Chapter 4: Day 1, Before Dawn
A Battle Without Heroic Spirits
About twenty years ago.
It happened when an aging priest called Dilo had just been appointed to a mountainous region of Spain. Having heard mountain climbers' tales of evil spirits in the mountains, the priest went up into them himself... and came upon a lone boy sitting and eating something with the lynxes on the mountainside.
"What are you eating, boy?" He asked.
The boy glared warily at him, and leapt away over the cliffs without a word.
The villagers who had been guiding the priest screamed, "A monster! He must have been eating a climber who got lost in the mountains!" and fled, but the priest himself decided to follow the boy.
He soon learned that it was no human the boy had been eating. Ahead on the path lay the carcass of a large bear, and beside it traces of someone making jerky.
So he dries his meat. Humph. Doesn't sound like any kind of demon beast to me, the priest thought, and pressed on.
The boy who had run earlier stood in his way.
"Are you a person, old man? Or are you a goblin?"
There was still something of the child in the boy who had come to ask such an odd question. The priest responded with interest.
"I wonder now. From my perspective, I'm a person, but I might be a goblin from yours. I don't know whether you're a person or a goblin either."
"..."
"But, man or monster, don't you think we might be able to get along?"
Dilo patiently kept up his attempts to make contact in hopes that his words would get through. As he went on, little by little the boy began to talk about himself.
The Caminito Del Rey is said to be the most dangerous path on earth. To hear the boy tell it, the path up ahead — hidden by the mountain road — that lead to the ruins where he lived alone might give that cliff trail a run for its money.
When asked about his family, he replied that until recently it had been a community — practically a village — of several dozen people.
"Are there goblins that get along with people outside the mountains?"
"Yes. The world is vast; look for something, and it's there. There are probably even goblins that make families with people."
The old priest's words sounded strange coming from a man of God.
"That so? The goblin I saw didn't look very friendly, though."
"?"
In a matter-of-fact tone, the boy told what he had seen.
"Everybody on the mountain... got killed by a goblin that sucked blood."
"..."
"The goblin got killed too, in the end. By mom. But she died from the wounds she got then."
The old priest deliberately probed no deeper.
After several more trips to the mountains, he decided to bring the boy to town.
Several months later.
The boy had been living for a while in an orphanage, and had thoroughly adapted to village living, when a new priest came to town. He was a little younger than Dilo, with a languid face and in the prime of his life.
The unfamiliar priest grumbled to Dilo in front of Hansa, who had called to the orphanage's garden.
"That is, umm... Bishop Dilo... Why me?"
"Well, of all my acquaintances, you seem the best at kung fu and martial arts. I hear this boy is fond of such things. Such a strong lad will learn the importance of harmony more readily from someone stronger than himself. Don't you think so?"
Hansa realized that this priest who did his best not to meet anyone's eyes had been called to the town because of him. It must have something to do with what had happened the other day. He had said that he would like to do what he had done when he lived in the mountains, gotten the nearby children involved, and come close to badly hurting one of them as a result.
He had gone and made trouble for Mr. Dilo.
Hansa felt despondent at the thought, when the priest, still not meeting anyone's eyes, addressed Dilo again.
"Umm, say, Your Excellency? If this is about training a child in martial arts, wouldn't Father Kotomine do as well? His Baji Quan is master level. He's also a close friend of yours."
"I hear Risei has undertaken an important task in Japan. I'm hardly an expert in that field, but apparently it's very important. Besides, he already has a son."
"Oh... Are you, perhaps, implying that I'm to look after him as if he were my own son...?"
"You said you wanted a capable successor, didn't you? Well, this boy is physically stronger than most, and he's a fast learner. Teach him the proper way to use his strength."
"...Are you sure you aren't looking for a dojo instructor?"
The strange priest heaved a sigh, then called out to Hansa.
"You want some pocket money?"
"Can I?"
"Yeah. I'll give it to you, if you can 'take' it," the priest said without looking at him... and launched a foreign silver coin with the force of a bullet.
Good grief. The bishop must not know my other face
, or he wouldn't have asked so nonchalantly...
That silver coin should have passed by about a meter to one side of Hansa, and embedded itself in the wood inside.
Still, I'd definitely feel guilty about dragging a child into it.
Dilo's acquaintance apparently assumed that, if he startled the boy a little, he would refuse on his own. However...
At the same time he fired, the boy leapt towards the silver coin, and neatly caught it. The coin that had been launched with enough force to penetrate wood. With his bare hand.
"...Hm?"
For the first time, the middle-aged priest looked at the boy.
The boy looked at the coin in his hand with sparkling eyes and an innocent grin.
"Wow! A silver coin! Thank you, Father!"
Dilo watched the scene with an amiable grin, and added more information about the boy.
"The trainer at the local martial arts gym informed me that he can't handle the boy there." It must have been a response to his earlier remark about a "dojo instructor." Still wearing a kindhearted smile, the old priest continued: "After all, in normal martial arts, he might well stop his opponent's heart without even getting serious."
After he had looked the boy over for a while, the middle-aged priest asked the boy:
"Umm, well... Would you mind telling me your name?"
"It's Hansa," The boy promptly identified himself.
Meeting his eye, the priest gave his own name.
"I'm Delmio Cervantes... Umm, pleased to meet you."
Twenty years passed.
The old priest Dilo had only wished him a "healthy life." His foster father Delmio had simply wished to see what would happen if he trained a child with his unusual physique. After many twists and turns, he had ended up granting both wishes.
The mountain-reared boy grew up healthy and strong, singing life's praises. Strangely, he had taken up an occupation connected to the monsters that had attacked his village — the Dead Apostles.
He became an executor, one who eliminates beings of absolute evil in God's stead.
X X
The present. The police station lobby.
"I was careless... quite careless..." Jester's low laugh echoed from beyond the demolished wall. "Yes! I admit it: I was careless just now! So this is what they call 'conceit'! What a wonderful experience! It must be true that 'conceit' is the poison that shortens the lives of the strong!"
Eerily, only his voice could be heard. The chief and his officers were watching events play out with bated breath. Hansa, however, planted himself right in front of the hole, and spoke.
"Don't be so humble. You weren't the least bit careless. You're always going all out. I respect that. Awesome."
"..."
"You were going all out when I socked you. Am I wrong?"
The laughter vanished at Hansa's obvious provocation.
"I can't stomach you, priest. Not one bit. Are you... an executor?"
Executor.
The chief knew of them as well. An armed group that claimed to represent God's power and judgment. Unlike exorcists, who only temporarily dispel their targets, executors made it their principal to completely annihilate evil spirits, demons, Dead Apostles, and other beings that, doctrinally speaking, ought not to exist. Naturally, it was a position to which only those with the power to challenge such entities were appointed. They served in a war utterly unlike the one for the Holy Grail.
"I'm on leave," Hansa coolly replied. "I'm here as overseer today."
The voice in the hole stopped. The next instant, countless bits of rubble launched from the hole in the wall.
If you told someone that an oversized cannon had been loaded with debris and fired, they would have believed you. In fact, they would have had difficulty believing anything else.
Hansa took several things that looked like sword hilts from his pocket, and tucked them between the fingers of both his hands. A moment later, silvery blades materialized on the hilts, and gave Hansa's hands silhouettes like giant claws.
Black Keys — Hilts that manifest blades when magical energy is passed through them. One of an executor's essential armaments.
Without taking a breath, Hansa kicked off the floor, and met the rubble head-on. The priest's arms swayed like heat haze. A moment later, the rubble buckshot, which had included chunks of concrete a meter across, turned to mist and blew through his body.
To be more precise, it only appeared to blow through him. The rubble in front of Hansa was being had been smashed to dust piece by piece, and scattered through the lobby. What speed, what swordsmanship, must he have had to accomplish such a feat?
The chief just barely managed to follow the movements with his eyes, but if asked if he could have kept up with them, the answer would be no.
"No wonder you kept your cool when we had you surrounded," the chief muttered.
"Who knows?" Hansa answered without turning. "Your Noble Phantasms don't work on Dead Apostles, but they would on me. It all comes down to 'compatibility.' If specs decided everything, the Holy Grail War would be a scramble to summon Berserker."
True, the chief thought. He had received information that the Einzberns, in the fifth Holy Grail War, had summoned a great hero of the highest order as Berserker, using Mad Enhancement to raise its parameters. He did not know the particulars of the ensuing War, but at the very least he had received no intelligence suggesting that the Einzberns had obtained the Grail.
"The Einzberns always go to extremes," Francesca had said. "When they try to cheat and fail, next time they summon a great hero for a frontal assault. When that fails, they make another great hero Berserker and boost his stats as high as they can, and so on. Would it kill them to just lighten up and enjoy the war?"
Affinity mattered more than statistics in a Holy Grail War. It was essential to capitalize on the peculiarities of each Servant and Master. Often, even fortune had to be accounted for.
He could say that fortune was smiling on them now. It was a fact that they had been at odds with Hansa, and had not intended to let him return to the Church. Now, however, he thanked his lucky stars that the priest was not his enemy.
Hansa was about to stave off the umpteenth volley of rubble, when he glimpsed a fabric he recognized through a gap in the airborne debris. The instant he realized it was the suit Jester had been wearing, Hansa disposed of the largest of the rubble and crossed his Black Key "claws" in front of his heart, taking his chances with the rest.
Jester's knifehand thrust into that very spot with the force of a pile bunker.
Jester leapt again, trying to follow up his attack on Hansa, who had been flung backwards by the force of the impact. Hansa, on the other hand, attempted a counterattack of his own. Black Key blades and Dead Apostle claws clashed. As knifehand met blade, unbelievable metallic clangs and the smell of burning flesh began to fill the room.
"A foolish choice, Hansa Cervantes! Does not defeating me mean abandoning your neutrality as overseer!? Do you imagine you can get away with this injustice!?"
"Well now, I never heard anything about you being a Master!"
They had reached a stalemate, each unleashing a succession of blows meant to pierce the other's heart, only to be intercepted by his opponent's. Their continued conversation in the midst of such a life and death struggle could have been an attempt to lure one of them into leaving an opening, or it could have been due to sheer excitement.
"I only just declared it before Assassin!"
"Oh really? It looked to me like the Servant wanted to deny your whole existence!"
"That only makes her... more beautiful!"
"Ha! That's not an answer!"
Whether it was bravado, or some sort of perversion, the priest and the Dead Apostle both laughed as they fought. They leapt off columns and walls, using them as new footholds in their deathmatch. Cracks formed in the floor and columns with every leap, searing the fact that this battle was being fought on a superhuman plane into the watching eyes of the police. And the sight would only be restricted to them for a few more seconds.
Jester deliberately took a kick Hansa had thrown out as a feint. Using its force, he flung himself at the main entrance, smashed through the reinforced glass revolving door, and flew out into the city. It was as if he wanted to lure the executor outside, into the center of Snowfield.
It was not yet dawn, but there were countless people on the streets.
X X
Main Street. Near the casino.
"Hm...?"
A Cadillac convertible, ensconced in its characteristic high-class aura. Gilgamesh, sitting with a haughty air and resting his hands on the backs of the rear seats, furrowed his brows slightly as he turned his gaze to the road ahead.
A woman in black with a tense look on her face — Tine's subordinate — was actually driving the car. Tine, who had dispelled her invisibility, sat, meek as a doll, in the passenger's seat.
The car had been decked out as part of the casino's decoration, but Gilgamesh had taken a liking to it, and obtained it in exchange for half the chips from his big wins. The casino management had made a special exception for him. He had so many chips that he could have purchased any number of Cadillacs from a dealer if he had actually cashed them, so it had not been a bad deal for them, either. Gilgamesh had speedily completed the transfer process in the name of Tine's subordinate, and left the casino in high spirits.
But then he noticed the commotion up ahead.
Curious onlookers were gathering around the parking lot of a large building further up the road. From time to time, a loud crash rang out.
"...The police station," Tine muttered, staring in the same direction. She had also noticed that something was amiss.
Then several patrol cars, which had presumably been parked in the lot, soared into the air with a thunderous roar. And weren't those two human shapes weaving through the gaps between cars?
The outlandish scene put Tine on guard for a battle between Servants, but... however she looked at those shapes, she could not sense the characteristic presence of a Servant from either.
"Not Heroic Spirits...?"
Surprised, she employed far-viewing magecraft to observe the figures more closely.
"That's... the priest who was in the casino earlier, and... What is that other man?"
Tine looked to Gilgamesh for an answer. Gilgamesh, who could apparently see them with his naked eyes, answered in a tone that exuded confidence:
"Humph. I don't really know." He unabashedly declared his own ignorance, and went on to state his simple opinion. "I don't really know... but I can tell that it is no man. Probably a sort of large monster or apparition. If it stands in my way, I shall dispose of it, but I have no particular interest in it."
His Majesty probably doesn't take much interest in anything except humans, Tine considered. The divinity of his aura was also substantially more attenuated than it ought to be. When she had enquired about that, he had only said, "I have severed ties with that lot. I've no need of their protection," but she wondered if that attitude of his might have something to do with it.
As if to substantiate her conjecture, Gilgamesh seemed to take more interest in the priest. He was staring at the superhuman eye patched man.
"The depth of human sin, however, is quite stunning," he muttered.
"?"
The King of Heroes pasted an ironical grin on his face and continued, heedless of Tine's questioning stare in the rear view mirror.
"To think that that priest is not yet reduced to a tool of his god...
with a body like that."
X X
The police station. Parking lot.
Jester gave one of the airborne patrol cars a mighty kick. Hansa bisected it, and threw several Black Keys through the gap in its split frame. Jester stopped the blades by grabbing them, grinning fearlessly as blood and smoke leaked from his hands.
"We have an audience, you know? Whatever happened to keeping the Grail War a secret?"
"This 'job' has nothing to do with the War," Hansa answered, using a car as a foothold to leap still higher, "so it won't be a problem."
Actually, as far as the Church was concerned, it was very much a problem. Perhaps Hansa had some kind of countermeasures in place, because he appeared unruffled by the curious stares of the crowd.
"You're so set on ending me that you'd abandon your duties as overseer to do it? I already told you, but I am one of the Masters you're supposed to protect."
"...The Holy Church got involved in the Holy Grail War to conceal a miracle and to keep the peace for humankind. Would I be qualified to be its overseer if I allowed even the possibility of that miracle falling into the hands of a vampire?"
"So, you want to kill me that badly. Did you lose a parent or a lover to Dead Apostles?"
Hansa waited until they had crossed swords for a few seconds and landed back on the ground to answer the provocative question.
"Well, they did kill my whole clan... but to be honest, I don't hold a grudge over that."
While materializing the blades of fresh Black Keys, Hansa began to explain his reasons for fighting.
"It's not like I hate all vampires. I may get told it makes me unfit to be an executor, but I don't do this job out of hatred for Dead Apostles, or even faith in the Lord."
"Then why are we trying to kill each other? What is the point of this battle?"
Gasoline that had leaked from a patrol car caught fire, and their surroundings were engulfed in flames. It was now dawn and there were more curious onlookers by the minute, but, miraculously, the eye-catching flames ended up hiding the pair from their view.
"You act and talk like a bad guy, however you look at it. That not good enough for you?"
"...Every single thing you do or say grates on my nerves. Do you mean to tell me you just kill Dead Apostles for fun, without any conviction? You're as hideous as that Assassin is beautiful."
Jester's mouth was smiling, but his eyes glared hate at Hansa. Hansa brushed off the Dead Apostle's hostility as he made his rebuttal.
"I don't mind overlooking a Dead Apostle who lives quietly and humbly, suppressing their urges. Speaking of which, I've heard there's a Dead Apostle who's obsessed with human food and resists their instincts to keep cooking... I wonder if it's true."
"How should I know?"
Jester spread his arms, wiped the smile from his face, then forcefully crossed them in front of him. A spray of blood flew from his hands. At the same time, a fierce wind sprang up, and formed a miniature tornado. Then, perhaps as a result of magecraft, the flames around him "merged" with the wind. It was not that the wind had fanned the flames and blown them up; it was like the air currents had actually become fire. The red whirlwind rushed at Hansa.
"Ngh...!"
Hansa barely dodged, wiping the smile from his face for the first time. He looked for Jester as the heat rushed on, but the Dead Apostle was already gone from where he had been standing.
Where'd he go?
As Hansa wondered and looked around, he left a momentary opening.
Jester did not miss it. He stuck a hand out from inside the flame tornado, and grabbed hold of Hansa's arm.
"!"
"Got you!"
The Dead Apostle pulled Hansa toward him with far more than human strength, and lashed out with his other hand to pierce Hansa's neck. Jester was certain that his knifehand would put an end to the executor before he had a chance to swing a Black Key with his free hand.
The next instant, however, his expectations were betrayed by Hansa's unanticipated counterattack.
Clang. A mechanical sounds shook Jester's eardrums. A moment later, he realized that his hand that had been holding Hansa's arm had let go. Or rather, it had been pried off. A blade had slipped in from somewhere and sliced off all its fingers.
"...!"
Jester took a large step back and glared at Hansa, who leisurely picked up a Black Key.
Then he saw it.
The priest's sleeve was torn... and from beneath it sprouted a blade with the same properties as a Black Key.
"Damn you... A prosthetic arm!"
"Didn't I mention? Seven tenths of my body are consecrated gadgets for taking on monsters like you."
"I'm shocked. Who would have imagined that the Church had the technology?"
"The Church exists to guide people. Why wouldn't it have the cutting edge in all technology and mystery? Not that I'd know much about it."
Hansa spoke carelessly as he reviewed the chain of events that had just transpired. As he did so, he noticed that Jester's fingers, which he was sure he had severed, were back on his hand. He had been putting it down to the characteristic regenerative powers of a Dead Apostle, but something told him that the way Jester healed was unlike the vampires he usually faced.
"That wind... Is that your power?"
"Sorry, but I'm a cautious man. I have no intention of explaining what I can do."
Jester glared at Hansa in annoyance, then stabbed a hand into the body of a patrol car burning nearby and grabbed hold of its frame. Lifting up the whole car with one Hand, Jester hurled it at Hansa with the force of a baseball. Hansa raised one leg and stopped the car, then pushed it back with the force of the mystic-mechanical springs built into his lower body.
The Dead Apostle leapt over the vehicle, and ran up the side of the station building. The priest gave chase without hesitation, joining in the vertical dash. Based on the fact that he left deep wounds in the side of the building in his wake, he must have been using some device, but it was still a feat no ordinary person could have imitated.
When Hansa reached the rooftop, he received a submachine gun baptism.
Jester made the police special forces weapon, which he must have borrowed without anyone noticing, spit out a hail of bullets. At the same time, he let loose with a shotgun — also police equipment — in his left hand. A quantity of projectiles sufficient to make mincemeat of any ordinary man closed in on Hansa.
Just then, however, Hansa's body seemed to sway like a heat haze. He evade most of the bullets without even using his Black Keys, and batted some of them out of the air with this own hand. The scene, straight out of an action movie, drew unaffected praise from Jester.
"Indeed, of all the executors I've seen, you are the top of the class!"
"Flattery won't get me to go easy on you."
"I merely stated fact. That strength of your... Could you be part of the 'Burial Agency' I've heard so much about?"
There is an organization, called the Burial Agency, made up of the very best of the executors. It's members have the power to do battle with the "Twenty-Seven Ancestors," known as the pinnacle of vampire-kind. Their name was passed down among the Dead Apostles, who they would, it was said, occasionally slaughter solo, as a legend, a terror, and a warning.
Jester had brought up the Burial Agency to express respect for his opponent's strength. Hansa, however, wiped the complacent smile from his face, and scowled slightly as he spoke.
"The Burial Agency...? Me?"
The priest shook his head in apparent disgust, as if to say, "You don't know anything."
"You say some funny things, corpse. The likes of me doesn't hold a candle to
them. I can't have you putting me on the same level."
"What?" Jester furrowed his brows.
"True, I can deal you lot the damage of a nuclear missile or a chemical weapon, but no manmade weapon could ever measure up to those exalted personages who walk the Lord's shadow! Each one of them administers cataclysm, executes the Lord's very works... They destroy evil that has trespassed in the Lord's domain with the Lord's own power. That is their domain as the pinnacle of the executors. Comparing them to the likes of me is nothing but an insult."
Hansa quietly steadied his breathing, and assumed what appeared to be a serious stance.
"You've only trespassed in man's domain. So I will destroy you... with human power!"
The stance appeared to be based on some form of martial art. The moment he laid eyes on it, Jester felt every cell in his body shudder.
I see. So now he's serious.
He was not certain that he would lose, but he knew it would be impossible for him to drive this man off unless he revealed every bit of his real power.
It wouldn't be prudent to show my hand to the other mages and Heroic Spirits while the Grail War is still in its opening moves.
You never knew where a familiar might be watching. Players who challenged open battle, relying on Noble Phantasms — like the police earlier — did not concern him. But if he was up against a truly powerful mage, revealing his own abilities was as good as telling them his weak points.
In addition, he had noticed something from the rooftop. In the east, the night sky was losing its color, and gradually beginning to lighten. In other words, it would not be long before morning came to that place.
"...I suppose it's time. I'll leave you with just a greeting for today."
Jester turned, and leapt toward the hotel that stood next door. But...
"You're not going anywhere."
With a loud mechanical noise, Hansa's right hand shot out at Jester. He was still gripping the Black Keys — which he'd rematerialized — so his outthrust arm was like a razor-sharp fork. It stretched out like a frog's tongue to seize the leaping Jester. At the last moment, however, the mechanical arm stopped just short of its target. Jester had instinctively twisted in mid-air and put himself on guard, but he wore a relieved grin. Until...
Crack. Another mechanical noise rang out, the wrist on the end of the outstretched arm opened, appearing to break, and something fired from the cavity inside.
"Wha—"
By the time Jester realized it was an explosive projectile, something like a grenade, it was already too late.
The holy water-infused warhead had penetrated his abdomen, and exploded.
Originally Posted by FSF 5, Chapter 14: Gold and Lions I
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
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