Fate/Apocrypha - Volume 1 Page 2

  It was the most unlikely scene possible in the history written by man. It was a clash of two deadly Noble Phantasms, from two heroes who were born in different eras and flourished in different lands.

  Light filled the space and annihilated everything in the surrounding area. The golems and skeletons crowding around them were overcome and faded into dust.

  Everyone who witnessed this majestic, unrelenting scene swallowed their breath. The space filled with Red and orange seemed as though it was declaring the end of the world.

  However, all stories must have an end. The light that had only swelled began to calm, and disappeared like specks of dust.

  The ground where the two had stood was a tragic sight to behold.

  Imagine a butterfly spreading its wings. Such a mark had been carved into the ground. It was the trace of an explosion, so enormous it could be seen even from far up in the sky.

  How many would be able to believe that such a trace was left behind by the slash of a sword? It was certain that a new legend had been born today on this land.

  The impossible clash between the legendary holy sword and the anomalous demonic sword gouged out the earth.

  What decided the battle between them was not their skill, their power nor the difference in power between their Noble Phantasms.

  The Noble Phantasm released by Black Saber spread a wave of twilight in a semi-circle centred around him. On the other hand, Red Saber released a straight line of red lightning from the tip of her sword. What decided the battle was the qualities of their two Noble Phantasms, and the distance at which they chose to take on their opponent. If Black Saber had been a few steps closer, the battle might have gone differently.

  In any case, the victor and the defeated were determined. One Servant had fallen. The other was unable to stand. Brought down to one knee, Red Saber stood back up while shaking with shame.

  Filled with murderous intent, she glared at the fallen Saber.

  "Why are you still alive...?!"

  The Noble Phantasm should be a weapon which ensured death, and at the same time, a source of enormous pride. Its true name having been released, it would be a matter of honor if it did not kill its enemy. And with a Noble Phantasm crowned with the name of her father, the King of Knights, it was not truly pride to Red Saber but closer to a sort of grudge.

  Thus, to Red Saber, the mere survival of Black Saber was unforgivable. Continuing to grip his sword would earn him her hatred. That he would raise his head and even attempt to stand up was something Red Saber could never accept even if it meant she could slash him apart a hundred more times.

  Intense pain racked her body, but it would be no obstacle to any act of battle. Having used her Noble Phantasm to such a degree ought to have exhausted an incredible amount of prana, but her Master was exceedingly competent, so much so that she had the strength to move immediately after using her Noble Phantasm.

  "Don't you dare move, Black Saber. I, and nobody else, will be the one to kill you...!"

  She would lop off his head, and run her sword through his heart. It was a privilege only allowed for her.

  Red Saber took a step forward.

  -At least, I am still alive. Or perhaps I am only alive.

  As always, my heart played its powerful rhythm. The magic circuits in my body sparked, trying desperately to continue being Saber. However, that last attack scattered every last drop of prana I had accumulated. There was no longer anything left for me with which to continue being Saber.

  The armor covering my entire body disappeared, like it was being stripped away. The golden greatsword symbolic of Saber followed, dissolving into the air.

  At this moment, Black Saber vanished from the world.

  When that happened, my consciousness was overwhelmed by the pain of when I had been Saber. Blood spewed from my mouth; tears welled in my eyes from the pain of severed nerves, the force which tore apart my flesh, the impacts which crushed my bones. I desperately tried not to scream, but unable to endure it completely, I began to moan.

  After a while, the pain began to subside, but I could no longer swing a sword. Besides, having lost the power of Saber, there was no way for me to overcome this situation. I still possessed two Command Spells... but my voice would not sound. It was not due to a lack of courage, but the physical pain on my body raising an alarm instinctively. Transformations could only be done in certain intervals. If I were to attempt another transformation, my body would not be able to hold together.

  Red Saber approached, her thoughts filled with murder. There truly was nothing that could be done. A miracle did not occur. No - even after accepting a miracle, this was as far as I could go.

  It was the regrettable truth, but one I must accept.

  I did not feel much fear for death. In my case, it was the same as simply disappearing. I did not have any great regrets. If I had one, it would have been the fact that I failed the ones whom I ought to protect.

  But that was it. It was no great regret.

  It was not wished of me, nor was I asked for help. It was simply a purpose which, for the first time since I was born, I considered and chose for myself. I only wanted to hold to it.

  I did not regret this result. The only thing left was to wait for death. As it drew closer, time stretched out like melted toffee. Unconsciously, I wished for it to come more quickly. Because the more time slowed down, the more I would have to think about that forbidden question.

  -For just what reason did I live for?

  There was no answer. Rather, I wished for there to be none. I never wanted to accept the answer - that I was born to be expended.

  Yes... to die here without care or thought had been predestined of me. There was nothing which I must do, nothing to call a purpose.

  "It humiliates me to no end, not to have finished you in that one blow... but not so much that I would let you live."

  Red Saber glared at me with the cold eyes of a warrior. Even a novice such as myself understood that the sword she held was aimed for my neck.

  "Time to die, Saber of the black."

  Her words were dispassionate; her blade, swift. And white filled my eyes-

  Chapter 1-1

  It is strange how the dim, empty room seems to twist all sense of distance. It appears unbelievably wide, and yet makes one feel uncomfortably pressed. The candles placed in its center faintly lit the faces of the men in the room, their features unclear and indistinct. The air within the vague boundaries of this room was filled with an inexpressible anguish.

  "So... only one has returned."

  Three gathered here. One is an old man, short but straight-backed, the creases on the skin of his face gleaming like he were a statue carved of wood - Rocco Belfaban, the head of the Department of Summoning who is said to have held this position for over fifty years, though no one is certain.

  Another nodded at Belfaban's hoarse murmur.

  "I witnessed the battle for myself, as well... it was a fearsome sight. That thing should not be allowed to exist."

  It was a younger man, handsome and with red hair. With a single glance at his strong, high-minded gaze and refined features, you can perceive that he is a member of the elite. There was a strong sense of duty in his words.

  His name is Bram Nuada-De Sophia-Ri, the successor of the head of the Department of Evocation, and one of the first-class instructors employed by the Clock Tower.

  The old man nod in agreement and shifts his gaze to the last person in the room who continue to maintain his silence. It is a man with loose long hair, furrowing his brows in seeming displeasure.

  "What do you think, Lord El-Melloi?"

  Lighting the cigar in his hand with the candle's flame, the man called El-Melloi shook his head slowly from side to side.

  "El-Melloi the Second. As much as I appreciate questionable respect coming from an elder such as yourself, keep the 'II'. That name is unbearably grating without it."

  "My mistake. How do you perceive the situation, El-Melloi II?"r />
  "Well... it's clear that we must alter our approach. After all, we just lost forty-nine magi. One of them survived, but he won't be of much use any more."

  Their operation had been planned in detail, organizing fifty magi. When it began, it was proceeding perfectly in every respect. However, everything was ruined by a single familiar.

  As a result, forty-nine magi perished, and only the last one managed to retaliate.

  "Thanks to his efforts, the chance has come for us to counter-attack. If we can assemble seven Masters, victory may yet be ours."

  "But who can go? Any half-wit magus wandering in would only suffer the same fate. The area of Trifas is under their control."

  After a brief silence, El-Melloi II gives the clear and simple truth.

  "We need to bring in the professionals from the outside. This Holy Grail War is on an utterly different scale from the ones we have experienced so far. The Clock Tower must still provide at least one or two magi, of course."

  The other two signal their agreement. They must choose the seven Masters now. However, there are pressing issues at hand. It would be a great undertaking to choose from the great families of the Clock Tower. It would likely require over three months before the selection can be confirmed due to a variety of reasons, not least the succession and safekeeping of family thaumaturgical crests. It will be far more effective to contract the more readily available freelancers.

  "Then we shall begin gathering the ones whom we feel best for the situation. Let the Holy Church send the last Master. We must obtain their involvement in this war by any means necessary to let all know of our legitimacy."

  "In that case, I will make the selection regarding the holy relics. Time is not on our side, but it should be possible to gather catalysts which will give us strength on par with the enemy's."

  Hearing Bram's words, Belfaban struck the stone floor with his rod as he announced.

  "This is completely unlike all the imitations of the Holy Grail War rituals of our time. In scale alone, it is beyond the Grail War which took place thrice in Fuyuki. We must brace ourselves for what will come. Let them fully regret sullying the name of the Clock Tower."

  Without another glance at one another, the three men each left the room in separate ways.

  * * *

  It was the night before Nazi Germany invaded Poland, beginning the Second World War. The city of Fuyuki in Japan was holding its third Holy Grail War ritual. Seven Servants and seven Masters, for the sake of their own desires, began a battle royale until only one would be left standing. But in the course of the war, circumstances occurred which led to the shattering of the Lesser Grail. It was then that that Grail War came to a close, unsettled.

  The problem was what came after.

  The Greater Grail, an omnipotent wish-granting device, had been hidden in the caverns of Mount Enzou. Through a quirk of fate, it was discovered by a magus supporting the Nazis, who then attempted to remove it using military aid.

  There was hard fighting as the three great families of Einzbern, Makiri and Tohsaka, as well as the Imperial Army, attempted to thwart this plot, but coming immediately after the end of the Grail War, they were in a weak position and thus defeated. The Greater Grail, forged by the combined labor of all three great families, was plundered by the Nazis.

  This battle was written in no texts, recorded on no images, existing not even in the minds of the people. However, it was the indisputable truth that a terrible war between guns and thaumaturgy had taken place.

  Now, with the Greater Grail in their hands, surely Nazi Germany would be able to rule the world as they saw fit.

  Of course, such a future did not arrive. As it was being transported to Germany, the Greater Grail mysteriously disappeared. Perhaps it was stolen back by the Imperial Army, or raided by Soviet forces.

  In any case, the Greater Grail which could have become the symbol of the Third Reich and realized the dream of world unification, vanishedwithout passing into the hands of any man.

  With its caretakers having been dismissed and all individuals related to it being sent onto the fields of battle, even the Nazis - the supposed victors - did not know the whereabouts of the Greater Grail; to begin with, there was no one left who even knew of its existence. The magus who took part alongside the Nazis, known as 'Yggdmillennia', had disappeared as well.

  The Greater Grail disappeared. Like a mist, the dream of the three great families - or perhaps it had only been a tenacious attachment to their own mistaken vagaries - dissolved, and Fuyuki was able to welcome the end of its war in tranquillity.

  And so the years went by, until even the youth became elderly...

  * * *

  England - where the so-called headquarters of the Association of Magi, the Clock Tower resides. Based in the British Museum of London, here is where aspiring tyrants who wish to lay claim to his or her own section of thaumaturgical history, and many other magi filled with their own ambitions, gather from all around the world.

  It is a fact that, out of one thousand magi, every single last one of them will be met with failure somewhere along this path... but it is well within their rights to dream, after all.

  That is the opinion of former student Shishigou Kairi, in any case. Something hit his shoulder. Apparently, he was so deep in thought that he ran into one of the students. He was about to apologize when said student, face stiffening, escaped from him as quickly as possible.

  He sighed. Then again, this was the usual for him.

  Due to the chemicals they deal with, or perhaps the kind of thaumaturgy they work with, magi will sometimes have their own appearance distorted. It is nothing to be ashamed about; in fact, it is the norm for magi to see it as a source of pride rather than humiliation.

  Yet... Shishigou wondered if his treatment was rather unfortunate.

  Simply walking down the street brought police officers to perform body searches three times (and every time he would escape by casting a suggestion on them). After arriving at the Clock Tower, he was heavily questioned by security magi four times. He no longer remembered how many times students he met in the hallways looked at him with fear in their eyes.

  This is racism! Discrimination! Shishigou wanted to complain, but they would definitely give him this answer.

  "No, but you scare me."

  It is a sorry tale indeed. True, he will admit that he looks rather formidable; he will admit that the clothes he wears is somewhat different than that worn by regular magi. But he is sure that he never forgot to smile...

  That he would think this at all shows that Shishigou Kairi does not really understand what makes him fearsome. It is in his scarred face, his razor-sharp eyes and gaze, his muscular frame, and his black jacket fashioned from hides skinned from magical beasts. On top of that, having lived through many battlefields as a freelance bounty hunter, a thick stench of blood and gunpowder emitted from his entire body. Even to a magus for whom ethics might well be anathema, the horrible is still horrifying.

  "Your smile truly is a horror in and of itself."

  The old man soothed the discontent Shishigou even as he gasped sharply between guffaws. They are in the room of Rocco Belfaban, the head of the Department of Summoning at the Clock Tower.

  In a display case mounted on the walls, there is the skull of some beast that looks like a chimera of ape and elephant. Beside it is a scroll which is clearly over a thousand years old, but rather than carefully kept, seems like it was left there without a care. Recklessly placed on top of the case is a heavy glass bottle, containing a small snake with its head split in nine, preserved in formalin.

  "You really can find anything in this place..."

  If his expert's eyes are correct about the formalin-preserved lizard, it is quite likely one of a kind in the entire world. As he thought this, Shishigou lowered himself onto the guest's sofa.

  "Hardly. It is rare, but serves little purpose. Is it really so valuable?"

  "You mean the preserved juvenile Hydra? Is 'va
luable' even the right word to use?"

  "It is a forgery."

  Belfaban let out a low chuckle, as though ridiculing him. Shishigou simply glanced at him and, without any gesture suggesting that he wanted to dispute, sipped his medicine wordlessly. The taste was horrible enough to choke on, but Shishigou contented himself with its recovery effects in dealing with fatigue.

  "Now, there is only one reason for me to call for you. Do you know about the Fuyuki Holy Grail War?"

  Shishigou frowned slightly.

  "Well, yeah. I do."

  A Holy Grail War is any battle that revolves around an omnipotent Holy Grail which is said to be capable of granting any wish. However, when preceded by 'Fuyuki', any magus knows that it refers to an exceedingly unique conflict in which Heroic Spirits are summoned as Servants to fight each other to the death.