Ritsuka stared nervously at the two men standing a dozen yards or so from them. He nervously gripped the hilt of his sword, while Nightingale, Mordred, Mash, and his other Servants all gathered around him to form a loose, protective formation.
"Your Majesty," said the tall, muscular, dark haired man on the right. Even though he didn't swing that way, Ritsuka would be hard-pressed to deny that the Servant had an attractive nature to him. He carried two spears that were wrapped up in bindings, but he could still see that one was the same red color as Chulainn's Gàe Bolg, while the other looked to be made of solid gold. He wore dark green armor, and on his right cheek was a small beauty mark. "We found them. The ones who have been halting the advance. It seems they're Servants, with a Master among them, no doubt. I can see why our troops aren't pushing forward. This is probably as far as the unsung warriors can go. Now it's our turn to step up."
The Servant one the left, also equipped with a spear, shook his head with a brief burst of soft laughter escaping open lips. He held himself in what Ritsuka now recognized to be a royal bearing. He had long, blonde hair, and wore shining silver armor outlined with gold. His right shoulder was exposed, while his left was protected with a blue pauldron. His blue-green eyes glinted with some sort of unnatural wisdom.
"Just what I expected from my faithful subordinate, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. Your eyes are, yes, if I were to compare, akin to a hawk!" The first Servant, Diarmuid, bowed his head, looking mildly embarrassed.
"…You are too kind. Compared to your wisdom, Fionn mac Cumhaill, I am nothing." The second Servant, Fionn, threw his head back and laughed merrily. Even though the two Servants, Lancers, if he had to guess, were acting rather relaxed, Ritsuka knew better than most that they could turn from jovial gawkers into remorseless killers if they wanted to.
Curiously enough, though, Ritsuka did notice how Diarmuid seemed to be rather awkward around what Ritsuka presumed to be the Lancer's king. "Hahaha! Enough with the modesty," Fionn said with a wave of his free hand, a glint in his eyes. "You have an eye for beauty. The fact that you chose Gráinne proves it."
Ritsuka wasn't familiar with the name, but it must have been some source of contention or something between the two Lancers, for Diarmuid paled rather noticeably. His amber eyes widened slightly, and he took a half-step backwards, bowing his head as he stammered out a response. "…N-No. I wouldn't…say that… Uh…"
Fionn grunted softly, waving his hand again, more dismissively this time. "Sorry, I was only joking! That was a bit mean of me! Now, let's fight!" Everyone tensed up, waiting for the two male Servants to make their first move. "Let's show them the power of the Knights of Fianna! And then, let's bring an eternal empire to this fertile land!"
"As you wish!" Diarmuid responded, sounding more confident this time as he flourished his twin spears. "I am Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the best spearman of the Knights of Fianna."
"Diarmuid," Mash said softly beside him. "The 'radiant-faced' Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. And standing right by him is Diarmuid's lord, King Fionn mac Cumhaill."
"In other words, you two are pathogens," Nightingale stated bluntly, staring determinedly at the two. Ritsuka reflectively swallowed softly. Well, at least their new ally wasn't focused on them with that intensity of hers at the moment.
Diarmuid, unaware of the true meaning to her words, stared at the scarlet-dressed Berserker in abject confusion. He cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed. "Pathogens?" He repeated, before shaking his head. "No, we're just warriors. Nothing more, nothing less. Whoa!" Diarmuid shouted in shock as Nightingale lowered her revolver, having just taken a shot at the green-armored Lancer that he barely managed to sidestep. Next to him, Fionn had a single eyebrow arched, looking vaguely amused at Nightingale's actions.
The Berserker pulled back the hammer of her firearm once more, glaring at the two Irish Servants. "With your deaths, I shall eradicate this disease!" Diarmuid let out a long sigh of disappointment that was also tinged with what Ritsuka felt was frustration.
"Ugh. So, you don't listen to what people say, huh?" Diarmuid asked Nightingale rhetorically as a scowl creeped onto his lips. "I don't like it. I really don't like such women."
"You gonna stand over there and run your mouth, or you gonna pick up your balls and fucking fight?" Mordred demanded angrily, dismissing her helmet to glare at Diarmuid. "I thought you were a knight! What a joke!"
Ritsuka watched as a clearly-offended Diarmuid opened his mouth to retort, before he stilled, his eyes fixed on Jacob's partner. The former 48th Master Candidate watched as those eyes narrowed briefly before widening. He seemed to be shocked, as if the Irish Lancer had somehow met Mordred before.
But Mordred didn't seem to give any indications of having crossed paths with Diarmuid before…
"Your face…it seems so familiar… What is your name?" Politely asked the Servant in question. Mordred huffed, holding Clarent before her.
"Mordred," she said curtly. Ritsuka didn't fail to notice how she hadn't added on the title of being the son of Arthur Pendragon (now known more accurately as Artoria Pendragon). Diarmuid didn't say anything for what felt like a solid minute, looking deep in thought.
"I see," Diarmuid finally said softly. Readying his twin spears again, he looked over his shoulder at Fionn. "Please forgive this abrupt change in planes, Your Majesty, but I request permission to engage Sir Mordred in one-on-one combat?"
Fionn raised both of his eyebrows, and rubbed his chin. "Even if she accepts your challenge, her Master doesn't interfere, and her allies over there also keep out, that still leaves me with seven Servants to deal with." Ritsuka almost blurted out that it was actually eight. However, Jack was being kept in reserve, utilizing her deadly Presence Concealment ability. Her task was to keep an eye out for any hostile Assassin-class Servants and counter them if they tried to either attack Ritsuka or sneak into the camp. The 'murder child', as Isabella had off-handedly referred to her as, wasn't the only one who wasn't suppose to engage in a Servant battle unless absolutely necessary.
Medea, Drake, and Atalante were also more in a supporting role. The reason for the latter two was that they both possessed a highly-effective, Anti-Army Noble Phantasm. They would continue holding the line as best they could, while Medea stayed close to Ritsuka as she was essentially the team's medic.
While Gilles and Chulainn could also join in on the Servant battle, realistically, they would focus on guarding the others while Ritsuka's Archer and Lancer focused on whittling down further the Celtic horde still assembled before them.
So realistically, it was Mash and Nightingale who would be facing down Fionn if he did what Ritsuka suspected the royal Irish Lancer would do. Fionn sighed. "I guess it's only fair for you to settle anything you have with this Saber Servant you challenged. I also suppose it's only fair to have some support of my own. They're nothing like the Knights of Fianna, mind you, but they do have numbers. Warriors, resume the attack!" With an ear-ringing roar, the seemingly-endless mass of warriors began surging froward.
"Pretty boy is mine," Mordred growled under her helmet. "Ritsuka, focus on that Fionn fellow and the remaining Celts." Even though technically Mordred was one of his subordinates due to her status as Jacob's primary partner, Ritsuka didn't even consider suggesting otherwise. Furthermore, he recognized that in this case, a one-on-one fight might be for the best for Diarmuid. Ritsuka didn't want to imagine what could possibly go wrong with those two spears darting in and out amongst a group of Servants.
"I will assist Mash against the other pathogen," Nightingale said in her typical bluntness. Fionn's eyebrow twitched rather violently at once more being called that. He kept quiet, though, while his subordinate and Mordred stepped to the side.
His lips set in a determined frown, Ritsuka began barking out his orders. This time, it wouldn't be like the final battle in London!
"Mash, Nightingale, focus on Fionn! Drake, Atalante, resume opening fire on the enemy army! Gilles, Chulainn, focus on keeping any stragglers from sneaking up on Mash and Nightingale."
"I won't let you down, Senpai!"
Mash's eyes widened as the spear whipped around in Fionn's hands. The butt of the spear caught Nightingale in the stomach, and sent her tumbling head over heels across the battlefield. To her credit, Mash's ally got back up onto her feet, completely unbothered in being covered in a light layer of dust.
The Berserker whipped out her gun and fired a quick set of shots that Fionn was forced to dodge in an impressive display of agility. It reminded Mash of watching Chulainn in a fight, actually. Thankfully, while she wasn't sure of Fionn's Noble Phantasm, what she had read about his legend indicated that it was unlikely to have the dangerous lethality factor that Gàe Bolg possessed.
That didn't make him any less of a threat, of course.
Seeing that his attention was focused solely on Nightingale and her gun at the moment, Mash charged forward, keeping quiet. Whether by design or by coincidence, Nightingale's shooting served the purpose of distracting Fionn from his other opponent.
At the last moment, Nightingale held her fire as Mash closed the gap between her and their mutual opponent. Letting out a soft grunt, she spun around, building up momentum for her shield as she brought it around.
There was a jarring sensation that ran up her arms as her shield slammed into Fionn's spear. The Lancer stared at her with an arched eyebrow, though it didn't seem to be of the condescending nature. Rather, he seemed impressed, perhaps?
"Hm, a skilled beauty, I see," The blonde Servant murmured, and despite her best efforts Mash couldn't help but feel blood rush into her cheeks at the compliment. Even after several weeks of dating Ritsuka, she was still vulnerable to blushing when complimented.
Fionn looked like he had more to say, for he started to open his mouth, but before he could utter even a single word, a glove-covered fist slammed into Fionn's right cheek. Mash saw his eyes widen momentarily before he was sent skidding face first in the dirt.
"Careful, Mash. Don't let the pathogen infect you. I already have enough patients as is," Nightingale stated flatly.
"Uh, right!" Mash replied, not fully sure of how to react to the rebuke. She filed the information to be properly assessed after the battle ended.
"Low blow," Fionn muttered, pushing himself up onto his feet and glaring at the Berserker. "Perhaps it is time to kick it up a notch," he huffed, before darting forward again. Mash's eyes widened as she barely managed to bring her shield up in time to block his attempt to skewer Nightingale.
The battle passed by in a blur. Despite having never fought with her before, Mash quickly figured out an appropriate strategy for fighting with Nightingale. The Berserker would take the offensive role, while Mash would play defensive.
While it prevented Fionn from scoring any critical hits, he was still able to avoid being hit somehow, leading to a rather aggravating stalemate.
Mash calculated that roughly five minutes had passed before a shout interrupted them.
"Gah!" Fionn's companion called out. Looking out of the corner of her eye, Mash saw Diarmuid stumble backwards, one hand pressed against his chest as crimson blood began flowing down a jagged, diagonal cut courtesy of Clarent. Fionn clucked his tongue against his teeth before leaping backwards, towards Diarmuid.
Mordred snarled as her opponent caught the blade of Clarent by the two spears he held in an X-shape. That snarl was choked off with a gasp as the air was driven out of her lungs as he lashed out with a kick. While her armor absorbed the damage, enough momentum was transferred through that it felt like a punch.
Using the opportunity to put distance between them, Diarmuid leapt backwards, and any remaining momentum from her attack carried Clarent downwards, carving a shallow trench in the dirt where the Irish Lancer had been standing on only moments earlier.
"You look similar to someone I once fought in a Holy Grail War. The armor, weaponry, and fighting style is different, though. For the life of me, I can't remember who that Saber was, though!" Diarmuid said, looking rather frustrated with himself. Huh, must have been an instance of memories only being partially summoned. Kinda like what had happened when she and Jacob had met Ruler back in Orleans.
Still, a Saber-class Servant that apparently looked similar to Mordred? The Knight of Rebellion gritted her teeth in frustration. It must have been Arthur, then. At least he wasn't wasting his breath throwing out insults which now had little effect against her.
…Unless they were hurled at her by that damn Dragon Bitch, at least…
"Well, I am my own person," Mordred retorted, her legs tensing up as she readied herself to charge forward. She leveled Clarent so that it was parallel to the ground, its tip pointed to the center mass of Diarmuid. "And right now, I'm the Servant who's going to crush you."
Diarmuid didn't say anything, and Mordred didn't add anything else as she shot forward. Diarmuid's spears shot out at her. Or rather, the red one that he held in his right hand.
Even as she twisted to dodge the red spear, she could tell that it was going to at least scrape against her side. However, it would be little more than a glancing blow at that angle, especially considering her armor's protective strength.
Intent on running Clarent straight through Diarmuid's torso, Mordred tensed up her abdomen for the imminent jolting impact from his spear.
Then, something happened that should have been impossible.
Mordred gasped softly in alarm as she felt a burning sensation in her side. Eyes wide behind Secret of Pedigree, she looked downward to see that somehow Diarmuid's red spear had sliced through the side of her armor.
That shouldn't have happened, though!
Snarling angrily, Mordred swung her left fist into Diarmuid's lower abdomen, sending him flying through the air, though he recovered with grudgingly admirable grace and dexterity, landing on his feet. "That's a fancy trick there, what you did with your spear."
"Many a foe has discovered at great cost it's special ability. I commend you for not falling prey to its first strike."
"I've taken worse hits from bigger spears than that toothpick," Mordred retorted haughtily, even as she mentally flinched from recalling the hell of Camlann and her final moments alive. The sensation of Rhongomyniad almost splitting her in two as it punched through her breastplate.
The pain quickly turned into anger. Anger that surged through her body and reinvigorated an already-furious knight. With a savage yell, Mordred darted forward again, catching Diarmuid off-guard by the sudden offensive.
Before he could muster an effective guard, Mordred's armored right knee slammed into the Lancer's crotch. His eyes widened as he stumbled backward, a high-pitch, almost inaudible whimper escaping from his lips instinctively. However, Diarmuid was able to deflect the follow-up blow from Clarent by once more utilizing those two spears of his as batons, diverting her sword's path so that the massive blade slammed into the earth.
Well, at least he was proving a worthy knight to fight against. Mordred twisted backwards, narrowly avoiding a thrust to her right shoulder from Diarmuid's yellow spear. She wasn't sure why, exactly, but her battle-proven instincts screamed at her that the spear in question was far more dangerous than the one that was able to wound her despite the enchantments on her armor.
She wasn't in a hurry to see if her gut was correct on that account, either. Swinging Clarent upwards, she sent the tip of the spear in question upwards. At the same time, she threw a hard left hook that caught him just a few inches below that beauty mark of his.
The Knight of Rebellion continued to exchange a mixture of savage blows and elegant counters. In a way, it was brute strength against dexterity. To Mordred's aggravation, the red spear managed to pierce her sides a few more times, inflicting superficial wounds that nevertheless further provoked her ire.
Finally, fed up with the stalemate, Mordred slammed her helmet into Diarmuid's forehead. She heard an extremely satisfying crunching sound, followed up by a cry of pain as Diarmuid stumbled backwards, blood sliding down his face from his newly-broken nose. The Lancer had a dazed look in his eyes, and Mordred knew that now was the moment.
"I've got you now!" Mordred roared, dragging Clarent downwards diagonally, fully exploiting the gap in Diarmuid's defenses. A split second before impact, her opponent seemed to realize what was coming, and tried to catch Clarent once more with his two spears, but it was too late.
Mordred's momentum from the swing enabled it to tear through his chest plate as if it were cardboard, slicing open his chest in one long strike.
"Ugh!" Mordred's opponent cried out in shock. He stumbled backwards as great clouts of crimson began dripping down his chest armor. Damn, it wasn't deep enough a blow for it to prove fatal. Mordred risked taking her eyes off of Diarmuid for a brief second to check on her own injury.
To her grim satisfaction, the armor was completely restored, and she could feel the cut along her ribs no longer. While he was injured himself, Jacob was still providing Mana to heal her. Still, to encounter a weapon that could slip past her armor's defenses was a bit…unnerving. She'd have to pass this information on to Jacob and Ritsuka if her opponent escaped.
Looking back up, she saw Fionn land right next to his badly-injured subordinate, clucking his tongue softly but rebukingly. "My, you were caught off guard, Diarmuid! Leave it to me. I'll heal your wounds," he said, bending down by a nearby puddle of muddy water. "It's not the cleanest, I know, but at least we're Servants for this," Fionn added, scooping some of the dirty water with both hands before offering it to Diarmuid.
He drank the offered water without having even a hint of disgust, and to Mordred's shock, and mild horror, the wound she had inflicted on his chest started to seal up, as if a Command Seal had been used. He bowed, head hung low in what Mordred recognized as shame. "My lord, I am grateful. Please accept my apologies. Forgive me, I underestimated her."
Fionn threw his head back in a full-belly laugh that sounded rather mocking to Mordred's ears. "That's my 'lady-killer' Diarmuid. So you're not comfortable taking on women?"
"Oi! Don't either of you bastards call me that!" Mordred snarled angrily, tightly squeezing the hilt of Clarent with her gauntlets. She barely noticed the embarrassed look on Diarmuid's face in her rage. He seemed to mutter something, but Fionn held up his left hand apologetically.
"I jest, I jest! That was a pretty good one, too. But no need to worry. There's a number of good-looking, powerful women in this group. To think they're more than a match for both of us, not to mention our soldiers, and after fighting this long…it's quite impressive. Seasoned veterans?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mordred sniped back, practically dying to take both of their heads right here and now. "Now why don't you just stay there and let us kill you?"
"I have a different idea in mind, my lovely," Fionn countered smoothly. Was he…did he dare flirt with her?! Fresh waves of crimson electricity crackled over Mordred's armor as every fiber of her being screamed for her to kill them both.
"Wait!" Nightingale called out sharply, cutting through Mordred's rage like a dagger. "What's this… The wounded back at the camp…" Mordred looked over her shoulder to see that their Berserker ally looked equal parts horrified and furious.
"Oh, my," Fionn tittered mockingly. "I think she's noticed. Noticed that this Holy Grail War is by all means…a war." Mordred's eyes widened as the full implications of the king's words hit her.
The Knight of Rebellion had fought at a disadvantage, so she understood going around the norms of warfare. However, there had been a number of lines that even in her hate-fueled rage, Mordred had refused to cross. Pillaging, raping, and the killing of innocents and wounded.
"Oh no!" Mash cried out, the Demi-Servant having finally reached the same conclusion as Mordred. "The other soldiers!"
"You bastards!" Mordred snarled, fighting down the wave of panic. Jacob had his other Servants with him. Even that bitch of an Avenger wouldn't let her Master be killed. Still, all it took was one of those Celts sneaking past her comrades and stabbing Jacob in his bed to take away one of the few people she truly loved. It was extraordinarily difficult for her to break ranks right here and now. Fionn shrugged his shoulders callously.
"Perhaps. As far as we're concerned, however, we only needed to keep you lot here. We had so many Celtic warriors that I knew you, young Master, and your Servants present would be hard-pressed to keep track off. It didn't matter how many had to die to distract you. They're little more than nameless warriors. Just unique monsters who will continue to fight. Of course, they're little match for Servants…" he paused, and a cruel smile flickered over his lips. "But tell me, did you leave enough Servants behind to guard your fellow Master and all the injured American troops?"
"I'll kill you!" Mordred howled, surging forward. She saw Fionn beginning to smirk, while his mild-mannered lackey pushed himself in the front. No matter, she would kill him, and then force Fionn to call back his forces before she killed him too.
No one, no one, was going to take Jacob away from her. Not like what had happened to Kairi in their fight against Assassin of Red.
Diarmuid and Mordred readied themselves to lash out at the other, but the Knight of Rebellion noticed how the Lancer's eyes widened once more. "Your Majesty, please retreat!"
Barely had the words escaped from his lips before the far flank of Fionn's army began to be bombarded with what Mordred sensed were magical attacks. The kind only a Servant could cast, though it was an attack style that neither Medea nor Babbage used. Allies?
Mordred came to a stop, warily eyeing the two hostile Lancers. Diarmuid kept his gaze focused on her, while his master turned to look in the direction of the surprise attack.
Fionn growled, his grip tightening rather dangerously on the shaft of his spear. "Is that the much rumored Resistance? If there are more Servants on the field, there's nothing we can do." He cursed under his breath, turning to look at Mordred and Mash, who had rushed over to the side of the Knight of Rebellion supportively.
"Doctor Roman contacted Senpai. He reports that Jacob is still alive. Jeanne Alter and the others are doing their best to hold back the enemy assault."
"I'll be joining Nightingale the instant these two rabbits turn tail and flee," Mordred whispered back harshly. Mash nodded sympathetically.
"Fine," Fionn spat, turning around. "We'll retreat, for now. Diarmuid! Give the other for the other warriors who are not engaged to retreat as well."
"Very well, but will they be able to comprehend our orders?" Diarmuid asked. But his master was already walking away.
"Hmm? If they don't, it can't be helped. We'll abandon them. Come on, don't feel bad. They're nothing more than monsters born indefinitely from our queen. Even if we lose a few thousand here, it won't be a problem for us. And if those warriors that snuck into the medical camp manage to accomplish anything, all the better."
Diarmuid, to his credit, seemed rather appalled at the idea. However, his loyalty to Fionn won out. "Indeed, my liege. All right, let us retreat." He turned around and began barking orders, while Fionn came to an abrupt halt.
"Oh, before we depart, I forgot something important." Mordred tensed up, expecting for one final attack, possibly even utilizing his Noble Phantasm, especially after he lowered that spear of his. He pointed it at Mash. "Oh, beautiful Demi-Servant."
Shieldy blinked, wide-eyed and taken aback. "D-Do you mean me?" She squeaked, shuffling uncomfortably by the intensity of Fionn's gaze. Mordred growled softly, shifting her stance slightly.
"Yes, I mean you. Are you determined to oppose us?"
"Yes, along with my Master, we will defeat you." Fionn's eyes locked on to Shieldy's for what seemed to be an uncomfortably long time before the Lancer finally spoke up again.
"I see. That's a truly beautiful gaze you have. Full of sincerity. I shall forgive your transgression, for showing me such a wonderful gaze. In return…if you are defeated, I shall have your heart! That's right, you shall become my wife!"
"Excuse me?" Mash asked politely.
"The fuck is wrong with you, asshole!" Mordred snarled. It had taken way too damn long for Shieldy and Rits to hook-up. Like hell she'd sit back and watch all that end up for naught. Fionn seemed to have worked himself up into a state of abject excitement, however, and seemed to have tuned out her and Mash.
"I can't wait, I really can't wait! A truly blissful promise! Now, then, farewell. Fare thee well!" And with that, the two Lancers departed. Ritsuka came hurrying over to them as the majority of the Celtic warriors followed close behind the heels of their whipped masters.
The battle here was over. That didn't mean that Mordred could yet rest, however.
No longer needing to stand firm, Mordred turned around and activated her Mana Burst ability, darting towards the medical camp at full speed.
"Please be okay, Jacob."
Original Endnotes: And done!How were the fight scenes? I hope I did everyone credit. It was especially fun imagining the fight between Diarmuid and Mordred, considering how her armor is suppose to be extremely difficult to damage, and then being stabbed by a spear that seemed to pierce it like it were butter. I also enjoyed the idea of Mordred reacting to being flirted with, because let's be honest, Fionn isn't exactly good at reading people, despite eating the Salmon of Wisdom.
Also, how will our fair damsel, Jacob, fair in this latest turn of events? Guess you'll have to wait until Saturday to find out!
Now, for the question(s) of the chapter! First up, who is your favorite and least favorite Celtic Servant and why? Secondly, which do you think is better, cake or pie?
As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for all the support, you guys rock! Please feel free to let me know what you all thought of the chapter, and I can't wait to find out as well as read your answers! Have a wonderful rest of the week and see you on the weekend!
Updated Endnotes 02/08/23: As always, the fully-updated version of my story can be found on Archive of Our Own if you wish to skip the lag between chapter updates. Otherwise, have a wonderful rest of the week, and see you all next time!