The Berferd Dutchy had never wanted to involve itself in the political war of Southern Roble and had always maintained its stance as a neutral ground. Petty squabbles for power and striving for greater prestige was not once a goal of the family. All that mattered was to maintain the oaths and duties bestowed upon them before the Holy Maiden's disappearance and the integrity of the ruling Monarchy.
Unfortunately, the Berferd Family was not to be left alone.
They occupied a land that was simply too strategic to ignore and as such had always been the focal point of numerous hidden agendas. The current situation was a direct result of many planned years and had nothing to do with recent incidents that only served as effective catalysts.
The smoke of fire trailed up into the horizon overhead, cloud-like wisps forming from darkened ash descending over the ground. Embers carried in the air, ephemeral orange lights flickering and dying out in a still breeze. The pungent smell of charred meat and scorched wood permeated everywhere, odorous and unpleasant.
Inwardly, it made Shirou want to gag if not for the fact that he'd already gotten used to it.
Walking, a frown appeared on Shirou's face whilst leading the individuals behind him from the front. They were the villagers he had rescued previously, many sporting bruises and minor injuries that he couldn't spare the time to treat in caution of the hostile patrols running across the perimeter.
Each patrol consisted of a unit of armed individuals numbering from five-to-six making sweeps across the area. They generally carried swords and shields with few carrying ranged weaponry due to the disadvantage of a forested zone. Their travel paths were converged densely in some places, but lightly in others; ergo locations where no one suspected fleeing low-leveled peasants to escape from.
Shirou capitalized on the opportunity and took advantage of the carelessness of the enemy. However, meticulous as he was, it was impossible to completely hide the presence of his group. Short scuffles appeared as a result and he was left with no choice but to intervene.
He had intervened twice already, he didn't want a third instance to occur lest the enemy realize the inconsistency in their patrols and converge on the location. In such a case, it wasn't his safety he'd have to worry about.
It was with such thoughts in mind that the current situation left Shirou feeling troubled.
Shirou's lips curved downwards, his gaze shifting towards the quarrelling individuals behind him.
"Why the hell are you bastards dragging your feet!" A father of two yelled in outrage. His name was Kirchof Klein, a local farmer with cropped hair and wearing a faded jumper suit.
Opposed to Kirchof was a group of glaring men and women who didn't seem to care about the trouble they were causing others.
Kirchof held one son in his left hand, and a daughter in his right protectively. Both children were around the age of five or younger and were sniffling due to the recent loss of their mother. Shirou knew that Kirchof had it worse from the murmuring he could hear from the others around him.
The mother of the family had died in Kirchof's absence. Particularly because Kirchof had gone out of his way to aid in the rescue of others when he had believed his family to be 'safe.'
The assumption turned out wrong and the mother died luring away attackers, and for what?
"I save your sorry lives and this is how you all show your gratitude?" Kirchof erupted heatedly. "I made a promise to see my children grow old to my late wife, and you're all shameless enough to continue putting my family under danger?!"
A woman standing in front of Kirchof glowered darkly, charging up to Kirchof in a flurry of emotion. Her name was Andela Bree, a local seamstress that had been fairly well known for the quality of her wares. Currently, if not for an acquaintance actively moving to restrain her, then a confrontation was bound to occur.
"Speak what you will Kirchof, but you should understand our pain! I lost my husband and my children. Someone like you that still has a family doesn't have the right to lecture me!" Andela thrashed wildly in the restraints of her acquaintance, involuntarily knocking over a young child to the ground with a loose elbow.
The child seemed to be no older than six and she fell in a pained cry. The plain white fabric the child wore as a one-piece dress was stained with both mud and grass, the sound of her sobbing beginning to echo out while she lay sprawled on the ground, a bruise forming on her forehead.
The sudden accident caused both sides of the confrontation to halt to a simmer, guilt appearing in Andela's eyes as she balled her hands into fists. Even Kirchof held back the shouts in his throat as he no longer wanted to escalate things further.
At the front of the group, Shirou had seen enough and before anyone else acted, he directly stepped forward. Anyone who had been in front of him willingly gave way until he stood directly between the two opposing parties.
Although Andela had been the one to speak out against Kirchof, her sentiments echoed the pain of the group she was associated with.
On the other hand, Kirchof was part of the larger majority of villagers Shirou had saved, they who still had others they needed to protect.
Each group had their own perspectives, but it didn't mean that arguing was the answer.
In the silence Shirou caused with his arrival, only the noise of the little girl sobbing echoed out.
Gingerly, Shirou knelt next to the little girl and propped her up in his arms.
"Does it hurt anywhere?" He asked, temporarily ignoring everything else.
The girl stared up at Shirou and pointed at her foot.
Disregarding the bruise forming on her forehead, the real problem was the swelling on the girl's ankle. It was a fierce red and Shirou suspected that the girl had been forcing herself to walk on it even before she was knocked over.
In an act of kindness, Shirou took one glance at the girl's injury and promptly carried her up into his arms, the girl clinging onto his chest seeking warmth.
Thereafter, Shirou sighed while turning to Andela and the people behind her, feeling at a loss.
Andela and the others like her had tragically lost their loved ones to their attackers and were exceedingly bitter, thoughts of vengeance clouding their judgment. After seeing the relative ease in which Shirou could dispatch the enemies, they purposely began to slow their paces down in hopes of running into more armed patrols.
The action was foolish, and touched the bottom line of the other villagers with family and friends they wanted to keep safe.
Sure, Shirou was around to protect everyone, but the majority of the villagers would rather not take a risk.
"This has gone on long enough," Shirou said disapprovingly, drawing circles on the child's back to soothe her as he felt a wetness seep through his leather garments.
He turned his attention towards Andela, looking at her in the eyes with sympathy.
"I'm sorry for your loss, but you're mistaken if you believe that you can use me to vent your anger." In truth, he was helpless to stop Andela and the others behaviour as there was no way he could easily quell the anger in her heart much less everyone else's.
The option of simply eliminating the enemies as a whole entered his mind, but he understood that the world wasn't simply black and white, just different shades of grey.
It wasn't justice to start a slaughter.
His lips thinned, resolve hardening.
"I won't stop you from intentionally slowing down your pace, but its selfish to drag others into danger," Shirou repositioned the young girl in his arms. The way he was staring at Andela and the rest causing them to flinch.
Andela and the others stood blankly, unable to form a response while the father that had spoken out in anger pressed his children close to him.
"For the most part, we've all had losses, but what matters is that we're alive." Kirchof conceded slowly to Andela, subtly glancing at Shirou and nodding his head. "And for that, we can't thank our Hero enough."
Andela crossed her arms, her lips pursed as her anger and bitterness slowly took the better part of her away.
She glared at Shirou, looking him up and down.
"He's a Noble." She spat out with such contempt that it was piercing.
Andela's words caused a small murmur to travel throughout the gathered crowd. They had been too busy hailing Shirou as a Hero to notice the quality of his leather armour. It wasn't something a peasant could ever hope to own which made it highly likely in the crowd's eyes that Shirou was of the aristocracy.
A wave of mistrust and doubt permeated the air.
Nobles were the ones who started calamities, and it was always the peasants that suffered. The present situation was no different.
Shirou felt the change immediately, an air of hostility washing over him.
He frowned, turning to stare at the people around him and creasing his brow. At this point, even if he wasn't a noble, he had no choice but to accept the title. The clothes he wore were indeed too inconspicuous in quality and make, leaving his credibility to deny Andela's words negligible.
The people around him stared at him warily, Kirchof himself even pushing his children to stand behind his robust legs.
At this point, Shirou had no obligation to help those who viewed him in contempt, but he would not leave them.
For the ideals he lived by.
For the promise he made to Saber.
He, Shirou Emiya, would never change.
It's never wrong to save another.
Before the shocked gazes of everyone present, Shirou dropped to his knees and lowered his head with full sincerity, staining his legs with dirt and grime. Reducing himself to a level no different from Kirchof's and the other's own.
"Regardless of what you think of me," Shirou said lowly, strongly. There was a certain strength and conviction in his tone that made it impossible for anyone to discredit him.
A candor and charisma overflowed from his very being. That which allowed him to unlock YGGDRASIL's hidden Hero Class.
Integrity and earnestness embodied within unblinking bronze-coloured orbs.
"I want to help," Shirou glanced up, turning his gaze left and right. "I mean to help. There's no benefit to me deceiving any of you."
As Shirou's eyes travelled with his gaze, none present could maintain eye contact, shame preventing them from straightening their backs. Even Andela herself was left at a loss, her complexion paling as more and more people discreetly glared at her for instigating trouble. Some openly shaking their heads in contempt.
Shirou was too preoccupied to notice.
"I know you're all wary of me, but just this once," his brows furrowed in consternation, mouth setting into a thin line. "Place your belief in me."
Silence, not one person spoke but something had changed in the air. It was the way they looked at Shirou. The contempt was gone, replaced by bewilderment and faint traces of hope that belied the true feelings of everyone present.
Even if Shirou was a Noble, he was still the Hero who had saved them and took the trouble to accommodate them.
That fact alone was enough.
Kirchof gave one glance at Andela, scoffed then led he and his children to stand by Shirou's side.
"What are you all looking at?" Kirchof bellowed heartily to the silent crowd. "I see no Noble here, I only see the courage of a man with a heart bigger than most. One who's already displayed unwavering conviction!"
Kirchof placed a sturdy hand on Shirou's shoulder and hauled him back to his feet.
"A man does not kneel lightly. A Hero does not need to curry the favour of others."
Kirchof stared directly at Shirou and inclined his head.
"You saved our lives, pleaded with us despite our hesitance. What kind of scumbags would we be if we scorned the resolve of a true man of honour?"
Kirchof spoke not only for himself, but to voice the unsaid words that had formed in everyone's being.
"We will trust you."
Avoiding the patrols became far easier with everyone's cooperation. The group didn't stretch out into a long crowd but rather maintained a compact formation with the woman and elderly in the middle watching over the kids. The able-bodied men volunteered to stand at the perimeter of the formation as a precaution for any unexpected dangers.
Shirou on the other hand, was constantly ahead by a few paces, utilizing his lvl 100 attributes to survey for any danger while still carrying a child in his hands.
The child herself wasn't much of an issue for Shirou, but it was the fact that no mother or relative had decided to take ownership of the child that troubled him.
Significantly exhausted and suffering from a recent injury, the girl had fallen unconscious from the moment he had first held her within his arms.
At first, Shirou wanted to take up Kirchof on his offer to watch over the child in his arms, but though unconscious, the child simply refused to let go of him. There was a desperation in her actions that Shirou didn't miss and as such decided to carry her until she woke up.
Why had she clung to him from the moment she saw him?
That was the single question in Shirou's mind, but he put it aside as the group approached the familiar forest line of the mountainside leading to the mausoleum.
At first, he was intending to allow everyone to enter the mausoleum, but he changed his mind partway through as there wasn't enough room. Besides, he didn't want any curious villagers accidently stumbling on the spaces leading to the other NPC rooms. Of course, some of them wouldn't mind the intrusion, but he had to consider whether the more arrogant one's like Gilgamesh may impart punishment.
It was with such considerations that Shirou sent a message ahead to call for a particular NPC, Galahad of the Holy Kingdom of Camelot. The King's Shield bearer who possessed the one unique skill that made YGGDRASIL's Kingdom of Camelot differ from all other Raid Quests.
A Mobile Fortress.
It was an AOE summoning skill that could instantly provide shelter for thousands.
Shirou was hesitant in requesting Galahad to use the skill because he knew that once it was used, there would be no way that it wouldn't be noticed, but for the sake of others, he'd already made his decision.
The message feature of YGGDRASIL didn't work properly when Shirou attempted using it to contact Galahad, but fortunately, he kept a message scroll on his person which he used instead.
"We're here," Shirou called out to Kirchof and the others after entering the foot of the mountain housing the Mausoleum.
Looking around the current area, many villagers stared out in confusion.
"It's the middle of a forest," Kirchof pointed out.
What the majority of the villagers were probably expecting was to be led towards another establishment to take shelter.
Shirou understood this, but knew he couldn't really explain to them what he had planned. They probably wouldn't believe it before seeing it.
"Just wait a bit," Shirou insisted to Kirchof and the others. "I have a friend on his way."
Kirchof stared at Shirou, grunted, and then went to pacify some of the more vocal villagers who set up a small camp to rest nearby.
It was around this time that Shirou felt the girl in his arms begin to stir.
She blinked, the strands of red hair that matted over her forehead falling in between her eyes and causing her nose to twitch. The pain and exhaustion that had caused her to pass out before had long since numbed to a tolerable level and she was beginning to turn her head left and right in a state of disorientation.
"Slept enough?" He spoke with a smile when their gazes met.
The child for her part seemed to gasp out, a hand falling over her mouth to muffle the noise.
"I-It's mister Hero," the child said before growing quiet and simply staring.
It felt somewhat awkward to Shirou for him to continue holding the little girl in his arms now that she was awake and gingerly, he placed her on the ground. The swelling of her ankle had gone down considerably and it was no longer a struggle for her to stand.
The girl glanced up at him, moisture in her eyes.
"Where are your parents?" He asked. "No one went up to take you out of my hands since you fell unconscious."
The girl didn't beat around the bush, her expression still somewhat calm.
"Brother said that papa died fighting monsters in the woods and mama died just after I was born," the little girl explained softly, just loud enough for him to hear.
His brows furrowed. No parents? At the very least, it seemed as if the child still had a sibling to rely on.
"What's your name," He asked. With the child's name, he was intending on asking Kirchof if he knew anyone that may be associated with her.
The child hesitated for a bit, but recalling that she wasn't talking to a stranger but to a hero, she eventually opened up to him.
"My name is Florance Loclander," the girl took a considerable amount of time pronouncing her name right, and seemed quite proud when she succeeded.
He tousled Florance's hair in acknowledgment. "Alright then, Florance, wait here. I'll go see if your brother is somewhere within the crowd."
Shirou made to walk towards Kirchof and the others, but was stopped when Florance tugged on his sleeve.
She shook her head. "No, brother not there," she said, eyes tearing up.
At the end of the day, Florence was still no more than five years old and the sudden attack on her village left her frightened and insecure. More so because the brother that she generally relied on was missing.
"Brother was taken," she said while bowing her head and sniffling.
Shirou inwardly raised a brow. Taken was different from killed. From the accounts of the other villagers, the attackers were merciless so therefore it was peculiar to him now that the girl was telling him a different story.
Shirou patted Florance's back to comfort her, but was made increasingly aware of the hope in Florance's eyes when she looked up to him.
She called him a Hero, and if the stories of heroes were anything like the ones in his previous world, it wasn't difficult to understand why she had clung to him when he had first approached her.
"I'll see what I can do, little one," he said, giving Florance a nod.
Florance's expression brightened so much that it was difficult for Shirou not to smile back. It was in that moment though that Shirou's ears picked up the approach of two others.
He glanced up, staring to his left, only to blank.
A-Arturia?
Beside Arturia was Galahad, but for the most part, Shirou hardly even noticed him. All his attention was on the woman he had fallen in love with in the past.
When his gaze met hers, there was a sort ambiguity that filled Arturia with a sense of longing and hope that she had still yet to understand. For Shirou's part, all he saw was a slight twitch on Arturia's neutral expression.
Shirou took in a breath, putting aside his reservation and deciding to no longer trouble Arturia with his own misunderstandings. Although she looked like his Saber, acted like his Saber, a part of him was scared that she wasn't his Saber. It was the reason why he had delayed his trip back to the mausoleum for so long in hopes of quelling the turmoil in his mind whenever he saw her.
With that in mind, he smiled stiffly at Arturia and Galahad's approach.
"Shirou," Arturia inclined her head in greeting, Galahad doing the same.
Shirou greeted back, but there was something restrained about his greeting that both Galahad and Arturia picked up on.
Arturia's lips pursed together. She knew that she wasn't asked to come, yet when she heard word that Galahad was to set out on Shirou's instruction, she couldn't keep herself still almost like she was anxious.
This was her creator she was dealing with, yet to her, she felt he was far more than that. Therefore, even if it was uncomfortable not knowing why, she still wanted to be near him.
Arturia stood still, gaze never straying from Shirou's figure.
Galahad knew the intentions of his King, and knew what Shirou had called him for. As such, Galahad smiled wryly before patting his chest and stepping forward.
"Sorry to have eavesdropped my Lord, but if I do recall, you've made a promise to this child have you not?" Galahad spoke to Shirou in the silence while motioning towards Florance.
Shirou nodded, Galahad's words knocking him out of his daze.
"That's true," Shirou crossed his arms. "But I can't just leave so abruptly after just arriving?"
Galahad smirked. "That's where your wrong my Lord. Leave this matter to me. I should be more than capable enough."
Galahad's words held merit and the charisma he carried was enough to sway even the most stubborn of people. He was a man said to be able to shoulder the next generation of the Knights of the Round table after all.
It was with Galahad's insistence, that Shirou eventually relented and moved towards Kirchof and the others to explain the reason for his sudden departure.
Meanwhile, Arturia who had remained silent as Galahad spoke continued to stare in Shirou's direction, her hands balling into fists. By now, Shirou who was already in the midst of leaving while she was still caught up in her indecision.
"You know my King," Galahad advised calmly from the side. "This New World isn't Britain. You need not consider past reservations."
Arturia shifted her gaze to Galahad, uncertainty in her eyes.
Galahad shook his head.
"The choice is yours to make my King, but for once, perhaps you should learn to understand that you too are human." Galahad moved away from Arturia, moving in the direction of Kirchof and the others, his back facing her. "Do what you feel is right."
With his piece said, Galahad proceeded forward, his lips tugging upwards when after a few seconds he felt a sudden gust of wind blow across his face; a blur of blue and gold fading into the direction Shirou had left from.
Galahad closed his eyes.
The King really had changed.
Galahad stepped forward, drawing the attention of Kirchof and the rest. He was armoured and possessed a dignified disposition that none could ignore.
He was the Son of Lancelot, First of the Round Table.
His armour was purple in colour; his flowing robes of matching silk and lavenders comprising his mantle and inner garments worn beneath his exterior frame, overshadowed by the ginormous tower-like shield held on his arm.
"My Lord has instructed me to aid you," Galahad spoke politely. "I will do just that."
Judging from the expressions and general appearances of the people before him, he knew what they needed.
What Shirou tasked him with was security.
And he would not fail to do so.
The shield over his arm, and the hope it represented suffused itself in an energy that shot towards the heavens. He sought forth the protection of the Holy Castle, one whose foundation could never be found in history for the Knights of the Round had not once left it.
His left arm rose forward, his right arm reaching to support it as he invoked the call from within, raising the shield up.
"Loooord," his voice was stern, his convictions true.
He was Galahad, Knight of the Round and bearer of the Sacred Walls, the gateway to the Kingdom of the mythological King of Britain.
"Caaammelllot!"
He slammed down his round tower-shield, bigger than he was tall.
The world trembled, magic seals springing to life before the eyes of the villagers who stared gawking as the skill took effect.
The white walls of a forgotten Kingdom appeared in sight. Tall, and imposing, their looming shadows were the very nightmares of the Players of YGGDRASIL who dared to siege it.
Look up and behold its splendor.
The strongest obstacle barring the ambitions of the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes in the Germanic invasion of the British Isles.
Its gates stood firm.
Its ramparts fortified.
And its flags billowing in the wind.
A Holy Kingdom. The ray of Hope in the dark of war and civil strife.
The Fortress Kingdom Camelot.
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