"It's a truly sad thing that we will eventually have to battle one another. However, until then, I wish you the best of luck, miladies," Tristan said as the Master of, the now confirmed, Caster made her way out as soon as Ywain's Master declared his intentions of dueling here and now.

"Very well then, Sir Triswich, Master of my old friend Ywain. I wouldn't have it under any other terms. I, Tristan, the Knight of Lamentation, accept your challenge. As for my Master, I believe you'll find out soon enough that her soul may be a kind one, but her will is as unbreakable as the walls of our beloved Camelot. Now come, let us be off," Tristan said, declaring his identity and title in return to Noon's honorable challenge. It would be a stain to his name as a Knight of the Round Table if he didn't at least do this much.

Before he moved he threw a glance at the other knight that observed them as if to confirm whether or not he had any intentions of interfering in this duel.

With that done, Tristan vanished from their sight, he hadn't turned into his spirit form but rather simply retreated with all the speed that was allowed for Servants. This simple act making it instantly known the gulf that existed between the capacities of a Master and their Servant.

When Tristan came into their field of view again he was atop the chimney of an old residence, at least a hundred meters away from his former position. Failnaught was already in his hands, its beautiful shape gleaming under the moonlight in a nostalgic way. He slid his fingers along them, producing a clear melody that resounded through the still night, and unleashing a number of "shots" aimed right at Ywain's calves, thighs, and finally, his neck.

Whether his attacks found purchase or not, Tristan would continue his retreat. The life of a bowman caught in the range of his opponent's blade was as good forfeit after all. Vanishing inside an alley closer to where Yazhu waited for him, Tristan's melody would be heard once again, this time, turning any windowsills, fire exits, back doors or any other anchor points in the narrow passage into deadly traps. Anyone who steps into them while unaware of his tactics would have a great chance of being dispatched of before even realizing what happened. The redheaded knight didn't have any hopes that this known trick of his would have any effect against Ywain, but at least it would buy him a few seconds if his fellow knight wished to ensure that his own Master wouldn't fall prey to it.

And, with any time it bought Tristan would continue to retreat, seeking to rejoin his Master, while also taking the chance to inform her of their current circumstances. "Master, please hold your position for a moment more. I'll be rejoining you right away. It seems that we have found our first duel, so be on guard against the enemy until I arrive," he said wordlessly through their telepathic link.

---

---

@SubjectVision@ManyThings@SSW@1Charak2@Sunglass@Cu Chulainn

---

@Sunglass@Danchou@SSW@ManyThings@Cu Chulainn@Crusader Lord@KoL@SubjectVision

---

Oh what a spectacular night, such things had gone so hectic and yet at the same time such hectic-ness could only be deemed fitting for the scenarios that the holy grail war provided. The fact that a random stranger had decided that they wanted to ally with them was both thrilling, mysterious and above all else concerning but if Lucienne felt like she could trust this magus, well, Da Vinci would have to put faith in her pupil.

Still it seemed like they were heading out and so Da Vinci remaining close to her master to escort her, walked with her master away from the battlefield. Making sure of course that what if anyone was stupid enough to touch her master. They would be meet by Da Vinci's immediate defence.

"and farewell~" She said finishing her masters goodbye walking alongside them.

Business District
@Danchou

---

"O-oh..." She said sadly. She didn't like that Archer felt that way, but there was nothing she could do about it. Regardless, she followed along with Archer. "I don't need anything, no, but let's find you a good -" She was cut off as the command seals on her wrist began to burn. "Oh no. Archer, there are other Masters somewhere. I don't think they're particularly close, but... maybe we should hurry up here. Let's find you a hat you like."

---

Seine River - Following the river east - Latin District
@Indra

---

"So, Master. What exactly is your wish when we win? Just to escape that woman you hate?" Small talk wasn't Rider's forte, but he felt the need to break the silence.

---

Isidore's hunch was right; an alliance of a dangerous magnitude truly was forming between two apparent Knights and a Caster-class Servant. In particular, the alchemist found interest in the beauty that was Caster, taking a good moment to observe the strange gauntlet that she sported. It seemed that only two of the three Servants were accompanied by their Masters, with one of them being easily recognizable from his manner of speech and attire: the heir of the Sun, Triswich. The Master of Caster, however, sounded like a local of sorts and, judging by what she wore, perhaps a French patrician.

Despite its own limitations, it is honor that grants those who call themselves 'knights' strength in their conviction... and what else makes a human more than their principles?

As Isidore exchanged quips with Autolycus through their mental link, he began to think of his ideals once again. His desire from the very start was to save humanity by sacrificing his own, but at the same time, did Isidore really sacrifice the sole thing that made him human? Even without flesh and with dulled emotions, has Isidore, who still clings to the very same ideals that he had dedicated his mind, body, and soul to, really abandoned his humanity? The alchemist began comparing himself to the Triswich knight, an honorbound Magus tied to the will of his Lord. They both have dedicated themselves to their ideals. At the same time, they also had one fundamental difference...

... Yes, it was that Isidore was not bound by honor.

As his Servant returned, Isidore opened his gym bag, opening it up so that Assassin would pour in the results of their plunder. Not only information was taken that night- including the knowledge of two Knights of the Round Table- but actual physical treasures. While Isidore had no direct use for the treasures at least for the moment, he was sure that based off his calculations, what was stolen would inhibit the parties involved. With what his Servant has successfully obtained so far on the first night, Isidore was sure he had more than enough leverage on a few of his potential enemies.

"Excellent job, Assassin. For our next course of action, it may be in our best interest to follow the fleeing pair of ladies, at least until you can nail down where their Workshop or place of residence may be. Once that's done, I'll be sure to inform you of our point of rendezvous afterward."

And with those commands issued, Isidore packed up his spoils of war, making his way across the city once again. He made sure to avoid other opponents to the best of his ability, as he had one particular goal in mind that he wished not to be interrupted from...

The Gavros grinned to himself, the night reminding him of his love for humanity.

---

---

---

Well, he'd made out decent for a first heist on the first night of being summoned in. A decent start, a way to introduce the new kid to what was going on. Not a peep, not a sound, just pure skill and experience at work and play here. It'd been an easy little task, if he was to be frank, but he also wasn't going to be idle or stupid about it all. Heroic types were the kind of people to lash out and ask questions later in many cases, and some people in general would just try ta' ruin a guy's night and other fun by going 'oh you insulted my honor' or 'oh please sir, i need those cows' or 'wait a second you stole my daughter!' and all of that stuff. Because sheesh, human even now still probably needed a good sense of humor stolen out from under em and slapped in their faces. This to get them to take a 'chill pill' as the Grail had told him was a phrase in this day and age.

'You ain't gotta tell me twice, kid, i'm already on it. Just get your butt somewhere nice and safe, eh? And use one of them seals ta bring me over if ya' need me, kapische? Kapisch? Eh, whatever language they usin' these days."

With that, the master thief of ancient Greece swiftly and silently made his way after the staff-holding Caster (Da Vinci) and her master with the pretty bling. He had to say he was partial to those looks, and a lady who knew how to deck herself out was pretty nice as a potential target. But truthfully, he was just going to follow them back to their base, and then after imprining the location in his mind he was going to contact his master and rendezvous.

He had to admit, however, this kid wasn't much of a master thief. But he was going along with it well, so that much he could respect alongside the kid's passion for the good old martial arts! Kid even brought a bag for their goods, so he had some sense of being prepared perhaps. Baby steps, however, would be needed to get this to work properly and get the kid up to speed.

Maybe...just maybe he could turn him into a proper accomplice yet~

It'd be more entertaining than Ody-boy or Jasey-wasey (their mothers' nicknames for them made him sick) being kept away from him and getting little time to visit their grandpa and learn the tricks of the trade...

@Cu Chulainn@Red Alice@1Charak2@Danchou@SSW@ManyThings@Sunglass@SubjectVision@KoL

---

---

Ywain’s heart filled with pride at Noon’s words. There could be no doubt that this partnership was ideal. That man, who shone like the sun-

Was this his desire? It could only be fate that had lead him to his summoning here.

“Yes. This path is certainly the correct one.”

Tristan began his attack.

The second Tristan moved back, Ywain moved to follow. Sword in hand, he’d been ready to move at a moment’s notice from the beginning. Allowing an Archer to gain the advantage in range was suicide, particularly one as skilled as his fellow knight. Certainly, Tristan was faster, but Ywain was hardly slow. Charging forward while his opponent attacked, Ywain did not slow down for a moment.

Attempting to dodge would be worthless against someone like Tristan, so Ywain didn’t even try. Keeping his shield up, he swung his sword in an attempt to match an destroy the force of the projectiles. Those that were aimed lowest, that his sword did not reach, would be dashed against the protective shell Ywain’s ring offered, shattering it until it could be recharged.

Continuing to bear down on Tristan, Ywain did not stop. If his fellow knight had thought he would slow to communicate a proper warning to his Master, he was mistaken. Ywain chose to trust Noon, sending only a single word along their link; “Trap.”

Ywain lept forward with a single, powerful sword stroke as his opponent retreated, discarding any defensive stance to land a blow on his fellow knight.

@Danchou @KoL @ManyThings @1Charak2






The group simply stood by and watched the fight. There didn’t seem to be a Master nearby, at least not one that any of them could notice. It was unfortunate, but the group hardly needed familiarising with each others’ combat styles. Focusing on watching their Servant in action, getting to understand their abilities and strength, was probably the most efficient use of their time.

The fight was a dizzying thing to watch, passing quickly enough that it could hardly be perceived. As Theta watched through his link with the Servant, each of the homunculi watched in their own way. Ceres watched impassively while Venus’ eyes flicked between the fight and the group’s reaction.

Diana plucked at her bow. “Huh. Don’t think I could even touch them.”

Meanwhile, Minerva stared, not at the fight itself, but at their Servant’s opponent. “I don’t know why, but for some reason I really-




-that man.” Her eyes flashed. Even though it was just an imitation, the enemy Servant would surely feel an ominous sense of dread that those eyes were locked upon him in anger once more.

@Froppy @Sunglass

@SSW @KoL @Subjectvision



“Oh boy, he’s done it hasn’t he?”

Yet despite the worried words she only sported a big grin.

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to get to work.”

The girl named Elaine rose to her feet, and then rose some more. Floating into the air as wings sprouted from her back. Or perhaps they were always there?

As Noon Triswich spoke of his victory, as Ywain faced his ally she began a bit of work of her own.

The winds gathered, the winds danced. “Fly, lion. Jump like a cat and catch a mouse. Or is it a hawk in this case?”

Another spell was born, wind shifting covering Ywain. Not a defense, or well, not against the arrows that could rip through this cover like the fragile membrane of an egg. But rather that against the winds and obstructions. Fly to your foe, let your obstacles melt away, claim your prize.

With a smile she watched, a small hidden observer who took in the scene of the battle with wicked amusement and hopeful pride.



Already he was considering what to do, arriving on a few options and ideas after finishing his first spell. There no attacks towards him from Archer, the servant apparently focused on breaking a distance. His eyes, they danced incessantly, his head throbbed. The speed of a servant was normally too fast to see, too fast to keep up with, but with that…

With that sight he could follow Archer to an extent. But even then there was no time, nor reliable means of striking a knight class directly with magic. So he would bear witness until a proper time came.

He moved with his servant, mindful of the warning given to him by Ywain and moving with a seemingly surprising perception of them.

"Hmm?" Tristan was surprised by Ywain's usual brashness. For a man who had patiently defended his lady's property for as long as he did, discarding his protections in favor of an all out offensive like this was rather uncharacteristic. This was something to expect of Mordred, or even Gawain, nevertheless, it worked well in Tristan's favor. If he could exploit it just a bit more maybe a killing blow wouldn't be as impossible as the Knight of Lamentation thought.

Ywain's eager thrust would find no purchase in Tristan. The difference in both of their speed and agility was just enough that a strike like that was easy enough for the Archer to predict. Instead of that, Tristan burst away again, the pressure of the wind generate by both of their movements was enough to blow away anything that wasn't bolted to the ground in the streets and back alleys the crossed, not unlike a hurricane ravaging the streets Paris.

For every step that Tristan took backwards one of Failnaught's strings was pulled. Some of the "arrows" sought to hit Ywain, aiming at the gaps of his armor. Calves, wrists, waist, neck, all of the were targeted; each "shot" meant to kill or disable, without a hint of mercy spared even for an old friend. The other "arrows" that didn't target Ywain directly formed an ever increasing labyrinth of razor sharp strings each and every one capable of turning a Servant into shreds with but a single touch. Their intention was simple, to trap Ywain. Restrict his movements, make him an easier prey as he had to choose between running into a string or defending against a shot. However, above all else, they were meant to say that "from this point forward there was no coming back".

The moment Ywain chose to cast off his defenses and follow Tristan into a tight, labyrinthine space, victory was assured for the Knight of Lamentation. Now, it was just a matter of actualizing it.

---

---

@SubjectVision@Danchou@SSW

---

^{Latin District - Northern Sector, Alleyway}

Mentions: Tristan (@KoL), Ywain (@SSW), Noon (@Danchou)

---

The speed at which the Servants darted through her alley was alarming, the inertia they carried bringing forth a strong wind that could even be felt on her position in the emergency ladder. A very clear demonstration of just how far past humans the Heroic Spirits were and how she stood no chance against them. As such, Yazhu spent a couple more seconds in hiding to decrease the chances of the fearsome Saber turning around once he spotted her. Both him and Tristan were knights, but Yazhu couldn't be sure if their honor would be upheld when she could pose a threat to Ywain's Master, the person she was waiting for to appear. It would be a risky situation, but it was the only chance of victory both her and her Servant had in this situation: She had to eliminate the enemy Master as quick and effectively as she could. That meant killing him, and to do so she'd need to get the jump on him.

Yazhu closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The distant fight was drowned by the instant feral claws pierced flesh. Muscles and skin were torn open. Energy began to course through Yazhu's body. A single mutter came from her lips: "Four Symbols: White Tiger". The energy was redirected. The curse was applied twofold. Her limbs and body became like iron. Yazhu opened her eyes; the world was clear once again. Less than a few seconds had passed and now the chinese woman waited for her rival to arrive. She was ready for him to take him down.

Rooftop, Latin District

---

As introductions came about and a challenge was given, the paladin remained standing on the roof with his arms crossed. His expression certainly showed some reaction when he learned that he was in the presence of two of King Arthur's knights, and when the red-haired bowman seemed to be gauging the likelihood of fighting both Ywain and himself, Saber shook his head and looked down to where his new allies stood on the street at that moment.

"My comrade. If your desire tonight is to test yourself against a foe you knew in life, I'll let you enjoy yourself and take no part of this combat."

With that clarified, he allowed a battle to rage around him. He smiled as he watch Ywain leap past him towards Tristan, and still did not move a muscle as violent attacks were launched by both sides. He made the smallest sound of reaction as he noted the strange projectiles the enemy was making use of.

"I'm certainly glad that I'm watching Sir Tristan's abilities unfold rather than being subject to them myself. Arrows that can't be seen? Very threatening indeed!"

Saber seemed to be speaking to himself. He dropped down from the roof to the street and strode over to Ywain's Master, closing the distance in a few moments even as the man made great haste to keep up with his Servant.

"Take care now, Sir Noon. I appreciate your confidence and boldness despite being a Master in a war of Servants, but if you happened to be struck it would limit your knight's ability to complete the duel he's engaged himself in. With that said, best of luck to you, my allies!"

He shouted that last part out loudly enough that even the women who had departed might have heard it echoing down the street. As he stepped away from the modern knight, he wore a cheerful expression, clearly content with his friend having found a solid opponent for the night. Still, there was a certain determination in his eyes to find something like that for himself. Fortunately...

"Saber. You're free to engage in combat if you wish."

"Thank you very much, Master. Rest assured, I'll use the permission you've given me to aid our victory, rather than for my own enjoyment."

It was mostly true. In any case, battle and enjoyment went hand in hand for Saber. He focused his mind for a moment, reaching out with his senses to search for Servants within the district. A moment passed, and he nodded to himself. Seemingly, this was a popular area tonight, and he had singled one presence out of many. It would be best, he decided, to move with a little more speed despite the environmental damage that would cause.

Noon might have spied Saber for another moment as he chased after the fight, but as soon as he blinked, he would find the Servant had vanished, leaving nothing but cracked cobblestones behind.

---

^{Shared-perception Superior (@King Cosmos), Clashing Combatants (@SSW@KoL), and At-risk Ally (@Danchou)}

"They're touching your stuff."
Roland had arrived early. Barely just missing the violence, but even a mind altered Berserker knew he was too late. Wait for Angelica. She would need to decide what to do with her castle. Her castle, now ruined by some greedy Saracen. But the men inside were not Saracens. Too old. They shouldn't be there, but they were. They weren't the attacker. He wanted to rip them apart, but he had been told to kill Rinaldo and Saracens, not citizens. And yet, they looked so much like Saracens.

These men weren't servants. And they weren't masters. Angelica said they weren't an assassin, as an assassin would never have tripped security. Already he was detailing everything he saw. How they mishandled her beloved cups. How they hung around her windows. How they ran their hands through the remains of her home! He could so easily kill them before they had a chance to breath, but miss Angelica would be there soon. She would make the decision. They had to find who did this, rather than just fools who stumbled in. But if they broke a single glass, he'd break them in half. No, not in half! Into tiny pieces. Pieces of pieces he would litter all over the floor! FILTHY! DISGUSTING! UGH! THE WORST! His hand tightened around his sword, and if it were anything less than the perfect blade of Durandal it would have shattered in a moment.

'Miss Angelica. Four of them. Not servants. Not threats. Assassin!? If assassin, coming after! Filthy! COCKROACHES! I SHOULD KILL THEM FOR TOUCHING YOUR FURNITURE!' It was only her words that stopped him each time. Ordering him down. She loved him after all. He loved her. His love made it easier to think, but it was still so far gone! One of the problems of throwing one's sanity to the moon, it was nearly impossible to retrieve.

But, Miss Angelica had a plan. A good plan! She said it was good! And they would find who did this to her home! THEY WOULD FIND THEM AND KILL THEM! That was the problem. That was the threat! They must be injured, why else would they have destroyed her home!? No body, either burying or seeking help. Two, maybe more? It wasn't his mind that said this, but an instinct. An instinct that seemed to break every problem down. Down into numbers he barely knew, but a feeling he got. A feeling of fighting more than one enemy.

When she told him to, he would hunt down her enemies. And kill each of them for what they did. One enemy at a time. One enemy at a time. One enemy at a time. One enemy at a time.

---

The pair entered the canal district, known for it's canals. Obviously. Jackson felt some unease.

"Something happened around here..."

He walks through the district with his servant.

"Where is this workshop exactly? Or do we have to survey this place? I left my graph paper back at base."

He held out an arm, letting his eagle land on it. He whsipered some commands to it and it took to the skies, circling high above them.

"Mages are a suspicious lot. Tt pays to have contingencies, which we'll have to be on the lookout for. We are entering the realm of the unknown where literally anything can happen. Who knows, maybe they're friendly..."

@King Cosmos

---

“I’d rather not have to stain my hands with the blood of those who would not wish to fight. Given my profession, I am sure you would understand that, Master. Of course, I am a Servant in a Grail War, so I shall fight those who are within a Grail War as that is my word, but I do wish there was a way to convince those others not to fight against us. My word is always correct, and I promised you the Grail, didn’t I Master?”

“You were drooling over her though, weren’t you.”

“Oh yes! What an adorable little girl! Heaven forbid such a creature were to be harmed in any way! What a sweet, sweet puppy! ” Sylvester said in a mocking tone to his wife, almost as if to tease her. If there was one thing that Sylvester enjoyed, it would be the fact that he thought the comedic reactions of his wife after accusing him of (often true) sexual escapades were rather hilarious. Of course, that being said, it would be likely that if he were not a Servant, he’d be sleeping in the garden again tonight; not that he truly minded such, but not being able to see Meridiana was somewhat of an inconvenience for him.

Meridiana seemed to make what could only be described as a “frustrated noise” towards Sylvester’s general direction before Sylvester sighed and revealed the truth of the matter.

“Yeah, she is cute. Nice, too. But those types ain’t my style. That isn’t to say people like gramps over here are not great; I honestly couldn’t have asked to be summoned by a better Master. But when you look for a partner, if I don’t see the flames of passion in their every action, I can’t say I am willing to chase their skirt. Just ain’t worth it in the end. After all, that is how we met on that moonlit night all those years ago.”

Meridiana hesitated for a moment.

Sylvester was just a boy; so young and innocent. Those eyes that held the desires of a king in the body of that child. Not the eyes of a conqueror, but the eyes of a brave, noble man who would sacrifice everything to protect those he “loved”.

And she was the kingmaker to this broken man.

He gazed upon her as he did all those years ago with the same, youthful eyes.

“You never change, do you?” Meridiana said, finally taking form from the Pontiff’s arm.

A beautiful lady, the sight of which might make many a man fall for her. A beautiful lady that one might grant everything in their possession to and would still not be tamed. Though her appearance seemed nothing more than a French peasant woman dressed in the finest clothing, there was something about her rather simplistic beauty that would call many a man to ask for her in marriage or to fight over her affection. And while Meridiana did enjoy the “sport” of it all, she found such prodding to be a nuisance after such a long bout of time.

....But his affection was different.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean!?” Sylvester quipped back at her, seemingly annoyed at her proclamation. “I’ll have you know that repetition is the secret to a long life, or so I’m told.”

“Very well, he who claims lordship over my Husband. If you have a place where you think drinks would be excellent, I shall follow. That shouldn’t be an issue, should it,... I suppose you are going by “rider” now?”

With a sultry laugh, Meridiana dragged Sylvester by his one hand to walk beside him and for him to walk beside the old man.

“Tch. I was going to accept his proposal anyway. No reason to lord it over me, missy.” ]

@SSW @KoL @Subjectvision

---

---

_{The eyes, they saw.}

There was someone else here.

_{She was seen.}

“Are you the master of Archer?” he asked a question that needed not answer. He saw the magical energy, and he saw the way the young woman carried herself. Any non-related bystanders would have surely been chased away by now, and a unrelated master would have no reason to be here.

A fighter, a warrior, a living weapon.

She was the same too.

“I am Noon Triswich, master of Ywain. For the sake of my lord I descend upon Paris to claim it.” The spear in his hand rose as he took a stance.

The command he heard still resonated within him, honing his mind, influencing his body. Control exerted, his true self came forth as his thoughts turned towards the man his spear was named after. A flash of color as his circuits rotated went through his body, faint lines coursing with magical energy and glowing for a moment the sorrowful red of a setting sun. In the night where things were unclear and dark he would stand sure of himself in spirit and body. His was a mind and body without doubt and hesitation, and standing firm and tall he waited for her answer and battle.

Judging from what he could see of her… this was not a battle in which he’d be able to cast many spells. This then was not a fight as a magus but as a warrior. Standing there as a knight he would not accept defeat.

The servants were engulfed in their own battle.

But let them know that they would not be the only ones to shine tonight.

---

---

It was all a blur what had happened. She had found the enemy Magus, Charlotte Marie Louisa de Normandie, and her Servant directly in their workshop. The Servant's stats, to put it into words... he was comparable to Lord Nobunaga, in terms of power. They were both like hurricanes, Lord Nobunaga's wind being filled with fortune and magic. Yet this other Servant's wind was filled with raw physical power, strong and swift like a tornado uprooting a house from the ground. Overall she would say the other Servant is stronger in a battle of raw power, but a Servant battle was anything but straightforward. After that things got blurry. There was a bang of some kind, electricity if Nobukara recalled correctly, she remembered this blinding pain as she seized and fell to the ground. The distant voice of her Lord calling for her, gunshots sounding off nearby as the world around her shook. When she finally came to she was in a hospital bed, Lord Nobunaga at her side.

As Nobukara awoke she moaned in pain, her entire body burning from what could only be burns. Electrical burns to be more specific, it would appear as if she now knew what kind of magecraft Charlotte specialized in now. She pulled the needles out of her arm, the monitors flatlining as she sat up. "How unfortunate. I might be able to heal the worst of this myself, but to function at full capacity I will require someone versed in healing Magecraft. I suppose it cannot be helped." As she said this she slowly sat up, looked around the room and noted the fact that she was in a hospital. A curse of self healing was cast upon herself, a habit learned from years of training, and while it would not be enough to get her running at maximum efficiency it would be enough to get her running. Immediately doing so she finally recognized who was in the room with her.

"Lord Nobunaga!" It was probably a bad idea to try and bow while sitting up, a grunt of pain escaping her lips as she agitated her wounds. "Forgive me my lord, I failed you. Because of my carelessness, we've lost an entire night. I will accept any punishment you deem fit." Nobukara looked at her lap as she said this, too ashamed of herself to even try to look at her lord. Her benevolent lord, who saw fit to rescue a fool such as herself from an easily avoidable mistake.

---

^{Latin District - Northern Sector, Alleyway}

Mentions: Tristan (@KoL), Ywain (@SSW), Noon (@Danchou)

---

So, she had been found. Granted, against a magus one couldn't expect much out of mundane hiding, yet it was worth a try. A dry chuckle came from the woman, who was aware of her misfortune, and she descended from the ladder. "That's correct, master of Saber" came her reply once she set her feet on the ground. She immediately got on a defensive stance, gauging her opponent by the weapon he wielded.

That was quite the introduction, though. Resolute, filled with determination. A greeting. A statement. A claim. A challenge. It wasn't his name only, it was the entirety of his being laid bare. It was who he was.

Who was she? Yazhu had wondered why she was here, why she was placed in this massacre. She didn't expect her first duel to clear her mind from any and all doubts simply to greet him in the same manner. Because he was here because someone else. And, in the end, so was she.

How fitting. How ironic. How poetic.

"Hua family representative: Yazhu. In the name of those that doomed themselves, I've come to seize Paris and the Grail". The former bodyguard smiled and stood in a defensive stance as she introduced herself. Her breathing was calm and steady. Her posture firm and resolute. Not a single doubt clouded her mind. Her eyes were set on the man before him, and on nothing else.

She stood where she was and waited for him to attack. No more words were said from her. None were needed. Both of them knew it. Both of them knew that only one would walk out of this alley, as this was not only a fight between Masters. It was a duel of prides. A clash of convictions. Neither of them would surrender nor give quarter. In the end, only the most resolute will live to see the second day of the Holy Grail War.

It was almost romantic. But all it was was a tragedy.

Ywain was not a careful fighter, nor an analytic one. He was the type who threw himself into difficult battles without worrying. From when he fought as a matter of avenging his family, to when he fought to rescue hostages from imprisonment, he simply charged straight into battle. If anyone could be said to be the embodiment of the maxim ‘a good defence is a good offense’, it was the Knight of the Lion.

Ah, his shield was up.

Ywain’s pursuit was relentless, aided ever slightly with Elaine’s enchantment. Without the advantage of range, Tristan’s advantage of terrain was less relevant; even without a mastery of analysing the flow of battle, it was possible to meet many of the attacks coming from his opponent as soon as they sprang from the bow, disrupting them with forceful strikes, cutting the strings into pieces.

Still, it was not a sustainable tactic. Focussing on the string traps, the “arrows” that hit would batter his protection, wear it away swiftly. Not to mention, each swing of Ywain’s sword was more draining than Tristan’s simple plucking of strings.

Range. Range was certainly the deciding factor of this fight. But when it came to that, what were his options?

Of course. A spear was longer than a sword.

An attack clashed against his ring’s protection as Ywain materialised his spear in his left hand. Another hit as he clasped it with his other hand, dematerialising the sword. A third hit, shaking his protective bubble to its core, as he began his counterassault, thrusting forward with his spear in a continuation of his straightforward attack. This time he didn’t overcommit to any single strike, but simply stabbed towards his opponent, ready to use his spear to counter further attacks.

@Danchou @KoL

@SSW @KoL @Subjectvision



The battle began with a rush beyond normal men. Noon rushed forth, spear-first with a speed exceeding that of a normal reinforced magus, his body enhanced two-fold by his conditioning and the circulation of magic to reinforce himself the blur of steel thundered forth, propelled in a swift thrust that aimed for her chest. His power was no different story, the rush of wind and the sensation of danger that would surely spark across the nerves and skin of the other combatant proving it so.

It was a frightening blow. But it was hardly his only one. Striking her or not he didn’t stop, pulling back both in blade and body so as to maintain the distance between them.

Do not let her escape, do not let her close in. A chaser when one marked themselves as prey, a defender when one barred their fangs. To fight with a spear was to punish and control distance.

His weapon glimmered with magical energy as it flew in a series of following blows that chased after her as he carefully paid attention to her coming movements. As swift as her movements might be his awareness honed in on her and followed her.

The throbbing in his head continued, but it didn’t hurt anymore. This was something he could handle. This was not the strain in trying to see the splendor of a heroic legend. He could not see the future but he could see, he was aware of her movements, seeing in clear detail with his vision how her body shifted.

A dance of ebb and flow. Cautious and yet aggressive.

@The World






"Mhm, hurrying. I’m fine with that. But which is it? Are we hurrying away from them?”

Then he smiled as he suddenly turned into a shop. “Or are we hurrying towards them?”

“There’s no sense in being scared. That’s a way you lose freedom. But there’s no sense in going out of your way for danger or trying to prove something by being brave either. Shackles, obligations. I’m a lawbreaker who didn’t let what I want and what the law stare at each other in some cold war. But I didn’t act as some rabid animal either. Restraint is good to an extent, or well, what is it really? What’s to say is the difference between living without fetters and doing things crazy without care? Is living without worrying about the consequences or indulging into madness freedom? I don’t think so. You stop being human, you stop being yourself. You’re a monster, or you’re a useless wreck then.”

For a moment he became silent, a small nostalgic and ponderous smile forming on his face as he tried on hat after hat.

“Living free, hm, now that I think about it, it’s hard to explain. Living in the frontier where the laws and rules were poorly defined maybe my freedom was a bit poorly defined too? But all I can say is that freedom was the real thing. Isn’t that how someone like me somehow became a legend?

“All I can say master is don’t worry about the rules, the world, or people. Do what you want, but don’t lose who you are.”

He finally chose a hat, and nicked two. “Let’s go now~” he said with a pip of cheer, tugging on his master’s hand and leading her out swifter than the workers of the shop could follow without hurting her.

“So what’ll it be?”

---

^{Latin District - Northern Sector, Alleyway}

Mentions: Tristan (@KoL), Ywain (@SSW), Noon (@Danchou)

---

And thus, the combat began. Noon's first strike was dodged with a quick turning of Yazhu's body, using her front foot as a pivot to move her torso out of lethal damage. The blade didn't graze her, just barely. Noon's following movements were wise; she didn't have enough distance to get a hit in. All she could do was prepare for the next strike that would come with the time his retreat granted her. The second strike was dodged as well, coming closer than the first to strike true on her heart. Her armor was iron, but his lunges could pierce through her.

The third strike came, and so did the fourth and the fifth. Every attack from Saber's master honed closer to the target. She managed to dodge them all, but the last two managed to scrape her front. At this pace, Noon would soon manage to score his first hit. And his first hit would be her last breaths.

If she took a step forwards, he took a step backwards. If she took one to the side, he'd follow suit like a mirror. Dreadfully precise, unerring on his strikes, too far for her to manage to launch a single attack. A false move would mean death, and the windows were scarce.

Yet, she saw an opportunity amidst his precision. His range was preventing her from getting close. Therefore, what granted him the distance had to go. When the last strike began to withdraw to bring another one, Yazhu bent her knees slightly and prepared herself, extending her left arm to the front. Once the strike came her way, she lunged forwards and deflected the strike with the back of her gloved hand, pushing the spear slightly away and letting it continue its path with its inertia. Breaking her pattern of dodges and risking another hit should she not be fast enough. And then, once the distance was closed, a quick strike with the base of her palm would be aimed to the hand of Noon, seeking to disarm him and take out his advantage.

It was a gamble. It was a lethal gamble. But it was her best chance at surviving.

@SSW @KoL @Subjectvision



She was fast, fast both in the sense of the speed of her movements and in her decisions. The hesitation and delay she had was small, swiftly making decisions, swiftly reacting. More than anything the way she carried herself wasted little. The martial arts of the east. Her visage alone revealed her roots, but her movements were the true proof of her background.

A textbook perfect redirection came towards his spear to redirect it. Even if he saw it coming he could not completely stop himself, so instead he pushed at the end of the spear while letting go, sending it spinning in counter to the way it flew. An act more to pressure and halt her advance rather than kill.

Palamedes

From his sheath came the hilt of a long blade, a curious mix between a sword and spear due to its hilt that could lengthen or shorten, similar to the famous weapon of the Trojan hero that switched between forms. With it in his hand he felt the oath he made burning in his mind. An oath made to a blade, an oath made to a knight.

Sir Palamedes.

"The battle must be one-on-one"

It was perhaps his terrible advantage. The lack of need to commit to a single weapon, the arsenal of oaths that weighed down on him yet paradoxically gave him strength. In combat without arms she would surely outdo him, but he needed not overextend to preserve his advantage of arms.

He felt the world shrink. He felt his mind hone in further, further, further.

His breath disappeared, the only thing in his head outside of that oath that vibrated so loudly in his mind being those eyes.

He wasn’t alone.

Iaido.

A Japanese martial art.

An art that focused on preparedness and an immediate flow into opposition. A swift presence which paradoxically was a path to nothingness. Yet he was far from a master who could reach zero or infinity.

All he could do was cut things away from himself until he reached one goal. It was a comforting exercise, a ritual in mimicry that simply was something he took to.

He slashed. "Cross Ecliptic!"

Magical energy overflowing from his blade as he met Yazhu, intersecting her with his blow. He held no restraint, Palamedes swung forth with the full intention of defeating her. But even if it were to strike… with the magical energy that surrounded her and her potent enhancements would it be enough? He did not ponder the question as a doubt but rather because he felt that this battle would not end without more.

A touch of guilt. Somewhere deep inside he wished to see just how strong this girl is. That interest in a fight was something he could only feel ashamed of. He was a blade for his lord. That’s all he needed to be.