Fate/Apocrypha Volume 1 Chapter 2.6

Work…

He confirmed the situation once more. He understood that he was being preserved in a green jade solution to more efficiently provide a prana supply. By shelving for the time being the conundrum of his own existence, he was able to clarify his own objective – he must escape from here, right now.

Work…!

Moving both hands, he beat against the reinforced glass. But he quickly realized that it was pointless and stopped – this glass cannot be broken by any physical damage he can inflict.

After some thought, he scanned his own Magic Circuits. As he was made to take in mana from the atmosphere and provide the energy needed for the Servants to take form, his Circuits were already excited and prepared.

"

Straße

Logic path

gehen

open

."

He cut the prana supply link and, using a language that he knew, powered the 'mystery' within himself. Placing both hands on the glass, he wished for the result of 'destruction'. The energy flowing inside his body found the intended outlet and instantly flooded through his palms.

Having understood what mineral the glass he was touching was made from, his prana transformed in a way that allowed for the smallest amount of 'destruction' required. Light filled his hands… and the reinforced glass burst into pieces as though it were a weak piece of wood.

At the same time, his body was pushed out of the tank and came into contact with the world which he should have been isolated from. Broken glass ripped into his back. He was thrust into this small passageway – and into the real world.

Something hurt… something felt wrong. His chest itched and he tried to open his mouth only to find that he could not – there was some sort of breathing mechanism shoved into it. Pulling it out, he once again took in a breath.

"Ahh…!"

He choked. It felt as though his throat had been lit on fire and his lungs convulsed as he breathed in the incredibly thick air around him.

His limbs swung about weakly. Then, he remembered that he had only achieved one goal, not his final objective.

He has to escape… as quickly as he can!

Having fixed his objective, he tried to stand up… only to realize that the concept of standing was not one that had been imbedded into his framework. His weak legs gave way and he fell miserably. Unable to walk, he inched along the floor using his hands.

He slowly moved forward. Calm down, he told himself as he used his elbow to raise his upper body. Then, his feet touched the ground. His feeble ankles were screaming at him, but he ignored the pain and steadily stretched his knees.

And he took a step forward.

Gravity assaulted him every time his feet touched the ground, as though there were someone pushing down on him the entire time. Some utterly disgusting kind of fluid was sticking to him.

His breathing finally calmed but now he did not know where to go – only that staying here meant death.

He could not help but moan. Tears spilled from his eyes. He suffered so much already and yet had only taken several steps – and those were enough to make him feel he was sacrificing his life for a fruitless struggle.

On the brink of collapse, he barked at himself to concentrate solely on the act of walking.

There were whispers behind him, making him want to turn around, but he gave his all not to. He knew what they were – what they meant – and could only try his best to ignore them. Right now, all that mattered was that he kept going.

Cautiously moving step by step with his hands on the wall, he somehow managed to move from the room he had been in to a hallway with a stone floor. Blood ran from his feet – they were soft as a newborn baby's and had only just touched the ground for the first time. Even pebbles easily sliced through his skin.

The blood flowed. The pain reached his mind. This mass of information – much different from the amount he received when he was in the preserving fluid – cut into his brain. At the same time, the thick air around him made him feel as though his lungs were being crushed.

Just how far did this body – never having been designed to walk – manage to go? The hall seemed to stretch on endlessly and never appeared to change. He dropped to his knees, understanding that he could go no further.

His breathing was weak… his heart raced, struggling against death. This body – not fit at all for living – refused to stand up, much less walk. There was such a lack of heat in his body that he could not stop his limbs from going cold. His vision became foggy. Sounds became distant. His mind no longer contained logical thoughts – only despair as death steadily approached.

What a meaningless life… What a meaningless existence I am.

He was born without meaning. Now he will die without meaning. All he could do was tremble before cruel reality.

He didn't want this… he didn't know what about this he disliked, but he didn't want it. He was too scared to even blink – in case he could not open his eyes again. He was scared of sleep, of being trapped in darkness, of the world. The only thing he did not fear was himself… because he was nothing. He possessed nothing, had received nothing… he was simply transparent and colorless.

"…?"

Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

He realized that there was someone else beside him – but he did not know when that someone came. With his thoughts in utter disorder, he was too scared to even admit knowing who the one before him was.

He could sense that he was being watched. He knew that he had to escape but he could not – his body was paralyzed with fear. His heart was pounding, unable to stand the crushing silence, until…

"What's the matter with you? You're going to catch cold like that, you know?"

The voice did not come at him with cutting and scornful words, and contained nothing but warm concern.

Reflexively, he looked up. Their eyes met.

He gave a small gasp. He had seen this face before… this monster who looked keenly at him. 'Rider', was it?

"You don't want to get sick, do you?"

Smiling, Rider spoke again. But he did not know how he should reply – only that Rider was waiting for him.

What should he say? What words are right for a situation like this?

"… me…"

Without realizing, he murmured something in a hoarse voice. As though he could not hear it properly, Rider put his face close and pricked an ear.

He knew nothing… what should he believe in? With what should he act? I don't know, I don't know, I just don't know any more…

His consciousness was interrupted. It seems he has fainted, he realized with some fear. And he wished.

Even though the act of walking alone has been so painful, he wished from the bottom of his heart that he will continue to be alive.

When the Rider of Black came upon the boy grovelling around in the hall of the fortress, he wondered what to do. But Rider already decided that he must help him – his only concern was 'how'.

"I guess I better start by picking him up."

His actions are swift once he has decided what he must do. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around the boy and put him on his shoulder. He is a Heroic Spirit – and even the leanest and most withered of Heroic Spirits will have no trouble carrying a single person.

But now, he is worrying about where to carry him. Not his own room – his Master Selenik calls for him once every few hours. Rider may be a Servant but he still wonders why she is so persistent.

"Sir Rider."

He turned around at the call. There are two homunculi staring at him and the boy he carried with pale, emotionless eyes.

"The master is searching for an escaped homunculus. Have you seen it?"

"Nope."

He answered in a second – so quickly that he did not even appear to have thought about it. After glancing at the boy he carried on his shoulder, the homunculi nodded and turned their backs on him.

"Good luck!"

Rider waved, thanking the homunculi as they left.

However, if Caster is chasing after this homunculus – for what reason, he did not know – then it becomes more and more difficult to help him. He wanted to discuss this with someone… but who? He is not familiar with the ever-silent Saber. Lancer does not care about the homunculi at all, meaning he would neither give chase nor help. Berserker is out of the question.

In that case, there is only one Servant left he can rely on. Rider headed to Chiron's room, knocked on his door and announced his presence.

"Hey, Archer? It's Rider… Is there anyone in the room with you?"

"Rider? No, no one."

Excellent, thought Rider as he opened the door. Seeing the boy he was carrying, Archer seemed to have immediately grasped the situation and led Rider to his bed.

"This is the homunculus that Caster is pursuing, yes?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Rider laid the homunculus onto the bed and removed his cloak. Archer offered him a towel and he used it to wipe the filth off the homunculus' body, then dressed him in a borrowed robe. The boy's expression was filled with pain and it seemed he was having trouble breathing.

"You're good with medicine, right, Archer? Can you take a look at him?"

"Very well."

Being the sage among the Centaurs and endowed with the wisdom of the Gods, Chiron was a teacher who taught such heroes as Heracles and Jason. Among others, he also taught Asclepius, who later even became the god of medicine. Naturally, Chiron himself is an expert of healing.

Archer took the unconcious boy's pulse and placed a hand over his heart. With his marksman's eyes, he surveyed every part of the homunculus' body.

"It appears he overused his Magic Circuits. He likely used thaumaturgy to destroy the glass tank holding him and the surplus prana ended up tearing through his veins. There is also one other, simpler reason… exhaustion."

"He's tired?"

"I fear that may have been the first time he has ever walked in his life. Today was probably the first time he tried standing up by himself."

"Oh… so, he's like a newborn baby."

Normally, a homunculus is a lifeform that is capable of operating from the moment of its creation. If made to perfection, homunculi will never die from old age. But – likely because his birth was twisted to begin with – this homunculus possessed many physical defects.

He was probably born to be physically weak… because he was not created to be a fighter, but to be a supply source. His Magic Circuits are first-class but his body cannot utilize them.

If he uses thaumaturgy… his Circuits may be able to withstand it, but his frail body will not.

"Is it all right if he doesn't use it then?"

"Yes, I suppose. Yet even so… simply living a normal life may be too trying for him. I am afraid he will last three years at most."

Silence descended upon the room. Three years… these cruel words made even Rider's shoulders sag. After a while – as though to shake off the unpleasantness of it – Rider spoke.

"I've dirtied your bed… sorry."

"It is no matter. But… there is one thing I wish to ask. Why did you save him?"

Rider answered Archer's question without hesitation.

"Because I wanted to."

His words were not a challenge. He saved the boy because he wanted to. It was so simple – so obvious – that it would have been a very difficult act, had it been anyone other than Rider.

"And what about Caster?"

"I dunno! Haha!"

Laughing, Rider threw his hands into the air. Even as he sighed, Archer felt that it was surely the correct decision to make. While winning battles is important, their present situation is not so perilous that they can afford to forget their duties as Heroic Spirits. Saving him – or, at least, overlooking him – is the right thing to do.

"I will take my leave for the time being… I doubt anyone will visit, but please do not answer if you hear a knock."

"Okay, thanks. I'll stay for a while, then."

Just before he left, Archer suddenly asked Rider a question.

"Will you shoulder this responsibility to the end?"

Hearing this question, Rider gazed at the homunculus sleeping on the bed. As he did, he remembered how terribly light the boy's body had been. His arms, wrapped around his head, were thin as withered branches. He was born to be weak… unable to steadily perform such basic actions as walking.

Even were he to break out of this fortress, it was doubtful that he would be able to survive. Archer was asking whether he would take responsibility for the boy's life. But Rider will not be able to stay with him for three years even if he wants to… the Holy Grail War will not last that long. Just how much should he help the boy until he considers his own wish fulfilled?

Rider did not know the answer. Whenever he does not know something, he leaves it to his heart to find a course. Rider will protect him… help him as he will, until he feels it acceptable.

"I'll keep helping him until I stop. I won't abandon him."