---

“Hmm, found out so early,” He offered a smile, even though it did nothing to dissipate the ‘feeling’ he gave off. “Alas, I don’t have many ways to disguise myself, so it isn’t surprising. But the same goes for you, doesn’t it? Single eye or not, your aim betrays you, Archer.”

Some information given in return for some information acquired. So far the exchange had been relatively even, so he considered it worthwhile.

But the night was still young, and there were still things that could be done.

“Aha, you flatter me, but you also seem to think too highly of people,” The knight in black chuckled, even as his footing shifted just so and his muscles tensed. “See, I might have agreed if it was just wild beasts, but I’ve found that people can be far more irrational. They will stick their heads up to their neck in the lion’s den because of simple curiosity sometimes.”

At this precise moment, though Saber was not sure by how much, Archer held the advantage. That much was plain to see.

However, if Saber was still in the dark regarding plenty of factors about his opponent, then the same applied to Archer. Neither of them had shown any more than the barest minimum so far.

Leverage that and—

“Still, I guess we should be getting down to business, Archer. Let’s open this grand battle with all the pomp it deserves!”

—the terrain.

The hills of Budapest were one of the few places in the city where greenery could still be found. Even now, though Archer had a clear line of sight toward him, Saber did not intend to let that last for very long at all.

Surrounded by vegetation as they were, Saber did the first thing that crossed his mind when faced against an opponent who had the advantage in range and a clear blind spot — he faked moving forward, but then ducked into the treeline, to the side of Archer’s bad eye, and ran through it.

He doubted trees would be very effective as cover if Archer’s weapon reached the level required to battle a Servant. But at the same time, even a minimal advantage in the time it would take the gunman to line up shots or ascertain his position was better than rushing headlong against him.

Saber would not claim that his dexterity was unparalleled, or that the roots and uneven terrain were as nothing beneath his feet as they would be under those of legendary huntsmen or huntresses.

But he was decent. And he hadn’t fought a war without learning a thing or two about toughing it out and putting up with rough terrain.

So the question then was how Archer intended to deal with it. And hopefully, that would also tell him a thing or two about the kind of hero he had as his opponent.

---

Ah, was this why the pair of women were stationed by the Danube? The stream of water pushed at his spear, and Rider brought an arm up to break the flow as it came at him. Bleh, his face puckered lightly when the splash caught him. The freezing temperature of the water was no issue, but the taste? Even water was different now, hundreds of years in the future huh?

A defensive tactic of the woman's, the wave served it's purpose in giving her cover while she fled into the river. As the fog rolled in from the water onto the bank accompanied by his opponent's coy words, Rider clicked his tongue. What could she have possibly learned that was so extraordinary? So strange that it warranted questioning those that would attempt to take her life about it? He was curious, but it was obvious she wasn't inclined to share many details at the moment.

"What type of experimentation would that be?" he questioned. He was unconcerned about the little spires of water that searched him out, in fact he'd only barely moved from his initial position. Raising a mist like this would be stupid if the woman didn't have some way of seeing through it, so it was better to assume she had just that - in which case, using the dog as cover to reposition would be meaningless. Instead he stayed put, a force separating the other servant from both of their masters now. Any tendrils that got near were splashed apart with a flick of his spear while Rider focused his other senses. If he tried he might be able to see through the mist, but when his ears and nose were available to him there was no need. The water that the white clad woman controlled sounded different than the river, one moving steadily and the others unnaturally. The soft noise of a humanoid body shifting, making ripples on the water's surface. Her scent, distinct from the humans behind him and the rest of the city around them. Could he pinpoint where she was hidden...? And if he did, what was the best course of action?

She asked him a question, her voice reverberating in the area. He was no bat-like creature with supersonic hearing, however... "About you? Well...

You're not the assertive type," he said. "You watch things play out. And..."

There was a moment of silence and stillness, when even the snowfall seemed to slow. Rider inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. To chase her into the river would be unwise. To draw her out - well, that may work. But wouldn't the fastest way to defeat his opponent be to attack her from right here?

And... And you are... right there! Like a rubber band Rider snapped his arm forward, launching the spear in Caster's direction, parting the mist with the force of his throw. The stab he'd made at her earlier was downright playful compared to this, the weapon flying towards her like an archaic missile.

Archer quickly gripped his rifle as his opponent made his first move, his one eye struggling to trail Saber's movements quickly. To both proceed towards the direction of Archer's blind eye and use the terrain to his advantage against a ranged opponent was the correct choice of actions given the situation. While Archer had hoped Saber would have tried to clear the distance in a more straightforward manner, Archer could not help to appreciate that his opponent actually used his brain as well. At the same time, such a movement was still premeditated by Archer. If anything...

"Predictable!"

While it is true that his visual acuity was lessened in the direction of his missing eye, it was far from being a true blind spot to Archer. On multiple occasions, Archer had bravely charged into battle while completely blind in both eyes. Such a thing was possible not due to his fearlessness alone, but his ability to leverage every advantage he had in battle. Archer did not possess the visual prowess of true hunters and bowmen of legend. Instead, he relied on his own human capabilities, all maximized in order to aid him in combat. While his senses weren't inherently supernatural, they were always performing at the highest level. All Archer had to do was simply aim in Saber's direction and...

"Feast your eyes on the pinnacle of modern weaponry!"

Archer fired his AK-47 at Saber's direction in a seemingly indiscriminate manner, delivering a spray of bullets towards his opponent. Shredding through the trees that Saber had hid behind, the AK-47's high stopping power was magnified further due to being in Archer's possession. In truth, Archer was firing short, quick bursts, each timed to maximize both accuracy and suppression. As far as his strategy was considered, Archer was not gonna make Saber moving in on him an easy endeavor. Instead, he fired at will, a hail of certain death firing from his weapon.

it was unfortunate, however, that Archer's rifle was not linked to his magical energy supply, as the last of his ammunition was spent right before his cigarette hit the ground.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance as the weapon's magazine was emptied, Archer quickly leaped back deeper into the wooded hill that he was situated in. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he made his quick retreat, a pair of early pistols materialized in Archer's hands, looking more like peasant hand-cannons than fanciful weapons. Making a quick note to nag his Master to buy more ammunition later, Archer awaited behind a rather large tree for his opponent, preparing to unload a barrage of bullets at the first sign of Saber catching up.

---

---

Heterochromatic eyes widening, the Lancer took in every beat of what was happening before her with trained precision. A history of battles, be they against one strong foe or an army of enemies, lived on in Ilya's mind. She was disciplined in the art of war, and it was the reason that she was able to notice Berserker's feint with his left arm when he finished bridging the gap between the two Servants.

The mud created by Adina's song had little effect on Ilya's actual movement, that is, it would've had little effect if she had any intention to move from where she stood. Alas, the Lancer made it clear from the start, she was a protective wall, summoned to guard Kelemen no matter what dangers approach.


With this reason for being once more pumping through her body, Ilya steadied in her defensive stance, shifting the positioning of her body only slightly to her left, and bringing her focus to what the true danger in this approach was.

Aligning her body ever so slightly with the right half of the Berserker's body but still keeping Kelemen perfectly positioned directly behind her, Ilya once more took a quick observation of the situation. In order to protect her Master from such an attack, she could either brace herself and take the full force of the impact...or she could try to cancel his attack out with her own. For anyone who knew of Ilya's legend and her personality, well, her answer should've be obvious.

For just one single moment, barely longer than a blink, Ilya's attention seemed to shift from absolute focus on the approaching beast to a generalized state of tranquility. For just that single moment, she relaxed. For just that single moment, she released a soft, quiet but whistling breath. Once that moment was over, her eyes snapped back up to lock on the incoming downward swing of Berserker's right hand, her body brimming with new strength.

With a sudden growl that crescendoed and erupted into a roar to match the Beast's, Ilya swung her right arm up with all the strength imbued in her body. Fists cracked against one another, Servant meeting Servant in a test of raw power. A loud clap echoed out from the moment their bodies met, and Ilya could feel the weight of Berserker's swing forcing her feet further into the ground. Holding steady, their fists continued to grind against each other, a battle of a Giant's strength attempting to fend off a Beast's.

However, it was just that, an attempt. Despite noticing that he could still overpower her, instead of feeling despair, Ilya felt ecstatic. Once more that wickedly sharp grin that spread across her face when she initially noticed Berserker's presence in the area arose. Her eyes sparkled with rapture. She knew what was to come next, but that didn't stop her from praising her partner in this vicious dance. "So, the dog has a bite that matches his bark-"

With only a few seconds of their fists fighting against each other to cheer out her approval, Ilya had to cut herself short. As quickly as their swings met, they eventually broke off, Ilya's arm sliding slightly to the outside of Berserker's and giving him room to finish his downward swing, though slightly off target now that they had clashed. Even with the full force of her hit pushing his hand to the side, Berserker's swing was still able to connect with the inside of her arm, sliding down along her forearm and ripping the skin. It was a good hit, but it was merely a fraction of what could've been had Ilya not fortified her mind and body before parrying his blow.

As Berserker finished his downward swing, Ilya used her momentum from being shoved back from the blow to spin towards Kelemen, wrapping him up in her unharmed arm and throwing him over her shoulder. She cut her feet briskly, changing directions and taking off in a perpendicular route from where Berserker approached. Her spear manifested in her right hand, drops of blood trickling down its form and peppering the ground behind her.

Though it was just a fraction of a difference, Ilya found herself cursing over the mud she had to run through, but as long as she could carry Kelemen so that his untrained body didn't need to fight through it, she was satisfied. The Beast had support from his Master, but Ilya had a source of determination and a purpose for her existence from hers.

---

_{Addressing @ShadowKingman @Mr President @AThousandCurses}

---

“The goal of experimentation…” Caster responded to his question, happy to keep him engaged here rather than retreating. “Determining the nature of the land here, and more broadly, the very nature of this war. A holy grail is certainly worthy of study, too. As for my methods, well - that remains to be seen.” Whether that information would be shared with her fellow Servants was unknown, too. Her results, or her methods - keeping them secret would likely be the most logical option.

It was then that the enemy let loose with the spear, a powerful projectile headed right for her. More powerful than his previous thrust, this wasn’t something Caster was sure she could challenge with the strength of flowing water alone. Particularly since it was a piercing throw, something that meeting with a liquid wall of force might simply see it penetrate the water. Knocking it off course might not be reliable, either. However-

She wasn’t assertive? Well, that was true enough. That was the principle of Wu Wei, after all. Action without action, simply cultivating one’s mind and body to achieve understanding. Concentrating one’s breath and one’s senses. Flowing like water as the world acted upon you. Teachings of this kind of meditation were fundamental for most Magecraft, even if the specifics varied.

But for Caster, this was a matter of her being. Spending her life in water, cultivating her self-understanding to the point where form itself became mutable. The world flowed, and it was simply a matter of understanding that flow, moving with it.

In an instant, the water distorted beneath her, creating a magic circle that extended out of the river only slightly. Caster muttered a quick incantation, and moved. The spear blasted past, mere inches from her face, blowing her hair around with its force.

This wasn’t simply a matter of dodging an attack, but rather utilising Feng Shui - Geomancy - to determine the perfect location to inhabit, to ensure the force passed harmlessly past her. Dodging would involve analysing the opponent’s throw with one’s instincts and moving out of its path - something Caster did not have the combat experience to reliably do. This was unmistakably a use of Magecraft; analysing the space around her and inhabiting the most auspicious spot. The spear itself was therefore irrelevant.

Any combatant capable of a throw like that would be able to tell the difference, even if they had missed the appearance of the magic circle. Caster sighed. It seemed she would not be able to conceal her class, though perhaps that had been a vain hope to begin with.

“Shuǐ to mù. Water nourishes Wood.” The circle beneath her shifted in shape.

This was her first attack using Magecraft, finally befitting her class. The water splashed on the earth in a way that seemed so careless began to shimmer beneath the enemy Servant’s feet, as the trampled grasses began to grow into thick trunks of wood, and flowering vines, aiming to trip and entangle the man.

The five phases of Wuxing that made up the cycles of life, of the world. The world flowed on, as Caster gave it only the slightest of pushes.

But the true nature of the attack would soon become clear as the scent of blooming flowers filled the air as if it were spring anew. She had seen the enemy’s deep inhalation just before the attack that had almost skewered her. Simply clouding this man’s sight had not been enough, but now his sense of smell would be unable to make up for it.The mist began to rise on the river once more.

Beneath the river, something began to stir.

---

Addressing @Astarte@Mr President@AThousandCurses





Kelemen had opened his mouth several times, each time with a retort, statement or even desperate declaration to make. Each and every one of his statements died in his throat. Some because someone with more presence than a literal child did spoke before he could. Others, it was because he lost confidence in his own words in the mere moments it would have taken for it to have travelled from brain to mouth.

As a result, even when he was directly addressed, Kelemen could do nothing but open and close his mouth several times, standing dumbstruck as revelations, truths and realities were revealed to him. To him, some of the words were mysteries to him, the ideas and harsh truths superficial. Kelemen would certainly say he was more than prepared to die. He would have said it loudly, proudly, as if it were a matter of course. After all, all heroes were prepared to be hurt, and even die, if it meant protecting something, weren't they?

Could it really be called a lie if the liar really believed what they themselves were saying? Could they lie about something they did not even truly understand?

The clash of the servants, however, brought his confused, muddled thoughts crashing into the moment again. The force from the two trading a single blow pushed Kelemen back, forcing him to dig in his heels in order to remain where he was. His right arm was in front of his face, trying to protect his eyes from the force of the wind.

It was then that he saw it. The trickle of blood that was running down his partner's arm. That singular notice brought his attention crashing back down to the here and now. All of his previous thoughts were pushed out of his mind as a singular focus, something to grasp onto and prevent him from focusing on the challenging questions, burst into his consciousness.

His partner was hurt. He needed to help.

Raising his arm in the air, Kelemen prepared to shout, almost as if partly in defiance, partly as an answer to Adina's questioning of who he was and her airing of his ignorance, he shouted.

"Come forth, Mechanized Courage Lor-!"

He did not get the chance to finish what he was about to say. The reason for that was simple - his partner had suddenly scooped him up, and the two of them were now in swift retreat. Kelemen let out a small indignant shout of protest, but could do not much else.

Fast.

They were faster than she had expected, that was her first thought. She had thought they would be powerful, of course- their presence dwarfed even One, but seeing it for herself was still another matter. But, that was not the priority at the moment.

The girl was able to match Berserker in strength-...no, that wasn't quite right. When using his strength as a monster, that first clash showed that Berserker seemed to have the edge in purely physical ability. The girl was not far behind, though, and was able to bridge that gap through her own skill. In that moment, each of them had a Strength superior to fortissimo. They were standing on a knife's edge. All the more important that Adina offered her support, then.

The enemy being Berserker was impossible. To her knowledge, only one Servant of each class could be summoned, but even if that was not the case, the enemy had none of the madness associated with the class. The same went for Avenger. Caster seemed unlikely as well, as did Assassin. That left the Knight Classes and Rider.

Archer and Saber- possible but unlikely. She was capable enough in close quarters to be suitable for the Saber class, but the weapon she had summoned was a spear. It was possible that was a secondary weapon, not her Noble Phantasm, but that seemed unlikely. Rider- possible. Adina couldn't rule that out, but it didn't seem to fit. A Rider matching Berserker in a clash? The thought was concerning. Lancer, then- the most likely. The strength of a knight class, and a suitable weapon. She couldn't be entirely certain, not until she saw more, but Lancer seemed to be the answer. A Lancer with a strength that could surpass fortissimo, and from the look of it, her body was strong enough to resist some level of harm as well, like those heroes said to have bathed in dragon's blood. She would keep that in mind.

At any rate, Lancer- she would run with that assumption until she had reason to doubt it- was carrying the boy around, now. Was she really attempting to flee after that first clash?

"Is this how you'll handle every fight you get into, if we let you go? Talk big words, then run the second you get injured?"

Annoying. How annoying. Kelemen was even more in danger now than before- if Berserker swung at Lancer again, Kelemen was almost certain to die in the crossfire. Did she think she could outrun Berserker? Ordinarily she would have a shot- if she was indeed Lancer, her speed had to be first-rate, though Berserker's burst could bridge much of that gap. The issue here, though, was that she was carrying a child. She could not accelerate to her top movement speed with that human cargo. Berserker had no such restriction.

The events that would happen in the next few seconds ran through her mind. It would take time for Berserker to catch up to them, but not much time at all, and when he did, Kelemen would get caught in the crossfire no matter what happened. His body couldn't handle the impact of a Servant's blow, even indirectly. She should have been happy- this was a chance to eliminate an enemy on the first night. This was a blessing to make her life that much easier, this was-

The song shifted. Sound took form in the air- an auditory illusion centered on Lancer and Kelemen, a method of communicating over the din of battle, while also ensuring that Berserker didn't realize what she was doing. She doubted he would even then, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The last thing she needed was his anger directed at her for what was about to happen.

"...hey, Kelemen. You should have red markings somewhere on your body, since you summoned your Servant. My Servant's going to catch up to you guys. Before he does, you need to focus on one of those markings and your connection to your partner, and tell her to bring you somewhere safe. Your home, or anywhere in the city that you think you'll be secure at, okay?"

"And as for you, Lancer, or whoever you are. This doesn't mean I'm letting you off. You'd better give him a proper explanation when you're out of this. If we end up fighting again, I'm not pulling my punches."

She couldn't help but be infuriated with herself for doing this, instead of simply taking the victory that was handed to her. But fine. Just this once, she'd show some mercy. All that remained to be seen is if they would take that opportunity before Berserker's jaws closed around them.

---

“Seems like I underestimated you a bit huh?” The voice that came from the treeline carried its fair share of mirth, despite the trouble coming its way.

Well, he was fighting heroes here. Expecting things to be easy was stupid to begin with.

Still, if this was what Archer could do while he used the treeline to mask his advance and cover himself, he was glad he hadn’t chanced a frontal assault.

He tilted his head to the side as one of the shots slipped past and brushed very close to his cheek.

Very glad indeed.

But even now he continued to take note of the factors at play. First, Archer's shots aimed to also lock down his movement — that much at least confirmed to him that he did not wish to engage in closer range. It might have seemed obvious considering their respective Classes, but after being forced on the backfoot by a weapon he “should” not have needed to care about, Saber did not want to leave anything to chance.

Second, Archer’s marksmanship was impressive, but he had made the right choice in attempting this.

The fact that he was firing in “bursts” might not have been noticeable to a human. It was more likely that they would only see Archer’s weapon continuously spitting fire in his direction. But to Saber, the gap — minimal as it was — existed.

There were two other blessings: the treeline, though worthless in terms of stopping bullets, did its job as a momentary visual cover before being shredded through.

And, Archer had chosen not to change positions.

He knew where the attacks would come from. Not all of them were a lethal danger. He had grasped Archer’s rhythm. Then, all he needed to do right now was follow through.

Don’t bother with unnecessary movements. Block only the ones you need to in order to stay alive and keep moving forward. Use the momentary lull in between onslaughts to your advantage and press on.

Of course, it was easier said than done. Not every attack could be blocked — some, he guessed as a bullet glanced against the outside of his arm, ripping cloth and skin and drawing blood, you could only hope to minimize and bear with.

That was fine. You can’t get anything of worth without giving up something else. So long as the blow was not fatal, between his constitution, Master and stubbornness, Saber was confident that he would pull through.

He felt the faint beginnings of Tizona’s thrumming in his hand.

However, then came the moment where Archer fired his last burst, and where Saber had expected the momentary quiet he had grown used to, he instead heard a “click”.

'Oh. So that's how it is?'

Admittedly, the momentary surprise might have given Archer a small headstart. But that was fine. That was more than fine.

Saber’s gaze sharpened, and his smile gained a fiercer edge. For the time being, the “flow” would be dictated by him, then.

Fully stepping out of cover, he caught his opponent’s back as he made a quick retreat.

“Well, I guess it’s my turn now, isn’t it Archer? Are you as good a marksman without your toy?”

In the next breath, Saber had already launched himself after the other man at full speed, intent on not letting this chance go to waste and reduce the distance between them for all it was worth.

Certainly, a stark contrast considering his previous approach. Perhaps he simply wanted to capitalize on what he saw as an obvious opportunity?

---

Berserker

---

KILL. KILL. KILL.

Rend the flesh! Feast on the marrow! Grind everything into dust! Berserker howled as he attacked the Lancer. His thoughts were filled with the animalistic desire to kill Lancer. Everything had turned red for him and the only thing he could see was Lancer right in front of him. There were no masters, no crickets, no nothing. It was only the predator and his prey that existed in his mind. There was nothing his prey could do as he unleashed his assault.

That was what Berserker had thought, however.

There was a force almost equal to strike that would have surprised for him if Berserker wasn't consumed with madness. The thought of something that could have been possibly stronger than him angered Berserker. "▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅!" With a roar that matched Lancer's, Berserker went ahead and tried to apply more force into the strike. For the brief moment that their knuckles touched, Lancer broke off from the contest of strength and backed away with the momentum given to her by his strike.

The full force of Berserker's attack landed onto the ground. As if a hammer of thunder had stricken the ground, the earth beneath Berserker had shaken a little despite it having been turned into mud.

However, Berserker wasn't going to let her escape.

The stench of Lancer's blood and the idea that his prey was going to escape sent Berserker into a frenzy. Like a shark chasing after its wounded prey, Berserker ran towards Lancer with the intent of sinking his teeth into her flesh. "▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅!" Another roar had been unleashed but for an entirely different purpose. It was not a cry for battle nor for blood, it was a cry for assistance. District II was an area that known for its nature and historical value. The roots that lay dormant underneath the ground began to respond to Berserker's call.

Grow. Rise. Hinder.

Berserker's command over nature wasn't one that he inherently had when his form of his had taken shape. It was one of numerous stories had been construed with the mystery of the Wild Men that lived within the forests. Though despite it being a foreign skill, it was also second nature for him to use this command. Roots began to burst out of the ground with the purpose to impale and impede Lancer's progress. Unlike ordinary roots they were enhanced by Berserker's control over them, making them bigger and stronger than ever before. The path in front of Lancer would have multiple roots coming out of the ground and attempting to slow her down.

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅!"

The roots themselves had no effect on Berserker as he traversed through them. He had practically manipulated all the nearby roots that were in front of him in a messy attempt to prevent Lancer from escaping. The roots were either broken off by Berserker's mindless charge or moved away from the mindless beast's rampage. After gaining enough momentum, Berserker applied as much force into the ground before propelling himself into a giant leap towards Lancer. Berserker's jaws were wide open as he was about to snap them into whatever unfortunate, fleshy substance managed to get within his maw.

"Agh, what the-!"

Archer quickly skirted away from Saber's advance, rolling away at a moment's notice before his opponent's blade could truly find purchase. Having been overconfident at his ability to maintain range, Archer had miscalculated the amount of time Saber would need to break the distance. Still, it seems their speed happens to be at the same pace, and at the worst case scenario, Archer could just break into a sprint and run off, as his "ability to retreat" seems to be accentuated in this container. Yes, perhaps a closer battle wouldn't be too disadvantageous after all. Archer had his guns ready.

And he wanted to see just how Saber would operate up close.

"Sorry Saber, I won't make it that easy for you!" Archer quipped, the hand cannons in his hands flaring up as they fired towards Saber's direction. While they seemed to be quite dingy in terms of armaments, to truly call them nothing special would be a vast underestimation. It was with these early firearms that Archer had utilized to win all his battles easily, despite their apparent unreliability in the middle ages. As time went on, these sidearms evolved into proper close-quarters weapons used by soldiers around the world, eclipsing the blade or the spear. Through Archer's innovative use of these weapons, their name had forever been cemented in the history of the world as "pistols." In other words, Archer's handguns were much more impressive than their appearance would let on.

"Hope your blade can keep up with my undefeated technique!"

And so, Archer began to run and gun, his new weapons far more suited for mobile, close-quarters combat. While they did not possess the firing rate or stopping power of his previous weapons, Archer's pistols still boasted a similar sense of danger as his rifle, perhaps more so as Archer was not limited to physical ammunition. With each shot, Archer rolled out of the way, doing his utmost best to dodge his opponent's attacks while also utilizing the cover of the trees to his advantage. While Archer had not stepped foot in Budapest in his lifetime, the terrain itself was similar to the conditions he was forced to fight in, so adapting his movements was easy enough. As far as his accuracy went, it definitely held true to what one would expect from the Knight of the Bow. If anything, it seemed almost predictable.

Archer followed a pattern of firing and disengaging quickly. Every single one of his shots was consistently aimed square at Saber's torso. Of course, that much only made sense, as one's center mass is the best target to ensure maximum accuracy and damage. While consistent, it seemed that Archer's marksmanship was rather routine and unimpressive. At the same time, unless Saber possessed a certain sense of battle insight, Archer's attacks still maintained an air of unpredictability. It's as if the trees were playing tricks on Saber's mind whenever Archer disengaged. In other words, Archer's annoying fighting style was harder to adjust to, even this close!

"Come on, Saber! Show me the swordsmanship that you foolish knights pride yourselves over! Show me why you are called the Knight of the Sword!"

Archer would continue to play this cat-and-mouse game as much as Saber wished to participate. At the same time, it seemed that Archer's avenue of escape began to thin itself down. Of course, this was because Archer was leading Saber to open ground once more, where they would stand on more equal footing. Why an Archer would want to lead his opponent to such a disadvantageous position for himself was up for debate, but this much was certain. If Saber did not choose to change the tone of battle, then he'd be playing right into Archer's hand!

---

"As irreverant as ever I see." Camillio drawled.

"Unfortunately I hold many responsibilities that take my attention away from trivial pursuits. Travel for me is a necessity rather than a luxury."

No concern showed on his face despite the dangers associated with meeting a competitor so closely. While there was safety in the crowded streets, one could never be safe. Still, he stood calmly, speaking with an old acquaintance as he lightly observed the state of Giovanni. Factors were considered, potential threats assessed as he made move to go past him.

"Not that you would concern yourself with the duties excepted of your station. Conventionally at the least.

Regardless, come. We can begin after preparing an appropriate venue and preserving our mandate as members of the association."

To anyone with any degree of martial pride, perhaps the way he so readily showed his back to a potential enemy would have been insulting. But to begin with, Camillio was primarily a researcher, and on the off occasion a duelist.

A smile spread across Avenger's face. Forgotten were the pedestrians around her. No more waiting or watching, it was time for action.

"We will be the storm, Master, sweeping away the chaff that stands between us and the grail." Avenger replied in kind, "If they do not show their faces here, then we simply need to find them. After all, we cannot gauge or defeat our opposition without fighting them."

Avenger had been ready for the fighting to start, craving battle, an outlet for her. It would not take long for a servant to cross town, unnoticed, even more so if she remained unmaterialized.

“My only request is a simple one, Avenger: Win.”

"We will win, Master. No servant or master will stand between us and the grail."

With that declaration to her master, Avenger sets off in search of enemy servants, and the battle that will surely follow.

---

It hadn't taken too long to find what she was looking for, once Avenger crossed the river. She had gone to the least populated area in the city and had found the ongoing fight based on the destruction the fight had wreaked on the woods around them.

"It seems two of our enemies started the fun without us," Avenger sent to her master through their link. "I am going to introduce myself."

The two servants would probably detect her when she materialized, so Avenger decided to make an impression when she revealed herself and steal the initative. As she materialized, she scooped up a rock the size of a fist and chucked it at the sword wielding servant as hard as she could, before launching herself at the servant with the gun. With a furious scream, a servant encased in bronze armor launched themself at the Archer, the sword in their hand glowing a hateful red.

@Breo@DarckLeon@Cu Chulainn@DostHou@Phonic

@Dosthou @Breo @Cu Chulainn @Undyingregret @Phonic

---

"What can i say, elegance and eloquency was never my forte, the way people dragged on and on when they wanted to say something was one of the reasons i left y'know?" Giovanni answered the barbs of his acquaintance, a repeated event the few times they met.

"Maybe that's your problem don't you think? you should take some months of vacation from all your dull work and take your time to see the sights or taste the wine of other countries, you never known what you could learn." He bantered back, with an air of nonchalancy, the exact opposite than the emotions he held inside him.

He knew that, being the perfect example of what a proper magus should be, Camillio wouldn't start a fight if there was the slightest chance of them being discovered by an unafiliated party to the War. It was this exact motive that gave him a number venues he could pursue if he really wanted, but after seeing his would be opponent standing up and starting to leave, leaving in his wake what, to all senses and purposes was a order to accompany him, he had just a few options left.

"y'know, you're lucky i'm a pretty honorable guy, anybody else would have put a knife between your ribs the instant you left your back uncovered." He lied naturally as he breathed. If he had just any tipe of weapon at hand that could quickly and easily dispose of the man that had his back to him, he would absolutely do it, but alas, his magecraft required preparation and while Giovanni liked to think he had a nice physique, he didn't think himself capable of knocking a man out with one punch, even with an advantage like this.

Yes, in his mind, anything that leaved even a minimal chance of Camillio forgetting about the "rules" of a magus fight and, instead, fighting to kill, specifically, fighting to kill him in a bout of rage after being attacked blindly from the back, was an option that he would not pick in a million year, and so, the Wanderer relied on one of his favorite tactics as an alternative.

"I would prefer to talk a bit more with an old friend instead of getting straight to business my dear Camillio, we even have time to play a few hands of French Tarot if you want, isn't that close to your origins? what were you again? Spanish right? Hell! i could even give you a bonafide, Fortuna level, Reading of Fate for free! what do you say old pal?" Words flowed out of his mouth like water. He knew they wouldn't convince his fellow Master to change his course of action, but every second spent on talking was a second not spent on getting thoroughly destroyed on a duel, and so, at the same time that he was slowly following his acquaintance, he both though of many possible ways this could go, analyzing and discarding plans and ideas to ensure his survival, yet also communicated with his way out of this if this planning didn't work out, and knowing just how skilled his possible opponent was, chances were, he would need one.

"Hey Patchy, i hope i'm not interrupting something or anything but you see, i met an old friend recently, great guy, a little too serious for my liking but funny in his own, unique, way, and let me tell you, the level he has in the arcane matters? Out of this world!... only problem is, i'm heading into what most likely is a fight with him and i'm not liking my chances to say the least, so how about you look for an opening in your schedule and maybe try to come just a little closer to me so you can pick me up if things get a little too hairy? love ya buddy, drive safe out there." With that, he sent a mental image to his servant, that of a specific route the two of them could take if it came to that, another possible insurance they could use to escape, because Giovanni Scalognatto was anything but an unprepared man when it came to his safety.

So he missed - no, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't that Rider had missed, but that the spear hadn't hit her. How could that be so? With the mist disbursed for that brief moment and Rider's eyes unobstructed, he drank in everything he could see. The water, dark and stirring, and across it on the other bank the crater his spear had left as it tore through trees and smashed into the icy road running parallel to the river. The other servant's fair features, tousled hair, and her inconvenienced expression. The revelation of just how the attack hadn't connected.

The hint of a smile graced Rider's face. He didn't need to say aloud what he'd learned this time. She already knew.

Now how to proceed? Those that wielded magecraft could be tricky indeed, but surely she would be no match for him in a contest of strength. In that case the correct answer was to move in close. Rider took barely a step forward before the ground at his feet sprang into new life, catching him at the ankles and growing higher.

Ah... yes, tricky indeed. When he wrenched a leg free of the plants more quickly grew in to reclaim their grip on him. They were growing large, squeezing, but ultimately it was another defense tactic, not something truly meant to harm.

"Do you always play around like this?" Rider muttered, tearing himself free of the wood and vines with his bear hands and hopping back a few feet, watching them curl and continue reaching for him. By then the fog had rolled back in, and Caster was obscured again, hiding herself just as she hid her experimental intentions. It wouldn't help her. Rider narrowed his eyes, expanded his lungs, and...

He blinked, finding only the scent of flowers. Strong petal and pollen wafted around the area. Clever. It was only natural she'd learned something of him too, after all. However, his strategy hadn't changed at all. Advance. Close the distance... even if he was, currently, at a disadvantage. He couldn't easily locate Caster anymore, and she was waiting for him in the river, her element as it seemed. If he dove in blindly she would have even more of an upper hand now. Then again... wasn't that what heroes did? Walk boldly into the traps laid for them?

He moved, shooting past the rapidly growing vegetation. It lashed out to seize him again but was too slow, only scraping his legs as he propelled himself towards the river, and the last place he'd seen his opponent. He would reach her in an instant. He'd be in deep if she'd moved, or otherwise prepared a counter for him, but he could fight his way out of a predicament like that, he had to believe that. He could win, even in the worst of situations, and this was far from that. He was Bellerophon, a mighty hero.

He brought his arms up, his hands poised as claws to take Caster on directly - or perhaps in position to summon another weapon to aid him, but he didn't get the chance.

Another scent reached him, cutting through the frost and floral smells that surrounded the area. Sharp, stinging. Blood.

Rider cut his dash short, grinding to a halt and all but ruining the river's bank. Where he stopped at the water's edge fell apart with the force of his reversal, collapsing into the river. He'd wanted to face Caster a little longer, see what she could really do, but if his master died that wouldn't be possible. Now, the battle was over in one way or another. He was between her and their masters, and by changing course towards them she would have to leave her safe haven of the river, or risk her master's life.

In the next moment Rider was beside the dueling masters. Or, the once-dueling masters. That fight had come to a close, the Eastern woman coming out on top. He took in the state of Lauchme, the wounded and ruined hand that hand summoned Rider there, even if indirectly. "Already, master?"

Did he feel sympathy for his master? ...not really, no. The man had made a great fuss about how weak he was, and yet he was participating in this dangerous game. In the future, Rider would have to keep a better eye on him. Rider spared his master's opponent just a simple glance, but his hands were still tensed and battle ready. Compared to the man she'd just been fighting, Rider could rip her apart in seconds. But... it seemed she'd chosen not to be an immediate danger, and slaughtering a woman in any other circumstance... where was the decorum in that?

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully



“We’ll take our leave. This was was not a miscalculation but I was a bit naïve.” Critical, surgical. The east had warriors that exceeded in raw brute strength the arm of the Church. He couldn't tell how familiar she was with the methods and theory of western mages, or scholars in general. But perhaps she had no need for such knowledge, or care. The puppet that was his shadow whipped forth, launching him toward Rider. “For all we know she might also only be ranked the sixth, or fifth. What sort of monsters lie in this war if that were the case? If we stay any longer we may only end up exposing more of our hands rather than gain.”

Would they even require a servant at that point? Perhaps not in a certain fashion. But in turn the question becomes with their ability reaching greater and greater heights as to what they could wish with a grail.

To one who has talent, who can do anything they want, then a wish is something to reach beyond the place of a human.

They could all reach far, which only makes them want to reach for the stars that were in the sky. He’d just have to learn how to kick their legs out from below them. Yes, that was his spite. Could it be called a desire?... probably not.

What one craved, and what one desired were often confused, but as a writer of darker stories he knew that it was the twist of desire and goals into cravings that brought one low. All you had to do was bring out the darker wants that swallow up and drown out the needs.

If someone could not attain need or desire, then they would simply have to become a wrathful craver. Oh sun, oh star. Please do me a favor and break your brilliance upon my hatred. Won’t it be a much more fun story for you, and especially me then? You’re too boring as is.

Perhaps then with all that shattering and splitting light a beam could be spared for he who has no place in the spotlight.

“Disappointing, no doubt. The one who stands before you simply is an individual. You won’t find any grand organization or conspiracy. To make it easier, let us put it this way. I am your foe. Someday I will defeat you.” a lie, but lies were hardly costly against those who one would never speak with save to spar.

“Rider, you’ll give me an evaluation of all the information on the servant once we have escaped. I will commence rudimentary first aid and then we will disseminate the information before going forth again.”

In all honesty, she does not want to let them withdraw; not merely out of the desire to finish crushing them underfoot, and settle the matter here and there, before he is allowed to gather his strength, but also to question him more thoroughly. His answers are, to her, somewhat incoherent; that is to say, she's quite sure that he has no idea what he's on about, that he likely knows that, and is trying to hold onto whatever pride he can muster after being soundly defeated. She wouldn't assume that, even for him, the pain of something like a broken hand would set him into nonsensical babbling; if only because she couldn't bear to think so little of another. It is certainly possible, but he doesn't look quite that pathetic, so she dismisses it as readily as it comes. No, no. This is a rote misunderstanding, amplified by either a desire to save face - which she can understand, but not respect - or some desire to mislead her, which she can respect, but not understand. In the first place, if your intent was to confuse your opponent, the best time to start is before they best you in combat, not after, and you'd do well to have better lies prepared. It's all just... well, it sounds like random guesses, without any real education to guide them. It sounds like what you'd get from asking the most deplorable student to explain a reasonably complicated algebra expression. Thus, she rotely dismisses it, shaking her head.

Honestly, she's disappointed twice, now. First, she's disappointed that he was such a pushover in the fight, such that he had to use that much, and still fell easily, and twice, that he does not even seem to possess wisdom to offset that weakness. If he had simply said, 'I don't know, why are you asking me?' instead of running his mouth at her, with that condescending tone, she could respect him. If he had more reasonable answers, she could respect him. If he weren't so pitiable, she could respect him. But, it is what it is. Not everyone is going to be impressive, she realizes.

... In all honesty, she doesn't want to let him go. Not merely out of desire to try to help him understand the situation he's in, and how dangerous this gap is, and how little he seems to grasp about this war, to try to talk him out of killing himself at her, but also to - maybe - offer him the help of mending his hand. ... That's unwise, but it's her instinct regardless. It's only natural, right? If a 'hero' sees someone hurting, the only right decision is to reach out with both hands, even as they recoil. But she can't.

That monster there will kill her.

Even as powerful as she is, she cannot stand abreast with that thing. She knows that without a thought, merely instinctively. Well, she wasn't able to follow the fight behind her, but she felt it regardless. She knows immediately that this man is capable of cutting her down without a thought, and to dedicate herself in battle would be a relatively rapid way of killing herself. By means of his own protection, he cuts himself from help. She shakes her head again, and puts her hand up. They will not pursue.

"Don't seek me out."

That's all she'll say to him. If he fights her again, if she has his personality right at all, he'll end up dead. Maybe if he were more wise, he would manage to survive it - but he has shown her nothing of wisdom. So... So, if they fight again, she simply won't have a choice. And while it's what she likes as her nature, she can't save people who willing kill themselves on her fists. That's just rational. At the end of the day, she isn't some hero who can save everyone; she isn't any kind of hero at all. Regardless, with their withdrawal, the sharpness in her stance subtly leaves, and expression returns to her face, and she exhales lightly, before beaming up at her Servant. She's glad to see her unharmed - it would've bothered her if her Servant had been hurt while she was goofing off with that enemy. That is, if she was hurt because she didn't methodically and practically execute that man, she'd feel bad about it.

What's the real face of this woman? Is it the face she puts on when beating a man into shame, or is it this one, calmly smiling like nothing in the world is on her mind? She doesn't know, and she doesn't ask.

"I'm glad things went well for you, Caster. Thank you for holding that man off for a bit - if he had come too soon, I wouldn't have been able to win. You enjoyed yourself, I hope?" She isn't sure if she believes that, actually - if she hopes she enjoyed herself. Battle is meant to be a dedicated, harsh thing, but... well, people like speeding down backstreets, and that's pretty dangerous too, so she doesn't really think too hard about it, either. She's unwounded and not tired, so she'll continue what was, prior, a simple walk down the side of the Danube, at least for now.

---

Caster appeared at the scene - perhaps a moment too late, had the servant decided to attack her own Master - drifting across the snow like a ghost, umbrella tidily poised once more, shadowing her eyes. A momentary glance, and small grin, was all that was given to her enemies, as they made their intention to retreat clear. Pursuing this past the river was an unnecessary risk.

Hero and Human. It seemed there were a lot of things that combination could mean.

She began to walk, arm in arm with her Master. Having her close was important, even if she could handle herself. “Enjoyed myself? Hm, I wouldn’t put it like that exactly. Though I think I’m beginning to understand the difference between myself and these heroes.”

The scent of flowers filled the air as they neared the sight of the battle. “People who fight as if it’s in their nature, as though it could be a method of communication by itself. Such a thing is quite alien to me, I’m afraid.” Her voice was almost apologetic. “For me, fighting is something that should be a last resort. Even in a war like this, it’s difficult to shake those feelings. Well, perhaps it's the difference between one who ‘fights’, and one who ‘kills’...” She pondered. “I wonder how the Assassin of this war will differ from the others.” She said.

In the world of humans, killing was an aberration. Something that was hidden from humans wherever possible, even if it underpinned that quiet world that seemed so peaceful on the surface, roiling beneath the surface. She turned her eyes away where she could. Perhaps that made her unworthy of the title of ‘hero’.

The life of a simple country pharmacist was one as far away from both killing and fighting as possible - though they were the ones who saw the underbelly of the world, the ones who had to deal with the consequences of those who fought so casually. Perhaps that was the reason she found it distasteful.

But in the world of monsters, killing was a simple fact of life. Strike the prey as fast as possible, swallow them without a chance to resist. If it came down to a fight, even if you won, you had already lost by simply opening yourself to an attack.

Breaking her musings, she began to report on the battle. “It was something of a tie overall. Neither of us revealed too much. If our battle stayed on such a level, I’m confident I could win, but who knows how things could escalate.” She paused a moment, before addressing her Master. “Well, I’m glad you dealt with your end most admirably,” she smiled.

The waves of the water broke, and a woman rose from the river. Smaller than her sister - and there was little resemblance between the two - she stared, unblinking, at the Master and Servant. The moment she exited the water, she was dry. Perhaps she had never been wet to begin with.

“In any case, they didn’t find out about my dear sister,” Caster smiled, extending a hand to ruffle the shorter woman’s hair, which she pressed into happily.

“Yes, my lady,” her sister replied, her tone clipped and formal. “I apologise for being unable to assist you in battle.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s good that I wasn’t in enough danger to need you.” Caster smiled warmly, lifting the umbrella to show kind eyes. “And that means I didn’t put you in any danger either.”

They walked for a few steps, as Caster scanned the area for further intrusions. “I’ll leave your defence to my sister for now, Master,” she said. “I have some important experimentation to do.” It wasn’t a matter of separating, but that her focus would be insufficient, for a short while.

---

Addressing @Astarte@Mr President@AThousandCurses





Adina's words snapped Kelemen out of his induced shock and surprise. At first, he was at loathe to tell anyone or anything to run away, or to flee from battle. But at the same time, he could not help but feel a gnawing sensation at his heart, that he was being a hindrance, that he had been made a fool of, that everything he valued and held was somehow mocked and tossed aside like wind.

But it was not Adina's words that did it, nor the fact that Lancer had tried to protect him when he was the one who had brought her to battle. It was neither of these factors that shook the young boy.

Instead, it was the grasping jaws of death that descended upon him and Lancer. Grasping jaws of death, fierce, primal. Kelemen had envisioned a noble contest of wits. Of courage, heroism and skill. This was none of that. These were the jaws of an animal, a beast. Designed to tear and rip a human apart until it was nothing more than chunks of meat.

It wasn't out of obedience, out of courage, out of thought in general, but instead it was out of fear the Kelemen raised his hand, holding out his marked hand as if it would somehow protect him.

"Lancer!" he shouted almost desperately, a far cry from the confidence he had when he had tried to call his larger companion."Bring us to safety!"

@Yankee

“Rider, you’ll give me an evaluation of all the information on the servant once we have escaped. I will commence rudimentary first aid and then we will disseminate the information before going forth again.”

So it’d be useless. The form and shape would at least be able to be fixed. His hand would not be lost, but nor would it be usable anytime soon, perhaps not even for the rest of the war. Then he will have to work not on healing his hand, but rather working on repairing the damage done to the puppet that was his shadow. Useless indeed, but he’d simply have to find ways to substitute for its functions. So he walked on, even as blood trailed down, disgusted not with the mangling, but rather what he had managed to achieved. Absolutely nothing.

“We will have to review how many scenes and acts are required before you defeat that servant. The question then becomes how we can buy that time without interference from the master. The worst case scenario may require a bait, a trap. But if a trap that could nullify or make light of her overwhelming… overwhelming for us humans, qualities, was something we could make use of or put into practice then it wouldn’t even become a matter of a battle between servants.”

Methods to win that did not use the trump cards of his servant, methods to win that…

No, perhaps it was a foe that they needed to invest in defeating. If not in using their noble phantasms…

“Surely she cannot be the sixth. There must be another master or two that would be weak enough to be unable to stand against her. I cannot deal with her, nor can any of my knowledge. But perhaps an alliance of sort may work. An easy way to get rid of an enemy, to have one servant defeat her, while the other fights her servant. What are your thoughts, Rider?...”

He paused suddenly, a surge going through his body. The constitution he wrestled with in his life flaring up again. “Hgh… It is better for us to linger a bit before we return to our base. There may be an attempt to follow or track us. I will take care of what may manage to elude your senses, although that might not be much. Meanwhile idle time is hardly something to celebrate. If we must wait for caution then you are free to do as you wish for now. Do you have anything you wish to get out of the way?”