FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (2025)

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.

FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (1)

"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, shehatedhim.

◈◈◆◈◈

"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.

FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (2)

"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 theBerserkerfrom 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."

FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (3)

"..."

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.

FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (4)

"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, theRamayana."

"...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 aboutthatperson.

Emiya, however, knew exactly who Geronimo was referring to. He wasn't scared, but he understood that if it wasthatperson, 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 itbroke 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..."

Nowhe 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 forthatperson.

◈◆◈

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."

◈◆◈

Juro wiped the sweat from his face with his bandana, squinting at the relentless desert sun. "Man, whoo! I was thinking of getting a tan, but I guess I'm getting it now! Right, guys?"

No one responded.

The group stood on a dusty road, staring out at a town in the distance. The desert heat created a strange shimmering effect, making the buildings look distorted, almost unreal. It was midday, and the sun hung directly overhead, casting a harsh light over everything. Unfortunately for Juro, he was the only human among them, and the heat was absolutely cooking him.

"Alright, whatever. Where are we, Doc?" Juro asked, fanning himself.

"Right now, you're in Luna County, Deming City, in New Mexico," Romani's voice replied through the communicator.

"New Mexico!? How'd we get here so fast?!"

"Maybe because you fell asleep halfway through," Emiya said, his eyes focused on the distance.

"...What do you see?" Juro asked, curious.

"What, you can't?" Emiya raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you reinforcing your eyes?"

"What's that?"

Emiya looked a little taken aback.

Juro had almost no experience with other types of magecraft, only his own technique.

How has he survived this long?

"I need to teach you a thing or two…" He muttered.

Geronimo chimed in, his voice calm and steady. "Typically, this territory would still belong to Spain, but after Edison's takeover, it's been rebranded as New Mexico, now part of the United States of America."

Romani's voice crackled through the communicator again. "I'm detecting two Servant mana signatures in this region. Maybe if we can make contact with them, we can recruit them."

Geronimo waved a hand dismissively. "No need. We've already sent allied Servants to make contact, and they weren't attacked. They're likely non-hostile."

While Geronimo, Emiya, and Romani discussed their next steps, Juro was crouched off to the side, poking at a rattlesnake with a stick.

Jalter watched him, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between mild amusement and annoyed.

"Wait, more importantly, whatisthat?" Geronimo asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Everyone in the group turned to look at Nightingale, who wore her usual calm, monotone expression. But this time, something was different—Rama was strapped to her back in a large backpack, his legs dangling out of specially designed slots.

"Rama bag."

"Rama bag…" Juro echoed in disbelief.

"She truly is a Berserker!!"

Nightingale remained unfazed. "Without my treatment, he would die quickly. Thus, I decided on this method to move him around with us while effectively treating him."

Rama looked utterly defeated.

"I want to stay alive… but I also really want to die."

His frustration boiled over, and he shouted, "I am Rama! King of Kosala! Why do I have to—!"

Before he could finish, Nightingale jerked her head back, knocking her own head into his with a loudthud.

Rama slumped forward, silenced.

"He's quiet now. Let's go," Nightingale declared, walking forward as if nothing had happened.

"And possibly dead…" Juro muttered.

Suddenly, a shrill voice crackled from his watch.

"My master!!"

Takahashi Juro felt a powerful urge to throw the watch as far away as possible.

Preferably into a bottomless pit.

"Ah, Kiyohime… what a pleasure to hear from you," he forced out through gritted teeth.

Ever since the events in Orleans, Kiyohime had beenexceptionallyclingy. He wasn't entirely sure why—probably something ridiculous—but she was constantly all over him.

Like, seriously, get a hobby, girl.

Alright, that was a bit harsh. She wasn't horrible to be around, but the clinginess was… overwhelming.

"Yes, it's me! ❤" Kiyohime chirped.

"The nice Chaldea operator let me on the console, so I'll be here to help!"

"Nooo!! Leave poor Meuniere alone!! He did nothing wrong!!"

"Ah, don't mind him. He's fine," Kiyohime reassured through the watch.

"...."

"...Hah… Hah…"

"...Kiyo, I can… I can hear you breathing. Could you, like,notdo that?"

"Ah, sorry, my husband! Now, let us find those new Servants!"

"Don't call me husband!! It makes me really scared for my safety!!"

Jalter, clearly exasperated, turned her attention to the large billboard behind them.

"'Broadway in session,'" she read aloud in a monotone voice, hoping the group would take the hint and follow the signs leading to this so-called Broadway.

She really wasn't in the mood for the current conversation.

"'Broadway in session...?'" Geronimo repeated, confused.

"Wait, aren't we in Deming?" Emiya asked, his eyes narrowing at the odd sign.

Everyone turned to Juro, who was busy reading the fine print.

Noticing that he was the center of attention, he scratched his head.

"Oh yeah, sorry. Broadway's like a theater district—specializes in creative arts, musicals, movies, stuff like that."

Juro placed his hands on his hips as he looked up at the sign.

"Guess whoever put the sign here has zero sense of direction... or it flew all the way here from actual Broadway."

Wait.

"Zero sense of direction... Broadway... Musical... Idol... Music Idol... Idol Servant…"

"Wait, it can't beher!" Kiyohime yelled through the transmitter.

"Who exactly are you talking about?" Emiya asked, curiosity piqued.

Juro sighed.

"She's a Servant we ran into a couple times throughout different Singularities. "

"...Super eccentric. Super tone deaf, etcetera" he added as he moved his hand in a circle.

"She also looks like a rat snake," Kiyohime chimed in.

"Honestly, it was so weird running into her in the second singularity.

"Second singularity?" Geronimo asked.

"Rome," Juro explained. "Nero was there too. She helped us out."

"Emperor Nero of Rome? The tyrant? And, wait—'she'?"

"Yeah, 'She.'"

Juro smiled, glancing up at the sky. "While history might have her as a tyrant, meeting her in person was… different."

Juro raised his hand as if to emphasize his point.

"She really loved her country, with a smile as bright as a blooming rose. She loved her people, her empire, the world. She just... loved."

Nero Claudius was an emperor who cherished everything beautiful and everyone who loved her back, yet she was misunderstood by some, and even hated. Despite that, she continued to strive in her love.

Juro respected that. He wished he could love something as deeply as she did.

But alas, he did not.

"Sounds interesting," Emiya remarked, intrigued by Juro's recollection.

"I'll tell you more when we head back," Juro replied. "She had this silly voice tick too. Kept saying 'umu' after almost every sentence."

"Oh yeah, I'm aware," Emiya added with a smirk, recalling how Juro had unconsciously adopted the 'umu' habit for weeks, even though he initially mocked it.

It was embarrassing for the young master, none to say the least after some female staff pointed out how 'cute' it was.

Geronimo chuckled. "Maybe we'll find those two there. The stars tend to align like that sometimes."

"It's nice to think about, even if the odds are slim. But yeah, those two are absolute airheads!" Romani added with a laugh.

"Yeah, that's really ironic coming from you, Doc!" Juro laughed.

"Ohohoho!"

"Hahaha!"

"Ahehehe!"

"Gyahaha!"

Everyone stayed silent as they realized that the two men were laughing together, but for two completely different reasons.

"But seriously, If they've started a show like Broadway," Juro said, wiping a tear.

His face went dead serious.

"We'd be stuck there forever."

Geronimo smiled as he shook his head.

"If you say that, Takahashi, master mage, they'll really show up."

◈◆◈

In a small saloon somewhere in New Mexico, the air was filled with horrendous sounds—shrill, ear-piercing screams that barely passed for singing.

The noise reverberated off the walls, a death siren for those who possessed ears.

No music.

No harmony.

No talent.

It was just raw, chaotic sound—so bad, it could have been classified as an act of terrorism.

Who else could be responsible for this sonic disaster?

Emperor Nero Claudius and Elizabeth Báthory.

Nero was dressed in what could only be described as a hybrid of a wedding dress and a concert outfit—short, frilly, and with an aesthetic only she could pull off.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, wore a large hat and a dress adorned with flowers, looking more like an eccentric idol than a fearsome Servant.

At a nearby table, two other Servants sat in misery.

The first, a man with short, spiked brown hair covering one eye and a green sleeveless jacket, looked as though his soul had been drained.

He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly into space.

This was an archer class servant.

The second, a man with short blonde hair and a black cowboy coat, had his face buried in his arms on the table, clearly on the verge of death.

This was also an archer class servant.

The door to the saloon creaked open, and in walked Takahashi Juro, his expression one of utter despair.

He took a deep breath.

"IS IT NOT EMBARRASSING TO KEEP SHOWING UP!?"

One would think that after giving someone a long, heartfelt goodbye, you wouldn't run into them again so soon. Yet here they were.

"Ah! Long time no see, puppy! This must be fate!" Elizabeth chimed with a bright smile, oblivious to the discomfort she was causing.

Honestly, even if one were to tell her, she'd probably just nod it off and continue.

"What's with the nicknames today?! And I refuse to accept this as a coincidence!" Juro shouted back from across the room.

Nero perked up, her eyes lighting with recognition.

"So you're the Chaldea group Elizabeth has been talking about! I've heard that I met you once while I was alive, but now I can confirm it!"

Without warning, Nero rushed over and grabbed Juro by the shoulders, shaking him enthusiastically.

"Umu! Long time no see, my friend!"

"OH MY GODDD!!! She said the thing!!"

Yep, this was definitely Nero. Maybe not exactly like the one in Chaldea, but unmistakably her.

Nero then tilted her head, taking a long look at Juro.

"Wow, you're tall and good-looking—just my type!" she said with a grin, clutching his face and squishing his cheeks back and forth like he was a doll.

Juro's face clenched, and he barely restrained himself from shouting, 'Your type is solely based on looks?!'

Nero then turned to Emiya, a curious look on her face.

"You look quite familiar too!"

Emiya looked quite taken aback, but went back to being nonchalant.

"That I am."

Finally managing to push Nero away, Juro let out a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, nice to see you guys too… But, uh, mind explainingthat?" he said, pointing with his thumb toward the destruction outside the pub.

The town was in complete disarray. Buildings were stripped of their paint, debris and wooden planks littered the ground, and several structures were on the verge of collapse.

A cow was perched on a roof, chewing on something that Juroprayedwasn't a bone.

As if to accentuate the scene, a lone tumbleweed rolled lazily by.

◈◆◈

"I can explain that…" The spiky brown-haired Servant weakly raised his arm.

The group was now gathered outside the pub. Juro stood in front of Geronimo and Emiya, while Jalter absentmindedly picked at her teeth with her pinky.

The two bedraggled Servants from inside the pub were sitting on the ground—the green-clad one slumped, while the blonde-haired one lay flat, looking as if he had narrowly escaped death.

"Who art thou?!" Juro yelled.

"Archer-class Servant. True name… Robin Hood," the spiky-haired man answered with a sigh.

Juro blinked in surprise.

TheRobin Hood? The legendary outlaw who robbed from the rich to give to the poor of England? The hero whose tales were told to children across the West?

Before Juro could fully process the revelation, Geronimo stepped in.

"He's one of the Servants working alongside me."

Robin Hood continued speaking.

"We came here to recruit those two absolutely…" —he paused— "horriblesingers to help us… but…"

"Guha! Guhah! GAHAH!!" He began coughing violently, clutching his chest dramatically.

"His organs are damaged! Stand back!" Nightingale rushed forward.

"The legendary Robin Hood! For a master of the bow to suffer such horrible wounds!" Juro cried, his face shadowed.

Emiya sighed, crossing his arms.

"There's not much you can do against terrible music with a bow."

"I'll continue.." The blonde hair servant said weakly.

"And thou!?" Juro yelled.

"Archer-class Servant. Billy the Kid," the blonde replied, his voice weak but steady.

"As a condition for them joining us, they decided to hold a recital… and forced us to listen tothat."

Juro's eyes widened.

Billy the Kid?!The notorious American outlaw who had taken down over 21 men by the age of 21?

Billy managed a pained chuckle. "We prepared for the onslaught. We evacuated everyone from the town. But… we never imagined how bad it would be…"

"Guhah! Guhah! GAHA!!" Billy coughed, clenching his chest.

"Stand back! His organs are damaged too!" Nightingale yelled as she rushed to his side.

"The legendary Billy the Kid! For a master of the gun to suffer such horrible wounds!" Juro shouted, his face resemblingThe Scream, by Evard Munch.

Emiya shook his head. "Well, there's not much you can do against terrible music with a gun."

"It's just as they said, little puppy! The green mouse told us everything!" Elizabeth chimed in with a bright smile, completely unfazed by the destruction around her.

"Is green mouse Robin Hood now?!"

"Yes! But honestly, I wanted to sing more!" Nero added, equally oblivious to the chaos they had caused.

The two Servants struck a cutesy pose, holding hands and grinning as if they were performing in front of an adoring audience.

"Elizabeth Báthory! Lancer!"

"Nero Claudius! Saber!"

"Let's work together!"

"To restore human order!"

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"YOU TWO ARE THE REASON THESE GUYS ARE LIKE THIS!!"

"Yes, master! Join the dark side!" Kiyohime's voice chimed in eagerly through Juro's watch.

"If you're on the dark side, I think I'll stick to the Grey Line!!"

Geronimo, wiping a sweat drop from his brow, gave a pat to Billy's shoulder. "Good job, you two. At least they're on our side, right?"

Elizabeth, completely unbothered by the chaos, perked up. "So, where do we start? What's the plan?"

"We're here to take out that 'king,' correct? Where is he staying now?" Nero added, her eyes gleaming with determination.

Geronimo was about to answer when Rama's voice interrupted him. "...Wait, there's something… I'd like to say first."

"Rama, was it? Please, go ahead," Nero said, her usual exuberance tempered with respect.

Geronimo looked concerned. "I can ask them for you. There's no need to push yourself."

"No…" Rama's voice was weak but resolute. "This is something I need to ask myself. Ha... Ha... There is someone... I'm searching for... Someone so precious to me that I would risk my life for them…"

Juro stared at the Heroic Spirit. Despite the gaping wound in his chest, Rama wasn't focused on his own survival but on the well-being of this person. This was the heart of a true Heroic Spirit. Whoever Rama sought must have held incredible significance to him.

"There's only one thing I'd… like to ask you…" Rama began, his voice trembling with emotion. "Have you—"

"UNDEFEATED VIOLET PRUNELLA: MAC AN LUIN!"

A thunderous voice boomed from above, cutting Rama off. In an instant, a colossal beam of water descended from the sky, its pristine blue color giving a deceptive sense of purity—a stark contrast to the devastation it unleashed.

All the Servants reacted immediately, leaping or dashing away from the blast zone. Emiya grabbed Juro by the collar, pulling him to safety as his weapons materialized in his hands.

The town floor and its buildings were obliterated in an instant, the ground fracturing into cubes as the earth beneath was laid bare.

Juro's breath came in quick gasps as he took in the scene. "A Noble Phantasm!" he shouted in disbelief.

The group was scattered. Geronimo and Billy were separated, as were Robin Hood, Elizabeth, and Nero. Juro, Emiya, Jalter, and Nightingale found themselves together, but too far from the others to regroup easily.

"This Noble Phantasm!" Geronimo yelled, recognizing it. "Our spy told us about it! It's from the Celts—!"

"Oh, so you know about my master?" A voice called from behind Geronimo and Billy.

◈◆◈

Elizabeth twirled around gleefully in the wreckage. "Ah, this destruction! It would make agreatbackdrop for our next concert!"

Nero nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, it's perfect for the atmosphere!"

Robin Hood, in disbelief, yelled, "We're under attack, you know!!"

A voice echoed from behind them, calm and smug. "Ah, to hear such praise after my attack… You ladies delight me."

◈◆◈

Juro stood up, shaking the mud from his clothes as he wiped his face. The water around them had become a murky mess, and he cursed under his breath.

"Damn it. They're trying to separate us from the others."

"Director, what's our situation?" Emiya asked Romani through the communicator.

"There's no point… They're too far to regroup," Romani's voice replied with urgency.

"There!" Juro shouted, pointing at a tall figure approaching through the haze of the destruction.

The figure had short purple hair, slicked back into an undercut, and an aura of overwhelming strength.

Juro clenched his fists and cursed under his breath.

"Ah, hell… Fergus!"

"Well, seems you know my name! Saber-class Servant: Fergus mac Róich!" Fergus called out, his voice booming across the battlefield.

Juro's fear spiked. Fergus was a formidable warrior, relentless in battle. He rushed enemies without giving them a moment to breathe, and now Juro was directly in his path. Things had gone from bad to worse.

"It makes sense he's on the Celts' side, given that he was the adoptive father to Cú Chulainn and a close friend," Romani's voice crackled through the communicator, tense with urgency.

Juro clicked his tongue, standing still as the group waited for the first move. Emiya stood poised, his Kanshou and Bakuya blades in hand, ready. Jalter gripped her sword at her side, eyes locked on Fergus, who stood atop the hill with his massive Caladbolg sword resting on his shoulders.

"Three, no, four Servants. That idiot Fionn, leaving all the work to the old man."

Fergus cracked his neck, a deadly smirk spreading across his face, his intent clear—he was going to fight them.

"Mana levels rapidly increasing!" Romani shouted through the communicator.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted the growing tension. "Wait!!"

Juro turned, startled. It was Rama who had shouted, his voice filled with urgency. He looked weak, but something inside him burned brightly.

"I'm sorry… but I can't stay quiet!"

Despite his weakened state, Rama had something important to say. Something deeply personal. "Celtic warrior Fergus! Do you know of my wife?! A girl named Sita?!"

Fergus turned his gaze toward Rama, confusion crossing his face. The young Heroic Spirit, draped across Nightingale's back, clearly didn't seem ready for battle.

"To think of it... I saw a girl with red hair like yours…"

"Really! She has red hair?! Please! Tell me where she is! I need to know!" Rama's desperation was palpable. This was more than a battle for him—it was his quest for hope, for a light in the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

"Please," Rama begged.

Fergus smiled, but something was off. What began as an innocent smile twisted upward, curling into something darker. Something sinister.

"Did you really think I'd tell you?" Fergus taunted, his sadistic grin widening. "If you want answers, you'll have to beat them out of your opponent, kid."

Juro flinched at the stark change in Fergus' demeanor. The cheerful, loyal Fergus he had once known now stood as a twisted warrior, his words filled with cruelty.

Maybe not twisted, but at least malevolent looking.

Fergus brandished his drill-shaped sword, Caladbolg, its menacing form glinting in the sun. "Can you even fight me in that state, kid?"

Rama coughed, his body trembling. "Look at you. You're so weak, you can barely hold eye contact with me."

Rama's voice trembled, but his resolve didn't falter. "Nevertheless… I won't…"

"Won't what?" Fergus sneered.

"Won't give up!"

Rama turned weakly to Juro. "Master of Chaldea…"

He shifted his gaze to Nightingale, his voice barely a whisper. "Miss nurse… please lend me your strength..."

Takahashi Juro turned to Emiya.

"Yoh, Archer."

"..?"

"Go."

In an instant, Juro pushed a surge of mana into Emiya, boosting his strength. The sudden surge propelled Emiya forward so fast it was nearly teleportation. Even Emiya was momentarily shocked at the boost in speed, but he adjusted quickly, swinging his twin blades in a wide arc toward Fergus.

Clang!

Fergus managed to block the strike with Caladbolg, but the force of the blow sent him sliding back several meters.

"Haha! What an aggressive Master! Even your own Servant is shocked!" Fergus bellowed, grinning as he dug his feet into the ground to steady himself.

Takahashi Juro rolled up his sleeves, determination clear in his eyes.

"Honestly, I was a little conflicted about fighting Cú… the guy's an absolute powerhouse."

He raised his right hand, tightening his fist.

"But seeing someone in front of me asking for help—that's something I can't refuse, no matter what."

"If it's fear that's holding me down, I'll let go of that weight."

Sadly however, Juro did not mean this fully.

Emiya narrowed his eyes as he listened to the boy's response.

"Alright, Archer, Avenger. Can I rely on you guys?" Juro asked, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Emiya gave a firm nod, while Jalter remained silent, but Juro could sense her resolve.

She wouldn't act on her own, not this time.

Juro bounced lightly on his heels, feeling the energy surge through his body as he began directing his mana flow toward the two Servants.

Being closer to them enhanced the connection, making the flow of mana more concentrated and efficient. The boost would give them the edge they needed.

He hadn't gotten a good cardio workout in a while, but now was the perfect time to get moving.

"Go!" Juro shouted, thrusting his hand forward.

At his command, Emiya, Jalter, and Nightingale all charged forward, their forms blurring with the force of their speed as they closed in on Fergus, ready to engage in the battle.

◈◆◈

Billy skidded across the pub floor, knocking over chairs and shattered glass as he stood on the bar, firing rapidly at the Lancer.

Each shot from his revolver cracked through the dusty air like thunder, the dim light of the pub casting shadows that danced with every flash from his gun.

The spiked bullets cut through the air, but the shirtless Lancer stood unfazed, twirling his lance like a whirlwind, deflecting every shot with the fluid grace of a seasoned warrior.

Billy flicked his revolver's hammer, expertly fanning the shots for rapid fire. The air around them pulsed with tension, the two figures darting and weaving through the chaos of upturned tables, broken bottles, and falling debris.

Just in the nick of time, Billy managed to block a blow from the lancer with his wristband.

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Eventually, something became clear to Billy the Kid.

"He's real fa—"

Billy began, but before he could finish, the Lancer blurred, becoming little more than a streak of motion.

He appeared right in front of Billy, his spear raised.

WHAM!

The Lancer's boot connected with Billy's stomach like a sledgehammer, sending him flying out of the pub doors. He hit the dirt hard, rolling and tumbling across the desert ground, coughing dust as he finally stopped.

He groaned, barely managing to catch his breath.

Above him, Diarmuid was already soaring through the air, his spear glowing with sunlight as he prepared to end the fight.

This is it,Billy thought, his revolver slipping from his fingers as he stared up at the descending figure.

But before the final blow could land, a low growl echoed across the street. In a flash of silver and shadow, a wolf-like spirit lunged from the side, its jaws clamping down on Diarmuid's lance with a ferocious bite.

The Lancer's attack stalled, and he was forced to leap back, his gaze narrowing at the spirit as it bounded back toward Geronimo.

"An ancestral spirit..." Diarmuid muttered, lowering his lance as his eyes locked on Geronimo.

The spirit was an ancestral guardian, tied to Native American mythos. Many tribes believed in the spirits of nature, and some warriors were able to summon and control them for battle.

Geronimo was one such warrior.

The native american stood firm, the ghostly wolf growling beside him.

Billy, still panting, scrambled to his feet, giving Geronimo a thankful nod. "Thanks for the backup, Chief." He twirled his revolver with a flick of his wrist, trying to shake off the earlier encounter.

"That was a close one."

Diarmuid let out a hearty laugh, amused by the sudden shift in the fight. "Hah! I shouldn't have underestimated the warriors of this era!"

He spun his spear with a flourish, the tip slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. His battle-hungry grin stretched wider as he eyed the two of them.

"Lancer: Diarmuid Ua Duibhne! My luck in this world is strong. I expect you to give me a fight worthy of my name!"

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, one of the legendary warriors from Celtic myth. Known for his prowess in battle, he had once vanquished over three thousand enemies. His combat skill was renowned, and he was not to be taken lightly.

◈◆◈

"Super Idol Tornado!" Elizabeth yelled, releasing a strange swirl of pink pulses from her mouth. The energy took on a tangible form, spiraling like wind—just as the name suggested, a tornado of sound and chaos.

The long-haired, blonde Lancer stood frozen in shock, his eyes wide, unable to process what was happening. The whirling pink tornado closed in on him, but he made no effort to dodge.

In that split second, Nero dashed forward, her sword gleaming in the light as she slashed at his stomach. The Lancer let out a pained cry as the blade struck home.

"Our combination attack was effective! We've won!" Elizabeth proclaimed triumphantly, puffing out her chest with pride.

"Wait," Nero said, her brows furrowed in confusion. She glanced down, expecting to see blood, but there was none. Instead, water trickled from the wound.

"…That was quite the impressive attack," came the Lancer's voice, much to their surprise. The water on the ground began to move, flowing back toward him and merging into his body.

"That was one of my expendable illusions," he said with a smirk, clearly unfazed.

Both Nero and Elizabeth stood there in shock, their victory celebration crumbling in an instant.

"I was really delighted by your attack," the Lancer continued, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Too bad I had to dodge at the last second."

"..."

Before either of them could react, the Lancer swung his lance without even looking, aiming at a shadowy figure behind him—Robin Hood, who had been silently creeping up for a sneak attack. Robin barely managed to dodge, quickly dashing toward Nero and Elizabeth. In a swift motion, he grabbed them both by the stomachs and pulled them out of harm's way.

"Guess you guys finally read the room, huh?" Robin Hood muttered, clearly frustrated by their carefree antics.

"We've been reading it!" Nero shot back defensively.

"Hey! Watch where your hands are!" Elizabeth squirmed in Robin's grip, her face reddening.

"Guh! Seriously! I save you, and this is the thanks I get?!" Robin snapped, his patience wearing thin.

The Lancer let out a hearty laugh, his spear spinning playfully in his hands. "Such companionship! It's as if you've all known each other long before this singularity!"

Robin Hood's expression hardened. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Who exactly are you?"

The Lancer smiled with pride, raising his spear high.

Its tip caught the sunlight, gleaming menacingly as if announcing the arrival of something much larger.

"You already know me as one of the servants of the Celtic army, but allow me to give you my true name!"

He stepped forward, his aura radiating confidence and strength. "Lancer: Fionn mac Cumhaill! Now, let us finish where we left off!"

◈◆◈

Clang!

Whoosh!

Clang!

Emiya's twin blades flashed through the air, relentlessly striking at Fergus. But no matter how hard or fast he swung, the Saber-class Servant always managed to evade, parry, or block. Emiya quickly realized that Fergus wasn't like other powerhouses he had fought before—his strength wasn't monstrous like Heracles'.

Instead, it was hisspeedthat threw Emiya off. Fergus moved with the agility of a seasoned warrior, reading every move and reacting instantly.

As the battle progressed, Emiya couldn't help but notice how Fergus seemed to anticipate his strikes. Every time Emiya expected an opening or a slower reaction, Fergus was already moving, adjusting to counter.

His skill...Emiya thought, his grip tightening on his blades.He's reading my movements...

Suddenly, Jalter lunged in from behind. Her sword was drawn back for a powerful thrust, aimed right at Fergus' exposed back. For a moment, it seemed like the sneak attack might succeed.

But in one smooth motion, without even turning to look, Fergus swung his massive sword backward, blocking Jalter's blade effortlessly.

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Jalter Alter scowled, flipping backward to avoid a counterstrike.

"You all fight impressively!" Fergus called out, his booming voice carrying through the battlefield.

"Well done!"

But then, his expression shifted—his vibrant, battle-hungry grin faded, replaced by a look of boredom.
"However… this is honestly a littleboring.I expected more. There's some semblance of coordination, but it's not enough."

Juro, standing a bit farther back, clenched his fists.

He knew Fergus was right.

Their attacks weren't landing, and despite their best efforts, Fergus was clearly holding back. Juro's eyes darted to Nightingale.

She's the reason...he thought, guilt rising in his chest.

Having a Berserker as a Servant was difficult. Commanding them required constant focus, patience, and repeated orders. Nightingale's mana drain was immense, and she had only fought alongside Juro once before. It wasn't her fault, but the lack of experience in fighting together was evident. It was dragging the whole team's coordination down.

Before Fergus could continue his taunts, Nightingale suddenly appeared in front of him, spinning with impressive agility. Her body twisted, and she unleashed a powerful kick aimed at Fergus' head, her eyes burning with a ferocious intensity.

But Fergus, faster than she expected, dodged the strike effortlessly.

"Not bad," he muttered, almost amused.

In the blink of an eye, Fergus caught her leg mid-air. With a grin, he effortlessly tossed her aside, her body slamming into the dirt with a harsh thud.

"Miss Nurse, please stop this!" Rama's voice rang out, strained with desperation.

Nightingale paused, turning her head slightly to glance back at Rama. Her expression was calm but resolute.

"You're far more wounded than I am," Nightingale replied softly. "Don't burden yourself with worry."

"But you're carrying a heavier burden than me!" Rama protested. His voice wavered, filled with frustration. "If you didn't insist on carrying me everywhere, we could've won by now!"

A sigh escaped from Fergus, who observed the conversation, lifting his massive weapon as though it weighed nothing.

His muscular form was tense with anticipation, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Looks like the nurse is a little more weighed down than the rest of them…" he muttered under his breath, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"But I still wanna have some fun."

Without warning, a wicked grin spread across his face as he raised the colossal sword, Caladbolg, its jagged edge gleaming in the dim light.

"Let's see if this motivates you all to do better!"

In a swift, thunderous motion, he slammed the blade into the ground.

The air crackled with energy as Caladbolg began to spin violently, the blade transforming into a whirling drill of multicolored light. Strange sparks erupted from the weapon, each one louder and more volatile than the last, crackling like a storm about to break.

On the fifth spark, the earth itself gave way. The ground split apart with a deafening crack, jagged fissures snaking across the battlefield. The tremors rippled through the terrain, causing the entire group to stagger. The floor shuddered violently beneath them, knocking Juro off balance.

He barely had time to react before something extraordinary happened.

Brilliant beams of rainbow-colored light shot up from the cracks, piercing the sky like vibrant shards of glass. The light formed a shimmering curtain over the chaotic landscape, enveloping everything in an ethereal, breathtaking glow that resembled the Northern Lights—beautiful yet filled with an otherworldly menace.

The ground beneath Juro trembled again, and without warning, the earth crumbled beneath his feet.

"Damn it!" Juro cursed as the floor gave way, sending him sliding helplessly toward the widening chasm. Dirt and debris scattered as his feet skidded across the fractured earth. His hands frantically clawed at the ground, desperate to find something to hold on to, but the soil was loose and unyielding, crumbling under his grip.

Just as his body began to slip toward the abyss, a strong hand reached out.

Seemingly in the nick of time, Emiya's hand grabbed Juro's wrist, pulling him to stable ground.

Juro gasped, regaining his footing as he was yanked to safety. His heart pounded in his chest as he surveyed the collapsing battlefield.

"We're losing ground at a crazy pace! If this keeps up, we'll have nowhere left to stand!"

Emiya turned to him, a serious look on his features.

"Are you familiar with this noble phantasm!?" He yelled.

"Yeah! Its Caladbolg! Pretty sure you're familiar with the sword yourself!" Juro yelled, his voice barely above the sound of the ground being destroyed.

"Anyways! It destroys the surrounding area around Fergus, as you could probably see!"

All around them, the battlefield was disintegrating, consumed by the relentless cracks and the dangerous glow of the rainbow energy that threatened to swallow them whole.

"Takahashi."

Juro turned, startled by the soft voice behind him. Nightingale stood there, her back to him, her posture as rigid and determined as ever.

"I'll leave Rama to you," she said quietly.

There was something different in her voice, though. It was still her usual monotone, but for the first time, there was an emotion laced within it—something he couldn't quite place. Was it sorrow? Regret? Juro wasn't sure, but he could feel its weight.

Before he could fully process her words, Nightingale had already leapt through the shimmering rainbow curtain that divided the battlefield.

Fergus stood frozen, disbelief etched across his face. "What the…?"

The rainbow curtain was an impenetrable defense, a deadly barrier that tore apart anything that dared enter. It reduced objects and people alike to chaotic fragments of their former selves, disassembling them into nothingness. Nothing could survive it—nothingshouldbe able to cross it.

Yet, there she was.

The berserker, Florence Nightingale.

Fergus's eyes widened as he stared into the nurse's face, which had become almost unrecognizable. Her usually calm features now held a terrifying intensity. Her eyes—those once compassionate eyes—were now spirals, a rotating pattern that seemed to bore into his soul. The way they spun gave the eerie impression that they were alive, constantly shifting in a hypnotic, unnatural rhythm.

"Are you out of your mind, woman?!" Fergus roared, his voice quaking with disbelief.

Nightingale's response was chilling.

"tHe SAme cOulD bE sAiD FoR yOU."

Her voice was a contradiction: both quiet and deafening, monotone yet brimming with emotion. It was cold and menacing, but at the same time, oddly gentle. The duality made it even more unsettling, like two voices speaking as one.

"You've destroyed this entire city," she continued, her footsteps deliberate and slow as she advanced toward him. "For what purpose?"

Blood trickled down the top half of her face, staining it a dark crimson, but she seemed oblivious to the injury. Her uniform was shredded, her body battered and bruised, yet she moved with an unwavering purpose, as if the damage didn't matter.

Fergus couldn't tear his gaze away from those spiraling eyes. Something about them paralyzed him, a deep-rooted fear taking hold in his chest. His body refused to move.

He didn't want to admit it—but he was afraid.

He couldn't comprehend why.

"Do YoU fInD ThIs WaR EnJoYAbLe?" Nightingale's voice dripped with venom, her face mere inches from his now.

Fergus could feel her breath on his skin, yet he remained frozen, trapped in her gaze.

"Now I understand the true nature of the Celts," she whispered.

Finally, with a desperate grunt, Fergus snapped out of his trance and swung his massive blade. But Nightingale caught it—bare-handed.

"They are the pathogen of a disease," she said, her grip tightening around the sword. "A disease called war."

Her voice was resolute, as if she had made up her mind. "I will not allow this disease to spread any further."

She raised her other hand, pointing a finger at Fergus, her eyes gleaming with an unnerving intensity.

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"Thus…" she hissed, her voice rising, "THUS… I WILL CURE."

From the back of her torn uniform, a thick, blue smoke began to pour out, swirling around her like a storm. The mist twisted and took shape, forming into the figure of a giant woman clad in an old-fashioned nurse's uniform. The apparition had no eyes, no facial features save for a grim, expressionless mouth. In its hands, it wielded a massive glaive, the weapon gleaming ominously in the light.

Juro watched in stunned silence.

"What the hell is that?!"

Romani's voice crackled through the communication device on Juro's wrist. "That's… a Noble Phantasm."

Nightingale raised her fist, and the spectral nurse mirrored her movement.

"I WILL PURGE ALL THAT IS TOXIC! ALL THAT IS HARMFUL!" she declared, her voice rising to a crescendo. "FOR AS LONG AS I HAVE THIS POWER, I SHALL SEE EVERYONE TO THEIR WELFARE!"

The massive phantom swung its glaive down with devastating force.

"Nightingale Pledge!

Fergus tried to block the incoming strike, but his weapon fell uselessly from his hands. His arms went limp, his strength sapped from him in an instant. He stumbled back, realizing too late what had happened.

"This… This Noble Phantasm…" he muttered, his voice trembling.

"It's not an attack."

The rainbow curtain around them dissolved like mist, dissipating into the air.

Fergus collapsed to his knees, his hands trembling as they hit the ground. "It erased all combat abilities…"

His face twisted into an astonished grin.

"Impressive! But now… you have no way to kill me!"

"Wrong," came a calm voice from behind him.

Fergus barely had time to react.

He slowly turned his head, only to meet the cold, steely gaze of Emiya, who was already poised to strike, his arm raised high with deadly intent. His mouth was hidden behind his sleeve, but his eyes burned with a lethal focus.

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In a split second, the blade descended.

"Schlk!"

A spray of crimson erupted as Fergus's forearm was sliced clean off, blood spurting across the broken ground.

"Damn it!" Emiya cursed, frustration lining his features. "He's… he's still reacting!"

Juro couldn't believe what he was seeing. "He can still move afterthat?!"

Fergus clutched his stump, blood pouring down his arm, but his expression shifted to something like admiration.

"I've underestimated you all," Fergus admitted, backing away. His grin returned, though it was tinged with pain. "You're much stronger than I expected!"

"Fergus-dono!" a voice called from above.

Fergus glanced up to see Fionn and Diarmuid descending on two wyverns, their massive wings beating the air as they landed.

"It's time to retreat!" Diarmuid called. "The dragon is ready!"

With a sly grin, Fergus leapt onto one of the wyverns, ready to escape. Yet, before they could fly away, he looked back at Rama, who stood watching from a distance.

"I haven't forgotten, O Indian warrior!" Fergus yelled. "It was a pleasure fighting you! And by the way—let me tell you where your wife is!"

◈◆◈

As Fergus, Diarmuid, and Fionn soared through the sky on the backs of their three great dragons, the rhythmic beating of the phantasmal creatures' wings was the only sound that echoed in the silence of the retreat.

One might expect a somber mood after the loss of such a crucial battle, but their faces were lit with grins, filled with the infectious joy that only the Celts could truly understand.

For them, battle was not simply about victory or defeat—it was about the thrill of combat itself, the rush of blood and steel, the clash of wills. Win or lose, it was all in good fun.

"Are you sure, sir?" Fionn asked, a playful glint in his eye as he glanced over at Fergus. "You're giving information to the enemy."

He didn't seem too bothered by the implications of his words, a casual smile on his face.

Fergus let out a hearty laugh, his booming voice carrying over the rush of the wind. "I don't mind at all! It's not like I've ever been one for loyalty in the first place!" His laughter echoed across the sky, carefree and light.

The two men chuckled together, the seriousness of the battle long forgotten.

Fergus Mac Róich, in this moment of levity, was completely unaware of how much his current self differed from his version in Chaldea—where loyalty and honor were once guiding principles, his easygoing nature here seemed to contradict it all.

"Well, loyalty or not, those enemies were strong!" Fergus added, admiration clear in his voice. "Especially that berserker nurse and that odd archer in red. They put up one hell of a fight."

Fergus still couldn't shake the image of the nurse—bloodied, yet resolute—and the archer, who was surprisingly effective in close combat despite his class.

Fionn nodded.

"True enough! Though I must admit, I had my eye on that girl with the dark scowl on her face. She didn't do much in the fight, but you could sense her strength. It was like she was holding back, waiting for the right moment."

"Aye, she was impressive too!" Fergus agreed, his grin widening. "Tell you what, let's have a race and see who can fight her next time!"

Behind them, Diarmuid rode in silence, but Fionn's voice soon called out to him.

"Diarmuid! What about you? What did you think?"

Diarmuid's tone was thoughtful.

"I'm the same as you, my lord. That girl… she had a certain strength to her, like she was biding her time. She had plenty of chances to strike, but she chose not to. That restraint… it was curious."

Fionn laughed heartily. "Ahaha! What a pair we make! You and I always had the same taste in strength, didn't we? Just like with the women in our lifetimes!"

Diarmuid froze for a moment, a bead of sweat rolling down his brow at the comment. "Ah…"

Fionn immediately realized his blunder. "Oh no! Sorry! I didn't mean it likethat! It was just a jest, Diarmuid, just a jest! Bwahaha!"

Diarmuid forced a smile, his eyes betraying his slight discomfort as Fionn's laughter roared through the sky.

Fergus chuckled at the banter between the two, the camaraderie between them as timeless as the legends they were born from.

And as the dragons carried them farther from the battlefield, their spirits remained high—each one already looking forward to their next encounter with the warriors they had just fought. Because for the Celts, battle was never the end.

It was just the beginning of the next great story.

Yet..

Yet they stayed oblivious to the damage they caused, blinded by their enjoyment.

◈◆◈

Juro stood at the edge of an enormous crater, his eyes scanning the destruction before him. Water from a nearby source swirled around the edges, pouring into the dark abyss at the center of the devastation.

What once had been a bustling town full of life was now a lifeless ruin—nothing but rubble, water, and the remains of shattered homes.

"This is terrible…" he muttered, his voice low, almost defeated. "How are these people supposed to come back from this?"

His fists clenched at his sides, the weight of the scene pressing on him. This town, filled with ordinary lives, had been utterly obliterated. Innocent people who wanted nothing more than to live peacefully had been caught in the chaos—victims of the reckless pleasure others found in battle.

Juro's thoughts wandered as he stared at the desolation. In movies, when the heroes fought villains, the aftermath always seemed glossed over.

Buildings were destroyed, cars lay in ruins, but the narrative rarely dwelled on the aftermath. The camera cut away from the broken lives left behind, the unspoken suffering that followed every clash of power.

But here he stood, face to face with the consequences of that very battle. The devastation was all too real.

He sighed, turning to look at his companions. They stood with him, silent witnesses to the destruction.

"Well," he said, a scowl forming on his face, "let's get going."

Billy the Kid adjusted his hat, his eyes still locked on the ruined landscape. "What now?" he asked.

"If this is what the Celts are capable of," Geronimo spoke up, his voice calm but laced with concern, "we'll need assistance from other Heroic Spirits. And we still have to heal Rama as soon as possible."

Juro's brow furrowed as he turned to Geronimo. "Fergus mentioned Sita—Rama's wife. He told us where she is."

Geronimo nodded. "He said she's in Alcatraz."

"But wait." Juro said, scratching his head.

"That place wasn't built until 1934."

Alcatraz, the infamous prison, known for holding America's most dangerous criminals. Originally, it had been constructed as a lighthouse in the mid-19th century, later converted into a military prison, and by 1934, it became a maximum-security federal prison. But this wasn't 1934—this was 1734. How could Alcatraz even exist in this time?

Juro's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. Could Edison's influence have warped history in this singularity?

Behind them, Rama stirred weakly. "Alcatraz… is that where Sita… is?" His voice was strained, but his resolve shone through.

"She's not going anywhere for now, but I need you to endure this a bit longer," Nightingale replied softly, her hands glowing as she worked to heal his wounds.

Rama winced but nodded, clenching his fists. "Of course! I'll endure anything for Sita."

Geronimo watched the scene quietly. Even after everything, their resolve remained unshaken. The bond between Rama and Sita gave him strength, but Geronimo wondered silently if that strength would last.

As they prepared to leave, something on the ground caught Geronimo's eye. A small doll lay half-buried in the dirt, a remnant of the life that once flourished here. He knelt and picked it up, staring at the simple toy with a heavy heart.

Would these people—this land—survive until the end? Would they be able to save it before time ran out?

The last piece of information Fergus had given them echoed in his mind. If what Fergus said was true, then time was slipping away faster than they realized.

Geronimo clenched the doll in his hand, his gaze hardening.

◈◆◈

A grand building stood under the cover of night, its towering presence exuding both elegance and menace. Celtic soldiers patrolled the hallways, ready to guard their fortress.

The structure bore a resemblance to the White House, but the Celtic influence was unmistakable. Statues of ancient warriors and mythological figures adorned its halls, giving it an aura of myth and power, unique in its design.

Inside, in a throne room lit by flickering torches, a soft, feminine giggle echoed. Seated on an elaborate throne was a striking figure, a woman with long pink hair cascading down her back.

She wore a crown-like adornment on her head, and her attire—if it could be called that—was sparse, more decorative than practical. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she painted her nails a glossy black, listening to the men kneeling before her.

"So, that's why you all came running back," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "How pathetic."

In front of her, kneeling, were Fergus, Diarmuid, and Fionn—all formidable Celtic warriors, yet now humbled before the queen's throne.

"Hah, well, sorry about that," Fergus replied with a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I was having a bit too much fun."

Even in defeat, his carefree attitude contrasted sharply with the severity of their situation. He seemed more amused than embarrassed.

The woman's gaze drifted lazily to another throne beside her, where a dark figure sat. "So, what should we do about it, Cu-chan?" she asked with a smirk.

Sitting on the adjacent throne, Cu Chulainn Alter lounged casually, his dark cloak draped over his muscular form. His skin was noticeably darker than that of the heroic Cu Chulainn, and his eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light. Sharper teeth flashed briefly as he twirled Gae Bolg between his fingers with a nonchalant air.

"I don't really care if they messed up," Cu said lazily, leaning on his right fist. "Until the next skirmish, do whatever you want."

"Aye, gotcha. We'll be enjoying ourselves next time for sure," Fergus responded, flashing a grin.

The girl on the throne pouted, clearly frustrated that her attempt to impose fear was met with such indifference. The atmosphere was far too relaxed for her liking, despite her role as the ruler.

"How boring," she muttered, her displeasure evident.

"Like I care," Cu Chulainn Alter retorted, not even bothering to look at her.

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Cu turned his gaze toward the pink-haired woman. His expression darkened slightly.

"Speaking of which," he said, his voice sharp, "those Western bastards have been cutting down our numbers. Go give birth again."

He waved his hand dismissively, as if the task were nothing more than a minor errand.

The girl laughed, though the edge in her smile betrayed her annoyance. "How negligent of you, Cu-chan. But no matter…" she mused, rising from her throne. "I'll give birth to as many as you want."

Without warning, her nail snapped.

Blood dripped from the wound, and with a calm expression, she let it fall to the ground.

The moment the blood hit the floor, it began to spread like wildfire, seeping across the entire room. A deep crimson flooded the space, and from the pool of blood, bubbling sounds emerged, grotesque and unnatural.

Celtic soldiers began to rise from the blood, their forms coalescing from the crimson mass. Hundreds of them crawled from the bloody pool, each one fully armed and ready for battle.

The air was filled with the sickening sound of flesh being formed, the soldiers emerging as if born from the very earth.

This endless army was made possible by the woman's possession of the Holy Grail, its infinite mana fueling the ceaseless production of soldiers. She smiled as more and more warriors came forth, her own Celtic army expanding by the second.

Yet, despite her power and command over life and death, she was neither a "Mad King" nor a "President King" like those who ruled elsewhere.

No, this woman had a different claim to infamy. She was the ruler of Connacht, a land from the Ulster Cycle, and the only woman to ever lead Cu Chulainn to his death.

The queen, with her alluring beauty and terrible power, was none other than the legendary Medb.

FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (10)

◈◆◈

The crackling of the campfire echoed through the stillness of the desert night, a stark contrast to the chilly air that surrounded them.

Juro sat huddled near the flames, his shoulders trembling slightly from the cold.

He wasn't used to the desert's nighttime chill, and the temperature had dipped lower than he expected.

Across from him, Emiya knelt by the fire, tending to a skewer. Earlier in the evening, he'd managed to catch a jackrabbit for the group's meal.

Juro had protested, insisting that he was the only human in the group and didn't need as much food. But Emiya had remained firm, pointing out that the next opportunity for Juro to eat might be far off.

Now, Juro found himself staring at the sizable leg of roasted jackrabbit in his hand.

It was perfectly seared, with the simple spices they'd managed to scrounge from the desert giving the meat just enough flavor.

Despite the barren surroundings, the scent was mouthwatering, the smoky aroma filling the air around the fire.

The warm glow of the fire cast a soft orange light on his face, illuminating the slight smile that tugged at his lips.

"Ah, who am I kidding?" Juro laughed softly, finally giving in to his hunger.

He bit into the leg with gusto, savoring the taste.

The meat was tender, cooked to perfection despite the limited resources. The outer layer had just the right amount of char, giving it a satisfying crispness, while the inside remained juicy and soft. Each bite was filled with flavor, the minimal seasoning working in harmony with the natural taste of the meat.

As he chewed, the smoke from the fire trailed upward, dancing in the night air. The meat pulled easily from the bone with each bite, strands of it following as he lifted his head from the meal, steam rising from the tender flesh.

Juro closed his eyes, savoring the experience.

In his mind, he imagined a grand symphony playing, each note rising and falling with every bite he took, the rhythm of the music building in time with the satisfaction of each chew. It was as though the flavors were conducting their own orchestra in his mouth, and Juro couldn't help but smile wider, completely lost in the moment of simple bliss.

As Juro swallowed the last bite of meat, he looked down at the leg bone in his hand, an exaggerated groan escaping his lips.

"Ugwoh… This should probably be classified as a drug or something," he muttered, marveling at how ridiculously good the rabbit tasted.

"Seriously, why is this so amazing?"

He briefly wondered how long Emiya would last onMasterChef—probably clear the finals, at least.

Finishing the leg, he reached for another piece of meat from the fire, but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Sitting alone on a nearby ledge was the Avenger-class Servant.

The faint moonlight gleamed off her black armor, while small rocks and bits of debris scattered around her.

She stood out like a sore thumb.

Juro glanced around at the rest of the group. Rama was still being tended to by Nightingale. Nearby, Geronimo, Billy (who looked about sixteen), and Robin Hood were drinking and laughing together.

Elizabeth and Nero were next to him, locked in an animated conversation about music—one Juro had no interest in joining.

His eyes returned to the half-cooked jackrabbit. Then, to Jalter. With a shrug, he grabbed a spare leg and walked toward her.

As he approached, Jalter noticed him and visibly tensed. She didn't say anything but shifted slightly, discomfort clear in her body language.

Undeterred, Juro sat down beside her, causing her to shuffle away.

Takahashi Juro grimaced.

"Here." He tossed the rabbit leg toward her. To his surprise, she caught it, blinking as if uncertain how to respond.

"What's with that face? I can't finish a whole rabbit by myself, so why not share it?"

Jalter frowned, her expression darkening as she nodded stiffly. She turned the leg over in her hand, inspecting it.

"Well, aren't you gonna eat it?"

"Not with your stupid grinning face looking at me like that."

"...Okay, wow. I'm gonna ignore that comment."

The two sat in silence for a moment, Jalter's harsh expression unchanged.

Juro was still trying to figure her out. Jalter always seemed to isolate herself during downtimes, brooding like some dark force lurking at the edge of the group. It wasn't that Juro was uncomfortable with silence, but this level of introversion was beyond him. He wasn't sure what made her tick, or why she was so... well, angry all the time.

But there was something about her that made him feel like he should at least try to talk to her.

One problem: he had no idea how to start a conversation with her.

"...Why are you so angry all the time?" He blurted out.

He felt the culminations of hundreds of years worth of men raising a thumb as sparkles flew in the air behind him, all of them yelling: "Nice job!"

Jalter looked at him as if he had a couple screws loose.

She shook her head as she got up, scowling.

"Wait, where you going?" He said as he raised a hand.

"...Stay away from the fire, oh, 'master'. If you don't wanna get burned." She said as she tossed the leg into his hands.

With that, she walked away.

Wasn't she being all open just a while ago?

Takahashi Juro shrugged as he bit into the leg, staring at the landscape.

No sounds were heard, save for the sound of him taking a bite, then letting out an exaggerated moan.

FATE//BOUND - DALG0ZA - Fate/Grand Order [Archive of Our Own] (2025)
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