DW DXD Remastered Chapter 7 The Masters Arrive (Patreon)

A lone priest stood in a quiet forest, the moonlight dripping through the canopy in thin, silver bands that carved eerie shadows across the ground. The wind stirred only faintly, rustling leaves just enough to remind one that the world was still moving, even if he felt no part of it.

Kotomine Kirei’s expression was unreadable, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed downward, as if contemplating something far deeper than the earth beneath his feet.

“The church has contacted me.” Kotomine Kirei murmured at last, voice calm and almost bored. “They say the final servant, a caster has finally appeared.”

“The final servant has been summoned? Then it's time.” Says a voice telepathically in his ear.

The words brushed against his mind rather than his ear, but Kirei did not flinch. The faintest shift of his head could have been a nod or simply the way the light moved.

Kotomine nodded slightly. “Indeed. You are to head immediately to Tohsaka Manor.”

The command hung in the cold air for a moment before the silence broke.

From the edge of the treeline, a figure stepped onto a dimly lit road, his form almost melting out of the night itself. His presence did not disturb the grass, did not crunch the gravel. It was as if the darkness simply chose to take his shape.

It was revealed to be Assassin, his very existence like a whisper of death sliding through the world.

“And once I arrive?” Assassin’s tone was light, but the question carried an undercurrent of cold professionalism.

“The manor is surrounded by a number of powerful barriers.” Kotomine continued, his gaze never once lifting to fully regard the man. “But they should be child's play for you.”

Assassin chuckled, the sound quiet and sharp. His voice was laced with mockery. “Ha hah ha. Are you sure about this? I was under the impression that you were allies with Tokiomi Tohsaka.”

“Don't you worry about that.” Kotomine replied calmly, as if the notion of betrayal barely registered as a moral concern. “Even if it means that you have to engage with Archer in battle. There's no need to fear.”

Assassin’s mirth deepened, a twisted amusement in the way his shoulders shook. “To fear Archer. One of the three knight classes of the Holy Grail Wars.” There was no hesitation after that. His outline blurred, edges unraveling into shadow as Assassin vanished, his presence dissolving completely as he went into action, slipping toward Tohsaka Manor to begin the infiltration. The forest fell quiet again, leaving only the priest in the moonlight, his expression still as unreadable as ever.

—--------------------------

Hana Residence, Fuyuki, Night

“Hmm. Master, I believe the war has begun.” The calm, synthesized voice echoed softly from the Dimensional Watch on Issei Hyoudou’s wrist, a faint glow pulsing along its edges in the darkened bedroom.

Issei paused mid-stretch, arms raised over his head as his joints popped lightly. “Why do you say that?” Says Issei as he, Yuuka and Tamamo were preparing for bed.

The room itself was cozy and lived-in with a low table pushed to one side, the bed prepared with three pillows, the faint hum of the air conditioner, and the soft scent of detergent from freshly washed sheets. Tamamo’s boundary field hummed quietly in the background like a second layer of reality.

“I just witnessed a battle between Archer and Assassin.” The AI replies.

In the small adjoining bathroom, Yuuka, who was brushing her teeth, paused mid-motion and frowned at the doorway. Toothbrush still in her mouth, she leaned out far enough to see Issei’s wrist. “But aren't they allies?”

“The most likely explanation is that this is an act to make others believe that Assassin was defeated and that Kotomine was no longer in the war.” Sherri explained her tone perfectly even despite the implications.

“It's probably also a way to flush out the other masters and servants out of hiding. I just felt the energy spike. It ended pretty quickly.” Tamamo says in her pajamas, her tail flicking behind her.

She sat on the bed with one knee raised, pink-and-cream pajamas slightly rumpled, fox ears twitching irritably. The tips of her tails swished against the blanket, restless from the faint aftershocks of magical combat rippling across the city.

“If we didn't have Sherri watching. I’d probably have familiars keeping watch. But that would ruin the element of surprise. Even if they did sense my summoning. We should still be pretty unknown.”

“Luckily none of their familiars noticed us. But we had some pretty close calls.” Issei recalled, remembering how they almost crossed paths with a few of them during the day. His shoulders tensed at the memory, a crow circling overhead a little too long than necessary, a strange breeze that carried the scent of mana, the prickling on the back of his neck that told him a Servant had been nearby—watching. If Tamamo hadn’t tugged him into a side street or Sherri hadn’t pinged him at the right moment, they might have been exposed already.

Yuuka sighed, rinsing her mouth before turning to Issei. “If Issei ever does lose Tamamo. Where exactly is he supposed to go?” Yuuka questions.

The question hung heavily in the air. Issei blinked, glancing between the two girls, feeling a twist of unease in his chest. He didn’t like thinking about that scenario at all.

Tamamo bristled immediately. “Hey! Master and I would never lose” Tamamo-no-Mae said angrily at Yuuka.

Her tails puffed up, ears flattening in indignation as she shifted closer to Issei, almost as if physically staking her claim.

Yuuka crossed her arms. “I'm simply asking just in case. What if you really aren't as strong as you claim.”

“How dare you!” Tamamo yelled with her tails standing straight in anger.

The girls were now staring daggers at each other. Sparks flew as the two locked eyes, their silent battle raging through stubbornness.

Issei sweatdropped internally. ‘Great… and now they're glaring at each other.’

“He would have to go to the church outside the city. It's considered a neutral ground. They would usually keep the master that has been disqualified safe.” Sherri continued clinically, cutting through the rising tension.

“But isn't the church in an alliance with the master of Archer and Assassin.” Issei frowns. He sat down on the edge of the bed, brows furrowing. The idea of being “protected” by people who were technically trying to kill him did not inspire confidence.

“Indeed. Right now the master of Assassin has gone there to seek sanctuary.”

“Even though he's still in the war.” Yuuka's annoyance with Tamamo faded as she processed this information. Her arms slowly uncrossed, expression shifting from defensive to worried. She sat down on Issei’s other side, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight.

“The final Servant Saber should be arriving tomorrow. The moment she does the war officially begins and I'm certain one of the masters will start something.”

Tamamo’s tails slowed their agitated movement, settling into a more thoughtful sway as she narrowed her eyes, clearly already running through possibilities and counters.

Yuuka hesitated before asking. “Issei, will you be going out tomorrow?” Yuuka questions in worry. Her voice was softer this time, the edge gone just Yuuka, the girl who’d have come to care for him in these few short days, looking at him with open concern.

“Hmm... I guess.” Issei admitted. “We'll probably just sneak around and watch them from a distance. Making sure they don't destroy the neighborhood. Tamamo is the boundary field active.”

“Yes darling. This place is well-protected. We can leave here without worry.” She assured him. “I'll make sure to cloak ourselves to not be noticed when we go out.

Issei felt a bit of the tightness in his chest ease. Between Sherri’s surveillance and Tamamo’s magecraft, they at least weren’t walking into complete darkness. Still… sneaking around a battlefield of legendary heroes wasn’t exactly safe.

“Ahh!” Yuuka sends out a yawn. “Then we should sleep. After tonight I doubt we'll be getting any.”

Her yawn was contagious, pulling a tired chuckle out of Issei. The tension in the room finally melted, replaced by the heavy drowsiness that came after an exhausting day of pretending to be normal while planning for a very abnormal war.

The three of them crawled into bed, with Issei in between the two girls as they cuddled up to him.

Tamamo immediately wrapped herself around his arm like a possessive wife, tails draping over his legs, while Yuuka settled on his other side, her forehead resting against his shoulder. The boundary field hummed softly around the Hana residence like a protective cocoon as their breathing slowly evened out, the looming chaos of the Holy Grail War kept, if only for tonight, on the other side of the walls.

—--------------------------

Tohsaka Manor, Night

“Everything went smoothly.” The soft murmur came from a black-haired man in a red velvet suit, seated in a high-backed chair near a large table. Tohsaka Tokiomi swirled the fine wine in his glass with practiced ease, watching the dark liquid catch the light of the candelabra. His posture was impeccable, every motion measured, cultivated elegance masking the tight coil of tension beneath his skin.

From the deeper shadows of the room, a golden light shimmered into existence, bending the darkness around it.

A figure of overwhelming presence emerged as if he had always been there. Draped in resplendent golden armor, crimson eyes gleaming with bored contempt, the King of Heroes gazed around the room like a man inspecting a barely tolerable inn.

“These games of yours squander my time, Tokiomi,” Said the golden-armored man as he appeared by the window, looking out over the city as though it were a dull, unimportant trinket.

Tokiomi immediately rose to his feet, straightening his posture. He knew better than to remain seated in the presence of this particular king. To him, etiquette wasn’t just manners—it was survival.

“I am very grateful, Gilgamesh, king of all kings, the King of Heroes, himself.” He said with a respectful bow, his tone smooth and deferential. “Your deeds tonight will establish your prowess as the King of Heroes. And they will reveal which of our foes we must hunt. I ask only that you stay your hand for just a short while longer.”

Gilgamesh’s lips curled into a faint smirk, amused by the flattery even as he pretended otherwise. “Very well. For the time being, I shall amuse myself with simple reconnaissance. This age fascinates me.”

He turned his head slightly, eyes glinting as the city lights outside reflected in them.

Tokiomi tilted his head, daring to probe a little further. “Is the modern world to your liking?”

Gilgamesh scoffed, the sound dripping disdain. “It's unspeakably ugly. But that is fine, in its own way. The important thing is whether any treasures here are worthy of me.” His expression darkened, the air in the room growing heavier with the shift in his mood. “If there is nothing here that deserves my adoration, you will pay dearly for summoning me, Tokiomi.”

Tokiomi’s smile did not waver, though a bead of sweat threatened to form at his temple. “Worry not. The Holy Grail is surely an item fit to please the King of Heroes.”

“That is for me to determine.” Gilgamesh’s voice hardened for a moment, then returned to idle amusement. “No matter. I'll play along with your schemes for now. Everything of value in this world belongs to me. No matter how precious a treasure this Grail of yours may be, I'll never let anyone have it without my permission.” He gave Tokiomi a sideways glance, as if granting mercy by acknowledging him at all. “Tokiomi, I'll leave the details to you.”

With that, the King of Heroes turned away. His form blurred into radiance, golden fragments scattering like dust motes before vanishing entirely, as if reality itself exhaled in relief once he was gone.

“My, my… honestly.” Tokiomi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and sank back into his chair. The velvet cushions welcomed him as the exhaustion of dealing with the selfish king finally caught up. He took a measured sip of wine, watching the candlelight flicker in the glass and on the polished wood of the table.

‘I'm still amazed that Gilgamesh materialized within the Archer class, considering their solo combat skills.’ He mused, the thought equal parts pride and dread. ‘But that power comes with a temperament befitting a tyrant…’ He closed his eyes briefly, regaining his composure. ‘Well, I can let Kirei handle things from here. For now, everything is proceeding according to plan.’

—---------------------------------------

Waver’s Hideout, Fuyuki, Night

Inside the cramped two-story house, the living room looked like a library had exploded. Books, maps, and handwritten notes lay scattered across the wooden floor and every available surface. The furniture itself was surprisingly nice, plush sofa, polished low table, tasteful shelves but any sense of elegance was buried under the chaos of research.

“Assassin was killed? Hey, Rider, this is big news! One of the seven has already been knocked out.” The black-haired young man, Waver Velvet, practically vibrated where he stood, clutching a bundle of notes in one hand as he turned to look at the massive, muscular red-haired man hogging the best seat in the room.

Rider sat comfortably on the couch, his enormous frame almost comically out of place in the small space. A can of beer in one hand and a plate of snacks balanced in the other, he stared intently at the flickering television screen, where a documentary about modern warfare played. Tanks, bombers, and missiles rolled by in grainy footage. His expression was one of childlike wonder, utterly captivated.

“Hey!” Waver tried again, voice climbing. “Come on! Don't you get it? Assassin was killed!”

Again he was ignored. Rider didn’t even glance at him.

Waver’s eye twitched. He’d spent hours skulking around Fuyuki, dodging familiars and following mana signatures, and meanwhile his Servant. “Rider! The Holy Grail War has started! I've been out gathering information, and day after day after day! Every single day! You sit around eating cookies, watching stuff on the VCR! You're worse than a familiar! Worse than a rat! And I told you to take spirit form when I don't need you! I'm giving you all the mana you need to do your job.” He says passionately at the man.

The giant finally responded, not with interest, but with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Kid, no one cares about Assassin. He's only good at skulking in the shadows. He could never pose a threat to me.” Was Rider's response.

Waver opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. Annoyingly… that did sound like something an Assassin-class would do. Still, that wasn’t the point.

“Anyway, boy. Here, this is what matters! This! The big, black thing they call a ‘B-2.’ It's wonderful!” Rider leaned forward excitedly, eyes shining as the stealth bomber glided across the screen. “I'm thinking of buying ten or so. What do you think?” Rider exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

On the other side of the room, Waver Velvet, his scrawny frame tense with frustration, exhaled in exasperation. “With that much money, it'd be faster to just buy the country outright.” Waver muttered, barely concealing his irritation.

“Oh I see! So, the question is where to procure the money. Were there some major city nearby, such as Persepolis, we could simply plunder it and get what we needed.” Rider says.

Waver exhaled sharply, feeling a headache coming on. ‘He’s actually serious. He’s genuinely planning continental pillage in the middle of Japan…’

“For the moment,” Rider continued, crossing his arms as though discussing something trivial, “our biggest obstacle will be this ‘Clinton’ guy! He will prove a more formidable opponent than Darius III.”

Waver stared at him, then at the TV, then back again. “…He’s talking about the American president.” Sighing, he tried to get the conversation back on track. “R-regardless, it's good that Assassin was eliminated first. Aren't you the type who prefers to face his enemy head-on? So it's good news for us that the guy who uses sneak attacks and tricks is out.”

“We could get some good use from these ‘Tomahawk’ things, too!” Rider continued to ignore him in favor of the television, now completely thrilled at the idea of owning a cruise missile.

Again, Waver changed the subject with an eye twitch. “Saber, Lancer, Archer, the three Great Knights, and the Berserker, whose sole skill is to break things. They're gonna be toast when you use that Noble Phantasm of yours! That just leaves Caster! If we knew his true identity, we—”

Rider finally turned to him, more serious now, the light from the TV casting sharp shadows over his features. “How did Assassin fall? Who was it that defeated him? You saw it, right?”

Waver hesitated, replaying the scene in his head. ”I think it was Tohsaka's Servant. His appearance, his attacks, everything was gold and flashy. It all happened so fast, I couldn't tell—”

“Fool!” Rider yelled.

Before Waver could react, the large man flicked him on the forehead. Pain exploded between Waver’s brows as he recoiled with a yelp.

“If I am to fight someone, it will be the victor!” Rider declared. “Why weren't you paying attention to him?” Rider then released a sigh at how inexperienced his master was. “Well, it matters not. Did anything else strike you about the flashy gold guy?”

Waver held his head in pain, rubbing the sore spot. “B-but it was the middle of the night, and it was all over in a second.” He noticed Rider’s hand raising for another flick and quickly blurted out, “Hey, Rider, normally, a Servant only has one Noble Phantasm, right?”

Rider narrowed his eyes, lowering his hand slightly as his mood shifted from playful to instructive. “That's the rule. But ‘how many’ isn't the right way to conceptualize a Noble Phantasm. As you know, a Noble Phantasm is the physical manifestation of a hero's legend or tale. Sometimes, it may be a specific ability or method of attack.”

Waver hesitated, thinking about the storm of blades. “Then is there a Noble Phantasm that consists of throwing dozens of swords at an opponent?”

Rider’s expression turned contemplative. “A sword that splits into infinite copies? It's possible. That could still qualify as a single Noble Phantasm.”

“But those weren't copies.” Waver muttered, recalling the scene more clearly now, the variety of shapes, hilts, and blades. “Each sword had a different shape.”

Rider smirked, stepping past him before suddenly slapping Waver on the back. The boy nearly stumbled forward, papers fluttering from his hands. “Ah, forget it. We'll learn each enemy's identity as we encounter them.”

“I-is that really wise?” Waver said while groaning in pain.

Rider let out a hearty laugh, chest rumbling like distant thunder. “It is! Actually, it's more fun this way! Food, sex, sleep, and war! Whatever you do, enjoy it to the fullest! That is the secret of life.” Rider stretched his arms until his joints cracked. “Now, let's go find some entertainment outside. We ride forth, boy! Prepare yourself.”

“R-ride forth? To where?” Waver questioned, confused.

Rider rolled his shoulders, the anticipation practically radiating off him. “Somewhere! Anywhere! Oh, come on. You can't have been the only one who was watching Tohsaka. Which means that news of Assassin's death is making the rounds. All the others are going to spring into action all at once. But we shall crush them as we come across them.”

Waver stumbled back, clutching his notes like a shield. “Find and crush them. It won't be that easy.”

“That doesn’t matter. I am Rider!” The large man boasted. “My speed far exceeds that of any other Servant.” Rider proclaimed with a boastful smile, about to bring out his Noble Phantasm inside the house, mana flaring dangerously around him.

Waver quickly went to stop him, flailing his arms. “Wait! Wait, wait! Not here! You'll blow up the house!”

Rider merely laughed, the air around him trembling with his sheer excitement and rising magical energy.

Waver, meanwhile, felt his sanity slipping away. ‘I’m going to die. Not from enemy Servants, not from deadly traps but from property damage caused by my own idiot Servant.’

—------------------------------------

The next day.

Tokyo Airport, Afternoon

The automatic doors of the private terminal slid open with a soft hiss, letting in a breath of cool afternoon air. The faint hum of aircraft engines rolled across the tarmac, blending with distant announcements echoing through the main building. Luggage carts rattled somewhere far off, and a plane’s roar slowly faded into the sky, but none of that mattered to the figures stepping onto the pavement.

First to descend from the sleek plane was a woman of ethereal beauty. Long silver hair cascaded over the fur-trimmed white coat she wore, each strand catching the sunlight. A fur hat framed her face, and her piercing crimson eyes took everything in with quiet wonder, as if the world itself were something delicate and new.

Slightly behind her walked a young woman clad in a butler uniform. Her golden hair was neatly tied back, not a strand out of place. Sharp blue eyes swept over the surroundings with the cool vigilance of a warrior, measuring exits, sightlines, and potential threats. Despite the formal attire, her posture held the rigid discipline of a knight prepared for battle, no one looking at her would mistake her for a mere servant.

Irisviel von Einzbern inhaled deeply, letting the cool air fill her lungs as she took her first true step into the land her husband once called home. This was more than just an airport to her; it was the threshold of Kiritsugu’s past.

“So, this is where Kiritsugu was born?” She murmured, her voice tinged with curiosity and something almost wistful. Her gaze drifted beyond the runway, toward the city skyline in the distance. “Well, Saber? How did you enjoy our journey through the sky?”

Beside her, Saber, King Arthur, the once and future king, remained composed, hands at her sides as she surveyed the unfamiliar landscape. The butler uniform fit her slim frame neatly, the disguise doing little to lessen the noble gravity she exuded.

“It was nothing to speak of. Far simpler than I'd anticipated.” Her tone was calm, almost indifferent, as though crossing the sky in a metal giant were no more remarkable than crossing a stream.

Irisviel chuckled softly, her lips curling into a playful smile. “I suppose flying is nothing to a hero, right?”

“That isn't it.” Saber replied, shaking her head slightly. “Upon materialization, Servants receive knowledge of the modern world. If required, I could even pilot this aircraft.”

Irisviel's eyes widened slightly in surprise, crimson irises brightening with interest as she glanced back at the plane. “You could pilot this?”

Saber nodded. “My Riding skill allows me to command any beast or vehicle, with the exception of Phantasmal Beasts or Divine Beasts. Once I put the saddle between my legs and take the reins, intuition does the rest.”

Irisviel blinked, the mental image taking shape a little too vividly. Her shoulders trembled once before she lifted a hand to her mouth, giggling. “Put the saddle between your legs and take the reins.”

Saber frowned, tilting her head slightly in confusion, the faintest crease appearing between her brows. “Did I say something amusing?”

“No.” Irisviel waved her hand dismissively, though her laughter didn't quite fade, a mischievous spark lingering in her eyes.

Still, Saber’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, sensing there was something hidden behind her amusement, even if she couldn’t quite grasp what. Around them, the airport continued its steady, mundane rhythm.

 —–——---------------------------

The duo could now be seen walking out of the airport, the automatic doors sliding shut behind them with a soft hiss. The afternoon light washed over the pavement, catching on polished glass and metal as taxis and black sedans rolled by in steady lines.

At Irisviel’s side walked Saber, and a short distance behind them followed two maids in immaculate uniforms. Their steps were silent, their gazes forward, and like Irisviel, their eyes were a striking shade of red, cold, precise, and inhumanly composed. The resemblance marked them unmistakably as Einzbern creations.

“Still, you must be the only Servant who has flown in an airplane in physical form.” Irisviel mused as they exited, her voice light, almost teasing as her coat fluttered in the breeze.

Saber exhaled lightly, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh leaving her lips. “I apologize for that. If only I could take spirit form.” The apologetic tone contrasted strangely with the confident way she carried herself, every step measured and steady.

Einzbern tilted her head, white hair swaying gently. “No, I didn't mean it like that. Don't worry about it. I never get tired of watching you.”

Saber hesitated for a moment, glancing sideways at her Master. The offhand comment unsettled her more than any battlefield. “Irisviel, is there something odd about me?”

“No, not at all.” She says with a sly smile full of mirth.

Saber’s frown deepened, a subtle furrow forming between her brows. “When you laugh like that, there is some hidden meaning behind it. What is it? I want you to be frank with me.”

Irisviel’s smile turned playful, the hint of mischief shining in her crimson eyes. “It means that your being stuck in physical form isn't without its merits. It's given me many enjoyable hours choosing outfits for you.”

Saber paused mid-step, glancing down at herself as if suddenly aware of the fabric on her skin. The tailored black suit she wore was neat and efficient, the lines clean, the cut sharp. The jacket framed her shoulders just enough to look formal yet mobile, the trousers allowing for full range of motion. It fit her slender frame without restricting her movement.

“Irisviel, is this manner of dress truly common in this era?” Saber asked.

The two maids exchanged the faintest glance at the question, but their expressions remained unreadable.

“I chose it to balance out my own outfit. You don't care for it?” Irisviel replied, lifting the hem of her white coat slightly as if to emphasize the contrast: white and fur-trimmed nobility beside monochrome, composed “butler.”

Saber paused, rolling her shoulders slightly as if testing the fit again. The fabric moved with her, no resistance, no excess. “No, it is fine. It's rather easy to move in, and besides, I am used to dressing as a man.” There was no bitterness in the statement, only a simple fact. Her gaze drifted toward the city spreading beyond the airport roads, neon signs just beginning to flicker to life, cars flowing like a steel river.

To anyone watching, they looked like a wealthy foreign lady with her personal attendant and staff.

———————-----------------------

Hana Residence, Fuyuki, Morning

“Master, Saber has arrived in Fuyuki.” Sherri’s voice echoed calmly from the Dimensional Watch, the screen on Issei’s wrist pulsing faintly with light.

‘Today’s the day, huh…’ Issei flexed his fingers, feeling the faint tension in his shoulders. ‘Can’t say I’m not excited to meet these fighters.’

Both Sherri and Ddraig were supportive to say the least, one with precise tactical analysis, the other with the quiet, draconic confidence that made Issei’s blood hum. 

“Right.” Issei nodded, adjusting his stance as he readied himself for what was to come.

They were gathered in the living room of the Hana residence. Morning light streamed in through the curtains, casting warm squares across the floor. The air smelled faintly of breakfast and detergent, an almost painfully normal backdrop to the looming chaos of the Holy Grail War.

Misuki stepped forward, her expression softening as she reached up, her hands gently fussing with his hair and straightening his clothes. Her usual composed, teasing aura wavered slightly, replaced by a faint, very real concern. “Issei, I know we won’t be much help in this war, but please, be careful.”

He met her eyes, seeing the worry she tried to hide behind a small smile. He offered one of his own in return, still goofy in shape, but lacking its usual carefree lightness. “No need to worry, Misuki. I’ll be careful.”

‘…Or at least, I’ll try my best not to scare everyone half to death,’ He added silently.

“Oi, fox! Don’t even think about slacking off and leaving everything to Issei.” Yuuka’s voice rang out with mock sternness from behind him, arms crossed, but there was a playful edge to her words.

“Says the little girl who can’t even contribute anything useful to the group.” Tamamo shot back, her teasing tone sharp as ever, but there was warmth beneath it as always.

The air between them crackled with familiar sparks with Yuuka’s eyes narrowing, Tamamo’s tails giving a smug little twitch, but the underlying atmosphere was less hostile than it appeared. This was their normal. Their way of saying don’t die without letting the words actually leave their mouths.

“Tamamo, let’s go,” Issei said, a grin tugging at his lips as he watched the girls bicker.

“Coming, husband.” Tamamo’s voice was a soft purr, teasing yet affectionate. She stuck her tongue out at Yuuka in a final parting shot before gliding to Issei’s side, her presence a calming counterpoint to the playful chaos.

As the boundary field hummed quietly around the house and Sherri fed him data in the back of his mind, Issei took a breath, steadying himself.

Time to step out of the safe, warm Hana residence and walk straight into a battlefield.

———————------------------------------------

A black car glided smoothly along Fuyuki’s streets, its tinted windows reflecting the late-afternoon light. Inside, the hum of the engine was so even and soft it was barely noticeable, a constant low vibration beneath their feet as the city rolled past outside.

Saber sat beside Irisviel in the back seat, her posture straight, hands resting neatly on her knees. Her gaze remained fixed on the passing buildings, glass storefronts, narrow side streets, power lines crisscrossing overhead. Neon signs flickered to life as the sun dipped lower, layering strange colors over the otherwise ordinary cityscape. To Saber, it was an unfamiliar world, yet one she’d been force-fed knowledge of upon her summoning.

“This place is so alive.” Irisviel says, looking at the city with wonder. Her crimson eyes shone as she pressed just a little closer to the window, watching crowds move along the sidewalks, children tugging at their parents’ hands, couples walking arm in arm, office workers hurrying home. There was an innocent joy in the way she took it all in, like a child glimpsing a festival for the first time.

Saber agreed, though she did not say it aloud. She had seen many cities before, fortresses of stone, capitals of kingdoms, towns rebuilt upon ashes but never like this. The roads stretched endlessly, glowing with unnatural lights. Metal carriages with no horses rushed past, and the people outside moved with the careless ease of those who had never known war in its truest form. It was strange… but not unappealing.

“Kiritsugu was set to have arrived here already, yes?” Saber asked.

“Yes. Twelve hours before us.” Irisviel confirmed. “But he'll find us. Don't worry. For the moment, we'll keep an eye on things so we can act when the time comes.” She smiled softly. “We've come all this way to Japan. I'd like to enjoy it before the fighting starts.”

Saber’s gaze hardened slightly, her blue eyes narrowing as strategy overrode sentiment. “That's dangerous. We should go to our base of operations and then discuss plans with Kiritsugu.”

Irisviel sighed, the sound small but tinged with reluctance. “I suppose you're right. But it's such a waste.” Her voice grew softer. “We've come all this way. And it's my first time.”

That made Saber turn to her, slightly surprised. “Eh? This is the first time you've ventured into the world outside. Then you've spent your entire life in that castle?”

“Yes, I was a puppet created for the Holy Grail war.” She glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past like streaks of color. “Of course, it isn't as though I'm wholly ignorant of it. Kiritsugu brought me movies and pictures, and he's taught me all about the outside world. But this is the first time I've seen it for myself.” She let out a small laugh. “So forgive me. I got overly excited.”

For a moment, Saber said nothing. The word puppet lingered uncomfortably in the air. She understood duty and sacrifice far too well but to be born solely for a single war, and never allowed beyond the walls of a castle until now…

Saber’s expression softened. “Please stop the car.” She says commanding the driver to stop.

Irisviel blinked. “Huh?”

Saber looked at her firmly with resolve clear in her eyes. “Walking through the city will be a new experience for me, as well. Plus it is a knight's duty to serve as escort. I shall do my best.” She gestured forward. “ Come with me.”

Irisviel’s red eyes widened slightly before a genuine smile graced her lips, bright and unguarded.

The car pulled to a stop at the curb, the driver glancing back only briefly before silently accepting the change of plan.

A moment later, the doors opened to the cool air and the low murmur of Fuyuki’s streets.

And so the two stepped out into the bustling city, one experiencing the world for the first time, savoring every sight and sound, while the other, a king bound by duty, quietly prepared to grant that simple wish, if only for a little while before the war truly began.

———————

Hotel, Fuyuki

Kiritsugu Emiya knocked twice on the door, his knuckles barely making a sound against the wood. His posture was tense, weight shifted slightly forward, coat already loosened for easy movement. While he waited, his sharp eyes swept the hallway scanning the corners, ceiling, fire escape, searching for any hint of a presence that didn’t belong.

After a brief pause, the door unlocked with a soft click.

It opened just enough to reveal Maiya Hisau. Her short black hair flowed neatly, her gaze cool and impassive. After confirming it was him, she stepped aside, letting him in without a word before closing and locking the door behind them with a quiet finality.

Inside, the hotel room might as well have been a temporary field base. The curtains were drawn tight. The bed was covered with firearms and tactical gear, each weapon meticulously arranged and checked. Magazines, silencers, optical sights, and compact explosives lay organized in neat rows. A single suitcase sat open on the table, revealing a disassembled sniper rifle nestled in foam.

The room was devoid of comfort, no personal effects, no clutter, just tools for killing.

Maiya turned toward him. “The equipment you requested has arrived.”

Kiritsugu’s gaze swept once over the bed, taking inventory in a single practiced glance, before giving a slight nod.

Maiya continued, her voice level. “The mistress and Saber have arrived as well. The other Masters will likely assume she is Saber’s Master.”

Kiritsugu nodded slightly. “Understood.”

Maiya picked up a remote and clicked a button, turning on the television. Static flickered for a heartbeat, then the screen jumped to a paused image. “There was an incident last night at the Tohsaka estate. Here is the footage I recorded.”

She pressed play.

The recording was grainy, shot from long range. Tohsaka Manor sat in the center of the frame, dark against the night sky. The faint silhouette of Assassin slipping into the grounds appeared for only an instant, then golden light detonated outward, bathing the estate in brilliance. A brief, brutal exchange followed, too fast for most eyes to follow, but not his.

Kiritsugu’s eyes narrowed. His cold, calculating stare remained locked on the images, replaying them in his head in slow motion, angle by angle. “What do you make of this?”

“It seems too good to be true. There is insufficient time between Assassin's infiltration and the Tohsaka Servant's attack. Assassin has a skill that masks his presence, making it highly improbable that he was detected in advance. I believe Tohsaka was expecting an intruder.”

Kiritsugu’s gaze darkened, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “In a battle among Servants, learning their identities is critical. Why would Tohsaka expose his Servant this way?”

Maiya’s tone remained neutral. “He had some reason to, I suppose.”

“Maiya, what became of Assassin's Master?”

“He took refuge in a church last night. The overseer declared him to be under his protection. Assassin's Master is Kirei Kotomine.”

Kiritsugu’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a crack in the otherwise flat surface. “Maiya, set a familiar to watch the Fuyuki Church.”

“Are you certain? Masters are forbidden to take action inside the neutral zone around a church.”

“Place it just far enough away that the priest won't spot it.”

Maiya nodded crisply. “Very well. Understood.”

“Where is the item I left with you?”

“Right here.” Maiya turned, walking to the closet. She retrieved a brown suitcase from within, placing it on the table. With a practiced motion, she unlocked it. The latches snapped open, revealing a Walther rifle nestled in foam, cleaned and ready.

Kiritsugu stepped forward, his expression flattening into something almost mechanical. He ran his fingers along the rifle’s frame before lifting it from the case, the weight familiar in his hands. He assembled and checked it with automatic efficiency—scope, barrel, magazine, bolt—each motion clocked, timed and judged.

“Approximately two seconds, I'd say. I've slowed down.” he muttered.

Maiya, standing beside him, responded in a matter-of-fact tone. “Indeed.”

He sighed quietly, setting the rifle down for a moment. The professional mask cracked just enough for the strain beneath to show. His shoulders tensed, his eyes unfocused as thoughts he tried to keep buried rose unbidden. And then, as if his legs simply gave out under the weight of them, he sank to his knees beside the table.

“Illya weighs less than that Walther. Even though she's eight years old already.” His voice was low, frayed at the edges. The image of his daughter, small, smiling, and waiting for both of them to return pressed painfully against the reality of the rifle before him, and the fact that he was preparing to turn its shadow on Illya’s mother.

He couldn't help but think of exactly what he was about to do to his wife.

Maiya’s expression remained unreadable as she observed him. No judgment, no pity—only assessment. Then, without hesitation, she stepped closer, gripped his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Kiritsugu didn’t react. There was no surprise, no pushback, no reciprocation, only stillness, as if she’d kissed a statue.

She pulled back just as quickly, her tone devoid of emotion. “Focus on the matter at hand. Think of nothing else.”

For a moment, Kiritsugu remained kneeling, eyes half-lidded. Then he exhaled slowly, forcing everything down, every thought of Illya, every flicker of guilt, every question. The mask slid back into place. He rose to his feet, face once more unreadable. Without another word, he turned back to the rifle, picked it up, and resumed his preparations for war.

——————————————

Fuyuki Beach, Night

The sound of waves lapping against the shore filled the quiet night air, a steady rhythm that seemed to smooth the edges off the world. The city lights of Fuyuki shimmered in the distance, their glow reflected on the dark surface of the water like scattered jewels. Far above, the sky stretched vast and clear, stars winking faintly beyond the haze of civilization.

The two women had wandered without any particular destination until their steps brought them to the open stretch of Fuyuki’s beach, where the vast expanse of the ocean stretched beyond the city’s glowing skyline.

“It's wonderful.” Irisviel mused, tilting her head slightly as she gazed at the ocean. The wave crept up to her feet, the cold water licking at her ankles. “Like a mirror that reflects the night sky.”

The sea breeze played with her long silver hair, making it flutter behind her like a pale banner. Her crimson eyes shone with pure, unfiltered wonder, as though the sight before her was worth the entire journey across the world.

A few steps behind her, Saber stood with her hands folded behind her back, boots planted firmly in the sand. Her emerald eyes scanned the horizon with quiet contemplation, but her attention was divided, half on the vast, restless ocean, the other half on the surroundings. Even here, with the gentle waves and distant city glow, she remained ever-vigilant, always aware of her surroundings… yet even she couldn’t deny the peacefulness of the moment.

Irisviel turned, a playful twinkle in her crimson eyes. “It's fun to walk around a new town, accompanied by a gentleman.”

Saber, standing with perfect posture, regarded her with mild curiosity, as if weighing the statement like a formal compliment presented at court. “Did I make an acceptable gentleman?”

Irisviel giggled softly, a warm, light sound that blended easily with the roll of the waves. “You were perfect. You were a wonderful knight today.”

Saber inclined her head, accepting the praise as though it were a solemn accolade. “You honor me, Milady.”

Irisviel turned back to the ocean, stepping forward just enough to let the water kiss her ankles once more, her coat lifting slightly as the breeze picked up. Her voice was softer when she next spoke, almost as if she were afraid to disturb the quiet. “Saber, do you like the sea?”

Saber hesitated, as if unsure how to answer such a simple question. Her gaze followed the curling white foam at the shore, then drifted out to where the dark sea merged with the night. “I guess I don't really know.” She looked out at the water. “In my country and in my time, the sea was the source of constant barbarian attacks. Sometimes, I hated it. But I never felt any affection for it.”

As she spoke, faint shadows passed through her eyes, memories of burning coasts, foreign sails on the horizon, and soldiers scrambling to meet invasions again and again. To her, the ocean had been less a thing of beauty and more a gateway for threats.

Irisviel’s gaze softened. “I feel kind of bad. You were just a girl, just as I am, but when you were King Arthur, you never had the luxury of enjoying simple things like this, did you?”

The observation hung there, gentle yet piercing. For a moment, the only answer was the crash of a wave and the sigh of the wind.

“What of you?” Saber asked suddenly, seizing on the chance to turn the subject away from herself. “Surely, you would have preferred Kiritsugu to escort you, right?”

Irisviel’s smile grew faint, the brightness in her expression dimming just a little. “He couldn't. It would only cause him suffering.”

A brief silence settled between them, the sound of the waves filling the space where words should have been. Saber studied her carefully, seeing not just a cheerful homunculus but a woman who understood far more than she let on.

“Does Kiritsugu not enjoy the time he spends with you?”

Irisviel’s eyes softened, but her smile was tinged with sadness this time. “When he's happy, it causes him pain.”

That answer cut deeper than any straightforward denial could have. Saber opened her mouth, about to ask more about what kind of man Kiritsugu really was, about the burden he carried but a slight tingle crawled along the edge of her senses.

She turned toward the harbor next to them instead. Her posture shifted subtly, shoulders squaring, her calm presence sharpening in an instant as her battle instincts kicked in.

Irisviel noticed immediately and followed her gaze. “An enemy Servant?”

Saber’s voice was calm, but firm. “Yes. Making its presence known from the shadows, 100 meters ahead. It appears to be inviting us to go see it.”

Irisviel exhaled, her earlier melancholy fading into a more focused expression. “How thoughtful. It wishes to decide on a battlefield. Shall we take it up on its invitation?”

Saber’s eyes sharpened, and a faint, eager smile touched her lips. “I'd like nothing better.”

The peaceful night sea remained behind them, but the air in front of them now carried the electric tension of an impending clash of legends.

—--------------------------------------------

Fuyuki Bridge, Night

The great red bridge arched over the river like a spine of steel, its beams and support pillars cutting through the night sky and connecting the town’s two halves. Cars moved far below, their headlights like slow-moving fireflies, oblivious to the two figures standing at its peak—one frozen in terror, the other basking in exhilaration.

“Rider! Let's go back down. Right now! What are we even doing up here?!” Waver screamed, his voice cracking as it echoed faintly in the wind.

He clung desperately to one of the metal beams, his knuckles white as he held on for dear life. His entire body trembled, legs wrapped around the steel as if any loosening of his grip would send him plummeting to his death. Beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead as he resolutely refused to look down. From below, Rider and he would have looked like ants perched atop one of the bridge's highest support beams.

The massive red-haired warrior beside him stood completely at ease, boots planted on the beam as if it were a palace balcony rather than a narrow ledge over a lethal drop. Cape fluttering lightly in the night breeze, he gazed out over the city with an amused grin, eyes drinking in the lights of Fuyuki.

“This is the perfect vantage point.” Rider declared, voice rumbling with satisfaction.

“I'm climbing down! No, take me back down! I-I can't handle any more of this!” Waver stammered, his voice shrill. He tightened his grip on the railing until his fingers hurt, clinging hard to the metal.

Rider simply laughed, rich and unconcerned, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he remained utterly unbothered by the sheer drop beneath them. “Calm yourself. Waiting is a part of war.”

“I wanna go home. I wanna go back to England,” Waver practically wailed, pressing his entire body against the cold steel for any semblance of security. The night air nipped at his face, carrying the faint scent of the river and the city. None of it felt romantic from this height—only nauseating.

Rider rolled his eyes, stroking his beard with exaggerated patience. “I told you not to be in such a hurry. See? Things have finally begun to unfold. This will be fun!”

As he spoke, Rider’s gaze sharpened, his grin widening. He could feel it, the subtle shift in the air, the distant surge of mana like static crawling along his skin. On the horizon, toward the harbor, power flared and converged.

Two Servants were about to clash.

—————————————-----------------------

Fuyuki Harbor – Night

The harbor was quiet, save for the distant creak of moored ships and the gentle slap of waves against concrete. Tall cargo cranes loomed like skeletal giants against the night sky, their shadows stretching long across the docks. Sodium-vapor lamps bathed the area in a dull amber glow, leaving deep pools of darkness between stacks of metal containers.

Ahead, at the center of an open stretch of pier, the figure of a man stood waiting.

His dark black armor gleamed under the moonlight and harsh industrial lights alike, each polished plate catching the faint shimmer of the sea. A long crimson lance rested lightly in his hand, as natural in his grip as a limb. His presence exuded confidence, but not arrogance; the way he stood spoke of control, discipline, and countless battles survived by skill rather than luck. He held himself with the grace of a knight, one who had lived and died by the way of the spear.

As Saber stepped forward onto the concrete, her boots echoing faintly in the open space, her emerald eyes locked onto his.

The man smirked. “Welcome. I have spent the whole day searching the city. Everyone simply slinks away, hiding in their little holes. You alone have accepted my offer. That pure energy surrounding you. You are Saber, I presume?”

Saber met his gaze without hesitation. “Indeed. And you are Lancer.”

Lancer’s smirk widened just a fraction, amusement and satisfaction flickering across his features. “Being unable to honorably name myself to my opponent in combat troubles me. I dislike these rules.” He raised his spear, the metal tip glinting as his stance shifted slightly, weight settling into readiness. “No matter. A true knight does not shy away from battle.”

Mana flared faintly around Saber as her attire dissolved into her battle dress, armor manifesting in gleaming white and blue. The invisible blade of Excalibur formed in her hand, air distorted around it, warping the light. She raised the unseen sword with practiced ease, her stance unwavering.

“Agreed.”

A few meters behind her, Irisviel stepped back slightly, careful not to cross into the two knights’ line of engagement. Her heels clicked once on the concrete before she stilled, crimson eyes focused on Saber's back. The ocean breeze tugged at her coat, but her voice was steady.

“Saber. Be careful. I can use healing magic to act as support for you. But more than that—”

“Leave Lancer to me.” Saber interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her gaze never left her opponent, but the words were clearly meant for Irisviel. “But it troubles me that the other Master has not shown himself. Perhaps they plot something. Watch yourself, Irisviel and watch my back.” There was no fear in her voice, only calculated caution. Even here, answering an honorable challenge, she could not forget this was still a Holy Grail War, with all its treachery.

“Very well, Saber. Grant me victory!” Irisviel replied, clasping her hands lightly in front of her, trusting her knight completely.

“I will.” Saber declared, taking her stance.

The air between Saber and Lancer tightened, the night itself seeming to hold its breath as the two heroic spirits faced each other, two knights bound by honor, about to clash on a stage of steel and sea.

Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes.