Fate/UpRise - Revelry of Heroes

[Gl4re]

Revelry of Heroes

Fate/UpRise

Ch. 1: Open Stage, First Dance

Ernest had never boarded a flight with a ticket that said anything more than ‘premium economy.’ Never enough money in the pocket for it, and the few times he did travel he was always content with simply sleeping it off. ‘Discomfort is its own kind of comfort’ was how he joked about it, ‘have to remind myself I’m still alive.’

Live life just enough. The trajectory of his life showed him just how valuable that sort of motto is. Look for too much, and you get into too much trouble. Settle for too little, trouble starts piling onto you.

Staring at a private jet in a completely empty runway, a set of stairs laid out with a vermillion carpet, accompanied on either side by a bunch of suited men in shades felt impossible to quantify as either category.

“Sir Mahaputra, please board. Our schedule is tight,” said one of the suits. Ernest remembered him from a two days ago. He was called something like ‘Genie.’

The reminder of a schedule was enough to snap Ernest out of his daze, at which he laughed awkwardly and said, “Yeah, right, of course.”

Inside the private jet was a space that seemed to his untrained eye far larger than the outside. Not to mention, completely lavish. It was as though the entire space had the necessities for an average flat and more. Polished wood decorations with beige cushions were, in Ernest’s mind, so exactly the tones he’d expect from a private jet that he felt underdressed for the occasion.

Meanwhile everyone around him moved like clockwork, and Ernest but a small output for which they were accounting. Soon enough his jacket was hung, he was seated in a comfier chair than his own sofa, at some point he realized he wasn’t holding his suitcase anymore, and Genie stood beside him.

“What would you like to drink, sir?”

Ernest peered past Genie, finally noticing the rack full of various spirits. Could he just say anything, and it would be produced for him?

The sound of the door closing jerked Ernest’s brain to rush an answer, inducing, “Sake, please.” Genie didn’t move for a second, so Ernest quickly tacked on, “Since we’re going to Japan.” Once the suit turned around to grab a bottle and a glass, Ernest slumped into his seat as though he had been holding a long breath.

A private jet trip from London to Japan. He had no idea how long something like that would take. The journey itself was settled two days ago, for apparently everything had already been scheduled as though Ernest was always going to agree to it.

‘James Venecitri Sayward…’ That name had been replaying over and over in his head. ‘What exactly has that man put me up to? Have I involved myself in something beyond me?’ Ernest’s head rolled over to the left, now staring out the window. It’s bright and sunny. And his reflection stares back at him. At it, he steels himself. ‘I’ll find out for myself. That’s my job, after all. Finding out.’

Sake had been poured into a traditional cup right in front of him. Ernest held it daintily to his lips, pushing his head forward to sip from it. Just then the plane lurched forward, splashing it unceremoniously onto his mouth.
Genie reappeared. “Allow me to pour another for you, sir.”

Sighing, Ernest raises the glass to Genie. On the back of that very hard, unbeknownst to the man who continued staring out the window, marks began to form. Red marks, geometric and artistic, reflecting in Genie’s shades.

[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]

Snow fell in clumps from the sky like bundles of flowers. Even light winds pick up particles, casting them as diamond dust into the sky.

Sapporo knew how to deal with snow. Even in the back streets, blocks away from the main buildings, streets were salted and cleared out for people happening to pass that way. Atsushi was grateful for the diligence of the local government, but he supposes that it is simply a matter of course. He couldn’t imagine his hometown of Kyoto caring this much, but comparatively the snowing in the south are like pity showers to the north.

Atsushi, bundled up and barely able to see through his foggy glasses, decided to make haste back home by cutting through a park. Covering the fields of grass are several centimeters of snow, topping even the playgrounds and flickering lamplights. Winter instilled a unique atmosphere into the surroundings. At first, he was off put by it, but in time began to appreciate it instead. Snow absorbs sound, in the contrast of the pitch-black night, faint lights reflect off the natural white carpet.

He appreciated these winter walks. It gave Atsushi time to think to himself, even if it sometimes felt like the wind was always blowing his face. All he had to do in response to that was pull his scarf up, anyways.

‘So why does it feel like…’ Atsushi stopped in place and gazed out onto the empty field. Snow lay there undisturbed. The only marks were natural sweeps made by the wind. Surely, nothing was there.

A gruff voice, like waves crashing against rocks, speaks up in Atsushi’s mind. ‘Smell that?’

‘Smell?’ Atsushi responded. ‘What is it, Berserker?’

‘It smells. Like bloated fish. No good for eating anymore.’

Atsushi turned around systematically, and still found nothing. ‘There’s nothing here,’ he says, ‘We’re probably just imagining some—’

He saw it from the corner of his eye. Magical energy so invisible that it may as well have been just a gust of wind. Or rather, it was a gust of wind, indiscernible from the air around it. Atsushi only noticed it out of instinct, but it felt impossible for his body to move in time. There was no way he could react to something like that.

In this slow-motion perception, motes of blue formed in front of Atsushi from head to toe. They solidified into a massive, hulking man, bundled in clothing fitting for an old boatman. Bones of massive creatures were roped onto his body like trophies and, in his hand with a hard-knuckle grip, a wicked and bony harpoon. It was Berserker, simply standing there against the malignant wind; it crashed against the man’s chest with such force that it dispersed to the sides, casting away a cone of fallen snow.

Berserker’s voice entered reality, grating against his own throat. There’s no knowing what he looks like beneath the bandanna, which covers half his face. It drew focus to his eyes, shining bright electric blue. “Rotten fish. I knew it.”

Across from the pair was a creature. Atsushi could only think of it as an ape, with the proportions of its arms and legs. It stood hunched over, wearing a mockery of old shogun clothes with bunches of red hair covering unsightly bumps. Covering its face was a piece of paper, and in its long arms carried a biwa that was far too heavy. Berserker wouldn’t say it, but Atsushi knew exactly what he was looking at.

Another Servant.

But even more than that, the existence in front of him set off his fight-or-flight. The attack from that Servant was laced with more powerful curses than he’d ever seen, and to think it was completely invisible too; if his Berserker wasn’t here, he figured a 99% chance he’d be dead.

The monkey cackled and hollered. “My, oh my! I didn’t expect another Servant here, much less one that could withstand an attack from me without flinching! I wonder what kind of Heroic Spirit you are, nyeheh.”

Berserker began walking forward while rolling his harpoon arm. Electricity crackled along his skin, bounding up and down, around the skeleton adornments on him and into the ground he walked on. No doubt, the thing in front of him was a powerful Servant. That’s what the strong smell told him. But that same smell also told him that this was a foe perfect for him.

Sensing Berserker’s intent, they leaned forward slightly and bent their fingers on the biwa’s strings. Past the edges of the paper, a wicked fanged smile curled across their face. “Hoho, a brave one. I’ve been playing all night long and nobody’s been able to pick up the pace, you know? I keep asking folks to dance, but all they do is hide. Maybe you’ll be my partner?”

“Try me.”

Atsushi was barely able to comprehend the flash of motion afterwards.

In the exact same breath, both Servants sprung into action. Berserker’s arm pulled back, bicep flexing against the rope coiled around them. The harpoon in his hand roared as it left his hand, the shake of thunder throttling the very air. An act of pure strength, shattering the pavement and sending debris flying into the air. Even Atsushi felt like he was about to be blown away. Berserker’s eyes were already up though, following the monkey’s movement.

“Phew, that was too close for comfort!” they squealed from the air above the harpoon. They hung there as if floating, lighter than the air itself, and quickly strummed out several notes. Those notes became the same malignant wind as before, homing in on Berserker.

He kept low to the ground, moving beneath the debris towards the harpoon. Every cut hit the ground and sent flying the piling snow; combined with the broken rocks and dirt, Berserker was underneath a perfect smokescreen.
“Hey hey hey!” shouted the monkey, “Hiding from your dancing partner is bad form!” Five fingers hooked into the last string of the biwa, then forcefully dragged each one all the way to the other end. A terrible ring hit Atsushi’s ears, causing him to hit the ground and hold his head. That sound hit the snow-dirt cloud and scattered it, revealing Berserker already mid-jump towards the airborne enemy. From the ground, Atsushi could see Berserker’s arm reach out and grasp the enemy Servant by the neck.

“Got. You.”

All it took was Berserker’s own weight to send both of them crashing into field. Another mushroom cloud of snow shot upwards. Berserker’s vision was immediately clouded, but he only heightened his grip. If he could kill the enemy right now, then he would. He’d crush their neck and remove one more obstacle. He felt them squirming in his hand, clawing at Berserker’s scarred skin. “Let! Go!” their voice squeaked, but hearing their voice weaken only made Berserker push harder into the ground. He pushed, and pushed, tightening his fingers until he could touch his own palm.

Then the dust settled. The weight beneath Berserker vanished. It was as though they were never there. Berserker swung his head around like a hunting dog looking for a scent. Atsushi had stood up by now and noticed it too. The presence was gone.

“Bastard,” Berserker growled. He coiled the rope around his arm again and began a trudge through the snow, but Atsushi ran through the field to catch up to him.

“Let it go,” Atsushi told him. Berserker was mid-step but turned around to look down at Atsushi. He towered over his Master. Even hunched over, Atsushi regarded Berserker as a looming dark tide. The moon, which peeked through a small break in the clouds, highlighted the man’s body. Old scars mottled his skin, stitch marks visible and upfront. His eyes had dulled, when before they were electrified, they were now a deep, ocean blue. Somehow, Atsushi thought he looked serene like this. The same way one thought stormy seas were calming, from a distance.

“Why.” It wasn’t a question. Every bone in Berserker’s body wanted to hunt. That was a fact that Atsushi knew from the start. That kind of willpower was why he summoned this man, after all.

But…

Atsushi rubbed his forehead. “I mean, think about it! They’ve already escaped, and there’s no trace of them that even I can pick up. Neither of us have the means to track that Servant down.” Berserker grumbled, but Atsushi kept going. “I think I’ve just about figured it out anyways. That fight was like watching a stalemate.”

“You’re saying I couldn’t have won,” Berserker huffed. It was a challenge.

“Yes,” Atsushi firmly responded. “But not because you’re not strong enough. Your assessment was fine at first. But if you’re an immovable object, then that Servant was an unstoppable force.”

Another grumble. “I still smell it. Rotten fish.” Berserker began dematerializing, blue particles fading away into the atmosphere.

“Alright, alright. I get it, we’ll catch that Servant another time. Since we plan on winning, we eventually will have to anyways.” Berserker’s final response was to say nothing, as Atsushi was finally left alone in the dark.

The boy walked back to the main path, where his schoolbag had fallen off his shoulder, and picked it back up again. He continued talking to the open air, knowing that Berserker was around him. “That was important anyways. Even if we don’t know that one’s Class, we learned a lot. Showing up with no Master support, then disappearing into thin air. And Curse Arts like that are quintessentially Japanese. It’s great that you’re excited, Berserker, but we have to plan our next steps more carefully now that we know a rogue is running around.”

No answer from Berserker, though that much was expected. From the week-or-so that Atsushi had summoned Berserker, the man hadn’t been a great conversationalist. That wasn’t a bother for Atsushi, who loved hearing himself talk anyways.

What he didn’t say though, is that this was his first time seeing Berserker fight. That, too, was its own important learning experience. If Berserker wasn’t willing to talk, then he’d have to formulate the plans based on observation. Though, ideally, it wouldn’t be on the front lines like this.

Atsushi walked the rest of the way home in silence, mulling over the experience from tonight.

‘It’s starting then,’ Atsushi thinks to himself, ‘this Holy Grail War. I have to be ready. If that was just a rogue enemy, then I have a lot more to be concerned about.'

[NailsInYourFeet]

I've been keeping track of the Servant and a few of the Master sheets so far, so it's interesting to now read the fic itself. Pretty respectable so far, nothing that stands out as a glaring issue

The Sapporo setting is a little amusing to me, not just because I wrote a fic set near there, but because I also recently read another Persona fic that was originally gonna be set there. So it's like I keep running into Sapporo~

[Gl4re]

Ch. 2: Landing, Curtains Rise

“You’re such a useless, piece of shit Servant!” That shrill voice pierced Archer’s headspace so strongly that they nearly fell off their perch, which they were using to overlook the city with all its lights and snow. The skyline was impeccable, the heights of which Archer was never able to see in their lifetime. Envy eked its way into Archer’s heart; to think that this was the life humans nowadays go to live. The sheer density of the population made them giddy to even imagine the feast that awaited them.

That said, it’s hard to enjoy the city with your Master shouting and complaining directly into your mind. Over the past few days, Archer had simply become skilled at tuning out their Master’s voice into murmurs hitting the glass, but even that was starting to become a nuisance. Not only was he capable of running his mouth, but everything he said was either a complaint or empty gas. What a pain.

Archer rebalanced themselves on the metal beam they were using. It wasn’t just the sight, but the setting of this place was perfect. Construction sites teemed with spirits, usually because they were breaking down older places. And here, the wind curled through the scaffolding and tubes and beams to reach Archer’s ears, then disperse into the atmosphere. Here, Archer could hear so much. So many things far more interesting than their Master’s complaints.

“Hey, Petrov,” said Archer, cutting into whatever new sentence he was about to begin. “Tell me, why did you bother to summon me if all you’re going to do is complain?”

‘You’re supposed to be the trump card!’ the Master’s voice groaned. ‘When it comes to Japan, malevolent spirits are definitely the key to success. Not even legendary heroes are able to put them down forever. Tamamo-no-Mae, Taira-no-Masakado, you’re supposed to be among the likes of them!’

“Really? I’m flattered.” Archer giggled as though they were told their dress was pretty.

Petrov continued as though Archer never said anything. ‘And then I went through all that trouble to identify a Master, and you don’t even try! What kind of evil are you? This War should be as good as won! Then you don’t even bother to return, and I’m forced to communicate with you like this–’

“Oh shut up.”

A pause. Petrov’s voice rose, filled with impatient, bubbling anger. ‘Excuse me?’

“No, really, you’re stupid. You summoned a being like me expecting to listen to you? I see humans never really changed. You’re all very good at centering everything around yourselves.”

‘What I am fighting for is–’

“The Holy Grail. Right? Even at that point, we couldn’t be more unlike each other. I’m not here to win. And I’m not here for you. You’ve misunderstood me at a fundamental level. And you should already know that I truly do not need you. This communication is itself a formality. Be grateful for that, at least.”

Petrov didn’t respond for a while, but Archer was smart not to get excited early. This guy always had something to say. ‘We should discuss the intricacies of our… partnership in greater detail. Please return, Archer.’

Archer cackled, and decided not to respond.

“Well, that’s that.” They stood up now, monkey feet clinging onto the metal beam like hands, and walked towards the edge of it all. “I think I’ll host auditions! Surely there must be some talented folks in this day and age. Someone that can really handle my style. But, first…” Archer manifested their biwa into their hands. Unlike the fight with Berserker, they had a specific effect they wanted to achieve, a specific desire. Those desires flowed into their fingers, which nimbly plucked away at the biwa until the sounds formed into melody. A harrowing melody. The melody of spiders and foxes. The melody of the wind, which surrounded them in a wicked spiral. Those notes seeped out from within the biwa itself and spilled into the world, curling as a dark, wispy snake through the air.

The tune faded into a finish, then Archer slowly grinned beneath their mask. “There, that should settle it.”

[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]

‘Foreigner found dead on the streets.’

No matter what channel Lancer changed to, that’s all the television would say this morning.

Jetlag hadn’t been kind to his Master, who crashed onto bed as soon as they arrived at their hospice. Lancer could only describe it as a place that had everything. Even if his Master were the more upright and strict type, he had to admit that he’d find himself distracted by these elaborate living quarters anyways. His night, and indeed this morning, was completely preoccupied by reading the numerous manuals left laying around. Surely, it was to instruct guests living in the modern age how exactly to operate these contraptions. He could hardly blame them for not describing every single thing, should a hero from several centuries ago and hailing from across great swathes of land find himself here.

Even so, Lancer managed to figure out the television.

Lancer gathered that there were many different channels within the television, which displayed different kinds of information or entertainment. Yet, local news networks could not help but linger on this headline.
‘A foreigner was found dead on the streets early this morning, with only the upper-half of his body remaining.’

Gruesome pictures accompanied the news, censored by heavy pixelation. People were being advised to not go out at night alone, and public buildings to close earlier than normal while investigation into the event was ongoing. Of course, it was natural to focus on safety. For the people living here, this was a monstrous act that they could not imagine a human doing, and yet, that was what it must have been.

But Lancer saw something different. On the back of the foreigner’s hand, he saw those telltale red marks. A brand which he, as a Servant, was more than familiar with.

A Master is already dead. On one hand it was relieving: it left one less enemy to have to worry about. On the other…

That meant there was an enemy out there confident enough to start killing.

Lancer stood up and looked towards a closed door, the bedroom within which his Master slept.

Thinking rationally about it, however the death occurred, it must have been a chance encounter. There was very little to explain the spontaneity of the death other than that. Lancer could imagine exceptional circumstances, but accounting for exceptional circumstances was not how one won war. Instead, he must focus on what is reasonable.

All that to say that Lancer weighed the options between leaving his Master here or staying just in case anything happened. He eventually turned off the television and walked towards the balcony, which overlooked the neighborhood that their building was in.

‘I’ll ensure safety in the area,’ he concluded, then disappeared into blue mist.

[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]

“Sir, we’re here.”

Ernest’s eyelids dragged themselves open. He immediately became aware of the flood of sunlight that washed over his face and sat up in reaction. Genie was standing right beside him, stone-still as ever.

“What time is it?” Ernest asks as he stands up. His jacket was slipped onto his shoulders seamlessly by Genie, who responded, “1:30 PM, sir. We are still on schedule.”

“Right.” Ernest gave a cursory glance over his seat to ensure nothing was left behind, but quickly realized that everything was probably already taken care of. Through the window, he could see a black car was already waiting. “The schedule. What’s the rush, anyways?”
“This way, sir,” Genie insisted. It was disappointing, but had been the case for all this time anyways. Ernest figured Genie was only allowed to say certain things. And it didn’t seem like the man was easy to break either. Even when asked how long Genie’d been working for Sayward, Ernest was met with silence.

Ernest was just about pushed into the back of that sleek black car, its windows so darkened that it felt like a government vehicle. Genie and the driver exchanged some words, in Japanese as far as Ernest could tell, and so whatever they were saying was beyond him. It didn’t take long though, as the driver was soon in their seat and starting up the car, and the door next to Ernest was opened by Genie. Immediately drawn to Ernest’s attention was the briefcase in Genie’s hand, leather-covered and metal-bound. He thrusted it into Ernest’s lap.

“Take this. Do not open it. I will reconvene later today.”

“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” Ernest protested, then quickly pulled the briefcase away of his chest and held it around as if to judge its weight. “And what is this?”

“The driver will take you where you need to go.”

“And where is that? Being whisked away to Japan is one thing, but you can’t expect me to just–” The door’s slam cut Ernest’s voice off. It was all Ernest could do to watch Genie get smaller and smaller as the car began to move, until eventually he sighed and slumped in his seat.

He figured he should be more excited to visit Japan for the first time in his life, but this was basically just short of abduction. If he hadn’t signed that contract from Sayward, he could probably make a case for it too. The thought of that contract had been haunting Ernest’s head throughout the past several days. He remembered… Sayward called it a geas scroll.

Geasa are something Ernest had passing knowledge on. If you were to even take a deep into Irish storytelling, the idea of a geas is just about all over the place; the prevention of certain actions that results in tragedy if it is broken. It’s ridiculous to think that geasa are real, yet…

The proof seemed to be right in front of his face. Ernest could not disobey Genie. And somehow, his body could not arrive at the decision to walk away from going towards Sapporo to partake in this magical ritual. Whatever that was. He was promised more information upon arriving in the city, but at this point Ernest wasn’t sure how much more he could wait. All he could do was lean against the door, head rested against the window, and feel the rumble of the car as it turned onto a highway that led towards Sapporo. The briefcase rested by his feet, pressing against the back of his heels.

From the front, the driver spoke in a heavily accented voice. “Have you been to Japan before, Mahaputra-dono?”

Immediately, Ernest felt a sense of levity coming from the driver. The feeling itself was stark in contrast, but he realized he didn’t even acknowledge just how oppressive Genie’s presence was. It was like a breath of the freshest air in comparison.

“Ah, um, ie .”

The driver chuckled. “No need to force yourself. English is okay.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Ernest shifted in his seat and looked into the rearview mirror. Through it, their eyes met. “No, I haven’t been here before.”

“Then I hope you enjoy your stay. I have lived in Sapporo all my life, so if you have any questions, please feel free to ask me. You can call me Masato.”

“Oh, I appreciate that. Thank you, Masato. I’d uh, appreciate it if you called me Ernest too.”

Masato laughed gently. “Understood, Ernest.”

Ernest resumed looking out the window. But the weight of the briefcase remained at the edge of his consciousness. Eventually, he took it from beneath his legs and put it back on his lap. There was a key-lock. But more importantly, it felt exceedingly heavy, even for a briefcase. Just what was stored within it,,,?

“Say, Masato. I figure I should ask anyways. Are you able to tell me where I’m being taken?”

“That,” Masato began, with a pause as though to deliberate the specific words, “I am afraid I cannot. But rest assured, we are going to the heart of Sapporo. You will be able to enjoy all of the city in the home Sayward-dono has acquired.”

“Right. Thank you.”

Ernest wasn’t sure if he was assured, or if he felt safe. Maybe it was best to simply think of this as a paid-for vacation. That’s what he wanted to believe, but somehow, the briefcase in his hands felt heavier than its weight. As though it were held down by some… power. It was a feeling he felt on his shoulders, especially in the more purportedly haunted locations he’s visited. Though thinking about it, that familiarity made him feel safer.

Somehow.

[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]

The drive into inner Sapporo took little less than an hour, and Ernest managed to still be surprised at the building itself: a scaling skyscraper right next to the famous Odori Park. Whatever wanting he felt earlier to walk along the snow-covered stretch melted away at the thought of simply seeing it from that far above. Masato strode past the front desk with nothing but a nod, and Ernest followed awkwardly behind until they both entered the elevator together.

When Masato pressed the button for the penthouse, Ernest’s eyes just about fell out of their sockets. Masato didn’t say anything, though, so neither did Ernest. They stood still there for an immeasurable amount of time as the elevator went up, up, and up, far beyond what Ernest could possibly imagine.

Finally the pair arrived at their floor, which opened to a wide double door. Ernest walked out, holding the briefcase, but when he turned to look at Masato he found him standing there with that ever-patient smile.

Masato pushed Ernest’s suitcase onto the landing and said, “The door is unlocked, and your partners are waiting in there for you already. Please make yourself at home. They will tell you your next steps.”

That caught Ernest in a pause. “Pardon me, what? ‘They’? Partner?” Ernest panicked in the moment that maybe he forgot something he was told earlier, but he was cut off by the elevator doors closing in front of his face.

Now he was alone in front of the doors, and the regret of potentially being involved in some elaborate death scam heightened severely. What were the chances that he’d be knocked out as soon as he stepped in? Was that really how he was going to go out? Without even being able to take in the view of this penthouse? Ernest shook his head and took a deep breath. Surely, an elaborate scam like this is way more trouble than it’s worth. The best case scenario is that Sayward was really just a man who inherited far too much wealth from his parents and found him to be amusing.

Yeah, the best case.

Ernest stepped forward to push the door open, but paused as he did.

Was that… singing? Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the reverberation of a loud bass in the floor, and the muffled sounds of incredibly off-pitch music.

Curiosity overtook him. He leaned forward, cracking the door open to reveal an entrance hall. He saw two sets of shoes here already. A pair of sneakers, small, and a larger and fancier pair beside it. The music was louder, and he could definitely make out that people were singing… Was it karaoke?

“Hello?” he shouted as he took off his shoes, then wandered towards the loud noise. “I’m uh, it’s Ernest. I’m supposed to meet you?”

Then he turned the corner.

Whatever Ernest imagined was a penthouse, this was exactly ten times that. Large and spacious, with so much window-light that it was almost blinding. Everything was so open and sleek that he could only think of it as ‘quintessentially modern-day opulent.’

But what truly grabbed his attention was in the center of the room itself. Two people were standing on the couch, microphones clutched in hand. The massive television screen in front of them showed Japanese lyrics, and what he figured were idols dancing. Those people didn’t notice him entering at all: both were shouting the lyrics at the top of their lungs, drowning out the instrumentals from the karaoke system.

A short, blonde kid and a weirdly thin fellow in shades. Were they meant to be his partners…?

“HELLO?” Ernest tried again, and the two scrambled like children caught in the act. Blondie just about jumped, while Shades spun around, dropped the mic, and immediately picked up the television to turn it off.

“Ohheywewerejustohyouknow–” Blondie rambled, and Shades picked up, “Yes we were merely perusing the wonderful amenities of this place and–”

Then the both of them actually turned and saw Ernest. Blondie’s eyes were wide and sparkling. Shades’ expression made Ernest feel like he was food. And at the same time, they both said, “This geezer is my teammate?”“Oh, so this is Assassin’s Master.”

Ernest was utterly stunned. He could only blink and say, “Pardon me?”

Blondie grinned and slammed the side of their hand into their forehead for a salute. "Welcome to the Holy Grail War, old man! Don't worry, with us around, this'll be the easiest victory."

"Did you say..." Ernest stumbled on the words, the information cramming into his head all at the same time. "I'm sorry you said. A Holy Grail War?"

"Oh dear," said Shades. They pursed their lips, sucked in air through their teeth. A look at Blondie, and they, too, seemed just as shocked. Ernest was about to ask what the deal was, but Shades interjected. "This might take a minute then."

[Gl4re]

Ch. 3: Enter, New World

It has been a grueling hour-and-a-half for Ernest. Sat down on the sofa, the two people he had just met have spent the time expositing an utterly insane world to him. And apparently, this is actually just the abridged version.

A world of Mages and Magecraft, a holy cup that seven Masters fight for, and to do so they summon heroes from the past to do war in their stead. On each one of these points Ernest could spend forever questioning, never mind the veracity of such statements. There is a secret society of mages based in London all under the jurisdiction of a single body called the Mage’s Association? ‘At least be a little realistic!’ Ernest thinks.

But in Shades’— or rather, Caster’s— explanation, none of it ever registered as a lie. That was ultimately what trumped Ernest. Forget a rational mind, anyone with a half-formed thought would hear all this and dismiss it for ridiculousness. By all means, Ernest shouldn’t even be giving this a moment of his time, its plausibility is far beyond the realm of ghosts.

That all said, Ernest has always known when he is being lied to. Call it experience. Call it instinct. Without fail, for however-long he remembers, Ernest’s intuition for lying is spot-on. Ernest had been waiting the entire explanation for that tell-tale headache to come, but his mind remained as clear as ever.

Maybe Ernest didn’t believe it all, but the people in front of him certainly did. Looking into Caster’s sunglasses, listening to every word, weighing each piece in his mind; Ernest determined all of it was what they believed was the truth. That much was clear.

“So…” Ernest deflated into the sofa, attempting to loosen every tense muscle in his body but failing to relax his mind. “I have been chosen as a Master… Like you.” He looked at Blondie. No, their name was Nico Berne.

The kid was sitting straddling the back of a chair, impatiently rocking back and forth while they watched Ernest intake this information. “That’s right!”

“And Masters are chosen by the Holy Grail, a wish-granting device.” Caster nodded approvingly. “And these,” Ernest holds up the back of his palm to the two, “Are command seals. I use these to order my Servant. They’re also my proof of being a Master.” More nods from Caster made Ernest feel only a part more confident as he continued. “There are seven Servants, each one summoned by a Master. I’m the last Master to arrive, and so the last one to summon…?”

“Correct, Sir Mahaputra!” cheered Caster, shooting her hands up into the air and clapping wildly. “You’ve passed the test!”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Ernest stammered, cutting into the early celebration. “There’s a few things I’m not getting here. One, how do you know I’m going to be Assassin’s Master?”

Caster answers, “That would have to be through our mutual benefactor.”

“James Sayward!” Nico chimes, now pacing across the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazing out onto the snowy cityscape. “He told us that he’d have someone summon an Assassin to team up with us. That was really exciting, it’d make things easy for sure! But, well…”

“Well, frankly, we did not expect an utter newbie to the world of mages to be our partner.” Caster shook their head as though appending, ‘There’s no helping it.’

“Then, that’s my second question. How… am I expected to summon a Servant?”

Nico and Caster looked quizzically in sync. “Huh?” “Whatever do you mean?” Their words jammed into each other. It was like they were twins. Was this a Master-Servant bond?

Ernest cleared his throat. “It’s just that… well, to do magecraft, I have to be a mage, don’t I? And the way you’ve described it to me is that it’s a bloodline thing. And I’m definitely not a mage. So there’s no way for me to participate right? Why would James Sayward have picked me up to act in this War, then, if I can’t participate in the first place?”

“That… does kinda make sense,” Nico mused. They spun on their heel slowly in thought. “Caster, what do you think?”

There was a twinkle in the black of the Servant’s sunglasses. A mischievous grin formed that curled the edge of his lips upwards, like a wry fox, about to perform a wicked trick. Ernest felt the hair on the back of his neck stand.

“Why, isn’t it obvious? You’re a smart man, so you’re just asking this for conversation, not because you need an answer, I presume. Why, just follow the logic!”

Ernest’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate the patronizing.” But Caster’s expression did not budge even then, which led Ernest to begin thinking. He looked to the back of his hand, the bright red markings he now knew as command seals. To the geas scroll, to James Sayward, to his book, to his investigations in America, to NESPR…

With each piece fallen together, a picture formed. It showed on his face like the sun does when it rises.

“I’m…” He knew which words had to follow. The words that would make perfect sense. But they were such insane words that his own mind was stopping them from leaving his mouth, as though admitting it was going to be losing. “I’m a…” Ernest’s breathing heaved. There was no other way. Why else would he have been sought out? What was the sole thing that could have tied him to this magical ritual?

“Am I…?” Ernest’s eyes fluttered between Caster and Nico as though seeking approval, pointing to himself like a lost man. At this, even Nico got it, their eyes widening and mouth forming a large O.

“I’m. A mage, aren’t I? That’s, that’s it. That’s all it could be.”

“YES!” Caster jumped from his seat, causing Ernest to scoot away and Nico to cheer in unison. The Servant was just about vibrating mid-air, bouncing up and down with glee that almost infected Ernest, but more than anything terrified him. He could feel the sheer joy melting off of Caster’s body, capturing everyone in the room as though a web. “You are! You are, Sir Ernest Mahaputra, a mage! You never knew it, but some part of your body always knew! For you see, magic circuits are an inherited thing, even when dormant. Perhaps it is simply because it is you, but unwittingly your own pursuits have brought you face-to-face with the mage lineage you never knew you had. Aaahhh, isn’t it wonderful! To watch a rose realize the presence of its own buds! Such a rare, beautiful chance to witness!”

Ernest watched as Caster began hugging themselves, deciding to scoot away further from the eccentric fellow. As uncomfortable as it made him, the bold assumptions Caster made about his life were partly correct. If it’s true that he’s a mage, and it’s true that this world of mages is real, then someone from his family came from that lineage.

Forget the geas scroll. The opportunity to learn more about himself was dropped right in front of him. All that being said…

Ernest turned to Nico, who had maintained themselves in spite of their Servant’s current excited rambling. “Is it true I must participate if I am a Master?”

“Yup!” came Nico’s quick answer. “I think the original version of this War had a refuge for people who wanted out, but we don’t have that here.”

“I… will have to ask about that later. But more importantly, that means that… The point of this ritual is a War. Am I being expected to kill the other Masters?”

“Ah, that’s uh, yes and no. Obviously, you want the Holy Grail yourself, so killing the other Masters is the best way to do it. But I’ve also heard that human death isn’t actually that important, and even a Servant’s death would contribute to filling up the Grail.”

The mood soured instantly for Ernest, who felt his heart sink upon the practical realization. “Still, though. If Servants are heroes from the past, then the easiest target would be their Master.”

Nico shrugged. “That’s how it is. No backing out. James promised you’d be working with me, so you better not be having second thoughts.”

No backing out. It’s not like Ernest had a choice in the first place. He could feel it in his soul: if he even thought about standing up and booking a flight out of Hokkaido, that thought would be wrestled into submission and buried beneath a dozen mental locks. That’s the point of the geas scroll, he presumed. For some reason, James Venecitri Sayward did not want to participate in this ritual on his own and desired a proxy. But why someone who had no knowledge on this mage world or the ritual? Wouldn’t it be easier to instate someone who came from this secret society?

These thoughts brought Ernest to the obvious; he needed to contact James again. But before that, another question had been nagging him in the back of his mind.

“Nico,” he slowly said. “How… old are you?”

Their eyebrows raised, surprised at first, but quickly changed into a self-assured and cocky grin. “Guess!”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to–”

At some point, Caster had ended her strange rant and movements, sliding right next to Ernest. “My esteemed Master is fifteen.”

“Fifteen?!”

Caster nodded matter-of-factly, but it was Nico that indignantly stomped their feet in tantrum. “Come on! Let me show off as a youngster participating in a Grail War, won’t you!”

“Apologies Master, but you must understand. There’s a reaction I wanted to see.” Ernest could feel it, scrutinizing eyes behind the implacable shade of the sunglasses. Caster’s attention shifted onto him the same way a lion might notice easy prey.

“H-hey, wait, but…” Ernest’s words tripped over his tongue. He didn’t know where to look. At Nico, who seemed lost at his out-of-water expression, or at Caster, who seemed to revel in it. Caster knew he would react like this, somehow. Was this all a sick joke to him? Ernest shifted uncomfortably in place. “Fifteen is… there’s no way. You said it yourself. You’re going to kill people.”

Nico’s eyes were like bright discs, brilliant and full of life. But behind it, there was a true cluelessness. They blinked. “I don’t get what you’re saying, old guy.”

All attention in the room moved to Caster, who cleared their throat as loud as possible. “Allow me to explain further. Sir Mahaputra, you come from a rational world of accepted common sense. Of course it makes sense to you that a child should not go to war, nor should a child kill another person.” Nico raised their voice at this to protest that they were not a child, but Caster silently put up a finger to silence them, then continued. “But the world of mages is one that denies common sense. In fact, that denial is the very basis of us mages. The Grail War, even for mages, is something considered ridiculous. Do you see what I mean, Sir Mahaputra?”

Of course he did. If what Caster was saying is true, then the Grail War’s entire context has been reframed for him at this exact moment. At first it was exciting, exhilarating even, but now it’s burdened by the knowledge that a ritual for a wish-granting device has been devised by a society that does not abide by modern common sense.

A fifteen year-old participating in the Grail War? Imagining the worst case scenario, that might be the least terrible thing that could happen. This was a populated city. Beyond wishing on the Grail itself, what would these people do to achieve it? It doesn’t matter if the ritual is complete nonsense, because undoubtedly everyone participating in the ritual believes in it nonetheless.

No, that had to be too much of a logical leap. Ernest wanted to believe that even in the absence of common sense, people would be inclined towards good.

But what if that wasn’t true?

If it wasn’t true, is he supposed to do something about it?

In Caster’s eyes, Ernest had begun wrapping himself in thought and deliberation. His focus was not on this world, but in possible worlds beyond it. Some may call it overthinking, but in Caster’s opinion, this is the only proper reaction to expect from induction into the mage world in this way. Ernest, Caster gleaned, is a good man. An upright adult who expects out of the world what is sensible. But if you were to take out expectations, then the worst case scenario is what one would eventually settle on.

‘What is your worst case, Ernest?’ Caster thought. His Master, Nico, was one thing. They were but a child with boundless potential. That in itself was already interesting, and for that he was happy to agree on the contract. But sitting in front of him was a man who believed he’d understood his world, only to find out there was far more. In the realm of ‘possibility’, Caster would consider Ernest and his Master about the same.

Before Caster could land on more ruminations, Ernest began to stand up. Both Nico and Caster rose their heads up to watch him straighten himself up, purpose found in his stern gaze. “Huh, what is it old man?” Nico asked, but Caster only grinned. They had a good feeling what it was that Ernest had settled on.

The man took in a deep and slow breath and looked at his new colleagues. “I’ll do my best then,” he declared, turning his hand over to see his command seals. “As a Master, I will try and win.”

Nico whined. “Huh? Like I said, there was no choice in the first place, though.”

“I know.” A smile, wry and dry, found its way onto Ernest’s face. “But I felt like I should let you know, in case you were having doubts about me. I’m still not sure about this mage world, and about the truth of this magical ritual, but… I’m getting that I should try and win.”

Caster clapped fervently, as though an ovation for a great speech. “Fantastic! But to do that, you will need a Servant. I don’t suppose you were hiding that from us?” Ernest looked shocked, to which Caster laughed. “Do not fret,” she said. “For I believe you have already brought to us a catalyst. And I, Caster, am only the best instructor you could hope for!”

“A catalyst?” Ernest turned the thought over. Caster must mean something to summon a hero from the past. But what would that even be? The question didn’t last long, for he found himself looking at the black briefcase he had left on the ground near his suitcase. Leaving the couch area they had been talking within, he walked over to it and lifted it in one hand.

[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]

If Lancer was correct, the street where the dead Master was found was not far away from their base of operations. Worrying as that was, it also became convenient to scout it out.

He had to keep his guard up though. The chances of him being the only one curious about the remains were absolutely zero. And given the volatility of the death, something told him not exactly to expect rules-abiding participants.

Remaining in spirit form to dodge any potential eyewitnesses, Lancer went atop building roofs to make it to his destination. He understood the site of this War to be a heavily populated city. To be frank, it was tempting to allow himself to be distracted. Not even the largest cities of his time could compare to the density of this place called Sapporo. But steadfast he must remain. If there was a threat to his Master nearby, then he needed to identify it. In lacking qualities other than that of a warrior, Lancer knew he had to pull more than his weight.

Eventually Lancer landed at the lip of the roof that hung over the alleyway where the body was supposed to be. Below him was a taped-off crime scene, with two police officers standing around to keep an eye on it all. There was no body, though, only a chalk outline of what he assumed was where it was found.

Lancer lacked knowledge on how these procedures worked. But as a Servant, he could sense the residue of conflict here. ‘Or rather,’ he thought to himself, ‘what happened here was of such weight that it could not help but leave residue. Residue that a magic-illiterate Servant such as myself could recognize. Was this the work of a Caster?’

Before he could formalize his thoughts further, he looked up and saw a person standing on the roof opposite of him.

A large, broad fellow, cloaked in pitch black. They had a broad hat that casted a shadow over their face. There was nothing on them that Lancer could see, not even a weapon.

But more importantly, this fellow was looking directly at him.

Lancer sighed and materialized, meeting the stranger’s gaze. “You could see me,” he said. A pike formed in his right hand, though he only held it by his side.

The stranger did not physically respond, as though they were a ghost in broad daylight.

Something was off. The presence that this stranger had was dense, but somehow Lancer didn’t notice his approach. They must have only just arrived, but even so, Lancer should have known they were there.

Furthermore, they were not registering as a Servant. Of course it’s possible for some Servants to suppress their presence, but Lancer could not imagine the tactical benefit of revealing themselves here in such a way.

“Are you a Master?” he asked the stranger, slightly raising his voice.

The stranger, again, didn’t respond. But once they looked down onto the crime scene, words finally formed; their voice was heavy and masculine, it gave Lancer the impression of one of the many seasoned warriors that were once in his charge.

“It smells,” they said. “Like fish.”

“Fish?” Lancer took his own whiff of the air. Nothing but cold winter air.

They shook their head. Lancer watched as the stranger turned the other direction. Just as Lancer thought, there was no killing intent here. And seeing as it was broad daylight, he elected to not move after them. The stranger leaped across the gap between rooftops with ease, until eventually they disappeared behind a blockade of uneven buildings.

‘Odd fellow.’ Lancer had to retract the comparison to a familiar soldier in his mind. Although their figure and presence was imposing, they were far too ‘still’ to be likened to any of his men. And despite the lack of killing intent, instinct told Lancer to expect trouble out of them anyways.

‘There’s nothing else for it. I better–’

Right on queue, Lancer’s head was filled with the question of, ‘Where are you Lancer?’

He had yet to get used to this sensation. The telepathic connection between a Master and a Servant is one thing, but he wasn’t prepared for the result of it to be feeling rather than words. It was disorienting to say the least. He answered in turn, ‘I’ll be returning soon. I was simply checking the area. I’ll brief you in person.’

His Master replied with a sensation of disappointment, and a blur of mental signals that Lancer was able to understand as ‘Hurry back.’

Before Lancer moved to depart, he gave one last look to the crime scene below. The lingering magical energy… and fish. Perhaps a visit to the docks would do good. But before all that, a Servant must respond to their Master. Lancer dissipated his physical form and began his return.

[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -]

“Oh quit sweating about it, you’ll be fine.”

Nico smacked Ernest’s back with unexpected force, causing him to stumble forward. “I’m not sweating it,” he protested. “I’ve done rituals before. It’s just that this is rather…” Ernest looked down at the pedestal in front of him. Upon it, he had set the item that was concealed within the briefcase. It looked like a small tusk, broken off and preserved. Or rather than a small tusk, a giant fang, wider than his arm. Beyond the pedestal was a circular engraving made by Caster himself. “It’s a bit more esoteric.”

All three of them stood in this cluttered room, behind one of the doors of the massive suite. It was initially filled with bits and baubles that Caster only described as a workshop, but he was quick to move it all to the side for the summoning.

That Servant stood away from the circle, leaning against the wall. “You’d be right to think that, but still, my Master is right. The Servant summoning ritual is simple by design. It’s really just like ‘hocus pocus.’ Come on then, just like we practiced! Master!”

Nico nodded and skipped over beside Caster, leaving Ernest alone in the center of the room. The two of them gave their own form of silent encouragement, though Ernest didn’t really feel as though it was helping.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” As an adult, though, psyching himself up was a specialty of his. Ernest opened the small notebook he kept on him, where he had written the words for the ritual.

"Heed my words. My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the Grail's call, and obey my will and reason…” His voice shook with unease at first, but steadied slowly. At that word everything hangs and glances around the room; nothing has happened. But Caster’s gesticulations for him to keep moving rush him into stumbling onto the next part of the change. “…then ansmer– answer! Answer my summoning!”

A sharp pain hits his right hand, causing him to drop the notebook as it spasms. Ernest uselessly gripped his wrist with the other hand, howling pain as what felt like fire traveled all the way up through his arm and clutched itself around the heart.

Feeling he’d never felt before, as though all synapses were activated and sensitive to every sensation all at the same time. In the distance Nico moved toward Ernest, but Caster held them back. “He must overcome this simple step himself,” she said. Nico looked on, biting their lip in frustration, watching as Ernest pulled every muscle in his body to stop himself from falling to the floor.

‘Is this magic? Is this what a true ritual is?’ Ernest grit his teeth. The pain refused to go away, as if his body was teetering on the edge of falling numb just to remind him of the hurt. But it was just pain.

If he were to enter a world without common sense, then he couldn’t let something like pain stop him.

Ernest slammed his foot forward and forced himself upright again. Blue lines like veins flowed across his arm, and the circle in front of him burned alight with that same electric flare.

He pushed past the hesitation, each word steeled in its resolve. “I hereby swear. That I shall be all the good in the world. That I shall defeat all evil in the world.”

Each word he completed imbued another intense burst into the ritual circle, and soon enough loose pages and books were scattering into the air. The sight was blinding, filling the entire room as though it were a light from heaven. A fierce, thunderous roar shook the building, in tandem. Ernest wanted to take in this sight, this feeling, this acknowledgement that he was doing magic , but he knew he had no time. He had to complete the process right now.

“Seventh Heaven clad in the great words of power! Come forth from the circle of binding, Guardian of Scales!"

The pain peaked, finally sending Ernest to the ground. He held the burning arm to his chest, reduced to a fetal position. But the words were complete, and the ritual established. The summoning circle’s intense light blinded everyone standing within, until eventually it died in a whimper.

Along with the light, Ernest’s senses began to return to normal. Through his heavy breathing and the receding pain, he managed to sit upright against the pedestal which held the catalyst, and watched the center of the circle.

All that energy, the tumultuous fire and feeling, had condensed themselves in the middle, into the shape of a person. All Ernest could do was watch, paralyzed by the rush of what had just transpired. He looked up as that shape of light took a step forward, materializing into physicality. It was fur boots, then a thick coat, then a small body.

Standing over Ernest was a young girl. Older than Nico, but not by much.

She bent down at the knee to look at Ernest equally, and he was immediately taken in by the apparent youth of the girl’s face. He didn’t know what to make of it. Light blue locks framed her frigid visage. “I have answered your summons, Master,” she said. “Assassin-class Servant, Sitonai.”

Her hand extended to reach for Ernest’s. The feeling returning to his right hand felt strange to him then, so he flexed his fingers to make sure he could move it at all. He then grasped her hand and found a firm grip. “Ernest,” he said, overcompensating for the handshake. “Ernest Mahaputra.”