The days in the Hassan village settled into a routine that, for Leonel, felt almost strangely peaceful. After the horror of the Holy Selection, after the desperate flight across the desert, the slow rhythm of life in the mountains was a balm for his frayed nerves.
He rose with the sun, like everyone in the camp. He had breakfast with his Servants in the hut they shared, Tamamo preparing simple but comforting meals with the scarce ingredients they had. Then, he spent his mornings with Hassan of the Cursed Arm, discussing strategies, learning the terrain, studying the movements of the Knights and the Pharaoh's army. In the afternoons, he helped where he could: carrying water, repairing structures, playing with the children who had lost their parents in the Selection. The little ones, at first, looked at him with distrust, but they soon learned that the young man with dark hair and a tired smile was kind, and they approached him with laughter and endless questions.
"Did you really fight the bad knight?" asked a child, tugging at his sleeve.
"Yes," Leonel replied, crouching down to his level. "But I couldn't save all of them. I'm sorry."
The child looked at him with wide eyes. "But you tried. That's what my mom says. That trying is what matters."
Leonel smiled, a knot in his throat. "Your mom is right."
Mash watched him from a distance, with a soft expression. Seeing him interact with the children, seeing how his pain for those he couldn't save transformed into care for those he did, filled her with silent pride. Tamamo, for her part, had become a maternal figure for the little ones, cooking for them, telling them stories of her distant homeland. Jeanne Alter, with her usual reluctance, had found herself protecting a group of orphaned children who followed her like ducklings, much to her dismay and, secretly, her delight.
"Why are they following me?" she grumbled one day, as a child tugged at her cape. "Go away! I'm not a babysitter!"
But she didn't drive them away, and Leonel later saw her sharing her ration with a little girl who hadn't eaten.
Jeanne Ruler spent her afternoons in the small chapel the refugees had improvised, praying with the elderly, offering comfort where she could. Her presence, serene and holy, was an anchor for those whose faith had been shaken by the violence of the Selection.
Mordred, the one who struggled most with the peaceful life, had found a purpose in training the young people who wanted to learn to defend themselves. "If the Knights ever come," she told them, wielding a wooden sword, "you need to know how to protect yourselves. I'm not going to let them slaughter you like sheep." Her method was rough, but effective, and the young people respected her for it.
Artoria Lancer Alter kept her distance. Her presence remained a source of tension for the refugees, many of whom still looked at her with fear. She understood that, and stayed on the margins, patrolling the perimeters, watching over the camp's safety from the shadows. Leonel sometimes saw her, standing on the cliffs, looking toward the horizon where Camelot rose like a white stain, and wondered what she was thinking. What she felt, if she felt anything at all.
Bedivere had become a kind of unofficial advisor. The refugees respected him, knowing of his attempts to stop the Selection, to save whomever he could. He spent hours with Leonel and Hassan, sharing what he knew of the Knights, their strengths and weaknesses, the layout of the land.
And at night, when the camp grew quiet and the stars shone over the mountains, Leonel sat with his Servants around the fire, and for a few moments, the world didn't seem to be on fire.
"This is strange," Mordred said one night, looking into the flames. "Peace. I didn't know it still existed."
"It exists," Tamamo replied, curled up next to Leonel. "It's just that sometimes you have to look for it."
"Or defend it," added Mash.
Leonel said nothing. He just looked at his companions' faces, illuminated by the fire, and felt immense gratitude.
But he knew the peace wouldn't last.
The day everything changed began like any other. Leonel was in the central square, helping repair a roof damaged by the recent rains, when Hassan of the Cursed Arm appeared at his side with an urgency that cut through the morning's tranquility.
"Leonel. You must come. There is news."
His voice, usually measured, had an edge that made Leonel drop his tools immediately. He followed him to the communal hall, where the other Hassans were already gathered. In the center, a messenger, breathless, was reporting.
"The village of Serenity... was attacked. By the Lion King's Knights."
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
Hassan of the Cursed Arm explained the situation with the economical words of a man who has learned not to waste anything. "Hassan of Serenity's village is in the northern mountains. It's a small refuge, but important to us. It was attacked by Mordred... not yours," he clarified, looking at Leonel's Mordred, who had just entered. "The Mordred who serves the Lion King. They've captured Serenity. She's being held prisoner in a fortress to the north."
"Serenity?" asked Tamamo, frowning. "The assassin whose body is poison?"
"Yes," Hassan confirmed. "If the Knights discover how to use her, if they force her to act against us..." He didn't need to finish the sentence.
Leonel remembered Hassan of Serenity well. In the game, she was one of the Order's most lethal assassins, a woman whose body produced a poison so potent that a single touch could kill. But she was also a tragic figure: condemned to eternal solitude, unable to touch anyone without killing them, yearning for a contact she could never have.
"We have to rescue her," Leonel said, without hesitation.
Hassan nodded, gratitude in his eyes behind the mask. "I know. But we can't do it alone. The Knights have fortified the fortress. We need information, we need to know how many there are, how the defenses are arranged. That's why..."
"That's why we need Hassan of the Hundred Faces," Leonel completed.
"Exactly. Her domain lies on the way to the fortress. She knows the terrain better than anyone. If we can count on her help..."
"Then we'll go talk to her," Leonel said. "Prepare to leave."
The journey to Hassan of the Hundred Faces' territory took the rest of the day. The group Leonel brought was small but effective: himself, Mash for protection, Tamamo for support, Mordred for brute force (his own, not the other), and Artoria Lancer Alter, whose presence, though uncomfortable for some, was undeniably powerful. Jeanne Alter and Jeanne Ruler stayed behind to protect the camp, and Bedivere offered to monitor the Knights' movements from the heights.
The path wound through canyons and ravines, the terrain becoming rougher as they ventured into the mountains. The sun was high when they finally reached a hidden valley, where the rocky walls formed a natural amphitheater. Inside was a small village, similar to that of Hassan of the Cursed Arm, but with a different atmosphere. Quieter. More... watchful.
They hadn't taken three steps when the shadows moved.
Suddenly, they were surrounded. Figures emerged from among the rocks, from behind the houses, from the very ground, as if the valley itself had decided to expel them. And all those figures were the same, yet different.
Hassan of the Hundred Faces was not a single Servant, but many. Hundreds, in theory, though in practice they manifested as a limited number of bodies, each with its own personality, its own gender, its own way of being. Now, a dozen of them surrounded the group, weapons drawn and postures threatening.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my territory?" said one of the figures, a sharp-eyed woman with a defiant stance. "Speak quickly, or you won't leave here."
Leonel raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "We are allies of Hassan of the Cursed Arm. We've come to ask for help."
The female figure looked at him distrustfully. Then her expression changed. "You... I recognize you. You're the Master who interfered in the desert. The one who stopped me from bringing Nitocris before the Pharaoh."
Leonel blinked. And then the memory hit him. The figures with skull masks, the writhing bag, Nitocris emerging furious. Those were the Hassans who had kidnapped the pharaoh. This Hassan, the Hundred Faces, was behind that kidnapping.
"Ah... yes," Leonel said, with an awkward smile. "That... was a misunderstanding. We didn't know you were an ally of..."
"Ally?" she spat, her eyes blazing with fury. "You ruined a perfectly planned operation for me! Nitocris was supposed to be our gateway to the Pharaoh's kingdom, and you freed her! Now Ozymandias watches us, his sphinxes patrol his borders, and all because of you!"
The other figures, the other faces of Hassan, began murmuring among themselves, some in agreement, others with curiosity. It was disconcerting to see so many identical yet different people at the same time.
"Well, maybe you should have thought of a plan that didn't involve stuffing a pharaoh in a sack," Mordred interjected, with a mocking smile. "Just saying."
The female Hassan turned to Mordred, her gaze murderous. "And who do you think you are to—"
She stopped. She recognized the armor. She recognized the sword.
"You... are Mordred. The Mordred of Camelot."
Mordred grinned, showing her teeth. "Mordred of Chaldea, actually. Different version. This one doesn't kill her father, though she's thought about it a couple of times."
The tension increased. The other Hassans tightened their grips on their weapons. Mash raised her shield instinctively. Tamamo prepared to cast a spell.
"Wait," Leonel said, stepping forward, placing himself between the Hassans and Mordred. "Mordred is with us. She's an ally. She has nothing to do with the Mordred who attacked Serenity's village."
The female Hassan stared at him, her eyes scrutinizing him. "And how do I know this isn't a trick? How do I know you're not an agent of the Lion King, sent to infiltrate our ranks?"
"Because if I were an agent of the Lion King, I wouldn't have saved Bedivere during the Holy Selection," Leonel replied. "I wouldn't have faced Gawain. I wouldn't have brought those refugees to Hassan of the Cursed Arm's village."
The Hassans exchanged glances. There was doubt in their eyes, but also, perhaps, a hint of consideration.
"Besides," Leonel added, "if I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have come alone with such a small group. And I wouldn't be asking for help."
The female Hassan observed him for a long moment. Then, one of the other figures, a younger-looking male Hassan, approached her and whispered something in her ear. Leonel couldn't hear what he said, but he saw the leader's expression change from suspicion to... surprise?
"Is it true?" asked the female Hassan, looking at the young man.
"I saw it with my own eyes," he replied. "During the Selection. He and his people stood between Gawain and the innocents. They saved whoever they could."
The female Hassan looked at Leonel again, and this time, her attitude was different. Not friendly, still, but less hostile.
"It seems I owe you an apology," she said, reluctantly. "My spies informed me of what happened during the Selection, but I didn't connect the dots. I didn't know it was you."
"Looks can be deceiving," Leonel said, with a conciliatory smile. "Like yours, for example."
She raised an eyebrow. "My appearance?"
"Well... when I saw you in the desert, you were wearing a mask. I didn't know you were so..." Leonel paused, searching for the right word. "Pretty."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Mordred's mouth fell open. Tamamo let out a strangled sound. Mash blushed intensely. Artoria Lancer Alter, for the first time in days, showed an expression that wasn't indifference, but genuine surprise.
The female Hassan, the leader of the Hundred Faces, stood frozen. Her face, previously tense with distrust, was now... flushed? It was hard to tell in the sunlight, but there was definitely a change in her complexion.
"What... what did you say?" she stammered.
Leonel, suddenly aware of what he had just said, felt his own face burn. "I... I mean... not in the sense that... it's just that, without the mask, you look... well... it's not that I notice those things, but..." He was sinking. He was sinking terribly.
"Leonel-sama!" Tamamo stepped between him and the Hassan, her tails bristling. "What do you think you're doing?! We already have enough competitors!"
"It's not what it looks like!" Leonel protested.
"Oh, isn't it?" Mordred was enjoying every second. "Because it sounded exactly like what it looks like."
The female Hassan, regaining her composure with visible effort, crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Well... at least you have good taste. But that doesn't change the fact that you owe me one for the Nitocris incident."
"I owe you one?" repeated Leonel, confused.
"You ruined a job for me. Now, you come asking for my help. It seems fair that you do something for me in return."
Leonel suspected he was being manipulated, but he didn't have many options. "What do you want?"
Hassan smiled, a smile that was pure calculation. "When you free Serenity, I want you to talk to Ozymandias. You're the Master of Chaldea, the one fighting the incineration of humanity. Maybe he'll listen to you. And if he does, maybe we can have a real alliance with the Pharaoh."
"Ozymandias?" asked Leonel, remembering what he knew of the Divine Pharaoh. "Do you think he'd agree?"
"Ozymandias respects strength and determination," Hassan replied. "You've demonstrated both. And if you also return Nitocris the favor you did her by rescuing her..." She shrugged. "It's a possibility."
Leonel thought for a moment. Ozymandias was a key piece in this Singularity. In the game, his alliance was crucial to facing Camelot. If he could win him over...
"Alright," he said. "I'll talk to him. But first, I need your help to rescue Serenity."
Hassan nodded. "I'll give you what you need. Maps, routes, information on the defenses. And some of my faces will accompany you, to guide you through the terrain." She paused. "But I can't promise more. My resources are limited, and I can't risk everyone on a rescue mission, no matter how important."
"Understood," Leonel said. "Thank you."
The female Hassan turned to leave, but stopped at the last moment. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Leonel's.
"And... by the way. The 'pretty' thing... I'll forgive you. This time." Her tone was dry, but there was a hint of something more. Perhaps a smile.
She disappeared into the shadows, taking most of her faces with her. Only one figure remained, a young-looking male Hassan, who would guide them through the territory.
Tamamo turned to Leonel with her arms crossed and an expression that promised a long conversation. "'Pretty,' Leonel-sama?"
"I didn't mean it," he apologized, raising his hands. "It just came out."
"It just came out," Tamamo repeated, incredulous. "Sure. Like when it 'just came out' that Scáthach bit your lip. Or like when it 'just came out' that you spent two days glued to Artoria."
"That wasn't intentional either," Leonel protested, grimacing.
Artoria Lancer Alter, who had watched the whole scene with her usual impassiveness, finally spoke. "Words have power, Master. If you don't control them, they will control you."
"Thanks, very helpful," Leonel muttered, as Mordred laughed heartily and Mash tried to hide her smile behind her hand.
The group continued on their way, guided by the young Hassan. The terrain grew rougher, the paths narrower, but they advanced quickly. The sun was beginning to set when they reached a lookout point from which they could see the fortress where Serenity was being held prisoner.
It was an imposing structure, of dark stone, perched on a rocky outcropping that made it nearly inaccessible. Watchtowers rose from its corners, and on its walls, Leonel could make out the silhouettes of soldiers patrolling.
"It's not going to be easy to get in," Mordred commented, assessing the defenses. "It's well fortified. And with Mordred in command..."
"The other Mordred," Leonel clarified. "The one who serves the Lion King."
"I find it hard to think of myself serving that monster," Mordred muttered, with a grimace of disgust. "But well. I suppose in another universe, another version of me made different choices."
"Not different," said Artoria Lancer Alter, in her grave voice. "The same loyalty, directed at a different lord. The Mordred of Camelot isn't evil. She simply... doesn't question. Not like you."
Mordred looked at her, surprised by the tone, almost approving, in her voice. "That... was almost a compliment, Father."
Artoria didn't reply. Her eyes were fixed on the fortress.
It was then that, out of nowhere, something — or someone — fell from the sky.
Literally.
A figure wrapped in colorful robes and a halo of spiritual energy dropped from the top of one of the towers, spinning in the air like a leaf in the wind, and landed in front of them with a grace that belied the violence of her arrival.
"Ah!" exclaimed the figure, getting up and dusting off her clothes. "What a scare! I thought I was going to crash, but fate has brought me here. How lucky!"
Leonel blinked. The woman before him was... difficult to describe. She wore monk's robes, but they were short, revealing her legs, and the neckline was generous. A transparent veil covered part of her hair, but didn't hide her beautiful features, nor the expression of absolute innocence in her eyes.
"Xuanzang Sanzang?" Leonel asked, recognizing her instantly. In the game, she was a warrior monk, a traveler who had journeyed thousands of miles in search of the sacred scriptures. And yes, her attire was... controversial.
"Oh, you know me!" exclaimed the monk, her eyes shining with joy. She jumped and clung to Leonel's arm, pressing against him with a familiarity that made his other Servants react immediately. "How wonderful! A disciple! You are my disciple, aren't you? Fate has put you in my path, surely, surely."
"I... I'm not your disciple," Leonel tried to say, but Xuanzang didn't seem to hear.
"But you have the aura of someone seeking enlightenment!" she insisted, pressing even closer. "Or maybe salvation! Or maybe both! We'll travel together, read the sutras, attain the truth!" Her eyes sparkled with unshakable faith.
"Let go of him!" Tamamo appeared at her side, trying to peel the monk off Leonel. "That's no way to treat a Master!"
"But he's my disciple!" protested Xuanzang, not letting go. "And disciples need guidance! And I'm a very good guide! I've traveled all over the world, faced demons, I've..."
"Senpai is not your disciple!" Mash joined the effort, pulling on the other arm.
"Then what is he?" asked Xuanzang, genuinely confused. "Why does he seem so familiar to me? Why does my heart beat so fast when I see him? Surely it's karma from past lives! Or future lives! Or this life!"
Jeanne Alter, who had come as reinforcement (and secretly didn't want to miss the mission), watched the scene with her arms crossed and an expression that alternated between exasperation and something that resembled... jealousy? "Dear God. Another one. Another one. Where do they all come from?"
"The mountains," replied Artoria Lancer Alter, with her usual dryness. "It seems he's a magnet for problematic women."
Mordred burst out laughing. "Says the one who spent two days glued to him on a mount!"
Artoria glared at her, but didn't respond.
Finally, with the help of Tamamo and Mash, Leonel managed to free himself from Xuanzang's embrace, though the monk remained by his side, smiling and clingy.
"Well, if you're not my disciple, what are you doing here?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.
"We're going to rescue a prisoner from that fortress," Leonel explained, pointing to the structure in the distance. "A Hassan that the Knights captured."
Xuanzang's eyes widened. "Oh no! Poor thing! We have to save her!" She punched her palm. "I'll help! I'm very good at fighting! And I have a lot of experience rescuing prisoners! I once rescued a king from a demon, and another time I rescued a monk from a princess, or was it the other way around? It doesn't matter. I'll help!"
"Why do you want to help?" asked Mordred, distrustfully.
Xuanzang looked at her with an expression of absolute innocence. "Because it's the right thing to do. Because that person is suffering. Because if we don't help those who suffer, what's the point of any of this?" She paused, and her voice softened. "I traveled very far in search of the truth. And what I learned is that the truth isn't in the sutras. It's in people. In helping others. In sharing the journey."
There was a silence. Even Mordred seemed moved, though she would never admit it.
"Alright," Leonel said, making a decision. "We accept your help. But you have to follow our orders. This is a rescue mission, not a pilgrimage."
Xuanzang nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, master! I mean, disciple! I mean... whatever you say!"
Leonel sighed. This was going to be interesting.
With the help of Hassan of the Hundred Faces, who had provided them with detailed maps and alternative routes, and with Xuanzang Sanzang now part of the group, Leonel and his companions prepared for the rescue. The night was their ally: under the new moon, the shadows were deep, and the fortress's sentries had difficulty seeing beyond the walls.
"I'll go in first," said Hassan of the Hundred Faces, the young version who had guided them. "I know the secret passages. I'll mark the way."
"I'll follow," said Leonel. "Mash, Mordred, Artoria, Tamamo, Xuanzang... get ready. The moment the alarm goes off, we'll have to move fast."
"And me?" asked Jeanne Alter, who had insisted on coming.
"You cover the retreat," said Leonel. "If something goes wrong, give us cover to escape."
Jeanne Alter frowned, but nodded. It was an important position, though she wouldn't admit it.
The group slipped toward the fortress. The passages Hassan had mentioned were narrow, barely visible, but he navigated them with the confidence of someone who had walked them a thousand times. Soon, they were inside.
The fortress was a labyrinth of corridors and chambers. Hassan guided them stealthily, avoiding patrols, stopping at every corner to listen, to feel. Until finally, they reached an iron door.
"She's here," Hassan whispered. "The prison. But there are guards. Two. And inside the cell, Serenity."
Leonel nodded. "Mordred, can you handle the guards?"
Mordred grinned, showing her teeth. "In the blink of an eye."
She delivered. Two sharp blows, and the guards fell without a sound. Leonel opened the cell door.
Inside, chained to the wall, was Hassan of Serenity.
She was beautiful, with a fragile and dangerous beauty. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, and her face, though pale from captivity, had a delicacy that contrasted with the skull mask hanging from her waist. She wore a dark, tight-fitting suit that revealed her arms and legs. And on her hands, special gloves that, Leonel knew, prevented her poison from killing anyone who touched her.
"Serenity," Hassan whispered. "We've come to rescue you."
Serenity's eyes opened, and in them, Leonel saw something he didn't expect: fear. Not of the guards, not of the Knights. Fear of herself.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, her voice hoarse from silence. "My poison... if you touch me..."
"We won't touch you," Leonel said softly. He knelt before her, at a safe distance. "But we're going to get you out of here. Can you walk?"
Serenity nodded weakly. Leonel stood and turned to his companions. "Let's go. Fast."
But at that moment, a voice echoed down the corridor.
"And where do you think you're going?"
Mordred. Not his. The other one. The one who served the Lion King.
She appeared at the end of the hall, in her red armor, her sword drawn. Around her, soldiers with spears formed a line.
"The Master of Chaldea," she said, with a fierce smile. "My 'self' from Chaldea. And..." Her eyes landed on Artoria Lancer Alter, and for an instant, something crossed her gaze. Surprise? Confusion? "Father? What are you doing with them?"
Artoria Lancer Alter didn't answer. Her lance was already in her hands.
"No time for explanations," Leonel said, activating his Magic Circuits. "We're getting out of here. Now!"
The battle erupted.