How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

The reconstruction was in progress when I retired for the night, but by then, after a day of walking, and Arash’s little… flight, I was pretty much dead on my feet. Cursed Arm told me to get some rest, so I found an unoccupied hut, and set down to rest.

Thus, when I wake up, I’m rested and refreshed, and ready to deal with yet another day of this seemingly endless slog through human history.

Okay, that was a bit too depressive. Come on, Charlie, think happy thoughts. Think of your dogs, they’ll be so happy to see you once this is over and you can go home! Think of Solomon with his testicles in a vice, looking up in fear as righteous vengeance for his sins draws near!

Alright, good cheer restored. Now, time to check in on absent agents.

‘Mata Hari,’ I send over the mental link as I shake myself to full wakefulness. ‘Report in. You’ve been out of contact for a full day.’

‘Oh. Errrr… Yes, I suppose I have,’ she sends uncomfortably. ‘Sorry about that.’

My entire body tenses. This is… worrying. ‘What’s the status of Lancelot? Has your cover been blown?’ Son of a bitch, I thought she was a professional! How the hell am I supposed to deal with the fallout if she’s been compromised?

I quickly relegate my paranoid impulse to immediately command-spell her into suicide to the status of “last resort.” Let’s not be too hasty here.

‘Lancelot brought back the last artifact and freed me,’ Mata Hari says after a brief moment of hesitation. ‘And… he thinks I’m just a refugee you used as a disposable decoy. He doesn’t know I’m a Servant.’

‘That’s excellent. Are you safe?’ I ask. ‘Do you have reason to fear for your life, or that you’ll be mistreated in any way?’

‘No. He’s been very kind, a perfect gentleman.’ I suddenly realize exactly how she was compromised. ‘And… he’s letting me travel with him. He says he’s established a refugee camp that I can stay in. I… I believe him! Please, Master, do we have to fight him? He’s a good person!’ She’s crying. The mental link doesn’t carry over the sound of the sobbing, but I can still feel it in her every word. ‘I don’t want to betray him!’

Oh, wow, first headache of the day, and I haven’t even been awake for an hour, yet! My spy’s been compromised, simply by dint of Lancelot being a decent person, and, if I go for my usual hardline let-no-enemy-escape policy, I’m probably in for a betrayal. On the other hand, if I try to diplomance my way out of this, Galahad will probably kill me. Setting aside that fact, if Lancelot has really set up a refugee camp, and he’s been sparing refugees, can I really in good conscience have him hunted down? Am I not obligated to try and pull him over to the right side?

FUCKING HELL! I WAS NOT PREPARED TO START MY DAY WITH THIS!

‘I’ll take it under consideration and see if I can woo him over to our side,’ I tell Mata Hari, pushing my glasses up to massage the bridge of my nose. It seems to soother her worries over the fate of her newfound knight in shining armor a bit, and she gives the rest of her report. Apparently, they’ve ceased their pursuit, and they’ve been called back to the Holy City to report their failure to the Lion King. Lancelot’s been keeping her under wraps, hidden away from his fellow Knights of the Lion King (currently consisting only of Agravaine and Gawain,) and any soldiers of the Holy City not under his command. He plans on leaving a force of his soldiers outside the city in order to keep her safe.

Honestly, the worst part is that, when she reports his intent to keep her safe, I can’t help but get the sense that he actually means it. He’s going out of his way to save a refugee and putting his life and standing with the Lion King on the line, simply because he believes that it’s the right thing to do.

And now, I have to figure out whether we’re killing him.

I can’t decide on this right now, so I get to my feet, get the rest of my uniform on, and then go out to meet with the others. Cursed Arm said that he’d be holding a briefing in the morning. Time to see what it’s about.

---

Cursed Arm taps on the map currently being projected by one of Da Vinci’s inventions. “This is our target, the Western Fort. One of our number, the Hassan of Serenity, is contained within. She was captured a while back, but we don’t think they’ve managed to properly break her yet. This is a rescue mission, and one that needs to advance on a strict timeframe. We’ve got intelligence that Sir Agravaine is riding in on his way to interrogate her personally.”

Hold on a second. “Wait, he’s riding out in person?”

Cursed Arm nods, not seeing where this is going. Everyone’s looking at me now.

“This is perfect!” I start grinning.

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, let’s think about this. We have two Heroic Spirits from an order that specializes in decapitation strikes on hand, and one of our most dangerous enemies is going to be travelling and vulnerable.” I grin ferally. “Hassan, how many times has Sir Agravaine left the Holy City?”

Hundred Face and Cursed Arm start to answer at the same time, and then get into a staring contest. Cursed Arm wins. “Twice, counting this one.”

I can see the gears turning. That’s been the problem, here. Serving as a leader of men, looking after the welfare of his village, it’s hamstrung him. It’s made him soft, made him forget who he is. He’s been fighting like a hero, thinking like a hero. Now, though, he’s remembering what it is to think like an Assassin.

“How high priority is Agravaine, though?” Galahad interjects, looking annoyed. “He’s a shit fighter, and he’s probably planning to betray the Lion King anyways. I say the damsel in distress should take priority.”

“Of course you do,” I say with a sigh. “But, let me answer your question with another question: If Agravaine is obviously the Round Table’s Judas, and everyone disliked him, then why did King Arthur keep him as his Chancellor?”

“Because he was good at it,” Bedivere answers, shocking Galahad. “I hated him as much as everyone else, I won’t lie, but, well, it was only after Agravaine died that I realized how much he actually did. He was the glue that kept the Round Table together, even if it was through hatred, a constant looming threat that kept us as united bloc, kept us from picking fights with each other. And beyond that, he was the King’s implementer, just as much as Kay was. He handled the logistical side of King Arthur’s ideals and war efforts and took care of day-to-day concerns. He was the most unlikeable man I’ve ever met, but he was also easily the best chancellor the King could have ever asked for.”

Yep, that just about confirms my suspicions. Ever since my stint as the Emperor Nero’s personal assistant/quartermaster/favorite sexual harassee, I’ve been acutely aware that no amount of charisma, idealism, or political power will ever get rid of the logistical headaches inherent to coordinating a large group of people, be it a city, an army, or an empire. Behind every great leader, there is always a bureaucracy of some form. Empires may rise and fall, but paperwork… paperwork is eternal.

Thus, if you can locate the logistics guy, you know exactly who to kill to completely fuck your enemy’s plans over. And, well, lucky us, because our current enemy’s logistics guy is currently heading our way.

“So, is everyone beginning to understand why this is such a windfall?” I ask, grinning. “When we killed Tristan and Mordred, nothing really changed, save that the Lion King lost a bit of his military might. If we kill Agravaine, on the other hand?” I tent my fingers as my smile turns positively malevolent. “They’ll eat each other alive.”

“Are you- Are you seriously suggesting we leave our comrade imperiled in order to take a shot at an enemy who’s barely worth fighting?” Galahad sputters. “I- this is ridiculous!”

“No,” Hundred Face’s current spokesman says, sharpening a dagger. “It’s an opportunity. Serenity would gladly lay down her life for the cause. Anyone who has earned a place in the Hashashim would, much less one who has risen to the exalted title of Hassan-i-Sabbah. If we pass up this chance to secure our victory, we will disgrace our titles, and bring shame to our order.”

“You would abandon your comrade?” Galahad asks disbelievingly, staring between Cursed Arm and Hundred Face.

“Yes, boy!” Hundred Face snaps. “We are not your crusading knights, full of lofty ideals and foolhardy chivalry! We are Hashashim! We are faceless, nameless, and numberless, sworn to defend our Holy Land by any means necessary. If it means that we must sacrifice some of our number, then so be it! If it means that we must slay the innocent, so be it! If it means that we must lay down our very lives, so be it! We will do whatever it takes and let nothing slow us down!” The current Face takes a deep breath, and then retakes his seat. “If it appeases the mewlings of your conscience, boy, then go and save Serenity yourself. She would do the same as us if our places were reversed.”

“You dare-“ I quickly place myself between Galahad and Hundred Face before this can escalate any further.

“Okay, let’s put this to a vote. All in favor of taking out one of our enemies’ heaviest hitters, and quite possibly saving the world?”

Hundred Face, Cursed Arm, Da Vinci, Vlad and I all raise our hands.

“All opposed?”

Galahad, Cu, and Georgios raise their hands. Siegfried and Bedivere both abstain.

“That’s a hundred and four to three in favor,” I note.

“A hundred and four?” Galahad asks sourly.

“Each of Hundred Face’s personalities gets a vote.”

The current spokesface blinks in surprise. “Actually, if that’s the case, then the vote is eighty-three to sixteen in favor. Some of us abstained, and a few of us voted to saved her.”

“We’ll go to rescue Serenity, Galahad. But only after we’ve dealt with Agravaine. He’s easily the biggest threat out of our current foes. The Lion King, Gawain, and Lancelot are all difficult enemies to beat, certainly, but Agravaine is what keeps their army together.”

“Fine,” Galahad all but growls. “I’ll go along with this. But you’d better keep your promise.”

That kills my smile, as I hesitate, not entirely sure how to broach the possibility of approaching Lancelot diplomatically and winning him over to our side.

“Very well,” Cursed Arm says, already scanning the map and unaware of my inner turmoil. “Now, how shall we go about this?”

I find myself grinning again, Cursed Arm having been my unknowing savior from the painful conversation still ahead of me. “I might have a few ideas on the matter, actually.”

 

Galahad’s not talking to me.

We’re sitting pretty high up the rocky, boulder-strewn slope, crouching behind cover and waiting for our target to arrive. He’s been making it abundantly clear that he doesn’t agree with this. I think it offends his knightly sensibilities.

I want to apologize. Find a way to broach the subject. To apologize, to appease him with a bout against his father, but… If I’m honest, I think that sending Galahad out against Lancelot is basically the same thing as trying to kill Lancelot. And, well, there’s the problem. It feels like whatever choice I make; I’ll end up alienating one of my Servants and costing us a valuable asset. And I can’t help but try to find a third option.

So instead, we sit in silence, him sulking and me thinking, until Hundred Face nods at us.

Our target’s almost here.

I peer up over my cover, taking a moment to appreciate my position, high enough to have a clear view of the battlefield, and close enough to still provide my Servants with mana. Agravaine’s retinue of knights and men-at-arms is still following its intended route, as the Faces we’d seeded along the route to serve as advanced warning had assured us.

Now, then. I wait until just when they’re in the process of passing us to signal the assault.

Siegfried and Cu slam into the formation, snapping it in half, as Georgios and Vlad place themselves respectively ahead and behind the formation along the road. We’re on a steep cliff, no true object for the Servants, but nigh impassible for men-at-arms, and difficult indeed to traverse for the dim and inflexible Selection Knights. Easily the best possible spot for an ambush. Now that we’ve got them penned in, divided, and in disarray, with Arash providing sniper fire, and Hundred Face providing numbers as they bury the rear-guard in their bodies.

Of course I expect something to go horribly wrong.

Agravaine start boasting about something, I think, but I can’t hear him from where I’m situated, especially since he’s sensibly taking cover behind some of his Selection Knights. And then, sure enough, things go wrong.

Several Selection Knights roar in rage, their armor turning black as they attack without restrain or any sense of concern for their well-being, actually managing to go toe-to-toe with Cu and Siegfried, making up for their lack of improvistational skill with pure savagery and overwhelming force.

Now, suddenly, Agravaine’s position doesn’t look so untenable. I can hear him barking commands, and his forces begin to reconnect, forming battle-lines as best he can, a three-sided wall of steel.

The initial thrust has stalled, which means it’s all up to Cursed Arm, now.

“GAE BOLG!”

Oh, Cu managed to break through, that’s nice. I watch as he lays into the rank-and-file, cutting his way towards Agravaine and the Selection Knight guarding him.

Agravaine’s planning something, but that’s about when Cursed Arm Zabaniyas him, concluding the engagement quite nicely. A pleasant surprise, really. I spent every single moment during the fighting expecting something to go catastrophically wrong.

Cursed Arm devours the heart, and then looks up towards me, giving the prearranged signal that he successfully consumed Agravaine’s memories.

Seriously, this is great! It’s like Christmas! Everything’s coming up me, and my plans are all going, well, according to plan.

I immediately begin planning my contingencies for when the Wheel of Fortune decides it’s time to kick me in balls.

‘All Servants, Agravaine has been killed and all objectives met. Terminate all witnesses, and get a fire going to burn the bodies.’ No use giving the enemy actionable intel on our capabilities, after all.

The whole affair is done in half an hour, leaving me jumpy, constantly expecting the other shoe to drop. We polish off the remaining enemies easily enough and burn all the bodies save those of the Selection Knights. Those we keep for dissection and analysis by Da Vinci.

Once we’ve finished our cleanup, however, we head out towards the fortress.

According to Cursed Arm’s stolen memories, Serenity was kept restrained by one of Agravaine’s Noble Phantasms. Consequently, we’ve amended our plans. No longer are we going to try to break in. Instead, we’ll be waiting for when Serenity breaks out.

Still, as we leave, I can’t help but look over my shoulder.

Call me superstitious, but I can’t escape the sense that the worst is yet to come.

 

“Damn,” I mutter, looking out over the absolute massacre taking place, when less than a minute ago we were proceeding peacefully at marching speed. I should have expected an ambush! This is the perfect ground for it! But victory, it would seem, has bred complacency. Something I’ll have to correct once I get out of this.

If I can get out of this. I lost half my men in the Assassins’ initial strike, and I’m losing more by the minute from that infernal Archer of theirs.

We’re too densely packed in here. The road so narrow that only four of us can walk abreast, and my men are already panicking.

“Front line!” I snap out. “We’re pushing through and leaving them in the dust behind us!”

Selection Knight #375, my current human shield, intercepts another arrow, as, to the rear of our formation, Knights #542 and 543 are still berserking, and holding back the two human blenders who managed to shred my forces in their first strike. That leaves me with two more Selection Knights that haven’t engaged the enemy, since 376 was crushed along with the rest of my rear guard and our supply wagons under the waves of black-clad Assassins now agilely surging towards us. We can’t stay in this killbox any longer, or soon I’ll be completely out of men.

“Knights # 541 and 544, advance to the lead of our formation and destroy any and all obstacles that stand against us! All men, line up! Vanguard and right flank, ready your spears! Everyone else, get your shields up, and-“

Then, my plans all crumble with a cry of “GAE BOLG!” I look numbly on, as the devil in blue drives his crimson spear through Knight 543’s heart, and then gleefully leaps over the now fading knight to slaughter my troops.

I’m not making it out of this alive, am I? That’s Cu Chulainn.

I look at my men, and I see their fear. But still they hold formation. Still they look to me to save them, still they look to Agravain of Iron, indomitable and undefeated (even though that’s mostly just because I’m smart enough to run from fights I can’t win.)

Very well. If I am to die here, then I will do my king proud. I draw my blade and pull out the poison I designed while manufacturing our Berserkers.

I’m sorry, my King. I only wish I could have seen it through to the end. I remove the cork with my teeth, and then-

“Zabaniya.”

There’s a sudden, burning pain in my chest, and I can’t breathe. I feel something wet drip down my back as I fall to my knees. The vial, and even my sword both fall from my suddenly limp hands.

Turning my body over so I can see who attacked me feels like a labor worthy of Hercules, and by the time I’ve managed it, I can see that my troops have broken, scattering in a panic, every last man for himself.

Above me, I see Death, my heart’s blood dripping down his skeletal chin. His black robes fluttering in the wind, dark as a cloudy night, his bone-white face stained red with blood. My blood. He nods as he looks up at some distant crevice half a mile up the slope, paying me no mind, and I realize that this is the only chance I’ll get to take him down with me.

My hand fumbles as I reach for my fallen sword, trembling fingers wrapping around the hilt. My body is tired, so damn tired, but it still obeys my final wishes, my muscles tensing for one. Last. Push! I bring my sword up, ready to drive it in through my enemy with final lunge, and then-

A dagger pins my sword arm to the ground as Grim Death returns his hollow eyes to me. I feel tears begin to drip down my face, shame and helplessness filling my clouded mind as my body, having failed to execute my last will and testament, refuses to rise again. This can’t be how it ends! I can’t fail my king like this!

Around me, my men are slaughtered, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears, and I realize that our deaths meant nothing. No information will be allowed to escape. We cannot even help our king with our deaths, nor are we permitted to face the end with dignity.

And as I feel my flesh begin to dissolve, I realize that I have never hated any man so much as I do this inhuman thing that has killed me, and even now unsheathes its blades to finish the job.

A knife descends in a taloned hand, and I know no more.

 

“Well, I think I can freely say that this particular fort’s been neutralized,” I comment as we enter through the western fortress’s main gates. The walls and courtyard are all littered with the corpses of the guards. We found a small contingent of them that had evidently tried to flee when Serenity started picking them off. They didn’t make it to the Holy City, but there might’ve been others, so we’ll have to be quick about this.

“Serenity?” Hundred Face calls. “If you’re in here, it’s Hundred Face! We took out Agravaine on the road!”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then Serenity de-astralizes. “About time.”

“Good to see you too,” Cursed says drily. “Anyone else still alive in this place?”

“There was another prisoner, an Archer named Tawara Touta, but he left. Said he had to go find his master and take care of her.”

Huh. Tawara Touta… why does that sound familiar? Oh! I summoned him! He’s Rice Guy!

Meh, we’ll manage.

“Well, I hope he finds her all right,” I say, which makes Serenity turn her attention to me.

“Who’s the lobster?”

“That’s Charles, the Master of Chaldea,” Cursed Arm says. “He’s been a great help.”

“Hm. I suppose he’ll do.” She walks past us, maintaining a safe distance. “Now, can we please hit the road? I haven’t slept in a week, I’ve been tortured, and maybe of all, I’ve had to sit through these idiots’ laughable excuse for an interrogation. If one of my recruits was as laughably amateurish as this sorry lot, I’d have killed them on the spot.”

“Huh.”

“What?” She glares at me.

“Normally the version of you we summoned to Chaldea is a bit more polite.”

“Maybe she is. But I just went through a week of torture and solitary confinement while surrounded by idiots. I am in a spectacularly bad mood. And, making the matter worse, now my colleagues dragged some random idiot back with them to gawk and ask stupid questions.” She turns and walks away. “Now, can we just go?”

“Yeah, we have horses.”

“Don’t bother, they’ll just die if I try to ride them.”

We exchange looks, and then follow.

---​

After our sparse dinner at camp the next night, the topic of who we should target next comes up.

“Lancelot.” Galahad says firmly, and the rest of them nod in agreement.

“Are you sure?” I ask, realizing that public opinion is against me.

“Yes,” Cursed Arm chimes in with a self-satisfied smile. “If we kill him, too, like you did with Agravaine, we’ll only have to deal with Gawain and the Lion King. Plus, he’s the only one out in the open right now. According to Intoxicating Smoke’s surveillance, he’s been sent out to hunt us. We can use that to trap him and finish him off.”

As I look at them, all eager for the kill, I realize with a start that my choice has been made for me. It’s not just Galahad that’ll doubt me if I try to negotiate with Lancelot. All of them will.

And so, I have no choice but to begin planning the ambush and execution of a good man whose greatest crime has been borne of a bad situation.

The weight of responsibility has never felt heavier than it does now.

 

I burst through the doors of my king's sacred palace, a retinue of my guards behind me.

"Gawain." My king's lip curls in disdain. "Why have you interrupted my preparations?"

"My King, the Holy City is revolting!"

"No it isn't," she says, confused, raising her Holy Lance to point at me. "I specifically designed the Holy City's sewer system and hygiene codes to avoid such an issue. And even if this was not sufficient to prevent odor build-up, such matters should be brought to Sir Agravaine, and not myself." Rhongomyniad begins to spin. "For the crime of interrupting my workings over trivial matters, I sentence you to-"

"My King, Agravaine is dead, and the Holy City has risen up in revolt!"

"What?" For the first time since my summoning, the Lion King actually looks surprised by something.

"During the day, when I was guarding the gates, a runner from the eastern fort reached us. He claims that two days ago, their prisoner, who was restrained by Agravaine's Black Chains, got free, and slaughtered them all, with him barely escaping with his life. More of the garrison from the Eastern Fort showed up after that, and they confirmed his story. None of them wished to bring word to you, however, and so they entreated me to be the one to bring you the news."

"Foolish of them," my King notes, her face still utterly dispassionate. "I would not have killed them for completing their assigned duty, but now I must have them killed for their cowardice."

"A bit late for that, my King," I say with a pained smile. "They're all most likely dead. Once the sun had set, and my duties ended, I began making my way through the city, and found that word had reached the city, and that riots had started."

"Why, though?" She looks honestly perplexed at the thought of her citizens rising up against her. "I have ruled justly, and insured that their lives have been comfortable and fulfilling. I have made my city a paradise on Earth, and allowed them to live in it. Why would they reject my benevolence?"

I look at her incredulously. "Your Grace, I believe that they are slightly upset about their friends and family being slaughtered at our gates, and unwilling to indulge in luxury while countless others starve, simply because they met your personal criteria of worthiness."

"Why would they object? To judge who is worthy and who is not is my prerogative as a god."

I wince. "They're... ah... not too happy about you declaring yourself a god, either." Hell, I'm not too happy about that part, and I'd follow her to hell and back.

"Very well." she raises her lance. "Have the soldiers dispose of them."

"The soldiers are revolting, too."

She frowns. "Then have the Selection Knights dispose of them."

"We don't have any of those, either. You sent our entire supply out with Lancelot."

"And I was not informed of this why?"

"My King, it was your order."

She frowns for the moment, and then sighs. "Very well. Stand by me. We shall go to dispose of the rioters, and perhaps remind them of what is righteous."

"As you would have it, my King," I say with a sigh.

---​

I watch in muted horror as the king I swore to serve unleashes her Sacred Lance on a crowd. The deaths of those at the epicenter of the blast are swift, but the deaths of those on the outskirts? Those are slower. Half-melted corpses outline the blast radius, and the screams of the wounded ring loudly out over the sudden deafening silence, as the rioters stare at the Lion King in terror.

"People of the Holy City." Her face doesn't change, her dispassionate, glowing eyes sweeping over the crowd. "With that blast, I have punished you for your crime of rejecting my divine judgement and violating the peace. Return to your homes, and no harm shall come to you. You are forgiven."

The fear turns to anger, and suddenly a rock hits her in the face.

The man who threw it is clearly an off-duty soldier, one of the ones left over from the Crusader armies that we forcibly recruited. "Fuck you and your forgiveness! Fuck you and all your self-righteous bullshit! You're not our God, and you're sure as hell not our King!"

I note, in that still moment, while the world seems hang stilly in the silence, that the people beside the rock-thrower are all Saracens, and they're hefting rocks of their own. Men who once would fought and died in droves against each other, now standing shoulder to shoulder and looking at us with naked hatred in their eyes.

And then, the moment breaks, as the king hefts her Holy Lance, and the crowd charges towards us with reckless abandon, no longer letting their fear keep them from doing what they believe to be right.

And my King kills them all.

I follow her, wading through the blood, and stepping over the charred corpses, as she goes hunting.

No one is spared, not a single one. No mercy and no regret taints her resolve.

My own men, my loyal men betray us after she first kills a child, charging at us with a stick in hand for killing his mother. She gores him straight through the chest without a trace of hesitation, her spinning lance shredding the corpse. That's when I feel Bartholomew, my second in command, drive his sword into my back.

I kill him. I kill so many.

At the end of it, there's almost no one left. Just a few of the guards and citizens cowed by the sheer slaughter. Less than a dozen.

She turns to me, and I look up at her, removing my gaze from the blood on my hands.

"Gawain."

"Yes, my King?"

"Return to the gate. We will have to hold the Holy Selection again, and tighten our standards." She looks about dispassionately, showing remorse as she looks over the charred and charnel-filled streets. "I am unsure of how our previous methodology managed to produce a batch this faulty, but I will have to amend that mistake." She turns to one of the few survivors, who cowers under her gaze. "You. Clean this up."

"Yes my King."

We part ways, and as I walk to the gate, I find myself staring at the dead that clog the streets, and envying their courage.