Chapter Two: The Monsters in our Midst

Shirou failed to realize how desperate the Rabonian guards were to recruit their prisoners until his first day at the Holy City had passed. And it was by the first week he discovered how desperate he had been to accept Sid's offer.

According to Galk a recruit would expect at least two months and up to two years of training before being given work to do as a guard. Shirou had been assigned duty the very next day. They found light armor that fit him and sent him off to the ramparts. Shirou protested—he didn't even know what to look for. Sid's reassurance that another man on the wall was enough unsettled him to say the least.

So in the morning Shirou made his way to the wall, with three others assigned to watch him. He found battlements that were grossly undermanned. The wall and its twenty-eight towers held a scarce one hundred and twenty soldiers. It was less than a quarter of what he expected.

"Aye," Harold had said, "we're are a bit short lately. Our younglin's keep gettin' killed."

Did that mean the city was in danger?

"No. The casualties just add up over time. The militia can get the numbers we need in case of an emergency and we have the supplies to equip 'em. Our standing guards, though, is another story."

Weren't they risking a breach if their security was too light?

"Aye. We know that. But the only thing that brings men to our ranks is money."

They didn't have enough?

Harold couldn't answer that question. When he found Galk at the barracks later, the captain answered with some hesitance. "The city relies on the fields that surround it for food," he said. "Whatever surplus we make becomes profit. Local craftsmen and artisans, as well as merchants, contribute to the rest of our economy. We need men to protect the fields, the villages that surround us, as well as the caravans that move from village to village. We don't have the men to do everything."

"And you don't have the money to acquire them," Shirou finished.

"Meanwhile we're losing what we have to the yoma."

"That would explain why you recruited me."

"You don't seem the malicious type. And you did join."

"Yes, I did."

"If it makes you feel any better, you are the first to not have spat at us."

And the week passed like that. Shirou followed orders, ate and slept at the barracks, and learned as much as he could about Rabona and the yoma that plagued it. The rest of the guards were friendly enough to him, though Shirou believed it to be his lack of a criminal record here. They did have a playful streak—he learned of a betting pool among the guardsmen on how long Shirou would survive before a yoma got to him. Surprisingly, it was quite in his favor.

"Well, ya did whip my sorry ass," Harold said at lunch. "That counts for something. I've been a guard for nearly eleven years. Been bitten a couple times but that's it."

"What are yoma anyway?"

Harold nearly spat his drink. "What in buggin' hells? What are yoma? Did you just ask that?"

"I have never seen one," Shirou admitted.

"What are, ugh, look. Yoma are monsters. They hunt men, women, children and the elderly and eat their intestines. They're wicked fast and strong. They can also hide by disguising themselves as people. I lost my brother and several friends to those bastards." Harold drained the rest of his cup.

"I'm sorry."

"Just, whatever. What about you? You have family?"

"No. My father and mother died in a fire. The man who took care of me died when I was younger. Since then, it has been me and a guardian of mine."

Harold frowned as he tore into a loaf of bread. "'ny women?"

Shirou drank his gruel. It was tasteless. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" A grin grew on Harold's face. "I'd like an explanation, if you don't mind."

"I have a few friends."

"How many? Two? Three?"

"Several?"

"Several!" Harold roared with laughter. "What are you doing here, then?"

"I'm far from home."

"Ah. Well. You can just settle here and find a woman." Harold leaned towards him and whispered, "That girl who works at the bakery is a good choice. Her name's Sherry."

"I'm not interested in a relationship."

"That's what I used to say. Then I grew up and got lonely."

Shirou had nothing to say to that.

"Well, the Capt'n Galk told me to take you somewhere after food." Harold rose, waving at another guard in the barracks. "C'mon. I've been told it's important."

With a nod, Shirou grabbed his bread and left.

He never saw one of the other guards snatch the rest of his gruel.

"Here we are."

Shirou studied the neighboring houses. Stone and wood. It seemed like a relatively nice place to live. In the distance he spotted the bakery that sold the good bread. "Where is here?"

"Your new home," Harold answered as he pushed open the door.

Sid emerged from inside. "Shirou? There you are." He gestured for the two to enter. Shirou reluctantly followed Harold inside. "This'll be your residence, Shirou," Sid said. "The Fathers wished it so, and we happened to have one available."

That surprised Shirou. The Father were the closest Rabona had to a government. They were in charge of the cathedral at the center of the city, which served in many ways as the center of the city. As far as he could tell, all the guards were religious.

Shirou examined the house. Wooden floors, stone walls, large hearth. From what he had seen so far, it was one of the more luxurious homes in Rabona. "Well I can't complain, but," he turned back to Sid. "Did the Father mention why I needed one?"

"Well you can hardly live at the barracks."

"True. But I could've roomed at the inn," Shirou pointed out.

"Hmm. True. But that's not much to look forward to." Sid reached into the pouch on his belt and withdrew a purse. He tossed it to Shirou. "Your salary, by the way. No, don't bother arguing. We know you'd be strapped for money if you're not from around here—oh, don't give me that look. We're not stupid!—so take your pay early. We'll work you hard for that, but you'll get the money you earn."

"I thought you didn't have more money."

Sid's smile was tight as he placed a hand on Shirou's shoulder. "Then you better work extra hard."

"I don't feel reassured at all."

"Try to be. You're off for the rest of the day. Harold, take this," Sid said as he handed over the papers that were on a table, "back to the barracks."

"Yessir."

"I'll see you two in the morning."

When the door closed behind the two of them, Shirou collapsed into a chair as if his strings had been cut. There was an aching weariness that had settled in his bones since the day he had arrived, and now, alone, he could finally relax.

In the week, not only had he been getting familiar with the city to the best extent that he could; Shirou had also been finding as many clues as he could in regards to Herman.

He found nothing.

That meant either Herman did not come to this foreign world or that Herman was covering his tracks: hiding, waiting and watching. Neither scenario brought Shirou any comfort. He had no delusion in sending himself back save Rin or perhaps even Zelretch himself coming to his rescue. And Herman—well, the warlock made himself known as a cunning man as well as a formidable magi in the time he stayed at Fuyuki. If Herman had been a contender during the Holy Grail War three years ago, he would have without a doubt been the victor. And now all Shirou could do was grasp at straws. Straws he didn't even have.

He rose from his chair and explored the house to keep his mind off the unknown. If anything, the well in his backyard nailed in the fact he was far behind his time. He peeked down it once before setting the cover back over it.

Hopefully there won't be a drought, Shirou mused.

But as he found the bed and collapsed into it—a bit stiffer than the beds in the barracks—the real question that bothered him returned.

What was he to do next?

"Fightin' yoma 's a lot different from fightin' men," Harold said while adjusting the straps on his chestplate. "Ya see, men you can predict. You know when a man wants to strike because his body moves so. But a yoma ain't like that. They're devils. They don't move which way and follow like a man does. One moment they're far as the eye can see, then next you've got to get your shield up or lose your face."

Shirou listened, reflecting on his own experience with fighting monsters.

A man named Ronald, who watched the patrol's right flank, continued. "Not just that. Some of these yoma be wild beasts. You're fighting a dog or a lion with the strength to crush stone. Hard enough to fight the normal ones; now you gotta fight the yoma kind."

Their rear guard spoke up. "Remember Ralph? Got mauled by one he did."

"That he did," their right flank said. "Took his arm clean 'fore he got a sword through its head."

"Hey! We don't need Shirou terrified yet," Harold shouted. He took a look at Shirou, who maintained a passive expression, and mistook his calm for supressed anxiety. "Look. It's o-kay to be scared. I was my first time out here. But the chances you'll meet one on your first day is teensy."

"I'm fine," Shirou said.

He neglected to say his luck was often that bad. A case of bad luck was how he got involved in the War, after all.

"Good. Now here comes a merchant. We check up on them before we let them go. Keeps security tight so those monsters won't weasel past the walls."

"Harold, you said the yoma disguise themselves. How do you know if someone is a yoma?"

"You don't." Before Shirou could speak, Harold waved to the approaching caravan. The caravan's guards, four in chainmail with swords, noticed them and waved back. The distance closed, and Harold eyed the guards as the horses slowed to a stop. "How ye folks doin'? Any trouble?"

"Naw, road was quiet," one of the caravan guards answered.

"Wish it was everyday."

"If they were we'd be out of a job." They shared a laugh.

"What's on board?" Ronald asked.

The caravan guards looked at each other. A soft, middle-aged man poked his head out of the caravan. "Wheat, salt, fur and some weapons. Also," he glanced back into his caravan, "a sculpture of Teresa and Clare from an artisan in Mona."

Ronald peeked inside, raised his brows and nodded.

Shirou whispered to Harold. "One of them is a yoma I think."

Harold turned a stern gaze in his direction. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"There's a smell. Like something rotting."

Harold smelled the air. It was dry, but he smelled no rot. He nudged at the men behind him. "Simon, Cord. Do you smell anything spoiling?"

They sniffed and shook their heads.

Harold frowned. "Which one would—"

That was when it happened. Ronald and the merchant screamed. The four caravan guards went bug-eyed as their two horses grew sharp teeth and bit the heads off of Ronald and their client. One of the horses swat its tail—not a horse's tail but a thick tail like a lizard's with teeth at the end—at a caravan guard and scraped off half his face. Chailmail rings scattered like coins on the road, followed by blood and a corpse.

As Ronald's body collapsed, the horses shook free of their harnesses, tearing apart the front end of the caravan with unnatural strength.

To their added surprise, Shirou was the one to react first.

His sword drawn, he thrust at the throat of one of the creatures. He was quick enough to cut it, but then it turned and kicked at him with its hind leg. Shirou dodged, his sword clattering on the dirt.

Harold pulled Shirou back and barked orders. "You three, get with us! Simon, Cord, circle 'em!"

"Fat chance," a horses growled. Its voice was guttural, almost a hiss.

Its partner galloped around the caravan with a cackling laugh, before charging straight at the caravan guards. Horns sprouted from its head, neck and body, tearing at them as it thrashed.

"Shirou, get your sword! Cord with me! Simon, take its rear!"

Harold and the rest of the Rabonian guards tried to box a horse in, but the way its body elongated and transformed made it impossible to flank. A heavy tail struck Cord square in his shield and sent him sprawling in the dirt. His armor made it impossible to stand before the horse plunged a sword-like leg into the man's chest.

Harold took the opportunity to plunge his own sword into the base of its neck, only to get thrown off.

The creature sneered. "You fucking humans think—"

Shirou beheaded it from behind before turning to the other. One caravan guard lay against the broken caravan, bleeding from his arm. The other two guards were desperately defending against the flailing beast. As Harold shouted, Shirou ran forward.

The yoma caught Shirou's movement and kicked a caravan guard at him.

Shirou nimbly evaded before catching the creature's tail against the bladed edge of his sword. The stubbed remains of the tail knocked away his sword, but that didn't phase him. He drew the dagger from his belt and leapt on the horse, hacking away at its back. It roared with fury before the two caravan guards plunged their weapons into its body. Harold and Simon did the same and the combined weight of the five threw the yoma into the dirt. It was chaos then. They stabbed and cut and shouted and cursed until all that was left was a shredded corpse. The struggle had lasted barely two minutes.

"By Teresa! We're alive!" one of the caravan guards huffed as he fell back into the dirt.

The others seemed to share that relief. Harold glanced at Shirou. "So," he said between heavy breaths, "what do you think of 'em yoma, eh?"

There was a sense of relief when they returned to the city with the help of other guards and caravans.

Shirou watched the others like a hawk as Harold wheezed, having lost his wind when he had been knocked away. Galk had met them with several men at the city's gates. Shirou watched the regretful but detached way the men took away the corpses—though if attacks like that happened frequently, he could understand their callousness. It was draining to see familiar faces twisted in death like that.

Upon hearing Shirou's performance, though, Galk's stern stare took on a hint of approval.

"Very nice. Few recruits get by their first encounter like that."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Galk waved it off. "We guards put our lives on the line knowing the danger. Fighting for the lives of others is an worthy cause to die for." Shirou remained quiet. Galk didn't understand. "You're probably tired. You'll get the day off if you—"

Shirou shook his head. "That's alright. I'm fine. I volunteer to patrol tomorrow as well."

Galk raised a brow. "You think you can handle it?"

Shirou nodded.

He remained silent for the rest of the day contemplating on the yoma he had seen. Four deaths in two minutes. At that rate the situation at Rabona would rapidly turn dire. Yes, now he certainly did understand Sid's need to recruit more guards. And as abrupt the role thrust upon him was, Shirou found a level of acceptance—and defiance. The yoma seemed fierce; the guards could use his help. And help was the one thing Shirou would always give.

a/n: I don't have a regular update schedule for this. I write at home or in between classes.

And just to repeat, the entire Holy Grail War was an AU. The entire War was an AU. (And no I won't write the details about it. I made that mistake last time.)

7-08-2015: "thrust" is the past tense of "thrust". Thanks to Guest. Also a couple other edits.