"You—"
"Hey, long time no see, goldie."
The vessel's memories stir.
The Heroic Spirit before me: Cú Chulainn, Ireland's Child of Light. Wielder of Gáe Bolg, a great hero of Celtic myth.
In another dimension's Holy Grail War, this vessel—or rather, the Heroic Spirit in the Throne—clashed with him.
Servants are facets of a Heroic Spirit's soul, summoned as a class's shadow. Even if summoned across dimensions, they're "nearly the same person" or "nearly a different person." Past experiences are recorded in the Throne, accessible upon new summons—like reading a novel starring yourself. Familiar, but not personal.
So, a familiar face, but not here for a rematch… or so it should be.
"Hmph."
Yet, seeing this Celtic hero, my body trembles, emotions surging uncontrollably.
Why? Before I can process, words burst out.
"Hah—hahaha! What's with that getup, hound?! What's the joke? Where's your prized spear? Planning to pierce something with that twig?!"
"Tch, class compatibility. I'm a Caster this time, that's all."
"Wait, hold on, my sides! Your hidden talent's something else! To think your literacy landed you as a Caster! I should've taught you a trick back then! I knew you were versatile, but this?! Hahaha!"
Gilgamesh roars with laughter, slapping his knee.
"Tch, still an insufferable jerk. Watch it, you'll get summoned in some ridiculous class someday."
"Fool! I'd never play mage! Only if Uruk's in crisis and I must rally the people! Hahaha!"
The Hero King's a riot. No room for me until he calms down.
"Team up?" I echo, caught off guard as Caster abruptly speaks once the laughter subsides.
"Not with you, goldie. With your Master."
Apparently, this Caster was summoned in this Singularity, uniquely untainted. He's been fighting Shadow Servants alone to restore it.
"Been running around putting down crazed Servants. Just finished Assassin when I sensed weird mana crushing Lancer, Archer, and Berserker. Guess who? The last face I wanted to see. Lousy luck."
"Busy dog, aren't you?"
"Shut it. What's with you, mowing down Servants like it's a game? How bored are you?"
"Boredom, huh? Maybe it looks that way."
"Hm?"
"Forget it."
"Alright. But you, learning restraint? I'm mildly impressed."
"Restraint?"
"Your usual shtick! Flinging Noble Phantasms like candy. That's why you're an Archer, right?"
…
…
…
"That's what makes an Archer?!"
The greatest shock yet.
Archer means that? Firing swords from the treasury? That's it? Is that okay? What is an Archer?
"You're shocked now? Arms crossed, blasting Noble Phantasms—that's your golden pattern!"
"So it was… like that…"
"Did you hit your head? Summoning glitch? How's your Master still alive?"
I slump. All my careful weapon choices… was I fighting sloppily?
The Hero King's style was that crude?
"Thanks, hound."
"Huh? …Huh?"
"You jogged my memory. Not bad for a sage."
"What the— Are you really Gilgamesh? Saying thanks?"
Caster freezes, stunned by the unthinkable—Gilgamesh thanking someone.
"I'm the Hero King, no doubt. Fakes are unforgivable."
Though, am I the true Hero King? As a reincarnated soul, I define myself as such.
"Your wisdom's noted. I'll entertain your alliance. Be grateful."
"You haven't heard the details… Whatever, I'll talk to your Master."
"Good, permitted. Hah, they'll be shocked. What a find!"
The vessel's mood lifts, and I feel a spark of fun.
Caster shrugs, exasperated, as Gilgamesh chuckles.
I wonder if the others have rested. With that thought, I head to regroup.