Chapter 7 - Well, it's been a while due to a bunch of things, but I have actually still been working on this on-and-off, and since HeavyValor has started writing again I suppose I ought to start up again as well.

Sunday, February 7th, 2010

Maiya Hisau was already at the airfield when the plane landed, her trim uniform nondescript among the various attaches, butlers, and chauffeurs that awaited their charges.

"Madame," she said in the way of greeting as Irisviel and Saber stepped through the crowd of diplomats, her face empty as marble. As their gazes crossed, Saber nodded curtly, to which Maiya replied in kind.

Though the way Maiya carried herself had nothing in common with the rigid salutes of the EU and JSDF soldiers around them, Saber recognized the watchful eye of a career soldier.

Her eyes bore the same hardness as those seen in the eyes of her master, Emiya Kiritsugu—and though she carried herself a little more lithely, a little more gracefully than Kiritsugu, Saber could also tell that they were cut from the same mold.

Maybe all soldiers of this day and age were like this, Saber thought to herself.

She felt a little reassured—if it came down to a fight, she knew that she could count on the dark-haired woman to fight alongside her.

Whether they would get along was another matter altogether.

Irisviel, as Saber had expected, noticed none of this as she cheerfully bounded up to Maiya gracefully. It was a different type of grace—not the agile, loping grace of some kind of a leopard that Maiya possessed, but the bounding of a rabbit blissfully unaware of its surroundings.

"Maiya, right? It's so good to see you," she said happily as if they had been friends for years.

"Madame," Maiya responded neutrally.

"None of that 'Milady' business, I get that from Saber enough as it is—is that a Cadillac CTS-V?" Irisviel exclaimed with a tone of wonder as she approached the car Maiya had been using.

"I was told by Kiritsugu that you liked this car," Maiya responded as she pulled open the door.

"I do, I do," Irisviel gushed, her eyes almost glowing.

Saber eyed the vehicle appreciatively. She had expected some kind of car more analogous to a warhorse from Kiritsugu, but it seemed the man had his own taste as well.

The car was certainly not battleworthy, but something about the hum of its engine suggested it was powerful in its own right—not an armored destrier for sure, but a palfrey[1], bred for speed and grace.

Irisviel happily opened the rightside door. "I've always wanted to drive—"

Her voice trailed off as her hands scrabbled over thin air where the steering wheel would have been.

"Britannian Cars have steering wheels on the left, milady," Maiya said smoothly as she buckled her seatbelt on the Driver's side.

The drive to Fuyuki proved quite a bit slower than the Francophone GPS had suggested, owing to both Irisviel's pouting over the revelation that Kiritsugu had forbidden her from driving and Maiya's unexpectedly safe driving.

"You have no sense of excitement," Irisviel grumbled as Maiya carefully parked the car, seemingly oblivious to the truck driver who had taken to honking as Maiya meticulously struggled with parallel park for two minutes.

The cars and trucks were almost comically small, almost like dinky toys next to Irisviel's Cadillac—probably the reason nobody had tried to cut them off. Saber's glare and the EU Diplomat's license plate had also served to deter the JSDF soldiers that had thought to approach the clearly foreign-looking group as they parked in the busy marketplace.

Maiya coughed quietly as Irisviel looked around excitedly. "Madame, according to the plan, we must head to the castle presently and drop off your luggage."

"It can wait, can't it, Maiya?"

"It cannot…"

Maiya's voice trailed off as she saw Irisviel's crestfallen face. To her credit, she resisted for almost a minute before she turned away.

Relenting, she sighed. "…I will head to the castle with the luggage and rendezvous with Kiritsugu then. Keep the madam protected," she said to Saber.

Saber's silent nod and Irisviel's expression of seemed to be satisfy her, as she returned to the sedan. "I will return to retrieve you after I update Kiritsugu on the situation. Contact me if anything goes wrong."

And with that, the Cadillac roared off, meticulously stopping for pedestrians and small animals as it went.

Irisviel stretched as she took in the two or three-story stores and buildings of what the map from the Fuyuki Town Hall ("Opening March 2010!") had denoted as Miyama, the residential district of the city.

"There are so many people here," she exclaimed with a happiness several years her junior. Saber smiled awkwardly—it was easy to forget that this fully-grown woman had spent her whole life within that faraway frozen castle.

At the same time, she could sympathize—what her master had offhandedly referred to a backwater town in the Japanese countryside could well have put capital cities of her time to shame. Across the river, business buildings and the Fuyuki Hyatt stretched towards the overcast sky. She wondered what had become of her Kingdom, thousands of miles away.

The Miyama Shopping District, a long line of stores and homes, felt very much like a castle town, with various townsmen bartering, buying and selling foods, toys, tools, and various other trinkets that Saber could not pretend to know anything about. It seemed like the locals were bright and friendly, happily engaging in conversation and even handing out a few samples of their goods to Irisviel as she sauntered along. For a people at war they seemed awfully unconcerned.

Rather, Saber realized, it was not that the environment around Irisvel was bright—rather, it was that Irisviel was brightening the environment and people around her. As she passed by, somber old men and worried soldiers seem to brighten up and smile.

This beautiful, cheerful, easily-amused lady reminded them of happier times, allowed them to forget, for even a moment, of the war that was going on a few miles away.

Saber smiled in spite of herself. Maybe it was affecting her a little as well. After all, there was still time before nightfall.

—and then she felt something just brush her, something that caused her blood to instantly run cold. "Irisviel," she muttered as she tensed herself.

"I felt it too," Irisviel whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Though the street was filled with men, women and children, Saber could immediately make out the source of that feeling.

It was a man, bespectacled, long-haired and bearded like a particularly unshaven and oriental Gordon Freeman. Though his expression and gaze showed no killing intent, Saber's instinct told her this man was all the more dangerous because of it.

"A master?"

"…A servant," Saber responded grimly.

With a single, deliberate step that Saber managed to hear among a hundred other footsteps, the man took a step towards them through the crowd.

Saber's glare of warning seemed to be lost on the man.

Silently, Saber crouched. She didn't want to cut through this crowd, but if she had to, she could blow them all out of the way with a gust of Invisible Air.

And then, with a flutter of his rather old-looking coat, the other servant walked past without another word.

Saber watched the man walk away warily, ready for any sudden movements—but he presently disappeared in the crowd.

Irisviel watched Saber worriedly. "Are you sure he was a servant?"

Saber bit her lip.

That servant had conveyed a warning, intended or not.

Irisviel's cheeriness had caused Saber to forget for a moment the circumstances of her summoning.

The summoning of the servants had been several days ago.

A less charitable servant could have attacked them then and there.

The Holy Grail War, after all, had already started.

"No doubt about it," Saber replied quietly. "We should contact Maiya."

It took the 1/8 speed function on the replay program for Emiya Kiritsugu to appreciate exactly how fast that battle between servant Assassin and Archer had been. Even at 1/8 speed, servant Assassin's location skipped frames as he avoided the noble phantasms that materialized simply as beams of light before impact.

And then, springing from one of the buried weapon, Assassin revealed his own noble phantasm as, with the shrill scream of a vacuum tearing open, he cut through one of those beam of light—before being smashed into the ground. The rest Kiritsugu had seen already, at multiple speeds and multiple filters.

Kneading his forehead with his palms, Kiritsugu switched filters with a click, the incident instantly rerendering in infared.

Everything seemed consistent with a battle between servants.

A servant had most certainly died at the Tohsaka Residence. And, a few hours, Risei Kotomine, the Representative of the Church, had announced the disqualification and withdrawal of his son Kirei from the war.

Kirei Kotomine, as a defeated master, would now be sequestered within the Kotomine church for the duration of the Holy Grail War, presumably to avoid the vengeance of his tutor, Tohsaka Tokiomi.

Yet, the feeling that kept eating at Kiritsugu was definitely unease.

The obvious familial relation between Risei and his son aside, Kirei had been defeated far too easily.

In fact, too much about the war was already worrying him.

A Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi that had not been Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi, but a child whose brains should still be decorating the side of a Britannian jet; the complete lack of information regarding the Matou candidate; and now, the enemy who Kiritsugu had dreaded facing was now defeated.

Supposedly, two of the six servant-master pairs Kiritsugu would have to face were now defeated.

He wondered if each master who had fought the wars before had felt the same.

"Is everything ready?" he said without turning.

Maiya did not show any surprise as she walked in soundlessly—she and Kiritsugu knew each other too well for that. "I've dropped off the madame's supplies at the mansion."

"And Iri?" Though he had used that pet name for seven years now, this was the first time it had sounded so unnatural rolling off his tongue.

In this undecorated office space, surrounded by the weapons of war, it just sounded wrong, a honky accordion in a punk rock concert.

If Maiya noticed Kiritsugu's discomfort, she did not mention it. "The Madame will engage the enemy servant as planned."

"Then it's time we head out as well." With a huff, Kiritsugu shouldered his rifle case—and stopped.

"…is something wrong?" Maiya finally said as Kiritsugu dithered.

"…huh," Kiritsugu chuckled without any real mirth, "I don't quite know why."

But he knew why.

It was just like that morning in Long Island Sound with Stinger in hand, wondering whether there was any other way in which he wouldn't have to pull the trigger.

There was a possibility. He could throw it all away—all the ideals, dreams and goals he had fought for, if he took a plane right back to Germany, he could do it. The Einzberns were not warriors, and for a professional killer like Emiya Kiritsugu those ancient barriers that protected the Einzbern Castle had long since been obsolete. He could save Ilya and Iri and run from it all.

And yet simultaneously he knew, just as he knew on that day, that he couldn't do it. On that day, he had pulled the trigger.

But here, today, he couldn't even take the first step.

Iri and Ilya had changed him far too much.

It couldn't be helped, then. He would call Irisviel now. Surely she would approve—and even if she didn't he would make her. It was for her, and for Ily—

"—!"

It wasn't the same as Iri's—it tasted different, felt different. Maiya Hisau was a professional, quick and efficient in all she did. Kiritsugu had trained her in that way.

Maiya's expression was as solemn as Kiritsugu had trained her to be as she separated from him and stared straight into him with those cold eyes.

"Focus. Remember why you came here, Emiya Kiritsugu."

Those cruel words, that gaze washed over Kiritsugu like a bucket of frigid water. The pain went nowhere—but now it was just a throbbing pain, numbed by the cold.

That's right. This was the orphan girl that Emiya Kiritsugu had picked up off some distant battlefield. This was the woman he had trained to assist him, fight for him, support him when everything went wrong. This was the woman who was meant to remind him of where he had come from, why he fought, and what he had done to make it happen.

After depriving so many families of those they loved, he would stand against everything he ever lived for if he turned back today.

If Maiya caught any of this, she said nothing. "Are you ready, Kiritsugu?"

Kiritsugu nodded as he stepped through the door. "…yes. Thank you, Maiya."

"Good."

As she turned to go, something almost flashed across Maiya Hisau's face— something Emiya Kiritsugu had not seen on her face for many, many years.

In the past, the small sleepy town of Fuyuki had been a quiet, reasonably prosperous but thoroughly ordinary fishing village situated just close enough to the Old Capital and the New Capital to be considered noteworthy but too far from either to be considered worth financial investment. The town's only real curiosity had been a small population of European émigré and intellectuals that had settled since the opening of Japan, producing a variety of impressionist artwork and existential literature collectively distinguished by both their obscurity and unprofitability.

The 90's Sakuradite boom, though, and the subsequent acquisition of ailing Vladivostok-based shipping company FedorenCo by the local half-yakuza Fujimura Group had done much to raise the quiet hamlet, first to a minor industrial port and then a thriving business center from which various multinational business representatives could bask in the tranquility of the Japanese countryside from the air conditioned, 20th floor of the Fuyuki Hyatt (or any of a number of cheaper and infinitely shadier hotels cum gambling dens run by the Fujimura Group).

While few freighters docked in Fuyuki's harbors anymore, the more dilapidated parts of the (otherwise quiet scenic) harbors of Fuyuki remained open for clingy couples with a fondness for romantic sunsets, shady dealings and asbestos. It was here that Saber and Irisviel ran into the servant from earlier in the day, looking particularly shady among the old warehouses.

Saber was personally relieved—it seemed the other servant was hoping to keep this battle as far away from the rest of the town as possible.

"I am grateful for your forbearance earlier today," Saber said—not with any particular warmth or hostility, but a muted respect. This was Ser Arturia Pendragon speaking, from a Knight to an equal across the field.

For a moment, it seemed as if the other servant would respond with silence in true Gordon Freeman fashion, but a moment later he spoke.

"The noble man, when resting in safety, does not forget that danger may come. When in a state of security he does not forget the possibility of ruin. When all is orderly, he does not forget that disorder may come. Thus his person is not endangered, and his States and all their clans are preserved," the other servant said, as if by rote, before speaking in a voice that convey equal parts contemplativeness and immovability.

"I would have been the smaller man[2] had I allowed other smaller men to take advantage of your unpreparedness, madame."

"I am grateful nevertheless," Saber replied, the possibility that the bearded man might have exploited Saber's negligence left unpsoken.

The other servant turned to regard Irisviel where she stood behind Saber.

"And this is your lady?"

"Irisviel von Einzbern, of the House of Einzbern," Irisviel replied with a curtsy before Saber could reply. There was no trace of the playfulness from hours earlier in her voice, only a dazzlingly cold beauty worthy of the Saint of Winter. "Is your master not present to observe your battle?"

"Regrettably, my lady would like to offer a word of apology, for she has yet to arrive in time for this battle."

Irisviel nodded loftily, mind racing. From Kiritsugu's information, only one master had been a woman—that girl from the Chinese Federation. This servant, then, was likely Chinese. Hardly Irisviel's area of expertise, but perhaps Kiritsugu would have a clue. "Would it be more reasonable for us to await the arrival of your master," Irisviel inquired with a nod to Rider.

"That would be unnecessary," Saber interjected unexpectedly. With a flourish, she thrust out her hand in front of her, a movement that was accompanied by a flash of light. A moment later, Servant Saber stood, full plate gleaming in the lamplight.

Irisviel blinked. The phrase had been a mere formality, a concession that Irisviel didn't plan to give and the other servant was not intended to take. Saber's alacrity had been unlike her.

The other servant bowed. "I am grateful for your consideration, but I must decline. My lady would favor a quick resolution of hostilities."

"My thoughts exactly," Saber said, falling into a ready stance, invisible sword held in front of her.

Reaching to his side, the other servant grasped the long, bladed polearm with a gauntleted hand. "Before we begin, may I have your name, nameless warrior?"

Saber nodded. "Gladly. I am Artruria Pendragon, Lord of Camelot and King of the Britons and all Britannia, serving as Servant Saber."

"Very well, King Arturia Pendragon," the other servant responded as he raised the tip of his polearm in front of him, "I am Guan Yu, styled Yunchang, the Lord Hanshou (漢壽) and General of the Vanguard of the King of Hanzhong of the Han[3], serving as servant Rider."

"It's starting."

Waver Velvet turned on the bed that Mackenzie Jr. had once inhabited many layers of dust ago. "Excuse me?"

"The Grail War. It's starting," Caster said in the same tone with which one would note the defeat of a team you didn't know for a sport you didn't like.

Waver bolted upright. "Right now?" His tone bore more than a hint of annoyance—his previous suggestion that they sortie early in the morning had been shot down rather quickly by the tiny King of Israel, who at the time had been busy eating what Glenn Mackenzie had assured Waver (and what they had been told was Waver's friend's younger brother) were Mackenzie Jr.'s favorite snacks.

"Two of them met earlier today, but they haven't begun fighting until now."

"Why didn't you tell me until now?" Waver tried to hide a displeasure he couldn't quite explain. That Caster had managed to keep track of the current situation on his own without hi—her master's intervention proved the servant's skill. And yet it annoyed Waver to no end.

Caster shrugged. "It's cold out. We wouldn't have fought early in the day at any rate."

Waver sat up and flexed his hands. "I'll send a familiar." It was through the eyes of another familiar, one of the many rats that inhabited Fuyuki, that he had witnessed the first casualty of the war, Assassin. Kirei Kotomine's hasty and shameless retreat to the protection of the Church was something he hoped he would never have to imitate, especially not in the face of his former Professor.

"No need for that," Caster said, leaping to her feet from the cushion she had been lounging on, "pack a coat, we're going out."

"I thought it was cold," Waver replied, glancing distastefully at his coat and the blotch of what he hoped wasn't chicken blood on the side. It was an expensive coat.

"It is, but it'd be rude not to greet our new neighbors."

"Given…our circumstances," Waver said carefully, "shouldn't we wait until the other servants have whittled themselves down somewhat?"

"Assassin attempting to do what he did best, while not unexpected of him, was one thing. The other servants will laugh if the King of Kings doesn't show up for the meeting."

Servant Saber paced slowly in a circle, eyes fixed on Servant Rider.

A rider without a mount?

Then again, Saber herself didn't immediately start with Excalibur from the get-go. Most servants, after all, qualified for more than one class. In another situation she could have qualified for Rider herself, or potentially Lancer.

The two servants continued circling each other, both trying to gauge each other's strengths.

Rider's polearm resembled a glaive, with a thick, curved cutting blade ornamentally crafted to resemble the breath of what Saber assumed to be a dragon, with a small protrusion on the back end—a defensive implement, probably meant to catch an enemy weapon. Several metal rings at the end, which jangled ominously, appeared to serve a purely ornamental purpose.

In order to maintain dexterity, the halberd would not be very heavy—making it more of a harassing weapon. If anything, Rider would try to keep his distance.

This fight needed to be over as soon as possible, especially before Rider's master arrived. Something in Saber's gut told her she would not want Kiritsugu to be involved—

"—!"

Saber felt her body move, faster than thought—

The Halberd impacted with Excalibur in a scream of metal distorted by the gusts of invisible air.

Saber felt her arm protest in pain, as if gravity had been tripled—with a sharp pop, a joint dislocated in protest. With a gasp of effort, she threw off the blade of the Halberd and staggered back.

Daunted by the unknown nature of Excalibur, most seasoned enemies would fight cautiously until they had discerned the nature of the holy sword—and yet, Rider had chosen a reckless frontal attack, one without a single hint of hostility or preamble that would have hinted its advent.

And what a strike, Saber thought to herself as she felt the joint—now that she could see carefully, she realized that, underneath the broad robes that he wore over his gauntlets, Rider's arms rippled with the muscle required to heft a halberd almost ten times the weight of anything she had faced[4].

A weaker weapon would have been bent, if not snapped apart, by the force of the blow—only her instincts and the might of Excalibur, forged by the fairies, had saved her from being rent in half.

"A good sword, and a good wielder," Rider remarked with a hint of respect; "truly a heroic spirit." The Green Dragon Crescent Blade (later named the Guan Dao in his name) had killed countless heroes of the late Han from Hua Xiong to Wen Chou, often before they realized they were being attacked[5]. That a girl young enough to be his daughter managed to block that strike was something he did not expect to see.

"Only barely," Saber replied truthly, readjusting her stance as Irisviel hurriedly muttered something under her breath. Saber felt her joint pop with another burst of pain back into place. In front of her, Rider swung the 82-jin (equivalent = ~18 kg or 40 lbs) halberd like a toy, his face empty as a lake—and then he was in front of her, in midswing. The metal hoops on the back of the Guan Dao left a chilling ring behind them as they cut through where Saber had been a moment before she carefully sidestepped. She was not confident she could take another blow of that force.

Moving down the haft of the halberd, Saber moved in to exploit the gap in the strike—and, reacting instantaneously to the whistle, turned her head to the side as, pulled backwards, the spike on the back of the Guan Dao took off a few strands of hair with a metallic ringing. As Saber followed with a close swing, Rider was forced to leap back a distance that almost seemed comical had Invisible Air not rendered Excalibur's dimensions unknown to Rider.

Rider skidded to a stop, his Guan Dao carving a furrow into the concrete like a plow through the earth as the two servants regarded each other once more in the momentary lull.

It was not the weight of the weapon that unnerved Saber—she had faced strong opponents before, and there were few knights that stood below the diminutive King of Knights in stature and might—it was more that something was absent there that had been present in all her other opponents.

Right now, Rider stood with an aura of complete calm.

Even when he struck a blow clearly targeting Saber, he carried the atmosphere of a gardener pruning a bush, not someone striking to bisect his opponent from the waist.

Rather, he conveyed no Killing Intent[6].

Of course, humans did not gain psychic abilities or the sixth sense required to ascertain "murderous intent (殺氣)". But a veteran of a hundred battles such as Saber had long since become capable of distinguishing the various and barely-perceptible physical cues associate with an individual striking with the deliberate intent to kill. To be deprived of it now, against an opponent of this caliber, was debilitating.

Within the mind of the King of Knights there was never the possibility of defeat.

But, holding on with Instinct alone, would it be possible to claim victory?

Irisviel von Einzbern had never experienced a natural disaster in her life—never stood through a hurricane, watched a forest fire, felt an earthquake—but, watching this battle between legends, she imagined the feeling of mixed awe and fear was the same.

These were humanity's best, Irisviel had known, the crystallization of all of the greatest ideals of humanity.

And yet there was no way that either of these combatants were humans.

For a mere homunculus, merely designed to be the perfect human, it was like standing in the middle of a whirlwind. The concrete fixtures and old shipping containers of the dock provided no obstacle to the two servants, shards of pavement and scraps of metal scattering with each barely-perceptible swing.

Seventy Years Ago, the Holy Grail War had caught the interest of the Soviet Union and Britannia. In those days a few proud Soviet and Britannian commanders had suggested using conventional troops in the grail war.

Officially a series of massive border clashes in the Sakhalin islands had led to massive loss of life and the prospect of war before Britannian and Soviet politicians reached a last-minute accord.

It was only watching these two servants now that Irisviel von Einzbern realized how arrogant those two governments had been to think that this battlefield had any room for normal men, however hardened by war. This was no fight for the average human to involve himself in.

While she watched, Irisviel felt the unease felt by hundreds of defendants over the history of trial by combat, knowing that their life and death were in the hands of their Approver [7].

Given, her Champion happened to King Arthur, and Irisviel was quite sure Saber wouldn't lose—but, without even the three command spells allotted to every master, she could only watch the battle and hope Kiritsugu knew what he was doing.

Sprawled on top of a warehouse roof, Emiya Kiritsugu monitored the battle through the scope of his rifle. Saber was holding her own against the enemy servant, but Kiritsugu had yet to catch a glimpse of the master.

That in itself was not completely unexpected—an intelligent master would keep himself concealed from people such as Kiritsugu, and there was always Servant Assassin.

But Kiritsugu could not detect anybody, even with the thermal filter. The Average Magus wouldn't even bother with concealing his body heat, content with simply shrouding his appearance and prana leakage. But to be absent completely? Servants, like most heroic spirits, varied heavily—some were wise or cunning tricksters, and some were calm and collected—but many were also foolhardy, prideful, willful, and plain stupid. A master would be exceptionally confident, or similarly stupid, to give their servant free rein. Kiritsugu would certainly not have given Saber that liberty.

This battle was not necessarily a wasted effort, though. A corpse would attract carrion, and, with such an obvious battle, the other masters and servants would be drawn out—to eliminate the weakened victor, or simply to gauge their future opponents. The other masters and servants would likely arrive soon.

The thought had only just crossed his mind when Maiya's voice spoke crisply into his ear.

"Contact, perimeter." From another point overwatching the battlefield, Maiya had a better view of the surroundings and served as Kiritsugu's spotter.

"Servant? Master?"

"JSDF."

Kiritsugu frowned.

"JSDF?"

"JSDF. Four of them."

"Keep observing the battle," Kiritsugu ordered as he turned around, wondering if Maiya had a sense of humor.

That was strange, though. Through the influence of the Church, several JSDF officers should already be guarding the perimeter under the impression that Asbestos had been discovered in the vicinity. It wasn't even a lie. Why would the JSDF arrive now?

Leaping the gap between two warehouses silently, Kiritsugu chanced a quick look over the next roof, to where the JSDF cordon had been. A Komatsu IFV was now parked in front of the roadblock, next to the Toyota Military SUV that had carried over the JSDF officers.

The soldiers themselves, though, were nowhere to be found.

Annoyed, Kiritsugu raised the scope of his rifle, still on thermal. Nothing.

Kiritsugu's eyes flickered to the edge of the pier, where the river Mion lapped against the concrete—

Kiritusugu stood up with newfound urgency as he picked up his rifle.

In a few days, Kiritsugu suspected that postmortem chemical reactions would cause a few bodies to surface downriver.

"Maiya, keep an eye on Irisviel!"

With the practiced hand of somebody who had practiced this for years, Servant Assassin pressed the stock of the Type 89 against his shoulder as he flicked the safety into full automatic.

Hassan-I Sabbah had, of course, never handled an Assault Rifle.

But JSDF Private Yashio Ogure had, and if that was what Servant Assassin had to know to become the unfortunate Private, it would have to do.

From nearby, he knew his cohort, JSDF Corporal Kei was also ready with his own weapon.

The orders from their master had simply been to observe—but here, in front of him, was an enemy servant, the master of Saber, considered the strongest of the servants.

He was servant assassin, after all.

If they could remove one of the enemy masters while Saber was engaged with Rider, would it not provide only benefit to his master?

"Milady!"

Irisviel, Saber and Rider all looked up in surprise as Maiya stood up from her position, rifle in hand.

Irisviel and Saber had known Maiya was probably there—but to make her position known?

Maiya's attention, though, was fully directed to attempting to lead the three soldiers rushed at Irisviel with a speed that seemed inhuman, rifles raised.

Snapping the crosshair to the lead soldier, Maiya had barely enough time to recognize him as one of the JSDF soldiers that had arrived earlier before her fingers lightly depressed the trigger.

With a loud, "silenced" cough, the soldier pitched backwards, the impact of the shot knocking off his feet, the assault rifle spraying a few tracers harmlessly into the air as the soldier's fingers obeyed the orders of a brain that was no longer quite there.

Almost instantaneously, Saber was upon another one, the man's arms separating from his shoulders in a golden arc of reflected lamplight as, to Maiya's surprise, Rider moved into action, his halberd cleaving through helmet, jacket and into the concrete with a burst of debris.

Even as the bodies crumpled without a sound Maiya was scanning the scene. There had been four that had arrived in the IFV.

The flash of moonlight on a scope, the movement of a barrel—Maiya swung her scope by reflex towards the soldier who stood in the alley, even as she saw the smile breaking out on the lips of the soldier, already aware that he had succeeded as his fingers tightened on the trigger.

And then, in a muffled roar he became a balloon of brown, scaled flesh.

With split-second trigger discipline, Maiya's fingers snapped off the trigger as she stared at the balloon.

No, that was not right. In those split seconds, the balloon of brown-scaled flesh had slammed the soldier into the wall, having emanated from—Maiya blinked. What was that?

"Thank you, Leila."

Waver gulped as, with what sounded like a hiss, the sand-colored claw retracted, leaving behind an indent in the wall, a splatter of flesh and a half-bent rifle that clattered onto the ground with a clunk. Waver's eyes followed the claw as it shrunk and withdrew into the folds of the woman in the niqab, her figure clearly voluptuous in spite of the hijab's valiant attempt to hide it.

"Y-yes, your highness," the woman said with what appeared to be embarrassment, her claw (now a completely normal and feminine hand) disappearing into the rippling dark cloth before the woman herself seemingly faded away.

"I wouldn't recommend staring at a Succubus too long," Caster remarked offhandedly from the corner of her mouth, "she wears that for a reason."

Waver felt too sick to retort. "I think I'm going to vomit," he moaned as the pleasant smell of a new book, lavender and the smell of the Clock Tower Library was replaced by the smell of fresh meat, feces and the sweet smell of blood.

"That would be a bad way to introduce yourself. Do you want Leila to escort you to the river?"

Looking at the crater in the warehouse wall again, Waver decided to suck it up.

Caster, meanwhile, had already walked onto the battle, carefully sidestepping the detached arm of the second soldier.

"My apologies for interrupting your battle, Saber and Lancer—"

"—Rider," Rider interrupted.

"Ah, yes, Rider," Caster continued with an unfazed nod, "but it would be a greater shame if your epic battle were to be interrupted by a foolhardy decision," he—(she, Waver corrected himself) said with a disinterested air, as if to nobody in particular. Saber and Rider, too, seemed perplexed. Caster did not seem to notice this, though, as she turned her eyes towards the silver-haired woman who stood behind Saber.

"You are Saber's Master?"

"Irisviel von Einzbern," she replied with a graceful curtsy. Waver couldn't help but stare. Lord Archibald El-Melloi had been a handsome man, in a proud way, and that unhappy flame-haired woman who often showed up at the lab (and whom always left El-Melloi in glowing spirits) had aroused quite a few whispers (and other organs) among the students at Clock Tower. But this woman—there was a dazzling, almost inhuman beauty about her. It wasn't something that you said, but Waver's thoughts were his own, and even under the flawless white coat, those proportions…

"You've got some huge knockers there," Caster remarked, "did your creator design you with those?"

Waver Velvet wanted to cry.

Servant Saber looked as if something within her had prolapsed.

Even Rider, whose face had been largely emotionless thus far, flinched visibly.

Irisviel was the first to regain her composure. "It was part of my template," she managed with a somewhat uncomfortable smile.

Caster, as always, didn't' seem to have noticed the impact of her comment as she continued, her eyes visibly running over the unfortunate Master. "Inducing Pluripotency from Magic Circuit components and then modifying the embryo in vitro, huh? That…I never thought about that."

"Y…yes?" Irisviel replied, still gamely trying to take Caster's comments in stride.

"Well you see, back in my day we tried to induce development of magic circuits from the embryo. Developing an embryo from Magic Circuit components…I'm surprised we never thought of that. Did Alchemy sure has advanced! But those jugs are just unnecessary for a non-reproducing…wait, unless you fit the magic circuits in ther—"

The blast of wind swept over Waver before he could react.

"Continue Slandering my Milady's honor, and I'll kill you right here," Saber snarled as the dust cleared, the gusts that surrounded her invisible sword throwing Caster's (rather long) hair around from somewhere near Caster's neck.

"I feel like we have started this encounter on the wrong foot," Caster said, slowly, after a brief pause.

"Saber," Irisviel said with a cautionary voice. Waver and Rider had also noticed the faintly glowing pattern that radiated from Caster's feet.

Saber stepped back with an expression of reluctance. She didn't sheath her sword—though Waver realized, a moment later, that there was no scabbard at her side.

Caster smiled as she inclined her head slightly to Irisviel. "That's better! Thank you, Milady."

"Irisviel is fine," Irisviel responded with astonishing dignity for somebody who had just been harassed as she had been.

Caster grinned. "It would be rude to be on first-name terms with one as beautiful as yourself, milady."

Saber twitched, and though Rider didn't say anything, she sensed that he probably felt the same way.

This kid's…really annoying.

"I haven't introduced myself, though," Caster remarked. Putting a right hand to her (nonexistent) left breast, she bowed slightly as she did to Irisviel.

"I am Solomon the Great of the tribe of Judah, son of David, King of Judah and all Israel, King of Kings, currently serving as Servant Caster."

A flash of recognition flitted across Saber and Irisviel's face. Saber's face showed more disbelief than surprise, as if she could not believe this irritating child was King Solomon. Waver sympathized completely.

Rider, however, seemed nonplussed. Waver kept it in mind—being an oriental, the odds were that he wouldn't have known much about a figure from Abrahamic Mythology. But it might help identify him later.

"Well met, Caster," Rider replied, "I am Guan Yu, styled Yunchang, the Lord Hanshou and General of the Vanguard of the King of Hanzhong of the Han, serving as servant Rider."

"And I King Arturia Pendragon, King of the Britons and all Britannia, and currently Servant Saber."

Well that was easy, Waver thought to himself.

"A Warrior King, huh," Caster remarked. "Throwing rocks at tall people's heads does tend to be the stuff of legends, I suppose[8]. Impressive, though, that this war has two kings…"

"Only One."

Waver squinted against the dazzling flash of gold that accompanied the proud, ringing voice.

The golden armor; the countless swords, spears and alien weapons that hovered behind him, and an omnipresent expression of haughty distaste—this man standing atop one of the few light poles that had survived Saber and Rider's clash was most certainly the servant Waver had witnessed the night before.

Caster smiled. "Pardon, Servant Archer…?"

"I said that there is only one King here, and two pretenders," Archer said, his brow creased on a face that appeared specifically built to accommodate it.

"And that king's name is…?"

Waver said—rather, could say nothing. He could hardly blame his servant for saying what everybody had been thinking—but something about this man felt huge, looming far larger than his impractical shoulder pauldrons. Waver couldn't quite place what it was, but something in his gut told him this was not a man who should be angered.

Archer's expression of distaste deepened. "You would demand that a King tell his name?"

"I assume your subjects did not simply refer to you as 'King,'" Caster replied before Waver could futilely caution him.

Waver took a quick look at Irisviel and Saber, both of whom looked nonplussed; Rider looked a little forlorn, left behind in this meeting of (apparently) "Kings". He was took a glance at Archer's face and decided he regretted it.

"He's mad, isn't he?" Caster murmured quietly to Waver.

Waver wondered whether it was Archer's scowl or the weapons humming ominously behind him that gave it away.

"What, did I say something wrong—"

The metallic hum of steel slicing through air and the shiver travelling down Waver's spine had barely registered before he was flying, a dust cloud blooming behind him in slow motion. He had not managed to gather the breath to scream before it was (in retrospect rather gently) knocked out of him again by a giant scaled claw. He looked up just in time to see the veiled girl from earlier, her eyes fixed on the smoke.

A glint of amusement flashed across Archer's face. "I forgot dogs came in packs."

"Not much of a King if you don't have any subjects," Caster's voice rang through the dustcloud. Though it sounded as bratty as ever, Waver felt more relieved than ever to hear his servant's voice.

He's the very basis of modern magecraft, Waver reassured himself, did you really think he would die that easy? Raised within a culture proud of its inherent superiority, Waver could think of little that could match the man that all of modern magecraft hoped to emulate.

But as the dust settled it became clear just how dangerous those assumptions were. A thick, dark man whom Waver vaguely recognized from the night before stood in front of Caster. Dressed in luxurious robes and holding a round shield that gleamed golden in the night as if under the Levantine summer sun, he looked quite the sight. Yet all eyes were fixed not on the man's gold-spun robes or his magnificent shield, but on the sword that passed through said golden shield into the man's chest.

It was certainly not lack of skill that had doomed the fellow—two other weapons, what looked like a sickle and a trident were embedded in the shield, and two others were embedded into the ground from where they had glanced off. The man's expression of shock, echoed on Saber and Rider's faces, made it obvious that the shield should not have broken.

But it had, and with a sigh of wind the man burst into what seemed like white ash, his mouth still babbling soundlessly before it, too, was blown away into the wind. A djinn, Waver recognized, a trace of his long days in the Clock Tower library forcing its way through the metallic taste of fear. Though they were well-known even to nonmagus, their habitat in the Middle East and professor El-Melloi's personal distaste for them had prevented him from ever seeing one in person.

It had not left a very good first impression.

"You're a subject short," Archer smirked, chuckling at his own joke.

Caster shrugged, seemingly unperturbed.

"One subject doesn't make a kingdom. But where is your kingdom, o nameless king, that we may give you a name?"

Archer said nothing, his smile widening as he spread his hands, as if to embrace someone or something.

Saber, too, looked a little perplexed. As if amused by their confusion, Archer roared with laughter, the roaring laughter of a lion overlooking his lands.

"And you claim to be kings? You, who would have your so-called kingdoms, your little fiefdoms, bound by the words of beast, man or god? Laughable.

But I will show you all what Kingdom truly is."

Those golden-gloved hands spread out further, daring—no, not daring, not willing, but knowing he could grasp the world between them.

"Everything.

All of it. That is my kingdom. That is A Kingdom, the Kingdom of the King of Heroes.

Every blade of grass, every stone, all your treasures, every one of your silly huts and fiefdoms and hovels, everything under the Sun, Moon and Stars—I have conquered, taken, pacified it all, and it is all mine."

Waver recoiled as Archer gesticulated, a majestic sweep of his arm, like an ant before the foot that hovers above it. How did those men who designed this war think they could impose their wills on a god? How did HE think he could impose his will on a god-king?

"Woo! Wooooooooooooo—we've got a terminal case of egomania here, boys—"

With a lurch of his stomach, Waver realized with increasing horror that that insolence, that blasphemy against his king had come from the mouth of his servant.

How could he utter such depravity in front of his god-king? As if he had any right.

But Waver could put a stop to that. He could shut up this blasphemer that was (he was ashamed to call) his Servant. With just a single piece of those three blood-red marks etched across his hand.

Closing his eyes, he opened his mout—

Something splashed across his face—a gust of wind? A mighty wave? Something in between.

Who the hell—and then Waver froze as he looked at his hand.

What the hell was I about to do?

And then, as those unknown syllables that felt like the rain and smelled like the wind filled his ears, he realized what he had almost done. Everything rushed back—that moment of complete, unstoppable rage, holding the scraps of his thesis; that fierce, defiant joy of the command seal on his hand—the annoyance he had felt with Caster that first night—the fight they would enter—and he had almost thrown it all away in a single moment of—what? Insanity? Madness?

As the last few notes of divine speech tapered off, Caster smiled. All around them, Rider, Saber and Irisviel all looked dazed, as if they had just been slapped across the cheek.

"So that is the Charisma of a man thoroughly assured of himself," Caster remarked. "Madness never tasted so sweet. But we do not plan on partaking today, King of Heroes."

Archer shrugged as well, seemingly unperturbed.

"I did not expect the cony to understand the thoughts of the lion."

"But let me remind you of something, Solomon, 'King' of Israel," Archer said, his eyes narrowing as he raised his hand.

"The land on which your Israel and Judah was built, the mud huts you lived in as you called yourself king, the mountains whose streams fed your pack of dogs, they are mine. The land you stand on, it is my land. You'd do well to remember it.

And it is by my forbearance that you have lived on my land.

Forbearance that has run out."

With a hum, a new set of weapons lanced out—but this time, it seemed, Caster was ready.

"—∎∎∎∎∎∎∎—"

With a blaze of blue light and dust, the two magic circles hovering in the air on each side of Caster's shoulders ignited, and from it two grey—worms shot out, right in the path of the first few rays of light.

There was no flash of light, no visual sign—just a shriek of wind. And then a blast of wind, this time towards where the swords had been, and a sigh, as the worms wriggled through the air, intercepting the weapons before rushing towards Archer with a shriek.

"Insolent Mongrel—"

Archer flipped off his light-pole with a snarl as several more weapons from his seemingly endless collection shot out, curving as their trajectories converged on the giant worms as they slammed into the lightpole where he had been standing, seemingly oblivious of the weapons buried in their bodies.

Once again, Saber and Rider stared in silence, Saber moving to cover her master as, with a distinctly slimy sound, the worms retracted to show their featureless faces, a ring of eyes around a mouth surrounded by teeth.

With a crash of glass, the lamp portion of the lamp pole shattered on the shattered concrete, its stem nowhere to be seen.

"Shamir," Caster explained carelessly as she stroked one of the worms as like a favorite family pet, "eats right through most alloys. Great for construction."

Running her hand delicately over the worm's leathery skin, she fastened her hand around what looked like some kind of shortened polearm extending from the Shamir's flesh, leaving drops of black blood.

"Blind as a bat, though," she muttered absentmindedly as she lightly tapped the polearm. The worm reacted instantly with a shriek of what must have been pain, its head immediately recoiling towards the polearm.

The Polearm shrieked too, a shriek of wind that had just barely passed Waver before it recoiled, pulling the shriek back into the weapon before it dissolved into a haze of smoke. Waver could thought he saw Rider and Saber quickly double-check their weapons before he was blinded by Caster's Succubus' niqab.

"not much use now, is it," Caster murmured as he picked up the shaft of the weapon, now terminating in a clean cut—

"—ongrel."

Caster cocked his head as Archer strode forward, the golden perfection of his face marred by an expression—not even of disgust, like that Waver had seen through his familiar at the Tohsaka Mansion—but of rage.

"Excuse me?"

"Know your place, Mongrel. Living on my land without acknowledging your lord is already insolence punishable by death," Archer declared, each word a curse as he stepped forwards.

"But you would then sully your king's treasures with those—worms?" In some tiny corner of his mind, a snider Waver Velvet from a more naïve time noted Archer's pause as he tried to find a word appropriate for the (Admittedly very wormy) Shamir. The rest of Waver couldn't bring himself to laugh as more and more swords, axes, spears, shields and ji arrayed themselves, like a flock of eagles ready to strike.

Even Caster's smile had lost its good humor, leaving only the fossil of a grin.

"You may want to step back, Waver," she murmured, the ground beneath her glowing with a subterranean rumble. Even with his low-class, rudimentary magic circuits, Waver could feel the crackle in the air, the inaudible howl of mana concentrating, congealing, hardening around Caster and her magic circle.

"Unforgiveable," Archer roared as, with a sweep of his hands, seventy, eight—no, over a hundred of his noble phantasms launched—

The flash was even visible from the Tohsaka Mansion.

With a whistle like a firework, light turned to day as a new sun shone across the bay.

With a soft clink, Tohsaka Tokiomi's teacup fell onto the carpet as he stood up.

"Don't tell me—"Was I too late?

Tokiomi cursed his own indecision. Kirei had specially come over to warn him of Archer's belligerence—the haughty servant was preparing to unveil the contents of his Gate of Babylon to every servant and master in Fuyuki. But Tokiomi has hesitated to invoke one of his three precious command seals to recall the haughty servant. And now it was too late—

"illumination shell," Kotomine Kirei said, his voice flat.

"Illumin—pardon?"

"Illumination Shell, a special type of ordinance used by conventional militaries to light up the battlefield in night battles," Kirei explained patiently.

Tokiomi felt a flood of relief. So it was just some military thing after all, not Archer being pushed too far…wait, military?

"Guards, ready."

"G Troop, in position."

"Hussars, ready on your mark."

"We're ready to begin the operation, milord."

"Thank you, Commander," V.V. responded airily to the man next to him. Though he tried to hide it, V.V. could sense the irritation in Commander….whatever his name was.

V.V. could see where he was coming from, the commander of a unit ready to take Tokyo, now diverted to a minor port town of no strategic or political importance on the whims and fancy of what looked like a child. V.V. could see where this man, standing next to him on the stealth hovercraft Widowmaker, was coming from, but he didn't sympathize—after all, he had never felt anything like it himself.

"Very well, Commander, begin the operation."

For what had been a relatively sleepy town, Fuyuki woke up in a flash. Floodlights blinked on, their beams reaching into the darkness beyond the docks.

From the business district, the rhythmic rat-tat-tat of machine guns and the sound of shouting echoed onto the docks.

"Insolence," Archer muttered as a second star shell rose, bursting into several smaller flares that illuminated his displeasure.

Saber and Irisviel exchanged nods.

"King of Heroes, King of Kings, Lord Guan," Saber began, her voice measured, "Let us leave this fight for another day."

"I agree," Rider immediately said. "The situation has changed. Of the thirty six stratagems, retreat is the greatest."

"It seems like we don't have much of a choice here," Caster replied. Though his expression had returned to that of nonchalance, Saber felt a hint of gratitude from the child.

Archer, however, remained unconvinced. "You would have Lions stop for the squabbling of rats?"

"The regulations of this war—"

"Regulations? Laws?" Archer sneered to Saber's objection. "What King binds himself to a law set for lesser men?" With the raising of his hands, several of his noble phantasms arose, their blades pointing towards the ships illuminated on the Horizon. "It will only take a moment…"

Archer's voice slowly trailed off, his eyes narrowing.

For a moment he turned away, his anger seemed to intensify further, his brow digging deep furrows, and Saber's hand strayed once more towards the invisible sword at her side—but, suddenly, he relaxed.

"tch," he spat. "As you wish, Tokiomi. I will humor you today, and twice more," he muttered to himself. "But do not think you can hold me back with your words."

Turning back to the assembled servants and masters, Archer's smile seemed almost indulgent as he spread his hands.

"Very well, mongrels. I will accept your truce."

Saber nodded curtly. "My thanks, to you, King of Heroes, for your chivalrous actions."

"Chivalry, huh…" For a moment, Archer paused, the corner of his lips curling ever so slightly upwards in amusement.

"Perhaps there is something in this war that will amuse me after all. I look forwards to meeting you in battle, King of Knights."

And with that he was gone.

With a sigh of relief, Saber turned towards the other two servants.

"Thank you for your cooperation—Rider, Caster."

"And to you, Servant Saber," Rider responded, his expression as peacefully solemn as ever. "It would be inadvisable to continue this battle without consulting my master, given the current situation."

"That Archer…he will be a handful," Caster remarked, annoying smile back in full force. "Well, that's for another time." With a clap, Caster turned to the veiled woman holding what Saber assumed to be Caster's master.

"Leila, Waver, let's go."

Caster's master blinked and stared for a moment before scrambling off the veiled woman's arms, his face nearly glowing.

"My thanks again for brokering this ceasefire, Saber and Rider." Caster said, rather obnoxiously loudly.

"It was in all of our interests," Saber replied, perplexed. Caster, though, didn't seemed to have noticed, seemingly staring into the sky.

"It would be a shame if somebody broke it."

Rider, too, looked a little confused. "…Is something the matter, Caster?"

Caster smiled back as if that odd segue had not happened. "Nothing at all. And now I take my leave."

As servant Caster sauntered off into the darkness, his "master" at his heels, Emiya Kiritsugu bit his lip.

"…he saw us."

"Yes. Yes he did," Kiritsugu replied to Maiya through the radio.

The last remnants of adrenaline dissipated from his veins—but the shock remained, from when that boy servant had looked at him, straight through the scope of his rifle. He had even winked just to be sure Kiritsugu noticed as he prepared to shoot Caster's hapless master.

"Let's go," he said into the radio as he folded the stock on the rifle, his hands sticky with sweat.

He would have to be far, far more cautious in the future.

"Captain, hostiles disembarking from Helicopters at the harbor!"

"Enemy Mech Frames sighted near the Town Hall!"

"I want extra sandbags on the bridge," Captain Kazama Shirasaka yelled frantically, to nobody in particular.

The better plan would have been to blow the Fuyuki Bridge altogether, along with any other bridges that might cross the Mion. But nobody had thought to set up charges on the bridge, or checkpoints on the Fuyuki Bridge, or much of anything at all. Nobody had thought it'd be necessary.

"Lieutenant Mitabi, take over for me for a minute," Shirasaka shouted to his XO.

"Sir, what are we supposed to do—"

"Does it look like I have a clue?!" Shirasaka snapped before stomping out of the classroom-cum-command center.

Several soldiers in the hallways of Homurahara Middle School saluted as he passed, but Captain Shirasaka paid them no heed as he stamped up the stairs.

In his high school days, whenever anything went wrong, whenever he wanted to run away, the roof had always been his refuge.

Somewhere in his heart was the forlorn hope that it would serve again.

A wall of cold air slammed into his face as he threw the roof door open and he stepped onto the roof.

A few shaking, abortive efforts later, he carefully lowered the cigarette into the flickering lighter flame, a tiny kernel of warmth protected within his cupped hands.

With a deep breath, he felt the panic in him subside somewhat.

"Shit," he muttered.

And it was shit. What had he done wrong to get himself in such a shitty situation?

Well, everything. Life had started easy, as it tended to be for the talented. He had cruised through high school here through talent and a few hidden cheat sheets hidden in his uniform.

And he had hoped to cruise through University too, until reality had taken its toll and he found himself four years later with a degree full of compromises and not a single company willing to hire him for it.

He'd tried out the salaryman life for a while, but it didn't quite appeal to him, and in the course of things he'd sunk his salary (and quite a bit more) on a few business ventures that either never quite succeeded or were never meant by his business "partners" to succeed.

And finally, he had ran away from his problems and joined the military, content in the fact that his degree would guarantee him an officer position and his lack of dedication would earn him a dead-end position in some dead-end town where he wouldn't have a chance of mucking things up.

But it seemed like problems were dedicated to finding him, even in a dead-end town such as Fuyuki.

Why Fuyuki? He wondered.

The town was pretty and its people pleasant, given, but the town of Fuyuki held no strategic value whatsoever. It had once been a Sakuradite-exporting port, but that had long since withered once better-situated harbors with larger facilities had been constructed; its coastline was thin and poorly suited for large-scale disembarkment; though Mount Enzou might be easily fortified, its terrain was far too rocky for either airfields or all but the toughest ground vehicles; and though a Highway from Hiroshima to Tokyo passed through Fuyuki and its bridge, the road was narrow, poorly maintained and easy to block or defend.

No matter how you looked at it, the Britannians could find better roads, safer harbors and more indefensible crossings and the JSDF could find stronger chokepoints and better defenses elsewhere.

That was why Shirasaki and his company of screw-ups had been assigned to Fuyuki with no ordinance heavier than the company Komatsu IFV.

So why were the Britannians here?

And now that they were here, what would Shirasaka and his men do?

Shinto had already been lost—the Britannians had already seized the old harbor and taken the town hall—Shirasaka had gotten no word from Corporal Kei, his men or the IFV. Miyama, though, could still be saved. Shirasaka had ordered a roadblock to be set up on the Fuyuki bridge and the coastline beaches fortified—but that was only a stopgap measure. The Britannians had shown they could land by air, and if they made a concerted effort, Shirasaka lacked the anti-air assets to deal with it. Moreover, Fuyuki bridge was far from the only bridge across the Mion—the next bridge lay merely a few miles upstream, and as far as he knew there was no garrison there. Moreover, his mere company-sized unit lacked either the resources to properly evacuate Fuyuki's citizens.

What COULD Shirasaka do?

"Captain, regarding—"

"How the hell should I know?! What the hell am I supposed to do—" Shirasaka stopped as he turned to Lieutenant Mitabi's confused face.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. That was uncalled for," Shirasaka stammered.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear it, sir." Shirasaka felt a sigh of relief—his lieutenant was not one given to undue gossip, and his advice was generally sensible. Perhaps he had some words of advice for this situation.

"Lieutenant. I'm sure you're aware of our odds, or lack thereof, in this situation."

"I am."

"Well," Shirasaka replied as he turned, "what would you do in this situation—"

Captain Kazama Shirasaka's face registered annoyance, confusion, and then a slow realization as it looked down at the hand embedded in his chest, and the stain of numbness that was spreading across his uniform.

Slowly, his eyes moved back up toward his lieutenant's face, hesitating as if he feared what he would see would scare him more than the hand gripping his heart.

And, when he finally gained the courage to look up, all he saw was a white skull, its eye sockets narrowed in a jawless smile.

For all its obscurity, Fuyuki was a rather large city—the distant sounds of gunfire were barely audible over the sound of loudspeakers and general panic in Miyama.

Guan Tziling, however, could only feel relief as she gingerly slid down through the thickets that stood as the outskirts of Fuyuki City. The searchlights illuminating the sky almost seemed like a welcome party—Tziling had been in the mountains for three days, and just about any human habitation was a welcome change to cold nights with nothing but wildlife, a sleeping bag and granola bars for company.

With a slight grunt, she shifted the long wrapped package from one shoulder to another.

The edge of Fuyuki had only been touched lightly by urbanization—only a few cars among homes and small farms that could have been from the P—well, First Pacific War. The contrast between the farmland around her and the high-rises in the distance reminded Tziling of her own country.

The Federation had sought industrialization in a hurry, and the warlords who maintained de facto control over China outside of the Eunuch's immediate capitol region had different ideas of how to go about doing it. In the end, they each followed their own way such that skyscrapers in one province might border slums in another.

Japan, at least, had pursued a more centralized approach about it—not that it was helping them much now.

The streets were largely empty, though an undercurrent of panic hummed ominously from house to house. That was fortunate—the Japanese were a sensitive and polite people, and a heavily-armed foreign national travelling in these turbulent times would probably be better-served to travel incognito, diplomatic passport or not.

Before she knew it, she was in the residential area, with their tall stone walls and polite family name-plates. Now the whispers of worry became murmurs, interspersed with the shouts of distant soldiers and the rumble of vehicles. And underneath that, a hum of…something else.

"Hongzhou Yansuiguan, Taishan," Tziling absentmindedly muttered to herself as she rifled through the map she had printed over at the neighboring town before heading out. There were few Federation expats in Japan outside of its major cities—it was fortunate that a family also from Suzhou just happened to live in Fuyuki. The fact that they owned a restaurant also gave Tziling a bit of spring in her step—granola bars (and the occasional 7-11 bento as a treat) could only satisfy so much.

Chinese food would have to wait, though, judging by the "Excuse me, sir." from behind her.

"Turn around. What are you doing out here after the curfew?"

Three JSDF soldiers let out audible sighs of relief as she turned around into the streetlight.

Tziling smiled the easy smile that usually worked with new concubines in the Vermillion Forbidden City. "Miharu Katsuragi. I'm studying at Seiken, but I took a break a week ago and just got here on the way home," she lied. "Is something wrong, officer?"

One of the soldiers (the officer, by what Tziling could see) smiled a relieved smile in return. "Not as much as I feared. We thought you were a Britannian or something. But you should probably clear out soon."

The officer motioned at the searchlights in the background.

"Seems like this is the real thing," he remarked with a nonchalance a little too airy to be genuine.

"A real invasion?

"Afraid so."

"Just my luck," Tziling sighed. "Well, I guess I'll wait until you officers kick them out then," she suggested. In this situation it wouldn't be easy to get to the Taishan anyway. The Chinese food would have to wait.

"…actually, hold on."

Tziling froze.

"We might need to check out your documents back at headquarters," the officer remarked with a hint of apology.

Tziling smiled as she faced the officer once more. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, right?" Her documents were intact, but Tziling suspected they would not be thrilled to find out about the amount of firepower she had packed.

The officer shook his head. "Afraid not. Orders are orders."

"Well, I guess I wouldn't mind somewhere to stay for the night," Tziling sighed, as if she had not noticed the other two soldiers carefully surrounding her. Their objective was probably the same as hers, at least for now. "Lead on."

"What's the news on the war? I've been out of the loop for a while?" They were walking away from the battle now. Fewer lights could be seen in the surrounding houses, and the subdued mutters of panic subsided back into threatened whispers.

"nothing good," the officer replied, his pessimism a little more obvious. "Word is that the Britannians landed down south on Shikoku, and from what I've heard, the capitol and the North aren't doing so well either." His expression darkened. "Meanwhile the EU is busy pussyfooting over in Greenland as always, and the Chinese leave us to dry."

"About as expected, then," Tziling shrugged. The Leaders of the EU loudly spoke of war, constantly—of wars to defend liberty, equality and fraternity, to uphold democracy and the rights of man. But when it came time to send their men to fight, they all lapsed into silence. Two centuries of democracy in EU had generated a nation that followed the will of the people, with all its fickle contradictions. And so the EU Navy would continue its standoff in Greenland until the threat of battle passed and the politicians picked up the baton once more.

The Federation—or, rather, its eunuch leaders, also had their own problems. The eunuchs were not stupid—with most of China divided among various other governors, warlords and Eunuchs, the Eunuchs would be loath to commit more of the few assets that remained loyal to them into a foreign war with unfavorable odds. With the Beiyang Fleet licking its wounds in Kaohsiung and the Federation's other territorial armies busy in India and Indochina, any further intervention would have to be done with the Eunuch's own Capitol Armies at the cost of the Eunuch's own security forces. And with the specter of Prime Minister Weilin's failed coup still fresh in their minds, the Eunuchs would not jeopardize their personal safety for a few international treaties.

"Says a lot about what friends money will buy you," the JSDF officer muttered grimly as he turned a corner—into an empty dead-end. "Well, this seems like a good place."

"I agree," Tziling replied, as if she had not heard the sounds of two safeties being flicked off, "this is perfect."

With a crack, one of the JSDF soldiers crumpled, his neck bent in an angle that he would never again have to worry about fixing. The second JSDF soldier managed to raise his rifle before he impacted the wall with a crunch of gravel and breaking bones.

The officer fared a little better, flitting in and out of Tziling's punches before a swing from the wrapped polearm swept him off his feet with a force that should have snapped his legs.

"Servant Assassin, I assume?"

"How," hissed the skull-masked man with what breath he could draw as soon as he regained his breath, a one-word question that conveyed a combination of shock, horror and disbelief, a boot on his chest and thin steel blade mere centimeters from his face.

"I've met a great many people who can resist hypnosis," Tziling remarked grimly as she pulled off what remained of the pouch that had hidden her Guan Dao away, "but none unaffected by it."

With a wheeze, Assassin drew in a breath of air through his chest as Tziling shifted her boot slightly.

"Who was it that sent you?"

Assassin said nothing, his skull mask smiling jawlessly back at her.

"I heard a servant has the chance to find a new master if their master is killed. How about we work something out?"

A moment of silence—but just as Tziling raised her polearm, something escaped from underneath the mask.

"—p—m—."

Tziling leaned in a little closer. "What?"

With a soft crunch, a crack crept along the edge of the skull mask.

"—elp me."

With a hiss like flash-boiling water, the cracked corner melted away, what had seemed like white ceramic melting into liquid and revealing an eye filled with fear—terror, really.

A normal human? The face was that of the JSDF soldier from earlier. But the agility with which the officer had managed to dodge her attack, that mask, that immunity to magecraft…though she had never faced the JSDF, Guan Tziling suspected these abilities were not standard among the Japanese military.

"H-help me," the soldier behind the mask rasped.

And yet that eye full of fear, peering from outside of the mask, could not have been faked. It seemed like Assassin's ability was some kind of involuntary possession—but to what extent, and could it be remediated?

"How can I help you?" Tziling asked.

"—save me, in my che—" A pained whisper.

"Louder," Tziling urged gently, moving her head closer.

"—ou can start by—"

"I can start by what?"

A click, a jetstream of cold air that travelled straight down Tziling's spine—

"—you can start by dying!" Somehow, without being able to see underneath that skull mask, Guan Tziling suspected that, underneath that white porcelain smile was a real smile as the soldier aimed his handgun and pulled the trigger—

Or, rather, that was what he would have done if he still had his hand.

With an expression of innocent, childlike confusion, his eyes swung back and forth from the stump of his arm and the severed hand that lay next to it, fingers still tightly clasped around the pistol grip. It took a few more precious seconds for him to notice that neither his neck nor the rest of his body had quite followed his head in falling to the ground.

"Figured it wouldn't be that easy," Guan Tziling muttered.

"Now, about the other," she muttered as she turned towards the empty street.

Servant Assassin, formerly JSDF Private Miyashita Shouma, cursed his luck.

The idea was to observe the master, as Assassin's Master had ordered. It was his misfortune to be stuck with two more enthusiastic partners.

In the end, the allure of a master whose servant was elsewhere had gotten the better of them.

And now their cover was blown, and here he was running for his life. If the other masters got wind of this, the farce his master had put on in front of Archer would be for naught.

Though the loss of a Single Assassin (that wasn't him) didn't trouble him much, Assassin knew enough to know that his Master would be in hot water.

But not all was lost. Foolhardy as their attacks were, his colleagues (and his own broken ribs) were proof of one new piece of information his master would be well-served to know.

Servants, inherently, are an existence that stands apart from the physical world, an aberration both separate from and abhorrent to the physical world. It is this separation that causes the world to constantly press upon these foreign existences, and it is the natural attempts by the physical world to evict these foreign entities that necessitates sixty year's worth of prana for a mere two and a half weeks of existence on this earth.

And yet, this inherent separation from the laws of the physical world provides a measure of protection from the weapons and magecraft of the physical world. However powerful, human weaponry and magecraft has a severely diminished effect on separate existences such as servants. Only magus with knowledge of magecraft of the higher-orders or weapons of great magical power can hope to inflict any real damage against Servants.

And this master possessed at least one of these. Whether it was the ability of the master or the power of the weapon (Assassin suspected the latter), the fact remained that this master could kill servants.

No matter how badly his master might castigate him, Assassin knew this information would be priceless.

He only needed to get back—

Huh? Assassin blinked at the stars above him.

He must have tripped—what a silly mistake to make.

He had to get up. Time was of the essence, after all.

But something was not right. Something had happened to his feet. Something was missing. What was it?

Assassin was still wondering as the Halberd swung down onto his head.

"thick as thieves," Servant Rider said as he tossed the body of the JSDF soldier unceremoniously into the corner along with the other bodies.

"No signs of possession until the moments they fire, masks that disappear as soon as they die…" Guan Tziling remarked contemplatively as she picked up the JSDF officer's arm and tossed it into the pile. The abandoned corner Assassin had chosen to be her execution ground was now a very convenient graveyard. "As expected of Assassins."

"My apologies for arriving late, milady," Rider murmured.

"I did not blame you. How did the battle go?"

Rider smiled. "They are all great heroes, as expected. Really, though."

Tziling turned at Rider's chuckle as, wiping blood off her own Guan Dao, she tied a new burlap bag around the blade. "Is something funny?"

"To think the greatest man among them is a girl…these are interesting times."

"Attention citizens and civilians within Fuyuki City, this is a message from the JGSDF 15th Infantry Division, 3rd Company. Please keep calm and remain in your homes until further instructions are given."

Corporal Takebe realized the hypocrisy of somebody in his current state advocating calm. It was only military discipline that kept his shaking fingers from instinctively jabbing into the trigger of his rifle at every sudden sound.

"This alley's clear, sir," Private Misaya reported.

"Right, private, move on," Takebe replied, his voice betraying nothing. The men in his squad were probably just as nervous as he was—to lose his nerve now would only worsen things.

But his thoughts were his own and nobody else's, and there his worries remained pent up.

Currently most of the 15th infantry division was currently on the riverbank, busy fortifying the fuyuki bridge and the banks of the Mion.

On the other side, the Britannian were in complete control.

Reports from soldiers that had made it across from the bridge were that they had seen those giant bipedal combat Frames that had devastated the 3rd Company's original unit, Major-General Kirigaya's 16th Brigade and its fortifications in Shikoku.

The 16th had failed, even with all the fancy German MBTs they had purchased. Takebe did not feel like testing whether élan vital would compensate for nearly a full meter's equivalent of RHA in composite armor and a 120mm gun.

Thankfully, his duty would not involve finding out—at least not yet. Currently he and his squad's job was to ensure Fuyuki's citizens remained in their homes until the situation had stabilized—and to make sure no Britannian soldiers had managed to land on the Miyama side.

Takebe wasn't going to look too ahrd for the latter.

"Sir, over there," his partner whispered to him.

Takebe felt his blood run cold. He flicked the safety of his rifle to semi-auto as he sidled up to the Private.

Almost instantly, he felt a release in tension as he looked down the private's arm. The figure was sprawled on its ground on its side—unlikely to be somebody shooting at you, at any rate. He—no, she, wasn't wearing a uniform either.

It would be against international law to fight without a uniform—and Britannia wouldn't break international law, right?

That trace of doubt was enough that he kept his rifle at the ready as he tiptoed over, ready to shoot at a moment's notice as he motioned to the Private to follow him into the alley.

—in th—

Takebe stiffened. He had only heard it for a second—but that whisper sounded like a shout in his head—and not a friendly one. "Ma'am?" he inquired cautiously as he inched forwards, rifle at the ready. From Misaya's expression, he had heard the whisper as well.

—urts—ease—

Another whisper—this time not hostile, but afraid—deathly afraid. Reaching over, turned the woman over, revealing a foreign-looking woman—

—ightthroughtheskinIwonderhowfaritcang—

Not a whisper this time. This time it was a full-blown sentence, whispered but at the same time as loud as if amplified through a loudspeaker. It was a curious voice, nearly childlike—but a little off, in a way Takebe couldn't explain with words.

And yet, through that whole sentence, the unconscious woman he had turned over hadn't moved an inch.

"…I don't like this, sir," Misaya murmured, his voice agitated, "there's someone—something out there."

"Quiet. Cover me, Private, I'll get this lady up, and we'll get the hell out of here."

"Got it," the Private responded as he raised his own rifle. Turning back, Takebe reached out to pick the woman up—and then froze as he found himself looking into the eyes of the downed woman.

And those eyes glowed bright purple, with the sigil of a widened μ—

All five fingers, huh?

"Pardon, ma'am…" Takebe blinked mid-response. The randomness of the comment was already strange. But what was stranger, and what scared Takebe more, was the fact that the woman's mouth had moved not an inch.

You could do without one, right? Just a quick cut…the voice had changed—not that of a woman, but of a man's, speaking a language Takebe didn't know but could understand—and then a burning, searing pain as the knife cleaved through fingers that weren't his—he was on a pedestal on what looked like ruins, floating in an endless evening sky—and then, separately and yet simultaneously he was shrugging the cloak from his shoulders, drenched in rain and rage and, most of all, an agonizing, painful guilt, surrounded by corpses of his former friends, a woman he loved and couldn't love in his arms; powerless, scrabbling at the ground at the feet of the golden-haired boy who had taken everything h—she had. He—she—he wasn't sure which one it was anymore all he knew was that he was burning, the flesh curling and curdling as they peeled off his arms, surrounded by a gleeful crowd whose faces showed only savage triumph—cast awash in a thousand emotions, sensations, visions, voices and feelings, Corporal Takebe struggled only momentarily before, drowning in a sea of memories, his mind finally sank under the surface into the depths.

Scrabbling hands and a shaking needle searched blindly for a blood vessel. Once, twice, thrice, the needle jabbed before finding a mark and quivering fingers depressed the syringe plunger and sent several milligrams of dissolved relief rushing through the woman's veins. As sanity returned (however momentarily), the geass marks receded, leaving an eye of clear green on one side and a clouded, milky white one on the other. Only the green one moved as it passed over the two twitching, unconscious JSDF soldiers around her.

"Jeepers," the woman who had once been known as L.L. (among other things) murmured, "how long was I out, Berserker?"

Nobody said anything, but that hardly fazed L.L. as she crawled to her feet.

"Don't worry about it. We'll have another chance."

Stumbling, L.L. steadied herself on a street corner, gazing at the mouth of the mion, and the Britannian ships now illuminated by floodlights.

"They're coming, after all. Just as Zouken said."

Author's Notes

[1]Palfreys and Destriers: The average knight in the medieval period had several horses—a charger, a heavy horse bred for bearing the weight of an armored rider and its own armor, rouncey for basic transport, and a few sumpter horses for carrying all the paraphernalia associated with a knight. The best chargers were Destriers, generally stallions with a lot of power, though horses with better endurance such as the Courser were used. Palfreys were just as valuable as Chargers, but were more known for their gentleness. Of course, the historical knights did not exist during the time most people believe the historical King Arthur might have lived, but Nasu is Nasu.

[2] The Noble Man and the Smaller Man: this is a paraphrase of Confucius. The Noble Man is a rather literal translation of (君子), but other words could be "the bigger man", "the ideal man," etc. The "Smaller Man" (once again a very literal translation from 小人), could also be referred to as a despicable man, a lesser man, etc.

[3] Honorifics: The Lord Hanshou rank was given while Guan Yu was in service of Cao Cao by the Emperor. As it was given by the Emperor Qian of the Han, I supposed he would have kept it. General of the Vanguard was given after Liu Bei's ascension to the rank of the King of Hanzhong. Shu is not mentioned but the Han is because Liu Bei considered himself subordinate to the Emperor and a continuation of the Han dynasty, not a separate dynasty, and he did not proclaim himself emperor (following the abdication of Emperor Qian) until after Guan Yu's death. Guan Yu's status as a Tiger General was also not noted, as he in fact took offense when given the title, as he considered two of the members (Huang Zhong and Ma Chao) undeserving of the rank and needed to be convinced to accept the title.

[4] the Weight of Halberds: most long weapons were rather lighter than one would imagine (2-3 kg) in order to be used with as much agility as a sword. Even the 1.4m Zweihanders (probably longer than the hand-and-a-half sword that Excalibur probably was), used by the Landsknecht in the late renaissance, weighed about 2kg. In comparison, by the units of the Han (the jin– "斤"), the Green Dragon Crescent Blade weighed about 18 kilograms—at least six times the weight of the contemporary halberds of high-renaissance halberdiers.

[5] Guan Yu's Attack – drawn from the Romance, from which this Guan Yu is largely based (not to be confused with the Historical one). While the deaths of Yuan Shao's two greatest generals, Yan Liang and Wen Chou, are considered one of Guan Yu's greatest achievements, Yan Liang, who was serving with Liu Bei at the time, had expected Guan Yu to be defecting, and was cut down before he knew what was happening (as Guan Yu's spirit was reminded by a priest after his death, as told by the Romance of the Three Kingdoms). The battle between Hua Xiong and Guan Yu (who at the time held the mere rank of mounted Archer) is not explicitly stated either. Li Ru, Dong Zhuo's main adviser, also noted Hua Xiong as being Dong Zhuo's "greatest general", above even the peerless Lu Bu, suggesting he may have underestimated his enemy.

[6] Killing Intent – Of course, I'm not indicating that warriors were able to detect the "intention to kill" (a very vague term to begin with) with some "sixth sense" or psychic abilities. At the same time, that the term "殺氣" and others were devised in the first place suggests the phenomenon exists in some form. Though I have yet to engage in a fight with anybody to the death, I assume killing intent is a mix of subconscious physical cues of somebody about to engage in violent action, i.e. dilation of pupils, accelerated heartbeat, changes in stance, all of which somebody who has seen tens of battles may be able to recognize by experience.

[7] Approver – an accomplice to the accused or a random prisoner chosen to act as the champion of an accused in trial by combat in medieval England.

[8] The Story of David and Goliath for anybody who actually hasn't heard of it.

Side info

Spirit: Guan Yu Yunchang

Master: Guan Tziling (in retrospect I wrote this wrong-Guan Tziling is written with the Wades-Giles system while the rest of the characters are written in Pinyin. Guan Tziling should technically be Guan Zhiling)

Alignment: Lawful Good

Strength: A

Mana: D

Endurance: B

Luck: C++

Agility: B

N. Phantasm: B+

Class skills:

Riding C+++ (far above-average but unexceptional for a hero. In certain situations may manifest at a much higher level)

Personal skills:

-Eye of the Mind (False): A

-Knowledge of Respect and Harmony: B (a serene state of mind brought about by complete understanding of oneself. With this rank, Rider's attacks are difficult to perceive until they are enacted. Less effective against servants with a high Instinct. Gives some measure of presence concealment)

-Divinity: D+++ (While completely mortal in his lifetime, postmortem Rider became a well-known Taoist-buddhist deity well known throughout the Far East. This does not, however, reflect on his servant stats under normal conditions).