The echo of the sirens still vibrated in the halls of Chaldea when Leonel Herrera crossed the doors of the Command Center. His steps were firm, driven by duty, but his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting sensations. The physical exhaustion of the morning training mixed with the emotional bewilderment of the encounter with Scáthach, and on top of all that, the urgency of a new Singularity pushed him forward.
His lips burned. It wasn't a metaphor. Literally, the skin of his lips was sensitive, swollen from the intensity of the Queen of Shadows' kiss. And what was worse, or more evident, were the marks. Remnants of Scáthach's dark purple lipstick, almost black, stained not only his lips but extended in small traces around his mouth, an indelible piece of evidence (at least, not without a thorough wash) of the passionate encounter in the maintenance corridor.
Leonel was aware of it. He had had the time, while walking, to go to a bathroom and clean up. But every time the thought crossed his mind, the image of Scáthach, with that dangerous smile and half-closed eyes, dissuaded him. If she saw him without her marks... would she claim him again? And where? In front of everyone in the Command Center? The idea was as terrifying as it was, in a very dark corner of his psyche, slightly exciting.
So he entered like that. With his lips marked, red and slightly swollen, a walking billboard for "I've just been devoured by a predatory immortal."
The reaction was immediate.
Olga Marie Animusphere, the director, was standing in front of the main screen, discussing something with Da Vinci and Romani. Hearing the door, she turned to see who was arriving. Her eyes widened like saucers. Her mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprise. Then, a range of emotions crossed her face with lightning speed: surprise, disbelief, and then an intense blush that rose from her neck to the tips of her ears.
"L-Leonel?!", she exclaimed, her voice a little higher than usual. "W-what... what happened to your face?! It looks like... like...!"
She couldn't finish the sentence. Everyone in the room could see it. The lipstick marks were unmistakable. And the state of his lips... only an extremely passionate kiss could cause that.
Romani Archaman coughed discreetly, looking away with an awkward but understanding smile. "Uh... Leonel, everything okay? Looks like... someone gave you a very... effusive welcome."
Da Vinci, for her part, had no qualms about observing with scientific curiosity. "Fascinating. The lipstick's composition seems to have residual magical properties. I'd say it's of... Scandinavian origin? Celtic, rather. Scáthach, right? That woman doesn't waste time." Her smile was one of pure entertainment.
Leonel felt his cheeks warm up. "It's... it doesn't matter. We have a Singularity. What's the situation?"
Olga, still blushing, struggled to regain her composure. But her mind, treacherous, had already begun to wander. That woman again. Scáthach. The one who arrived a few days ago and already has him marked as if he were her property. It's incredible. Drake is bold, but this... this is another level. Drake is in the cafeteria, dead drunk, so it couldn't have been her. Tamamo is submissive, she just wants Leonel to pamper her. Same as Kiyohime. And Mash, poor thing, is still too innocent for something like that. The two Neros, although eccentric, when they're with him they become... soft. Even Jeanne Alter, who sometimes gets intense, ends up melting if he returns the affection. The only one with the personality to do this, to mark territory so aggressively and publicly, is Scáthach.
She's a witch, a predator. She arrived not long ago and is already claiming him as if it were her right of conquest. If this continues, Chaldea is going to turn into an imperial harem ruled by Leonel and his... collection of heroic wives. Not that I care, of course. I'm the Director. I have more important responsibilities than thinking about the... extracurricular activities of the only viable Master. I don't care at all.
But the image wouldn't go away. In her mind, unwillingly, a scene began to form. An absurd, ridiculous scene that shouldn't be there. She imagined herself, Olga Marie Animusphere, standing in the center of a large hall. Around her, all of Leonel's Servants: Mash, Nero, Tamamo, Kiyohime, Jeanne Alter, Artoria Alter, Drake, and the odious Scáthach. And in the middle of them all, Leonel, with a tired but happy smile. And all of them... all of them were dressed as brides. And she was too. She also wore a white dress, and was... waiting her turn to be kissed by him.
WHAT AM I THINKING?!
Olga physically shook herself, as if trying to shoo away a fly. Her face, if possible, turned even redder. I am an Animusphere! A mage of noble lineage! I can't be imagining myself in the harem of an upstart mage, no matter if he is the Last Master! It's unworthy! It's...!
Her treacherous mind whispered: ...it's what you want.
IT IS NOT WHAT I WANT! she screamed at herself in silence. I just want... I want humanity to be saved! And for him... for him to stop kissing all those... those...!
She buried that thought with the force of a mausoleum slab. Not now. Not here. There were more important things. Humanity hung by a thread. Her conflicting feelings, that strange knot in her stomach that appeared every time she saw Leonel with another, would have to wait.
She took a deep breath, forcing a professional expression (although her cheeks still retained a rosy tint). "Alright. Setting aside your... evident lack of discretion, Leonel, we have a situation."
She turned to the main screen, which showed a distorted image, like a map of overlapping timelines. Da Vinci spoke up, her tone becoming serious.
"We have located the Sixth Singularity. And it's... problematic." She sent the data to the screen. "Location: The Holy Land, the region of Jerusalem. Year: 1273 AD."
"Jerusalem in the 13th century," Romani murmured, rubbing his chin. "That's during the Crusades. A historically complex period, but documented. However..."
"However," Da Vinci continued, enlarging the image, "the Singularity's sensors can't get a coherent reading. It's as if there are... multiple realities superimposed on the same point in time. What we can discern is that, instead of the expected Crusader kingdoms, there are two main political entities, and neither should exist there."
On the screen, two symbols appeared. One was a sword wrapped in golden light, against a background of mist. The other, a stylized eye, similar to an Egyptian hieroglyph, against a background of sand and sun.
"One of these kingdoms," Da Vinci explained, "calls itself, according to the sparse energy transmissions we've picked up, Camelot. Yes, the Camelot of Arthurian legend. But it shouldn't exist in the 13th century, much less in Jerusalem."
"The other," she added, pointing to the Egyptian symbol, "is harder to identify. The readings suggest an aesthetic, a magical structure, and a government reminiscent of Ancient Egypt. Pharaohs, desert gods... but fused with something else. Something... divine and terrible."
Leonel felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Camelot and the Kingdom of the Sun. He knew what was coming. Or at least, what should come according to his memories from another life. The Queen of the Holy City, the distorted Round Table, the Knights turned into guardians of a cruel utopia... and on the other side, the Divine Pharaoh, Ozymandias, with his solar power and immense pride.
"What's supposed to be happening historically in that time and place?", Leonel asked, although he already knew. It was part of the script.
Romani responded, tablet in hand. "In 1273, Jerusalem was under Muslim control, specifically the Mamluks. The Crusades had failed in their attempt to maintain control of the city. The Crusader kingdom of Jerusalem had fallen decades earlier, in 1291, but in 1273, the city was a relatively peaceful Mamluk possession. Definitely, there was no kingdom of Camelot, nor a resurrected Egyptian empire."
Da Vinci nodded. "The distortion is massive. It's as if someone took legends, myths, and entire eras, and superimposed them onto real history, creating a nightmare collage. And within that collage, something is brewing. The energy emanating is... holy and profane at the same time. Pure and corrupt. We can't pinpoint it further."
They were going into unknown territory. Well, unknown to them. For Leonel, it was a book he had already read, though with some variations due to his own existence. But he couldn't say that. He couldn't explain that he knew about the purge of the Round Table, about the Lion King's madness, about the Knights of the Round Table turned into guardians of a distorted law. That knowledge was his secret advantage, his most powerful weapon.
"So," Leonel said, crossing his arms, "we're going in blind. We know there are two kingdoms, that shouldn't exist, and that they're probably in conflict. And that the Holy Land, a place of immense spiritual power, is the stage. This is going to be... complicated."
"To put it mildly," Olga murmured, regaining her directorial tone. "You need a solid team. The best. This isn't like America, where you could improvise. This reeks of divine trap from every angle."
Leonel nodded. He had already started thinking about the team composition. He needed firepower, versatility, and above all, someone who could face distorted holiness and solar power.
The door to the Command Center opened again, and the Servants who had been summoned for the pre-mission briefing began to arrive.
The first to enter, with hesitant steps and an intense blush on her cheeks, was Jeanne d'Arc (Ruler). She wore her full armor, but her expression was anything but warlike. She looked like a nervous schoolgirl before an exam.
"I... I will go," she said, her voice lower than usual, not looking directly at Leonel. "The Holy Land... is an important place for me. And if there's a religious distortion involved, my presence as a Ruler might be... useful." She blushed even more upon saying "useful," as if confessing something personal. The truth was different: she wanted to be near him. She wanted to protect him. And deep down, she wanted to resolve that knot of feelings that had tormented her since Orleans. Was it a sin to love a man who already had so many women? Or was her humanity, her connection to him, what made her more holy than any dogma?
Behind her, Artoria Pendragon (Lancer Alter) entered. Her presence was an absolute contrast: cold, impassive, regal. Her black armor reflected the Command Center lights with a metallic gleam. She said nothing at first. She simply positioned herself to one side, her golden eyes fixed on Leonel with an intensity others might misinterpret as hostility, but that he was beginning to recognize as... exclusive attention.
"The holy land," she finally said, her voice deep and flat. "Jerusalem. A place of power for many. For kings, too. I will go."
Mordred, who had entered stealthily behind Artoria, snorted. "Of course you'll go. I don't trust you one bit, 'father.' You're up to something with Leonel, and I'm going to be there to see it." Her declaration was an open challenge, but also a display of her peculiar form of loyalty to her Master. She didn't trust Artoria, but she trusted Leonel, and that meant protecting him from her own "father" if necessary.
Then, with feline elegance and a serene but determined smile, Tamamo no Mae arrived. "Mikon~ Of course, I'll go too, husband. Last time I left you with that shadow witch for too long. This time, I'll watch over your safety... and your time." Her golden eyes gleamed with a flash of determination. The competition for Leonel's attention had intensified, and she wasn't willing to cede any more ground.
Right behind Tamamo, with heavy steps and an expression of "I don't care, but here I am," Jeanne Alter arrived. She was dressed in her usual attire, black fire pulsing faintly in her fists. "It's not that I want to go, okay? But if all these are going, someone has to make sure they don't do anything stupid. And you..." she pointed an accusing finger at Leonel, though her blush betrayed her, "...you're too soft. They'll deceive you. You need someone to protect you from... from them." She finished in a mumble, looking away.
Leonel smiled internally. The fan club (or wife club) was complete.
"Nero isn't coming?", he asked, noting the absence of the blonde empress.
Romani answered. "Nero Claudius (Saber) said she's participated in enough Singularities for now. That she needs to 'take care of her empire in the rear' and that she trusts you'll return to her. The Bride version is in the simulators, training on her own, she said you wouldn't need her for this mission."
"And Kiyohime," Da Vinci added with a smile, "said she would wait like a 'homely wife.' I think her exact words were: 'Anchin-sama must go into battle knowing that I await him at home with a smile and a warm meal.' She's been in the kitchen all day."
Leonel felt a strange warmth. His harem, as chaotic as it was, was also his support network.
"Drake?", he asked, though he already imagined the answer.
"In the cafeteria," Olga sighed, with disdain. "Unconscious. The beer jug defeated her before she could show up. I don't think she'll be able to stand on her feet in the coming hours."
Good thing, Leonel thought, though with a pang of nostalgia for her carefree energy. After yesterday's episode, maybe a little distance from Drake wasn't a bad idea. Her "pirate seduction" was effective and dangerous.
And Scáthach... wasn't there. Leonel didn't know if he felt relieved or disappointed. The Queen of Shadows was probably somewhere, watching, waiting. Or perhaps she considered this mission "for beginners" and not worthy of her attention. Whatever it was, her absence at the farewell was a tactical relief. His lips couldn't take any more "attention."
"So," Leonel summarized, looking at his team: Mash (who had entered silently and positioned herself by his side, her presence always comforting), Jeanne Ruler, Artoria Lancer Alter, Tamamo, Jeanne Alter, and Mordred as "father's watchdog." A powerful, versatile team, loaded with internal tensions. "This is the team. Let's prepare for Rayshift."
The next few minutes were a whirlwind of preparations. Equipment checks, communicator synchronization, and final instructions from Da Vinci and Romani about the limited data they had. Olga, recovered from her momentary blush, assumed her directorial posture.
"Listen up," she said firmly, addressing everyone. "This Singularity is the most dangerous yet. We have no reliable information. The sensors are failing. You're going into enemy territory without a map. Leonel, you're the brains of the operation. Don't get carried away by impulses. And you all..." she looked at the Servants, "...protect him. He's the only Master we have. If he falls, everything ends."
They nodded, each in their own way. Tamamo with a bow. Artoria with a slight movement of her head. Jeanne Alter with a grunt that could be interpreted as "obvious, idiot." Mordred with a thumbs up. Jeanne Ruler with a silent prayer. Mash with her shield ready.
The moment of farewell arrived. Not a farewell from the operations room to the Rayshift platform, but a personal, intimate farewell, despite being in a semi-public place.
Leonel turned to the Servants who were staying behind, those who had come to see him off. Emiya, arms crossed, offered him a respectful nod. "Good luck, kid. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." His smile was ironic. Geronimo and Billy, from a corner, raised their hands in farewell. They were allies, comrades.
But it was the brides who commanded attention.
Nero Claudius (Saber) stepped forward, her presence filling the space. Her violet eyes shone with a mix of pride and deep emotion. "Praetor," she said, her voice theatrical but sincere. "My emperor of the heart. Go and conquer that holy land in my name. But remember..." She approached, took his face in her hands with unexpected tenderness, and kissed him. It wasn't a possessive kiss like Scáthach's, but a passionate, deep kiss, charged with all the love her extravagant soul could contain. When she pulled away, her eyes were moist. "Return to me. That is an imperial order."
Kiyohime approached next, with timid steps but a fierce determination in her eyes. Her kimono was slightly stained with flour, proof of her "domestic" activity. She stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss on Leonel's lips. It was a chaste, soft kiss, filled with absolute devotion. "Anchin-sama... be careful. And think of me. Always." She whispered, before stepping back, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek.
Drake wasn't there to claim her turn. But from the cafeteria door, visibly staggering but with a roguish smile on her lips, she raised her (empty) mug in a silent toast. A mute "good luck, captain" that Leonel interpreted perfectly.
Scáthach... didn't appear. But Leonel felt her eyes somewhere. A presence on the edge of his perception. She didn't need a goodbye kiss. She already had her fresh mark on his lips. Perhaps, for her, that was enough. Or perhaps, she was waiting for him to return to claim him again.
Leonel felt the weight of all those gazes, all that affection. It was overwhelming, yes. But it was also his strength. Each of those women would fight for him, would give their lives for him. And he would do the same for them.
Mordred, observing the scene, could only shake her head with a mix of disbelief and resignation. "Seriously... this keeps getting weirder."
Artoria Lancer Alter watched the scene expressionless, but her eyes remained fixed on Leonel, on the way he received the others' affection, on the warmth he emanated. Something inside her, cold and solid as steel, cracked just a tiny fraction.
Tamamo and Jeanne Alter, rivals in turn, exchanged meaningful glances. The competition would continue in the Singularity. But now, the goal was common.
Jeanne Ruler, seeing the scene, felt a pang in her chest. They can love him so openly, she thought. Without doubt, without guilt. Why can't I? Her blush intensified, but she said nothing. Not yet.
Finally, the moment arrived. Leonel and his selected Servants headed for the Rayshift coffins, the individual capsules that would transport them through time and space. Mash, as always, entered the coffin next to his. The others occupied theirs.
Leonel lay back, feeling the cold metal against his back. The lid closed over him, plunging him into temporary darkness. Through the glass, he saw the lights of the Rayshift room, the figures of Olga, Romani, and Da Vinci at the console, the faces of his other brides watching from a distance.
Romani's voice resonated in the coffin's internal communicator. "Rayshift to the Sixth Singularity, coordinates: Jerusalem, 1273 AD, commencing in 10... 9... 8..."
Leonel took a deep breath. His lips still hurt. The taste of the farewell kisses mixed in his memory: Nero's passion, Kiyohime's devotion, Scáthach's present absence. And in his mind, Igor's warnings about the future, about the threats beyond incineration.
"...3... 2... 1..."
Camelot. The Queen of the Holy City. The distorted Knights of the Round Table. And on the other side, the Divine Pharaoh. This is going to be... a trial by fire.
"Rayshift, initiated!"
The world dissolved into white light. The sensation of being torn apart and reassembled, familiar by now after so many times, enveloped him. And when the light dissipated, when reality solidified around him, Leonel Herrera opened his eyes.
He stood on a hill covered in dry, yellowish grass. The air was different: drier, more ancient, charged with an energy that was both familiar and strangely oppressive. In the distance, on the horizon, rose a walled city. It wasn't the Jerusalem he expected. The walls were white, immaculate, and above them flew banners that, even from a distance, he recognized: the red dragon of Pendragon.
Camelot.
And behind him, from the other end of the horizon, another presence was felt. An scorching heat, like a second sun, that made the air vibrate. The Kingdom of the Sun. Ozymandias.
Beside him, his Servants materialized one by one: Mash, with her shield ready; Artoria Lancer Alter, gazing at the distant city with unfathomable intensity; Tamamo, alert; Jeanne Alter, with fire already crackling in her hands; Jeanne Ruler, with her banner raised; and Mordred, with a fierce grin.
"Welcome to the Holy Land," Leonel murmured, feeling the weight of history and legend on his shoulders. "And to hell on earth."
The Sixth Singularity had begun. And with it, the path towards the final confrontation with King Solomon became a little shorter... and much more dangerous.
Leonel touched his lips, feeling the sting, the reminder of Scáthach. Then, he clenched his fist. No matter what came. He would fight. For humanity, for Chaldea... and for all the women who, in their own way, had made him the center of their worlds.
Even if that meant dying of love before dying in battle.