He knew immediately how Morgan had gotten her revenge when he ventured onto the field and set out for the competition outside of what he understood to be modern-day Warwick. Part of the former lands that had been held by the Saxons- Mercia, he believed? Shirou was not sure. The large field was filled with a wooden and stone structure hastily cobbled together within months that should have taken years. An arena of sorts, but only in that it would be torn down and reused again and again for all he could tell its stability and hardiness.
The travel had been relatively quiet, or by Morgan's own utterance, "some hours in a carriage let alone with such brusque company." He'd taken it as a compliment, personally.
She'd been unbearably quiet since their first discussion, barely looking at him let alone giving him the time of day. She'd even had the equipment he'd requested left in his room as if by magic, for all that it had simply appeared out of thin air when he'd stepped out of his room only long enough to wander the Castle's corridors.
Arturia: "...Please tell me they weren't in the same carriage the entire time," she muttered under her breath, not wanting to imagine her sister and Shirou spending all those hours together on the way to Camelot.
Cu Alter: "I'm sure he had the incredibly good luck of being forced to share the carriage with her because there were no other options," he remarked with the tone of someone foreseeing the inevitable.
No sooner had the hound spoken than he was carted off to the infirmary, the result of multiple attacks from the Arturias. Yet, despite their frustration, the Arturias had to admit that the mad dog was right. Such was the cursed luck of EMIYA, to land him in such a predicament.
What made it worse was that the Shirou faces were all nodding in agreement, backing up the hound's prediction, despite their battered condition from Castorias' punches.
He'd found the place queer enough in that it seemed mostly unlived in, save for the Witch herself, his own self . . . and a child he'd seen skulking about once.
Mordred: "...oh no," she muttered, already foreseeing what was about to unfold.
Mordred. That put an even more disturbing taste in his mouth when he'd seen the Son of Arthur. But, bright green eyes and blonde hair had, once again, assuaged him- and it did not help that the child had vanished right around a bend in the hall before he could do anything more than look at them.
Merlin: "...Arturia," he called to his student, his voice heavy with knowing.
Arturia: "...Yes, Merlin?" she sighed, already dreading what was coming next.
Merlin: "Remind me, what was it that I told you before I left Camelot for a while?" he asked, arms crossed, waiting.
Arturia: "...not to stick my... well, you know, in crazy," she mumbled, lowering her head in defeat, knowing exactly where this was heading.
Merlin: "And what did you do?" he pressed, his tone that of a disappointed father.
Arturia: "...I stuck it in crazy," she admitted, completely dejected by her own actions.
The room fell into a stunned silence, with many Servants observing the interaction between the king and her mentor like they were witnessing a familial scolding. The whole scenario felt surreal.
EMIYA: "...I really want to pinch those cheeks," he said, breaking the silence as he stared at the image of young Mordred on the screen, her small, puffy cheeks too much to resist.
His remark was echoed by his counterparts, all of whom were clearly thinking the same thing.
Meanwhile, Mordred herself looked around nervously, covering her own cheeks with her hands as if to protect them from the barrage of attention. Her nervousness only grew as more Servants expressed their desire to pinch her adorable face.
Barghest: "So cute," she murmured, her own cheeks flushing red as she gazed at the young Mordred.
More Servants chimed in, agreeing with EMIYA's desire to squeeze those chubby cheeks. Poor Mordred, the Knight of Treachery, could only sit there, feeling increasingly uneasy under the growing pressure of their admiring stares.
Between that and the look the tournament regulators had given him, he knew Morgan was well and truly "vexed with him". He was not just "a wandering warrior-" as he'd presumed he'd be enlisted.
He was Shirou the Black, an armsman brought in the name of Morgan Pendragon, seeking to become a Knight of the Round Table. And it had only been the face-covering helmet that he'd received that kept people from seeing the permanent wince his face had twisted into in response to that.
Zangsang: "...isn't that armor...?" she asked, her gaze shifting towards the Lancer Alter version of the King of Knights.
The sandy-haired blonde stood there, her expression tinged with sadness as she watched the screen, her focus primarily on the red-haired boy being displayed.
Asterius: "Very... familiar." It wasn't just the Buddhist who noticed. Many of the Servants, if not all, had now picked up on the striking similarity between the armor the redhead wore and that of the King of Storms.
Gawain/Gareth/Mordred: "Oh hell..." they muttered in unison, realizing just how much trouble Shirou had stirred up by angering their mother.
Mordred: "Your luck is absolute trash..." she remarked, and EMIYA gave a small nod in agreement. She wasn't surprised that he had managed to infuriate Morgan; in fact, she was more surprised it had taken this long.
This . . . had led to a headache that could only be described in words as flowery and prose-like as all of his research into Saber's life and culture had been filled with. It was titanic- and worst of all, it did not make the fact that the woman he loved and some of her Knights were there to see the ongoing a good thing.
In one fell swoop, Morgan had marked him and made him an enemy of the one person he least in the world wanted to be on the bad side of. And it hadn't taken magic, or anything more than a soft word in the right ear.
Salter: "Mmm mmm." Even while gagged, it was obvious those sounds were likely curses aimed at her sister.
Lancelot: "He studied enough about ancient Britain to blend in comfortably with our king," he mused, observing how, despite being from the modern era and unwillingly transported here, Shirou was managing to act remarkably well, even by the standards of their time.
EMIYA: "I couldn't save her heart. I tried everything I could to make her happy, to save her from herself, but no matter what I did, I failed. That's why I kept trying to find her again. And to make her feel more at ease, I learned everything I could about ancient Britain," he explained, reflecting on how well Shirou was adapting without raising too many suspicions, fitting seamlessly into the time period.
Lily, hearing his words, simply reached out and took his hand in a supportive gesture, letting him know she was there for him.
The Archer gave a soft smile in return, gently patting the young blonde's head to calm her.
He hated her. But in the same breath, he could only admire her vindictiveness being used in such a productive way. It was truly thinking that was beyond him until it had happened. Shirou realized that he still had a lot to learn about the woman he'd very unwisely chosen to play games with. Part of him wondered if she even -knew- how thoroughly she'd stuck him in hot water.
Gareth: "Many," she responded to the question.
Lancelot: "Quite a few..." he added, sweating slightly, knowing that this was probably just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the trouble they were in.
Gawain: "Too many," she murmured, while Mordred—still a child—could only sense that they were in for much bigger problems with whatever the witch was planning.
DEMIYA: "Trouble is my middle name," he pointed to himself while looking at the knights.
Angra: "Wasn't it 'dead'?" EMIYA and DEMIYA gave Angra, the weakest of the Servants, an expressionless look. "What? I was just asking," he shrugged nonchalantly, not giving much importance to his own words.
She probably did. For the first time he could remember, he very dearly wanted to call someone a bitch to their face.
The room fell into complete silence.
Medea/Medusa: "...Wow," they both said, impressed by the situation.
Arturia: pulling out a bucket of water
Parvati: lifting the detergent
Ishtar: grabbing the toilet brush
The three of them began chasing after EMIYA, who immediately ran as fast as he could.
Cu Proto: "...Damn, kid's got some balls," he remarked, admiring how the boy had managed to insult someone like that.
Heracles: searching for something on the ground
Frankenstein: "Grrrr?" she asked, looking curiously at her fellow Berserker.
Achilles: "What are you looking for, Heracles?" he asked, watching his old friend rummaging around on the floor.
Heracles: "Grrr," he simply replied, continuing his search.
Achilles could only sweatdrop. Was the legendary hero seriously searching for vocabulary to slap the kid with?
Irisviel: "MY BOY HAS TURNED REBELLIOUS!" she cried, tears flowing as she watched her son talking like that to what she believed would be his future wife.
EMIYA (Assassin) sighed, trying to calm the hysterical Caster down.
Sitonai: "Shi...Shirou..." she whispered, unable to process that her little brother had just said such a thing.
Illya, Chloe, and Miyu were frozen in shock, convinced they were dreaming about what had just transpired.
Rasputin: "Yorokobe, shonen," he said, though even his normally composed tone carried a hint of surprise.
Sasaki: "Damn... never thought I'd hear him say that," he muttered in awe at what had just happened.
Meanwhile, Baobhan Sith was attempting to attack EMIYA for insulting her mother in such a way. Barghest and Melusine had to hold her back to prevent an even bigger scene.
But, there was nothing for it now. He'd simply have to do what he did best- despite internal complaints- and push ahead with all the bullheadedness he could muster.
Gilgamesh: "Being a faker?" he muttered with disdain, clearly irritated by what the Archer of Red considered his strength.
xxxxxxxxx
A general assembly was the first part of the day as the Tournament's festivities, which made him feel a little bit better. Nearly as easy and sensible as the routine at school- stand, bow, sit- it had given him something to distract his brain from fuming on his continuing failure to actually -not- stick his foot in his mouth. For once.
It was not made better, however, by how his gaze was freely able to wander while the herald for the event went out at length about rules, glories, and else wise that he only half-listened to. The important thing was that he found her-
And, as if it was fate itself, she sat atop the tallest part of the arena's construction, in a display box that spoke to whom was supposed to sit there. Obvious, in retrospect, but Shirou was not an expert- just very enthusiastic. Behind the visor of his helmet- wrought in steel and blued by whatever manner of ability Morgan had seen fit to color him so, shaped into the visage of a wyrm- his amber eyes sat quietly upon Saber while she sat with Excalibur in her lap, flanked by a man with long hair and seated beside another woman with long black hair.
But before could progress further the scene on the screen changed playing a new image that caused a dangerous tension to settle over the room.
Lancelot began to sweat profusely. The eyes of every Arturia variant were locked on him, sending shivers of fear through the Knight of the Lake.
Lancelot: "W-wait, my king, this is—" he stammered, but before he could finish, two hands clamped down on his shoulders.
Bedivere and Gawain stood beside him, their hands firm on his shoulders.
Lancelot: "S-sir Bedivere? S-sir Gawain?" he asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.
Bedivere: "ARE YOU INSANE?! CAN'T YOU LEAVE YOUR KING'S QUEENS ALONE?! FIRST WITH OUR PREVIOUS QUEEN, AND NOW WITH SIR SHIROU?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND, LANCELOT?!"
Lancelot: "SIR BEDIVERE, WAIT! IT'S A MISUNDERSTANDING!" he yelled, trying to explain, but another hand landed on his shoulder.
Gawain: "It's truly amazing how cockroaches like you haven't evolved into human beings, even after so much time," he remarked in a calm but intensely furious voice, flames flickering around him.
Lancelot: "SIR GAWAIN, YOU'RE SETTING THE PLACE ON FIRE!" he shouted, nervously eyeing the flames consuming the surroundings.
His last hope appeared before him—Mash. But his hope was short-lived as her expression twisted into one of pure disgust.
Mash: "We should take this opportunity to ask the doctor to schedule Sir Lancelot's castration," she declared with absurd seriousness, glaring at him with a look of revulsion.
Lancelot: "M-MASH?!" he gasped, unable to believe that even his own daughter didn't believe him this time.
The three of them dragged the Knight of the Lake away to face his punishment, while Lancelot begged and pleaded for mercy.
The men in the room shivered at the thought of what was to come, while the women merely nodded in approval.
Sieg: "This is worse than when Nightingale gave Astolfo the testicular squeeze..." The pink-haired Rider shrank into his seat, quickly hugging Sieg for comfort, still traumatized by that day.
This, of course, irritated both Jeanne and her alter version, seeing Astolfo trembling in Sieg's arms.
Meanwhile, Kriemhild nodded approvingly at the Rider.
Siegfried: "...," watching his wife nod in agreement caused a nervous sweat to form on his brow.
Ah. So that was Guinevere. And, with no presence of it, Shirou understood implicitly why Morgan had been so interested in him.
Upon hearing this, Baobhan Sith prayed to the gods that nothing would come of this that hinted at marriage—if it did, she was more than ready to commit a hate crime.
Melusine, on the other hand, was already thinking ahead, fulfilling her role as Lancelot of the Fairies.
She had already taken Avalon. Had already tossed it away in a place where it would not be found again for centuries- until Kiritsugu had found it somehow and put it into him. The tightening of his fists in his gloves was obnoxiously loud to his ears, even though it should have been drowned out by the herald and his own loud pounding heart.
EMIYA Assassin thought to himself, "Me?" as he listened, recalling the events where the Einzberns had used their representative as the Master of the sheath of King Arthur. They had even faced each other in battle. Yet, knowing he was involved in such a manner was something he hadn't expected.
Irisviel murmured sadly, "Kiri..." as she tightened her grip on her outfit, remembering her beloved husband.
It was not better when, for the briefest moment, he could swear that she looked back at him, either. He knew it was not the Saber he'd fought so hard with, or whom had come to trust him so implicitly- who had made love with him- but to see the . . . depth and glare of those eyes made him understand just how she had needed someone like him all those years ago.
Medea whispered, sadness tinging her voice, "His love... it's almost an obsession." The poor boy seemed to be confusing love with obsession, something both dangerous and sorrowful.
DEMIYA sighed, adding, "It's no surprise, honestly..." He knew Emiya Shirou's stubbornness well enough. Pursuing an almost impossible objective was something he would always do, just like chasing after this seemingly unattainable love.
Arturia, watching from her seat, whispered softly, "Please, Shirou..."
Lanturia lowered her head slightly, pleading internally, "Please... save me from myself."
Even Lalter looked on with sadness, her heart aching from the images on the screen. A quiet lament echoed in her mind, "If only..." she thought, reflecting on certain regrets in her life.
For a moment, he felt like he was the worst scum in the world, but he managed to force it down like bile in his throat as the herald finished and called for a salute of swords to the King.
The various Rin, Sakura, and Arturia faces shook their heads at the narration, while each version of Ishtar and the gods (Kama included) silently responded to the overwhelming emotion their bodies experienced from the scene. Even if they didn't fully agree, there was a shared feeling that each of them might, in some way, understand the boy's struggle.
While many around him wore a shield and a sword, or even other weapons, the "heaviness" of the two blades at his hips was nothing as he drew his dominant hand's sword and settled down to a knee with its blade planted as dozens more men did the same.
EMIYA muttered to himself, "...so this is how it feels when someone steals your style?" He couldn't shake the sensation of something being taken from him as he saw Shirou wield two swords with a stance so similar to his own.
For reasons unknown, Gilgamesh couldn't help but feel a strange satisfaction, as if some form of karmic justice was unfolding.
Though the cry of "Long Live the King!" was joyous and loud, his own felt drowned out in comparison. Like it was private and meaningful, rather than an empty scream.
The blonde knight watching him could sense the pain in his heart. It hurt her to see him suffering emotionally.
He would win.
Arturia smiled weakly, murmuring with a soft yet firm tone, "I know..."
xxxxxxxxxxx
The way she smirked at him as he walked into her own viewing stand made him feel a very real desire to shout at her, but even with the preliminary battles going on below, it would draw far too much attention-
And attention was not what he wanted from Artoria, Guinevere, and her men while he was within even miles of Morgan le Faye.
A loud growl from the various versions of Artoria echoed through the room in response to what was said.
"Are you pleased, to be my man?" She taunted him, and he saw it for what it was.
Artoria, beyond furious, roared, "DAUGHTER OF OUR HOLY MOTHER, IS THAT WRETCH SERIOUS?!"
Salter, completely unashamed, added, "Like hell, I'd let that bitch have him, that dick is mine!"
Meanwhile, Lanturia gripped Rhongomyniad tightly, her magic surging as if she was ready—or rather, already prepared—to unleash her Noble Phantasm on Morgan.
Even Lily, usually gentle, looked furious, her face showing rare anger as she gripped Caliburn tightly. The tension in her expression faded only when she felt EMIYA's comforting hand gently ruffling her hair.
And, even recognizing it as such, he could not help the knee-jerk stiffening of his spine and shoulders. Morgan's eyes did not miss it either, from the way she reclined more into her chair as down below, men wagered their lives in combat to show that they were worthy to go to war for Christendom. Shirou, for the first time, realized just how serious what he was about to do was.
EMIYA: "Took long enough for that brain cell to connect," he muttered, noticing Shirou finally grasping the seriousness of his situation.
DEMIYA: "The only working brain cell finally clocked in," he added sarcastically, recognizing that at least Shirou was starting to think things through.
Angra: "I knew the kid was being too dumb for his own good. Took him long enough," he chimed in, acknowledging that Shirou wasn't an idiot, but it was taking way too long for his thoughts to align.
Nightingale: "Even Edmond isn't this distracted," she commented, sweating slightly at how much Shirou had been in his own world.
Edmond: "Hey!" Edmond exclaimed, offended as he looked at the nurse, who simply ignored his gaze.
Skadi: "I have to agree," she added, causing Edmond to feel betrayed. "Don't look at me like that; it's true. You're often... quite distracted." If he weren't holding Voyager, Edmond would have clutched his chest in mock anguish at the insult.
It was not every day you ruined the careers of potential Knights and warriors. But, darkly, he realized that was going to be the likely result of his position at Morgan's side.
He'd already heard the whispers, as well. That he had been brought in purely to vindictively punish and disrupt the proceedings. He could not fault their logic, only feel embarrassed that it was- in fact- very true.
Arturia: "M-my... S-Shirou..." she stuttered, heartbroken at the thought of her beloved being used to demoralize her people, all thanks to her older sister.
Meanwhile, Morgan had a strange sense that she was securing something valuable, a prize even greater than the others. She didn't fully understand why, but something told her that she'd have reason to celebrate in the future.
DEMIYA: "I feel a disturbance in the Force..." he thought, sensing something peculiar was on the horizon, a situation he couldn't yet grasp.
Morgan wanted him to tear a bloody swathe through the competition. And while he'd fully intended to excel and not manage to maim any of his opponents, there were more than enough people with mistrust of the Witch and who had seen the "finery" he'd been lauded with and presumed him to be something approaching invincible by nature of her charms and spells.
He hated that he was likely going to prove them right by proxy. He knew that Morgan had done nothing more than give him a very ostentatious suit of armor, and a pair of broadswords that were simply of fine quality- none of which possessed any power or any Code-like properties-
EMIYA: "Swapped Kansho and Bakuya for those?!" he muttered, clearly offended. "Those blades are far superior to whatever those gaudy weapons are."
Baobhan Sith, meanwhile, clenched her teeth in anger at the red archer's words. How dare he be so ungrateful towards her mother, who had so generously bestowed such a gift upon a mere insignificant being like him?
Da Vinci: "Kansho... Bakuya? The 'married swords'?" she asked, recognizing the names of the twin blades.
EMIYA: "Yes, these swords are linked to one another, no matter the distance. One blade will always return to its twin. It's the symbol of eternal love, forged into the swords by the blacksmith who crafted them. Bakuya is the wife, and Kansho is the husband. They're weapons without vanity, without faith or the weight of legend. They're weapons free from the competitive spirit of typical swords... perfect for someone like me." He projected the two blades, which gleamed as if in response to his words, showing loyalty or gratitude towards their wielder.
Tristan: "But, even if they don't carry that weight, wouldn't that mean, as mere imitations, they could break easily? Especially compared to weapons that are made more for appearance than actual combat," the knight of sorrow pointed out, glancing at the archer.
EMIYA: "Even if they're not incredibly durable, these weapons boost not only my physical endurance but also my magical resistance significantly. Plus, with them, I was able to create the [Kakoyoku Sanren] technique, which pushes their capability to the limit, even without a wielder. They're still Noble Phantasms after all... isn't that right, old man?" He glanced at Li Shu Wen, who had recognized the swords at first sight.
Li Shu Wen: "They're attempts to replicate them... but," he looked at the twin blades with respect, "it's as if the original blacksmith came back as a Heroic Spirit." He gave a small smile to the blades before EMIYA dismissed the projection, turning the weapons back into magical energy.
EMIYA: "I owe these weapons a lot. They've saved my life countless times. I can't help but feel a deep appreciation for them," he said with a small, genuine smile as memories of his many battles with those swords filled his mind. They had become his most reliable and favored weapons over time.
But no one else did. And worse, everyone else would willingly believe it even if proved wrong. Morgan's fame was a tool she had used very carefully to entrap him in this situation, and for the second time, he got an immense headache related to the blonde woman.
Gudako: "So... are blonde women naturally crazy?" she asked, completely ignoring the stares of all her blonde Servants, whether they were goddesses or not.
DEMIYA: -comforting Ereshkigal, who was pouting with tears in her eyes at their Master's insensitive remark-
EMIYA: -holding Lily tightly as she buried her head in his chest, hurt by the comment. She wasn't crazy, it was her older sister who was the real lunatic-
Senji: "Makes sense..." -he muttered, only to receive an indignant glare from Castoria, which he promptly ignored-
Angra: "Yeah, that tracks..." -a few cards grazed his cheek, drawing blood- ... -he looked over and saw Bunturia glaring at him with immense annoyance. He knew what was coming-
Setanta: "Wait, but Gilgamesh isn't a woman, and he's definitely crazy," he pointed out, looking confused at Gudako.
Do we even need to mention what happened to the small dog?
Gudako: "That's because he's a man. Men are naturally idiots," she shrugged, completely brushing off the comment. None of the male Servants could really argue with that. Unfortunately—or fortunately—it was an undeniable truth.
As the bout down in the field died down, a man yielding to another in the face of having his armor dented in against his chest- likely to cause him breathing trouble for weeks if not months- Shirou took a deep breath of his own and let his eyes close, imagining the gun and its cocked hammer. He would try not to resort to Magecraft, but he knew that plans did not survive contact with the enemy.
EMIYA: "...Even I felt that," he grimaced at the sight, supported by several other men who winced at the screen.
Chiron: "Don't even think about saying anything, Achilles, you're invulnerable," he said, looking at the green-haired Rider, who had his mouth open ready to comment.
Left speechless, Achilles simply shut his mouth and refrained from saying anything.
Penthesilea was smirking at him with a mocking grin.
Kriemhild: "And you too, Siegfried-sama," she said, turning to her husband, who looked back at her, knowing better than to speak.
Siegfried: "...Sumanai..." he lowered his head, feeling dejected for upsetting her without meaning to.
Many couldn't help but sweat nervously at the scene, and it didn't help that Brynhildr was once again impaling Sigurd with her Noble Phantasm, for reasons only she knew.
Teach: "How many times has he fallen now?" he asked, watching the poor Norseman being stabbed yet again by his wife.
Fionn: "I've lost count..." -he muttered nervously, uncomfortable with how much the Valkyrie's love manifested through literal death-
So let Morgan plan around him, and he would simply have to surprise her and wait for the right moment.
"Next bout in the Duels, Shirou the Black, facing Pwynlan of the Noble House of-"
He shuts out the information and pictures the colors and the feeling of Od ready to push through the Circuits in his body if the need arises. For a moment, he appreciates the sound of his booted feet as he descends back down unto the dirt field and hopes upon all things Good in the world that this will not end in a tragedy.
xxxxxxxxxx
Fergus: "They're gonna f, I'm telling you. It's gonna happen." He smirked, fully expecting the redhead to take the Knight of the Round Table's sister to bed.
Baobhan: "As if I would let my mother be defiled by that filthy human," she murmured angrily, gripping the armrest of her chair tightly.
Angra: "Honestly... with the kid's luck with women, I wouldn't be surprised," he said, knowing it was a highly probable outcome.
Melusine: "Boy = King = Lover," she thought with a determined glint in her eyes, already imagining the potential future unfolding.
The opponent is a beast of a man by Japanese standards. Shirou is back in the prime of his youth, but he is still Japanese- and this man must easily be Six Western feet. The height difference does not bother him- this man is not Berserker- but it makes him aware of how he will be seen in comparison.
Shikibu: "...Emiya, it's not like you're considered normal by those standards," she pointed out, noting his above-average height.
Neither EMIYA nor DEMIYA could disagree. Both stood at 1.87 meters, well above the average height for their home country.
EMIYA: "Well, I grew because of using my magic circuits. Without them, I'd probably be his height." He gestured toward Senji, who glared back at him.
Senji: "I'm not short!" He shot back, though he was only three centimeters below the national average for Japanese men.
"What a sorry lot," Shirou hears the words from his opponent while the attendant finishes clearing the area in preparation for the start of the bout, "Put up against some no-name who doesn't even bring a shield to a duel?"
EMIYA: "He's already won. The guy's underestimating him," he said, knowing full well that one of the Shirou's greatest strengths was exploiting his opponents' tendency to underestimate him.
Many agreed. Underestimating an opponent in battle often led to one's own downfall, assuming the other was weaker than they seemed.
Rather than answer him and offer the man the comfort of a successful taunt, Shirou simply draws his swords, feeling their familiar and comfortable weight, their existence as Swords making them feel . . . like just another extension of himself, even if they are just plain steel rather than like the image of Caliburn that had been held in his hands so long ago.
Sasaki: "Even though you're not a Saber, you have a strong affinity with those blades," he commented on Shirou's ability to wield swords like extensions of himself.
EMIYA: "I doubt it's just that. I am literally a sword, thaumaturgically speaking."
The Casters' eyes widened at that statement, the only way such a thing would be possible would be if both his origin and element were aligned with the concept of 'sword.'
Merlin: "Solomon would give anything to study something like that, surely," he murmured, thinking of the implications.
Morgan: "...Avalon." She whispered the answer to why Shirou possessed such an affinity.
It seems even without words, he manages to upset others, since his opponent pushes down his visor and stands at the ready. While the beast of a man draws his foot and shield forward, Shirou relaxes. The tension draining out of his muscles as one blade glimmers against the sun, and the other remains by his side.
It is a trap, a technique he had developed many years after the War when he was able to test himself properly against opponents who did not have the benefit of speed and strength beyond his own abilities.
It is an invitation to attack, one that he will punish, and if Shirou is right, this man will only be stuck crying foul after his wound heals rather than in the dirt as a corpse.
With the sounding of a horn, the match begins.
xxxxxxx
EMIYA: "He's analyzing it well... but... I wonder, did you also make him...?" He paused for a moment, recalling something he had done to ease his journey, an action that could make the boy's path smoother.
DEMIYA: "I hope... he didn't," he thought, observing the boy's behavior, silently hoping that Shirou hadn't resorted to the same tactic he had in his own time.
Artoria Pendragon- or rather, King Arthur- is disturbed that she has been dragged into this contest. With so much still to do, the fact that she has been pushed away from the table of War in order to be seen by the people and encourage the recruiting of worthy soldiers, she finds herself hating the barbarism that is on display.
Iskandar: "Child..." He sighed, looking down in mild disappointment. "You're protecting your people too much." He had to admit that, while not surprising, her overprotectiveness wasn't helping.
Gil Caster: "It's not wrong to protect your people, but you must know when you can and cannot achieve it. Overprotecting them won't help them grow. Even in their downfall, they must rise on their own when the king falls from the throne." Various kings in the room exchanged glances, each having their own views on ruling—some aligned, others divergent. There was no one way to govern, and each king's methods were unique.
Gudako: "Whoever fights today is going farming all day." The room fell silent at Satan's threat, each Servant freezing at the prospect of endless farming. Except for Teach—he received the unfortunate announcement that he'd be farming double. The Rider's face turned pale with fear at the decree.
All the Servants couldn't help but feel deep pity for Teach, the Rider who was condemned to an inescapable punishment. The pirate looked completely terrified, his face pale at the thought of the impending farming marathon.
But she understands it's a necessity, or at least, she understands that Bedivere and many others think it is one of the few things that will help make her people believe she cares about the common folk whom she strives to protect but does not seem to understand.
She has grown quiet as of late, though many do not know why. They can only guess, and when she looks across into another one of the tier boxes to stare in disquiet at her sister, her men and Guinevere can only make assumptions.
Hans Christian Andersen: "If you're referring to how Mordred came to be, I think I get it..." He adjusted his glasses, completely ignoring the predatory gaze from Carmilla, who smiled at him with sinister intent.
Artoria: "I'd rather avoid... remembering certain things, please." She cast a severe look at the young writer, but Hans remained completely indifferent to her warning.
If Lancelot had been present, he would have looked at the screen with nostalgia, gazing at Guinevere. Although Berserker Lancelot was there, his expression wasn't of longing but rather of regret.
But she also cannot help but watch the knight whom descended from Morgan's box, feeling strangely drawn to him as he stands upon the field and, without any words, only seems to widen his stance and wait for the call of the contest's judge.
Upon hearing this, EMIYA, along with DEMIYA and Angra, felt a strange sense of shared satisfaction. Artoria, on the other hand, tried to hide her obvious happiness, but her characteristic strand of hair betrayed her, joyfully swaying back and forth.
Other versions of Artoria, such as Lily and Castoria, also couldn't hide the happiness bubbling up inside them, their faces shining brightly with joy.
Merlin: "After all..." he murmured with a smile, watching the scene unfold.
Lady Avalon: "It's... what they call 'destiny'." She completed Merlin's thought, watching as Artoria displayed an unusual feeling at the redhead's intervention.
Both versions of the Mage of Flowers shared a knowing smile, sensing that something significant was approaching, though they still wondered what this "destiny" had in store for them.
What are you up to now? She wonders, scared of the roiling feeling of unease that has settled in her gut as the horn sounds.
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Amber eyes quietly assess Pwynlan as a big overhand swing threatens to bisect him. Shirou admires the veracity of the movement, of someone who is aware of his benefit of reach and height.
He is disappointed that the strike is not coming so fast that he can only struggle to block it. It is easy, it is . . . frightening- to feel that cold and collected in the face of a fight for once.
He takes in a breath. His left hand raises as his right foot swivels, a motion of his wrist knocks the larger man's strike askew.
Before he can even finish the exhale, his right hand has come across and brought his other sword upwards at an angle.
The slash, a thing of simplistic beauty, connects and he does not bother to pay attention to the red that blossoms into the air in a thin gout.
Sasaki: "His movement was decent—simple, but effective. If he had a more refined technique, perhaps he could achieve more. Still, his weapon use is commendable," he remarked, observing the screen with a calm gaze, analyzing Shirou's actions.
More sword masters nodded in agreement. They had to admit that while the young man lacked a special technique in swordsmanship, he had solid control and movement. He knew what he was doing, avoiding unnecessary motions that could hinder his style.
EMIYA: "Tsk. If he had Kansho and Bakuya, he would've done it better," he muttered, still a bit frustrated, defending his favorite weapons.
He steps in, and breathes-
And Pwynlan tries to force him back with the shield, but it is only an impediment if the man's footing is stable, and Shirou already knows it is not.
This man is not a mountain, he is a pole. One that can be knocked over if enough force is applied at the right angle. He exhales.
He is not thinking, merely reacting, as he uses his shoulder to heave the shield and force the man's stance open to try and receive him rather than commit to an attack.
And that is when Shirou's left hand comes around and the blade in it crashes into chainmail at his opponent's knee and makes him gurgle in pain as he falls unto his good limb. A good swordsman would respond, and he sees the handle of the blade coming around to make space for himself. He breathes.
Shirou does not let that happen. His right hand comes around from the momentum of his left, and redirects the pommel-strike away, before his left comes in and settles comfortably the blade of his off-hand against torn mail and the already wounded neck of his opponent.
It takes three breaths, and the match is over.
Sasaki: "No doubt he's learned a lot from those 20 years of combat," he remarked with approval, smiling as he watched Shirou's victory over his opponent.
Jason: "I wonder... how would he fare against Heracles?" He looked at his friend, imagining a hypothetical fight.
Arturia: "In a war..." Everyone turned to her. "EMIYA Archer had to buy me time so my Master and I could face Heracles. The result was that he fought Berserker alone. I'm not sure how many lives he took, but he gave us the chance to defeat Heracles in a single strike with my Master's help," she revealed, causing Jason, Achilles, Atalanta, Chiron, and Medea to look on in amazement.
Heracles: grrrrr — He growled in acknowledgment, surprising Jason and Achilles.
Achilles: "Are you kidding me!?" He stared in disbelief at the giant, who shook his head.
Jason: "Six... he took six lives?" he muttered, unable to process how Heracles could lose so many lives... and still not figure out who his opponent was during the battle.
Hundred-Faced Hassan: "What on earth happened to the Archer class in that war?" he questioned aloud, stunned by the story. Many, if not all, knew of Heracles' fame, recognized by gods of various religions as one of the few heroes with worldwide renown.
Arturia: "More accurately, in that war and the one before it," she added, glancing at both Gilgamesh and EMIYA Archer.
Before anyone could respond, the screen changed again, eliciting a range of reactions.
"When you are about to face the greatest hero of Greece, only for your younger version to have a threesome with his servant, and your master."
Todos: ... — Silence filled the room as everyone stared at the image on the screen, processing the situation.
Merlin: — Reluctantly, he gave the machine another hit, forcing it to return to its usual programming.
Inwardly, Arturia was thankful to her teacher for doing that, though she still felt the weight of everyone's eyes on her.
Mordred: "F-Father?" — She looked incredulously at Arturia, who was desperately trying to avoid everyone's gaze.
Parvati: "I think... it's better to leave this for another time. Or maybe after we're done watching this." — Arturia could only nod, her face completely red as she stared at the floor.
For some reason, Morgan was gripping her signature staff much more tightly than usual.
Melusine: "Moooh, I wanted to see what the boy was like in that... " — She pouted, disappointed that she wouldn't get more information. "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to find out with his Servant version." — She glanced toward the Archer in the red coat, who suddenly felt a shiver run down his spine for no apparent reason.
Meanwhile, Barghest had her face burning red at the thought of what the image suggested.
Despite appearances, the Archer of red was in deeper trouble than anyone knew.
Lily: "...Sempai, what's a 'trio'?" — She asked, her tone innocent. While she understood the general meaning of the word, something inside her told her that the "trio" in question wasn't the one she was familiar with.
The Archer could only sweat nervously. There was absolutely no way he was going to ruin the little Arturia's innocence. He wasn't Merlin, after all, to do something so reckless.
Lady Avalon: "Well, my dear student, a 'trio' as it refers to here is when-" — She was cut off before she could finish. Fou leaped onto her face, clawing and smacking her until she was thrown into the other Arturias. They beat her up, then Fou came back for another round, smacked her again, tossed her to Morgan, who also hit her, and then finally she was dropped to the ground, where Fou continued to scratch and pummel her relentlessly.
Everyone in the room was drenched in sweat as they watched the brutal scene, hearing the loud yells of the flower mage being viciously attacked by the small Beast.
Arcueid: "...Seems like Fou has something against them." — She muttered while sweating, trying to process Fou's unrelenting rage toward the two mages.
Even though she wasn't entirely sure why or how Fou had such strong feelings against them, she figured it was best to leave it alone if it made the little creature happy.
And Shirou knows he has garnered victory without killing, which he can only thank his fortunes for. The warrior- fine by many means, Shirou did not mean to insult him- is before him and all can see that he is defeated. Shirou's eyes are impassive beyond his visor, but the visage of that scowling wyrm must be more frightening than he can see himself, because with a trembling voice, the beast of a man-
EMIYA: "I see... that confirms it. He did it." — He murmured, his eyes locked on the screen. The expressionless look on the boy's face told him all he needed to know. Shirou had made the same choice he did, a choice to make the journey easier.
DEMIYA, meanwhile, could only let out a heavy sigh. It seemed the kid hadn't found any other way but to do that. It was disappointing but understandable.
DEMIYA: "I really hoped he'd avoid going down that path," — he thought to himself, feeling a mix of resignation and pity for the younger version of the man he once was.
- quietly utters, "I yield." While a crowd of people so eager to see combat they had been shouting and jesting loudly less than a minute ago are struck dumb by what they see as impossible.
"The winner of this duel is Shirou the Black . . . " The gobsmacked words leave the herald's voice, and the redheaded man simply turns, and walks away.
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Tristán: "It was indeed a good duel... he's come far. You can see how hard he's worked to get to this point, striving for that encounter he yearns for." — Tristán's tone was almost proud as he observed the reactions from the spectators, many of whom were still in awe of what they had witnessed.
EMIYA: "He's gotten strong... who knows, maybe he'll surpass me too." — he muttered the last part to himself, a rare smile tugging at his lips. He remembered a time when someone else had managed to surpass him, and though it was bittersweet, it always gave him hope for his younger self.
Boudica: "Impressive, Archer. Your younger self has certainly accomplished some interesting feats." — Boudica's warm smile reflected her respect as she glanced at EMIYA, who nodded in agreement, his sharp eyes analyzing every aspect of Shirou's growth and technique.
Musashi: "His control over the swords is admirable. For a pair of bastard swords, which are typically wielded with two hands, the way he manages them with such fluidity speaks volumes about his mastery." — she praised, her own experiences as a swordswoman allowing her to appreciate the intricacies of Shirou's technique.
Many of the other Servants nodded in agreement. For Shirou to use two such heavy and difficult weapons with such finesse was no small feat. They recognized his dedication and relentless training.
Bedivere, standing quietly by Arturia, couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, this young man was capable of bringing about the change needed. He silently shared the sentiment of the others, but as a knight of Camelot, he couldn't let himself be distracted by admiration for too long. His loyalty to his king remained unwavering.
Musashi: "I wouldn't mind sparring with him someday. I can tell he has much more to show." — she added with a grin, the thought of testing her skill against Shirou's growing prowess lighting a competitive spark in her eyes.
EMIYA: "He's still young, but there's potential there. Whether he surpasses me or not, only time will tell." — his usual stoic demeanor softened just a bit, a sense of pride settling in as he reflected on his own journey.
"That was . . ." Guinevere utters, staring in blatant disbelief. She has seen extraordinary feats of combat in her time, but from the Knights of the Round it is only to be expected. And never from a man wielding two swords at once. Her gaze turns to Artoria- to Arthur- and then to Lancelot, before going back to the blonde King.
"It was impressive." Lancelot agrees, a deadpan to his tone that does not match with the furrow of his brow. If Artoria would have looked at him, she would have understood.
Berserklot: "Arrrrthur..." — The guttural growl from Berserker Lancelot had a weight to it, one that only those familiar with his story truly understood. Several of the knights nodded in understanding of the significance behind that single word.
Paris: "What did he say?" — asked Paris, clearly confused as he glanced over at his mentor.
Hektor: "Not quite sure myself." — Hektor admitted, though his brow furrowed as he tried to gauge the meaning.
Tristán: "He's being cautious. A stranger, closely linked to Lady Morgan, has appeared with a remarkable winning streak. Lancelot is wary because this person is making an impact—both in reputation and proximity to Lady Morgan. It's no wonder he's acting so vigilant." — Tristán explained, his sharp perception piecing together Berserker Lancelot's reaction. The implication of this newcomer being so near to someone as formidable as Morgan was enough to make any knight of the Round Table nervous.
The other Servants who understood nodded in agreement. Shirou's sudden rise and his connection with Morgan naturally caused concern among those who served under Artoria. Berserklot, despite his maddened state, could feel the potential threat or disturbance that this young swordsman represented, especially with how close he was getting to Morgan.
But she is not. She watches the back of the armor-clad man disappear back up into the stand that leads up to her sister's box-
And sees him turn, and the glimmering visage of his helm stare right at her.
And in the time it takes her to blink, he has gone up the stairs and out of her sight.
As the screen faded to black, the silence lingered for a few moments longer. Arturia whispered softly, her heart heavy with the sight of Shirou disappearing from view.
Arturia: "Shirou..." — Her voice trembled with a mix of longing and worry. The desire to know more, to see what was happening to him, gnawed at her.
Sensing the emotional weight in the room, Merlin clapped his hands softly to break the tension. His usual jovial smile was present, though it held a gentle understanding of the feelings everyone had, especially Arturia.
Merlin: "Well then, I think it's time for a break. Let's let this rest for now. Go stretch your legs, grab a bite to eat, and let your minds settle." — His suggestion came with a lighthearted tone, though the importance behind it was clear.
The Servants began to stand up and move around, their minds still buzzing from the intense emotions and revelations. The tension slowly eased as they walked out of the viewing room.
Arturia remained in her place for a few seconds longer, her hand gripping Excalibur tightly as she stared at the now blank screen, before finally rising to her feet. She silently followed the others, her mind still racing with thoughts of Shirou and what might come next.
Merlin gave her a knowing glance but said nothing further, allowing her the space to process her emotions. The room emptied gradually, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps as they went off to recharge before whatever was to be revealed next.