The words dropped into silence like stones into still water.
Griswald felt his blood go cold.
King of Knights. The title echoed through centuries of literature and legend. Round tables and holy grails. Camelot and its fall. A sword drawn from stone and a kingdom built on impossible ideals.
"Arthur," he breathed. "You're saying Saber is—"
"Artoria Pendragon." Cú's correction was gentle but firm. "And yes. The Once and Future King. Britain's greatest monarch. The hero who united a fractured island and held back the darkness for a generation."
Griswald's brain stuttered. Caught on a single word like cloth snagging on a nail.
"Wait." He held up a hand. "Artoria? You said—the King of Knights is a woman?"
Cú's smirk returned. Knowing. Amused.
"Did I stutter?"
"But—" Griswald's mouth worked soundlessly. Every story he'd ever read. Every legend. Every romantic tale of Arthur and Guinevere and Lancelot. The great king who pulled Caliburn from the stone. The monarch who built Camelot and gathered the greatest knights in history.
All of it featured a man.
"King Arthur was male," Olga said flatly. Her golden eyes had narrowed with scholarly skepticism. "Every historical account. Every mythological text. The Throne of Heroes preserves legends as humanity remembers them, and humanity remembers Arthur Pendragon as—"
"A king." Cú cut her off with a lazy wave. "Which she was. The title doesn't specify gender, Director. Artoria ruled as king because Britain needed a king. She hid her sex behind armor and legend and let history remember what it wanted to remember."
Silence.
Ritsuka broke it first.
"So the whole Round Table thing..." She gestured vaguely. "Guinevere, Lancelot, the love triangle that destroyed Camelot—all of that happened with Arthur being a woman?"
"The affairs of kings and queens rarely follow the stories." Cú shrugged. "But yes. Artoria Pendragon was born female, lived as king, and died defending her kingdom against her own son. Everything else is embellishment and misremembering."
Griswald's head spun. The cognitive dissonance was staggering. Centuries of assumed history, rewritten in a single sentence.
"This happens sometimes," Olga murmured. She'd gone pale, but something calculating had entered her expression. "Heroic Spirits manifesting differently than their legends suggest. I knew that da Vinci had—" She stopped. Pressed her lips together. "I didn't realize it extended to figures this prominent."
Ritsuka's head snapped toward her. "Da Vinci? As in Leonardo da Vinci?" Her amber eyes went wide. "The Renaissance painter guy? The Mona Lisa, flying machines, all that?"
"The same."
"And he's a woman now?"
"She chose to manifest in female form based on her own painting." Olga's voice had gone clipped. Professional. The tone of someone sharing classified information against their better judgment. "The Mona Lisa represented her ideal of beauty, apparently. When summoned as a Servant, she took that form rather than her historical appearance."
Ritsuka stared at her. Then at Cú. Then back at Olga.
"So legendary heroes can just... swap genders? Like changing clothes?"
"It's more complicated than that," Olga began, but Cú waved her off.
"It sounds like Da Vinci chose to change. Made a deliberate decision about how to manifest." He tapped his staff against the broken pavement. "Artoria was always a woman. She didn't transform or swap anything. History just got it wrong."
"Or deliberately lied," Mash added quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. She stood with her arms folded, violet eyes thoughtful. "A female monarch in that era would have faced challenges a male ruler wouldn't. Political marriages. Questions of succession. Doubts about her ability to lead armies." She paused. "Hiding her sex wasn't vanity. It was survival."
Griswald studied Mash's face. Something in her voice had shifted. Gone distant. But there was no time to dwell on it.
Cú pointed at her with approval. "The Shielder gets it."
"This is fascinating from a historical perspective," Griswald said, "but we're getting off topic." The words came out steadier than he felt. His mind still reeled from the revelation, but the analytical part of him—the part that had gotten him through medical training—recognized a distraction when he saw one. "Saber's gender doesn't change the tactical situation. She's still corrupted. Still guarding the Grail. Still one of the most powerful Heroic Spirits in existence."
Cú's smirk sharpened with something like respect.
"Look at that. The shit mage has priorities." He straightened from his lazy slouch. "You're right. Whether Artoria was born man or woman doesn't matter for what comes next. What matters is that she's the wielder of Excalibur—the Sword of Promised Victory. And right now, that sword is pointed at anyone who tries to approach the Greater Grail."
Ritsuka pushed off from the crumbling wall she'd been leaning against.
"So what's the plan?" Her amber eyes swept across the group. "We've got a corrupted King of Knights guarding a broken Grail, an Archer with no legend stalking the streets, and—" She gestured at their ragged assembly. "—us. One Demi-Servant, one Caster who survived by luck, two mages, and a medical assistant."
"Three mages," Griswald corrected automatically. Then winced when everyone looked at him. "Technically. I have circuits. They're just... not very good."
Cú snorted.
"Right. Two and a half mages."
"We need information before we can formulate a strategy." Olga stepped forward. The tremor in her hands had stilled. Something cold and calculating had replaced the panic in her golden eyes—the Director reasserting herself over the frightened woman. "Assets first. Capabilities. Then we assess the opposition."
She turned to Cú with clinical precision.
"You. What exactly can you do in this class container? I know your legend. Lancer-class Cú Chulainn was one of Ireland's greatest warriors. But Caster..." Her brow furrowed. "Your mythology mentions runic knowledge, but nothing that would suggest a full class qualification."
Cú's smirk turned wry.
"Studied up on me, did you?" He twirled his staff between his fingers. "You're right that Lancer's my natural class. But I trained under Scáthach for years in the Land of Shadows. Learned more than just how to swing a spear." Blue runes flickered along the staff's length. "Runecraft. Druidic wisdom. Enough magecraft to qualify for Caster if the Grail feels like being creative."
"Specifics."
"Defensive barriers. Environmental manipulation. Fire's my specialty—you saw that against the snake woman." He shrugged. "I can sense magical anomalies within a few hundred meters. Brew potions if you give me ingredients. And I'm not completely useless in a fight, even without Gáe Bolg."
Olga nodded sharply. Filed the information away.
"Combat effectiveness compared to your Lancer form?"
"Maybe sixty percent in a straight fight. Higher if I have time to prepare the battlefield." Cú's red eyes gleamed. "Runes aren't subtle, but they're versatile."
"Good enough." Olga turned to Mash. "Shielder. Your Noble Phantasm—what is it?"
Mash hesitated. Her grip tightened on her massive shield.
"I... don't know its true name. The Spirit fused with me never revealed it." She lifted the cross-shaped barrier. Firelight played across its surface. "I can manifest this shield. Block attacks. Create defensive walls. But without knowing my Noble Phantasm's identity, I can't activate its full power."
"Useless," Olga muttered.
Griswald stepped forward. "She held off that other Servant for several minutes. Blocked attacks that would have killed any of us."
"That's not enough." Olga's voice cracked like a whip. "Blocking attacks means nothing if we can't defeat Saber. The greatest ability of any Servant is their Noble Phantasm. It's the crystallization of their legend—the weapon or technique that defines their entire existence." She gestured sharply at Mash's shield. "Going up against the King of Knights, we need to bring everything we have. Every advantage. Every trick. If we have even a hope of winning, we need Noble Phantasms that can match Excalibur's power."
Mash flinched. Said nothing.
Griswald opened his mouth to defend her again, but Olga had already moved on. Her golden eyes swept across their ragged group with clinical detachment.
"What else do we have?" She pointed at Ritsuka. "You. Combat experience?"
Ritsuka shifted her weight. Favored her left side where the skeleton had clawed her earlier.
"None." The admission came flat. Honest. "I was a civilian before I answered Chaldea's recruitment flyer. High school volleyball team was the closest thing I had to combat training." She laughed without humor. "Unless you count the time I broke a kid's nose during a disputed line call."
Olga's lip curled.
"So nothing useful. And you're still injured from the earlier engagement." She waved a dismissive hand. "You'll stay back during any confrontation with Saber. A liability in the field is worse than no support at all."
Ritsuka's jaw tightened. But she didn't argue.
Something nagged at the back of Griswald's mind. A memory from the earlier chaos. Ritsuka standing in the rubble-strewn street. Her arm extended. A gandr—that compact bolt of cursed energy—streaking from her fingertip to shatter a skeleton's skull.
She'd fired it instinctively. Naturally. Like breathing.
For someone with no combat experience and supposedly minimal magical training, that had been remarkably precise.
He filed the observation away. Now wasn't the time.
Olga's attention swung to him.
"And you." Her golden eyes narrowed. "What exactly can you contribute? Beyond amateur mana transfers and getting in Mash's way?"
The words stung. Griswald forced himself to meet her gaze.
"Healing magic. It's the only thing I'm actually good at." He spread his hands. "I can stabilize wounds, replenish bodily fluids, prevent shock. Nothing combat-applicable, but if someone gets hurt—"
"If someone gets hurt against Saber, they'll be dead before you can reach them." Olga cut him off. "Excalibur doesn't leave survivors. Your healing magic is useless against instant annihilation."
Griswald had no response to that.
The silence stretched. Olga's imperious mask cracked. Just slightly. Just enough.
"I'm no better." The admission seemed to cost her something. "My family's magecraft specializes in astronomy and celestial observation. Animusphere sorcery is designed for research and ritual work—not combat." She looked down at her gloved hands. "I can defend myself against mundane threats. Perhaps hold off a weak familiar for a few minutes. But direct magical combat against a Servant?" She shook her head. "I have no training for it. No applicable techniques."
The confession hung in the air. Heavy. Damning.
Their Director—the head of Chaldea's entire operation—couldn't fight.
Cú broke the tension with a low whistle.
"Well, aren't we a sorry bunch." He leaned against his staff. "Two mages who can't fight, a civilian with a scratched-up side, a Shielder who doesn't know her own Noble Phantasm, and me." His smirk returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Against the greatest king Britain ever produced and an Archer whose legend I can't identify. Fantastic odds."
"Then give us something to work with." Olga rounded on him. "You've been here for days. Observing. Surviving. What have you learned about Saber's behavior? Her patterns? Anything we can exploit?"
Cú's expression sobered.
"Straightforward, really." He pushed off from the wall and began pacing. "Saber hasn't moved from the Greater Grail since the corruption took hold. She just stands there. Waiting." His staff tapped against the broken pavement with each step. "She doesn't eat. Doesn't sleep. Doesn't patrol. Just watches the Grail like a guard dog chained to its post."
"So she's defensive." Olga's mind was working. Griswald could see it in the way her eyes moved. Calculating. "She won't come after us unless we approach the Grail."
"Correct." Cú stopped pacing. "Which means if we want to destroy that corrupted thing and fix this Singularity, we have to be the aggressors. We go to her. Fight on her ground. On her terms."
Ritsuka made a sound of disgust. "That's suicide."
"Probably." Cú shrugged. "But there's no other option. The Grail isn't going to walk itself into our ambush."
"What about Archer?" Griswald asked. "You said he's been hunting the streets. Will he interfere if we attack Saber?"
Cú's expression darkened.
"That's the other problem." He met Griswald's eyes. "Right now, Archer operates independently. Hunts whatever catches his interest. But if we make a serious attempt on Saber—if we actually threaten the Grail's defense..." He trailed off.
"The Grail might recall him," Mash finished quietly.
"Got it in one." Cú nodded grimly. "The Greater Grail has its own will of sorts. Its own survival instincts. If it perceives a genuine threat to itself or its guardian, it could summon Archer back to reinforce Saber." He spread his hands. "Then we'd be fighting two Servants. One who already nearly killed Mash, and one who's faster and more lethal than anything I've seen in this entire war."
Griswald's mind raced through tactical possibilities.
Two Servants. At once.
The thought lodged in his chest like a splinter of ice. He'd barely survived watching Mash fight one of them. Barely kept his composure while her blood pooled on ash-covered pavement. And now Cú Chulainn was talking about the possibility facing both simultaneously?
None of these options are good.
He glanced at Mash. At the way she stood with her shield angled slightly forward, even here in their temporary sanctuary. Ready. Always ready. The firelight caught the edges of her armor, highlighting the repairs that had been necessary after Lancers assault.
She almost died. She would have died, if not for—
He pushed the thought away. Forced himself to focus.
Think. There has to be something. Some angle we haven't considered.
His analytical mind churned through scenarios. Direct assault—suicidal. Waiting for opportunity—none would come. Splitting their forces—laughable, given their numbers. Every path led to the same grim calculus: insufficient resources against overwhelming opposition.
But doing nothing isn't an option either.
The corrupted Grail pulsed somewhere in this ruined city. Every hour they delayed, that corruption spread. Deepened. Whatever had twisted Saber into that black-armored nightmare would only grow stronger with time.
A fragment of an idea surfaced.
"What if we went after Archer first?" He looked at Cú. "Before we attempt the Grail. Take him out while he's hunting independently, then deal with Art—" He caught himself. "Artoria without worrying about reinforcements."
Cú tilted his head. Considered.
The silence stretched for several heartbeats. Firelight danced across the Caster's sharp features as he weighed the proposal. His red eyes went distant. Calculating trajectories and engagement ranges that only a warrior of his caliber could properly assess.
"Not a bad thought." He tapped his staff against his palm. "Eliminate the mobile threat before tackling the stationary one. Classic divide and conquer."
Olga straightened. "Then we should—"
"I said it wasn't a bad thought." Cú cut her off. "Didn't say it would work."
"Why not?" Griswald pressed.
Cú began pacing again. Restless energy contained in that lean frame.
"Two problems. First—tracking him." He gestured at the burning cityscape around them. "Fuyuki's a big place, even in ruins. Archer moves fast. Unpredictably. He doesn't patrol set routes or return to the same hunting grounds. I've been trying to pin down his patterns for three days now." His jaw tightened. "Nothing. The bastard's like smoke. Shows up, kills whatever he finds, vanishes before I can close the distance."
Mash shifted her grip on her shield. "My Master's mana signature might draw him out. He seemed interested in hunting survivors."
"Maybe." Cú didn't sound convinced. "But that brings us to problem two—actually fighting him once we find him."
He stopped pacing. Turned to face Mash directly.
"Your combat style is close-range. Shield work. Defensive positioning." He pointed at her with his staff. "All good things against melee fighters. Against that snake-haired bitch earlier, you held your ground because she had to come to you."
Mash nodded slowly. "And Archer..."
"Won't give you that luxury." Cú's voice went flat. "He's a ranged specialist. That's literally what the class is built for. Archer will find a perch three hundred meters away and start putting arrows through skulls before any of us know he's there."
The implications sank in.
Griswald looked at Mash. At her massive cross-shaped shield. The thing was enormous—easily larger than she was. It could block frontal assaults. Absorb tremendous impacts. Create walls of defensive energy that stopped charging enemies cold.
But against a sniper?
She couldn't block what she couldn't see coming. Couldn't shield someone from an arrow that arrived faster than sound.
"You don't have any ranged capabilities," Griswald said quietly. "Neither does anyone else but you here."
"Exactly." Cú resumed pacing. "I can throw fire at him. Maybe clip him with a rune or two if he holds still long enough. But my magecraft isn't designed for precision at distance. And if I miss..." He shook his head. "Archer won't."
Ritsuka crossed her arms. "So we can't get close enough to fight him. Great."
"Oh, it gets better." Cú's smirk had no humor in it. "Even if we somehow corner him—force him into close quarters where Mash could actually engage—you think he's going to prioritize fighting her?"
The question hung in the air.
Griswald understood immediately. His stomach dropped.
"He'd go for us first."
"Smart lad." Cú pointed at him. Then at Olga. Then at Ritsuka. "Three squishy humans with no real combat capabilities. One of them injured. Standing in the open while your Servant tries to close distance." He let the image settle. "Archer wouldn't hesitate. He'd put arrows through all three of you before Mash could cross half the gap. Then he'd deal with her at his leisure."
Olga had gone pale.
"Surely there's some way to—"
"Stealth magecraft," Cú interrupted. "That's what you're thinking, right? Hide the group. Move under concealment until we're close enough for Mash to engage."
Olga nodded tightly.
"I considered it." Cú shook his head. "Won't work. Not with this many people."
"Why not?"
"Because stealth runes are delicate work." He held up his hand. Blue symbols flickered across his palm. "I can hide myself reasonably well. One person. Controlled breathing. Minimal movement. Careful mana suppression." The runes faded. "But four people? One of them a Demi-Servant radiating unfamiliar magical signatures? Another one injured and probably breathing hard from pain?"
He lowered his hand.
"The concealment would be paper-thin. Archer's senses are sharp. The moment we got within a hundred meters, he'd notice something wrong. And then we're back to arrows through skulls."
Silence fell over the group.
Griswald stared at the burning horizon. Smoke curled toward that blood-red sky. Somewhere out there, an Archer with no legend stalked through ruins that had once held two hundred thousand lives. Hunting. Waiting.
And they couldn't touch him.
"So Archer's off the table," Ritsuka said flatly. "We can't track him. Can't approach him safely. Can't protect the non-combatants if we try to fight him."
"Not with our current assets." Cú leaned against a broken wall. His casual posture didn't match the grimness in his eyes. "If we had another Servant—someone who could hold him down while we got close—than maybe. But we don't."
Olga's hands had curled into fists at her sides.
"Then we're back to Saber." Her voice came out brittle. "The King of Knights. Wielder of Excalibur. Corrupted by whatever befell the Grail."
"Seems that way."
"That's not a plan." Olga's composure cracked. "That's a death sentence. You said yourself that Excalibur doesn't leave survivors. How are we supposed to defeat the greatest hero Britain ever produced when we can't even handle one Archer?"
Cú studied her. Something shifted in his expression.
"I didn't say we couldn't handle Archer," he said slowly. "I said we couldn't hunt him safely with stealth tactics. Big difference."
Griswald looked up. "Meaning?"
The Caster's smirk returned. Sharper now. Edged with something dangerous.
"Meaning there might be another approach. Risky as all hell. Probably stupid." He pushed off from the wall. "But it's the only card I can think to play."
Cú planted his staff against the cracked pavement. The sharp crack of wood on stone echoed through the ruined street.
"We use someone as bait," Cú continued. His red eyes swept across their ragged group. "Draw Archer out into the open. Get his attention fixed on a target while I slip in close."
Olga's face went rigid. "Absolutely not."
"Hear me out—"
"You want one of us to walk into that creature's sights?" Her voice pitched higher. Golden eyes blazed with barely contained fury. "To stand in the open while an Archer-class Servant takes aim? That's not a plan. That's murder with extra steps."
Cú raised a hand. Placating. "Look miss—"
"No." Olga stepped forward. Jabbed a finger at his chest. "I won't sanction sending anyone to their death on a suicide mission. We'll find another way."
"There isn't another way." Cú's voice went flat. Hard. The playful irreverence stripped away to reveal something colder beneath. "I've been running scenarios in my head for three days. Watching that bastard hunt. Trying to find an angle that doesn't end with corpses." He met her glare without flinching. "This is what I have. It's not pretty. It's not safe. But it's the only approach that gives us any chance at all."
Ritsuka shifted her weight. Winced at the movement. "You said stealth wouldn't work with this many people. That Archer would notice us before we got close."
"He would." Cú nodded. "Four people moving together? Five including me? Too much noise. Too many magical signatures overlapping. The concealment runes would buckle under the strain."
"Then how does bait change anything?"
Cú's smirk returned. Thin. Predatory.
"Because I wasn't planning to hide everyone."
He began pacing again. That restless energy channeled into movement as his mind worked through tactical geometry.
"Stealth magic is delicate work. Requires constant attention. Precise mana control." He traced a rune in the air with his staff. Blue light flickered and died. "Hiding a group? Nearly impossible at my level without preparation time we don't have. But hiding one person?" His eyes gleamed. "That I can do."
Griswald's stomach tightened. He saw where this was going.
"You'd conceal yourself," he said quietly. "While someone else draws Archer's attention."
"Got it in one." Cú pointed at him with approval. "Archer focuses on the visible target. Locks in. Starts lining up his shot." The staff twirled between his fingers. "Meanwhile, I'm slipping through the shadows. Getting close. Positioning myself for the strike."
"And then what?" Olga demanded. "You ambush him? One-on-one against a Servant whose capabilities you don't understand?"
"Not exactly."
Cú stopped pacing. His expression went serious.
"I've got something in mind," Cú said. His voice had dropped. Gone careful. "A technique that could trap Archer long enough for Mash to close the distance and finish him."
Olga's eyes narrowed. "What technique?"
"Rather not say."
"Excuse me?"
Cú shrugged. Infuriatingly casual despite the tension crackling through the air.
"It's complicated. Requires precise timing. And honestly?" He met Olga's glare with flat indifference. "I don't feel like explaining it to someone who'll just poke holes in it before I've even finished talking."
Olga's face flushed. "I am the Director of Chaldea. If you expect me to sanction a plan that puts lives at risk, I demand to know—"
"You can demand all you like." Cú cut her off. "Doesn't change the fact that some things work better when you don't overthink them." He tapped his temple. "Trust me. Or don't. But I'm not laying out every detail for committee review."
The two stared at each other. Neither willing to back down.
Griswald watched the standoff with growing unease. Olga's aristocratic pride warred visibly with pragmatic necessity. Cú's lazy smirk masked something harder underneath—a warrior's calculation that weighed lives and odds with cold precision.
Whatever this technique is, it's not guaranteed. He's not sure it'll work.
Mash broke the silence.
"Why haven't you used this technique before?" Her voice was quiet. Thoughtful. "You've been fighting corrupted Servants for days. Survived encounters that should have killed you." Violet eyes studied the Caster with careful attention. "If you had something capable of trapping Archer, why wait until now?"
Cú's smirk faltered.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—something flickered across his features. Uncertainty? Reluctance?
Then the mask slid back into place.
"Because it's expensive." He said the word like it tasted sour. "Magically speaking. What I'm thinking of... it'll drain me. Badly." He rolled his shoulder. A deliberately casual gesture that didn't quite hide the tension in his frame. "After I use it, I'll be running on fumes. Maybe worse."
Griswald's medical instincts kicked in. "Define 'worse.'"
"Weak enough that a stiff breeze might knock me over." Cú's voice stayed light, but his eyes had gone serious. "The technique requires front-loading a massive amount of magical energy. Burning through reserves I've been carefully rationing since I lost my master." He spread his hands. "Once it's done, I won't have much left. Certainly not enough to face Archer in a prolonged fight if the trap fails. "
The implication settled over the group like a shroud.
He's been holding back.
All those days of survival. Evading corrupted Servants. Watching from shadows while stronger enemies prowled the ruins. Cú had been conserving his strength. Waiting for... what? A better opportunity? Reinforcements that never came?
Us. He was waiting for us.
"That's why you approached us," Griswald said slowly. Understanding crystallized in his mind. "Not just because we're potential allies. You needed someone to pick up the slack after you exhaust yourself."
Cú's smirk sharpened with approval.
"Quick learner." He pointed at Griswald with his staff. "You're right. Alone, this plan was too risky. I use the technique, trap Archer, but then I'm spent. If the trap doesn't hold—if he breaks free before I can finish him—I'm dead." He shrugged. "Not great odds for a solo operation."
"But with Mash..." Ritsuka's voice trailed off as she worked through the logic.
"With Mash, there's backup." Cú nodded. "I spring the trap. Archer gets locked down. Even if I'm too drained to deliver the killing blow, your Shielder here can close the distance and do it for me." His red eyes flicked to Mash. "That shield of hers hits hard. I saw it against the snake woman. If Archer's immobilized, even for a few seconds..."
"I can finish him," Mash finished quietly. Her grip tightened on her shield. "If he can't dodge or counterattack, I can end it."
"Exactly."
Silence fell over the group. Griswald could see the others processing. Weighing risks against potential rewards. The mathematics of survival in a world gone mad.
Ritsuka shifted her weight, wincing at the movement. Her amber eyes had gone calculating.
"Let's say this works." She held up a hand, ticking off points on her fingers. "You spring the trap. Archer gets locked down. Mash finishes him." She lowered her hand. "Then what? You just said this technique will drain you completely. Won't be worth much fighting anything afterward."
Cú tilted his head. Waited.
"So we eliminate Archer." Ritsuka pressed forward. "Great. One problem solved. But then we still have to face Saber." Her voice sharpened. "The King of Knights. Wielder of Excalibur." She gestured at him. "If you burn through everything you've got just to trap one Servant, how are you supposed to help against the bigger threat?"
The question hung in the smoky air.
Griswald watched Cú's expression. The Caster's smirk had faded into something more contemplative. Firelight played across his sharp features as he considered his response.
"Fair point." Cú conceded with a slight nod. "If I empty the tank against Archer, I'll be dead weight for the Saber fight. No getting around that."
"Then why—"
"Because I won't stay empty." He cut her off. Planted his staff against the cracked pavement with a solid thunk. "My old teacher—Scáthach—she didn't just teach me how to swing a spear and throw runes around. The Land of Shadows holds older knowledge than that. Druidic arts. Connections to the earth that most mages have forgotten."
Olga's eyes narrowed with scholarly interest. "You're talking about ley line manipulation?"
"Something like that." Cú waved a hand vaguely. "Druids understood that the land itself holds power. Mana flows through the earth like blood through veins. If you know the right techniques, you can tap into that flow. Draw energy from the ground beneath your feet."
Ritsuka's brow furrowed. "So you can just... recharge? Like plugging into a wall socket?"
"Slower than that." Cú shook his head. "Much slower. And there's a complication."
He gestured broadly at the burning cityscape around them. The blood-red sky. The ash drifting through poisoned air. Flames that had consumed two hundred thousand lives and showed no sign of dying.
"Look around you." His voice went flat. "Does this look like fertile, lush countryside to you?"
No one answered. The question didn't need one.
"The land here is corrupted." Cú continued. "Whatever happened to the Grail—whatever twisted Saber into that black-armored nightmare—it poisoned everything. The ley lines. The ambient mana. The very soil." He tapped his staff against the ground. "I can still draw energy from it. The techniques work. But the power I pull up comes tainted."
Griswald's medical mind immediately grasped the implication. "You have to purify it first."
Cú pointed at him approvingly. "Every drop of mana I absorb needs to be filtered. Cleansed of the corruption before I can actually use it. Otherwise I'd be poisoning myself." His smirk returned, thin and humorless. "Slow process. Careful work. But it means I can recover, given enough time."
"How much time?" Olga demanded.
Cú shrugged. "Depends on how badly I drain myself. Few hours to get functional again. Maybe half a day to hit full capacity." He met her gaze steadily. "Faster if the corruption wasn't so thick. But we work with what we have."
The information settled over the group. Griswald could see minds working. Calculating timelines and tactical windows.
So the plan isn't completely suicidal. He turned the pieces over in his head. Cú exhausts himself trapping Archer. Mash finishes the kill. Then we find somewhere defensible and wait while Cú recovers enough to face Saber.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't safe. But it was something that resembled a viable strategy.
"That still leaves one question," Mash said quietly.
Everyone turned to look at her.
She stood with her shield angled forward. Violet eyes fixed on Cú with an intensity that bordered on accusation.
"The bait." Her voice came out flat. Controlled. "You said someone needs to draw Archer's attention while you slip into position. Make themselves visible. Become a target." Her grip tightened on her shield until her knuckles went white. "Who?"
Cú met her gaze without flinching.
"Your Master."
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Mash's expression didn't change. But something shifted in her posture. A coiling tension that reminded Griswald of a spring being compressed past its tolerance.
"No."
"Listen—"
"No." The word cracked through the air like a whip. Mash stepped forward. Her shield came up slightly. Not quite threatening, but unmistakably defensive. "Griswald is not combat-trained. He has no defensive capabilities. No offensive magic worth mentioning." Her violet eyes blazed. "Sending him into Archer's sights is murder."
"It's the only option that works," Cú said. His voice stayed level, but a hard edge crept in. "Think about it, Shielder. Use that tactical mind I've seen working behind those pretty eyes."
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not." He raised his hands. Placating. "I'm asking you to consider the facts. Cold and clear, without emotion clouding your judgment."
Mash's jaw tightened. But she didn't interrupt again.
Cú lowered his hands. Began pacing slowly, his staff tapping against broken pavement with each step.
"Archer's been hunting survivors since this whole mess started. Picking off servants since the beginning." He gestured at the burning ruins around them. "But has also done it all in hiding never getting close enough leave himself open" His red eyes gleamed in the firelight. "That how he fought before all this shit and that how he has kept fighting. He won't come out unless their is a target that matters."
"And you think Griswald matters?" Ritsuka asked.
"I think Archer already knows who he is."
The statement landed with physical weight.
Griswald felt his blood go cold. "What?"
Cú stopped pacing. Turned to face him directly.
"That arrow barrage when you first arrived." Cú's voice dropped low. Serious. "Hundreds of projectiles. Volleys from multiple angles. Curved shots that bent around cover." His red eyes held Griswald's gaze without blinking. "I was watching."
The words landed like a physical blow.
"You were watching?"
"From a distance." Cú shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "Couldn't intervene without revealing my position. Archer would've noticed me the moment I moved to help, and then we'd both be dead." His staff tapped against the broken pavement. "So I observed. Waited. Learned what I could about how he operates."
Griswald's hands curled into fists at his sides. All those arrows. All that terror. Mash throwing herself between him and death over and over while her strength drained away. And this Servant had just... watched?
"You could have—"
"Died uselessly?" Cú cut him off. "Gotten myself killed trying to save strangers I'd never met? Thrown away my only advantage against an enemy who'd already picked most of the other Servant in this Singularity?" His voice stayed level, but something hard crept into his expression. "I'm a survivor, boy. That's why I'm still here while the others are ash and memory."
Mash stepped forward. Her shield came up slightly—not quite threatening, but unmistakably protective.
"You watched my Master nearly die."
"I watched you save him." Cú met her glare without flinching. "Every single time. Hundreds of arrows, and you blocked them all. Well—" He gestured at Griswald's cheek. "Almost all. The point is, I saw how you fought. Saw what you were willing to sacrifice."
His smirk returned. Thin. Knowing.
"And so did Archer."
The implication sank into Griswald's chest like ice water.
"He committed a lot to killing you two."
Cú's voice had gone flat. Clinical. The lazy amusement stripped away to reveal the tactician beneath.
"That barrage wasn't casual. Wasn't exploratory." He tapped his staff against the broken pavement. "Hundreds of arrows. Multiple angles. Curved shots that bent around cover to chase you through buildings." Red eyes fixed on Griswald with uncomfortable intensity. "Archer burned through more mana in those few minutes than most Servants use in an entire engagement. All to eliminate one unknown Master and Servant."
Griswald's throat tightened. The memory of those arrows—endless, relentless, screaming through smoke-choked air—crashed over him like a wave.
"Why?" The question scraped past his lips. "We'd just arrived. He couldn't have known anything about us."
"You were unknows and there is nothing worse that dealing with that in a fight." Cú shrugged. "Which means he treat you like a genuine threat worth eliminating at any cost." The smirk returned, thin and knowing. "That kind of commitment? That kind of resource expenditure? It tells me something important."
"Which is?"
"He'll do it again."
The words hung in the air. Heavy with implication.
Cú resumed his slow pacing. Staff clicking against rubble with each measured step.
"When Archer committed to that barrage, he left himself exposed. Tunnel vision. All focus on the targets, none on his surroundings." His jaw tightened. "I almost had him."
Griswald straightened. "What?"
"Slipped in close while he was raining death on you two. Got within striking distance. Had my runes primed and ready." Cú's expression darkened with something that might have been frustration. Or regret. "But I was to slow and the explosion that was meant to kill him just grazed him and he escaped."
"You could have killed him," Mash said quietly. Her violet eyes had narrowed. "Right then. While he was distracted."
"Almost killed him." Cú emphasized the word with a sharp gesture. "Almost isn't good enough against a Servant of his caliber. I needed another half-second. Maybe less." He stopped pacing. Met her gaze directly. "This time, I won't make that mistake. This time, I'll be in position before he commits. And when he focuses on your Master—"
"He might not make the same mistake either."
Mash's interruption cut through the air like her shield through arrows. She stepped forward, positioning herself slightly between Cú and Griswald. The protective gesture wasn't lost on anyone.
"Archer retreated once he sensed your approach," she continued. Her voice stayed level, but something hard had crept into it. "He learned. Adapted. What makes you think he'll fall for the same tactic twice?"
Cú's smirk widened. Approving, almost.
"Smart question." He pointed at her with his staff. "You're right that a sane, fully-rational servant of his type would never repeat that vulnerability. He'd maintain awareness of his surroundings. Keep escape routes open. Never commit so completely to a single target that he loses track of potential threats."
"Then your plan—"
"Would be worthless." Cú cut her off. "If we were dealing with the same Servant I knew before the corruption took hold."
Silence fell over the group. Griswald watched the Caster's expression shift. Something complicated moved behind those red eyes.
"But we're not," Cú continued slowly. "The Grail's corruption changed things. Changed him like it changed all the others. And I honestly don't know how much of his original tactical sense survived the transformation."
Olga stepped forward. Her golden eyes had sharpened with scholarly interest.
"You speak as though you knew this Archer personally." Her voice carried that clinical precision she used when analyzing magical phenomena. "Before the corruption. Before all of this."
Cú's jaw tightened. For a moment, Griswald thought he wouldn't answer.
"Not personally," he said finally. "But well enough."
He turned away. Stared out at the burning cityscape through a gap in the ruined walls.
"This Holy Grail War was messy from the start. Seven Masters, seven Servants, all competing for an artifact that grants wishes. Standard structure." His voice had gone distant. Contemplative. "But some of the participants were... problematic. Masters who treated the War like a game. Servants who enjoyed killing a little too much. Combinations that made the whole thing more dangerous than it needed to be."
"And Archer's Master?" Griswald prompted.
"One of the few who understood that some threats needed handling before the competition could proceed normally." Cú's grip tightened on his staff. "We worked together. Briefly. Coordinated strikes against the worst offenders. Master-Servant pairs that were causing collateral damage even by Grail War standards."
Ritsuka shifted her weight. "You were allies?"
"Allies of convenience." Cú shrugged. "Neither of us trusted the other. Neither of us planned to let the other win and. But we both recognized that certain problems needed solving first." He paused. "Through those operations, I got a good read on Archer. His tactics. His personality. The way he thought about combat."
"But you never fought alongside him directly," Mash said.
"Never got the chance." Something flickered across Cú's features. Regret, maybe. Or frustration at opportunities lost. "We coordinated. Communicated. Shared intelligence about enemy positions and capabilities. But when it came to actual engagements, we operated separately. Our masters did there best to keep our abilities hidden from one another."
He turned back to face the group.
"Point is, I knew the man Archer was before this nightmare started. Calm. Calculated. Professional." His red eyes hardened. "What I saw during that barrage? The relentless commitment? The tunnel vision? That wasn't the Servant I remember. The corruption twisted something inside him. Made him more aggressive. Less controlled."
"Or more desperate," Olga murmured.
Cú tilted his head. "Explain."
"Corruption doesn't always destroy rationality." She folded her arms across her chest. "Sometimes it amplifies existing tendencies. Removes inhibitions. If this Archer was already inclined toward aggressive elimination of threats, the Grail's influence might have simply... unleashed that impulse."
"Meaning he's still dangerous. Still capable of tactical thinking."
"Meaning he might be more dangerous in some ways. Less predictable. More willing to take risks a sane version of himself would avoid." Olga's golden eyes met Cú's gaze steadily. "Your plan relies on him making the same mistake twice. But if the corruption has altered his decision-making patterns, we can't assume anything about how he'll respond."
The observation hung in the air. Griswald watched Cú process it, watched the calculations shifting behind those red eyes.
"Fair point," the Caster admitted. "I can't guarantee he'll tunnel vision again. Can't guarantee the trap will work."
"Then why—"
"Because it's still our best shot." Cú's voice hardened. "Look around you, Director. Count our resources. Tally our options." He gestured at their ragged group. "We don't have the luxury of certainty. We don't get to wait for a perfect opportunity that might never come. What we have is a corrupted Servant who might be compromised enough to fall for a trap, and a window of time before the Grail's corruption spreads beyond recovery."
He planted his staff against the ground. The crack echoed off broken walls.
"I'm not promising success. I'm offering the only path forward I can see." His gaze swept across each of them in turn. "If someone has a better idea, I'm all ears. But standing here debating hypotheticals won't save humanity."
The silence deafening.
No one said anything. No one offered a counter-proposal. No brilliant alternative emerged from the smoke-choked air. Griswald watched the others process the situation—Olga's jaw tight with suppressed frustration, Ritsuka's amber eyes calculating and coming up empty, Mash's grip white-knuckled on her shield.
Damned if we do. Damned if we don't.
The mathematics were brutally simple. Two corrupted Servants guarding the source of humanity's extinction. Face them together? Certain death. Leave either one standing while attacking the other? The survivor would reinforce their ally, and then—certain death anyway.
Cú's plan wasn't good. It was barely even acceptable. But it carved out a narrow path between two impossible cliffs, and that sliver of possibility was more than anything else they had.
A long shot. But it's our only shot.
Griswald stepped forward before his courage could fail him.
"I'll do it."
Mash's head snapped toward him. Her violet eyes widened.
"Griswald—"
"I'll be the bait." He forced the words out steady. Didn't let his voice shake. "Draw Archer's attention while Cú gets into position. Keep him focused on me long enough for the trap to spring."
The admission hung in the air. Heavy. Final.
Mash's expression cycled through emotions too fast to track. Shock. Denial. Something that looked painfully like fear. Her mouth opened—
And closed without a word.
She looked away. Her shield arm trembled slightly before she brought it under control. When she spoke, her voice came out flat. Professional.
"Understood."
That single word cost her something. Griswald could see it in the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed and released on her weapon's grip. Every instinct she possessed screamed against this plan. Against letting him walk into danger while she waited in the shadows.
But she didn't argue further.
Because she knows I'm right. Because there's no better option.
The thought didn't make him feel any less terrified.
Cú nodded slowly.
"Good." He straightened from his casual lean. "Then let's work out the details. Timing. Positioning. Contingencies if everything goes sideways."
They talked through the plan piece by piece. Griswald would move through open ground—visible, vulnerable, impossible to miss. Cú would shadow him under concealment runes, staying close enough to strike when Archer committed. Mash would hold position at a predetermined distance, ready to close the gap the moment the trap activated.
Olga would remain with Ritsuka in a defensible location. Neither could contribute to the actual fight, and exposing additional targets would only complicate the operation.
"One more thing."
Cú's voice cut through the tactical discussion. Something in his tone made Griswald's spine stiffen.
The Caster's red eyes fixed on him with uncomfortable intensity.
"For this plan to work, your Shielder needs to be operating at peak capacity." He gestured toward Mash with his staff. "When that trap springs, she'll have seconds to cross the distance and deliver a killing blow. If her mana reserves are running low—if she's even slightly weakened—Archer might break free before she can finish him."
Griswald face redden but nodded slowly. "I understand. I'll make sure to give her a proper mana transfer before we—"
"That won't be enough."
The interruption landed like a slap.
Griswald blinked. "What?"
"Saliva-based transfer is inefficient." Cú's expression didn't waver. Clinical. Detached. Like he was discussing supply logistics rather than— "You're working with subpar magical circuits. Mediocre output. A kiss might stabilize her, but it won't fill her reserves completely."
Heat crept up Griswald's neck. "Then what exactly are you suggesting?"
Cú tilted his head. Almost amused.
"Think about it."
The silence that followed felt suffocating. Griswald's mind churned through possibilities, rejecting each one until—
Oh.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
Blood rushed to his face. His cheeks burned. Beside him, Mash had gone absolutely still, her pale features flushing a deep crimson that spread down her neck and disappeared beneath her armor.
"You can't be serious," Olga said flatly.
"Deadly serious." Cú shrugged, utterly unconcerned by the tension crackling through the group. "Mana transfer through saliva works. It's stable. Reliable. But there's a reason the old texts talk about other methods." His staff tapped against broken concrete. "Certain bodily fluids contain significantly higher concentrations of magical energy. Semen, specifically, carries far more mana than saliva ever could."
Ritsuka made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.
Griswald couldn't look at Mash. Couldn't look at anyone. His face felt like it was on fire.
"That's—I mean, we barely—" The words tumbled out without coherence. "This is—we've only just—"
"I'm not asking for your comfort level." Cú's voice cut through his stammering. "I'm telling you what the situation requires. Your Servant needs maximum power. You have the means to provide it." Red eyes held his gaze without mercy. "Everything else is just logistics."
Mash's breathing had gone shallow. Audible in the smoky silence.
Griswald forced himself to look at her.
She met his gaze for barely a heartbeat before looking away. Her face burned scarlet. Her hands trembled visibly despite her death-grip on the shield.
But she didn't say no.
Ritsuka's face soon matched her hair. "YOU WANT THEM TO FUCK!"