Several days had passed since the summoning ritual. The Millennia Fortress where the "Black" faction had secluded itself rested quietly beneath the gentle Romanian sunlight. They already understood that the opposing side had successfully summoned all seven of their Servants.
No conflict had yet occurred; both sides were simply keeping their nerves taut and watching the other carefully, holding back for the time being.
Peaceful hours drifted by. And yet everyone understood.
This calm atmosphere was nothing but a façade—beneath the surface, an intense battle of information was already raging. It was still the stage before direct clashes of force, and nearly all such work was being carried out by Caster and Darnic. For the Masters and Servants under them, there was almost nothing to do.
Thus, these few days were spent freely by each Master and Servant.
Before the true conflict began, this brief stretch of time was essential for the Masters and Servants to learn each other's nature.
Darnic treated Lancer as a king, receiving him with formal veneration.
Roche revered Caster as a teacher, desperately absorbing his techniques and philosophies in full.
Celenike, though worn out by Rider's excessive curiosity, delighted in contemplating how she might defile that charming, adorable form.
Gordes forbade Saber from speaking. Saber accepted this. They had chosen a relationship of master and vassal, exchanging not a single word.
Fiore's younger brother, Caules, was earnestly trying to communicate with Berserker. Berserker's Madness Enhancement was low-grade, so it might be possible.
And Fiore—
"...You really are a completely unfathomable person, aren't you?"
—still did not fully understand Archer.
Their relationship, at least, was good. Archer was sarcastic, and at times a childish side would show through—but that humanity only made him more likable to Fiore. If Lancer had been her partner, his kingly presence alone would have exhausted her, leaving her drained before even entering the battlefield.
In that sense, Archer was exceptional.
He understood Fiore's handicap—the fact that her legs did not move—and adjusted himself, supporting her with calm precision. She trusted him not merely as a Servant, but as a person. In only a few days, the two had spoken enough to develop a steady understanding of one another.
Fiore set her teacup down on its saucer. A faint aroma of black tea filled the room.
"This tea you brewed… it's wonderful. The fragrance is delightful as well. Where ever did you learn to prepare it like this?"
Fiore was a prodigy of the Yggdmillennia, educated at the Clock Tower in London—the very heart of magecraft. Though the Yggdmillennia were often despised among magi, the clan's status had not been low, thanks to Darnic's influence in the Association before the schism.
Because of these circumstances, Fiore truly understood what good tea was.
After all, she had lived in London—the home of black tea. She was deeply confident in her palate.
Yet even she could not deny that the tea Archer brewed was excellent. His technique was perfect; he understood tea leaves thoroughly.
At Fiore's impressed question, Archer shrugged.
"Well… I'm afraid I can't remember. Despite having no memories, my body still remembers the skill. Strange, isn't it?"
"A Servant is a completed existence. It's only natural that one would retain the skills they possessed in life."
Being good at preparing tea wasn't necessary for a Servant, but made him delightful to have near.
And in fact, this skill narrowed down his time period somewhat.
Tea arrived in Europe when the Dutch brought it from China during the height of their trading era.
It entered England around the mid-1600s. At first it spread among the nobility as a medicinal drink, then reached the working classes, eventually forming the tea-drinking culture of today.
Thus, Archer had to be a hero from the 17th century or later. That would also explain his low parameters—mysteries grow heavier and stronger with age. If he was a figure from a relatively recent era, then low parameters would be natural by the standards of magecraft.
However, the 17th century marked the decline of the longbow and the rise of the musket.
Indeed, early muskets were weaker than longbows—but in an age dominated by firearms, could an archer truly rise to the level of a Heroic Spirit?
As she pondered this, Fiore suddenly realized something.
Perhaps Archer had not become a Heroic Spirit through fame or worship at all.
Heroic Spirits generally ascended through belief—souls elevated to the level of spirits through human reverence.
But some reached the Throne not through admiration, but through fear and hatred—negative emotions so intense they looped back into a form of worship.
Notorious villains, monsters slain by heroes—these belonged to the category of Anti-Heroes.
Could Archer be one of those?
Darnic had modified the system so much that even those who merely possessed some aspect of a hero could be summoned. Caules's Berserker was the perfect example. Archer might also be such a figure, a non-traditional Heroic Spirit.
From the late Middle Ages into the modern era, the opportunity for individuals to achieve renown through martial prowess diminished. But as media expanded, one could easily become infamous. Modern times were closer to the Throne for villains than heroes.
Fiore looked at Archer's back as he cleaned up the tea service.
Would this Archer commit evil out of selfish desire?
The answer was obvious: No.
Despite knowing him for only a few days, Fiore could sense his essence.
Archer was not someone who acted out of self-interest.
Though her conviction was influenced by the hope that her Servant would not be such a being, she still felt nearly certain of it.
Unknowingly, Fiore had begun to place her trust in Archer.
She lifted the tea he brewed and brought it to her lips.
At once, a rich fragrance blossomed across her tongue, making her dizzy. Warmth spread through her body, filling her with renewed vitality.
To think tea alone could grant such bliss—this was her first time experiencing such a thing.
"Servant… Archer… Rather than an archer, are you sure your Class isn't actually 'Butler' instead?"
Fiore joked lightly.
"Hm. Perhaps so. Vaguely, I feel like I once imitated a butler's duties. It may well have been my position in life."
"Oh? Truly?"
Fiore wanted to say "how unexpected," but the role suited him surprisingly well.
"Yes," Archer replied, lowering his gaze slightly.
"However, trying to remember that part leaves me… unpleasant. It feels like something best left sealed within me."
"Is that so…? My apologies."
"No, it's nothing you need to apologize for. More importantly… what are you doing there?"
He looked toward Fiore's hands. She was holding a cloth, polishing something.
"This? I'm cleaning my pendant."
The pendant normally hung under her clothing, so Archer had not noticed it until now. Fiore lifted it up to show him.
At the end of a silver chain hung a large, burning-red gemstone—a palm-sized ruby shaped in a gentle inverted triangle.
"That jewel…"
Archer's eyes widened slightly—only for a moment—before returning to their usual stoic calm.
"This jewel? What of it?"
"No… I've heard Caster demanded a great number of gems. I assumed such items were all supplied to him."
Archer spoke a bit too quickly, as if covering something. Fiore did not notice this and nodded.
"Yes. This was among the gems Uncle Darnic obtained for Caster. I liked it, so I asked him to let me have it."
Clearly fond of it, she stroked the pendant gently before placing it back around her neck, tucking it beneath her clothes. She had imbued it with a charm of warding—useful, perhaps, against enemy magi. It was both magecraft practicality and a girl's fondness for adornment.
Meanwhile, Archer looked contemplative.
"…I see. So that's how it is."
He seemed to have reached some internal conclusion and asked nothing further.
Fiore found this strange.
"Do you… dislike gemstones?"
"No. I simply have no interest in such things."
"I see."
Clinging to jewelry even after becoming a Heroic Spirit would seem rather base. Archer's lack of interest suggested he had been the same in life.
He was ungreedy—almost ascetic.
Fiore still had no idea what Archer truly desired.
"Ah…"
She let out a small sound.
"What is it?"
Archer looked at her. Fiore flushed in embarrassment.
"N-nothing."
She shook her head to hide her blunder.
"I just realized—I never asked your wish for the Holy Grail."
Just as she had a wish, Archer ought to have one. Servants who responded to the summoning were generally those who sought something.
"A wish for the Holy Grail?"
"Yes."
Fiore nodded and waited.
"My memory is vague. I have no wish," Archer said awkwardly, smiling wryly.
"But you have the right to make one. After all, you are here. And once we obtain the Grail—if you tell me you have no wish, that would be rather troublesome."
She fully understood his condition, but still—
They were partners. They needed clarity and a shared goal. Fiore desperately wanted the Grail—to heal her legs and walk firmly upon the earth. If Archer lacked motivation, her wish would never be realized.
"Even so, I truly have no desire to ask of it. Memory or not, I would have answered the same."
"Is there truly such a thing as a Servant with no wish? They all must have something they want, otherwise why respond to the summon?"
High-level existences required more than magecraft coercion. Command Spells were the strongest binding, but spiritual motivation mattered, too. A Servant required a Master to remain in the world, and since survival depended on the Master, betrayal was unlikely. Summoning generally called to spirits with desires.
"Not necessarily," Archer said.
"There are those who answer simply because they wish to face stronger foes. Others desire a second life to enjoy. It depends entirely on the individual."
That made sense—many summoned were renowned warriors. Their desire to compete in battle could be reason enough.
"In that case, I'm even more curious about your wish. You say you have none, and you do not seem the type who lived solely for battle. So then—what is it you desire now? Memory or no memory, what you wish now is what matters. Won't you tell me?"
"…A difficult request."
"But I told you my wish. If I don't know yours, it feels unfair."
Fiore pouted slightly. Archer sighed.
Her point was reasonable—and there was no meaning in hiding it.
"…Very well. If I must name one…"
He exhaled as though resigning himself, then lifted his chin with a smug expression.
"My wish… would be something like world peace."
□
"Honestly, Uncle Gordes is just impossible…"
The very next day after Archer gave his provisional wish, Fiore returned to her room fuming.
Naturally, Archer was the one pushing her wheelchair.
The reason for her rare indignation was a brief encounter earlier with Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia, Saber's Master.
"Just because he summoned such an exceptional Saber, he's getting arrogant. Absolutely arrogant."
In short—Gordes had insulted her Servant. Not directly, but the implication was clear:
That the Holy Grail Great War would be settled by Saber alone, and Archer should just remain in the rear. That victory was already assured.
"Well, no need to get so upset. He's simply that kind of person."
"You don't feel anything about it?"
"It can't be helped. He only spoke the truth."
Archer's casual acceptance only made Fiore more irritated.
"Saber fights in the vanguard. I fight from the rear. Nothing strange about that. If there's an enemy Saber cannot defeat, I will. Then the war ends swiftly."
Fiore blinked, stunned.
"…In other words, you intend to defeat any foe Saber fails to overcome?"
"Unless I do at least that much, there is no way to humble him."
Fiore stared in surprise.
"…Are you perhaps very angry?"
"I am not so small-minded as to be offended by that."
But his aura clearly said otherwise.
Fiore couldn't help giggling.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. I'm sorry."
In these few days, Fiore and Archer had grown very close.
Her reverence for great heroes had faded.
Her initial disappointment at the summoning had faded.
She had come to accept Archer as her Servant—and as a person. Joking and smiling together had become a daily thing.
"To think such a great hero is made to serve a Master like that… How pitiful."
"Archer. You don't mean—you know Saber's true name?"
Only Darnic and Lancer knew Saber's identity. Gordes had refused to reveal it, believing it would be fatal.
Thus, two Servants in the "Black" faction lacked revealed true names: Saber and Archer.
"I do not know it, but I can deduce it. My specialty is analyzing swords and blades. I analyzed the greatsword he carried the moment he was summoned."
"W-what…"
Fiore was speechless.
Structural analysis was an elementary spell. Fiore, though specialized in her own field, could use it. But analyzing a Noble Phantasm was unthinkable—its level of mystery was far too high. Attempting it could fry the brain.
Yet Archer had done so easily—and apparently even deduced the true name.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I judged that until we established proper communication, it was better kept secret. It would be reckless to toss a spark between you and Gordes before understanding the human dynamics."
Indeed.
If Gordes learned that Fiore knew Saber's true name, he would be furious.
Relationships between Masters mattered greatly in this war.
"So we must ensure Uncle Gordes never realizes this."
"Indeed."
"Then… what is Saber's true name?"
Fiore leaned forward.
She wanted to know.
A swordsman whose stats rivaled even Lancer—Vlad III—under maximum national fame.
A legend whose true name was deemed fatal to reveal.
And this was the first time Archer displayed such an ability.
"If you don't mind that it's only deduction from the sword, I'll tell you."
"I don't mind."
Seeing her nod, Archer spoke.
"That sword is the sacred blade of the Nibelungs— the Phantasmal Greatsword, Balmung.
If the wielder has a well-known fatal weakness in legend, then there is only one person it can be."
"…Siegfried. The dragonslayer of the Netherlands."
Fiore whispered his name.
Fear welled up from within, almost stopping her breath.
Siegfried.
A swordsman sharing origins with the Norse Sigurd, who slew the evil dragon Fafnir and bathed in its blood, gaining an immortal body.
But a single leaf of the linden tree had stuck to his back when he was splashed with dragon blood, leaving that one spot untouched.
His end came when a treacherous blade struck that very point.
To summon such a hero as Saber—Gordes's confidence was no boast.
"Well then, since I've deduced Saber's true name, I should report it to Lancer."
"…Why?"
"He is our king, is he not? For someone like myself, whose identity is unknown, it is necessary to gain his trust by offering information."
"True… you're right. Let's do that."
Fiore accepted this and began planning the meeting.
She must avoid crossing paths with Gordes.
She would wait for a moment when Lancer was in good spirits.
If necessary, she would have Archer brew tea for him.
Thinking of such things, Fiore placed her hands on her wheelchair's wheels.