Fate/Apocrypha - Volume 1 Read online

  In this way, they can easily close the gap in terms of raw power. The more excellent the magus, the more prana his or her craft will consume - if it comes down to it, they may end up laughably struggling against their Servants for their own supply.

  Anyone who believes that such a great war can be won with only ten days of preparation is greatly mistaken. The Yggdmillennia... no, Darnic has been putting everything in place since the moment the third Holy Grail War in Fuyuki ended.

  "Battle approaches..."

  The Lancer of Black murmured. Every Master and Servant in the room wordlessly agreed. In the depths of their hearts there is something inflaming each of them - and with this spark, they shall declare war.

  It will not be long before the two sides commit and open hostilities. There is one thing that every participant of both the Yggdmillennia and the Association can agree on - this great war will revolve around the fourteen Servants.

  But on that day... the fate of one moved.

  * * *

  Everything was in indistinct turmoil.

  His bared nerves - his Circuits - pumped out prana. His soul was being melted... dissolved... disintegrated. He was clearly conscious yet unable to form thoughts.

  A weak 'instinct' was protesting about some great pain... but to him, it sounded like nothing more than the cries of an insignificant creature.

  No recognition... no thoughts... no formulation of logic possible. He could not assert himself. He could not even say for certain whether or not he was alive.

  Yet there was something that he managed to gain simply by being here - 'information', for example, which led to 'time'. He received information and - given the time to process it - knowledge was created.

  With knowledge, he was able to put into words the sensation that he could not have grasped before.

  I am... alive.

  It was a simple fact.

  A fact that even a bawling baby would be able to unconsciously understand as obvious truth was, to him, something he had never even known until now.

  Time flowed.

  He acquired information.

  He gained knowledge.

  Once he became self-conscious, this cycle began to repeat at abnormal speed. From the start, he was a creature born with Magic Circuits as his foundation - his ability to comprehend knowledge was naturally incredible.

  Many beings passed him by... humans, comrades and monsters.

  The humans would watch them without much concern. Their comrades would look at them with some faint emotion in their eyes. The monsters' responses were various: some held no interest whatsoever; some had pity in their eyes; and some - appearing very curious indeed - wanted to investigate.

  But there was still no change. The cycle of 'information' and 'knowledge' simply continued to repeat.

  He took this rattling, chaotic mess of 'knowledge' and organized it, classified it, piled it up beautifully - like a library. However, as he stockpiled more and more outside information, he felt as though his heart was being plucked.

  Unconsciously, he turned his eyes away from this sensation and continued to collect even more information. But the more he collected - the more he understood - the larger the sensation swelled and it became impossible to ignore.

  If he were to measure his heart, about sixty percent would be taken up by it. But even though he could no longer turn away from the thing right before his eyes, he chose to defer.

  But no one can accuse him of cowardice - for cowardice can only come into existence after one has understood what an act of courage is. He did not even know that he was being a coward - he simply did not want to see the thing before him.

  Fate flows... twisting and turning, straying into aberration.

  One human and one monster stood before his eyes. Both were individuals who had passed before him countless times before.

  The 'code' of the former was 'Roche'. He was Master.

  The 'code' of the latter was 'Caster'. He was the teacher.

  "Let us once more attempt the insertion of the Magic Circuits."

  Roche nodded at Caster's words.

  "Then, let's use the homunculi here..."

  He scrutinized the contents of their discussion. 'Magic Circuits' are the pseudo-nerves necessary for the operation of thaumaturgy. They act as the stem around which the flesh of the homunculi - like him - formed. So, what is the meaning of this 'insertion'?

  He felt as though there were a worm crawling on his back. There was no mistake - it was his fate to die.

  With this conversation which barely lasted a minute, his heartbeat - having maintained a steady pace ever since his forging - furiously surged.

  He retrieved information on previous conversations. Caster and Roche had talked many times before regarding the golems... those puppets which were formed by earth and rock and rituals, more machines than artificial life. And the reason for the insertion of Magic Circuits... was to create golems that could perform thaumaturgy.

  Consumption comes with the act of creation. If the creation is to be 'a golem that can perform thaumaturgy' then, naturally, the item to be consumed will be 'a homunculus that possesses Magic Circuits'.

  He had felt a chill run down his spine. He finally understood why.

  To be consumed is to be destroyed - and destruction equals death. He had known the word but could not understand it.

  "Let's start with three units. Um... this one, this one and this one."

  The finger pointed at him. The thought of such vivid death gripped his heart as though wanting to suffocate him. The sixty percent of himself that he had been averting his eyes from gave a solemn declaration.

  You are going to die. You were just born - meaninglessly sealed in this prana supply tank - and you will now be consumed simply because someone laid eyes on you.

  The pair left the room. He is certain that he has only a brief respite until death.

  Despair assaulted him. This is what he has been turning his eyes away from. There was no meaning to his birth... no meaning for his existence.

  And yet he cannot cry, scream or lament. He can only look on with his empty eyes.

  But... is that really the case?

  He thought and racked his brain. Is there really nothing that he can do? Or does he simply think that way? Right now, there is something that only he - and no one else - can do... at the very least, he can attain information, he can think, and he can fear the conclusion he has arrived at. He has managed to come so far.

  So, let's try to take one more step forward.

  Just as it was a coincidence which led to his being chosen, it was a coincidence that led him to grow an identity when he was shut in the supply tank and meant purely for supplying Servants with prana.

  Nevertheless, these two coincidences coming together have the weight of fate to them.

  Work...

  For the first time since he was born, he moved a finger. Moving his hand and closing his fist, he attempted to raise his arm.

  ---

  Chapter 2-6

  ---

  Work...

  He confirmed the situation once more. He understood that he was being preserved in a green jade solution to more efficiently provide a prana supply. By shelving for the time being the conundrum of his own existence, he was able to clarify his own objective - he must escape from here, right now.

  Work...!

  Moving both hands, he beat against the reinforced glass. But he quickly realized that it was pointless and stopped - this glass cannot be broken by any physical damage he can inflict.

  After some thought, he scanned his own Magic Circuits. As he was made to take in mana from the atmosphere and provide the energy needed for the Servants to take form, his Circuits were already excited and prepared.

  "Logic pathopen."Straßegehen

  He cut the prana supply link and, using a language that he knew, powered the 'mystery' within himself. Placing both hands on the glass, he wished for the result of 'destruction'. The energy flowing i
nside his body found the intended outlet and instantly flooded through his palms.

  Having understood what mineral the glass he was touching was made from, his prana transformed in a way that allowed for the smallest amount of 'destruction' required. Light filled his hands... and the reinforced glass burst into pieces as though it were a weak piece of wood.

  At the same time, his body was pushed out of the tank and came into contact with the world which he should have been isolated from. Broken glass ripped into his back. He was thrust into this small passageway - and into the real world.

  Something hurt... something felt wrong. His chest itched and he tried to open his mouth only to find that he could not - there was some sort of breathing mechanism shoved into it. Pulling it out, he once again took in a breath.

  "Ahh...!"

  He choked. It felt as though his throat had been lit on fire and his lungs convulsed as he breathed in the incredibly thick air around him.

  His limbs swung about weakly. Then, he remembered that he had only achieved one goal, not his final objective.

  He has to escape... as quickly as he can!

  Having fixed his objective, he tried to stand up... only to realize that the concept of standing was not one that had been imbedded into his framework. His weak legs gave way and he fell miserably. Unable to walk, he inched along the floor using his hands.

  He slowly moved forward. Calm down, he told himself as he used his elbow to raise his upper body. Then, his feet touched the ground. His feeble ankles were screaming at him, but he ignored the pain and steadily stretched his knees.

  And he took a step forward.

  Gravity assaulted him every time his feet touched the ground, as though there were someone pushing down on him the entire time. Some utterly disgusting kind of fluid was sticking to him.

  His breathing finally calmed but now he did not know where to go - only that staying here meant death.

  He could not help but moan. Tears spilled from his eyes. He suffered so much already and yet had only taken several steps - and those were enough to make him feel he was sacrificing his life for a fruitless struggle.

  On the brink of collapse, he barked at himself to concentrate solely on the act of walking.

  There were whispers behind him, making him want to turn around, but he gave his all not to. He knew what they were - what they meant - and could only try his best to ignore them. Right now, all that mattered was that he kept going.

  Cautiously moving step by step with his hands on the wall, he somehow managed to move from the room he had been in to a hallway with a stone floor. Blood ran from his feet - they were soft as a newborn baby's and had only just touched the ground for the first time. Even pebbles easily sliced through his skin.

  The blood flowed. The pain reached his mind. This mass of information - much different from the amount he received when he was in the preserving fluid - cut into his brain. At the same time, the thick air around him made him feel as though his lungs were being crushed.

  Just how far did this body - never having been designed to walk - manage to go? The hall seemed to stretch on endlessly and never appeared to change. He dropped to his knees, understanding that he could go no further.

  His breathing was weak... his heart raced, struggling against death. This body - not fit at all for living - refused to stand up, much less walk. There was such a lack of heat in his body that he could not stop his limbs from going cold. His vision became foggy. Sounds became distant. His mind no longer contained logical thoughts - only despair as death steadily approached.

  What a meaningless life... What a meaningless existence I am.

  He was born without meaning. Now he will die without meaning. All he could do was tremble before cruel reality.

  He didn't want this... he didn't know what about this he disliked, but he didn't want it. He was too scared to even blink - in case he could not open his eyes again. He was scared of sleep, of being trapped in darkness, of the world. The only thing he did not fear was himself... becausehe was nothing. He possessed nothing, had received nothing... he was simply transparent and colorless.

  "...?"

  Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

  He realized that there was someone else beside him - but he did not know when that someone came. With his thoughts in utter disorder, he was too scared to even admit knowing who the one before him was.

  He could sense that he was being watched. He knew that he had to escape but he could not - his body was paralyzed with fear. His heart was pounding, unable to stand the crushing silence, until...

  "What's the matter with you? You're going to catch cold like that, you know?"

  The voice did not come at him with cutting and scornful words, and contained nothing but warm concern.

  Reflexively, he looked up. Their eyes met.

  He gave a small gasp. He had seen this face before... this monster who looked keenly at him. 'Rider', was it?

  "You don't want to get sick, do you?"

  Smiling, Rider spoke again. But he did not know how he should reply - only that Rider was waiting for him.

  What should he say? What words are right for a situation like this?

  "... me..."

  Without realizing, he murmured something in a hoarse voice. As though he could not hear it properly, Rider put his face close and pricked an ear.

  He knew nothing... what should he believe in? With what should he act? I don't know, I don't know, I just don't know any more...

  His consciousness was interrupted. It seems he has fainted, he realized with some fear. And he wished.

  Even though the act of walking alone has been so painful, he wished from the bottom of his heart that he will continue to be alive.

  When the Rider of Black came upon the boy grovelling around in the hall of the fortress, he wondered what to do. But Rider already decided that he must help him - his only concern was 'how'.

  "I guess I better start by picking him up."

  His actions are swift once he has decided what he must do. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around the boy and put him on his shoulder. He is a Heroic Spirit - and even the leanest and most withered of Heroic Spirits will have no trouble carrying a single person.

  But now, he is worrying about where to carry him. Not his own room - his Master Selenik calls for him once every few hours. Rider may be a Servant but he still wonders why she is so persistent.

  "Sir Rider."

  He turned around at the call. There are two homunculi staring at him and the boy he carried with pale, emotionless eyes.

  "The master is searching for an escaped homunculus. Have you seen it?"

  "Nope."

  He answered in a second - so quickly that he did not even appear to have thought about it. After glancing at the boy he carried on his shoulder, the homunculi nodded and turned their backs on him.

  "Good luck!"

  Rider waved, thanking the homunculi as they left.

  However, if Caster is chasing after this homunculus - for what reason, he did not know - then it becomes more and more difficult to help him. He wanted to discuss this with someone... but who? He is not familiar with the ever-silent Saber. Lancer does not care about the homunculi at all, meaning he would neither give chase nor help. Berserker is out of the question.

  In that case, there is only one Servant left he can rely on. Rider headed to Chiron's room, knocked on his door and announced his presence.

  "Hey, Archer? It's Rider... Is there anyone in the room with you?"

  "Rider? No, no one."

  Excellent, thought Rider as he opened the door. Seeing the boy he was carrying, Archer seemed to have immediately grasped the situation and led Rider to his bed.

  "This is the homunculus that Caster is pursuing, yes?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  Rider laid the homunculus onto the bed and removed his cloak. Archer offered him a towel and he used it to wipe the filth off the homunculus' body, then dressed him in a borrowed robe. The boy
's expression was filled with pain and it seemed he was having trouble breathing.

  "You're good with medicine, right, Archer? Can you take a look at him?"

  "Very well."

  Being the sage among the Centaurs and endowed with the wisdom of the Gods, Chiron was a teacher who taught such heroes as Heracles and Jason. Among others, he also taught Asclepius, who later even became the god of medicine. Naturally, Chiron himself is an expert of healing.