Clash on Big Bridge

[Alan Girm Moria]

[Day 2, Night 23:50]

Between the shopping district and old Lucca there is a bridge connecting the two districts. Despite being rather old, it was in good repair. Dating back to the roman occupation, the bridge had undergone multiple restorations in recent years. It was a frequently used method of getting between the traffic heavy old city and the shopping district. A simple but effective means of encouraging tourists to squander their wealth as much as possible on their trip. The bridge sees it's use even in the down months by old city residents going to or from work. However tonight would mark the first time in many decades that the bridge has been this quiet. The total traffic on this bridge since sunset has been zero. The workers and what scant tourists that visit in winter had abandoned it, for reasons if asked for, could not be properly explained.

In a steady rhythm, Alan's finger continued to tap away at the odd blend of stonework. His figure was clearly illuminated against the dark night, partially leaning over the railing. Clutching a worn paperback against his head, he attempted to pierce the veil of night hanging protectively over the water. It bubbled merrily at his failing attempts to view down where the halogen lamps would not reach, as it had done since sun down, some five or six hours ago. Turning away from the murky depths, Alan pulled his jacket tighter around himself surveying the bridge at large.

From an outside perspective he was alone on the bridge wasting time. Which would be true until you moved close enough to feel the presence of Benkei not too far off in spirit form. Perhaps the fighting spirit he released was more responsible for avoidance than the bounded field Alan had laid down. It was a simple affair to ward off any who did not come with an express purpose of doing battle. A simple pushing at the mind that any magi worth their salt would be able to slip past. Most certainly a servant could get by it as if it were air...but so far none had done so.

It was not some here to unknown talent of Alan's kept out a hero of legend from passing. They simply had not appeared whatsoever since the duo had arrived. If what Aela had garnered from the church was correct, a battle should have been inevitable. Yet here they were waiting in the cold like a pair of fools, for those who did not care to fight. Speaking of Aela, the four of them had originally come out to do proactive scouting. Rapidly becoming miffed at some minor detail she and berserker left on their own to get away from them. "Covering more ground", as she had put it amounted to Alan and Benkei picking a place to fight and waiting. Who knows what happened to the tsundere. Probably asleep at his home in a warm bed by now.

Forcefully putting down that line of thought, Alan returned to his book. Sun Tzu's, "The Art of War", was rather informative in leading from a large scale. However, what little Alan could feasibly put into practice from it was unlikely to turn the tide vastly in his favor. Still it was at least a good distraction from the cold that had rapidly descended since sundown. Going through the book for the 36th time tonight, he soon shut it after checking his watch. 23:50....time to pack it in unless he wanted what would be four to five hours of sleep tonight...today. Whatever. Sliding the book into his jacket pocket, Alan began rolling his shoulders to loosen them up and provide heat.

"Obviously nothing else is going to be happening tonight. Lets take down the field and pack it in for now. We won't gain anything more from losing sleep and freezing out here."

So he was the only one freezing his behind off and actually needed sleep. The point still stood that waiting any longer would be fruitless. Given the choice of a warm bed or cold bridge the answer was clear as day. Doubly so when he took into account that Assassin class servants could be waiting anywhere for the chance. Best to not risk it by sleeping in a warm bed at his safe house.

.....Well Aela was there. Reasonably safe. Definitely warmer.

[Xenophon]

Xenophon put his hands into the sweatshirt he wore, for once happy to have the warmth it gave. Not that he would ever admit it to Nina. The woman would never let him rest if he admitted to liking a single aspect of modern clothing. Greece was similar in temperature to Italy, but he had spent most of his life fighting in foreign countries. Persia had left its mark on his body as much as his mind.

Of course, Nina would also have teased him relentlessly if she knew how much his mind had been wandering recently. It was difficult to remain focused when thrust suddenly into a world so unlike his own, even with the Akashic Record to keep him knowledgeable about the things that had happened. From glimpses of machines out in town, he had managed to glean a suitable understanding of the science of the age—to think, that the work philosophers from his home in Athens now allowed these people to create machines that could create wonders! The entire world had been mapped, and the oceans explored, and shuttles had even been spread into the sky. Xenophon would have liked more time to read about such things, but he had work to do. With a deep breath, he settled himself.

”We are getting closer, Master.”[/b] Xenophon had returned to using her title rather than her name when night fell. It would be obvious to their opponents that she was his master anyway, and here a name could reveal more than they wanted an enemy to know. He couldn’t know if she was well known to other magi, but anything was possible. A prudent general made sure to limit how much of his plans could be gleaned by the enemy.

The presence that could be nothing other than a Servant still called to Xenophon. After centuries of stagnation, he was ready for battle. He ached for a fight, a competition between two men until skill and strength allowed one to prevail over the other. The class of his opponent did not matter; Xenophon would not allow himself to be defeated. It didn’t matter who he fought, because no matter what, he would fight onward. The Ten Thousand never fled from a fight and Xenophon would not taint their memory by being a failure.

As they approached the bridge, Xenophon stripped off the clothing Nina had purchased for him and folded it silently, holding it underneath an arm. Even if he hated the things, they might come in handy later. Besides, Nina would be angry if he ruined them needlessly.

The man stood alone in the middle of the bridge, holding a small book. There was a faint tinge of magic in the air, but Xenophon did not fear that. The Record dutifully informed him that only the strongest magics of this age would be able to affect him in the slightest. It seemed likely that since he could barely sense anything abnormal, that it would not be anything worth noticing. He turned and dropped his modern clothing unceremoniously, baring the armor and spears Xenophon of the Ten Thousand carried into battle.

He crossed the plane created by the magic barrier without hesitation and pulled a spear from his back, watching the man intently. The Servant was nearby, but Xenophon was not the kind of skulking murderer who would engage a master. Nina could duel this man if she wished, Xenophon had no desire to.

”I am the Servant Lancer,”[/b] he declared. ”I come here seeking battle. Tell me, do you accept my challenge?”[/b]

Xenophon removed a javelin from his back and planted the butt end on the ground, standing with the challenge clear. He mentally catalogued the equipment borne by the man in front of him, but none really seemed to be a weapon. He was a magus, then. Xenophon’s eyes, of course, were drawn to the book that the man was putting away as he walked up. The Art of War. That brought a small smile to the Lancer’s lips.

”You have good taste in reading materials. Are you a soldier as well?”[/b]

[Saito Musashibo Benkei]

Bells chimed. It was a small ringing noise that belied the man they were attached to. Their soft knells echoed before he even manifested in front of his Master. When he was alive that sound would have inspired fear, for all in the land knew what they meant. Here he must re-establish that reputation, and this place was a perfect beginning for him.

He was smiling as he appeared, his hideous grin shining in the moonlight. Arms folded across his chest, but his muscles, bulging from years of relentless training, were taut, and clearly visible through his excellent suit. It was almost a casual air, but the sheer intensity of his presence made it anything but casual.

The Servant in front of him was small for a hero, much smaller than him or his new companion, a Berserker who seemed to share the same joys in life with him. Sadly though, he was burdened by a rather whiny Master. His own Master was everything one could hope for in someone of this day and age. There was even a small reflection of Yoshitsune in him, or perhaps some remnant of what he had seen in his liege from long ago.

But of course one could not judge on height alone! Alan himself was not very tall, nor had even Yoshitsune compared to his height, but they both held much more within themselves. They more than made up for their lack of height. Likely more than this Servant in front of him, though he would find out soon. The language of battle was coming in mere moments, and that thought only made his ghastly grin widen.

“You, challenge him?” He laughed, a sound that would probably make any child around him cry, and women flee, “Relying on that armour, and small lance that would bare serve as a toothpick? Come now, Servant… Lancer?, perhaps you should fight some weaker Servant, or run some errands for your Master that would require you to live past this glorious night. I would not speak of your flight, well except to you.” If this man was worth his salt, the taunts would only make the fight better. If he wasn’t, it was simply better that he run away from death.

He summoned his own lance, something that matched his stature. The weapon that gave him his class name, a gleaming, perfect Naginata as tall as he was, with a thick haft that was surely bigger than his Master’s arm. He slammed it into the ground with his right hand, and the cobblestones gave way like water, shattering to dust beneath the heavy pommel of his great weapon. Only a bare bit of restraint kept it from piercing the bridge entirely. Then, as the other Servant had tossed away his rather stylish clothes, something perhaps a fifth the size of his own, he tossed away the upper half of the clothing his Master had purchased for him and bared his chest to the night air.

“This is how men fight! Your lance won’t even leave a scratch on my invincible body!” He was ready now, and so lifted his naginata from the debris, and levelling it at his potential opponent. There was likely not a man in this world who could even lift his lance from the ground, let alone swing it like it was weightless.

And his Master had been about to give up the search for tonight. Hahaha, this was perfect. Perhaps something from above was guiding him. Though knowing his luck, it was something from below that pushed his steps. Either way, he thanked them.

“Ah, but if you do keep your challenge, and I,” He cracked his neck, tilting it to once side, and the sound of it easily drowned out the bells adorning his hair, “I hope you do, I will even let you get the first strike on me, to make it fair for you. One strike on my bare chest, which should hopefully even the odds.” He could not have his first fight be that easy. One had to stay in practice and form, after all.

[Nina Lüceanu]

The town of Lucca could be quite eerie at night, as it turned out. Some places buzzed with activity even at this time, most likely. Such was not the case here, however, even if it counted as part of the shopping district. This street on the edge of a residential area was currently devoid of human presence, which made it a perfect place for what was about to happen. A secret deathmatch between two ancient spirits, called to battle once more after centuries of slumber. And a secret duel of magi, not to be witnessed by anyone but unfortunate casualties of a war they had no idea was taking place. Xenophon had reported sensing a Servant nearby, and said Servant had not moved for several minutes as the two made their way towards its origin. Nina opted to close in with caution instead of rushing at the enemy blindly - such an obvious challenge was more likely to turn out being a trap than not. There was a bounded field warding off human presence erected around the source of the prana emanations but nothing conclusive could be derived from this fact except that at least one of the enemy pair did not wish to involve bystanders in their affairs.

As Nina and Xenophon, now in his usual battle attire, neared the bridge where the seemingly lonesome figure stood. The "seemingly" part was rather obvious from the ominous oppressing aura spread around the area. It was familiar feeling, to the point of making the girl nostalgic rather than intimidate her, as per its likely intent - bloodlust had been an everyday occurance in her life, and after years of living and training with and under a Dead Apostle, it did not take much effort to remain unfazed under such pressure. In fact, she felt excited, thrilled, even, in her anticipation of the incoming battle. As Xenophon announced his challenge, she moved to the side, eyes focused on her target, her mind fully intent on depriving her Servant of the joy of battle as soon as possible.

...All thoughts of attacking disappeared from her head but a moment later, when the twinkle of bells echoed in the darkness and the Monster revealed itself. As she took a short glance at the appearing Servant, her hand froze on the handle of the blade hidden in her sleeve; it took effort to simply let go of the weapon before she injured herself. Stopping her hand from trembling was a more difficult task. Slowly, the girl turned turned her head towards the source of her fears. The thing dwarfed Xnophon, towered over him like the sword of Damocles. There was no chance of winning. They had to run, run and hide... No, no. It was no monster, could not be; just a Servant, like any other. It's just that the terrorizing aura had become several times more intense, to the point of becoming almost palpable, its touch squeezing on her throat, taking away her body's freedom. It was unnatural, as if the air, no, the surrounding mana itself had suddenly stiffened. ...In fact, it felt not unlike Petre's Mystic Eyes. Quickly channeling prana through her circuits, Nina washed away the suggestion; fear was instantly replaced with annoyance over not doing that in the first place. Petre had long since known better than to try mental interference on her. How many years has it been since the last time she had to put conscious effort into resisting such an attempt? Not having to deal with attacks of this nature for such a long time, it was no wonder she got caught off guard, but she could not help her ire. She silently berated her own slow thinking, lack of vigilance, and Nicolay's inability to create a better doll for her. Had she been in her real body, there would be no need to specifically guard against that curse... Ah, so that was why. What made her so irritated was her own weakness, a state the young magus was neither used to nor fond of. And the brute talked on and on in his grating voice, doing no good to her attempts to regain her calm.

Nina glanced at her Lancer, who just stood there, appearing unfazed by the suffocating sense of dread. Thanks to the link, however, she knew better - Xenophon was afraid. That was... problematic. The Servant before them, whatever class he belonged to, was not an opponent one could face with anything short of their full power. Only slightly deeper breathing betraying her momentary panic attack, and even that telling sign was quickly subsiding. But she could still feel the phantom touch of terror's fingers on her thoat. If Lancer was currently in that state, could he really face this foe in earnest? Trying to take out the enemy Master in such a situation could spell disaster. It would be best to stay back and watch the situation evolve. The young Master did not want to use her Command Spell on the very first night, first hunt. But if the alternative was the hunt becoming their last one, such a solution was far more attractive.

Retreating several paces, Nina spoke, her voice carrying not slightest hint of the emotion coursing through her. A flat, almost bored monotone she hated so much... and which turned out useful for once.

"...Enough drivel. My ancient Spartan... feel free to go all out."

"...And don't you dare die on me."

[Alan Girm Moria]

Well this was...um...what? It was almost weird just how great the pair's timing was, but that was just a minor issue at this point. Servant...Lancer? Proof enough that what Aela had said previously was correct. No real other way to explain having two of the same servant class duel. Unless the amount of spirits in the war had been expanded.

Fortunately, this one had a taste in literature. So far, none of the others had shown much of an interest in reading. Well, others being warriors to the core non-withstanding. Alan returned the nod while reflexively catching the tossed suit from [Bells] Lancer. Unfortunately whatever heated discussion on the art of war could have emerged from this encounter was never known. It was submerged in a bog of testosterone and boasts.

What was his counter part doing...oh. Ooooh. Yeah, that's kind of a given in this situation. Full on hardcore exposure to mystic face of terror. Raw and uncut content not suitable for those with heart problems, circuit deficits, or small children who still believe the monster in the closet exists. That's pretty close to the same expression the goth magus was making together and all at once. He almost felt a bit bad but, trauma always makes you stronger. Besides, it gave a good dose of cold water to her fighting intent...giving rise to Aela-esque anger.

It was at this moment Alan felt one sincere wish from the bottom of his heart. Please, just don't let all the female masters in this messed up war have anger issues. One is quite enough, thank you. In fact its almost freaky hit...what.

Wait...free hit? Wasn't this actually the worst situation?! Even the bird brain over there was getting heated up! Not to mention [Classy] Lancer was in full machio mode to boot. Argh, whatever. For now, best to also make some distance for the pair. It would be the most effective to try and figure out as much as possible about the enemy for now while keeping an eye on the master.

The warrior was almost like a greek statue, and the equipment he had supported it. The woman had said something about him being a Spartan? How unusual...Sparta was known more for it's hardcore military drive than it's culture or learning. If he came from Sparta or not was suspect. That [Classy] Lancer was a Greek was certain. Settling with a nod back to C-Lancer, Alan stuck his hands in his pockets settling on the chalk and knife.

"I know you're excited, but don't get carried away. Lancer, give him everything you've got! Otherwise all that boasting early would fall flat."

[Xenophon]

”I promise you, I intend to savor this battle to its fullest!” Xenophon started to dash forward, but he could feel… something pulling at him. The old soldier gritted his teeth and pulled up from his charge, unable to force himself any closer to that… beast.

The other Servant was a monster, towering over Xenophon, but size had never intimidated the Lancer before. There was something just wrong about him. Tendrils of fear curled into his mind, pulling at him. His legs grew weak, his arm faltered. He was unworthy of being called a man, to let such things unnerve him. No man or woman of Greece would ever allow the simple visage of a monster to turn them into sniveling children!

”I know not what manner of sorcery you use, but I will not allow it to continue! Stop this and fight me like a man!”[/b]

His fear meant nothing. The Lancer hefted his spear and charged again, ignoring his pounding heart and the shaking of his hand. He would not be denied battle by some form of magic. He was Xenophon! He had braved things far scarier than a lone opponent! The amassed armies of Persia could not stop him and neither would this man!

”It doesn’t matter! If you won’t come to me, then I’ll come to you!”[/b]

Xenophon dove forward, throwing his entire body into a single attack. The spear thrust forward at incredible speed, slamming into the giant’s body with the impact of a shockwave. It didn’t penetrate.

The Lancer stumbled backwards, checking his spear with his peripheral vision. The tip was gone, shattered by the man’s body. The old soldier spat and discarded the useless shaft, drawing a new spear from his back without worry. Weapons broke, but his spirit was strong. A soldier did not stop fighting as long as he drew breath.

The Greek slammed his spear against his shield. ”There! Take your blow as you stand and return your attack! I will not slay an enemy in a single strike, not when the whole night still awaits the ring of steel. It’s been too long since I last had a good fight, so try to survive long enough to give me some amount of satisfaction!”[/b]

Xenophon smacked his shield again, letting the sound of challenge fill the air. He might have been scared, but a soldier grew used to the feeling of fear, the tight feeling in the stomach. He was afraid, but he was determined. Battle was in his blood. The shaking of his hand was excitement, not fear. Two warriors met in battle. Who could say what the end would be?

[Saito Musashibo Benkei]

The first blow, he almost couldn’t wait as the other Servant’s blow impacted his body with such force, force that he relished, force that he had missed for a thousand years! The spear crunched into his body… but it was not Benkei’s body that yielded. It was the spear’s.

The iron tip shattered like stone, but that still was not the end of the blow. The little man had follow through, Benkei would give him that. The haft of the spear continued, and splintered against his steel flesh, his bare chest harder than any mortal iron.

That was surprising. To his opponent, at least. Benkei was not the least bit worried.

“Sorcery?” His grin spread wider, if that horrible visage taking up more of his face was even possible, “Gahahaha! I am no sorcerer, I am a demon!” He said simply, thumped his chest loudly with his fist, not softening his blow, but simply relying on the strength of his body… that strike to himself would have crippled any normal man, collapsed the rib cage, pierced the lungs. But he was far from any normal man.

“But I will acknowledge that blow as taken, Little Lancer.” He leveled his naginata at his opponent, “As long as you refrain from such sad accusations! A sorcerer! Hahaha!” It was almost like a sad joke, no it definitely was a sad joke.

His blood rushed, and his teeth grit with anticipation as he stepped forward, his sheer presence was overwhelming. His body had the privilege of being the strongest, his existence was unnatural, both as a Servant and a demon-blooded person, and when he released his own restraints the world groaned with his presence. This was the aura that so many had feared in his life, the full extension of his body’s curse, providing spiritual weight to his every action.

He towered over the Little Lancer as he finally, having walked the distance between them with the sound of tinkling bells and crushed stone accompanying his advance. He was just relishing the pre-battle tenseness, that incredible moment of honesty of the soul when men stood eye to eye before death.

The curse smiled, tensed, and with one hand he swept his naginata wide, just putting sheer strength in the blow to test his opponent. He didn’t even use two hands yet, he just wanted to see how well this Lancer stood. His words, his actions were strong, but was his body? That was the most important part!

With a bestial roar, Benkei’s blow slashed with deceptive speed, the air splitting around the blade and the haft nearly bending with the pressure of the swing. He aimed to simply rend right through the warrior’s shield, armour, body and all with a single blow.

In a true war one would not need to strike with such strength, but this was not a war. This was a duel, between men, a one-on-one fight with the victor standing above their fallen opponent! And as such, it was only fit that a test of arms would include a test of strength.

[Xenophon]

The strange halberd, a weapon Xenophon had never seen in life, arced toward him with speed enough to blur the strike, a callously imperfect one handed strike. Arrogance seeped off the monstrously proportioned man, the acrid taste of pride burning the Lancer’s mouth. He even roared, giving voice to the savage beast inside him.

The Greeks had fought monsters before. Xenophon raised his large shield, bent his knees. The oversized spear crashed into it, transferring the force through the Lancer’s prepared body, dissipating as it touched the ground. He hadn’t even moved.

”You overestimate yourself,” he said, quietly. It was Xenophon’s place to be insulted and underestimated in battle. He had no grand legend, no great deeds. He had not slain a hydra or gryphon, not fought with gods nor had their boons. His legend had been created by his hands, the blood he spilled and the desert sands.

If anything, the large Servant’s smile grew wider. Before he could recover himself from his failed attack, Xenophon moved forward, leveraging his shield to keep the long halberd-thing away from him. His opponent didn’t have much time to react as he shoved his spear into the man’s thick chest, again, to only slightly more effect than before.

Xenophon jumped back, looking down at his spear. Hairline cracks ran the shaft just below the tip, but it was intact. The monster’s chest was iron, steel, harder than flesh had any right to be. But that attack had shown Xenophon that he wasn’t immortal, only tough. The greatest enemy would fall, given time, sufficient skill, and effort. That was how the Ten Thousand had won victory after victory, destroyed armies ten times its size, crushed legions.

The Lancer leapt backwards, creating distance between himself and the larger Servant, settling himself again. His mind worked, analyzing every flaw, every strength. He was physically smaller, weaker, but he had fought larger opponents before. The giant was slow, hindered by his own mass, but his body was hard and Xenophon’s arm still ached from accepting that first blow. He could do it again, could block anything with his shield, but it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually the impacts would break the bones in his arm and he would be left defenseless.

The only option was for him to press the offensive. If the massive Servant could crush him in a single blow, Xenophon would have to meticulously take him apart with a thousand. If the giant could break spears with his chest, blunt points, shatter swords, then Xenophon would hamstring him and leave him defenseless before cutting him open, with his own weapon if need be.

Losing was not a word that the Ten Thousand knew. The soldiers had dragged their wounded. They had returned home with their shields… or on them. The men of the Ten Thousand did not know retreat, nor surrender. They chose battles wisely, but they did not lose.

Xenophon could not slay this Servant alone. That was clear. But killing him was not the only way to end this duel, this battle, nor was Xenophon ever truly alone. With him rode the hopes and the dreams of all the Ten Thousand, of every man who had served him. ”Come, then! Come if you have enough will to challenge me!”

The bell-wearing man only laughed, shaking his head with mirth, letting the bells tinkle together lightly. Xenophon said nothing, only waited. This man was a monster; Xenophon had fought many like it. Men who lived only for blood and battle, men who knew naught but violence. They were dangerous, but they were controllable.

The Lancer’s mind worked overtime, analyzing his routes. The first one he skipped over almost without thought. The idea of slaying a Master to avoid fighting the Servant was… unappealing. Xenophon would do it if he was ordered to, but otherwise he saw no reason to bring that man into the fight. Still, using a bluff that he would kill a weak, nearly defenseless magi could cause this Servant to stumble… but Xenophon doubted it. It was more likely that the giant would simply redouble his efforts in combat and leave Xenophon no room or time to maneuver. His phantasm would leave the man useless, pushed aside, but Xenophon didn’t like using trump cards early.

That plan was out. Frontal assault was suicide. His shield could bear the impact, but his body couldn’t. Even mountains wore away before the tide and Lancer was only a man. Strafing, keeping the enemy on his toes, unable to bring the full force of his size and overwhelming strength to bear, was the most logical course of action for Xenophon.

The laughter continued as the heavier Servant took two solid, almost ponderous steps forward, swinging overhead with his incredible weapon, both hands on it. Xenophon sidestepped rather defend, a powerful push of his legs sending him out of the way with ease. The blade of the pole arm smashed into the ground, hard enough to crack the bridge and shake the foundation. The Lancer felt himself wince in sympathetic pain. He couldn’t afford to be caught by a strike like that.

While the giant recovered from his attack—recovered exceedingly quickly, for his size, if not quickly enough to avoid an attack—Xenophon lunged forward, driving the point of his spear into the man’s side, avoiding his chest this time. The already fractured spear bent at the further abuse, the tip breaking off, but the Lancer was rewarded with a small drip of blood beginning to slide down the other Servant’s musculature.

”Even the mightiest of mountains can be torn down by the tide,” the Lancer said, straightening up and casting aside the shattered spear. He needed to be more careful. He only had two left and the two he had already broken had little effect on the monstrously proportioned man. There had to be a weak spot, somewhere.

The enemy Servant didn’t seem to want to give Xenophon time to think, moving from his failed attack into another crushing swing, this time using both hands. Even if he had blocked the one handed strike very similar to this before, he wasn’t certain he would be able to stop everything when the other Servant started to fight with his full strength behind every swing. Besides that, he had been prepared, braced for the last strike. Now he was off balance from both his attack and discarding the useless weapon. Foolish.

Xenophon’s shield took the impact with ease, but he wasn’t able to keep his footing as surely as before. He slid along the stones, nimbly finding his balance after he had stopped moving, but he was still off balance. With a roar, the massive Servant attacked again, overhand, and Xenophon had no time to recover. He threw his shield in the way, saving himself from the massive bodily injury that would result from even a glancing blow, but he was still unbalanced. This was going poorly.

“Are you falling already, little Lancer! It has only just begun!” The larger man loved the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? Foolish.

Xenophon set his feet as the next blow came, tilting his shield as it hit and letting the other Servant unbalance as the force of his own swing continued past Xenophon and into the ground, cracking the bridge further. Xenophon had no time to reach his spears, so instead the Lancer grabbed at the sword at his belt, stepping forward and inside the man’s oversized guard. With a quick motion, he drove his sword into the man’s thigh, stabbing, and was rewarded with a few centimeters of penetration into the flesh.

It wouldn’t be a devastating wound, nor would it slow the monster much, but the accumulation of many small injuries would kill any man. As Xenophon stepped away, he tried to pull the edge of his sword through the man’s leg to widen the wound and cause more pain, but the huge Servant’s skin was too tough for the unsharpened edge to slice through.

A massive fist dropped down, catching Xenophon just below the chest. He was sent flying, but rolled with the blow, managing to climb to his feet with his sword and shield both still in hand only instants after he had touched the ground. His impact had further weakened the bridge, but the construction was solid and would last… at least a few more blows.

The giant’s strength far outmatched his speed; he had sent Xenophon far enough away that the time it would take him to again join battle against the Lancer gave Xenophon a small break to breathe and think. His weapons were able to pierce the man, if only slightly, yet even the wound in his leg hardly seemed to slow him.

This man was a true warrior. There was nothing else that could be said. His movements had the fluid grace of those who had fought and bled for years, and his attacks left no unnecessary movement. Each strike was massive, more than enough to cleave a mortal in half. The conclusion that the Lancer was coming to was that his opponent had no flaws. No missteps to punish, no holes in his skill or training. Were this an army, a monster of a man would be dead, his body filled with arrows before he had taken two steps toward Xenophon’s men. But Xenophon did not have a corps of archers at his back, and this monster was overpowering him in every sense. Xenophon had stabbed him, wounded him, and a single unarmed blow had reset the battle in the monster’s favor.

“You fight mean, little Lancer! I like that!” This boisterous man was beginning to get on Xenophon’s good side. He allowed himself a small, vicious smile.

”I always fight to win,” he replied steadily, taking the respite to sheathe his sword and grab a spear from his back. A smart fighter never gave his opponent a moment to collect himself; Xenophon used that opportunity to move forward, driving his spear into the same spot he had already wounded on his opponent. The giant tried to move, but his bulk kept him from fully avoiding the strike and the razor sharp spearhead cut apart the already torn flesh with ease.

“A foolishly conceived plan, but I applaud you! That was brave!”

Xenophon withdrew further. Had he really been unable to wound the other Servant…? Dammit! He would not lose like this!

The giant charged after him, swinging that massive weapon like it weighed no more than a feather. Xenophon had to set himself to block the first attack, but it was only a feint. The halberd-thing reversed direction and whipped around, slamming into his shoulder and driving him to the ground.

Xenophon grunted as he rolled forward, past the monster’s legs, drawing his sword and driving it into the back of the man’s legs before drawing back. He had lost his spear and there was blood dripping down his left arm, making it painful to use. Lifting his shield was painful; trying to block with it would be torture. Coupled with the giant’s strength, Xenophon knew he could no longer block a full attack.

He leapt backward to avoid the next overhand strike, trying to create distance between himself and the monster, but he couldn’t retreat all the way to where Nina was. Even if his wounds were great, he would die before he allowed her to come to harm. He would protect his master until death.

At the last, instead of throwing himself away from the attack, Xenophon dove into it, bringing his shield up to block despite his shoulder’s pained protests. He caught the –naginata- in the shaft, cutting the power the other Servant could put into it, though his shoulder exploded with pain despite that, and drove his sword into the man’s chest, aiming for the spot he had broken the spear.

His sword penetrated, if not as deeply as he would have liked, but this time the giant did stumble. He could be hurt. He could be killed. Whatever it was that gripped Xenophon’s mind, whatever sly thoughts crept in, caused him to shrink backward, he could fight despite them. His fear would not control him!

With a roar, Xenophon ripped his sword out and raised a foot, slamming his heel into the giant’s chest just below the bleeding wound. This time it was the monster that stumbled backward, his wounded leg unable to brace against the force and his lungs emptied of air between the stab and the powerful kick.

“Guess I’ll stop playing nice, then.” The monstrous Servant lifted his naginata, lifting it up. “I’ll show you what I really can do! Behold! This is the Thousand Weapons of the Sword-Thief!”

His body almost glowed with power as he charged forward, raising his naginata above his head and bringing it down, hard, with almost supernatural speed. With his arm the way it was, there was no way that Xenophon could block. But he was not going to die here!

”So kind of you to reveal your trap so early!” the Lancer roared back at the giant, bringing his shield up. ”But there is strength in numbers! To me, men of the Ten Thousand! Raise your shields!”

Energy flowed through his body as he called forth his phantasm. He lifted his shield as he spoke, a thousand ethereal shields filling the gaps around him as the phalanx assembled itself. The spirits would not be there if he looked, but the Greek could vaguely see faces of soldiers that had fought beside him. Together, they were stronger.

The massive attack smashed into his shield hard, sending spikes of pain down his arm and making white sparks dance in his eyes. The impact was painful, making him stumble backwards, but he was alive. He knew that if that attacked had collided, he would not have survived that. Even the monster seemed surprised that Xenophon had lived.

“Gahaha!” ”Yes. You cannot stop me, whether you call yourself a demon or admit you’re just a man.”

Arrogance that Xenophon didn’t feel filled his words. He had already revealed one of his Phantasms, though it had been to save his life. ”I am Xenophon, leader and soldier of the Ten Thousand! I have fought in Persia, I have slain monsters, overthrown kings, toppled regimes! You are nothing!”

The Lancer slammed his spear against his shield, ringing his defiance as he charged forward. His target was not the Servant, but rather the master, who was still too close to combat to be safe from Xenophon.

The giant tracked his eyes, saw his movement, and stood to interpose himself between his Master and his enemy. He wouldn’t be fast enough; they both knew it. Instead, a pulse of magic shot outward, stopping the Greek in his tracks.

“Not today! This is my final stand; if you want him, you’ll have to go through Saito Musashibo Benkei!” The light that danced in his enemy’s eyes was mad with pain and fury, but Xenophon was not at all worried about that. ”I hadn’t intended to go for him, Benkei!”

”Come forth, men of the Ten Thousand! Rain spears upon him!” Xenophon leapt forward, as good as his word, thrusting his spear upward as a hundred men appeared all around, spears in hands. They weren’t real, only images and memories, but the thrown spears were made real by Xenophon’s will, by his desire. A hundred spears shot forth, and the only one that Benkei reacted to was the one that Xenophon was using. He twirled his naginata with ease, bringing it down at Xenophon’s head with a rush of wind, but the Lancer threw his shield up and into the way, even though he felt his arm shatter, felt his body protest.

His spear, and the hundred others, all struck the giant’s body. Benkei gave a shuddering sigh as his body was punctured countless times, the spear tips thicker than a man’s thumb turning his body into a pincushion. Xenophon’s own spear had punctured deeper, burying a full hand’s span into his enemy’s body.

“Ha ha ha ha… ironic, isn’t it?” the giant laughed, lifting his naginata. He could have killed Xenophon in that last moment and, with his left arm dangling limply at his side, there was nothing the Lancer could have done. But Benkei didn’t. Xenophon moved backwards, slowly, painfully, and the other Servant only stood there, laughing quietly to himself. His body started to fall apart, but his will was too strong to let him fall. Benkei slammed the shaft of his naginata down on the bridge as Xenophon limped away, this blow, the final blow, spreading cracks along the stone. The bridge crumbled, the Servant falling, disappearing as he went, as half the bridge fell into the river below.

Xenophon turned and leaped for the shore, landing heavily on his side, feeling his arm cry out with pain, climbing to his feet and looking across to see the other Master. The man seemed fine. That was good.

Xenophon locked away his pain before his master could feel it through their bond. He stood, slowly, favoring one of his legs, and slammed his right arm against his heart in the direction of the collapsed bridge. A salute of honor for a noble opponent.

”Let us go, Master. I am in need of rest.”

[Nina Lüceanu]

This was not simply her Servant's debut in the War but in her eyes and mind also a test. A test to see what kind of fighter Xenophon was; a test not of his prowess - of that, she had been certain even before the summoning - but of his judgement. How he fought, what he fought for, and would he fight for the fight itself or focus on the most important aspect of battle, victory? This night would determine how much faith and trust she could put into her Servant over the course of this War.

So, Nina stood, watching, appraising, approving as Lancer struggled against the monster of a man that was their first real opponent. The first blow showed that Xenophon would not let his pride deny him an advantage. But it also showed that the enemy was... difficult. Durability that exceeded even that of her own Servant, which she had considered top grade; and strength befitting of his giant frame. Unless his defense - obviously a Noble Phantasm of some kind, though the details eluded the girl's clairvoyance for the time - had weak points and he was fool enough to leave them open, drastic measures would be required to take him down. Then again, depending on the exact mystery behind that conceptual armor, even Xenophon's Noble Phantasm could prove insufficient to kill him. That sobering thought caused Nina's eyes to lose their perpetually sleepy sheen; her gaze turned sharp, focused, as she analyzed the one-sided battle.

The enemy was stronger, tougher than her Servant. Xenophon's advantage in agility was helping him survive... No, that was incorrect. She had foolishly assumed the other Servant to be done with games after that first strike. However, he was still playing, as if to prolong his enjoyment. That was such a... Petre thing to do. At least, this guy didn't go around groping their opponent to ease his boredom... hopefully. A glint of annoyance flashed in the girl's eyes as they narrowed a fraction at the memory. Still, this was a good sign, all things considered. Being underestimated and trifled with was just another advantage; overconfidence was a weakness waiting to be exploited. Xenophon seemed to have the same thoughts as he used the enemy's stalling to test his armor.

...How long had the fight gone on for now? 15 seconds, 20? It certainly seemed like longer but could have been far less in actuality. Nina's perception of time was scewered by the intense concentration required to even follow the fighters' movements to some slight degree. That was not important at the moment, however - her focus was needed elsewhere, as in these mere 15 seconds, the fight had escalated to death blows. And with a Noble Phantasm announced, Nina could see the other Heroic Spirit with a greater clarity. Saito Musashibo Benkei... Useless trivia about a legend she did not care about was mixed in with valuable information on the monk's abilities. But even the latter could not distract the girl from a most troubling revelation presented to her by the Master's clairvoyance. ...Servant Lancer... The one she had assumed to be Berserker or Rider turned out to be a double of her own Servant. Was this a fluke? Or did that mean there were at least 12 more opponents for them to face to face instead of the previously anticipated 5? The young magus was not given the opportunity to ponder this at the moment. A sudden tug on her prana turned her attention back towards the battle, just in time to witness Benkei's standing death from the spears of the ten thousand.

As the bridge crumbled before her eyes, Nina berated herself for allowing irrelevant - at that particular moment, at least - information to distract her, no matter how alarming and confusing it was. When combatants move faster than your eye can see, that brief moment can and will spell death. Even if she was unused to watching others fight without participating herself, she should not have gotten complacent so easily.

Xenophon's battered, bloodied, broken carcass form approached. The female Master was somewhat fatigued after his use of two Noble Phantasms but extended a wave of prana towards him regardless.

"You may want to switch to spirit form to faciliate healing."

Her voice was as monotone as usual, flat tones devoid of emotion.

"You have done well, my hero."

He passed the test with flying colors. Focusing on victory, not being arrogant enough to avoid underhanded tactics, promptly finishing the fight with a decisive strike once the opponent's exceptional threat level had been established... She agreed with all of his decisions; she felt proud to have him as her Servant, and she wanted him to know that.

A faint concern intruded upon the joy of victory as her gazed passed over the other Master standing on the other side of what little now remained of the bridge. It was doubtful that her Razor Wind would reach him from this distance, and a Jovis would drain her reserves considerably, even if she managed to complete it before the magus retreated. Leaving him be with the amount of data on Xenophon he had obtained during the battle was not a pleasant thought, however.

"Lancer..."

Still... unlike some magi would, he had played fair. No traps, no attempts at a cheap victory by killing her, just an open challenge and a proxy battle, as if verbatim by a rulebook. How much of that was the Servant's decision, and how much that of the Master? That did not matter. Even if he found a way back into the war, it would not make things worse, at least.

"...nevermind. Let us go home. We both need rest."

With a final glance towards the broken stage of her war's first completed act, Raven Mist departed into the night.