In a dimly lit chamber adorned with opulent decorations, three women engaged in conversation. Goddess Freya, regally seated on a throne-like chair, gazed out of a window onto the nocturnal city of Orario. Her long silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, framing silver eyes that reflected the moonlight, and her attire, a seductive blend of black and red, accentuated her ethereal beauty.
To her right stood a younger girl with grey hair, one eye black and the other silver—a peculiar sight that hinted at a mysterious nature. On the left, a woman with white hair and a teal accent, reminiscent of the night sky, donned silver battle armor, an embodiment of elegance and strength.
Goddess Freya's voice cut through the air as she inquired about Bell Cranel. Her question, directed at the woman on her left, lingered with an air of authority. "Lancer, how was Bell Cranel's performance? Was he a worthy opponent?"
Lancer, standing with unwavering poise, responded in a respectful tone, "He was weak. His movements seemed frozen at times, and his fighting style had too many holes." Her words hung in the air, carrying a subtle critique that betrayed no lack of respect.
Freya's lips curled into a smile as she listened to Lancer's assessment. "He cast that spell, but it caught me off guard. It was as if a copy of myself made the rune, though weaker. Still, he has much to learn," Lancer admitted, her acknowledgment laced with a hint of surprise.
Freya's eyes sparkled with amusement, and a playful giggle escaped her lips. Her nod mirrored the delight of a child discovering a new toy.
Horn, the woman on the right, posed a question with a hint of concern. "Goddess Freya, was it wise for you not to eliminate such an opponent?" Her words echoed in the opulent chamber, laden with a curiosity and bit of venom.
Freya's gaze lingered on the city below, her expression thoughtful. "I want to watch him grow," she replied, her voice carrying a mix of fascination and anticipation. "There's a certain pleasure in witnessing potential unfold, like a delicate bloom in the moonlit night. Bell Cranel intrigues me, and his journey is a spectacle I wish to savor."
Despite the gravity of her words, Freya's silver eyes seemed to hold a distant, almost dreamy quality—an intoxicating gaze that mirrored the look of someone lost in the clouds. Yet, in the midst of that unfocused allure, her beauty only deepened, creating an enigmatic charm that captivated those who dared to meet her gaze in that moment. The paradox of her presence, a blend of otherworldly allure and a seemingly absent-minded trance, added an extra layer to the intrigue within the chamber.
Freya's attention shifted, and she inquired about Ottar. "Where is Ottar?" she asked, her gaze returning from the cityscape to the present.
Horn responded, "The oaf is in the dungeon. He wanted to go adventuring more after the fight with Lancer." There was a subtle undertone of amusement in Horn's voice.
Lancer, known as Brynhildr, gracefully bowed and said, "I apologize if this has caused any inconvenience, Goddess Freya."
Freya shook her head, a serene smile playing on her lips. "It's nothing to worry about, Brynhildr. Ottar's adventurous spirit is something I appreciate," she reassured, the dynamics of the divine interactions unfolding with a blend of familiarity and respect.
...
Lefiya's timid footsteps echoed through the unfamiliar streets of the City of Orario, her unease growing with each passing moment. Beside her, a towering knight clad in formidable armor walked with an otherworldly grace, the metallic clinks of their armor strangely out of place amidst the city's nocturnal stillness.
As they entered a desolate clearing, the knight's cold voice pierced the silence, addressing Lefiya as "Master." Startled, she stood there, shaking, her eyes wide with trepidation.
Saber's cold voice cut through the quiet night, "Master, a clash of servants occurred in this very clearing not long ago."
Lefiya, still trembling, questioned Saber, "How do you even know a clash happened here? Can you sense that sort of thing?"
Saber, standing tall and unmoving, replied, "Yes, Master. The remaining mana in this clearing tells a tale. The spells used are familiar to me, and the resonance of their power is still palpable."
Lefiya, still shivering, voiced her discontent. "Saber, why drag me into this in the dead of night?"
Saber chuckled beneath the cold metal of the helmet. "Consider it a lesson for the dungeon. Experience is gained in unexpected places."
Lefiya huffed, crossing her arms. "Couldn't this wait until morning? I need my sleep, you know."
Saber's voice remained composed. "The dungeon doesn't wait for daylight. Neither should we."
Lefiya, frustrated, muttered, "Always the hard way, Saber."
Saber's response echoed with an air of mystery. "Sometimes, it's the only way, Master."
As the moon cast long shadows, the duo stood in the deserted clearing, the tension between Lefiya's reluctance and Saber's unwavering determination lingering in the night air.
...
In the eerie silence of the moonlit night, a man sprinted desperately through the dense woods, his breaths labored and echoing in the stillness. The forest, normally serene, now harbored an unsettling tension. His shoulder throbbed with pain, a wound inflicted by an unseen assailant. The cold sweat on his brow mixed with the warm trickle of blood from the injury, creating a macabre symphony.
The moon cast elongated shadows, amplifying the man's paranoia as he glanced over his shoulder, catching fleeting glimpses of an indistinct figure pursuing him. The pursuer moved with an otherworldly grace, its steps echoing in the man's frantic mind. Panic fueled his every stride as he stumbled through the underbrush, branches clawing at his face.
The wounded man's thoughts raced faster than his pounding heart. The forest seemed to conspire against him, twisting and morphing as if to confuse his escape. Desperation etched lines of fear on his face, his eyes darting wildly, searching for an escape route that remained elusive.
The wound on his shoulder throbbed relentlessly, a cruel reminder of the unknown danger closing in. He could almost feel the hot breath of his pursuer, a malevolent force that seemed to feed on his terror. Each labored breath sent a sharp pang through his chest, urging him to push further into the depths of the ominous woods.
As the man stumbled over roots and uneven terrain, the pursuit intensified. The once-distant footsteps now echoed ominously close. A primal fear gripped him, urging him to abandon reason and simply run. The forest itself seemed to close in, a dark and suffocating embrace that offered no solace.
In a fleeting moment of respite, the man sought refuge behind a gnarled tree, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His rapid breaths mingled with the rustling leaves as he strained to listen. The forest held its breath, as if aware of the impending tragedy about to unfold.
Suddenly, the pursuing figure materialized from the shadows, a grotesque silhouette with eyes gleaming malevolently. The man's eyes widened with terror as he realized the true horror of his pursuer. Unveiling a grotesque weapon, the unknown being moved with a chilling determination.
A deafening silence enveloped the scene as the killer closed the distance. The man's attempts to plead for reason were drowned in the void of the forest. The merciless blade gleamed in the moonlight as it descended, sealing the man's fate with a gruesome finality. The forest, now witness to the tragedy, absorbed the echoes of the man's final, desperate gasps.
And so, the man's ill-fated escape met its brutal end, swallowed by the haunting depths of the enigmatic woods, leaving only a chilling silence in its wake.
...
In a cavernous expanse, a commanding figure emerged—a towering man with a robust physique, black hair cascading down his shoulders, and piercing red eyes that bore into the darkness. A distinctive 'D' marked his left eye, hinting at a mysterious past that fueled the intensity in his gaze.
Adorned in battle attire, he sported goggles with smoky quartz lenses, adding an air of enigma to his presence. A weathered battle cloth clung to his frame, evidence of countless struggles endured. At his side, a formidable weapon, more akin to a short sword than a mere knife, accentuated his martial prowess.
"Move faster, you imbecile! We don't have time to waste." His voice echoed through the cavern, a thunderous symphony of authority.
The subordinates, a motley crew, strained against the exertion of pushing large cages across the uneven terrain. Sweat dripped from furrowed brows, mingling with the dirt on their faces—a testament to the arduous nature of their labor.
"Your expectations are impossible, sir! We're not machines." A man Replied who was tired and didn't want to continue.
"Machines would perform better than this sorry lot." The man Called out the person who had replied to him in an Arrogant tone.
"Oh, Come one Dix let the man Rest don't ya?" Another voice sounded behind the now named Dix.
The man that had called out to dix had a rough and scruffy appearance with long black hair and an unkempt beard. He wore a coat and a tricorn hat.
The Subordinate that had complained was elated that he had gotten a break and went for a bow to show his appreciation.
Bang, bang, bang
Three Shots fired from the firearm of the Rugged man instantly pierced the man that had just bowed and the man dropped dead.
"Now he can take a break forever." The Rugged man said with a smile that would have sent shivers down to many peoples Spine.
"RIDER!! you weren't supposed to do that. Now I would have to find more people for work." Dix said in a more uncaring tone as if he was feigning interest in it.
"Ah, don't worry mastah little old Rider could easily find new people for the crew." The man named as Rider said with shrug.
Amidst the toil and turmoil, a palpable sense of fear and respect enveloped the subordinates. They may resent the harshness of their leader, but they recognized the necessity of his methods. Survival in this unforgiving cave-like domain depended on adherence to his unwavering directives.
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A.N : So an Interlude with the other Servants.