Chapter 3. Practice Swordplay When Idle; Practice with Saber When Busy
John gave the door a light push and entered the Chief's office. The quiet early-morning corridor vanished behind the closing door.
"John..."
The Chief was drinking his first espresso of the day. He paused in thought for a few seconds. "I see. It's the training report, right?"
It concerned the "armaments" they had just been equipped with—powerful, transcendent weapons that exceeded the mundane world.
Crystallized fantasies. To humans, they were like firearms, or the very wings of a hunting falcon.
They were treasures that ordinary people could never comprehend, capable of completely overturning one's perspective on combat.
If they were to leak onto the black market, they would trigger a scramble among those hidden in the shadows and even cause numerous magus families to flock toward them. Only when the Chief officially received these Mystic Codes could he understand the terrifying magical energy they contained.
Those were—Noble Phantasms.
As for the reason they could wield such masterpieces, John believed it was something absolutely unattainable by anyone short of a Servant. When the twenty-eight Noble Phantasms were piled together for distribution, John's sense of shock was, at the very least, indescribable.
It was said that even for a Caster, crafting a Noble Phantasm took hours or even more than a day of painstaking effort.
Aside from a Servant who transcended one's lifelong understanding, how could something like a Noble Phantasm be turned into mere standard-issue equipment? No, one could even say that Caster's process of creating Noble Phantasms was itself no different from a miracle.
Suppressing the instinctive excitement of wielding what felt like the strongest power in the world, John took a deep breath and began to report the fact that the "Twenty-Eight Monsters" had roughly mastered the use of their Noble Phantasms.
After about three minutes of summarized statements, he finally stopped and stood at attention once more.
"All twenty-eight of you have done well. Good work."
The Chief, who had been watching him throughout the process, spoke only after the words hit the floor, his tone one of appreciation and solace, yet devoid of any condescension.
It was then that John noticed a set of photographs by the Chief's hand. More accurately, they were "still there." In fact, their number had increased.
John's gaze stiffened. Regarding what this signified, even though he knew he was overstepping and perhaps should have pretended not to see, John could not sit idly by.
"Chief, these photos are...?"
The Chief glanced at him as if seeing right through what John was thinking. However, he had no intention of hiding it.
"If you really want to hear it, I will indeed tell you. The additions are a few snapshots taken during twilight. The magical drones couldn't capture details at night from three thousand meters, so I ordered them to stand by."
The Chief explained slowly.
He tossed out a photo. It was an image taken in a place with no other pedestrians; a stunningly beautiful woman in a red coat was holding a small box thoughtfully against the moonlight. From the small box, an unremarkable short sword hilt appeared out of thin air. After she stared at it for a moment, the hilt sank back down.
She glanced at the moon.
Clearly, this was a confirmation and check of a Mystic Code.
The Chief's fingers tapped unconsciously on the corner of the desk.
When he first saw the picture of the one man and four women getting off the plane, he only thought this guy was up to some nonsense on the flight. But after careful analysis, the Chief finally let it go, concluding he must have been thinking the wrong way.
"As you can see, that woman is a magus. That being the case, the possibility that the red-haired man is a Master can be considered over ninety percent."
Then, in a certain picture of the red-haired youth smiling brightly, the silhouette of a badge peeked out from her coat pocket. If he hadn't mistaken the engraved emblem...
"She is from the Mage's Association, and she's a Pride (Ranking)."
"Chief, please forgive my lack of knowledge. I'd like to ask what a 'Pride' is."
"That isn't important for you."
The Chief shook his head.
Frame, Cause, Opening, Festival, Pride, and finally, the Brand rank belonging to most "Lords," and the Grand rank which was generally an outlier.
There was no need for John to be troubled by the complicated ranking concepts of that magical organization.
Though he couldn't understand why a female magus, ranked so high as to be second only to a "Lord," shared an atmosphere with that man so sweet it gave off pink bubbles—that wasn't important.
Though the number of women with different hair colors around him was perhaps unnaturally high, and that female magus seemed completely accustomed to it—that wasn't important.
Though by the habits of magi, the side with ancestral foundations like Magic Crests should be the one of higher status—that wasn't important.
Unimportant meant unimportant. Better to not think about things that made one's head explode with confusion.
His diverted focus had already unconsciously ignored John, throwing itself once more into analysis. However, no matter how the Chief shifted his thinking, there was only one obvious conclusion.
They were people sent by the Mage's Association to participate in the Holy Grail War.
—The possibility that the winner of the Fifth War had stepped onto this land was something the Chief hadn't considered for a single second.
The human world always remains within the scope of what one can see.
So, what was the countdown until this scope was expanded for the first time?
—The answer was thirty-three minutes and six seconds.
"This is the Observation Team, delivering the observation report. Two minutes ago, the youth suspected to be a Master moved from the hotel and entered a semi-open forest. Real-time camera video is being enlarged on the screen now."
The sudden distorted voice gave John a start. Only then did he notice that inside the Chief's office, there was also a modified laptop with its screen on.
It was a continuous video link. Due to the lack of information, the Chief was clearly unwilling to miss any opportunity to gather intel during the preparation period, to the point of handling it personally.
However, once he looked at the images finally being displayed on that electronic screen—
"...What"
All his thoughts froze.
.
.
.
"Trace, on."
Using the words he had spoken thousands of times before, a longsword manifested in his palm just as it always did.
He was already used to it. This time was no different.
Shirou swung the blade, feeling the shift in the center of gravity as he whipped up a breeze. As the blade began to pulse, the few green leaves beneath his feet were blown away.
The surroundings were an entire grove of trees. There was very little brown; instead, large patches of green were very eye-catching. It was closer to a forest than a grove.
It had been half a day since they got off the plane in Snowfield. After staying at the hotel for the night, it was now the morning of the second day.
"—"
Gripping the sword with both hands, he accelerated, letting the sword's edge trace afterimages. At the same time, he had to pay attention to his body's coordination. If a joint stiffened for even a moment, it would mean a fatal opening when fighting certain white-blade monsters.
At this stage, Shirou would never allow his close-combat skills to fall below even Gilgamesh's due to slackness.
Shirou remembered very clearly how that guy died.
"Ha!"
He thrust out a lethal strike, simulating a response to it.
If it were certain peerless heroes, they would use this form against an enemy. Shirou had read such things while using those famous swords.
The sword's path made the "ding" sound of a weapon. Shirou stood still for a second or two before sheathing the sword, which dissolved into a blue mist and dissipated.
A major characteristic of the United States was its vast territory and sparse population. This was very different from his hometown, though similar to Britain.
Thanks to this, Shirou had found a place for morning practice. On one hand, forests naturally had few people; on the other hand, the current Shirou was capable of creating Bounded Fields to drive people away.
Though its effectiveness could only be described as not far from "shabby."
Whether it was the foundational courses or Lord El-Melloi's classes, Shirou had listened seriously, but he hadn't made a lick of progress. Thinking that activating the ritual nature of Kanshou and Bakuya was easier than drawing the complex arrays from El-Melloi's class was truly hopeless.
Shirou shook his head helplessly.
"Shirou."
Suddenly, a voice pierced through the Bounded Field, inserting itself like the wind that was currently brushing past.
It was the voice he was most familiar with—full of resilience yet gentle.
"..."
Shirou only turned his head a beat late to see the golden-haired girl standing firmly. Her hands hung naturally at her sides as she smiled, leaning against the side of a tree to watch him. Her steady, clear gaze gave no indication that she had just woken up.
"Saber? Why are you here?"
Saber was currently wearing a simple white short skirt. The skirt was of moderate length, falling just slightly below her knees.
She wasn't wearing the pajamas from last night; she had changed into a new outfit before coming out.
"No, I should say—how did Saber know I was here?"
Saber flashed a proud smile, moved away from the tree, and stood straight.
"Shirou's movement patterns are very easy to guess."
"I've been seen through!?"
Too impressive; there were absolutely no secrets to be had under Saber's watch.
"Oh, right. Wait a moment, are Rin or Sakura and the others up yet?"
Shirou asked casually, but Saber did not respond immediately. She lowered her eyelids and stared at him with a hard gaze, like someone looking at a mood-spoiler.
"Of course not. Shirou, there are only the two of us here."
"Ah... yeah, I see."
Saber's mood didn't seem quite so good. When her cheeks were on the verge of puffing out, Shirou usually only had the option of an emergency topic change.
Like right now.
What his foolish self blurted out was a hurried excuse. However, both of them knew it was something no one but Saber could do.
"Wait, Saber! I'm practicing my swordplay. Do you want to swing a sword with me?"
Saber's lips curved into a faint smile.
That moment, it was more beautiful than flowers in full bloom.
""Let's practice our swordplay.""