---
In high spirits, Gordes returned to his room and turned to face Saber once again. His magnificent and majestic appearance would ensnare the eyes of any who saw him. Gordes was almost completely certain of himself, but he questioned Saber anyway, just to be sure.
"Answer me just one thing, Saber - your true name is Siegfried, correct?"
Seeing his nod of affirmation in response, Gordes reached the epitome of joy.
Siegfried - he is a national hero of Germany. Although his depiction differs in the various legends attributed to him, his most famous role is likely in the epic poem Nibelungenlied, 'The Song of the Nibelungs'. Born a prince of the Netherlands, he went through many adventures and was even crowned dragon-slayer.
He surmounted every field of battle without a single defeat, until losing his life at the blade of betrayal striking him in his back, his only weak point.
In his hand is the holy sword of the Nibelungs, Balmung. By destroying the evil dragon Fafnir with this sword, and bathing in its blood, he became invulnerable to any weapon.
But, however exalted the warrior may have been, his body had a single critical weakness - a spot on his back which was covered by a linden leaf that had just happened to stick to him when he was bathing in the blood of the dragon. That was the one weak point which would bring irrevocable death to Siegfried.
Gordes racked his brain for a while. It is all well and good to have summoned one of the greatest of Servants, but the truth is that his legend - and the fact about his back - is known far and wide. For just how long will he be able to hide such a deadly yet obvious weak point?
"Saber, from now on, keep your mouth shut unless you are unveiling your Noble Phantasm. You are allowed to speak only when I give you permission to do so."
By keeping Saber quiet, Gordes should be able to minimize to some extent the number of hints that could lead to his true name for the time being. Brandishing the Command Spells on the back of his hand, he emphasized the strictness of this order. However, there was some trepidation in his eyes. Would he be forgiven for dealing with a great hero in such a high-handed manner?
...Would he forgive Gordes?
Despite this, Gordes' mind could not help but recognize him as 'simply a Servant'. After all, Saber is nothing but a temporary guest, brought to this world by Gordes, his Master.
For a moment, there was only tension in the room.
"..."
After a while, Saber answered with a nod in place of words, signifying that he had accepted Gordes' command. There are a number of tales regarding Siegfried's royalty, and his leading soldiers as a captain; but at the same time, he was a hero who answered the requests and calls of others.
If it is by necessity, he will not dispute a command to not speak. No command would be a burden to him as long as it leads to fulfilling his own desire.
...If, at this very moment, he had resolutely refused to the point of Gordes perhaps choosing to use his Command Spells, his fate might have been different. But Siegfried chose to submit, as a Servant of the Saber class - whereas Gordes recognized this exchange as a Master bending said Servant to his will.
In time, this misunderstanding between them will bring things to a fatal pass.
At the same time, the various Masters and Servants began interacting with one another in the king's chamber.
"I am your Master, please call me Fiore. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Fiore held out her arm, and Archer respectfully took her hand in both of his.
"Thank you, Fiore. Be assured that, as your Servant, I will not bring shame upon the name of Chiron."
"..."
Fiore became silent, appearing somewhat perplexed, and looked at Archer's face.
"Are you troubled?"
"Oh, no. You really are Chiron, aren't you? I know that you are, but..."
"Hard to believe, is it?"
Said Archer without ever losing his smile. Fiore gave a small nod.
"As it would. By my nature, I ought not to have been summoned in the form of man."
Chiron - a sage among the Centaurs, and teacher of many a great hero beginning from Heracles.
Half man and half horse, Chiron was born of Cronus, patron of the harvest and the earth, and the deity Philyra, thus being an entirely divine spirit. However, after being hit by an arrow treated with Hydra poison, he abandoned his own immortality in order to be released from the agony. It was then that he lost his complete divinity along with his immortality, and became an existence that could be summoned by the Grail.
Of course, there would have been no problem with being summoned as a Servant in his Centaur form...
"...however, one will be able to guess at my true name by my appearance alone. I hope you are not taken aback."
To anyone who saw the form of Chiron, the Centaurs would immediately come to mind - narrowing it down to the more famous heroes, his would be the first name to appear, all the more given the bow in his hand. After all, Chiron is the Heroic Spirit who became the model for Sagittarius, the Archer in the sky.
As such, when Chiron was summoned, he took the form of a human. This costed him a lowering of rank for some of his parameters, but would not particularly affect his skill with a bow.
"Yes, of course. I understand."
Flustered, Fiore nodded. It is true that, aside from his somewhat archaic style of dress, he looked only to be a gentle man, with nothing to reveal his identity as the great sage Chiron.
However, now that she was talking with him directly, it took all the strength Fiore had not to be overwhelmed by the air Archer exuded. His presence is like that of a massive forest, its cool and clear air engulfing her miniscule existence...
"But it is all too simple to ask for your faith and trust. I am Servant Archer; watch for my bow on the field. There you will find proof that I am suited to be your Servant."
"Yes... I'm expecting great things, Archer."
Fiore dipped her head, looking embarrassed, and left the chamber with Archer.
"We're leaving too, Berserker. Go into spirit form, okay?"
"...aaah.... uuuuh....."
With a moan of something close to agreement, Berserker turned into specks and vanished.
Caules wiped the sweat off himself and sighed with relief. It had apparently been quite consuming for him. Truly, all the gifts of the Forvedge family had gone to his sister instead.
Unfortunately, while Caules himself possesses poor aptitude for being a Master, the Berserker he summoned - the man-made creature, Frankenstein - is a relatively new mystery, such that even with her parameters raised through Mad Enhancement, nothing about her particularly stands out. Then again, her true worth lies in a unique, innate skill of hers.
To be frank, Darnic simply does not expect much from Caules or Berserker. To begin with, the Berserker class does not accept any order once combat begins. It is their fate to rage about on the battlefield in their madness, and eventually fall. With good use of the Command Spells, she should be able to bring massive destruction to the field, making it possible to strike at several of the enemy's captains in the confusion. He simply needed to watch carefully for the right time.
Caules left the chamber, looking exhausted.
"Now, Rider, let me show you around the castle. You can't wait to have a look around, can you?"
The bashful Rider scratched at his head.
"You can tell, huh? So, well, I would prefer not having to go into spirit form..."
"...All right. I will prepare a room for you, then."
"Really?! Heh, I'm so lucky to have such an understanding Master!"
Rider danced in a circle, cheering and throwing his hands up in joyous celebration that his wish had been granted.
He had probably been concerned about the liability of the prana needed to maintain a physical form continuously. The Masters may have the backing of the Holy Grail, but continually materializing a mystery is still a fair burden.
In fact, when it comes down to it, there is nothing wrong with keeping a Servant in spirit form except for battle. But that is purely from the perspective of the Master. Among the Servants, there are also those who are more concerned with the joys of a second life, and prefer to stay in physical form while turning a blind eye to the Master's troubles.
The Servant Rider, Astolfo is like curiosity in human form. If his Master Selenik allowed him - and even if she didn't - he would fly out of the castle this very instant and indulge himself in the pleasures of the streets below.
Among the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne, Astolfo is said to be the most handsome, eternally optimistic, and completely lacking in sense. To say that the form he came in was unexpected would be a great understatement, but it is only natural for legends to become distorted; his endearing appearance was well within the tastes of his Master, Selenik.
"The ritual's over, sir. Let's go back to to workshop."
"...Yes, let us."
Roche and Caster also left the chamber.
Having seen off the Masters, Darnic dismissed the homunculi as well. Once they were alone, he turned to Lancer sitting on the throne.
"That makes six. And Assassin should be arriving soon."
Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Berserker, Caster, Assassin - in previous Holy Grail Wars, it had been a matter of course for each of these seven Servants would formulate their own strategies and fight with their own tactics.
However, the situation has greatly changed in this war - for he wields not one Servant, but seven.
Everything is dependant on the class of one's Servant. Now, even classes which would have had immense difficulty lasting through the entire conflict in Fuyuki - classes such as Berserker, Caster and Assassin - would be able to exercise their true potential.
For instance, the Caster which Roche summoned is already in the process of manufacturing over a thousand golems. Divided into three groups by size, they eagerly await the moment of battle.
While they will never be a match for a Servant, they are valuable enough as stumbling blocks - and against Servants unsuited to close-range combat like Caster or Assassin, they might even get their own chance at bringing down a giant.
"...Do you know how I feel right now, Darnic?"
It was in fact plain as day, given the faintly pleasant smile on his face, but Darnic posed the question all the same.
"Lord, for a lowly magus such as myself, no amount of deliberation would allow me to concieve the same thoughts as the great Dracula."
When he said this, the seemingly irritated Lancer shot him a glance.
"Flattery in excess only reveals your own depth, Darnic. You may call me Lord, but I call you Master in turn. I will not deny that I am but your Servant."
"...Yes, Lord."
Internally, Darnic berated himself for going too far. Nevertheless, Lancer... that is, Vlad III, had once been sovereign over this land. However removed from the world a magus may be - even if he is able to impassively perform acts that go against all ethics - he should still readily give his respects to such a figure.
Of course, that is where the absolute divide of the Command Spells comes in. You could say that it is loyalty which comes only from the fact that they can be leashed in during a decisive moment.
"I spent half my life defending this nation from the Turks, Darnic. I ruled as best as I can, but there were things I simply lacked."
"By which you mean?"
"People, Darnic. I did not have great captains on whom I could leave companies of soldiers to. I gave my all in order to gain victory on the field, but that only means I could accomplish little else. But do not mistake this for an admission of incompetence. I simply..."
"...did not have enough people, and time."
Lancer nodded, content at Darnic's words.
"At long last, I have attained them: six irreplacable Heroic Spirits, and Saber in particular... I cannot think of a more magnificent warrior than Siegfried!"
Yes... aside from Gordes, only Darnic and Lancer knew what Heroic Spirit the Servant of Saber was. Gordes' catalyst was a blood-stained linden leaf. It it likely that he secured it through good connections with his old friends, the Einzberns, but managing to acquire such a holy relic was certainly not just ordinary good luck.
"And it is not only Saber - there is Archer, the great sage Chiron of ancient Greece; Rider, Astolfo of the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne; Berserker, the mad creation of Doctor Frankenstein; and the Caster Avicebron. An eccentric, to be sure, but the golem soldiers the man has created is an incomparable force of war."
"They are all of them yours to command, Lord. All of them, your captains."
"...Yes, it makes it all the more regrettable. Had they been by my side, I would not have been imprisoned in that fortress."
In 1462, King Matthias of Hungary captured Vlad on grounds that he was a collaborator to the Turks, and confined him for twelve years.
All that he had accomplished in the defence of his country was defiled, and before he realized it, the legend he passed down was that of a humiliating, blood-starved fiend.
"But that past is now as distant to me as a dream. What I must consider is the present - my pitiful name, smeared with blood."
"You need not worry, Lord. Once all seven Servants have been defeated, the omnipotent wish-granter that is the Greater Grail shall activate, and it will most certainly grant your wish."
The restoration of his name's honor, that is the wish of Servant Lancer, Vlad III - to wash away the stain of 'Count Dracula' which has spread all over the world.
He is not denying the path which he has walked. His war against the Turks and period of unfortunate imprisonment were simply parts of his life which he has already been resigned to. However, he cannot possibly forgive his own name being dragged through the mud in matters which did not involve him in any way.
Among all the Servants, only Lancer possessed such a zeal and staked so much upon the Holy Grail War. His tenacity was yet another reason why Darnic liked him.
"So only the Servant of the Assassin remains, then. It is to be summoned in a small country in the Far East, yes?"
"Yes, Lord. It should originally have been summoned in London, but that is now enemy territory to us, after all. That is why we have chosen to summon the Heroic Spirit near a leyline which suited it."
"And what is the name of this spirit?"
"Jack the Ripper - the serial killer which shook England one hundred years ago."
***
Bucharest, Romania
The capital of Romania, Bucharest, was known as 'Little Paris' during the early twentieth century. However, due to the bombs of the Second World War, two earthquakes, and the megalomaniacal urban development of the dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu, many of the exquisitely beautiful buildings of that period have been destroyed. Of course, they were not all gone. If you drive along the Calei Victoriei, cutting through the city from south to north, you can see many old churches and historically valuable buildings from the old city.
However, that was not the only wound carved onto this country by the Ceauşescu regime.
"...They call them 'the children of Ceauşescu', apparently."
A voice murmured in a decidedly sweet and unworldly tone; it came from an alluring woman who looked like she could drive men mad with a single expression of melancholy. However, there exist no one near her who her voice would reach.
Passer-bys watched her warily as she whispered at the air. There were youths who wanted to call out to her but, perhaps sensing something close to madness in her eyes, they were crushed down and quickly gave up.
"Yes, that's right. It's so horrible... it didn't turn out like that for me. I just became like that before I even noticed."
As though speaking with someone else, the woman continued her side of the conversation.
The 'children of Ceauşescu' were part of the destructive legacy of the regime. It used to be that Romania outlawed contraceptions and abortions, and attempted to force all families to have at least five children. The youth whom no one could raise became street children in the end, slipping into lives of crime and human trafficking. The dictatorship may have ended in revolution, but lives that have been born cannot be returned. By criminal organizations, and by people of power, their small lives were devoured and scattered. Those who survived did so by turning from prey to predator before they even realized it.
The woman wandered through Bucharest at night as she continued talking with a partner only she could see. A young woman walking all by herself - it is like a magnet for trouble.
There were already two young men following her. Having been waiting for a place with few people and where the eyes of the authority could not reach, they immediately closed the distance.
The woman, with her light and fluttering steps, so recklessly entered an alleyway flanked by buildings on both sides. The men would no longer be satisfied by simply stealing her bag. No one would find out about one missing tourist; her money, her body, her entire life - they would utterly consume all that she owned. Thinking this, they reached out for her shoulders.
...No one would notice a scream back here.
So the men had thought... but they never could have imagined that the woman was thinking the same thing.
The woman only needed one of them alive. The other was unnecessary. And for the one who was so chosen... it was his luckiest day.
"Huh?" blurted out one of the men who reached out to her. For some reason, his hand could not reach her. He froze with horror for an instant, feeling as though he had just tried to touch a ghost. But the ejecting blood and intense pain coming from the cross-section of his own wrist finally allowed him to understand what happened.
Oh... my hand's cut clean off.
The man was puzzled as to why... but then finally figured out the severe truth.
"Aaaerrrgh?!"
As soon as he yelled out, he was pressed by further pain. The suffering this time was slight, but his sense of loss became all the more terrifying great - for things which can never leave the body came tumbling out from his slashed abdomen.
There was a cry of exertion from an adorable voice. Truly, he was fortunate; to the man who survived, dying instantly by decapitation would be a fate worth trading for with everything he ever possessed in life.
"...Wha?"
The man who just so happened to have not been chosen stood there dumbly. The instant his partner had tried to reach out to the woman, his arm was cut off, his stomach was slashed open, and his head was blown clean off. He could not understand at all. It was simply too nonsensical. All his thoughts stopped.
"Oh..."
After a while, he realized it - that they were nothing more than insects drawn to a light. And it was only natural that all those bugs would be decimated.
He felt a cold sensation between his legs, but before he could find out what it was, the man turned his back and escaped from the woman. No... he tried to escape.
The instant he turned about, someone's stuck-out leg casually tripped him. When he tried to get back up, that someone quickly held him down.
It was not the woman. She was watching the man, as vacant as always. So who was it that held him down with only one hand?
"What do we do with him,
Master
Mother
?"
...He was speechless.
The one who spoke with such a serene voice and held the man down was a child. In his moment of solace, the man gathered all the strength he possessed and grabbed her small arm, as though to throw her off.
But the arm of the child did not budge an inch. He grasped at her arm tightly, giving it everything he had. And yet, like a steel beam, her arm did not yield.
The man threw a punch. The soft sensation he felt when his fist made contact told him that her arm was not a prosthetic. But then, why? How is it possible that a punch with all the strength he could muster did not move her thin arm a single millimeter?
From his mouth came a pathetic shriek. He took a knife out of his pocket and thrust it at the girl's arm. Without a care for the unsightliness of his act, he stabbed at her again and again, trying only to escape from this aberrant scene.
He stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed. So, why... why, why can't I hurt her?!
"Oh, my... doesn't it hurt?"
The child turned at the woman's question. Not noticing this, the man continued stabbing with his knife.
"We're all right. We're a Servant, after all. It doesn't hurt at all. It bugs us, though."
"Oh, well, then you can cut him a little bit. But not the throat. He still needs to talk."
"Okay, Mother."
The child nodded with knife in hand. To stop the prickling irritation, she severed the tendon in his wrist, and stained the areas around his chest, neck, thighs and face with blood - but not to a degree which would kill him, just as her Master instructed.
"Well done. Now, wait for a moment."
Stopping the child who was swinging a knife with precision, the woman called out to him.
"Hey... you have a lot of friends, don't you? Where are they? Would you minding telling me the name of the building, and which street it's on?"
The man lost his will to fight completely. When she asked her question, the truth came spilling out from him. Anything was fine with him. He was willing to do whatever it took. If she had told him to lick her shoes, he would have done it without the slightest hesitation.
While listening to the man's confessions, the woman confirmed the location he indicated on the map of a guide book. Perfect, murmured the woman as she lighly patted the child's shoulder.
"Jack? You can eat him now."
Eat... him?
Not understanding these words, the man attempted to ask. The child who was called Jack stared at his face... and he screamed, unable to bear it. Wearing those terribly emotionless eyes, Jack carved out the heart of the man.
More than the pain, he could not believe the briskness of the act. It was nothing to her - as though she was just picking a flower. As though she was just stepping on an ant.
Jack swallowed the heart of the man. And so the man died in agony, encased in his despair at the knowledge that one's life can be lost so easily.
"Hey, Mother? What are we going to do now?"
"The man just told us where his friends are, didn't he? Why don't we go there?"
"Will we get to eat a lot?"
"I think you will, Jack."
The woman, Rikudou Reika, stroked the head of the innocently joyful Jack, soothing her. Jack accepted it, shutting her eyes; there was no trace of the monster who had just dissected a human body and carved out its heart.
"Now, let's go."
"Okay. Bye-bye."
Jack shook her hand lightly at the two corpses. They were discovered the next day, and it also became known that their comrades were found slaughtered at a bar they had frequented. The police suspected it was infighting among criminal groups, but there was one mysterious point of note: every single one of the fifteen corpses had had its heart carved out.
Catching wind of this, one newspaper wrote up an amusing article on 'The Return of Jack the Ripper?'. However, it never occurred to the police or the media that, going back to several days ago, an extremely similar event occurred in Japan as well.
---
---
In high spirits, Gordes returned to his room and turned to face Saber once again. His magnificent and majestic appearance would ensnare the eyes of any who saw him. Gordes was almost completely certain of himself, but he questioned Saber anyway, just to be sure.
"Answer me just one thing, Saber - your true name is Siegfried, correct?"
Seeing his nod of affirmation in response, Gordes reached the epitome of joy.
Siegfried - he is a national hero of Germany. Although his depiction differs in the various legends attributed to him, his most famous role is likely in the epic poem Nibelungenlied, 'The Song of the Nibelungs'. Born a prince of the Netherlands, he went through many adventures and was even crowned dragon-slayer.
He surmounted every field of battle without a single defeat, until losing his life at the blade of betrayal striking him in his back, his only weak point.
In his hand is the holy sword of the Nibelungs, Balmung. By destroying the evil dragon Fafnir with this sword, and bathing in its blood, he became invulnerable to any weapon.
But, however exalted the warrior may have been, his body had a single critical weakness - a spot on his back which was covered by a linden leaf that had just happened to stick to him when he was bathing in the blood of the dragon. That was the one weak point which would bring irrevocable death to Siegfried.
Gordes racked his brain for a while. It is all well and good to have summoned one of the greatest of Servants, but the truth is that his legend - and the fact about his back - is known far and wide. For just how long will he be able to hide such a deadly yet obvious weak point?
"Saber, from now on, keep your mouth shut unless you are unveiling your Noble Phantasm. You are allowed to speak only when I give you permission to do so."
By keeping Saber quiet, Gordes should be able to minimize to some extent the number of hints that could lead to his true name for the time being. Brandishing the Command Spells on the back of his hand, he emphasized the strictness of this order. However, there was some trepidation in his eyes. Would he be forgiven for dealing with a great hero in such a high-handed manner?
...Would he forgive Gordes?
Despite this, Gordes' mind could not help but recognize him as 'simply a Servant'. After all, Saber is nothing but a temporary guest, brought to this world by Gordes, his Master.
For a moment, there was only tension in the room.
"..."
After a while, Saber answered with a nod in place of words, signifying that he had accepted Gordes' command. There are a number of tales regarding Siegfried's royalty, and his leading soldiers as a captain; but at the same time, he was a hero who answered the requests and calls of others.
If it is by necessity, he will not dispute a command to not speak. No command would be a burden to him as long as it leads to fulfilling his own desire.
...If, at this very moment, he had resolutely refused to the point of Gordes perhaps choosing to use his Command Spells, his fate might have been different. But Siegfried chose to submit, as a Servant of the Saber class - whereas Gordes recognized this exchange as a Master bending said Servant to his will.
In time, this misunderstanding between them will bring things to a fatal pass.
At the same time, the various Masters and Servants began interacting with one another in the king's chamber.
"I am your Master, please call me Fiore. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Fiore held out her arm, and Archer respectfully took her hand in both of his.
"Thank you, Fiore. Be assured that, as your Servant, I will not bring shame upon the name of Chiron."
"..."
Fiore became silent, appearing somewhat perplexed, and looked at Archer's face.
"Are you troubled?"
"Oh, no. You really are Chiron, aren't you? I know that you are, but..."
"Hard to believe, is it?"
Said Archer without ever losing his smile. Fiore gave a small nod.
"As it would. By my nature, I ought not to have been summoned in the form of man."
Chiron - a sage among the Centaurs, and teacher of many a great hero beginning from Heracles.
Half man and half horse, Chiron was born of Cronus, patron of the harvest and the earth, and the deity Philyra, thus being an entirely divine spirit. However, after being hit by an arrow treated with Hydra poison, he abandoned his own immortality in order to be released from the agony. It was then that he lost his complete divinity along with his immortality, and became an existence that could be summoned by the Grail.
Of course, there would have been no problem with being summoned as a Servant in his Centaur form...
"...however, one will be able to guess at my true name by my appearance alone. I hope you are not taken aback."
To anyone who saw the form of Chiron, the Centaurs would immediately come to mind - narrowing it down to the more famous heroes, his would be the first name to appear, all the more given the bow in his hand. After all, Chiron is the Heroic Spirit who became the model for Sagittarius, the Archer in the sky.
As such, when Chiron was summoned, he took the form of a human. This costed him a lowering of rank for some of his parameters, but would not particularly affect his skill with a bow.
"Yes, of course. I understand."
Flustered, Fiore nodded. It is true that, aside from his somewhat archaic style of dress, he looked only to be a gentle man, with nothing to reveal his identity as the great sage Chiron.
However, now that she was talking with him directly, it took all the strength Fiore had not to be overwhelmed by the air Archer exuded. His presence is like that of a massive forest, its cool and clear air engulfing her miniscule existence...
"But it is all too simple to ask for your faith and trust. I am Servant Archer; watch for my bow on the field. There you will find proof that I am suited to be your Servant."
"Yes... I'm expecting great things, Archer."
Fiore dipped her head, looking embarrassed, and left the chamber with Archer.
"We're leaving too, Berserker. Go into spirit form, okay?"
"...aaah.... uuuuh....."
With a moan of something close to agreement, Berserker turned into specks and vanished.
Caules wiped the sweat off himself and sighed with relief. It had apparently been quite consuming for him. Truly, all the gifts of the Forvedge family had gone to his sister instead.
Unfortunately, while Caules himself possesses poor aptitude for being a Master, the Berserker he summoned - the man-made creature, Frankenstein - is a relatively new mystery, such that even with her parameters raised through Mad Enhancement, nothing about her particularly stands out. Then again, her true worth lies in a unique, innate skill of hers.
To be frank, Darnic simply does not expect much from Caules or Berserker. To begin with, the Berserker class does not accept any order once combat begins. It is their fate to rage about on the battlefield in their madness, and eventually fall. With good use of the Command Spells, she should be able to bring massive destruction to the field, making it possible to strike at several of the enemy's captains in the confusion. He simply needed to watch carefully for the right time.
Caules left the chamber, looking exhausted.
"Now, Rider, let me show you around the castle. You can't wait to have a look around, can you?"
The bashful Rider scratched at his head.
"You can tell, huh? So, well, I would prefer not having to go into spirit form..."
"...All right. I will prepare a room for you, then."
"Really?! Heh, I'm so lucky to have such an understanding Master!"
Rider danced in a circle, cheering and throwing his hands up in joyous celebration that his wish had been granted.
He had probably been concerned about the liability of the prana needed to maintain a physical form continuously. The Masters may have the backing of the Holy Grail, but continually materializing a mystery is still a fair burden.
In fact, when it comes down to it, there is nothing wrong with keeping a Servant in spirit form except for battle. But that is purely from the perspective of the Master. Among the Servants, there are also those who are more concerned with the joys of a second life, and prefer to stay in physical form while turning a blind eye to the Master's troubles.
The Servant Rider, Astolfo is like curiosity in human form. If his Master Selenik allowed him - and even if she didn't - he would fly out of the castle this very instant and indulge himself in the pleasures of the streets below.
Among the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne, Astolfo is said to be the most handsome, eternally optimistic, and completely lacking in sense. To say that the form he came in was unexpected would be a great understatement, but it is only natural for legends to become distorted; his endearing appearance was well within the tastes of his Master, Selenik.
"The ritual's over, sir. Let's go back to to workshop."
"...Yes, let us."
Roche and Caster also left the chamber.
Having seen off the Masters, Darnic dismissed the homunculi as well. Once they were alone, he turned to Lancer sitting on the throne.
"That makes six. And Assassin should be arriving soon."
Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Berserker, Caster, Assassin - in previous Holy Grail Wars, it had been a matter of course for each of these seven Servants would formulate their own strategies and fight with their own tactics.
However, the situation has greatly changed in this war - for he wields not one Servant, but seven.
Everything is dependant on the class of one's Servant. Now, even classes which would have had immense difficulty lasting through the entire conflict in Fuyuki - classes such as Berserker, Caster and Assassin - would be able to exercise their true potential.
For instance, the Caster which Roche summoned is already in the process of manufacturing over a thousand golems. Divided into three groups by size, they eagerly await the moment of battle.
While they will never be a match for a Servant, they are valuable enough as stumbling blocks - and against Servants unsuited to close-range combat like Caster or Assassin, they might even get their own chance at bringing down a giant.
"...Do you know how I feel right now, Darnic?"
It was in fact plain as day, given the faintly pleasant smile on his face, but Darnic posed the question all the same.
"Lord, for a lowly magus such as myself, no amount of deliberation would allow me to concieve the same thoughts as the great Dracula."
When he said this, the seemingly irritated Lancer shot him a glance.
"Flattery in excess only reveals your own depth, Darnic. You may call me Lord, but I call you Master in turn. I will not deny that I am but your Servant."
"...Yes, Lord."
Internally, Darnic berated himself for going too far. Nevertheless, Lancer... that is, Vlad III, had once been sovereign over this land. However removed from the world a magus may be - even if he is able to impassively perform acts that go against all ethics - he should still readily give his respects to such a figure.
Of course, that is where the absolute divide of the Command Spells comes in. You could say that it is loyalty which comes only from the fact that they can be leashed in during a decisive moment.
"I spent half my life defending this nation from the Turks, Darnic. I ruled as best as I can, but there were things I simply lacked."
"By which you mean?"
"People, Darnic. I did not have great captains on whom I could leave companies of soldiers to. I gave my all in order to gain victory on the field, but that only means I could accomplish little else. But do not mistake this for an admission of incompetence. I simply..."
"...did not have enough people, and time."
Lancer nodded, content at Darnic's words.
"At long last, I have attained them: six irreplacable Heroic Spirits, and Saber in particular... I cannot think of a more magnificent warrior than Siegfried!"
Yes... aside from Gordes, only Darnic and Lancer knew what Heroic Spirit the Servant of Saber was. Gordes' catalyst was a blood-stained linden leaf. It it likely that he secured it through good connections with his old friends, the Einzberns, but managing to acquire such a holy relic was certainly not just ordinary good luck.
"And it is not only Saber - there is Archer, the great sage Chiron of ancient Greece; Rider, Astolfo of the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne; Berserker, the mad creation of Doctor Frankenstein; and the Caster Avicebron. An eccentric, to be sure, but the golem soldiers the man has created is an incomparable force of war."
"They are all of them yours to command, Lord. All of them, your captains."
"...Yes, it makes it all the more regrettable. Had they been by my side, I would not have been imprisoned in that fortress."
In 1462, King Matthias of Hungary captured Vlad on grounds that he was a collaborator to the Turks, and confined him for twelve years.
All that he had accomplished in the defence of his country was defiled, and before he realized it, the legend he passed down was that of a humiliating, blood-starved fiend.
"But that past is now as distant to me as a dream. What I must consider is the present - my pitiful name, smeared with blood."
"You need not worry, Lord. Once all seven Servants have been defeated, the omnipotent wish-granter that is the Greater Grail shall activate, and it will most certainly grant your wish."
The restoration of his name's honor, that is the wish of Servant Lancer, Vlad III - to wash away the stain of 'Count Dracula' which has spread all over the world.
He is not denying the path which he has walked. His war against the Turks and period of unfortunate imprisonment were simply parts of his life which he has already been resigned to. However, he cannot possibly forgive his own name being dragged through the mud in matters which did not involve him in any way.
Among all the Servants, only Lancer possessed such a zeal and staked so much upon the Holy Grail War. His tenacity was yet another reason why Darnic liked him.
"So only the Servant of the Assassin remains, then. It is to be summoned in a small country in the Far East, yes?"
"Yes, Lord. It should originally have been summoned in London, but that is now enemy territory to us, after all. That is why we have chosen to summon the Heroic Spirit near a leyline which suited it."
"And what is the name of this spirit?"
"Jack the Ripper - the serial killer which shook England one hundred years ago."
***
Bucharest, Romania
The capital of Romania, Bucharest, was known as 'Little Paris' during the early twentieth century. However, due to the bombs of the Second World War, two earthquakes, and the megalomaniacal urban development of the dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu, many of the exquisitely beautiful buildings of that period have been destroyed. Of course, they were not all gone. If you drive along the Calei Victoriei, cutting through the city from south to north, you can see many old churches and historically valuable buildings from the old city.
However, that was not the only wound carved onto this country by the Ceauşescu regime.
"...They call them 'the children of Ceauşescu', apparently."
A voice murmured in a decidedly sweet and unworldly tone; it came from an alluring woman who looked like she could drive men mad with a single expression of melancholy. However, there exist no one near her who her voice would reach.
Passer-bys watched her warily as she whispered at the air. There were youths who wanted to call out to her but, perhaps sensing something close to madness in her eyes, they were crushed down and quickly gave up.
"Yes, that's right. It's so horrible... it didn't turn out like that for me. I just became like that before I even noticed."
As though speaking with someone else, the woman continued her side of the conversation.
The 'children of Ceauşescu' were part of the destructive legacy of the regime. It used to be that Romania outlawed contraceptions and abortions, and attempted to force all families to have at least five children. The youth whom no one could raise became street children in the end, slipping into lives of crime and human trafficking. The dictatorship may have ended in revolution, but lives that have been born cannot be returned. By criminal organizations, and by people of power, their small lives were devoured and scattered. Those who survived did so by turning from prey to predator before they even realized it.
The woman wandered through Bucharest at night as she continued talking with a partner only she could see. A young woman walking all by herself - it is like a magnet for trouble.
There were already two young men following her. Having been waiting for a place with few people and where the eyes of the authority could not reach, they immediately closed the distance.
The woman, with her light and fluttering steps, so recklessly entered an alleyway flanked by buildings on both sides. The men would no longer be satisfied by simply stealing her bag. No one would find out about one missing tourist; her money, her body, her entire life - they would utterly consume all that she owned. Thinking this, they reached out for her shoulders.
...No one would notice a scream back here.
So the men had thought... but they never could have imagined that the woman was thinking the same thing.
The woman only needed one of them alive. The other was unnecessary. And for the one who was so chosen... it was his luckiest day.
"Huh?" blurted out one of the men who reached out to her. For some reason, his hand could not reach her. He froze with horror for an instant, feeling as though he had just tried to touch a ghost. But the ejecting blood and intense pain coming from the cross-section of his own wrist finally allowed him to understand what happened.
Oh... my hand's cut clean off.
The man was puzzled as to why... but then finally figured out the severe truth.
"Aaaerrrgh?!"
As soon as he yelled out, he was pressed by further pain. The suffering this time was slight, but his sense of loss became all the more terrifying great - for things which can never leave the body came tumbling out from his slashed abdomen.
There was a cry of exertion from an adorable voice. Truly, he was fortunate; to the man who survived, dying instantly by decapitation would be a fate worth trading for with everything he ever possessed in life.
"...Wha?"
The man who just so happened to have not been chosen stood there dumbly. The instant his partner had tried to reach out to the woman, his arm was cut off, his stomach was slashed open, and his head was blown clean off. He could not understand at all. It was simply too nonsensical. All his thoughts stopped.
"Oh..."
After a while, he realized it - that they were nothing more than insects drawn to a light. And it was only natural that all those bugs would be decimated.
He felt a cold sensation between his legs, but before he could find out what it was, the man turned his back and escaped from the woman. No... he tried to escape.
The instant he turned about, someone's stuck-out leg casually tripped him. When he tried to get back up, that someone quickly held him down.
It was not the woman. She was watching the man, as vacant as always. So who was it that held him down with only one hand?
"What do we do with him,
Master
Mother
?"
...He was speechless.
The one who spoke with such a serene voice and held the man down was a child. In his moment of solace, the man gathered all the strength he possessed and grabbed her small arm, as though to throw her off.
But the arm of the child did not budge an inch. He grasped at her arm tightly, giving it everything he had. And yet, like a steel beam, her arm did not yield.
The man threw a punch. The soft sensation he felt when his fist made contact told him that her arm was not a prosthetic. But then, why? How is it possible that a punch with all the strength he could muster did not move her thin arm a single millimeter?
From his mouth came a pathetic shriek. He took a knife out of his pocket and thrust it at the girl's arm. Without a care for the unsightliness of his act, he stabbed at her again and again, trying only to escape from this aberrant scene.
He stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed. So, why... why, why can't I hurt her?!
"Oh, my... doesn't it hurt?"
The child turned at the woman's question. Not noticing this, the man continued stabbing with his knife.
"We're all right. We're a Servant, after all. It doesn't hurt at all. It bugs us, though."
"Oh, well, then you can cut him a little bit. But not the throat. He still needs to talk."
"Okay, Mother."
The child nodded with knife in hand. To stop the prickling irritation, she severed the tendon in his wrist, and stained the areas around his chest, neck, thighs and face with blood - but not to a degree which would kill him, just as her Master instructed.
"Well done. Now, wait for a moment."
Stopping the child who was swinging a knife with precision, the woman called out to him.
"Hey... you have a lot of friends, don't you? Where are they? Would you minding telling me the name of the building, and which street it's on?"
The man lost his will to fight completely. When she asked her question, the truth came spilling out from him. Anything was fine with him. He was willing to do whatever it took. If she had told him to lick her shoes, he would have done it without the slightest hesitation.
While listening to the man's confessions, the woman confirmed the location he indicated on the map of a guide book. Perfect, murmured the woman as she lighly patted the child's shoulder.
"Jack? You can eat him now."
Eat... him?
Not understanding these words, the man attempted to ask. The child who was called Jack stared at his face... and he screamed, unable to bear it. Wearing those terribly emotionless eyes, Jack carved out the heart of the man.
More than the pain, he could not believe the briskness of the act. It was nothing to her - as though she was just picking a flower. As though she was just stepping on an ant.
Jack swallowed the heart of the man. And so the man died in agony, encased in his despair at the knowledge that one's life can be lost so easily.
"Hey, Mother? What are we going to do now?"
"The man just told us where his friends are, didn't he? Why don't we go there?"
"Will we get to eat a lot?"
"I think you will, Jack."
The woman, Rikudou Reika, stroked the head of the innocently joyful Jack, soothing her. Jack accepted it, shutting her eyes; there was no trace of the monster who had just dissected a human body and carved out its heart.
"Now, let's go."
"Okay. Bye-bye."
Jack shook her hand lightly at the two corpses. They were discovered the next day, and it also became known that their comrades were found slaughtered at a bar they had frequented. The police suspected it was infighting among criminal groups, but there was one mysterious point of note: every single one of the fifteen corpses had had its heart carved out.
Catching wind of this, one newspaper wrote up an amusing article on 'The Return of Jack the Ripper?'. However, it never occurred to the police or the media that, going back to several days ago, an extremely similar event occurred in Japan as well.
---
