Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Png. A sudden pain in my neck.
"……"
"Mr. Bell?"
"Yah, alright Bell."
I rub the spot with my hand as I look around the area. A wide room with a thick, grassy floor and yellow walls. We're on the ninth floor, but I can't hide my anxiety.
Welf and Lili are staring at me, while Welf takes his great sword out of the gut of a Goblin. So there is no way I can make an excuse.
"…It's probably nothing."
…Is something watching me?
I just can't shake the feeling that there's an eye on me right now.
It doesn't feel like it wants to hurt me, or anything like that…I just feel this strange weight on my shoulders.
There was that one beast-person adventurer a few rooms back—that guy was huge.
Could these eyes be his? He'd have no reason so follow us…but it's getting to the point that I can't just ignore this feeling.
"Hey Guys, How about we get into formation?"
"Are you sure your alright Bell? You looked Spooked."
It was welf that said this. Looking at Both of my part members. They were worried about me.
This made me a bit flustered as I smiled awkwardly as I waved a little.
"Don't worry it's just that.....I am a bit tired, after reading up on magic lessen yesterday with Miss Eina."
I continued. "Hey, Lili can we swap equipment here?"
"Ah, yes, sure."
Lilly quickly takes her bag off and Hands the newer Robes that I had gotten.
Taking the Robes, Slipping into the crimson robes that Welf, my ever-talented friend, crafted for me is a ritual of gratitude and comfort. The red fabric, flowing like flames, feels light and easy, designed for practicality and a touch of familiarity. As I put on the robe, I hope it becomes a source of comfort, a symbol of protection.
Ever since Welf joined us along with Lili, it's like we've carved a familiar niche in the 9th floor of the dungeon. This cave-like room, draped in moss, feels like a second home.
I was hoping that the feeling of protection that this armor gives me would help alleviate some of this nervousness…but the weight in my neck and shoulders is still there.
As I wore the Robe my eyes landed on a faded Tattoo of a Flame. Goddess has made a Fuss about this in a bar which we had been in when she saw this.
It's putting pressure on my heart. My insides are screaming.
"Isn't this a little strange… ?"
"A little strange?"
"There aren't enough monsters."
As Welf said that I was surprised that I hadn't noticed until now—the odd lack of monsters. Usually, this place is teeming with challenges, but today it's eerily quiet. The only glimpse we got was a goblin in a hurry. As I pull on the robes, I can't help but feel a bit uneasy. It's like the dungeon itself is holding its breath, and I can't shake the feeling that something out of the ordinary is at play, right under my nose.
A twinge of anxiety grips me as an uncanny familiarity settles over me. It's as if I've been here before, felt this peculiar tension in the air. My senses, usually keen in the dungeon, are working overtime, picking up on every subtle shift in the atmosphere. This feeling... it's a déjà vu of unease.
Then it hits me – this isn't the first time. I've experienced this before, back on that day when the dungeon had a similar vibe. The memories flood back, and I can't shake
the sense that history might be repeating itself.
"M-Mr. Bell?" lili calls me out.
I violently shake my head and look at my hands as they are shaking uncontrollably.
"Let's Continue."
My hand over my mouth to steady myself, I manage to get words out through my mouth.
I want to say, "Let's get out of here," but I just can't.
Deep within my soul, an insistent whisper urges me to retreat, to leave the confines of the dungeon behind. It's an unsettling yearning, a primal instinct tinged with a fear that tugs at the very essence of my being. Yet, determined and resolute, I choose to silence that inner voice. Ignoring the subtle plea that echoes in the depths of my consciousness, I press onward.
Welf leads the way, his presence a reassuring anchor in the uncertainty that surrounds us. I follow closely, and behind me walks Lili, her steps echoing a shared commitment to the path we've chosen. The tenth floor awaits, and though an unspoken unease lingers, I push forward, burying the inexplicable reluctance in the pursuit of whatever mysteries lie beyond.
Stepping onto the next floor, a dimly lit expanse, we find ourselves confronted with a sight that gives me pause—a small Staircase leading downwards, a tangible decent to the tenth floor.
"—Mrooooooo—"
My legs freeze.
That sound…it sounds too much like that sound. Every nerve of my body is on fire as the noises are on replay in my mind.
Like a rusted door with no grease, my neck clicks ever so slightly until I can see behind me.
The sound is coming from the room we were just in. There's something in the exit.
I'm hyperventilating. My fingers are shaking. I can't make a fist.
My throat won't budge, but in my mind I'm thinking, It's not true. My mental voice sounds like a kid crying.
Out of the corner of my eyes I see that both Lili and Welf are also shaking. As if rooted to the place where they stand.
In the dimly lit corridor leading to the tenth floor, a monstrous silhouette begins to take form, emerging from the shadows like a harbinger of dread. The air grows thick with an ominous presence as the Minotaur, a hulking nightmare etched with scars from battles past, slowly materializes before us.
Its grotesque figure looms, bathed in an otherworldly glow that accentuates the jagged scars that mar its hide. The Minotaur's eyes, glowing with an unsettling intensity, fixate upon us with an intelligence that sends a shiver down our spines. It seems like a creature straight out of a collective nightmare, a manifestation of fears I dared not confront.
Frozen in the eerie glow of the corridor, we exchange fearful glances. The Minotaur's menacing form casts a shadow over our resolve, and for a moment, we hesitate, gripped by an instinctual fear that compels us to stand still.
I was right. Damn it.
Then again, there's no way I could forget that voice.
I don't know how many times I've heard it during nightmares. It's impossible to guess how many times I've heard similar howls from other monsters and flashed back to that day.
I can't count how many times I've been scared by it.
"Woooohoooohooo…"
Minotaur.
In the dim glow of the corridor, a Minotaur materializes on the ninth floor, defying all logic. "W-why is there a Minotaur on the ninth floor...?" Lili asks.
That's what I'd like to know. But there's something I do know. I know this feeling of helplessness. This despair that words can't describe, I know it too well. My body has felt this uncontrollable shiver before. It's the same. Exactly the same as before.
The mad bull roars, a thunderous cacophony that echoes through the corridor, drowning out any other sound. Someone is saying something, shouting perhaps, but the words are lost in the deafening reverberation. The sheer force of the roar breaks my fighting spirit, leaving me paralyzed with fear.
In the blink of an eye, the Minotaur covers the distance with an unsettling speed, a single-minded determination that sends a shiver down my spine. I can't move; the terror has locked my limbs in place. It knows, as if instinctively, that I am the strongest in the party.
As panic tightens its grip, Welf, the only one able to move, steps forward bravely, positioning himself between me and the charging Minotaur. With a single, furious swipe, the Minotaur slaps Welf aside, sending him hurtling through the air to collide with the unforgiving dungeon walls. The resounding impact lingers in the air, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.
"Mroooooooo"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh"
The Minotaur springs forward like a cannonball again.
The beast covers this distance between us with breathtaking speed.
I have to draw a weapon, but my arms won't move. I can't do anything.
It's over.
Its sword is raised high, poised to slice me between the neck and shoulder.
And here it comes.
"—ah?!"
"Huh?"
My eyes suddenly see the ceiling, and a soft cry hits my ears.
Even before I realize I'm still alive, I sense Lilly's warm body make contact with my stomach.
"Lili..... Welf."
I've been thrown to the ground. The beast didn't hit me; this has to be from the force of Lilly's tackle.
Thanks completely to her jumping into me from the side, I managed to get out of the path of the weapon. But in return, Lilly got hurt.
Did the sword hit her? No—but one of the rocks the Minotaur kicked up in its wake must have.
The Minotaur, fueled by primal rage, seizes Lili with an unsettling ease. Before I can react, it hurls her across the corridor with a brutal force. Time seems to slow as she crashes into Welf, the collision of bodies creating an agonizing thud. Helplessness washes over me, a surge of adrenaline and fear locking my limbs in place. The Minotaur's sheer strength and disregard for our well-being leave us vulnerable in its relentless onslaught.
The Minotaur, having dispatched Lili and Welf, turns its attention to me. With a thunderous roar, it charges forward, delivering a devastating strike that connects with brutal precision. The impact sends me hurtling backward, my back colliding with the unforgiving dungeon wall.
In the chaos of the collision, the force of the blow is enough to shatter my left hand, forcing me to relinquish my magic staff. Pain flares through me, both physical and emotional, as the staff clatters to the floor.
"Hii!" He let out another shriek in fear as he held up the Staff in his right hands as if that could somehow protect him from the monster but he knew it was futile.
And so, he could do nothing but beg with all of his might.
"Someone, save me!"
And then as if reacting to his wish the Tattoo on his Hand started burning. The Ground before him started to glow as a Strong and Calm voice that one could call one that belonged to a Perfect Knight rang out.
"Servant, Saber. Lancelot, have answered your summons. If only for a short while, I shall offer my blade to you."
That declaration was immediately followed by the minotaur's roar of pain, prompting Bell to slightly open his eyes.
Infront of him was a person Covered in full armour with Deep Purple colour and with veils and pieces of gold throughout. Even to his untrained eyes the armour looked like a work of art. It is a perfect armor that can be called neither exquisite nor crude, and it instead perfectly melds magnificence and functionality.
The sword that the knight held was glowing with an immense amount of Magical energy. Even looking at it bell Felt Hope of some kind. As if a true knight was Standing before him.
The knight, introducing himself as Lancelot, posed a question that resonated through the tumult, "Are you my master?"
As I gaze upon the knight in deep purple armor, hope surges within me. While I don't know who Lancelot is, the aura surrounding him carries an air of unwavering strength and nobility. His words resonate with a promise of aid, a blade offered in the face of imminent danger.
In this moment, a strange familiarity washes over me. The radiant knight before me evokes memories of the first time I was saved—by a fairy with orange hair. There's a sense of déjà vu, an echo of that inexplicable connection to mythical protectors.
Before I could reply Lancelot Looked back at the Minatour and said. "Vile beast, If you stand in my way, I'll show you no mercy. Let's go!"
"Mroooooooooo"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh"
In a Single step they began the fight. Their strikes echo through the air, each blow a thunderous collision of strength. Lancelot maneuvers with the grace of a seasoned warrior, parrying the Minotaur's onslaught with calculated finesse. Yet, the Minotaur, fueled by primal rage, retaliates with a relentless barrage, its massive limbs swinging with unbridled force.
As the fight unfolds, I watch with a sense of awe and trepidation. The clash is barely comprehensible to my eyes, each movement a blur of steel and fury.
Despite the initial appearance of an even match, it becomes evident that Lancelot possesses a distinct advantage both in physical prowess and skill. The Minotaur's great sword, wielded with primal fury, lacks the finesse and technique that Lancelot effortlessly brings to each calculated strike.
Lancelot's movements are a testament to a lifetime of honed skills and disciplined training. His maneuvers, precise and economical, stand in stark contrast to the Minotaur's brute force. Each swing of the great sword by the Minotaur, though powerful, lacks the refined technique that could turn it into a truly formidable weapon.
In the heart of the chaotic battle, I find myself propped up, my left hand broken and breaths labored. The aftermath reveals a wounded Minotaur, a testament to the valiant efforts of a Knight who joined our struggle. Welf lies unconscious, and Lili's form is stained with blood, a canvas of despair unfolding before me.
As I survey my fallen comrades, doubt creeps into my thoughts. Is this to be my fate – a perpetual cycle of relying on others' bravery? Frustration simmers within me, questioning if I'll ever emerge as the hero I aspire to become. The internal dialogue becomes audible as I mutter, "Is this how it ends? First, the orange-haired savior, and now this Knight."
With a heavy sigh I pull my self up and stand up barely as my legs wobble and pick my staff with a single hand. As I begin. "Oh Patron of Hearth, Heed my call......"
With a slow chant, I summon my magic. The Knight notices the shift in energy, and the wounded Minotaur fixates its gaze on me. Pushing past my limits, "Let the Flame fuel my Ambition, A single Wish, a Grand Dream, With Your Blessings, I bessech the flames to support me........"
I grip my staff with my right hand, the broken left one throbbing in pain. I sense the ambient mana responding to the turmoil of the fight, coalescing around the staff in a quiet symphony of energy.
The temperature begins to rise, a subtle warmth emanating from the gathering magical force. The air around the staff shimmers with an ethereal glow as the mana weaves into a tangible form. It's a delicate dance, each particle aligning with the determination in my heart and the fiery intensity of my resolve.
"........Let me Grasp thy hilt, let me Illuminate a Path to a brighter Future, Burn, Φλόγα της Φιλοδοξίας"
With the completion of the chant, the culmination of my determination and the gathered mana reaches its zenith. The staff, now charged with the Mana, becomes a conduit for a torrent of magical energy. In an instant, the spell is released, manifesting as a scorching beam of pure flames that surges forward with unwavering intensity.
The Minotaur, initially attempting to block the onslaught, finds itself challenged by the sheer force of the magical inferno.
With every passing moment, the inferno intensifies, engulfing the Minotaur in a blaze that defies its attempts to quench the flames. The creature roars in agony. The battlefield is bathed in the radiant glow of the engulfing flames, marking a decisive turn in the desperate struggle.
As the searing flames engulf the Minotaur, a surge of triumph courses through me. The creature, once formidable, now reduced to ashes, and the battlefield is eerily silent. With the last strains of magical energy expended, my grip on the staff falters, and it clatters against the dungeon floor.
Reality sets in as the remnants of the defeated Minotaur dissipate into the air. Physically and magically drained, I feel the strength leaving my body. Collapsing to the ground, the victorious yet exhausted aftermath surrounds me. The staff slips from my grasp, and the scent of charred remnants hangs in the air.
As consciousness wanes, the battle's toll takes hold. The victory is won, but at a cost. Darkness encroaches, and I succumb to unconsciousness, the echoes of the battle fading into a silent abyss.
A.N : so this is My final Snippet of the Fic I have been working for quite a While. Any help would be wonderful.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter Text
In the dimly lit room, shadows flickered and danced on the walls, cast by the gentle glow of a single, wavering candle. The scent of aged parchment and a hint of incense lingered in the cool, still air. At a small, round wooden table, two figures sat across from each other, their faces partially obscured by the encroaching darkness.
One figure was a female elf, her presence unmistakable. Her long, silken hair, the color of moonlight, flowed freely over her shoulders, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Her sharp, ethereal features were softened by the shadows, yet her keen, almond-shaped eyes glinted with a wisdom and depth that spoke of centuries of life. She wore a robe of deep emerald green, embroidered with intricate silver patterns that seemed to come alive in the candle's flicker.
Opposite her sat a cloaked figure, their identity more concealed. The heavy, dark robe they wore obscured much of their form, the hood pulled low over their face, casting it in deep shadow. Only a hint of their hands, pale against the dark fabric, were visible as they rested on the table, fingers lightly drumming a silent rhythm.
The room was steeped in an aura of quiet anticipation, as if the walls themselves held their breath, waiting for the conversation to unfold. The elf's gaze was steady, almost piercing, as she looked at her companion, who remained motionless and enigmatic.
The flame of the candle danced once more, casting fleeting illuminations that barely touched the secrets hidden within their eyes.
"I can't believe it," the hooded figure muttered, examining the broken pieces at his feet. "Months of preparation, gone in an instant."
"It's not fair," the young woman replied, her voice edged with frustration. "We were so close, so close to a breakthrough. How did it go so wrong?"
"The experiment was solid," he said, shaking his head. "Every protocol followed, every precaution taken. But we didn't anticipate... him."
"Bell Cranel," she spat the name, bitterness evident. "Just a month in Orario, a rookie adventurer joining the Hestia Familia, and he dismantles everything we've worked for. It doesn't make sense."
"The records barely mention him," he mused. "A fledgling mage with a single spell. And yet, he summoned a Saber in purple armor. A Saber. The most powerful class, and in such resplendent gear. It's unheard of."
"It must have been a fluke," she insisted, her frustration mounting. "Or a design flaw in our experiment. We didn't factor in every variable."
"Our construct was formidable," he countered. "It should have withstood any attack. We tested it against simulations far stronger than what a rookie adventurer could muster. Yet, the Saber..."
"No, not just any Saber," she interrupted. "This one was different. I've never seen such precision, such destructive power."
"Purple armor," he said thoughtfully. "The Saber's strikes were unlike anything recorded in previous wars. They weren't just powerful—they were precise, as if each swing was calculated to dismantle us."
"But why?" she asked, slumping into a chair. "Why would a newcomer, someone with hardly any experience, be able to summon such a Servant? It's implausible."
"Maybe it wasn't about Bell Cranel," he suggested. "Maybe it was something else. The timing, the circ*mstances... There could be factors we're unaware of."
"Someone else?" she asked. "You think someone else played a role?"
"It's possible," he said. "We need to factor in not just the known variables but the unknowns—the human element."
"Then we start again," she said, standing up. "This time, we prepare for the unexpected. We can't let another Bell Cranel catch us off guard."
"Agreed," he said. "And next time, we'll ensure our experiment can withstand even a Saber's onslaught."
"We'll need new materials," she said, already thinking ahead. "Stronger defenses, perhaps even a different approach entirely."
"We'll rethink our strategy, adapt to this new challenge," he agreed. "The Holy Grail War is evolving, and so must we."
"But we still have more prototypes," she said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Thanks to Evilus's aid, we have resources to spare. This setback won't stop us."
"No," he said, a grim smile forming. "It's just the beginning. Bell Cranel may have won this round, but the war is far from over."
"And we'll ensure our next creation is unbeatable," she declared. "No Saber, no matter how powerful, will destroy our work again."
"That's the spirit," he said. "Let's turn this defeat into our greatest triumph."
The hooded figure rose from the table, his movements deliberate and measured. Without a word to the elf, he made his way toward the reinforced door leading to the basem*nt. The heavy door creaked open, and he descended the narrow, winding staircase into the dark, subterranean chamber below.
The basem*nt was a stark, foreboding place, lit only by the faint glow of lanterns hung onto the walls. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and dark magic. At the center of the room, bound by thick, enchanted dundral chains, stood a solitary minotaur. Its massive frame was covered in scars from countless experiments, its eyes burning with a mixture of rage and despair.
As the hooded figure approached, the minotaur strained against its bonds, the chains rattling ominously. The figure stopped a few feet away, his presence as a palpable force in the confined space. He looked upon the creature with a cold, calculating gaze, a sinister smile playing on his lips.
The figure laughed, a low, chilling sound that echoed through the basem*nt. "You've served your purpose well," he said, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Your suffering has not been in vain. From your strength, we have forged new life, prototypes that will surpass you."
The minotaur roared in defiance, muscles bulging as it tried in vain to break free. The chains held firm, their enchantments unyielding. The hooded figure stepped closer, his laughter subsiding into a menacing whisper.
"Your pain fuels our success. And soon, our creations will be unstoppable. You are but the first of many, a harbinger of the power we will unleash upon Orario."
With that, he turned away, leaving the minotaur to its torment. The echoes of his laughter lingered in the dark chamber as he ascended the stairs, his mind already plotting the next steps in their dark endeavor. The war was far from over, and he was determined to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter Text
As I awoke from the darkness of the abyss, I found myself standing in the midst of a vast field of swaying grass. My vision blurred, I strain to make out the figures locked in combat before me. Two men, their features obscured by the haze, clash amidst the serene expanse.
One, unarmed, wields naught but a slender branch, a makeshift weapon in his hands. The other, fully armed, exudes an air of practiced precision as he maneuvers his sword with deadly intent. Both, I sense, are knights of some order, their dedication to their craft evident in the fluidity of their movements.
As I watched the unfolding scene before me, the unarmed man moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. His movements were not those of a mere mortal, but of a hero from the tales my grandfather used to tell me, tales of knights and their valorous deeds.
Despite his lack of traditional weaponry, he wielded his slender branch with a finesse that spoke of years of training and discipline. Each strike was calculated, each parry precise, as if he had studied the art of combat since birth.
There was a raw beauty to his fighting style, a simplicity that belied its effectiveness. He flowed like water, evading the blows of his fully armed opponent with ease, and countering with strikes that landed with the force of a thunderbolt.
In that moment, I realized that the unarmed man was not just holding his own against his adversary; he was dominating the battlefield. And as I marveled at his skill, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for this unlikely hero, whose courage and determination transcended the need for steel and armor.
As I stood there, captivated by the spectacle unfolding before me, I was suddenly startled by a voice cutting through the air. "Are you enjoying the dream?" the voice asked, and I turned to find a man standing beside me.
He was unlike anyone I had ever seen before, dressed in a robe that seemed to shimmer with every movement, woven from the finest fabrics known to man. Despite his opulent attire, there was an air of humility about him, a quiet strength that spoke of wisdom beyond measure.
His long hair cascaded down his back, catching the sunlight in a mesmerizing display of color, like the hues of a rainbow woven into strands of gold. And as he spoke, flowers sprouted from the ground beneath his feet, blooming in a riot of color and fragrance.
I was at a loss for words, unsure of what to make of this unexpected visitor. Was I truly dreaming, or had I stumbled upon something far more extraordinary? All I could do was stare, my heart pounding in my chest, as I awaited his next words.
"Dream?" I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper, the word echoing in the stillness of the field.
The man smiled gently, as if he had been expecting my question. "Oh, yes," he replied, his voice soft and melodious. "You see, you are currently sleeping in Orario."
Orario? The name sounded vaguely familiar, like a distant memory stirring in the depths of my mind. But how could I be sleeping there when I had never even heard of such a place?
Confusion clouded my thoughts as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. Was this truly a dream, then? Or had I somehow been transported to some otherworldly realm beyond my understanding?
Before I could voice my thoughts, the man spoke again, his words carrying a weight that seemed to resonate within my very soul. "But fear not," he said, his gaze piercing yet gentle. "For I am here, and the Magus of Flowers will help you return Bell Cranel."
With a tap of his staff, the man who had introduced himself as the Magus of Flowers smiled enigmatically. The ground beneath me seemed to ripple, and I felt an inexplicable force pulling me, like invisible strings tugging at my very essence. My vision blurred, the serene field of swaying grass and the clashing knights dissolving into a haze of colours and light.
As the world around me reformed, I found myself lying in a bed, surrounded by the familiar, cozy atmosphere of a single room filled with multiple beds. The soft rustling of sheets and the gentle murmurs of slumbering companions reached my ears. My heart pounded as the dream faded, replaced by the tangible warmth and reality of my surroundings.
Before I could fully process the transition, a sudden weight landed on me, jolting me fully awake. I opened my eyes to see my goddess, Hestia, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of relief and joy, her twin pigtails bouncing with her every movement.
"Bell! Bell! You're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice a melody of happiness. Her small hands clutched at my shoulders as she leaned in closer, her face inches from mine. "I was so worried!"
Still disoriented, I blinked up at her, trying to piece together what had happened. The vivid dream, the field, the knights, and the mysterious Magus of Flowers all seemed like fragments of another world. But Hestia's presence was undeniably real, grounding me in the reality of the moment.
"I'm... alright," I managed to say, my voice hoarse. The room around us was dimly lit, the early morning light filtering through the small windows. The other beds in the room were occupied by my fellow adventurers, all blissfully unaware of the tumultuous journey my mind had just taken.
Hestia's eyes welled up with tears, and she hugged me tightly, her warmth and affection enveloping me like a protective shield. "Thank the gods," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I was so scared, Bell. You were out for so long."
Gently, I returned her embrace, the comfort of her presence soothing the lingering confusion and fear from the dream. "I'm here, Goddess" I assured her softly, my fingers brushing through her dark hair. "I'm right here."
As the minutes passed, the room slowly came to life, the other adventurers stirring from their sleep, casting curious glances our way. Hestia eventually pulled back, her face flushed but radiant with relief. "You need to rest more," she insisted, though her eyes sparkled with renewed confidence. "You've been through a lot."
I nodded, still trying to process everything. The memory of the dream lingered at the edges of my mind, a reminder of the strange and otherworldly encounter with the Magus of Flowers.
With that Goddess left me to get some food for the both of us. Although not before telling me that both Welf and Lili were alright.
As I lay, the warmth of the bed enveloped me. The memories that had been on the edge of my mind came rushing like water from a river.
It was a vivid reminder of my own failures. I remembered now how I had come face to face with the Minatour once again and once again I had been powerless against it. I had needed to be saved.
The weight of my inadequacies pressed down on me like a heavy cloak. My heart sank as the realization washed over me: I had failed. Again.
Despite all my training, despite the relentless efforts I had poured into becoming stronger, I had been defeated. The shame burned within me, a searing pain that cut deeper than any physical wound. What kind of hero was I if I couldn't even protect myself, let alone those I cared about? Welf and Lili had been hurt because of me. My mind replayed the scene over and over—Welf's fierce determination turning to agony as he shielded me, Lili's cries of pain as she was thrown aside.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't hold them back any longer. I remembered the moment I had fallen, the Minotaur's triumphant roar, and the crushing despair that had engulfed me. The look of fear and concern on the faces of Welf and Lili haunted me. They had put their trust in me, and I had let them down.
The early morning light filtered through the small windows, casting a soft glow over the room as it slowly came to life. The gentle rustling of sheets and the muted whispers of my fellow adventurers filled the air. But my heart was heavy, burdened by the weight of my failures.
I felt two eyes on me from two different people.
My eyes drifted to Welf and Lili, still unconscious and injured. Their faces, pale and bruised, bore silent testimony to my inadequacies. I clenched my fists, anger bubbling up within me. How could I have let this happen? How could I have failed them so utterly?
Silently, I stood up, my movements deliberate and measured. The room's atmosphere seemed to thicken, each step I took echoing in the quiet space. I approached the corner where my sword, crafted with care by Welf, rested. The familiar weight of the hilt felt like a cold reminder of my shortcomings.
I turned my gaze to Welf and Lili once more. The sight of their bandaged bodies sent a pang of guilt through me. They had trusted me, believed in me, and I had let them down. The shame was a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders, suffocating me with its weight.
Unable to bear it any longer, I made my way to the window. The world outside seemed to beckon, offering a chance to prove myself, to right the wrongs I had committed. Without a second thought, I swung the window open and climbed through. The cool morning air hit my face, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room.
With a final glance back at Welf and Lili, I steeled myself. I had to become stronger. I had to face my fears head-on, for their sake and for mine. Pushing off the ledge, I leapt from the building, landing with a thud on the ground below.
Ignoring the pain that shot through my legs, I broke into a run, my destination clear in my mind. The dungeon loomed ahead, its dark entrance a maw of challenges and dangers. But I welcomed it. I needed to confront my weaknesses, to fight until I could no longer stand.
The streets of Orario were beginning to stir with the dawn, but I paid no heed to the curious glances or the hushed whispers. My focus was singular, my determination unwavering. The memory of the Minotaur, of my friends' suffering, spurred me on.
As I approached the dungeon, my grip tightened on the hilt of my sword. This time, I would not falter. This time, I would face whatever horrors awaited me with a heart full of resolve. For Welf, for Lili, and for myself, I would fight. And I would not rest until I had redeemed my failures and emerged stronger than before.
With a deep breath, I stepped into the shadowy depths of the dungeon, ready to confront my destiny.
The dungeon's cool, damp air greeted me as I descended into its depths, the faint echo of my footsteps the only sound in the oppressive silence. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drum of desperation, each step a march towards redemption. I gripped my sword tightly, the blade gleaming in the dim light, a beacon of my rage against the darkness.
The first goblin emerged from the shadows, its beady eyes glinting with malice. Without hesitation, I surged forward, my sword a blur of motion. The blade sliced cleanly through its neck, the goblin collapsing in a lifeless heap before it could even register my presence. Blood sprayed, warm and viscous, but I didn't flinch. There was no time for hesitation, no room for mercy.
More goblins appeared, drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of prey. They snarled and chattered, brandishing crude weapons as they charged. I met them head-on, my movements fueled by a potent mix of anger and desperation. My sword danced through the air, a deadly extension of my fury.
I sidestepped a clumsy thrust, my blade cutting through the goblin's arm with ease. Its scream was short-lived as I brought my sword down in a powerful arc, splitting its skull. Another goblin leapt at me from the side, but I pivoted, my blade slicing through its midsection, spilling its innards onto the cold stone floor.
Each strike was precise, each movement a testament to the hours of training and the burning need for redemption. I was a whirlwind of steel, my sword cleaving through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency. Goblin after goblin fell before me, their numbers no match for the ferocity of my assault.
A larger goblin, perhaps their leader, charged at me with a guttural roar, its rusty sword aimed at my heart. I parried the blow, the clash of steel ringing out in the cavernous space. With a swift riposte, I drove my sword into its chest, twisting the blade as it gasped and fell, its eyes glazing over in death.
Time blurred as I fought, my mind consumed by a singular focus: to annihilate every monster in my path. The goblins seemed endless, but so was my resolve. Each one that fell before me was a step closer to proving myself, to erasing the shame of my previous failures.
They came at me in waves, but I was relentless. My sword cut through the air, a symphony of death that echoed through the dungeon's halls. Goblin heads rolled, their bodies crumpling to the ground in twisted heaps. Blood coated my blade, my hands, my clothes. I felt no fatigue, only grim emptiness with each kill.
As the hours turned into an indeterminate blur, I lost track of how long I had been fighting. My vision narrowed, everything beyond the immediate threat fading into insignificance. The dungeon became a haze of blood and death, my purpose distilled into a primal need to destroy.
When the last goblin fell, its lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, I stood amidst the carnage, my breath heavy, my heart still pounding. The dungeon was silent once more, the only sound of the drip of blood pooling on the stone floor.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, my gaze sweeping over the scene of my rampage.
My vision blurred and my legs gave out beneath me, the exhaustion of my relentless battle catching up. As I collapsed to the ground, my sword clattering from my grasp, an orc lumbered towards me, its eyes gleaming with malicious intent. My body refused to respond; I was utterly spent.
Just as the orc raised its massive club to strike, a brilliant shimmer enveloped the space between us. In the blink of an eye, a knight clad in resplendent purple armor appeared, his sword a streak of light as he cleaved the orc in two with a single, decisive blow.
I lay on the ground, too weak to move, as the knight turned towards me. He removed his helmet, revealing a noble visage framed by dark hair. His eyes, sharp and compassionate, met mine.
"I can't watch this any longer," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "You have fought valiantly, Bell Cranel, but it is not your time to fall."
With a swift, yet gentle motion, he knelt beside me, offering a hand. I hesitated, the weight of my failures pressing heavily on me. But his gaze was unwavering, filled with a resolve that seemed to infuse me with strength.
I grasped his hand, and he pulled me to my feet with ease. "Who are you?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"I am Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table," he replied. "But in this realm, I am known as Saber."
The name echoed in my mind, stirring memories of tales of valor and chivalry. "Why are you helping me?"
Lancelot's expression softened, a mixture of kindness and determination in his eyes. "Because you summoned me."
I blinked in confusion. "Summoned you? When?"
"While you were fighting the Minotaur," Lancelot explained. "Your desperation, your will to protect your friends, it called out to me. I have been watching over you and your companions since then, waiting for the right moment to intervene. I could no longer stand by and watch my Master throw himself at danger without hope."
He Continued. "Let's get you out of here. Shall we?"
With that both of us left the dungeon. Yet for some reason I felt empty, where I would have been ecstatic to have a knight help me now I could only curse my weakness.
A.N : Thanks for reading. Sorry this took time.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter Text
I knelt on the ground, my head bowed in shame, my voice trembling as I begged, "I'm sorry, Goddess Hestia. I'm so sorry, Welf, Lili. I shouldn't have gone into the dungeon alone, and I shouldn't have brought a stranger back without thinking."
Goddess Hestia's eyes were filled with concern, but she was trying her best to show that she was angry. Welf, bandaged and bruised, nodded slowly, while Lili crossed her arms, still frowning but less harsh.
Hestia turned her gaze to Lancelot, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution. "Who are you, exactly?" she asked.
"I owe you an explanation," Lancelot began. "I am Saber Lancelot, a Servant summoned for the Holy Grail War."
Lancelot’s voice was steady as he spoke, his demeanor exuding a sense of calm authority. “The Holy Grail War is a conflict among mages, each summoning a Heroic Spirit, like myself, to fight for the ultimate prize: the Holy Grail, a powerful artifact capable of granting any wish.”
Lancelot continued, his gaze unwavering as he addressed the small group. "I was summoned by my Master, Bell Cranel. I understand that my presence is unusual here, and that my appearance in this world is unexpected. However, my loyalty is to Bell, and my purpose is to protect and aid him in any way I can."
I glanced up with a mix of surprise and confusion. "I didn't mean to summon anyone," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to get stronger to protect everyone."
Lancelot gave a slight nod, acknowledging my words. "Your wish for strength, your determination, and your pure heart were enough to call me forth. You may not have intended it, but the bond between a Master and a Servant is strong. I am here to ensure your safety and to help you achieve your goals."
Goddess Hestia's stern facade began to soften as she listened. "So, you're here to protect Bell? To help him win this Holy Grail war?"
Lancelot nodded solemnly. "Yes, Goddess Hestia. My purpose is to protect Bell and aid him in any way I can, including in this Holy Grail War."
I shook my head, my voice gaining strength as I spoke. "But I don't have any wish. I didn't even know about the Holy Grail War until now."
Lancelot smiled gently, a look of understanding in his eyes. "Do not worry, Bell. Although the Holy Grail picks its Masters almost at random, it is said that each Master harbors a wish, even if they themselves may not be aware of it. Your desire for strength to protect those you care about is a noble wish, and it may be the very reason you were chosen."
Goddess Hestia's stern facade softened further as she listened to Lancelot's words. "So, you're here to protect Bell and to help him find and fulfill this hidden wish?"
"Yes," Lancelot replied, his voice steady and reassuring. "That is my duty as his Servant. Together, we will uncover his true wish and strive to achieve it, while ensuring his safety and the safety of those he holds dear."
Hestia nodded, her concern giving way to a tentative smile. "Very well, Lancelot. We will trust you for now. But remember, Bell's safety is paramount. We will be watching closely."
Lancelot bowed respectfully. "I understand, Goddess Hestia. I will not let you down."
Welf and Lili exchanged glances, their expressions gradually relaxing. Welf managed a small smile, despite his injuries. "Well, if Bell trusts you, then I suppose we can give you a chance."
Lili uncrossed her arms, her frown easing. "Just don't make us regret it, Saber Lancelot."
I looked at my friends and my goddess, a sense of relief washing over me. "Thank you, everyone. I'll do my best to prove that this was the right choice."
With a newfound determination, I stood up, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with Lancelot by my side.
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Name : Bell Cranel
Race : Human
Level 1
Strength H127 - 128
Defence I98 - I99
Agility G201- 203
Dexterity H167 - H167
Magic H186 - G213
Spell
(None)
Skills
Mystical Re-enactment : Allows User to create spells from the stories and legends he has heard or read. The more familiar and emotionally connected he is with the story, the more potent the spell or ability he can re-enact.
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Sitting on the broken church roof where the Hestia Familia lived, I couldn't sleep. The moon hung high in the night sky, its soft glow casting a gentle light over the city. I held my status sheet in my hand, the numbers and letters a stark reminder of my current abilities and limitations.
It was hard to believe how much my life had changed in such a short time. The moment I became an adventurer it was one thing after another. I remembered when I met Welf for the first time I almost hit him with one of my spells after mistaking him for a monster.
I remembered the day Lili tried to rob me, she had stolen my sword that welf made. Then how did that go, yet I was still too weak to do anything.
As I sat on the broken church roof, lost in thought, a gentle breeze rustling my hair, I felt a sudden presence beside me. I turned to see Lancelot, or Saber, materialize with a graceful ease. He gave me a respectful nod, addressing me with the now-familiar title.
"Master," he said, his voice warm with a hint of amusem*nt.
I smiled back at him. "It's still weird hearing you call me that, Saber."
He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with good humor. "It's the proper title for a Servant to use when addressing their Master. I must maintain some formalities, after all."
We both fell silent for a moment, simply enjoying the peaceful night. I then remembered the earlier commotion and couldn't help but laugh a little. "You know, Goddess Hestia almost lost her mind when she saw my status sheet and the jump in my Magic stat."
Lancelot grinned, shaking his head. "Yes, I recall. She was quite concerned, but it gave me an opportunity to explain how Servants require mana from their Masters to stay anchored in this world. It was quite the spectacle."
"She really thought I had done something reckless," I said, laughing. "Though, to be fair, I have a history of that."
"True," Lancelot agreed, his tone light. "But now you have me to watch your back. With a little more caution and teamwork, we should be able to handle whatever comes our way."
I looked at him, feeling a surge of gratitude and confidence. "Thanks, Saber. I appreciate that.".
Suddenly, I felt a presence behind us, and it seemed that Lancelot sensed it a second earlier. Both of us turned to see a middle-aged man in a suit standing below. He was smoking, his bluish hair shimmering under the moonlight. He looked like the picture-perfect gentleman my grandfather had always told me about in his stories.
The man looked up at us, his demeanor calm but there was a hint of irritation in his expression. "Good evening, young Master Bell, Saber of Black," he said, his voice dull and carrying an undertone of annoyance.
Lancelot stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for anything. "Who are you?" he demanded, his tone respectful but firm.
The man took a drag from his cigarette before answering, his voice still dripping with disdain. "I am Ruler," he said simply, exhaling a puff of smoke. "I oversee the Holy Grail War to ensure its proper conduct and balance."
Ruler stared at us for a moment, clearly frustrated. "So, you didn't introduce yourselves to me, the overseer, as is customary?" His voice was filled with annoyance. "Unbelievable."
He shook his head and sighed, muttering something under his breath. "Fine, let's get this over with. You clearly have no idea what's going on." He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly before continuing. "Listen carefully because I won't repeat myself."
"You are part of a Holy Grail War, a secret conflict fought between seven pairs of Masters and Servants. Each Master summons a Servant, a Heroic Spirit from legend, to battle for the ultimate prize: the Holy Grail, an artifact capable of granting any wish."
He paused, watching our faces for a reaction. "You," he said, pointing at me, "are the Master. And he" he pointed at Lancelot, "is the Servant, specifically a Saber-class. There are seven classes of Servants: Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker. Each class has its strengths and weaknesses."
I glanced at Lancelot, who nodded slightly, indicating that he understood. Ruler continued, his tone like that of a weary teacher lecturing a particularly slow class. "The goal is simple: eliminate the other Masters and their Servants to claim the Grail. You can do this by killing the Masters or destroying their Command Spells—the marks on your hand, Bell."
I looked at the back of my hand where the Command Spells were, the symbols now feeling much heavier with Ruler's explanation. "These Command Spells grant you three absolute commands over your Servant. Use them wisely."
Ruler’s gaze softened slightly as he realized our genuine ignorance. "You didn’t know any of this, did you? Great. Just great. You're a wildcard. Wildcards make things unpredictable."
He sighed again, a long, exasperated exhale. "Alright, here are the basics: this war is slightly different since there two sets of each class and a 7 v 7."
He pointed at Lancelot. "Each Servant has unique abilities and a Noble Phantasm—a powerful, often game-changing skill or weapon tied to their legend. Saber, for instance, has his swordsmanship and other formidable abilities."
Lancelot nodded, his expression serious. I felt a mix of determination and anxiety settling in my chest.
"One last thing," Ruler added, his tone turning more stern. "The war must remain hidden from the public. Any interference with ordinary lives will be met with severe consequences from myself."
I nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. This wasn’t just a fight for a wish; it was a covert war with immense stakes.
Ruler flicked his cigarette away and looked at us one last time. "Remember, this war will test everything you are. Don't waste this opportunity." He turned to leave but paused and glanced back. "Oh, and Bell? Try not to die too quickly. Wildcards like you tend to make things interesting."
With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lancelot and me standing on the rooftop, the weight of the situation settling in. I looked at Lancelot, my heart pounding. "I have a lot to learn," I said, my voice steady despite my nerves.
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A.N : So, another update and Ruler has been introduced and with this I have mentioned 3 Servants at this point.
