Thank you for reading this far, especially those of you who diligently reviewed and comment almost every chapter. Thank you all for making this the best-reviewed (by the time this chapter is uploaded) Medea, Medusa, and/or Atalanta fanfiction in this site. I'll see you in HV-S03, which will be under the FGO crossover category!

Warning: Every single inaccurate-to-canon thing narrated below is AU. Can you guess why they turn up as they are?

AlternateReality: Yeah, I know and intentionally did that. Would you like to guess why the OOC moment as well?
Story Writer-san: I think you missed his appearance in the last 'Percy's & Andy's Fun-Fun Adventures!'. Check the chapter titles for further reference. Also, he'll make an appearance in the epilogue, don't you worry.

"Thus, my story ends," Archer finished both her narrative and meals at nearly the same time. Considering she ordered roughly the same portions as Saber – much to Shishigō's tears dropping onto his now-ultra-skinny wallet – she ate them fast, too.

…and to his horror, the two ladies seemed intent on ordering dessert.

'I'm sorry, my daughter… Your father may need to sell his body for your next school fees…!'

"Aww… Come on! There has to be more than that anticlimactic ending, right?! What about █████'s cool battles?! You're not including them much…" Saber complained, cheek lying on one hand, scraping the long-empty salad bowl filled not with salad, but copious amounts of sliced roast beef. Of course, all of it had made its way down her stomach. "And the sex, too… We're both adult women! There's no need to be shy!"

They sounded like they're talking about the same person, but why wasn't Shishigō able to hear the name? Every time this person was mentioned, it's as if an invincible perception filter struck him, and using every trick in his book as a magical mercenary didn't even let him identify what spell was being used, much less break through them to gain insight on his Servant's life, as well as the Archer sitting across from them.

It should be a man, though it's not impossible, given how Mordred's father was historically portrayed, that any kind of gender identifier was possible.

Shishigō was just too lazy – and scared – to ask, given Archer also put a lot of value on this individual. His Servant, he could somewhat handle… though he's not sure he could activate his Command Seals faster than her sword swing at close range – but another Master's? Even though Archers weren't supposed to be good at close range, that's only relative to other Servants – against someone like him, it'd be easier than snapping a dry twig in half.

It's just… the rate these two women hit it off surprised him tremendously. Heroic Spirits were… well, heroic, with the ego size to match. It's rare to see one completely prideless, since even Assassins, whose names were usually the most obscure, had their skills to show for it. As a result, finding two Servants who're complete strangers and get along with each other the instant the two met? The chances were smaller than him mastering True Magic.

Archer was hiding the beast-like traits she sported when they first met outside the church, and was now wearing a fashionable green jacket over a shirt and short skirt. As was always the case with Heroic Spirits, her beauty was astounding, turning heads wherever she went. With her long, jade-gold hair and thigh-high stockings, her looks tempted both genders regardless of time and space.

Walking alongside another pretty girl like Saber only piled on the pressure on Shishigō. He could see most people around him though he's a goon paid to bodyguard these two fine ladies, since his Servant had gone out of her way to borrow a dress from a shop she liked when they were passing by.

Key word: 'borrow'. No way in hell he's going to spend that much money on a piece of feminine article which he wasn't going to see very often anyway when Saber dematerialized or in combat.

…though now when he thought about it, perhaps he should've caved in back then. Because now… he didn't have any excuses left to not pay for their meals.

As the two girls talked, the sunglasses-wearing man was almost catatonic when calculating which family property he'd have to auction to cover this meal. On the first day.

'H-How long will we be in Trifas, again…?'

Contrary to her brash mannerism, the dress Saber was wearing was feminine to the extreme. From the outline of a simple one-piece knee-length dress, numerous frills of various shades of red and gold over white adorned nearly every inch of fabric. While modern in style – meaning they're nowhere near as long and gaudy as those on the ballroom gowns female rulers in the Middle Ages favoured – it completely transformed her image into a pure, innocent village girl; the kind one dreamt of to have as a childhood friend.

…until she opened her mouth and crossed her legs wantonly, that was. Of course, that was only in front of him; when she begged to borrow this dress, another persona – the one fitting said piece of clothing – covered her original personality flawlessly. Shishigō felt shivers going down his entire spine when he saw the underlying threat hidden behind the oh-so-sweet smile: Tell on me and you're dead.

Sipping the applewood-scented tea, Archer raised one hand to wave over the waitress, and Shishigō sobbed in his heart. "Apple pie, please."

"…w-which size, Miss?" The simple girl stuttered, blushing at Archer's sharp and athletic features.

"The largest. I shall take it whole; no need for a slice."

She nodded furiously, her mind kept replaying how slender and toned the arm which called her earlier was. She tried a trick to have their fingertips touch, but Archer had long lost interest and already begun to speak again.

"I assure you, there was not much apart from the same monotonous happiness. I am fulfilled in every single way – as I am sure you were, too."

"You got that right! A large sundae for me, please!" Saber boisterously slapped the table, careful not to break it into pieces while there's still pieces of food remaining on the dishes.

Can't waste 'em, after all…

"I summoned you, you rascal. Why have you not heeded it?"

Under Archer's fearsome glare, Rider could do nothing but whimper on his knees, trembling.

"It appears you must still receive… education."

"NO! NO! PLEASE, NOT THAT!"

Nearby, Assassin could only do her best to contain her guffaws from escaping her belly. However, the strain of doing so proved dangerous for her posture, as her shoulders were shaking heavily and her floor-length black hair rippled this way and that.

Her Master only watched on, speechless – a decision unusually shared by Caster, who's usually the most boisterous. The silence was even more reinforced as the petite woman dragged the full-grown muscular by his collar, and nothing Rider could do was able to hinder his captivity in the slightest.

Truly, far had this hero fallen.

Atalanta Artemisia-Arcadia. Three words which carried tremendous weight and influence back when she was alive, never mind right now with how widespread mythology and general mysteries was. Shirō certainly thought the still-powerful connection between humanity and the planet nowadays – relatively stable since he last 'ascended' from this world – was due to her actions in the past.

'Atalanta' symbolized the fearless huntress whose shadows were too fast for any mortal or deity to catch a glimpse of, much less catch, and signified her affinity with the forest. 'Artemisia' was self-explanatory, after the Olympians decided to grant their champions and chief priests/priestesses their name to symbolize the closer relationship between the divine and mortal. 'Arcadia' showed she, not her father, was the kingdom's greatest ruler and the true start of the Arcadian Empire's dynasty.

Even until now, the coalition between Arcadia, Iolchos, and Colchis still existed behind the scenes, powerful as ever under different guises – one of the few remaining tethers to the Age of Gods still existing today. While their power wasn't as tremendously overbearing as it would in a world with thin spiritual presence, it only showcased how strong they were to be able to persist in their lofty heights even in an environment where any random child in a few dozen could develop talents in Magecraft.

This was the world Amakusa Shirō Tokisada was born into, and still was the same after he 'ascended'.

He formed his hypothesis from studying ancient documents as soon as her true identity was revealed, which showed remarkable similarities with his beloved teacher. Not much, but enough a discerning eye like him – even without the boons of his Servant Class Container – because only a select few know of the existence of a Heroic Vessel.

As was the norm, any mention of this individual would sound in his ear like, "████," for he wasn't one who's blessed with direct contact with the person – that would be his master, the Matron Saint of France, who took him as her final disciple before her 'ascension'. Just the thought of her braving an entire continent to find him was enough to elicit overwhelming warmth from his heart, as nostalgia threatened to consume him if not for Semiramis coughing discreetly in her spiritual form beside him.

And now, they stood on opposite sides. Truly, the Holy Grail War was a cruel thing to behold.

…well, not precisely opposite. He was of one faction, she was a neutral observer. Two near-immortal saints in different groups were very difficult to manage, especially because he had no confidence in outsmarting and outperforming her if they met face-to-face.

Karna would be a good option, he mused, before leaving Achilles to his fate.

He could feel the green-haired man's scathing look of betrayal as Atalanta shoved him to one corner, but steeled his heart as soon as the screaming started.

"You want to be the fastest? Even faster than me?"

Achilles, an obnoxious young preteen, nodded arrogantly. "For sure! I'll show you-"

"Then die."

Those were the last words Achilles remembered before Atalanta kicked him in the face down a cliff, back in his childhood.

"Lunch will be in an hour. Make it back before then, or starve and die."

He was falling at terminal velocity, and thus Atalanta's cold voice failed to reach his ears with the rushing wind bellowing around him. However, he was adept enough at lip reading to decipher her intentions – not to mention she could've spent some magic energy to make her voice audible; but hey, he wouldn't be the one to say that to her!

He didn't remember much after that; only slivers of memories of life-and-death battles with the monsters living in the bottom of the cliff. Any route he tried, different beasts would inhabit it and assault him in a different way. The long, slow, and relatively gentle slope was ruled by powerful four-legged feline beasts twice his height. The caves full of opportune shortcuts were pitch black, where blind and poisonous pale creatures awaited patiently in ambush – not to mention the seemingly-infinite amounts of dead-ends. The 'cheat' route of directly climbing the cliffs put him square in the middle of various griffons' and harpies' hunting ground, and while they're not as powerful as the other ones below, they tend to attack in herd, and their harassment was more than enough to break his concentration from climbing, forcing him to drop down below again and again.

In the end, he only made it back the following day's morning, full of wounds and starving.

But Atalanta simply tied him to a tree as she had a sumptuous and bountiful breakfast in front of him, fit for a queen, and cooked by her husband. Her fellow wives took pity on him and wanted to free him, but she sternly disapproved.

"What? Did I not say 'one hour'? Only blame your own incompetence," she spoke in-between quick bites and slurps, her eating speed just as fearsome as he'd heard.

Thereafter, she threw him back down the same cliff – still tied in a rope – and said, "One hour. Past that, you can go back to Chiron."

That was the first time Achilles faced the monster lurking deep within him. Unlike the previous 'trip', this time his memory completely went away. According to Atalanta later, the path he carved back up the cliff wasn't only filled by rivers of blood, but also permanently marred the entire geological structure with deep gouges and craters.

That, she explained, was the 'desire of survival' inherent in all beings, divine or mortal. "Mastering it will unlock all of your potential in more situations," she added.

The training regiment which followed could only be described as Hades's and Tartaros's best effort in torturing a human being, to the point he intentionally blocked it all from his soul. It's better to accept his current buff self was the result of 'normal training' rather than live through that again.

Therefore, when he failed to bring Atalanta a cup of tea in under 10 seconds, he knew he was doomed.

Still, as he screamed, no one was willing to help…

"Ho… Something like that happened? You look happy, tho'," Saber commented as she stood guard under a tree where Archer was scouting on.

"Just because he is an acquaintance," Archer replied coldly. "Though seeing him made me reminisce of the old days with ████."

Their conversation was naturally monitored by Assassin through secret means she hadn't told anyone but her Master. She furrowed her brows at what she perceived to be an incredibly powerful perception filter, but chose not to act on it. Through her scrying familiars, only simple spells could be performed before they self-destructed from the energy she's channelling into them. Not only would the two female Servants be able to trace it back to Assassin, but it'd completely ruin the Red Faction's stealth.

The plan was simple. Have Archer scout out the place with a bodyguard, then send in Lancer and Berserker as the vanguard. Rider would serve as on-site support along with their Master, Shirō Kotomine, while Assassin would rain down long-range spells from her Hanging Garden.

Caster, as usual, was being useless, so she counted him out of the fight completely.

'One of these days… One of these days…' she darkly uttered in her mind, eager to remove that loudmouth from their group.

Because Saber unexpectedly got along with Archer well, given their attitude back when they first met in the church, the two were paired up together.

Semiramis had to admit, their Red Faction was perhaps a tad too overpowered. She was almost sorry for the Black Faction, whose most powerful members could be confidently countered by their own. Lancer of Black – Vlad III – had no abilities which could threaten Karna or Shirō. Rider and Caster of Black were second-rate Servants at best, and any one of their members could take on two of the opposing side's.

…of course, barring Shakespeare, but that's beside the point. Perhaps even that hack could serve as bait or fuel?

Saber of Black – Siegfried – was decent, but with Mordred at their side, Semiramis was confident the blonde woman could handle that man one-on-one. Archer of Black could be contained by his fellow Greek counterparts – and Atalanta had boldly proclaimed she'd snipe him down in one shot if the opportunity presented itself.

Only Berserker and Assassin of Black were unknowns. Through Atalanta's and various familiars' scouting, the two of them should've been relatively modern Servants from Europe's age of industrialization. While that would limit their depth of Conceptual Weight, herMaster had told her to be wary of the two, because he had a feeling they're similar to the Red Faction's Saber and Archer.

When Semiramis tried to question him, his words were blocked out in her mind, similar to the event happening right before her eyes.

The two ladies were still chatting happily, as a thin smile even graced Atalanta's stoic face from time to time. 'What Rider would do to see that expression directed at him…' the Assyrian queen mused.

Said man was still traumatized from the last 'education', whimpering at the edge of the Hanging Garden's balcony after being forced on lookout by Shirō, who just couldn't take the sound of his sobbing any longer.

Suddenly, a transmission came through to her and her Master at the same time.

[Prepare a large amount of magic energy. I have a shot,] Atalanta uttered. Even though her tone was soft, the conviction in it was enough to prevent anyone from doubting her words.

[How much?] Shirō asked, eyeing Semiramis from several levels above and signalling her to prepare.

[Around three Noble Phantasms' worth.]

[WHAT?! A-Are you crazy?!] Assassin immediately shouted through the mental message, causing Archer and Saber to wince in irritation. [There's no way-]

[…approved.] Her Master's reply cut through her tirade; short but firm.

[Master, I don't advice-]

[Should I back you with a Command Spell too, Archer?] Ignoring Assassin's protest, Shirō queried.

[I need no more of your repulsive methods than necessary, my fake Master.]

Even before she received another reply, her body had already taken position as seen through Assassin's familiars' vision. "Saber, do guard me."

"Aye, aye!" The chipper woman saluted, though her posture was terrible enough one could take it as a joke.

- Suu… Haa…

[Care to explain your plan first?] Annoyed at her Master apparently favouring another woman right in front of her face, Assassin crossed her arms beneath her bountiful chest – at least she's better in that department! – and spoke, [It's not as if you're actually planning on using-]

[Yes. Three Noble Phantasms at the same time. Can you not hear me earlier? Or did you fail to calculate beyond two?]

Assassin could only grit her teeth at the sarcastic remarks. Since her Master had given the go-ahead, she could only comply.

[For further explanation… simply watch me work.]

The Queen of Assyria cut off the connection, before screaming out loud in frustration.

- Suu… Haa…

Watching her was almost like watching Shirō work, Mordred mused.

Not the Red Faction's temporary lead Master, Shirō, of course. The 'Shirō' who was their mutual husband, separated by eras, yet still one soul across many bodies.

Was she jealous? No; she only regretted she wasn't special enough to be able to traverse realities like him. If there were other women who could take on her duty and accompany him, then as a good wife, she could only be happy.

Now, back to business.

Differing sex would naturally necessitate a different application of the same concept. No, even those of the same sex would've had varying body mechanics, requiring the same flexibility to be applied to teaching and mastering a skill. This didn't even include the possibility of a disabled practitioner, which would open another can of worms entirely.

Still, as she watched Atalanta prepare and draw her bow, Shirō's silhouette would at times overlap with this archer's. She presumed the green-haired girl would have the same appreciation if she watched Mordred swing her sword, so the feeling's mutual.

With her cat ears and tail fully out, Mordred's eyes widened when the beautiful soft jade-gold fur turned snow-white, and the archer's intricate black-green short dress disintegrated, replaced by black-purple carapace which left even less to the imagination.

The only comforting thought was their three sizes appeared to be similar. Perhaps Shirō liked his girls slender?

The carapace asymmetrically concentrated on Atalanta's right sholder – her draw hand, Mordred presumed – and the purple lines glowed faintly.

Thus, the Red Saber finally took guard. What Archer was doing would be imperceptible to normal magi, but what about a Servant's senses? Especially since most high-level Archers would be able to spot this form of hers – and according to Atalanta's info, the Black Faction's one was particularly troublesome to deal with.

It clued her in that Atalanta knew the other person's personally during life, but the now-white-haired girl didn't seem bothered at the idea of killing the other party, so Mordred only unsheathed her sword in silence, allowing her Magic Cores to warm up and saturate her body with magic energy.

The glowing purple lines indicated Atalanta was doing the same, only on a much, much higher level.

"Okay, we're probably busted right now," Mordred noted.

"No matter. This will end in an instant. Calydon, give me your strength."

What Atalanta didn't tell Mordred, Semiramis, or Shirō Kotomine was the fact her show of gathering magic energy was intentional.

"Enemy movement confirmed."

Usually, a hunt wasn't just about outmuscling and outrunning the enemy. Both of those actions were futile if one didn't confirm the preys' actions beforehand. For her, then [Aesthetics of the Last Spurt] would activate. The skill gave her the absolute opportunity of a counter in exchange of absolute power – the opposite of Gáe Bolg and Fragarach, which could be evaded with enough Luck, but extremely lethal as a result.

Both had fate-reversing attributes, though. Besides, the power shortfall of the skill didn't matter with the combination of her other two Noble Phantasms.

As the onlookers watched on, worried, they noticed significant movements buzzing about in the Yggdmillennia castle.

However, Atalanta was eerily calm, proceeding with her chant monotonously. "Blazing Shadows. Hidden Moon. I offer this to the two Gods."

One foot anchored to the split between the tree trunk and main branches. One foot out at the middle of her longbow. Right hand, covered in thick carapace and glowing dangerously, pulled the string taut. Left hand steadied the bow's upper arm.

Phoebus Catastrophe
~ Descending Divine Revelation ~

Mordred was forced to close her eyes, as a literal comet was formed, aimed, and shot faster than she could react towards the busy enemy camp.

Only Shirō was able to perform the same feat at a similar speed. Truly, this one was his wife through-and-through.

The first one to notice there's something wrong was Archer.

The long-haired man quickly informed the rest of the Black Faction, but he feared he was too late. Lancer, the de facto leader among the Servants, was still busily sneering at the floating island approaching them, challenging them to dare invade his land. The former Romanian ruler was agitated lately after Saber of Red's provocation back in Trifas – when she placed every single homunculus and golem head on spikes belonging to the residents' fences and walls.

Clearly, the Red Faction knew who he was, even without meeting Lancer face-to-face.

Back then, Archer predicted this would happen – the fact they'd ignore this person who was able to gather critical information about them so easily and stealthily. Confidence was good, but relying solely on Lancer's homefield advantage and Caster's hyper-efficient magic energy production facility?

Chiron knew so many individuals when he's alive who could slaughter them all just as easily if this weakness wasn't covered.

Alas, his Master was young and naïve. While respected for her talent and determination, her military decisions were never put on top of the pile.

Darnic was arrogant. Gordes and Celenike were incompetent. Assassin's Master was unknown to them, given the cessation of Sagara Hyōma's reports meaning he's either ran away with Yggmillennia money or already dead. Caules had a good heart, but ultimately a liability on the battlefield, while Roche's mindset was incomprehensible to the centaur.

They gathered under one banner, yet Chiron had never been in an organization so fragmented.

Among the Servants, discounting himself, the remarkable ones were only Saber and Berserker. Rider was inconsistently insane, Caster was feeble in melee, and Assassin was unknown.

Berserker was a pleasant surprise. While she preferred to keep herself mute, and any attempt at speaking only resulted in slow, drawn-out singular words, her gaze was frighteningly intelligent from behind those blinding red bangs. She moved elegantly despite her impractical dress – a modernized and militarized version of a white wedding gown – and her shapeshifting weapon was wielded with incredible dexterity.

It didn't surprise him when she told him – painfully slowly – she could qualify as a Saber if her Master was good enough.

The painful acknowledgement from Caules was summarily ignored by her, causing Chiron to wince at her harsh words.

Right now, they needed all of those surprising elements to survive the next strike.

Any attempt at probing the identity of the Red Faction's Servants proved futile. They didn't even know how many were males or females, for crying out loud! That flying island was the first solid proof they had to their enemies' identity – and while there's only a few mythical 'heroes' who were connected to such phenomenon, in a battle between Servants, the slightest misinformation would be fatal.

And that large object had successfully capture the attention of most of the Black Servants, bar himself and Berserker.

In slow motion, the two turned to look at each other, read minds, and leapt to cover their respective Masters from the incoming comet.

…which came from below.

He should have known. Having a castle surrounded by a forest might be a good deterrent against normal forces, as the trees and ground would serve as excellent foundations for a Bounded Field, yes.

But what about opponents who could turn that area into their own Bounded Field?

He knew of one such individual in life, but summarily dismissed the possibility.

What were the chances two Greek heroes were summoned in one war? And, more specifically, that woman?

Let it be known Chiron was terrible at gambling.

[Confirmed hit. 80% of opposing forces are down.]

Right now, Assassin didn't have a proper retort.

All of her familiars were gone just from the collateral impact of Archer's array of Noble Phantasms activating. But it didn't matter, when she could directly see the result just by peering down the balcony.

Or, to be more precise, what's left of the result.

The entire Yggdmillennia castle was gone, along with several dozen meters of topsoil, revealing the Holy Grail buried deep underneath it prior to the attack.

The sight of utter victory was so stunning Assassin and Rider froze in place, unsure as to what to do next.

[Saber, can you kill off the survivors?] Her Master's voice, as reliable as ever, echoed through the multi-link transmission.

[Eh… how cruel. I may not have the heart to do it if they're too cute, you know?] Saber lazily replied, though a small burst of magical energy showed she obeyed the instruction… for now. "You should dematerialize and head back to camp. You can't move, can you?" She eyed Atalanta's slumped form, before sprinting off without confirming.

The Queen of Arcadia shook her head disappointingly, gazing at her trembling right arm. The Calydonian Boar's hide had deactivated after its corrupting energy were all used up, and the remaining lifeforce was extracted from her original self. 'Still, I am unable to use it consecutively… Dear husband, what should I do?'

Her form dissipated into motes of light following Saber's advice, before returning near her husband's namesake. Silently, she observed what this mysterious man would do next.

She could forgive what he'd done to her original Master, given the latter's not a particularly decent person anyway, after he explained his wish to the Grail. While genuine, she knew better those who were zealous in their beliefs were more often far more dangerous than a pragmatic realist. The fact he's nonchalantly using her husband's name, even though it's mere coincidence his birth name was the same, was also a source of irritation – she understood why Mordred was peeved off during their first meeting.

Still, she knew better to showcase her disdain when the War was still ongoing. If the players on the board were reduced, and intentions became clearer, then putting an arrow to Shirō Kotomine's back was easier than hugging Athena while drunk. Rider would obey her. Saber would join in and stab many additional wounds with her sword. Assassin and Caster were inconsequential. Berserker and Lancer might prove problematic due to their incredibly high defensive prowess, and if powered by Command Spells, her assassination attempt might fail.

But no one could detect killing intent from several miles away, especially when emitted by an expert hunt like her.

If she wanted Shirō Kotomine to perish, then there's nothing the prey could do but die.

"Archer! ARCHER!"

'I… am a sinful man… for making her cry…'

"ARCHER! PLEASE… My magic is…" Fiore's screams were cut off by several coughs from inhaling the thick dust. Desperately, she placed her palms at his broad chest and channelled her Od, but with the last of his strength, Chiron placed his palm at her stomach and pushed her away.

Because of her limp legs, that weak toss already created an insurmountable gap between them. There's no way Fiore could've crawled on top of the debris with nothing but her thin arms – she was excellent in magical combat, but her physique was inherently inferior, even without her disability.

"Young Caules… t-take care and p-protect her…" Chiron spat out, resolutely gazing at the young man standing before Fiore.

"Caules! Caules! You have to help me! Archer is-"

- Chop! Thud.

"…thank you, Berserker."

And with that, both Master and Servant lost consciousness due to different reasons.

"Hoh… You're pretty skilled, little girl. What's your name?"

Mordred giddily put her sword to one side, eyeing the young face framed in an overflowing black cloak.

One moment, it looked solid, though clearly in rags. Another, it was an imposing, expertly-made cloak. And yet, when she blinked, it was more akin to black mist shrouding this short girl in front of her.

Only the flashes of her silver-white hair and her knives' gleaming steel broke the all-black ensemble.

"You… are a good person. Will you take us to the castle?" A soft, cute voice asked, even though her lips hadn't moved in the slightest.

'Ventriloquism?' Mordred mused. "Assassin, I presume? I was already on my way there; but aren't you from the Black Faction?"

"Red, Black… doesn't matter. We want… to save someone…"

Hearing the familiar words, Mordred took a second to compose herself, before grinning. "Very well… I'll trust your words this time. You have the same smell as me, after all."

"…so you're tasty when eaten?"

The childish question spread silently in the wind, as a thick mist began to envelop them.

"Oji-sama! Why are you up so late?!" Sakura Matō rushed towards the wheelchair-bound middle-aged man, narrowing her eyes at the invisible presence behind him. "And why didn't you stop him, Berserker?"

An all-black suit of armour with a glowing red visor materialized at the criticism, growling in self-frustration instead of a pushback threat at the girl. "Grr…"

"Now, Sakura… I only wish to see you summon your Servant. It's a momentous occasion, despite the War's abominable conditions."

She pursed her lips. Clearly, her uncle Kariya was in good shape tonight, with no stuttering or rashness in his voice which ravaged him on occasion. She knew her own stubbornness came from this man, despite without any blood relation between them – a trait she's proud of, but found frustrating when she's faced with someone else with the same personality.

Huffing, she twirled around. Really, she couldn't go against her uncle…

"Hmph… Fine. Berserker, do get ready to shield him if anything goes wrong."

"I have the utmost confidence in you it won't."

"Smooth talk won't get you anywhere, Oji-sama."

- Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

His wheelchair was clearly a high-class one, made by a famed medical equipment manufacturer in Romania, TYPE-BOON. Normally, it operated smoothly, but the stillness and calmness of the night meant every little noise was amplified. Still, Sakura was used to it, so she wouldn't find it as creepy as her schoolmates – and Berserker wouldn't care, as usual.

- Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

The Matō house was old, but well-maintained and -furbished. She knew her uncle made a fortune in the previous Holy Grail War just a decade ago, being the co-winner with another estate owner in the other part of the city. It was built by his great-grandfather, Zōken, though Sakura didn't have the chance to meet him as he passed away shortly before her adoption into the family was finalized.

Kariya-ojisama had a complicated face every time she brought this topic up, and growing up, Sakura understood they had a complicated relationship – perhaps even an antagonistic one.

The house was needlessly large, given there were only three of them, but her sister's occasional visit did bring some liveliness into the place. Her friends in the same year found her house to be too creepy – despite she herself finding it homely instead – a product of too many cheap ghost stories told around gatherings, most likely. Her seniors in the Archery Club were made of sterner stuff, though – as expected of a national-calibre team – and her captain, Ayako, was also a frequent visitor.

Three of them: Sakura, Kariya, and Berserker. The other inhabitants had long been… disposed of as material for today's summoning.

It's a risk using a living being as a catalyst, because any form of sentience had the potential to pervert the process and possibly harm the intended Master. There were records of a Servant instantly killing their Master because the latter used children's tortured souls as a catalyst, and ended up summoning an individual who felt strongly against that notion.

But Shinji never amounted to much, so it should be okay.

That person was as close to a neutral piece of garbage as a human could be, and thus she simply slipped a strong potion into his last dinner and laid him out across the circle…

…in pieces, of course. The efficiency would drop otherwise. The worms would form the necessary pathways to complete the summoning circle.

Did she feel remorse? …yes, in a manner she was losing a pet which had been living with her, raised with 'care', for something else far more important. A necessary sacrifice, Kariya-ojisama would say, and one she wholeheartedly would shoulder.

A wraith made of Shinji, haunting her after this? Such small fry could be easily dealt with by Sawada-sensei at Hyōdō Temple.

Besides, cutting him up made it easier for her to carry him. She vehemently refused to be assisted by Berserker, who even made the point by dematerializing his armour and showing her his earnest, though lightly-mutated face. He must be a handsome man when he was alive and sane, but he's not Sakura's type.

She shook her head.

- Static!

A red-haired child, short for his age, futilely practicing the reverse jump on the tall hurdle.

"Ugh…" She stumbled lightly, bracing herself against the wall with one hand.

Berserker was quick to the draw as always, his hand already hovering near her to catch her body if she fell.

"See? Good thing I'm here," her uncle commented kindly. "Should we postpone the summoning? If you're not at your peak, then we shouldn't force things…"

"I'm fine!"

That came out harsher than she wanted, but it got the point across.

'W-What was that…? A memory… of something I don't know…? Who was that… b-boy…'

She took a deep breath and stilled herself. "Merely a passing phenomenon, Oji-sama. I was able to repel it to ensure success tonight because this is my peak. No sense in delaying things further."

She could feel him shrugging from behind her. "Alright, your choice."

Silver and iron to the origin.
Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone.
The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg.
The alighted wind becomes a wall.
The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown; the three-forked road which leads to the kingdom circulate.
Shut (Fill). Shut (Fill). Shut (Fill). Shut (Fill). Shut (Fill).
Repeat every five times; simply, shatter once filled.

I announce: Your self is under me, my fate (doom) is in your sword.
In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.
Here is my oath: I am the one who becomes all the good in the world of the dead.
I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead.
You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence…
O' keeper of the balance!

'So far, so good…' Kariya judged in his mind.

How long had it been since he himself chanted those words? Of course, his had additional lines for Berserker, but the enthusiasm in her voice was eerily similar to his.

He tried his best to raise her into a good girl, and he'd like to think he'd done a good job.

Immediately using a Command Spell to have Berserker unleash Arondight to annihilate "every fibre of Zōken Matō's being" was worth it, because the ambient mana remaining after the summoning, with the Matō patriarch's plentiful Od still connected to the process, but with lessened control, enabled his wrecked body to sustain that feat.

He was grateful he decided to take on Magecraft when his gut as a child told him otherwise. If he tried joining the Holy Grail War with minimal preparation as a magus right as an adult, then he would've been crippled, or dead, right then and there. Having the worms was torture, sure, but the pain was sedated by the vengeful thought he skilfully hid even from their prying senses.

"One of these days… One of these days…" he always told himself mentally.

When the chance came, he struck.

He wanted to pat himself in the back, but was unable to when he found out Zōken's core worm managed to escape by sacrificing everything else. It also irritated him he and Berserker weren't the ones who found and killed him, but a new junior monk from Hyōdō Temple.

That guy ended up as a popular teacher in Sakura's school, so he supposed it was fate.

He closed his eyes as the light grew stronger. Even from beyond Sakura's silhouette, it was difficult to visually gauge the summoning's progress after this step. What he should do was empty his mind further from erroneous thoughts, lest it influenced the summoning. They're already breaking the mould by using Shinji; no sense in adding another variable to the mix.

'Kiritsugu… Let's see whose daughter will win, shall we?'

- Pop.

A soft sound reverberated from the forcibly-replaced air… by a little girl?

He couldn't help but roll himself closer, and even Berserker eyed this small Servant curiously. An elegant black-purple robe covered most of her body, though her hood failed to conceal her overflowing violet hair. All in all, she was somewhat similar to Sakura as a child, though their countenance was extremely different.

After this, a verbal confirmation should be the next step.

Smiling stiffly, Sakura said, "W-Welcome, esteemed Heroic Spirit. I… am your Mast-"

"I'm hungry."

That was the only thing they got out of her, who immediately strolled down the hall, sniffing for the kitchen all the way.

- Munch… Nom! Gulp… Crunch! Munch… Nom! Gulp… Crunch!

Sakura could only look on in trepidation at her Servant, who'd made herself comfortable on the Master's lap, as she devoured a month's worth of resources from the house.

Yes, Sakura enjoyed cooking tremendously. But she shivered when thinking she had to do this every day…

Weren't Servants supposed to sustain themselves with nothing but magic energy?! The Matō household would be bankrupt by next week if this went on!

Still, she had to be courteous. She had a feeling not even Berserker could hold this little thing back if she wanted to rampage…

"U-Um… A-Avenger… is m-my cooking satisfactory…?" She reverted back to her childhood's foils by stuttering – a habit she'd mostly grown out of – and asked in-between shovelling large scoops of roasted potatoes with a spoon the size of her own palm to Avenger's tiny mouth.

"Hmm… Barely," she mumbled out with full cheeks. "It's good enough as a midnight snack, at least."

'T-THIS IS JUST A SNACK?!' Both Kariya and Sakura cried in their minds.

"I… I-I see…" Sakura forced out an answer. "A-Anyway…! What's your identity? I believe knowing each other's true selves will bring about a better cooperation-"

"Are you reading off a script?" Avenger's blunt question stopped her dead in her tracks. "Hmph… Not that I mind much. You humans are always limited in that way."

She swung her legs childishly on top of Sakura's knees, adding, "And to answer your question, I won't tell you anything until you've proven yourself to be worthy of my everything."

The suggestive tone she was using was completely inappropriate for a girl her size to use, but Kariya immediately focused on her other words. "…so, you're not human?"

"And another weakness of humans is not knowing their place by speaking out of turn."

"My apologies," the haggard Kariya bowed as low as he could on his wheelchair.

- Hop!

"Well, my appetite's gone by now, so I'll go ahead and sleep before you." Nonchalantly, she strutted towards the wing where the best guest rooms were kept. "…if that's alright with you, Master?"

'That's not a question! That's a threat!' Sakura sweatdropped, but nervously nodded, "Y-Yes! Please, make yourself a-at home!"

"Do you want me to kill him?"

"Not yet, Lancer. We are still under the Association's watch," Bazett hissed, though not out of anger to her newly-summoned Servant. Instead, it's her inability to act according to her principles of morality right now, instead of later like she decided, which frustrated her. "We'll find an opening."

"Agreed. Hide one's fangs until the last critical moment, when their jugulars are exposed." The blue-clothed Lancer smirked. "You truly are a fitting Master for me."

The red-purple-haired Enforcer blushed. "Quit it with the talking. People can still hear us."

"What's wrong gloating about a beautiful, strong woman?"

Bazett's embarrassed punch cut through only air, as Lancer dematerialized completely before it could connect.

It was nearing winter, and the Mage Association had chosen her and one of her 'colleagues', Atrum Galliasta, as their representatives to the Holy Grail War in one of Japan's cities, Fuyuki. While she was looking forward to the experience, she certainly was not looking forward to working with that piece of… chauvinistic pig.

She still hadn't gotten used to swearing so profusely in her mind, but she guessed she'd go exactly that over the duration of this Holy Grail War.

When they're finally out of sight, Bazett manoeuvred themselves into a café, where she pretended to come alone and deliberately ordered one menu at a time to give them time to converse.

[Care to fill me in?]

Despite being summoned as a Lancer, Cú Chulainn was still proficient enough to speak telepathically with his Master, especially when they're bound by this powerful Holy Grail as a pair. In fact, it'd be more jarring if he couldn't do it – his actual master would've killed him long ago if he only amounted to that much. His suave and energetic voice echoed smoothly inside Bazett's head.

[Just your stereotypical rich young tycoon,] she callously replied, her disdain of her dark-skinned partner even more apparent through this method of communication. [Which means he thinks he's allowed to do anything. Trust me, Lancer, the things I've heard him done will make you lose control and turn into a Berserker.]

[Tsk, hateful person,] he clicked his tongue. [No matter the era, these kinds of scumbags always exist.]

[I heard he's got himself a high-class catalyst.]

Surprisingly, Bazett felt she had just disrespected this legendary idol of hers.

[…and the one you used to summon me is not?] He did sound insulted.

[I-It's because I s-summoned you with my faith and worship!] She hurriedly took a sip of the ultra-large roasted cappuccino to hide her red face. [Don't misunderstand! Please!]

He chuckled, though it was very awkward. [Hah… Well, do continue. Given you know of that, then you must also know the Servant he's summoning, right?]

Her face turned grim, remembering the gloating Atrum just performed in front of a crowd who's not listening to him.

As always. He always assumed he's the centre of attention.

[Medea, Queen of Colchis.]

- Phew!

Whistling in admiration, Lancer remarked sarcastically, [Damn, he's rich.]

[Tell me about it.]

Colchis was on par with the fabled El Dorado of modern folklore… only real instead of just a rumour, in terms of wealth of all kinds. Precious metals, lush natural resources, intricate arts and crafts, et cetera, et cetera…

It was a place too good to be true if one only heard about it.

And this was its greatest ruler, one who was the Authority of [Magic] as a third-generation deity after her master and senior apprentice, who took office before her.

[…well, just so you know, I've killed gods before.]

[You don't sound optimistic,] Bazett pessimistically replied.

A moment of silence reigned, before Lancer suddenly spoke up.

- Pa!

His mental clap went through the telepathy as well, nearly causing Bazett to drop the spoon she's using. [Wait, it's actually good news!]

Knowing better than to retort at this point in time, she first wiped her mouth to regain her calm, before falling to the bait and asking, [Would you care to explain, Lancer?]

[Think about it! You, who summoned me through 'faith' – as you said earlier – would have great compatibility with me, right? Because you're kind of a fangirl and all.] Lancer guffawed as she blushed once again, but he quickly turned serious again. [What about those who forcibly summon a Servant of their choice with a catalyst, without considering what the latter was like in life?]

- …

After a while, Bazett gasped.

[Let's go find them, now!]

Finding Atrum's Workshop wasn't hard. Given he'd practically advertised it like his own… ahem, glorious third leg, most of his peers in the Association knew of the place, if only to avoid it during their daily tasks.

Of course, breaking into it without permission was always tricky, but Bazett wasn't an Enforcer for nothing. It's mandatory for her group to be highly trained in both terrorism and counterterrorism acts, just in case the mission demanded either offense, defence, or both. Besides, the one accompanying her right now was one of the most prolific magic user in Celtic Mythology, and the defences put up by an arrogant scum like Atrum was child's play in front of Cú Chulainn.

- Clink.

…but the place opened up without anything more than a gentle push.

Lancer materialized, his famed cursed crimson spear at the ready. "Someone beats us to the punch."

- Creak…

Bazett's new leather gloves squeaked as she forcibly broke them in, clenching and unclenching her fists after stretching them taut over her hand. "Agreed. Lancer, if anything happens, you can use your entire skills at your discretion. Don't worry about my Od consumption."

"…don't expect me to princess-carry you later, beautiful," Lancer teased.

His Master only huffed, before slowly pushing the main door open with her shoulder. It's standard practice to allow full movement of her limbs – she'd seen too many situations where the hands used to open doors got chopped off due to a trap or ambush. While Lancer might know something to get her out of trouble, there's no sense in risking it over such a simple procedure.

Before they even got through the door, however, a clear, bell-like voice welcomed them.

"Oh? I wasn't expecting guests today."

In the Workshop, various items were strewn about chaotically. Critically, among them were Artum's mutilated remains.

The breathtakingly beautiful, bewitching, pointy-eared, violet-haired lovely young girl smiled purely at them. Bathed in blood, she loosely clenched an illogical rainbow-colored dagger in her hand as the red liquid dripped off her long lilac ponytail.

"Ah, are you my new Master?" Medea sweetly asked.