It was the power of the sun stored within the confines of a single sword.
Radiant, dazzling, a disposition greater than that of even King Arthur at the crux of midday.
It was called the Numeral of the Saint.
A divine providence displayed at its maximum when the sun loomed directly overhead. It was the scorching flare of the sun, arid, and stale, unrelenting in its ferocity and significantly increasing Gawain's abilities in all parameters.
The Blessed Numeral of Three, the sacred number of the Celtic Deities.
All Dillan, Marteo, and the others saw before them was a blinding flash of light. Their bodies began to shudder, and to their horror, their skin began to flake off like ash. There was no activation of any kind of magic, no ritual, or arcane circle to indicate any kind of catalyst either.
Which meant to say, everything that was happening was due to Gawain himself, a feat impossible for any common human in the New World to accomplish.
It was enough to get Marteo's mind to blank, yet for Dillan it was different.
He had always been well learned and had paid constant attention to details regarding information outside of the Kingdom to broaden his perspectives. As such, he knew of a description that suited the individual before him.
A special term passed down from the distant Slane Theocracy to describe such living monsters of humanity directly related to the Six Great Gods.
"G-Godkin," he stuttered, expression paling further when he looked at Arturia and the rest. For Gawain was sent forward on Arturia's instruction.
In which case, didn't that mean that the man that he, Marteo, and everyone else was fighting was only a subordinate Godkin?
The implication of this line of thought terrified him, his body freezing, unable to flee.
Yet it didn't matter.
Nothing did.
Not when the inferno came crashing down in a wall of revolving flames.
Nothing could escape it for not only was it too fast, but the burns on their bodies already severely injured them.
As the wave of heat fully engulfed and carbonized all, only one thought surfaced in Dillan's mind.
From where did the Berferd heir recruit such monsters?
As the dust settled and the embers snuffed out, Gawain stared impassively at the charred area in front of him, smoke billowing into the air and crows cawing in the distance. He didn't enjoy killing those far weaker than him, but it was also part of his righteousness to never deprive his enemies the courtesy of going all out. For holding back in any duel or conflict was the same as humiliating and demeaning the other party.
Work done, he sheathed his sword and faced Arturia.
"The deed is done, my King," he said, bowing his head while ignoring the way Morded fumed at him on the side due to preventing her from redeeming herself in her earlier blunder.
It mattered not to him, only the satisfaction of completing his King's will did.
"You've done well, Gawain," Arturia spoke with a smile. "My thanks."
Gawain shook his head in refusal.
"No, my King. It is only proper that I vanquish those who dare hinder your path. Therefore, it's not something worth thanking me over. But in that regard," Gawain turned to face Shirou with a raised brow. "Were all of us really necessary for this?"
Shirou maintained a poker face.
"I suppose not," he said, unwilling to admit that he had been too heated at the time to think properly.
"Yet precautions are always necessary when faced with an unfamiliar land," he reasoned his way out.
Gawain laughed in admiration.
"As expected of our Lord. Strong yet wise."
He only nodded while forcing down the embarrassment of it all.
Thereafter he turned to Arturia and watched as her eyes glanced away from his in uncertainty. After all, she had acted on her own without at least informing him. The thing was however, he wasn't mad at her. Far from it, he was proud.
Thus, he nodded towards her when she glanced at him with her teal coloured eyes. Whatever she decided on was what he would do, and supposedly that meant addressing Vincent Berferd.
"Vincent Berferd," she called out to Vincent who was still in a daze from Gawain's earlier demonstration. "You're path home should be safe now," she said smiling.
Vincent had been in awe from the moment Lancelot had first made his move, and then dumbfounded when Gawain intervened. The power and skill displayed before him was such that he thought himself inadequate. With all his years of training, it was disheartening to realize that the most his skill could amount to was to catch his opponent off-guard with his inability to fight back.
"Ugh, Ah yes," He muttered in response to Arturia, shaking his head to clear his mind yet growing flustered under the gazes of the others around.
Yet, he was an honourable man.
"Thank you for all of the help," he bowed his head low. "The Berferd family will not forget this favour."
With his piece said, he turned to depart but hesitated moments away from leaving, inevitably turning around to stare apprehensively at Arturia.
She was his savior and without her, Vincent held no notion that he would have had been able to escape Dillan's encirclement. Which was why he found it difficult to question her on a rising suspicion from within him. In the end however, his need to know won out over his shame.
"R-Rude of me as this may be, but might I ask of you a question?" He stammered.
Arturia furrowed her brows for a moment, but her expression softened afterwards, giving Vincent a welcoming nod. In the time she had spent with him, she approved of his character and felt that he was a local worth getting along with.
"You are more than welcome to," she said, greatly relieving Vincent.
"Earlier, that sword," Vincent swallowed nervously as he inquired. "M-Might it be the Sacred Sword?"
Gawain and the others shared startled glances with one another upon hearing Vincent's question, surprised that he was able to notice such a detail regarding their King. For the sword Excalibur, granted by Lady Vivian of the lake was indeed a Sacred Sword and King Arthur's most defining feature.
The subtle changes Vincent noticed from the Knights reactions helped to solidify the assumption that had already formed in his mind; all but verified with Arturia's admission.
"Yes," she said without pause, her calm yet dignified voice striking him like a bolt of lightning that disorientated him.
He froze, expression vacant.
However, what he was experiencing inside was far different from what he was experiencing outside.
The Holy Maiden.
The Holy Maiden!
She was the Valkyrie Knight of the Roble Holy Empire, or more likely a descendant.
Regardless, there were no doubts in Vincent's mind that Arturia was somehow related to the Roble Holy Kingdom's National Hero. It made too much sense for him to think of any other alternative. Otherwise, how could he explain the fact that there was a certain charisma about her that even had Knights such as Gawain and others under her service?
His breath hitched with the realization, his eyes closing to calm the rapid beating of his heart before he decisively turned around and began walking; certain that he wouldn't be able to maintain his composure if he stared at Arturia any longer.
Forget about returning to his family's duchy, he had the impulse to prostrate himself and declare allegiance on the spot instead.
It was through his will power and familial piety alone that prevented him from taking such actions for it would be a slight against Arturia's own words,
Believe in Honour, Duty, and in Integrity.
To never lose one's way.
He had an obligation towards his people that he couldn't ignore for his own selfish reasons. Therefore, he would go back.
As the sound of Vincent's steps receded from the forest, Arturia and the others stared quietly at Shirou, waiting for instructions.
"Nero's told me that you've already secured the area?" He spoke after a moment.
"Indeed," Tristan was the first to respond.
As an NPC with an Archer-Class designation, Tristan too possessed the ability of Far Sight, making it easier for Tristan to scout and secure wide areas. As such, Tristan's admission was all Shirou needed to know to verify Nero's words.
"Good work," he said earnestly.
"It's only proper," Lancelot said curtly, tilting his head down.
The amount of effort he had put into making all of his NPC's were known by them all. Therefore, rather than thinking of doing something for his benefit as a chore, most of his NPC's would hardly complain aside from perhaps the arrogant ones.
"Even still, I'm thanking you in acknowledgment of your efforts. You'd allow me to do this much at least, wouldn't you?" He said wryly.
"Very well," Tristan acceded along with Lancelot and the rest.
Thereafter, he turned his attention to Arturia, her body tensing as he approached and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Although you didn't inform me before you took action, you did well," saying that, his brows furrowed in reminiscence.
Although each NPC he had made had their own personalities in YGGDRASIL, none of them had ever acted on their own initiative before; proving to him at least that they were more than just simple creations. They had thoughts, feelings, and aspirations as well, making them human in his eyes.
"But why?" he couldn't help but ask. "Why did you take such actions?"
He stared at her, and she at him, her expression thoughtful before glancing down.
"It's never wrong to help others," she murmured lowly, but her words brought such a shock to him that he pulled the hand he had on her shoulder away as if he had been stabbed.
"S-Saber?" he called out desperately, eyes growing bloodshot.
It was as if a dehydrated man had seen an oasis in a desert. The words Arturia had spoken, he had never inputted such lines in her text boxes; meaning that she would never have had known that those were the exact words he had once said to Saber in the Holy Grail War.
Unfortunately, his desperation was only met by confusion, a troubled expression making its way onto Arturia's face.
"Saber?" She questioned, feeling an ebbing pain from within her that she couldn't understand when she saw the despair that flickered in his eyes.
"No, it nothing," he swallowed before turning away, hands balling into fists. "You can take the others and head back to the Mausoleum, I'll be back later."
"Shirou, but," Arturia reached her hand out for his arm, mouth opening in an attempt to scold him but she paused involuntarily when she again couldn't explain why the actions felt so familiar.
Troubled, she just stood there, her lips pursing as a gloominess saturated her mind.
"Let's go," she eventually whispered out to Lancelot and the rest, not waiting for the others to acknowledge her words before leaving, thoughts running rampant in her head.
Lancelot glanced from Arturia to Shirou before sighing and following Arturia closely behind. Gawain and the others soon followed pensively, certain that they were missing some deeper meaning in their King's prompt actions.
Only Merlin awkwardly stayed behind for his own reasons, one of which was for Shirou's sake.
As Arturia's tutor and a wiseman amongst mortals, he could determine that what Shirou needed now wasn't the help of others to deal with his problem, but to find his own path. All Merlin could do as a teacher, was to guide him along that path.
"Regardless of what concept or feeling you have that's clouding your mind, if you don't have an answer now, surely you will have one later," Merlin's voice was piercing. "Therefore, it's best not to dwell on whatever conflicts you may harbour presently."
"Is that your attempt at a conciliation?" He asked wryly, Merlin's rather direct words somehow allowing him to compose himself. It must have had been related to Merlin's innate skill of Hero Creation.
Merlin grinned, before shrugging.
"You're not a woman so I can't bring myself to pull off anymore effort than I already have," Merlin said frankly.
"Then its lucky I'm not a woman."
From the memories he had shared with Arturia, he knew that Merlin was a thorough philanderer and skirt-chaser. To be a woman under his gaze had at times even left Arturia uneasy, and Merlin had even attempted placating her by saying she was 'flat,' which inevitably didn't go well.
Merlin's habits aside, he was someone reliable, making Shirou thankful for Merlin's considerations. The present moment regarding Arturia more than anything.
Because for an instance, he had hoped, only to be met with such acute heart-ache and anguish that it left him momentarily debilitated.
Still, NPC or not, saving Vincent was something Arturia had done out of her own initiative. Therefore, it became important for him to see it through.
A strong will emerged from within him, a resolve of steel.
Vincent had left for his home already, but that didn't mean that Vincent couldn't run into any other dangers. In which case, if Vincent died, then it would render Arturia's efforts meaningless and that was unacceptable to him.
"I'm going out Merlin," he informed.
Merlin nodded. "Do comeback early. Composed as young Arturia may appear at times, she gets impatient and flustered when the subject is regarding you."
His mouth gradually curved up.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said before departing, reinforcing his legs and disappearing through the forest's underbrush.
Left alone, Merlin let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't that he was apprehensive about returning to the Mausoleum, rather he dared not to at the moment.
His senses were warning him that the results of his latest escapade had not yet died out and that the woman in particular would be still be fuming.
Sure he 'may' have coped a feel as prompted by his Incubus heritage and admiration towards beautiful women, but wasn't trying to kill him immediately a tad overboard?
Besides, they were a Witch and a Wizard respectively, two entities that had even existed parallel to the mortal world: he in Avalon, and she in the Land of Shadows. Their similarities alone thoroughly convinced him that they were a preordained match, it only helped that she was too his preferences.
Yet why was reality so different from imagination?
So what if his advances were a little too suave for her to handle? Overreacting the way she did was simply uncultured and uncalled for.
He smiled wryly, phantom pains originating from the slap on his face a reminder of what his prompt summons by Shirou had saved him from. Though from the smooth sensation of supple skin and natural buoyancy that still lingered on his palm and fingers, he was seriously considering about offering his left cheek for another go at it.
His eyes blurred lewdly, heat flushing his cheeks red before he promptly shook his head and coughed. Smart as he was, he knew that without Shirou's prompt intervention, a single slap would have had been the least of his concerns regarding the actions of that violent yet alluring Lavender Rose.
Then again, his lips curled upwards, perhaps he could 'convince' Shirou to inadvertently help him once more.
Fantasies aside though, there was currently still another Rose awaiting his attention.
He smoothened his garments, freeing up the loose dirt and grime that had accumulated on them from the debris Lancelot and Gawain had created in their posturing before tilting his head in a certain direction.
An area that appeared completely empty, yet not.
"Well," he said sardonically, a shudder travelling down someone's back.
"How did you know I liked things wild?"
Following Vincent was easier than he had thought, granted he still wasn't accustomed to applying his in-game stats to his physical abilities yet.
After all, he wasn't even certain of what race he was do to his tampering with YGGDRASIL's mechanics, namely the stylistic race-restricted functions. Although YGGDRASIL was known to allow players to create and model in-game objects, limitations were still maintained. For example, the developers didn't want Players to choose any random race and be able to reconfigure the appearance at will.
If a Player chose an Orc, they'd be ugly but the enhanced stats would balance things out. Should a Player be able to model an orc to look exactly like a Human, then there was no point in choosing an Orc race to begin with. The YGGDRASIL company might as well have had just created one race then with varying stats.
For general and veteran Players, the limitation wasn't a big deal, but to him who had only played the game to recreate what he had lost, it was a problem. Therefore, he enabled his avatar to be able to utilize stylistic functions of all races when creating NPCs.
Draconic.
Divine.
Earth.
He possessed a portion of such traits within his body, making him unique in that he had no definite race, but when introduced, he would still say Human for it was the largest aspect of him.
The other traits were things he had only acquired a portion of to incorporate into Arturia and the others in their creation. The racial aura of 'Dragons' for example was something he passed onto Arturia, while 'Divine' was inputted into the Heroes descended from Gods.
Uncertain as he was about his current racial parameters, their combined might along with Reinforcement had him moving at a similar speed as a Servant.
Vincent was slow in comparison, and he was on horseback, having made his way to where he and his escorts had left their mounts and saddled himself up.
He trailed behind Vincent for the entire way, slowing down and keeping his distance while using Far Sight.
The trip itself was uneventful, Vincent making haste towards his family's duchy without rest and ignoring the idyllic view of the valley created by the water basin to the east. A place filled with rolling grass and swaying flowers and reeds.
Subsequently, it gave him enough time to think.
He had already ascertained that he not only possessed the magic he had in life, but the skills he had in YGGDRASIL as well. Therefore, the problem now, was where he would go from here.
Finding a way back home had always been at the back of his mind, but at the same time, he understood that there was nothing else left there for him; no one to wait and welcome him home after a weary journey.
In contrast, the New World was different. She was here, they were here, individuals who on some levels were like him, possessing the mentality of a Hero. They could understand him, and he them. The things that they had lost, the tragedies that they had experienced, he knew of them all for he had experienced events that were similar.
From another perspective, perhaps the New World was simply a new beginning. A place where Arturia and the others may no longer need to re-experience the tragedies of their lives.
With that thought in mind, something within him seemed to harden.
A resolve born from empathy and care, for he was their creator.
Letting the NPCs he had created enjoy a new life would be the ultimate goal he would work towards from now on. Because some deserved a better ending.
He contemplated to himself while trailing Vincent, but something in the distance soon caught his attention.
He paused in his steps, taking a vantage point by a low rolling hill and surveying the large wisps of smoke billowing in the far horizon. Vincent had yet to notice such a detail as he was too far away and preoccupied with the road ahead of him.
Shirou on the other hand was different.
Not only was he accustomed to noticing small details while in the midst of undergoing other tasks, he was adept at it too due to his past field of work. He was an Enforcer and a mercenary; the types of jobs and places he had experienced were too much for him to count. As such, he had long since gotten used to the unexpected. The current situation was the same.
Smoke meant trouble, more so in large quantities and the wisps themselves had already shifted into a dark cloud.
He had seen outside festivities and bonfires before, but the the thickness of the smoke was simply too much.
Careful inspection would lead him to his answer.
Fire burning in a village.
His eyes narrowed in agitation as his goal was only to insure Vincent's safety before returning to the Mausoleum due to his limited knowledge of the New World. However, his decision was all but made for him when his acute senses then picked up on the screaming.
He clicked his tongue before utilizing Far Sight and Reinforcement to view several paces ahead of Vincent for any danger. Finding nothing, he didn't hesitate any longer and took off towards the direction of the shouts.
Zephyrs were left in his wake, miniature twisting cyclones creating a breeze that startled Vincent enough to slow down his horse, but by the time he glanced around, there was nothing there.
In the direction of the distant burning village, men and women ran panicked as a platoon of armoured knights raised the area to the ground.
The pungent scent of carbonized flesh and thick smoke permeated the air.
"H-Help!"
"Get away!"
People in common rags and rough linen tunics yelled desperately at the impassiveness of their assailants, trying desperately to ward them off but to no avail.
It was the difference between a trained elite and a greenhorn, there was no comparison. It was a slaughter. Steel tearing through the sinew of flesh and bone, leaving nothing behind but torrents of dripping blood.
The noise filtered into his ears from the moment he arrived, his expression growing cold.
It was a situation he had long since gotten used to back before YGGDRASIL, working as both an Enforcer and a wandering mercenary for hire.
The cruelty of humans.
It was a situation where he couldn't save both sides even if he wanted to. Then again, he had long since grown numb to it, almost cynical at times; reminiscent of the red Archer in the Holy Grail War that fought against Berserker, leading him to believe that perhaps they may have experienced the same things. He would never know.
All that mattered was that he sprung into action immediately.
A family was being cornered in their wooden stable containing their livestock, two armoured knights striking out before they stiffened in shock.
He appeared without sound nor warning, as if a ghost, hands intercepting the swinging blades and catching them in his grip as he glared.
"Do you not understand what you are doing?" His voice was clipped, his tone unforgiving as the swords he caught within his palms shattered. "Do you not have your own families and friends? Enemies are one thing, but you would so blatantly kill those unable to even fight back."
The Knights stared stunned at their shattered swords, yet composed themselves when they drew their secondary weapons, daggers hung by their waists. They didn't understand how Shirou had intercepted them, but staring at Shirou, neither of the Knights felt him to be as intimidating as he seemed. However, the strength Shirou had displayed was not lost on them.
"Y-You, who are you!" One of the Knights yelled impetuously. "Do you not know whose orders you are defying by intervening?!"
"No, I do not," he admitted freely, taking a step forward as a murderous aura erupted from around him, swords forming from the ether and staggering the two Knights back.
They shuddered, feeling that something wasn't quite right, for they could detect no traces of Tier Magic being used. Instead, it was something purer and overflowing with a ferocity of an inferno. The scent of ash suddenly grew more pungent, ominous clinking noises resounding in the Knights ears as visions of turning monolithic gears clouded their minds.
"What magic is this?" A Knight stuttered. "N-No, get back!" They yelled, finally unsettled.
He didn't relent, not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't see any remorse in the Knights eyes.
"Did these villagers not say the same as you mercilessly cut them down?"
His tone of voice was flat, without emotion.
By now, the entire stable was filled to the brim with floating swords pointed downwards, their sharp gleams reflecting the heat of the fires raging outside.
His question silenced the Knights, but thereafter they both attempted to run.
Yet, it wouldn't be that easy.
"Trace, set," his gaze sharpened, locking in on the fleeing enemies with a methodic precision honed after numerous years as an Enforcer. "Fire."
A cold sweat travelled down the family's back, the speed of the swords flying out impossible to dodge as they penetrated through the Knights and pinned them to a wall outside before fading.
He ignored the pang of loss he felt upon acting so ruthlessly, but understood that sometimes deaths were necessary. The kind of people who would feel no shame or remorse after a slaughter weren't the kind of people he should go out of his way to save.
He glanced at the family cowering behind him, but quickly left after giving them a warning to stay away from the east-side of the village where he knew the majority of the attacking Knights had congregated. He had to move fast if he wanted as many people as he could.
The family thanked him profusely even after he left, but realized soon after that they didn't even know his name.
Elsewhere, numerous sightings regarding him began to spread like thunder across the surviving members of the village as he decimated the Knights and rescued more and more people.
It was to the point that the Knights were forced to retreat in fear for their lives, running from a rain of steel that never seemed to end as it blotted out the sky.
As the dust settled, and the remains of the burning village toppled into cinders, he paused in his actions, relieved with the amount of people he was able to save on time. However, his mood was far from happy.
The village was burned down and the injured villagers that had survived were left stranded without home, food, or water. Primitive as the world seemed, if the villagers were left alone in such conditions, then death was only outcome.
His lips pursed as he gritted his teeth.
Standing there by the entrance of the village, a child suddenly caught sight of him without warning, and before he could leave, more began to surround him.
"Mamma, he's over here!" One of them yelled out to the adults in the distance.
"T-Thank you," a boy sputtered as he spoke. "Papa says you're a Hero!"
"No, no its nothing much," he said calmly.
By now, the other adults had come to express their gratitude, but he was reluctant to accept it. Not when he could imagine the future that they would have without a place to live. They would starve, and without the protection of a shelter, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't get eaten by animals either.
He couldn't send them towards the Berferd duchy as he had learned from the attacking Knights that the razing of the village was part of a conspiracy between the Nobles vying for power; the village itself a property of the Berferd duchy. Serfs and peasants generally had nothing to do with aristocratic politics, but the heart of the matter lied in the fact that it was the harvest season in the New World. Peasants were required to work the field to harvest grain for the coming winter. Remove them, then it was the same as killing an adversary without direct confrontation.
Still, matters would only be worse when the Hubert, Vandele, and Merdings Family discovered the loss of contact to their heirs, making a siege against the Berderd's unavoidable.
Considering the situation, the peasants wouldn't be safe regardless of where they went.
Therefore, he made up his mind.
"You all," he said, unsure of what his decision would result in but doing so anyway.
His figure was one that stood in stark contrast to the burning flames, bronze coloured orbs reflecting a fiery orange glow.
In the New World, or in the previous, he had never changed. In the same way she had promised to wait for him at the culmination of his ideals, he would never give up on them regardless of his personal goals.
For it was all he had left while waiting for one's arrival.
A blade whittled away by time.
Unaware of loss nor aware of gain.
A fate destined for even the sharpest of steel.
Yet it was his Oath. His path made from a memory under a moonlit sky.
A promise of a sword and a sheath. And he would not waver.
"Follow me," he said decisively to the gathered crowd, stunning them with his disposition.
One of integrity and sincerity.
"To the Forest in the Mountainside."
A chance at a new life.
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