There is an old story
lost in turbulent times
about the strongest swords
buried in the mountains.

Chapter One: Into Rabona

The warlock fled into the city. The hunter followed.

In the empty streets of Fuyuki City, where only three years ago the fifth and final Holy Grail War ended, the world that existed in the background of society continued onward. With the Holy Grail gone, the magi families from across the world that once concentrated on the War gradually shifted their focus to other pursuits. In fact, save the guardian of the land, the Tohsaka family, only a handful of magi remained in the city.

But that did not mean the city's three-hundred-plus year history with magic would end.

The end of the War meant only the end of an era.

The warlock's intentions followed these lines; the hunter, aware of this, intended to stop him. This time, surely. The existence of magic had brought tragedy after tragedy to Fuyuki in the past—including the Great Fire that consumed half the city before extinguishing. It went unsaid that the continued presence of magic, especially the presence of a warlock—an unsanctioned magi—meant more trouble lay in the future. Clutching his bow, the hunter cleared uneven rooftops, his leaps and strides carrying him distances unachieveable by normal humans. The warlock, hiding in the shadows of the city, moved as quickly as he did, as if gliding low over the concrete.

And as the chase reached the docks, where the waves lapped softly against the port, the warlock turned, his face still hidden behind his woolen shawl.

An arrow flew straight at him before shattering in midair.

Two more arrows, shot simultaneously, met the same fate before the hunter quietly leapt from a warehouse and onto even ground. The hunter watched the warlock from two dozen meters away.

"You are not the guardian of the land," the warlock said.

The hunter said nothing.

"I warded the docks, you see. Intruders will feel a compulsion to approach me."

An arrow materialized in the hunter's empty hand before being notched into the bow. The arrow flew, then slowed as if it passed some invisible territory. The warlock's eyes widened as his barriers shattered like glass, letting the arrow fly straight into his throat. With a bloody choke, he fell, writhing in a growing pool of blood. But the hunter simply summoned another arrow, eyes narrowing as he stared into the distance.

"Not fooled, are you?" The warlock studied the hunter quietly. A black facemask and hood. A strange black bow of unknown origin. A Kevlar suit. The equipment let the hunter camouflage in an urban environment. It worked more so at nighttime. "My name is Herman von Grimm. Who are you?"

His answer was an arrow to his heart.

It shattered against a strengthened barrier.

"It is impolite to attack like so." Herman turned his gaze to the rooftops in the distance. He raised a gloved hand and gestured. "There you are."

Light engulfed the docks.

The rooftop Herman had gestured to was now covered in debris, smoke and molten steel. The hunter, however, was nowhere to be found. The decoy the hunter had sent was now a simple knife rocking on the ground.

A ghost of smile crossed the warlock's face, concealed by the scarf. "You're quite good at this," he said, sure that his opponent remained in the vicinity. "Your tactics match the testimonies of the other participants. You don't happen to be acquainted with the Holy Grail War, are you?"

Herman whirled before the hunter could plunge a sword into his back. The blade, gleaming in the moonlight, penetrated Herman's barrier with ease before burying straight into his heart.

"That was close," Herman's voice echoed. "I say I am good with illusions, and will be doubly careful around you.

"But please, do let us talk. The guardian of the land is a well-mannered girl but has yet provided me with any information regarding the War's champion." There was a pause in Herman's words before he continued. "You see, I should have been part of that War. My family hails from a long line of magi that has existed since Germany was a collection of tribes that clashed with Rome's legionnaires. I had a vested interest in participating in the War.

"But by the time I reached this backwater city, the War was already over."

White beams cut the docks from the rooves of several warehouses. The hunter danced about them as they carved molten lines in the ground.

"Understand," said Herman's voice, "that I only wish to fight the victor. A clean fight, like the one I should have gotten in the War. That is my purpose in life. Win or lose, I will return home."

The hunter notched an arrow and shot it into the distance. The beam extending from the furthest warehouse stopped. The other beams, too, ceased.

"Your mastery of the bow is commendable. That shot was done without magic, I see."

The hunter raised his bow defensively as a hound covered in molten lava appeared and lunged at him. Its jaws enclosed over the bow and, with a display of great strength, snapped the weapon cleanly in half. The pieces of the bow disintegrated as the hound lunged at the hunter again, a furious fire blazing in its eyes. A longsword met the hound's attack, skewering it cleanly through its throat and down its ribs.

More hounds pulled themselves out of the ground, forming a loose circle around him. They attacked him as one, and he retaliated with swift efficiency.

"That sword of yours is quite an artifact. My hounds are usually quite tough." As the hounds fell, more took their place. A mass of barking and growling creatures swarmed the hunter, overwhelming him with pure numbers. The air shimmered and Herman emerged, watching with detached interest as the struggling figure disappeared beneath a mass of fur. "Don't take it personally, my quiet pursuer. The guardian would be upset if she knew of my continued presence. I hear she has quite the fiery temperament, and I want not to risk facing those spirits she tamed."

Herman turned to leave. His hounds would take care of the remains.

I͏̸ ̶̕a̢̛̕͞m̀̀͞ ̛t͏͞h̵̨͢͝é̡͏̵̵ ̡̨͡b̢̢͢ó̸̧͢͠n͘è͝ ̸̀͠ǫ̶̸́f̵̧҉̀ ͡͡m̢̧͝͡y͟͠ ̴̴͘͢͟s̸̴͟w̷̕o̷̴̧͢͝r̀̀͠d͠҉—͘͏

The wind blew gently before roaring.

Herman stumbled as a great gust buffeted him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the hunter rise despite the hounds. He broke into guffaws. "I knew it! You're the champion of the Grail, are you not? The very person the guardian did her best to stop me from seeing came to me of his own violation."

The pile of hounds split as something blindly fast broke through, cutting through the warehouses with the strength of a natural disaster.

The illusion vanished. Herman rose from the rubble of a warehouse at the other side of the docks, coughing and laughing. His scarf and fedora were gone, revealing a man in his thirties with dirty blond hair and light blue eyes. Handsome save the madness glinting in his eyes.

"Yes! Yes! This is how it should be! The fight I needed—!"

Herman glanced upward as the hunter descended upon him, silver and gold eyes shining with cold brutality.

"To our battlefield!" Herman howled.

Then, in a flicker of multi-colored light, the docks were empty.

He awoke in a cell. He had no idea where save the fact that he had been captured.

But what happened? He had no memory of anything save—

To our battlefield!

He remembered everything and gritted his teeth. Shutting his eyes, he reached deep inside himself and tugged at the connection to the Grail he had gotten accustomed to the past three years. Prana trickled into his depleted circuits through the connection, though the warm presence of the Grail now felt slightly colder, as if it had grown distant. That was a bleak sign. Even in the United States his connection with the Grail didn't change.

A surging heat raced across his body. The cuts and bruises on his body healed over. When the faint thrumming in his chest receded, he opened his eyes.

It was dark, wherever he was.

There was a single, barred window. It told him a few things. For one, he deduced he was relatively close to the ground from the angle in which he could see the surface. It was nearing dusk. The air was fresh, much like the countryside. How far had Herman taken him from Fuyuki? Just as he was about to force his way out, heavy footsteps reached his ear. The dull groan of metal reminded him of the War, of how Arturia's armor made that soft sound when she wandered his home.

A shadow grew on the wall across his cell. He tensed.

It wasn't Herman. No, instead it was a young man in his twenties. While the young man too had blond hair, it was short. His facial features were different. Light brown eyes stared back at him from the metal bars.

"Who are you?" the young man asked.

He hesitated. "Archer."

"Your real name, please."

"I would prefer Archer, if you don't mind."

The young man sighed. "Fine, Archer. My name is Sid. I am a captain of the Holy City's guard."

"Sorry. Which city?"

Sid raised a brow. "The Holy City." When he got no response, he frowned. "Rabona, the City of Saints. You must be from the mountainside if you've no idea what Rabona is."

"Sorry."

"No matter. I would like to know how you got into the city."

"I don't know. I don't know where I am."

"You're in the city's dungeons—"

"I know that. I don't know where I am in relation to where I am from." Archer thought about his next words. "I was fighting this man, you see. One moment I am about to win, the next I awake in this cell."

"You are lying."

Archer answered unflinchingly. "I'm not."

"It certainly isn't the whole story."

"It isn't," Archer admitted.

"We found you in the middle of the city after a great flash of lightning struck," Sid said.

"Was there a man with me? In his thirties, with a black coat, hat and a scarf?"

Sid thought for a moment. "No. None that I recall."

"I see."

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two. Sid spoke up. "You are not from around here, are you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You look different."

"We all look different."

"But you even more so. And you... hmm. Tell me: do you fight?"

"Is that a recruitment pitch?"

"Perhaps. I don't trust you at all, but I cannot deny that you look nothing like anyone I have seen before. Your eyes are shaped differently and your skin is quite dark. If you said you were not from here, I would have no choice but to believe so."

Archer said nothing.

"Hmm. Right. So, do you know how to fight?"

"Yes."

"With a name like Archer, you must know how to use the bow. Your body shape suggests you are familiar with close combat as well."

"And?"

"Lately, the yoma have been vicious. We've lost three men this month alone. I will help grant you citizenship so long as you serve in the guard for, let's say, two years."

Archer didn't know what to think. He was still disoriented from his encounter with Herman. But from what little he knew about the context, what Sid was offering him was not entirely a bad deal. Most importantly, it was a chance to get information for relatively little cost. "I thought you said you didn't trust me."

"I don't. You will be under watch until I am convinced."

"And if I refuse?"

"You rot in this cell until someone remembers you."

"Hmm. I suppose I have little choice but to accept."

Sid grinned. "Good. Galk! We've got a recruit. Oh, and one more thing: if you betray us, your head will be on a pike outside the dungeon."

"I'll take that into consideration."

A large man, standing at least a head taller than Sid, emerged with the jingling of keys.

"Can we have your real name now?" Sid asked.

"It's Shirou."

The large man named Galk led Shirou out of the dungeon. It was after his first look at Rabona did Shirou begin to comprehend his situation.

Thatched cottages clustered in circular—often disorganized—groups were an odd sight to behold. The walls in the distance reminded him of Europe's castles. He was looking at a nearly textbook example of a fortified town from the Middle Ages, from design down to the smallest details.

Galk mistook Shirou's surprise for amazement.

"Quite a large town, isn't it?" Galk's deep voice seemed to move the earth.

"It's certainly new to me."

"The city's guard protects tens of thousands of people living in these walls. The yoma try to get in every day, because this city is a feast for them." Shirou tilted his head upon hearing the word again. Yoma. From Sid words, he could only guess that they were hostiles. If the city were a feast for yoma, then were these yoma some kind of monster? "Don't worry. We'll make sure you're ready to fight before we let you go. We don't make it a habit of sending people to their deaths."

His curiosity was getting the best of him. On one hand he could escape. It didn't seem difficult. On the other hand, this information dangling in front of him was irresistible in an odd way.

"May I ask how you treated yourself?"

"Pardon?"

"When we found you, you were quite wounded. Bruiser, bite marks, cuts and scrapes." Shirou was quiet. Galk noticed this and nodded. "Very well. I hope one day you can tell us."

"Maybe."

As the two walked downhill from the dungeons, to what seemed to be the barracks, Shirou noticed people. The citizens of Rabona. Shirou didn't know what to make of their appearance, though in the back of his mind he already knew. Instead of t-shirts, jeans or even sneakers, what he saw were tunics, linen pants and cloth shoes. The setup was too elaborate to be an illusion despite Herman's claimed mastery over them. Shirou remembered a moment when multi-colored lights blinded him before he awoke and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Herman had pulled a Zelretch on him.

He'd never guess how Herman got his hands on dimensional-crossing magic.

"Galk," Shirou said. "Where are you taking me?"

"The barracks," the large man answered.

At the end of a narrow, brick street, Shirou spotted a two-story building guarded by men in armor. He glanced at their pikes and reaffirmed that he was no longer anywhere near Fuyuki City.

Thick wooden doors opened and Galk gestured for Shirou to follow. Inside the barracks was dusty. The windows provided light, and several unlit candles stood upon empty tables. A few men sitting on one side of the room glanced towards the pair, giving Shirou especially curious looks, before beginning a hushed conversation.

"—man from the sky—"

"He's a yoma, I bet."

"—new recruit."

Shirou forced himself to stop eavesdropping. Galk returned with two swords in belts on hand. He gave one to Shirou before calling to the men. "Harold! Get over here. There's a new recruit."

A dark-haired man in his late thirties and a five o'clock shadow shot to his feet. "Righty-o!"

Galk turned to Shirou. "You're going to spar with him. No, don't worry. I'll stop you two before you kill each other. It's just a way to see how well you can use a sword."

Shirou nodded.

Galk ushered him out another door, to an enclosed area behind the barracks. There the man named Harold was already waiting, alongside a few other off-duty guards whom were sitt. Shirou became intensely aware of gazes centering upon him, from the audience in the yard to the men watching discretely from the second floor of the barracks. And then there was Galk's watchful eyes.

"'ello there, new blood," Harold said, drawing his own sword. "Ready?"

Shirou weighed the longsword in his hand. It was far from the best he had held—though most swords paled in comparison to the ones he had seen three-years ago—but a part of him knew he had been spoiled by quality. A part of his mind clicked as he memorized its length. "I'm ready."

"To first blood or a fatal wound." Galk eyed them both. "Don't go too far. Begin!"

Harold took two steps forward. Just out of range of their weapons, Shirou noted. They circled each other as the onlookers called bets. They heavily favored Harold, though a few adventurous souls put their money on Shirou. Then it happened. As Harold's feet crossed, Shirou stepped forward, sword up to fend off a downwards swing. It met and parried Harold's attack cleanly. Shirou's sword lightly touched Harold's upper arm.

"One to Shirou," Galk said. "Very nice. Next round."

A couple of cheers were drowned by a chorus of boos. Harold cursed loudly at his fellow guards before returning his attention to Shirou. "Nice one. You've done this?"

"A little," Shirou answered.

"Begin!"

Harold struck immediately. To Shirou, it happened in slow motion. His sword parried the blow as he stepped into the swing. Harold jumped back the second he saw his attack fail. Shirou took another step forward, trying to lock his sword with Harold's only for Harold to retreat again.

"That's fuckin' cute," Harold muttered.

Harold kicked with his forward leg, striking Shirou's shin, and quickly followed with a thrust.

Shirou evaded the attack instead of parrying. "So kicks and punches are allowed?"

Galk nodded. "So long as the injury is minor."

Shirou stepped forward again, bringing himself in range. Harold punched with his free hand. Shirou blocked with his forearm and struck back with the pommel of his sword.

Harold cursed as Shirou quickly swung downward. The blade touched Harold's upper arm.

"Alright, I've seen enough," said Galk. He nodded in approval to Shirou. "We'll let you take a break while we figure out what to do with you. Harold!" Harold flinched. "Show Shirou to a meal and an empty bed. Keep an eye on him. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Shirou."

"Thank you," said Shirou.

As Galk departed, Shirou turned his attention to Harold. Harold turned the stare, seemed to find something acceptable, and nodded. "Well, that was a nice spar," he said. "Got me good there, I'll admit. But I'm a better drinker than I am a swordsman; I'm sure you'll never beat me at that."

"That's nothing to be proud of!" someone said.

"Get bent!" Harold shouted back. He grinned affably. "Now, Shirou, right? Odd name. Lets get some food in ye. You'll learn how much to hate the gruel they serve here."

a/n: Yes, this Shirou is AU. No, I don't have a detailed story on what happened in his Holy Grail War. No, I currently do not have plans to introduce Rin, Saber, Sakura or anyone else from the Nasuverse into the story.

No, I don't care much for Nasu-ology; I prefer writing something enjoyable over writing something canonically accurate. I don't know if this will be a harem. Probably not.

And no, I don't know if this will crash and burn again. With the Claymore manga finished, hopefully not.

7-08-2015: Fixed a word. "pommel", not "pummel". Thanks Guest.