Fate: Hero and Sword

A light that was a crystallization of dreams. Sand-like particles glowing radiantly as they gathered to a central point.

Soft warm winds began to pick up, like the gentle heat near the foot of a hearth.

It was a light that was otherworldly. An aura like none other.

"If you can't put your faith in me," she said softly at barely even a whisper, her arms gently unsheathing a blade from its scabbard. "Then put your faith in this sword."

Holy City Camelot: Part 3

From the moment Arturia drew forth her sword, to the moment she promptly sheathed it, barely a few seconds had passed.

Yet it was enough.

The light of Excalibur was the light of dreams. A crystallization of unfading hopes and ambitions unchanged regardless of the passing of eras. It was the Holy Sword of the Fae, granted to the Lady of the Lake for self-keeping, and then to the King of Knights.

Within its lustrous blade was an unfathomable might; a strength tying into that known only in deep seated legends with roots stemming to the properties of the world itself.

Despite it being the very sword Shirou had designed for her in YGGDRASIL using the basis of a World Item, something had become different about it after traversing to this New World. It seemed grander, more illustrious, and bearing a greater purpose than what it had bore in the game.

Perplexed, she had sheathed it on an impulse, but even still, its intended use was effective.

"W-What is that sword?"

Vincent's voice came out in a stutter, the cloud of depression and sorrow hanging over him fading away as if it were never there. He straightened his back from where he was leaning it on a tree, attention focused solely on the sheathed sword still in Arturia's hands. The feeling he had felt upon laying eyes on the sword was indescribable. It was a blend of a tender light, with the ferocity and bearings of the foretold might of the ancient Paladin-class that had long since died out with the rest of the Players in history.

It was only proper that Vincent grew immensely curious.

However, his answer was met by silence, Arturia's lips thinning as she frowned lightly before shaking her head. It wasn't that she couldn't explain what Excalibur was, but at the moment, she herself wasn't exactly too sure. More so with the inexplicable emotions contained within her. She wouldn't so easily make any assumptions.

Understanding that he wouldn't be getting a response, Vincent didn't force the subject and instead closed his mouth, unwilling to infringe upon the tacit calm of the moment. Rather, even if he wanted to press for answers, he knew that his time was better spent contemplating his situation. The further he thought though, the more helpless he became, the temporary peace of mind Excalibur had brought him gradually losing its effect.

Just as Arturia had said, he could indeed place his faith in that Holy blade, but his faith could only take him so far. What Vincent needed was resolve, and how could a King who had led countless Knights and soldiers to battle not be able to see that?

"You are thinking too much," Arturia spoke, interrupting Vincent's train of thought before approaching sternly.

The clanking of her armour was echoed only by the force of her steps, leaving behind detailed imprints on the mud over the ground. Oddly enough, not one piece of mud or dirt was able to stain the steel of her greaves or the fabric of her flowing mantle as if the world itself thought it a sin.

Although Vincent took note of this minor detail, it wouldn't be something that he would be awe struck by until later when he would return to the Berferd Dutchy. At present, he was too busy to care while being solemnly glared at by such enchanting teal eyes.

"You think that your situation is unfair or hopeless?" Arturia's lips pressed firmly together as she spoke. "That giving in is the only option you have left when things get too difficult?"

Arturia grimaced, her teeth grit together as her cheeks raised.

"I have seen worse. A world where men kill men not because of politics and petty squabbles, but to secure a living. In comparison, a single routing from your enemies shouldn't be enough to shake your will and your courage."

Vincent stared, before clenching his jaw and swallowing.

"You don't understand how it's been with the Aristocracy," Vincent countered. "This may look to you like a simple routing, but far from it, numerous other Noble families may have had a hand in this matter for mere short-term gains. It won't end with just this routing, let alone if I'm able to escape it."

Veins were bulging from Vincent's neck due to the heatedness in which he spoke. One could only push someone so far before anger became natural, and the way the other nobility had planned things infuriated him. Of all the times they could have chosen to attack him, it had to be in the instance where his father's influence or his own could not shield him. It was tradition in the Berferd family. No help would come to aid the undertaker in the trial of the Blood Wolf.

Fine, he could accept that, but to send so many people against just himself and a small entourage of men and women, how shameless could the other side get?

The filth and cunning of his treacherous associates of the Aristocracy could never be truly understood by an outsider.

Only, the somberness in Arturia's gaze quelled Vincent's building frustration like a bucket of water over his head. There was a sadness and empathy present not only in her features but in her very disposition. Her glare eased, changing into something wistful, sedate, as her gaze seemed to blur. It almost made Vincent feel guilty of what he had said.