The relative tranquility that had followed the week of "rest" at Chaldea was, Leonel knew, just the calm before another storm. They had corrected the American Singularity, recovered its Grail, and his body and magic had stabilized, largely thanks to Tamamo's care and Nightingale's strict vigilance. But the duty of a Master in an organization fighting humanity's incineration never ended. Chaldea's resources, though vast, needed constant reinforcement. And that meant one thing: summoning.
Sitting in his room, reviewing Da Vinci's reports on residual Saint Graphs detected after America, Leonel felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach that had nothing to do with battles to come. He was afraid. A visceral, personal, and perfectly rational fear.
Scáthach.
The Queen of the Land of Shadows. The woman who had erased a Demon God Pillar with the ease of swatting a fly. The one who had kissed him with fierce possession, marked him with her teeth, and promised him, in a tone that brooked no argument, to claim him as a disciple and as a husband. The catalyst for her summoning—his dried blood on his lip and the shared promise on a battlefield—was unique and immensely potent. If he performed a summoning now, given his luck and fate's tendency to mock him, the odds of her answering were overwhelming.
And if Scáthach appeared in Chaldea... the delicate ecosystem of his life, that precarious balance between leadership, strategy, and managing a complex, passionate harem, would go up in flames. It wasn't that his other Servants were weak. But Scáthach was a force of nature, a legend among legends, and she wanted him. In a direct, unambiguous, and potentially conflict-inducing way.
Yet, he couldn't postpone it forever. They needed more allies. Camelot, the next Singularity, loomed over them like a sword of Damocles, and all reports painted it as the most difficult yet. Refusing to summon out of personal fear was a betrayal of his duty.
With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, Leonel stood up. He had decided to do just one summoning for now. Just one. And he would pray to any god listening that it wouldn't be her.
The news that the Master would perform a summoning spread through Chaldea like lightning. By the time Leonel arrived at the Summoning Chamber, a circular space with white and blue walls and golden runes glowing on the floor, he already had an audience.
It was not a passive audience.
Forming an expectant, anxious semicircle, charged with mixed emotions, were his Servants. He mentally divided them into two groups, though the lines sometimes blurred.
The Brides (or Future Wives): Mash Kyrielight, standing with her hands clasped before her, her face a mix of unwavering support and a very, very faint shadow of anxiety. Nero Claudius (Saber), arms crossed and an eyebrow arched, her posture defiant, as if saying "summon what you will, but remember who your empress is." Tamamo no Mae, standing with a studied calm, her tails still, but her golden eyes, normally full of affection or mischief, were fixed on him with an intensity that promised a very long conversation later. Kiyohime, literally trembling, her hands pressed to her chest, her reptilian eyes shining with jealous panic. Jeanne d'Arc Alter, leaning against a far wall, feigning total disinterest but her gaze fixed on the summoning circle like a hawk. And, in a surprise that showed how much her attitude had evolved, Nero Claudius (Bride) was also present, her expression solemn but with iron determination in her eyes. They all projected a unified energy: death glares. Not aimed at the summoning circle itself, but at Leonel, as if they could, by sheer force of will, influence the outcome and deter any potential female rival from answering the call.
The Allies (Friends, or at least not active suitors): Emiya (Archer), his muscular arms crossed, observing the scene with an expression Leonel knew all too well: ironic pity. The former hero, who in another life had been the center of his own romantic entanglements (though of a very different scale and nature), understood the situation with painful clarity. His silver eyes caught Leonel's desperate look and responded with a slight, almost imperceptible eyebrow raise that said "good luck, but this is hilarious." He was visibly fighting not to let a smile of amusement at another's discomfort show on his lips. Francis Drake was there too, but her category was ambiguous. She considered herself both a friend and a future wife, enjoying the freedom of her relationship with Leonel. She watched the drama with a broad, lascivious smile, more entertained than worried. Artoria Pendragon (Lancer Alter) remained impassive as a statue. Her feeling for Leonel was one of deep loyalty tinged with a king's love for her chosen consort. She wasn't bothered by the prospect of more female Servants. In her mind, Leonel belonged to her by right of choice and strength, and if sharing him was necessary to save humanity, so be it. There was no room for petty jealousy in a monarch's heart. Jeanne d'Arc (Ruler) stood a little apart, her hands clasped as if in prayer, her face a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She liked Leonel, that was undeniable. But the idea of joining that... harem, of falling into what her doctrine might consider sin, tormented her. Yet, seeing the aggressiveness of the others, especially her Alter counterpart, stirred a surprisingly protective instinct in her. Mordred was next to Emiya, with an expression of complete "what have I gotten myself into?" Every day in Chaldea was a lesson in absurdly complex social dynamics.
The air in the room was thick, charged with expectation, contained magic, and emotional tension. Leonel stood at the edge of the summoning circle, feeling the weight of all those gazes on his back. Those of his brides felt like ice daggers. Emiya's felt like a sympathetic but amused slap on the shoulder. The others', a mix of curiosity and morbid fascination.
Calm, he told himself. There are hundreds, thousands of Heroic Spirits in the Throne. The odds are in your favor. It can't be her. It won't be her.
He took a standard catalyst provided by Da Vinci, a fragment of crystal charged with pure energy, not linked to any particular hero. Perhaps this way, without a specific catalyst, the chances would be dispersed.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the cold sweat beginning to form on his forehead. His Magic Circuits, now recovered, activated smoothly, flowing into the circle. The golden runes on the floor glowed more intensely, and the air began to vibrate with accumulating power.
"Connecting... spiritual summoning system..." he murmured, reciting the ritual words Romani had taught him. His voice sounded oddly loud in the expectant silence of the room. "Base, determined. Summoning circle, confirmed. Beginning summoning operation in 3... 2... 1..."
He closed his eyes for a second, a silent plea in his mind. Anyone but her. Please, anyone else.
When he opened them, he poured his mana into the circle. A torrent of bluish-white light erupted from the floor, swirling and whirling in the circle's center, blinding. The magical wind tousled everyone's hair and clothes.
Leonel held his breath. Around him, he could feel his brides stiffening further. Kiyohime let out a small whimper. Tamamo made an almost inaudible sound, a low growl in her throat. Nero clenched her fists.
The light began to take shape. It wasn't the large, powerful silhouette of a Berserker, nor the slender one of an Assassin... but it wasn't entirely unfamiliar either. It was a tall, female figure, with a posture radiating absolute confidence, an authority that didn't need to raise its voice.
The light dissipated.
And there, standing in the center of the circle, in her tight purple suit, her hair straight as night and her crimson eyes scanning the surroundings with detached, superior curiosity, was Scáthach.
Leonel's heart stopped. The air was cut from his lungs. Time seemed to slow. He saw her expression shift from neutral assessment to... recognition. And then, to a smile. Not a wide, cheerful smile, but a slow, satisfied, and dangerously sensual curve of her lips. It was the smile of a predator who has found its prey exactly where expected.
His nightmare had come true.
A cold, profuse sweat instantly soaked Leonel's back. He could feel, without needing to look, how the energy in the room changed drastically. The "death glares" that had been aimed at him now shifted with laser-like force toward the newcomer, intensifying a thousandfold. The entertainment in Drake's eyes turned to genuine interest. The pity in Emiya's gaze transformed into a barely contained "oh, this is good." Artoria Alter tilted her head slightly, assessing the new arrival as a worthy potential opponent. Jeanne Ruler paled slightly. Mordred snorted. "Here we go again."
Scáthach completely ignored the semicircle of hostile Servants. Her eyes, like magnets, fixed on Leonel. The smile on her lips widened a millimeter, enough for him to see the flash of a sharp canine.
"Hmm," her voice, low, husky, and laden with a familiarity that made Leonel tremble. "This place... Chaldea. And you... there you are."
She took a step out of the circle, her movements fluid and silent like a cat's. She walked directly toward Leonel, unhurried but with clear intent, crossing the space separating the summoning platform from the edge where he stood paralyzed.
"You've kept me waiting, Leonel," she continued, and now her tone held a playful hint of reproach, as if he were late for a date. "After our... conversation in Washington, I thought you'd hurry. But I suppose exhaustion held you back." Her eyes scanned his body as if looking for signs of residual damage. "You look better. Good."
She stopped right in front of him, so close Leonel could feel the cool mystical aura surrounding her, a scent of dried herbs, cold iron, and night mountain air. Her height was almost the same as his, making her penetrating gaze even more intense.
"Allow me to introduce myself formally, though I believe we already know each other," she said, and her smile became a little more mischievous. "I am Scáthach. Queen of the Land of Shadows, instructor of heroes, slayer of gods..." She paused dramatically, her eyes gleaming with malice and something warmer. "...and the future wife and mentor of Leonel Herrera, humanity's last Master."
The declarations fell like bombs in the silent hall. A chorus of sharp inhales, growls, and the sound of weapons being gripped tighter filled the air.
But Scáthach wasn't finished. Before anyone, even Leonel, could react to her words, she acted.
Her hand moved, not with the lethal speed she had used against the Demon God Pillar, but still with a swiftness that Leonel, stunned, couldn't follow. Her fingers closed around his wrist, not with brutality, but with absolute, undeniable firmness. It was a grip that didn't intend to hurt, but to possess.
And then, she pulled him.
Leonel, with no possible resistance, was drawn toward her. His body collided softly with hers, and before his mind could process the proximity, the coolness of her lips, the firm, demanding pressure...
It was the same kiss as in Washington, but without the urgency of battle around. It was slower, more deliberate, more exhibitionist. Scáthach wasn't just kissing him; she was marking territory in front of an audience of rivals. Her lips moved against his with ancient expertise, demanding a response. The bite on his lower lip, when it came, was a little softer than the first time, but no less significant. A painful and sensual reminder of her promise.
For Leonel, it was a whirlwind of conflicting sensations: surprise, shock, a stab of pain, and beneath it all, a visceral and dangerous attraction to the pure strength and absolute confidence this woman emanated. It lasted a few seconds that felt like an eternity, under the stunned and then furious gaze of half a dozen women who loved him.
When Scáthach finally pulled away, she did so slowly, her lips parting from his with a soft sound. Her half-lidded crimson eyes looked at him with satisfaction. A drop of blood—his blood—glistened on her lower lip.
"You took your time summoning me, husband," she said, and this time her voice was a whisper only he could hear clearly, but which, due to the tense silence, everyone caught. It sounded sweet, like honey, but with the latent venom of aconite. It was a dangerous sweetness, that of a panther purring while its claw rests on its prey's neck.
Then, she raised her voice slightly, addressing the room in general, but without taking her eyes off Leonel. "I have come to fulfill my promise. You passed my test. You survived. You are strong. But raw strength is not enough." Her tone became didactic, that of a teacher. "I will make you my star disciple. I will polish your body, your mind, your spirit. I will teach you to survive in the lands of death, to slay gods if necessary. And in the future..." The sweetness returned, mixed with fierce possession. "...when you have reached the pinnacle, we will rule the Land of Shadows together. You, by my side, as my consort. My husband."
Leonel was speechless. His mind, normally so quick to find strategies and words, was blank. He had the taste of his blood and of her in his mouth, the sting on his lip, his wrist still warm from her grip, and the weight of a declaration that was both a monumental opportunity (training from Scáthach herself) and a sentence for eternal domestic conflict.
"WAIT A MINUTE!!"
The voice that broke the spell was a chorus, but the one taking the physical lead was Tamamo no Mae. With a movement of pure contained fury, the fox placed herself between Scáthach and Leonel, her nine tails bristling like swords, her golden eyes blazing with supernatural anger. "What do you think you're doing, shadow witch?! Who gave you permission to put your lips and claws on my husband?!"
Kiyohime was by her side in an instant, her kimono fluttering, her breath already heating, her eyes narrowed into reptilian slits. "Anchin-sama is not yours! He is mine! Mine! I swore it! That mark... I will erase your mark from him!"
Jeanne Alter, who had been holding back, saw Scáthach's aggressiveness, the possessive kiss, the brazen declaration, and something broke within her tsundere facade. Jealousy, stronger than her pride, pushed her forward. She positioned herself on Tamamo's other side, black fire crackling around her fists. "Hey, antediluvian monster! Can't you see he's busy? He has... he has... important people here. And you're not one of them! Get back to your hole of shadows!" Her voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from pure rage and a deeper fear: the fear of losing the place she was only just beginning to claim in Leonel's chaotic heart.
Even Jeanne d'Arc (Ruler), driven by a protective instinct that transcended her theological doubts, took a step forward, though more hesitantly. Her bright armor seemed to dim Scáthach's darkness. "What... what you're doing is not right. Forcing your affection like that... Leonel deserves respect, not... not to be treated like property." Her cheeks were flushed, but her gaze was firm.
Nero Claudius, both the Saber and the Bride, were at the forefront, their swords not drawn but their hands on their hilts. "As the future Empress of Rome and the Praetor's wife, I forbid such insolence!" Nero shouted. "His heart already has an owner, and that owner is ME!" Nero Bride added, with more dangerous calm: "Any claim on my future husband must pass through the consent of his current wives. And we do not consent."
Mash joined the front line, her shield not deployed but her posture defensive. "Scáthach-san, we thank you for your help in the Singularity. But Senpai... Leonel-senpai is not a prize. He is a person. And his feelings matter."
It was a united front. A wall of jealousy, love, and protection erected between Leonel and the newcomer. The glares that had been murderous for Leonel were now laser beams aimed at Scáthach, full of hostility, defiance, and fierce determination.
Scáthach, for her part, didn't seem the least bit impressed. In fact, upon seeing the semicircle of furious women protecting Leonel, she laughed. It wasn't a mocking chuckle, but a genuine, low, husky laugh that resonated in the hall. It was the laugh of someone who finds the ferocity of puppies entertaining.
"My, my," she said, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "So protective. So... jealous." Her gaze swept over each one, assessing them not as rivals, but as interesting phenomena. "Fear not, little lionesses. I have not come to snatch him from you... yet."
Her confidence was so absolute it was insulting. It implied that, if she wanted, she could cut through them all without effort. And she probably could. But that wasn't her intention.
"I shall yield for now," she said, taking a step back, hands on her hips. Her smile never faded. "Not because your threats concern me. But because I know you are important to him." Her eyes met Leonel's, still stunned behind the line of his defenders. "And what is important to my future disciple and consort, deserves... some consideration."
But then, Scáthach, with a malicious theatricality that showed she was enjoying every second of this drama, performed a calculated move to inflame tempers even further. She slowly brought two fingers to her own lips, where a trace of Leonel's blood still remained. Then, with deliberate, obscene slowness, she ran her tongue over her lips, cleaning the drop of blood, all while keeping her gaze fixed on Leonel. Her eyes narrowed in a gesture of pure sensual enjoyment.
"Hmm," she murmured, as if savoring an exquisite wine. "The taste is promising. Sweet, with a hint of iron... and untapped potential."
It was the final straw. The act was so intimate, so possessive, and so deliberately provocative that it made every nerve of the women present snap.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" shouted Tamamo, and one of her tails lashed out forcefully, almost hitting the floor.
"GRAAAAAA!" Kiyohime let out a bestial roar, blue fire beginning to spew from her mouth.
"YOU BITCH! I'LL INCINERATE YOU!" Jeanne Alter raised her hand, a sphere of black fire forming in her palm.
Even the calmer ones, like Mash and Jeanne Ruler, seemed ready to join the fray.
Scáthach only smiled, enjoying the chaos she had sown. Then, without warning, her body began to lose density, becoming translucent.
"Don't worry. We will have plenty of time to... get acquainted," she said, her voice beginning to echo. "Leonel, rest today. Tomorrow, your training begins at dawn. In the simulator field. Don't be late."
And with that, her form dissolved completely into motes of purple light and shadows that faded into the air. She had returned to spirit form, likely to explore Chaldea or to establish herself somewhere.
The tension in the room didn't dissipate with her departure. It transformed. It was now directed, in part, back at Leonel, who remained motionless, his lip bleeding slightly and an expression of complete existential exhaustion on his face.
Tamamo turned to him, her tails still bristling. "Leonel-sama. An explanation. Now."
Kiyohime clung to his arm, crying. "Anchin-sama, how could you let her do that to you!"
Jeanne Alter growled. "This is your fault for summoning! You knew this could happen!"
Nero was fuming. "Praetor! That woman is a threat to the empire's peace! She must be banished!"
Leonel raised his hands, a sign of surrender. "I know! I know it all! I didn't want it to be her! I swear!" His voice was a groan. He had performed a single summoning. One. And he had added more trouble, drama, and potential danger to his life than ten normal summons would have brought.
He looked over to where Emiya stood, seeking a bit of solidarity. The Archer had his arms crossed and, finally, had let out a broad, open smile, shaking his head with amused disbelief. His gaze said clearly: "Welcome to my world, kid. Though yours is much, much worse."
Drake laughed heartily. "What a captain! That one knows what she wants! Good luck, boy, you're gonna need it!"
Artoria Alter merely nodded, as if everything were proceeding according to some inscrutable cosmic plan. "A powerful ally. And a worthy rival for the others. The balance of power has shifted."
Leonel wanted to scream. He wanted to lock himself in his room and not come out for a week. But he knew he couldn't. He had a group of jealous brides demanding explanations and comfort, and an immortal warrior queen expecting to train him at dawn.
With a sigh that seemed to contain the weight of all past and future Singularities, Leonel rubbed his face. "Look... please. Calm down. Let's go... to the common room. We can talk there. With... with tea. Or something stronger."
It was a weak gesture of truce, but it was enough for the immediate fury to begin to subside, transforming into dull resentment and a renewed determination to protect their territory.
As he was practically escorted (or dragged?) out of the Summoning Chamber by his entourage of furious, worried lovers, Leonel couldn't help but think that, of all the battles he had fought, managing the fallout of this single, dreaded summoning might be the most exhausting of all. And the day wasn't even over. Scáthach was here, in Chaldea. And tomorrow, his training would begin.
Poor Leonel. He had only wanted to reinforce their forces to save humanity. Instead, he had summoned a perfect personal storm, in the shape of a beautiful, deadly woman determined to have him for herself... no matter who stood in the way.