Drake Family Residence, Cerro Concepción, Valparaíso
Day 02
Evening Phase - 06
Temperate (13 °C/55 °F; Indoors)
Severe Cold (-30 °C/-22 °F; Outdoors)
Snowfall
(BGM)
I check Mister Drake’s unconscious body on more time. Both his pulse and breathing seem stable, so it does not seem like he is in any danger. I feel there is nothing more I can do in this room—I’m no doctor—, so I just leave him to rest.
Closing the door behind me, I take a good look at the place for the second time. The second floor of Mr. and Mrs. Drake’s residence is, well, normal. Not that I expect a magus’ residence to be, dunno, something out of Harry Potter. There is a major space split between living and dining room. A low wall separates the dining table from the very small kitchen. A door leads to what I guess is the main bedroom, a second one to the bathroom. So, the place where I rested—where Mister Drake is now resting—I take is a guest room…though, I guess at one point it will be turned into a baby room.
I go downstairs. Of course, I am met with the barricade.
The ground floor of this residence holds Mr. Drake’s jewelry shop. With the advent of the sheer cold, apparently both the door and the great glass window broke, rendering the building open for intrusion. Wary of the roaming undead, Sakura moved everything she could to block the one available chokepoint: the stairs. It makes entering and leaving the Drake residence a hassle, but it’s better than the alternative, that’s for sure.
It takes a few minutes to dismantle the barricade, move to the other side, and raise it again. I consider leaving it undone while I’m upstairs, but that’s just my laziness speaking. Soon enough, I make it to the workshop.
Naturally, the first thing that catches my attention is the block of ice standing almost mockingly in the middle of the room. Mrs. Drake was frozen mid-step, a hand being raised toward the corner of the room she is looking at—where her husband sits to do his labor.
I let my hand rest on the ice block, even rap it with my knuckles a few times. Of course, nothing happens. Nothing happened when Sakura punched it, either. The “trap” only activated when I used my magecraft on it. So, either it was a response to the use of magic, or it was a response to a threat. It switched targets when Maria attacked it. That means it either recognized a Servant’s magical power as more potent than a human’s, or Maria was simply the greater threat. That’s why we have to try again, this time letting Maria make the first attack.
We need to do this as soon as possible. We have no idea how long Mrs. Drake has left.
Then, I look around. I know this is the place where Mr. Drake practices his magecraft, but it’s impossible for me to tell what makes it “a magus’ workroom”. Then again, I really don’t know what a jeweler’s workshop is supposed to look like, either. Also, from my understanding, Mr. Drake is not a serious practitioner of magecraft, so it is likely he does not do any significant research. Long story short, there are probably no amazing magical secrets lying around in this room.
…magecraft, huh.
Last night (was it really just last night? Damn.), Maria’s explanations focused on some really out-there topics like Holy Grails, Grail Wars and Servants, so we really didn’t talk much about magecraft itself. However, I remember she stated she uses “knot magic”, and she called me an “orthodox theosophist”, which is a rather accurate description of the “foundation” I used to develop my spells: I follow the teachings of Madame Blavatsky almost exclusively, ignoring most of the alterations and additions proposed by later theosophists. Her more controversial opinions notwithstanding, when it comes about the occult she did know what she was talking about, if based only on my own results.
The way Maria described me as a magic user…it’s sorta like a martial arts movie. So, I guess magic users do have “styles” of magecraft, and there must be all sorts of occult foundations that could be used for a “magecraft style”, just like theosophy.
But that makes me wonder: is a “style” really necessary? I mean, I could use magecraft before I discovered theosophy; otherwise I would have never figured out I can do magic in the first place, back when I was twelve—
No!
I winced the moment I’m assaulted by a splitting headache. What…the…
It’s…like…no, I’ve never experienced anything like this before! The fuck is this!?
It’s like, my head is being pulled in every direction! God, it hurts like…agh!
But, this pain, I still, my senses still work.
Something…footsteps.
Still clutching my aching head with my free hand, I step out of the workshop.
Aw, fucking hell. These guys sure know when to show up. The barricade is closed behind me, so I’m basically trapped with a zombie in a twelve-square-meters room.
Strangely, I’m not afraid or nervous. Perhaps it’s the headache that clouds every other sensation and emotion, but I do not feel in the slightest threatened by this zombie.
So, let’s deal with this before any more show up.
*** ***
(BGM)
Slowly, the two Servants draw a circle with their footsteps, neither of them taking the first step forward. Maria Westinghouse—Servant Saver—is trying to not pay attention to her heavy breathing, the sweat in her hands or the trembling of her legs. Instead, she grits her teeth, tightens her grip on the slippery pommel until it hurts, and plants her feet strongly into the snow with each step.
She wonders why it is so hard this time. It is nothing like fighting Rider. She had no problems there. It is much closer to the Archer experience, in which she can only run like a terrified mouse. But there is no running this time, because her enemy stands right in front of her.
A Servant.
A Heroic Spirit.
A legend incarnate.
She gulps.
He thrusts.
Behind her, a soldier in Nazi uniform fires a new rocket.
Maria is the fastest.
Her body twists to the right to dodge the spear thrust, and in the same motion she jumps in the same direction, leaving Lancer to do the same in the opposite. The rocket explodes between them, flinging snow everywhere. Maria has just set foot on a new spot when Lancer pierces through the geyser-like upheaval, charging straight at her.
Eyes. Neck. Heart. Liver. Lungs. Crotch.
A succession of thrusts in less than a second.
All are dodged.
Maria jumps to the right a second time. The soldiers on the school (?) ceiling open fire. A moment later, Maria all but crashes on the ceiling amidst the group, and by the time Lancer catches up, half the soldiers are no more.
The heavy polearm meets the long blade, and in spite of the inferior weight, the sword is not pushed back. They separate, and then clash again. And again. And again, over and over, until every individual clash is unrecognizable within the threnody of metal striking metal.
Maria breaks away from Lancer—whether she was pushed and flung backwards or it was Maria herself who leapt back, it will never be known. Lancer presses forward with another charge, but Maria leaps off the ceiling and back to the square. Lancer does not follow, and the two Servants enter a lull in their encounter.
Maria is still trembling. She never stopped trembling and sweating, and there is a painful knot in her stomach. She is panting like she had just completing a marathon, but—
“I’m…faster.”
It was not skill with the sword that stopped Lancer’s attacks. Only sheer reflexes.
It was not technique that parried the heavy blows of the spear. Only raw strength.
Maria can see it now, through the privilege that comes from being her own Master, the chosen of the agent of the Ring of Deterrence.
Maria now knows. That she can overpower him and outpace him.
She releases a strong exhalation, as if aiming to release all her nervousness and fear.
“I can do this.”
*** ***
“She can’t do this,” Sakura Edelfelt concluded with a deep ache in her heart.
Making it to the top of the cliff was trivial—it should be obvious to anybody that the citizens of Valparaiso need a means to reach the top of the cliff. Ergo, a staircase is there.
She watches the battle from an almost-cubic-shaped two-story residence in the periphery of the plaza. She is still worried about the remaining soldiers and their automatic weapons, but they are wholly focused on Maria, so she feels it is safe to watch the fight from this spot—
“Yeah, it looks pretty bad, huh.”
Sakura can only bear the chilling feeling gripping her chest. She hates herself from stiffening her body at the voice of the person standing right behind her, but it has been a long time since she was last surprised like this, and an even longer time since she was last as frightened as right now.
The figure, small and lithe, her body entirely wrapped in a dark hooded cloak, kneels to Sakura’s right side, a second witness to the battle of Bismarck Square. Only her face is visible.
“You…” Sakura manages to murmur upon realizing she is not dead yet. “Who are…?”
“Just a wandering fairy.”
Suddenly, she chuckles, perhaps at a joke only she understands.
“Nah, that’s a lie. I’m Assassin.”
Of course, Sakura already knew this. Who else could it be?
The new Servant suddenly frowns.
“Wait. I’m speaking English.” She snorts. “This is so weird. Anyway.”
She gestures towards the battle with her nose of all things. Lancer has leapt off the ceiling, and Maria has charged to meet him as soon as his feet reach the ground.
“You were saying your friend can’t pull it off. I agree, but I want to hear your thoughts.”
Sakura forces herself to assess her situation. The idea of fighting Assassin never crosses her mind—no amount of coaching from Luviagelita has imparted Sakura even half her partner’s arrogance. Furthermore, she finds no reason in antagonizing Assassin: she feels no ill intent from the Servant. Then again, if there is a Servant who can hide their killing intent, it’s got to be Assassin.
However, the fact remains that if Assassin wanted to do her harm, she would already be harmed.
“I…I think she…um, my friend—”
“Maria.”
Sakura’s eyebrow twitches. How long has this Servant been spying on them? Did she follow them from the church? No, maybe even before that…?
“I think…that Maria…can’t match a Servant in combat. She doesn’t fight like a Servant. She fights like a girl with the powers of a Servant.”
“Can’t blame her for that; it is what she is.”
Sakura nods.
“But that’s strange, isn’t it?” continues Assassin. “That she possesses the Servant’s power, but no idea how to use it properly. Well, I guess the circumstances themselves are irregular.”
The Servants keep trading blows in the plaza. The soldiers cannot fire haphazardly and risk targeting Lancer by accident. One of them has retreated, and appears to be operating a bulky, backpack-shaped device.
Sakura and Assassin can both tell: Saver and Lancer are both fighting defensively and restrainedly, albeit perhaps for different reasons. Their attacks are careful and controlled, not nearly as lightning-swift as either could unfold.
“Her attacks are fast and strong. Scary fast and scary strong, even,” admits Assassin. “But she’s almost too easy to read. Even you and I could dodge those attacks.”
“Hnn,” Sakura murmurs, disheartened. “I’d say she is physically superior to Lancer in every way. But that’s all she has.”
“Eventually, the superior skill will prevail, right?”
Sakura nods. That is the obvious conclusion.
“Then, why hasn’t Lancer shown that superior skill just yet?”
Sakura knows what Assassin is doing: like a modern-day Socrates, the Servant is guiding Sakura to the correct answers. It feels like she is being looked down on, but there is nothing Sakura can do about that. If anything, the more she can get from and about this Servant, the better.
“Two reasons,” she replies. “One: he is aware that Maria is up to something, so he is being merely cautious. Two: he is purposely stalling for time.”
“Because…?”
“A battle between Servant will naturally draw other Servants,” Sakura concludes. “They may even have the means to contact each other, if they are an allied front like Maria said.”
“Good, good, you get full marks.” Sakura is rewarded with a pure smile. “Good. Javier needs allies who can teach him these things.”
She then nose-points at the soldiers on the roof.
“Those guys can’t talk, but they can send some sort of signal to Rider, don’t know the details. Anyway, it’s likely Rider already knows what’s happening.” She clicks her tongue several times. “It looks like he still needs one more day to complete his Noble Phantasm, but he’s got plenty of other weird weapons. We’ll probably see at least one of those very soon.”
At this point, Assassin’s apparently-easygoing expression becomes truly serious and grave.
“If Rider knows, that means Archer also knows. And Archer’s a huge pain in the butt.”
Sakura grimaces.
“Things are bad.”
“It gets worse.”
Assassin again twitches her nose towards the square, where Lancer has taken the offensive one more time. Maria works her reflexes to keep up with the rapid succession of thrusts.
“Now, this is just what Caster told me, so you can choose to believe it or not, but it seems that Lancer carries a ‘blessing of the goddess of fates’, whatever that means. It makes him stronger the longer he stays in battle.”
The meaning of that statement doesn’t elude Sakura, who looks at the combating Servants with a new degree of alarm.
“He’s already got her beat in combat skill. If his physical abilities grow to match hers, she’ll be beyond screwed. Even if they don’t, Rider and Archer will make a move any time soon. So!”
Sakura almost jumps on her place when she feels a hand drop on her shoulder, and she freezes in place when she actually takes a look at it. Unlike the beautiful face framed by the dark hood, the hand is utterly inhuman. It is a monstrous hand, more than twice the size of a normal one, with crimson, talon-like fingers, each about as long as Sakura’s forearm.
She gulps.
“This is the last, and most important question, Sakura Edelfelt.”
Assassin leans closer, and Sakura finds herself suddenly overwhelmed by the unmistakable stench of death, of rotting corpses and exposed dead matter. Sakura feels her stomach twist itself upside down, and she desperately forces the clump of vomit rushing up her esophagus to stop in its tracks. She can’t breathe, for that would mean taking in more of that fetidness.
How can this Servant be anything remotely stealthy if she reeks so badly? No, how come she only noticed the stench now? Is that the extent of Assassin’s Presence Concealment?
“Knowing everything we know, and aware of the situation Maria’s in, what are we going to do about it?”