66: Galahad
"-Go!"
The Castle Walls slam shut with a resounding crash. Natsuki Subaru will have to survive on his own from here on out. But that's fine. At this point, he's guaranteed to reach Paris, and at that point, 'victory is assured'.
…Unfortunately, that means my part is up. At this point, I can already feel it receding - the power of [Tactician's Command], which allowed me to stand and fight earlier, is all but gone. I suppose I ought to count my blessings - the very idea that the skill could function through proxy, via Gareth, is absurd enough on its own. It's my own fault that it wasn't enough, in any case.
"...What a blunder." I mutter as the chains bind me to the ceiling. It was an easy mistake to make. A foolish error that was just about impossible to anticipate - namely, the difference between fighting in my own body and that of Mash Kyrielight.
That is to say, the Homunculus girl is a good foot shorter than myself, with a shorter stride to match - and so I could not reach that man in time to prevent his Noble Phantasm.
"Gaaa…laaaa…haaad." That man rumbles in his madness, dragging himself across the red carpeted floor of [Dolorous Gard], towards me.
I am chained to the ceiling, with a broken arm, and enough blood loss that my chest is heaving for every breath and my vision is almost completely dark.
"I'm sorry." I apologize to the girl whose body I have stolen. "I'm so, so terribly sorry. But, Mash Kyrielight, if you can hear my voice… do not fear. It was I who thrust you into this mess. And I will not allow you to die for my mistake."
"GALAHAAD!" Roars that man, staring up at me. How chivalrous of him, to wait for me to come down to him.
With a heavy heart, I fully release my power.
My armor manifests fully, and strength surges through my limbs, the broken limb and injuries overwritten with the spiritual body of a Servant. At my hip, the all too heavy weight of a certain sword settles into place. With a flex of newly strengthened muscles, the chains shatter, and I fall to the ground below.
I will need to make this fast. This level of possession is completely unsustainable, and Mash Kyrielight's existence will be lost if I keep it going for too long.
And at the same time, if I push myself too hard, her body will most certainly give out on me, Saint Graph Ascension be damned.
That man has lost a leg, but that's all. He is still the mightiest Knight of the Round, and even without my handicap, I dislike my odds.
And of course, as my feet land upon the familiar carpeted floor of [Dolorous Gard], I can't help but recall - that man is my father. Glowing red eyes, black fog coating his body - none of that changes the truth.
"-Sir Lancelot, you're as insufferably self-centered as always. Must it really be my hand that ends you?" I ask through gritted teeth. "Must you truly make a kinslayer of me!?"
"Aaaah." He groans in the affirmative.
"Tch. If you're that obsessed with paying the price of betrayal, why not just hang yourself like Iscariot? You seem to have been content to imitate him before." I mutter angrily as I raise my shield towards him.
"Gaaaa…laaaa…HAAAAAD!" He roars, and charges me. Father is terrifically fast, even now, and I have mere moments to make up my mind.
It doesn't matter. There's only one option open to me now, no matter how much I may despise it. Even though the mere thought of using it makes me ill, even though I had sealed it and forbidden Mash Kyrielight from using it.
With a resounding crash, Father's blade meets my shield, gripped in my left hand. And with my right hand-
"-May God have mercy on me." With my right hand, I grip the sword I inherited from Sir Balin, all those years ago. As I begin to pull the weapon from its scabbard, a hole opens in my hand, blood covering the handle.
There are three prices to be paid for the drawing of this weapon. The first, a price of blood - upon drawing the weapon, a stigmata shall appear on my hand, to supply the color from which the Noble Phantasm receives its name.
"[Red Hilt]." The Sword of Certain Death is drawn. Flashing through the darkness, slipping out from behind my shield like a viper, I slash past Father's broken guard while he is still off balance from his attack-
At that moment, he loses balance, slips on the bloody stump of his leg, and falls out of the path of my swing, the sword missing him by inches. The [Protection of Fairies] - even now she gives him her protection. What a foolishly sentimental woman.
This sword is not easily avoided. The second price, the price of flesh - once swung, [Red Hilt] will always take a life.
[Red Hilt] is a sword that pronounces death. A Holy sword the sole principle of which is the fearsome, all-consuming wrath of God. Holy not for the metal it was forged from, but for the shard of the True Cross that its hilt was hewn from.
Luck, Agility, Strength - all these are insufficient. The wrath of God, poured out, can be avoided by one method and one method only.
Sacrifice.
Space distorts, and the blade hews through reality itself. The world splits in twain, its very texture peeling back. White light cascades forth from the blade, slashing through to the Reverse Side of the World, all the way to Avalon, the realm of the Fairies.
I receive only the briefest glimpse of her. A beautiful blonde woman standing amidst a field of flowers. In the instant before holy fire claims her, the Lady of the Lake, my adoptive grandmother, locks eyes with me. She gives a small, sad smile - and [Red Hilt] claims its due.
"...You idiot." I murmur from behind warm eyes.
This is the third price. The price of sorrow. No matter what occurs, no matter what circumstances it is drawn under - upon using [Red Hilt], I will regret ever having laid eyes upon it.
Even still, so long as Mash Kyrielight survives, I will bear this sorrow.
Reality folds back into place, and I slide backwards, finding unsteady footing once more upon the familiar floor of [Dolorous Gard], with my sword once more firmly within its scabbard.
For a moment, I try to get my bearings through the dark film of blood-loss, vision almost completely absent as the world spinst-
"[ARON…" -But there's no chance for that before Father lunges out of the shadows, sword raised.
"[Lord-!" I shout, raising my shield reflexively - but that's a mistake. It's a catastrophic mistake. My mana reserves are already dry. [Red Hilt] spent the last of them. There were a dozen other options, but I chose the worst possible one. At this point, only divine intervention will save me.
"..DIIIIIIGHT]!" Lancelot roars, light roaring forth from his sword.
"...Camelot]!" I finish the invocation, slamming the shield down in front of myself as my legs lose all feeling and my knees buckle. Desperately, I cling to my Noble Phantasm, as much to stay standing as to deflect the attack, praying with all my might for a miracle.
Please. Please. Just a bit more. I need just a bit more, from anywhere-!
Something touches the edge of hazy awareness. A hidden wellspring of mana, totally unnoticed until now - somehow, some way, it appears exactly when I need it, and I devour it with the greed of a starving man.
Life surges within me, my vision growing clearer and my body lighter, as my Noble Phantasm springs to life.
I brace desperately, trying to hang on - and find it shockingly easy, as Father's attack peters out near instantly. A moment later, his sword also falls to the ground.
Standing on unsteady feet, I peek out from behind the shield, and take in the sight.
"Aaah…" Groans Lancelot as his arms continue to dissolve into spiritrons. Painfully, he slides forward with his one remaining limb, only for that too to begin dissolving. Above my head, sunlight starts to filter in as the roof starts to dematerialize. "Aaaarrrr… thuuuur…"
"Wha-" I start to ask - and then it hits me. I let out a strangled giggle that slowly turns into a half-crazed laugh at the irony of it. "Ha… Hahahaha!"
Slowly, Father dissolves into nothingness, without me even needing to land a lethal blow against him. It was all useless. All of my fighting was pointless. I drew that miserable sword and slew Vivian for absolutely no gain.
He ran out of mana. Of all the stupid things… did his master stop providing for him when he used his castle? I know he can't exit it, could it be that stupid witch thought he was useless at that point and cut him off?
Of course, that leaves the question of where that mana came from. It certainly wasn't from Chaldea or Natsuki Subaru. Mash Kyrielight is the only one providing mana to this body, and though she is a homunculus designed to become a Demi-servant, I don't believe she had any such features as an emergency extra mana reserve built into her body.
"Then how…?" With some confusion, I consider the manners in which a Servant can obtain mana once more - from the Holy Grail, from their Master, from Mana Transfers, and…
From consuming souls.
Icy hands grip my organs. It can't be.
I try to switch back - to sink back into Mash Kyrielight's subconscious - and find nothing.
It can't be it can't be it can't be it can't be.
There's nothing there. An empty shell.
No. No. No no no no no nononono.
She was there. I felt her there, just a few minutes ago. I'm certain, Mash Kyrielight was still in this body just a few short minutes ago!
But that existence, which I had tried so hard to protect, is nowhere to be found within my awareness.
And the reason for that is-
The price of sorrow. No matter what occurs, no matter what circumstances it is drawn under - upon using [Red Hilt], I will regret ever having laid eyes upon it.
I scream.
Thou Shalt Surely Die: Red Hilt
Rank: A-
Type: Anti-Unit
Range: 1-10
Maximum Number of Targets: 1
The Sword of Certain Death, inherited from Sir Balin. A holy sword that behaves as though it was a cursed sword - so much so that later on in history the Church would denounce its very creation as a hubristic mistake, and seek to destroy it.
The operating principle of the weapon is "The Wrath of God", and as a result three prices must be paid to satisfy its wrath:
First - the wielder will be wounded each time he draws it, with the wounds intensifying each time.
Second - upon being swung, Red Hilt will always slay someone, usually the target, but there are circumstances under which the blow can be redirected. If another person willingly sacrifices themself to block the attack, they will perish instead. And if the target is truly pure and without sin, the blade will instead turn upon its wielder.
Third - Red Hilt distorts its wielder's destiny, such that he will always regret having used it. This effect is stronger the higher the user's Luck stat.
A/N:
To confirm - the Sword with the Red Hilt is one of Galahad's swords in Arthurian legend, though the redness of its hilt is actually variable - the cursed aspect is pretty consistent. Its previous wielder, Sir Balin, first uses it to kill(?) the Lady of the Lake(?), and gets kicked out of Camelot for it - and then goes around getting in all sorts of misfortune, leading up to him delivering the blow that wounds the Fisher King and kicks off the whole Grail Quest.
It's the Lance of Longinus that traditionally deals the blow, but when researching the red hilted sword I remember seeing a telling where balin used it instead - though now I can't find it at all, so maybe I'm getting mandela effected. Anyway, seeing it as interchangable with Longinus is why I made it also a crazy powerful holy sword. Might just change it to the Tyrfing knockoff it's most typically considered to be when we get to the big edit. We'll see.