Chapter 2
You are about to die.
So noisy. I won't die. I haven't even…
Don't be stubborn. You're already in pieces, aren't you? Your heart just stopped a moment ago.
...
Then make a contract with me. Become a Guardian. You can live. You can leave this place. You can go anywhere. All you have to do is…
Impossible.
But you are dying!
Then come talk to me after I'm dead.
...
"Can't say it, can you? Trying to trick me?" Cyd's eyes snapped open. In one fluid motion, he rolled onto his feet and stood. His heart, silent a moment before, gave a single, powerful thump that echoed in the timeless void, then settled into a steady, rhythmic beat. The ribs that had punched through his skin were wrenched back into place by the sheer force of regenerating muscle. The gaping hole in his chest sewed itself shut with threads of new flesh, leaving only a faint, silvery scar that faded after a few seconds.
[Tch. No luck.]
"Of course not," Cyd said, rolling his shoulders. The action felt good. Real. "I've got a…"
He bent down, his fingers closing around the familiar weight and warmth of [Pandora, Reforged]. He slung it onto his back with practiced ease, a small, triumphant smile touching his lips.
"...great teacher."
[But you still cannot leave. If you become a Guardian, we can find a way to extract you from this non-place.]
"Eh~ So you want me to work for you?" Cyd scoffed, beginning to pace through the formless grey expanse. There was no ground, no sky, only a diffuse, directionless twilight. "No thanks. I don't do daydreams, even if there's no day or night here. I still have things to do. People to see."
[And you currently have no means of reaching them.]
"Who knows?" Cyd cracked his neck. "But I am never signing your damn contract."
[...Then let us make a trade. Set the contract aside. We require an Arbiter to descend upon a certain Holy Grail War. Upon its conclusion, you may use that Grail to attempt to breach this place.]
"Ho? But I'm not dead," Cyd raised an eyebrow.
[You currently exist outside all timelines. In a certain sense, that is functionally equivalent to death for our purposes. We can… make an exception.]
"Why does it have to be me?" Cyd grumbled, picking at the tattered remains of his tunic.
[The Grail has summoned Jeanne d'Arc as the Ruler for this War. We have… previewed the outcome. It is not to our satisfaction.]
"So just tell the Grail not to summon her. Get someone else. Sherlock Holmes, maybe." Cyd made a vague, dismissive gesture.
[Holmes declined. His exact words were: 'I deduced the mastermind behind this in nine seconds. I also deduced I cannot handle them alone. Should you be capable of also summoning Dr. Watson, I would reconsider. As you are not, I shall not.' Another viable candidate, a certain emperor capable of single-handedly resolving such a conflict… frankly, if summoned, he would likely 'Umu!' his way through the proceedings, claim the Grail for himself as a souvenir, and cause a secondary incident. The other candidate is also a saint…]
"Right, right. So you're short on options and scraping the bottom of the barrel. That's me." Cyd snapped his fingers.
[Naturally, if you would prefer to simply sign the Guardian contract, the process would be much smoother.]
"Not happening."
[...Very well. We will arrange for you to descend to that plane in a spiritual form. As we have already… accidentally deployed Jeanne, you will not possess Command Spells. Not that you are likely to need them.]
"...Then what's my advantage as this 'Arbiter'?"
[You will be directly powered by the Greater Grail. You may operate at full capacity. Do you have any further complaints?]
"Ah~ I'd prefer not to have to physically persuade everyone to stop," Cyd scratched the back of his head. "But… maybe using my fists will get the point across faster."
[It is settled then. Though it is not your true body, you will return to that world after so long. Are you not moved? Moved enough to reconsider a simple—]
"Nope."
---
The stage was set. Seven against seven. An unprecedented Great Holy Grail War had begun.
Yggdmillennia Castle
From his makeshift throne, Vlad III, the Impaler, gazed down upon the three Servants kneeling in the hall. A thin, predatory smile played on his lips.
Rider — Astolfo, one of Charlemagne's Twelve Paladins. Flamboyant, beautiful, and cheerfully oblivious.
Berserker — Frankenstein's Monster. A being of stitching and lightning, silent save for the crackle of raw energy around her form.
Saber — A young man with stark white hair and red eyes, bound by his Master's command not to speak. He radiated a silent, focused intensity that promised immense violence.
"This Holy Grail War… shall end in our victory," Vlad declared, his voice echoing in the stone chamber.
Beside him, Chiron stood silently, his gaze not on the assembled Servants, but out through a high, narrow window, as if searching the distant horizon.
"What troubles you, Archer?" Vlad asked, noting his distraction.
"A feeling," Chiron murmured, a polite, apologetic smile touching his lips. "Several familiar presences have descended upon this land. Former students of mine, most likely."
It wasn't arrogance. It was simple fact. Most of the notable Greek heroes had passed through his cave on Mount Pelion.
"You will not hold back, I trust?"
"Of course not. I have a wish I must see fulfilled," Chiron shook his head gently.
"Then I look forward to crossing blades with you," Vlad nodded. In this castle, only the silent Saber and the centaur-teacher seemed worthy of standing as his equals in battle.
---
A Church in Trifas
"Everyone… seems to be present now."
The priest spoke with a voice of practiced, gentle warmth. He was a man of contradictions—dark skin, shock-white hair, and eyes that held a kindness that didn't quite reach their depths. He addressed the seemingly empty pews of the church.
"All but Saber's Master, I believe," a woman's voice, rich and velvety as old wine, answered from behind him. A figure materialized from the shadows, dressed in elaborate, funereal black. Semiramis, the Assyrian queen, Assassin. She held a delicate crystal goblet between her long fingers, a dark, fragrant liquid swirling within. "Would my Master care for a taste of my specially prepared vintage?"
"I am honored, but I shall partake after our victory. I will savor it then," the priest, Shirou Kotomine, declined with an unshakeable smile.
"If you drank it now, Father, you'd drop dead on the spot," a brash, laughing voice cut in. A young man with wild green hair and a carelessly draped scarf leaned against a pillar, grinning without a care for the murderous glare Assassin shot him. "That's just the kind of woman she is, right, Big Sis?"
"I am not your 'big sis'," a new voice snapped. Archer, Atalanta, appeared beside the green-haired youth, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The twin cat ears atop her head twitched in clear annoyance.
"What's your take, Lancer?" The green-haired Rider, Achilles, chuckled, turning toward the deeper shadows.
"No comment," a calm, resonant voice replied. A figure clad in brilliant gold armor stepped into the light. Lancer, Karna. His white hair framed an impassive face. "But it would be unwise to drink."
Semiramis's eye twitched, a visible vein throbbing at her temple. "Perhaps I should resolve this domestic squabble now."
"Now, now, Assassin. We are allies here," Shirou said smoothly, his hand coming up to steady the goblet she looked ready to launch.
"Tch." With a sound of disgust, Semiramis dissolved into particles of darkness.
"Such a mean lady, right, Big Sis?"
"Achilles! I told you not to call me that!" Atalanta's temper was fraying. For reasons utterly beyond her, this grinning, hyper-competent idiot of a hero had latched onto her with brotherly zeal the moment they'd been summoned.
"By the way, Archer," Shirou interjected, his curiosity genuine. "Your Master… where is she?"
Atalanta's expression shifted. It wasn't anger, or even frustration at being questioned. A strange, almost smug satisfaction flickered across her face. "Her? She's upset that she summoned me instead of who she wanted. Went out to find the last Master, I suppose."
It was odd. For a proud Heroic Spirit like Atalanta, being so blatantly unwanted by her own Master should have been a blow to her pride. Yet Shirou saw no such injury. If anything, she seemed… pleased. Amused, even, by her Master's disappointment.
"Well, best not to pry into Big Sis's business," Achilles declared, placing himself almost protectively in front of Atalanta, who looked like she wanted to shove him away.
"My, my. I merely wish to care for my comrades," Shirou sighed, his expression shifting from benign to serious in an instant. "However, there is a pressing matter. This War… has summoned two Rulers."
"So what?" Achilles shrugged.
"They must be eliminated. Their presence is too disruptive," Shirou explained, his tone that of a man stating an unfortunate but necessary fact. "The risk of a Ruler developing a desire for the Grail cannot be ignored. Nor can we overlook the two Command Spells they hold authority over for each Servant."
"Rulers are meant to be those without a wish," Karna stated, opening his eyes.
"Heroic Spirits are still beings of desire. We cannot assume their neutrality," Shirou countered, his conviction absolute, as if he'd seen proof.
"I have no objection," Karna said after a moment, closing his eyes once more.
"The two Rulers have manifested to the east and west of the city. Who will go?" Shirou's gaze swept over the three Servants.
"Achilles. You take the one to the west. Leave now," Atalanta commanded abruptly.
"You got it, Big Sis! I'll smash that Ruler to pieces and drag 'em back!" Achilles laughed, hefting his spear and vanishing in a burst of emerald light.
"The one to the east…" Atalanta's voice dropped, her fingers drumming a tense rhythm on her bicep. "Do not engage. That is not an enemy any Servant here can face."
"Why not, Archer?" Shirou's eyes narrowed to slits. "You possess no clairvoyant Noble Phantasm in your legend. What gives you such certainty?"
"I have a single-target tracking skill," Atalanta said, a strange, almost feral smile touching her lips. It was an expression of fierce anticipation, of a huntress who has finally caught the scent she's waited an eternity for. "It can only be used on one person. And right now… it is screaming at me that he is here."
She met Shirou's now-frozen gaze, her cat-eyes gleaming in the dim church light.
"He has returned. The Pure White Hero. The hope of mankind."