Chapter Twenty-Four: Arthur Pendragon

"Hoo..."
Kiritsugu Emiya took a deep breath. He shouldn't have been so tense, but the thought of summoning a servant capable of tearing apart the sky and shattering steel and jade filled him with a primal fear that rose alongside his rational mind.
As one who claimed the name of magus, Kiritsugu naturally did not see servants as mere familiars to be summoned and manipulated at will, unlike other magicians. Each was a hero with a distinct personality; if their compatibility was poor, the consequences could be far more severe.
The command seals in his hand were proof enough. Without them, the distinction between master and servant would be far less clear.
Frankly, he was more interested in the caster and assassin classes, but Ahad's words rang true: this was not the assassination of old, but a volatile battlefield, and a powerful heroic spirit could maximize his margin for error.
"Kiritsugu... the time is near."
"I know."
Under Irisviel’s anxious gaze, Kiritsugu Emiya raised his right hand.
"Proclaim—!"
The chill and pain that enveloped his body surged swiftly; a sign that his magic circuits were running at full force. Yet, compared to the miracle he was about to perform, such expenditure was nothing.
Kiritsugu recited the summoning incantation in a low voice, undeterred even as the winds whipped violently around him, as if he himself were but a cog in this ritual.
"Thou art bound by the three great words for seven days, from the Wheel of Restraint thou comest, guardian of the scales—"
As the spell concluded, Kiritsugu felt his mana accelerate to its utmost limit.
In the swirling gale, Irisviel, standing guard to one side, squinted against the dazzling radiance of the summoning circle, trying to preserve her vision as best she could.
Yet her gaze was not fixed on the circle itself, but on the sword sheath atop the altar behind it. Since that day, she had not seen anything like it again, as if it had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
But thinking of Illya’s recent oddities, Irisviel could not let her worries rest.
As her heart brimmed with concern, the light of the magic circle gradually faded, white mist rolling out with the silhouette of a figure.
Clad in close-fitting silver armor, hood drawn, his appearance obscured, the figure emerged at the center of the circle.
Kiritsugu let out a breath—uncertain whether it was relief or release—and scrutinized the figure with sharp eyes.
Noticing Kiritsugu’s gaze, the figure removed his hood, revealing himself fully.
Golden short hair, emerald eyes, a face marked by gentle beauty and undeniable handsomeness, radiant as sunlight and worthy of envy.

Then, looking at Kiritsugu, with whom his connection was deepest, he spoke.
"Servant Saber, summoned in accordance with your call. I ask you—are you my Master?"

—

In the morning, within the Einzbern forest, at a sunlit dining table, Saber, divested of his armor, was sharing a meal with Irisviel.
Though he ate swiftly, every movement was natural and graceful, lending him an air of gallant dignity.
Artificial as she was, Irisviel had little need for food, so she quietly sipped her tea, holding a curious Illya on her lap.
"Is it alright for Master to leave alone like this?"
After finishing his meal, Saber finally voiced his concern. "In this Holy Grail War, if a servant strays too far from their master, the enemy may seize the advantage."
"From the standpoint of common sense, perhaps so. But that man’s talents far surpass mine in this field. I trust him."
Though Irisviel, as a specialized vessel for the Lesser Grail, was well-versed in alchemical magic and could hold her own in battle, she was still no match for Kiritsugu Emiya.
"It seems I have yet to earn his trust."
Saber’s expression grew tense, his radiant smile dimming slightly, yet the resolute aura of a powerful knight still shone through.
Even though the contract between heroic spirit and master was not restricted by distance, his master’s solitary actions were evidence enough.
Since being summoned a few nights ago, after confirming their bond, Kiritsugu had left in haste, leaving all explanations to Irisviel, as if he were refusing his own summoned servant.
"You must be dissatisfied, right? But please, trust him. I assure you, he only appears cold."
To say Kiritsugu did not trust Saber would be an injustice. His abilities as a master were not exceptional, but aside from luck, Saber’s attributes were all top-tier. In endurance, he possessed an A+ rank, meaning that as long as the master could supply sufficient mana, this knight could stand against even the rarest of heroes, fighting many at once.
From any perspective, Kiritsugu could find no fault.
His cold demeanor was merely to prevent discord between master and servant, should the King of Knights, so noble, object to his own underhanded methods of assassinating other masters.
Until the number of masters decreased, he and Irisviel would continue this arrangement.
"Or perhaps, Saber, you’re unhappy with me serving as your temporary master?"
Seeing Saber’s spirits sink, Irisviel quickly shifted to a teasing tone to lighten the mood.

"Of course not. I am glad that you, Irisviel, are my master." For Irisviel, who had breathed nobility like air since birth, it was much like the princesses of Saber’s own era. And for certain reasons, women around him were rarely reliable, whether teacher or sister.
To Saber, Irisviel’s well-bred, pure-hearted nature was angelic; thus, even without a contract, he pledged himself to her as a knight would to his lord.
"Haha, to receive such praise from the legendary King Arthur Pendragon—perhaps I am quite impressive, after all?"
Irisviel’s smile brightened, her gaze softening as she gently stroked Illya’s hair.
Saber’s appearance had eased her worries; this heroic spirit was normal in every respect—gender, strength, and noble character.
Clearly, the sword sheath’s lingering shadow that day had been a trick of the mind. With Saber kept in the dark about its existence and Kiritsugu taking it ahead to Fuyuki City, there was little need for concern.
"You truly deserve the praise. However, Arthur Pendragon is merely the most common name by which I am known. If it’s you, Irisviel, feel free to call me Artorius—that is my true name. Still, during battle, please refer to me as Saber."
"Likewise, Artorius. This time, let’s win the final victory!"
"Yes," Saber smiled warmly, then glanced with curiosity at Illya in Irisviel’s arms.
"I may be meddling, but is it alright for your daughter to be like this?"
"Eh?"
At Saber’s words, Irisviel belatedly looked at Illya in her lap. After the initial curiosity about Saber and the table, Illya, as usual, fixed her gaze obediently toward Fuyuki City.
But this time was different. Seeing Illya’s current actions, Irisviel understood why Saber was concerned.
With each breath, Illya exhaled a stream of hot flame, playing with it as if it were a toy, yet remained oblivious, staring into the distant sky as if sensing something.
"Illya? What are you looking at?"
Irisviel gently shook her daughter, recalling her to herself.
"Mama?" Illya returned to awareness, her face radiant and divine, and spoke words that chilled Irisviel to her core.
"Don’t you feel it? Papa... has been born."