King sighed as he flipped his book to yet another page filled with paragraphs stacked upon paragraphs. Another bevy of useless knowledge gained, another he shoved towards the emptiest corners of his mind. He had to have been at this for a few hours now, far longer than he had planned, or wanted. He'd decided last night to go to the library first thing in the morning with the same intention as he had back when the six first servants were summoned. That was to say, to learn more about them, at the very least until he had a laconic understanding of each of them. So here he was, facing a roadblock in the form of the very first servant he had summoned after the France debacle. He had scoured books upon books, on which were inscribed history, legends, and epics of France, to find at least a single mention, maybe even just an allusion, of the servant calling herself Avenger.
Yet, there had yet to be a mention of a 'Jeanne d'Arc Alter'.
He supposed it was an integral flaw of how he was approaching this. The name alone made it clear that she was an outlier, an alter—alternate—of Jeanne d'Arc. It would make sense that she not be in the history books. Even her class was an apparent outlier, Avenger. An 'extra class' according to what he read about the basics of servants. He didn't pay attention to these 'extra classes' then, what were the chances of him encountering a servant of an outlier class, much less summoning one, after all?
In hindsight, perhaps it had always been 100%.
'Also, 'Avenger'. That means she must have a grudge or something, right?' He forced a lump down his throat. That grudge, it couldn't possibly be about… him, could it? Servants are products of recorded history. There was no way that he, an existence not even a month removed from when he first came here, could imprint such a grudge that a servant manifested from it.
At least, that was what he told himself over and over.
He did, however, find a rather obscure, very focused book on the life of Jeanne d'Arc. He had to ask Murasaki to translate the whole thing first, that was how obscure it was. His ever reliable librarian even missed it.
But regardless, he did find something related to the girl, or more accurately, something that the girl was not.
"Jacques, Isabelle, Pierre, Jaquemin, Pierre, Jehan, Catherine…" he mumbled the names along as his eyes swept across the names connected by lines inside an illustrated tree. "...Nope. No Jean." Well, there it was. Solid, undeniable proof that even the very name of 'Jean' was a forgery, a ploy to trick him by his new avenger, a very successful one at that. But then, what did she mean by saying that she was fine with it? A mockery of him? Insulting him for being so stupid? A warning? Either way, he had been avoiding her, and him coming to the library was just one of his methods to do so.
Over two days had passed since the first singularity was resolved, and in those two days, numerous servants had been summoned. Romani was not lying when they said there was an abundance of Quartz from the singularity's disappearance. It was abundant enough that there were two stacks of books by him, one he already read, and the ones he hadn't, both equal in height.
'I might have to save the rest for tomorrow,' he thought. Murasaki would understand.
He closed and put the book aside with resignation. That was Jeanne, er, Alter? Jeanne Alter? Jean? out of the way. That wasn't to say that his time here was over, he wanted to at least be done with half of the books he had requested. Was he going to come here every time they summoned a brand new servant? Couldn't he pretend to not know the identities of some servants? It's not like the average joe in his world could name every hero in The Association anyway.
'...Average Joe, yeah, right.' Right, his chances of being seen as a normal dude had all but been decimated, he'd accepted it by now. Not after what Karna, Ritsuka, Olga, and whoever the hell else had already said about him. So he decided it was better to be safe than sorry, lest he encounter this world's equivalent of Amai Mask, and, well, him, in terms of fame and look stupid. Besides, he kinda liked it here. Peace, quiet, and for the most part, no one would bother him.
That being said, unlike his first rodeo in the quiet sanctuary, he was not alone this time. First, there was the very topic of the book he had just put down, sitting on the other side of the reading room.
Jeanne's fingers trembled as she reached for the page of her book, in her face a mixture of dread, fascination, and expectation. He didn't even know how he got all that, but her face was very… transparent, for the lack of a better word. She had come here not too long after he did, and he could still remember what she had asked Murasaki for.
"Jeanne! What a pleasure to see you here. Is there anything I can help you with?" the librarian greeted, her neck turned towards the newcomer as she reached for a book high on the shelf.
"I'm here to continue our arrangement from yesterday."
"Ah, I see. Then, I think we should start by giving you some books to read first," Murasaki said, clasping her hands together as she approached the ruler. "Might I recommend some of my favorites? From Chaldea's library, we have a collection of books from all eras. A recommendation from me, as well as one of Lady Mash's favorites, would be–"
"If possible, Lady Murasaki," Jeanne interjected, holding her hand up, "I'd rather read one of your books first. The Tale of Genji, I believe?"
"M-my book? B-but there are so many–"
"Please," Jeanne interrupted. "I insist. There is no one else I'd like to first learn from."
"...Very well. I shall fetch you an English copy of Tale of Genji."
And that was how she got here, cheeks pink as her eyes traced over the words of the first volume of Murasaki's novel. With each following turn of the pages, pink gradually became red, then deep red. It wasn't like this at first; she initially read it with a simple, if intrigued look on her face, her eyebrows occasionally shooting up in surprise. But after thirty or so minutes in, her face became, well, beet red. Even so, she kept going, turning page after page even as King swore he saw steam coming out of her head. What a soldier.
Eventually, from what King could only assume out of worry, Murasaki began to approach Jeanne, her mouth moving around like it was trying to find the right words. "...Jeanne? Is everything going smoothly?"
"A-ah! Y-yes, it has been helpful. T-thank you, Murasaki. T-the… romantic affairs were quite… tantalizing," Jeanne spluttered as she held her book against her face, a futile attempt to shield her red, steaming face.
'Romantic affairs? That's what got her up in a storm?' No, he shouldn't judge. Maybe people of her age were more chaste?
"Oh, Master, I didn't see you there," the ruler called out as she hurriedly handed the copy of Tale of Genji back to Murasaki, who stuttered as she, in equal hurry, went back to put the book back. Way to change the subject, Jeanne. "I see you are as studious as Murasaki said you were."
"Well, I think it's important to do so," he said, trying his best to not make the words sound as pretentious as they did on paper. "It wouldn't hurt learning about the newcomers, I did the same when I found out that our first singularity was a foray into France." And he still remembered every goddamned minute of that hellish all-nighter.
"Yes, you're absolutely right," she nodded. "I'm off to look for more… t-tame books. See you later, Master."
He waved casually at her disappearing form as the giant bookshelves swallowed her whole. '...Way to avoid the elephant in the room, huh?' He didn't blame her. He was doing the same thing. He had a feeling the elephant would make itself known, forcefully, when they meet next.
Then, there was Ritsuka, sitting two chairs away on his right.
King turned his attention to the boy as his eyes were glued to the singular book he had taken, a book about servants, the same one King himself had read when he first came here, and wanted to read again now, only to discover that Ritsuka had beaten him to the chase. It didn't take a genius to guess that they had the same reasons to seek that book out: the Ruler and the Avenger in the new batch of servants.
But the book was secondary compared to what King noticed first, namely Ritsuka himself. He sported a few patches on his skin, some sort of advanced adhesive bandage to help his internal blood vessels heal faster he was told yesterday. Most of them King couldn't see, but two were on his face, on his cheek and forehead, another two were on the back of his hands, and some on his neck peeked through his uniform's collar. He also winced on occasion, like when he turned his neck just a little too hard as his eyes shifted to the next page, and when he would tap his foot against the floor just a little too quickly.
King thought that the boy was goddamn unreal.
He'd heard of what had happened to him, internal bleeding in some arteries and veins from pushing himself too hard, if Archer's—or now he supposed Emiya's—words were to be believed. If it was him, he'd still be writhing in pain right now.
But here Ritsuka was, two days later and still making the most of his time.
He wanted to ignore his part in the boy's newfound confidence, but couldn't. He didn't know how to feel. A part of him was glad. His one constant human companion in this whole mess, who was coincidentally as inexperienced as he was, had become more competent, more courageous, more dependable in a matter of days behind his back. It was a blessing. Now if he ever lacked behind (and he knew he would at some point), Ritsuka could take up the reins and, hopefully, save his ass when it would matter. A far, far bigger part of him only felt guilty. This guy, no, this sixteen year old boy, was now willing to jump into dangers, dangers that put literal holes in his body and drew blood out of him, and come out smiling, and he hoped it was at least genuine– or maybe not, that would be terrifying, a boy his age shouldn't be able to cope with that so easily. He shouldn't even be in that position in the first place. And all that, just because he was too much of a damn coward to set the record straight with him, to just say that yes, he should rest and stay back, actually, and let the adult in the situation handle the damned problem, even if only until however long it took for him to find a way home. Yet in the end, as much as he could say felt guilty about it, how he shouldn't have said any of that, and how the boy deserved better, he could not, from the bottom of his heart, say that he regretted it. He was scared, and for that selfish reason, the young boy beside him had paid the price in blood.
Just another reason to add to the list of why he was human scum.
'...Goddamnit.'
The sound and vibration of something weighty hitting the wooden table (thankfully) jolted him out of his thoughts.
"...You done with that?" King asked, turning to Ritsuka and pointing to the book. It was as good a time as any to change the subject in his own mind.
"This?" Ritsuka said, gesturing to the book he had just put down. "Yeah. You wanna read it too?"
"Please."
Ritsuka pushed the book along the soft wood with a gentle hiss, landing just in front of King.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, don't mention it. I think I'm outta here, Emiya wants to see me for something. See you later in the meeting, King."
And once again, another left his view, the boy in the uniform disappearing from the library. He didn't mind, that was a heavy load off his mind, for now.
King stared at the book now in front of him with slight trepidation, it was now his second meeting with the book's cover adorned with seven designs of what he assumed were representations of the normal servant classes in gold over the black leather backdrop. With a sigh filled with half-relief and half-dread, he opened the book, and went straight to the page on the so-called 'Extra Classes'. First stop, Rulers. He already received a crash course on what rulers are, though it was most definitely meant for Ritsuka the way Romani only addressed him in the singularity not too long after they met Jeanne for the first time, but eavesdropping was a powerful tool.
Rulers, Heroic Spirits of Arbitration. They are, by requirement, almost pure in a sense. Lacking in strong desires and wishes, making them perfect fits to be arbiters in Holy Grail Wars. From what he understood, most of them were supposedly saints in life, something he was familiar with, persons of outstanding virtue, but the way the passages in this book framed it, these 'Saints' are more titles than anything else, of the 'Christian' faith apparently, the biggest majority religion in this world. He kept the tidbit in his mind and pushed it back, it sounded like something he should know as common sense if he were to pass as someone of this world.
But that wasn't really what he was looking for.
"Physical characteristics… there it is," he said as his eyes landed on his desired page, and began skimming through. 'Rulers possess command seals in any holy grail war they participate in, one for each servant, making them typically bigger than the normal command seal, though still bearing the distinct red color,' it read.
"...Ah, so it wasn't a tattoo, huh?" he murmured, the scene of the red 'tattoos' on Jean's back that night flashing through his eyes. So, red markings, red flags, regardless of where it was. Alright. Sure would've been useful to know a few days ago.
He sighed. Nothing he could do about it now. The best way to deal with it was to look forward, and it just happened to be on the next page where the second topic he seeked was.
'Avengers, Heroic Spirits of Vengeance–' Wow, really? He couldn't tell. '–are heroic spirits born of all-consuming hatred and revenge against a target, whether it be the world, a country, or a person.'
"..."
He tried to ignore the beads of sweat running down his head, and the fact that he almost gripped the book hard enough now that his fingers had left indents on its soft pages. He had to be looking like a maniac. Still, despite that, he continued to read, each pulling his eyes as he turned a new page.
'Due to the nature of their existence, these grudges will not, and cannot, go away with time. Every wound on their heart is as eternal as the scars they should have left, and as fresh as when they were first inflicted. As such, most, if not all avengers are in the line of Anti-Heroes or Evil-aligned Heroic Spirits. Should a master manage to summon one under their bidding, it is best to walk on eggshells for the rest of their contract together, for a fresh wound agitated is as painful as a million scars screaming at each other.'
…
'Is there still hope for me?'
No, probably not.
He closed the book forcefully, though not enough to make a sound louder than what was acceptable in the library. That was enough of that. He looked at the stack of books to his left, ones he hadn't read. 'Yeah… let's just do that instead.'
So, that was what he did, hastily putting down the book on servants down and reaching towards the one closest to him on his left, one with 'Greek Mythology' written in a bold font on the cover. He'd almost gotten accustomed to the variety of beliefs, histories, and mythologies this world had to offer. Almost. It still bugged him to think of a fragmented world like this one. Not one, not tens, but hundreds of different governments. He didn't get it, but he supposed he didn't need to. He was just a visitor here. Either way, he'd gone through many of said branches of this world's existence. The aforementioned Greek Mythology concerning Achilles, Indian concerning Karna, France considering The First Singularity, and now he was burdening himself with much more, Arthurian, Eastern European, Japanese, it had taken a few days of routine reciting in his head for a few minutes to not have the names blend into each other into his mind.
Thankfully, none of the new servants were here to ask him questions about them.
"..."
Well, that wasn't entirely accurate.
One of them was here, in the library, sitting right across from him, and staring at him. The purple-haired tall woman had her book open, sure, but her eyes did not even make the attempt at hiding the fact that she wasn't reading it.
She was one of the new servants that arrived yesterday, Rider Medusa, the same one that appeared in that Fuyuki Singularity. Well, not the exact one, but the same identity. She was the latest arrival in the library, just some ten or so minutes ago, but the way her eyes shone through her glasses, King would've thought her gaze had been on him for hours now. He didn't know why, nor did he want to figure out why, so he only buried himself deeper into his own book, doing his best to ignore the piercing gaze that was getting stronger for God knows why.
Until she decided that wasn't an option.
"Master."
King held back a choked cough, and managed to say, "Y-yes?"
"I see you are reading what has been written about my place of origin."
Her place of origin? Right, how could he forget? Medusa was from Greece. Moreover, the page open was currently about her. 'How didn't I notice?'
"I am," he said, calming himself, "About you, in fact." And let out something he did not mean to say.
"About me?"
"Yes. I'm just brushing up," he said quickly. Why did he say that? Just instinct? He'd be really uncomfortable if some guy was reading about his life story in front of him, and he could only imagine what Medusa was thinking, given the contents of her story. '...She's not gonna lash out over it, right?'
"...And? What do you think?"
'What do I think?' He didn't know, he just got done reading for God's sake. Why would she spring this on him so suddenly? Was it some kind of test? If so, then it brought back all the wrong kinds of memories of his school days.
"It's, uh, fascinating," he answered hastily. "You're written here as a monster, something the hero needs to slay," he continued, as if making up an essay assignment as the teacher was collecting it. Medusa was not too different from the games he played, he thought. A monster, with an intentionally grotesque visage, created for the sole purpose of giving the player catharsis upon their defeat. But the fact was that the woman in front of him was no game character, but a real person. "It's a very objective retelling of your life for the most part. But you're still painted as a monster in the end, something that needs to die for the threat she posed." He avoided mentioning anything about her origin as written in the book. He did not think it proper to bring up the multitudes of trauma mentioned therein in their first proper conversation.
"...I see."
'Wait, wait, wait, I'm not done yet!' Damn it, King, were you really going to sour a relationship with a new servant of yours in two days?
"But I don't think you deserved it," he interjected quickly. He hadn't actually given his opinion, after all. "The title monster was something that was put on you, rather than something you earned."
She really deserved better. Like yeah, sure, maybe she killed her sisters, and all those heroes, and all those innocent people, and… Well, okay, maybe she was kinda scary. But given her backstory and the whole mess with the gods 'Athena' and 'Poseidon', it was hard not to feel some sympathy.
"I can't say that excuses all your actions either, but at the very least, I'd like to know Medusa from the person in front of me, rather than a book," he finished with what he thought was a nice little ribbon on top of his response. A good way to give a non-committal answer, and shift the attention from the book. Good job dodging the question, King!
"..."
…He didn't say too much, did he?
"That is… not what I expected," she finally said.
'...In a good way or a bad way?' he asked nervously in his mind.
"But I suppose if that is what you want, Master. Ask away."
Oh. He didn't expect her to take that seriously. Ask away, she said, but ask what?
"Well…" He didn't know what to ask. It was one thing to ask someone you expected to be your acquaintance some details about their life, but to do so when you just read their entire life story, birth to death? "Say, how did it feel when you killed your sisters?" Yeah, man, real classy.
So he opted to ask a more… bland question.
"What's your favorite book?"
…
…Did he mess up again?
"...I've not much experience with literature, but I do find Frankenstein quite mesmerizing."
"Frankenstein, you have good taste." He didn't know what the hell a 'Frankenstein' was, but she responded. That was good enough.
Medusa sighed. "...I don't know what to make of you."
"I'm sorry?"
"Everytime I expected you to do something more common with your ilk, you instead take a sharp left turn," she said, eyes trained on him with a mix of curiosity and caution.
'Expected me to do?' What did she mean by that? On what frame did she set her expectation of him to? And what 'ilk' was she referring to?
"I… see?"
"Let me intrude on you a little further, master. If you don't mind."
He nodded, in the absence of any choice he had in the matter.
"Now that you have the famed monster, Medusa, in your service, what do you plan to do with her?" she asked, her voice neutral though the sharpness apparent.
'What do I plan to do with you?' What kind of question was that?
"...I'll have you as my servant, I suppose," he answered eventually, and what else could he answer with? It wasn't like she was anything else but a servant to him.
"And what would that entail?"
Well, now this was just an interrogation, one that he unfortunately couldn't escape. What would being his servant entail? What was this, a job interview?
"What would it entail? Well, fighting for me, I guess?" he said, somewhat uncertain. That was what it was in a nutshell, wasn't it?
"Hmph. I see. It would seem you are not as far from your ilk as I thought," Medusa said, sounding somewhat disappointed, but also unsurprised. "Though I respect your bluntness, at least."
The tone in her voice was somewhat undecipherable to King, but the negativity in it was apparent even to his ears. "C-can you elaborate?" he asked nervously. Had he offended her? Really? With that lukewarm, innocent response?
"Do I need to? It is obvious," she said like it was a matter of fact. "We are mere disposable weapons to you, only worthy in your eyes through our strength."
…Huh?
"Though worry not, Master. I know when to set aside my personal feelings from my profession. I do not mind however you wish to treat me." She began to get up from her chair, not bothering to close her own book, or notify Murasaki. "Rest assured, even for cold-blooded mages such as yourself, I won't hold back." Her tone was more neutral now, but it was somehow scarier, and what did she mean she wouldn't hold back? King felt like there was double entendre there that he would rather be ignorant of.
As Medusa fully left her seat, he began to scream in his mind 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not like that!' desperately. He did not know how it just escalated like that, but he was not going to let it end like that, he couldn't!
"...It seems like there's been a misunderstanding, Miss Medusa," he finally said after a period of silence. The Rider stopped herself, then turned back, looking at him, before finally going back and sitting down opposite him again, expecting him to continue, unaware that his carefully constructed straightened body and lowered head was not a look of confidence, but rather an (admittedly good) attempt at hiding his sweaty scrunched up face and clenched ass.
"A misunderstanding?" she asked, eyes narrowing in confusion. Knowing what those eyes could, King only hoped he would not find himself talking one moment, and petrified the next.
"Yes," King responded, mustering as much as he could for his throat to go along with the confident act. "I did say that my servants fight for me, but not because I only see them as my personal weapons, if that is what you think."
"You do not?" she said, slightly surprised but skeptical. "...Then how do you see your servants?"
He thought about it, hard, because it might just be his life on the line. He just accepted the role of master because there was no other choice, he didn't have any strong feelings about masterhood and servanthood. It wasn't wrong that his relationship with most of them only extended as far as them fighting for him, but he would never call them his weapons, if only because he was scared of what they could do to him. He could point to a few that he could say he had a relationship with, but so what? There was a variety in how he felt towards different servants, so to him, servants were… were what, exactly?
"I… I guess servants are just other people to me," he said, hiding his exasperation beneath his heavy voice. What a stupid answer. So much for Medusa's cooperation, he supposed.
Yet, instead of a scornful look directed at him, or a disappointed sigh, her eyes instead widened slightly. "...Just people?"she asked, seemingly in disbelief.
That… worked?
"Yes, just people," he answered quickly, maybe too quickly as he hadn't quite figured how to follow it up, but who cares? It worked! Just people, sure, let's go with that. He didn't even need to lie.
"...Even those like Karna, Achilles, and Jeanne d'Arc?"
"Karna's a nice guy, a bit too humble though, in my opinion. Achilles? He's pretty honest, and a bit of a goof, it was a bit worrying how easy it was to convince him to be an idol. Jeanne's almost too nice, really admirable considering what she went through, to be honest," he answered honestly. He also had thoughts about some others. Elizabeth was as earnest as someone could be, and he was glad to be her 'producer' (even if his actual workload was basically nothing). There was also her, but the less said about her, the better.
Medusa's mouth moved to talk, but failed to make a sound, and was left gaping open. She looked confused, befuddled, even, with his answers. King had no idea why, he was just talking about what he thought about his servants.
"Do… do their strengths mean nothing to you?"
Their strengths? Well he was glad that they were strong enough to save his life on more than one occasion, but the way she said it, it sounded like he was meant to behold their strengths somehow. Maybe he should've, but seeing people like Saitama and Tatsumaki on the regular had numbed him more than he had thought. He supposed who they were as people mattered more to him (and whether they were here to kill or protect him). He didn't mind forming relationships with servants and the people of this world, per se. It'd only make him more suspicious if he didn't. Only at arm's length, though. He wasn't planning on staying.
"Not especially, I suppose."
Medusa only stared at him for a few seconds with that same befuddled look, before sighing and pressing three fingers into her forehead. "Does that extend to me too?"
"I suppose?"
"Even if I will turn into an unsightly monster?"
"You don't look like you will," he answered before he could think twice, and immediately regretted it.
Her eyes narrowed, and King could almost see how Medusa had gotten her titles as displayed on the book. "How can you be so sure?" she asked, a sharp tone accompanying the question. Yet, even under the stress, King could not help but stand by his answer, because, quite simply…
'Lady, there are things that can do much, much worse than turning people to stone in my world popping up on a daily basis,' he thought dryly. Compared to them, well…
"The fact that we're having this conversation at all proves to me otherwise."
"..." Her mouth opened for a second, before coming down to a close. Then, she looked down and put a finger on her chin, like thinking about his answer. Well, it seemed like he finally put a close on this interrogation.
King sighed in relief quietly. That answer looked like it finally satisfied her, or placated at least. He knew how monsterification worked, it was basic stuff taught even in elementary schools. Intense, obsessive desires that people pursue until they become monsters in the process, literally. He knew how nice fixating on good games could be, but to turn into a computer-man hybrid because of it? Scary. Either way, even if this world worked differently from his, the woman in front of him did not seem like the type of person who couldn't be reasoned with, and that was enough for him to be sure that she would not turn into a monster.
And even if she did, how would a monster that still spoke, thought, and acted clearly be any different from how she was now?
"Is that your answer?"
"Yeah."
"...I see," she finally said. Phew, it would seem that a crisis had once again been– "You are strange for a mage."
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, fuck.
"...Am I now?" he asked with a strained voice. He swore that it was a genuine question, but by whatever God this world had, he didn't know if it came across that way. He could only hope it did.
"Yes," Medusa said. "Mages, the lot of you are rather heartless. A mage who was once my master would even accept years-long torture of his own innocent sister if it meant gaining more power. The mages I know would not hesitate in seeing and using me as a monster to serve them on their every beck and call."
He forced a lump down his throat. Was that how mages are? The books he read never mentioned any of that. They only said that mages were to pursue 'The Root' and to further knowledge for that reason by any… means… necessary.
'...Was that book biased?' He sure would've loved to know that 'by any means necessary' included throwing your family under the bus, instead of the glorification that book portrayed it as. Had people been looking at him that way? A mage who would throw away everything for power?
"The other master, Ritsuka, I can understand. He is just a boy, a mage in name only. But you?" Her eyes narrowed again, though now more inquisitive than accusatory. "Why would a mage of your caliber be so blase about your tools?"
'A mage of my caliber, she says.' A mage of 'his caliber' would have his tools kill him before he could do anything with them.
"...No, sorry, there is no need to ask that," she said suddenly, finally ending the interrogation.
"Is… that all?"
"Yes, I think that's enough. Forgive me for being nosy, Master."
"...It's fine." It really wasn't, but it wasn't her fault either. The fault was entirely his for never having simply said 'I'm not a mage, actually' in the few weeks he had been stranded here.
"Well, Master, it has been good talking to you, but I have other matters to tend to," she said, getting up from her chair. "I will see you later."
King felt that there was a threatening connotation somewhere in that sentence, but chose to ignore it. One servant out for his blood is two too many, he did not need another. So, he responded with a wave of his hand, to which she nodded and left.
"...Phew." A sigh of relief well earned. Now he really was alone, with perhaps Murasaki his sole company in the library, and even she was not close enough to be in his field of vision. He thought that this library visit would be short, but that conversation proved him otherwise. He had to act the part of a mage now, even if only because everyone seemed to think he was one. He should at least study more about mages again, from a more unbiased and objective source this time, including their culture and all.
'Well, let's at least read one last book on the servants before that. Let's see… Arthurian Mythology.'
Medusa still didn't know what to make of her new master.
The younger one, Fujimaru Ritsuka, she had an inkling of. A young boy who was simply at the right place at the right time, yet was the most wrong person to have been put in that place. He was just a normal boy, a mage by technicality, and that was exactly why she couldn't help but be wary of his fellow master. A seasoned, powerful mage working alongside a boy who only knew about the supernatural part of his own world a few weeks ago? A recipe for disaster if you asked her. How many times had innocence been exploited for the sake of furthering the power of those who already had plenty? Far too many times, and even if she had yet to know Fujimaru Ritsuka, she at least had the decency to prevent King, her other master and from what she heard, an experienced mage, from using the boy for his own gains.
Yet, talking to him, she could not help but feel like she had been misled.
An exceptionally noble man, Karna, The Son of Surya, told her. A mage powerful in the arts of strategy and tactics, that white-haired archer with an awfully familiar name told her. Someone who would not hesitate to achieve what needed to be done, Achilles, The Hero of Trojan, told her. Noble could mean many things for a warrior, and she had thought that it meant that King was a ruthless type of man like the heroes of Greece she had come to be familiar with. Strategy and tactics go hand-in-hand with manipulation was what she thought when she first heard those two words in the same breath as the word 'mage'. And the lack of hesitation had screamed to her that he would not give a second glance to the cost of victory. She had decided then that she needed to meet him, just see what kind of man half of the world's fate rested on.
And all she found was a surprisingly simple man who saw the servants around him as people.
But that couldn't be true, could it? He could simply be fooling her. No mage, especially those who have delved deep in that world, could possibly see under his command figures like Karna, Achilles, and Jeanne d'Arc, and see them only by their persons and not their world-shattering strengths. He had never even mentioned his own personal goal, not power, nor ultimate knowledge. It was as if he had no ambition, and for a mage to have lived that way for so long felt incomprehensible to her.
'...I'm getting ahead of myself.' It was still too early to say that he was being truthful, even if she could not feel an iota of deception during their talk. Mages were, and would always be, a selfish and zealous bunch, and only time would tell if King was truly an exception. But–
"...Maybe I can let my guard down, for now."
'Three hours? Man, if only I had this kind of motivation back in school. Wait, no, dying if you fail your test would be pretty scary.'
Walking through the silent halls of Chaldea by his lonesome almost made King regret spending so much of his day cooped up in the library, though he supposed it was much preferable than being caught off guard if any of the occasion would arise. A lot of their former enemies had been summoned over the last two days, most of which he realized then he had faced without knowing who they really were. Well, he was happy to say that that was no longer the case. Lancelot du Lac, Chevalier d'Eon, Vlad III, and more, he knew all about them now, maybe more than he ever wanted to. They all seemed to remember their time in the singularity, though none were keen to continue being their enemy thankfully. He still remembered summoning them, the first thing he noticed was their fancy clothes (...Were they mandatory for servants or something?) before their greeting words to him, ranging from wary to… respect, weirdly enough.
Speaking of clothes… 'Man, how long am I going to wear this?' King thought, looking down to his clothing. Blue flannel jacket, white t-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers, the very set of clothes he wore that fateful day to buy Doki Doki Sisters 2, and also the one he did not get the chance to change before being teleported here. He'd love to change to something else, but apparently Chaldea did not prepare any uniforms for people his height. They also said something about how 'a mage like him probably wouldn't need a mystic code anyway'.
If only they knew.
He wasn't particularly conscious about his own fashion, but wearing the same thing for almost a month had slowly changed that. Chaldea was nice enough to accommodate his room with deodorant in his bathroom at least, which he had been abusing to avoid smelling like unfiltered sweaty armpits, but even then, it had its limits.
He sighed. "Well, nothing I can do about that at the moment."
So, he decided to shift his mind to another, also unsolvable, matter, though one much easier to mull on.
'Mages… So they're shady people, huh?' he thought, his mind wandering more and tuning out the cold bristle air of Chaldea's air conditioning, his steps on autopilot.
He felt like this was on him to a degree. Heroes had their own shady part in his own world, so he should have expected this world's organized mages to be much the same. But he didn't, and how could he? There were some hundred layers of shock he needed to get through when he first found out about the existence of magic, or magecraft as they called it here, in this world, and an additional few hundred when he realized he had been marked as one just by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had no time to ponder on the complexities when he was juggling the concept of servants, masters, and being part of that relationship.
But now he did have that time, and he regretted never saying a damn thing about his status as a 'mage'.
Another sigh escaped his lips. 'Man, how am I going to–'
"Oof!"
"Oh, sorry."
'Should've probably paid more attention to the road,' King thought, annoyed at himself as he stared at the man he just knocked over, a normal Chaldea employee judging by his clothes.
"Don't worry about it," the man said, putting his short and neat hair back into place as he got up, but the stacks of papers, files, and God knows what else sprawled all over the floor didn't convince King to not worry about it.
"No, no. I should at least help you out," King insisted. He wasn't going to be rude just because his stay here was temporary.
As he bent down to gather the scattered papers, King couldn't help but notice the man's gaze stabbing at his neck as he too gathered his work. "Is there something on my back?" King asked eventually.
"It's nothing. I'm just remembering how you saved my life."
"How I what?"
"Oh, sorry. Perhaps you don't remember, but I was in the control room during the explosion. I remember how you barged in and got all of us to safety. You left an impression on all of us that day, to say the least."
"...Yeah," King said awkwardly. Nothing about what the man said was out of place, technically speaking. Those things did happen. He barged into that flaming room, he dragged each limp body as far away from danger as he could, and in the end, even tried to save Olga's life.
Somehow, that was all that King could recall.
King took a good look at the man in front of him, and promptly found nothing noteworthy. He could describe him characteristic-by-characteristic, and it would be easy. Short and neat dark hair, black eyes, properly fitted standard Chaldea uniform, and no accessories to speak of. Too easy, in fact. King didn't know he could be stumped by someone's appearance until today. He had seen many colorful appearances in his world and this one, and this man was like the antithesis to all of them. The man in front him looked like a person that would come to mind when the word bystander was invoked, only amplified by ten times. The blankest of blank canvases, if you will. Even the polite smile he was giving looked almost like it was just painted for the occasion. King felt like he was looking at an empty paper personified, if that was possible.
"Oh, my apologies. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm John," he said. John, even his name sounded incredibly nondescript.
"...King," King introduced back, his eyes still going up and down on the employee. But in the end, no matter how much King overanalyzed his appearance, he couldn't recall ever seeing him. Then again, the more he tried to recall, the more he realized he only remembered Olga from that event. Probably because he actually knew her name before that whole debacle.
"You know, a lot of us are pretty thankful to you, me included," John said, adjusting the papers King handed to a neat and straight stack. "But if you don't remember, then I'm guessing that I'm the first to meet you in person. So, on behalf of all the staff you saved that day, thank you."
"R-right. So, uh, what are you doing here?" King said quickly. Talking, and even thinking about that moment in his first day in Chaldea made him feel a kind of way, though he couldn't quite pin down what that feeling was, or why he felt that way.
"Oh, well, I'm delivering these, actually." He shrugged the stack of papers up, drawing attention to it.
"So I'm guessing you're part of logistics, then?"
"Oh no, not at all."
"...Why're you delivering things, then?"
"Oh, this? They're just things the other departments need. Why am I doing them? Well they needed a hand to deliver these, and I guess I was the first to catch their eyes. So, here I am, doing their errands."
…Something about that was a tad bit worrying, King thought, but he opted not to say anything. He did not want to butt in into things he could avoid butting into anymore.
"There's also these," John said, gesturing to a package of sorts lying on the ground that King hadn't noticed before. "They're a separate item. The doctor wanted me to deliver these, actually. Pretty sure it's because I just happened to catch his eye on the way to engineering, though."
'...Are you a gopher?' was the question pervading King's mind, but he again kept it to himself.
"This package is for–"
"Yahoo! Is that my order I see?" a voice said. It was the voice of one of their newly summoned servants, King recognized it. How could he not? It was hard to forget the voice and appearance the servant made when he summoned him.
"Sir Astolfo," John greeted, bowing his head rather low. "I have what you requested."
"Wowie! Thanks delivery guy!" the pink-haired rider said, snatching the package with an exaggerated twirl of his body. "Chaldea sure is accommodating!"
"I'm glad an esteemed hero such as you think so, Sir Astolfo," John said, head slightly raised but still very much in a bow. Huh, a lot of the staff seemed to tiptoe around the servants, King noticed. "I will be on my way now, Sir Astolfo, King. If there is anything else you need, simply ask."
"OkayThanksBye-bye!" the pink haired man said almost too quickly for King to hear as John bid his farewell and disappeared from the halls, allowing King to take a good look at one of his new servants. The servant was a rider, Astolfo, one of Charlemagne's Paladins, as King's prior library visit informed him. He was rather odd, to say the least. He was a man, that much he had told King himself in spite of the skirt he was wearing and the braided long pink hair he had, but who was King to judge? The first time they met, King, in spite of everything he had seen come out of this world's heroes, began to question just what 'knights' really meant in this world. He had already met some. Lancelot, he was scary. d'Eon, they were charming. King Arthur, the woman he saw briefly and had just now recognized after his recent reading session, had the aura of intimidation and charisma. From all of them, King had almost pieced together in his head a picture of what knights are supposed to be in this world, and it was not too dissimilar from his own definition.
But Astolfo? He would be more of a fit in The Hero Association. Right next to the crazy ones.
"Oh, Master! Since when were you here?"
"I've… been here for a while now," King said. Did Astolfo miss him somehow?
"No way! You must be some sort of stealth expert!" He did. How could anyone miss someone as tall as King in front of them? John even called King's name out before he left.
"No, I'm not. Maybe you simply–"
"A-ha! So the rumors are true!" Astolfo said. Rumors? King didn't know there were any– Okay, no, his entire reputation, here and in his world, were all rumors, but what was the rider talking about? "That's that humbleness of yours I heard about so much! That's no good, Master! Knights should always be proud of their virtues!" Oh, that one. Karna was the main peddler of that one, he guessed.
"...I'm not a knight, though."
"Don't worry! I'm sure when my king gets here, we can arrange a few things!"
"How would that even work?"
"I don't know! But Charlie will definitely find a way! You know, one time, me, him, and Roland were in this one city, and…" Astolfo seemed to forget entirely about King's supposed stealth expertise and quickly deviated into a story about the paladins, which King lost track of by the tenth or so word. "...and that's why we totally could use them in our team, Master!"
'...Alright, I guess.' For a knight, Astolfo sure was… scatterbrained. "Yes, I'll… be looking forward to that."
"Sure you are! Oh, and Master! Do you know? The cafeteria has…"
The conversation was going off the rails—if it even had any in the first place—quickly, and King, in all of his wisdom, decided that now was the time to end it.
"R-right, I'm sure. I have a meeting that I need to attend with Olga and the rest, so, uh, I kinda need to go," King said quickly, holding his hand up against Astolfo.
"Of course, President-Master!"
"Yes, I– President–who?"
"Is that not what you are? A company president and a master?" Astolfo asked, his head tilted. "At least that's what Eli said."
Oh, God. What was his reputation becoming?
"Well– I– It was–"
"So you need to go to a meeting, huh?" Astolfo interjected suddenly while rubbing his chin with his finger, eyes shifting to the side deep in thought and seemingly forgetting how he had just sent King into a stuttering mess. "I can help with that!"
"Huh?"
"Hippogriff! We have a passenger!"
"No, WAIT–"
"Alright, so we're waiting for King, right?"
"Yes, Senpai."
"Should we prepare some things first, then?"
"No need, Romani. King already contacted me earlier. He should be here in ten–"
"Delivery coming through!"
It happened so fast. One second it was all too quiet owing to the amount of people in the room that could be counted on one finger, the next it was as if an army had declared, marched, and enacted war all at the same time.
"...seconds, I guess," Olga finished with a look that was almost despondent directed to their new attendees. They came through the door and it had opened just quick enough for the giant horse-griffin creature to pass through without shattering it to pieces, so Olga supposed that they didn't technically break any rules. It wasn't as if she had placed down any concerning Noble Phantasm usage inside Chaldea yet though she was very much considering it (but the matter of how it would exactly be enforced put an end to that thought very quickly).
"...King," Romani said after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, "I see you decided to take a… fast route here."
King peeked his head from the crossed arms that he buried it in and looked around him. The smiling, satisfied face of Astolfo, then Mash, Ritsuka, Olga, and finally Romani. He carefully got himself off from the eagle-horse creature, Hippogriff if he recalled, taking care not to agitate it, just in case.
"...I guess I did," he said eventually, his mind still trying to come to terms from the 'ride' he was given. "Not by choice, though," he added in a low defeated whisper.
"Well, uh, great! I guess?" Romani said. "Thanks for the… service, Sir Astolfo."
"Mhm, No worries! I can give Master a ride anytime!" Astolfo declared, looking far too proud and missing a grumbled 'I never asked, though' from King. "Ah! Other Master! or Master Two! Do you want a ride on Hippogriff too?"
"N-no, I'm good," Ritsuka said.
"Suit yourself, but, whew! Chaldea's infinite magical energy sure is convenient!"
"I-it's not infinite, Sir Astolfo," Mash meekly said. "N-no, that's not what matters right now. What are you doing here?" The part of the question that inquired on the rider's method of entry was left hanging, though Mash's eyes lingered on Astolfo's mount long enough for it to be apparent to everyone in the room.
"Giving Master a ride, of course!" Except to the perpetrator himself, that was.
"Yes, I can see that, but…"
"Oh, well, guess my job here is done," Astolfo said, cutting Mash off. "If you ever need a ride again, just holler at me!"
"...Sure," King said, unsure of how else to respond.
"I'll be going now! Good luck with your meeting, Master!" the rider said, his mount disappearing as he jogged out of the door he almost crushed while whistling a cheery tune King almost found annoying. Almost. Something about him made it hard to truly dislike him, despite the unwanted 'help' he had given.
"He might be our poster boy for 'problematic servants'," Olga dryly commented.
"No, I don't think he's problematic in a 'bad' way," Mash argued. "Besides, I think we actually have a poster girl for that."
"...Yes, you're right. You mean that Avenger, right?" Olga sighed. "Even that Berserker, Lancelot has been behaving himself around her."
"Well, when you put it like that, we sure have a lot on our hands, don't we?" Romani said, following with a small, uncertain chuckle. "Right, Ritsuka?"
The boy clicked his tongue. "We sure do, huh? What do you think, King?"
"...Yeah. Yeah, we do." He wanted to say more than that, but left it off for now. If he were to recount every single servant and servant combinations that worried him, it would perhaps take up the entire meeting time.
Then, suddenly, the door that had barely survived Astolfo's entry hissed open again, much slower this time.
"Ciao. Sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything?"
Everyone turned to look at the newcomer, ever reliable yet often unseen Da Vinci, in silence, which she acknowledged with a raised eyebrow. She did miss something, she thought.
"So… what did I miss?"
"It's nothing," Mash answered, and no one had the will to argue it.
King felt like he had been sitting too much today. Three hours in the library, thirty minutes and counting in this meeting, and lest he forgot, thirty seconds on Hippogriff. This couldn't be good for his spine, he was twenty nine! If it was up to him, he'd rather all three of those be one time things, yet he knew it wasn't up to him, and deep inside, he knew they would happen again, except The Hippogriff. Hopefully.
"Alright, let's recap everything so far," Olga said, placing her hands on the table opposite he, Ritsuka, and Mash as she stood beside Da Vinci and Romani in front of a large screen mostly composed of several pictures—recorded by some contraptions in the command room, he assumed, maybe a combination of LAPLACE and SHEBA—of him, Ritsuka, and their servants in France along with a few accompanying paragraphs. Jean (or Jeanne Alter or whatever her actual name is) and her servants were also in some of them, which he did his best to ignore to meagre success. "The restoration of the France Singularity was a success, and though we failed to discern the identity of our enemy or grasp the true scope of their goal, that does not change the fact that one of the seven singularities in our path is gone. Furthermore, we did not leave empty-handed, for now we know that there exists other members of our enemy's faction other than Flauros, namely Bune, even if we have no further clue beyond his name. Considering our current resources and manpower, I can only consider the first mission a success. Congratulations."
With that small speech, a lone clap erupted from Olga's side, from Romani, which slowly died down as Olga and Da Vinci gave him a stern and amused look respectively.
"Additionally," Olga continued, before she then suddenly took a deep, audible breath, "with all that said, I want to extend my thanks as Chaldea's director in an official manner, and personally, as Olga Marie Animusphere." Then, she bowed, deeper than King—and likely Ritsuka—ever saw her. Even at the emergency 'State of Chaldea' speech she did, she did not seem this grateful. "Chaldea, Humanity, and I could not have done this without you two, and you as well, Mash." The purple-haired Shielder stammered a little at the sound of her own name, a mix of denial and 'no's, from what King caught.
"...Right," King said, for he didn't know what else to say. In his mind, he knew that he didn't deserve the praise. Sure, the singularity was resolved with basically no casualty on their side (including the servants), but what did he, as an individual, do? He made close contact with 'Jean', not knowing her true identity, and possibly almost compromised the fate of this world with each night he called to meet her. He derailed the mission by doing the idol show with Elizabeth, even if it ended up to Chaldea's advantage in the end (no thanks to him). His only real contribution to the final battle was getting kidnapped and having to be rescued, which he was sure did no favors to anyone. And finally, something he himself could not let go off, he pushed Ritsuka to undertake a responsibility no one his age should because he could not bear the thought of undertaking said responsibility alone. In the end, did he even do anything for the mission?
"Wow, I didn't know you were so kind, director," Ritsuka said beside him, voice teasing. "Maybe you should be more like this all the time to everyone. It'd be a nice incentive."
"...Don't get ahead of yourself, Fujimaru."
"R-r-right! Sorry."
Wow, the director sure could be scary when she wanted to, King thought.
"Well, let's move on to the next topic, shall we? That is to say, our next move going forward. Da Vinci, if you would."
The aforementioned Caster walked to the center of the room, switching places with Olga.
"Buongiorno, King, Ritsuka, Mash. It's been a while, hasn't it?" she asked, the smile on her face ever present.
"It's only been like ten days, Da Vinci," Ritsuka corrected. "But I gotta say, it felt like it's been almost a year."
King had to agree with Ritsuka's statement. It felt like it had been forever since he last saw his TV screen hooked up to his console, though the memory of it, and of his world in general, was always in his mind, and always would be as long as escape was a goal for him.
"Haha, sounds like your trip to France was eventful for you boys, huh? You're kinda lucky, you know? I bet most boys your age would kill for a trip to France."
"I could do without all the blood loss, to be honest."
A small pang of guilt rose up from King's chest, which he quickly buried down with a small cough. He had already done enough reflecting on his guilt about that, for today at least.
"True, true. Sorry I couldn't go with you, by the way," Da Vinci said, scratching her head with a finger from her free hand, looking genuinely sheepish for once. "Had to take the reins for a lot of things, you know? What with our skeleton crew already pushed to the limit."
"Don't worry about it, Da Vinci," Mash said. "We can manage as long as you need to assist Chaldea."
"Oh, I don't think you'll have to worry about that for long~"
"E-eh? Are you saying–?"
"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Da Vinci said, placating Mash, who was rising out of her seat, with an outstretched palm. "Likely I still won't be able to join you for our next singularity. No matter how much a once in a millenia genius like myself can help you, Chaldea still needs me more."
"O-oh…"
"However!" Da Vinci said excitedly. "We have received quite the influx of servants from the Quartz extracted from the correction of the France Singularity. About twenty, isn't that right, Romani?"
"Yes. Twenty-five is the number of servants we now have, to be specific," the doctor said.
"Thank you, Roman. Among those twenty-five, one of them happens to be a genius mage, who right now we are in the middle of negotiating to lend some of her knowledge to aid in some of our departments. If all goes well, and say, we happen to find more geniuses in more fields, then–"
"You can join us," Ritsuka finished Da Vinci's statements.
"Well, yes. But my main point is that Chaldea's skeleton crew would be fixed. For one, we already have Murasaki replacing every single library duty," Da Vinci pointed out. "You two have been using her services extensively, right?"
Too much, King thought. If he was being honest, he felt like he had been exploiting her kindness. The fact that she took every request of his with a smile that persisted when she would carry the ridiculous stacks of books that he requested didn't help much. She thought he was being 'scholarly', too. If only you knew, Miss Murasaki.
"T-that's great! Now we don't have to–"
"It's not that simple, Mash," Romani interjected.
"It's not?" Ritsuka asked. "I mean, it sounds like all positives no negatives to me."
'It's not that, Ritsuka,' King thought with a wince. He was well aware of what Romani was about to say. He had been reading extensively about servants after all, and had been made aware of the potential problems with servants meeting, but most of all, he was 'partners' with someone who was practically a boiling pot of conflicts.
"From a purely conceptual point of view, perhaps," Romani conceded. "But think of the servants we have summoned. Let's take Achilles for an example."
"Uh-huh."
"When you think of The Iliad, what comes to your mind?"
"Well, Achilles, obviously. The battles he had, how he killed Hector, and how he got killed by Pa– Ohhhh…"
"Exactly," Romani said, adjusting his collar. "Even with good luck, we'd need a considerable amount of servants summoned to get Chaldea up and running like it's at its full capability. With the amount that we need, is there any guarantee some sort of conflict will break between them?" he asked, his brows narrowing. "And better yet, if they do, will we have what it takes to stop it?"
"...Damn," Ritsuka cursed, more overwhelmed than anything.
"All that being said, I think we do have an ace in the hole of sorts."
"We do?" Ritsuka asked, turning to Mash.
'We do?' King asked in his mind, glancing at Mash with Ritsuka.
"I-I don't know we have something like that," Mash said, confused.
"Of course you don't, we got it relatively recently," Romani explained. "It's King."
Wait, what?
"Oh, right," Ritsuka said, nodding in a knowing wa– No what the fuck did he mean, 'Oh, right'?!
"I am?" King asked, hands almost shaking as he pointed to himself. Any sign of weakness would be betrayal to their trust of him, and consequently, his place here.
"Of course," Romani said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The way you got Jeanne Alter to not lash out whatsoever, even if we have her under constant surveillance, is nothing to be scoffed at. Not to mention how you handled Elizabeth and the whole idol thing—great shows, by the way—and d'Eon had also told us how you helped them."
d'Eon? What did they have to do with any of this?
"So, if ever two servants with conflicting histories meet, then I hope you'll lend us your expertise on this matter, King.
No, wait.
"Hold o–"
Suddenly, a hand was placed on his right shoulder with a thud, Ritsuka's as King found out by looking right. And behind the boy, Mash looked at him like he was reliable in any sort of way.
"We're counting on you, King."
"..." God, he wanted to rip his hair out, so bad.
"Way to be a party pooper, Roman," Da Vinci teased, nudging him with her elbow
"H-hey! I was just warning them about the possibilities!"
"Sure, sure. Now let's get to the last thing: The Grails."
"The Grails? As in, the Holy Grails?" Ritsuka asked in confusion, which King couldn't help but share. He knew they were important, they were kind of the foundation of the singularities after all, but why were they still important after they had already retrieved them?
"Yes. As you know, we currently have two of them in our possession. One from Fuyuki, and one from France. Right now, they're simply kept for safekeeping, but we've been thinking about–"
"Wait, hold on," Ritsuka interjected. "Why does it matter what we do with them? We already resolved those singularities, right?" he asked, mirroring King's own thoughts.
"Of course it matters. There's a lot of ways we can use them, you know," Da Vinci said in an almost chiding tone, complete with a finger wag and a slight pout on her face.
"You mean, there's another purpose for them other than just being our batteries?"
"Well, yes. The Holy Grail is a wish-granter after all."
'Wish-granter? Sounds like bull–' His thoughts stopped dead, and his ears twitched slightly.
"Wish-granter? So like, it can make wishes… come true? Like, what is it called again, 'True Magic'?" Ritsuka asked, scratching the back of his head.
"Not quite. It's more intuitive to think about it like a bank of magical energy, if banks have unlimited money in them. They can give you as many resources as you need to do whatever it is you want to do," Da Vinci explained. "In fact, this very organization was built on that concept, though Marisbury used that analogy too literally, he literally wished for practically infinite wealth."
"...Wow. I knew they were important but I didn't know that was its main function," Ritsuka said, rubbing his chin. "Say, can't we use it to wish for, I don't know, our enemy's identity? It'd probably make things a lot easier."
"It's not that simple, Ritsuka," the caster chided. "I already said it's like a bank with infinite money. Imagine, if you will, that you have a square-shaped cake, and you want to cut it in equal pieces into perfect circles while leaving no cake wasted. With the current state of mathematics, physics, and technology, it would be practically impossible even if the entire world itself was to share your goal, so–"
"No amount of money can help me."
"Precisely. Right now, we are up against something that can incinerate all of humanity in an instant, not to mention they still have at least six grails compared to our two. Just like our metaphorical cake, no amount of magical energy can give us a straight solution."
Ritsuka clicked his tongue and leaned back into his seat. "Well, that's a shame. Doesn't sound too useful for us, then, if I'm being honest."
"True, but you know that a lot of servants are the way they are because they have unrealized wishes, right? At the very least, it'd be best to keep them somewhere safe."
"Fair enough. Say, uh, where is it, by the way? The Holy Grails, I mean."
"We haven't had time to properly reserve a place for them, so right now, they're collecting dust in some place in R ."
"Isn't that kinda… irresponsible?"
"I wouldn't worry about it too much. This facility isn't so big that we'd lose track of something with as much magical energy as a Holy Grail. Well, except if someone were to use them, anyway," Da Vinci reassured. "Besides, I don't think we've summoned anyone mad enough to snatch and use them without permission. I haven't even told the guys at R to guard them!"
"No, Da Vinci. That is somewhat irresponsible," Olga said, sighing with a palm on her head while she shook it. Da Vinci, on her part, simply whistled away the scolding innocently.
"Huh, alright, those are news to me. But I guess they weren't to you, huh, King? King? Where'd he go?"
"Mr. King, uh, just dashed out of the room a few seconds ago," Mash said, herself sounding unsure as to why.
"It's fine," Olga said. "I think we all know by now that everything he does is for a reason."
"...Yeah, you're right, director."
King had forgotten he could run this fast. No, perhaps he never did run this fast before, not even in the life threatening moments when monsters' claws were inches away from delivering unto him a second trio of scars did he run this fast, nor did he run this fast at any point during the last two singularities. On his way, he had asked a few poor employees who were simply their own business on the location of the R department with panicked sentences constructed with flimsy thought. He hoped that the nervous answer they gave was because of his face, no doubt looking like it belonged to a desperate madman (which he basically was), for once and not because they could not understand what he was asking.
Along the way, he lapped past hissing doors, faces of employees that blurred into one another, though he caught John once again whose confused face he glimpsed before he too blurred into the others, much easier than the rest, and even a few servants who threw him several questions involving the entire roster of the interrogatives, none of which he bothered to answer. He'd like to apologize to all of them, yet if he could pull this off, he'd never get the chance.
And he would not look back for that chance.
As he stopped, the first thing he heard was the haggard sound of someone breathing, which he soon identified to be himself, even though it sounded nothing like he usually did. Second was the sound of something ringing, like the ones you could occasionally get at night due to the lack of other sounds, emanating from in front of him, though whether it was truly there or simply in his head, he did not know, nor care.
For in front of him, sitting innocently on top of a table in an empty room, were two Holy Grails, golden chalices where wishes come true, or so he was told.
He felt a lump go down his throat with a struggle. Was this it? His one-way ticket to get out of this nightmare? One of these two well made yet unassuming pieces of drinkware? He could scarcely believe how close—and goddamn unsecured—they were to him. If Da Vinci was to be believed, and there was no reason for him not to with how much she—and Chaldea—believed in him, all he needed to do was make a wish. She did not say the specifics of the ritual, but from the simplicity of how she explained it, he felt there was no reason, simply because it was just like that: say your wish and have it granted.
So, here, in front of his ticket, King closed his eyes, and thought of everything nice. His ever familiar stack of backlog sitting under his TV, the manga collection collecting dust in his shelves, his weekly matches with Saitama. All things he took for granted, all things he wanted back more than anything. And to get them back, all he needed was a wish. One sentence. Four words: Send me back home. He would be gone before he, or anyone else knew it, and all it'd cost was some fancy magical cup no one had any personal attachment to.
No one would know.
All he had to do was reach outward and speak his wish onto one of them, and all would be right.
As his hands stretched outwards to The Grail on the left, he felt sweat wetting his undershirt, visible on the back of his palms. He was moving slowly, far slower than he had thought possible given the circumstances. But it was a race against no one but his own will.
And eventually, the tip of his fingers made contact.
Ritsuka's eyes scanned over the doors lining the blue Chaldea walls as he whistled a tune while he carried in his hand a folder, which inside was some outline of their plans moving forward for the next expedition. King had exited the meeting early, to which he was sure the older man had a good reason for, he always did. So he did not mind whatsoever that he had to go to his room to deliver a summary of what he missed. King probably wasn't there, and he hadn't bothered to say where he was going, so it was a safe bet that he'd see it eventually if Ritsuka put it on his table.
Eventually, he found the right door. It was rather far from his own room, Ritsuka thought. Almost opposite of where it was in Chaldea's living quarters. Maybe it was to balance their distances to the central part of Chaldea, he theorized. Shaking off the thoughts, he opened the door by pressing a keycard to the scanner beside it, Olga's, with universal access to Chaldea he was told. The door separated with a hiss, and as he stepped in, he expected to find an empty room, but instead, someone was there, sitting on the bed staring at the wall opposite the door, their back turned towards Ritsuka.
"Oh, King. You're here."
"...Yeah."
"Well, good. I'll put these on your table. They're printed summaries of what you missed. The director typed them in pretty quick. Guess she's the director for a reason."
"...Thanks."
"Don't mention it. See you later."
As the door closed with the familiar hiss, King's body fell sideways to the bed like a stack of hay, empty all over and powerless even to the meek wind. He couldn't see his own face—the window was in the bathroom—but if he could, he'd be sure that they would look like a corpse even more decayed than how he had looked after that all-nighter he had in preparation for France. And in the midst of the ambience of rustling fabric, flowing air from the AC, and his own weak breaths, he only thought of one sentence:
'Why. Didn't. I. Fucking. Do. It?'
Why indeed? He was scared, that much he could gather from his own emotions. Because the possibility of death, yes, that had to be it. The Grail was still an unknown subject to him mostly, and who knows what it could've done to him had he carelessly made a wish on it. Yes, that was it. He only retracted his hand at the last second because he was scared it would hurt him instead.
There was no other reason. No. Other. Reason.
He let out a long, defeated sigh as he turned his body to face the ceiling, and covered his eyes with his arm. It would seem that his stay here was to last a little longer, but only as long as it took for him to figure out the working of the Holy Grails, preferably more than simply from literature. Who knows how biased the answer may be when the matter was related to mages and their endeavor. As to how, when, and who he would ask the question to, and without having the optics of his 'mage' identity be broken by asking such an obvious question, he would figure it out later, after a good, long, uninterrupted sleep.
As he felt himself drowse into sleep, he could not help but think that he really should've taken the chance. After all, not taking the chance had been the leading cause of every single problem he had found himself in, so why not take the plunge for once.
Because he was a coward, and the proof of this: he could not even once picture nor imagine himself without flinching at the thought of possible death.
If only he had more courage.
Hey
I'm back!
Kinda.
Well I am mostly back, anyway. I already wrote and got my thesis proposal accepted. The hard part is mostly over, but I still need to defend it in about three weeks, so I'm not out of the woods yet, so to speak. As a result, the next update will probably come slower too, even if not 2 months like this one did.
On that note, sorry you all waited this long for a pretty boring chapter, a long one at that (legit I planned this to be 8k words at most). It's not my best work in any capacity, and I honestly feel somewhat disappointed in myself for following the last chapter with this one. Do blame Medusa for getting out of control with her section. At the same time, I also feel it somewhat necessary to both show fallout and set up a bunch of future arcs and scenes here (trust me the majority of scenes in this chapter is gonna lead to something) especially in regards to King. I also understand if a good amount of you feel disappointed in the lack of Jalter and/or Elizabeth interactions with King here, but these I can promise you will come in the next two or three chapters, so stick around.
Honestly, I've been reading in the break I've had; real books, classics even, and I've been exposed more than before to how much I am still lacking.
Someday I'll be a good writer. Not today, not tomorrow, probably not by next year.
But someday.
Anyway, tell me what you think about the chapter as always.
Later.