Sword of the People
Jeor Mormont could not believe his eyes. His disbelief was so overwhelming that he even closed and rubbed them several times, hoping to clear the mirage before him and return to seeing the harsh and cruel reality with clarity.
Yet, no matter how much the man tried, nothing changed in his vision. What shouldn't exist continued to shamelessly remain real and concrete, as if mocking the disbelief of the lords of the bears.
Beside him, the old bear could see that his son was immersed in the same disbelief, unable to comprehend how Ned Stark's bastard had managed to create yet another miracle.
A week. The boy had requested seven days to gather enough money to finance his ambitious and crazy projects. Though not in agreement with the bastard's plans, Jeor had generously granted him a week to raise the gold he needed.
The Lord had given his approval as a purely symbolic gesture, simply to appease the boy's insistence, fully aware that the chances of the bastard succeeding were next to none.
Jeor hadn't even considered the possibility of the boy raising the necessary funds. The likelihood of his success was so improbable that he wouldn't have given his approval otherwise.
From the beginning, Mormont had been against the bastard's plan, finding it too risky and idealistic to be practically implemented. There were simply too many variables, and a child couldn't have accounted for all of them. Even Jeor couldn't keep track of the new variables that surfaced each time he reviewed the boy's plan.
It was impossible for a child, no matter how intelligent or brilliant, to foresee every aspect of such a strategy when even Jeor, with his long experience and political skill, couldn't fully grasp every facet of it.
The old bear did not underestimate the bastard's genius, nor was he overly confident in his own intellect. He was simply aware of the greatest weakness of prodigies.
Thanks to his age, Jeor had seen the rise and fall of countless geniuses, men, and women who seemed blessed by the gods, and they all showed the same flaw.
An Achilles' heel that had led them to defeat. Even if Jon Snow stood out among all the prodigies Jeor had seen, it did not make him any less susceptible to this weakness—quite the opposite. In fact, he was likely even more prone to this fatal flaw.
Experience. This was the greatest deficiency of geniuses, a flaw that could not be compensated for by their extraordinary qualities, no matter how divine they might seem. It was a weakness that only time could heal.
This was because geniuses mistakenly believed that all men acted according to established and traceable rules of logic. That everyone, like them, saw only the easiest and most comfortable paths, and at a crossroads, would always choose the way that logically benefited them most.
What prodigies failed to consider was that not everyone shared their vision, and the paths that were crystal clear to them could be completely invisible to others. Thus, their enemies would not always make the most logical move, sometimes choosing a course of action that the prodigies would never have considered, no matter how foolish it might seem.
Incompetence, madness, pride, envy, anger—men could act driven by these reasons and many others, assuming they acted purely on logic or always chose actions based on it rather than on pure emotion.
It was these forces, often inexplicable to geniuses, that put them at risk and had historically been the cause of their downfall, preventing them from reaching their peak and thus changing the world.
Jeor did not want Jon Snow's name to join the many forgotten by history before they could leave their mark on it.
The old bear knew all too well that even the greatest of predators, when venturing into the world for the first time, was vulnerable. Even harmless herbivores, who would normally be their prey, could display deadly ferocity.
In ten years, after facing trials and tribulations of all kinds, Jeor was sure that Jon Snow would be unstoppable. His plans would be so perfect that they would have no gaps. But at this moment, with only his intelligence on his side and without real experience to prepare him for the true horrors and variables that wandered the world, the risk was too high.
The boy had proven skillful in his battle with the Ironborn, but the Lord of Mormont did not dare risk the life of his protégé, especially when the plan involved the wildlings.
Jeor knew from personal experience that the wildlings who lived beyond the Wall were harsh and often cruel men, like the lands they inhabited, ready to do anything to survive. In his lifetime, Jeor had seen these wildlings sacrifice even their own children just to continue living. They were individuals without honor or morals, obeying and respecting no one.
Negotiating with them was a daunting task, not only requiring a keen awareness of intrigue, trickery, and men unlikely to keep their word but also the fact that wildlings had no structured chain of command.
With a fractured power system divided into dozens, if not hundreds, of small factions, any agreement made with a single wildling could easily be broken or ignored by another. The world beyond the Wall was a lawless reality where no one could be trusted, and strength was the only currency that counted. It was too dangerous a place for Jeor to allow his young protégé to go. The lord could not permit a talent like Jon to sacrifice himself for a lost cause, even if it meant finding an excuse to prevent him from leaving.
Jeor, in fact, could not simply order the boy not to go after having promised that if he succeeded in raising the necessary funds, the bastard would be free to go. Breaking his word would be unwise; it could easily shatter the trust the boy had in him, something the old bear could not afford to lose.
Mormont believed that mutual trust was the foundation of any relationship, whether between superior and subordinate or between teacher and student. Without it, any bond created was weak and fragile, capable of being broken at the slightest strain.
To prevent this from happening, Jeor had to find a way to safeguard not only his relationship with Ned Stark's bastard but also the boy's life.
To achieve this, the old bear needed to tread carefully, seeking the best possible outcome without being completely burned in the process. In difficulty, unsure of how to achieve this, Jeor turned to his son for advice and help, but his son's eyes were still hypnotized by the enormous amount of gold the bastard had brought.
"How much is it?" the Mormont heir couldn't help but ask, ignoring the fact that his father was watching him, frowning.
"35 kilograms," said the boy impassively, as if acquiring such an amount of gold in just a week was a normal thing.
"That's equivalent to the sum of our income over the last three years," muttered Jorah, incredulous.
"With all this gold, I can't refuse," the Mormont heir seemed possessed, staring vacantly at the fortune lying at his feet.
"Jorah," Jeor reprimanded, finally noticing his son's state.
"Father, with this amount, Lynesse will finally be mine," a mad light seemed to burn in the man's eyes.
"With all this gold, no one will laugh at us anymore. The word of the Mormonts will finally carry weight, and even the mighty Hightowers won't be able to ignore us," thoughts of glory and success clouded the young bear's mind, fueled by his desire for his beloved.
"Greed is not a good counselor," Archer advised.
"Power and love bought with money are fickle companions, easily swayed by the slightest breeze," the boy continued, with a wisdom that exceeded what his appearance suggested.
"You're so obsessed with that woman that you can't even see the danger in front of you," growled Jeor, infuriated by his son's attitude.
"Even a child half your age can understand this. Love has made you blind, son," continued the old bear as he rose from his seat and positioned himself between his son and the gold, clearly disappointed by his behavior.
"Father, you must understand—" Jorah tried to justify himself.
"No, you must understand, son," the lord's voice was low and gruff.
"Your actions have consequences that go beyond yourself. The destiny and future of many people rest on your shoulders. Every action, every breath you take must be for their good."
"So I'm not free to have dreams and desires?" Jorah asked bitterly.
"I'm not saying that, but your needs must always come after those of your people," the old bear replied.
"Being a leader doesn't just mean enjoying privileges and benefits, but also putting the desires and interests of your people before your own, because it's only thanks to them that you enjoy the advantages of your position," Archer interjected, once again showing wisdom and a spirit beyond his apparent age.
"And what do you know?" Jorah asked, enraged.
"I only know that a lord or a king is nothing without their people, for they are the foundation of their power," replied the boy calmly, unaffected by the older man's angry words.
"The boy is right. Without anyone to rule over, even the greatest king is just an ordinary person."
"The commoners must obey their lord; it will never be the other way around," Jorah insisted, his pride too wounded to back down—a wound deepened by the fact that his father had sided with what was essentially a stranger instead of him.
"And tell me, what will you do when they refuse to obey your orders?" Archer asked, curious.
"I would force them," the Mormont heir instinctively responded.
"Would you send your army to repress their own people? Would you force a man to turn against his own family, to point a blade at his parents or his children?" Archer asked sarcastically.
"They've sworn to obey," Jorah tried to say, but it was clear that even he didn't fully believe his own words.
"Oaths and honor can only hold up to a point. Once certain strings are pulled, they can't help but break. And once freed, the hunting dog might just bite the hand that raised it."
"Those words are worthy of the Kingslayer," Jorah hissed, this time receiving a timid nod of agreement from his father.
"There may be many reasons to hate Ser Jaime Lannister, but killing the Mad King will never be one of mine," Archer said confidently, openly showing his support for the man who had killed his grandfather, though the two Mormonts had no idea of this familial connection.
"He broke his vows to do so; he's a man without honor who killed his own king."
"What is honor compared to the lives of dozens, hundreds, or thousands of innocents? What is honor compared to the atrocities that prolonging the war would have caused? How many more would have died before Aerys would have surrendered, if not for Ser Jaime?" The boy's words painted a harsh truth, setting aside the selfish concept of honor in favor of the higher good of the collective.
His words were powerful, leaving Jorah Mormont speechless and plunging his father into a contemplative silence. Neither of the two men had ever considered Jaime Lannister's act of betrayal from this perspective. Despite sacrificing his honor, the Queen's brother had potentially saved hundreds of thousands of lives.
The strangest thing was that this point was made by the son of the ever-honorable Lord Stark, whose animosity toward the Kingslayer was well-known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The irony was not lost on anyone.
"The truth is that rulers and subjects have a symbiotic relationship. Both need each other to reach their full potential. To achieve this, the people swear to accept their sovereign's orders as long as they are for their benefit. In exchange for this service, the sovereign receives all the privileges that come with the position. But the moment the ruler acts against the interests of the people, his position becomes useless and replaceable. After all, once a king is dead, another can be crowned."
The last part was said with such a sinister tone that it sent chills down both men's spines. The meaning behind the boy's words was all too clear—he was not so subtly declaring that if necessary, he would become the executioner to bring down an unworthy ruler.
"Whether it's gold, women, or any other vice, do not let them blind you. For the moment you lose yourself in your lust for them, you'll find me ready to make you pay the price for your actions," the boy warned as he stepped aside to give Jorah Mormont a clear view of the treasure he had brought.
Unconsciously, the man took a step back, realizing that this gleaming fortune was more like a gift from the devil. Accepting it without taking the proper precautions would be like selling his soul to the devil.
"Leave, Jorah. Let us be alone," the old bear ordered, trying to save his son, seeing him waver in the face of temptation.
"Father?"
"Don't make me repeat myself, boy," Jeor growled sternly, cutting off any protest his son might have made.
Offended and humiliated, Jorah had no choice but to obey his father's orders and leave the room, leaving Archer and his father alone. But his expression clearly showed that he had not completely surrendered.
Only when Jeor heard the footsteps of his son walking away did he allow himself to slump wearily into his chair.
"Before your father entrusted me with your instruction, I had intended to take the black and leave my place to Jorah. Did you know that?" the old bear asked.
Archer merely stared at the tired man before him, knowing that this wasn't a real question but rather a way for the man to vent.
"I believed him ready. He has always been an obedient and dutiful son who has proven his worth time and time again, both with the sword and with his head. But now, I'm beginning to have doubts," the lord grumbled unhappily.
"As you said, a true leader puts the well-being of his people above all else, no matter what he must sacrifice in return. It's a thankless job that only the strongest and wisest can perform. Until recently, I believed my son could be one of them." The man's words were raw and unforgiving, showing no mercy or pity for his own blood. Objective and impartial to the end, that's the only way to describe the old bear.
"I was clearly wrong. If even a child can see the pitfalls that wealth and power can bring, my son is not as capable as I thought. Though, in his defense, you are not a normal child, are you?" the man asked sarcastically.
"Calling you the devil himself would be more accurate. I'm not a fool, boy; it didn't take me long to realize you've orchestrated everything to lead to this result." Jeor accused, glaring at the boy.
"From the amount of gold you brought to the way you spoke, everything was done to not only reveal my son's flaws but also to force me to grant you permission for your mission." Despite the harsh words the man directed at him, Archer remained perfectly silent, showing no sign of nervousness or guilt.
"At first, I had no intention of keeping my word. I was looking for any excuse to stop you and not give you permission. But that was something you already knew—don't deny it," the man growled.
"I couldn't allow you to block me," Emiya admitted.
"And so, you acted ruthlessly, preparing everything to demonstrate your worth and abilities, even at the expense of my son's. I must congratulate you," the man said sincerely, despite his anger.
"A lord must be ready to do anything to achieve his goals and ensure the well-being of his people, even if it means getting his hands dirty. No price is too high when it comes to achieving results worthy of that name," Jeor said coldly, more like a servant of the ruthless Lord Lannister than the vassal of the honorable Lord of Winterfell.
"The ability to carefully plan a trap that reveals not only your adversary's weaknesses but also your strengths. This isn't something that can be achieved with mere talent or genius. It requires a cold, calculating mind that considers every possible variable. I thought it could only be obtained through experience. I was clearly wrong," Jeor said, reprimanding himself.
"No, you were right. Normally, this ability couldn't be obtained without decades of experience," Emiya admitted, knowing that the man's reasoning was entirely correct. The boy had only acquired this skill through centuries of experience in his work as a counter-guardian.
Naturally, for an ordinary person who knew nothing about the mystical side of the world, it was impossible to think that a child who had not yet entered puberty could, in fact, have lived for more than a thousand years.
"I'm simply a special case," Archer justified himself, finding that this was the truest and most sincere explanation he could give.
"There's no need to console me, boy. I can admit when I'm wrong," Jeor quickly dismissed Archer's words, clearly annoyed by the boy's attempt at reassurance, probably finding it too condescending for his taste.
"I'll keep my word. The wildlings are yours," the lord conceded.
"And what about the possibility of negotiating with them?" Archer asked, interested particularly in this point.
"A portion of the gold you've brought today will be allocated to your negotiations with them," the old bear replied.
"I don't need it. You can keep it all. I'll use my own funds to negotiate," Archer quickly declined the offer.
The boy's words left the older man stunned for a moment. He hadn't expected such a firm refusal. His confusion lasted only a few seconds before he slumped back into his chair, defeated.
"We've always been playing in the palm of your hand, haven't we?" Jeor asked with irony, already knowing the answer to his question.
"In one week, not only did you produce gold equivalent to our budget for three years, but you also managed to raise enough money to negotiate peacefully with the wildlings."
"At first, I gathered it as a precaution, in case my initial offer was deemed insufficient."
"But you wouldn't have used all of it just for that. I'm sure you intended from the start to set aside some as personal funds, giving you the autonomy to act independently."
"You're right. If I had accepted your offer and the financial backing of House Mormont, I would have been forced to follow many of your decisions and desires, as you could have threatened to cut off my funding. I would never have truly been independent in those circumstances," Emiya admitted.
"To be honest, I can't say I wouldn't have acted that way if necessary," Jeor acknowledged, revealing that, as Archer had suspected, his previous offer wasn't as generous as it had appeared.
"Fine. You'll be able to act with full independence."
"Will I still have the support of House Mormont?" Archer asked, his request audacious enough to make the older man frown.
"To get something, you have to give something," Jeor replied, not immediately granting the boy's request.
"Bear Island will have first priority on any goods I bring back from the negotiations," Emiya proposed impassively, clearly prepared for the old bear's initial refusal.
"I also want a 15% discount on all purchases," Jeor added to the boy's offer.
"7%," Archer countered, initiating the bargaining process, realizing that the foundation for an agreement had been reached.
"14%."
"9%."
"12%."
"Let's settle on 10% and be done with it," Archer offered his final proposal, tired of the back and forth with the older man.
"Fine, you'll still have my support and that of my house," the old bear conceded.
"Of course, this support will not be unconditional. I won't risk my people's lives for you," he added with a half smile.
"No matter how much of a genius you are, or if you're Ned Stark's son, if your actions put my people at risk, I won't hesitate for a second to bring my axe down on your head." There was an almost malicious pleasure on the old man's face as he echoed the words Archer had previously said to his son.
"I wouldn't expect anything less," the boy replied sincerely, instead of feeling threatened, genuinely happy to have received this warning from his mentor.
Jeor could only look on in disbelief as a child who hadn't even reached puberty displayed the courage and wisdom his son, his pride, had yet to achieve.
"You never cease to amaze me. I should be used to it by now, yet every time you show your worth, I'm even more surprised," the man chuckled sadly.
"In every word and gesture, I see the shadow of your father. Like him, you are someone dedicated to duty, who understands the responsibilities of a true lord." There was a note of admiration in the old bear's voice as he spoke of the Lord of Winterfell.
"I've lived a long time, boy. I still remember the reign of your grandfather and how proud he was of his eldest son, to the point that he couldn't see his flaws. Back then, I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to him. Only now, that I have become equally ignorant of my own heir's flaws, do I begin to understand," Jeor said, drawing a parallel between himself and the previous Lord Stark.
"It is precisely because I now understand why your grandfather was so blind that I can say with absolute certainty that, as horrible as their deaths were, the demise of your grandfather and uncle was the best thing that could have happened to the North," Jeor boldly revealed, catching Archer completely off guard, as he never expected to hear such words from a loyal northern vassal.
"What do you mean by that?" Emiya asked, his voice tinged with danger, almost as a warning for the old bear to tread carefully with his words.
"I'm just stating the truth, boy. The North is lucky to have your father as its lord compared to your uncle or grandfather. Neither of them was worthy of the title of lord, at least not in the way you or I understand it," Jeor continued, seeing that the boy wasn't interrupting him.
"Rickard Stark was an ambitious man, too focused on his southern desires to pay proper attention to his territories or the actions of his vassals. The Boltons particularly took advantage of this attitude."
The previous Lord Stark's hunger for power was well known. Just consider that all his children's betrothals were made in favor of great southern houses, even at the expense of marriages between his heirs and his vassals, which would have strengthened internal ties.
These actions clearly showed that the man was tired of being content with just the North and sought to expand his influence into greener pastures, an attitude Archer had no trouble seeing as having displeased more than a few Northerners.
"Brandon, on the other hand, was so arrogant that he was blinded by his own reflection. In his bravado, he dared to travel to King's Landing, to the presence of the Mad King himself, and demand the head of the crown prince. His demand would have been outrageous and could have led to his death, even if made to a wise and lenient sovereign, let alone to Aerys."
Once again, Archer had no argument to counter Jeor's words in defense of his late uncle, knowing well how medieval kings often punished crimes of lèse majesté.
"Remember this well, boy: the kingdoms didn't rebel because of your aunt's abduction or the gruesome deaths of your grandfather and uncle. To those unaware of the true facts, these may seem like the reasons that led to the rebellion against the dragons, but the truth is that until your namesake Jon Arryn convinced part of the Seven Kingdoms that Aerys was a threat to the survival of the other great houses, no one would have joined the Stark rebellion."
It was a chilling and harsh reality, but no less true for it. Only Ned Stark went to war because of the atrocities committed against his family. All the other great lords joined the rebellion not out of horror at the treatment of the northern lords.
The lords had moved only after Aerys had threatened the innocent, newly appointed Lord of the North, Ned Stark. Before that, the actions of the Targaryens—extreme though they were—fell within the king's rights to punish dissidents.
It was the demand for the lives of the young and blameless lords of House Stark and Baratheon that convinced the other lords to join the rebellion, fearing that Aerys, in his madness, might demand their children's lives as well, and thus the extinction of their own lineages.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Archer asked, curious.
"To show you that the downfall of your relatives, as terrible as it was, was partly caused by their own arrogance and ambition—two poor counselors for any lord," Jeor replied, once again leaving Archer with no arguments to contradict his words.
"That's why your father is a far better lord than either of them. Ned Stark may have many faults, but it cannot be denied that he has always acted in the best interest of his people—an honorable man, but also one dedicated to his duty." There could be no greater compliment. Jeor's words honored the Lord of Winterfell, and in turn, increased the respect Archer felt toward his tutor.
"And you seem more and more like your father's son each day. You're not guided by greed, pride, lust, or vanity. You know well that the most precious thing for a leader is his people, and you don't allow yourself to be misled by petty desires. These qualities, combined with your extraordinary talents, would make you a great lord—perhaps the greatest the North has ever seen, even more so than your father."
"I have no desire for thrones or crowns," Archer quickly denied any claim to his uncle's seat.
"Hahaha," the older man chuckled.
"If someone else had said those words, I wouldn't have believed them for a second. But coming from you, I have no doubt that they're true. Still, if life has taught me anything, it's that we rarely get what we want," Jeor's laugh faded, replaced by a solemn expression as he set his wise eyes on Archer.
"One day, you might not have a choice but to claim the throne for yourself. Your father knows this well. He never wanted it, but he still had to ascend to it. This could be your fate."
"The throne of Winterfell belongs to my brother. Nothing will change that," Archer replied confidently, certain of Robb's rise.
"And if he proves unworthy?" Jeor asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"That will never happen. Ever since we were children, I've taught Robb the principles and duties of a good king."
"I don't doubt it, but the fact remains that your brother could turn out to be a man unworthy of your expectations. When that day comes, I wonder, will you be as blind as I was, or as your grandfather was, or will you be a man of virtue and duty?"
The question made Archer flinch. The boy knew all too well what the man he used to be would have done. The person he once was would not have hesitated for a second to raise his sword against his own family if they became a threat to the greater good.
Emiya wanted to believe with all his heart that now, after enduring the hell he had gone through, he would never even consider such a course of action. But the reality was far more complicated.
The truth was that Archer didn't know how he would behave if he ever found himself facing a situation like the one the old bear had described. The core of an ancient soul like his couldn't be changed overnight, no matter how much he desired it.
"I may not have known you for long, but I believe I already know what kind of man you are," Jeor said with conviction.
"In two days, you will set out on your mission, once we've prepared a ship and crew. My sister will accompany you. I hope at least she proves worthy of my trust and expectations." With these words, the old bear dismissed the boy.
"Despite all your genius, you are still young. Don't burden yourself with too many dark thoughts. The situation I've painted might never come to pass," the lord almost tried to comfort the boy, seeing him still lost in silence.
"I'm sure that no matter what happens, whatever decisions you make in the future, you will always be a man of the people."
"A man of the people," Archer muttered absently as he left the room. It was a title somewhat familiar to him from his service under Alaya, where he had been given the name Sword of Humanity.
It was a title he associated with boundless pain and suffering, the consequence of his time spent in what could only be described as hell. Though different from the one the old bear had bestowed upon him, it was also similar in some ways.
That small resemblance alone filled Archer with disgust, forcing him to hold back his urge to reject the title and all that it represented.
Yet, despite this deep desire, there was something that kept Emiya from completely discarding the title—the image of a woman who, through her actions and ideals, had more than anyone else shaped his soul.
A woman who gave everything for her people, who fought to the last breath to give a voice even to the weakest. Arturia's reign was far from perfect, but no one doubted that she had always sought to advance the interests of her subjects, even at the cost of alienating some nobles.
Her actions were so significant that they left an indelible mark on history. Her figure had become synonymous with nobility and chivalry, inspiring many to act for the greater good.
Arturia's kingdom had been the spark that lit up the dark ages of the medieval era, igniting a revolution that would eventually free the people from their chains of slavery.
King Arthur was the leader who allowed the world to embark on the path toward a future of equality and respect among men. Even in the future from which Archer came, humanity had not yet fully reached that destination, but it was infinitely closer compared to the world in which he found himself now.
This was still a world ruled by shadows and prejudice, where the law of the strongest reigned supreme. Lords and kings acted with impunity, too engrossed in their petty and childish power games to realize that their people were dying of hunger and their own whims.
The people had no one to act as their voice. No leaders or revolutionaries were fighting for freedom and justice—no one to uphold their rights.
It was this, combined with the knowledge of what Arturia would have done in his place, that kept Archer from completely rejecting the title the old bear had given him.
The Seven Kingdoms needed a leader, someone who would fight for their soul and salvation. Emiya was old and too tired to be that man. He lacked the strength to be that bright beacon of hope, capable of sacrificing even his own blood to keep alive the fire of a brighter future, free from the shadows of a corrupt system.
It wasn't in his nature either. Archer was never a lion, ruling unchallenged, able to face his enemies head-on, proud and confident in his strength.
Emiya had never been the strongest in the field. His victories came more from a combination of tricks and careful planning. He was a man who operated in the shadows, exploiting his enemies' weaknesses—more akin to a serpent or a falcon waiting for the right moment to strike.
Such behavior was more suited to an assassin than to a leader, a symbol of freedom. Yet, despite all this, Emiya still struggled to let go of the mantle that Jeor had unwittingly offered him.
The truth was, outside of Archer, no one would have been willing to seriously take up that mantle. Too many qualities were required to even be remotely worthy of it.
The most essential and indispensable quality for wearing the mantle was particularly hard to find. To become a figure capable of pulling the world out of its era of darkness, one needed a mindset able to discern right from wrong, even under pressure, and willing to make unthinkable sacrifices to achieve their goals.
Archer might no longer have the cynical mindset of his past, nor the same iron will that allowed him to give up everything for his objectives, but he remained an extraordinary individual, capable of surpassing most men even with his diminished abilities.
His knowledge and experience were two of his greatest assets, having personally witnessed various historical eras and possessing the wisdom and techniques contained within some of the most exquisite noble phantasms.
With these, Archer could guide the world toward a reign of prosperity unlike anything it had ever seen before. This realization only added to the weight on the boy's shoulders, crushed by a sense of duty instilled in him by the woman who held an indelible place in his heart—Arturia.
It was the memory of that woman and her ideals that kept Archer from abandoning the title and the responsibility that came with it. With this in mind, the understanding became more deeply rooted in him that, in the end, he would indeed become a man of the people.
An individual who would bear the responsibilities and well-being of countless people, ready to bleed for their good—a fate not so different from the one that had cursed him in the past. Yet, this time, Emiya promised himself that he would not become the emotionless killing machine he had once been.
Perhaps he would never truly be a man of the people, but he would not become the Sword of Humanity again. To maintain his sanity and, at the same time, carry on a mission worthy of Arturia, Archer would have to become something else.
He would have to transform into the Sword of the People—at least until someone more worthy came to claim the title of leader, along with the staff of command.
Until then, he would fight and bleed to create a better future, hoping that in doing so, he could not only improve the conditions of this world but also ease, at least in part, the guilt that plagued his soul, by building something for once, instead of destroying.
Consciously or not, Jeor's words had set in motion a path and a legend that would turn the world upside down—a myth that would be told for millennia: the legend of the Sword of the People.
A sword must have a master to be complete, and a hero/knight for who it should fight if not for the weak and defenseless.
As always, the next chapter is already available on my p a /RedArcher739
P a treon . com(slash)RedArcher739