Waking up was utterly uneventful. Just a blink, and consciousness returned; honestly, my schedule's starting to worry me a bit. The main body lies unconscious an average of 18 hours a day, not all at once, but with periodic breaks to wake up and stretch. With thoughts that I might be killing myself, I got up for the standard warm-up.
While doing exercises and loosening my stiff body, I also pondered that I have a pretty big problem—not yesterday's, though partly, but something more global and all-encompassing. I once heard there's no such thing as good tacticians and strategists at the same time, but shrugged it off back then.
But now I'm thinking I'm probably a pretty good strategist—I have tons of plans for this war, moves and actions mapped out depending on changes. All perfect! But as a tactician, not so much. Take any random war as an example: the strategist sketches plans—ambushes here, strikes to the rear and supplies there, all that jazz. Necessary? Undoubtedly!
But the tactician is the squad leader who hears that task and sets up the ambush. Could they swap and do each other's jobs? Maybe, but it'd suck; everyone should stick to what they're best at. In reality, it rarely happens, but still.
So, I'm a genius strategist! Well, with foreknowledge of the possible future, yeah. But as a tactician, yesterday showed I'm not great. As a strategist, I issued: patrol the area, find Caster, recruit, seduce, profit!
But as a tactician, I didn't think about it or plan how to actually pull it off... In principle, recalling my pre-experience, sometimes it worked out—not total fails, since they haven't caught me and I'm alive and well. But goals weren't always achieved; recall my attempt to snag a Pistol a couple years ago in the first one. Simple in strategy, but in practice, I never got it.
Having thought this through, I grabbed a notebook, pencil, and tried outlining sample action steps and my dialogues in various situations. So, when's my next possible appearance? Yeah, I'm going public, but disguised! Or rather, under Glamour!
*Three hours later.*
The pile of crumpled notebooks in the corner kept growing, and every plan got scrapped because the situation could change drastically. Hmf, fine. In theory, this crap might work. But any plan works until the first clash with reality. Scratched my long-suffering head, pondered that who knew it'd turn out like this! Should've joined some shitty theater club.
Anyway, need a distraction, and check my observation posts too. Then work on the image! And glancing again at the crumpled sheets and my tent-HQ, hm—also need a mirror. Two meters high—gotta rehearse the image, prep the illusion I'll use, or if I pick illusions for going out in public literally a minute before, I'm afraid I'd screw up! This way, at least I can tweak if I don't like it.
Quick check of city clones yielded nothing; all calm, no other Servants visible. But I think they'll show soon; I've had mine summoned for almost a month, Caster's dead. And the Lancer from the anime who came for her should've been summoned by now. The remaining 4 Heroic Spirits haven't appeared anywhere; canon approaches. And time's running out.
Worried a couple more minutes, then rallied and summoned a clone to send to the city for the mirror—and grab the trash. Clone appears, and looking at him, something bugs me. Circling him—seems the same; yeah, I'm not in my ninja-Rambo gear now, just regular clothes, but something's off.
Eh, maybe just my seasonal paranoia flare-up? Mentally checked—yep, it's season; my paranoia blooms and flowers. Laughed a bit and it passed; transferred to the clone—rolled shoulders, moved arms, twitched ears—standard "suit" check.
Already leaving camp when I froze: twitched ears? Hands flew under the cloak to my head and hit pointed ears; after fondling them a bit, realized—elven, froze a moment trying to process.
Thoughts raced: Servants are kinda soul-eaters, and I ate Caster's heart. And Hassan myself, or rather my clones, are basically 99% empty dummies without personality or skills, since I nulled them. Sudden fear hit that Caster might take one dummy's place—horror at voices returning in my head! And attempts to get along with her, sabotage, all sorts of revenge shit.
But on the other hand, I'd have my own elf! But it'd be my clone, but an elf! But my own clone! Wait, and right now—hands shot to chest and groin faster than I realized.
Fuuuuh, still a guy. Stand down panic on the ship! And I overreacted for nothing—seems no extra voices in my head, khm, meaning I don't have any anyway! Just mine. And that's weird; I ate her heart—if my savage Africa lore holds, eating an enemy's heart gives power. Not sure if true in practice, but this is anime. And my clone changed.
Heh, too bad no knowledge or memories came with it. On the other hand, why would they? Not heart replacement, but devouring; both mention only power. But Servants, as I recalled earlier, are literally soul-eaters in a way! They do it by killing people to restore power.
Scratched my head, thought more, recalled the Grail and how killed Servants' souls go to it as filling and batteries for its manifestation. Well, I snagged something anyway, probably because it was an empty dummy so I could absorb it. Summoned a couple more clones and checked for changes—standard, and yeah, I have spare inactive clones for emergencies.
Started testing changes, magic first—in the clone, standard 8 circuits became 36! Checked reserve, grew too, hit proud 60! Regen jumped from 1 unit per 18-20 minutes to 3! On the euphoria wave of finally getting my Deus ex machina from the bushes, checked elements—and nearly orgasmed—all 5! Oh yeah, and this was surely not her full power! That thought slightly soured it: how much did I snag? 10%? Fuck knows.
It calmed me and made me think: in my main body, no changes felt. Returned, checked—still 8 circuits. Looked for catches elsewhere: elements still 2, reserve and regen unchanged.
Pondered harder, recalled the super-mage clone—reserve stayed, regen dropped to 1 per 20 minutes. Bright idea: stop measuring in minutes, round regen to per hour—mda, first magic reforms. Now regen = 3 per hour without clone, 9 with. Knew numbers didn't change, but it lifted mood anyway.
Pondered if I snagged more from Caster? Like her abilities? Spent an hour straining, got nothing. Even if I did, without knowing what she could do—I could search forever, if it even exists.
Pondered prospects. Got my first specialist, already valued his use. And 6 Servants left in this war, khm, 5. 6 is me now, but little Gil from the last one too! Mentally licked lips, added they need to live longer to show all abilities—so I can check what I get later?
Thought shifted to boosting overall combat ability; eating regular people dismissed—waste dummies only. No desire for another freak circus; recalled old-shoe-maker Hassan. How could a shoemaker with outdated craft knowledge and barely moving wreck help in war? Exaggerating—he was spry—but changes nothing.
But magi on the menu? Hm, but can't tell a magus's strength or arsenal at a glance. And nuance: unlike Servants, their souls won't fly to Grail—mine to keep. Risk of schizo or disloyal clone. And what from a regular magus? Doubtful, but problems? Plenty.
Thought more, recalled I brought my old heart. No point feeding clone—human, what'd I get? More human clone? Bullshit. But main body eating it, reclaiming a piece of self? Hm, not raw—clones aren't fully human, don't care; I might get upset stomach. Hm, experiments rubric! Need a grill.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan