He headed in by himself. Both Tuka and Lelei would likely follow him, but they would need to pack up their camp first. They would likely be annoyed at him, but Shirou didn't want to waste time.

While he knew that the two were at the very least capable of defending themselves, he was still much faster with his Reinforcement. And judging by how more and more smokestacks rose up in the air, time was very much not on his side.

Even a few minutes rapidly packing up might cost more than a few lives.

The smoke came from Italica, even if he didn't recognize the town, what with this being his first time seeing it. However, he highly doubted that there would be another city as big as the trading town and not be mentioned by anyone else.

No, this was Italica, and it was being sieged down. He could spot men and women, garbed in armor too well made for them to be just simple bandits. Not only that, but the tactics that they used were far more advanced than what a stereotypical bandit group would organize.

There were obvious gaps in the lines, but the general idea of a legion was there.

It only took a single glance at their swords and spears to confirm what he dreaded.

Deserters. From the armies that they'd routed at Alnus. And not the ones that were conscripts either. Career soldiers that had wanted to sign up for the Imperial Army. On just the handful of weapons he Traced from a distance, he could practically feel the glee they had as they carved through the residents of the city.

It disgusted him.

These people fled the battle when things looked bleak, wanting to live for another day. Not inherently evil, mind you. It was just basic human survival instincts kicking in, and one that Shirou wouldn't begrudge them on.

But they had to go and do this. He could see them charge up the wall with siege ladders, even as the small garrison of men on the walls tried their best to fend them off.

They couldn't. Not against professionally trained soldiers.

His legs burned as he pushed them to their limits. Shirou couldn't use his Tracing in plain view - the entire purpose of his disguise was to not let anyone recognize him. Unfortunately, that meant his bow was out of the question, as was 'Trace as many swords and throw them at the enemy'.

He'd have to go do this the old fashioned way.

A grim smile came upon him as he dove right in the thick of it, weapon already held in hand.

The gladius of Spartacus sang with blood as it carved a gouge through a man's back, not having noticed the charging Shirou.

To their credit, the bandits immediately noticed after the fact, turning around and facing him, shields drawn up in concert. As one, they closed in on him, spears and swords already stabbing forward.

He didn't let them.

Hefting the now very much dead man, he threw it at the organized men. They knocked it out of the way just a moment he did so, but it was a moment that Shirou took advantage of.

By running to the walls.

The sword in his hand cleaved through men and women alike. Even though he had half a mind to do so, he didn't let it go beyond what was reasonable for a normal human. If he did, he'd be breaking his cover before he even had the chance to fool anyone.

He reached the ladder before they could reach him, and climbed even faster than that. The moment he reached the top was the moment that his tenuous hold on the Madness Enhancement that the sword exuded broke for the briefest of seconds.

"COME! Form ranks, and we shall beat back these oppressors!" Shirou laughed maniacally as he stabbed his sword into a man's chest.

The gladius of Spartacus, though nameless and just as ordinary as any other sword of its kind. Normally, the Madness associated with Servants were tied with their Class. Not Spartacus, however.

His own brand of Madness, against the Roman oppressors that were responsible for his slavery, were so intrinsically linked to him that any item owned by him held that slightest bit of insanity. The chains, the helmet that he wore.

The sword he wielded.

And it just so happened that a raiding force, whose culture so closely resembled the Romans, against what is essentially an innocent town, will more than likely enslave the population, was his intended target.

The sheer conceptual existence that Spartacus' weapon held became more than a bit overwhelming when everything mixed together like that.

Then again, that bit of Madness might just be the thing he needed to sell this.

…

Princess Piña Co Lada, daughter to Emperor Molt Sol Augustus, First of Her Name, and tenth in line for the succession of the Imperial Throne. Titles and accolades given to her at the moment of her birth, never earned. It grated at her at times, to think that her beloved Empire would see her as nothing more than just another royal.

It was why, even when she was younger than she was now, she was determined to make something out of herself. It was the birth of the Rose Order, a selection of knights that first encompassed her friends, then others of promising status.

Piña was not deaf to the whispers that had plagued her and her knights. No matter how much they tried to hide it, she could tell that they believed this was nothing more than a flight of fancy. A splurge of indulgence given by the Emperor to his daughter.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Even her own father believed that she would give up soon after she had formed the knights at the tender age of ten.

She didn't.

She fully intended to have her knights be the best that the Empire could offer. She trained and bled with each and every one of them, leading by example. And slowly but surely, they reached that peak. While certainly, there were no army, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Piña was proud of that. She was proud that she proved those who whispered behind her back wrong.

But did she?

For all that training that she did, all that she and her Order went through, they became nothing more than glorified honor guards. Not once seeing true combat, only being sent as a showcase for the magnanimity of the Emperor.

That was why, when her father gave her Order a mission to Italica, to make contact, or even spy, on those on Alnus Hill, she took it greedily.

This was their chance. Their chance to prove that their time wasn't a waste, that they were worthy of their Order's name.

After all, what was braver than confronting those that had beaten back the legions of the Empire? To come face to face against the Men in Green and the Archer in Red?

Glory and respect. That was her goal here. One that anyone in the Empire would undoubtedly understand.

So, where did it all go wrong?

Was it when they arrived? When supplies to the city were unceremoniously severed by a group of roaming bandits? When they assured the townsfolk that they, the Rose Order, would defend them from a seemingly unnoteworthy band of brigands?

Or was it when they realized that these bandits were their own soldiers? When they breached the walls through aiming for the weakest points on the wall? When Norma, her friend and fellow knight, was surrounded by a textbook phalanx and speared to death?

Piña watched in horror as it all fell apart.

They wouldn't be able to hold. Not anymore. With the walls taken over, they had no escape. She was under no delusion as to what her fate would be. Princess as she was, she knew of the proclivities that the kingdom's men partook in, no matter her disapproval.

She fell to her knees as the invaders laughed as one, the screams of the townsfolk falling all around her. Her sword arm hung loosely, and the pain of the numerous wounds that had already been inflicted on her started to hurt.

They were right.

Piña should have given up. Maybe then, her allies and friends would never have been in this situation.

That was when he came in.

A shout came from the walls, as a body was thrown off the wall. This was not uncommon - it was happening all over the place even. She'd already seen it one too many times in the past few minutes.

What was uncommon was how she felt almost compelled to look. Piña had been told to never look away from her opponent, and though she still felt weak in the knees from her revelation, she did not once look away from the oncoming brigands.

Until that moment.

There, on the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs as he fended off five others surrounding him in a phalanx.

The red hair was a dead giveaway, as was the odd armor and the skill he showed as he fought off those that tried to kill him. Though she hadn't seen one in person, the various tomes and books in the Imperial library had described them almost to a tee.

A Celt. A warrior of near unparalleled skill, if some accounts were to be believed. And going by the way they also told of their love for combat, and the man's raucous laughter as he fought, she was willing to believe those texts.

And when he opened his mouth to shout?

"Man the flanks! Make these tyrants feel the oppression that they would have inflicted on you! For every drop of blood that they spill, pay them back tenfold! Let your blades sing the song of freedom!"

…Ha.

What was she thinking?

Who was she to dare to give up? Did she still not have her pride? If not a person, then as a citizen of the Empire?

Her fatigue still wracked her body, yes, but as she mulled the words of the Celt more and more, her muscles felt less and less tired. In the end, Piña took a breath.

"You heard the Celt! Get going!" She roared at the struggling militia and knights. Or rather, the previously struggling militia and knights. Whatever she felt, the second wind she'd gotten from the words of the red-haired man fighting on the walls, was apparently shared by all of them.

As one, a roaring tide of bodies came through. Through sheer force of will, and to the assembled defense's now sky high morale, they started to push back against the invaders.

"Hamilton, Bozes, go help the Celt retake the walls!" Piña's head was swimming with a plan. They only had one shot at this, and they needed to act fast, "Grey, take whoever you need and move to encircle them from the west!"

As her knights went to do just that, she readied her own sword. A feral smile crossed her lips as she dove forward with a roar.

She would survive, as would the rest of her Rose Order.

They will.

…

After a good hour of fighting, they managed to beat back the invaders. Piña had climbed to the top of the walls to watch as the remnants retreated into the surrounding woods, watching alongside the Celt and her knights.

In fact, she had been shocked into speechlessness as she saw Norma being patched up right there and then.

"Spear got knocked off course when he climbed on the wall. I would have died had it not been for him. I owe that Celt my life."

They all did.

She had thought it was nothing more than her own force of will that had let her beat back the exhaustion that she had felt earlier. It became clear that it wasn't just that, when everyone else suddenly were in the same situation.

Was this the Celt once more? She'd heard of the Celtic druids, but their library had no records of the magic that they used. Perhaps the man was one, and his words were just to mask his casting of it?

A thought for another time.

For now, she pressed an arm to her chest and gave a slight bow, "You have my warmest thanks for coming to our aid."

"Save your thanks for later. They will return soon." The Celt's golden eyes glared at the treeline as she nodded with a grimace.

"They will. With our injuries, we do not have a choice but to evacuate as soon as possible."

"They will harass you as you do so, you understand?"

"...Yes, I do, and as much as I hate it, this is the only option that we have that ensures us the most lives are saved."

The man hummed as a calculating gaze came upon him, "Not necessarily. Would you care to listen, miss…?"

The princess startled slightly, "Goodness! I apologize for my lack of decorum. I am Princess Piña Co Lada, of the Saderan Empire. I must admit, I am surprised to see a Celtic warrior near Alnus, and to assist as at that."

The Celt turned to her in abject surprise, something that never ceased to amuse her. More than likely, he had his own misconceptions on the nature of the Imperial family, just as she had her misconceptions of all the Celts being nothing more than barbarians.

"...Chulainn. You may call me Chulainn."

"Chulainn, I would be honored to hear of your plan."

…

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: FireRogueWolf25, brutalcrab and Tassimo.