Ryudō Temple resembled hundreds of others like it. Rising on a hill, it towered over the mundane, granting its inhabitants and parishioners a sense of detachment from reality. The wooden vaults of the shrine to ancestors and spirits surrounded trees through which a wide straight staircase passed. Along its path were placed numerous statues, as if guarding it from any encroachment. But, as always, they proved useless when the intruder appeared—this time an ancient magus resurrected temporarily for a mighty ritual.
Caster, who had spread her magical sight across the entire city, had already seen that they had come for her soul. A man was ascending the steps, his power distinctly felt by the sorceress. She felt and knew more than others, so his essence didn't escape her—a divine-like one, yet not truly divine. Archer's soul shone with the power hidden within it, no less than the children of gods that the princess of Colchis had seen plenty of in her lifetime. However, despite the superficial impression, the primarch's spirit was human. It was precisely a human now approaching her fortress, but this human was extraordinary.
Those Heroic Spirits without ties to higher beings drew their power more from how the human race imagined them. Exceptions existed, but no more. The platinum-haired enemy stood out, for the light emanating from his essence seemed to scream that it had nothing to do with beliefs or prejudices. As if it wanted to prove that a human could achieve everything on his own, overcoming hardships through his will and unity with his kin. Medea didn't know who Archer of this war was, but she understood that he was extremely dangerous. Especially when using his full power, as he had during their clash in the forest not long ago.
Fulgrim ascended the hewn stone steps, deliberately not showing haste. His task was to be the vanguard, the one to draw all the enemy's attention and force him to commit all his forces. And part of those forces appeared before him as he approached the temple gates. A tall man with dark hair shimmering in a deep plum color, braided into a long high ponytail. No concern showed on his calm face after the intruder's appearance. Only his vigilance broke, and sapphire-colored eyes widened. They reflected the primarch's form, whose gaze likewise keenly examined his future opponent.
"Before we clash in battle, by the will of my cruel mistress, name thyself. I am Kojirō. Sasaki Kojirō." The measured voice of the long nodachi's owner flowed like a river—calm, yet unyielding.
"Fulgrim, called the Phoenician. Primarch of the third legion of Astartes—the Emperor's Children." The Phoenix's perceptive mind had already formed an impression of the one standing opposite. And it was exclusively positive, worthy at minimum. Hearing the unfamiliar titles, the other tilted his head slightly in thought.
"I regret that I'm not familiar with what you speak of, so I cannot properly appreciate who you were before."
"It's not your fault, for in this era no one knows me." Particles of light gathered in the primarch's hand, transforming into a blade enveloped in dense flame reminiscent of that blazing in a forge furnace. The flaming tip rose and pointed at the one who would become his master's enemy. Firebrand seemed to thirst for battle, thirsting to prove it was one of the few weapons worthy to become an extension of the hand of the lord of the stars' son.
"Very well, so be it. No matter how pointless this war seems to me, I must bar your path, for such is the role of the gatekeeper."
Further words were unnecessary; both understood the battle was inevitable. The samurai's relaxed stance couldn't deceive the primarch, for he clearly saw the readiness to counter any threat. And the one who had become the uninvited guest attacked with lightning speed. From the speed, the weapon blurred, turning into a burning sheet. The response was a sliding block flowing into a skillful counter-attack. Fulgrim slightly leaned back, avoiding injury, and attacked again. Each swing sparked from clashes, falling onto the pavement, while a pure ring filled the space. Both swordsmen knew no mistakes, demonstrating unparalleled mastery.
Fulgrim, like a Phoenix, swung his flaming wing and delivered a crushing blow that incidentally cleaved the stone beneath the one standing on it. This allowed him to repel the enemy, but only for the latter to respond with no less powerful thrust accompanied by a whistle of wind. Dozens, even hundreds of clashes occurred in mere seconds, but none decisive. Mastery was equal, and victory would go to the one superior in something else. In this case, the primarch won, for his strength exceeded his opponent's. And his weapon was a masterpiece of the Lord of the Iron Hands' genius, so it couldn't be equaled by a katana forged by a skilled but ordinary smith. The long curved blade began to develop nicks that could turn into cracks if the owner wasn't careful.
Fulgrim couldn't help but admire his enemy, for a mere human was fighting on equal terms with a primarch, and not because the latter was weakened. Kojirō's movements betrayed years of grueling training and oceans of blood and sweat formed on the path… to perfection. That was what the Phoenician saw: the pursuit of the ideal, so familiar yet now so distant. The memories flaring anew dulled his reaction, giving the enemy a chance to draw first blood. Several drops scattered from the opened wound on his cheek, finally shifting the standoff from deadlock.
"Hmm?" The samurai clearly saw that the primarch's mistake wasn't accidental, for the fog of memories clouding the depths of those purple eyes didn't escape him. "Something gnaws at you, Primarch Fulgrim?"
"Old regrets, nothing more. Your mastery reminded me of how I strived for perfection and how I strayed from the path to it." The crimson line had already vanished, leaving the ideal face unmarred once more. "You too desired to achieve it, didn't you?" Sasaki absentmindedly tilted his head, lost in brief reflection.
"I wouldn't say so; I just wanted to achieve more than I had at the moment. I had no goal of reaching perfection."
"Then… why?"
"And are reasons needed?" The samurai assumed a new stance, deciding to show this worthy master the result of his labors. Kojirō didn't know the primarch's past but thought he deserved to see the technique that became the apex of his path. Perhaps it would help him somehow, and besides, the fight could drag on forever without more decisive actions. "I never thought about the ideal; I just went forward and did what my heart desired."
"To strive for perfection, no reasons are needed?" This thought found multiple echoes in the primarch's mind, but he didn't allow himself to be distracted from the battle, for his enemy was plotting something that aroused alarm. Kojirō's figure radiated the sharp intent of the blade; it wasn't a thirst to kill, but to cleave the one standing ahead. The nodachi gleamed in the dim moonlight and moved.
A flawless swing enveloped the primarch's body. Firebrand stood guard, blocking one strike, but in the next instant Fulgrim felt two new cuts appear on his body. Wide wounds began profusely spilling blood that soaked his clothes and poured onto the stone underfoot. From the sharp retreat, platinum hair billowed, scattering over the man's shoulders.
"What… was that?" Inconceivable surprise overwhelmed the Phoenix, for though he asked the question, he already understood what had happened. His opponent hadn't struck once, but three times. Three times, in one instant. The primarch's perceptual speed wasn't enough to see Sasaki Kojirō raising his sword for the next two, meaning the interval between them wasn't just small—it didn't exist at all.
"Tsubame Gaeshi. Swallow Reversal. A technique I created to cleave that nimble bird in flight."
Inconceivable. Simply inconceivable. Such a technique was something beyond the bounds of reason. Striking three times simultaneously forced the opponent to parry them all at once. Considering the blade strokes arose as if from nowhere, predicting where the samurai would strike was possible only on the first swing.
The opponents didn't resume the fight immediately, for one of them had much to ponder, and Kojirō deemed a worthy master deserved such an opportunity. "He reached such heights without lofty goals; he didn't need to think about justifying the hopes of those he followed or those who followed him… Yet he succeeded. His mastery is unparalleled; I still haven't found a single flaw in his technique." Fulgrim felt he was beginning to respect the one standing before him. The one who had reached the very limit of the art of the sword. And driven by such a simple desire—to cleave a flying swallow. While the primarch, bearing immense responsibility for his sons and the preservation of mankind, had failed. Years of training and battles hadn't elevated him to the peak, and the fact that he had other numerous duties didn't justify it.
The realization that a mere human—not even an Astartes, let alone a primarch—had surpassed him caused a sharp pang in his chest. All his life, the Phoenician had strived to be better than anyone. When he reunited with his sons, they were a pitiful sight—a handful of surviving warriors. Many years were needed to emerge from his brothers' shadow and stand with them as equals. And while that time passed, the Phoenix's soul was tormented by… something that could be called envy. For the others had been given fully formed legions ready to conquer in His name, while he had to tear his guts out just so his brothers would stop looking at him with pity or superiority. Even that dispute with the Wolf King, for which Fulgrim brought an entire world to accord with only seven Space Marines, was accepted because of that tormenting feeling… of being below the other primarchs.
"I acknowledge… that Sasaki Kojirō is better than me. I acknowledge it." The effort required for this was far greater than it should have been. The primarch was growing tired of finding at least one reason for reflection every day. But once again, he confirmed the presence of deep soul wounds. They ached more than any physical injury, for they healed far more slowly. Perhaps in time this would change, but not now. For in essence, less than a week had passed for him since he had taken the Gorgon's life with his own hands. Even if he was thrice the Emperor's son, such a thing couldn't be forgotten quickly… "In the name of great Terra, enough recalling the past!" The present demanded close attention; enough distraction from the fight.
"In many years of wars, I have never seen an enemy possessing such mastery. I must admit, I cannot defeat you in a fair sword duel, so…"
The gate guardian sensed danger from the opponent's words. Foreboding howled, and only luck allowed the swordsman to escape the waves of flame enveloping the primarch. For the third time in this war, the world beheld the might of the Emperor's son. The giant, whose flaming gaze pierced space, rose above the ground. Sasaki Kojirō didn't even have time to widen his eyes in astonishment before he was attacked by the burning blade, whose fury had only intensified. Air streams crashed against treetops, making them sway, and what the gatekeeper was supposed to guard was swept away by the Phoenix's rage.
The thunderous roar would have awakened everyone in the temple, but they slumbered in deep sleep, the cause of which was obvious. The one now enemy to the colossus rose to his feet as quickly as possible, for he had been knocked down along with everything else. His body bore multiple abrasions and bruises, and his clothes burned in places. Just looking at the primarch made it clear he was close and already raising his weapon for the final blow, but this was thwarted by multiple beams carrying scorching magic. Caster made her move.
"Have you never been taught manners, Primarch Fulgrim?" The female voice from the roof of the main building was calm. "Barging into someone else's home uninvited is very rude." The sorceress cloaked in violet robes spoke.
"As is draining life from innocent people." From the gaze of those purple eyes, even Medeya of Colchis felt uneasy. The power she sensed and that hidden within them was something greater than anything the princess had seen before. "Moreover, I need the Grail not for selfish wishes, but to save your world."
"Hm, you mean that entity that appeared a few days ago?" Caster had tried to track it but lost the trail almost immediately. And intuition suggested not to attempt new ones, for they would be risky. But the presence of some entity had nothing to do with her.
"Precisely; to banish that creature, I came here. I came for your life."
"Insolent fool!" The primarch was once again engulfed by spells that even he had to dodge. "You think you can defeat a magus on his territory? How naive."
Fulgrim didn't reply, striving not to let them hit him. His monumental figure moved at unnatural speed, blurring in the air. But the shining beams poured down on him in a continuous stream. Several even managed to melt his armor, speaking to no small danger.
"Assassin, stop standing there like a post!" The mistress raised her voice, seeing her stubborn servant in no hurry to intervene. Sasaki sighed slightly, inwardly lamenting the twists of fate that had thrown him into such an unpleasant situation. Raising his blade, he rushed to intercept the enemy, who couldn't find a moment for counterattack. Caster's strength seemed endless.
In a swift leap, the swordsman aimed his blade at the primarch's neck, forcing him to spend a precious instant on a block—which allowed the deadly magic to catch him off guard. The amethyst armor withstood the impact stoically but lost its former splendor, replaced by multiple streams of molten adamantium covering it.
Medea saw the enemy cornered, for in this place her power was inconceivable. Accumulating life force from people was needed to create a special bounded field that would serve not only as her bastion but also allow drawing energy from the earth's depths. And now this mighty warrior would be felled by her magic's might. The thought was interrupted by a sense of external danger.
An incomprehensible device, whose purpose couldn't be guessed without knowing what it was, flew toward the airborne sorceress at high speed. Glowing blue, it boded nothing good, as Medea confirmed a second later. Flashing a hundredfold brighter for an instant, the melta bomb detonated, spreading a wave of superheated plasma around it. Her eyes burned with pain from the white sun blazing in the night darkness. It almost instantly swept away the sorceress's magical protection, but she miraculously escaped by teleporting aside. The princess of Colchis realized she had been on the brink of death, brought by her carelessness—for focusing on the primarch, she had completely forgotten he wasn't alone. But even these thoughts were interrupted.
Amid the furious roar of the engine, the massive autocannon began its harvest. Tacitus, who attacked at the right moment after the melta breached the defense, showered the sorceress with large-caliber rounds with adamantium cores. Such could pierce even sturdy Servant flesh, let alone Caster being no obstacle. In a desperate attempt to protect herself, she raised a weak shield that held the metal rain for a brief instant. And it was enough to teleport again, but this time she was hindered too.
Fulgrim, who had easily thrown his recent opponent aside, held his plasma gun in one hand and prepared to use it. In those short seconds since the melta explosion, he had considered Caster's spatial movement ability and understood how she would evade the Terminator weapon salvo. And as she teleported again, she was engulfed by a blob of azure plasma that consumed her body. Only a one-use talisman she had created herself saved her. Blinded by the azure light, she felt a strong push overturning her to the ground. And then her chest burned with pain, for it was pierced by a flaming blade. Tiny silver flickers, barely perceptible to the eye, began penetrating the Servant's pseudoflesh, and their effect was obvious to her.
This fire… brought death. The soul slowly covered with invisible burns, losing integrity, weakening, and heading toward oblivion's threshold. Caster, whose senses were already beginning to fade slowly, smirked at fate's twists. Once again, she was unlucky, clashing with a true scourge of all living things. The primarch himself probably didn't understand the powers he wielded, for despite the displayed might, the great soul's power was used in negligible measure, and unconsciously at that. A chuckle was followed by laughter.
"Ha-ha… kgh. And again, I find myself… defeated by a noble warrior, and in the first battle no less." From the war's start, Medea hadn't participated in clashes, only observing what she noticed. But the first fight became the last, and the temple was her territory. Perhaps if not for this cursed fire, she could have done something, but magic no longer obeyed. Life was leaving the woman. "What are you waiting for… want to watch me suffer?"
The Phoenix was silent. He saw sorrow on the face hidden by the hood. Though she harmed the innocent, there was no true hatred between them—only the necessity to end this war caused the battle. The giant bent over the defeated enemy's body and carefully scooped up a drop of blood staining the sorceress's clothes. That push with which the primarch knocked her down had broken numerous bones in her fragile body, causing internal bleeding and bloody cough. Then, the princess saw the crimson liquid enter Fulgrim's mouth, after which his brows furrowed.
"You had an unfortunate fate, Medeya of Colchis." The weakness gripping her body didn't allow the inner surprise to show outwardly, but it was great. "And yet it doesn't justify how you treated innocent people, though I understand why their lives didn't concern you. You became a witch not through your fault, but by your choice." The primarch rose and once more scanned the dying woman. She appeared to him a lost soul simply striving for light, though failing to reach it. "I pity you, and yet we are enemies by cruel fate's will. But… I'll give you a chance to say goodbye."
In a whirlwind of flame, Fulgrim's body returned to its former form, and his step aside revealed a man watching the scene. Kuzuki Sōichirō, already known to the primarch as the history teacher, turned out to be Caster's master. Until now, he had been in a fortified room where nothing threatened him. But the loud crash and shaking didn't let him stay put, so he witnessed his Servant's final moments. On the man's expressionless face, it was hard to see anything, but the primarch's eyes clearly saw grief. Caster was dear to him.
With calm steps, the master approached the Servant. Perhaps the thought to try saving the woman flashed in his mind, but cold reason ignored it, for the power emanating from the son of the Master of Mankind overwhelmed. Even one with strong will found it hard to attack such as Fulgrim, though Kuzuki most likely could. But now he just wanted to approach the woman whose chest bore a gaping hole with charred edges.
"Master… Sōichirō."
"Don't speak. Don't waste strength." Kneeling before Medea, the master scanned her with his gaze. A moment later, his hand gently rested on her slender palm.
Thus they froze, under the primarch's impartial eyes. The purple pupils watched unblinkingly to ensure the magic Servant attempted nothing before death. But she intended nothing. She simply looked at the one who had accepted her and been by her side. The one she herself wanted to be by. Tears of disappointment gathered in her eyes. The inexorable power of this… Primarch Fulgrim had crossed out all her plans for a peaceful life. Though something similar had happened to the woman not for the first time. The pain no longer tormented her scorched soul as fiercely, but it was still unbearable.
"Well, half the plan was unnecessary." Rin stood at a short distance, with the others.
"The power of my lord surprises you?" Such a development was no surprise to Vergil.
"What's surprise got to do with it? Why did we even come up with tactics if Fulgrim and Tacitus were enough." Tohsaka glanced at Saber, whose appearance said nothing, but the hair on her head was slightly tense and twitching side to side. Somehow, it moved on its own, expressing its owner's mood. She decidedly disliked not participating in the battle as planned, just standing aside.
"Isn't it good that no one got hurt?" Only Shirou was glad at the successful operation.
"Yes, perhaps."
"Nothing less was expected from my Lord."
"Wow, they're agreeing on something. Will the sun rise in the west tomorrow?" The golden orb, of course, wasn't hurrying to surprise, but it found a replacement.
"Well, well, well. Who do we have here?" On the roof of a neighboring house appeared a spearman in blue. Cú Chulainn, like any magus or Servant, had sensed the power outburst on the hill. And he didn't want to miss the fun.
"Dog…" The Phoenix Guard captain's lenses flashed crimson, and he fixed his gaze on the enemy. Anusoran hadn't forgotten this scum who dared wound his Lord. The power halberd crackled. The mighty weapon awoke from slumber, desiring to punish the Phoenix's foe. And its owner, in a lightning throw, attacked Lancer.
"Whoa, straight to business? I like that!"
"Shut your maw, mutt; you'll pay for insulting my primarch!" Vergil was consumed by righteous wrath and mercilessly struck the enemy, already leaving a couple of cuts. The guardsman's mastery surprised Cú Chulainn, for few could match him in polearm handling. Luckily, only his teacher surpassed him. Memories of the Shadow Witch of the Land of Shadows made Setanta shudder, and he nearly missed a strike.
"Um, Saber, don't you want to intervene?"
"Vergil wishes to defend the honor of the one he swore fealty to. Interference would be a great insult."
Rin shifted her gaze to the hill, where the temple roof was barely visible through the trees. Fulgrim had handled it surprisingly quickly; she hadn't even had time to tense up much. True, the rate at which precious gems were depleting was discouraging. Making them accumulators was no longer a problem, but they still needed to be sourced somewhere; her personal reserves of raw gems were nearly exhausted. And there were still battles ahead.
***
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