"Hm. Well I'm not the one looking for a fight but I guess that's honorable people for you." Ryte tried not to make it sound sarcastic or jerkish to the new Lancer Servant she had gotten literally two days ago but this was a War she was in and she may have to let a few morals go even if it means going as far as to scold people that like to do stupid things.

She was speaking something in German, a hand raised above a summoning circle with water as a catalyst, spawning several slime familiars as they made their way down the tall skyscraper in an oozing fashion, upon making their way down. The numerous tiny, transparent slimes spread out in the nooks and crannies of the Foreign Districts, even invading vents and air conditioning units of hotels to find Roland's Master: Charlotte hiding in the midst of the area.

"I've sent my lebenwaffe to go hunting for his Master. Are you ready to hold him off until they do? It'll take a while and I suggest you end it quickly. Even if he's shamefully butt naked, I doubt that doesn't mean he couldn't kill you in a single hit with that brutish strength..." She made sure to try and massage her arm, the burning feeling reminding her once again that she was on death row.

@ItMeGritty @Reflection @Crusader Lord

To make another hurt is evil.

To take another's life is evil.

To end another's dream is evil.

An Orchelas cannot be evil.

Yes, undoubtedly, evil is to be rejected. Slough off the shackles of sin and ascend. Strive forwards as shining monuments to the purity of human will, reason, and love. Prosper, flourish, and be fruitful. Offer a hand to the needy. Offer a smile to the hated. Become as a god. Such precious brilliance is something befitting mankind.

...But at the same time- Terrifying and fearful negative thoughts, and things that can certainly be called evil. These have also been gathered in this world. Even if it is justified, killing will always be evil.

It is certainly tragic that he was in this city. At the point where he chose to come to this place, he chose to commit evil.

Oh, great one, brought to the Seat of God.

My dearest ancestor. Artificial Divinity of the Orchelas.

-I announce: Here is my oath.

Before the pair of knights atop a building, a pair approached on the street below. A pair of men, one brimming with youth and one weighed down by age. A Master and a Servant.

...but, no, something was wrong. Even though a human was standing beside what was certainly a Servant, those weakest ripples of a magus's presence rolling off of his form, Noon's Command Spells did not react. The one before him certainly lacked anything of the sort.

In other words, the Master before him was either a fraud, or, even more unthinkable, he had already been forced to sacrifice all three of his Command Spells by the third night. But, for that to already occur, just what had-

"Sir Noon Triswich, your reputation precedes you. It is a pleasure. And the same holds for you, of course, sir Knight. I have hoped to meet you for quite some time now."

As if to dispel any such questions, the elderly human gave a warm smile as he called out. There was not a trace of derision or enmity in his expression and voice; it seemed that he was genuine, that he well and truly considered it a pleasure to meet the two of them here and now.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cerzelium, representing the Orchelas family. If you would like to fight, then so be it, but I would rather at least some manner of conversation before we resort to such things. I confess, stories of knights have always fascinated me."

Standing atop the building, men bound by duty.

Standing on the street below, men bound by love.

The ancestor of the Minamoto was Emperor Ōjin, son of the Emperor Chūai and the Empress-Consort Jingū. He, whose divine birth was signified by Eight Heavenly Banners. He, who became Hachiman, the deity of agriculture, of archery, of war.

A tutelary kami of warriors, he was protector of the Minamoto samurai in particular. And as such, his divine greatness lay within those who carried his blood.

The ichor may have lay latent in many, who stayed merely within the bounds of humanity. Yet, for better or worse, Minamoto-no-Yoshitsune was never destined to be an ordinary human. Taught and raised by the Great King of the Tengu Sōjōbō on Mount Kurama, her mind was open to knowledge that would utterly be disastrous for any other to hold.

All this had come together, in the end, to form a “path” within her mind to an aspect of the war god. Indeed, it was exhausting to “use, and it warped her away from humanity or tengu.

Some say, when a man eliminates their doubts and desires, when they utterly resolve themselves onto a path, their minds turn into “steel,” and become at the same time something more and less than human.

Minamoto-no-Yoshitsune, in turn, approached divinity. The divinity of warfare, of combat, for that was all she had learned and experienced throughout her life. For that was the fate of the girl who was not quite human yet lived among them, for the warrior who slew their brother’s enemies beyond counting, led his forces to victory, and yet, at the end, was betrayed by the one she held most high.

Her mind could turn into “war,” and it did so immediately as soon as she resolved to end the fight. And so, when the Archer of the Harp ceased targeting her with his bow, and sought to resolve the conflict with his cutting words, he found that he spoke to a god of war instead of a mere warrior.

And alas, what do mere words about regrets and sorrow matter to a being who found such things irrelevant? The words slid off the mind of War as easily as arrows would clatter off a castle’s wall. There was no use for them, after all.

Minamoto-no-Yoshitsune, whose mastery of the arts of War broached divinity, swung her sword for the final time in this duel. The movement was more than perfection, for this technique was not taught by the great King, nor by her own clan. The cut was borne from her childhood, of remembering the nostalgia of childhood games and teachings, refined into something more by the endless years of war.

And lo, the Heavenly Blade of the Minamoto sang a dirge of its own.

@KoL

---

^{Before the Dawn of the Third Day
Montmarte - An austere hotel room}

Mentions: Tristan (@KoL)

---

It was a nice little room. Two comfortable single beds, a nightstand with a lamp and a dresser with a radio that was perhaps a bit too keen on a particular song, as this was the third time during that it had played the same french song during the whole day. Although it wasn't unpleasant, it was starting to become grating and distracting, and Yazhu didn't want to have it stuck in her head, so she rose from her meditative posture and turned it off. Perhaps she'd have more peace of mind for artistic appreciation of this land's crafts once the Holy Grail War was finished.

If she was to be honest with herself, the entirety of the situation annoyed her. Whilst preparing for the second day of the War, the results of her encounter on the first night begged to differ to this course of action. Even if she didn't have any external wounds because of the resiliance of her Mystic Code, her body was still recovering from the power of the strike, and it was limiting her mobility. It was a minor disadvantage, but Yazhu and Tristan were already in an impaired position because of her own ineptitude as a magus and, whilst it took her a long ten minutes to arrive to the decision, she eventually declared that she'd remain in her room until she had fully recovered. After all, if she was to fight another Master, she needed to be as close to her full strength as she could. Noon had a trump card that almost costed her life, and it would be foolish to assume that the other Masters wouldn't have their own tricks as well. Not only that, but he and his Servant had already made an alliance with another one, if the combined efforts of the two Sabers to take down her Archer were anything else other than mere happenstance. The only one that didn't have anything up her sleeve was herself, and there just wasn't enough time to fix that. She had to win this war with what little she had, if only to save her family from certain doom.

Before she could descend further down the spiral of self-loathing, the melancholic voice of her Servant reached her mind. An apology, first and foremost, then a request for her to use a Command Spell once again, this time to bolster his powers and to win this fight. Without a moment's hesitation, she agreed to the request. After all, if there was a moment to use them was now. Even if this was her frustration or emotions speaking for her, she couldn't afford to lose her only partner in this situation. Someone who, despite these horrendous two nights and her failures, still trusted her. Even if that was what he was meant to do, due to his nature and his honor. And, so, she couldn't afford to let him down.

"Very well. Tristan: Break through your limits and seize victory for us" ordered Yazhu, expending the second of the three spells in order to aid the sorrowful knight on his fight. If all things went correctly, then they could possibly end the night in a positive note. A faint sliver of hope, one that she hoped they would be able to grasp. A heavy sigh escaped her lips and she changed the frequency of the radio to another station before turning it on once again. The static slowly gave way to the melody of a song, and Yazhu resigned herself to the sounds of Mylène Farmer's Désenchantée. Perhaps this station wouldn't be that keen on repeating the same song over and over again.

His run was unimpeded. Good. There was nothing Honda could have done at that range to really slow him down anyway. He was like a runaway freight train, and yet he didn't need to slow down at all. Because at that moment, what lay between him and his retreating enemy, was a building. A BUILDING THAT WAS SIDING WITH A SARACEN! With all the subtle grace of a Boeing 737, he crashed through the front doors of "Tim and Eric's Accounting firm." Thankfully, both Tim, Eric, and their secretary were at a noodle shop three blocks down celebrating that they finally managed to turn a profit, and nobody was around when a crazed blonde man tore through their glass doors. The rest of the building was a mostly straight hallway with a backdoor at the far end, so Roland just blitzed through and smashed through that. Leaving two broken doors, and a mangled desk that had been in his way.

This shortcut meant one thing in particular. As Honda was touching the ground, Roland was blasting his way through the emergency exit. A steel door spinning through the air, unintentionally aimed towards Honda's exposed backside as he retreated. Even a moment's hesitation from Honda would allow the blitzkrieg'ing Berserker to close that gap. "IT'S ME!" Roland roared, as his makeshift projectile door was baring down to rip Honda in half.

Sword in hand, Roland's attack began. The glorious blade Durandal began to hack back and forth. Each attack a pinpoint strike, as the air seemed to explode around him with each snap of the blade. A barrage of blows, each building on the last in a way a wild instinct might. A primal instinct. If for a moment Honda slowed, the blade would surely slice through an unguarded limb, or simply batter him till his bones broke.

"Ah, so that's how it's, then. Your beauty and your sadness are beyond even the track of Failnaught's melody, milady" Tristan thought as his opponent pushed the assault forth with a decisive and finishing strike of unparalleled beauty.

"Maybe, being defeated by such peerless beauty wouldn't be so sad. However, I can't forfeit my life just yet, not because of myself, but for someone who trusted her everything to this unworthy knight," he thought as he used the last of Failnaught's strength to counter Saber's attack with one last barrage of at least 20 "arrows", this time each of them spelling immediate death, or the loss of a limb. Some of the "shots" even came from crossed angles to encroach and slice through like so many shears.

As for the strike targeting him, dodging it was impossible. the only thing Tristan could do was defend himself with the ruined Failnaught and hope that it would be enough. And, it barely was. In fact, even accounting for Failnaught's sturdiness and the Archer's armor, he didn't escape this clash unharmed. A deep slice through his left shoulder making his arm pretty much useless.

However, not all was lost. Not as long as he had someone worth protecting.

And so, with a regretful thought, the Archer prayed.

And so, his request was answered with a miracle.

It might not be enough to make up for the difference in their skill, but the power coming from the Command Spell was more than enough to heal and restore Tristan, and Failnaught, to their best. No, even more than that.

If only for a brief moment, Archer could go beyond his very best, and Failnaught's song would be one to bring envy to the gods of poetry, and its "arrows", to those of archery.

It was only Tristan's conviction, but that was certainly had to be enough.

With his renewed strength, the red-haired Archer pushed forward, feet cracking the roof under themselves. Saber was faster and more skilled, but she doubtlessly lacked strength in the physical sense and that was what Tristan tried to capitalize on as he forced Failnaught forward and down with a burst of power unlike anything he displayed so far. He tried to push Saber's sword out of alignment and impair her form. At the same time, more and more "arrows" came, dozens at once, with a mere movement of Tristan's fingers. Most of them were aimed to kill or main Saber in the same manner as the those of his previous counter, but about one quarter of them were instead meant to bind her. For any other Servant, being bound by Failnaught would spell certain death, but Tristan had no doubt that Saber's mastery of the wind would allow her to get rid of them with ease. However, even a moment of restriction would make a lot of difference at this point.

However, this was only half of his counter as the true strike would follow the "arrows" when Tristan's free hand pulled away from his bow and unsheathed his sword. A simple, but effective downward strike aimed at Saber's head would follow. Between trying to not get pushed back, dealing with his "arrows", and Tristan's deadly strike, Saber's ability would have to be tested this time.

Otherwise, there truly was no chance for Tristan.

---

---

@BlueHelix

As soon as Honda touched down he heard the enemy Berserker bust through the building like the goddamn Kool-Aid man, heralded by another projectile, a metal emergency door that threatened to cut the general in half.

Am I sure this isn't an Archer?

Letting no time go to waste, he leapt up and corkscrewed over the incoming door. The door spun and crashed through the window of a restaurant before embedding itself in the back wall. Fortunately it was closed for the evening. Unfortunately that meant the breadmaker
busy getting ready for the following days shift wouldn't be able to finish his loaves since he was now scattered all over the kitchen. The church would likely blame it on a gas leak.

The barrage of sword swings came bearing down on Honda. Luckily he was ready. He rolled to the side, perpendicular to Roland's overhead swings and swung his spear in two wide arcs, targeting Roland's ankles. At the end of his last swing he used his spear to push off the ground diagonally, leaping back a bit to maintain distance from the Berserker.

Progress report Master?

---

@Reflection

@Unoedipal@Phonic @SSW






Love and duty. How they kept each other at bay, one often sacrificed for another. Both were noble and beauty things but one should never mix the two, or turn one into the other. In legend duty was something that transcended love, and love was something that transcended duty.

To truly shine in one regard one had to sacrifice the other.

If he had been asked which he chose then he would say that there was no love to dull this sword.

If he were asked what his father chose…

The bright light of the fireworks that they released atop this building brought a gasp from the knight and a squee from the fairy. All the more beautiful with his magical sight. He could see the cloud of dust separate from the lights, almost shimmering as it fell in a wave. It fell from the released blaze, dirt and ash mixed in with the fireworks.

Burial dust and crematory ash, what showered upon them was a means to sanctify the area that was prepared as the grounds for a confrontation.

While he kept it primarily as a generally neutral battleground there was no shame in this preparation he felt. This would be a place where things not of the normal world would confront each other, separated in a battlefield where only those involved and with magic could intrude upon. A place where they could fight without restraint.

The comment of his servant brought him to turn away from the signal. Yes no matter how pretty it was for a moment the sight of that pleasant face, carrying a wholesome sort of quietness that left him without worry was more of a wonder. Quite literally at that too. Indeed, he felt as though there were no other servant as reliable or trustworthy as his.

“A good feeling? Then it shall be a nice night for sure. I hope that this night is a proper one. The last ones were fun yet… strange I must admit.”

He shook his head. His feelings on their encounters prior was mixed. It was… far from satisfying. He had not felt much terror, trusting in Ywain. Yes even when he was the target of that murderous intent, he felt safe.

“Ywain. What is more beautiful to you? The lights of the city, or the vastness of a forest? Truth be told The quiet sounds of a lake are the nicest to me. But the sounds of the critters and creatures crying out and swimming make it feel quite lonely if I were to go alone. Were it not for Elaine or you, I do not think I would enjoy it much.”

A place that while not ideal for him like the parks. Would be ok for his work.

Even in this modern age in this city full of lights even at night such a display was like a star that shone under the moon as though proudly exclaiming that even in its smallness it could outdo its light. Even if only for a moment that one spark…

If those servants were a moon, or even a sun, then what would it take for him to become a firework with its glow that burns brighter if only for a moment?

“Oh, Noon, Noon. I see a pair coming! That magical energy… that’s definitely a servant.”

Magical energy in his eyes brought him a vision that reached farther beyond human limits. His presence hardened as he took on the mantle of a knight once more. He could see them. An old man and… was that?... he couldn’t say but. The man who was no doubt a servant was someone he felt a danger from.

“Yeah… Here we go. Elaine. What are my orders?”

“Yeah, sure. Comin' right up, you workaholic! Why can’t you ask me to do more fun things? I’m your Fairy Godmother you know. We’re supposed to grant wishes of fun you know. Why not ask for a princess? I’m sure there’s one among the servants somewhere. Or maybe even the masters.”

She shed her guise as a human, and rested her hands over Noon’s ears. “I don’t really know why you need me to remind you.”

“Attain the Holy Grail and seat of Paris. Defeat this foe and bring glory to me.”

The words, her voice that wasn’t her voice soaked into his brain. A throbbing sensation, not quite pain anchored his mind as it came to a halt. His magic circuits heated up and blazed to life. The orange glow came from him and his magical energy as he felt the throbbing build up. It was painting over him, washing away everything that was him and rebuilding him. With barely an instance passed his transformation was complete.

“Gawain.” he announced as he twisted the blade in its sheath. Out came forth in a brilliant shine of flickering flame his sword, a torch and beacon as bright as the fireworks that they released earlier. Only then as a completed blade did he speak words to acknowledge the command.

“Yes, my lord.”

He was always worrying about things, always looking thinking on how to improve himself and yet coming short. He simply wasn’t well geared towards innovation, or a genius in unorthodox means in utilizing his abilities. If anything out of all the Triswich she’d been with so far he was the most inflexible, the most uncreative.

Yet despite that the rigidity that was born of his lacks, that straightforwardness was in turn what made her not worry. His sincereness in how he pursued what he was given, and the burden he was made to carry was second to none. Really, he really was an idiot.

It’s ok, you just need to do what you do. I’ll watch you. Now… let’s see what they’re like.

“Noon Triswich.” he confirmed in response to the man's greeting and declaration. “Master of Sir Ywain of the Round Table under the class of Saber.”

“Likewise I represent my lord and set to claim Paris and the Grail in their stead. If it were a matter of fighting Noon Triswich and his own ambitions then I would invite you to strive for victory. But as the blade of my lord victory is the only outcome that can be.”

Blade in hand, nonetheless he offered a smile.

“Stories are something I have been told a many. I am better at listening, and I am not sure if I would have anything you have not heard. But even a known story can be different with a new teller, right?”

“Hey hey, you wanna come up here? Or do you want us to come down? He won’t mind you know. It’s all the same for me either way. Although I guess if I wanted to give a comment it’d be easier to fight up here but it’s cold and the wind’s strong! Hey Noon, go down there.”

“There’s no sense in making such a man have to walk up here. Ywain, we’ll meet them down there.”

The two took each other by the hand wordlessly and then leapt off the roof. Floating down, caressed by the wind, they came to land without disturbance before their challenges. It went without saying that he trusted Ywain to defend him against any foul play or sudden hostility. But he did not expect such either to exist in the first place. Naive? Expecting? In a sense it did not matter to him. What laid between the beginning and end of a fight was a record that did not matter. All that was needed was that he claim victory.

“With battle there is always the chance of loss. Either of one’s life, or of things more important than that. No matter how short or long one’s life is there are always regrets, and always desires. As the one that shall claim victory I shall listen and I shall tell as you wish. Until you are satisfied.”

Still carrying the smile, there was no insult meant in his words and arrogance.
“Ah this is gonna take all night isn’t it?” chimed a Fairy who took to fluttering by the side of Noon. With a stretch she let out a exasperated groan that swiftly gave way to a giggle.

“Just so you know if you guys take too long I’ll be chiming in as the ref to make sure we don’t waste the entire night alright?... Hmm hmmm, if you promise some snacks or somewhere warmer I miiiiight let it go on for longer than it should. Wink wink.”

@The World






“Now sometimes y’want them to come to you… Not that it was ever a thing back when I was alive, but I guess that’s how it’s gonna be now. We want to meet an enemy right? Then we walk around where we obviously don’t fit. Someone’s gonna throw a fit eventually, right? Well, let me know if you feel anything, and I’ll do so too.”

He grinned and sipped at a coffee as they walked down the streets. Two foreigners who obviously weren't conforming to the manners expected around here. Ah but sorry, there's no time to sit down leisurely at night like this. Besides, he wasn't ever one to sit around too long when danger was afoot.

"Wanderin about here, sticking out like two nails was it? We're obviously not locals and it'll be easy enough with those seals to tell that there's a master. Plus even if I'm not good with magic I can definitely know if a servant's about."

He tucked his fingers into the shape of a gun. “Bam. The moment they show up I’ll take care of’em. They'll definitely notice us. Right? good for them. Better for us."

---

Tonight, they would pay.

After the events of last night, Saber had resolved to find the dragon that was responsible for the destruction of his Master's home. He did not care about whatever personal history that was shared between the Lancer who had found his way to his midst and the Berserker who wished him dead. He did not even care about the Berserker's hidden identity, or whatever connection he had to its anger. All that was on Saber's mind was the extermination of this dragon, both for the potential liability it would be and, more importantly, the audacity it had to attack Saber in his own home. The rage that welled up within Saber was already near its peak, and he had hoped that his Master's plan of bringing them out would lead to their long-awaited confrontation.

However, the fleeting signs of their presence slowly fading only made Saber angrier.

The Servant rushed into the building, smashing its way down the basement with little effort. It did not take him long to find (and smash through) the golem blocking the pair's escape route. While he briefly considered following them in, he did not want to risk a fight underground that would likely result in all of Paris crumbling down on top of the both of them. Despite having the advantage of initiating combat in such an enclosed space, having been trapped in a pit of dragons in his youth and successfully fighting them off with his bare hands, Saber instead decided to start the battle on his own terms.

If they wished to flee through the sealed, claustrophobic tunnels of subterranean Paris, then Saber would just flush them out.

The fires of hatred for this Berserker grew within Saber's very being as he began to exhale, his helmet opening up fully to allow him to release his flames. Hellfire spewed forth from Saber's mouth as it began to fill the tunnels with his manifested rage. Hot enough to evaporate whatever stagnant water flows through these dark crevices, the accursed flames made their way through the tunnels as they sought out the same "exit" that Madhisi would wish to find, seeking oxygen and burning everything in its path. In regards to Mordred, the demonic flames seethed with greater intensity as they seek to burn through her protective scales. The question of if Mordred was able to survive being engulfed with the cursed flames created to end existences such as her would be moot if she were unable to protect her Master from such biting flames.

Despite this, Saber proceeded onward, Nagelring in one hand, and something far more hideous in the other...

"So, they chose to come after us, huh? I guess that the only choice we have is fighting without restraints now that we are finally in a safe zone." Madhisi could see the flare in the tunnels behind them and almost feel the paupable aura of hatred coming from the Servant that chose to pursue them. Sadly, this wasn't going to become a fight in their own terms.

Running away and using tactics wasn't something that Berserker excelled at. And Madhisi couldn't spare the time for a drawn out duel, but if their enemy was already determined enough to come after them while unleashing such an attack, things would be much easier.

After she found a dry recess in a wall to sit against and get herself mentally prepared for the unavoidable torture that was to come, Madhisi turned towards Berserker in her spirit form and said in a voice devoid of any great emotion, "Kill them with everything you've got. Don't let this become a drawn out fight. Defeat them fast no matter what you have to do, or we are going to die here. Deploy your Noble Phantasm from the very beginning if you have to."

"Now, go and kill whoever was it that destroyed our home, Berserker!"

---

---

@GreenGoat@Cu Chulainn@floodtalon

Business District
@Danchou

---

"Mm. Sounds good. If we really want to find someone, we could walk a circle around the inside of the city. From here to the Core to the Lain District, then back here again. If we space ourselves from the center correctly, we might be able to sense people no matter where they are... Though that's just an assumption, I don't know for certain how far the range is on sensing other Masters or Servants." Wynter walked alongside Archer with her scarf held up slightly. The gun used to summon him was holstered under her shirt, and she was slightly tensed, ready to fight if it came down to it. She'd steeled herself for battle since she woke up, a new feeling for her, but not altogether unpleasant with the newfound confidence she had.

His glorious blade snicker-snapped through the air. His blitz unstopped, and his wild fury echoing through the air. The mind of a berserker, especially one like Roland's was an enigma. A screaming windstorm that may as well have been running on the most primal of mankind's instincts. After all, when all that could tie him to his humanity is his sword, what can stop him?

As Honda rolled to the side, his overhead swing continued on. The grip of the sword spinning in Roland's hand, as he impaled the ground where his target had been standing nano-seconds earlier. The holy blade sunk into the earth, piercing it like butter as the madman held on tight. And he kept moving. A tiny hop was more than enough for him to clear the sweep of the Lancer's spear, momentum carrying him past his sword. But still holding it tight, he let that momentum carry him in a circle. As if he was poledancing around the handle.

Poledancing in such a way that all the power from his charge carried into a kick. A kick aimed squarely at Honda's skull. A blow that would rip through his armor and splatter the insides of his skull all over the ground. Which he might have been able to avoid if his plan to push off with his spear worked.

It didn't. Because when Honda's attack missed Roland's ankles, that wide initial sweep continued until it hit something. That something was Durandal. The sword struck hard into the ground, and due to it's nature as an unwavering sword of peerless power, it was not cut. The impact was sure to jolt the hero of the era, breaking his own momentum for the priceless moment in time he would have needed.

Instead, Roland played kickball with Honda's skull. If not that, then the mere motion of air pressure from his strike should slam against Lancer with all the grace of a baby elephant fired from a cannon.

___________________________________________________________________________________


"I kinda wanna give this to my sister. You think she'll be less angry if I gave her a picture made in blood?" It was a strange question. But Chieko couldn't be more serious as she looked at one of several paintings she had repossessed from the home/studio of the now deceased master of Lancer. It was actually pretty tragic, since while the value of each piece had risen substantially, there wasn't anybody to sell it to. At least not right now at least... When the war was over sure, but it wouldn't help her in the short run.

"But to be honest, Nobukara, art appreciation isn't why I called you here." Chieko explained. Placing the portrait down, and brushing the frame lightly for luck. "It's because I was checking the supplies and I noticed something. Each of these paints are made with blood. Nothing bad on its own... But he labeled each case." Slipping a hand into her robe, the shrine maiden pulled out one particular vial of note. On it was the writing of the formerly living mage, Hemlock Reguim. "This one in particular stood out to me. read the label." Passing it over, she turned the front to Nobukara.



"Whatever he discovered, he died before he could investigate it further. I doubt the man involved in his death was too deeply involved beyond the grail war, but I think he might have been onto something." Chieko said, taking the vial back as quickly as she could to keep it close. "Weird stuff is going on in this war. And not just weird stuff like 'Ha this man died' kinda weird. There are more than seven servants. That alone should be impossible judging from the ritual's information. We've had servants and masters dropping dead all war, and who even knows where the grail is going to materialize? I suspect it's not just a grail war that's going down in Paris." There was a scoff on her lips as she spoke.

"Anyway, I need you around tonight because I'm going to be performing a ritual. At least two mages, and we need somebody to protect us while we devote our attention to it. Of course I have Yojimbo, but... I feel better having you and Archer around, okay?"

"...so, this is a magus."

That idle hope he had was snuffed out as he saw the other's eyes. Those were not the eyes of a human being. The overlapping figure of a young man of the Orchelas, a product of Cerzelium's own mind, vanished into the wind. Because, after all, what he faced now-

“I see. The second you step forwards, you are no longer a person. You are a machine that exists to safeguard your defined future. No, not even a magus...so, then, is this a knight?”

He murmured to himself, words for only his own sake, as the boy made his descent. Yes, Cerzelium knew- becoming a machine means no longer being human. A machine is something that undoes all in the way of its purpose.

He did not know the other's past. Had the young boy thought about this when he was still a person? Had he feared taking that step? Had he been wracked with shudders at the thought before forcing that nature down, shackling it with steel?

...it did not matter. The boy's actions declared that, even if it had once existed, such fear had long since ended.

It was inspiring, for at such a young age, he had forged himself into a being that would not hesitate.

It was terrifying, for at such a young age, he had become a fixed standard born of that weight.

He could not criticize another's path. He did not have the qualifications. Yes, for after all, Cerzelium Orchelas was unquestionably a fool. If he was not, then he would not be thinking of such things for a man he may be about to kill.

“No matter how short or long one’s life is there are always regrets, and always desires.”

That presence of Cerzlium Orchelas changed. No, physically he remained the same, and magically too, but in a sense beyond either the physical or magical, in nothing other than that ephemeral concept of "presence", something changed.

"With all due respect, I disagree. We are born and burn up in life. We gain experiences, we suffer losses, and when an end comes, we feel regret and longing for what could have been. But, this is not necessary."


His tone was soft. A dying man lecturing one just born. A fool lecturing a genius.

"You and I may well carry regrets. Even the heroes standing beside us, shining stars exalted by faith, may. But, that is not proof of the necessity of regret. After all, a hero is someone who changes fate. That we stand beside such figures proves that the things we believe as necessary evils can be changed- can we not aspire to do the same? Beyond that, can we not aspire to exceed these heroes who inspire us?"

Magic Circuits flared to life. A simple Bounded Field to conceal the potential combat to come was formed, shoddy as the construction was. Two hands vanished into nothingness.

"Heroes shaped their legends, changing fate, with human will. The era may have changed, but the friend who stands beside me would not have given up and accepted regret and tragedy as fact, so I cannot either. Because if these figures from a bygone time managed to break through their limits, there is no reason you and I cannot."

"That is why I will acquire the Holy Grail, to disprove that axiom- so that, even if I cannot reach that same place, at least the ones I love may die without regret."

What came next was not a challenge, nor a provocative act. Indeed, anyone with the barest level of social competence could see, clear as day, that the elderly man's question was laced with nothing more than genuine curiosity.

"It is presumptuous of me to ask, but forgive me- Sir Noon Triswich, why are you a knight?"

Oni no Hanzo
Foreign District, Tour Montparnasse, Top Platform
Night

---

"Fu fu fu..."

A web of information, strings being pulled, and the one who sits at the middle had been lured by the prospect of prey. The barrier being put up, their preparations, their summoning, had all been observed, but... they did not look that useful. After observing the barriers and thinking up a way to go through, she simply slipped through their barriers, an easy enough feat for someone of her caliber, with any thing that might reveal her avoided with barely any effort.

How could she not? As one of the more famous ninja in history, falling for simple tricks would tarnish her honor.

But, the end result of her efforts and preparations during the last few days, was that her web of information told her of a lone Master, and she had traveled there as fast as she could, leaving behind a shadow to act in her stead, while she dealt with this opportunity.

Hanzo did not bother with introductions or any sort of talk after figuring out the barriers, simply moving as fast as she could towards Ryte's back, and slashing diagonally upwards, aiming to bisect her.

Mordred had astralized quickly once she felt the temperature of the hall of bones begin to rise, grabbing her Master and dashing forward to escape those cursed flames. It was no question of whether or not she could outrun them, her physical capabilities were beyond the likes of any other Servant in this war. No, the true question was whether or not Dietrich would even be able to find the pair after Mordred slammed into third gear, the force from each of her steps tearing the walls apart and causing the tunnel to collapse in on itself. The tunnel crumbled around them as Mordred let her Master navigate their way out of the maze, each leap forward creating a sonic boom that further obfuscated their position to the pursuing Dietrich. Every turn they took, every branching path which they moved through, Mordred destroyed everything around her just from existing and exerting force.

From the outside where Tenryuu stood, the following would likely have happened by now. Several explosions caused by her familiars, killing several innocent homeless people as they scrambled to try and escape the rumbling building. The building would shake itself apart completely soon after Dietrich made his way into the catacombs, collapsing and finishing off any homeless people who couldn't make it past the exploding familiars, likely all of them. Finally, the ground would continue to shake for quite a while, heading away from Tenryuu as Mordred and Madhisi made their escape deep into the catacombs. Most likely, a lost cause to try and track them down due to the labyrinthine nature of the catacombs.

---

Nobukara looked over their spoils dispassionately, nothing but worthless pieces of art and the blood of a dead Magus. Well, not worthless anymore according to Chieko, but she would take her opinion as an art critic with a grain of salt. "I think that as long as you don't tell her what the paint is, she'll love it. Most noble types tend to enjoy the finer things in life." She was handed a vial of blood, Nobukara actively feeling it out to see if she could sense the karmic link attached to it, possibly leading her directly to whoever it had come from. A serial killer was bad news in the end, brought too much unnecessary attention to the city and in turn to the grail war being conducted right under their noses.

Nobukara let Chieko take the vial back with little fuss, in the end it wasn't her problem after all and if the Church officals deemed this serial killer to be a big enough threat then they would announce such at a later date. Chieko also brought up a fairly good point, this grail war was highly irregular. From her last count, there were at least 12 different Servants in this Grail War, some of which were the exact same class. The city's leylines shouldn't be able to handle such stress either, as two of the Servants were high class Berserkers that drained more mana than the rest of the Servants combined. This war was certainly an oddity but...

"In the end, it can't be helped. No matter how irregular this Grail War is, it's simply not our concern. If it was truly a problem, the Overseer or Ruler class Servant would have stepped in by now to correct the problem or perhaps they already are. Our duty is to carry out the ritual, not to investigate the goings on of the city. Perhaps if this painter had spent more time focusing on shoring up his own defenses and preparing for attack instead of investigating serial killers, he might have lived." Nobukara shrugged, her eyes closed as she brushed aside the minor issues that Chieko brought up. "As for your ritual, rest assured I will be keeping you safe. While... onee-sama is the one who I am most concerned with serving, I will be treating you as a secondary client until such a time where we are the last Master and Servant duo standing. From there... well, I have an idea that may not lead to bloodshed. We will have to see when we get there." Not should we get there, but when. Her confidence shone through her relaxed demeanor, her senses constantly on edge as she stayed aware of threats. She is a ninja after all.

Oni no Hanzo
Foreign District, Tour Montparnasse, Top Platform
Night

---

A single moment, brought together by the web of information she had carefully woven. A single strike, a single move, and Hanzo disappeared with a single prize, leaving behind a headless body. She knew nothing of the person, nothing of what she was or who she was, just that she was a Master. Another faceless person to assassinate.

---

Nanashi
Bois de Boulogne

---

Nanashi yawned, looking as if he was going to fall dead asleep on his feet right there and then. "I don't really understand all this complicated stuff. Lets fight someone already. Hiring a strong yojimbo just to let them rot in bodyguard duty is gonna dull their sword, you know?"

He stood up and put his tachi back onto his belt. "Oi, Demon Lord. Lets find someone to fight. Oh, right right." He flashed an arrogant grin at Chieko. "I forgot to tell you but, I've left a package for you in your room."

Master?...Master?

In his prone state he saw the kicking coming towards his head. He had no time to roll out of the way. The best he could do was try to block and make the kick a glancing blow. The quickly brought the shaft of his spear in front of his face, Berserker's kick making contact with it. The sheer force of the attack launched him clear down the road, rocking him through a building before rolling to a stop in yet another street. He picked himself up. His left arm was a broken, mangled mess that hung limply from his body.

Master? Master?!

A feeling of dread came over him. He could feel the very Earth underneath his feet start to reject his existence. His Master had been killed. He had twice failed to protect his Master this war and he could feel that this might be the end. Unless.

"Berserker wait! I can sense my Master is in danger. Please, she is only a girl. We can continue some other night. I would rather not rob you of an empty victory!"

On a nearby building, a certain metal eagle was perched, observing the events that were transpiring.

---

Jackson was watching the fight between the Lancer and Berserker intently through his Cauldron. He could hear the nearby destruction being caused by their fight and prayed that they didn't somehow end up close to his homebase. He had a rough second night, having lost his first servant. The sensible thing to do would be to seek asylum at the Cathedral, but he was too stubborn. He wanted his ideal world realised.

He continued to watch the fight. Perhaps he could somehow use it to gain something...

---

@Reflection

“I suppose I should introduce myself. You can call me Rider.”

Rider spoke to his opponent. After all, though he was one for flamboyant and “cool” openings, he was also a rather straightforward guy. Nothing was cooler than him simply introducing himself, for he was the coolest of them all!

He stood only a few meters away from his opponent, standing there with his leather trench coat blowing itself in the wind.

“We are summoned to kill. That is the purpose of a Heroic Spirit, is it not? “We shall become your blade” and all that noise. N-Not to say I use a blade, but ya know.”

An absolutely SMOOTH operator.

“I don’t particularly mind it, though. After all, if we are called by the Grail, that means that we desire something from it, does it not? Unfortunately for you and everyone else in this grail war, I desire the Grail myself, and I am not too keen on giving it up anytime soon. Ain’t that what it means to wish upon the Grail? Those who want the Grail shall destroy the desires of those others who wish for the Grail. Only one will hold the cup of god’s son in their hand.”

“Come forth. I preached peace in my life, so I’d rather not take the first strike against you.”

This was merely a formality. Rider did not believe in violence in life and often, ironically enough, fought against the hyper-violent nature of warfare. However, as a Servant that meant nothing. If he wished to obtain the Grail, he had to fight.

But to not have his mount summoned … Did that mean that Rider was going easy against Saber?

No, his stance and the fire found within his eyes seemed to tell a story of sincerity, his words holding nothing back against his opponent. In fact, Rider was likely the sort of person who couldn’t hold back, regardless of the situation.

… But to not use his mount …

What sort of trickery was this?

At least, that is how it appeared to the untrained eye. Or an eye that could not calculate the “now” of “existence” like the artificial eye that Rider saw the world through. His mount was his arm and his eye. An unorthodox approach to riding, but the Rider before Saber was not the sort to take things in an orthodox manner. He was the man who provided all the world with his theories and advanced society in western Europe, leading to the eventual renaissance in Italy.

“To the mages, we refer to as “Masters” we are simply pawns with the desire to obtain the Holy Grail War, be it for glory, personal or otherwise. Though I always preached peace in life, I do not mind fighting for what I believe in. Come Saber: I shall bring you your release, just as I had done to the Lancer of this war!”

With a sigh, Yoshitsune rose up from where she had sat meditating. Servants did not require rest or sleep in the conventional manner, but her brief transformation into an avatar of a war god had drained quite a bit of mental energy, to the point where rather than seeking out other fights on that second night, she chose rather to go back to the base Agria had set out in the catacombs.
Meditating seemed to be as good of a choice as any, after briefly checking over her master, who had likely fallen asleep from working on her own projects and supporting her in the duel with the red-haired Archer. After ensuring that she was in a vaguely comfortable position and putting a blanket over her, she had stood guard near the entrance, meditating all the while in the efforts to ensure her mind was hale enough so she could rely upon it and be able to activate her dangerous skill if need be.

But the third night had come, and with a plethora of activity at that. Before she left, however, she made sure to stop by Agria’s workshop. She would be a poor Servant and warrior to not be aware of her lord’s plans and health, after all.

“Hello there, Master! How are you doing? Anything I should do while I’m out there?”

@1Charak2