Couldn't place five TPU screen protectors onto my new phone with a curved screen and now I am distress. Well, I have some warranty for this at least...
Yes. That's my weekly excuse.
Fuyuki City
Fourth Holy Grail War (2)
Timeline Deviation, Master Kirei Kotomine
Saber gritted her teeth as she fended off Berserker's relentless onslaught. Every strike came at her with wild, unrestrained power, yet there was undeniable mastery in each blow. His maddened swings were not the mindless fury of a berserk animal; they were the deadly strikes of a seasoned knight consumed by rage. She could feel the weight of each clash reverberating through Excalibur, the force threatening to wearing her defenses with every strike.
She cursed under her breath. 'How did it come to this?'
"They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness," a voice cut through the din of battle—Assassin, standing at a distance, his gaze fixed on the scene. "May I ask for your thoughts, King Gilgamesh?"
"Spare me your justification," Gilgamesh stood aloof, watching with detached interest. "If you're going to share your fakes with others to entertain me, then do so."
"Your insight is unmatched."
Then, with a flick of his wrist, Assassin's black and white twin blades morphed, extending into longer, deadlier forms. His eyes gleamed as he watched Berserker's relentless attacks begin to falter. Saber had managed to hold her ground, and Berserker's improvised weapon—nothing more than a jagged piece of wreckage—was failing him.
"Looks like your makeshift weapon is falling apart, Berserker!" Assassin called out. "Here, take these!"
With a sharp motion, Assassin tossed his two newly-formed swords into the air. They spun toward Berserker in a glinting arc of deadly precision. Berserker roared, catching the blades mid-lunge just as Saber severed his previous weapon with a decisive slash of Excalibur. The jagged shard of metal flew from his hands, and in an instant, Berserker had armed himself with Assassin's twin blades.
Saber's gaze locked onto Assassin, her mind seething with anger. 'That son of a...!'
Before she could finish the thought, Berserker lunged at her once more. The twin black-and-white blades in his hands moved with a monstrous elegance. Saber had no choice but to meet the onslaught head-on. Her muscles tensed as she engaged in yet another furious exchange of swordplay with the maddened knight. Each of his strikes came faster and heavier than the last, forcing her to pour every ounce of her skill and strength into deflecting his wild assault.
She could feel Assassin's eyes on her, lurking like a shadow, his presence adding an unnerving layer to the already tense battle.
'Damn him!'
Saber gritted through clenched teeth as she parried another blow from Berserker, barely holding back the force of his attack. Her arms remained firm from the impact as she stepped back, finally managing a brief moment to catch her breath. She stared into Berserker's red, glowing visor. There was no hint of recognition—only raw, untamed fury. Whatever humanity had once been there was now completely devoured by madness.
Berserker let out a blood-curdling howl in response, twisting his body unnaturally as he prepared to strike again, his feral rage propelling him forward with terrifying speed.
CLANG!
Just as his blade came crashing down, a flash of light interrupted the attack. Lancer, appearing in a blur of motion, thrust his dual spears between Berserker and Saber. The clash of weapons rang out as Lancer's expertly timed interception sent the mad knight skittering backward across the battlefield. Saber blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Lancer's swift intervention. She tightened her grip on Excalibur, her weapon still raised and ready to face Berserker, though the brief reprieve allowed her a much-needed breath.
"That's enough," Lancer declared. He pointed one of his spears directly at Berserker. "Your rampage ends here. Saber and I have unfinished business, and I won't allow any more interruptions."
The battlefield fell into a tense silence, the wind carrying away the dust kicked up by Berserker's chaotic advance. Saber's gaze shifted between the two men—Lancer's calm, poised demeanor contrasted sharply with Berserker's barely contained fury. Though grateful for the brief respite, Saber couldn't shake the gnawing sense that something worse was about to unfold.
"Hoooo…!" Berserker's body trembled with raw aggression, unable to do anything but lash out.
"Step aside, Berserker," Lancer warned, his spear glinting under the dim light of the battlefield. "If you continue to interfere, you'll have to face me directly."
But before Berserker could respond—or perhaps before Lancer's words could reach the twisted remnants of his mind—a surge of magical energy flared. The atmosphere shifted abruptly, charged with the weight of a Command Seal being invoked. Lancer froze, a pained expression crossing his face as his Master's command burned itself into his very being.
"Lancer, I command you," Kayneth's voice boomed through the night, "join forces with Berserker and eliminate Saber immediately."
Lancer's body went rigid, his hand tightening involuntarily around the haft of his spear. His expression twisted in frustration, and he gritted his teeth, fighting against the compulsion surging through him. For a moment, it looked as if Lancer might resist the order, his willpower straining against the magical force of the Command Seal. But it was futile—his body began to move of its own accord, driven by the command imprinted deep into his soul.
"Curse it all," Lancer hissed under his breath, his eyes hardening as he turned toward Saber. There was no choice—his Master's will could not be disobeyed.
Saber could see the anguish in Lancer's eyes, the silent apology written in his furrowed brow, but it made little difference now. Her situation had just become infinitely more dire.
"Lancer..."
"Forgive me, Saber," Lancer said through clenched teeth, struggling against the invisible chains that bound him to his Master's will. "I did not choose this... but I will see this through to the end."
Saber nodded, gripping Excalibur firmly. "It cannot be helped."
The odds were stacked against her—Berserker's savage strength, Lancer's precise skill—but all was not lost. Irisviel was safe for the time being, hidden from the fray, and her true Master, Kiritsugu, was executing whatever plans he had devised. Saber had some faith in him, and for now, all she needed to do was survive. Perhaps, if she could hold her ground long enough, an opening to retreat would present itself before her situation became truly desperate.
Time seemed to stretch as Berserker and Lancer closed in on her, their movements almost synchronized. Saber's eyes narrowed, and she swiftly backstepped, her body moving on instinct, narrowly avoiding the sweeping strikes that came at her from both sides. The ground beneath her cracked under the force of their blows, but she remained untouched.
She was calculating her next move when, suddenly, a loud crackle filled the air, the battlefield charged with the sharp smell of ozone.
CRACKLE!
Electricity snapped through the dark sky, and then came the unmistakable roar of Rider's voice.
The sound of electricity snapped across the air like a whip, and Rider let out a mighty roar, his voice booming with the force of thunder as his divine bulls charged forward. The immense beasts, their hooves crackling with lightning, barreled across the battlefield with terrifying speed.
"Waaaaah! Rider! Wait!" Waver's panicked voice echoed as he clung desperately to the edge of the chariot, his face pale as the ground rushed beneath them.
Quick on his feet, Lancer saw the chariot bearing down on them and immediately leapt aside, his keen reflexes sparing him from the crushing force of Rider's beasts.
But Berserker, his mind too consumed by bloodlust and his attention solely fixed on Saber, did not react in time.
CRASH!
The ground trembled beneath the bulls' powerful hooves, and before Berserker could fully register the incoming threat, Rider's chariot barreled into him, the thunderous hooves of the divine bulls trampling his armored form into the ground. The mad knight was sent flying, his body crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. The divine beasts, massive and unstoppable, trampled over Berserker with the weight of gods behind them.
Rider pulled back on the reins, his chariot skidding to a stop with a loud crack of thunder. He stood tall, a broad grin splitting his face as he surveyed the aftermath of his intervention. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and confidence as he called out to Saber and Lancer.
Momentarily freed from the relentless onslaught, Saber spared a glance at Rider and felt a flicker of gratitude.
"Ah, this is a tough one," Rider remarked, observing Berserker's struggle to rise.
"Urrrr…"
Despite enduring the full brunt of his divine bulls, the mad knight was clearly at his limit. His body trembled as he tried to stand, but his strength had been sapped, the toll of the battle finally catching up to him. He began to dissipate, retreating into the safety of his spirit form, his fury extinguished for now.
"Looks like he's had enough and retired for the night." Rider chuckled, then turned his gaze upward, addressing Lancer's unseen Master. "Master of Lancer, I know not where you're watching from, but do not sully the battle between knights with your petty tricks. Have Lancer withdraw. If you insist on humiliating him further, then I shall join Saber—and together, the two of us will crush him." His lips curled into a smirk. "So, what will it be?"
Lancer stood a few paces away, his posture tense, eyes reflecting the strain of his inner conflict. Bound by the Command Seal, his movements had been dictated by his Master's will, but the knight within him—bound by his code of honor—had resisted the madness of this senseless clash. Rider's interference had disrupted the chaotic flow of the fight, and though Lancer followed his Master's orders, the knight had not sought this dishonorable struggle.
The battlefield quieted for a moment; tension thick in the air. Then, Kayneth's answer came.
"Lancer. Withdraw. That is enough for tonight."
Lancer's posture visibly relaxed, the unseen chains releasing their hold on him. A cool smile returned to his face; his noble demeanor restored.
"My thanks, King of Conquerors," he said, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement.
"It was nothing!" Rider boomed with a wide grin. "I enjoy watching the flowers of a battlefield bloom."
WHOOSH! CLANG! CLANG!
Golden weapons rained down from above, embedding themselves into the ground near the gathered Servants with a thunderous crash. All eyes turned skyward, where Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, hovered with a condescending sneer plastered across his face. His red eyes gleamed with disdain as he gazed down upon the battlefield like a god descending from on high.
"Kings?" Gilgamesh scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. "It seems the minds of mongrels cannot retain even the simplest of lessons. There is only one king, and that is I, Gilgamesh!"
"You all had one job," Assassin mocked from the sidelines.
The Golden Archer's magical energy fluctuated around him, rippling through the air like waves of heat. For a moment, he seemed ready to unleash his fury upon them, but then, as if interrupted by an unseen force, he paused—likely his Master communicating with him from afar.
"Hmph!" Gilgamesh huffed, his disdainful expression returning. "But what's the point of disciplining the feeble-minded? In the end, it matters not. I have what I came for." His eyes briefly flickered towards the horizon, his thoughts no longer on the battlefield but on some distant treasure already in his possession. With a final sneer, he dismissed the gathered Servants as if they were beneath his notice. "Mongrels," he spat, "continue to amuse yourselves in your petty squabbles. But remember this: the Grail belongs to me, as does everything in this world. Struggle if you must, but in the end, you shall all bow before me."
The golden portals hovering around him shimmered ominously for a moment longer before vanishing as he turned his back on the battlefield, disappearing into the night.
Still gripping Excalibur tightly, Saber watched the golden figure vanish into a beam of light. The battle was over, at least for now, and with a weary sigh, she felt no desire to continue fighting for the night. She turned to Lancer, meeting his gaze with a nod. He returned the gesture with the same solemnity before his form shimmered and faded into the night. For a moment, the battlefield was still, the echoes of clashing steel and roaring magic dissipating into the soft lapping of the water against the dock. Only three Servants remained on the war-torn pier.
Saber exhaled, lowering Excalibur slightly, her grip still firm as her eyes found Rider's. He gave her a wide, carefree grin, the remnants of battle seeming to only embolden him further. But when Saber turned toward Assassin, her expression hardened, her gaze sharp as blades.
"If looks could kill," Assassin drawled, his voice carrying a note of amusement as he caught her glare, "you would have ended me. Again."
His black-and-white cloak billowed gently in the night breeze as he crossed his arms, his posture unnervingly casual. It was as though the chaotic battle that had just unfolded was nothing more than fleeting amusement to him.
"You've caused enough trouble tonight," Saber said coldly, her grip on Excalibur tightening again. She advanced a step, the light reflecting off her sword casting a faint glow over the dock. "Why are you still here?"
"I should be asking you that," Assassin quipped, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Why aren't you resting in Avalon, savoring the peaceful reward of your good deeds?"
Saber's gaze hardened. "You already know the answer to that." Her fingers tightened on the hilt of Excalibur, but her other hand clenched over the fake Avalon she had wrestled from Assassin during their earlier battle. "Instead, let me ask you something, Assassin." Her voice dropped in pitch, taking on a dangerous edge. "When we clashed earlier, you had the perfect opportunity to cut me down with Excalibur, but you didn't. Not only that—" She narrowed her eyes. "You disarmed yourself, handed back my sword, and allowed me to win the exchange. Why? What game are you playing?"
"You want an honest answer?"
"Yes."
"You really want an honest answer?"
Saber's brow twitched in annoyance, her patience already wearing thin. "Yes."
"You really, really want an honest answer?"
"I swear, if you continue this idiocy, I will cut you down right here—"
"Ah, there it is!" Assassin interrupted with a chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I was waiting for that fire of yours, Saber. You get so serious sometimes that I can't resist poking at you."
Saber glared daggers at him, the urge to swing Excalibur becoming harder to suppress. "Enough of your games," she growled. "Tell me what you're after."
"Fine. I'll be blunt. I have no wish for the Grail. But I do have a goal." He paused; his expression hidden behind the visor of his mask. "To stop you from chasing a futile wish that will ultimately condemn your very existence."
The air between them grew heavy, the weight of his words sending a chill through the battlefield. Saber's knuckles whitened as her grip on Excalibur tightened even further.
"On whose orders do you stand against my duty as a king?" she asked, her voice low and steely voice.
"My own," he answered, his voice carrying a raw edge of emotion beneath the calm facade. "Because I have walked the same path as you. I made my wish and fulfilled it." He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and harsh. "And for what? For nothing. An eternity of servitude. A life spent shackled by regret, living long enough for every emotion I once had to rot away, leaving only rusted remnants."
Rider and Waver watched in silence. Even Rider's usual jovial demeanor seemed to dim in the presence of Assassin's bitterness, his eyes sharp as they lingered on the two warriors facing off.
"My life is mine to dictate. My fate is none of your concern," she spat, her voice like ice, though there was an underlying fire in her gaze.
"You believe that," Assassin replied, his voice calm but firm. "But your decisions are dictated by a crown that no longer holds any power—by a kingdom that no longer exists." He stepped forward, his tone more forceful now. "Camelot was always destined to fall. It would have ended in blood and ruin with or without you. You cannot change that. The World itself will not allow you to alter the stability of human history."
Saber's jaw clenched. She turned sharply on her heel, her back now facing Assassin. "I will not listen to your lies," she said, her voice thick with disdain. "Say whatever you wish. My mind is made up, and I will not waver in my goal."
"Your kingdom is gone, Saber. It is beyond saving. Bringing it back will only undo what little peace you have left."
Saber paused for a moment but didn't turn to face him. "I carry the burden of a king," she said softly, almost to herself. "I will restore Camelot. I will right the wrongs of my past, and I will fulfill my duty."
"And if that duty destroys you?"
"Then so be it."
The silence that followed was deafening. Rider shifted slightly; his brow furrowed in thought as he watched the exchange. Waver, too, seemed to be holding his breath, as if waiting for the next move. But there was no further argument, no final clash of words. The tension hung in the air like a sword poised to strike, but neither made the final cut.
"Hmph, that's just like you. Stubborn as ever," Assassin huffed, his figure gradually fading into the shadows. "Saber... One day, someone will release you from your chains. But it doesn't seem to be this time. Until then, I'll likely find myself entangled with you again in another war, another time."
Saber's gaze sharpened as she turned toward him. For a moment, confusion flickered across her stoic expression, mingling with faint traces of surprise.
"You speak as if you know me... as if you know my knights," she said cautiously and curiously. "Yet I do not know you. Have we met before?"
Assassin hesitated briefly, as if weighing his words.
Then, with a quiet chuckle, he answered, "No, we have never met. I'm just a fool who understands you—one who's seen the same path and knows where it leads." His tone softened as he glanced toward Rider. "I suppose I'll see both of you again at the Banquet of Kings."
Rider blinked in mild surprise but smirked as Assassin's presence faded completely into the shadows, his final words lingering in the night air. The battlefield, once alive with clashing wills and fierce energy, now felt oddly still. Only the gentle sound of water lapping against the dock reminded them they were still grounded in the world.
Rider, standing tall beside Waver, let out a low hum, breaking the heavy silence. "That was... unexpected," he mused aloud, his voice thoughtful. "There's more to Assassin than I initially thought. But..." His gaze drifted back to Saber, who stood still, staring into the night. "It seems neither of you are willing to yield, no matter what he said."
Saber remained silent for a moment, her eyes distant, as if Assassin's words still echoed in her mind.
"The path of a king," she began softly, "is not one of surrender or compromise. I will carry my burden to the end—no matter what the cost."
Rider's grin widened at her words, though there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes as well. "Aye," he nodded solemnly. "But even a king must be wary of the cost." His demeanor brightened as he added, "Speaking of kings..." He let the words hang for a moment, his grin turning playful as his eyes sparkled. "You know, Saber, the Banquet of Kings will be upon us soon. As an invitee, I wonder—are you ready to face the greatest king of them all?"
Saber raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite the heaviness of their conversation.
"Is that so? I would hardly call you the greatest king, Rider."
Rider let out a booming laugh. "Not me, King of Knights!" His eyes gleamed with excitement. "But you'll see soon enough. There is much to discuss at that banquet—among us kings, at least!"
/-/
It was a well-known fact that Lostbelt Morgan, the dread queen and sorceress, harbored an irrational yet deep-seated fear of creatures with more than four legs or fewer than two—whether spiders, caterpillars, or any form of invertebrate. This terror was a source of frustration for her companions, but none more so than EMIYA, who had spent more time than he cared to admit trying to help her overcome this phobia.
"No!" Morgan's voice was venomous as she glared daggers at EMIYA, her entire posture bristling with indignation. "I refuse to be involved in the extermination of this insectophilic magus you speak of!" She crossed her arms, her refusal echoing with finality as she turned her back to EMIYA.
They were in the middle of a discussion concerning their next target: Berserker's Master and the twisted magus pulling their strings, Zouken Matou, head of the Matou family. Zouken's mastery over insects and worms was notorious—and, unsurprisingly, the very mention of him had sent Morgan into a rage.
Still, EMIYA remained unfazed by her outburst, rolling his eyes at her theatrics. He knew all too well how deeply this fear of hers ran. While her power as a queen and magus was unmatched, her fear of vermin had driven her to destruction more times than he could count. Even the smallest spider could send her into a rampage, often resulting in half a city block being obliterated in the process. He sighed, knowing that they needed her cooperation. Despite her bravado, Zouken's insects were nothing compared to her own power; the challenge was getting her to deal with them without leveling everything in sight.
"You don't have to get your hands dirty if you use your magecraft to wipe out every single one of Zouken's familiars," EMIYA said with thinly veiled exasperation. "Just make sure you don't obliterate the entire city in the process. We still need Berserker's Master and Zouken's hostage alive."
Morgan narrowed her eyes beneath her veil, her pride wounded by his suggestion. "Use one of your Noble Phantasms! I know you have one suitable for the task!" she snapped. "I will not sully my arts—or my hands—by dealing with such a depraved, pathetic excuse of a magus, especially one from this pitiful era."
Their bickering echoed through the chamber, only briefly interrupted by the dry chuckle of their Master, Kirei. Standing nearby, the priest watched their argument with amusement and mild interest. He contemplated threatening them with a Command Spell for his own entertainment but wisely reconsidered. Morgan's spiteful nature had already made it clear that provoking her further could lead to an unintended—and likely unpleasant—outcome for him.
Still, the thought of pushing her buttons was tempting.
"Why do you even care about saving a child's life?" Morgan sneered; her words sharp. "Surely this sacrifice of Zouken's means nothing to you."
EMIYA's eyes turned cold, his expression darkening. "Because that 'hapless sacrifice' was thrown to the Matou family like garbage when she was deemed less useful than her sister. Now she suffers at the hands of that insect-ridden monster," he said icily. His gaze sharpened, his words carrying weight. "Does that not draw any parallels for you?"
Morgan's gaze shot to him, her eyes flashing dangerously from behind her dark veil. "Ah, I see what you're doing," she said icily. "Drawing parallels between that girl and my other self from proper human history? Yes, I can see the connection. But don't think you can guilt-trip me into doing your dirty work."
"Fine," EMIYA said, shrugging as if the argument was of little consequence to him. "Let's make a deal. You don't have to sully your hands, but help me craft something that can get the job done." His voice took on a thoughtful tone as he continued, "Build me a sword—a Mystic Code—that can wipe out an entire area of spiders, insects, worms... whatever other filth Zouken controls. And here's the catch: it will leave everything else intact. No collateral damage. Even bacteria will remain untouched." He turned to her with a challenging look. "You're skilled at crafting Mystic Codes, aren't you? We work together, and we'll have a tool that'll be invaluable if we run into more of these insect-like horrors."
Morgan remained silent for a moment, clearly weighing her options. There was an element of pride to her that EMIYA was well aware of—Morgan le Fay did not like to be challenged, but she also did not shy away from showing off her superior talents. EMIYA could almost see the gears turning behind her cold, calculating gaze.
"And what makes you think I would deign to cooperate with you on something so... trivial?" Morgan asked, though the venom in her tone had diminished slightly, curiosity seeping through her defiance.
"Because," EMIYA replied smoothly, "you hate bugs. You hate those who uses bugs even more. And because I know you're capable of creating something far more elegant than just blasting him to smithereens. Think of it as... purging a pestilence from the world with the precision and grace that only you could manage."
Morgan's lips pressed together tightly as she mulled over his words. There was a flicker of interest in her eyes now, though she still masked it behind a veil of indignation.
"Hmph," she scoffed, though there was less heat in it. "Perhaps I could design something. But I refuse to sully my arts with such filth." Her gaze shifted to Kirei, who had been quietly watching the exchange. "However, if our Master deems it necessary, I will comply for the sake of our victory."
"It sounds like a reasonable compromise to me," Kirei said smoothly. "And quite fitting for a queen of your caliber, Morgan."
Morgan shot him a dark look, but said nothing further. She turned to EMIYA. "Fine. We shall design this weapon together, but do not expect me to handle the vermin directly. I will provide the means. You will wield it."
"Deal," EMIYA said, satisfied with the outcome.
At least now they had a plan—one that didn't involve Morgan leveling half the city out of sheer terror. Still, EMIYA knew better than to think the matter was fully resolved. Working with Morgan was always an exercise in patience and negotiation. But at least they were making progress.
"Also!" Morgan snapped again. "I refuse to deal with those extradimensional freaks you've been alluding to! Those abominations—those external threats—they're beyond disgusting. They are a stain upon creation and are better dealt with by Excalibur itself."
EMIYA sighed but remained composed. "I'm well aware."
"You know exactly what I mean! Extradimensional entities, things from beyond our planet, from the Outer Universes. The Planet has already forged the means to repel such threats. Excalibur—its divine purpose is to eradicate anything that doesn't belong to this world." Morgan's voice dripped with disdain. "My magic was never meant to handle such filthy dealings."
She wasn't entirely wrong, after all. Excalibur was a weapon forged by the will of the planet itself, created to defend against external threats—beings that defied the laws of nature as humanity understood them.
"If it comes to that," EMIYA grunted, "I have contingencies in place. We'll find Caster, and we'll handle it."
"That's precisely the problem," she retorted, her eyes narrowing. "They are not easily handled, which is why I'm telling you that you and Artoria should deal with them. Their forms defy logic—too many limbs or too few, twisting in ways that should not be possible. They seep into reality like parasites!" Her expression twisted in disgust. "Even the Planet struggles against them. That is what the Sword of Promised Victory was made for."
EMIYA couldn't deny her logic. Excalibur's effectiveness against these kinds of foes was unparalleled, and its true purpose extended far beyond mere battles on Earth. It was meant to strike down enemies from realms that threatened the fabric of existence itself.
"At this rate, you're becoming a mere spectator," EMIYA remarked dryly. "Here I thought you'd make life difficult for everyone, but instead, you're just relying on Excalibur as the answer to everything."
"My power is best saved for battles that merit it, not for cleansing parasites from this world. Let the sword do what it was designed to do. I have no interest in sullying my magic on such base creatures."
Kirei's amused voice drifted in from the side. "It's quite reassuring to see the two of you collaborating so… effectively."
Morgan and EMIYA both turned to him, their cold, withering gazes conveying their mutual irritation at his comment. Kirei, as usual, was unfazed by their silent rebukes.
EMIYA finally broke the silence, rolling his shoulders in resignation. "In any case, leave it to me, as always."
"The things I do for this wretched war…" Morgan murmured under her breath.
"Welcome to my world. You're the one who wanted to join me on this ride. Now you're stuck with it."
Morgan huffed, folding her arms. "I was expecting tomfoolery that might result in some massive destruction—locally or globally, perhaps—but not this... grotesque pest control!"
"Well, now you know how I feel. It's not all explosions and mayhem."
"I will have my fun, Accolon. Don't worry about that."
"Yes, and I'm sure you'll make a dramatic entrance when the time comes."
"It'll be worth it just to show up while Artoria is eating and make her choke on her food."
EMIYA couldn't help but laugh. "You really are something else, Morgan."
"Of course I am." She gave him an almost sinister grin. "It's what makes this war so entertaining."
/-/
"Saber!" Irisviel's voice was bright as she plopped a small stack of books onto the table with a triumphant thud. Her smile was wide as she stood beside Saber, who had been brooding silently, staring intently at the false sheath designed to resemble Avalon.
"Irisviel?" Saber blinked out of her reverie and glanced up.
"I think I've uncovered Assassin's true identity!" Irisviel declared proudly, flipping open one of the books.
The title caught Saber's eye: Post-Vulgate Suite de Merlin, one of the many Arthurian prose romances from the Post-Vulgate Cycle.
Saber's eyes sharpened with interest as she shifted closer. "Truly?"
"Yes! It took me a while, but I found a figure in Arthurian legend that matches Assassin's behavior!" Irisviel's voice brimmed with pride as she pointed to a passage in the book. "In this particular story, Morgan le Fay stole Excalibur and replaced it with a fake, just as she stole the sheath. She then gave the true sword and the sheath to a knight, pitting him against King Arthur in battle."
Saber leaned closer, her brow furrowing.
"Go on," she urged.
"In their duel, the knight, protected by the sheath—even if that one was fake—was able to fight King Arthur using the real Excalibur. King Arthur, meanwhile, fought with the false sword, which eventually broke. The knight, with his true sword and protection, nearly bested Arthur, until the Lady of the Lake intervened, returning Excalibur to Arthur's hand." Irisviel eagerly flipped the pages, her finger landing on a single name. "There's only one knight in all of Arthurian legend who fits the description of Assassin. His name is Accolon!"
Saber's expression darkened as she processed the information. "But I do not recall someone like that... rather... the Throne of Heroes is muddling my memories with information of such a knight."
The Throne of Heroes provided summoned Servants with knowledge—modern workings, the nature of their opponents, and even the histories of both fictional and non-fictional Heroic Spirits. This influx of knowledge, however, often blurred the lines between reality and myth. Even though she wasn't a true Servant, bound instead by her ongoing contract with the World, Saber was not immune to this confusion. The Throne existed outside space and time, meaning that Accolon could very well be a real knight in some other reality.
Irisviel noticed Saber's growing unease and gently patted her hand, offering a reassuring smile.
"That must be difficult."
Saber nodded. "It is... disorienting," she admitted. "Accolon is a name that holds weight in some of the stories, but the details… I cannot tell if this is a telling from the Throne or if there is a truth I have forgotten."
"Can you tell me what you know about him?" Irisviel leaned forward, genuine curiosity in her eyes. "Most of Accolon's tale… well, a lot of it hasn't survived in full. The manuscripts are fragmented, incomplete. His story has been pieced together from bits and pieces in different languages. Who knows how much has been lost over the centuries?"
Saber let out a soft snort, her mood lightening just a bit. "Many of those old tales were full of nonsense or exaggeration," she remarked, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Then she paused, frowning deeply as she sifted through the information the Throne had provided, along with the remnants of her own memories. "Accolon…" she repeated, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. "Yes, I supposed he was one of Morgan's pawns. She tried to use him to usurp me, to claim Camelot."
Irisviel nodded again, the book still open in her lap. "In the stories, Accolon didn't even realize he was fighting you, Arthur. He wasn't aware of Morgan's full plan. If he had known, he would have refused her altogether." She smiled, excitement lighting up her face as she made her point. "That's why Assassin didn't strike you down earlier! It's like he's trying to make amends in some way! Maybe he's testing you, or trying to reconcile the ideals you represent with his own actions."
"Accolon was devoted to Morgan…" Saber's frown deepened as she recalled his words when he made himself known, "but he lacked the treachery and cruelty that marked her. He was loyal, and even in his misguided loyalty, there was some honor in his heart." She tightened her grip on Excalibur's hilt, the weight of the sword a familiar comfort. "Perhaps that is why Assassin returned my sword to me earlier—he still clings to some code of chivalry, even now."
"Maybe he's not here to oppose you. What if he's seeking redemption? Or maybe he's fulfilling some lingering part of Morgan's plan, but in a way that still honors the knight he once was."
Saber's expression darkened again. "Or perhaps," she said slowly, "he is bound to serve, just as he once was. Morgan's influence could still be strong, imprinted onto his existence as a Servant. Assassin might be acting out of a sense of duty, even if he no longer agrees with it."
"That could be true," Irisviel replied, her eyes drifting back to the open book as she flipped through a few more pages. "It says that Morgan was madly in love with him... it's tragic, really. There are several versions of the story, but they all seem to be heartbreaking. When Accolon was dying and beyond saving, he finally realized that Morgan truly loved him. He didn't see himself as just another throwaway lover, while she had come to understand that he viewed himself as merely one of her tools… and that realization broke her."
"…" Saber remained silent, listening intently while her thoughts wandered partially.
"In those moments, Morgan understood that her reputation as a cold-hearted sorceress had misled him. He had never seen her true feelings, never comprehended the depth of her love their time together." Irisviel paused, eyes glistering with sympathy. "Accolon died within four days. Morgan lost not just a lover but also her will to rule Britain. It's implied that in her grief, she wished for it all to burn, and that was what drove her to steal Avalon and hide it so that King Arthur would be deprived of its power."
"Say no more… I am well aware of what she did with Avalon," Saber said in a low voice, her eyes fixated on the fake sheath resembling Avalon. "Even if I did have Avalon, the damage Morgan brought upon Camelot was irreversible. My kingdom... my knights… were left in ruins. The dream I fought for crumbled before me, and in the end, I was left with a fractured throne, a shattered kingdom."
"You did your best," Irisviel said softly, trying to offer comfort.
"No," Saber immediately refuted. She stood up abruptly, the chair creaking under the sudden shift. "I did not do enough. I failed them. And because of that failure, Camelot was left to rot under the weight of its own corruption and betrayal. My best was not enough to save the dream I had sworn to protect. But let's not dwell on that." Saber's tone shifted abruptly, becoming colder as she straightened her posture. "Assassin intends to impede our goals. Regardless of his reasons or intentions, I cannot afford to yield. I am the King of Knights, and I will fight until the end—no matter who stands in my way."