The walk through Fuyuki's corpse was a study in controlled agony. Min-jun moved with a stiff, limping rhythm, each step a negotiation between will and ruined flesh. Mash led, a bulwark of purple steel and unwavering focus. Ritsuka stayed close to her, his eyes wide but steadily hardening with each new horror. Min-jun brought up the rear, his senses split between the throbbing map of his injuries and the hollow, drained feeling in his right arm where Tusk's energy lay dormant.
"Dr. Roman confirms a leyline convergence is likely at the civic center or the temple," Mash relayed, her voice a calm anchor. "Establishing a stable summoning point there is critical."
Min-jun nodded, using his knowledge of Chaldea's infrastructure briefings to mask his deeper understanding. "The civic center plaza. An open, central hub. High probability."
As they entered the wide, corpse-strewn plaza, the air grew thick with hostile intent. These weren't mere skeletons; they were guardians. Their bones were reinforced with dark, metallic sheen, moving in tactical silence. Three advanced, weapons of shadowy energy humming in their grips.
Mash met the first, her shield ringing like a great bell as she deflected a two-handed axe-strike. The force drove her back a step. "Senpai, keep your distance!"
The other two fanned out, attempting to flank. Min-jun saw the gap in their formation, the pressure point. He raised his right hand. The golden point at his middle finger flickered, weaker than before but still present. He didn't need lethal force; he needed disruption. Chumi— The projectile, less a drill and more a spinning hammer, struck the lead guardian's elbow joint. The bone didn't shatter, but the rotational force violently torqued the joint, sending its weapon clattering and its body stumbling into its partner. The flank collapsed into chaos.
Before Mash could press the advantage, a new presence announced itself—not with a roar, but with a lethal, whispering speed.
"About time something with a bit of spine showed up."
A blur of blue. A staff of dark, rune-carved wood crossed the plaza faster than sight, impaling the third guardian through its core and pinning it to a marble plinth. It dissolved into cursed ash.
On the broken head of a stone lion, the figure landed lightly. Tall, clad in dark battle-gear softened by a scholar's long white coat. Spiky blue hair, golden eyes gleaming with a wolf's sharp intelligence. He gestured, and the staff ripped itself free, returning to his hand.
"Cú Chulainn. Servant, Caster-class," he announced, his voice a lazy drawl that didn't match the predatory stillness of his stance. "Got the standard briefing from the Grail when I popped in. Dying world, last masters, Singularity, yadda yadda. Means I'm here to clean house."
He hopped down, his gaze evaluating them. It lingered on Mash with professional interest, passed over Ritsuka noting the latent potential, and settled on Min-jun. His nostrils flared slightly, as if scenting the air.
"Well, now. This is a surprise." He took a step closer, peering at Min-jun. "You. You're buzzing. Not like a proper Magus, all neat circuits and structured spells. This is… raw. A weird, spinning kind of pressure. But it's mana. And there's a contract thread on you already, thin as a hair and just as strong." He meant Tusk, the intrinsic bond between Min-jun and his manifested ability. "You've got the potential, kid. Buried under a mountain of broken ribs and sheer stubbornness, but it's there."
Min-jun met his gaze. "What of it?"
Caster grinned, fanged and sharp. "The Saber sitting on top of the distortion here is a monster. I've scratched her, she's scratched me. In this Caster tin-can, without a proper battery, I can't finish the job. The Demi-Servant girl is a fine shield, but you need a spear. The boy's linked to her. That's his role." He pointed his staff at Min-jun. "You. You're an empty slot. You've got the capacity. Not much, and that weird spinning magic of yours is hogging most of the bandwidth, but there's a trickle free. Enough for a temporary leash."
"A temporary contract?" Mash asked, her tone cautious. "He is severely wounded, Cú Chulainn. The strain could—"
"—kill him? Maybe," Caster cut in, unflinching. "But staying out here with just a shield and a rookie will definitely kill all of you. This is a war zone, not a picnic. He's got the guts for it. I can taste it. That spin-magic isn't something you get without a will that bites down and never lets go."
He looked straight at Min-jun. "So? You want to be a proper support? Then support. Be my temporary Master. Feed me that trickle of mana, plus all that stubborn will you're burning on just staying upright. I'll turn it into something that can crack a corrupted Saber's skull. It'll hurt. You'll feel like you're running on fumes. But we might just win."
The analysis was brutally correct. Tusk was a mana-hungry ability, drawing deeply from his reserves and his spiritual weight. It left little for anything else. But Caster wasn't asking for a ocean; he was asking for a steady drip, amplified by the intensity of Min-jun's resolve. The entity's directive burned: Build the foundation. This was how. He would be the platform upon which both Mash's defense and Cú Chulainn's offense could stand.
"Do it," Min-jun said, his voice leaving no room for debate.
Ritsuka looked worried but didn't protest. He saw the same grim calculus.
Min-jun stepped forward, extending his left hand. Caster's grin turned fierce. He clasped it, his grip like iron.
"Alright, let's formalize this shoddy deal," Caster intoned, his voice dropping into the resonant cadence of a vow. "I am the Hound, summoned as wise. Thou art the will with spinning eyes. By the trickle of mana and the weight of command, forge this pact to hold my hand!"
Blue runes, vibrant and primal, erupted from their joined hands. This time, the surge wasn't a foreign torrent seeking to drown him. It was a channel opening. Min-jun felt it—the small, untapped well of his own innate mana, meager but present, flow into the connection. Alongside it went something else: the relentless, drilling intent that powered Tusk, not as energy but as a conceptual reinforcement, strengthening the bond. The pain spiked, a white-hot flare from his injuries as his body was stressed further, but the connection held strong and clear, a taut cable of shared purpose.
The runes flashed and sealed. The bond was forged. Min-jun gasped, not from overwhelm, but from a sudden, precise clarity. He could feel Cú Chulainn—not just his presence, but the simmering pool of his Noble Phantasm, the flow of his mana, the eager tension in his spirit. He also felt the gentle, steady drain on his own reserves. It was manageable, but constant, like a second heartbeat of expenditure.
Caster released his hand, looking pleasantly surprised. "Huh. More in the tank than I thought. And that will of yours… it's like threading the contract with barbed wire. Nice. Doesn't feel like it'll snap if you sneeze." He hefted his staff, and the runes along its length glowed with a renewed, fierce light. "Alright, temporary Master. Let's get to work. You focus on staying conscious and directing that spin-magic of yours. I'll turn your trickle into a flood."
- - - -
For hours, they moved like a single, multi-limbed organism through the arterial ruins of Fuyuki. Mash was the impervious carapace, her shield deflecting curses, arrows of shadow, and the occasional lunging beast. Cú Chulainn was the striking tail—a blur of blue and white, his staff a whirlwind of destructive precision. Runes flared, bones shattered, and hostile spiritual presences were snuffed out with brutal efficiency, all fed by the thin, steady trickle of Min-jun's will and mana.
Min-jun himself was the strained nervous system, and Ritsuka the guiding heart. Min-jun's world had narrowed to a trio of agonizing inputs: the fire in his side with every step, the cold, draining pull of the temporary Servant contract like an IV siphon in his soul, and the hollow ache in his right arm where Tusk lay dormant, conserving its strength. He observed the battles with a technician's eye. Mash's style was solid, foundational—every movement meant to create a zone of safety. Cú Chulainn's was opportunistic and lethal, exploiting every opening she created. They were a perfect, complementary pair. Good, he thought, the pain making the observation clinical. The defense is sound. The offense is optimal. My role is sustainable.
But sustainable didn't mean easy. He was running on fumes, his magic circuits—newly acknowledged and pitifully underdeveloped—protesting the constant drain. Beside him, Ritsuka wasn't faring much better. The boy wasn't physically wounded, but the psychological and spiritual toll of directing Mash, of witnessing this endless nightmare, was etching deep lines of fatigue onto his young face. His shoulders slumped, and his reactions were slowing.
Cú Chulainn noticed it first. After clearing a square of a pack of bestial shadow-wraiths, he leaned on his staff, not out of tiredness, but to survey his temporary Master and the boy. "Alright, that's enough for now," he declared, his voice losing its battle-edge. "You two are about to fall over. Even the best foundation cracks if you keep swinging a hammer at it."
Mash immediately looked concerned. "Senpai? Mr. Min-jun?"
"We… we can keep going," Ritsuka protested, though his words were slurred with exhaustion.
"You can't," Min-jun stated flatly, his own voice gravelly. He knew the signs of systemic failure. "Cognitive decline, slowed reaction times. In a hostile environment, that's a cascade failure waiting to happen. He's right. We need to stop."
Caster nodded. "See? Your technician has the sense the gods gave gravel. We've pushed into a relatively stable pocket. Low spiritual pressure. No recent signs of patrols." He gestured with his staff toward the shell of a traditional ryokan, its sign broken but its stone walls mostly intact. "That'll do. Six hours. No arguments."
It was a command, not a suggestion. The authority of the ancient warrior brooked no debate. Inside the dusty, rubble-strewn main room, Mash used her shield to clear a space and shore up a shaky wall. Cú Chulainn vanished outside to "set a perimeter," which likely meant violently discouraging anything from coming close.
The moment Min-jun sat down, his back against a cold wall, the full weight of his exhaustion crashed over him. The constant, grinding pain from his injuries, which he had forced into the background, now roared to the forefront, a white-noise scream of protest. The drain from the contract felt like a chill spreading from his core. He fumbled in his Chaldea-issue pack, finding a basic first-aid kit. With clumsy, shaking fingers, he injected himself with a broad-spectrum analgesic and a coagulant from a auto-injector, then clumsily wound a sterile pressure bandage around his torso, his breath hissing through his teeth.
Ritsuka watched, then mimicked him, using antiseptic wipes on his own minor cuts and scrapes. They didn't speak. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—a shared understanding of utter depletion.
"He's… amazing, isn't he?" Ritsuka finally whispered, nodding towards the door where Cú Chulainn had exited. "Mash too. They're so strong."
"They are," Min-jun agreed, closing his eyes. "But strength needs direction. A stable platform. That's us right now. Our job isn't to be amazing. It's to be present. To be the 'why' they fight. Get some sleep, Fujimaru. That's your current order."
The boy didn't need telling twice. He curled up on his side, using his pack as a pillow, and was asleep in moments, his breathing deepening into the rhythms of utter fatigue.
Min-jun fought consciousness a little longer, monitoring the subtle, flowing connection to Cú Chulainn. He could feel the Servant's vigilant presence, a watchful simmering at the edge of the ruined building. Satisfied the guard was set, he let the drugs and exhaustion pull him under. His sleep was dreamless, a black and merciful void where pain and duty could not reach.
---
Six hours later, it was Cú Chulainn's boot gently nudging his good leg that woke him. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Dawn's not coming, but the Hound's getting bored."
The pain had receded to a deep, throbbing ache, manageable. The hollow feeling from the contract was still there, but the sharp edge of mana depletion had softened. He felt… patched. Functional. Ritsuka was already sitting up, looking significantly clearer-eyed, chewing on a nutrient bar from his rations.
"Report," Min-jun said, his voice rough but focused as he carefully stood.
"Quiet as a grave," Cú Chulainn smirked. "A few curious critters came sniffing. They won't be curious anymore. The path ahead feels clearer. The distortion's source is pulling that way," he pointed with his staff towards the looming shadow of Mount Enzou. "Leyline's getting stronger. Smells like a summoning point."
They moved out with renewed, if careful, vigor. The landscape grew more twisted, the air thicker with prana and malice. They faced stronger, more organized resistance—armored skeletal warriors led by floating, robed caster-types. The battles were sharper, more demanding.
Min-jun found his new rhythm. He could no longer afford to use Tusk frivolously; its energy cost was too high on top of the Caster contract. Instead, he used it with surgical precision. When a caster-type hung back, charging a powerful curse, Min-jun would raise a trembling hand. Chumi— A single, golden drill would lance across the battlefield, not to kill, but to disrupt—piercing a glowing talisman, shattering a focus crystal, forcing the enemy to break their concentration and leaving them open for Cú Chulainn's punishing retaliation. He was no longer just a bystander or a shield; he was a tactical spot-welder, sealing cracks in their offensive line before they could spread.
Ritsuka, too, was growing into his role. His commands to Mash were quicker, more confident. He started anticipating enemy movements, directing her to control space. He was learning to be the heart and the strategist.
After a particularly tense skirmish in the shadow of the mountain's foothills, Mash suddenly stopped, her head tilting. "Senpai! The spiritual ground here… it's stable. And there's a familiar frequency… It's Chaldea!"
Beneath their feet, a complex, glowing circle of light etched itself into the scorched earth—a hybrid of Chaldea's futuristic hex patterns and traditional summoning geometry.
"A Rayshift-friendly leyline convergence!" came a familiar, frantic, and utterly welcome voice from mid-air. A holographic screen fizzed into existence, resolving into the worried face of Dr. Romani Archaman, his hair more frazzled than ever. "Oh, thank goodness! Fujimaru-kun! Mash! And—wait, is that… Cú Chulainn? The Caster-class reading? And… Kim, from Maintenance?!"
"Doctor!" Ritsuka's face broke into a relieved smile, the first genuine one Min-jun had seen.
"Status report, please! And how in the world are you linked to a Servant, Min-jun?"
Min-jun stepped forward, his posture straightening despite the pain, falling instinctively into the demeanor of a subordinate reporting to command. "Sir. Kim Min-jun. Survived the initial Chaldea explosion via proximity to Director Animusphere. Awoke in the Singularity with operative capacity. Assessed tactical deficiency: Mash Kyrielight optimized for defense, Master Fujimaru lacking offensive Servant support. Identified and negotiated a temporary contract with Servant Cú Chulainn, Caster-class, to fill the strategic gap. Contract is mana-inefficient but stable, powered by residual personal capacity and will-based reinforcement. Current priority: secure foothold and receive operational update."
He delivered it like he was reporting on a malfunctioning reactor. Romani blinked, his mouth slightly open.
Cú Chulainn barked a laugh. "See? I told you he was all will and wires. Gets straight to the point."
Romani shook his head, a weary smile touching his lips. "I… see. Well, under the circumstances, I'm not going to question it. Your vitals are terrible, Min-jun, but you're functional. The important thing is you're alive and you've made contact." His expression sobered. "The situation is dire. Chaldea is critically damaged. We are the last. You are the last Masters. The Singularity must be resolved, or human history ends in 2004. The source of the distortion is almost certainly at the peak of that mountain, in the Ryuudou Temple. You must secure the Holy Grail there."
He looked at them all, his gaze settling on Ritsuka. "You're in command, Fujimaru-kun. You have a Defender and a Caster. And you have… formidable support." His eyes flicked to Min-jun, acknowledging the unorthodox asset. "We'll do everything we can from here. Now, go. And be careful."
The transmission faded, leaving the circle glowing softly at their feet—a tether to a home that was now a liferaft.
Min-jun looked from Ritsuka's determined face to Mash's steady resolve, then to Cú Chulainn's eager grin. The foundation was set. The lines of communication were open. The command was given.
"The path is ahead, Master," he said to Ritsuka, his voice a low rumble. "The foundation is stable. Advance when ready."
The faint blue glow of the leyline terminal shimmered at their feet, a fragile tether in the ash-choked dark of Fuyuki. Dr. Romani's holographic face, etched with relief and urgency, hovered above it.
"A stable connection at last! Your vitals are… well, let's just say I'm glad you're all functional," Romani said, his eyes scanning the data only he could see. "Mash, Fujimaru-kun, and… Kim, from Maintenance, linked to a Caster-class Servant. The readings are unconventional, but the contract is holding. That's what matters right now."
He adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grave. "The situation is unchanged. Humanity's future ends in 2016. The cause is here, in this Singularity. Your mission is to locate the source of the distortion—what we believe to be a corrupted Holy Grail—and eliminate it. You are the only active field team. Everyone else at Chaldea is either gone or in cryo-preservation."
Ritsuka stood a little straighter, the weight of the statement settling on his shoulders not as a crushing burden, but as a stark, accepted fact.
"Understood, Doctor," Mash responded, her voice firm.
"Your immediate objective is to investigate the central areas of the Singularity to gather data and locate the Grail," Romani continued, bringing up a crude map. "Signal traces indicate significant spiritual disturbances at Fuyuki Bridge and the city's coastal port. Start there."
Cú Chulainn leaned on his staff, a lazy grin on his face. "More walking and whacking. My favorite. Lead the way, kids."
As the connection stabilized into a passive monitoring link, the group moved out. Min-jun fell into step beside Ritsuka, his movements still pained but precise. He was silently running diagnostics on his own status. The temporary contract with Caster was a constant, low-grade drain, a spiritual IV drip he had to consciously sustain. Tusk rested in his right arm, a dormant drill, its energy slowly replenishing. He was operating at 65% capacity, by his own estimation. It would have to be enough.
Investigate the Bridge
The journey to the massive, fire-scarred skeleton of Fuyuki Bridge was a tense trek through escalating resistance. The skeletal warriors were now organized into patrols, and new, bestial shadows—remnants of corrupted familiars—lurked in the ruins.
During one skirmish, a pair of shadow-hounds flanked Mash, moving faster than the skeletons. As she braced to meet the charge from the front, Min-jun's hand came up, his ring finger glowing.
Chumi—
The golden projectile wasn't aimed to kill. It struck the ground just ahead of the hound on the right, the rotational force kicking up a spike of shattered asphalt and concrete into its path. The creature stumbled, its pounce faltering for a critical second. Mash, sensing the shift, adjusted her shield's angle and swept it in a wider arc, crushing both beasts with the saved momentum.
"Nice distraction, pup," Cú Chulainn called from where he was dispersing a cluster of skeletons with a burst of runic fire. "Not every problem needs a nail. Sometimes you just need a rock in the right shoe."
Min-jun gave a slight nod, the tactical analysis complete. Tusk Act 1: Utility confirmed for battlefield control. Ammunition conservation possible through non-lethal application.
On the bridge, with the vast, polluted river flowing sluggishly beneath them, Olga Marie's absence was a palpable silence in the canon of events Min-jun knew. In her place, it was Ritsuka who voiced the questions, pulling together the clues Romani provided about Chaldea's mission and the nature of the Singularity. Min-jun listened, adding only concise, technical corroboration about spiritual pressure gradients and structural decay rates that supported the theory of a temporal anomaly.
Investigate the Port Ruin
The port was a graveyard of melted shipping containers and ghostly, beached vessels. The air hummed with a different kind of malice here. It was Mash who, with a determined frown, broached the subject she had avoided.
"Senpai, Mr. Min-jun," she began, her grip tightening on her shield. "My Noble Phantasm… the ultimate expression of the Heroic Spirit fused with me. I can feel its power, but its True Name is locked away. Without it, I am an incomplete defender."
Ritsuka offered immediate encouragement, but it was Min-jun who spoke from his place as an observer of systems. "A lock implies a key. The key is likely context, or need. The system—your spirit—will not release the weapon until the parameters for its use are met. Do not force it. Focus on maintaining the integrity of the system you can control. The rest will follow."
His words, clinical and certain, seemed to steady her more than vague optimism. She nodded. "Yes. You are correct. I will focus on my current duties."
It was here they faced their first true Servant-level threat. A swirling vortex of shadow coalesced into a feminine figure with serpentine hair, wielding chains that hissed through the air—a Shadow Servant.
"Rider!" Cú Chulainn identified, his playful demeanor vanishing into combat focus. "Mash, you're on point! Master, keep her mana flowing! Pup, watch our flanks!"
The battle was a brutal step up. The Shadow Rider—Medusa—was fast, her chains striking from impossible angles. Mash's shield rang with each blow, sparks flying. Cú Chulainn's runes flared, creating barriers and launching counter-attacks, but in his Caster form, his direct offensive power was limited.
Min-jun saw the pattern after thirty seconds. The Shadow Servant would press Mash, then attempt to disengage and strike at Ritsuka. It was a classic tactic to break the Master's concentration.
The next time the Shadow Servant blurred backwards, chains lashing out toward Ritsuka, Min-jun was already moving. He didn't try to block the chains. He stepped in front of Ritsuka and raised his right hand, index finger pointed.
He didn't aim at the Servant. He aimed at the chains.
CHUMIMI~!
The golden drill met the lead chain mid-air. The result was a screeching, violent clash of concepts—infinite rotation against cursed binding. The chain didn't break, but the drill's force arrested its momentum, spinning it wildly off course and fouling the other chains. The opening lasted less than a second, but it was all Cú Chulainn needed.
"Thanks for the setup!" A lance of concentrated runic fire, guided by the Hound's battle-instinct, shot through the gap and struck the Shadow Servant's core. It shrieked, its form dissolving back into motes of black ash.
In the heavy silence that followed, Min-jun lowered his arm, the ache now a sharp throb. He had expended significant Tusk energy, but the calculation was sound: preserving the Master's safety was the highest priority.
Cú Chulainn clapped a hand on his shoulder, the grin back. "Not just a rock in the shoe, but a spike in the path. Good call."
Investigate the Church Ruin
Exhausted but driven, they pushed toward the ruined church on the hill, a place radiating a deep, ominous spiritual signature. The skeletal guards here were the strongest yet, their bones gleaming like obsidian.
As they fought through the outer grounds, Min-jun felt it—a shift in the connection he shared with Mash and Ritsuka. It was no longer just a magical link; it was a synchronizing of intent. He could almost see the tactical data: Mash's defensive arcs, Ritsuka's flow of mana, the ebb and flow of the enemy's pressure. He began calling out short, clipped warnings.
"Incoming, three o'clock, elevated."
"Caster, your six is clear."
"Mash, brace for impact in two."
His voice became another layer of their cohesion, the foundation providing real-time structural analysis. Ritsuka's commands grew sharper, Mash's movements more efficient.
Inside the shattered nave of the church, they found not answers, but a deeper layer of the horror. The corruption was thicker here, and from it emerged not one, but multiple Shadow Servant signatures. The air grew heavy, promising annihilation.
"This is a death trap," Cú Chulainn snarled, his staff held high. "We're outclassed and this container is a joke for a fight like this. We need to pull back. Now."
It was a tactical retreat, not a rout. They fell back, the pursuing shadows halting at the church's boundary, as if tethered to the place.
Back at a temporary safe point, the reality was clear. The path to the Greater Grail at Ryuudou Temple, atop Mount Enzou, was blocked by a force they could not currently overcome. They needed more power.
Romani's voice came through the comms, strained. "The readings from the church… you faced multiple Shadow Servants? The core of the Singularity must be using the Grail's power to manifest them. You cannot proceed without unlocking Mash's full potential or finding another advantage."
Mash looked down at her shield, frustration etched on her face. Ritsuka placed a hand on her arm. "We'll find the way. Together."
Min-jun, sitting against a wall and checking the makeshift bandage on his side, looked at the group. The foundation was holding, but the next load would break them. Mash's Noble Phantasm was the required reinforcement. And as he watched the bonds solidify between the determined Master, the loyal Shielder, and the grumpy, reliable Hound, a theory formed.