"Master! Celts are breaking into the camp! We're holding them back, but there's too many!" Jeanne Alter shouted in front of the entrance to the large tent I was in. Sure enough, I could hear the sounds of combat. The smashing and clashing of weapons, the occasional bark of a rifle from the handful of uninjured or lightly-wounded Americans, the cries of pain and grunts of exertion.
A low roar of panic began forming behind me. However, my face hardened. I might not be able to fight like I normally did, but I'd be damned if I were found defenseless. I turned to take stock of the situation inside the main tent that I had been brought into earlier.
There were six soldiers who were either uninjured or lightly injured in the tent with me and had their weapons on hand. Suppressing a cry of pain as I pushed myself onto my feet, I grabbed my sword. Instead of unsheathing it, however, I buried it into the ground, using it as a makeshift crutch.
"If they break into here, it'll be a massacre," I said to the six soldiers, all of whom nodded in grim agreement. "Do any of you know where the closest tent is to this one?"
"At the back," a tall, young boy who had to be just shy of eighteen spoke up. I nodded slowly, as an admittedly desperate plan came to mind. Something like this had worked in a similar situation, though, and without magecraft or Servants.
"Alright. You two," I barked, pointing at the youth and another uninjured and young boy, "cut a hole through the rear, and let the people in the neighboring tent know what the situation is. Help Doctor Rush get the other patients into it. The critical first, then the walking wounded." I turned to the remaining four men. Two of them were tall and bearded, middle-aged. One looked to be in his forties, and his face was heavily scarred. The last was closer in age to the first two veteran-looking fellows, but was clean-shaven.
"You four, start flipping empty beds and cots onto their side. We'll use them as barricades as we buy time for the others."
"Who said you were in charge?" Demanded the clean-shaven soldier. I stared at him coldly.
"If you want to go ahead and die, please, be my guest." I waited a few seconds, but the soldier stayed still, looking down at his feet in shame. I suppressed my scoff of disgust. "Seeing as how no one else is coming up with ideas, this is the best we got. This isn't going to be a last stand, just a delaying tactic. Now, are you four with me?"
"Yes, sir!" I wanted to ask them to not refer to me as sir, but we didn't have the time to argue over formalities. The four soldiers began flipping over the beds, soon having five rows of barricades in place, with a few more on the way.
"What about you, sir? You don't have a gun," pointed out the eighteen-year-old. I grinned wryly, looking more confident than I felt as I rested my free hand on the hilt of the dagger Nero had gifted to me when I served as a general for her in Rome.
"What's your name, lad?"
"Oliver, sir. Private." I nodded once, then slowly unsheathed my pugio, gripping it firmly.
"Well, Private Oliver, I have no plans on dying tonight. I've got loved ones to go home to. Just like you and the others. Focus on helping the others. The sooner they're all out, the sooner we can join y'all." Oliver tilted his head to the side.
"Y'all?"
"Shorthand slang for 'you all'," I said quickly, silently cursing myself for the minor slip-up. A sword sliced through the canvas tent. The owner was apparently impatient enough to cut his own entrance in the front despite the fact that there already was one less than two feet away.
"Master!" Jeanne Alter snarled in warning, and more Celtic screams followed. To my grim disappointment, more of them contained the promise of bloodshed than the ones that served as death cries. I turned to Oliver.
"No more time to talk. Get!" I exclaimed, and the young soldier nodded and scrambled backwards, assisting Doctor Rush and his fellow soldiers at the rear of the tent. My four unnamed companions quickly positioned themselves as more swords and spears hacked at the front of the tent. "Two to each side! Stagger yourselves amongst those barricades, and provide covering fire to your partners!"
Instead of words, the response I received was the sharp crack of rifles being fired, followed by the near-simultaneous sounds of Celts crying out in pain, and the four soldiers working the bolt of their rifles back and forth.
I closed my eyes and summoned a dozen roughly shaped ice spikes. They hovered around my head but I didn't send them out just yet. I took a few steps backwards as the two soldiers closest to the entrance moved back, and then sent them flying forward with a silent mental command.
Eight massive Celts fell down. The average-looking warrior was protected either with little to no clothing, while the warriors that wore chainmail shirts were able to shrug off the spikes for the most part. The following volley of four shots brought some of them down swiftly afterwards, though.
As we moved back again, I risked a look over my shoulder to see that about three-quarters of the patients were out of the tent, and we ourselves were halfway from them now. Alter and the other Servants were doing their best, but still Celts kept pouring in like piranhas that had smelt blood.
"Sir, look out!"
One of the soldiers cried out as a short but burly Celt charged at me. I ducked under his slashing attack, responding with an upward thrust to his chest with my pugio. The leaf-shaped blade tore through the chainmail shirt into the Celt's heart, slaying him. Huh, Nero really had gone all out with these daggers. I'd have to thank her once again for them later. I summoned some more ice spikes and hurled them at the oncoming mass of Celts.
We kept up the pattern, even as my companions called out when each was starting to run low on ammunition. However, our actions bought enough time for Private Oliver and Doctor Rush to get the other patients to safety. I turned to call out that it was our turn to leave, which was timed with an unexpectedly fortuitous lull in the fighting, but waited. Curiously enough, I could hear the Celts still outside calling out to one another, even as I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was growing fainter, and the last of the slain enemy had disappeared, without being replaced like before with reinforcements.
I gestured for the four men to hold, and they did so, all looking as nervous as I felt. I quickly relaxed when I heard a familiar, if acidic, voice called out to me.
"Master, fight's over. The cowards cut and ran," Jeanne Alter said, barely sounding winded. I sheathed my dagger before I responded.
"Well, are you just going to stand out there, or are you going to come in?" I said with a sigh, leaning against the closest overturned bed to hide the wince caused by the latest spike of pain to my hip. The Dragon Witch merely cackled as the tent fold was once more opened.
"Glad to see you're alright, Master. I guess you aren't all that useless after all," Alter said, stepping into the tent. Her sword and armor were liberally sprinkled with dark, crimson-colored liquids, and a thin streak of blood could be seen on her pale cheek. Seeing as how the Dragon Witch wasn't in any visible pain, it was a safe bet that none of it was hers. "You might want to come outside. The Kitten's almost here."
"Jacob!" Mordred called out, darting over. Her helmet split apart to reveal her rather attractive face contorted with concern. She started running her hands lightly over my body, while at the same time she looked all over.
Normally, if someone were to do that, I would chide them teasingly, or something like that. However, I recognized that in this case, Mordred's past issues with losing her surrogate father and previous Master were weighing heavily upon her mind. Furthermore, I also suspected that if I embarrassed her in this state, my body would regret it once my hip had finished healing itself.
Nightingale then scolded both of us for some reason or another (I wasn't exactly paying attention to her), and dragged me back to the tent, where the cot I had been using was righted. All the while, Mordred kept looking over my body like a concerned spouse.
While Mordred inspected me, Ritsuka explained what had happened. I couldn't help but scowl slightly as I was helped back into my bed. Both at the fact that Nightingale was about to pull out the bullet fragments she mentioned earlier without any painkillers, and at the description of the two Irish Lancers Mordred and the others had encountered.
This Fionn fellow sounded particularly suicidal. I was the only one Mordred was okay with performing any kind of romantic or flirting gestures towards her. That, and I felt a bit protective of her. Just as she was of me. The anger I felt certainly was enough to distract me from the impromptu surgery I was experiencing.
After about an hour, Nightingale announced that she had completed removing the last of the fragments, and that she would be keeping a close eye on my hip, and make sure that it was kept clean. I swallowed silently, but completely resigned to that fate. At least I had Mordred with me to protect me and ensure that Nightingale didn't do something drastic and completely unnecessary. Also, the pain was surprisingly little. Well, at least Nightingale knew how to do surgery, that's for damn sure.
After fifteen minutes, I was as ready as I could be for departure. Mash, Ritsuka, and the over Servants were now outside the tents, gathering any supplies they could get their hands on for the long journey ahead of us. Why couldn't we have been sent to America when they had vehicles? At the very least, I hope we weren't going to be going from California to New York on foot.
"Nightingale?" I inquired, as Mordred and I waited at the flap of the tent. It was starting to get dark outside, and I wanted to put as much distance from the battlefield as possible before setting up camp.
"Please give me a moment," came her brisque response. "I'm in the middle of telling Doctor Rush how to care for the patients. Honestly, though this is long before I was born, there is far too little risk management concerning sanitation present." I nodded slowly, knowing better than to argue with her. In a way, it was like talking to a target-fixated Mordred.
Only without the benefit of hugs or cuddling, or the various other things we loved doing with one another. I shook my head slightly, listening in on Nightingale's lecture. "Listen to me. The wounds must be kept clean, and don't lay beds edge-to-edge. Normally, I would never let patients lie down on the filthy ground. Giving them vomit-inducing medication or bloodletting to expel toxins, or having them drink mercury chloride…" Nightingale trailed off, shuddering slightly before standing even taller and glaring ferociously at a now-terrified Doctor Rush. "If you perform outdated treatments like that again, I will punch you until you need treatment yourself. You've been warned."
"But those are the latest techniques," the poor doctor tried to protest. Not having any of it, however, Nightingale drew her revolver and fired a single shot that hit between Doctor Rush's feet. He yelped in shock and started shaking slightly.
"Which is the latest, this gun or that treatment?" Nightingale said, displaying an apparent mastery of deadpanning. Or she would have, if it wasn't for the fact that I damn well knew she would be more than willing to pull that trigger. "Don't make me repeat myself."
"U-Understood! Understood! I understand! Please, no more guns, latest or not!" Nightingale complied, all while not looking away from Doctor Rush.
"Also, treat all patients equally, regardless of age, gender, race, or social status. The only discrimination is the order they receive treatment. If you don't follow these rules, a bullet will go through your forehead, even if I'm five thousand kilometers away." She must have been a blast at parties. "You got all that, Benjamin Rush? Please take good care of the patients."
"I-I will. You can be assured of that!" Nightingale nodded curtly after staring into the doctor's eyes for a few long minutes, satisfied that the terrified man would indeed comply with her directions. She then spun around and walked out of the camp, passing by a bemused Mordred and myself.
"Wait, Benjamin Rush?" I asked softly to myself, my brow furrowing. That name…it sounded so familiar. I hummed and scratched my chin for a second before my eyes widened. No way.
Benjamin Rush? As in one of the Founding Fathers? And Nightingale threatened to shoot him?
…Okay, maybe that last part wasn't so surprising, all things considered. I shook my head, flashing the man an apologetic smile, before following after the nurse Berserker, Mordred right at by side. Mash was staring incredulously at Nightingale.
"Um… Did you just fire your gun again?"
"It's your imagination," Nightingale responded with a perfect poker face. "Let's go." Mash wasn't to be dissuaded, however, and I raised my free hand over my mouth, miming covering up a cough to mask the fact that I was snickering at the byplay.
"No, it wasn't my imagination. You just fired your gun without hesitation. Again."
"I just used the back of its blade."
"I know. You can do that with shields, too," Ritsuka said rather dryly, an uncharacteristic display of sarcasm from my fellow Master. Mash nodded, apparently missing the sarcasm, or in on a joke that I was missing. Possibly both.
"Of course. The trick is to strike gentle, and at the moment of impact, shift the strike point—" Nightingale cut her off with a raised hand, while some of the other Servants, like Mordred and Astolfo, were doing their best to not laugh at the 'mini-lecture' situation.
"Excuse me, please refrain from idle chatter during treatment. Come, let's go." Without waiting for any kind of response, the Berserker started to walk to the camp exit.
"Ah, right! My apologies!" Mash called out, but Florence Nightingale didn't respond.
"That went well," I drawled, taking a few tentative steps with my sword-cane. It wasn't a real sword-cane, but the term would do for now. Transportation over long distances was going to be a problem, though. One that had to be dealt with soon, considering my apparent fractured hip. Luckily, Nightingale had relented and instead of amputating my leg, she removed the bullet fragments. Not that it had been a pleasant experience.
However, for some reason, Medea's healing magic wasn't working on the injury. Something must have been in the bullet that canceled out magecraft techniques, it seems. Hopefully, the effects it had would dull soon now that it had been removed.
"No different from how our missions usually go, Master," Mordred quipped, and I chuckled a bit ruefully. I was about to add more, when once more my suspected E-Rank Luck kicked in. (Well, either mine, Emiya's, or Chulainn's).
"Wait, Florence." The voice of a young girl rang out across the campsite, and everyone fell quiet. "Where do you think you're going?" I turned to look at the newcomer.
It was a short girl with shoulder-length purple hair. She wore an odd cap that was of a dark purple color on top, but the headband area was an odd shade of dull red. Her outfit showed far too much of her shoulders and thighs than I was comfortable seeing an apparent pre-teen wearing. In one hand, she held a book whose cover was decorated with what looked like gold. She had a stern look on her face, and was flanked by fifteen robots, each of the same design as the ones from earlier today.
Beside me, I heard Nightingale exhale in what I assumed was frustration. Ah, so our Lady of the Lantern knew the girl in front of us, then? If so, it didn't seem like they had much of a rapport between one another. "Do you know that leaving your post in the military is an offensive that can get you a meeting with a firing squad? Get back to your post now, or else harsh punishment will be awaiting you." I detected a hint of a Russian accent in the girl's words.
"You go back to your post," Nightingale said with her typical bluntness. "My job has not changed at all. I never agreed to work for you. Furthermore, I feel like I almost found a way to treat the soldiers' ailments at their core, so that's what I am going to do."
"Oh, really?" The girl, a Servant, no doubt, asked in curiosity, before a small smile appeared on her lips. "That is reasonable. Thank you." The smile morphed into a frown. "However, I can't let a Berserker like you wander off like that. I mean, what would happen if you end up disrupting our troops? We already had one such instance from some unidentified newcomers."
I tried and barely managed to not gulp nervously. Either the reports didn't feature enough of an accurate description of our group, or she knew but wasn't focused on us yet. Neither option sat well with me, but I kept silent as the unnamed Servant continued talking. "The king would never approve of this."
"The King?" Nightingale said, sounding disgusted and dismissive. "Someone like that has absolutely no right to stop me. Unless you have a better way to treat the soldiers, then I'm all ears." The Servant sighed, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand.
"Sheesh, you really can't talk to a Berserker. I wonder what I should do. We've never seen eye-to-eye, so maybe this is a good chance to get rid of you?" She sounded half thoughtful, half serious. Which meant 100% trouble for us.
Nightingale's right hand rested gently on the grip of her pistol. She had a rather sinister-looking smile on her lips that had the hair on the back of my neck sticking straight up. "Well, that's not very kind of you, but I feel the same way about you. That would save me some trouble." As the two female Servants exchanged death glares, I sighed softly, leaning against my makeshift-cane. My commlink let out its normal chime, and I raised it to my face, accepting the call.
"Jacob here," I said, watching the escalating war of words.
"Yikes," Doctor Roman said sympathetically, being privy to overhearing the same conversation that I was forced to witness. "We've got sparks flying over there. Why is it when two strong-minded individuals clash, it always turns into a bloodbath like this?"
"Doctor, calm down," I said, sighing again, but this time at his not-so-helpful words. Next to me, Mordred huffed in dry amusement, still hovering protectively close to me. I shook my head and turned to Ritsuka. "Rits, got any ideas on your mind?"
My fellow Master shrugged and turned to Mash. "I think this is happening because they're both correct. At least, technically. It doesn't help that each seems to be stubborn in their own way, too! We can't let them kill each other! Senpai, may I intervene?" The Demi-Servant asked my fellow Master. He gave her a single, curt nod, and his girlfriend advanced cautiously over to the feuding Servants.
"Mordred, be ready to help her out should Shorty over there try to attack Mash or Nightingale," I whispered to Mordred.
"Understood, Master."
"P-Pardon me for interrupting!" Mash said with a slight stammer, displaying that for all that she had grown as a character, she still had some self-confidence issues. "Are you a Servant, too?" My eyebrow twitched slightly at the obvious question, but it did work at diffusing a dangerous escalation situation.
The unnamed Servant blinked and looked owlishly at Mash, as if realizing for the first time that Nightingale wasn't alone. "Too? You mean…" she said, somehow managing to clap her hands together while holding her book excitedly. She looked over Mash's shoulder, and saw the rest of us, too, and her excitement grew further. "Oh! So many Servants! Great! Wonderful, in fact! When I heard that the latest Celtic attack had been driven back, I thought that it had simply been mistaken for a feigned retreat, but it seems I was wrong. So, this is good news for the king, da?"
"King?" Mash inquired.
"King?" I repeated in a quieter voice, and once that was far less polite-sounding in comparison. America never had a king who ruled on North American soil. I wasn't mistaken when I heard that officer from this morning, though.
"Oh, you don't know about America's current situation?" The petite Servant inquired with what looked to be a sympathetic smile. "This country has been split into two, and now those sides are at war with each other." She paused and grimaced, while I scowled slightly. It was almost a century too early for the civil war to have started. "The other side consists of good-for-nothing savages who just want to destroy," by that, she had to mean the Celts, "and there's our side. The United Western States, led by our king."
"So what you're saying is that my country's civil war is between East and West, instead of North and South?" I asked, unable to keep quiet any longer. This was my own country's history being messed up, though!
"Oh, you must be the Master of this group! Or one of two," the presumed Caster added apologetically, while Ritsuka sighed softly. It sounded more like exasperation than bitterness, though, and in all honesty, I wasn't sure I wanted to be the center of attention. "You're American?"
"I am," I answered warily, and my confusion only grew further.
"How exciting! Oh, you must meet His Majesty, then! He'll be so excited to meet another American!" Despite the warm greeting I was suddenly receiving, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was less than an excellent sign.
Mash, bless her heart, quickly came to my rescue. She coughed politely. "Um, pardon me, miss," Mash said, and the Servant turned to look at the pink-haired girl. "What's your name?" The girl pouted, clearly hurt.
"Oh. You recognize Florence at a glance, but you don't know me?" Mash had a panicky expression come over her face as she stuttered out a response.
"I-I'm sorry… Ms. Nightingale was… Um, anyway, it was easy to guess," Mash mumbled, looking down at her armored boots bashfully. The hurt and disappointed expression on the Servant's face only grew more and more pronounced with each word Mash uttered, before finally she smiled, closed her eyes, and started to laugh politely.
"That's okay, I'm only giving you a hard time," she giggled, before bringing herself under control. She bowed apologetically. "Please forgive my childishness. I'm sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I am Helena Petrovna Blavatsky." She paused, and tapped her chin before continuing. "Well, I suppose I'm better known as Madame Blavatsky. I didn't appreciate having to change my maiden name."
"Helena Blavatsky! The poster girl for 19th-century occultism!" Doctor Roman chirped excitedly. "A talented woman, independent of the Mage's Association, who codified occultism with only her distinctive powers." Well, that was interesting indeed. Ritsuka looked up at Helena.
"If you're here as a Servant, though, are you acting as an agent for the Mage's Association?" Helena shook her head violently in the negative.
"No," she stated firmly. "In this world, all major nations other than the ones here are completely destroyed."
"So who do you serve?" I asked, wanting to know the identity of this 'king' she kept referring to. If France and Britain were gone, then it couldn't be King George III or King Louis XVI. Granted, it would have already been a ludicrous idea for either of them to be in America, anyways, but as I had learned in the last three singularities and Pseudo-Singularity C, almost nothing could be ruled out as a possibility unless proven otherwise.
Once again, however, I seemed to be denied the chance to get any answers.
"That would be the king," Helena said, and I wanted to tear out my hair in frustration at the lack of a name. Mordred scoffed at Helena under her breath, but the Caster either ignored or didn't hear the Knight of Rebellion and continued talking. "If he conquers the globe, I have no problem with it. I believe we'd become Lemuria, breaking away from other dimensions and continuing to wander. Kind of like the Throne of Heroes. Don't you think that is a happy ending in its own way?"
I stared incredulously at the girl. The hell was Lemuria? The Land of Lemurs? What did the admittedly-adorable species of primates have to do with the loss of a critical foundation of the history of humanity? Mordred made a choking sound in her throat, sounding just as lost as I was. The same went for Ritsuka, Mash, Jeanne Alter, and all the other Servants that were accompanying us.
Everyone but Florence Nightingale, that was. The crimson-wearing Berserker looked disgusted at the idea. "I can't accept that as treatment. Amputating the bad part and then walking away is outrageous." I agreed. For one thing, that was how infection would set in.
I paused, feeling myself grow pale. Oh, fuck, was I starting to think/talk like Nurse Crazy?!
Unaware of my internalized crisis, Helena shook her head with a heavy sigh. "Well, I figured you would say that." She turned to look at Ritsuka and I. "But what about you two? What do you think?"
"No, ma'am!" Ritsuka said, while I merely shook my head. Helena's frown deepened.
"I must admit to being a little irritated." That was unsurprising. "'Ma'am'. What is this 'ma'am'?" That was surprising. She quickly shrugged it off, though, coughing politely and adopting a more polite demeanor. "Well then, where are you people taking Florence, then?"
"In order to prevent the destruction of this world, and the proper timeline, we intend to remove the cause," Mash responded, a bit hesitant perhaps in sharing the truth, but knowing that lying would be worse. Especially if Helena or any of her compatriots we yet met found out our deception.
"I see. Then, I suppose that might make us enemies."
"No, it doesn't have to be like that," Mash protested. "Would you please let us go? Our only intent is to leave here with Nightingale as our ally." Helena harrumphed at that, sounding either disappointed or skeptical.
"Then you are able to understand Florence's will, apparently. That makes me somewhat relieved, but I still can't let you go."
"Surely we don't have to rely on violence, though," I said. While some might accuse me in the future of shirking away from my duty over my injury, that wasn't the case. My concern was over the fact that both sides were still in the medical encampment. My conscience refused to let me risk their well-being any more than Nightingale could turn her back on an injured patient…regardless of whether said patient wanted her help or not.
Helena paused, no doubt having been on the verge of demanding our immediate surrender or be attacked by her robotic escort, humming thoughtfully. I bit down on the corner of my lip as the air grew tenser with each second that slipped by.
"That is true," Helena finally said, rubbing her chin idly with one hand. "Would you please accompany me back to our base? His Majesty would be most interested in meeting with the two of you," Helena said, looking at Ritsuka and I. We exchanged brief glances before looking back at the petite and young-looking Servant.
"And if we decline?" I asked warily. Helena frowned slightly.
"If you decline, then we would be forced to use force. Karna, are you in position?" I shot upright, as another Servant appeared.
He was rather tall, and definitely eye-catching. He had snow-white skin and hair, with sky-blue eyes that were rather hard to read. A large, circular earring made of what seemed to be solid gold hung from his left earlobe, but the weight didn't seem to affect him. He had an odd, red cape that had two circular golden pieces to it that both looked like some sort of stylized version of the sun.
In one hand he held a long lance with a rather curious head that was once again reminiscent of a stylized sun, though with one long spike sticking out at the top. A long, ragged-looking tail of cloth trailed down from the butt of the (presumed) Lancer's weapon. He also had gold-colored arm and leg armor, though the center of his chest was bear, and what looked to be a blood-pigeon ruby embedded in the middle.
"Lancer of Red," Mordred, Astolfo, and Atalante said in near-unison. Huh, well, from the sounds of it, the only Servants from Mordred's Greater Holy Grail War who I haven't encountered or summoned were Amasuka, Caster of Black, Rider of Red, and the infamous Assassin of Red.
"Saber of Red, Archer of Red, Rider of Black," the newcomer, Karna, greeted politely, even if there seemed to be something of a detachment of any emotions. "Seeing that you three are here, I trust that you can explain why it might be best for all of you to agree to Helena's request?"
Mordred growled, while Atalante remained silent. It was Astolfo who spoke up, rather quietly. "He's not wrong, Master," the svelte paladin whispered to me. "His Noble Phantasm is basically like a supernova. Since Ruler's not here, I'm not sure if Mashy's Noble Phantasm could negate it on its own."
I bit down on the inside of my right cheek softly, eyes narrowed. While we did outnumber them, we were still facing off against an apparently highly-dangerous Noble Phantasm. Something that sounded like it had one hell of a blast radius.
And we were still near the rather occupied medical station, too…
I looked back at Ritsuka, who had a grim expression. I shot him a questioning look, asking for his opinion. Without saying a word, he shook his head. I sighed and nodded, before looking back at the waiting Helena and Karna.
"Very well. We will meet your leader," I said slowly, doing my best to be polite.
Original Endnotes: And done! What did you guys think? I hope you don't mind me skipping over the details of the surgery, but that wasn't something I was up to describing in detail, and I'm pretty sure the majority of you wonderful readers will agree on this. Also, good old Jeanne Alter, always delivering backhanded compliments. Poor Mordred, this singularity is rapidly turning into a stress test for her, isn't it?
So, I know that maybe it is a bit early to ask this question, but what are your thoughts so far on how I am writing the Fifth Singularity so far? Also, hope you all are looking forward to Chapter 108, because we'll get to learn some more about Jacob's family history!
Now, for the question(s) of the chapter! First up: Did anyone get any good Servant summons for the SummerFes event? I got Mysterious Heroine XX! Second question: For those who are on Lostbelt 4, what do you guys and gals think of it?
As always, thanks for taking the time to read the story, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please let me know what you think! Looking forward to seeing how y'all think of this chapter! Have a wonderful weekend, and see you wonderful readers in Chapter 108!
Updated Endnotes 02/18/23: As always, you can view the fully-updated copy of The Will to Fight on Archive of Our Own if you'd like to skip the wait. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed today's update, and see you next time :)