Chapter 3: The Three Great Houses
"Okay sir, that's one single room."
The hostess smiled pleasantly as she reached over the counter and handed the keys to the new arrival.
"Will that be cash or credit?"
Pulling out a dense roll of notes, the man threw them down onto the surface and tweaked his mouth into an insincere smile.
Dressed in a heavy black coat, his hood was pulled up over his head and his eyes shrouded by a pair of dark sunglasses. In his free hand, he carried a heavy duffle bag.
Glancing down at the man's hand, the hotel employee stifled a gasp. "Oh my god... Are you okay?"
Suddenly remembering the Command Spells seared onto his hand, the man withdrew the appendage and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'm fine."
Stunned by the man's sharp reply, the girl rambled out an apology and wished him a pleasant stay. Turning away, the older man didn't respond, instead making a beeline for the elevator.
Over his shoulder, in spirit form, his Heroic Spirit continued to berate him.
"You really should have thanked her, Alasdair," he said, his voice resonating in the man's head. "Ignoring her was rude."
Alasdair Heath elected not to respond. Ever since the Heroic Spirit had been summoned, it had done nothing but criticise him.
He initially thought that this job was going to be easy money. Perform a summoning and kill a few Mages. It was nothing entirely alien to him; after all, he had killed Mages before.
What he hadn't counted on was the scope and scale of what he was now a part of.
Damn that old bastard... he thought, bitterly. He didn't tell me just how intense this whole thing would be. If he had, I don't know if I would have signed up. And to think I felt sorry for him... No Mages born naturally in his family anymore, so he hired me to compete for him. Now I know what he's doing... Biding time until it rolls along next time, and using me as a stop post for the time being.
Now in the elevator, Alasdair watched the numbers light up beside him, as he traveled upwards.
"Fucking Matou's..." he muttered under his breath.
"And once again I find myself pulling you up about the way that you talk about your employers," his Servant said, materialising beside him in the elevator.
Slim and unimposing the man had dark skin and a white beard. Dressed entirely in black robes, a white enamel mask in the shape of a skull hung from his belt.
Alasdair swore under his breath. "I keep telling you not to materialise in public."
"This is not public," the Servant replied. "I have been an Assasin for far longer than you, my boy, and I know when I am being watched. And at present, there are no eyes on me."
"What do you want?" Alasdair asked, sharply.
"Orders," Assasin replied. "Surely you have something to give me? As you are well aware, the Grail War is only a few days away. We require preparations."
Sighing, the hitman finally turned to face his Servant. "Well then what would you suggest?"
"Thermal sensors," the spirit replied.
"Excuse me?"
"On all major rooftops in the city," Assasin continued, folding his arms over his chest. "Pointed at the streets. It may not identify any Servants, but for Masters it will be more than effective. Magic Circuits in the body result in a notable increase in body temperature, and the presence of Command Spells will only raise it even higher."
"How do you even know what a thermal sensor is?"
"In the process of summoning, all Heroic Spirits are given knowledge of the modern world," Assasin replied. "Some of us use it more practically than others."
Alasdair let out a low grunt. "I guess that makes se-"
The door to the elevator opened, revealing an elderly couple standing in the hallway. Beside him, his Servant had already vanished into the ether.
Nodding gruffly at the couple, Alasdair exited the elevator past them and strode down the hallway. Reaching the door to his rented room, he unlocked the door before entering and bolting it behind him.
Settling down his case on the sole bed, he drew the curtains and withdrew the contents.
Metallic clicks filled the air as he locked the pieces of his numerous firearms into place. Methodically, he worked with a cold and empty expression, behind his dark glasses.
Pausing suddenly, he picked up and examined a particular piece. Turning it over in his hands, he stopped in thought for a moment. The words of his Servant played back in his head.
"Hmm..." he hummed. "Thermal scope it is."
Alberto Von Einzbern strode through the heavy doors that provided entrance to the castle and threw his gaze around the enormous hall. Over his head, an ornate chandelier hung from the white marble ceiling, throwing golden light onto the numerous tapestries and paintings hung from the walls. The soles of his white leather shoes clacked against the tiled floor as he advanced further into the castle.
Materialising behind his Master, Saber lumbered into the Castle. No longer wearing his typical combat-centric garb, he was clad in a plain black suit, complete with a white shirt and black tie.
Around the duo, a legion of Alberto's servants busied themselves with preparations to conceal and protect the castle with a Bounded Field.
"This will be our home, for the duration of the War," Alberto explained, not once looking at his Servant. "The defences prepared are perfect. A Bounded Field already exists around the forest, so as to conceal its presence from intruders, and the remainder of my faculty are strengthening the spiritual defensive wall protecting the castle. I can activate it at will as soon as I detect an invader entering the forest."
"Mhmm," Saber hummed, disinterested, as he strode across the room to a bordering dresser. Set upon the structure was an expensive looking vase. Prodding the rim, the Servant toppled the china from its perch. Colliding with the floor, it promptly shattered.
The Einzbern family head didn't so much as flinch.
Still not looking at his Servant, he began to climb the enormous staircase ahead of him. Raising one hand over his shoulder, he beckoned the Heroic Spirit to follow him.
"Do you know the speciality of the Einzbern family?" he asked, still facing ahead as Saber began to scale the incline behind him.
"Not at all," the Spirit replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets and continuing to examine his surroundings. Around his brutish features, his long grey hair swayed gently from the small motions of his head.
"My family are the world's leading experts in the field of Alchemy," Alberto explained. "With an extreme emphasis placed... On the creation of Homunculi."
"So I take it that's what you are?" Saber asked, gruffly. "Some kind of living doll?"
"In as many words..." the pure white man replied. "Though compared to my butlers and maids, I am a bit of a special case."
Quickening his pace, the Heroic Spirit drew level with his Master. Looking down at him, from an imposing height, he pulled a quizzical expression.
Alberto dropped his voice low. "I am telling you this because the information may end up being pertinent for the battles to come. Only a select few of my staff know, and I would rather it be kept that way. If only in the interests of raising our chances in the War."
Saber said nothing, instead keeping pace with the red-eyed man, and waiting for an explanation.
"Homunculi are different from normal humans," the Einzbern explained. "While humans have the ability to utilise Magic Circuits in varying degrees, Homunculi are essentially Magic Circuits given physical form. As such, we have an increased and far superior natural affinity for Magecraft. However... That comes at the cost of our physical constitution. Put simply, we tend to be more frail and die easier than humans."
Now reaching the top of the great staircase, the duo began to advance deeper into the depths of the castle. As they moved, Saber kept his eyes trained on his Master's face. As he had come to expect, the spectral individual had yet to display a single emotion.
"But frailty is not a quality to be sought in a soldier," Alberto continued. "Least so in one set to battle for the Grail. And as such, drastic measures were taken. The man standing before you now is in fact the fifty-sixth Alberto Von Einzbern."
Saber narrowed his eyelids. "What happened to the rest?"
"They perished in an attempt to perfect the process," he said, simply. "In addition to Homunculi, the Einzbern family is also extremely adept in the creation of Golems. Golems, as I'm sure you are aware, are artificial entities made from some kind of base element. This makes them superior to humans physically, but somewhat lacking in regards to Magecraft, past the creation of other Golems and Homunculi." Lifting one hand in front of his face, Alberto flexed his fingers. "I am the result of surgically transplanting the Magic Circuits of a Homunculus into the body of a Golem." He lowered his hand and finally looked up at Saber. "Hence, number Fifty Six."
Saber shifted in place uncomfortably and let out a low grunt. "That had to've been painful."
"The removal of Magic Circuits is akin to ripping out the nervous system," Alberto explained. "So yes, it was painful. However... I can now no longer feel pain. It appears that during the transplantation, my nerve endings were seared."
That explains the dead eyes... Saber thought to himself. He says he can't feel pain, but I'd wager he can't feel much of anything.
"So why tell me this?" the large, grey-haired, man asked solemnly.
Approaching a high window, the duo stepped up towards the glass and stared out across the vast expanse of trees. In the sky, the sun was slowly beginning to sink over the horizon.
"To let you know that I'm not as frail as you might assume," the Master explained. "So you need not protect me in any confrontation we may find ourselves in. Our objective is to win. Nothing more."
"You don't want me to defend you from other Servants?" Saber asked, somewhat hesitantly.
"Servants are another matter," Alberto replied. "Your job is to fight Servants. And if one somehow manages to attack me, then you're clearly not doing your job."
The Heroic Spirit chuckled under his breath. "Fair point."
"What I was referring to were confrontations with other Masters." Reaching out and pressing his fingertips into the cold surface of the glass, his red eyes flicked over the leafy canopy below. "Any Master we come across, leave them to me. Barring the Caster Servant, I can say with utmost certainty that I am the strongest Mage in this War."
Kazuo Tousaka sat lounging in the high-backed leather chair that inhabited the corner of his study. The smell of incense hung in the air, wafting around his head of neatly slicked back hair. Rolling between his fingers, a bright blue gem reflected diamond points of light that danced across his face.
His expression was calm and pensive; dark blue eyes staring out of his face at nothing in particular. Thoughts and plans for the War danced through his mind, occupying far more of his attention than anything in the physical world around him. The numerous spiritual barriers set up around the Tousaka mansion ensured that he would not need to pay any attention to the defence of his home. For years he had been storing Mana into his gems for this very purpose. Set all around his property, a number of them were responsible for the maintenance of his defences.
Further afield, he had sent out a number of familiars, his consciousness linked with theirs. That way he would be able to spot any potentioal trespassers before they even arrived at his stronghold.
Kazuo had been preparing for this battle since he could walk and form words in his mouth.
The sole heir to the Tousaka estate, his father had started his training early. From a young age he was groomed and tested, all to evoke Heavens Feel. All to reach the Root.
The most gifted Mage in six generations of his family, Kazuo was born with peerless potential for Magecraft. As such, he was given a special education. His life was devoted to the War.
However it still wasn't enough.
He needed more. He needed to be certain that he could win.
It was because of that need that he had purposely searched out the other Masters before the official starting date. A long-time alliance between his family and the Holy Church had helped him immensely in this venture. Several years earlier, he approached the supposedly impartial mediator and negotiated the reveal of the only other Master that had stepped forwards and revealed himself: A man not associated with either the Mage's Association and the Church.
Kazuo's plan had been to bring the independent Master into the fold. It would have been a great advantage to have a pawn that he could play off of. Someone who he could mould into an ally that would fight the way that he needed. And then, when the time was right, he would stab him in the back and claim the Grail for himself.
Unfortunately that venture did not work out as well as he had hoped. The man had figured out Kazuo's intentions before either had summoned their Servant; though not before the Tousaka heir had taught him a number of useful skills.
Still... he thought, clasping the gem in his hand tightly. I at least know what I taught him. And before I encountered him, his rank as a Mage was so low that it's almost laughable.
Rising to his feet, he made his way across the room to one of the high bookcases and pulled out a thick leather-bound volume. Thumbing through the pages, more out of boredom than genuine interest, Kazuo's mind lingered on the other Master.
Out of the corner of his eye, a faint shimmer caught his attention.
Materialising into solid form, his Servant appeared in a ripple of ethereal light. Petite yet toned, the woman was almost entirely naked. Milky pale skin almost seemed to luminesce, while her long black hair swallowed all light that seemed to encroach upon her. Glowing out of her face, the woman's eyes were a deep and all-consuming red.
"Ah, Caster," Kazuo muttered. "You've returned earlier than I expected."
"I grew weary of the world outside," the beautiful young woman replied. "I much prefer the air in here. Your ancestors picked a good place for the manor; strong magic lives here."
"So does this mean that there will be less of your little excursions?" the Master asked, raising one eyebrow.
"Well I didn't exactly say that," Caster smiled in reply.
Internally, Kazuo cursed his Servant. While her power was undeniable, and her status as a Caster complimented his own abilities well, her general demeanour irked and grated against him. Personality wise, they couldn't have been more opposite if they tried.
"So your preparations to build your own Mana reserve are complete?" he asked, in an attempt to take his mind of off their less than desirable relationship.
"Almost," she replied, leaning back against the edge of a nearby table and folding her arms over her breasts. "The gems that you gave me have been very useful."
"That's good to hear," Kazuo said, averting his gaze from her nude form. "I don't want to leave anything up to chance."
Caster pursed her glossy red lips and cocked her head to the side. "Don't worry. As long as you have me around, you've all but won." A mocking light glimmered across her eyes. "Even if we do encounter the Master you're so nervous about."