The training was brutal, far beyond anything Shirō had anticipated. Six hours a day of relentless sparring under Archer's tutelage was turning her muscles into jelly. And as if the physical toll wasn't enough, Archer made it his mission to point out every single flaw in her technique with merciless precision. No reprieve, no mercy—just a ceaseless barrage of attacks that left her gasping for air and questioning her life choices.
The dojo echoed with the sharp crack of wood meeting steel as Shirō, drenched in sweat, staggered back from Archer's latest assault. He moved with a fluidity and grace that made her feel like a fumbling amateur—because she was. Her wooden katana felt more like a toy in her hands compared to the deadly twin blades Archer wielded.
"Break," she panted, leaning against the wall and clutching her knees. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her arms felt like lead.
Across the room, Rin sat cross-legged, watching with a mix of exasperation and disappointment. "This is pathetic," she muttered, loud enough for Shirō to hear. "We have a Saber on our side, and she can't even hold her own in a sparring match."
Shirō shot her a glare, but she was too exhausted to retort. Archer, on the other hand, simply smirked, his twin blades resting casually at his sides. "She's got potential," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. "It's just buried under a mountain of incompetence."
"I hate you," Shirō grumbled, straightening up and wiping the sweat from her brow.
"Good," Archer replied, motioning for her to get back into position. "That's the spirit. Now, let's see if you've learned anything."
The break was over before she could fully recover. Archer moved like a predator, his strikes precise and unrelenting. Shirō barely managed to block his attacks, the wooden katana trembling in her hands with each clash.
"Too slow," Archer chided, sweeping her legs out from under her.
Shirō hit the floor with a thud, her katana slipping from her grip. Gritting her teeth, she scrambled to her feet, only to be met with another flurry of blows.
"Defend properly, or don't bother at all," Archer said, his voice cold.
"I'm trying!" Shirō snapped, her frustration boiling over.
But it wasn't enough. Archer's relentless assault continued, and with a particularly vicious strike, her wooden katana went flying across the room, clattering to a stop near Rin's feet.
"Shirō!" Rin shouted, half-standing in alarm.
But Archer didn't stop. His expression was calm, his movements calculated as he closed the distance between them. One of his twin blades glinted ominously in the light as it arced toward Shirō.
Time seemed to slow. Shirō's heart pounded in her chest as she raised her hands instinctively, bending her knees as if bracing for the impact. She didn't have a weapon, and there was no way she could block his strike barehanded.
And then, it happened.
A blinding light erupted around her, illuminating the dojo with an almost divine brilliance. The air crackled with energy, and the metallic clang of blades meeting echoed sharply through the space.
When the light faded, Archer stood before her, his twin blades locked against a glowing sword held firmly in Shirō's hands. His smirk widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
Shirō, crouched beneath him, stared in shock. Her jeans and t-shirt were gone, replaced by a blue dress and armour adorned with gauntlets. She hadn't willed it to happen—it was as if her body had acted on its own.
Rin, still by the wall, shot to her feet, her jaw hanging open. "The hell…?"
Shirō's breath hitched as she looked down at herself, then at the glowing sword in her hands. It wasn't just a weapon—it was intricate and otherworldly, like something out of a museum, but alive with power.
"What… just happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"You unlocked your weapon," Archer replied, his tone almost smug. "You're welcome."