The sounds of the creaking carriage reverberated across the desolate valley, a monotonous rhythm that matched the endless stretch of sand around them.
Takahashi Juro stared at the sky, fighting the boredom that had settled in after two hours of travel.
The landscape was a vast, barren desert.
He had been to the midwest before, but it had been less desolate, with signs of life all around. Perhaps human expansion didn't reach this area yet?
Desperate to break the silence, Juro turned to Emiya, who was keeping a steady hold on the reins of the horses pulling the carriage.
"Yoh, Emiya."
"Yeah?" Emiya replied, his eyes still focused on the dirt road ahead.
"No offense, but I haven't heard of your legend/ Story/ Historical significance yet… Mind telling me about it?"
He knew the backgrounds of most of his other servants, but EMIYA remained a mystery.
Seriously, Juro almost knew next to nothing about the guy.
Emiya glanced at him briefly before returning his gaze to the road.
"That's because I'm not a proper Heroic Spirit."
"...Proper?"
"See, I'm a Counter Guardian," Emiya explained. "A Heroic Spirit, by definition, is someone who has been worshiped or idolized by many after death—or someone who contributed significantly to human history, earning them a spot in the throne of heroes. But I'm different. I am a Counter Guardian, an agent of the Counter Force, someone who can be summoned as a servant."
Juro nodded, recalling the term vaguely. Da Vinci had explained the Counter Force to him once, but he hadn't fully grasped it at the time.
"...So you're like a guy who just snuck into the club?"
"That's quite the ironic statement coming from you, but yes."
Juro leaned back, looking up at the sky.
"How do you feel about it?"
"About what?"
"About being surrounded by all these famous figures, these legends and stories that millions of people know about, but almost no one knows about you."
"...It doesn't really affect me. I just do my duty and get on with it. I've met countless heroic spirits by now, and at a certain point, you just get used to it. It doesn't affect you after a while," Emiya said, his tone steady and detached.
Juro pondered Emiya's words. Did heroic spirits remember their previous summons?
Were they doomed to an endless cycle of being summoned, fighting, and dying?
He glanced at Emiya, who seemed focused yet relaxed.
Perhaps after being around for so long, you'd end up like that.
Juro sighed.
Peeking inside the carriage, he saw Jeanne Alter staring at the ceiling, and Nightingale, engrossed in examining her medical tools and a large revolver.
Sighing, Juro looked back at the road. At least they had a carriage this time. In earlier singularities, they had to walk everywhere.
This form of transport was a significant improvement.
"Emiya, when did you become a Counter Guardian?"
"...Honestly, it's been such a long time, but I think it was definitely in the 21st century."
"Damn! That's recent!"
"Yep."
"....Say, do you know something about…"
With that, a conversation that spanned four hours began, covering various topics from video games, world events, and even cars.
◈◆◈
Juro sighed as he pulled an energy bar from his pouch, tearing it open with his teeth.
"Honestly, it's so strange talking to a servant who knows this much about modern stuff," he said, biting into the bar, the crunch echoing in the quiet desert.
EMIYA smiled and nodded. "I haven't had a conversation like this in a while. Feels good."
"Glad to hear it," Juro said, taking another bite of the energy bar.
EMIYA turned to him with curiosity. "What about you, Master? I've never actually seen your magecraft."
With the granola bar in his mouth, Juro unsheathed his knife and placed it on his lap.
"Trafe: Om." He said, his mouth stuffed.
Emiya's eyes widened slightly at the chant.
As Juro placed his hand on the knife, it broke into multiple pieces, each part separated at what seemed like natural connection points.
"Dismantlement magecraft~."
"That's pretty neat. How did you come up with the chant?"
"Well," Juro began as he swallowed.
"I remember doing it once by accident when I broke my dad's lighter. I was scared, imagining him breaking my bones since that lighter was like a family relic."
Juro glanced at his palm.
"It hurt real bad, though. I had a pulsing headache for like a month. After that, I spent about… like, four years trying to replicate it."
He bit down on the granola bar.
"Eventually, I realized I should try chanting something. So I remembered that when I dismantled that lighter for the first time, I felt a sensation going over the structure of the object. 'Tracing' felt like the right word, but it didn't quite work. So a few months later, I thought; 'maybe I need to turn it on?' and the rest is history."
"Interesting,"
Emiya pointed at the broken knife. "You broke it. Want me to make you a new one?"
"Nah," Juro said, raising a hand to stop him.
"But—"
Emiya began, then fell silent as he watched Juro reassemble the knife with precision, placing each piece perfectly back in place.
He began flipping the knife.
"After I dismantle something, I memorize the pattern and how to fix it perfectly. From then on, it's ingrained in my mind," Juro explained. "It's a useless magecraft for most things, but when I really need to break a door or something, I can just dismantle it."
"I see."
"You might ask how I know where to dismantle," Juro continued, "but it's honestly a hard question. I'm not really sure myself. I think it might be based on what I perceive as 'connection points,' since on a molecular level, everything is connected.Or maybe it's from parts that are able to reconnect after the dismantlement process, maybe it's from the automated tracing itself. It's really a mystery."
"But I guess it is kinda similar to Projection." Juro said, glancing up at the sky again.
Projection magecraft 'created', while dismantlement 'destroyed'. They were the opposites of each other, but not to the full extent.
"Guess it is," Emiya agreed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You seem like quite the active person. Figuring all of that out, trying again and again, you remind me of myself."
"Active? Haha... Trust me, man, I'm lazy as hell."
"You don't strike me as the type."
"Nah, honestly, if I sit somewhere for more than like, 30 minutes, I don't move and just get into a lazy mood. I need to be moving 24/7 or else I turn into a total couch potato."
"That's interesting. I don't really have a human-like stamina since I'm a servant, but I do remember vaguely when I was alive, I was pretty hardworking. Someone who was just super stubborn and kept doing the same thing again and again. Someone who clung to stupid ideals and refused to let go."
Juro ran his hand through his hair. "I honestly never had an ideology that I lived by. I'm just a run-of-the-mill dude who just… lives."
Juro stared into space for a second.
"...Actually, I had a recent 'Hero' epiphany that I tried to achieve."
At the mention of "hero," Juro noticed Emiya's eyebrows widen.
"...You good?"
"Master, I apologize for the wording, but I believe that is a stupid way of thinking."
"Eh? But you don't even know—"
"I do. Trust me, I do. You wish to save others no matter what, despite taking damage yourself, sacrificing your loved ones, losing your mind. You want to be able to save everyone, to save the majority. You want to be able to forge a mind of steel to continue saving. You want to devote your life to being a 'hero.'"
"I had the very same way of thinking, and let me tell you, it is useless. A detriment to you and your loved ones."
Emiya's teeth were practically grinding against each other at this point.
"...Sheesh. Well, it's a good thing I left that way of thinking a while ago,"
Emiya's eyes softened for a moment.
"When I first came to Chaldea and the whole incineration of humanity thing happened, I saw it as an opportunity to save people and fulfill that stupid dream. I'm surprised I was even following something as stupid as that, given the fact that I'm not 10. I realized how foolish it was when I thought of my late grandfather. When he passed, he told me the responsibilities I'd have if I ever took up that role, since he had a similar way of thinking to me at that time. He told me I had to abandon every emotion, live a life of solitude, and avoid forging relationships with other people. Who can even live like that? It's so pathetic. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy helping people, but I don't think it should be taken to such an extreme extent. He told me that a 'hero' needs to abandon their emotions because of the evils they come across. That they need to turn into emotionless robots that just go around helping people. That's bullshit. A true 'hero' wouldn't be affected by the evils they come across. They'd rise above it, see how low humanity can truly stoop, and rise above it."
Emiya sighed, a subtle shake of his head accompanying the gesture.
"Humans don't need some grand ideology to guide their every move," he said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of weariness. "These beliefs, no matter how noble they seem, can end up hurting others. Sometimes, it's better to focus on the simple things—getting through that day shift, being there for your family. Those are the things that really matter."
He then turned to Juro, his gaze softening as he spoke.
"And Master, don't lose yourself by blindly following something. You're one of humanity's last hopes, and we can't afford to lose you. Got that?"
Juro's serious expression melted into a grin as he flashed a thumbs-up.
Suddenly groaning, he clutched his stomach.
"Ah, you okay?"
"...."
"...When a soft energy bar has a crunch, is that normal?"
◈◆◈
The carriage creaked with each jolt as it rolled down the uneven path, causing the two girls inside to bounce slightly in their seats.
Nightingale, her expression unreadable, meticulously cleaned a peculiar flintlock pistol with a simple cloth. The weapon was an oddity—larger than a standard pepperbox revolver, yet it shared the same rounded cylinder for storing bullets. Despite its similarity in design, the sheer size of the pistol made it seem almost impractical.
Across from her, Jeanne Alter sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the carriage's ceiling. It was clear she was in no mood for conversation, her irritation evident.
But there was something strange about this situation…
Even though she had no desire to speak with the unsettling nurse, Jalter found herself glancing over at her repeatedly.
"She's cleaned that damn gun 32 times already!!"
Jalter yawned, her patience wearing thin, and shot a glare in Nightingale's direction.
While she usually savored the quiet, today, the silence felt suffocating. For some bizarre reason, the nurse was even quieter than she was, and it was starting to get on her nerves.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her so-called 'Master' laughing up front. The irritation in her chest flared, and her scowl deepened.
Nightingale, noticing Jalter's dark expression, paused in her cleaning.
"I've noticed you keep staring at Master with eyes full of hatred. Do you despise him?"
Jalter barely turned her head, sneering at the question.
"Yeah, no shit. Why else would I be looking at him like that?"
"Is there a particular reason you dislike him?" Nightingale asked, her voice flat and devoid of any emotion.
Her expression was just as unreadable, as if she were merely observing a patient rather than engaging in a conversation.
Jalter let out an exasperated sigh, sinking back into her seat. She raised a hand, lazily gesturing as she began to speak.
"I've got plenty of reasons," she started, her tone laced with irritation. "First, he's annoying as hell. Always trying to talk to me like some disgusting pervert. Second, his face is just stupid. It pisses me off just looking at him."
Nightingale tilted her head.
"Why not speak to him about it? He seems like the kind of person to understand. Why continue the cycle of just acting cold and distant?"
"...The fuck you yapping about? Stay in your lane, Miss nurse. You're here to patch up wounds, not 'fix' the way I think. Stick to healing boo-boos and leave the wannabe therapy sessions out of it."
Without a word, Nightingale resumed her task, meticulously rearranging the items in her bag. The silence in the carriage grew heavier, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the wheels and the soft rustling of fabric.
Jalter groaned, feeling her irritation deepen. Despite herself, she found her mind lingering on the nurse's words.
There wasn't much else to do, after all, and talking felt like too much effort.
Why did everything that wasn't actively trying to kill her irritate her so much?
The idea of being around others was unbearable; she would rather be left alone. That was the optimal path. After all, she was nothing more than a vessel for hatred.
Hatred.
She hated.
That was why she was given the class of Avenger—a spirit driven by a singular, all-consuming hatred and rage towards the world. Someone who, no matter the circumstances, would always harbor hate and show no mercy.
But when there was nothing to fight, nothing to destroy, she felt her anger simmering just beneath the surface, growing more intense with every passing moment.
'Even when there is nothing to hate, I must still hate. This is who I am.'
This was the mentality of the Avenger-class servant. She existed to burn everything down, to answer evil with hatred. She was a ticking time bomb, fueled by the flames of her own wrath.
And then there was her Master.
Every interaction with him only stoked the fire further. He bothered her, poked at her, tried to engage her, and though he backed off when she expressed her distaste, for some odd reason, it made her more angry.
She was in an impenetrable fortress surrounded by death.
It didn't matter what he did. Everything about him just made her angrier.
And so, she hated him.
◈◈◆◈◈
"Uwoghh!! That's a damn lion!!" Juro yelled, his voice echoing through the air—until Emiya clamped a hand over his mouth.
The group was perched on a higher ledge, overlooking the area below from a safe distance. The sight before them was nothing short of bizarre. Down in the ravine, a massive figure resembling a man-lion sat proudly, clad in what appeared to be steampunk armor that gleamed in bright red and blue. Before him stood a regiment of military robots, neatly organized and imposing. Juro recognized them as the same kind he'd seen earlier.
Juro, still dusting himself off from his vantage point, scratched his head in bewilderment.
"That's supposed to be Thomas Edison?"
The last he checked, Thomas Edison wasn't a giant lion-headed man.
"Maybe something happened when he was summoned?" Romani's voice crackled through the communicator on Juro's wrist.
"This is crazy, but we need to make contact to figure out what's going on," Romani continued.
"How we're going to approach them is the real issue," Emiya said, crossing his arms as he analyzed the situation.
"Well, whatever. I guess we just have to make our way down there," Juro said, turning on his heel.
"I have a better idea," Nightingale interjected, her voice unusually stern.
"Really? What's that-"
Juro barely had time to react before she grabbed him by the collar and, with a powerful leap, launched them both into the air.
His view shifted from Nightingale's determined face to the rapidly approaching sky, his arms flailing in panic.
"GYAGHH!!!!!"
◈◆◈
Down in the ravine, Thomas Edison's laughter echoed powerfully as he surveyed his assembled soldiers.
"Haha! How splendid! Truly splendid!" he boomed, raising a triumphant fist. "My mechanized soldiers have turned out perfect! The menacing aura they exude, their impeccable formation—it's marvelous!"
Seated beside him was a petite girl with short violet hair and piercing eyes, adorned with a peculiar hat. She casually flipped through a book detailing various theories of magecraft.
"Even if you call them mechanized, they're essentially just wearing power suits," she remarked nonchalantly, turning another page.
"Aw, Blavatsky! You're so mean!" the lion-headed man retorted with a hearty laugh.
From the sidelines, a man with pale skin and wild white spiky hair stepped forward. His physique was lean, and he donned a skintight suit that left his chest exposed.
"Edison," he began.
"What is it?"
"Visitors."
Before they could react, a cloud of dust and debris erupted behind them as Nightingale and Juro made a dramatic landing. Nightingale held Juro in a bridal carry, the young man looking utterly dazed with foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
"That's—" Edison started, his eyes widening.
"Edison, I presume?" Nightingale interjected, gently setting Juro down. In one swift motion, she drew her revolver, spinning it effortlessly before aiming directly at Edison.
"We've come to discuss the treatment of the virus plaguing this land," she declared, her voice cold and unwavering.
"Are you ready for it?"
The Lion headed man simply looked at her face, his small feline eyes boring through her.
"Seriously! What is wrong with you?!" Romani's voice crackled through Juro's watch, frustration evident in every word. "What was the purpose of rushing in like that? You guys could've died, y'know!"
The rest of the group finally caught up, arriving just in time to witness the standoff.
"Now we're going to have to fight them!" Romani continued, clearly exasperated.
"Hah…" The lion-headed man chuckled as he slowly rose from his chair. The atmosphere grew thick with anticipation, everyone bracing for the inevitable clash.
But instead of hostility, a smile spread across Thomas Edison's face.
Extending his arms in a welcoming gesture, he roared.
"Welcome! I'm so glad to meet you!"
"The Angel of Crimea, and Chaldea!"
Juro stirred, snapping out of his dazed state as he clutched his head.
"He knows about Chaldea? How?"
Blavatsky, who had been quietly reading, closed her book and stood up. "A certain person told us. Who exactly did is a secret, however."
She raised a hand dramatically.
"But first! Let us introduce ourselves. We've been waiting for you, after all!"
With a flourish, she pointed to herself. "Servant: Caster. Helena Blavatsky."
"The 19th-century occultist?" Romani's voice sounded from the watch, intrigued. "She had what people nowadays would call a 'spiritual worldview.'"
In Juro's mind, an image formed of an old woman draped in a shroud, holding a crystal ball. She would speak in riddles, too.
Also stole your money like magic. One second it's there, the next…
Poof.
"But she is the 'Real' thing though," Romani added. "She did leave a mark in the world of magecraft."
"She also had a friendship with Edison during her life."
"And it's still running strong!" She added.
Juro couldn't help but notice how hilariously short Blavatsky was—so short that the chair she sat on practically dwarfed her.
"Servant, Lancer. Karna," announced the man with the large, swept-back white hair.
Juro didn't need to turn to feel the overwhelming presence radiating from him. Slowly, he turned his head, and his eyes widened in shock.
The sheer power emanating from this Servant was enough to crush him where he stood. A suffocating fear gripped his chest, making it hard to breathe. It was as if an invisible hand had wrapped around his throat, slowly tightening its grip.
Karna, however, maintained a calm smile as he looked at Juro. He seemed fully aware of the fear he was instilling in the young man but chose to remain silent, as if acknowledging it would be unnecessary.
https://i.imgur.com/6woWtZ2.png
(Please open the image above to enhance the scene fully.)
"Edison asked for my help, so here I am," Karna said, his tone almost casual, despite the tension in the air.
Romani's voice chimed in, breaking the silence. "Karna, the great hero from the ancient Indian epic, the Mahabharata. He was depicted as an incredibly powerful warrior."
"That explains why his Spirit Origin reading is off the charts," He added.
"Caster! Thomas Alva Edison!" Edison roared, his voice full of pride. "The king of inventors, but right now, the President King!"
"Yeah, Who doesn't know him?" Juro said, proud he could finally recognize one servant.
He heard the 'President King' part, but chose not to address it.
"Yep, the guy who invented the lightbulb," Emiya remarked, crossing his arms.
"Ehh…" Juro said as he shook his hand side to side.
Edison didn't actually invent the lightbulb. The first electric light was created in 1800 by a man named Humphry Davy. Edison merely perfected it, mass-producing and distributing it to the world.
Guess the Throne of Heroes didn't care if you did something or not, just as long as you were popular enough.
How fake.
"Why the hell is he a lion, though?" Jalter blurted out.
Juro quickly shushed her.
"Shaddap! That's probably, like, offensive!"
"Don't tell me to shut up!"
"Well, when you say something retarded, I—!"
"It's a minor issue," Edison interjected, pointing to his lion-shaped head. "My head being a lion's hasn't really affected my thinking."
Juro sighed in relief, grateful that Edison didn't take offense—and that he wasn't about to be eaten on the spot. Still, he could feel Alter's glare burning into his back.
"Now that introductions are out of the way, what did you want to ask us about?" Edison asked, placing his hands on his hips.
"The treatment for the—" Nightingale began, but Romani's voice crackled through the watch, cutting her off.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edison."
It was probably a good idea to keep the Berserker from taking the lead.
Romani's hologram projected from the watch, his nervous smile betraying his anxiety—likely imagining what Nightingale might have said if he hadn't stepped in.
"M-My name is Romani Archaman, Commander and Director of Chaldea. Pleased to meet you."
Edison let out a booming roar of laughter.
"Chaldea! HAHA! Communication from another era! How impressive! I must investigate this technology!"
"Yeah, then sell it," Juro muttered under his breath.
"Thank you very much," Romani continued.
"We've just arrived in this era, so we'd appreciate any information you could share with us. We're, well, practically clueless."
"Gladly!" Edison bellowed.
"First, about the Holy Grail—do you know where it is?"
"It's obvious we don't have it, which means the enemy does."
"Damn, then it's in the east…" Juro muttered, placing a fist in his hand. "And what about those weird soldiers? They're Celts, aren't they?"
"Precisely. Astute observation," Edison confirmed.
"Celtic myth," Romani began to explain. "A lot of legends originate from there."
Celtic mythology had deep roots, tracing back to the formation of Celtic culture around 1200 BC. Originally, the myths were passed down orally during the prehistoric man era and were not recorded until the early medieval period when different scribes began transcribing them.
"Hmm, they were warriors. I see, so that's why they looked like they belonged in a different era. They were Celt soldiers." Romani said thoughtfully.
Edison's face suddenly became serious, his jovial demeanor vanishing in an instant.
"They appeared out of nowhere in this era and began their invasion," he explained. "While they're weaker than Heroic Spirits, they're still formidable enough to overwhelm ordinary humans. Because of that, the American military couldn't stand against them. They were slaughtered—along with President George Washington."
Juro finally fully understood why this was a singularity.
The American military was in no shape to defend against such a threat, having just emerged from a devastating revolution against Britain. They were still recovering, and an attack from a new enemy would be catastrophic.
"And that's why I was summoned!" Edison roared, his lion's mane bristling with pride. "To save America!"
"That's why you became 'President King'?"
"To avert this disaster, I needed more authority than a mere president! Hence the title 'President King!'" Edison declared. "Under my leadership, we're now holding our own against the Celts!" He gestured proudly at the mechanized infantry standing in neat rows before him, the perfect soldiers—no need for food, water, or rest, and no hesitation in following orders, even to their own detriment. He had mass-produced these soldiers to match the Celtic forces.
"But there is one issue," Edison said, raising a finger. "There are Servants on the enemy's side, and they're giving us trouble. We'd like to ask for your help."
"So it's the Celts who are using the Grail…" Emiya muttered. "And this guy's trying to stop them."
Juro scratched the back of his neck, his expression conflicted.
"Listen, I've got no problem with stopping those Celts, but…"
He straightened, his face hardening.
"....But ordinary people are being forced to fight."
Edison's lion-like features tensed, mirroring Juro's serious expression. The thought of sending civilians—people with no combat experience, just trying to live their lives—into battle against supernatural forces was abhorrent to Juro. Why not rely solely on the mechanized infantry? Why force a simple farmer to fight spirits?
That was simply not acceptable.
"Ah, you're referring to that battle the other day," Edison acknowledged, his tone somber. "I regret that as well. Normally, regular soldiers are used in the rear, supporting the mechanized infantry. The fault lies with the frontline commanders who ordered that reckless assault."
Edison clenched his fist, a rare moment of vulnerability showing through his proud exterior.
"I've reflected on it. It will never happen again."
Juro hesitated, searching Edison's eyes for any sign of deceit. Was he telling the truth?
Shaking off his doubts, Juro extended his hand.
"Alright, pleasure to work with—"
A gloved hand suddenly stopped him.
"Wait," Nightingale interrupted, her voice tense.
"What happened to the commanders?"
Edison's face darkened, a grim shadow passing over his features.
"At the re-education center," he said slowly, "having their thoughts 're-educated'."
The words hung in the air, wrong in every context.
Just wrong.
"National unity." The lion headed man began.
"Citizens as one army. No discrimination between men, women, young, or old. Service to the country, no matter the cost!" The row of soldiers said altogether, finishing the declaration.
Juro turned to them, shocked.
Were they not robots?
"Don't worry, Angel of Crimea!" Edison added, his boisterous tone at odds with the sinister undertones of his words. "At some point, civilian deaths will stop! Because they'll all become soldiers. Covered in mechanical armor, they'll become an invincible army."
Juro's eyes widened as the realization hit him.
These weren't robots. They were people.
And that infuriated him.
Edison was turning America into a dictatorship, forcing every citizen to fight, no matter the circumstances.
It was a cruel tactic, but not unheard of in times of desperation. To preserve a country's future, sacrifices were often necessary. But true salvation wouldn't come from such brutality.
"Well, at least once we get the Grail, we can use it to repair everything that happened," Emiya said.
"No, we won't be repairing it."
"...What?"
"We've learned from the Grail that we don't need to 'fix' anything. We can prevent the country from the Incineration," Edison declared, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism. "For a patriot like me, that's a compelling proposition. Especially now that I've become the President King."
"The United States of America will be the only country to survive."
Juro clenched his fist, his mind racing. As an American himself, he could understand Edison's patriotism, but saving only one country at the expense of the rest of the world was unthinkable. Humanity was more than just one nation.
"Sadly, other countries and eras will perish," Edison continued, his voice devoid of remorse.
Juro could not accept that.
"We should consider joining forces for now," Romani's voice cut in, grave and steady. "We can confront him later."
He could not accept it.
"How logical. I have no qualms with that proposition," Edison said, turning to Juro. "What do you say, Chaldea Master?"
He could not!
Takahashi Juro kept his head down, the weight of the decision pressing on him. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, he looked up, his voice resolute.
"Fuck that."
"..."
Edison remained silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing.
"...What a childish response, how illogical," he finally said, his voice tinged with disappointment.
"If you think that's 'childish'…" Juro snarled, his eyes narrowing.
He raised a finger and pointed directly at Thomas Edison.
"...Then you're not fit to lead the United States."
"Well said, Juro," Nightingale affirmed, stepping in front of him with a fierce glare directed at the man-lion.
"A leader with that look in their eyes will lead everything to ruin."
She pointed at Edison, her voice cold and unwavering. "And in the end, they'll abandon all the responsibility thrust upon them, claiming, 'It was never meant to be this way!'"
The lion-headed man finally roared—not with joy or pride, but with pure, unbridled rage.
"So even you oppose me, Miss Nightingale!"
"KARNA!"
Without hesitation, Karna leaped forward, manifesting a strange, wand-like object from swirling flames. The power radiating from him was even more intense than before, his Spirit Origin surging to new heights.
But this time, Juro didn't feel the same fear. His resolve was solid.
"His Spirit Origin is increasing even further!" Romani's voice crackled with urgency through the watch.
In that instant, Jalter summoned her sword, while Emiya projected his twin blades, Kanshou and Bakuya.
Juro quickly leaped back, thrusting his hand forward as he began to issue commands.
"Avenger! Keep the pressure on while Archer provides support—"
Suddenly, an enormous explosion rocked the ground, shaking the very earth beneath them.
The shockwave sent debris flying, and the air filled with dust and smoke, obscuring their vision.
"The celts?!" Juro yelled.
A crackling radio burst to life from within Edison's suit.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Servants of unknown affiliation have appeared!" blared the voice on the other end.
"Damn it!" Juro cursed, snapping his gaze skyward.
What he saw was something straight out of a fever dream—a massive truck soaring through the air, hurtling toward Karna at breakneck speed.
In an instant, Karna's hand became a blur, moving so fast it seemed like a glitch in reality.
The truck split cleanly in two, crashing to the ground with a thunderous impact, smoke billowing from the wreckage.
Juro shielded his face with his arms, stunned by Karna's display of power.
"He sliced it so easily!"
As the scent of gasoline filled the air, Juro's eyes widened in alarm.
He immediately turned and leaped away, just in time to avoid the ensuing explosion that engulfed the truck in flames.
"Master! I think it's time to leave!" Emiya shouted, positioning himself protectively in front of Juro.
"How?! There's nowhere to go!"
"...This way. Follow me."
A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the smoke. It was calm, authoritative, and unmistakably male.
Juro couldn't pinpoint the exact source, but he instinctively knew the direction it was coming from.
Would he really follow a random voice that sprouted out of nowhere?
Well it was better than getting cut down.
Gritting his teeth, he began running toward the voice.
Just a few meters behind, Karna swung his weapon multiple times at Jeanne Alter, the sparks soaring through the air as both weapons made contact.
Parrying the blows, she finally managed to leap backward into the smoke, a grin on her face fully visible.
Karna, undeterred, slashed through the smoke, expecting to find his enemies' remains—only to come up empty-handed.
Spinning his spear with practiced precision, he narrowed his eyes.
"They got away. My apologies," he said, turning to Edison.
Edison waved him off. "It's fine. You did your best, I'm sure."
But Edison's expression had tightened, his lion-like features betraying a hint of unease.
Karna noticed the change. "Is something troubling you?" he asked.
"Ah, it's nothing," Edison replied quickly. But in truth, Juro's words echoed in his mind, rattling him more than he cared to admit.
"If you think that's 'childish'... Then you're not fit to lead the United States.."
Was that boy an American as well? Why did those words strike so deeply? Edison shook his head, unwilling to dwell on it any longer.
"We should head back to the lodging," he said, his voice firm as he began walking away.
Karna and Blavatsky followed in silence, but Helena couldn't resist turning around with a knowing smile.
"You held back, didn't you?"
Karna gave a simple nod, confirming her suspicion. Despite everything, he remained true to his principles, upholding his values.
Blavatsky respected that.
◈◆◈
Panting heavily, Juro leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.
Sweat trickled down his forehead as he scanned his surroundings, trying to make sense of where they had ended up.
"Alright, Mr. Mysterious-guy-that-helped-us-escape, where are you?" he called out, his voice strained.
Nearby, a piece of cloth that blended seamlessly with the trees shifted, revealing a man who had been hiding in plain sight. He looked Native American, with long braided hair and a line of paint running down his face and bare chest. He wore a traditional coat, the intricate patterns blending with the earthy tones of the forest.
"He was this close?" Emiya muttered to himself, surprised at how easily the man had concealed himself. He made a note to be more aware next time.
"Thanks for getting us out of there," Juro said, straightening up and looking at the man with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.
"Who are ya?"
He extended his hand in a gesture of goodwill.
"Geronimo," the man said as he took Juro's hand in a firm handshake. "Caster-class Servant."
"Geronimo! Makes sense he'd be called to America," Romani's voice chimed in through the communicator.
"Who is he?"
"Wow, I'd expect you to at least know him, given that you're from America."
"Ahahaha… Just give us the story, Doc." Juro said with a straight face.
"Sheesh, I was just joking. Anyway, Geronimo was a legendary Apache leader—a Native American tribal spirit user who fought against the United States throughout his life."
"Well, it's ironic that now I'm fighting to keep the country alive," Geronimo said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Juro felt a pang of sympathy for the Native Americans. They had lived on this land for generations, preserving their ways of life for hundreds of years—until the arrival of the colonists. Everything was taken from them: their land, their people, their dignity, all in the name of expansion.
He truly felt for them.
"Are you not a Celt?" Juro finally asked, curious. "Given that you're fighting against them?"
"Of course not," Geronimo replied, turning his gaze toward a clearing in the forest. "As you probably know, America is divided between east and west. But not every Servant has chosen a side."
"There's a large number of us who disagree with Edison's ideology, to say nothing of the Celts."
"Yeah, the guy's a little…" Juro twirled his finger near his head, mimicking a cuckoo sign.
"So you're a third faction?" Emiya asked, crossing his arms thoughtfully.
"Yes."
"Although we're much smaller than the others."
"...Did you save us because you were looking for more allies?"
"While that is one of the reasons…" Geronimo's gaze drifted toward Nightingale, seemingly asking for something.
"What is it?" Nightingale asked, her tone sharp as she noticed his attention.
"Florence Nightingale," Geronimo began, his voice steady, "there is a Heroic Spirit in need of your treatment."
Nightingale's expression hardened, her professionalism taking over in an instant. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her voice resolute.
"Let's go. Take me to them immediately."
◈◆◈
South of Riverton, Wyoming, in Sweetwater County, a few tents were set up in a quiet clearing. Inside one of them, a Heroic Spirit lay gravely wounded.
The young man had long orange hair tied in a ponytail, and crimson eyes that flickered weakly. His sleeveless top and disconnected sleeves were torn and bloodied. Golden armor protected his torso, but it did little against the massive wound—a gaping hole the size of a fist that marred his chest. Despite the many bandages and attempts to stop the bleeding, blood still seeped through.
He lay on a simple bed, barely conscious, his life hanging by a thread.
Nightingale pushed aside the tent flap with urgency, her eyes immediately locking onto the injured Servant. She moved quickly, intent on saving the Heroic Spirit before it was too late.
Juro winced at the sight.
"Damn. Poor guy got roughed up real bad."
The injured Servant slowly turned his head toward Nightingale as she began laying out her tools on a nearby table. His voice was weak, barely more than a whisper.
"You're… here… I've been waiting… for an eternity."
Nightingale didn't waste a second. Grabbing her tools, she practically dashed to his side. "We're starting treatment!" she announced, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
"Let's give her space," Geronimo suggested, leading the others outside.
◈◆◈
Juro squatted next to Jalter , who was leaning against the tent's outer wall. "So, who's that guy?" he asked.
"A Saber-class Servant. His name's Rama," Geronimo replied. "He's from the Indian epic, the Ramayana."
"...India, huh? Same as Karna," Juro mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Geronimo nodded. "Normally, Rama could fight evenly with someone like Karna, but in his condition, he can't even stand. He's the strongest among us—the 'third power' in this singularity, you could say."
"But what happened to him?" Juro asked, concern in his voice. "Poor guy looks like he went through hell."
"I've seen some brutal wounds, but that…" Emiya added, shaking his head. "Whoever did that to him must be incredibly strong."
"I'll fill you in later," Geronimo promised as he sat down on a large log, gesturing for Juro and Emiya to join him.
He let out a thoughtful sigh. "Honestly, I'm surprised you turned down Edison's offer. That took guts."
It was true. Edison's proposition offered a much simpler path, but Juro had rejected it.
Juro scratched the back of his head, thinking.
"To be frank, it's just… seeing someone like Edison, someone I read about in school, a famous patriot, say something like that really pissed me off. Maybe Edison wasn't the best guy in history, but I refuse to believe he'd go that far. Or maybe I'm just too brainwashed to accept it, haha."
The truth was, Juro couldn't stand Edison's use of human soldiers against their will. The U.S prided itself on freedom, giving each person their own free will. That was the country's purpose in the first place. Going against that contradicted that purpose.
If the easier path meant compromising his morals, Juro couldn't bring himself to take it.
He simply couldn't approve of those methods, so he chose the harder road. It was as simple as that.
"Oi! Takahashi, Geronimo!" Jalter's voice echoed from behind. "The crazy nurse is calling you!"
◈◆◈
Inside the tent, Juro found Nightingale standing over Rama with a tense expression on her face. Her eyes never left the wounded Heroic Spirit as she spoke.
"Half of his heart has been gouged out. No matter how many times I heal it, it reverts to its damaged state," she said, her voice tight with frustration. "It's as if this state is his body's normal condition. I can't heal him."
Without turning around, she asked Geronimo in a stern tone, "Once again, what happened to him?"
Geronimo sighed, his gaze heavy.
"The death-thorned spear. A legendary weapon from stories. It's said that once thrown, it never misses its target. A cursed spear. It pierced his heart."
Emiya, Juro, and Romani's eyes widened at the mention of a cursed spear.
Takahashi Juro's stomach twisted as dread settled in. He hoped Geronimo wasn't talking about that person.
Emiya, however, knew exactly who Geronimo was referring to. He wasn't scared, but he understood that if it was that person, things were about to get far more complicated.
Romani's hunch made him slightly panic, his voice tense over the communicator.
Jalter yawned.
"A curse..." Nightingale muttered, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not fond of the occult."
Her disdain made sense. As a nurse, she was dedicated to the knowledge of science, facts, and the tangible world around her. The supernatural defied the logic she relied on.
"We just need to defeat the wielder of the spear," Geronimo explained, "and the curse will be lifted."
Juro felt a cold sweat run down his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He had a bad feeling about this.
"Is it by chance—" Juro began, his voice shaky.
"The 'king' ruling over the Celts. The source of this distortion in history," Geronimo said, his expression tense.
Juro swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"Geronimo, are you talking about—"
"The cursed spear, Gae Bolg. Only one hero wields that weapon. The son of the Celtic god of the sun. The Child of Light. The greatest warrior of the Ulster Cycle."
Juro's heart sank.
"Cu Chulainn."
"It's his Alter form. The 'Mad King,'" Geronimo confirmed grimly.
Juro groaned, gripping his hair in frustration.
"Kahahaha…."
"Well, this just got a lot harder." Romani's voice crackled through the watch.
Cu Chulainn.
In Chaldea, he was like an older brother—boisterous, cheerful, someone who enjoyed fishing. But in battle, the man was a terrifying force, a warrior driven by an intense battle frenzy. Juro had seen firsthand how powerful he was, and his Noble Phantasm, Gae Bolg, was nothing short of deadly. When thrown, it would pierce the heart of its target, no matter what.
And the skill Cu Chulainn had with the spear was legendary, making him a nearly unstoppable force in combat.
Juro's eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for a solution, some clue about what to do next. But his mind kept circling back to one thing: Alter Servants were always darker, more twisted versions of themselves. They weren't necessarily evil, but just… more serious.
For example, Jeanne d'Arc wouldn't dream of burning her enemies at the stake, but her Alter counterpart…
Now, imagine that for Cu Chulainn—a man who had no qualms about turning his opponents into skewers in his normal form.
Obviously, Juro was quite stressed.
◈◈◆◈◈
Jalter sat beside the stupid master in the carriage, her hands gripping the reins with mild irritation as the horses trotted along.
She glanced sideways at him—he looked stressed, bouncing his foot up and down as if his thoughts were spinning too fast for him to keep up.
It had been two days since they received the news, and now the group was traveling across the country.
Emiya and Geronimo were in a stolen U.S. Army truck, while Nightingale was tending to Rama in the back.
Meanwhile, Jalter and Juro were stuck in the front, in a horse-drawn carriage. Unfortunately for her, she was the one guiding the horses since Juro seemed incapable of doing anything that wasn't automated.
"Could you quit fidgeting? It's annoying, and you're shaking the whole carriage."
"Ah, sorry," Juro mumbled, but almost immediately, he started snapping his fingers nervously.
Joy.
Jalter let out an exasperated sigh. "I just told you, like, ten seconds ago to quit it. Your brain smooth?"
"Sorry, sorry. It's just—"
Oh great. Now he was going to unload all his feelings on her, like he always did with everyone else.
Jalter rolled her eyes and let out a sharp "tch."
She never understood why he felt the need to spill his emotions like that. Why reveal how you feel to others who could use those feelings against you? Why not just keep quiet and deal with it yourself?
But of course, it was impossible to ignore him when he was only a few feet away, talking loud enough to make his mouth seem like a blabbering hippo.
"...So, I saw him throw the spear, right? And it broke the mountain," Juro said, turning to her with wide eyes, clearly expecting a dramatic reaction.
Jalter remained stone-faced.
"I'm seriously freaking out here, though." Juro continued, "Since the guy's already strong, y'know? And no offense, but this one's kind of an Alter Servant… sooo…"
Her eyebrow twitched.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, more curious than she wanted to admit, though she wasn't exactly looking for a conversation.
"I mean, most Alters are, uh..."
Now he decided to avoid making eye contact with her.
"'Uh...' what?" she pressed.
"Well, they're a little on the aggressive side."
Jalter felt the sting of that comment, even though she wouldn't admit it. Was that what he thought of her? A monster?
Actually, She should've been glad.
Wrath, anger, hatred—that's all I am.
But…
"But that doesn't necessarily mean they're bad."
That caught her off guard.
"You're a good example of that."
Wow, again.
"Like, sure, sometimes you get a little into stuff, but hey, I'm not gonna judge your psychopathic tendencies." He shrugged. "You're far from the worst person I've met."
She looked away, hiding the conflict in her expression.
Why does he keep bothering me?
Was there a way to get him to just leave her alone?
She was only going to burn him if he got too close. That's what she was—wrath incarnate. She wasn't meant for kindness, wasn't meant to be understood.
There was no understanding for an avenger.
So why?
As if what he said hadn't been a big deal, Juro continued talking casually.
"So, what do you think I should do about the Cu problem?"
"You should… shut up."
"Aw c'mon! You were totally gonna say something right there!"
Jeanne Alter's expression darkened. "Would you prefer to be burned to death, or have a sword shoved into your frontal lobe?"
"Shut up commencing immediately, ma'am!!"
"..."
"...That's enough. if you get any closer. I'll burn you alive."
A brick in the impenetrable fortress fell.
◈◆◈
Juro adjusted the brown bandana around his neck, securing it tightly to shield himself from the relentless sand and scorching sun. The fabric obscured most of his face, leaving only his eyes and hair exposed to the harsh desert landscape.
Dressed in a traditional cowboy outfit, complete with a small black jacket, he looked like one of those masked bandits from old Westerns—cannon fodder for the hero, destined to be forgotten.
Average again.
He cast a quick glance at his neatly packed Chaldea uniform, tucked away in a small box at the back of the carriage along with his other belongings. A strange shudder crept down his spine as his eyes drifted to his command spell, the source of his unease.
His mind wandered back to the earlier conversation that had set them on this path.
Nightingale had been tending to Rama's injuries, much to the dismay of the hero, who had been wincing constantly.
"So, Doc, what's the plan?" Juro had asked, trying to focus despite being seconds away from breaking into laughter.
"Well, we've got two courses of action—"
"Owowww! Be a little gentle! My heart's been crushed, you know!"
Nightingale shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
"Be quiet. Your heart's been crushed, right? So stay quiet."
"...As I was saying," Romani continued, "we have two primary objectives."
Rama winced again as Nightingale continued her work.
"The first is to proceed with Rama's treatment."
"There are three ways to break the curse," Romani explained. "First, defeat Cú Alter, the Caster. Second, find someone capable of breaking the curse. And third, enhance the precision of the treatment."
Nightingale's eyes narrowed at the last point, her expression hardening with a mix of confusion and irritation. "Are my medical skills a problem?"
"Ahaha… not at all!" Romani stammered, clearly terrified of the stern nurse.
"It's just a matter of expertise, you see."
"If the patient were a normal human, your treatment would be flawless. But Rama's a Heroic Spirit."
Juro nodded, the explanation clicking in his mind. "Oh, I get it. Since he's a spirit, it complicates things for her. Since he isn't exactly human."
It seemed obvious in hindsight.
Sensing a terrifying aura behind him, Juro slowly turned around, squeaking, "No offense," as he glanced nervously at Nightingale.
"Exactly," Romani continued. "That's why enhancing the precision of the treatment could be key."
"The third option seems like the best choice," Geronimo agreed.
"But the problem is, how do we do that?" Emiya added, crossing his arms.
Romani's voice crackled through the communicator. "The best bet is to find a Servant who knew the blueprints of his body when he was alive."
"Blueprints of his body?"
"Basically, anything unique to his physical form. Knowing those details could increase the effectiveness of Nightingale's treatment."
Rama, despite his weakened state, raised his hand.
"There is someone... someone who knew me well. They're actually the reason I challenged the Mad King in the first place. To find them…"
And so, the decision was made to search for that person.
◈◆◈
Emiya sat in the passenger seat next to Geronimo as they drove down the dusty desert road, the bright sun casting long shadows across the barren landscape. Dust floated lazily through the open window, and the truck jolted up and down as it navigated over rocks and debris. They trailed behind the carriage carrying Juro, Jalter, and Nightingale.
"We need to expand our forces," Geronimo said, breaking the silence. "We should recruit as many Servants summoned to America as possible."
"We've discussed this before, haven't we?" Emiya replied, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.
"You're right," Geronimo agreed. "But I'm just trying to stress how crucial it is. Compared to the other forces in this country, we're the smallest. A full-on assault against the Celts would lead to our defeat. There's only one option left."
"Assassination," Emiya said flatly.
"Exactly. We'll work with the other Servants we find, infiltrate the heart of the enemy army, and take out their 'king.' That should restore the singularity."
"I know," Emiya replied. "That's why we're traveling across the country—to gather allies and find the one who knows Rama."
"Uh-huh. Honestly, I'd like to grant the boy's wish."
"How kind of you," Emiya said with a hint of sarcasm. "I won't meddle in those things, so don't mind me."
"Is that so…" Geronimo mused. After a brief pause, he added, "Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away."
"Heroic Spirit Emiya, you're that boy's Servant, correct?"
"That I am."
Somehow, all the way from the carriage, the sound of the conversation seemed to reach Da Vinci in Chaldea, who was not even actively surveying Juro, given that she was assigned to overlook Fujimaru's mission.
Her voice suddenly buzzed through Juro's watch.
"Wow! Emiya's so cool!"
"Huh!? What'd you hear?"
Emiya glanced at the dirt road in front of him, his expression thoughtful. "To be honest, that boy reminds me a lot of myself. He's been thrust into a situation he barely understands, he's got the same chant as me, even looks a lot like me when I was younger.."
Heroic spirit EMIYA's hand clenched into a fist.
"...And because he's just like me, I want to stop him from becoming me."