Chapter 129: We already did a training montage…didn't we?

A symbol burned its way into the ground, soon accompanied by the body of the freshly summoned Servant rising from the ground. The man rolled his shoulders until they popped, then flexed them back and forth before his helmet turned left and right as he examined his location, then turned his attention downwards.

"Hmmm." Leonidas gave a curious hum as he raised his right leg up and shook it several times before he grunted once and lowered it back into the snow. Seemingly uncaring for the cold that now assailed his body. Utterly failing to heed the requests put forth to dress himself properly and still wearing a leather set of underwear and a red cape around his shoulders. "This was quite unlike a summoning I am used to…it feels strangely tingly."

Tarkus was stood not far from him, looking the man up and down before he raised his hand "Aren't you cold?"

Leonidas turned his head towards the voice, taking stock of the Saber Servant stood not far from him before he gave a hearty chuckle "Cold? Nonsense! This is merely training my body to endure any environment it might find itself in!" his arms crossed over his chest and he puffed out his muscles "I am training the weakness from my body!"

Tarkus remained silent for a moment before he nodded his head in affirmation "Okay."

Olga turned on him and did a double take "Don't just go 'okay' at that!"

"Why not?" Tarkus asked in an innocent tone of voice, tilting his head to the side "He said he was training to fight in different places. That makes sense to me."

"It's going to make even less sense when he freezes to death!"

"Hahahaha!" Leonidas merely gave a hearty cry, throwing his head back "Do not underestimate the resolve of a Spartan warrior!" he then swung out his arm, pointing to the Director "And it is a resolve that you shall also build up!" he stated, looking towards her almost as if his eyes were going to catch fire "I am beyond pleased that you are taking to my training regime! Though the timing is, perhaps, a little later than I would approve of, it does not matter!"

The Lancer then spread his arms wide, gesturing to their surroundings "But the location is something I dare not argue with! It is the harshest environments that breed the best from warriors!" Olga was certain he was grinning behind his helmet "Worry not! By the time we see combat, I shall train you to be able to march into battle with even the most stout of Servants!"

"See?" Tarkus pointed to the man in a positive voice "He's going to make you healthy! That's good, right?"

"Of course, I shall accept no slackers!" Leonidas bellowed out "Which means any warrior who hears the call of battle shall be joining me as well!" he turned his head, soon spotting one of the norse putting their tent away "You!"

The man started, shifting around and seeking out the voice that had bellowed out. Even with his back to the Spartan, the man couldn't help but feel as though it had been directed at him. As he turned around, he found himself momentarily startled by the man who was dressed barely two steps from being butt-ass naked.

"M-me?"

"Yes! Does your heart beat loudly? Does your soul cry out for battle!" Leonidas barked at him "Do you seek to defeat those who threaten your home!"

"Y-ye-"

"Louder!" Leonidas screamed at him, though his voice was more encouraging than condescending. "Shout loud enough that the Gods themselves can hear your determination!"

"YES!"

"Excellent." As though a switch had been flipped, Leonidas voice shifted back into a more subdued tone as he looked to the Director "So you shall not be training alone…" he trailed off, turning his head and looking at her up and down "...Though, it might be more challenging for you than for them." he admitted after a moment before he dismissed it "No matter! The greater the challenge, the greater the gain!"

Several people stared at him for a moment before Cu took that opportunity to speak up "Well, glad to have someone around to whip people into shape."

"Hmm? Ah, the Child of Light!" Leonidas exclaimed in surprise before he took note of his appearance, reaching up and cupping his helmet chin "No…The Caster version from that time, is it? Well, it matters not to me. I know the heart of a warrior still burns within you." he dismissed, lowering his hand back to his side "Though I was not completely informed as to my purpose here beyond training."

"Basically we're gonna teach her to fight-" Cu pointed at Olga, then moved his finger away from her and towards the Dragon Slayer Armour "-so she can tell that thing what to do."

Leonidas remained silent as he stared at the hollow suit of armour, a nearly imperceptible gulp soon emerged from his throat as he turned back around to face the Caster "A-ah…So she is to take command of the ghos-the Golem."

Cu stared at him oddly for his choice of wording before he gave a nod of the head "Something like that…yeah…" he admitted before he placed his hands on his hips "Well?"

The Spartan looked to Olga once again, the aura of confidence returned in full "Hahahaha! I shall make her into a passing warrior before my time here is over!"

The Director's communicator flashed on, this time Pharros' face appeared "And I'm now here." she stated with a casual tone of voice "I had a quick glance at the documents you told me to look at. Seems fairly strange for wyvern behaviour on both accounts." she remarked "So your guess of someone controlling them is likely correct."

Olga all but jumped at the opportunity to be engaged in a conversation that wasn't about her "That much we have already inferred. What else have you to say?"

"Wyverns like to roost in high up places." Pharros remarked easily enough "Going through the mountains of the continent was something that I actively tried to avoid because of that. Sometimes they will head down to find some food but for the most part - barring any subsets or training - they will stick to more out of reach locations. They tend to get a little antsy otherwise."

"That sounds more akin to the behaviour of birds." Leonidas couldn't help but comment, the conversation attracting his attention.

"What do you mean by sub-sets?" Olga instead cottoned on, squinting at the Caster "You mean different races of wyvern?"

"Oh yeah, dozens of them." Pharros waved her hand "The Kingdom of Drangleic had flightless wyrms they used as mounts. Then there was the occasional Hellkite wyvern that would swim across the ocean to the continent…Those were big, more often than not around the size of a dragon." she frowned "There were the smaller breeds as well, they breathed lightning."

Olga raised her hand to stop her "Would their behaviour be different?"

"For the most part? Not really." Pharros admitted "Save the flightless wyrms but that would be a given, seeing as how they don't have legs." she coughed and turned her head to Leonidas "Now then…He won't be much help in a fight, sorry to say."

At the puzzled look from the Director, Pharros explained further "It's because you're not contracted to him in the same way that the other two who came down with you ended up being. His support is coming straight from Chaldea and the summoning area. He can maintain his physical existence easily enough but if he tries to start using his full power without a solid anchor, then he's just gonna burn himself out and get snapped back to Chaldea."

Leonidas gave a troubled noise "Though it would pain me to be apart from the field of battle…I suppose I can mitigate that heartache with seeing to the training of others." he mumbled, though he still sounded slightly aggrieved by the situation. His helmet cast its gaze across the camp once again "Although you appear to be in the midst of something already, this seems a more inopportune time to begin training…"

That was true enough, Olga discerned as she looked around. The group was already in the midst of splitting in half with those who weren't actually fighters being sent away with a couple warriors to protect them while those who were left were preparing themselves to travel with them. Olga grit her teeth behind her lips, this wasn't an outcome she had desired but it was one that was unavoidable, apparently at least. Taking a bunch of normal humans with them to fight wyverns was a terrible idea, but they were evidently set on doing so anyway so bringing them with her group was the safest option.

Somehow.

At least she could say she wasn't the only one unhappy with it.

Torin watched the children and a few women making their way to the other side of the camp. The ten or so warriors led by Torgny were set to head out soon enough, around the same time that the other detachment would be following them due north to do battle with wyverns.

Though his expression was stone faced, devoid of any sort of emotion, the same could not be said for his internal feelings on the matter. A mixture of rage and shame flooded through him, the fact he couldn't convince them otherwise was something that deeply wounded him. It would have made more sense to him if they had just listened to his instructions and continued to head south.

When he thought of them travelling north, visions of the burning grotto flooded his mind. The screams of his family and comrades rung loudly in his ear, the smell of ash filling his nose. His body trembled with the mere thought of it, the black dragon that breathed yellow flames and with a single red eye upon its forehead.

Generations of his people had battled with it.

It wasn't until the day of the attack that he realised how foolish those legends were.

They weren't battling the black dragon of the abyss, they were simply warding it away. Akin to raising your arms and shouting at a bear to frighten them off. Whether the Abyss dragon had simply humoured them all that time and finally grown weary, or it realised that they posed no threat didn't matter in the least to him.

All that mattered was the end result.

"...Tch." His tongue clicked out a noise, carrying over the wind as he sharply turned his head down and glared at the snow. His arms crossed over his chest and his eyes scrunching themselves as tightly shut as they could.

Once again leading people to certain death against the winged serpents?

Was it something he was cursed to experience? His second life to end just as his first had? In a sea of flames.

"Jarl." His eyes opened up and looked to the direction of the voice, Brynjar approached the man with a steeled expression. He was still polite enough, but the two of them had made their difference of opinion known to one another at this point.

"...Brynjar." Torin grunted to him in greeting, his jaw rolled as the pair fell into a silence for a few seconds "...Torgny shall soon migrate from our flock." he stated simply, earning a nod from the blonde man "And how many remain?"

"Torgny has taken nine warriors with him." Brynjar replied "Torleif, Sigge, Dagrun, Bergunn, Geir, Brandr, Ulf, Eldrid and Frigg."

Torin remained silent for a few moments, committing the names to memory before one struck him as more familiar "...He's taken Frigg?"

"He has."

"...She made the better stews."

"...He knows."

"Heh…Bastard."

Brynjar cracked a smile "I said as much, though he claimed it to be for the benefit of the youngsters." he spoke in an incredulous tone, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest before shaking his head "To grow them into big and strong warriors!" he boasted in an exaggerated tone of voice.

"He wanted the food." Torin dismissed with a grunt "...You can still-"

"Torin." That was all he said, that one word was enough for the Caster's eyes to scrunch themselves shut and for a long sigh of resignation to slip from between his lips.

"...I see." The Servant spoke after a few moments of tense silence, slowly shifting his body and turning his head to look over his shoulder. He could see the Chaldeans not far from him engaged in some sort of animated discussion. Along with a new figure who looked barely three steps from being naked. Apparently dressing appropriately for the weather was just something no one from that place did.

"...You seem…wary around the sky serpents." Brynjar spoke up after a few moments "Did you-"

"There are many stories from my past I can share with you, Brynjar." Torin replied as he turned back around, looking towards the blonde man with a dead look in his orbs "That is not one of them. Tread upon the subject no further."

"...Alright." The norseman nodded his head once, accepting the command easily enough. He could recognise pain when he saw it and the reluctance to fight the dragons left him with little to the imagination on what had occurred in the past. "...We have just under seventy warriors left to command."

"...I see." Torin exhaled after a moment, then jerked his head to the Chaldeans "I shall inform them of this…then make ourselves ready for a march. As we head further north, we should prepare for more…difficult passage." he tapped his helmet near his eye port with his left hand, then pointed his index finger up "Keep watch upon the skies."

He rested atop the rocks, his right elbow placed atop his knee and propped up his chin. Red eyes stared up towards the large Archtree rising high into the sky. Though Kalameet himself had noticed that there was a considerable difference between the Archtree's that he knew of and the tree's that occupied this land.

Namely the addition of branches, an Archtree just extended into the sky and finished up as mere spikes.

The tree's around this land had branches which extended from out of their trunk, though they all originated from the same plant each branch was unique. It had a different length, a change in the number of leaves that grew from its limbs or perhaps it would have a few different bends in the wood. The differences would range from being small to being clear as day.

Akal had said there was something poetic about it, though he failed to understand what she meant. Was it that everything could come from the same source and still experience change?

He was just more curious as to why the Archtree's didn't have branches to them, almost as though they had been inverted. Kalameet himself had thought the tree's of this land grew upside down as well, at least until he pulled one from the ground and found himself staring at roots covered in dirt. At which point he had it explained to him.

Though he still couldn't grasp why the Archtree's didn't have branches.

Perhaps if Archtree's had branches, then dragons could sit atop them much like birds did the smaller counterparts.

His brows furrowed slightly, his fist coming away from his chin and his forearm resting atop his knee this time. Leaning back, he turned his head up towards the trunk of the Archtree that extended high into the sky and found himself staring at it with sudden understanding. He'd noticed some unrest with his smaller kin due to being situated upon the ground rather than somewhere higher.

Though their communication with him wasn't nearly up to his own level of speech, they could at least infer their general feelings to him.

"...Branches…" He muttered quietly to himself, looking off to the side for a few moments and rolling his lower jaw several times. His teeth ground against one another before he pushed himself up and turned his attention to the base of the Archtree.

He could see Artoria wandering around the outskirts, keeping her distance from everyone else. She preferred isolation, though she lacked the same capacity for conversation with the smaller kin that he and Akal had, so perhaps it was merely a case of her being unable to speak that brought about this sense of separation?

Asking Akal to raise the capabilities of the smaller wyverns was always something that he had intended to do, but the arms came first it seemed. Akal's attention was more focused upon that task at the moment which left him with very little to be doing.

Their talk of different kingdoms had been enlightening but it still didn't provide him with the answers he was looking for. The kingdom that would feel…right. Something that would resonate with not just his spirit, but the spirit of his kindred as well. That was what he needed to understand, therefore he had to understand what it was that truly brought…

Fulfilment.

Something that would bring fulfilment to the dragons and would also be something that could grow and evolve just as the humans had been able to do.

He trudged through the snow, approaching Artoria while his thoughts continued to wander.

She must have sensed him closing in as she halted her mount and shifted her head towards his direction. Her helmet focused on him and she remained deathly silent as he got closer and closer. He made no attempt to call out to her and he had figured out she wouldn't do the same to him.

"...Artoria." He greeted quietly once he had gotten close enough, though he wasn't actually looking at her at the time. His attention was still focused upon the Archtree behind her. "You were a King once, yes?"

"...I was."

"...Did…" Kalameet hummed quietly to himself, Artoria made no effort to hasten his words "Your…the centre of your Kingdom was Camelot?"

"That was the name of the city that I built, yes," Artoria confirmed without a hint of emotion in her voice, Kalameet paused. Something about that tone was disconcerting to him, enough so that his attention shifted away from the tree and onto her.

"...Did that concern you?"

That seemed to throw her for a loop, her body tensed for a split second before it loosened slightly "Explain." she demanded in a single word.

"You…" He paused for a moment, considering his words before speaking them "Though you offer advice to me frequently, I have noted that when I compare your posture to Akal it is…she is more…emotive?" he hummed then nodded her head "Yes. Emotive."

"She is much more liberal with her thoughts and feelings." Artoria bluntly stated as she adjusted her grip on her reins "She is no King."

"...Do all Kings speak as you do?"

"No." Artoria didn't even hesitate in the answer "Not all Kings acted as I did either. Though I suspect you are already aware of such disparities between rulers."

"Yes but…hmmm…" Kalameet seemed to struggle to find the correct words "It is just that…you achieved what I am seeking to accomplish and yet when you speak of Camelot and your own Kingdom I…" he exhaled, tilting his head at her "...I am not sure what to make of how you talk so blandly of it. I feel a sense of trepidation surge through my soul at the thought of a kingdom for my own and yet when I see you speak of your Kingdom it is…"

"...You take issue with my manner of speaking? Do you suppose that the Kingdom of Camelot now means nothing to me?"

"...Does it?"

Artoria paused for a moment, looking away from him and straight ahead "Do you suppose that my choice words for the Kingdom I built give the impression that after all this time, I hold no feelings for it? That everything I strove to create now means nothing to me?"

"...I do not know."

"Then I shall answer this and wash your doubts from your mind." She let out a quiet breath "Camelot means as much to me now as it did then. Even now…I can still see it as though I had never left. That ephemeral Kingdom that seems as though it is a distant dream."

"Oh…I see." Kalameet responded after a moment, nodding his head "...Sorry."

"Do not apologise to me. It belittles yourself." Artoria sternly reminded him "You seek to fashion yourself as a King, do you not? Draw attention to your mistakes if you make them but do not seek forgiveness. Learn from them and better yourself."

"Better myself…" Kalameet muttered, turning his attention to the Archtree once again "Does a Kingdom need a city?"

"Camelot was the central hub of Albion, all commerce and culture moved through that city to the far flung reaches of my Kingdom. It is where my Knights resided and where I ruled from."

"Do all Kingdoms need them?"

"...Yes."

Kalameet grunted once "Then I shall make this my own Camelot, for lack of a better word."

Artoria remained silent for a moment, then allowed her helmet to drift over the surroundings and the complete lack of anything beside frozen bodies and bloodied stains littering the snowy fields. In the centre of all of it was the giant tree that extended far, far into the sky with a large space carved into the space carved into the base of the tree that served as a singular hall.

"...I would prefer this not be compared to Camelot." She responded after a brief pause.

"...I did not intend to leave it like this." Kalameet remarked "I would start with this location, this place which shall serve as the birth of my Kingdom." he paused "Which means i shall go out and collect supplies."

"...You are going to go personally?"

"...If I am to lead, I would do so from example." Kalameet remained silent for a moment, then nodded his head once as if to confirm it. "I would not demand another do something that I would be unwilling to do myself. That…that is wrong and even if I understand disparity, that will not change the fact I believe that all have the capacity for equality in some way…it is just a matter of finding it."

Artoria remained silent before she spoke "If that is your command, then that is your command. Will this Kingdom be one that fosters individual talents then? Or one that finds the talents of the many for the benefit of the Kingdom?"

"...I am unsure. I want to create…a chance." Kalameet declared "A place where one has every chance to achieve their inner desires. So long as new wyverns are born, they shall always have desires they wish to achieve, goals they want realised…"

"It would turn to anarchy." Artoria remarked "Unless you would also aim these desires so that they were to benefit the Kingdom as a whole?"

"...I don't understand Kingship nor am I certain I want to." The black dragon revealed quietly "I command the wyverns and they do so without question…is that what leadership is? Just making demands and seeing them carried out?"

"Yes."

"...Your response was quicker than hers." Kalameet muttered "Akal said that some simply had greater vision or power and therefore it fell to them to lead others down a path…"

"That is how a King operates, though true wisdom means nothing without power." Artoria added on, shifting her head away from him "And true power means nothing without wisdom. Find balance between the two, or you will make for a poor King."

"...Ha." Kalameet gave her a quiet chuckle in response, looking down to the ground for a moment. "If that is what you both say, then I should listen to it." turning away from her, he started to make his way further and further from the Lancer. Twin black wings jutted out from his back and extended as far as they could.

"You intend to leave now?" Artoria asked, not turning to face him as she spurred her mount onwards at a steady pace.

"I also intend to dwell upon what I have been told." Kalameet explained "Finding supplies for my new home and thinking upon the burden of Kingship…I shall do both without aid, when I have collected enough then I shall summon for my kin to aid me."

There was a noticeable pause before his posture stiffened "...Does the concept of commanding another truly come easily? I fear I will continue to do so without realising it."

"Making demands of another is a simple task." Artoria scoffed quietly as she stopped her horse, once again looking to stare into the back of the dragon's head "It is making them obey your commands willingly that is the true test of a King. Be it out of respect for your power or your wisdom, it matters not."

"...I do not want to be commanding because I am superior to them…" He muttered.

"You are a King." Artoria responded after a moment before she turned her head away and resumed her trot "That does not make you superior. The Round Table was one without hierarchy. All who sat upon it were peers to one another, not lords and Servants. I might have been King, but as a knight I was their equal and they were mine."

Kalameet turned his head to stare at her "...That sounds ideal."

Artoria didn't respond to him, content to leave the conversation to end abruptly.

The black dragon remained silent for a moment as he watched her depart "Tell Akal I shall return soon." he called out, giving a single beat of his wings and hurling himself into the air like a missile, with a booming sound to match his sudden takeoff.

Torin remained silent, watching as the group that Torgny led slowly started to disappear into the horizon. It was still morning and, therefore, light enough that he could watch their forms get further and further away from them.

It changed nothing in his heart, perhaps making his intrusive and defeatist thoughts grow in intensity.

It was very likely that this would be the final time that many here would ever lay eyes upon their children or their spouses. Win or lose, it was inevitable that some would die. Torin knew that, he knew that which is why he had wanted to never enter this situation in the first place. Perhaps it made him look all the more fool that he underestimated the stubborn nature of these Norsemen.

Or perhaps underestimated their capacity for stupidity, even when he explained to them on numerous occasions that if they continued on this path they would meet a painful and violent end, they would not hear wisdom. Brynjar had vouched for him when he had first appeared, all but begging him to take up the reins of being their leader.

And yet, when the most dire hour fell upon them…

They ignored his commands and his wisdom. It was beyond vexing for him, bordering on disrespectful. If they would ignore his commands as their leader so readily when the moment struck them, then there had never been a point in being their leader in the first place. He could have become a mere defender…

But he had made the foolish mistake of defaulting to his attitude as a chieftain, he'd calmed them from their previous encounters with wyverns and aided Seidr in slaying the scouting parties. That alone had been enough for them to warrant his growth into the position and he - fool that he was - had taken it.

Because he didn't want to see another tribe reduced to mere ash by vile serpents.

Yet, here he was. Witnessing it all over again.

Shifting on his feet, he turned his body sideways on and gave one final glance to the disappearing caravan before his attention fell upon the remaining warriors. All sixty eight of them. He committed the number to memory, they set out with sixty eight. He would remember their names and faces all. That would make it easier to commemorate the dead.

They were all assembled in front of the man wearing naught but leather small cloths, golden metal boots and bracers, a long red cape and enclosed helmet with a fur plume moving up the centre. His body itself was quite muscular with clear red lines painted onto his skin. Perhaps some manner of warpaint?

He was clearly a warrior and a commanding one at that, considering his voice boomed out far enough that Torin could hear him from a distance. Able to catch every word the man spoke with clear ease and even feeling the power he put into each of his sentences. The man was clearly a leader of some capacity, or one who was used to commanding others.

"You there!" The painted man boomed, pointing a finger towards Torin "Come with the others! All shall partake before the march commences!"

Torin raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. Involving both humans and Servants - to her credit, it appeared as though the Chaldean Chieftain was present as well - in an activity? At the very least it would give the impression that no one side was excluded from the other.

He could grasp the concept simply enough.

The painted man seemed to be growing impatient if the narrowed white orbs through the helmet were any indication.

Torin eventually nodded his head, turning to face the man in full and walked towards the gathering of warriors. Men and women, young and matured. All were assembled in a clean row.

He moved around to the front, a gap being left for him alongside the other Chaldeans, his own position being directly next to Seidr Cu.

"Excellent!" The painted man boomed, clapping his hands together "You shall all be in for a long march! But it requires focus! Tempering of your muscles and control of your stamina!" each sentence was punctuated by him slamming a fist into his chest "Which means that every single one of you must march in line with every other! None shall be left behind and none shall arrive to battle on fatigued!"

He stopped in front of Chief Olga, looking down at her in an almost pointed manner.

The woman bristling seemed to elicit some sort of pleased reaction from him, if the pleased chuckle was any indication.

"That is a fierce scowl you have!" He praised, pointing a finger at her "If you can maintain that fiery look at the end, then I shall be impressed!" he turned around and walked past her "You shall all refer to me as Lancer! I shall see to it that each and everyone of you can fight hard enough that when the time comes to die, you shall do so on your feet and not on your backs!"

Torin would prefer they not die at all.

The Norse?

They gave quiet cheers at his words, seemingly incensed by them.

"For the first activity!" Lancer turned around to face them "You shall stretch! You shall extend those muscles in your legs as far as they can allow…Then you will ignore whatever protests they offer and keep on pushing! You shall force the weakness from your body and replace it with strength!" he roared at them, spreading his arms wide and, whether by accident or by design, flexed the muscles in his arms.

"Repeat after me!" He leaned over folding his body forwards until it was at a ninety degree angle while his legs remained perfectly straight and touched the tips of his boots. The gripped the area around the toes tightly before he leaned back up. "Do not stop until I tell you!" he ordered.

Casting a glance from the corner of his eye, he stared in silent as Olga's fingers were resting inches above her toes. The woman's face was scrunched up in effort as she continued to push herself down.

"Take that ridiculous coat off first." Lancer all but ordered her as he gazed ahead, not even looking at her. Despite that, there were few others that he could possibly be speaking to.

Olga paused, her eyes widening and her lips drawing themselves into a tense line as she snapped her head up and glared at the Lancer "Wha-you want me to take this off in the freezing cold!?"

"Cold?" Lancer scoffed, turning to face her and waving a hand to himself "Do you see me adorning myself in petty little cloths to protect myself from the elements?" he paused and gestured around to those behind her "What of these men? They have no access to magical equipment or anything of the like! They are making themselves warm with nothing but animal fur and fabric!" he pointed at her "...That coat also restricts your movement, it is a crutch you should be free of."

"And then what? What good am I possibly going to be if I freeze to death?"

"What good are you going to be if you show up to battle exhausted and unable to stand?" Lancer pressured her, turning to face her "You wish to stand with these men? Then be not a burden upon them, be the one whom they rely upon for advice and guidance!" he spread his arms wide "You are a leader! Lead through example!"

Olga stared at him in silence for a few moments, her jaw rolled from side to side and looked as though she wanted to say something. Eventually her features darkened, without making a single sound she grabbed the coat by the zip at the front and virtually tore it down to the base. Roughly pulling the coat from her body and throwing it into the snow.

Her attire beneath consisted of a woollen orange jumper and presumably a shirt beneath it if the black collar poking through the neck of the warmer layer was any indication.

As if to try and prove her point, she leaned down and was able to get a little further than last time but still was stopped just shy of touching her toes.

Lancer stared at her in silence, his helm briefly glancing towards the coat before focusing back on the woman. Walking towards her, he pressed his hand onto her back and then pushed her down a little further. Olga made a strained gasp as her back was bent further than it had ever done so before.

"Is this the limit of your prowess?" Lancer demanded in a judging voice "Is this all your glares can manage? Is your spirit so flimsy to be bested by something as trivial as this!? Well!?" he stepped back, dropping down and placing his hands on his knees "Well!? Show me the passion in your heart! You claim to be a Master! A leader of men!" he pointed past her to the norse - most of whom had already touched their toes and were now looking at them with not so veiled curiosity - with a pointed finger "You intend to lead them to fight dragons!"

"Y-YES!" Olga managed to gasp out as she strained herself further down, the tips of her fingers wiggling as they approached her feet.

"Really!?" Lancer roared "How can you face a dragon in battle if you cannot even touch your toes!?"

Olga's face burned bright red, either through rage or embarrassment - it was impossible to tell - as she continued to strain herself.

"Touch your toes!" Lancer demanded, shouting at her with enough force to have her flinch "This is your first battle! Face your own limits and shatter them! Grind them into dust and march over them! Forget they exist! Defeat your body! Let your spirit roar!"

With a final strangled gasp, Olga's fingers touched her shoes and then stretched past them and curled underneath her boots.

"Marvellous!" Lancer boomed, leaning back and sounding as though he was grinning madly beneath his helmet "Now remain like this for five minutes!"

"Wha-" Olga made to look up, only for Lancer to snap at her.

"Your feet are your life! Do not let them slip from your grasp!"

Olga hurriedly grabbed them again.

"As I was saying." Lancer looked away from her and to the others "You shall all maintain this pose until I say otherwise. Then…" he trailed off and inclined his head back ever so slightly.

Now Torin was convinced he was grinning.

"Then the training begins."

"...This is gonna suck." Cu whispered next to him "...Lass should have some fun tho-what in the shit?"

Torin blinked, turning to the Caster and then similarly blinking once as he stared at the man further along the line.

Tarkus had leaned down far enough that he had wrapped both hands around his boots with his legs still straight. As if sensing their gaze, Tarkus looked up and to the side to see both Torin and Cu staring at him.

The knight released one of his feet and raised his hand.

Lancer smacked him in the back of his head for his trouble "Do not release them!"

"Yes, sir!" Tarkus hurriedly replied as he gripped his feet yet again.

"...Good form!" Lancer praised as he walked past him "However, this only serves to convince me that such trifling exercise do not test you to your limits." he added on, his tone growing more serious "Therefore, I shall see how far your flexibility can truly take you before you struggle…" he trailed off, looking the knight up and crossing his arms over his chest, then looked over the top of him to the other norse "I do not recall telling you to stop!"

The people who had been watching Olga hurriedly went back to touching their toes, only a few had difficulty but for the most part it was an easy feat for them.

"I see, I see." Lancer nodded his head as he looked over them "So that is where we are at, is it? Excellent. Then, once these five minutes are up you shall deliver me one hundred pushups."

People stared at him.

"No?" Lancer looked left and right before shaking his head "Worry not, I shall perform them with you!"

Torin caught a glimpse of Olga from the corner of his eye once again.

He didn't think she could look that pale, her head pulled itself up and stared at the man "O-one hundred?" she croaked out "Are you-"

"I am the embodiment of training!" Lancer boomed before she could finish presumably questioning his sanity. "Which means whether this land be hot or cold, warm or wet, burning or frozen, you shall train your body to its absolute limit!" he stamped his food down, the movement was subtle but gave enough of a thrum across the snow that it punctuated his sentence.

"Therefore…" Lancer looked back at the Director "...I am only as determined as you are. If you cannot match my level of commitment…Then give up and vanish to the corners of this camp." he narrowed his eyes "Well?"

Olga fell silent, turning her head sharply back to her feet and her hands tightening their hold on her shoes.

"Excellent! Excellent!" Lancer applauded "But this is still the warm up, do not expend all your energy in one go! There is much to do…Then we will march!" he turned to Torin "You came from a town a few miles from here, yes? Then I expect you to be able to march back there within the next couple hours!"

That managed to get a reaction from Torin "Excuse me?" his helm shifted in disbelief "That was a half day-"

"Under a storm and carrying wounded!" Lancer dismissed "I have seen the report! I see no wounded here, only warriors! And warriors can march with their spirits as fuel!" he looked out across the norse "Are you not warriors!? Can you not do your Gods proud!?"

A few cries were his response.

"Then you will march back to your homes with grins on your faces and fires in your heart!"

Torin was still silent.

Was this Chaldea populated with people like this?

That was a terrifying thought in itself.

A single swing of his arm was all it took to shatter the tree at its base, wood splintered and launched itself across the area. The tree collapsed down, breaking the already weakened trunk and groaning as it started to teeter over onto its side.

Kalameet's clawed hand clamped down into the wood, sharpened fingers punctured into the body and held it in place for a few seconds before he stepped around it and turned his body to let the tree fall onto his shoulder. The black dragon gave barely a grunt before he shifted his position and started to walk with the large wooden plant on his back in the direction of the growing pile.

His makeshift wood cutting had already claimed him a dozen trees, all with thin spiky branches and strange needle-like leaves growing from it. Without a sound, he shifted the tree from his shoulders and dropped it onto the pile.

When he was confident he had collected enough, he'd send a message to Akal and ask her to send some children towards him to collect them.

His lip turned down, his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched into fists.

That feeling again.

The thought of commanding another being to his will was something he still had trouble comprehending, and yet both Akal and Artoria had given the impression that it was something that could be done both willingly and unwillingly.

Submitting your own self to the use of another being purely because they might be stronger than you?

What was strength measured in? Physical prowess? Height? Intelligence? Appearance?

If disparity had confirmed anything, it was that he was different from his kin and they were different from him. In fact, he could see the differences amongst his own wyvern siblings already. Some were more physically capable than others, they had established their own order…

He'd tried to prevent it where he could but it would emerge with each new generation that Akal bread.

Was it something to do with them personally?

Did they just…seek out the strongest being and submit to them?

Was that how it worked for humans as well?

Except…that was wrong too.

"The Round Table was one without hierarchy. All who sat upon it were peers to one another, not lords and Servants. I might have been King, but as a knight I was their equal and they were mine"

The words of Artoria rung within his head.

A King reigned above the Knights but as a Knight she was their equal?

That was…

She was both their equal and their superior? How did that operate? How did it function? Why did it function then?

Camelot…The Kingdom of Knights governed by Artoria. He wanted to learn more of it and yet he feared if he did, he might seek to copy it. That was not worthy of him, he needed something more than that. More than a simple replica of human achievements.

Something for dragons and dragons alone…

He reached up to his chest, hand falling atop the scales where his heart resided.

Except…was he even a dragon anymore?

He was, in part. But he wasn't a complete dragon, he was perhaps closer to Artoria in terms of existence. The grip of humanity dwelt within him and yet it did not feel like he was weaker as a result. Nor did it feel like it was something hideous or like a chain.

It just…

Felt.

He had perspective, understanding. He could see things that other dragons might miss. Try as he might to abandon that thought, it just wouldn't go away. He was different from other dragons, trying as hard as he might to ignore that fact it was simply impossible to do so.

He wasn't like his siblings, not totally.

He was more dragon than human, but he still had the essence of humanity within him. His dark scales and the blackness in his flames was proof of that.

Yes Akal…Akal had guided humans on the path of becoming dragons for longer than he could imagine. Which meant that if humans could become dragons, they were indeed equal in some capacity.

So…

Did his Kingdom have to be for just dragons?

His mind fell silent as he considered his options, then his eyes closed.

No.

No.

Humans might well have been able to become dragons, thus making them an equal but that did not mean they could coexist. The history of both worlds proved as much, dragons might have existed in some other Kingdoms but only as…

Pets.

Never once thought of as equals.

Kalameet had to prove dragons were equal to humans, both to himself and to the wyverns. Which meant that they had to build something of their own, something that could rival any other human kingdom.

So that meant it had to be free of humans, not because he hated them.

He didn't.

He was jealous of the chance they had gotten, that was simply it.

He was jealous and he wanted the chance to do it.

But…was that all he wanted? Was he doing this just because he was envious of what humans had accomplished? No. Though that was part of the reason, it wasn't all of it. He wanted something for himself and for his people.

He would carry their future on his own shoulders if he had to, just so they could have a Kingdom of their own.

A chance of their-

He froze, an icy chill gripped his spine and flooded through his limbs.

That scent.

This feeling.

This presence.

Something drummed within his heart, guidance to something.

Something within his soul called out into the expanse and it received an answer.

His head snapped in the direction his soul was calling out to him. His eyes widened and he turned his body, an emotion he couldn't comprehend ran through his mind.

He had to find it.

He had to find that feeling.

Sigurd noticed it first, his head sharply turned to the direction of Alsanna when both her and her mount suddenly flinched and then stopped moving.

He felt trepidation slip into his mind, giving a side glance to Gordin, he nodded once to the man and then walked on ahead. Moving past his confused countrymen who seemed to be feeling no small amount of anxiety at the fact they had suddenly stopped moving.

"Don't worry." Sigurd assured them as he moved past, giving them a cool nod of the head and as reassuring an expression as he could manage. His aura seemed to pacify the worst of the reactions as he closed in on the smoky black tiger.

"Lady Alsanna?" Sigurd called up to her as he came up on her right "Is all well?"

The dark haired woman was staring ahead of them, her eyes slightly wide and her posture stiff. The tiger didn't look any better, their body was tense and looked ready to bolt at any moment. Their hairs were raised and their lips pulled back to reveal their fangs in full.

The tiger shifted their body, widening their stance ever so slightly and lowering themselves as they stared ahead.

"Lady Alsanna?" Sigurd called out again, a little louder and with more urgency in his voice this time. He felt his own hands tightening and his form tensing up. Her reaction was more akin to panic and as a Caster she likely had better senses than all of them put together. Especially with her own special form of Divinity, which means she might have sensed something.

"H-hm?" Alsanna jolted, turning her head down to find Sigurd looking up at her in concern, her changed and turned more tense than it had been moments ago. "I…there is something approaching us…"

Sigurd looked up, his brows drawing together "A Servant?"

"I believe so, yes." She confirmed with a nod of her head, then moved her hands towards her chest and pressed against her skin above her heart. "However, this Servant…they reached out to me."

Sigurd squinted at her for a brief moment before his eyes widened. "They have a link with you, don't they?" he quizzed, ignoring her look of surprise and instead questioning further "They know where we are…don't they?"

Alsanna hesitated for a few moments, then gave a single and silent nod of the head.

"They know I am here, that much I can confirm." She whispered quietly, just loud enough that she was certain Sigurd could hear her. "As for when they will arrive…I do not know."

The Saber closed his eyes "Do you know?"

"...Perhaps one of my sisters." Alsanna pondered for a moment, then turned her head around and looked behind them. Her expression turned troubled "But if it is one of them then I know not how they shall react…We were not of like mind and our only relation with one another was through our father."

Sigurd turned his head to look behind as well, staring at the swirling cloud of snow that separated them from the outside world. With a wave of his hand, the pale green crystalline sword manifested in his grasp, sharpened handle guard comfortably folding over his knuckles.

Nodding to Alsanna once, he shifted his body and walked back the way he had come.

When Gordin caught sight of him - and the sword in his hand - he tensed up and similarly started to reach for the weapon on his back.

Sigurd gave a single silent nod of his head, prompting Gordin to unsheathe the sword from his back and draw it to his side, planting it in the snow and dropping his voice into a low whisper. "Are we to expect trouble?"

"Perhaps." Sigurd whispered back to him as he approached, still staring at the storm wall behind them. "Though they have a clear link with the Lady Alsanna, it is causing her divinity to reach out." he paused for a moment. "It is…strange to see. Like magnets being drawn together, pulling the pair of them to one another. She thinks it is one of her sisters."

Gordin pointedly looked at the sword in Sigurd's hands and then to the man once again.

"Yes…Lady Alsanna said they had little in the way of relations with one another." He explained easily "So for one to be approaching somewhat swiftly."

Gordin wordlessly nodded his head, then jerked it over his shoulder "They approach from behind?"

Another nod of the head.

Gordin turned around, grasping the sword with both hands and hunching his body forwards. "I was never any good at dialogue, so I shall leave it to you." he paused for a moment "I hope that is no concern?"

"Not at all." Sigurd chuckled lightly "We all have our strengths and weaknesses. However, I always fancied myself more of a warrior, if I were to speak plainly."

"Hmmm." Gordin hummed in response, then resumed his wait.

Sigurd looked over his shoulder to the norse "Keep moving forwards, tell Ledo and Erik what we are doing but for them to not approach just yet." he got murmurs in response before the march resumed.

Then he felt it.

The presence, that unmistakable sense that he would never forget.

"Dragon." He voiced aloud almost as soon as he felt it, he saw Gordin tense up at his side but maintain his ground. That was commendable, dragons were fearsome foes and to battle one took great courage. The fact he showed both apprehension but didn't voice his fears lent credence to his warrior ways.

The pair of them waited for nearly a minute before they watched something push its way through the wall of snow, stepping out into the dome.

Standing over three metres tall, pitch black and with an arrow shaped head.

A single diamond shaped orange coloured gem rested upon their sloped forehead, within the centre of the gem was a single black pupil that seemed to give it the impression it was like an eye. The horns upon the top of the head curled inwards, a larger pair followed by a smaller inner pair.

The head turned, revealing bright red orbs on either side which narrowed as they focused on Sigurd and then on Gordin.

"...Flame-kin." They growled in a low and guttural voice, wholly befitting of their appearance.