I watched my hometown swallowed by flames, the heat brushing against my face, as if hell itself had risen before my eyes.
Beside me, a man held my hand. I looked up, unable to make out his face clearly, but I could see his lips moving.
"I want you to win," he said, voice almost a whisper against the roar of the fire. "Your dreams… they're bound to be brighter, purer than mine. After this… you'll be unstoppable."
"Lancer, we did it," he added, and another man emerged from the smoke behind him.
"We really did it," murmured the one called Lancer, his red eyes fixed on the burning buildings. "We even managed to defeat Saber."
"Even if… you played in ways some would call… unfair," Lancer said, his golden armor catching the flickering light.
"What could they have done? There's no Ruler in this war! I can do whatever I want!" the man laughed, a sound that felt both triumphant and cruel. "Even if there had been—"
"—they wouldn't have stopped me," he finished, arrogance radiating from every word. "No angel could stop me. Only a demon could."
"You're the worst," Lancer retorted, glancing at me. "I hope… your child never inherits this."
I said nothing, only feeling the unbearable heat from a city turned ocean of fire.
Years had passed, yet mornings in Marvile remained unchanged
Beneath sunlight glinting off glass towers, people hurried past each other without meeting a single gaze.
The cold air carried the scent of warm coffee and the faint smoke of low-hovering vehicles, while billboard lights still blinked lazily in the background.
Amidst it all, a young man walked slowly, his gaze wandering.
He turned his head just in time to see a car streak past overhead, leaving only a trail of wind in its wake.
"…I really need to find a job soon," he muttered under his breath, forcing a wry smile.
"If I can save up for a flying car, I won't have to pedal that old bike everywhere…"
His words carried more resignation than hope.
The boy's hair, a soft shade of beige that seemed to catch the sunlight, fell loosely around his face.
His dark brown eyes scanned the lively streets, equal parts curious and weary. He had only recently graduated high school, and now he wandered the city of Marivale, chasing the fragile hope of employment.
Repair shops, bookstores, the monorail station—he stopped by each in turn, trying his luck, striking up small conversations with strangers. Yet at every door, rejection awaited him.
With a long sigh, he slumped against a railing. "Figures. No one wants someone like me.."
His name was Nicholas Lawrence.
And that's me.
I'm just an ordinary guy—so ordinary you could find ten others like me on the same street.
Nothing about me stands out. My height, my weight, my grades… all average. Always replaceable. Always someone better.
Maybe that's why no one will hire me.
I exhaled, shaking the thoughts away. "Still, I can't give up here!"
Just as I started forward again, something strange caught my eye.
A faint crack shimmered in the air, like glass fractured by an invisible hand. It lasted only a second before vanishing.
"…Probably just a reflection," I whispered, brushing it off as nothing.
My wandering soon led me to a circus-like tent at the corner of the street. Painted letters spelled out: Fortune Teller.
"Well… why not. Let's see how my luck's doing today."
Inside, the scent of incense hung thick in the air. Across from me, a woman cloaked in patterned fabric caressed a crystal ball with her long fingers.
"Young man…" Her voice was low and deliberate. "This will be the luckiest day of your life."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"Ah, but you won't feel it," she added, smiling faintly. "Yet believe me—today, great luck follows you."
I left in silence, more confused than enlightened, and lighter in the wallet after paying her fee.
Back outside, the day stretched on. Shop after shop, application after application—every single one turned me away.
Hours later, drained and slouched against a bench, I let out another sigh. "…The luckiest day of my life, huh?"
My muttering melted into the noise of the city. If that was luck, then surely I had been swindled.
The sky over Marivale's airport blushed with the colors of dusk, streaks of orange melting into violet as planes ascended one after another.
Their engines roared, fading into the horizon. I sat at the edge of the dock, legs dangling, quietly munching on a sandwich while watching them vanish into the clouds.
"Ah! My ball!"
The sudden cry snapped me out of my thoughts.
I turned and spotted a boy chasing after a runaway ball as it rolled toward the water's edge. If it fell in, it would be gone for good.
In an instant, I stuffed the last bite of sandwich into my mouth and jumped to my feet.
My legs carried me before I even thought about it, sprinting across the dock with all the speed I had.
Just before the ball tipped over the edge, I slid forward and caught it.
"Hah… got it."
The boy hurried over, eyes wide with admiration. "Wow! That was amazing! You're so fast—how did you do that?"
I handed him the ball with a small smile. "Keep practicing," I said, then ruffled his hair gently.
"But don't play around here anymore. It's dangerous, especially without someone watching you."
"Okay, sir!" he chirped, nodding with an earnest grin. Clutching the ball to his chest, he waved. "Goodbye!"
I watched him scamper off until he vanished among the crowd, then stretched my arms above my head with a sigh. "Well… I'll try again tomorrow."
My gaze drifted back to the dockside, where a lone street busker sat on a worn stool, strumming a guitar. His voice rose with the twilight, carrying a haunting melody.
His song chilled the air. It was the kind of melody that clung to your chest, unsettling yet sorrowful.
Without thinking, I dropped a few coins into the hat at his feet. Something about the man told me he wasn't a busker by choice. His voice carried too much weight, too much pain.
It wasn't much, but it was all I could offer.
"Thank you, kid!" he called after me, his smile faint beneath a shadowed face.
I turned and returned the smile, hoping it didn't look like pity. "You're welcome, sir."
He tilted his head. "And… what's your name, if I may ask, good kid?"
"My name's Nicholas Lawrence," I answered casually.
At that, the man froze. His eyes widened, and for a moment the music in the air seemed to die.
"Lawrence…?" he echoed, almost as if he couldn't believe what he heard.
"Yes. You heard it right, sir," I replied, frowning slightly at his reaction.
"I see…" The busker quickly pocketed the coins and pulled his hat back onto his head. His hands trembled ever so slightly. "Nice to meet you, kid."
With those words, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps quicker than before.
I stood there, watching him retreat into the dusk. My chest stirred with unease. What had shaken him so much at hearing my name?
As twilight bled into the entertainment district, the alleys came alive in their own secret rhythm.
Neon signs flickered overhead, laughter echoed from bars, and in one shadowed corner, a small underground footrace was about to begin.
"Oh?" I murmured, pausing mid-step. A smile tugged at my lips.
With no one waiting for me at home, I had no reason to hurry. So, on a whim, I signed up.
When the whistle was about to blow, I stepped onto the makeshift track. At my side stood a boy younger than me, a man in his twenties, and several others—faces filled with anticipation.
I usually avoided serious competitions. Winning had never appealed to me. But races like these? They weren't about triumph or loss.
They were about the rush, the laughter, the simple joy of running together.
The referee raised his whistle. "Three… two… one!"
The sharp sound split the air, and we all launched forward. Feet pounded against concrete, breaths filled the alley.
Before long, I noticed I had surged too far ahead. With a small chuckle, I eased my pace, letting others overtake me.
I wasn't here to win. I was here to enjoy the moment.
In the end, I crossed the finish line in third place. The boy who took first raised his arms, face glowing with uncontainable joy. Just watching him made my chest feel lighter.
"Congratulations on your victory!" the host shouted, his voice swallowed by the crowd's cheers.
Afterward, I slipped away, hands in my pockets, humming softly to myself as I made my way home.
Night had fallen completely now, and the streets gleamed under artificial light.
A squad of firefighters soared past with mechanical wings, their engines roaring.
A self-driving car rolled along lazily beside me, four passengers inside laughing over a game of cards.
Then, suddenly—
The streetlamp above me flickered violently. For a few heartbeats, the world itself seemed to fall silent.
"…Hm?" I stopped, glancing around. The city looked exactly the same.
Busy streets. Nothing out of place. With a small shrug, I continued walking.
At last, I reached my house. Sliding the door open, I stepped inside, neatly placing my shoes on the shelf before heading upstairs. The clock in my room read just past seven.
With a flick, the light clicked off. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling in the quiet darkness.
"…Finding work is really difficult," I muttered, rolling onto my side and pulling the pillow closer.
If rejections kept piling up, what would become of me? The thought clawed at me, but I pushed it away.
No—it's impossible. My luck can't be that bad. Tomorrow will be different. It has to be.
Clinging to that fragile hope, I closed my eyes. Before long, sleep claimed me.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself drifting in a void.
Space. An endless sea of stars stretched out in every direction, cold and silent. I didn't know where I was—or if I was even alive anymore.
"Where… is this?" The words slipped out of my mouth, trembling.
Then pain seared the back of my right hand. "Agh—!" I clutched it, breath catching. It felt like fire branded into my skin.
That was when I noticed it.
The air ahead of me—fractured, splintered like a pane of glass about to shatter.
My chest tightened. Something about it beckoned me, yet every instinct screamed to stay away.
Still… I reached out. Slowly. Hesitantly. My index finger brushed against the crack.
And the universe broke.
The starry expanse shattered into countless shards, scattering like fragments of a dream. I was falling—falling into nothingness.
My scream tore through the silence, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs as the pain in my hand refused to fade.
Then, in the blink of an eye—impact.
"Urgh—!"
I landed face-first in filth. Metal and plastic crunched beneath me. The stench clawed at my nose. A dumpster. My clothes, my jacket, even my hair were smeared with garbage.
Staggering upright, I gagged and brushed myself off. "…Ugh. My favorite outfit." I groaned, wiping desperately at my leather jacket. But the stink clung stubbornly.
The pain in my hand lingered, throbbing in rhythm with a dizzy spell that made the alley spin.
When I stumbled out of the dumpster, I realized where I was. Marivale. The familiar city stretched before me—yet something was wrong.
Too wrong.
The streets lay silent. Not a single car hovered in the air. Not even footsteps echoed. Marivale was never this quiet, not even at night.
My eyes lifted to the clock tower—its hands frozen at eleven. A time when the city should still be alive.
"…I have to get home."
I broke into a run, glancing left and right, searching for another soul. But there was no one. Only shadows and silence.
By the time I reached my house, my lungs burned, my legs heavy. I staggered to the door, reached for the knob—
"Oh? Our first prey shows up right away. And he's rather handsome, too."
A girl's voice. Sweet, mocking, dripping with venom.
Every hair on my body stood on end. My hand froze on the knob. Trembling, I turned my head.
There she was.
A girl, fair-skinned, with long pink hair bound by purple ribbons, flowing down to her back.
Her light-blue eyes glimmered with amusement—predatory amusement.
But what froze me were the details no human could have. Her fingers weren't fingers at all, but long, razor-pink claws.
And curling from her head, unmistakable against the night sky, were devilish horns—immoral, menacing.
In her grip, she carried a spear. Its point gleamed with a sharpness that promised death.
My voice caught in my throat. Nothing came out.
"Aww… you're shaking." Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Are you scared? How cute."
The mockery laced every word, and all I could do was stand there—paralyzed between fear and disbelief.
She leaned closer, her shadow draping over me like a predator over prey. One clawed finger tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet her gaze.
Her smile was sharp, mocking, delighting in the fear etched across my face.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, unable to look away from those light-blue eyes.
"Awwww…" Her voice dripped with syrupy malice. "You look just like a scared little bug." The smile twisted into a grin, cruel and amused.
Before I could respond, a deeper voice rumbled from behind.
"Lancer. Why don't you just kill him?"
My eyes darted past her. An older man stood in the shadows, his gray hair swept back, his wrinkled face hardened by time.
He looked down at me with an indifference that chilled me more than her claws ever could.
Lancer tilted her head, ribbons swaying as she turned to him. "Oh, but Master… he looks kind of cute. Can't I keep him? Pretty please?" Her tone shifted suddenly—childish, pleading, sickeningly sweet.
The man narrowed his eyes. "…And what would you do with him?"
Her lips curled wider, her eyes gleaming. "Use him as my plaything, of course."
The malice in her voice cut deeper than any blade. The way she looked at me—like a cat cornering a trembling mouse—made my knees quake.
"Pleeeeease," she begged again, bouncing slightly on her heels, her tone playful but twisted.
The man studied me in silence, lost in thought. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he spoke. "…Fine. But the moment he resists you, kill him."
"Yaaay!" Lancer let out a shrill cheer, actually hopping in place like a child promised candy. "Thank you, Master!"
Her gaze snapped back to me. The sweetness melted away, leaving only the wicked grin of a devil.
"Looks like I'm going to have lots of fun with you, buggy."
My chest tightened. Torture. Enslavement. That was her idea of fun. I couldn't let it happen.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I shoved open my front door, darted inside, and slammed it shut behind me. My feet pounded against the stairs as I sprinted upward.
"Hey! Don't run away!" her voice rang out, echoing with delight.
Behind her, the man's order followed, calm and merciless. "Lancer. Kill him. He resisted."
"Ehh, what a shame," she sighed theatrically. "I really thought he'd make a fun toy." Her voice hardened. "But orders are orders."
The door behind me exploded in splinters as her spear ripped through it. She stormed inside, her footsteps shaking the floor.
I dove into the wardrobe, slamming the doors shut, my breaths shallow and ragged.
The metallic scrape of her spear dragging across the floorboards made my blood run cold.
The bedroom door groaned, then shattered with a violent kick. Lancer strolled inside with deliberate slowness, her eyes sweeping the room.
"Buggy…" she sang, her voice soft as honey but dripping with venom. "Come out, come out~"
Her words curled through the silence, sweet on the surface—yet soaked in malice that made my skin crawl.
After scouring nearly every corner, only one place remained unchecked.
"It's a shame," Lancer's voice carried a cruel calm as he stepped toward the wardrobe. "If you hadn't resisted, you wouldn't have had to die. But now… you'll regret it."
"Goodbye, little insect." With a mocking sneer, she thrust her spear straight into the wooden doors.
The steel tip tore through and pierced my body. A sharp, burning pain exploded through my chest.
"—ghk!" Blood surged up my throat, spilling past my lips.
It felt as though my very organs were being shredded apart.
Ah… so this is it?
Am I… going to die here?
My strength drained away. My eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and I surrendered to the darkness.
There was nothing left I could do.
Silence. Endless, suffocating silence.
Then—an acrid stench assaulted my nose.
"…?"
My eyes fluttered open, and instead of darkness, I found myself staring up at a sliver of night sky. The stars were distant, cold.
I was lying amidst heaps of rotting garbage. A dumpster. Its filth clung to me, soaking into my clothes.
I pushed myself up, dazed, and realized… this was the same alley as before.
"H-huh? Why… why am I here again?" My voice trembled in disbelief.
No… wait. That's not the real question.
The real question is—
"Why… am I still alive?"
Stumbling out of the dumpster, I checked my chest with shaking hands. There should have been a hole there—gaping, bloody. But… nothing. Not even a scar.
I staggered toward the street, the clock tower looming in the distance. Its face glowed faintly in the night, the hands pointing to eleven.
Eleven o'clock.
The exact same time… as before.
"What the hell is happening to me…?"
The memories of pain were too vivid, too raw, to dismiss as a dream. My body trembled, cold fear crawling beneath my skin.
No—I couldn't face the streets again. Not yet.
"…It's safer if I stay hidden."
Muttering to myself, I slipped back behind the dumpster, curling into the shadows as though they alone could shield me.
I stayed curled up in the shadows, trying to convince myself—was what I'd experienced before real… or nothing more than a nightmare?
My thoughts tangled in endless circles.
So I simply waited. Silent. Motionless.
I don't know how much time passed. Seconds? Minutes? It felt like hours.
Then—
Step. Step. Drag.
Footsteps echoed through the alley. Sharp, deliberate. Something heavy scraped across the ground.
The clicking rhythm of heels struck the night air, each sound dripping with malice.
And then, like a cruel lullaby, a soft hum began to rise—gentle, almost playful, like the winding of a music box before its song.
Until it cut off. Abrupt. Final.
"…Oh?" A sweet, mocking voice curled into the silence. "What's this? A little buggy playing hide-and-seek behind the trash? How adorable."
The voice grew sharper, teasing, cruel.
"Did you really think filth like that could hide you from me?"
My body froze. Slowly, dread clawed up my spine.
I turned—and there she was.
Lancer.
Her smile was bright, too bright, her spear gleaming in one hand as if it longed for blood.
"WAAAAH!" The scream tore out of me before I realized it.
She giggled—a high, chiming sound that was more knife than laughter. It sliced straight through me.
"Ohohoho~ Did I startle you, buggy? Or are you just that excited to see me?" she cooed. "Honestly, I can't blame you. Most fans faint the instant they spot me in the wild."
Her spear spun effortlessly in her grasp, a deadly flourish, before she pressed one clawed fingertip to her lips in mock thought.
"But shhh… don't scream too loud. We're still in rehearsal, after all. And you do know how producers hate it when extras ruin the schedule."
She tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. Her tail curled lazily around her leg like a cat about to pounce.
"Although… if you're going to scream anyway—might as well make it part of the performance." Her grin widened, sharp as glass.
"Let's call this scene… 'The Fan Who Loved Too Much (And Died Too Loudly).'"
My voice caught in my throat. No words came. Only fear. Cold and suffocating.
"You're just sitting there? How boring…" Her smile thinned. "Well then… I'll just kill you."
The spear shot forward, faster than thought.
A white-hot explosion of pain tore through my skull as the tip slammed into my head, pinning me like an insect to the wall.
Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. My vision blurred. My body trembled.
My heart thundered so violently I thought it would shatter. I squeezed my eyes shut—then snapped them open again, gasping for air.
"Haa—haa—haa—!"
I bolted upright from the reeking pile of garbage, clutching at my clothes, my chest heaving, my heart still pounding as if it would break through my ribs.
Alive.
Again.
I touched my forehead—smooth. No wound. No blood. Nothing.
Shakily, I wiped the tears from my face and crawled out of the dumpster.
My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to carry my weight. Each step felt brittle, as though they might give out at any moment.
"When… when can I wake up from this nightmare…?" I whispered to no one.
I had to move. Staying still meant death. I knew that now.
So I ran. My lungs burned, my chest heaved, but I forced myself onward. The terror from before clung to me like chains, dragging at my every step.
"Breathe… calm down… just breathe…" I muttered between gasps, trying to wrestle the panic back under control. My heart didn't listen.
Then—
A voice. A woman's voice.
It drifted faintly from inside a house as I passed by. I froze. My instincts screamed at me not to get close. Not after everything.
And yet… just a peek couldn't hurt, could it?
I pressed a trembling hand to the door, nudged it open just enough to peer inside.
A woman stood straight and rigid in the center of the room. Short black hair framed her face, one eye hidden by her bangs.
A choker clung to her neck above a modern gothic dress, high boots completing the sharp silhouette.
"A goth girl?" I muttered under my breath.
A tall man with long red hair and iron armor stood opposite her, bow-like harp already in hand. His presence filled the room like iron itself—unyielding, dangerous.
"Master. Move aside," he said, his voice clipped, commanding.
The woman blinked at him, puzzled. "Huh? What's wrong, Archer?"
"There's someone peeking."
His head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing. The bowstring pulled taut with terrifying speed.
He knew.
The goth woman turned, her single visible eye locking with mine. Surprise flickered across her face.
"…Huh?"
Panic seized me. I slammed the door shut and staggered back.
CRACK!
An air arrow punched through the door a heartbeat later, splinters exploding past my cheek.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. Too close. Far, far too close.
And then—
"Hey… wanna take a peek together?"
The voice.
That voice.
I spun around.
There she was.
Lancer.
Her smile was waiting for me.
"Y-You…" My voice broke, the word crumbling in my throat.
Her laughter chimed in the air, light, cruel, delighted. She leaned forward, tapping my cheek with a sharpened nail, her grin widening as if she were tasting my fear.
"Oh? Did I scare you?" she asked sweetly.
My chest constricted, every breath a struggle. Fear surged like a flood, leaving me trembling, gasping, drowning.
Her smirk stretched even further, sharp as the spear she carried. She was enjoying this. Every shudder. Every ragged breath.
"W-What's the matter? Are you afraid?" Lancer leaned closer, her eyes glinting like sharpened blades. Her smile curved into something wicked.
"Don't worry… I won't hurt you. Much."
Her breath grazed my cheek.
My instincts screamed.
I had to get away from her.
I couldn't bear that pain again. Not again.
Turning on my heel, I stepped into the house—
Thwip!
Agony ripped through my gut. An arrow of air lodged into me for an instant before vanishing, hurling me off my feet.
My back slammed against the floor, blood spilling freely, staining the wooden boards beneath me.
"Archer!" a woman's voice cried out in shock.
Across the room stood the red-haired man in iron armor—bow raised, eyes closed. He hadn't even looked at me, yet his aim was flawless.
"He's one of the Masters," Archer said coldly, lowering his bow. "Eliminating him quickly is the best option, isn't it?"
"But—wait!" The gothic woman stepped forward, gaze fixed on me. "I don't see any Command Seals on his hand… and no Servant came to his aid."
"Then he's just an ordinary man," Archer replied, expression unreadable.
Her eyes narrowed, as though something about me stirred recognition. "No… there's something…"
"Hm. More likely he simply hasn't summoned his Servant yet. Remember, only humans with potential to become Masters can enter this dimension. That means he's eligible for the Holy Grail War."
Holy Grail War? Command Seals? Servants?
The words rang hollow in my mind, incomprehensible, terrifying.
"Still—!"
The woman's protest cut short as Lancer strode into the room.
She stopped just above me, her spear gleaming in the dim light.
Her smile widened when she saw the blood pooling beneath me, her laughter like silk wrapping a knife.
"Well, well… how pathetic," she purred, crouching low. "To think you'd be taken out so easily. You're not even worth killing properly. Less than worthless."
Archer's eyes narrowed. He stepped in front of his Master protectively. "Careful. That Servant is dangerous."
"Oh? So you're Archer?" Lancer's grin turned sharp, her tone mocking as her tail swayed lazily behind her.
Their voices grew faint in my ears. The words twisted, drowned by the rushing of blood and the thunder of my heartbeat.
Master. Servant. Command Seals. Holy Grail War.
What the hell are they talking about?
My body numbed, the pain fading into emptiness. My chest grew heavy. My breaths slowed.
Ah… so this is it. Again.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the darkness.
Ba-dump.
A single heartbeat roared in my skull—then silence.
When I opened my eyes, the stench hit me first.
Rotting garbage. Rust. Damp air.
"…The dumpster…?" I whispered, staring at the night sky above me.
I was back.
Again.
I lay there for a long while, listening to the stillness.
"…Did I… go back?" My voice cracked, trembling as the thought took shape.
Back to before I died.
It was absurd. Impossible. And yet… it was the only explanation that made sense.
I dragged myself out of the trash, my body shaking, heart racing.
"…Just what the hell is happening to me?"
This wasn't a dream.
Dreams don't stab through flesh. Dreams don't leave you vomiting blood. Dreams don't make your whole body tremble from pain so sharp it lingers even after death.
I staggered out of the alley, clutching my stomach.
"That red-haired guy… he said something about a summon." My words rasped in the night.
"And the power I felt from him… and from that girl, Lancer… there's no way they're human."
I forced my legs forward, retracing my steps back toward the house. Each breath burned in my chest, but curiosity pushed harder than fear.
And then—I saw it.
Through the cracked doorway, the gothic woman stood before a glowing red circle etched into the floor.
Strange symbols twisted across its surface, almost alive in the dim light. At its center lay a dirt-stained cloth, like an offering.
Her voice rose, steady and commanding:
"Silver and iron, the foundation.
Gemstone and the grand duke of pacts, the base."
"By my will, your body shall be shaped,
and with your weapon, you shall forge my destiny…"
The air itself seemed to recoil. Candles shuddered, their flames stretching unnaturally before snuffing out one by one.
The room drowned in darkness, save for the circle's crimson glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.
My own heart jumped. I leaned closer, but—
Thud!
"Agh!" I groaned as my head smacked against the doorknob.
Her head snapped toward me instantly. Eyes sharp as daggers, cutting through the shadows.
"Who's there!? Show yourself! Now!"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was absolute. A command that left no room for disobedience.
Panic seized me. My mouth moved on instinct. "M–meow. Meow, meow…"
"...Nice try," she hissed. "But only humans can enter this dimension."
Her hand shifted—flesh twisting, shaping itself into the form of a gun.
Yeah. Bad idea. Really bad idea.
I raised my hands slowly, pushing the door open. "Uh… let's make peace, shall we?"
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion carved into her every line. "…You're certainly confident. I'll give you that."
She lowered her hand slightly but didn't let her guard down. "Who are you? And… you don't seem to have summoned your Servant yet, have you?"
"Servant?" I blinked, confused. "What kind of Servant? I'm not from some rich family that has those kinds of things…"
Her brow furrowed, gaze sharpening. "I'm talking about a Servant in the Holy Grail War."
The words meant nothing to me. My silence gave me away.
Her eyes widened slightly. "…Wait. You don't know?"
I shook my head, completely lost.
For a moment, she just stared—studying me as if I were some strange creature. Then, with an exasperated sigh, she pressed her fingers to her temple.
"You're completely oblivious, aren't you?"
"The Holy Grail War… it's a battle between seven Masters and their summoned Servants," the woman explained, her voice measured yet grave.
"These Servants are legendary heroes pulled from myth and history. The last one standing earns a single wish, granted by the Holy Grail itself."
I stood frozen, mind reeling, her words heavier than I could process. But the thought was quickly cut short—Lancer. She was coming here.
"Uh—forget that for now! We need to get out, fast!" I urged, panic slipping through my tone.
The woman arched a brow, arms folding across her chest, unimpressed. "And why, exactly, should I listen to you?"
"Because Lancer is coming!" I blurted. "A girl with a spear—she'll be here any second!"
Her eyes narrowed at the name. "…Lancer? How in the world do you know that?"
"Because—" My throat tightened, the memory flashing across my mind like a blade. "…I was just chased by her!"
Skepticism darkened her gaze. "You? Chased by Lancer? And yet you stand here alive?" Her tone dripped disbelief. "That's a little too convenient."
Her doubt cut deeper than her words. After all, she was right. I had been killed—pierced, torn apart. No human should have escaped that.
"…Yeah. Makes sense," I muttered weakly, the lame response only deepening the pit I'd dug for myself.
The woman rolled her eyes. "You're doing a terrible job of sounding convincing."
I ignored the sting, edging toward the doorway. A suffocating aura pressed against my skin—sharp, hungry. My heart clenched.
"You—!" I hissed, whipping back toward her. "You feel that, don't you?"
Her expression stiffened. She inhaled sharply. "…Yes. Something's coming. And it's no human."
"Then hurry! Summon that red-haired man—" I faltered, realizing my words were nonsense to her. "With his bow, he can cover us—!"
Her brows furrowed. "…Red-haired man?"
Right… they haven't even met yet.
Before I could fumble an excuse, the air behind us split with a killing intent so sharp it stole my breath. We turned as one.
There she was. Lancer. Her presence alone sent goosebumps crawling across my skin.
The woman's jaw tightened, voice a bitter whisper. "…Damn it. You were right."
Lancer's smirk widened, spear glinting under the moonlight. "Well, well… look at this. Two strays trembling in the dark?" Her gaze swept across us with predatory delight.
"Neither of you even summoned your Servants yet, did you?"
"I was about to, until someone kept distracting me!" the black-haired woman snapped, throwing me a sharp glare.
I winced.
"…Yeah. My bad. Totally my fault."
"Heh… you look strong," Lancer sneered, her crimson eyes flicking toward the black-haired girl—then snapping back to me. "But you? You look… ordinary."
Her lips curled into a grin. "And for that reason—"
She lunged.
"Get—!" The short-haired girl barely had time to shout before the spear carved through the air.
A flash of steel, a searing pain. My chest split open as if the world itself rejected me. I collapsed, blood spraying the floor.
Again…?
The woman gasped, rage burning in her eyes as she faced Lancer. "You bastard…" she hissed, jaw tight with fury.
I coughed blood, my voice barely a whisper. "She… won't kill you. Don't worry."
What she didn't know—what no one could know—was that my death wasn't the end. It was only a reset.
"At least… tell me your name…" My vision dimmed, the edges of the world crumbling away.
For a heartbeat, hesitation clouded her face. Then her gaze hardened. "…My name is Callista Ashviel."
"Alright… I'll reme—"
Darkness swallowed me whole before the words could leave my lips.
My heart lurched. My body convulsed. I shot upright—only to be met by the stench of rotting trash.
The dumpster. Again.
"Ugh…" I staggered out, clutching my chest where the spear had struck. The skin was unbroken. My heart was pounding. "Damn it. I have to warn her immediately!"
I sprinted down the street until I reached the house. Light spilled through the window. Inside, Callista stood by a table, a book in her hand.
She turned, startled. Her eyes widened when she saw me. In an instant, her fingers shaped into a gun, her arm snapping up to aim.
"Who are you?!"
I froze, panting hard. "…Callista, it's me."
Her stance stiffened, suspicion sharp in her gaze. "How do you know my name?!" she demanded. "Tell me who you are!"
"It was brief," I said, my voice firm despite my ragged breath. "But we've met before."
I steadied myself, forcing the words out before fate could rip them away again. "My name is Nicholas Lawrence."
"Nicholas… Lawrence?" Callista echoed, her hand lowering slightly though her glare remained razor-sharp. "My father once mentioned your name…"
What?! Her father… knows me?
But I only met her after entering this cursed dimension. How could that be possible?
"What do you want?" she pressed, her tone cold and impatient.
"Listen," I said quickly, "I saw Lancer just now—she's heading this way. You need to summon your Servant as soon as possible!"
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering. "…You saw Lancer?"
"Yes," I insisted.
She regarded me a moment longer, weighing truth against lies, before she finally relented. "…Very well. I was preparing to summon my Servant anyway."
I stepped back to give her room.
The summoning circle glowed blood-red, pulsing as though it were alive. Every line engraved into the floor radiated with power, a script of sorrow carved into stone.
Callista stood before it, her silhouette outlined in shadow, gothic and entrancing. Her sharp gaze lingered on the circle like a predator savoring the moment before striking prey.
Every motion of hers was deliberate—measured—like an actress on a stage, and this ritual was her performance.
Her voice unfurled softly, yet with the command of an oath:
"Silver and iron, the foundation.
Gemstone and the grand duke of pacts, the base."
"By my will, your body shall be shaped,
and with your weapon, you shall forge my destiny…"
The air convulsed. The circle erupted in light, winds howling as candles were snuffed out all at once.
The room drowned in the brilliance of spiraling prana, as if the void itself had opened.
From within that maelstrom emerged a figure.
A knight, tall and sorrowful. His long hair shimmered faintly in the glow, his hands holding a harp whose strings hummed a mournful echo.
His eyes remained closed, silence blanketing the room until at last he spoke:
"…I only wish to be certain. Was it you who summoned me? If so, then I am your Servant. Class: Archer."
For a heartbeat, Callista's smile faltered. Then, with a soft exhale, she let a confident smirk return to her lips.
"Archer, is it? I had hoped for a Saber. Still… you look every bit the worthy Servant."
I stood frozen, watching in awe—and dread. Because when Archer turned toward me, my chest tightened.
That red-haired man… I was killed by him once.
"Who is this man, Master?" Archer asked, his tone calm yet edged. "He looks weak, but his alertness is… unusual."
"My name is Nicholas Lawrence," I blurted, desperate to sound useful. "I'm… an acquaintance of Callista's father."
Her eyes flicked toward me, narrowing ever so slightly before she answered for him.
"He's no concern of yours, Archer. Focus on the war. Pay him no mind."
Archer gave a slow nod, though he spared me one last glance before turning back. "As you wish, Master."
I swallowed hard, then forced the words out: "Uh… Archer, Lancer is coming here soon. We need to be ready before she arrives."
Archer tilted his head slightly, his eyes still closed, yet his presence pressed down on me as if he saw through me regardless.
"Then we shall face her. But you… you are no Master. You hold no Command Seals. Why should I heed your warning?"
My mouth opened, but no words came. Before the silence crushed me, Callista stepped forward with a sharp sigh.
"Because I say so. If what he claims is true, we must be prepared." Her gaze flicked to me, cool and merciless. "But if he lies… finish him immediately."
Archer gave a low bow. "Understood."
The room fell into stillness—then the air shifted.
Thick. Heavy. Malignant.
It pressed against my lungs like tar, suffocating. Even the crickets outside had gone silent.
"She's coming…" I whispered, dread clinging to my voice.
Callista and Archer strode from the house to meet the threat.
I stayed behind, peeking from the doorway, terror rooting me in place. The night felt wrong, the street too still.
And then—
The steady clack of boots against stone. A girl emerged, dragging her spear lazily across the ground. Her tail swayed behind her like a metronome of death.
Lancer.
"Ah…" Lancer's voice slipped into the night like a playful whisper, sweet and dangerous all at once. "So this will be my first battle? How… delightful."
Her crimson eyes gleamed as they settled on the figure before her. "A blind knight? Hah. Truly, fate has a twisted sense of humor."
Callista only smirked, her lips curling into a sharp grin. "Hah? And my opponent is a little loli? I almost feel bad now, you know?"
The girl before her—Lancer—spun her spear with a flourish, the weapon humming as if alive in her hands.
"Oh? Calling me a loli already? How predictable." Her voice was sugary, but beneath that sweetness rang something sharp, something venomous.
She stepped forward, her boots clicking against the ground, and continued in a tone both mocking and melodic:
"—But tell me, does a mere 'loli,' as you call me, bear the blood of dragons? Do they carry the elegance of an idol whose voice can shatter both hearts and bones?"
Lancer leaned forward ever so slightly, her eyes gleaming like rubies set aflame, a smile both mischievous and predatory dancing across her lips.
"So yes… feel bad for me if you must. Because the moment you realize the 'loli' you mocked is trampling you beneath her heels, that humiliation will taste all the sweeter."
"Enough chatter," Archer's calm voice cut through the tension, carrying the weight of quiet resolve. "Master—shall we?"
"Yeah. You're right," Callista replied with a firm nod, her tone sharp as steel.
Lancer's grin widened, her grip tightening on the crimson spear that seemed to pulse with her energy.
"Quite the eager warrior, aren't you, Archer? Good. Then let's make this a battle worth remembering."
Callista raised her hand like a conductor setting the stage. "Archer—attack!"
Lancer dashed forward, spear in hand, only for Archer to calmly strum his harp—an instrument that doubled as a bow.
In an instant, arrows of light rained down from the air, striking from every direction.
Lancer twisted and spun, dodging most of them, but one arrow grazed her arm, slicing it open and drawing a streak of blood.
"Oh? Not bad at all," Lancer muttered with a mischievous grin, as if enjoying the thrill.
She pressed on, twirling her spear in wide arcs, forcing the space around her into a whirling defense that made it impossible for anyone to approach.
Archer sighed, stepping back with graceful melancholy. "Master... it would be wise for you to take shelter inside that house," he said, his voice steeped in sorrow.
Callista nodded without argument, slipping inside—only to find me peeking nervously at the battle from the shadows.
"You're still here?" she asked, surprised.
"I mean... it's not like I have anywhere to run," I complained, shoulders slumping.
Outside, the clash continued. Lancer swung left, then right, finishing with a sharp thrust straight ahead.
Archer evaded each strike with effortless sorrow, plucking his harp once more.
Again, a storm of arrow-like notes surrounded Lancer, forcing her to move frantically just to keep from being overwhelmed.
Lancer bared her fangs in a grin, eyes shining with challenge. "Heh... you're a real pain, you know that?"
Tristan let out another lamenting sigh, his tone almost mournful. "Alas... it seems even to cause trouble, my existence can only bring grief."
Two wings suddenly sprouted from Lancer's back, unfurling wide as she slowly ascended into the air. Both Callista and I froze, stunned by the sight.
"She's not using any kind of machine..." I stammered in disbelief. "Those wings—they're real!"
"This is... more troublesome than I expected," Callista muttered under her breath.
Archer immediately plucked the strings of his harp, unleashing a volley of shining arrows that shot upward. Yet Lancer evaded them with ease, gliding gracefully through the air.
Then, with a theatrical flourish, she hurled her spear into the ground and balanced herself atop it.
"Prepare to suffer!" she declared, inhaling deeply before unleashing a piercing scream.
The sound tore through the air like an idol's concert gone berserk. My ears rang violently, and I had to cover them or risk going deaf. Callista winced, furrowing her brow as she did the same.
Archer tried to withstand it, but the sonic assault stole his balance. In that moment, Lancer ceased her wail, wrenched her spear free, and swung it hard—striking Archer in the stomach.
The blow sent him flying, his body skidding across the ground in a painful tumble.
"Archer!" Callista cried, darting out from cover to rush toward him as he struggled to rise.
"This is... humiliating," he muttered, brushing dirt from his cloak and armor with his usual sorrowful dignity.
"My, my... is this truly your limit, Archer?" Lancer taunted, her wings slowly fading from her back.
"How unfortunate... yet I cannot surrender here, Lancer." Archer straightened, stepping in front of Callista as if to shield her.
His voice was laced with sorrow. "How pitiful I must appear, showing such weakness before my own Master." He raised his harp-bow once more, ready to fight.
"Oh? Then let's see just how long you can last," Lancer sneered, lips curling into a grin.
"I... I have to help," I muttered, though I had no idea how I could possibly do so.
My eyes darted around until they landed on the magic circle Callista had used to summon Archer before. For a long moment, I just stared at it.
Could I... actually use it?
Outside, Archer strummed his harp again, and another flurry of shining arrows surged toward Lancer.
She twisted and dove, her movements sharp but increasingly strained.
The battle raged fiercely. Though Archer seemed to have the advantage now, the tides could shift at any moment.
Lancer spun midair, then lunged forward, slamming Archer with her draconic tail. He was forced to leap back, retreating step after step.
She immediately hurled her spear at him, the weapon whistling through the air. Archer narrowly avoided it just in time.
With a swift bound, Lancer dashed ahead to reclaim her weapon—but as she drew close, Archer's counter struck.
A sharp note from his harp-sword sliced her cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood.
Lancer leapt back, touching her wound, then let out a laugh. With a theatrical bow, she drove her spear into the ground.
Its tip elongated suddenly, lunging at Archer like a striking fang. He evaded, replying with a mournful barrage that forced her to retreat.
Lancer sneered, her spear glinting under the light. "Not tired yet, Archer?"
Archer strummed a single sorrowful note from his harp, his voice heavy with quiet irony.
"I was about to ask you the same, Lancer... though it seems you hardly need to answer."
Still brimming with energy, Lancer chuckled darkly. "Oh, don't worry. Even if you're already worn out, I'll just drag you along until you break!"
With a burst of speed, she lunged at Archer, her spear slicing through the air—only to be stopped.
Her eyes widened. It wasn't Archer who caught her strike.
Before her stood a young woman with bright pink hair swept to the side, adorned with red and black ornaments shaped like flowers, ribbons fluttering with her movement.
Her azure eyes sparkled with mischief as she smiled, meeting Lancer's gaze head-on.
Archer and Callista froze behind her, astonishment painted across their faces.
"Who is... that?" Callista whispered, her jaw slack.
"She's a Servant as well," Archer murmured, voice tinged with lament.
Steel clashed in a burst of sparks. The woman pressed forward, twin blades catching Lancer's spear in a clean lock before twisting, forcing the dragon-blooded girl to leap back with a sharp, almost beastlike snarl.
"My, you really are a sweet looking girl," the newcomer said brightly, her tone as cheerful as if they were meeting at a festival instead of a battlefield.
"I didn't expect someone like you to be my very first opponent. Lucky me!"
Lancer's crimson eyes narrowed, fangs bared. "Who the hell are you?!"
The woman only gave a playful twirl of her blades, their polished edges flashing in the moonlight.
She smiled wide, radiating confidence that bordered on arrogance.
"I am Saber. Nice to meet you." Her gaze flicked over her shoulder, a wink tossed toward Callista and Archer. "Oh, and the same goes for you two as well."