hole in the molecular structure of the tissue in order to give me the burst of speed and strength necessary for my maneuver.

One hand gripped the pommel of his sword, the other on the cross guard. With a flare of power far beyond what this body was capable of and aided by surprise, I spun his sword with enough force to wrench it out of his hand, the blade whirling momentarily in the air for a brief moment before my own hand came to replace his. Returning the favor, I drove the wooden hilt into his stomach, perhaps taking in just a little bit of pleasure as Paul stumbled back, having not expected his own unpreparedness and weapon used against him. My hand rose, the sword rushing towards him to deliver the duel-ending blow.

In an impressive display of skill, Paul recovered, reaching upwards into the sky. My own blade landed straight into his open hand, the wood meeting his palm with a meaty thump. Breaking his own self-imposed limitations, he gracefully deflected my attack with a two-handed parry, gently turning it aside as the sword in my hand jittered painfully my grasp. It was a counter I recognized, one of the many techniques he had learned in life, and as such, I knew of the punishing counterstrike that would follow.

The fight was over. I had used every bit of surprise and trickery available to me, and I still lost. Overextended and outmaneuvered, I had no defense against the incoming attack, content to helplessly watch as the blade—

—arced towards me, the dark corrupted edge of the holy blade flashing an ominous red as it sought to end my life. My own sword was raised high above my head, but the slightest moment of doubt, the most minute of pauses, as her eyes morphed back to the warm familiar emerald green I loved so much and her angelic voice whispered my name had cost me the smallest fractions of a second, and in a battle between beings such as her, that hesitation was the ultimate deciding factor.

She swung, the faintest traces of her previous form gone and scattered into the void and suddenly, my life flashed before my eyes, every moment, every decision, every mistake leading up to this moment. My own sword descended, but it was a foregone conclusion; it would not reach her in time, not before her blade could slice me in two. I closed my eyes, accepting the inevitable, cursing myself for my weakness.

Blood splattered, the darkened sword finding its target, severing flesh from bone and parting soul from body. But I felt no pain, and as I opened my eyes, crimson droplets dripped from my forehead where it had landed on me.

In front of me, Rider stood, not by her own strength but by the black-stained sword embedded deep within her chest. Rivers of crimson flowed from the gaping wound, decorating the weapon an even darker red. She was facing me, and what greeted me was not frustration nor disappointment towards me. Instead, her lilac eyes were open in acceptance, having long known that this battle was not one they were guaranteed to survive. There was no regret in her gaze, and as she faded away into motes of light, those lovely orbs closed for a final time, a grateful smile adorning her usual stoic face.

Uncomprehending, acting purely on instinct with no thought, impossible strength surging within me, the elegant form of Bakuya grew, enlarging until it became twice its original length. Feather-like growths appeared on its blade, like the wings of a bird flying towards the freedom of the sky, and then that snow white edge accelerated—

—upwards, a crescent slash poised to remove Paul's head from his shoulders. The wooden blade was filled to its utmost limit with magical energy, reinforcement magecraft making it as hard as steel. The arm was a blur, strength from a moment long passed empowering it, and golden orbs were looking towards Paul but were fixated far past him at an enemy long gone.

Green eyes widened in shock at the abrupt surge in power, confident that his deflection had prevented any possible counter. His sword changed direction to block, knowing that his sword would not reach its target first, and the blades clashed against for the final time this match. Paul's sword screeched at it met its match, buckling under the sheer pressure of the strike.

One moment passed, and the wooden blade began to break from the strain of blocking.

Another moment passed, and the sword snapped in half in a shower of splinters, the durable weapon having been bisected entirely, having provided only the paltriest of resistances in the face of the attack.

With nothing stopping it, the sword continued on its original path, and it was only Paul's experience that allowed him to escape the deadly arc towards his neck. He jumped back, accepting the current circumstances and adapting to them on the fly. However, the hardened edge found its mark still, colliding firmly with Paul's chest. While the weapon was blunted, it was still brimming with enough magical energy to turn it to steel.

Something caved in, a cringe-inducing crack resonating throughout the field, and then Paul was sent backwards, landing haphazardly several meters away.

Several seconds passed, and then the unmoving body on the ground finally got back up, a groan of pain escaping Paul as his eyes surveyed his surroundings, years of fighting preparing him for any possible threats. However, the only other person near him had not moved at all.

I blinked, snapping back to reality, and I saw Paul on his knees, his breathing choppy as he looked at me with confusion and apprehension. I glance at my sword, the wooden blade far more like an iron rod under the reinforcement applied to it, and I noticed the broken remnants of Paul's sword lying off to the side. Comprehension dawned on me, and I took in a deep breath to process it all.

Paul spoke, his voice raspy as pained gasps interlaid his words. "Shirou, what was that?"

I looked at him, my face flush with guilt, and I could barely trust myself to speak.

"I…I don't know."

---

A/N: I've slightly edited the previous chapter. I changed Shirou's interactions with Sylphiette slightly to make him more stoic, and I made Zenith actually knowledge Sylphiette at the end. A reviewer pointed this out to me, and I agreed after some thought.

So evidently, I'm horrible at deadlines, but I think you guys already had an inkling of that idea. Where have I been? Well, to be honest, I was fairly content with letting this fic die, but some people contacted me about when to expect this chapter. I was working on a brand new story, but their messages convinced me that I should probably give you guys this chapter first. So, where I have been besides that? Genshin. Inazuma. Whaling for Ayaka and Raiden. If you know, you know.

Alright, I suppose this is the part where I actually have to respond to reviews. As always, don't read if you are fine with just coasting along for the ride.

Q: Why is Shirou acting stiffer than cardboard? In Canon, he's not nearly as formal, robotic, etc.

A: Because he's not Canon Shirou. The prologue literally has him killing Sakura and Saber, being the cause for Rider's death, being too late to save Rin, and having Illya sacrifice herself for him. I'd be surprised if he's the same. Making him formal and stiff is how I think Shirou would develop given that particular circumstance. It's really to drive home his PTSD, if the ending scene wasn't enough. Also, he should be coming off snarkier than usual. Also a bye product of the prologue.

Q: Why does Shirou not call Zenith "Mom"?

A: I'm trying to incorporate wordplay into this story. I specifically chose to have Shirou not refer to Zenith as "mother". Fun fact: I also deliberately haven't used the word "smile" when it comes to Shirou either because he hasn't genuinely smiled yet. I reflected Chapter 3 to reflect that.

I think I actually address the "mom" point in the second chapter. Shirou does know he should call Zenith his mother, but he never does it. Honestly, I regret adding that line in when I wrote Chapter 2. If I could, I would remove it entirely. Shirou doesn't call Zenith his mother for the same reason he doesn't acknowledge Paul as his father. Shirou already has a "family", and he's protective of their memories because for an empty person given salvation, he treasures those memories above all else. In fact, those memories are going to be probably the core reason why this Shirou is the way he is. More on that later in the story.

Anyway, Shirou evidently doesn't listen to himself. Seem stupid? Because it is. Shirou is a very conflicted individual who doesn't really know what he wants. This chapter should portray his inability to really come to terms with what he actually wants, and even then, his actions doesn't always line up. As I said previously, this Shirou never actually finished his development in the FSN world, so he's still confused about things.

On a related note, this chapter should be a good litmus test for you guys. In fact, I have a confession: This isn't a Fate/Stay Night fic. It's also not a Mushoku Tensei fic. It's a Shirou fic. He is the primary focus on this story and having him grow and develop during the story is my main goal. It's the main reason why I was decently confident in making this story in the first place despite only reading the LNs of Mushoku Tensei. To me, the whole overarching story of Mushoku Tensei isn't particularly a priority. I'm decently confident that I can always BS it later. To me, what's important is not what happens, but how Shirou reacts to it. That's not to say the plot details and other characters are irrelevant—I think I make that clear considering Zenith and Paul's importance in these early chapters—but Shirou is by far my utmost priority in writing his character. Of course, I like the world of Mushoku Tensei and its character, hence why this story is in this crossover fandom as opposed to somewhere else.

If that doesn't really sound appealing to you, then of course you're more than welcome to never click on this story. This chapter is more or less how I intent to write the rest of this story, so feel free to use it as a basis for your judgement. No hard feelings since everyone has different tastes, but I'm obligated to at least tell you what to expect.

Okay, can I finally talk about the actual chapter now? Yes? Cool.

Alright, I hate writing fight scenes. I tried to make it as entertaining as possible but let me know how it goes. I don't like action for the sake of action, but here it just happened to work out.

Some people may feel that Paul's focus and development have come from out of nowhere. I agree to an extent, but it's also intentional on my part. Shirou comments on it too. I want my characters to stand alone as good characters and not just puppets for Shirou to jerk himself on. While the central themes and messages in this story will revolve around Shirou, the plot (hopefully) won't be fully dependent on him.

The abruptness is also due to the fact that we're about 47k words into this fic after I publish this chapter, and the poor boy is still 4 years old. If I had it how I originally planned it out, this story would've reached 70k easy before Paul's issue gets resolved, and I don't have the patience for that. I doubt you guys would too.

Speaking of Paul, two things. One: I gave him a bit of an "oomph" in terms of back story. I don't think he feels the same in canon, but I felt that it wasn't a bad addition to his character. Two: this chapter isn't affected by certain….things that have occurred. If you were thinking about it, then you know what I'm talking about. Otherwise, carry on.

And finally we have Zenith. She's…not having a good time. I'm trying to illustrate that she's getting more fed up with Shirou's antics. I think it's pretty reasonable. There's also some…stuff going on that neither you guys nor Shirou are aware of that may explain her thought process as well. With Paul squared away, expect Zenith to be the next task for Shirou to tackle. If it goes the way I think it's going to go, Roxy should be here…soon.

This chapter was edited at 5 AM, so point out any mistakes and I'll fix them promptly. Next chapter, I have no idea when, but favorites and reviews will keep my motivation going (Vergil?). In fact, I even forgot this thank you message.

Thank you, and as always, have a good day!