Nasuverse Adventure in the Cedar Forest


KING (In Land of Blind)
Staff member
Wow, it's been too long.

Anyway I redid the scene with Dot Pixis a little bit. I fixed the contempt thing to make Avider happy--just kidding. Really I changed it to make it more like Shirou and less like Gilgamesh. Appeasing Avider's weird hang-ups was a side bonus.

Also a Fake Assassin reference just for Amod. Nobody else is allowed to get it???


Eyes narrowed, arms crossed behind his back, Commander Dot Pixis stared down at the carnage stretched out beneath him.

With a delicate motion, he reached his hand out from behind his back, and carefully ran it along the sides of his mustache. It had the same air as someone who was pinching themselves to determine whether they were awake or dreaming.

The sun beating down on his bald head was the same as the sun beating down on the unreal scene before him.

"What the hell am I looking at?" He finally asked.

It was a miracle. It was a slaughter.

The field was scorched. The remains of giants burned and evaporated. There were countless patches of burned-away grass that were testimony to that truth.

But the number of scorch marks obviously exceeded the number inflicted by the cannons before the retreat.

And there was a more unreal sight.

A pile of corpses.

Even if they were destined to burn away... even if they were going to quickly dissipate like smoke from a dry-wood fire, right now, there was a pile-up mass of titan corpses. A grisly mound of dismembered flesh.

The top layer moved. Eight meters tall--or it was, when still it had head and neck--the vaguely feminine body was not the tallest or the shortest to be stacked in that pile. But that highest mass was forced upwards, and the rolled away.

Climbing out from beneath that corpse, there was a man.

With a graceful leap, he jumped outwards, hopping down from that mountain of corpses, even as smoke began to emerge.

Without looking behind him, he hopped out and down, landing cleanly on the solid ground and casually walking away from the mountain of corpses.

The huge pile of flesh he had raised.

Under the gaze of Dot Pixis and his lieutenants, that man had been attacked by twenty giants. Alone, standing on the ground without any gear but some unusual swords, he was beset by giants from every side.

Without particularly moving, without soaring around and behind them on the 3-D movement gear, he had killed them.

When they reached for him, he had slashed off their arms. When they lunged in to bite him, he had slashed out their eyes and slit their throats. He carved away their flesh and cut out their necks.

Their facing did not matter. Their actions were meaningless. He simply cut away their bodies until the meat between him and the weakpoints was gone.

With dance-like motion, he simply cut everything that approached him. He used their size against them, leading one before others to limit the number of giants that could reach him to that one, and then slashing that one down.

His motion was precise, and elegant. There was no waste in his actions. There was not even any particularly strong emotion.

Dot Pixis was old. He had seen many fighters in his time. Coldly and clinically going for the weak point. White-hot rage as they carved up the opponent. Even the lashing, mercurial twitch between fear and anger. He is old, and has read many emotions in the attacks of his soldiers.

But never before had he seen someone so... bored.

The simple tactic of stepping so one enemy blocks off others, that even a child would understand. The way that he lazily cut what was in reach rather than lunging around for the kill. Not running around, his motion was more like jogging. He was in no hurry to do anything. There was simply no urgency in his actions. To say he is slaughtering them like animals is true. But, he is not a sadist luxuriating in others' pain. He is more like the unmotivated butcher who lazily carves up cattle in the summer heat.

That man simply wasn't trying very hard.

"A miracle."



Dot Pixis noted the answers his entourage give to his question, but they did not answer as he answered, so he didn't respond to any in turn. Not one of these officers has truly given a correct answer. Perhaps he is an unpleasable eccentric, as they say when they think he can't hear. But he cannot trust anyone else to do this. They did not perceive the darkness inside that man's heart. It is not the hatred that blackens so many of his comrades' souls. It is more subtle. Rather than hatred at the giants, what that man feels, is nothing. If no one else understand this, they cannot be trusted to handle this delicate meeting for him.

Fear, anger, hatred, willing ignorance; in his life Dot Pixis has seen how many people consider giants in their hearts. But this is the first time that he has seen someone bored with them. And that kind of void seems, to him, very ominous.

"Well, it can't be helped." He said aloud. "I'm going down to speak with him."

He waved aside all disagreement. "He is a hero." Dot said warmly. "He deserves the honest thanks of the defense commander. Nothing else will suffice."


Walking away from the pile of corpses, Emiya Shirou scowled in thought.

The conflagration of death behind him did not concern him. He squinted as he gazed out across the plain. At ground level, no matter how much he Reinforced his eyes, he could not see past the horizon. On this plain, with the curve of the land, the horizon was something like 35 or 40 kilometers away.

He twitched, grimacing from the heat of the corpses behind him. From the sun was beating down on his side. Sweat was stinging his eyes. He thrust Kanshou and Bakuya into the ground, and rubbed his shoulder. The Crest was aching with pain, like hot wires under his skin.

He had only Traced one pair. Because he was trying to minimize prana expenditure rather than win quickly, naturally that meant he was being conservative with his Tracing. And there was another consideration. Even if he had not found one other magus, he was still being careful. Surrounded by witnesses, he couldn't freely swing the more impressive swords. Until he knew for certain they were extinct, Shirou did not want to draw the ire of Enforcers.

The jumpsuit was already opened and those sleeves tied around his waist. Emiya Shirou is considering: if he took off the shirt as well, would the gain in cooling off-set the gain in heating from having to Reinforce his skin to prevent sunburns?

Also, he was worried because he had been sweating without anything to drink. Heat stroke was a concern.

Of course, he mused, as he tracked the motion of the bald man swinging down the wall and walking towards him, followed by two others also wearing the jacket of the Defense Legion, it's not like he could take off his shirt now anyway.

Even if all the spells carved inside it were beyond him, the Crest was a useful reservoir for prana. Continuously siphoning mana into it, it was glowing brightly; exposing an active Crest would be a source of questions, so his shirt needed to stay on.

"Commander Dot Pixis." Shirou said, greeting the bald man calmly walking towards him, on the field outside the protection of the wall. He doesn't recognize the other two, but presumably they are aides to this man, who is the commander of all troops deployed in this place, someone even a civilian worker like him would recognize on sight.

"And you must be the remarkable pressure-vessel mechanic, Shirou Emiya." The commander responded. "On behalf of humanity, I earnestly thank you for defending the outer gate of Trost District. Many lives have been saved by your heroism."

Shirou looked directly into that man's eyes. There was depth implied beneath the surface meaning of those words, but no matter. For one moment, Shirou savored those words.

"I'm happy." Shirou said, smiling gently. "I'm happy I could save people."

"I see." Dot Pixis said. His rythm was disrupted. Someone unmoved by titans such as this man, saying such direct and heart-felt words, was not what he had expected. Frankly speaking, Dot Pixis was relieved that Shirou Emiya wasn't a complete psychopath.

"Having said that, Mr. Emiya", Pixis continued after a moment, "what are your plans?"

Shirou smiled. This smile was as heartfelt and sincere as his last one. But there was nothing kind or gentle in it. "I'll just... stand here. Guarding the gate. Cutting down all the giants trying to pass through." Shirou chuckled, amused by something. Seeing Pixis' raised eyebrow, he shook his head. "It's... I just suddenly had sympathy for a guy I didn't really like."

Pixis nodded sagely, filing away that nonsequitor for later. "And if we can't close the gate?"

"You can." Shirou said simply. "After all, Giants cannot move during the night, so I have plenty of time to eat and sleep. Even if it takes months, holding this gate is simple." Shirou glanced at the horizon, judging the speed and distance of the few giants that were sprinting in their direction. There was still time to talk. "Even if you have to stack up each brick individually, that isn't a problem." Shirou grinned, turning to meet the commander's eye. "Ha... I could probably even pile it shut myself, inbetween fighting."

Dot Pixis had no words, so he nodded once more, in that same knowing fashion. His mind whirled to formulate a response for that amazing man. "I don't think it will come to that." Pixis nodded, his own eyes flicking to take in the approaching giants. His aides have been unabashedly staring at them all along; they are disciplined and tough, and will not say anything to contradict his image, but, Dot Pixis mused ruefully to himself, this is exactly the kind of "unnecessary risk-taking" they always whined at him about in private.

"It's a little unorthodox," Dot Pixis continued, "but under the circumstances, I feel it is necessary." He cleared his throat. "Shirou Emiya. Under the direct royal authority granted me as the Southern Regional Commander of the Defense Legion, I do hereby promote and commission you to the rank of Captain, with all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges that entails."

"You are assigned directly to me, the Southern Regional Commander," Dot Pixis continued, "and under that authority I grant you your first order: Captain Emiya, you will hold and defend the Shiganshina Gate, without relief, until it is closed." Although his voice was clear, he allowed an ironic smile to cross his face when he finished formally giving the man before him what anyone would consider a suicide mission.

Shirou chuckled. "Well if it's an order from the Commander, I suppose I have no choice." He shrugged, and then paused. "Ah, there is one thing, though."

"Yes?" Dot Pixis asked.

"I don't want to impose, but could you send someone to fetch me some water?" Shirou asked seriously. "I'm beginning to feel a little dehydrated." Without waiting for a response, he pulled free the two swords standing upright in the ground where he left them, and turned, measuring the distance between the approaching threats and himself.

Even as he chuckled at that, and promised he would do so, a part of Dot Pixis remembered: boredom. Surrounded by titans, attacked by enemies from all sides, and this man was so certain of victory he was only half-heartedly worrying about whether he'd get sunstroke.

1.3.1 End



A titan before her. 15 meter class.

No gas for the 3-dimensional movement gear.

Compared to the dozen blades of super-hardened steel she had started with, all that remained was a single tip the size of a knife.

There were tears on her cheeks.


Those tears stopped.

She gripped the knife-sized leftover, and stood up to face the titan before her.

Because, just like she had resolved, she would fight on, no matter what, as long as she could.

Yes, no matter what, even if he was gone.

She screamed, sinking into a stance, glaring up at the titan stupidly gazing down.

But in that moment, she didn't need to do anything.

Another titan stepped around her, past her, over her.

A fist the size of a cannonball had been loaded with curled-up muscles. From the shoulder, an arm the size of a deck-gun launched that cannonball-sized fist.

With an impact like an explosion, the fist completely ripped the jaw off that other titan. The foot crashing down to catch the lunging puncher, and then the impact of the punched one slamming into the ground; those shock-waves knocked even Mikasa Ackerman off her feet.

She could do nothing but stare.

Brutally. Savagely. Remorselessly.

The wild-haired, wild-eyed titan furiously pounded the other into paste, until finally its indiscriminate stamps happened onto the nape of the neck, destroying the monster.

There was something about the furious, victorious roar of that titan, that resonated with Mikasa's heart.

But as she stared on, she was picked up, and swept out of the way by her friend Armin.

"Mikasa!" He shouted. "You fell because you ran out of gas, right?" Armin clamped her shoulder with his hand, staring into her face, looking for something.

"I'll be fine." Mikasa muttered.

Armin stared into her eyes, and to Mikasa, seemed to reach some conclusion.

Armin's mind raced. It was true they had been saved, but with only the tiny amount of gas remaining to him, he didn't have much motion left. And, he couldn't divide the gas with Mikasa. Only one of them was actually capable of moving.

His thoughts were interrupted by a great screech.

A titan with a head like a marble, some 13 meters tall, was challenging the lean giant that had saved them.

And that giant dropped slightly, spreading his legs, and raising his arms in a boxer's stance, loading his fist into the cannon of his shoulder.

The fist was launched, and that round head was completely blasted off that neck.

The neck of the twitching corpse was crushed underfoot.

Even as the two friends stared in shock, Armin's mind was still racing.

And, it reached a conclusion.

"Mikasa." He said, "Take my gas, and follow that titan."

Mikasa's mind latched onto one thing. "I'm not abandoning you, Armin."

Armin shook his head. "And I don't want you to! But you've got higher skills. I'll transfer my bottle of gas to you. And you'll carry me. We'll tail that titan, conserving as much gas as possible, until it gets close to the wall. Then we'll mount the wall." He shrugged. "We'll be stuck with a long walk, but this is the best way to avoid gas-expensive battles and retreat for now."

All of that was true. But, for this kind of careful maneuvering, it didn't really matter who carried who. The efficiency of the gear mattered more than the skill of the user when casually swinging from building to building outside of combat maneuvering.

Except, that if Mikasa had Armin's life in her hands, she would be careful. With Eren gone, the fastest and most reliable thing to do was temporarily replace her meaning for living.

Once again, guilt clawed up his throat, and Armin swallowed it. The acid bile from his stomach, and the hot tears he refused to let fall, could not be allowed to fall.

The only thing that made it okay, was that Armin knew Eren would approve.

Mikasa slowly nodded. "Okay, let's do it."


"Ah, dammit." Shirou cursed. Sharply flinging his hand down, Kanshou was sent howling forward to plunge into the throat of a lunging 3-meter titan.

But, the purpose had been to free his right hand, so that he could slap the fly that had bit the side of his neck, below his ear.

In that moment, while distracted, the hand of a 14-meter titan closed around his torso, under his right armpit and clamping his left arm against his body.

As he was hauled upwards, Shirou glanced over his shoulder at the slavering mouth that opened to receive him.

"Whoops." He muttered.

Another Kanshou appeared in his hand. Smoothly cutting downward, even though it was an awkward angle behind him, he severed the tendons of that right hand holding him up.

As soon as he landed, Shirou darted forward four steps, and slashed both achilles' tendons simply by swinging his arms back.

That is why he was not afraid. No, that was why he had nothing to fear.

Emiya Shirou is a counter-fighter. Taking his first move as a feint to lure the enemy into a response, he can in turn respond with a well-timed blow to the opening that exists during their attack. Rather than tremendous speed or incredible strength, it's an approach that requires excellent timing.

Against monsters who are too stupid to even read attacks, feints are like completely foreign words. For someone who consciously focused on out-thinking the enemy, at more clearly imagining a path to victory, fighting mindless monsters is the most alien thing.

But, more than anything else, as "someone who counter-attacks", he could tell: these giants do not attack.

They simply plucked up humans and jammed them into their mouths.

Emiya Shirou is someone who had always assumed that every opponent was stronger and faster than him. So, he had trained with the realization that if he missed his counter, if the enemy's blow connected, he would be killed. The gap between what his body can handle and what his opponents could exert was always that large.

But these are enemies that don't attack. Even if he erred, even if they could grab him, if he was grabbed, there would still be plenty of time to recover the situation. The only thing he had to worry about was their teeth. And against someone on the ground, they must pick him up before they can bite him.

And even if they do bite him, his body is swords. Someone biting into a sword has an obvious outcome.

Compared to before...

They are completely different in form, but their function is exactly the same.

A grand thaumaturgy of autonomous, giant familiars that devour people.

Because, the Grail simply used the closest thing to grant the wish that golden fool had made.

They had gone to the castle in the forest.

He--they--hadn't known there was a second Grail, a tainted reproduction.

And because it was a tainted reproduction, obviously that fool who only accepted the best of everything, the certified original, he would obviously sneer at it. So even if he had known about the second Grail, he wouldn't have been worried. That was proven by the course selected by another who was not truly someone else.

But, for whatever reason, for once in his life, that fool had deigned to use a flawed reproduction rather than the original.

Even though she had stayed by his side for so long, at the one time it counted most, he had shown up too late to do anything but watch. He stretched out his hand to save her like he already should have so many years ago.

"There are too many people. Get rid of everyone unnecessary."

Black mud spilled outwards and dissolved away the flesh that had contained it. No, rather than a destroyed container, it was more like the lid was eaten away from underneath.

A calamity that spilled out across the world. His swords could not hold it back any more than they could have held back crude oil spilled across an ocean bay.

"Tch." Shirou clucked his tongue. "It can't be fixed." Shirou repeated. "It already happened. So stop dwelling on the past and move forward." He lectured himself.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and slowly breathed out.

In a flash, he dropped into a wide stance, flinging his arms outward as his torso strongly swayed.

From his whipping hands, two swords darted out like fish, and took precise bites from the titans that loomed over him.

The sloppy habits he was allowing to rust into his mind would be carefully sanded away. Within his inner world, the dusty wind picked up.


2.1 end

Next time: a cute glasses-wearing girl has her way with Eren. I dunno whether I wanna go through it or present it as a fait accompli and then just have a couple'a flashbacks.

Later: I systemically kill off more heroines. I guess that might make Mike feel better???

Master of Squirrel-Fu said:
And Daniel, maybe you should have someone proof read it to correct the tenses for you. volunteering?


Well-Known Member
Interesting explanation on how the giants came to be.


Well-Known Member
I'm glad this is back. Not much else to say, just waiting for more now.


Well-Known Member
So, I just read the latest chapter, than took a look at the mangafox forums and found <a href='' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>this</a>.. I wonder how much Shirou's presence here will change their plans.


Well-Known Member
It's a legitimate criticism born from many years of observation! It's totally not weird!


That is why he was not afraid. No, that was why he had nothing to fear.

Emiya Shirou is a counter-fighter. Taking his first move as a feint to lure the enemy into a response, he can in turn respond with a well-timed blow to the opening that exists during their attack. Rather than tremendous speed or incredible strength, it's an approach that requires excellent timing.

Against monsters who are too stupid to even read attacks, feints are like completely foreign words. For someone who consciously focused on out-thinking the enemy, at more clearly imagining a path to victory, fighting mindless monsters is the most alien thing.

But, more than anything else, as "someone who counter-attacks", he could tell: these giants do not attack.

They simply plucked up humans and jammed them into their mouths.

Emiya Shirou is someone who had always assumed that every opponent was stronger and faster than him. So, he had trained with the realization that if he missed his counter, if the enemy's blow connected, he would be killed. The gap between what his body can handle and what his opponents could exert was always that large.

But these are enemies that don't attack. Even if he erred, even if they could grab him, if he was grabbed, there would still be plenty of time to recover the situation. The only thing he had to worry about was their teeth. And against someone on the ground, they must pick him up before they can bite him.

And even if they do bite him, his body is swords. Someone biting into a sword has an obvious outcome.

Compared to before...

They are completely different in form, but their function is exactly the same.


Well-Known Member
zeebee1 said:
I have found the reference. I refuse to give it to Amod.
I don't think it's actually possible to miss that reference dude.

Speaking of which, that line is much better now Dan. Really fits the whole casual badass vibe. I eagerly await more.


Well-Known Member
This is a necro, I am aware, but the author expressed desire for a wiki to help keep track of the characters.

There now is one.

<a href='' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Here.</a>

I am posting it here in case anyone else desired access to one.

Oh and it has unmarked spoilers, so watch out for that.


Well-Known Member
Aarik said:
This is a necro, I am aware, but the author expressed desire for a wiki to help keep track of the characters.

There now is one.

<a href='' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>Here.</a>

I am posting it here in case anyone else desired access to one.

Oh and it has unmarked spoilers, so watch out for that.
Arrrgh! I thought there was an update! Bad Aarik, just PM it to him or something! :spank:
This is a necro, I am aware, but the author expressed desire for a wiki to help keep track of the characters.

There now is one.


I am posting it here in case anyone else desired access to one.

Oh and it has unmarked spoilers, so watch out for that.
Arrrgh! I thought there was an update! Bad Aarik, just PM it to him or something! spank.gif
I agree it was annoying, but there was a reason, if not a great one.


Well-Known Member
Why would anyone think that this particular author will ever update this.


KING (In Land of Blind)
Staff member
Don't rag on him too hard because it put a bug in my ear....

Oh and ZB1--EAT IT.


Part 3.1

Eren dozed.

He slept fitfully. Even if the blankets were coarse, they were warm and heavy.

He was too exhausted to mind something as trivial as that when he was lucky to even be alive to warm this bed.

However, the manacles on his wrists were a heavy weight. Including the iron, they had the weight of three lives dragging him down.

Although it burned him to be considered a traitor to humanity, he was surprised that he was worried more about his friends than his own life.

Because, if he was executed as an enemy Titan, then Armin would be stained with the same sin, and Eren doubted he could stomach such a vile taste as being forced to continually swallow that poison.

There was no doubt what Mikasa would do. Eren did not fully understand her, but he certainly understood this much: If Eren was to be executed by the government, than Mikasa would kill anyone that prevented her from stopping the execution, until she was killed herself. And Eren had tasted enough bitterness that he had no doubt that sneering words gloating over her getting cut down would be the last thing he received in this world before his head was cut off.

If something that sad happened, he would probably become a vengeful ghost.

That was the kind of thing that Eren was half-thinking, half-dreaming about, buried in a cell after the Miracle of Trost.

But the iron squeal of the gate opening dragged him from his slumber.

With a blink, his eyes snapped up, and dragged into focus.

Three people entered his cell, passing between the guards that flanked the iron bars. All three wore the boots and jacket of the military, although none were equipped with movement gear.

On the left was a man older than Eren but still young. He had an intense look in his eyes; his natural expression was a glare that Eren would have considered aspiring towards if those cold eyes weren’t evaluating him as an enemy to be cut down.

On the right was a young woman. Her features were slightly too sharp to be cute. She didn’t blink while pushing her solidly framed glasses up her nose. If the left man was evaluating him as an enemy, she was evaluating him as a bug on a needle. As a specimen.

And standing confidently between them—

“Commander Irvin Smith.” Eren muttered, nodding at the tall man with the stern features that loomed over him.

“Recruit Eren Jaeger.” The commander quietly responded. Considering the pressure he exerted just with his presence, there was no need for him to speak loudly.

“Suppose you tell me,” he said, “why I shouldn’t have you tortured for information and then executed.”

Eren grunted sourly, although he kept his gaze matching the commander’s own crushing eyes.

Forcing his voice to remain as even as his glance, Eren responded.

“Because then you would lose a soldier that could have been used against the titans.” The barest pause. “Sir.”

“Hmph.” Irvin said, crossing his arms. “That would be a good answer. Unless, of course, you’re just piling more hypocrisy on top of older lies.”

Eren snarled, his lips unconsciously going up to expose his incisor teeth. “I’ve already explained. I don’t know how or why I transformed, only that I did.”

“What a convenient, vague story.” Irvin said. “It’s nice you had that key around your neck as a prop, but following your convenient story up with that fairy tale about your old family basement in the Shiganshina district makes it even less reliable.”

Eren shrugged his shoulders, admitting his own helplessness. “I just told the truth. Sir.”

Irvin stood, silently contemplating the man in front of him. “I’m going to tell you the same things I told your friends.”

Irvin paused, slightly surprised. Beside him, his faithful lieutenant Reyner shifted his weight into a combat stance, responding to the same thing as Irvin: despite his youth and inexperience, the young man chained before them had a magnificent gaze. The ferocity and focus of those eyes was excellent. No matter what else he knew, even if he ignored the evaluations and recommendations of the training staff, this removed any doubt from Irvin’s mind that this young lad before him was officer material.

Of course, if he was an enemy, that certainly made him that much more dangerous.

Suppressing any outward emotion, Irvin continued to speak. “During the battle to hold the Shigansha district, as a member of the 34th Trainee Team, Eren Jaeger admirably discharged his duty and died fighting the enemy.”

Eren said nothing, staying motionless.

“Bearing his will,” Irvin said, “his two childhood friends applied to, and were accepted in, the Scouting Legion.”

Reyner tensed.

Eren remained motionless, and then spoke. “If you’re gonna kill me, that’s your duty as an officer. But if you feed Armin and Mikasa to titans over this, I won’t forgive that even if I have to claw my way out of the grave to do it.”

Irvin closed his eyes, pausing, before opening them as he spoke again. “Of course, that’s just the official story. Unofficially, in reality, you’re buried in the research department of the Scouting legion. You will be investigated as a specimen. If you cooperate and your story is verified, then you will be promoted into the Scouts. Meanwhile, your friends are hostages to ensure your good behavior. That’s only to a select group of officers, however, who will be evaluating their actions just like yours. They will remain normal recruits on the surface.”

Irvin Smith once again met the piercing gaze of Eren Jaeger with his own sharp eyes. “I’m willing to accept your story as a possibility. The fastest, most reliable way for you three to convince me is to cooperate fully. Do you understand, trainee Eren Jaeger?”

Eren sat up straight. “Sir! Yes sir!” Out of reflex, he tugged his arms towards his back and chest for the salute, but was foiled by the chains on his arms.
Irvin nodded, and then turned to walk from the cell. Without looking back, before stepping completely across the threshold, he spoke one last time.

“Don’t let me down, son.”

“Sir!” Eren shouted his own agreement.

The three quietly walked through the hall, and reached the stairs. When the door was closed behind them, finally Reyner spoke.

“Are you going soft, sir?”

Irvin grimaced, pausing, and turning slightly to glance at his lieutenant. “Did I sell it too hard?”

“Sir?” Reyner asked.

Irvin sighed, before turning to continue climbing the spiral staircase. “There are three scenarios I have in mind.” He began. “Scenario one: Eren and his friends are traitors to humanity. Two: Eren is a traitor, but his friends are ignorant tools. Three: Eren Jaeger, Armin Artlett, and Mikasa Akerman were all telling the truth.” Irvin paused. “How do you agree with that assessment, Reyner?”

Reyner frowned. “That sounds about right, I guess. There might be other circumstances… that guy Armin was a little too glib for how off-balance he was supposed to be. If I was gonna try to come up with more scenarios, then maybe he’s the traitor and Eren is his tool.”

Irvin nodded. “That’s also possible.” He paused, pushing open the door at the top of the staircase, glancing back and forth across the ground floor gallery before stepping through into a ruined courtyard.

Reyner followed, glancing around the decayed walls, eyes lingering on the highest point, the collapsed tower, as the best anchor for gear, and Hanji stepped through the door after him, closing it behind herself.

“If scenario one is true, what should we do?” Irvin continued to speak.

Reyner frowned. “Interrogate and kill the lot of them.”

“And in scenario two?” Irvin asked.

Reyner grunted. “Interrogate the lot of them and kill Eren. I dunno how those two could be trusted if they got duped that easy. Probably I’d stick them in the military police.”

Irvin snorted. “And scenario three?” He finished.

Reyner puffed his breath out of his mouth in a dismissive manner. “Use them.”

The conversation halted as the three reached their horses. Harness and reigns were checked, and after the quality of their gear was guaranteed, the three officers of the Scouting Legion mounted their horses.

Once the horses settled into a steady pace, Irvin spoke again. “Assuming all three scenarios, but without knowing which is true, and still needing to act, what one action is appropriate for all three?”

Reyner paused. An embarrassed look crossed his face. “Separate them and convince them they can talk you into believing them so they’ll talk.” Reyner nodded at his leader, before continuing. “If they’re lying you’ll have plenty of time to catch ‘em out, and in the meantime Hanji has as much time as possible to study Eren.”

Irvin nodded solemnly. “Whenever possible, take actions that are beneficial in all possible scenarios. That is wise strategy.”

“Yes sir.” Reyner said. “But, saying that, which scenario do you think is true, Sir?”

“Hm.” Irvin said. “What do you think, Hanji?”

“Sir!” His other lieutenant said. “I think I’d rather get cracking at investigating his body! Requesting permission to ditch the upcoming boring ceremony and stay here!”

Irvin snorted. “Permission denied. Tell me which scenario you favor?”

“Oh shoot.” Hanji muttered, before growing more serious. “Well, there are two data points that are influencing my judgment.”

“The first,” she began, “is that he didn’t recognize me or my squad. If he didn’t recognize the soldiers who apprehended him, that would lend support to his statement that his memories from his transformed state are vague.”

“The second…” she paused, trailing off, before picking the thread up again. “When I first joined the Scouting Legion, I was assigned to a squad commander who liked to sneak up behind new recruits and whack us on the butt with a willow stick. It was really annoying and humiliating, and by the end of training we were all pretty paranoid about him sneaking up on us with his stupid stick.
“After my first mission, where three people were grabbed from behind while mid-air by titans, I realized he was trying to train us to be aware of our blindspots, although if he’d told us that it would have been at least 40% more productive.”

“Is there a point to this anecdote?” Reyner testily asked.

“Oh hush, you.” Hanji said, dismissing his complaints with a wave of her hand.

“My point is, that some of my squadmates would suppress their flinch reaction when they were hit in an attempt to deny the squad leader his giggles.”

Hanji nodded solemnly. “After we apprehended Armin and Mikasa, but before Armin convinced us to stop attacking, I counted at least three instances where his body language made me think he was suppressing a titanic instinct to kill my squaddies.”

“So you think it’s scenario three, huh?” Reyner grunted. “I hope not.”

“Oh?” Irvin said, raising an eyebrow.

“If he’s a traitor, we can kill ‘em.” Reyner said. “And if there’s more traitors, we can root them out, and kill them, too.” Reyner glanced at the sky. “Fuck, thinking that there are humans standing behind the titans pisses me off, but it also feels like a relief, too, because that makes titans a human weapon, not an enemy of humanity.”

Reyner leaned over the edge of his horse, and spat on the ground as a punctuation mark to his words.

“Say whatever else you want about this kid, though, he’s got guts. If he got infected with a titanification disease like his smartass friend hypothesized to get Hanji off his back, then the reason he was able to detransform is ‘cause he had the guts to force his way through whatever fever dream titans see in their boiled heads. Guts like other folks wouldn’t have to pull themselves out.”
Reyner paused, growing uncertain, and becoming angry at his own uncertainty.
“How in hell are we supposed to defeat a disease with a sword?”

“In that case,” Irvin said, “giving Hanji as much time as possible to investigate the symptoms of a partial state like Eren is the best option.”

“You flatter me.” Hanji said, sounding smug. “But since you’ve brought that up I’d like to add medical staff to the research team-“

“Denied.” Irvin flatly announced. “Operational secrecy is the maximum priority. No matter what the scenario, the possibility of a traitor organization within the legion can’t be discounted. It was a stroke of luck that Hanji’s squad was the one that stumbled over this, and I won’t squander that luck.”

“Shoot.” Hanji grumbled, resigned. However underneath the childish exterior she sourly admitted to what Irvin left implicit—her squad was being isolated with guard and research duty because the possibility one of her own squaddies was a mole was real.

Reyner grunted. “You know,” he began, “you never did tell us which scenario you thought was most likely, boss.”

Irvin paused, and then responded seriously. “Keeping your opinions secret whenever possible,” he lectured, “is also wise strategy.”

“Tch.” Reiner clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Sir.” He amended, with ironic respect.


KING (In Land of Blind)
Staff member


That is the name of the Southern Gate Town of the Second Great Wall of Humanity, called Rose.

Once the middle wall, since the loss of Wall Maria during the Shiganshina Disaster of four years ago, Wall Rose became at that time the outer bulwark of humankind. That smooth and shining form was our great and holy shield.

Four days before, the threat of annihilation was once again visited on all humanity.

Once again, our white walls were penetrated by the titans.

Once again, the Southern Gate was pierced by the nemesis of our species, and the Enemy poured through the wound in our Wall Maria.

Once again, the sanctity of a Wall was violated.

Thanks to the sacrifices of the Defense Legion, who held back the titanic hoards even at the cost of precious human lives, granting the general citizenry precious time to flee through the safety of Trost’s still-whole North Gate.

Thanks to the courage of the Scouting Legion, elites who volunteered themselves to the dangerous missions of covering the last retreat.

Thanks to the valor of the Military Police, who stood beside the citizenry, who spent their lives as the last shield of innocent humans, just as Wall Sina is the final, inner Wall.

Thanks to the legions, because once again, as dark hour rose up to swallow humanity, the Legions rose up against the darkness.

Once again, the Legions were called on to sacrifice all, and once again, they answered that call.

I say this to remind you of what those here felt at that time. Horror, despair, and great spiritual darkness.

The Wall had fallen. The great calamity of only four years past had once again been visited on humanity.

Everyone present, the Legion, and the citizens, suspected in their hearts that struggle was useless. They despaired of salvation, because once again a catastrophe that would swallow everything from the Outer Wall to the next appeared.

However, they did not give in to despair. Even if they thought it was useless, they still struggled on! The citizens did not panic, and they evacuated. The Legions defended them to the death. Because that is what humans do! They do not give up! They bet on the slimmest chance of survival wherever it appears!

Because this time was different!

Even if the Wall was pierced, salvation appeared! A great hero rose up, and cast down the enemy, wherever they advanced! The wound in our Wall was healed, the violation was purified!

Humans, I present to you,

The protector of Wall Maria:

The savior of Trost:

The Hero:



The crowd went wild. Cheering, clapping, screaming.

“Laid it on kind of thick, didn’t he?” Reyner muttered, grimacing as he glanced around him.

Irvin was clapping, smiling broadly. “Smile and clap, you idiot.”

Reyner rolled his eyes, but did as he was told.

“More enthusiasm.” Irvin whispered. “Like Hanji. We’re being watched, so play along.”

“Wahoo!” Hanji shouted, jumping up and down as she waved a sword dangerously above her.

Reyner pasted a grin on his face, a sickly thing, but he certainly put more effort into clapping.

Even after this much time, the roar of the crowd still had not abated.

“And yes, he did trawl it on.” Irvin said out the side of his mouth. “But Dot Pixis started asking uncomfortable questions, like ‘how did this happen, anyway’ and he’s in an excellent position, politically, to demand answers. So the military police decided to drown him out with these cheers by making any questions look traitorous.”

“Useless lot.” Reyner growled.

“Yippee!” Hanji cheered, nearly dropping her sword onto Reyner as she slipped.

Reyner caught her with a twitch, and glowered. “Put that thing away before you put someone’s eye out.” He ordered, before pausing to glower more. “And weren’t you the one who called this a useless ceremony, anyway?” He added in a demanding tone.

Hanji pouted, but even so, she carefully slid her sword back into the sheathe. “I was just going with the flow.” She countered.

“Whatever.” Reyner rolled his eyes.

Irvine stopped clapping, as the roar of the crowd finally grew softer. He rubbed his hands to ease feeling back into them as he sat down.


Emiya Shirou smiled softly, eyes half-closed, as he took in the crowd around him.

A great pavilion spread out before him. Hastily erected, it was merely a raised platform with an open tent on one side and a closed tent on the other. He had been appointed to the closed tent, while an orator gave a speech from beneath the open tent. At the designated time, when the speech ended, he stepped forth.

And the crowd roared.

They cheered.

The combined force of the human voices was like a living thing, that surrounded and suffused him with warmth. It was a great pulse of words that became formless noise, but still expressed the happiness of everyone in physical form.

Gathered on either side of that path of raised planks and cloth, were people.
Hundreds of people. Residents of Trost. Villagers from the area around Trost.
People that he had saved.

Because he had saved these hundreds of people, naturally they were exalting him as a hero.

But there was nothing happy in the smile of Emiya Shirou.

In order for their salvation to have been this meaningful, the threat facing them was vast. The tremendous suffering from the titans that was already carved into the collective psyche of these people—

It was as if untold millions had been sacrificed just so Emiya Shirou could then appropriately save these hundreds.

At that time, had that Grail also deigned to answer his wish?

The smile on the lips of Emiya Shirou hardened and grew bitter. He did not want such a fake thing, but for him, there could only be fake things. So in the end, that, too, was appropriate.


No matter what—

It was also true he had saved all these people.

Emiya Shirou hardened his resolve, and moved forward.

Not just in his mind, but in reality.

One foot was placed before the other, and the hero walked confidently along the pavilion.


From where he was sitting, on the left wing reserved for the military, Dot Pixis smiled gently at the sight of the young man walking from the small tent along the raised path to the covered dais to his own right. He nodded to Niles Dawkes, the commander of the Military Police, where the man sat at the far right end adjacent the royal box. The old man’s nod was like the gesture a grandfather would indulge an excellent grandson with.

After a beat of hesitation, Niles Dawkes return that gesture of recognition with a serious motion.

Beside the bald old man, an aide smiled professionally, but it was not very convincing.

Dot Pixis patted the aide reassuringly on the back. “Come come, surely this is a happy time?”

The aide grunted, glancing either way before leaning in to whisper in his commander’s ear. “Aren’t you frustrated by this?”

“Why would I be frustrated?” That bald commander asked, blinking innocently. “Isn’t it appropriate for a hero to receive a hero’s welcome?”

“I suppose.” The aide muttered.

Dot Pixis sighed. Certainly it was annoying for serious strategic concerns to be swatted aside by politics, but at the same time, many people were forgetting something.

Shirou Emiya was a “foreigner”. He had no loyalty to Trost. He was like someone from the extreme isolated villages, that didn’t swear fealty to the king and treated all outsiders with suspicion.

Someone like that—it would be good to intoxicate him with the adulation of the crowd. It would be bad if he grew too expectant, but first, the most important thing was to bind his heart to the cause.


The black boots of the Legion were pulled tight up to his knees. The pants and shirt were also uniform standard. It would seem that the snap decision of Dot Pixis to commission him as an officer of the Legion was congratulated as thoughtful and wise and made entirely official.

However, the coat of the Defense Legion had been originally issued to him. Since then, he had been told that he should instead wear this new coat from the Military Police.

Reading the expression of the MP officer who gave him that order in the hour before this speech, Emiya Shirou, who was once a Freelancer watching the Mage Association from the outside while the world died, accepted the coat without comment and reflected that humans hadn’t changed all that much.

So his left arm was through the coat of the Defenders, and his right arm was through the coat of the MP; while the free arms were thrown over the appropriate shoulder, and the material of the coats proper were allowed to flutter freely behind him like a cape.

Something caught his eye.

A woman, with an eyepatch. It was fresh; both the wound and the ragged patch covering it were only days old. Even before that, she looked worn down by life.

But she was smiling so widely. Because her daughter, not even four years old, sitting on her shoulders, had been saved.

That little girl waved, and Emiya Shirou waved back.

The crowd roared.

He put all other thoughts out of his mind and proceeded forward towards the covered dais.

He walked forward, contenting himself to look at the jubilant faces around him.


Dot Pixis’ gentle smile widened.

Seeing that expression…

It was such a pure smile. It had been like an illusion before, the expression when Dot Pixis had thanked him on the field outside the battered gate.

But seeing that smile on this guy’s face, Dot Pixis decided that no matter what, he could definitely rely on this guy to also protect humanity.

And that trick with the coats was pretty slick, too.


“Welcome, Shirou Emiya.”

The words drew his attention, and Shirou blinked, slightly surprised to notice that he had already reached the end of the pavilion. He had been drawn into his own world, but at the same time, he had been fascinated by the rest of the world around him, so he hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was going.

Shirou smiled at the one who addressed him. His garb was like a priest of the Church, but rather than a cross, what was suspended from his necklace where three icons, each of a woman’s head in profile. He looked like a typical old guy. His most distinguishing characteristic was definitely the powerful speaking voice he had managed to address the whole crowd with earlier.

The priest bowed, and stepped aside, using his open palm to indicate the center of the pavilion. Even as Shirou looked where he indicated, the priest announced, “His Royal Highness,” with such simple and dignified words.

Frankly speaking, the one so announced was an unremarkable-looking man. His height and features were unexceptional, and his eyes weren’t piercing or flat.

But there was something about him. Not the crown, with two layers (symbolizing the two walls?) of metal, gold and silver, worked into crenelations rising from it. The open top revealed the white hair of the man beneath it.

The robes were rich and ornamented, but not excessively so. They were simply appropriate.

But compared to the layers of brocade robes, there was something infinitely thicker and heavier wrapped around this man. That something was power.

Emiya Shirou bowed to the king. According to the program, he was supposed to kneel, but instead, Shirou bowed to the king like an equal.

The expression of that guy in the priest’s robe went a little tight, but he ignored that. Emiya Shirou was someone who, through his own experiences, had no belief in the system called monarchy. In actual fact, if he had to choose between liking it or disliking it, he’d say he disliked it.

The king nodded, an imperious motion where the ruler received the hero’s bow. If there was a tiny pause, it was certainly because the king was someone who always thought before he acted.

Emiya Shirou received the King’s gesture with a graceful smile as he stood upright. His eyes swept across the assembled dignitaries and notables before him, assessing them for combat potential and then for probable political affiliations.

And then--

There were no questions.

There were no doubts.

Sitting two places to the right of the king.

That prince lounging there with pure arrogance—

That guy was definitely Gilgamesh.

3.2 end


Did I sexualize the wall the right amount in that speech? I wanted to get a rape subtext going on without whacking you over the head with it.
Oh by the way I hope Gilgamesh showing up surprised you, but not too much—I mean, the title was kind of a giveaway that he’d be showing up???

BTW I put a hyperlink index in the first post for your convenience.


Well-Known Member
Well... I was kind of expecting Gil eventually, jusr not now.


Well-Known Member
What noble phantasm did he use to trick or force his way into the monarchy, and why did he settle for being an heir instead of the ruler?


Well-Known Member
zeebee1 said:
What noble phantasm did he use to trick or force his way into the monarchy, and why did he settle for being an heir instead of the ruler?
Trick or force?


Well-Known Member
NuclearTits said:
zeebee1 said:
What noble phantasm did he use to trick or force his way into the monarchy, and why did he settle for being an heir instead of the ruler?
Trick or force?
And why is he only the prince?


Well-Known Member
You mean the one where he becomes the second in command, kills the boss, becomes loved when he kill monsters with his unexplainable magic powers, and then accidentally sparks a rebellion because everyone hates him?


Well-Known Member
crazyfoxdemon said:
NuclearTits said:
zeebee1 said:
What noble phantasm did he use to trick or force his way into the monarchy, and why did he settle for being an heir instead of the ruler?
Trick or force?
And why is he only the prince?
I suppose he thinks humanity isn't awesome enough to be worth ruling yet.


Well-Known Member
zeebee1 said:
You mean the one where he becomes the second in command, kills the boss, becomes loved when he kill monsters with his unexplainable magic powers, and then accidentally sparks a rebellion because everyone hates him?
No the Plan to get Daniel to update by Necroing the thread.

Pattern Recognition is awesome.


KING (In Land of Blind)
Staff member

His name—call him Gil.

Giving his surname was unnecessary, because everyone knew the name of the Royal Family.

Yes, from the moment he was born until now, as a child born into the lineage of the King, it could be said that he was someone who had always possessed everything. However, that neglected an important detail: that he had been born second. So, in a monarchal system that espoused primogeniture, it should also be said that, from the moment he was born, he was merely a spare.

That was the contradiction that burned him: despite possessing everything he desired, he controlled nothing.

It was an inappropriate time to be thinking about such things. That annoying guy had explained just so in such an ostentatious manner for the rabble assembled around them. This Trost district had been saved by a superior guy, so even the Royal Family had rushed out here with unseemly haste to prop up the morale of the populace. Well, knowing his father, it was also to associate the Crown with this event, so that some of the popularity would transfer to the Crown just by association.

He despised it. A king should be greater and more magnificent than that. It should not be necessary for a king to siphon glory from others like a leech. The magnificence and charisma of the King should flow from their own glorious acts, not from simply exalting others. Well, whenever he said so, his father always criticized him as childish, saying that such foolishness was the reason why he was unsuited to being royalty.

That kind of bitterness was natural to him when he was degraded by the kind of circuitous symbols he despised.

His father sitting on the raised dias, his older brother beside the enthroned king, and himself, sitting yet farther still. His older brother had been favored since before he had even been born simply because he had been born first. Well, it’s not like he hated that exactly. It was foolishness to blame others for their station of birth. No, the blame was for someone who didn’t embody the grandeur of their station. Even the meanest servant in the palace could be indispensible, just by embodying their necessity to society. That was something he firmly believed.

The problem was that his older brother would become the exact same kind of king as their father: someone who was overly concerned with politics and station, who did not realize that they existed above such things from the instant of birth as royalty. A king was someone who dictated from a position of total authority. Indulging the machinations of courtiers simply allowed others to think they were on the same level as royalty. A king should be more tyrannical than that.

But still… that was just his own impotence. It made him gnash his teeth and glower sometimes, that someone like him with such great ideas about kingship should be forced on the sidelines. These idiots that surrounded him didn’t comprehend what glory meant. Those leeches in the church were content to mutter on about God’s protection. They wanted to become like children protected by daddy, suckling on mommy’s tit, someone who couldn’t even stand on their own legs. An adult that aspired to toddlerhood should rightly be despised. So what did that make him, who totally lacked the ability to censure them? The Military Police wallowed in decadence, content to carry grudges and squabble amongst themselves, without even the slightest ambition to real glory. So what did that make him, who lacked the means for his ambition?

How could he seize the Crown without lowering himself to the same pathetic level as his father?

That was the kind of thing the second prince was thinking about as the seething masses cheered the Hero. Even he was being dragged down and degraded by the politics of these fools. The calculated slight from bowing instead of kneeling to his father: why should a Hero have to bother with such things? It was because the King was stooping to the level of trying to illustrate himself with the Hero’s glory, rather than going out to majestically paint the world with the King’s deeds.

Eyes like swords pierced him.

The second prince sat up straight, meeting the hard gaze of the hero that pressed against him like someone was pointing a sword at his throat. They were good eyes, in an otherwise expressionless face like a slab of iron. He hated them. That sort of insolence should not be allowed. But his own inability to do anything to crush that gaze meant it wasn’t really insolence. After all, insolence was something aimed at a superior person, and if he couldn’t do anything about it, then clearly he lacked superiority.

Instead his lips peeled back. To call it a smile was wrong. It was a beast showing its teeth. His own eyes solidly met those magnificently sharp ones. He could never forgive himself if he looked away first.

Even if it was only in their own imaginations, the Prince and the Hero clashed.

A smile like a dismissive smirk won over the Hero’s face, and he glanced away first. But the prince seethed, because rather than losing, it was an expression like he was being dismissed from that guy’s sight.


“Interesting.” Dot Pixis muttered to himself, leaning back and stroking his moustache. That Emiya Shirou and his highness Prince Gil would glare at each other so fiercely, that was a little surprising.

No, on second thought, it wasn’t surprising at all. Dot Pixis nodded to himself because he was pleased by his own assessment. Gil was a fool who talked down to everyone. He was always railing against complacency, always banging on about this or that. Frankly, no one respected him because he lacked the guile that was expected of the king. He was like a child that was discontent with the compromises necessary in adult society. Everyone at court considered him a wastrel in that sense.

And compared to that, Emiya Shirou was a hero like a child desired. He was someone who could easily and casually defeat titans as quickly as they gathered in front of him without even needing the complicated and unintuitive 3D gear. If he was going to be honest with himself, and Dot Pixis was always honest with himself even if his words to others were inscrutable, if he hadn’t been forced to accept the evidence of his own eyes, he would have thought everything reported about Emiya Shirou was exaggerated to the point of fantasy.

The prince who rejected normality and the hero who exceeded it—

He was just a stranger who had only become passingly acquainted with either of them, but Dot Pixis thought to himself, ‘their common sense is really similar.’


“—and so, we thank you from the bottom of our heart, Emiya Shirou.”

With only the tiniest hint of a sneer, Emiya Shirou threw that guy sitting two places to the right of the king from his mind, and fixed a solemn smile before returning his attention to the king himself, who was finishing the preamble of some kind of speech.

That guy who was Gilgamesh, was also not Gilgamesh. Because no matter how many times he imagined it, he couldn’t imagine losing to that guy. His body was Gilgamesh, his mind was Gilgamesh, his soul was Gilgamesh, but somehow he lacked something that made Gilgamesh into the King of Kings. So Emiya Shirou discarded the man who both was and was not Gilgamesh and instead focused his attention on the king.

With great solemnity, the king reached down beside the throne that was stationed on the temporary platform. From where he was reaching, the king picked up a sheathed sword and stood. Instantly, Shirou’s eyes drank in its entirety and his soul digested it. It was not anything like the disposable super-hard swords used as ammunition against the titans. No, this was a sword like in the old times. Although the sheathe was fine hardwood with ornate lacquer and worked with gold leaf, although the handle was wrapped in excellent leather with superb treatment, the sword itself was a simple shape of steel that denied all frivolities. It was a tool for fighting.

“And so, in accordance with your extraordinary deeds, we choose to afford you this extraordinary honor.”

The sword was nearly three thousand years old. He already had a copy in his Marble. That copy was more like seven centuries old, something that had been dug up from a battlefield and displayed in a museum in Prague. It was remarkable only for the excellent condition it had been preserved in. A normal 14-century longsword created by a normal swordsmith for a normal knight. It was something he’d seen during one rarely quiet afternoon while visiting a museum in an old castle. That nature as “something that somehow endured” had even been used as a defensive item by him once or twice.

The simple blade was gripped in the king’s hand and hefted sideways so the flat would be applied. “Kneel, Emiya Shirou.” With great dignity, the king who had stood up from his throne stood before the hero. Mechanically, Emiya Shirou lowered himself to one knee.

That gap of two thousand years… the attempt to reproduce the Second Magic of Time Travel using the reassembled Emiya Crest as a ritual foundation had completely backfired. The appended history of the sword before him told him that. After the castle museum was smashed, after somehow it was unharmed, it had been picked up from the rubble by a desperate survivor of that chaos, who had managed to even strike down one or two of the Shadow Giants with it. Even if it was something that couldn’t really be called “legendary”, the mystery of how that sword managed to survive was enough that it could touch phantom beings. During the millennia that followed, the mystery that surrounded that sword crystallized. It passed down among many hands, but despite only indifferent maintenance, it always emerged without accumulating any damage. It became supernaturally reliable.

“All assembled have heard of the holiness of the great walls that protects us.” The King intoned. “However, without the courage of the military that stands upon it, the power of humanity is incomplete. To the holy bulwark of the wall, we must add the swords of our soldiers.”

Nine hundred years ago, the sword passed into the hands of someone ambitious, who gathered others with his charisma, who commanded others and was naturally obeyed. The mystery of the ancient sword was exploited, and became greater for its use by, and association with, that king, who wanted to build an institution to last centuries.

“And so, with this symbol of the royal law, the Sword of Endurance, we anoint you with an office of royal authority. Use it mercifully and humbly, but remain proud of this new station we grant you.”

If Durandal was a sword of peerless sharpness, than this was a sword of peerless toughness. As royal regalia, it was a B-rank Noble Phantasm that was exceeded by many others in his armory, especially since its primary property of “endurance” was superfluous to someone that treated even grand Noble Phantasms as disposable goods. However, right now its utility as a weapon was greatly exceeded by its value as a history lesson. He had been sealed in that Bounded Field for subjective seconds, but rather than being sent backwards a few years, he had moved forward two millennia.

With great solemnity, the king touched the flat of the sword against Shirou’s right shoulder. “Your strength-of-arms must protect everyone.”

And in the entire nine-hundred year history of the current dynasty, not even one king had anything to do with the walls. They had already been pre-established. Somehow, during that long millennium of passing from hand to desperate hand, sometimes from master to apprentice, sometimes from corpse to looter, not even one owner had witnessed the building of the walls. The first king had merely organized the people living here, he hadn’t established anything.

The sword was lifted, and then touched against his left shoulder. “And your heart must love everyone.”

The mystery of what had happened to him personally was completely solved. However, in exchange, the mystery of how the walls were built was firmly established. Compared to having determined what had happened to him, it was obvious that the man named Emiya Shirou would have been more satisfied understanding what had happened to everyone else.

The sword was withdrawn from the air above him, and was solemnly held with the point down by the king before him. “Arise, Sir Shirou Emiya.”

The crowd cheered. The ceremony of knighting was complete. But Emiya Shirou was not particularly interested. If he had to pick, then naturally, he would have preferred to support the one that was designated “King of Knights.” But even more than that, he didn’t feel rewarded because it wasn’t like being titled as a knight was a reward.

Compared to the coat from the Defense Legion resting on his left shoulder, and the coat from the Military Police that graced his right, the mantle that had been placed on him by this king tapping him with that royal sword was a trump card. As someone who just wanted to save people according to his own sense of justice, he scorned and distrusted being propped up by political interests.

Well, that was something that would sort itself out. Since from the moment he received it he was totally willing to discard it, it wouldn’t even be correct to call it a sacrifice if he threw away this sudden peerage. Having reaffirmed that, naturally his mind moved on to a more important question than his place in society.

His eyes slid over to that princely guy with the familiar face. What had been done to the world?



So I sat down to write another chapter of my other thing but then I also happened to see that a certain series got an anime so... this happened!

Also I fixed all the stuff that broke when we switched forums.