[Jerusalem, Year 1273 A.D.]
There is such a saying in the world: Italy cannot lose Rome, just as the West cannot lose Jerusalem.
It is one of the world's oldest cities, and also a legendary holy land.
"Jeru" means "foundation stone" or "city," "Salem" appears in the Bible, Genesis chapter 14, as the dwelling place of the high priest Melchizedek, meaning "peace." Therefore, Jerusalem is also called "the City of Peace."
Yet this holy land that the West could never afford to lose, once a place of prayer, a city of peace, has now turned into dust.
The earth is covered with sand, the sky blocked by storms, forcing people to abandon their homes.
Homeless, facing death, became as normal as eating and drinking.
If one could die with a full stomach, would that not be a kind of blessing?
But such a wish was as extravagant as expecting mankind in the ape-man stage of evolution to invent rockets to the moon.
And all of this disaster happened in a single night.
That day, people looked up and truly saw the stars fall.
Yes, brilliance bloomed at the edge of the world.
Its dazzling form, calling it a star was not wrong.
While the world still slumbered, before all things revived, a golden pillar of light fell, so bright it dimmed even the radiance of the stars.
In an instant, life, matter, individuals, even ideals were drowned in endless light.
As if a god had delivered divine punishment upon sin, stripping away the omen of disaster.
"So it's divine punishment! God couldn't stand humans and gave judgment."
"No way, it's demons! Only demons would slaughter recklessly!"
"Ha, then explain this, if it's demons, why did a star fall, not a meteor?"
"You idiot! What difference is there between a star and a meteor?"
"There's no difference between a star and a meteor?"
Two children argued.
"This traveler, you seem quite interested in this matter."
Unlike the weak around them, a voice rang out behind, healthy, even beyond healthy, reaching strength.
From his steady footsteps, his long and enduring breathing, Shirou could judge that the newcomer was highly skilled. Among Servants, not to be underestimated.
Most crucially, he had not noticed the man approaching until he spoke.
Though it might be because humans cannot sense Servants, there was no denying that power.
"Rather than say I care about this, it's more accurate to say I am interested in the 'Holy City'."
Shirou turned and saw the strong young man whose voice matched.
He had short black hair, eyes resolute without the slightest wavering.
At this moment he wore a smile, carrying a confidence and vitality beyond ordinary men.
It was hard to imagine, in what was once a slum, no, a ruin after brutal wars, to see such a healthy person.
But if the man was a Servant, it was only natural.
Arash Kamangir. The great hero of ancient Persian legend, who ended the sixty-year war between Persia and Turan. A savior hero who brought peace and safety to both peoples.
"The 'Holy City,' huh…"
Arash was about to answer, but was interrupted by a man in heavy armor, silver-haired, with features as fine as a woman's.
"Forgive me, I heard you speaking of the Holy City."
Bedivere stepped between them, his gaze moving past Shirou to Arash, "You must be that great Persian hero."
Though spoken as a question, it was said with certainty.
Hearing this, Arash smiled and said, "If you believe I'm Arash, then you must also be a Servant?"
To this, Bedivere gave no direct answer, only saying, "I am Lucius. I heard you know much of the Holy City, so I've come to ask you."
"Not that much. After all, I've never entered it," As he spoke, Arash's blue eyes shifted between Shirou and Bedivere.
He couldn't quite see through Bedivere, but he was most likely a Servant.
[A/N: The reason he couldn't tell Bedivere was still human was because Merlin had cast a disguise spell.]
But the red-haired boy was unusual.
He bore no Command Seals of a Master, yet was not surprised by Servants, nor reacted much to hearing his name.
Not like an ordinary traveler.
Seeing the two unmoved by his words, Arash smiled a little more seriously.
He shifted his gaze to somewhere beyond the three of them and said, "What do you think of this place?"
"For the hopeful, it is despair. For the fallen, it is death. For the lost, it is a future gone…", Shirou withdrew his gaze from the grand Holy City, "And for me, the confused, it is answers I seek."
'For example, why Saber gave up her own wish.'
"…Oh?"
Arash smiled, "Your goal is clear."
"And you, Lucius?"
Arash confirmed with his eyes, "You seem like the kind who seeks the road to death."
"...", Bedivere calmly replied, "I do not long for death."
"Is that so?"
Arash's eyes lingered a moment on his silver arm, "Carrying such a heavy burden for so long, I fear you can't even lift your head anymore, can you?"
"What you see is only the ground at your feet."
"Tell me, why do you two want to go to the Holy City?", Arash asked.
"I don't believe I said I wanted to go to the Holy City," Shirou confirmed he had only said he sought answers.
"Your eyes completely betrayed you, traveler," Arash said, "Speaking of which, we haven't exchanged true names."
"I am Arash. And you are?"
"Emiya Shirou."
After answering, Shirou added, "Your eyes are truly sharp."
Gazing at the Holy City was a normal thing.
In an endless desert, a gleaming white city of ideals stood out.
Anyone would be curious and look.
"Haha, when it's what I live by, if it weren't sharp, I'd starve."
Arash first replied to Shirou's remark, then praised, "A very fine name."
Not a perfunctory compliment, Arash truly thought it a good name.
If he understood correctly.
The name carried the meaning of protecting others, or striving to become someone who protects others.
"Thank you."
When the talk ended, both their gazes turned to the tall, handsome knight.
Bedivere, the Round Table knight who watched over King Arthur to the very end.
Also a ghost wandering the world, seeking redemption for his mistake.
In the Arthurian legends, unwilling to part with the eternal king, he twice lied that he had returned the sword to the lake.
Exposed, realizing the king's will was firm, he succeeded on the third try in returning the sword to the Lady of the Lake.
Afterward he carried Arthur to the lakeside, witnessing her departure by boat to the distant utopia, Avalon.
But that was in true history.
In the distorted singularity before them, he had never returned the holy sword in all three attempts.
Thus Arthur, in her pain, grasped the holy lance "Rhongomyniad," becoming a wandering divine spirit. Corroded by the divinity of the lance, she transformed into a true goddess.
It could be said that the personality of King Arthur, Artoria Pendragon, had vanished. What remained was the goddess "Rhongomyniad," who loved mankind in her own way.
[T/N: Camelot Singularity]
═❀═❀═❀═❀═❀═❀═
patreon.com/AmbitiousTranslator
🥳Joining Patreon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please consider joining.🥰 You can access upto 20 advance chapter through Patreon.