Takahashi Juro sat beneath the night sky, the stars shining brightly above him, undimmed by city lights that hadn't yet scarred the landscape in this era. He looked down at the bone in his hand, turning it over absently.
Why didn't he care about what had just happened? Why had he brushed off what Jalter said so easily?
He sighed, tossing the bone aside.
What was even going on in his life?
It felt like he was just following a script, moving through one singularity after another without really taking control. He was just a passenger, reacting to everything around him.
What a stupid situation.
He let out a short laugh, a hollow sound in the vast quiet of the desert.
"America really was beautiful before humanity spread," he murmured, his gaze shifting to the horizon.
The land was pure, untouched. But human expansion was both a blessing and a curse. Necessary for survival, but it came at a cost. The land suffered, and so did the people who had lived here in peace.
He'd always wondered about that, even as a kid. Even back in third grade, history class always left him with a bad taste in his mouth.
Why did it have to be this way?
A voice crackled through his comm, breaking the silence. "Phew, looks like I'm on duty for watching you tonight," Da Vinci said, her tone light.
"Oh, sup."
"You sound deflated. What's on your mind?"
"Just... thinking about this country. About how much it destroyed to become what it is. I mean, I live here, but..."
Da Vinci sighed softly. "True, the price was high. But sometimes destruction leads to creation."
"Uhuh."
"Takahashi, Have you ever heard the phrase, E pluribus unum?"
"Yeah, I've heard it, but I don't really get it."
"Well, in a way you could say it represented America's ideals. 'Out of many, one."
"Wait, but that makes no sense? America's whole thing is that it doesn't really function on one person."
"Exactly, these words carry a contradiction."
"There is no consolidating the many into a whole in any meaningful way. Because "The many' are 'the many', because each one is their own individual."
"..?"
"My point is that America has many contradictions. There are some good, yet bad, bad, yet good. A truly fascinating country. Naturally, from my time, the country didn't exist, but when I was summoned to Chaldea, I spent quite the long time studying it."
"Appreciate the compliment," Juro muttered, his eyes still locked on the sky. He wasn't sure if it made him feel any better.
Behind him, the sound of footsteps approached. Juro glanced up and saw Geronimo walking toward him. The man's presence was quiet, but commanding.
Surprised that he wasn't surprised, Juro twitched slightly.
Trope subversion!?!?
"Talking about American history?" Geronimo asked, his voice calm.
"Sorry if it offended you."
Geronimo shook his head. "No, it's fine. A lecture from Leonardo Da Vinci is always worth hearing," he said with a smile, glancing at the comm.
Juro chuckled weakly, but his amusement faded as Geronimo turned serious.
"Did you know I was an enemy of the United States during my life?" Geronimo asked, his gaze shifting to the horizon.
Juro nodded, feeling a pang of discomfort. He knew that much about Geronimo's past, and it wasn't hard to guess why.
He waited, unsure of what to say.
"They killed my wife and children," Geronimo said quietly, his eyes far away. "I remember that night vividly. I sat with them for hours, holding their bodies, begging for some kind of response."
"..."
"After that, I sharpened my knife and became a killer. Sadly, I never took revenge."
Juro looked down. "I'm sorry."
"There's no need," Geronimo replied, his voice steady. "It's in the past."
Juro frowned. "But... Why fight for us, then? After everything they took from you?"
Geronimo clenched his fist, his eyes hardening as he gazed at the dark expanse of land. "If this era falls, the blood I shed—for myself, for my people, for my family—will be meaningless. To pretend it never happened would be easier, but it would make me no better than a sly coyote."
He paused, touching the earth beneath him, feeling its weight. "Even irony has its limits."
Juro stayed silent, watching him. There was a strangeness in Geronimo's words, something Juro couldn't fully grasp. How could he speak of such loss with a smile, as if he'd come to terms with it, yet he refused to forget those events?
"Geronimo, I—"
"This land," Geronimo interrupted, his hand still on the ground. "It has slipped from the hands of humans. The future should not be decided by us—the dead. The flames of the past have burned out. Now, it's time for the living to take hold, for them to light the way forward."
He stood, his eyes lifting to the sky. "Whatever happens next, it must be decided by humanity."
This was his reason to fight. He wasn't fighting for the people as an individual, but the people and the world as a whole. He still despised those who killed his family, but he chose to fight to ensure that the country was still dictated by humans.
Geronimo.
A good man.
Takahashi Juro smiled at the good man.
◈◆◈
4 DAYS LATER:
The giant, stone-like golem swung its massive fist downward in a wide arc, smashing into the ground with a thunderous crash.
Jalter grabbed Juro from the collar, throwing him away.
Dust and debris flew up from the impact, shaking the earth beneath their feet.
Emiya performed a backflip, narrowly avoiding the devastating blow.
He landed gracefully, his sharp eyes never leaving the golem, always calculating his next move.
This wasn't just any beast—it was a golem, a phantasmal creature.
Normally, these creatures were created by Magi, following the ancient concept from Genesis: "The Lord molded man out of the dust of the ground and breathed life into him through his nostrils."
Golems were meant to be imitations of human creation, but no matter how powerful a Magus was, their creations always fell short—a crude mockery of life.
But in this singularity, things were different.
The unstable reality had warped the rules. These golems weren't crafted by Magi—they were summoned by the Holy Grail itself, given a distorted form of life and purpose.
Just ahead, Nightingale slammed her fist into the head of another golem, her armored hand punching clean through its stone skull.
With a resounding crack, the creature collapsed, its massive form crumbling to the ground in a heap of broken rocks. The impact reverberated through the air as Nightingale landed beside it, the dust swirling around her.
"Alright, the path is clear!" Juro shouted.
The group pressed forward, moving steadily toward their goal: Alcatraz Island.
In the distance, the enormous prison loomed over the them, its dark silhouette casting a shadow over the water. It was far larger than anything Juro had expected, towering above them like a fortress.
◈◆◈
4 DAYS AGO
The group sat on a bench, underneath the bright morning sky.
Despite the peaceful setting, Juro found himself in an uncomfortable predicament—squished between Jeanne Alter, who looked utterly revolted, and Nero, who was on his right, cheerfully unaware of the space issue.
As he looked at the two women beside him, something clicked in his mind.
Why did Nero and Jeanne Alter look... the same?? Their faces at least? No seriously, it was the same face, just with Jalter's being more pale, and her eyes being-
Before he could think any further, Jeanne Alter's icy glare cut through his thoughts.
With a sigh, Juro turned his attention to the hologram of Romani, projected from his wristwatch in the center of the table.
"Alcatraz Island, the most famous prison american prison in history. Many legends and stories originated from this so called 'inescapable' prison." Romani began.
"Wait, one quest-" Juro raised his hand. Or at least, he tried to—his arm was stuck between himself and Nero. After a bit of awkward wriggling, he managed to free it and waved it in the air.
"One question," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Alcatraz wasn't built until way later, so why's it here now?"
"I assume that's because Medb, since she has the holy grail."
Juro looked satisfied for a moment, then scratched his head again.
"Wait though, how does she know about that prison? She's not even from America, let alone from the time period."
Romani hesitated, then threw his hands up in defeat. "How am I supposed to know? I'm not her assistant."
"Ah."
Juro felt partly bad due to the fact that he kept asking questions. He'd keep pushing until someone eventually threw their hands up and shouted, "I dunno!!"
Nero, who had been quietly listening (Yes, quietly), suddenly turned to him with a grin.
"You sure do ask a lot of questions, don't you?"
"Ahaha, guess I'm a bright soul.."
"Don't worry," Nero continued, her voice warm.
"I think there's beauty in that. You ask questions because you're human, and that's the most human thing of all. Curiosity is what drives us to learn, to explore the world around us. There's a special beauty in that."
Her words, paired with her sudden closeness, left Juro feeling flustered. He chuckled nervously, trying to focus on the paper in front of him as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
Nero chuckled at his reaction, clearly enjoying his reaction.
'Dammit! She's embarrassing me in front of everyone!! You won't get away with this!!'
Trying to shake off the awkwardness, Juro cleared his throat. "So, Sita's probably being held in Alcatraz, huh?"
"Yep," Romani confirmed with a nod, the projection flickering slightly.
Geronimo, sitting quietly beside them, spoke up. "There are rumors in this area. They say 'Giants' guard the prison. And alongside them is a powerful warrior."
Romani took a casual sip of his coffee, his hologram flickering slightly. "Well, the warrior guarding the prison is definitely a Servant. As for the giants... well, giants are giants."
Emiya nodded in agreement. "They're definitely phantasmal creatures. Tough, but not unbeatable."
"Right," Romani continued, waving off the immediate concern. "No need to stress about them right now."
"Alright then, let's move out," Geronimo said, rising from his seat. Nero, Elizabeth, Billy, and Robin stood as well, preparing to head off in their own direction.
"Huh? Wait, what?" Juro looked around, suddenly confused by the group's movement. He hadn't heard about any split.
Emiya sighed, shaking his head slightly.
"Oh yeah, we forgot to tell him..."
Geronimo turned to Juro, his expression calm but serious. "We're splitting up. Me, Billy, Robin, Nero, and Elizabeth are heading east to deal with the Celts."
Juro blinked, feeling a jolt of surprise.
'Why didn't anyone tell me?'
"And you," Geronimo continued, "along with Jeanne Alter, Emiya, Nightingale, and Rama, will head to Alcatraz to save Sita."
For a moment, Juro looked down, processing the sudden shift.
The others watched him closely, anticipating some kind of reaction. They expected him to be frustrated, maybe even upset, but instead, he slowly looked up with a small, confident smile.
"It's fine, really," he said, his tone steady. "You guys are plenty strong, so I'm not too worried."
The tension in the air eased as the others relaxed. Juro was confident in them—in their abilities. He had seen them in action, and they were an incredible force. Geronimo's unshakable composure, Nero's powerful charisma, Elizabeth's…., Billy's precision, and Robin's cunning—they wouldn't lose.
If they played their cards right, they'd come back victorious.
◈◆◈
Juro stood in front of Nero and Elizabeth.
"Umu, I can see you biting your lip, you know," she said, leaning forward, her emerald eyes gleaming with concern as she looked up at his downcast face.
Elizabeth chimed in with a smirk.
"Yeah, it's pretty obvious! What's with the gloom?"
Nero straightened up, smiling softly.
"Thank you for everything you've done in this singularity, Takahashi." Her voice was warm, though a flicker of curiosity danced in her gaze. "Honestly, I still don't fully recognize you from the second singularity, but I can't shake the feeling that we've met before."
'Yes, Nero, you did meet me.'
He wanted to say it out loud, but the words remained stuck in his throat.
Nero laughed. "But I'm glad we've met again!"
Elizabeth glanced at her, a little uneasy.
"...Hey, you're making it sound like we're going to die."
"Umu, is that what it sounded like?"
She turned back to Juro, her expression softening.
"Don't make that face, it really doesn't suit you! Trust me, we'll meet again for sure. That's a promise!"
◈◆◈
Juro approached the front of the carriage, where Geronimo stood calmly tending to the horses that would soon pull it forward. The soft clinking of reins and the steady breathing of the animals filled the quiet space between them.
"Yo," Juro greeted, raising a hand.
Geronimo turned to him, a warm smile spreading across his face. He seemed at peace, despite the journey ahead.
"You know," Geronimo began, his voice steady and calm, "this isn't goodbye."
Juro looked at him, confused for a moment, before Geronimo continued.
"In our language, the word 'goodbye' was never used," Geronimo said, placing a strong, reassuring hand on Juro's shoulder.
"When you say goodbye, you're acknowledging that the person you're saying it to is physically gone, that they're not there anymore. But that's not true."
Geronimo's grip tightened slightly, his gaze unwavering.
"In truth, their imprints and impressions never leave. The memories you shared, the moments, they remain with you. Always."
"So,"
"Takahashi Juro, I'll see you."
Juro smiled back, the weight of the moment sinking in. He nodded, feeling a quiet sense of peace in Geronimo's words.
"Yeah," Juro replied, his voice steady now.
"I'll see you."
◈◆◈
Juro watched as both Nero and Elizabeth climbed into the back of the carriage, both waving at him, their bright energy filling the space between them.
The reason he felt so downcast was simple—he knew Nero. He knew her in Chaldea, and fought alongside her in the second singularity.
He knew her well.
And that familiarity, that bond, made him afraid. Not paralyzing fear, but the kind that grips you when you know you have something to lose.
The same went for Elizabeth. This was their third meeting, and over time, she had become more than just an ally.
She was a friend. And it was normal to be scared when your friends were heading into danger.
As the carriage pulled away, Juro stood there, his hand falling to his side. He trusted them, but that didn't make it any easier to watch them leave.
Click.
"Nah, they've got this." He said with a smile on his face.
◈◆◈
Present:
Rama closed his eyes, his body swaying awkwardly as Nightingale carried him in her strange medical bag slung across her back. He felt weak, his thoughts drowning in regret.
'How foolish I've been.'
He had made so many sacrifices since coming to this land, one after another, but what good had it done?
His body was failing him, and in this state, there was nothing he could do.
Would he even live long enough to see his beloved Sita again? Would he see her eyes, her face?
A weak, bitter laugh escaped his lips.
There's no point in thinking about her now... I won't last an hour like this.
The thought gnawed at him—how reckless he'd been.
Summoned into this era, his first and only goal was to find Sita.
Without hesitation, he had challenged the Mad King, a tyrant on a killing spree, cutting down anyone in his path.
And what had it gotten him?
His pride had blinded him to his own limits. Geronimo's subordinates, brave but human, had tried to save him. They gave their lives for him, despite having no powers of their own. And he?
He couldn't even save them.
"How sinful… perhaps this is my punishment..."
Without warning, Nightingale jerked her head back and struck Rama sharply, startling him out of his self-pity.
"Hey, hey, hey!! Chief!? What are you doing?!" Juro shouted, both he and Emiya wide-eyed in shock.
Even Jalter was a little taken aback.
"Rama," Nightingale said firmly, not bothering to look back at him. Her voice was sharp, unwavering.
"I don't know what you think is sinful, or what you think your punishment is, but sickness is not a punishment."
She continued, her tone filled with an intensity that left no room for argument.
"To the people trying to heal you, and to the people who are fighting to save you… That is insulting."
"...Sorry."
Before he could say more, Nightingale suddenly broke into a full sprint.
"Ugwah!?" Rama gasped as he was jostled by the sudden movement.
"Hey, Chief! Where are you going?!" Juro shouted, trying to keep up, but Emiya quickly grabbed his collar to stop him.
"Wait!" Emiya shouted, his voice urgent. "There's a high mana concentration nearby! Something huge is—"
His words were cut off as a massive shadow loomed over them. The group looked up in shock.
From the dark prison corridor, an enormous humanoid creature lumbered forward, its size dwarfing the space around it. The prison, vast as it was, seemed to accommodate the beast effortlessly. The ground shook with each step it took, the air growing heavy with its presence.
Juro's heart raced as he took in the sight, sweat trickling down his face. The creature's size cast a deep shadow over the area, plunging them into near darkness.
"This isn't just a golem! This is something else!!" Romani's voice crackled through the communicator, his tone panicked.
"Got it!!" Da Vinci's voice chimed in, her hands flying over the controls at her console.
She had momentarily diverted her attention from Fujimaru's mission to monitor the situation.
"It's connected to some kind of fairy!"
"A fairy?! A giant fairy?! Could it be that one?!"
But before anyone could act, Nightingale—ignoring the warnings and panic—launched herself into the air with incredible force. She kicked off the walls, each leap propelling her higher, faster.
"Chief!" Romani shouted through the communicator, panic in his voice. "Get away from that thing! It's a Sprig—"
Nightingale spun midair, her momentum unstoppable. Her foot collided with the creature's face with an earth-shattering impact.
The sound of crumbling stone filled the corridor as the giant's face shattered like fragile rock. Chunks of rubble rained down to the floor, the echoes of the crash reverberating through the space.
The enormous creature staggered, its balance thrown off as it slumped against the wall before collapsing in a heap of debris.
Nightingale, hanging from the wall by a single hand, slowly lowered herself down, her movements composed as if taking down a creature of that size was all in a day's work.
The group stood frozen, staring in disbelief at the sight. Nightingale had taken down the giant in one blow.
"One thing," she said calmly, turning her attention back to Rama, her eyes sharp and focused.
"It's only natural that a nurse heals the wounded. So if you've got the energy to feel guilty…" She paused, her voice growing dangerously low. "Dedicate yourself to feeling better, or I'll kill you."
"Ahaha... Miss Nurse…"
"...You really are a Berserker."
At that moment, a blur darted toward them from the shadows.
From Juro's perspective, it seemed as if the air itself bent for a second.
Nightingale was suddenly launched halfway across the room, slamming into the stone wall with a force that made bricks fall loose from the structure. Dust rose, slow and heavy, in contrast to the speed of the assault.
"Chief!!"
Nightingale pulled herself up from the rubble, her stance steady despite the impact. She had turned her body just enough so that Rama, still strapped to her back, avoided striking the wall directly.
"Wow. You sure are tough, Berserker," a voice called out, stepping forward from the shadows.
The figure emerged slowly—a man with tanned skin, his torso bare and littered with burn marks and scars. His short, golden hair was swept back, with two locks hanging loosely over his face. In one hand, he held a massive sword, more like a club in size, and in the other, a smaller, darker blade that hummed with a strange energy. His arms were bound in chains, their length long enough to allow him freedom of movement despite the restraints.
"Welcome to Alcatraz Prison."
His grin was wide, too wide, as he spoke his next words.
"Beowulf, Berserker."
The ease with which he revealed his true name sent a chill down Juro's spine. Only a Servant completely confident in their power would be so bold.
There was something unhinged in Beowulf's eyes, an almost wild madness that promised chaos.
"Beowulf…! The protagonist of the oldest epic poem in English literature!" Romani's voice echoed through the communicator, his alarm clear.
"So, he's the warrior we heard about…"
Nightingale, battered and bloodied, tried to push herself into a defensive stance despite her injuries. Her body shook from the effort, but she stubbornly remained between Rama and Beowulf.
"Miss Nurse, there's no need to take damage for me!" Rama shouted from her back, his voice filled with frustration and guilt.
Beowulf's smirk widened as he raised his massive sword high.
"Sorry, can't have you leaving just yet."
With a swift movement, he brought his weapon down, a heavy arc of destruction. Blood sprayed from the sword, slashing into Nightingale, cutting her at several points.
Her body jerked as the wounds began to accumulate, but she stood her ground, refusing to fall.
The way Beowulf's sword moved was unnatural—like it had a mind of its own.
Nightingale's eyes struggled to follow its rapid, erratic motions, but it was as if the blade danced with an invisible force, striking wherever it pleased.
Beowulf noticed her confusion and chuckled.
"Oh, you look a little lost," he teased. "See, my little buddy here has a taste for blood." He shook the sword, and the crimson liquid clung to the blade before dripping off like it was alive.
"Grgh! Don't let this bastard monologue any further! Avenger!!"
With a burst of mana, Juro sent a surge of power toward Jeanne Alter. In an instant, she dashed toward Beowulf, her eyes burning with fury, her sword ready to cut through the warrior.
But Beowulf, quick on his feet, darted to the side, narrowly avoiding her strike.
What he didn't expect, however, was Jalter spinning on her heel mid-dash, her free hand igniting in a blazing inferno. With a fierce punch, she aimed directly at him.
Beowulf's eyes widened, and he barely managed to shift his body, avoiding the full force of the blow. He let out an impressed laugh, "Aha! A smart one!"
Jalter's fiery fist left a scorch mark on the ground, the intensity of her strike still lingering.
But Beowulf wasn't done.
Turning his attention back to Juro, he swung his sword, and blood projectiles shot out toward him in a deadly arc.
Juro's eyes widened, but before he could react, Emiya rushed in front of him, his dual swords flashing in a blur.
With precise movements, Emiya deflected each of the blood projectiles, their trajectory bouncing harmlessly away from Juro.
Jalter was immediately back in the fray, appearing behind Beowulf and swinging her sword down with the force of her full strength. Beowulf moved just in time, dodging the fatal strike by tilting his head to the side, the blade grazing his cheek.
Taking advantage of Jalter's position, Beowulf countered swiftly, driving his knee into her stomach. The force sent her skidding across the stone floor, crashing back several meters as she gasped for air.
"Avenger!" Juro shouted in alarm.
But Beowulf wasn't done.
His attention turned to Nightingale, who was still close to him, weakened and struggling to stand.
Nightingale looked up, blood dripping down her face, her breath labored but defiant. Her eyes met Beowulf's as he approached with deadly intent.
He swung his sword.
◈◆◈
One Day Ago:
Takahashi Juro was fast asleep on a bench, his loud snores filling the air. Next to him, Nightingale sat calmly, conversing with the hologram of Romani, projected from Juro's watch.
"Chief, have you ever heard of Rama's myth?" Romani asked.
"No."
"When Rama was a young prince of Kosala, he met Sita and fell in love with her. They married, but their happiness didn't last long. Sita was kidnapped by Ravana, a powerful demon from the Rakshasa, a race of malevolent beings in Hindu mythology. Rama then embarked on a long journey to find her."
"And he found her in the end?"
"Yes," Romani continued, "Rama battled Ravana and defeated him. After his victory, Sita returned to her husband's side."
Nightingale nodded thoughtfully.
"I assume they found happiness after that?"
Romani hesitated.
"No. The people suspected Sita of having an affair with Ravana during her captivity. Though Rama became king, the weight of public opinion forced him to exile Sita. The tale ends with them apart, each dying alone."
Nightingale's expression remained neutral, but her question probed deeper.
"Are you suggesting Rama never truly loved his wife?"
Before Romani could respond, a voice cut through the conversation.
"He does."
Both Nightingale and Romani turned to see Juro, now wide awake, sitting up on the bench. His usual laid-back demeanor was gone, replaced by something more serious.
"The Rama with us now—he's doing everything he can to see Sita again. That's what's keeping him tethered to this world."
Juro clenched his fist, his voice steady but filled with conviction. "He's just like everyone else I've met so far. They treasure the people they hold dear and fight for them no matter the odds. Rama loves Sita, and all he wants is to be with her again."
He paused, looking at the ground for a moment before speaking again.
"That's an incentive for me too."
Juro wasn't sure how much Rama loved his wife when he was alive, if at all. But he felt that right now, was what mattered.
The past was unchangeable, but the future? That was still his to shape.
◈◆◈
Nightingale gripped Beowulf's massive blade with her bare hand, her head lowered as blood trailed down her arm. Despite the pain, her resolve was unshaken.
"Rama!!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the sounds of battle.
Rama turned his head, weakened but alert.
"Do you love Sita?!"
"O-O-Of course!! What else do I need to say at this point?!" Rama stammered, his voice trembling but filled with conviction.
Nightingale smiled through the pain, pushing Beowulf's blade away with renewed strength. "Nothing. That's all I needed to hear."
Beowulf, surprised by her sudden surge of power, stepped back in disbelief. He hadn't expected this kind of resistance.
"Rama!" Nightingale called out, her voice filled with fierce determination.
"I can feel your will to live! The desire to heal, to fight for your love! That will is essential for treatment!"
She clenched her fist, standing tall despite her injuries. "I will heal you, so that you may declare your love for Sita with your own strength!"
Florence Nightingale had always been a woman who prided herself on healing her patients, not just physically but mentally.
Juro could see it now, her unwavering dedication. She was more than just a combatant—she was a medic, someone who straddled the line between the physical and emotional worlds, determined to bring peace to both.
He smiled.
Jeanne Alter, still clutching her stomach from Beowulf's previous blow, growled in frustration.
"Why the hell are you two just standing around?!" She snapped at Emiya and Juro.
Emiya nodded, his grip tightening on his swords. Juro, though startled by her intensity, quickly nodded as well.
"If this guy wants to get in the way of my love, kick his ass!" Rama yelled, his resolve hardening.
Beowulf sneered, his face twisting into a snarl.
"The hell you say, you half-dead piece of luggage!!"
He let out a loud yell as he looked at the incoming onslaught.
"Fine! Risk your lives over a woman!" With a roar, he charged at them, his sword raised high.
The battle exploded into chaos as Emiya and Jeanne Alter launched their coordinated strikes.
Beowulf parried both attacks, his sword swinging with terrifying speed. Nightingale leaped into the fray, aiming a swift kick at him from above, but he dodged her, spinning on his heel and firing a burst of blood toward her, which she blocked with her fist.
Emiya, usually more comfortable with a bow, had no choice but to engage in close combat. But as the fight continued, he saw his opening and leapt back, summoning his large bow and pulling the string taut.
Ten seconds.
If he could strike Beowulf directly, they could turn the tide of the battle. Emiya's eyes locked onto the warrior, who was too preoccupied with Jeanne Alter and Nightingale to notice.
As Emiya took aim, he projected a replica of Beowulf's sword, Hrunting.
He was familiar with the sword, as he had used it in times begone.
But Projection magecraft usually ran on how he remembered the sword itself.
Every time he projected a weapon, it mostly was based on the original memory of said weapon.
But this time, he was seeing the original. So using the active viewing of this 'original' the faker projected a 'fake' so real, it was almost on par with the original.
He landed as he pulled the bowstring back.
With a deep breath, Emiya released the bowstring, sending the recreated Hrunting flying toward its original owner.
The sword ripped through the air itself, allowing a loud sonic boom to erupt.
Beowulf's senses kicked in.
Despite the intensity of the fight, he turned and caught the projectile mid-air, his face twisting into a mask of rage.
"You've got the nerve to copy my sword!!" Beowulf bellowed, hurling the projectile back with terrifying strength—straight toward Juro.
"Master, out of the way!"
Before Juro could react, Emiya pushed him aside, barely avoiding the deadly strike. The sheer force of Beowulf's throw made it clear: Beowulf had realized that if he could kill Juro, the Servants would disappear.
He was targeting the Master.
"How is this guy so strong?!" Juro yelled over the clashing of blades and the debris swirling through the air.
Beowulf laughed, his voice carrying over the battle. "Our queen has the Grail, y'know! That's all the mana I need!"
His sword swung in an upward arc, crashing into Jeanne Alter's defense and sending her skidding back across the ground.
Juro clenched his teeth.
Depending on how much mana a servant was getting, it would determine how strong they would be.
The Holy Grail had an almost unlimited amount of mana.
Obviously, they'd be quite strong.
Nightingale struggled to regain her footing, her injuries beginning to take their toll.
"Miss Nurse," Rama said from her back, his tone serious. "Let me down."
Nightingale glanced at him. "You're still too weak—"
"You're being held back because of me," Rama insisted, his voice unwavering. "Let Takahashi heal me. This is my fight."
Nightingale hesitated, then nodded. She carefully lowered him to the ground, her eyes still on Beowulf.
Beowulf sneered, noticing the exchange. "Dropping the dead weight, huh?" Before he could finish his insult…
Nightingale's fist was approximately one inch from his face.
He managed to catch her strike, causing wind to blow against his hair.
The sheer force of her blow surprised him.
"Excellent!" he laughed, his excitement only growing.
Meanwhile, Juro knelt beside Rama, his hands glowing with a soft green light as he prepared to heal him.
"You good? Let me heal you."
"Activating Mystic—"
"Wait," Rama interrupted. "I have a request."
Juro raised an eyebrow, confused but focused.
On the battlefield, Beowulf fought off Emiya, Jeanne Alter, and Nightingale with wild, unrelenting power. Each of them was giving everything they had, but Beowulf's excitement only grew with each passing second.
"Hell yeah! This is a true fight!" Beowulf roared. "Use your numbers against me! Bring it on!"
As Emiya fought he thought of using his noble phantasm. The issue however, laid in the fact that it was a reality marble, and using that without knowing where Sita was was a problem.
"This is going to be a long fight..."
__________________________
"You're thinking of using your Noble Phantasm!?" Romani asked, his voice coming through the communicator.
Rama barely nodded.
"Bad idea. I don't think your spirit origin will be able to handle it."
"..."
"Rama, use it." Juro said, his face confident.
"Huh?!"
He stood up as he stretched his arms.
"Alright doc, help us make this work. Don't worry if it hurts me."
Romani hesitated. Would he allow another incident, or would he stop it?
He felt conflicted.
He had to trust.
Trust.
"...Alright then.."
"Conducting high level mana output…"
Juro began to pant.
His stamina began to wither away.
"It's going to be hard, but if this is what you want."
Trust.
"Of.. course.."
Rama stood up, still bandaged but visibly stronger. Juro cracked his knuckles, placing his hand on Rama's back to transfer mana. His body tensed, the strain of the mana flow hitting him hard.
Rama breathed in deeply. "I didn't think you'd help me like this... Thank you."
Juro panted, struggling to maintain the energy output.
To him, it felt as if he was running a marathon, and was running out of breath, but kept running.
"Cmon man… don't.. Sweat it…"
"But it's also… cause… I saw your memory…"
There was a strange phenomenon that allowed Masters to see the memories of their servants when asleep. The same applied for servants. Juro was no stranger to this. But having a lot of dreams was quite tolling.
"I saw yours, aswell. It was…"
"My memory doesn't really… matter, heh." Juro chuckled.
"Well, What look did I have in my eyes?" Rama asked.
"A peaceful… one."
"Is that so?"
Rama smiled and raised his hand. In a bright flash of orange light, his divine sword appeared in his grasp, shining with immense power.
"Then I must fight," Rama said, his eyes blazing with determination.
Juro gave him a final pat on the back before stumbling back. "Go get 'em."
Rama closed his eyes.
In his life, he never once doubted his wife's faithfulness, rather, he exiled her because he saw it as the 'Proper' and 'wise' thing to do as a king. To fulfill the wishes of his people that did not seem to like her.
At first, he regretted it, even thinking to go as far as to follow her.
But to his behest, he forgot his love for her over time.
Surely, he ruled over a peaceful kingdom. The 'him' who became king.
Rama opened his eyes.
No!
He was thinking as he once did! It was not the optimal path!
What was the truely wise thing to do?!
He only stated to become a 'good king' to proclaim his self preservation! For his people to love him!
And for that selfishness…
For that selfishness, he suffered.
He lost the love of his life.
…
…No more regrets.
Even it was a ridiculous decision, he would take up his sword! To fight for his lover. It was the chance he had at this moment!
And Rama, King of Kosala, would seize this chance by the neck!
Rama's sword began to spin in his hand, a strange orange light swirling around the blade.
The energy surged, growing brighter and brighter as the sword spun faster, rising higher into the air. The power around him was palpable, his resolve burning through every fiber of his being.
"The blade of the full moon!!" Rama cried out, his voice echoing across the battlefield, "The bow of mortality!!"
The orange light intensified, wrapping around the air like a burning halo. His eyes blazed with unyielding love and determination. Every ounce of his remaining strength was poured into this final strike, the divine force of his Noble Phantasm.
"This is Brahmastra!!"
The ground beneath him trembled as the power of his attack gathered. Rama's gaze, filled with fierce emotion, was fixed on one thought—one person.
"My wife."
"My beloved wife."
The image of Sita filled his mind, her gentle smile, her unwavering love. Everything he had fought for led to this moment.
"I dedicate this attack to you!!"
With a final roar, he released the immense power he had gathered, his voice ringing out like thunder across the battlefield.
"BRAHMASTRA!!!"
The spinning light exploded outward in a brilliant burst, the energy of the attack surging toward Beowulf like a divine comet. The sheer force of the Noble Phantasm was overwhelming, its brilliance lighting up the entire battlefield.
◈◆◈
I stagger, struggling to hold my footing on the uneven stone stairs, the darkness pressing in on all sides. I can't see a thing, the blackness so thick it feels suffocating.
Each breath I take burns, my chest heaving with the weight of exhaustion and desperation.
"Sita!!"
I yell.
"Rama!! Sita is over here!"
A response.
My wife.
My love.
I press my hands against the cold, damp walls, feeling my way through the oppressive dark, my legs shaking beneath me.
My vision blurs, each step heavier than the last, but I can't stop now. I won't stop now.
"Sita!! Where are you!?"
I stumble toward a nearby door, the faint sound of her voice becoming clearer. Her cries, filled with joy, pull me forward like a beacon in the abyss.
"I missed you..! I missed you so much..!"
Her voice is like a symphony to my ears. Everything I have gone through has been for her.
I could not ask for a more fulfilling reward.
Everything I want is here.
"I'm so glad! You're here now!"
For a split second.
I stumble forward towards the cell.
Just for a split second.
I want to see her.
"Im so glad.."
….
I could not see her.
But I feel her hands caressing my shoulders and face as I close my eyes.
That is enough.
That is enough for me.
◈◆◈
"Rama!!" Sita cried as she held her love.
"Excuse me." Nightingale said abruptly, interrupting the tender moment, scaring the girl.
"I am starting treatment. Please hold his hand while I work."
Without really saying anything, Sita complied.
Now that Juro got a good look at her, She seemed to look almost similar, albeit with two twintails, and obviously, a female.
Kiyohime's tearful sobs erupted from Juro's watch.
"What a beautiful story!!"
"You're still here?!" Juro yelled.
◈◆◈
Now sitting in a quiet, separate room, Juro leaned back, glancing at Emiya.
"That was quite the happy situation, huh?" Juro remarked, his voice light but thoughtful.
"Guess so," Emiya replied with a small nod. "After all this time, they finally managed to reunite."
"Felt like a soap opera," Jeanne Alter grumbled from her corner of the room, arms crossed, her expression as cynical as ever.
"I know, right? It was kinda sad, though," Juro agreed, laughing a little.
Suddenly, a voice from the corner chimed in—Beowulf. His left arm was gone, cleanly cut off and now wrapped in thick bandages. Despite his rough condition, he sat calmly, as if none of it fazed him.
"That boy… sure did look a lot like his wife," Beowulf said with a strange, reflective tone.
Juro jolted up in surprise. "Wait, weren't you like in a battle frenzy just twenty minutes ago?! And what's with the mellow attitude now?!" he exclaimed, pointing at the Berserker.
Emiya raised an eyebrow, equally puzzled. "Yeah, what's with not caring all of a sudden now that you lost?"
Beowulf shrugged, unfazed. "Didn't care from the start," he said, completely nonchalant. "Me being a guard was just the queen's whim, nothing more."
"Seriously?" Juro shook his head, baffled by Beowulf's change in demeanor.
Romani's voice cut in through the communicator, shifting the topic. "About that resemblance between Rama and Sita... there might be more to it."
"Hm?" Juro and Emiya turned their attention to Romani's hologram.
"It's likely connected to the curse placed on Rama during his life."
"Curse?"
"Yes," Romani continued. "Rama was cursed by Vali, a monkey king from Hindu mythology. The curse ensured that Rama could never find lasting happiness with Sita. Even after they reunited, that curse loomed over them."
Juro frowned. "So, what does that have to do with now?"
"Once Rama became a Heroic Spirit, that curse evolved. It morphed into something that prevented Rama and Sita from existing together at the same time. Their spirit origins are identical, meaning in most cases, they couldn't be summoned simultaneously."
"In a typical Holy Grail War," Emiya chimed in, "they would both be summoned as 'Rama,' because they share the same origin."
"And as we know," Romani added, "two copies of the same Heroic Spirit can't exist at the same time."
Juro scratched his head, still trying to wrap his mind around it. "But how are they together right now?"
Romani's hologram flickered slightly before he answered. "It's likely due to the unstable nature of this singularity. Normally, this kind of circumstance would be impossible."
"It's almost like a miracle."
◈◆◈
Nightingale sat over Rama, who lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling slowly. His eyes remained closed.
Sita stood beside her, watching quietly.
"The restoration is almost complete," Nightingale began, her voice calm but cautious.
"But..."
She pointed to a strange scar near Rama's collarbone.
"I'm having trouble with this. Whatever's lodged in there… it seems like the curse from Gae Bolg still remains."
Nightingale paused before adding, "Even if he recovers, he might not be able to fight."
Sita's eyes softened as she looked down at her husband. Then, with a serene smile, she turned to Nightingale.
"Then in that case, please transfer the curse to me."
Nightingale's breath caught. For the first time, genuine shock flashed across her face.
"That way, Rama can fight," Sita continued, her voice still gentle. "It should be easier, since we share the same spirit origin."
Nightingale snapped out of her stunned silence, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Rama came all this way for you," she said, her voice filled with urgency. "If you do that, you'll disappear."
"I know."
"That's all I need to be happy."
Sita's gaze fell back to Rama. She reached down and caressed his cheek, her fingers trembling slightly.
"In life, this man spent fourteen years fighting for me. We only had one year together."
Her voice softened further.
"Even though he could have forgotten me... taken a new wife..."
She paused, a quiet smile on her lips.
"He never did."
"That's enough for me," she whispered. "I know the love he carried for me."
Her fingers intertwined with his, her touch light but full of meaning.
"From now on, we'll search for each other."
"Even if it takes millennia, or spans across different worlds, I will find him. And I know he will search for me."
Nightingale remained silent, watching the pure devotion in Sita's eyes.
This woman loved her husband so deeply.
So deeply, she was willing to vanish—willing to sacrifice the chance to ever see him again—just so he could continue.
Nightingale finally spoke, her voice low.
"...Alright. I'll transfer the lesion to you. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Nightingale looked down, a rare, wistful expression crossing her face.
"I was single my entire life… but I can understand what it means to give your all for someone else."
She smiled softly.
"It's been an honor to speak with you. Goodbye, Miss Sita."
Sita nodded in acknowledgment.
She turned back to Rama, her heart swelling with love as she looked at him.
No matter how many times she saw him, it always felt like falling in love all over again.
His face was so bright.
"Lord Rama... Rama..."
"I can carry some of what you've been burdened with."
Her husband remained still, unresponsive.
"I can help you in this fight... just a little."
Her voice broke, and she could no longer hold back her tears.
Her eyes welled up, emotions overwhelming her.
"That's all I need to be happy..."
A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing softly on Rama's face.
"I love..."
"I love you so, so much..."
Sita leaned closer, her lips trembling as she pressed a kiss against his skin.
Her final gift.
◈◆◈
"She's gone," Rama said softly, his voice steady as he was carried by Nightangale. His gaze was distant, staring into the empty space ahead of him.
"She poured her tears and love out for you. That is why you are alive right now." Nightingale said calmly.
Rama's face remained still for a moment, but his heart stirred at her words.
"Is that so..."
There was a quiet pause before he spoke again.
"Thank you, Florence Nightingale."
Nightingale didn't respond right away. She didn't need to.
This thanks.
This simple gratitude was what she had always worked for. The hours of sweat, the countless operations, the long, grueling nights—they had all been for this.
This was the face of happiness she sought. The thanks that paid her back for every sacrifice of her own.
Rama smiled, the warmth of his love for Sita returning in full force.
"This... this is the meaning of life for me after all," he said softly.
◈◆◈
"Agh! I quit! I quit!" Juro shouted, tapping frantically on Emiya's shoulder, who had him in a solid arm lock, his legs twisting around the boy's body with precision.
The two were engaged in a wrestling match, while Beowulf sat nearby on a large rock, watching with amusement.
Jeanne Alter, seated on another rock, looked utterly disinterested, her face tired as she half-watched the spectacle.
How Juro had gotten himself into a wrestling match was quite the story
As he groaned in defeat, Emiya lifted him up easily, dusting off his own shoulders while Juro groaned in mock exhaustion.
"Man, it's only 'cause you're a Heroic Spirit," Juro muttered, rubbing his sore arm.
Emiya raised an eyebrow. "Well, would you rather wrestle Beowulf?"
At the mention of his name, Beowulf raised a hand, grinning with a mischievous smirk.
"Hell no!! I'd rather wrestle a bear!!"
Juro visibly shuddered, remembering how it was actually Beowulf who had proposed the wrestling match in the first place.
But fearing for Juro's well-being, Emiya had stepped in to take his place. The idea of wrestling Beowulf was a nightmare in itself.
Their moment was interrupted by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps. Nightingale appeared, carrying Rama on her back, who looked much better but still weak.
"Oh, so you're up and about. Why the hell are you still here, then?" Beowulf said lazily, waving a dismissive hand at Rama.
"He's really quite nice once you get to know him." Juro pointed out.
Beowulf snorted, his sarcastic tone returning. "Awww, Wouldn't have been able to sleep a single night if you died!"
"He's actually a big softie! Trust me!" Juro added playfully, clasping his hands together and striking a dramatic pose.
Beowulf's expression became serious for a moment.
"Alright, keep running your mouth, and I'll punch your face in."
"Yes, sir."
Beowulf, seemingly satisfied with the banter, stood up from his rock. "Well, looks like you're good to go," he said, eyeing Rama, "so I'll be off."
He turned to leave, his frame starting to disappear into the distance. "Probably gonna get fired from being a guard, but hey, there'll be other work," he said nonchalantly, raising a hand in farewell.
Juro's face straightened for a moment, a more serious thought crossing his mind.
"We gonna be enemies the next time we meet?"
Beowulf glanced back over his shoulder, smirking. "Ask the queen. I'm her servant."
With that, he walked away, his figure fading into the distance.
"Guess we're done here?" Juro said, placing his hands on his hips, feeling the weight of the past few hours beginning to lift.
Rama walked up to Juro, his expression softened with gratitude. "I am so grateful to all of you..." he began, his voice steady but heavy with the recent memory.
Juro's face grew serious for a moment as his eyes flickered behind Rama, searching for any sign of Sita.
But there was none.
"She gave her life to save mine."
Juro stayed silent for a beat, the weight of that sacrifice sinking in. He smiled softly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
He understood everything he needed to know.
"That's a sign of her love for you."
Rama nodded, his lips curling into a small smile of acknowledgment.
"Please, let me make my vow again."
He extended his hand, a renewed sense of purpose in his eyes. "Saber, Rama. Master, I will be your servant."
Juro smiled, reaching out to take Rama's hand. "Sounds good. I'll be looking forward to working with you again, Rama."
Just then, Romani's voice crackled through the communicator, breaking the moment. "Alright, to the east we go! I'm getting a little concerned for Geronimo and the others!"
"Aw, Doc, you worry too much… They'll be fine!" Juro said as the group began to walk forward, resting his head on his arms.
"He's got a good reason to worry about you, though." Emiya muttered with a sigh, his tone exasperated.
"Meh."
As the group moved ahead, Rama lingered for a moment, turning to look behind them. His eyes fell upon a lone reddish orange flower growing out of the ground.
The bright sky illuminated it, making it stand out against the desolate landscape.
Rama smiled softly.
That lone flower was the reason he could keep going.
With one last look, he turned around and followed the others.
◈◈◆◈◈
The group sat on the soft grass floor, the cool breeze offering a brief respite as Nightingale finished checking on Rama.
"No issues here. It's safe to say you're all better," Nightingale said, giving Rama a nod of approval.
"Now all we need to do is meet up with Geronimo!" Rama exclaimed.
Juro sighed.
"But you shouldn't put too much strain on your body, y'know? You just-"
"Oh no, I'm perfectly fine! Prime condition even!"
"...I'm not even gonna argue."
"So, how much farther till we meet up with Geronimo?" Juro turned to Emiya, who was studying a map of the region.
Before Emiya could answer, Juro groaned again.
"Man, it really sucks we gotta walk now." The group had been traveling comfortably prior to the other group leaving, but now they were back to walking again.
After hours of trekking, Juro could feel the numbness creeping into his feet. Stopping for a bit had been a welcome relief.
Emiya sighed, a hint of annoyance in his voice as Juro interrupted him. "Well, looking at the map, we're right here, so—"
A drop of rain fell directly onto the map, smudging the spot they were headed toward.
"Rain?"
◈◈◆◈◈
THREE DAYS AFTER SEPARATING FROM TAKAHASHI'S GROUP:
REFUGEE CENTER:
"Use this immediately if you lose contact with us," Geronimo said, firmly pressing a small, strange device into the guard's hand.
They stood within the boundaries of a refugee camp, hastily set up to house those caught in the chaos of war. Tents and makeshift shelters stretched as far as the eye could see, filled with people too vulnerable to escape to the west.
"Thanks for the help," the man said, his voice filled with gratitude. "There are lots of elderly and pregnant women here who can't make the journey. If you hadn't arrived, they would've been killed."
Geronimo nodded, his face solemn. "Stay safe here. I'm praying for the protection of this land."
◈◆◈
Nero turned to the group, her expression curious yet determined. "So, what do we do next?"
Geronimo, standing near the edge of the peak they had climbed, gazed over the horizon before finally answering. "We head to the capital—Washington. Cu Chulainn and Medb should be there."
"Assassination isn't exactly familiar territory for an idol like me," Elizabeth pointed out, a bit uncomfortable with the notion.
Nero grinned, unable to resist. "Had Takahashi been here, he would've pointed at you and yelled, 'You're a 16th-century serial killer, not some idol!!'"
Elizabeth's expression turned exasperated as she sighed. "I find it kinda concerning that you've memorized his likeness."
Nero Claudius completely ignored that comment.
"Umu! For me, however," Nero declared proudly, "assassination is no foreign concept! I've indulged in it myself and was targeted for it!"
"Uwahhh…." Billy the Kid said, his eyes closed in awe.
Robin Hood gave Billy a side-eye.
"Don't be so taken in. Those are the wrong people to be admiring, trust me."
"Ah, you knew them, Robin?"
"...Not sure. But they feel kinda familiar. Like when you have a dream about something and can vaguely-"
"...You're not listening, are you?"
"Noooooooooope."
Geronimo cleared his throat, shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand. "This won't just be about assassination. If things escalate, we're looking at this war being blown out of proportion."
His gaze moved to Billy and Robin Hood. "I'm counting on you."
"Leave it to us!" Nero exclaimed enthusiastically, her hand raised in confidence.
"The only issue however, is how strong the leaders are."
Geronimo knelt down, picking up a stick and drawing in the dirt as the group gathered around. "We still don't know much about Medb's power, but Cu Chulainn is likely the strongest Servant in this singularity."
He began sketching out a rough diagram. "Here's a comparison of the Servants' strengths as we know them."
https://i.imgur.com/98Iv9ik.png
(Please open the image above to enhance the scene fully.)
"Sounds like we're really in it now," Nero said, looking over the rough diagram Geronimo had drawn in the dirt.
"Of course," Geronimo nodded, "the heroic spirits spoken of in legend are often more powerful than the rest."
He glanced at Nero, a knowing look in his eyes. "But in your case, whether or not you have a Master also plays a part."
Nero gave a small smile, unable to hide the truth. "I can't deny it, huh? I guess if I'm not doing it in someone's name, I just can't get into it."
The group fell silent for a moment, the reality of their situation settling over them.
"But don't worry!" Nero's voice rang out, breaking the quiet. "I promised Takahashi that I'll come back!"
She placed a hand on her chin, her expression thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I should've contracted with him…"
Then, as if dismissing the thought, her usual energy returned. "Well, no matter! Nothing will stop me! I vow to claim victory and make a triumphant return!" She struck a triumphant pose, her hands on her sides, her confidence radiating.
"A triumphant return! Like a recital!" Elizabeth echoed excitedly, her eyes lighting up.
Nero's grin widened. "Oh, lancer, yes! Then we can finally settle who the true superior idol is!"
Robin Hood, standing off to the side, gave the two a deadpan look while Billy stood with his eyes closed, smiling as if amused by the whole ordeal.
"We'll pick up from last time!"
"I'll put my whole heart—and tail—into it!"
Robin Hood sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is this what made it so hellish last time?"
"Why are they idols again?" Billy asked, the smile still present on his face.
"I don't even wanna talk about it."
Robin Hood turned to Geronimo, looking a bit conflicted. "Are you sure this is gonna work out?"
Geronimo remained calm, though his eyes showed a hint of concern. "I hope so. This plan was a gamble to begin with. I'd like to think it'll go smoothly."
Robin Hood let out a low chuckle. "Heh, if old man Geronimo says it's fine, then it's fine."
"Yeah!" Billy chimed in with his an upbeat tone. "Let's get going!"
The group gathered at the peak, standing together as they gazed toward the distant horizon where their next battle awaited.
"To Washington!!" Nero declared, her voice bold and resolute. "We'll take down the Mad King!"
◈◈◆◈◈
Juro groaned as the rain poured down, soaking through his clothes, his spirits already dampened by the weather.
But then, his wrist communicator—given to him by Geronimo—started to ring.
It was a crude one, but utilized radio waves. Juro suspected that this was a stolen invention of Edison's.
"Oh! They called!" he shouted, excitement bubbling in his voice.
Finally, they would get the news they'd been waiting for—the plan was coming together, and the tide would turn in their favor. They'd get instructions, a path forward to reclaim this singularity.
"Geronimo! Is everything okay!?" Juro asked eagerly, expecting a positive answer.
But what he heard on the other end wasn't Geronimo.
"Hah… Hah.."
It was the sound of heavy, ragged breathing.
Takahashi Juro's heart fell into a dark pit.
It was Robin Hood.
Takahashi Juro picked his heart back up.
"Robin, is that you? Where's the rest?"
His voice was tight, holding onto a thread of hope.
There was a long, painful pause before Robin finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with anguish.
"...We failed."
"We…" He was practically running out of breath simply from speaking.
"We failed so bad. They're..."
Juro's heart dropped further than he thought possible, a hollow pit forming in his chest.
"They're dead."