The command room was deathly silent.
Every single personnel in the room was on their game, so to say. Though most of the work was now in the hands of the masters, that did not mean that they couldn't help, so whatever they could help with, they maximized.
It wasn't like this even an hour ago, Olga thought.
It was chaos, then. The way the room, including her, scrambled and panicked made her wonder if that was how the room was when she herself was rayshifted a few weeks ago. Well, maybe some of them were glad to be rid of their annoying boss, something she'd need to rectify, by changing herself.
But cooler heads prevailed in the end, or should she say cooler words did, courtesy of Ritsuka. And it was just as he said, this was their best, and last, shot. Either they defeat The Witch and Fafnir today, or this would be the last 'today' humanity would ever see. So Chaldea as a whole calmed themselves down, and zoned in on that one mission; defeating the witch, resolving the singularity, restoring humanity.
…She couldn't help but feel proud. Of Chaldea, whose skeleton team persisted even as the odds turned against them. Of Ritsuka, for stepping up to the plate when he was still for all intents and purposes a normal teenager.
And of herself, just a little bit.
"..."
She shook her head. There would be time for celebrating later, after the singularity was done and over with. For now, it was time for them to work, and the first thing that came to her mind was the catalyst that turned their surefire victory into a doubtful one.
"Romani, what do you make of this… 'Bune' person? I don't remember any famous figure by that name."
"..."
"...Romani?"
"A-ah, yes! I, uh, I don't really… know either, director. But I doubt he's human, honestly. I mean, he just shrugged off being stabbed according to Georgios! I think… he might be the same kind of being as Lev– or Flauros, director." Romani said through multiple stammers. The nerves must be getting to him too, Olga thought.
"...Lev, huh?"
…She hadn't been thinking about him all that much.
Maybe she didn't want to, or maybe she really had moved on from his betrayal. But regardless, maybe it was a good thing that the man, or even the name, had been absent from her trains of thought for a while.
'It'll bite me in the ass one day.' She thought briefly. And she supposed it was right despite a rising feeling to throw the thought aside. Another confrontation with him was inevitable.
'...But–'
She scanned the room around with her eyes. The men and women by her side fighting not only under her, but with her, even if she didn't know all their names (something she needed to rectify, again). Then, her eyes lingered on Romani, James, and even Kali. Finally, she closed her eyes, and two people crossed her mind, the two people on whose shoulders rest the fate of humanity, and who she needed to ensure would come out of the Grand Order alive.
'–I won't be alone when that time comes, not anymore.'
Were everyone here her friends? No, maybe none would call her by that moniker. She doubted even half of them held a favorable opinion towards her.
But she wasn't looking away from them anymore. She was the director of Chaldea, and if nothing else, they were all united under one common goal, together.
"Director! Ritsuka and the servants have departed to Orleans along with the soldiers!" An operator shouted.
Now though, there was one more thing to do before looking at the bigger picture.
"Monitor their path! Let Mash know every single wyvern that approaches their way! Romani, observe how much tougher they've gotten and relay it to Mash! James, try to find out what you can from what we briefly scanned of Fafnir!" She ordered left and right, and everyone followed them, replacing the room's silence with the click-clacks and pings of mechanical and digital keyboards alike.
As for her, she glued her eyes to the screen in the center of the room, and narrowed her eyes.
This was it, the final stretch to Orleans.
It was a mad dash to Orleans.
A rare sight it would be if one were to be stopped by bandits and ruffians every five meters they traveled.
And an unfathomable one it was when it was wyverns instead of bandits.
Yet somehow, that was the reality of the situation. Wings, fangs, slitted irises, the horizon did not even show in their eyes in presence of the wicked beasts that seemed hell-bent on stopping their journey.
"A-aaahhhh!" A scream.
A squelch.
"Nice baiting, man!" Achilles shouted, leaving the dumbstruck soldier to only nod nervously on his horse.
Of the twenty thousand men available in France's best and brightest, only five hundred were dispatched to accompany Chaldea's path to Orleans, with the rest stationed at various cities and villages in the event that the wyverns decided to change courses.
And out of those five hundred, not a single one stood a chance against even a single wyvern.
As such, the plan was clear; be bait, for the sake of France.
But with hunters like Achilles, Cu Chulainn, and Siegfried, their prey did not even get the chance to sink their jaws into the soldiers before meeting their demise.
Not all were on the frontline, however, as mortals were not quite suited for such a battlefield. No, most of them stayed far back, raining arrows upon arrows at the command of their leader.
"Lord Gilles, it is a pleasure to be riding with you again– the real you, that is."
"Commander Le Corbeau! The pleasure is all mine. It's been too long since I saw a familiar face."
The two men's horses neighed to a stop as they had their greetings. The other horses which their soldiers had ridden upon paid them no heed.
"...I must say, I have no idea that men are capable of being so… strong." The commander whispered.
"It took me by surprise as well when Lord Georgios first showcased to me his strength and abilities. A servant, he said he was." Gilles said.
"Servant? Like a maid?"
"No, it's just a term, I believe. The concept escapes me as well, but from what I gather, these servants seem to be… ghosts. Ghosts of heroes long dead, of our time, and in the future, summoned into our time." The marshal clarified, though his tone sounded like he was unsure of his own answer.
"...If I had not been dealing with dragons all week long, I would have thought you were drunk, Marshal."
"Alcohol would certainly be welcome right now." Gilles replied deadpan, eliciting a chuckle from the commander.
"...So, is Lady Jeanne one too?" The commander asked, the subject of the question did not need to be said for Gilles to understand.
"...I thought it was far too good to be true when I first heard that she came back to life, and it seems that in fact it was."
"Have you talked to her, Lord Gilles?" The commander asked.
"Not more than a few simple words during planning, I'm afraid." Gilles admitted, a look of regret flashing briefly on his eyes. "And seeing how the battlefield has drawn a line between us once again, I am unsure if I would have the chance before this is all over."
"But you will get the chance after."
"...That I will."
The two commanders of the army watched on as arrows upon arrows kept raining down on the flying wyverns. Most did no to little damage, but the very few that landed on their soft spots made them easy pickings for the servants, and to them, that more than made the effort worth it.
"Are you sure that's what you saw, Karna?"
"I am certain. Master King was holding on to Fafnir's tail, even as it ascended to the air." The lancer confirmed as he swiped his lance across another wyvern, bisecting it.
"With his bare hands?"
"Indeed."
"I see. What an interesting man…" Siegfried said.
"I don't really get it though, why'd he do that?" Achilles asked, pausing as he drove his spear through another wyvern with a grunt. "Couldn't he, like, take one of us with him or something?"
"Maybe, but he always does these things for a reason." Karna reaffirmed. "It could've been a simple accident, Fafnir's tail snatching him as he went to join the battle back then." The lancer summoned fire in his hand, and sprayed towards the surrounding wyverns who burned and fell as a result.
"...Or perhaps, he is simply refusing to let him escape."
"Ah, I get it. Once that dragon sees that master's literally on his tail, he got no choice but to run to his home base, huh?" Achilles said, chuckling.
"I see… Chaldea can detect the masters' position at any time, so it would be risky for him to split up from the rest of his cronies with practically a tracking device on him." Kojiro surmised even as his blade moved between the flesh of beasts. "That is before bringing up what Master King himself could do."
"You are right. A man of master's caliber could easily hold that dragon off by his lonesome until we arrive, or maybe even defeat him, should Fafnir be unable to summon more wyverns." Karna agreed.
"An implicit threat to head to Orleans, just by dangling off its tail… how magnificent yet terrifying, the man your master is." Siegfried said.
"It is a surprise that I have yet to become numb to it." Karna replied, chuckling.
"Well, all I'm hearing is that all of our enemies are shacked up in one place! So less talking, more killing!" Cu Chulainn yelled as he let Gae Bolg fly, the others' weapons soon joining in.
From a distance away, the other half of the servants, accompanied by their currently sole functioning master, fought their own battle, slaying wyverns whilst advancing towards Orleans inch by inch for every beast they slayed.
"So… King is with– on Fafnir, huh?" Fujimaru Ritsuka asked, his eyes trailing to the blue sky that showed itself occasionally among the wyverns. His hands loosely dangled around Mash's shoulders, something that should feel awkward, but he had grown accustomed to it over several days of city hopping that had no time for the speed of a normal teenage boy.
"According to Karna, yes, Senpai. On his tail, in fact." Mash said, before deflecting the claws of a wyvern. Said wyvern dived for another attack, only to meet its end from a few arrows to its skull.
"Forcing it to retreat to its allies through such a simple act, all in the middle of this morning's chaos." Archer said, nocking more arrows to his bow. "Hmph, now that's a genius."
Ritsuka could feel Archer's eyes on the back of his head with the delivery of those words, again. But he didn't let that stop him from moving– or carried by Mash, more accurately.
There would be time to stop and talk, later.
"I see it! Orleans' gates!" Jeanne yelled
"Fafnir…" Siegfried whispered as the sight of the dragon appeared in their eyes, circling Orleans in a loop.
"The wyverns are surrounding the gate!" Marie announced with fervor, pointing towards the gathering of wyverns that looked more like a hurricane than anything else with her finger atop her crystal horse.
"Damn! We can't break through that many while making it in time!" Archer yelled frustratedly.
"...I'll handle it."
Ritsuka's head whipped towards the feminine voice. "Elizabeth?"
The lancer in question stepped forward amidst the halted march of the army and servants, and planted her microphone down, its bottom half replaced with a metal pole that acted as a makeshift stand after the battle with Carmilla.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shouted.
The air rippled and groaned, and had Elizabeth not purposefully cupped her hand between her cheeks, hundreds of eardrums would have been busted that day. Instead, the soundwaves from her mouth made their way to the wyverns, and the wyverns only. And when those waves hit the beasts, they shrieked, then their eyes all moved towards a single direction in unison, a single person.
Then, they rushed.
"...Right, Elizabeth has the blood of dragons." Mash murmured. "That must be why those wyverns are reacting so strongly to her roar."
"...Are you sure, Lady Bathory? To be acting as bait now?" Murasaki asked, a pang of regret flashing through her eyes for a reason only she, and one other person, knew.
"Just leave it to the idol, here, okay~? Wouldn't want anyone else stealing my spotlight." The idol replied, flashing a confident smile, like an idol should.
"...Got it! We'll leave it to you, Elizabeth!" Ritsuka said, before giving a signal to others to dash for the gate. As they did, the wyverns ignored them in favor of the girl. The young boy shivered slightly as he felt hard leather occasionally graze his hair as he and his servants made their way to Orleans.
Soon after, they became dots in Elizebeth's eyes, then disappeared as the faint sound of wood breaking down made it known to the servants and soldiers left behind that they made it.
It was now just a matter of faith.
Not that they had it easy, either.
"...So, why are you still here?" The lancer asked snidely towards the shade of green hair in her peripheral.
"Don't mind me, I'm just here to make sure a certain European lizard doesn't ruin the plans of my Anchin." She said with an equal amount of snark in her tone. "...Are you sure you want to do this, Elizabeth? You might never see your president again."
"Heh, right back at you. Why don't you go back running to your 'anchin' or whatever?"
"Hmph, I'm a believer in fate, you see. Even if we are to separate now, surely the stars will allow us to meet again, whatever form it may take."
"...Ugh, creepy."
The pair heard footsteps coming from their rear, distinctly different from the metallic clangs of the soldiers who stayed to help.
"We're staying too. I'll be damned if I let your voice overshadow my music." An arrogant male voice sounded.
"What he meant was that we can't let you two do all the work here! So we're here to help!" Marie said, putting a hand on Amadeus' shoulder in a scolding manner.
"Hmph, suit yourselves." Elizabeth huffed, twirling her microphone-lance into an attacking position.
"I hope you servants are ready. There are more wyverns than our very human soldiers. That is how outmatched we are." The voice of Gilles sounded, and accompanying him by his side was Georgios. Behind them, rows of rows of archers readied their arrows, waiting for the hand of the commander to go down.
"Fear nor, Marshal. Neither we nor the beasts are afraid of death, but–"
The rider drew his sword, and pointed it towards the beast his blade had become familiar with.
"–they did not have to fight for that privilege like we do."
Slowly but surely, the distance between the wyverns and the army began to disappear, and fire, blade, crystals, and sound were all raised in defiance.
But even so, humanity still had some fight in them, at least to support these heroes that had come to save them, even if it was only the barest of supports that they could give.
"Fire!"
So, it was the commander's order that signaled their last stand.
'...Hey, maybe this isn't all so bad.'
That was the first thought that ran through King's mind after an uncomfortably long period of silence within his own head.
He'd gotten himself to a comfortable position– well, as much as you could stretch the definition of the word 'comfortable', anyway. Now, his legs were no longer dangling on the air, but instead rested on stable platforms (he ignored that they were protruding spikes that he had to periodically adjust his feet over) and his head found a soft enough place to rest on (the occasional pulsing of his headrest was all just in his mind, surely. Surely).
'I always wanted to go skydiving at least once in my life.'
No he didn't.
But anything that could take his mind away from the literal gravity of the situation was welcome.
'Man, ain't this a nice place to read some manga?'
His delusions and distractions were becoming more of a reach as time went on, which he realized yet tried to ignore; to acknowledge it would mean to know, realize, and deal with the fact that he was still too far up in the air to do jackshit about his whole situation.
'I sure am looking forward to playing Doki… Doki… Sis…'
Right, Doki Doki Sisters 2.
The game that his console was probably running right now.
A console whose player could not play, because he was flying atop of a moving, fucking living, thing.
"..."
His hands trembled, his lips quivered, and his eyes were starting to roll back into his head. Any more and foam would drip from his mouth down his shirt.
The delicate web of lies he had constructed to himself as means to protect himself from what was actually happening finally snapped under the weight of reality.
And so did he.
'AHHHHH! SOMEBODY GET ME OFF THIS FUCKING THING!' He screamed, or tried to, more accurately. His mouth was open, agape even, to the limit his jaws would take it, but his thoughts did not translate into sound no matter how much he wanted it to.
He couldn't call for help, couldn't see anyone coming to help, and he sure as hell couldn't help himself.
So, King, S-Class Hero Ranked 7th, The Strongest Man in The World, went back to the thing he knew best.
Giving up.
'...The dragon already saw me, so it's just a matter of time until he throws me off.' He thought listlessly, relaxing his entire body in lieu of energy. He only hoped that a fall from this height meant an instant, painless death.
Despair was a most familiar feeling to him, but he always did come out unscathed in those monster attacks that led him to his current reputation in his world. Of course, after he knew those unscathed attacks came from an actual person, it brought closure to his questions of 'why'.
That same knowledge only brought him dread now, because, naturally, Saitama wasn't here, and like would never be.
So King simply laid there, limp, his eyes half lidded in an attempt to sleep it off. Maybe death would come easier if he slept, he thought, but the sounds of rushing wind and sizzling flame made it hard to make that plan a reality (or a dream, whatever).
'...Wait, flame?'
Now he was on a dragon, and those typically did breathe fire, but why would it do it now, and say, not when it saw him?
So, fighting against his own fears and the wind, he opened his eyes, and saw Karna.
At first, he felt a modicum of relief, as much as he could while flying some few hundred meters above ground. But then, he saw flame, from Karna's hands, and that relief backflipped and made a perfect landing that tripled his prior fear.
And when those flames rained down on the dragon's body, his fears became reality.
King yelped for every flame that came far too close for comfort, though all silent as it would seem that his throat had yet to remember that it existed.
What was the lancer thinking?! It wasn't like he had any way to protect–
'Oh, god damn it, that's exactly what he's thinking, isn't it?!' Not like he could say anything either, because what would you think if the guy who 'stood toe-to-toe with servants' and 'planned a propaganda right under everyone's noses' suddenly couldn't even swat away flames?
So, King's mind woke up from its despair-riddled state and ran as fast as it could. His eyes flickered towards Karna, spraying his arms while balls of fire shot out of his hand, and those flames in turn fell indiscriminately all over the dragon's body (and almost on him, too). A spray and pray, from a divine being, coincidentally.
Either way, a solution instantly hit him. A spray and pray was good and all, but against a single, large enemy? You target the weak points. Video games told King as much, and hopefully this translated better into real world application than standing in the middle of a battle did.
So, he forcefully turned his neck and opened his mouth– but it happened again.
Air barely flowed out of his mouth, much less sound, and he realized; nothing but the loudest of yells could force its way out of his excruciatingly contracting throat.
So that was what he did.
"KARNA! GO FOR THE WINGS! THE WINGS!" He yelled, far stronger than he had ever yelled before. He didn't even recognize his own voice.
But it was precisely because of it that it worked, as Karna's eye gained a glint in them as he transitioned his aim towards his master's command, the dragon's wings. Immediately, the flames gathered at the lancer's hand, creating a bright light that King almost mistook for a second sun, fittingly enough.
As soon as King finished that thought, a laser beam shot out of his servant's glowing hands, far away from him and on the beast's right wing, burning through the leathery membranes that kept it afloat. It roared but Karna wasn't done, as in the blink of an eye, another cluster of light gathered on his hand again, and the dragon's other wing was obliterated, and King found himself feeling the descent in altitude happening.
King held to the spike protruding of its tail tighter and closed his eyes with his teeth gritted. It was scary, but at least he was going down now, and Karna should be able to–
'...Why do I feel like I'm going up again?' He asked himself, afraid of any possible answer. He opened his eyes, and lo and behold, the fucking thing was regenrating its lost wings. How?! Why?! What kind of God deemed it fair for something this big to be able to have fucking regen powers?! Even Zombieman didn't have any other powers!
"Xanthos! Balius! Pedasos!" A voice called three names that King didn't recognize, but he could say that he recognized the voice.
Achilles was flying in the skies, but it was not as if grew wings or anything of the such. He rode upon a chariot pulled by three horses, each powerful enough that King could see the definition of each equestrian's muscles.
'...Oh, that's why he's a rider, huh?' King thought, momentarily focusing on the eccentrically shaped chariot rather than his worsening situation.
The chariot drove as if there was a solid road in the clouds, in a spiral that ascended even beyond the dragon's altitude, leaving bright green tracks where it had flown.
Then, Achilles leaped.
The chariot was still running as he dove from its seat down to the dragon, to King. His eyes centered dead on the beast's body, his spear drawn as he accelerated to what King thought the speed of sound looked or sounded like with green energy flowing in his wake. Such was the speed of the rider that the dragon barely had the time to let out its roar before he made contact, and with its wings still incomplete, the force from Achilles' diving attack sent it down.
Good, King thought at first. Finally, back to the ground he had grown to miss.
Of course, the moment the dragon's body accelerated past even the fastest cars people could buy, that thought went out the window.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!' He had made a mistake, he realized. All he had thought of was getting down, and that was what he told Karna in essence, something the lancer had obliged him, wasn't his fault at all.
Usually, in these cases, they would probably swoop down and catch him so that he could safely descend back to the ground. But to reiterate, he wasn't ignorant, he saw how these heroes had seen him throughout this singularity. To his servants, this wasn't any man they served under, nor any common mage, but King. 'Surely, he had his own way of safely coming down, right?' was what King thought they must be thinking.
All because of the one or two times that luck was on his side.
…He really didn't think this through, did he?
King screamed as he held onto the tail-spike and skin of the dragon's tail as Achilles kept pushing the damn thing down, blissfully unaware of the collateral damage that would soon follow. The beast's tail flailed up and down, left and right, diagonally, and some other direction King didn't know existed. Or maybe that was just his breakfast that he desperately tried to keep down his throat. He didn't know why, he doubted a vomit now would change anything, for better or worse.
However, what hope did his hands, accustomed to keyboard and controllers, have against the sway of a dragon in the skies?
So he flew, for real this time, as in, his entire body was in the air.
For what felt like the umpteenth time in this singularity, King almost passed out, but this time, he really, really felt like he wasn't going to wake up if he did.
'Goodbye world, good luck Ritsuka, I'm sorry Saitama.' He fired off in quick succession. Three bullets in the chamber of the revolver that were his regrets summarized.
But as fortune, or perhaps misfortune would have it, this wasn't the end yet.
King felt something, something malleable but also tough. Was this…?
He opened his eyes again, he was still in descent, but now slow, controlled. He was staring into a black mass.
'STILL on the dragon?!' He thought, body limp and head lulling into the dragon's… whatever body part he was on now as his breath went from haphazard to slow and weak. His hands shook as he held on to the beast that both kidnapped him and served as his sole lifeline with all he had.
Then, it stopped with a shake, and so did he.
His teeth clattered as he, body shaking and soul dying, peeked his head over the dragon (he was at his neck, as it turned out. What fucking fun).
He was on ground once more, but the expected relief did anything but come to him. There were servants standing in front of the dragon, four, if the shapes in his blurry vision could be trusted. They were all in the outskirts of some large city, he could tell from the large walls to his left.
"Master! We've come to your aid!" Achilles yelled as he landed from jumping off the dragon, who immediately regenerated the wound his diving attack caused.
'Then why didn't you help me DOWN?!' King asked/shouted in his mind, his teeth digging into his bottom lip in frustration. But it was no use, he could be as angry, frustrated, and be in despair all he wanted; the truth of the matter would not change.
This dragon was his enemy, his servants were fighting it, and he was stuck on it.
And everyone seemed to assume that 'hey, it's King, right? He probably got an idea or something'.
Fuck off.
He could finally admit it, beg for safety, and with some luck, maybe even they would understand a moment of weakness from their master.
But if this damned dragon knew that he was actually helpless?
He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, two decisions that had similar chances of killing him regardless of the outcome.
What to do, he thought. Play the role of the competent master and go along with whatever bullshit his servants had conjured up to justify his position as an advantageous one? If they killed the thing, he'd live, if they didn't, he'd die. Admit that he couldn't do anything and was just grasping at the back of the dragon's neck so he wouldn't fall and likely get crushed under its feet? If the dragon reacted first, he'd die, if his servants reacted first, he'd live, but for how long once news reached the director?
Four outcomes, but only one choice contained even a single favorable outcome.
So King, a master of Chaldea against his will, lied again.
"...Kill this goddamn thing." He spat, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. There was disdain in his voice, more towards his situation as a whole than anything or anyone.
"Of course, master." Karna's voice came from beyond his vision, no doubt thinking the disdain was directed towards the dragon.
'...Ha. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.'
Finally, King arrived at the step beyond giving up.
Disassociation.
'...Just get it over with.'
"So, how's the situation?" Olga asked from a communicator in Murasaki's hand, a spare in case one of the masters was out of reach.
"Karna and Achilles managed to bring the dragon down with master's help, director. We're just outside Orleans' defensive walls." The caster replied, her eyes trained on the dragon seemingly content with standing idly as he towered over them.
"I see… Achilles, are you still able to continue after summoning your noble phantasm? I've heard that it costs a lot of mana, and judging by how the energy observation team just reacted, I… assume it's true." Olga said, the concern naked in her voice.
"Well, I just used them to go up in the sky, so I should be able to keep them around until I go for the killshot, maybe." Achilles said, panting slightly.
"Neigh! Stupid master! Maybe you shoulda trained better at air control like how Chiron told you! Neigh!" The white horse on Achilles chariot… said?
"...Forgive me, Lord Achilles, but your steed… can talk?" Siegfried asked, his mouth agape baffled in a rare show of surprise from the saber.
"Pretend it can't." The rider grumbled to Xanthos' neighs that sounded like mocking laughter.
"...Anyway, I'm sure– I know King did this all on purpose. So, stay on your guard, follow whatever orders he may give, and godspeed." Olga said, before the communicator flickered off, leaving the four servants and the dragon in a standstill.
"Lord Achilles, forgive me, but I am still somewhat unfamiliar with your master. Are you… truly sure he is planning something?" The saber that once slayed the dragon in front of them asked, a skeptical look transparent in his eyes as he watched the man with the scarred face hold onto Fafnir's neck.
"...Call me crazy, but he might, might, just be trying to strangle the damn thing." Achilles said, mostly dumbfounded but with an underlying awe in his tone.
"Perhaps, or maybe he's simply preparing to cast a spell in case we cannot defeat Fafnir by ourselves." Karna said. "Either way, with master breathing on your neck, you can't escape to the skies anymore, can you?" He asked, and though it came off as a taunt, it really wasn't.
"Hmph, no matter. Whether it be the earth or the sky, as long as our battleground remains this land. You will not win." The dragon boasted, though it was clear to the servants present that the presence of their master on his neck made him more than a little uncomfortable.
Still, the fact that it had yet to throw the first strike told Karna all about the confidence it held when it came to fighting them. Even if it couldn't beat them in firepower, it could outlast them in a battle of attrition until the wyverns overrun Elizabeth and the others, giving them a way to destroy France and fulfill the singularity's purpose.
"...Might I suggest we destroy every part of its body all at once? If we do so, then perhaps it would have no point to regenerate from." Karna suggested.
"No. Even if you annihilate him, with how greedy this country has become, he will simply manifest over and over again." Siegfried reaffirmed. "That is why we have split the teams this way. With my, Karna's, and Achilles' varying degrees of invincibility, the worst that would happen is a stalemate where neither party makes progress." He clarified.
"Which is why… Lady Murasaki, we're counting on you."
The caster could only give a slight nod. Her lips trembled still, as did her brush-hand. But she was there, standing against a beast far beyond what she could have ever imagined.
Though her body showed her very real fear, in her eyes shined an even more undeniable conviction.
"...Lord Bune, let us."
The dragon heard her, but it only did respond with a roar that rippled the air, and the blue fire from its mouth finally signified the beginning of the end.
The first move was Fafnir's, a torrent of blue flame razing the grasses beneath them as it made its way to its targets.
The second move was Murasaki's, a wall of letters once again forming a barrier in front of the servants, protecting them as it clashed with the fire.
Their eyes met.
This was it.
BUNE-FAFNIR
Dragon of Greed
"...Master, I will finish what you had me start." She whispered, but no longer of anxiety.
This, she would do.
Achilles' roar tore through France's blue sky, and the barrier dropped as she too went in on the offensive.
"...At any cost, I will."
Jeanne was running, this she knew for sure.
Where she was running, she knew that for sure too.
Why she was running, even that too.
But after she would stop running, that is when she no longer knew what she was to do.
The halls of the castle echoed their footsteps, with no other sound to interrupt the rhythmic footsteps of all six of them. It was empty, she realized. No wyverns, they were busy trying to destroy the rest of France, no guards, they abandoned that girl after a single rumor turned them off, and no king, because the one currently sitting on its throne could not possibly make its citizens follow even a single bidding of theirs.
And when their feet skidded on the shiny clean floors that perfectly reflected their images, and the door burst down unceremoniously courtesy of her lancer companion, the sight that greeted her was far more… pitiful than she could ever expect.
"...So, you've finally come." The girl that looked just like her said, though her hair was paler and her armor black as night. "Took you long enough." She drawled out from The King's Throne.
"Hmm? Wasn't it just you who's too much of a coward?" Cu Chulainn taunted.
Instead of the explosive anger Jeanne had expected to see from their previous, admittedly brief meetings, the girl just sighed.
"...Fuck, maybe I am, but who gives a shit anymore? Gilles, let's end this." She said, drawing her spear as the man beside her stepped forward along with her.
"Be careful! If these readings are right… then the holy grail is nearby!" Romani informed from Ritsuka's communicator.
"Got it, doctor. …I don't see it, though." Ritsuka said, squinting his eyes at the pair in front of them and around the room, only to fail at finding anything resembling the grail.
"Mayhaps they have hidden it somewhere. I believe we should defeat these two before we proceed to find the grail." Kojiro said, his sword aimed and ready.
The click-clacks of the girl clad in dark came to a halt, and Jeanne found herself staring at yellow eyes.
"...Jeanne d'Arc." She said.
"...It is I, indeed." Jeanne responded.
"...Tell me, why?"
"Why what?"
"Don't play innocent!" The girl snarled. "Why… reject me? You know that this is a part of you, but instead of hating the court that killed you, the corrupt church, and France, you fight for them?" She asked, incredulous.
This was it, Jeanne thought. She had arrived at her destination, and as if her previous doubts were no more than illusions, she now knew what she had to do.
But first, she'd entertain the girl in front of her. She deserved that bit of sympathy.
"Because I'm Jeanne d'Arc." She answered. Maybe that wasn't all, but if she were to condense it to a single sentence, that would be it.
There was a silence that wasn't all quiet, like the lack of noise had a pang to it that reverberated through her head. Her allies were looking at her with a variety of reactions, she could tell. But the one that she heeded attention to was the girl with her face.
She stood there, mouth agape, trying to formulate a response. But that was fine, she could take as long as she needed to.
Jeanne once feared her, looked away from her, but now, she only had sympathy.
"You… you… What kind of shitty reason is that?! Jeanne– Jeanne d'Arc was nothing more than a made up symbol! Just some girl that people propped up for no goddamn reason other than their own weaknesses!" The girl protested, more because she couldn't understand rather than because she was angry, Jeanne could tell.
"...Maybe. Maybe I'm still that– just a girl following voices she thought to be God to fight wars she wasn't prepared for and ended up killed by her very own people who came to see her as a heretic. But you know what? It was my choice in the end."
"And look where we ended up because of it! Did anyone riot to our deaths? Call justice to those who saw a girl burning alive and did nothing? No! We died for nothing!" The Witch hissed.
"...Is that all you are?"
"Huh? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Maybe I was a soldier, a saint, and ultimately a victim. But if you ask me who I really think I am, who Jeanne d'Arc is, what do you think my answer will be?"
"...What does that matter now?"
"...And what will your answer be?" Jeanne continued, ignoring the other girl's protest.
"I don't care for your games." The girl in front of her snarled, fangs bared, with flames rising around her.
"Then, a simpler question." One that had been nagging Jeanne in the back of her head ever since this morning, ever since she learned of King's ploy, and, in a way, ever since she was summoned as a servant here.
"Why 'Jean'?"
"...What? It was just a dumb name I picked in the heat of the moment. Hell's that got to do with anything?"
To most present in the throne room, it was a simple brushing off that the girl did, a scoff that was just expressed with more words.
To Jeanne, it answered everything.
"I see. Then, there is no point for us to talk anymore."
Words would deepen the invisible wound far more than blade could.
Jeanne threw her lance towards her opposite, taking the first strike, betraying the expectations of perhaps everyone present, but not enough to catch them off guard, as the girl deflected it with her own.
Having made the first attack, Jeanne too was the first to run towards the enemy, catching her weapon and swinging it back to her duplicate where blue surges of magical energy met relentless fire as the two poles clashed. Their eyes met, and Jeanne took a moment to simply stare. There was still purpose, or remnants of one at least, in the girl's eyes, and her gritter teeth told Jeanne that she still cared, still stood by something.
Good.
"Everyone! Follow Jeanne!" The voice of Ritsuka yelled. Jeanne heard the voice of rushing feet behind her and disengaged her weapon, jumping back a step. Then, she ran back in, now with a blue lancer and red archer right beside her.
"Gilles! Summon them!"
"At once, my lady."
Suddenly, a burst of magical energy leapt out from behind Gilles just as Kojiro engaged him. From it, black shapes spurted forth, the shapes of a woman holding a bow, a man holding a lance, and a knight with a sword.
And just as fast as they appeared, Cu Chulainn's crimson spear tore them apart.
"Heh, you really think cheap copies can stop me?" He taunted, but he then narrowed his eyes. His true target disappeared. A distraction.
Clang
Yet, it wasn't good enough.
"Try again in a hundred years maybe." The lancer taunted again, glancing back at the frustrated girl with a smirk as her pole failed to strike him. He changed his body position, letting the attack through as he pivoted on his right foot, before kicking her away with the other.
The girl grunted as she used the flag to stand upright, but before she could truly recover, Jeanne went in again. Fire grazed her blonde locks as the girl swung wildly at her. Jeanne knew that she was far outclassed in the matter of strength even if they had the same body. The two entered into a lock again, as Jeanne's knees started to buckle with her other putting far more force downwards.
Then, the sounds of arrows ripped through the air, and the girl screamed as two arrows penetrated her back, causing her to lose her balance on the clash, allowing Jeanne to push back and spin her pole before stabbing her with its dull bottom end, knocking her back.
Archer followed the attack, a flurry of his twin blades raining on the girl's defenses. What he may lack in strength, he made up for in skill and experience, something his enemy visibly lacked in one-on-one combat as a few strikes went through her defenses, a slash there, a wound here, and occasionally a sizable gash, while he himself stayed unscathed through blasts of flame and strikes of metal that she delivered with frustrated yells.
Eventually, she caught an attack, and once again it was a deadlock–
"Got you."
Cu Chulainn's red spear was advancing to her, but she caught it with her free hand. Yet the spear went in, still, drawing a few drops of blood as she grunted while holding its shaft in place.
On her right, her spear was still holding back Archer's swords, while her left hand was in a contest of strength with Cu Chulainn's own thrusting power, but both were in a stalemate.
So Jeanne took action.
"Haaah!" Jeanne let out a cry and advanced, spear pointed towards her enemy as she stepped forward, blue light emanating from its tip.
The Witch noticed and clicked her tongue, before stomping on the floor, prompting several pillars of flame to appear and made their way to Jeanne.
In response, Jeanne twirled her flag in front of her, creating a barrier that clashed with the fire, but the force behind the attack halted her advance. Jeanne could feel her feet breaking the floor as she tried to push– and fail against the fire, until eventually her foot slipped off the floor– yet it met another solid footing. She glanced back, it was Mash, using her shield to push her against the current of flames. They nodded to each other.
"Yaaah!" With a yell, Mash pushed her shield forward, and Jeanne flew towards The Witch.
Their bodies collided in a clash of magical energy, and in the chaos Jeanne heard the sounds of spear stabbing deeper and sword slashing through the armor.
The Witch's back crashed against the wall, almost breaking it apart as the arrows in her back snapped from the force. She panted heavily while using her flag as support, blood flowing from her mouth, nose, and the wounds throughout her body. She glared at her enemies, wounded, yet still defiant.
"Ugh!" Beside her, Gilles de Rais was cornered as well, his blade arm visibly shaking while his armor spotted a few scratch marks, all while not a hair was out of place on the head of Sasaki Kojiro.
"Archer! Finish it!" Ritsuka yelled, and less than a second later, a twisted arrow was fired from said servant's bow, creating an explosion large enough that the ensuing smoke covered the whole room.
Then the smoke cleared, and revealed a large hole in the wall.
"Tch, they escaped." Archer commented, crossing his arms.
"Ha! Shoulda had me do it!" The lancer said from behind him, which he refused to grace a response to.
"Damn it!" Ritsuka cursed. "We were so close!"
"Well, we know that we have them outmatched, at least." Mash placated.
"I guess you're right. Still, I didn't know Gilles was that good with a sword…" Ritsuka said.
"He's not. I think it might be simply the grail at play." Jeanne explained. Her friend had some skill with the blade, but most of his talents were always in tactics and leadership.
"He was defensive the entire time we locked blades. I kept my efforts conservative in case his noble phantasm was a trump card of sorts, but it would seem that I should've gone in for the kill." Kojiro mused.
"Either way, chase after them. Their signals are still within Orleans!" Romani said.
They jumped down said hole and onto the city of Orleans, and it didn't take long for Jeanne to feel a little nostalgic of the sights as they dashed past buildings and the like. These were the streets that she walked down in the downtime between battles, she remembered how it felt then, how each time it felt less like a respite and more of a countdown to the next scene of bloodshed she would oversee.
And it was on a certain crossroad that these feelings made her pause to a stop.
'...This place–'
"Die–!"
A loud bang, an explosion, and finally the sound of a body crashing through wood and stone.
On top of one of the buildings overlooking the small crossroad, Archer stood on top, bow in hand and an eye trained on the aftermath of his own attack.
Jeanne glanced briefly at him, then to the spot where The Witch had been shot to, and her eyes remained there, but it wasn't the sight of the smoldering girl trying to get herself up while dusting soot off her armor that attracted her attention the most.
"Good call, Master." Kojiro praised.
"Well… it just seemed kinda like an obvious ambush spot, honestly."
It was. No one with any prolonged experience of warfare would make that mistake.
'...But, she isn't, is she?'
Wordlessly, she walked towards the half destroyed building with the footsteps of her allies following behind her, and Jeanne inhaled a sharp intake of breath.
She walked into the building, decently large and four stories high, modest interior, and most of all, familiar, homely.
This floor, that painting on the wall, the furnitures half destroyed–
She knew this place.
But could she say the same?
"...Do you know where we're standing right now?" Jeanne asked, slowly making her way to the girl still struggling to get on her feet.
"Why the hell would I know? This is just some shabby old house for all I care." She snarled, managing to find stable footing and pointing the tip of her pole towards Jeanne, whose own flag was still standing upright.
"...I see." Everything fitted her assumption, but, for whatever reason, she wanted to get out more of the girl. "What about your parents? My overbearing father, my caring brother, my worried mother, and of course, my lovely sister– I remember all of them. But, what about you?"
"...All these damned questions, just what is your goal here, huh?!"
Jeanne looked away.
"I just… wanted to make sure who you really are."
"...And what's that supposed to mean?"
"...I don't know, but… I think you'd be better off not knowing."
"Wha–"
"You should heed her advice, my lady."
"Gck–!"
The sound blade entering flesh, all too familiar to Jeanne.
But, all her comrades were still by her side.
So she looked back towards the girl, the girl who now had a blade sticking through, a blade belonging to none other than her own aide standing behind her, Gilles de Rais.
"...What?" Jeanne gasped as the girl they had come to know as The Witch fell to her knees, the sword impaled through her chest clanging against the floor as she heaved forward. That mercy did not last long, as Gilles– or the man wearing his face, took the sword out, letting the girl's body drop down.
Blood pooled on the floor that Jeanne used to call home during her stay in Orleans, floor that she had almost deemed sacred as a safe haven from the war she threw herself into, and the blood seeping from a face that was familiar, yet a complete stranger.
"W… why?" She managed to croak out through coughs of blood and pleading eyes as she could barely turn to face the man that she thought was her closest ally.
"...You know, I think I deserve some reward for putting up with this for so long, don't you think, my lady?" He hissed, taking his sword in a manner Jeanne had never seen before, with his hands on the blade and the handle pointing to the sky.
Then, he raised it above his head, looked at the girl in the eye, and he struck her head with the sharp end of the crossguard, once, then he paused, he raised it again, and the blows that came after did not have the same mercy. Over and over he struck her, until the body of the girl went from shaking, to twitching, to deathly still, with the only sign that she was not dead yet being that her servant body had yet to dissolve.
"Do you have any idea– how much– I've had to shift my plans– just because of your– incompetence?!" He yelled, each pause delivered in conjunction with another strike. Pieces of skin, flesh, and even bone decorated the red pool under her head which the crossguard had been lodged into after a particularly powerful hit. Even through the macabre sight, Jeanne saw in her somehow still conscious eyes that lacked light that she was just so… confused, and hurt. She wasn't angry– no, she didn't have it in her to be angry anymore, Jeanne deduced.
Somehow, after all this, the man standing above her was still unsatisfied, lifting his sword off her head with a sickening squelch and above his head once more before–
"Stop!"
The words left her before she properly thought of it, as did her outstretched hand, and he turned to look at her, a smug sinister smile that seemed more amused than anything.
"Stop? Why, I was under the belief that we now have a common enemy." He said in a cheerful tone. "Even if it might be for wholly different reasons."
"...Well, if you wanna kill your only ally, sure, go for it. Just don't waste our time." Cu Chulainn said, though there was an apparent disdain in his otherwise dismissive tone.
'Gilles' laughed. "Well, we all need to have some color in our life, don't we? For me, the blood and despair of women suit me just fine."
"B-but there's no reason to go this far!" Ritsuka yelled, finding himself angry even when the one that was currently laying in the pool of her own blood was supposed to be his biggest enemy.
He sighed. "Sympathy for the devil, is it? Come on now, surely one of Chaldea's master would be better than. Don't you think Mister… Archer. Is that what you go by?"
Said archer stayed silent, simply glaring at the man while his twin swords rested by his side.
"...Chaldea? You know who we are?" Mash asked, alarmed.
"Of course! See, unlike this uneducated broad here, I prefer to know my enemies before fighting them." He said smugly, delivering a small kick to the immobile body of 'The Witch', which caused little more than a shiver through her body.
'...No, this isn't right.'
None of this was.
"...You're not Gilles."
"Well, not your Gilles, yes, but–"
"No, your name is not Gilles de Rais. You can't be the same man who rode into countless battles with me, tended my wounds when a stray arrow hit me, and helped me make my speeches when my country bum self gets the better of me. No matter how much you've fallen, how much you've done, how depraved you've become… Gilles wouldn't do… this." There was anger in her own voice she herself barely recognized, whether it was because of the sight of the bloodied girl, the man wearing her friend's face, or both, she didn't know.
But she knew that she had to have this one question answered.
"So answer me this, who are you?"
There was a silence that followed her question– no, a void of noise. Like the wind and birds lost their will to live all at the same time, leaving only ringing in her ears as she waited for her answer.
Then, laughter, boisterous, loud, and maniacal. Nothing like Jeanne ever remembered how Gilles laughed.
"Well, let me tell you then, and listen closely too, you bitch."
Bitch. A vulgar word, but not one Jeanne was foreign to. Bitch, whore, slut, none of these were off limits as to what her executors and detractors would call her in the lead up to her execution. But from Gilles' mouth? It was incomprehensible, before even taking into account who it was directed towards.
"I am caster, a servant summoned by my master out of the vestiges of the man named Gilles de Rais." He announced, arm outstretched while the sword was still in his hands, the crimson dripping down the blade to his pale face.
"W…what?" The girl asked meekly, somehow lifting her bloodied head to look at the man she thought was her ally, the man she thought was Gilles de Rais.
"Gilles de Rais was, let's say persuaded, to give up his role to a more fitting man for the job, you see." He explained. "He was too weak, too sentimental, too attached to the girl called 'Jeanne d'Arc', so much so that when summoned and tasked with the destruction of France, the first thing he did was 'create' her in his image and told her that she was the true Jeanne d'Arc, summoned to enact justice on this filthy country."
This time, the girl's eyes widened, the implication clear as day.
Jeanne looked away. The violence was a lot but she was used to it, but the look on the girl's face… It was too much.
"Ah… the look on his face when my master told him that he was no longer useful after he separated me from him. Something about 'Jeanne needs me!' and 'Please, don't do anything to her! I beg of you!' while I beat him with my sword I did you, girl." He said, looking down on Jeanne's 'other'. "You almost remind me of how pathetic he was. You two would have made great partners. Shame that you ended up with me in the end."
The girl said nothing, or perhaps she couldn't find the words to speak any more.
The man crouched down to her level, his purple cape slung over his shoulder, and gripped a lock of her pale hair on her forehead, and brought her face to his.
"So as you're laying here, no doubt in more pain than you have ever felt in your entire meager existence, know this, girl; you have never been Jeanne d'Arc, you are merely the imaginations of a madman, you are nobody– no, less than nobody. You are nothing. Your existence has no purpose, no origin to speak of, no right to exist. Why, you should thank me for trying to end it just now, really, and curse Jeanne d'Arc for taking that mercy away from you." He said in a sickly saccharine voice; she didn't respond. He sighed, then put a smile on his face before releasing his grip on the girl's hair, letting her head unceremoniously fall back to the pool of blood with a wet thud, and all Jeanne could feel was disgust at the man wearing the face of her trusted ally.
"She… she's what?" Ritsuka said, eyes darting from the girl, to the man wearing Gilles' face, and to Jeanne, repeating in several loops.
That was it, the revelation Jeanne came to by herself, spoken out loud by the savage in front of her to the whole world.
Jeanne didn't say anything to her 'other', she didn't want her to know, she wanted her to die thinking that as Jeanne d'Arc's true feelings, that she did her best and was simply thwarted by the side of Jeanne d'Arc's that wanted to save France, she didn't want her to die thinking that she was just someone else's idea of Jeanne d'Arc.
The look on the girl's eyes became vacant, empty, like nothing as the man said she was, and Jeanne cursed the fact that she had to know in the end.
'I'm sorry, I really am.' She apologized bitterly, but she didn't say it out loud, pity was the last thing she needed to hear.
"Stop this, whoever you are. That's enough. She… she doesn't deserve to hear that!" Jeanne angrily yelled at the man, who merely whistled as he made his way to them, leaving the unmoving, but still living body of the girl.
She had seen the signs. Gilles' sanity eroding when France slowly began to turn against her,
But this… this was something else.
"'Whoever you are'? ...Right, where are my manners? Let me introduce myself. My name is Bluebeard. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He bowed while stretching his left arm, a gesture of faux politeness.
"Blue… Beard?" Jeanne whispered under her breath. The name was a stranger, even if the face it came from wasn't.
"Bluebeard?!" Romani exclaimed. "As in, the fairy tale that people say was inspired by Gilles de Rais' serial killings? But, that was just a story! How– how do you even exist?!"
The man, Bluebeard, shrugged. "I don't know, and I do not care enough to find out." He smirked. "But what I do know is that my master ordered me to destroy France, and promised to reward me with a few female bodies to play with if I do succeed. So, here I am." He licked his lips and smiled, and Jeanne almost recoiled in disgust.
"...We won't let you." Mash declared, bringing her shield in front of her with an expression of raw fury on her face. Jeanne hadn't known the girl for long, but this was the first time she saw such anger from her, it looked almost… instinctual. But Jeanne didn't blame her, she too was feeling the same.
In a lot of ways, in the end this had nothing to do with her, did it? The girl laying in the pool of her own viscera was not her, the man in front of her was not a misguided version of Gilles like she once thought, and this conflict was much bigger than France. It was only because Bluebeard's master decided to start with France that she was even summoned to fight here.
A complete coincidence.
And yet, she was still angry, her entire being wanting to punish Bluebeard. Because he killed and assumed the identity of her friend, yes, because he was here to destroy France for the pettiest of reasons, that too, but most of all, she simply couldn't forgive causing so much pain in that girl that had the same face as her's.
She hated the look of despair that the girl now wore on her face.
So, more than anything else, her choice now laid on one simple reason–
"...Ritsuka– no, master."
"Yes, Jeanne?"
"Please, lend me your strength, and let us defeat him once and for all."
–to give that girl some measure of justice.
"Got it! I'll be counting on you too, Jeanne!" He responded, and flashed his command seals. "Everyone! Go after Bluebeard!"
He needed not say any more, and his servants all rushed the final obstacle to the singularity.
As Jeanne's flag neared him, grazing his armor, she felt something grab her leg, something slimy.
She glanced down.
"Tentacles?!" Ritsuka exclaimed, seeing the appendages belonging to sea creatures sprout out seemingly out of places where they shouldn't be. From the wooden floor, the stone walls, and out of thin hair.
Jeanne felt teeth sinking from tentacles on her leg and hissed, before cutting them off with a swift swipe of her pole.
The others did not fare much better, with Archer knocked away from a swat of the slimy extremity, Cu Chulainn tangled in a mess of them, and Kojiro facing what seemed to be a sentient mass of tentacles.
Among all this, the first thing Jeanne did was glare at the perpetrator.
Bluebeard laughed, first softly, then loudly, finally breaking into manic cackles.
BLUEBEARD
French Nobleman
But Jeanne was not deterred.
Whether he be a man, a demon, or something greater than she could comprehend, she would end him, even if it was the last thing she did.
For her if nothing else.
Archer grunted as a tentacle knocked him away, leaving his feet skidding along the wooden floor.
"Archer! Are you fine?"
He took a brief moment to glance at his master, his eyes filled with worry replaced with relief as Archer gave a small nod.
Ritsuka then turned back to the scene of the fight and started to give out orders, his eyes quickly looking at the mess Lancer had gotten himself into and telling him how to untangle himself, warning Kojiro of another of the tentacle entities stalking from above, ordering Mash to cover Jeanne as they advanced to Bluebeard.
It was too radical of a change of the boy who obediently stayed back when wyverns would assault them on the road and let he and the rest handle the work while Mash stayed back for the occasional stray attack at him just two days ago.
Archer couldn't deny it, he was worried.
Had it been easier since he once again played the part of a master? Maybe, but that wasn't what mattered.
"...Ritsuka."
There was a lot Archer wanted to ask his master, but he could condense it to just one word.
"Why?"
The boy didn't glance back at him, but the sudden, subtle jolt in his body and the end of his orders, replaced by him biting his lip, told Archer that he heard him.
Archer sighed. Fundamentally, did he have a problem with the boy's actions? No, not really. It would be great to have a second master, all things considered. If Ritsuka was just a little bit more experienced, maybe even just a bit older, and not a fresh-faced high school student just looking for some cash, he would simply let it play out.
As it stood right now, the only thing Fujimaru Ritsuka was walking into was death, and as long as there was a viable alternative, Archer would not simply stand and let it happen.
"Archer."
He turned to look at him.
"I–"
"Senpai! Watch out!"
Ritsuka barely reacted to Mash's cry before he found himself almost thrown out of the building. He barely managed to cling to whatever hit him, managing to find footing.
Archer jumped back the moment the attack was launched, a black mass of magical energy and tentacles casted in the form of a beam, aimed at Ritsuka, who Mash protected.
Archer nocked several arrows and fired them, and clicked his tongue when tentacles appeared right in front of Bluebeard, blocking them as he smirked while holding his hand outward, where the beam persisted.
He quickly turned to glance at his master and the shielder. She struggled to keep her feet planted to the ground as the attack kept pressing on her shield, while Ritsuka was right behind her, using his entire body to push back against hers.
To be honest, he wasn't helping too much. Mash still slid backwards along the ground, and he himself wasn't faring much better.
Yet he still gritted his teeth and pushed.
Archer narrowed his eyes.
"Ritsuka! Don't you care for your life?!"
"I do!"
Archer took a step back at the sudden, heated reply.
"Yeah, I wanna live! Of course I do! All I've done is just so that I can go back home and say good morning to my mom and dad like how everyday used to be!" He yelled as he kept pushing to no avail, his feet still dragging against the wooden floor of the building. If it were not for Chaldea's uniform, his shoes, and feet, would've long been pierced by shrapnel. "But– But I don't wanna live like that, either! I don't wanna live while knowing that I can choose to do something but choose to do nothing instead! I just can't see myself living by staring at the ceiling every morning knowing Mash and King are out there fighting to save my skin! It's– maybe it's just my selfish wish, but from the bottom of my heart, I want to help myself live!"
"Senpai…" Mash whispered.
"...Guess what I'm saying is that I want to live, but I don't want to live a life like that. That's all there is to it, to be honest." He said, this time in a low, but audible whisper.
"...Even if you might die with that choice?"
"I'll just have to trust that I won't. Trust Mash. Trust King. Trust you."
…
He sighed.
'...Heh, this kid. So goddamn stubborn.'
A pang of memory hit him, red hair and lighter skin, but mirrors when he looked into the eyes.
'Reminds me of someone.'
Too different to call them similar, but there was something there that connected the two. And no matter how much Archer wanted to deny it…
There was worth in that something.
So he thrusted his hand forward.
"Rho Aias."
Petals bloomed from his hand, and he launched himself into the path of the beam.
Black eldritch clashed with purple petals that bloomed into a gigantic flower that shielded him, seven layers coming into being in front of the flower head. Bluebeard gritted his teeth and yelled, and the beam increased in power and intensity, but he barely flinched as not even a single layer of Rho Aias fell.
Surely, whatever depths of hell Bluebeard dug into to summon these creatures were beyond his own understanding, but compared to the likes of Gae Bolg and Excalibur, it might as well be an ant's bite.
He glanced back at Ritsuka. The boy held his gaze at him, awe in his eyes reflected by the light his shield was emanating.
"I still haven't approved of you."
"Huh?"
"You're reckless. You're too young. Your body is too weak. Your tactical acumen is based purely on feelings. Your magecraft is barely functional outside of mystic codes. One misstep, and you'll find your head rolling on the ground."
Ritsuka winced. He couldn't deny any of that.
"Which is why I'll mold you."
Ritsuka's head snapped up.
"I'll train you as a fighter, a mage, and a master. Until you can stare death at the jaws and continue walking, live."
The master in question could only stare, speechless.
"...So, I'll be training you until you get my approval, got that?"
"...Yes, Archer!"
Archer.
Heh, how long was he going to go with that name?
The name was already starting to become stale in his ears.
"...Emiya."
"What?"
"Emiya. My true name. Just call me that from now on."
Ritsuka couldn't help but crack a smile, and he couldn't help but to share it. Now of all times, huh? How dumb.
But it felt satisfying, so much so that his smile stayed, even against the current of Bluebeard's onslaught.
"Now, master, can you distract Bluebeard for thirty seconds– no, one minute?"
"Yes, Arch- No, Emiya!"
The archer let out a chuckle. 'He didn't even ask why.' That trust was rather naive, Emiya thought.
But at the same time, it was mutual trust that allowed a master and servant to reach their peak.
"Cu Chulainn, Kojiro, go! Flank him! Mash, Jeanne, cover me!"
The aforementioned servants dashed before the order was fully given, Cu Chulainn dashing out of the grasps of several tentacles, while Kojiro slithered his way out of the sights of several sentient ones, with Mash and Jeanne retreating back to their master's side, each erecting a barrier of their own.
Bluebeard snarled as he tried to swat the two attackers away with his tentacles, very briefly taking his eyes away off Emiya
That small window gave Emiya all the time he needed.
He disengaged Rho Aias and it dematerialized, and the archer in red rolled away from the attack's path, landing a few meters square from the fray of the battle while the dark mass shot past him.
Emiya took one last look at Ritsuka, the young boy tirelessly giving out orders as he watched the many eldritch appendages sway from one corner to another, informing the lancer and assassin for their blind spots, while also watching out for the attacks directly aimed at himself while Jeanne and Mash played defense.
"...You got a long way to go, Ritsuka, but-"
A shade of red hair crossed his mind, the annoying gleam in those eyes flashing through. Reflected in those eyes were everything he could not agree with.
But as frustrating as it was to admit it, the outcome of that battle was proof.
Proof that worse had come out better.
"-maybe you'll manage, eventually."
Emiya took a deep breath, then exhaled it through his mouth.
He draped his left hand over his heart.
"I am the bone of my sword."
Hey
Cue the UBW Emiya theme.
Seriously, that was the main inspiration behind that ending scene lmao. Had that in the bag since probably I first thought of this arc, legit one of the first scenes in the arc that I thought of.
But, to the elephant in the room, Bluebeard, yes.
I'm surprised not a single person called me out for having caster Gilles act OOC. Maybe you can brush it off as him 'acting' for the sake of the propaganda, but if you paid close attention, he never drops this act, even when he and Jalter were alone because unlike Gilles, Bluebeard didn't even know who Jeanne d'Arc was. Furthermore, he never called her by name this entire time, when he almost always referred to her by name in the game. He also never indulged Jalter in the full scope of their plans, which I had no idea how no one called me out over lmao.
What I'm saying is, I've tried to subtly foreshadow this reveal, and the fact that no one caught on that something was off with him meant that either I succeeded, or failed miserably.
Either way, it came from browsing the fate wiki one day and seeing Blubeard's name pop up under Gilles' other classes lmao. So here we are, the true main antagonist of this arc, Caster Bluebeard. Also, I don't know if any of you even noticed, but from the previous chapter to this one, I have not referred to Jalter by a name, you can check. It ties a lot to what I intended the theme of this arc be, hopefully I won't need to spell it out for all of you to know it, I don't really want my writing to need me to explain it lmao.
Before I sign off, those name plates? Yakuza/Like a Dragon inspired, if you haven't already caught on. Dynamic Intros, if you will.
As always, tell me what you think.
Next chapter, Orleans ends.
Later