"AAAARRRTHUUURRRRR!"
The roar coming from the blackened night belied the clear blue skies that he soared upon, a sword and gun anachronistically wielded by his hands. Below him, his enemies tried to scramble back to something resembling proper defense, but the hail of bullets he rained down on them put a quick end to those plans.
"AAA…" The knight's gaze shifted to the golden hair of one of his enemies, the golden hair accompanied by that face, the golden hair of his King. "...AAAAARRRTHUUURRRRR!" A black flame engulfed his sword, Arondight, and he launched himself to his perceived greatest enemy.
The sword met great resistance as the girl held her flagpole, her teeth almost grinding to dust by the sheer force she was exerting to merely block the attack. Had Lancelot not been a berserker, he would have perhaps noticed that his 'King' was not wielding her sword, but that mattered little to him now.
SLASH
"AAAAA!" A scream from Lancelot, as his back was torn apart by two large blades, though whether it was a scream of pain, annoyance, or anger, no one could discern.
Lancelot turned to his back, the stoic but determined visage of the archer servant gazed back against him. Ignoring the large gash on his armor's back, the knight gripped his sword and started swinging. His white haired adversary tried his best to deflect the strikes, bottom, overhead, sideways, from an angle, but his defenses slowly dwindled down, for his opponent was Lancelot, greatest of King Arthur's Round Table.
"Guh!" The man grunted, his defenses broken by Lancelot' superior skill and strength. The knight raised his sword, intent on seeing the obstacle between him and his 'King' cleaved in half.
"Haa!" The berserker heard a woman scream, a scream that was unlike what his King would ever let out in battle, but he didn't care. A blue glow clashed against his back, leaving some char and ripping it apart slightly, but even then, it revealed not a single speck of its wearer's skin.
Once again, Lancelot turned his attention, but he had learned now, even in the most maddened state he had been reduced to. For him to reach his 'King', he needed to remove the obstacle first, and for him to do that, he could not afford to fight both of them like this any longer.
His two enemies jumped towards him, one with their swords prepared in a cross formation, the other with their flag glowing in blue raised overhead, both with blood dripping down their forms, yet Lancelot stayed still. As their weapons closed in on him, the knight still hadn't moved, and his enemies finally realized that they had made a mistake.
In a motion done between seconds, Lancelot lifted Arondight, and slammed it down towards the earth. The shockwave blew away his 'King' and the 'obstacle' between them, but the knight had disappeared as well.
His enemies' eyes darted left and right as they struggled to get back up, but their eyes would find no sign of the knight even as they were back on their feet. Slowly, realization dawned on them and they realized that the knight hadn't disappeared.
The knight flew.
Above the clouds, magical energy gathered and roared. Then, a foreign sound ripped through the sky.
A few distances away from the chaos, some citizens would notice a black object soaring through the sky. At first, they screamed in terror, and warned others of an impending dragon attack, yet when the others' eyes looked up, they saw nothing but blue, and scoffed at the perceived lies they had been told. Those who saw insisted that they were telling the truth, though none took them seriously and went back to their daily life.
It wasn't a lie, but they could be forgiven for dismissing the existence of a flying object that appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
After all, the F-15 Eagle would not be built for another 500 years..
On the plains that had now been razed and destroyed, the two servants watched with bated breath as the fighter jet maneuvered across the sky. The blonde haired ruler eyes filled with an equal mix of wonder and fear at the foreign flying machine moving faster than sound, while the archer, knowing what it was, started to devise a plan. But what plan could overcome a metal monster that was even faster than the wyverns?
Up above, Lancelot's red visor never once left his 'King' and the obstacle, even as his jet made twists and turns that would throw off any normal man standing on top of it.
But Lancelot was no mere man.
Slowly, he watched as his enemies' eyes faltered behind the speed of the F-15, trailing on its afterimages rather than the jet. A crackling of dark magical energy gathered around him as his jet started to hum, a prelude to the destruction to come.
"AAAAAARRRRTHURRRRRRR!"
A roar, followed by the sound of hissing from the jet's wings.
His enemies' eyes grew wide open as silos of missiles flew at them, faster than they could run from, and too many dodge.
BOOM
The sound of the first missile, followed by more, tens of missiles, enough that the ground beneath was destroyed to smithereens, the dust flying to cover the blue sky. Even then, the knight was not satisfied.
With his bare hands, Lancelot ripped apart one of the armaments stationed on the jet's wings, one far more destructive than any of the firearms he used before. It was a marvel of 20th century manufacturing, it was a weapon capable of firing bullets hundreds of times in a single second, it was an M-61 Vulcan.
"AAAAAAAAA!"
Lancelot began firing, the large barrel of the cannon aimed at the dust cloud formed by the previous missile assault. He shot wildly, uncaring of where his enemies truly were, but the rainstorm of bullets promised that no matter their location, their bodies would be riddled by holes.
Eventually, the distance between Lancelot and his enemies shrinked, and the knight jumped from his vehicle, allowing it to crash in a fiery blaze against the ground, and in turn, his 'King'.
Lancelot breathed through his helmet as he watched the ruins of the jet, a half growl, half groan out of his throat.
The dust cloud swirled like a small hurricane, and like a hurricane, it too eventually dissipated.
Inside, there were no signs of corpses.
From the knight's back, the sound of swinging weapons, a flag and a pair of swords flying to his damaged back–
CLANG
–But he had expected it.
Lancelot turned his neck around to find the incredulous looks of his 'King' and the obstacle, their teeth gritted as they pushed against his sword to no avail.
"AAAAAAARRRRR!"
Lancelot's body jerked, and his body twisted, enough that the sweep of his sword sent both of his enemies flying. He could hear the sound of blood gushing from the attack. Whose blood? It didn't matter, his 'King' had now been isolated. It was time.
The Black Knight roared an inhumane sound as he brandished his sword, stabbing it into the ground, and sprinted towards his 'King'. The blonde woman could barely support herself with her pole, something like that shouldn't have been able to reduce his 'King' to this state, but Lancelot only saw red, and continued on his path, jet black stream following the trail of Arondight.
Lancelot was mere centimeters away from the woman when he caught something from his peripheral, something that overrode what he saw in the woman before him, something that called to him, like it always did.
A golden sheen.
The unmistakable glow of that sword.
Excalibur.
What a fool he was, the blonde woman was never his 'King'.
That weapon, that sword, that symbol.
It was all that he had ever longed for.
He would not let it get away this time.
"AAAAAAAAARRRRTHUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"
Lancelot screamed, his feet turned, as did his sword. All while keeping his previous momentum. The jet black stream behind him only grew larger as his sprint became more erratic, more wild, more primal.
Reaching that sword, Lancelot could only raise his sword, the dark energy surrounding it guaranteed that whatever it hit would be decimated.
In his eyes, only that sword existed.
As such, when dozens of arrows pierced through the damaged backside of his armor, the knight couldn't care less. Even as his knees staggered and blood poured from his chest to the tips of the arrows that pierced his body, Arondight did not falter.
Excalibur still stood, so still he.
Arondight grew only stronger with his hatred, his will, his life, and he would strike down Excalibur if it was the last thing he did.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA– GAAAAH!"
Before he could swing down, another pierced his back, a far larger weapon, one that almost took out his strength. Looking down, he saw a speartip illuminated by gold, reducing his torso to a bloody mess.
But he still held on.
Arondight had yet to leave his hands.
It was when Excalibur pierced him from the front did he lose strength, and Arondight fell onto the earth.
He was going to die, Lancelot realized.
Was he glad with this conclusion? He supposed he should be.
He died at the end of his King's sword, by his King's hands, just as he had always wished.
But he didn't, did he?
This was not Excalibur, that blonde hair did not belong to his King, and the purity of her soul was not the same purity his King possessed.
"My… My King… I… I–" She was never there.
His words ended, as did his life, and Lancelot died once more, unfulfilled in death as he was in life.
There were ringing in her ears, the dust cloud still swirled, and the dripping of blood still accompanied her. They went away eventually, after The Black Knight disappeared into golden light, leaving Jeanne and Archer by themselves, two bloodied and injured servants in the middle of destroyed scenery, in what was otherwise a perfectly normal, sunny day.
Jeanne's gaze shifted to her fellow servant, he too was covered in blood, and his breath was still ragged. The smell of their irons mixed together as Jeanne saw the golden sword on the ground vanish.
"...Good work with your Noble Phantasm back there."
"...You too, Archer."
She didn't bring up what he just did, not yet. She looked upon the spot where Lancelot had died, nothing had remained of him except the destruction that he wrought. 'Arthur' he had called her, she realized, that was why he had pursued her so much.
He was looking for The King of Camelot.
Archer knew this from the start.
"...Archer, was that–"
"No," He cut her off sharply. "That was just a… cheap replica." Archer said, his voice too fast, yet also hesitant.
Jeanne left it at that.
But, there was one more question she had, one that she felt she already knew the answer to.
Yet she asked anyway.
"Do I… look like her?"
Archer's movement stopped for a brief moment, like someone had accidentally pressed the pause button on him. His breath hitched, but he didn't turn to face Jeanne, his neck refused to.
"...You bear a passing resemblance."
The rest of the way to Paris saw no more words exchanged between the two.
King paced around his room.
It was almost time for him to go to the designated meeting place they had agreed upon, but it felt like his feet refused to go there, to even get out of this room.
For all of today, and most of yesterday, he had tunnel vision on the idol show. The idea of finally getting to watch an idol perform one last time was too good to pass up, even if he watched it from behind the scenes
But now? He was having second thoughts.
They weren't useful second thoughts, seeing as he was already in Paris, only an hour or two before the performance.
The word he was actually looking for was regret.
He regretted that he didn't think this through more before committing, he regretted that he kept the nature of his 'mission' under secret, most of all, he regretted that Ritsuka was attacked because of it.
What could he do now? Olga believed in him too much, so did Ritsuka, so did Mash, Hell, so did every single servant here!
King clutched his head and fell to his knees, sweat dripped down his forehead, cold and wet, splattering down to the wooden floor.
There was nothing he could do.
Knock, knock
King's heart leaped to his throat.
"Hey! You in there?!" A raspy voice came through the door, it was the owner.
"...Yes." King said after taking a few moments to gather himself.
The owner snorted from behind the door, it sounded like a dead rat's last cry. "Your friends are lookin' for ya."
Didn't something like this happen already?
King sighed and opened the door, greeted by the owner's unsavory face, then made his way out of the inn.
Everyone else was already there, he had excused himself on the pretense of 'preparing' while he tried to think of a way to try and maybe help Ritsuka out of his predicament. Of course, there was nothing he could realistically do. Even if he called off the show now, it would still take too long for them to reunite.
It was better off that they both focus on their current objectives. King, to put on a show, and Ritsuka, to reach Paris.
If only they knew what he was actually doing here.
King sighed. 'I should probably tell the others.' It would dampen the mood and affect the show, but Ritsuka's life was far more important than his desire. Maybe they could cut down the number of songs to shorten the show and help out the other master faster. He really should've known better, he stopped going to shows after he became a hero for a reason after all.
The first servant that King saw was Murasaki, who saw him as well, and started running to him.
"Miss Murasaki. I have some–"
"Lord King! It's terrible!" Murasaki said, causing King to be taken aback.
"...What's terrible, Miss Murasaki?" King asked. Did they already find out about Ritsuka's situation? or even worse… did they know something he didn't? "Did Ritsuka–"
"Lady Bathory, she– she can't sing!"
…
Huh?
"It's dreadful, master! Apparently, Lord Achilles had asked Lady Bathory to sing, and well, you can see the damage it has caused…" Murasaki said, gesturing to their surroundings. Some citizens were laying down, clutching their heads and covering their ears.
'...What?'
Eli was… bad at singing? No, that couldn't be right, she was so confident!
"...Have you heard her singing for yourself, Miss Murasaki?" King asked nervously.
"...Just a snippet."
"And?"
"It was enough." Murasaki said solemnly.
'...No.'
King sauntered past Murasaki, and to the spot where they had agreed to gather. On his way, he saw faces, the faces of the servants, to be specific. Marie was smiling, but even a blind man could tell that her smile was forced. Amadeus looked like he was contemplating every single life and post-life decision he had made to get to this point, while d'Eon offered him a sympathetic glance, a very genuine sympathetic glance.
"...Master." Achilles half-greeted, half-groaned.
The Greek Hero's face told King everything he needed to know.
But he wanted to talk with Elizabeth regardless.
"Eli." King greeted. The dragon girl had her back turned towards him.
"..." The girl stayed quiet, as if she didn't hear his greeting.
"I heard that you had a… bad session." The question 'Is that true?' was left unsaid.
The girl's continued silence only made King inch closer to despair. He hadn't known her for long, barely above 24 hours, but she was always chipper, confident, almost arrogant. For her to be this despondent… 'Please let it just be an off session.' King begged, to whom he didn't know.
"Look, you just need to believe in yours–"
"I can't!"
The volume of Elizabeth's shout nearly knocked King off his feet, literally.
For a moment, King stared at Elibaeth's back, not uttering a single word.
"People– People always told me that my singing sucked! And I never cared! Who cares if my singing destroyed their ears! Their tastes were probably plebeian anyway!" The lancer confessed, her voice cracking with every word.
"But, Producer, with you I… I can't do that. When I think of going on that stage, with you looking from behind, I-I don't want to be booed at!" Elizabeth continued. King could hear stray hiccups interrupt her every few words.
"So… Producer, I'm sorry. I'm… not the idol you thought I was. I'm not beloved by the people, I'm not a diva that charmed the world, I'm just a… monster pretending to be an idol." The idol finished. Full on sobs now wracking out of her throat, a far cry from the idol image King had of her.
…
'It's over.'
"...Yeah, you're right." King said.
Elizabeth's form stiffened.
"You can't believe in yourself, can you? That's… that's fine."
He knew the feeling.
He had no right to criticize her, with the way he was.
"It's fine if you can't look at yourself right now. Sometimes, it's fine to look at someone else too." King said to the idol under his care. His mind wandered to Saitama, the hero behind his myth, the guy who constantly saved his life, who didn't even mind getting his valor stolen, all he told him was…
"...Be the idol your fans think you are, Eli."
"Fans? B-but I don't–"
"You got one right here." King said, pointing to himself. It was a white lie. He never saw her dance, never heard her sing, never even saw her on a stage, yet here he was, saying that he was a fan.
Elizabeth said nothing in response as King walked away from her, his head hung low in defeat.
'...I'm a dumbass.' Did he say that to cheer her up? So that she could work on herself towards the future? …No, that wasn't a thing servants had, he remembered. If so, Eli must've known that his words were empty, a vain attempt to relate his own despair at being a 'hero' to her. Even his advice rang hollow, he couldn't even follow Saitama's advice, yet he gave it to Eli like he was qualified to do that.
She probably hated his guts now.
All those promises to her, the time wasted by Chaldea, leaving Ritsuka by himself… only for King's last words on the matter to drag down the idol to his level.
What a fraud.
Some producer he turned out to be.
That being said… speaking as an otaku, her attitude did get to him. That confidence that allowed her to get this far in the first place, that brashness that allowed him to act on his repressed desire, and the humility she showed just now, to admit that she didn't believe in herself.
Some would say those qualities were pathetic.
To King, they were quite… charming.
He supposed… he really was a fan of hers, in some ways.
"...Be the idol your fans think you are, Eli."
"Fans? B-but I don't–"
"You got one right here."
Elizabeth just stared. She stared at her producer, finger pointing at himself, proclaiming that he was her fan with so much confidence, that for a moment, she believed it.
…No, she believed it. She had to believe it. Her producer, her master, never had once lied to her. Even when she made those unrealistic demands about a stage, a music set, a dancer, and a songwriter, he promised he would get it for her, and he did.
Why?
Why waste his time on her?
She only accepted him to be her producer so that she could get on the stage. She didn't ask why he would do that, back then, she didn't care about him, all she cared about was finally getting an audience to sing in front of.
She said he was her producer, but really, he was just a means to an end.
Elizabeth came to the realization that he must've known, that she was using him for her own gains, that her idea was short-sighted, that she wasn't a good idol.
Yet he still proclaimed himself a fan of hers.
"You can't believe in yourself, can you? That's… that's fine."
"It's fine if you can't look at yourself right now. Sometimes, it's fine to look at someone else too."
She couldn't believe in herself, not yet, he told her as much.
But he did, her producer did.
She didn't have the courage to sing for herself, not with her producer, her fan watching.
But if she looked at him, her producer, the one and only true fan of hers that believed in her…
Then maybe she could.
…No, she had to.
For her first, and biggest fan, Elizabeth Bathory decided to sing.
'...Just you watch, producer.'
The dragon idol wiped her tears with the sleeve of her dress, taking along some snot that had dripped down her nose. She turned, her producer had already disappeared, but that wouldn't hinder her. She marched with purpose, to the person that she needed to meet.
"Hey, you, lady with the big hat– …No, Queen Marie Antoinette."
"Y-yes?"
The rider turned towards Elizabeth, surprised at her sudden greeting. There was a slight look of apprehension in her eyes, but also some concern.
"I need you to use your noble phantasm, now." Elizabeth said.
"My… noble phantasm? For the stage?" Marie asked, turning her head left and right to see if there was anyone else Elizabeth came with, but it was just her.
"...Yeah, I need it now."
Marie just stared at her for a while, unsure at the request Elizabeth just said. The idol gritted her teeth.
"I get it. You can't trust me right now, none of you can." She couldn't, either, but there was someone else that she believed in. "So… I'll do it by myself first. Just… please, lend me your noble phantasm."
More silence.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, and went into a bow. She could hear a small gasp from the queen, but she stayed resolute. Her identity as a The Hungarian Vampire, The Blood Countess, she was willing to throw them away for this one moment.
Her pride didn't matter now, not when she had a fan to perform for.
"...I'm begging you."
…
Elizabeth clicked her tongue. Her hand slowly dropped onto the hard, bumpy gravel below, fighting her own reluctance as she slowly made her descent–
"Stop."
A hand stopped her before her knees could make ground.
"...I've seen enough. Rise, Lady Bathory." Marie said, and Elizabeth opened her eyes to meet hers.
"If you want to perform so much that you feel the need to grovel… then as a queen, I have no choice but to grant your wish." Marie said, her smile genuine, and radiant, too radiant for Elizabeth's eyes.
"...I'm not french, though." The idol said, squinting her eyes.
Marie chuckled. "So what? All I see is a girl who's willing to go to any level to fulfill her dream. It's just too… romantic!" She exclaimed.
Elizabeth huffed smugly. "Romantic, hm? I guess I can roll with that."
"So… where do we start, Elizabeth?" Marie asked. Just Elizabeth now, huh?
"Hmm… Looks like people are coming here again." Elizabeth said, the remnants of her disastrous training session all but a memory in the citizens' head now. "Let's do it here." A brief discussion followed the two girls, the exact place and time, the prelude to her performance, what song she was going to perform, all condensed between the breaths of two teens in a shopping district.
"N-now, I have to say that your singing voice was slightly… lacking. But I'm sure with Amadeus' help, you can at least put on a–"
"No."
"E-eh?"
"...I'll do it by myself."
Elizabeth had fire in her eyes.
Marie almost took a step back from the fierceness in her voice, not directed to Marie, but to Elizabeth herself.
Marie had doubts, she heard firsthand just how Elizabeth sang. It was selfish, only serving to please her own ears. It was admirable in a few ways, but not something Marie would show to a crowd as big as this.
However, when Marie looked into her eyes now, there was something else, something reflected in her eyes now that wasn't herself. It was determination now, not mere desire, the queen saw.
She wanted to sing for someone else now.
Marie's lips curled into a smile. How could she deny her that?
"...Very well."
The future queen of France stepped forward. The busy street paid no heed to her as she made her way over to the middle of the city's center, a good few hundred meters sprawled out in a square with many citizens walking in and out of it.
Marie's eyes surveyed the square, finding the most strategic place that would draw the most eyes to Elizabeth.
'...There.'
The queen took slow steps to the place that would set the stage for Elizabeth's performance.
Paris kept moving, blissfully unaware of the miracle soon to take place in their ears.
Marie reached the point, she took a deep breath, and composed herself.
"Viva La France." The queen whispered.
"The Stars have granted France its radiance." Marie Antoinette's noble phantasm. What was it truly? Love. For France? For Its people? For Its royalty?
"And all is as it should be." It was a castle, a palace, but why did Marie's love take the form of a palace? Was it her hidden disdain of the people that called for her head? Was it the memories of her time with her husband and son? Or was it simply for the shining brilliance of the palace itself?
What was Marie Antoinette's love?
"The Lovable Brilliance, for Eternity." It was all of them.
For even when she truly hated her life, her people, herself, her eyes never could look away from the brilliance that washed over France.
"Crystal Palace!" Beloved Radiance for All Eternity
A blue hue gathered around the city square, and people finally did take notice of the young queen in their midst. They whispered to each other in unease, was this another dragon attack, they wondered. Unease gave into confusion when the light gathered in the shape of a building, with parents pulling their children away from touching the structure of light.
Marie looked at the building, her noble phantasm taking form, Crystal Palace, as she used the time to retreat behind the structure, away from prying eyes. Even without the queen, the palace took shape and the people's murmurs grew even louder, the slightly out of place stage in the middle of the palace's courtyard only serving to grow more confusion.
Marie turned her attention away from her noble phantasm to Elizabeth. She too was gazing on her soon-to-be stage with awe, but Marie couldn't help but chuckle at that.
Truthfully, Crystal Palace was not the palace where she resided in life, that would be Versailles. In fact, the Crystal Palace that the citizens were now gazing in awe upon was a replica of London's Crystal Palace, something that Marie never saw herself. It was, after all, built after her death.
So why was it the manifestation of her love?
Well, because she loved it.
There was no other reason.
Maybe this was the perfect stage for Elizabeth Bathory. A palace by a French queen modeled after a British building built after her death for a Hungarian vampire that craved to be an eastern idol.
It was all wrong, but it also felt so right.
"...Thank you, Marie."
"You're welcome, Elizabeth. But are you sure you don't want anyone else to help?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "...I have to do this alone. I need to prove myself." To the other servants, to herself, to her one and only fan.
Marie smiled and nodded, before making her way onto the stage manifested by her own noble phantasm.
The nervous murmurs of the crowd stopped at the sight of the girl, they were still on edge, the queen could tell.
She had modified her noble phantasm slightly for this one occasion. It was smaller than usual, to fit the venue. The stage, and every musical instrument and equipment was all Amadeus' doing, so perhaps it could be said that the venue was a result of their collaboration. Who knew just being a servant known for music allowed you to do such things?
Marie tapped the microphone on stand lightly, the impact resounded all over the venue, bouncing off the wrapping shape of her own noble phantasm. The large echo silenced the remaining whispers of the citizens, confused at the technology centuries beyond them, their eyes now situated at the girl on the stage.
Marie took a deep breath.
"Y-yahallo!"
…
…
…
'I-is that not what is trendy in the east right now?' Marie thought, forgetting for a moment that she was not in the east, nor 'right now'.
Nervous, Marie turned to look at Elizabeth. The excitement and anticipation in the idol's eyes were enough to push her forward.
Marie cleared her throat. "Bonsoir, Mesdames et Messieurs. My name is Marie Antoinnete. Fear not, for I mean no harm." She began. The tension considerably lowered, though she still felt the suspicious gazes laid upon her and the wariness of the loud volume the speakers produced. "No, I am here to present to you all a most magnificent production. I am sure that the recent attacks by The Witch have left you all in… somber moods." There were mutters again, though now the tone was different, more down, like the way some of them hung their head low. "As such, my associates and I have taken it upon ourselves to hold a show here in Paris to bring you a form of entertainment the likes you have never seen." Marie looked towards Elizabeth again, she nodded.
"So, without further ado, our first performance of the night, Elizabeth Bathory."
Elizabeth Bathory stepped onto the stage.
She could hear her own heartbeat ringing in her ears.
The crowd was silent, and perhaps they, too, could hear her heart. If they did, what would they think of her? They didn't even know what she was going to do. In their eyes, she was just a girl with stage fright.
The idol's hands trembled as her fingers slowly curled the microphone. What should she say? A polite 'good evening'? A thunderous 'Hey! What's up!'? Open with a joke?
…No, none of those.
She just needed to sing.
Her grip on the mic tightened, and she leaned forward.
She closed her eyes. She wanted to be heard, more than anything else. When those guards locked her in that tower, all she could do was wail endlessly. She knew they heard her, she knew they shunned her, she knew they pretended not to hear her.
She closed her eyes because she was afraid to see the people's faces. She never cared about them until now, as long as she was heard, she was an idol, that was how she thought of it.
But…
"You got one right here."
…she had a fan now. A fan that was watching her.
More than wanting to be an idol that was simply heard, at this moment, Elizabeth Bathory wanted to sing, to impress, to make her one fan happy.
So, Elizabeth took a deep breath, opened her eyes, then sang.
Achilles let out a huge sigh.
'Man… This sure turned out to be a big waste of time.' The rider thought. They prepared all night, ade a pretty long trek to Paris, even had the venue scouted… just for Eli to fail at the last hurdle.
Maybe he shared some of the blame, he probably should've asked his duet partner to at least one practice song before they got to Paris.
On the other hand, maybe he didn't, maybe no one did. His master could be kind of odd, but he always had solutions to problems. Maybe this was actually some sort of ploy using her horrific singing? Though it sure sucked that he didn't bother telling Achilles about it if that was the case.
'Well, whatever, not like I was meant to do this anyway.' Achilles grumbled internally. That dragon girl just saw him and decided he'd be part of her group! He wouldn't have even joined had it not been for his master!
So, Achilles started to walk back to the inn, turning his back to the center of Paris that would have been their stage.
…
…
…Ah, who was he kidding? He had been looking forward to it!
How could he not? His master's words got to him! Being a hero by bringing festivities to people? Yeah, that's cool!
And, well, he was a bit hesitant to admit it, but Eli did make an impression on him. Seeing how much she was looking forward to it and how confident she was made him want to get on the stage too! He even memorized the songs Murasaki wrote, not that he was going to tell anyone.
Achilles sighed again. "Maybe I should go to the girl, at least." He muttered. Checking in on her was the least he could do, as one half of their canceled duo, he owed her that much.
So he went back, only to find Elizabeth missing.
"Huh, coulda sworn she was here." Achilles said, looking around for the idol before the sound of many footsteps caught his attention. 'Boy, there sure are a lot of people over there.' He thought, looking over towards the commotion.
"...Huh?"
"Did you see Marie, d'Eon?"
"I'm afraid not, Lord Mozart."
Amadeus nodded in response, before looking around the area. It was rather large, almost spanning a kilometer if his eyes were correct. It would be hard for him to find her without actively looking for her. The composer sighed, why did Marie have to be like this?
Maybe she was simply feeling down over the cancellation of their 'show'. Amadeus, in his part, could not be more glad of it. Pairing the musical instruments he had created by God's blessing with that voice would be damn near sacrilegious! Though, he supposed he did feel some disappointment towards the fact that the stage he and Marie had planned and prepared together would never be used. A chance to work together with her, after so long, after both of their deaths, snuffed away just like that.
'I suppose I should go look for her, and I can just do that, but…' Amadeus looked towards d'Eon, and they too stared back at him.
There was an implicit agreement between their eyes. Amadeus had suspected that they were compromised. He and Marie were summoned together, so there was little reason for mistrust between the both of them, but d'Eon was not. They were summoned by the other Jeanne d'Arc, and though they said that they were willing to go against her orders, Amadeus doubted that they were.
Or that they could.
Still, until one of them drew the first blood, this would go nowhere. For now, d'Eon was just a spy, to whom, time would tell.
"...Do you hear that, Lord Mozart?" d'Eon asked, their eyes breaking contact with Amadeus' as they shifted their gaze towards the city center. Amadeus would have accused them of trying to change the subject, had he not heard the same sound.
"... She's singing."
Murasaki looked worried as her master buried his hands in his face.
"Umm, master? It's a shame about Lady Bathory, isn't it?" Murasaki asked.
…
…
'O-oh no…' Murasaki thought.
It was a sight she had thought impossible, like the idea of The Emperor's brother-in-law shooting arrows at the previous Emperor. But she supposed, just like how that happened in her life, her master failing was possible too.
His competence at every single thing he did gave her the idea that he was implacable, his will impenetrable. When he suggested the idea of an idol show, something The Grail gave her very limited knowledge of, she had trusted him regardless of her own inexperience with the matter. That was why she had agreed to write most of the songs as well, if someone like him could believe in her, then decided she would believe that she could too.
So, seeing him like this… It was demoralizing for her, to say the least.
Though, she couldn't blame him too much. She supposed she was disappointed as well. She didn't know very much about Elizabeth Bathory, so she spent hours on the books in Chaldea's library to get more information. And, well, in the process, she supposed she became invested, in the bloody legend of Hungary's vampire, of her death, and now, her dream.
Murasaki stared at her master for a while longer, before sighing. 'I suppose… it's fine for us to mourn for now.'
Murasaki walked closer to her master, intending to join him to sit in silence. 'Misery shared is misery halved, after all.'
But, when she got closer, something caught her, then her ears.
Slowly, Murasaki turned her neck, and there, yet another impossible scene was playing out.
'L-lady Bathory?! A-and she's singing so–!'
Before she could finish that thought, someone passed by her. It was her master, heading towards the idol.
It would take a few minutes before the novelist could break out her trance, all because she couldn't let go of one thought, maybe one she should've thought of before.
'H-had master… planned all this?'
King walked.
He would've ran too, if he could.
But the constantly growing crowd made that impossible. So he kept his pace normal as he approached the stage.
Were his eyes deceiving him?
Had she really pulled it off?
Did it all mean something after all?
The answers to those questions all laid in front of his eyes, on that stage, by that girl.
"Love is Dracul~ (Mornings are hell) So be kind to me~"
"Don't wake me up till the middle of the niiight~"
Elizabeth was singing.
Not one person in the crowd said anything, not Achilles, who King saw from the peripheral of his right eye, not Murasaki, who King saw catch up to him, and he didn't say anything, either.
They all just listened.
"My stomach is growling~ I need to feel alive~ (One piece of toast won't cut it)"
The soft, gentle voice of the idol didn't quite match the lyrics of the song, but somehow, it felt like a perfect fit at the same time. It was like hypnosis, and all of them fell under her.
Elizabeth took an audible breath, perhaps unintentional, but the echo of air being sucked only served to enhance the atmosphere.
"It's a magical hunt~ I'm taking heads~ Let me lock you up once more tonight~ "
Her words trailed off, and with it, King's heartbeat synced with her voice, unaided by any instrument. It was an acapella, he hadn't even realized.
"...Ah, right, this is how it feels." King muttered.
He wanted to yell and shout at her, cheer her on like how a fan should.
But he was her producer now.
The most he was allowed to do… was clap.
It was the first sound that didn't come from Elizabeth since she began, and all eyes were directed at King, including the idol on stage. For once in his life, he didn't mind the unwanted attention.
She deserved this.
She'd done it.
She was a great idol.
To King's relief, the rest of the crowd followed suit, then one of them cheered, then it became raucous.
It was a success.
He finally attended an idol show.
He was in a crowd that cheered on an idol.
An idol he just heard sang beautifully.
King could die now and almost be happy.
Elizabeth's eyes met his, as if transfixed, though he supposed he was as well. He doubted that she could hear anything he had to say, so he saved it for later.
For now, both of them had to settle for the second best thing.
King gave a thumbs up.
Elizabeth smiled earnestly in response.
"Alright, everyone! Gather around!" Marie said, prompting the group to gather in a small circle.
"I've told them that we needed a short break to prepare for our next acts, but you can all hear that, right?" Marie said, gesturing to the stage, where even from behind the curtains, one could hear the excited crowd.
King felt the ground shaking. 'The crowd sure is big.' He thought. Way bigger than he had anticipated. There was like, what, a thousand when he came to see Eli? Seemed like it was increasing too. Maybe they can get two thousand heads here, five if they're lucky. He could say that it wasn't useless now. Perhaps he could actually turn this into something for Chaldea too, making Ritsuka's troubles worth something.
The one responsible for the success? There was only one girl…
"Elizabeth! You're up again next with Achilles!"
"Y-yes!"
Said girl nodded her head in affirmation, firm even when her voice slightly stuttered.
"Yo. Sorry for not believing in you, kid. That was amazing." The rider said, patting her shoulder in support.
"Hmph, I'd usually have someone tortured for that. …But I didn't believe in myself either back then, so I guess you get a pass." Elizabeth muttered, to which Achilles only laughed before going to his own station, leaving Eli by herself,
Seeing this, King approached her. There was a lot he wanted to say to her, but for now, he just wanted to thank her.
"Eli." King greeted.
"Y-yeah?"
"Thank you."
"Eh?"
"Thank you for being an idol." King said again, as honestly as he could. It was the least he could do for someone who fulfilled one of his dreams, one he thought he'd never see come true.
"...Yeah, guess I'm an idol now, huh?" Elizabeth said.
King smiled at her declaration. She had it in her after all! That practice session must've been a fluke! Right, that was definitely it. She was a spectacular idol all along. Though… he supposed that meant he was a horrible producer, huh?
"Yeah, and you did it all by yourself." King said. He didn't do anything for her, but she rose to the occasion anyway. He was happy for her, more than he was disappointed in himself for once.
"...No, you're wrong."
"Huh?"
"Without my biggest fan, I… don't think I would sing like that."
Her biggest fan? He proclaimed himself one of hers back then, but seeing how good she was, his half lie turned into a full truth. Considering her skills just now, she definitely had a lot of fans. She probably just lost confidence when he talked with her. It happened a lot with popular figures in his own world too.
'Her biggest fan, huh? …Wonder who they are.'
"Well, I'm sure they'll be watching you all night, so go ahead. Kill it." King said, giving her as much encouragement as he could. He should do that much as her supposed 'producer'.
"...Right! I will, Producer! Just you watch!"
'Well, she sure is enthusiastic." King thought as Eli ran over to Achilles, presumably to discuss their upcoming performance.
As King walked back to the designated producer's table, he saw Marie and d'Eon, who were both backup dancers now after Marie said she was 'swept away by Elizabeth's performance' and 'wanted a piece of the action for herself too'.
"Non, non, d'Eon! You have to do it… like… this!"
"W-wait Your Highness! You'll fall if you–!"
"W-waaa!"
d'Eon caught Marie just mere centimeters away from the floor, her hair already touching the ground.
…Well, he was sure they'd be lively, at least.
King sat down at his table, beside him were the two other people that would stay behind, Mozart, who King supposed was integral for the stage, and Murasaki, whose writings would finally see use.
"...If I knew this was the type of performance we'd be doing, I would have never lent my help." Mozart grumbled, creasing his forehead with his fingers.
"Well, we are doing this to save France too, aren't we, Lord Amadeus?" Murasaki placated.
"Yes, and well, I suppose her a cappella wasn't bad."
The performers gathered
"Are you all ready?"
An "Of course." from a smugly smiling Elizabeth, a "Hell Yeah!" with a fist pump from Achilles, a cheer from Marie, and a simple nod from d'Eon.
They were ready.
King nodded. They ran to the curtains, and the show was about to start.
"You sure are confident, master." Murasaki said.
King smiled.
Of course, he was nervous.
Nervous enough that his entire body would be shaking if he wasn't crossing his arms right now.
Nervous enough that he couldn't move his lips anymore after smiling sarcastically.
Nervous enough that he was close to passing out.
That being said, if he could say one thing, it would be…
"It's showtime."
Blood spurted on The Count of Wallachia.
His enemy clad in blue, though you'd hardly see it with the amount of crimson blood painted over his figure, laid stiff on the ground.
"Hmph, just a mutt in the end."
Blood had splattered everywhere, some was the Count's own, but most belonged to the Celtic Hero. The green grass had turned crimson, the roofs of some of the village's buildings were stained, and even the air assumed a red hue from the sheer amount of brutality they displayed.
But it mattered little now, the victor had already been decided.
The lancer took one last look at Cu Chulainn, before raising his own spear and delivering one last stab to the chest. No response, but his body remained. Well, he should die of blood loss soon enough.
Vlad III took out his spear with a gruesome sound, and turned towards the village.
"...Ah, you all saw me, didn't you?"
The terrified looks of the villagers answered him. He supposed a vampire did not make for a heroic sight, and if these villagers were to spread rumors of him, one of 'Jeanne d'Arc's paladin', being a monster…
"Then I suppose you will all have to die."
Screams of terror were like music to his ears. He loathed the saint graph he was summoned with, but the pleasure he derived from slaughter because of it was… welcome.
"Now die– Agh!"
A crimson spear pierced his stomach.
But it wasn't red because of his blood dripping down from the hole it made. It was red by design, which could only mean–
"Cu Chulainn–!"
A low chuckle. "Fucking dumbass."
The spear was roughly pulled back from his large wound, only worsening it.
Vlad turned back to face his opponent, yet in that miniscule timeframe, a dozen attacks were already launched.
The Count failed to dodge even a single one.
"Gah!"
"What do you want to say, hm? 'How is he still alive?' 'How is he so much faster?'" The blue lancer taunted, his form still eluding Vlad's eyes.
Another stab went through him, from his side, coming through his shoulder. Pain seared Vlad's body.
Another chuckle from Cu Chulainn. "Well, what you should be asking is: Why did I even choose to fight him?'"
The onslaught stopped, but Vlad could not retaliate, his wounds too large, too critical.
"Well, to be honest, you were never that strong. Honestly, even that red bastard would put up more of a fight right now." Cu Chulainn admitted, though annoyed, his voice was casual, like he wasn't covered in blood, like he wasn't in a life or death battle.
"...W-why?" The Dracula managed to ask, holding his gaping wound with one arm, while supporting himself on his lance with the other.
Cu Chulainn smirked. "I'll let you in on a little secret."
Once again, the Celtic Hero disappeared from Vlad's sight. He spun himself and looked around, until–
"Gack!" Vlad cried, his eyes instead meeting with the villagers', but they now looked… hopeful.
"People looove a good underdog story."
"W-when?" When did he make a mistake? Did he underestimate him? Should he have immediately deployed his noble phantasm? What misstep did he make in battle?
"Hmph, you got it wrong. Gae Bolg already pierced your heart the moment you made me your enemy."
Cu Chulainn forcefully pulled out Gae Bolg from Vlad's body. His heart was destroyed. He would die here.
Unless…
Another mist exploded where Vlad stood. Hundreds of bats filled Cu Chulainn's sight. One escaped.
The small, pitiful bat flew through the sky. He had to report to his master, he had to recover, he had to–
"Gae Bolg!"
A crimson streak soared through the yellow evening sky, and The Count Dracula was no more.
"Didn't I tell you? Gae Bolg already pierced your heart. Now, stay dead, vampire."
The spear zig-zagged through the sky, before returning to Cu Chulainn, who let out a sigh of relief.
"Phew. Man, that was annoying." The Celt said. Sure, he was faking his actual fighting ability and reaction to that guy's attacks, but the wounds? He couldn't fake that. Best to get to the rest and get some healing.
"U-um, i-is the monster gone?"
It was a young villager who first approached him, the elders still held their distance.
Cu Chulainn flashed a smile, his white teeth stained red, something that should terrify them.
But in this situation, that blood was the color of heroism.
"Don't worry, you're all safe now."
A clang, then a slash, another clang, another slash.
Saint Martha jumped backwards, as did Kojiro, but their states could not be more different.
"L-Lady Martha! Hang in there!"
The saint's white clothes were now almost completely red, ripped apart in a few places, along with patches of her skin and the muscle beneath, Still, she stood firm, refusing to give ground to her unscathed enemy.
Then, she struck again, swinging her staff-cross in wild patterns against Kojiro, none of which hit. But with every wound Kojiro dealt, the cheers from the soldiers grew louder, more ravenous, more determined. It was David against Goliath, and they all knew to root for David.
Kojiro looked to the sky and sighed in resignation. "Well, I believe you've won already, my lady."
The saint did not respond by words, but she stopped her offense.
For a moment, they only stared against each other. Kojiro's eyes narrowed and his grip over his sword tightened, she was planning something.
Martha clasped her hands, a silent prayer.
Then, the heavens roared, literally.
From the skies, an unholy mass of flesh and rock fell down like a star in front of Martha. Slowly, the dust settled and it revealed itself.
A lion's mane, a devil's face, a shell adorned with spikes, claws that could cut through buildings, a tail with the scales of a snake. This was–
"Come, Tarasque!" O' Tragic Drake Who Knew Naught of Love.
Martha rode on the dragon that she tamed, the view of the saint on top of the monster did little to faze Kojiro's guard, even as it prepared to charge him.
From over the shelled dragon's shoulder, Kojiro could see the shift of the faces of the soldiers.
A loud roar, followed by a massive claw to the comparatively miniscule samurai. By all means, no normal sword should be able to block, much less deflect something of that size.
But Kojiro was no mere man.
Monstrous claws met steel, it was deflected. Another swipe, another parry. A flurry of mad attacks by the dragon, none could get past his perfect guard. Even the beast Martha had summoned failed at damaging the swordsman.
Tarasque let out another roar, this time from frustration, and against the laws of physics, it jumped. It was faster than any creature of its size had any right to be, flipping to show its spiked shell to Kojiro intending to crush him underneath.
The ground shook, enough that one could mistake that a large magnitude earthquake had happened, but all that fell was a single dragon. The soldiers held their breath as they thought their leader had done it, though a color of wariness had filled their once clear eyes.
However, Martha, now standing on the upside down beast, knew better.
But knowing better didn't always mean you could react.
From above, Kojiro slammed himself to the beast with his sword pointed down. The underside was significantly softer than its shell, yet Monohoshi Zao still failed to pierce it.
Kojiro softly cursed under his breath, but he now knew where to point his blade at.
Martha barely had time to hold her guard up as Kojiro now focused his efforts solely on the rider, a flurry of attacks, all of them hit before Tarasque wisened up and threw him off. The damage had already been done, blood dripped down to Tarasque's head, a trail of crimson flowing through his eyes.
Tarasque stopped his onslaught and merely stared at the assassin in a defensive position. On his head, his rider said nothing.
Even having summoned the great beast that she had tamed, they were no match for the one who had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
"L-Lady Martha! I still believe in you!"
The saint glanced back at her soldiers, their support of her seemingly undeterred by the beast she had summoned. Kojiro noticed it as well, but what caught his eye most was the strange glint in his enemy's eyes.
For a moment, their eyes met, then Martha closed her eyes, and held her arms towards the sky.
A murder of crows screamt towards the sky, fleeing the skies. Suddenly, it was very, very quiet. The Japanese Swordsman had an expectation for what she did, but her soldiers were none the wiser as they kept cheering her on.
Those cheers slowly quieted down to fear when a horde of wyverns suddenly flew to their location, circling the skies like predators searching for prey. But some stayed firmly rooted on their feet, like trees trying to breathe life to Saint Martha.
For a while, Kojiro just stared at the scene before him. The saint who rode a dragon, the soldiers she was supposed to 'protect', and the wyverns that had just joined them
It was here that a revelation hit the samurai.
Not of Martha's intentions, he had always suspected it since their fight began. Not of the nature of her summoning, that was made clear by her lack of words. Not of their fight, he knew the double sided nature of it.
The revelation was of Martha herself.
He now knew of the woman that was called a saint, the lengths she would go to, who Saint Martha truly was.
"W-why are– Why are the wyverns not attacking Lady Martha?"
The soldiers' gazes finally questioned her, shifting from the dragon beneath her, then to the dragons above her.
Kojiro moved towards the soldiers.
Realizing the approaching enemy, the soldiers instinctively held up their weapons, but they shook in their boots. How could they not? This man had matched their leader, her dragon, what chance did they have? The soldier placed at the most forward closed his eyes in terror as Kojiro's sword approached him–
SLASH
–But it was not human blood that was spilled.
The soldier slowly opened his eyes, then he was frozen still. His comrades could only do the same, the scene in front of them was that unbelievable.
There, their enemy, the swordsman, Sasaki Kojiro stood…
…in front of the headless corpse of a dragon.
A dragon that their saint had just ordered to attack them.
"W-what?" Came from one of the soldiers, despair, fatigue, and most of all, confusion.
Time left them no mercy to cope, however, as another dragon descended upon them, followed by more, and then more until their numbers so grossly outnumbered even the convoy of men that was sent with the rider. One by one, the soldiers fell before the claws even reached them. On their knees, they prayed to their God, for themselves, for their family, for France to be saved from these dragons.
But Kojiro did not see dragons.
A swallow.
Another swallow.
All just swallows.
Faster than they eye could see, nay, faster than time could comprehend, those flying creatures fell one by one, sliced in threes.
From the reflection of his blade, Kojiro could see the eyes of the soldiers widen in disbelief. They would never understand how the man in front of them killed so many so fast, nor why he even went out of his way to do it. But they knew they were being protected, and that was enough.
In front of Kojiro, that same look was there, but it came from his fellow servant, and the question needn't be asked for him to know what it was.
But a noble phantasm this was not.
Just a fool's dream.
"Tsubame Gaeshi!"
A strike? Two strikes? No, Three strikes.
All done at the same time.
It was not hyperbole, it did not happen in the thousandths, millionths, or even billionths of a second.
It had all happened in one swift motion, from one man, with one sword.
It defied explanation, physics, common sense, but that was what it was, wasn't it? Just a dream.
A dream that defied the world, and won.
What should have taken at least an hour, happened in the blink of an eye, and the innumerable wyverns fell dead in one fell swoop, their corpses falling out of the sky.
Martha's eyes narrowed at her supposed 'failure', and Tarasque leapt at Kojiro, fangs bared and claws unsheathed. The soldiers watched in terror as the massive beast made his way to them, but Kojiro remained unfettered.
Monohoshi Zao remained ready as the dragon approached– but then it stopped just shy of his target.
Tarasque opened his mouth, the eye of the volcano stared back at Kojiro.
Kojiro glanced behind him. It was an inverted human shield. There was only one option.
The soldiers saw as the man that they were sent to kill jumped into the fire, literally, as he now stood on the tongue of the dragon.
The fire was fast approaching from Tarasque's throat, Kojiro could feel the immense heat on his face. Still, he took the time to feel his current footing. For a tongue, it was unbelievably hard, but compared to the rest of the beast's body?
A rushing pain struck through the dragon's body, and Tarasque roared wildly as he thrashed around the field. Wisps of fire came out of his mouth, then from it, Kojiro emerged, the hem of his kimono was charred, but otherwise, he was unscathed yet again.
A loud whack, and the dragon calmed. On top of his head, his rider's staff was planted upon his skull. They exchanged a glance only they would know the meaning of. Martha nodded, then Tarasque opened his mouth yet again.
The beast's tongue was ruined now, mere ribbons after the slashes Kojiro inflicted upon it. But his rider's will was far more important than his own pain. So, once again, fire came out of his throat.
There was no one to protect now, Kojiro thought, and as such, he jumped high into the air, avoiding the sweeping torrent of fire.
Though of course, the rider and ride had both expected this.
Tarasque jumped, fire still spewing from his mouth. In the air, Martha's cross was poised to finally strike Kojiro.
But they underestimated him.
In the air, Kojiro made a near impossible maneuver, gracefully moving his legs to both avoid the cross and land his legs on her shoulders. Then, he flipped from her body, launching him above both the ride and the rider. The flames only managed to graze the bottom of his sandals..
He drew his sword back.
Their eyes met.
A swift strike, and the saint was split in two.
Silence. The previously chaotic field fell into deep nothingness, even as the dragon remained, his body still as the two pieces of his rider fell from his form. He inched towards the upper part of her, she was still breathing.
A low, quiet growl came from Tarasque, while Martha smiled at her ride. For that moment, there was no one else in the world.
Footsteps on the grass. Tarasque looked up.
Human eyes met draconic ones, but mutual understanding was not beyond them, and it was all the confirmation Kojiro needed.
"I see. This has been your aim all along."
The words were directed at his enemy, Saint Martha.
The rider used whatever was left in the half of her body to look at the assassin. She could no longer say anything, but she shifted her gaze to her soldiers one last time. They did not mourn for her, nor were they throwing themselves against the swordsman in revenge. They were simply… apprehensive.
She had done it.
Martha looked towards Kojiro again, the last action she could take. In her eyes was a simple, earnest request.
Kojiro closed his eyes.
"Thank you. For putting your trust in me."
When he opened his eyes, the dragon and his rider were gone.
The sound of metal clanging against grass reached Kojiro's ears, and he turned to face the soldiers. In their faces were disbelief and denial, but also relief and a measure of trust.
"W-was she a…?" Whatever word the soldier would use to describe the saint that had just saved France trailed off. Perhaps the word was too bitter on his tongue. That was fine, Kojiro thought, he was sure the word would also sound bitter in his ears.
Kojiro closed his eyes.
She had sacrificed everything, her dignity, her legend, her life, even through the madness that her master had imprisoned her in, and saved people above all else.
Kojiro could do nothing but honor her dying wishes.
"Yes, she was."
Saint Martha, what a magnificent soul you were.
"Miss Jeanne! Mister Archer!" Mash said worriedly as she ran over to the two aforementioned servants, a trail of blood followed them as they walked.
"Is the berserker–"
"Yes. It was difficult, but we managed to overcome him." Jeanne said, answering Olga's incomplete answer.
"That can wait for later! You two are bleeding everywhere!" Ritsuka nearly shouted. Jeanne still clutched his shoulder, while Archer had a visible gash across his chest.
"R-right! Here, I have some medical supplies for you, Miss Jeanne."
Mash tended to Jeanne with the various bandages and small medicine, while Ritsuka used his mystic code to cast a healing spell on Archer.
"This should help you while you're recovering, Miss Jeanne." Mash said while applying the final touches.
"Right, thank you, Mash."
"We'll manage for now." Archer said as he looked down towards his wound, no longer bleeding.
"I have word from Romani that the servant signals close to Cu Chulainn and Sasaki Kojiro have vanished, and that they are on their way here." Olga said.
Ritsuka breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God, I thought everything was lost for a moment there."
"So? How is it here? What is the other team doing?" Archer asked, gazing towards the gate to Paris.
"We've refrained from entering until you arrived, but… how should I say this? Paris is… empty." Ritsuka answered.
"Empty?"
"Well, not really. I can hear some commotion from the city, but the streets near the gates were pretty empty." Mash added.
"...It might be dangerous. Let's travel by roof." Archer said, to which they all nodded.
True to Ritsuka's words, the streets of Paris were strangely empty, even considering that it was nighttime. What was more alarming was the signs that people had rushed to leave their stations, the few shops still active were not tarped, a few doors to houses were wide open, and even some dropped items littered the streets.
So, the group hastened their pace to the source of the large commotion, expecting for maybe even a fight, instead they were greeted with–
"If only it could be, just one more time
(To the bitter end in overdrive!)
Engrave the beat, flap your wings
'til you feel you are complete
(Fly high!)
Oh you tragic butterfly
Despairing, craving it, that singular last
ray of light still shining down on bitter wings
(Be reborn, climb out of hell born again)
(Let's fly high like a butterfly)
(You've dreamed long of this day, dream again)
So fly high again
(And fly high like a butterfly)"
It was Achilles and Elizabeth.
Singing.
"Like a butterfly
(To the bitter end overdrive)
(Burning out in an endless drive)
Soaring in the sky like a butterfly
(To the bitter end overdrive)
(Burning out in an endless drive oh yeah)"
There was a crowd too in front of them, a large one, likely at least half of the city's population in the large area.
And they were cheering, hard.
"(Fly like a beautiful butterfly)
(Fly like a beautiful butterfly)"
It was Achilles who finished the adlib, before he and Elizabeth struck a pose to erupting cheers that would put modern stadiums to shame.
…
…
…
The silence between them was deafening, only matched by the equally loud noises reverberating through the air, into their ears, beating with their hearts.
Jeanne had heard, and even at times partaken in, songs with her comrades after a long battle. But this… this was not that, this was something more grand, more special, more… inspiring.
"Jesus Christ."
"...Please do not use The Lord's name in vain."
"R-right! Sorry."
"Jesus fucking Christ."
"...and please do not curse his name."
"...I think he would understand, in this circumstance."
Jeanne didn't feel like she could argue with Archer, as much as she wanted to.
To their credit, Ritsuka and Olga said nothing for the remainder of the song, too entranced to grasp what they saw.
And Jeanne supposed she was too.
"I, uh, I tried to match the lyrics to Lord Achilles and Lady Bathory's personalities… I-I don't know if I did a good job…"
King chuckled. "Listen to the crowd, Miss Murasaki. You did great."
"...I suppose you're right."
"I highly disapprove of every single thing about this concert… but I suppose it does its job well enough for getting some attention." Amadeus said, twirling his wand with an annoyed look on his face.
'Well, someone's an elitist.' King thought.
The beeping of his communicator finally took his eyes off the curtains.
King picked it up, and from it was Olga, her face was a mixture of confused, impressed, and disbelief, all at the same time.
"King! What– How– Why–"
"It's just an idol show. My apologies for not telling you, but… Well, this was the most I could manage." King said, gesturing to the curtains in an effort to seem like it was a ploy to gain supporters, and not, well, to satisfy himself.
"But–! …No, I see, I see… Well done, you– No, just… Well done." The director said, looking tired as King could see her slump in her seat.
King winced slightly. Yeah, he supposed it was a pretty bad turnout for a day and a half's work. Only a few thousand people and it was only a concert.
The communicator stayed humming for the next minute as King watched the show go on, and a slight pang of guilt appeared in his stomach. Oh well, at least it wasn't completely useless for Chaldea.
"...I have to say, King, that's rather cunning of you."
"Hm?" Cunning? Him? What?
"I'm talking about that man– woman– person, whatever. Well, that Saber you've brought with you, Chevalier d'Eon. I don't know how you did it, but now we've uncovered the identity of one more 'paladin' and they're stuck with us for now because of Marie. Good job, King."
Oh, OH.
So that was why they looked so familiar.
King gulped, had his life come close to ending without him even knowing? How often did this kind of thing happen?
"Hard as I try, I can't even drink this pain away…"
The soft ballad took King out of his musings.
"...Memories of you, twisting my view, I've been a fool"
'Oh, that was the last song.' King thought as he peeked through the curtain to see Achilles bow to the cheering crowd. He wasn't some sort of vocal prodigy or anything, but he was certainly passionate, and that was the most important thing.
"King!"
The familiar young voice turned King's neck. It was Ritsuka! King breathed a sigh of relief, he didn't just inadvertently kill someone after all!
"Hey." King greeted back.
"King… You… built all this?" Jeanne asked, amazed. Right, he guessed for someone who couldn't even read until a few days ago, this was a fantastical sight.
But, it wasn't him that built this place, in fact, he barely did anything. "No, I just… arranged some stuff here and there." King answered honestly.
"I… see…"
"It's incredible, Mister King! So this is an idol show, huh? I-I read about it sometimes, but I've never dreamed of even going to one! I just– Wow!" Mash said, looking around the backstage area like a kid at a candy store. Well, she was a young teenage girl, King supposed. Idol shows were pretty popular for that demographic.
"I see where you're going with this." Archer said, chuckling. "You are quite terrifying, indeed, master."
'Terrifying?' What was with these adjectives people keep sticking on him?
"Good Evening, everyone!"
Marie's loud greeting turned everyone's attention to the stage.
'Right, the ending notes.' King thought. This was the last part of their concert. King wanted to shed a tear, all that hard work, those persuasions, he felt like he was part of it, dammit! Even if he didn't do anything on the actual day of the show itself.
"Please give a big cheer to our performers!"
"Fou!"
"And of course, our mascot!"
"...Oh, so that's where he was." Ritsuka muttered.
"You all had a good time, right?" Marie asked the crowd, eliciting a big chorus of "Yes!" that echoed through Marie's U-shaped palace.
'Man, that was loud.' King thought, maybe they did gather a nice crowd after all. A good bonus on top of his own dream coming true.
"Now, the day is closing, and unfortunately, we can't be here forever. But! We have some good news, but before that, let's welcome the person responsible for this show…" Marie continued.
'Huh?' What? This wasn't part of the speech.
"Please welcome, our President!"
'President? Who's that?'
"Ah, Lady Antoinette is calling for you, master!" Murasaki said, pointing to the stage.
'What.'
Before he could say anything, a few servants patted his back. Hard enough for him to stand up from his chair.
From that point on, it was autopilot.
'What.'
King didn't remember how he got on the stage.
"This is our Producer! Yet, he is also our President! Please give a big round of applause to King!"
'What.'
Suddenly a mic was on his hand, and he was in the center of the stage.
Up there, King was reminded of a random bit of trivia. People, packed closely together, didn't take up that much space.
Even knowing that, seeing some fifty-thousand people standing neck-by-neck didn't feel right.
"Alright! Now that we're done. I have to apologize to you all." Marie said from beside King.
"Truthfully, there is another reason why we held this show."
…No, there wasn't.
…Was there?
"You see… You've all been deceived." Murmurs rose from the fifty something thousand crowd. That number still didn't seem real to King, neither the concept, the possibility, nor the image.
Even when all of those things were right in front of him.
"Surely, you all know that there's a 'Saintess' going around city-to-city to vanquish the wyverns that are plaguing France… Well, I'll have you all know, that's a big, stupid lie!" The murmurs grew louder, and the brief silence from Marie even let some arguments grow. "Think about it!" Marie shouted, which silenced the crowd. "Don't you think that it's pretty convenient that every time she visits a city, dragon attacks would soon follow? and that, conveniently enough, her 'paladins' were always there to clean it up after people already died?"
Silence turned into whispers of agreement, before they grew louder, until the entire venue was united under that idea. All from a simple suggestion.
"Hmph, a cult of personality powered by a concert… Terrifying, as I just said."
King's head whipped to his left. 'Archer? What's he doing here?' And what did he mean by–
"If you're still on the fence, please let me pull you over with this!"
Metal clanged on the stage, and from the curtains, out came Jeanne d'Arc, the true Jeanne d'Arc. Her appearance drew gasps of shock from the crowd, but it would seem that Marie had done enough, and they slowly went back to silence, waiting for the next word.
"...Thank you all for your patience. This! Is the real Jeanne d'Arc. Now, I know that this city had a… tumultuous relationship with The Maiden of Orleans. However… I plead with you all to simply give her a chance, for the sake of France, for Paris, for your families."
Silence.
Marie handed the mic to Jeanne.
For a moment, the Saint seemed at a loss for words, but she steeled herself.
"People of Paris. Just two years ago we stood on opposite sides, you with England, while I with France. It was a fierce battle, and many lives were taken that day… some of it was yours." Jeanne began, the crowd's silence persisted. "You won our battle, a force of three thousand repelled ten thousand. I can attest more than anyone." A rustling of cloth, and the crowd gasped at the sight of a circular wound on the thigh of the girl. "That day, Paris defeated all of France, which is why I know that when even dragons threaten your livelihoods, you will not succumb."
A brief pause.
"I came not to beg for forgiveness, nor to erase what we did to each other. You… do not have to like me, we need not be friends. All I ask is that when I inevitably fight against the one who bears my face, you stand by my side. As a citizen of France, a citizen of Paris."
A thud, the mic was dropped to the ground, and Jeanne bowed down on her knees to the city she once took up arms against.
The silence continued.
Then, slowly, a clap, then another, then many more.
The crowd erupted, not to a ravenous cheer like they did for the idols, but to a respectful clapping for someone who deserved their respect, even if not their adoration.
Jeanne slowly stood up. She smiled, bowed, and took her leave.
Throughout all this, only one thought existed in King's head.
'What the fuck is happening?'
"Thank you, thank you. Now that you all know the truth, no doubt that the fake sSaintess will now see you as an enemy, but fear not! For our idol show will go on a tour!" Marie said, taking back her mic.
'...We do?' Even in his mind, King no longer had the capacity to deny.
"So, to spread the word and gather more allies against the dragon-wielding witch, please take some time of your day to send letters to your friends and families in other cities. To those planning to leave Paris, spread the word, too! To where? To whom? Doesn't matter! We'll hold a show in every city in France!"
King's head was spinning.
"Before we close the show! Some words from our president."
Suddenly, fifty thousand pairs of eyes locked into King.
A tour? Propaganda? All he wanted was to see an idol show! Help Eli reach her dreams! Why was he now–
King's brain stopped working.
There was only one thing he could say.
"Thank you for your time and…"
King's mind flashed towards the events that lead here, his promise, his lies, his moments of inaction–
…This was karma, he realized.
"...Look forward to it."
Hey
Summer Ibuki.
I got her.
That is all.
Later
Alright, alright. Let's talk about the chapter, for real this time.
This was pretty long, 40 pages on Google Docs, I think. Take it as my repayment for the last 2 relatively short chapters.
This was the plan all along, an idol show as a propaganda machine for the Chaldea gang. How did I come here? Fuck if I know, ask the letters pulling my fingers to the keyboard.
Also, if you're confused about Eli singing great, she could sing really good as long as she's singing for someone else and not herself. I don't know why this lore tidbit is stuck in my mind even though the only mention of it was the epiloge of the Mecha Eli Halloween event, and the only time we see it was the Cinderella event, and only very briefly in that.
A friend of mine asked me why Vlad lost so easily, and in case some of you will ask the same thing:
Cu Chulainn is fucking cracked actually.
Do not let Lancer ga shinda fool you.
Besides, surprise attack and all that.
The Kojiro/Martha fight did go longer than I intended it to, but I feel like I gave it a nice conclusion.
Also the songs? Yeah, Like a Dragon songs. Shoot me, I can't write songs for shit and actual songs feel like too much if I'm being honest, so yeah, video game ost it is. (As much as I would like them to just start rapping Kendrick)
Now that we've past what I had planned to be the climax, there's only like, idk, 3 or 4 chapters? maybe five if the letters that be want me to write more.
Oh, and about why these chapters are coming out so fast, we're reaching the point where I had actually mapped things out rather than trying to think of how to advance. Also my internship has a lot of downtime in between actually working, so there's that.
Also, if you were wondering, Summer Ibuki was NP1.
Later (for real this time).