Interlude:
The Passion of the Nameless Soldier
The other mages should be done summoning their Heroic Spirits before long.
Seeing the sky begin to grow light in the east, Sigma drew in a large breath, and shut the windows of the mansion. Then he set foot in the basement — in someone else's workshop. Its barriers had already been dispelled; there was nothing to prevent Sigma's ritual.
Can I really summon one? Sigma wondered as he descended.
What is a Heroic Spirit, anyway? What causes them to be chosen by the "Throne"?
He was just a mercenary who could use magecraft. After the government he had served had collapsed, its destroyers had picked him up. That was the extent of their relationship. It was not as though he had any special power, so why had he been singled out? As he pondered such things, Sigma silently went on preparing the ritual.
Taking revenge on the government had never even crossed his mind.
He had received basic instruction from various mages since he was very young. It had been judged that he excelled in the use of familiars, and training in that field of magic had been beaten into him along with the use of weapons and other essential skills. He had spent his remaining time being instructed in how "capable" and "absolute" the government was. The moment that government had been easily replaced, however, he had realized that all of that was a lie.
He believed in nothing. Even his own ability seemed unreliable and uncertain after seeing his employer's magecraft and the training of Faldeus' unit. That was precisely why he wondered. Wondered if it was really alright for him, who had no faith, to participate in a battle for possession of something called the "Holy Grail."
Sigma understood the object of the Holy Grail War. A thing capable of granting any wish, and a struggle for possession of the Holy Grail, which was the basis of that system. He was, nevertheless, unable to fully comprehend the very concept of that "wish-granter." Sigma's concept of a "wish" was extremely weak to begin with.
When his employer had asked if he had a wish for the Grail, he had been at a loss to answer. It was not as if he was without desire. If he had to say, he desired peaceful sleep and food. But did he want them enough to entrust his future to the Grail, an external device? And, even if that "Grail" did gush forth food forever, he would probably ask what was in it for the Grail. If it was a supply without a need for compensation, then it was something Sigma could not understand. Nothing could be more uncanny.
He kept his doubts in his head, however. He made no attempt to follow up on them. The emotionally deficient young man continued to dispassionately perform his work. All for a sound sleep and his daily bread. In the environment he had been raised in, those had been the hardest things to come by.
"For the alighting wind, a wall. The gates of the four directions close..."
The young man who had never believed in gods, or miracles, or even his own strength chanted in an effort to accomplish the summoning of a Heroic Spirit, a miracle equal to an act of God. He did so without emotion or desire, just mechanically circulating magical energy through his own body and the site of the ritual.
"Emerge from the ring of restraint, O guardian of the scales!"
He had not intended to put any special force into it, but as he reached the end of the incantation, magically energy was suddenly drawn from his body, and he instinctively raised his voice. Still, that was proof that magical energy had definitely flowed into the heart of the ritual.
Even as he saw light begin to well up around him, Sigma was unmoved. All he felt was the hardship of handling the currents of magical energy.
As the young man observed the swirling light, he reconfirmed his own position with extreme composure. In this "Holy Grail War," he was no more than a pawn that his employer had used to make the numbers add up. The fact that he had not been given a catalyst was proof of that.
"You know, I was actually planning to prepare all sorts of things for you, too. Black Beard's treasure, that Paracelsus guy's flask, the hero Spartacus' manacles... But then I had a little idea. I wondered what would show up if we let the city
choose the Heroic Spirit, with no catalyst at all. I wondered what could possibly be drawn by this chaos."
She did not know what would happen. With an ecstatic smile on her face, his employer went on narrating the folly of willingly embracing such an uncertain element in a bright, clear voice.
"It's set up so Ruler won't come, but there's always a chance, right? Still, even without a catalyst, it'd probably just end up being a hero with a similar nature to the summoner.
"That's why you're perfect; you're nothing
. You've got no wish for the world, and no desire to leave your mark on it... You're basically 'Soldier A'; nothing heroic about you. So, you can be a blank slate.
"If the Fake Grail really just chooses of its own will... what do you think will show up? Well, if nothing does... I wouldn't mind you just fleeing the city."
So, he was essentially a pawn to be sacrificed in order to satisfy his employer's curiosity. Even if a completely useless Heroic Spirit appeared, it would not matter.
If that does happen, what should I do?
It would at least be someone to talk to. But he had nothing in particular to discuss, not even with a hero who had once won renown.
Sigma occupied himself with such cold thoughts as he waited for the torrents of light and magical energy to settle.
He was, in fact, no more than a pawn in this Holy Grail War. He had no one's attention. He existed only as the identifier "Σ"; not even a name.
Even his employer, Francesca, was aware of him only to the extent of thinking, "I hope he brings in some fun uncertain element," and, "He's my favorite pawn, so it'd be a good deal for me if he survived."
In this Fake Holy Grail War, the youth called Sigma was merely "Soldier A"; not even a mage.
Right up until the instant his summoning ended.
X X
Snowfield. The great forest.
"..."
Enkidu, who possessed the highest class of the "sense presence" skill, sensed a certain "abnormality." He did not, however, think that it might be due to the summoning of a Heroic Spirit.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, and cast them apologetically down at the ground.
"I wonder... if I've angered them a little."
The only one to hear the Heroic Spirit's words was the silver wolf crouched beside him.
Without anyone to understand them, Enkidu's words were absorbed into the dense foliage.
X X
The wetland mansion. Basement.
"..."
After the light, there was nothing before the ritual altar. Slowly surveying his surroundings, Sigma noticed a lone figure seated in a corner of the room.
It was an aging man on an old chair, a cane in his hand. He had gray hair. A large vertical scar ran from his face to below his collar. Judging by his features, he was old enough to be called elderly, but judging by the width of his strong shoulders, among other details, it was possible to take him for an active-duty marine. His most distinctive feature was the smooth, white artificial leg attached to one of his knees.
"..."
Sigma warily, wordlessly scrutinized the old man. It was true that the man's presence was intimidating, but he had a feeling it was slightly different from a "hero's." His clothes were more recent than Sigma had imagined. At the very least, he did not look like the kind of ancient person who would appear in an illustrated tale of myth, or of the middle ages.
As Sigma wracked his brains for something to say, the old man broke the silence himself.
"You're a Master in the Holy Grail War? ...Humph. You look like you've got no ambition."
"...Who are you?"
"Me? You can call me the captain. But that won't mean anything for much longer."
"?"
Sigma mentally scratched his head at the man's roundabout way of talking.
What does he mean, it won't mean anything? ...Anyway, formally establishing a contract should come first.
Sigma decided to question the man after he had made sure of his identity, and answer the Heroic Spirit's first question in the meanwhile.
"...I am the Master who performed the ritual that summoned you."
The old man shook his head, his lips curling in a wicked grin.
"Hehe... It sounds like you've got the wrong idea, boy."
"?"
It was not the old man who answered the bewildered Sigma.
"You didn't summon us."
The voice came from behind Sigma's back. He spun around to face it. As he did so, he drew his pistol from its holster, and took aim.
"Who's there?"
As he asked, he realized that the figure behind him belonged to a strangely-dressed boy. He was fitting with what looked like mechanical wings on his back and shoulders. They had become eerily skeletal, however, and bits of wax and white feathers were intertwined with them in places. If Sigma had to say, this figure was dressed more like a person from the age of ancient myths.
Sigma wondered if this boy was the Heroic Spirit, and the old man a mage who had infiltrated the mansion. When he looked at where the old man had been, however, he had already vanished from sight, leaving only an empty chair.
"I am merely — to put it in your terms — an escaped prisoner," the boy said with a wry smile, ignoring Sigma's confusion.
"What do you mean?"
Sigma turned in response to the voice, but the one who had uttered it was no longer anywhere to be seen. Instead, yet another man's voice came from yet another direction.
"We are not the Heroic Spirit you summoned. We are merely projected around you as its shadows."
In front of the door was a boy who looked to be in his early teens, clad in a white garment. A tranquil-looking snake was coiled about the staff he carried, facing toward Sigma and flicking its tongue in and out.
"A child...?"
"Oh, sorry about that. It's an effect of using my own body in a clinical study using Medusa's blood... Well, it's nothing to worry about. I'm a shadow; I'll be gone soon."
The smiling boy's body thinned like mist, then vanished into thin air.
What...? What's going on?
"You sure drew the short straw, bro. You can't get away now. Although, if you'd been a cute girl, I'd have materialized and made a go of it as a Heroic Spirit."
Yet another voice.
"We are not Heroic Spirits; nothing of the kind. We cannot use Noble Phantasms, and we've not a chopstick to our names, much less a blade."
And another.
"Your only faults were your luck and the people you know. Thanks to them, you've gone and summoned yourself unavoidable hardship."
Different voices were appearing and disappearing in the underground chamber, overlapping each other and tormenting Sigma's mind with words he did not understand.
"Still, we have high hopes for you, you know? Hopes that you'll make it through and become Lancer."
He had heard that those who bore Command Seals and became Masters were able to see a Heroic Spirit's status. These things seemed like Heroic Spirits, but he could read no information from them. Still, even though he had not even made a contract, he definitely sensed a pass of magical energy linking him to something.
Still, it doesn't seem like it's sucking up my magical energy.
It was a situation in which an ordinary person might very well scream, but Sigma, whose emotions had always been lacking, merely expressed a slight bewilderment.
"What do you mean, I'll become Lancer?" He asked the appearing and disappearing crowd of self-proclaimed shadows. "Before that, what in the world are you? I'm not even certain what class of Heroic Spirit has appeared."
Thereupon, the man who called himself "the captain" reappeared on his chair. The wrinkles on his stern brow grew even deeper as he answered.
"I see. It's not quite the right way to put it, but our role is to be always looking down from a height, so I suppose you should call us...
"'Watcher.'"
Originally Posted by Sesto
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