"Juro! Juro! Can you hear me?!"
Fujimaru.
Another voice, frantic and urgent, echoed from his communicator. Romani, desperately seeking any sign of life from one of humanity's last remaining Masters.
"Juro, respond! Are you alright?!"
Ignoring the throbbing pain and the memory of his recent blackout, Juro forced a rasping yell. "I'm fine!"
The ground trembled violently, throwing them all to the ground. A deafening clang echoed as metal met metal. Juro looked up, his vision clearing just enough to take in the horrifying sight before him.
A colossal creature, a monstrous fusion of dragon and turtle, its horned lion head roaring in fury. The earth shook with each thunderous step.
"What in the…?"
"The Tarasque!" Romani's voice crackled through the communicator.
Juro's breath hitched. "…What?!"
"Your opponent," Romani continued, his voice tight with urgency, "is Saint Martha!"
Juro stared, bewildered. "The… the one from the New Testament?"
"Yes," Romani confirmed. "After Christ's death, Martha traveled to a remote island where she encountered the Tarasque, a ferocious dragon. Through her unwavering spirit and kindness, she managed to form a bond with the beast, taming its rage. Even as a Heroic Spirit, their bond remains unbroken."
Mash, Jeanne, and Marie desperately tried to subdue Martha, but the formidable Saint quickly redirected the Tarasque's attacks towards them.
With a thunderous boom, the colossal creature swung its massive fist in a wide arc, its sheer size a terrifying spectacle. Mash met the blow head-on, her shield deflecting the attack with a resounding clang.
"Shit! It's fast!" Juro shouted, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The Tarasque recoiled, a bewildered groan escaping its throat, confused as to how such a tiny being was able to block its attack.
Juro was shocked at how its immense size seemed to defy logic, its agility exceeding what they thought possible for such a behemoth.
Suddenly, an ethereal light enveloped the Tarasque.
Mash instinctively turned towards Marie, who stood resolute, her voice raised in song. She was using her "Alluring Euphony," hoping to sway the dragon into self-harm.
But the effect was short-lived.
The Tarasque, seemingly unaffected, swiped its arms with a powerful motion, dispelling the magic like swatting away a fly.
"My magic… negated?!" Marie cried out, disbelief etched on her face.
"Foolish child!" Martha's voice boomed across the battlefield. "Did you truly believe I would allow you to harm my beloved Tarasque?"
With a deafening roar, the Tarasque charged towards Juro and Fujimaru, its massive form a looming threat. Unlike the lumbering giants often depicted in media, this monstrosity moved with surprising speed for its size, the ground shaking under its steps.
Terror gripped Juro as the Tarasque lunged.
It lunged.
Its gaping maw aimed to crush them both.
Juro watched the inside of its mouth open, like a dark void with a single piece of flesh in the middle, ready to devour him.
But before its claws could reach them, a blinding flash of silver intercepted the attack.
Jeanne, her face resolute, had intercepted the attacker.
Her flagpole held aloft like a defiant lance.
The impact sent the Tarasque reeling, its massive body thrown back with a thunderous crash. The soldiers around them gaped in stunned silence, witnessing the unimaginable power wielded by these extraordinary beings.
"Who… who are these people?" one soldier stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Juro mirrored the soldier's bewilderment.
The concept of Servants, these mythical heroes brought to life, was still sinking in. How strong were they?
He turned to Jeanne, his voice laced with gratitude, his heart practically in his throat, still beating from adrenaline.
"T-Thank you, Jeanne,"
"It is my duty, Master," she replied, her voice unwavering as she faced the recovering Tarasque.
Fujimaru spun on his heel as he pointed at the large creature.
"Mash, Marie! We need a new plan!"
Jeanne pointed her lance towards the Tarasque, where Martha was attempting to rally the enraged beast.
"Indeed! Mash and I will focus on subduing Martha, relying on Marie's intel to anticipate the Tarasque's attacks. She will stay back and protect you, Master, and the soldiers!"
Juro's eyes met Jeanne's figure, standing like some kind of heroic statue.
Her posture was straight, like a general overseeing her soldiers.
He could not see her face, but he could see the pure resolve radiating off of her.
While she had initially appeared apprehensive, the warrior spirit within her now burned brightly.
He understood then – this was the same Jeanne d'Arc who had led France to victory against overwhelming odds.
The same Jeanne d'Arc who, at the young age of 17, managed to save her entire country.
Jeanne's gaze swept towards Martha, whose expression remained seemingly composed, yet held a hint of something unnatural, like someone desperately suppressing internal turmoil.
"Indeed," Jeanne began. "There's a specific reason. I suspect she's been subjected to..."
Just as Juro thought he glimpsed Martha's eye flicker, Jeanne finished, "Madness Enhancement."
Fujimaru and Juro exchanged bewildered looks.
"As the name suggests," Mash explained, "Madness Enhancement imbues a Heroic Spirit with heightened madness. While their base abilities experience exponential growth, they lose all sense of reason, becoming solely subservient to their Master."
Juro grappled with the word "madness." Was it synonymous with insanity? How many Heroic Spirits were susceptible to such a state? After all, he knew several figures from myth and history who had endured enough hardship to drive a regular person insane.
Would Jeanne be susceptible to Madness Enhancement? She was, after all, burned at the stake.
"The fact that we can even communicate with Saint Martha is quite extraordinary," Marie interjected. "My intuition tells me she's being controlled."
Juro felt overwhelmed by confusion. If a Servant already obeyed their Master's every command, why resort to Madness Enhancement? It seemed excessive...
Jeanne gripped her lance tight, her hand encased in the worn gauntlet. "Even so," she declared, "we fight! To forge a path forward, we must overcome Saint Martha!"
Marie, a gentle smile gracing her lips, addressed the Maiden.
"Saint Jeanne d'Arc… your lost soul was endearing, but now, you shine with true brilliance!"
Jeanne blushed, drawing the lance closer. "Thank you… though I am no saint…"
"I understand the sentiment," Marie replied, her voice warm. "Then, Jeanne, would you allow me the honor of calling you by your name? I would cherish such a friendship. And please, call me Marie."
Juro would normally be happy to see this, but ignoring the fact that a giant dragon was right there stumped him.
"Uh, could you guys do this later over some tea-"
As if to punctuate his statement, a wave of dark energy erupted, only to be met by the shield of Mash.
"Do you lack the will to fight?!" Martha roared, the massive cross clutched in her grasp. "Then let me end it all in one strike!"
She slammed the cross into the ground, the Tarasque behind her lowering its head, eyes closed. The earth trembled as energy pulsed from the ground, a telltale sign of a Noble Phantasm.
"Master!" Mash cried out, her stance defensive. "The magical energy output is spiking! She's activating her Noble Phantasm!"
Martha let out a powerful command, "Now! With me! Tarasque!"
Juro squinted against the sudden, blinding light.
The Tarasque, its form bathed in a white luminescence, let out a guttural roar, its face contorting in an inhuman grimace.
Martha's voice, laced with power and conviction, echoed once more, "NOW RAISE YOUR BOILING FERVOR TO THE EQUAL OF THE SUN!"
"TO THOSE NOBLE THAT WOULD RESIST DESTRUCTION! GRAND THEM THE TEST OF THIS ONE STRIKE!!"
The dragon lurched backward into its shell, unleashing a torrent of fire. With a nimble flip, Martha landed behind the beast, striking it with a powerful blow from her cross. The Tarasque was sent hurtling through the air, engulfed in a swirling beam of light and spewing fire in its wake.
Juro and all the other humans in the area stood speechless.
He was a mere observer in the face of such overwhelming power. Like an ant encountering the blinding glare of a flashlight for the first time, he was overwhelmed, his senses unable to keep pace with the spectacle unfolding before him.
"SAD DRAGON THAT KNEW NAUGHT OF LOVE!!"
A wave of panic swept through Fujimaru's voice as Mash charged forward, deploying her Noble Phantasm. "Mash!" he shouted, urgency lacing his tone.
In the nick of time, She quickly dug her shield into the ground. "Everyone, get behind me!" She yelled.
Juro, along with the soldiers, scrambled to comply, their voices merging into a cacophony of shouts.
Mash braced herself, her shield a beacon of blue energy as she declared, "True name... Pseudo register... Releasing Noble Phantasm!"
"LORD CHALDEAS!"
The colossal shield surged to life, enveloping Mash and the group as the Tarasque's spinning shell of fire and light screamed toward them. The spinning intensified, putting immense strain on Mash's defense.
"Ku..! Ghh!"
The shell spun faster.
Fujimaru extended his hand at Mash, pointing at her form. "Doctor! Can you push more power to Mash!?"
Romani's voice crackled with urgency. "It doesn't matter if we do! We're at our limits! Mash's current capabilities simply can't hold against the Tarasque!"
Mash gritted her teeth, her voice strained but resolute. "Ghhh! I've... got this, Master!"
Juro, witnessing her struggle, clenched his fist.
"What can we do?!" He yelled.
Jeanne, her expression firm, interjected, "Master, allow me to use my Noble Phantasm. It possesses similar defensive capabilities to Mash's."
"Then use it now!"
Jeanne, however, pointed towards his arm, its surface marred with scorch marks. "I fear you wouldn't survive the strain. Even forming the contract with me left you in this state."
"Tch..."
Amidst the chaos, Romani's voice interjected, his voice firm yet laced with concern. "Juro! You've already pushed yourself far too many times! Just stand down… we'll find another way!"
Undeterred, Juro slowly raised his hand, his palm slowly closing.
"Doctor, everyone's pouring their hearts out here, and I won't just be a one-time trick! Besides! am I dead right now?!"
"..."
"I know I'm one of your only winning cards! But I won't die! I promise!"
"..."
Juro could practically see Romani's face in his palms.
"...Alright," Romani conceded finally. "...Just leave the support to us, then!"
A satisfied smile spread across Juro's face.
Jeanne placed a hand over her chest.
"Master, you honor me. You've gone above and beyond to help me, not once, but twice. Thank you, truly."
"Anytime, Jeanne."
Takahashi Juro flexed his arm, closing his eyes.
Honestly, he liked this feeling of being the one to change all the cards. He liked being the one to decide the outcome. The catalyst for the turning point.
Juro felt the outline of his servant.
The feeling of using a command spell was strange, honestly. You could feel the presence of your servant, despite not seeing them.
The sound of metal striking the dirt erupted as Jeanne approached Mash, who was struggling to defend against the fearsome attack.
Suddenly, The flag that had been strung to the flagpole Jeanne held became loose on its own. It flapped around in the wind, a signal of the pure bravery of the Maiden.
Juro envisioned fragments of mana surging towards Jeanne, purifying into white energy upon entering her. His body seared with renewed intensity, but he held his ground.
Smoke began to billow from his arm. It was agonizing, but bearable.
"Gh..."
Fujimaru stood his own as well, providing Mash with the necessary amount of mana required for the phantasm. The attack
Jeanne raised the banner high, her voice resonating with power, "HERE IS THE WORK OF OUR LORD!"
She planted the banner firmly beside Mash, its radiant energy harmonizing with Mash's shield. "MY BANNER, DEFEND MY BRETHREN!"
With a resounding stamp, she declared, "GOD IS HERE WITH ME!"
"LUMIONSITÉ ÉTERNELLE!
The flag soared skyward, its purity a stark contrast to the chaos around them. As it unfolded, it unfurled a vast golden veil, engulfing the group in a shimmering shield of protection.
Juro's agony intensified.
His hand, wracked by the strain, convulsed violently. A searing pain split through his arm as a nerve gave way and exploded, his vision blurring at the edges.
Across the battlefield, a flicker of surprise crossed Martha's face. But it was fleeting. In a heartbeat, Jeanne's flag pierced through Martha's body, a single, swift blow that resonated with a horrifying finality.
Silence descended, heavy and oppressive. Time seemed to freeze, the world holding its breath in the aftermath of this unexpected turn of events.
"Gurgle. gurgle."
Corpses.
Strung up, impaled like macabre marionettes, bled lifelessly into the earth below. At the heart of this disturbing display, a lone figure knelt amidst a crimson puddle.
Saint Martha.
This was the true nature of a Servant deprived of its magical energy.
Without the energy, their only option to cling to the mortal realm was to consume the essence of others...
Their souls.
Saint Martha, the embodiment of kindness, was reduced to a ravenous specter, her thirst satiated only by the blood staining the ground. Her heart, once brimming with compassion, now craved not just sustenance, but the very essence of life itself.
Such a pitiful moment.
The scene unfolded before the Tarasque, its ancient eyes reflecting a profound sense of sorrow. It watched its master, once a beacon of nobility and unwavering faith, now trapped in a cycle of insatiable hunger and self-loathing.
"Hur..." the dragon exhaled, the sound heavy with despair. It yearned to alleviate its master's suffering, but was powerless to intervene, only helplessly watching.
Martha, imprisoned in the throes of madness, couldn't even escape the torment through self-destruction.
For a moment, just a moment, however, she wiped her mouth.
"...It's alright... Tarasque. ...I won't allow the madness enhancement to reach you or this cross. I promise."
She looked down at the ground, Her eyes filled with deep regret.
She did not want to live in this horrifying state.
Martha gazed towards the sky, her voice raspy. "Forgive me, Tarasque," she muttered, "may our next summoning be under better circumstances."
Jeanne's face was etched with sorrow as she watched Martha cough up blood.
Saint against saint, a battle stained with tragedy. This, even the mere thought, was an act of unthinkable blasphemy.
Both warriors bound by the Christian faith, yet forced to clash in this brutal dance.
The truth was, however, Martha, unable to end her own tormented existence, yearned for release. And in her eyes, Jeanne was the only one worthy of delivering it.
"Victory!" Fujimaru's voice, though triumphant, lacked vibrancy.
Martha, her voice laced with a profound sadness, turned to Jeanne. "Forgive me, Saint Jeanne d'Arc. I have stained your purity with my blood."
"However," she continued, her voice fading, "I offer you one final piece of knowledge..."
Her words trailed off, lost to the wind. At least to Juro.
Leaning against a nearby tree, he observed the scene with heavy breaths.
His own suffering paled in comparison to the tragedy that unfolded before him was what he told himself.
His gasps for air were ragged and his vision swam with exertion. He clenched his hand, the pain now an overwhelming throb. A wide gash ran down the center, several fingers bent at unnatural angles, and his arm was a canvas of raw, burning flesh.
The weight of this internal struggle, of witnessing such an agonizing choice, began to take its toll on Juro.
Trying to alleviate the pain, Juro pressured his arm.
"Ghk—!!!!"
The movement only intensified the firestorm in his arm. It felt like it was simultaneously on fire, being crushed in a vice, and being repeatedly stabbed with a rusted blade.
He didn't know – couldn't know – that the white-hot agony coursing through him was caused by three out of five of his arm's nerves erupting in a symphony of pain. A selfish part of him craved attention, wanted the others to turn away from the heartbreaking scene and offer him aid. But a stronger, more mature voice within him silenced that desire. Their needs surpassed his.
His thoughts became sluggish, his mind a white-hot fog where even the simplest thought felt like pushing through a thick wall of molasses. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with the approaching darkness.
Eventually, the world was enveloped with darkness.
Juro's vision swam back into focus, revealing the suffocating darkness of a cramped room. A figure loomed in the center, its form shrouded in impenetrable shadow.
Panic clawed at Juro's throat, his hands scrambling blindly against the cold stone wall in a desperate search for light.
His fingers brushed a smooth surface, and with a trembling hand, he flipped it upwards.
The room didn't illuminate. It simply… became light. In the harsh glare, the figure materialized.
Takahashi Juro's heart plummeted into his stomach.
Malefactor.
The abomination stood frozen in a grotesque crucifix pose, its arms outstretched, its features locked in a permanent, bone-chilling grin.
Suddenly, an overwhelming compulsion gripped Juro.
He had to remove the mask, to see what lurked beneath it.
His trembling hand reached up, his fingers brushing against the cold steel.
"Tenebris regnis, audi nos Eremus feri,
Ex caliginosis sedibus, potentiam fer.
Audi cultores tuos, pande portas noctis ‑
Lux diei exosa est, terram Gaiae spernimus."
The figures all began singing in unison.
"Cava terra gemuit et dehiscent rimas,
Erumpens Erebus niger, noctem permanentem adimas.
Phoebum detestamur, Solem lucis patrem ‑
Te veneramur Dominum, Erebum fortem ac atrem."
Juro began slowly lifting the mask open.
"Regna tua tenebrosa exoramus adveniant,
Ut radii solis putridi super terram non renideant.
Omnis calor vitae marcescat et moriatur,
Perpetuus horror, gelu, rigor, morsque regnatur."
Takahashi was paralyzed. A scream brewed within him, a crescendo building in his throat like a trumpet poised to unleash its fury.
His grip on reality loosened, the world warping before his eyes.
He could not hold it anymore.
A choked sound escaped his lips, a guttural moan echoing throughout the room.
"...aaaaa..."
It crescendoed.
"—GAAHHHHHHHHH!"
It quickly morphed, into a raw, scream of terror.
"AGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!"
His vision went dark.
____________
Juro jolted awake, a groan escaping his lips. The familiar canvas canopy of the tent greeted him, sunlight filtering through its open top and dappling his face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, wincing as the movement tugged at a throbbing ache in his left arm.
He glanced down to see a neatly bandaged wound, a silent reminder of the previous night's events.
Unfurling himself from his makeshift bed, he peeked out the tent flap.
Glancing outside, he noticed Jeanne, Kiyohime, and Elizabeth, sitting against multiple trees, with solemn looks on their faces.
Wait, where was Marie Antoinette?
As he walked around the campsite, he observed Mozart in a clearing of trees humming to himself.
He gave Juro a strange ick.
Like the kind of ick one would get from leaving their kids with a middle-aged bald man wearing a wife beater.
Shuddering, Juro's gaze landed on Fujimaru, seated on a fallen log and idly skipping stones across the river's tranquil surface.
An impish grin crept across Juro's face. After all the times others have sneaked up on him, a little payback was long overdue.
He creaked forward, taking exaggerated care with each step in his stealth approach.
Just as he was preparing the perfect jump scare, his foot came down squarely on an errant fallen branch with a resonant crack.
Damn it.
"Oh, Juro! You're awake!" Fujimaru's surprised face whipped around, quickly melting into a warm smile at the sight of his companion.
"It's been two days, we thought something bad happened to you!"
Juro opened his mouth to make a witty remark, but the words died in his throat as the gravity of his two-day coma sank in.
"W-wait..." he stammered, a pit opening in his stomach. "Two days?"
Fujimaru nodded as he signaled Juro to sit next to him.
Over the next ten minutes, Fujimaru relayed the events Juro had unwittingly slept through.
His brow furrowed as the young master recounted his encounter with the famed dragon slayer: Siegfried from German myth.
A legendary Dragon Slayer who had his story told throughout many mythos.
Fujimaru gestured toward a tall, imposing figure standing guard nearby - a rugged man with long white hair, a brilliant glowing shard protruding from his back. Siegfried looked every bit the legendary dragonslayer, an unmistakable aura of lethality cloaking his badass presence.
Fujimaru explained the reason they knew where the dragon slayer was thanks to Saint Martha's dying words after she had been killed by Jeanne. Additionally, they had crossed paths with the renowned Saint Georgios, who had been in the same village as Siegfried, protecting against further harm from would-be attackers.
As more details spilled out, Fujimaru's expression turned somber and he bit his lip, hesitating.
When he finally continued, his voice was heavy.
"The only reason we made it this far, though ...is because..." Juro felt that the next sentence would not be a happy one. "...Marie Antoinette sacrificed herself."
Juro's breath caught in his throat as Fujimaru slowly shook his head.
"..."
"...She gave her life so we could defeat the Dragon Witch's forces. She managed to save an entire village through her noble sacrifice, too... there wasn't a single death except her own."
Juro silently nodded, a wave of emotions crashing over him.
He should have been there, and should have helped instead of lying comatose and useless.
His own Servant was likely severely weakened from the mana deprivation, as well.
Anger at his own helplessness welled up, but he tamped it down.
One thing was clear - if Marie had willingly surrendered her life for their cause, for her beloved France, then they owed it to her to see that sacrifice through.
Juro's eyes met his companion's.
"...Then if she died for her country, for us to save it," Juro said firmly, "The best we can do is fulfill those wishes. "
Fujimaru hesitated, his gaze dropping as grief flickered across his face. Despite his youth, Juro could see the profound loss weighing on the master's shoulders. It was a reminder that while Juro had only known Marie briefly, Fujimaru and the others experienced her noble sacrifice firsthand.
He wished he could have been there to share that tragic moment alongside them, to feel the same profound sadness driving their resolute determination now.
Instead, he had simply been wasting away unconscious while they soldiered on.
Fujimaru swallowed hard for a moment, getting is emotions together.
"...We're going to storm Orleans with the aid of multiple armies," Fujimaru finally said, a hard edge creeping into his voice despite the sorrow. "I hope you got enough rest."
Juro blinked, taken aback.
"Wait...you mean a full-on assault?"
"Yes." Fujimaru's jaw set, eyes blazing with the intensity of one who had already witnessed and endured far too much horror. "We can't afford to hold anything back now, not after... that." He trailed off, swallowing hard.
The haunted look on Fujimaru's face pierced Juro deeply.
This was no longer just a heroic struggle, but a profoundly personal mission of vengeance tempered by duty and honor. How many burdens had this young master witnessed in his role, tragedies Juro could scarcely fathom?
"We move out in a few hours," Fujimaru continued, the familiar mask of determination slipping back over his features once again as he placed a reassuring hand on Juro's shoulder. "Try to get your bearings together."
Fujimaru's face was like a switch, turning on and off between sadness and determination.
Juro nodded mutely, caught between nervousness over the impending battle and a growing sense of resolve. He would not be dead weight, not this time...
Wait.
Jeanne d'Arc.
As Fujimaru left, Juro turned around, hoping to at least greet her. His Servant was undoubtedly pushed to her limits while her Master selfishly languished away.
Before he could take a step, however, his watch crackled to life.
"And just where do you think you're going, Mister Hypocrisy?" Romani's stern voice made Juro practically freeze in his tracks.
Of course, his reckless collapse likely terrified those back at Chaldea who depended on him.
Swallowing hard, Juro immediately dropped into a deep, apologetic bow.
"I'm so sorry! You have my solemn vow - I won't act recklessly again!"
While Juro himself wasn't raised in Japan, he still had a strange habit of doing it.
There was a weary sigh from the other end.
"Look, I know you mean well, but you're too vital an asset. we can't afford to lose you needlessly."
Juro's chest tightened guiltily.
He understood Romani's point of view and truly felt bad, but his role as a 'hero' meant he would have to constantly get into dangerous situations.
This was a lie simply to quell the worries of others. Not a promise to avoid danger.
Romani sensed his conflicted silence.
"Just...please, Juro. Stay back and out of harm's way this time. We're counting on you."
With a somber nod, Juro agreed as he switched his watch off.
His gaze drifted towards where Siegfried stood vigil. Honestly, Juro stood at around 6 feet, and this heroic spirit practically made him look like a dwarf.
Juro halted for a moment.
Fujimaru was right - they would all need to be at their best to storm Orleans and avenge the hopes Marie passed for.
He sighed, making his way towards the nearby camp clearing.
Just a short distance away, Kiyohime and Elizabeth's voices carried over in another of their heated arguments.
But it was the sight of Jeanne, sitting alone at a rough wooden table, that gave him pause.
The maiden's haunted, hollow stare seemed to bore straight through the plank surface before her. In Juro's brief time among them, he had witnessed Jeanne's indomitable spirit and righteous courage. To see her now, clearly devastated by Marie's sacrifice, was like glimpsing the tragic fracturing of that iron will that had just fixed itself.
He assumed the loss carried a doubly cruel weight for the patriotic Jeanne.
If she had once been at peace offering her own life for France's sake, then watching her queen surrender herself so selflessly must have struck at Jeanne's very core.
Juro hesitated to intrude on her solemn isolation, her anguish most probably feeling like a deeply personal grief he had no place in. Yet she looked up at his approach, lips pulling into a melancholic smile.
"Good morning, Master."
The unexpected address caught Juro off-guard. He braced himself, then moved to take a seat beside her.
"...I heard about what happened to Marie," he began carefully. "I'm sorry..."
Jeanne closed her eyes, features etched in sorrow. "...Thank you, Juro. But I cannot help but feel regret that I could not save her myself."
Her voice hitched with restrained emotion. Juro moved to offer reassurance, but his gaze was drawn back to Fujimaru, seated alone on that riverbank log once more. As if sensing his wandering focus, Jeanne continued in a measured tone.
"When people grieve, that pain never truly leaves us. The years may dull its edges, but it will always grip our hearts, forcing us to remember those we've lost."
She turned to Juro then, her azure eyes brimming with a hayren fire.
"Marie was my friend, and I deeply regret failing to assist her. But that weighs why we must redouble our fight against the Dragon Witch." Her jaw set firmly. "I fear for Fujimaru though - he is but a brave, yet painfully young, soul experiencing so much tragedy."
Juro clenched his fists tightly, feeling the profound sorrow and determination rippling through their small camp. He was an outsider here, awkwardly intruding upon their shared grief and camaraderie.
All he could offer were hollow platitudes:
'Let's keep fighting!'
'Her sacrifice can't be for nothing!'
At the end of the day, he was merely the man who awakened at the wrong time. The person who had peacefully slept away while those around him suffered both mentally and physically.
"Jeanne, I apologize for leaving you to fend for yourself. I should have been there, helping, but I was busy... wasting away..."
Jeanne d'Arc smiled.
Her soft smile carried a tinge of melancholy as she regarded Juro.
"There is no need to apologize, my Master. You have already pushed yourself to your limits for our sakes." Her eyes shone with a quiet understanding beyond her years.
Juro clenched his fists, shame burning in his chest. "Even so, I should've been there! If only I was stronger, more...maybe I could have-"
His self-hatred halted as Jeanne's delicate hands enfolded his, a gentle strength belying her frame. When she spoke again, it was with the same unshakable conviction that had once rallied nations.
"You have already sacrificed more than any could ask, Juro. Do not burden yourself with regrets over what is past."
Her azure eyes bored into his with an intensity that seemed to set his doubts ablaze.
"My obligations as a Servant require mastering any grievances over my Master's limits. What matters now is that we cleave to our righteous path and honor Marie's noble sacrifice by seeing her wishes through to their conclusion."
A sad smile ghosted across her features then, tempering the steel in her words.
"Though my heart aches at her loss, I feel at ease knowing Marie exemplified the ideals she lived for unto the very end. She was ever my friend and inspiration."
This...
This truly was a saint.
Someone who could speak to others on the level of personal that felt so refreshing.
That felt so down to earth.
Juro's ears were not the only thing spoken to, but his heart as well.
Takahashi Juro nodded.
The wyvern's jaws snapped mere inches from Juro as he flung himself sideways, tumbling across the ravaged ground.
Before the beast could press its attack, Jeanne's flag swung in a wide arc - cleaving the wyvern's head from its scaly neck.
"Master!" Kiyohime rushed to Juro's side, her face etched with worry as she helped him back to his feet. "Are you unharmed?"
Juro grimaced, patting himself down.
He tried to avoid eye contact with her.
Ever since contracting with the Berserker as an additional Servant, Kiyohime had been... intensely attentive to his wellbeing.
She seemed convinced he was the reincarnation of her "beloved Anchin" due to some perceived personality similarities.
Juro had no idea what that meant.
While he appreciated the power she lent him, however. the prospect of ending up locked in a bell and boiled alive was infinitely more terrifying than any dragon or wyvern.
"Y-Yeah, I'm okay," he reassured her quickly, scanning their surroundings with apprehension.
All around them raged a maelstrom of battle. Hundreds of soldiers clashed against the Dragon Witch's forces - blades whirling and magics detonating as wyverns dove from clouded skies like draconic furies. Through the carnage, the looming silhouette of Orleans' castle could be seen - a fortified monolith engulfed in strange, pulsating vines.
Juro's mind raced back through Romani's briefing on their ambitious stratagem.
"Fujimaru, Mash, and Siegfried will spearhead our primary assault - aiming to breach the castle's walls with overwhelming force," the doctor's voice echoed.
"Meanwhile, Juro, Jeanne, and Kiyohime will attempt to infiltrate from one of the flanks and neutralize any Berserker-class servants before linking up with the main thrust."
Romani's expression had turned grave then.
"If an opportunity presents itself though, Juro, and at least one Servant should attempt to infiltrate the castle's interior and locate the Dragon Witch's lair. Defeating her may be our only hope should our initial attacks fail."
Amadeus and Elizabeth would also lead diversionary forces to ward off any attempts to outflank them. But the majority of soldiers would be fully committed to either the frontal assault or subduing the wyvern riders and aerial threats.
A guttural roar tore through the battlefield, drowning out even the clashing of steel. Juro whipped his head towards the source of the sound, only for his blood to run cold.
Bodies - French soldiers no more than bloody ragdolls - came hurtling through the air in a grotesque crimson arc. At first, Juro convinced himself it must be some horrific illusion.
Yet the sick stench of rent flesh and death permeating the air left no room for denial's comfort.
Kiyohime and Jeanne immediately threw themselves before Juro in a defensive stance, shielding him from the macabre projectiles. His heart pounded in his ears as the nearest corpse slammed to the earth mere feet away, a thick plume of smoke trailing its descent.
Dread coiled in Juro's gut like a viper as his gaze lifted, following that roiling cloud's source...only to seize in primal terror.
"Crack!"
Through the miasmic veil strode a foreboding silhouette - a figure encased in dark purple armor that seemed to drink in the very light itself, covered in a strange black fog.
A baleful crimson glow burned from the slits of its featureless helm, as if staring into the abyss behind that unholy visor invited total oblivion.
The knight - if such a term could apply to this eldritch horror - moved with an unsettling, crippled lurch, yet the power thrumming from its form was unmistakable.
As it turned its faceless regard upon Jeanne, a rattling keen like a whale's anguished cry reverberated from within that ebon casket of steel.
"AAARRRRRRRR....."
In a blur of unearthly speed that defied its lurching gait, Kiyohime, who was almost three meters away, was sent tumbling away by a single vicious kick powerful enough to dent tempered plate.
Before Juro could even process the strike, he found himself ensnared - that gauntleted hand seizing his face in an inescapable grip.
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Darkness swarmed the edge of his vision as the unholy servant effortlessly launched his body with brutal force.
Juro's world became a dizzying ride of flying dirt and grass as he crashed along the unforgiving ground.
Jeanne's flag impaling the servant was the only thing sparing him from being reduced to a broken, wasted husk.
Scrambling to his knees, he could only gape in mute horror as the corrupted knight traded frenzied blows with his Servant. It had seized a fallen sword in one fluid motion, fighting Jeanne to a standstill with an erratic fluidity more akin to writhing cancer than skilled swordplay.
Its movements seemed to utterly defy the natural confines of anatomy as it wove around Jeanne's defenses - striking from impossible angles, folding inhumanly to evade her blade's sweeping arcs.
"AAAAARRTHH....HURRRRR!!!!"
Hellish roars of wordless fury raked the air as the servant gradually overwhelmed Jeanne through its sheer remorseless onslaught alone. Even her formidable skill and combat mastery proved futile against such an unholy union of speed, strength, and sheer wrongness.
Juro gritted his teeth, channeling a surge of mana into Jeanne.
Her attacks crackled with renewed power, each blow pushing the figure back a staggering step.
But the fight was cast away in an instant. A warhorse slammed into the Servant, sending it flying through the air.
A knight in gleaming bronze armor, adorned with flowing white and crimson cloth that billowed dramatically in the wind, rode into view. His long brown hair and piercing eyes streamed behind him like a celestial comet.
"Apologies for the fashionably late entrance," the knight boomed, his voice resonating with a commander's authority. "Saint Georgios, at your service, and I bring reinforcements!"
He gestured towards Juro, who blinked in surprise.
"Ah, you must be Fujimaru's partner. A pleasure to meet you," the Saint continued, a smile that could light up a battlefield splitting his face. He exuded an aura of unwavering righteousness, living up to Juro's every expectation of a legendary Saint.
"L-Likewise," Juro stammered, managing a smile. This guy exuded what Juro assumed a servant was.
The sudden arrival and sheer presence of the Saint left him momentarily speechless.
Georgios turned to Jeanne, who met his gaze.
"What kept you, Saint?" She asked.
"Rallying additional allies," he explained. "After King Charles' unfortunate passing, France was in disarray. But I managed to locate a leader with a formidable army who, upon hearing our plight, pledged his aid."
Juro's jaw dropped as he surveyed the landscape. The castle grounds, once sparsely populated with pockets of resistance, teemed with soldiers – a seemingly endless sea of French steel.
Where there were once isolated skirmishes, now stood a unified force, a tide ready to crash against the enemy.
"Nice job Saint Georgios!"
Juro's communicator crackled with the doctor's excited voice. "With this army, victory is practically guaranteed! Maybe I can finally dust off my strategist hat!"
Jeanne's gaze drifted upwards, meeting the resolute eyes of a man with long black hair that flowed in the wind.
Gilles de Rais, the black-haired commander from days past.
A silent conversation passed between them, a shared determination glinting in their eyes.
"Gilles," she breathed, her voice filled with a quiet gratitude. "You brought this army?"
Though a considerable distance separated them, Gilles' determined expression spoke volumes.
"Jeanne," Saint Georgios interjected, a message heavy in his voice, "Gilles de Rais wishes me to convey this message:
'We fight for our own sake, no matter the foe. It's the French way, wouldn't you agree?'"
A faint smile touched Jeanne's lips as she mirrored Gilles' resolve.
"Schlk!"
A searing pain erupted in Juro's back.
Glancing down there was something.
A purple gauntlet was inside his chest.
A gasp tore from his throat, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth. The world seemed to slow down as Jeanne and Georgios reacted instinctively, their weapons materializing in a flash of light.
Yet, time seemed to stretch on as Juro reached out, his fingers brushing the cold metal of the gauntlet.
Desperation fueled a single thought: dismantle it!
But before he could grasp the form, the gauntlet ripped itself free, tearing a wider gash in his flesh.
Too slow.
Juro slumped forward, his vision blurring at the edges.
Jeanne lunged, her spear a blur of white light, but the monstrous Servant parried effortlessly. Smoke billowed from the gaps in its helmet, obscuring its gaze.
With a thunderous roar, Georgios slammed into the Servant, causing it to be flung aside once again.
Despite only being the size of an average human male, the servant flew as if it were some kind of boulder.
The false colossus landed amongst the French forces, crushing soldiers beneath its weight.
In a whirlwind of violence, the Servant spun, its massive blade carving a bloody swathe through soldiers and wyverns alike, attempting to clear the area so it could resume its inhumane assault against the other servants.
Takahashi Juro could only watch, his vision darkening as the world dissolved into a haze of crimson.
His body felt numb.
He didn't want to see the mangled mess that was his torso.
The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils.
His hand, clenched around a handful of dirt, dug into the earth, his nails scraping raw.
Juro's world blurred crimson.
Why? Why did it have to be him, at the very beginning?
This nameless monstrosity, a whirlwind of slaughter with no purpose, no backstory – just a harbinger of his own meaningless death.
Was he another forgotten casualty?
A single whimper began to make its way up his throat.
But the whimper snagged in his throat, a pathetic sound that twisted into something else.
A low growl, a surge of primal defiance. Fury coursed through him, hot and bright against the encroaching darkness. Veins pulsed in his eyes, his vision sharpening into a furious squint.
No.
This wasn't how it ended. He wouldn't be some forgotten name, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. He'd been promised a grand adventure, a chance to be a hero.
This wasn't the script.
He, Takahashi Juro, refused.
Refused to die like a whimpering dog, cast aside after a fleeting promise.
He slammed his fist – or at least, what felt like a fist – against the unforgiving ground.
"Screw that," he rasped, the words a challenge to the very air itself. "I refuse...."
He felt the remaining air in his lungs gather up as he took a deep breath
"I REFUSE! YOU HEAR ME?!"
How ironically fitting it was, however, when his neck snapped instantly, killing him.
Like some outside force had decided he was getting a bit out of hand.