Chapter 13

From the midst of the smoke, a hoarse and weak sound emerged, a cough that disturbed the silence that had fallen over the battlefield. The dust settled slowly, revealing the defeated silhouette of the servant, his clothes torn and burnt at the edges, evidence of the intensity of the confrontation. He knelt, his body bent under the weight of defeat, and even amid the dissipating confusion of the battle, the dignity of a warrior still shone in his eyes.

With great effort, he lifted his head, meeting Altria's gaze. His lips, dirtied by the debris of the explosion, moved with difficulty, and from them escaped a whisper laden with regret.

"I have failed..." he lamented, his voice no more than a thread of despair and resignation. The words seemed to carry the weight of an unfulfilled promise, of a destiny not achieved.

And before more could be said, the servant's body began to unravel, as if made of sand in the wind. Particles of light emanated from him, shining with a sad and ephemeral beauty. The light he radiated was like the last breath of a star, a silent farewell from a combatant whose journey reached an abrupt end.

Altria remained still, her spear still raised, as she watched the servant disappear into a whirlwind of light and dust. Her expression, though marked by the adrenaline of combat, softened into a silent gesture of respect. There were no words of victory or glory, just a brief nod in recognition of the fallen adversary's valor. In her warrior's honor, she knew that each battle carried with it stories and dreams, and even in triumph, the solemnity of the moment called for a minute of contemplation.

Meanwhile, I approached the steed with reluctant steps, moved not by reverence for the servant, but by the inertia of exhaustion and lethargy that had come over me. The battle had been intense, a spectacle of skills and powers that, though fascinating, had drained my interest at that moment.

With an almost inaudible sigh, I mounted the horse without uttering a word, without casting a glance back at the scene unfolding behind me. My body acted on its own, seeking comfort in the familiar and routine. I extended my hand and, without enthusiasm, held onto Altria's waist. The warrior, sensing my silence and lack of disposition, did not turn to inquire or comfort. She also remained silent, respecting, for her own reasons, the unfolding moment.

The darkness of the cave swallowed us as we entered its rocky belly, the steps echoing off the moist and cold walls. The flickering light of the torches cast dancing shadows that seemed to whisper ancient secrets. Before long, the narrow path opened into a vast subterranean field, where the ground was covered in intensely red clay, dotted here and there with stones that seemed to emerge from the earth like the bones of a forgotten giant.

"Do you have any mana left?" my voice broke the reverent silence of the place. Concern reverberated in my tones, outlining the weight of the next contest that loomed on the uncertain horizon.

Altria, the warrior with a distant gaze and unshakable posture, paused for a moment, her imposing figure immersed in the cavernous gloom. "I can use my Noble Phantasm one more time," she replied, her voice as calm and cold as the waters of a frozen lake in the deep of winter. Her eyes, accustomed to battle, scanned the vast field of red clay and stones, in search of hidden dangers or strategic advantages.

"Mistress," she called, her voice a thread of curiosity amidst the serenity of her expression.

"Yes?" I replied, a tinge of confusion coloring my words, surprised by her addressing me at such a calm moment, so distant from the fury and chaos of combat.

Altria looked at me with an intensity that seemed to want to unravel the mysteries behind my eyes. "Why does the master always seem to know things? I noticed that you weren't surprised by the appearance of any of the servants we faced, and you also remained calm, as if you were already expecting the caster to show up," she inquired, the calm of her voice concealing the intensity of the doubt that plagued her. In that oasis of quietude, she chose to confront her restlessness, seeking to understand the nature of the foresight and discernment that I, her master, seemed to possess.

"I was expecting it." The words left my lips with a certainty mixed with indifference, weaving a curtain of mystery around my intentions. It was not the time to reveal more than necessary. After all, what more could she know? Just that – an economical confession, but loaded with deep meaning, a veil over my true thoughts. Should the need arise, I could spin a web of illusions, claiming to have the ability to glimpse fragments of the future under certain conditions. Not that such a gift was within my reach; no, I did not possess such power. But oh, how well I know how to stage a lie with the dexterity of a skilled artisan!

"I understand," Altria responded, her voice devoid of inflections that would betray her true impressions of my scant explanation. My gaze, inquisitive and penetrating, sought any sign of suspicion behind that impenetrable helm that guarded the contours of her face. Did she doubt my words? No, probably not. Altria, the warrior immersed in her own aura of resolute determination, would hardly allow the waves of mistrust to cloud the tranquil waters of her mind.

"Did you expect me to be summoned to be your servant?" Altria's curiosity tinged the question with an almost childish tone, revealing a facet rarely exposed in her usually stoic personality.

"No, it was quite a surprise," I confessed, anchoring my words in solid reality. No, I was not lying this time. The idea that after my death, I would be transported to the vast universe of Fate/Grand Order and would have the opportunity to summon a servant was beyond my wildest imagination.

"The Archer lost. I was expecting more from him." The voice that interrupted our thoughts sounded young and filled with disillusion, emanating from a figure that seemed to be a younger version of Altria, yet clad in black armor, complemented by the presence of a dark sword with a threatening aspect. She stood before us, the embodiment of a new and imminent threat.

"He was a worthy opponent, there's no reason to be disappointed with Archer." Altria's response was laden with respect, a tribute to the courage shown by the fallen adversary.

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