The morning mist clung to Fuyuki's streets like a shroud as Souta walked, his breath forming pale clouds in the crisp winter air. The city felt different now - charged with an invisible tension that set his teeth on edge and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. Every shadow seemed deeper, every quiet alley more ominous than before. He kept his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, fingers occasionally brushing against the small notebook where he'd meticulously recorded his observations about the other Masters. The leather cover was worn smooth from constant handling.
The rhythmic click of his shoes against pavement echoed strangely in the pre-dawn stillness. Souta found himself analyzing every sound - the distant rumble of a delivery truck several blocks away, the screech of a cat fighting near the riverbank, the faint hum of power lines overhead. Normal city sounds, yet now they felt like potential threats. His newly awakened magic circuits thrummed beneath his skin, hyper-aware of the supernatural currents swirling through Fuyuki as the Holy Grail War took shape.
Ryuunosuke Uryuu was still out there somewhere, likely in some abandoned building or underground space, preparing his twisted ritual to summon Caster. Souta's stomach turned at the thought of what that madman might be doing to innocent victims even now. He'd spent the last three nights combing through police reports and local newspapers, tracking the pattern of missing persons and strange occurrences that marked Ryuunosuke's movements through the city.
Through careful observation and deduction, Souta had pieced together the likely order of Servant summonings. The proper Masters - those from established magus families - would have secured their Servants first. Saber for the Einzberns, almost certainly summoned the moment the Grail's power became available. Archer for the Tohsakas, with Tokiomi's characteristic precision and flair. Lancer for that Clock Tower magus whose name he kept forgetting, the arrogant one with the expensive suits.
The wildcards would have followed - Berserker's Master driven by desperation, Rider's by youthful recklessness. That left Caster as the last piece on the board, the anomaly that could disrupt everything. The thought made Souta quicken his pace unconsciously before forcing himself to slow down. Running would only draw attention.
And then there was his own Servant.
The figure who walked beside him in spirit form was... unusual in ways that still kept Souta awake at night, turning possibilities over in his mind. Not what any traditional magecraft text would describe as a proper Caster-class Servant. Their abilities defied easy classification, straddling the line between multiple categories in ways that made the standard Servant class system seem laughably inadequate.
They were a paradox wrapped in human form, a living contradiction to conventional thaumaturgical theory. Every time Souta thought he understood their capabilities, some new facet revealed itself. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.
Their true strength lay in replication - not the simple illusions or temporary constructs of typical projection magecraft, but something far more profound(here replication is not the name of magicraft and servent is not archer emiya for fate/stay night). The ability to recreate legendary armaments with startling, almost blasphemous accuracy. Not mere facsimiles, but perfect duplicates that retained the essence, the very soul of the originals. Souta had spent hours poring over his Servant's explanations, trying to wrap his mind around the mechanics of this ability.
In the right circumstances, with proper preparation and sufficient mana, they could theoretically produce weapons capable of rivaling even the greatest Noble Phantasms. The implications were staggering. A single well-placed replication could turn the tide of an entire battle. But the cost...
Souta had seen glimpses of this power during their limited practice sessions in the abandoned bunker outside town. The first time his Servant had demonstrated their ability, it had left him breathless. A simple-looking blade that burned with unnatural heat when activated, its edge shimmering with contained power. A shield that seemed to distort space itself when invoked, bending attacks away with impossible geometry. The potential was intoxicating, but so were the limitations.
Each creation took its toll, like a hammer blow to his magical core. The more powerful the replication, the greater the strain on both Master and Servant. Unlike a true Caster with vast mana reserves for prolonged engagements or complex rituals, their strength was versatility, not endurance. A glass cannon - capable of devastating strikes when used with precision, but fragile when pushed beyond their limits.
This unconventional nature made alliance-building absolutely crucial. Souta turned a corner onto a busier street, automatically adjusting his posture to blend in with the early morning commuters. As he walked, he ran through his options again, mentally evaluating each potential ally and their associated risks.
Kariya Matou, Berserker's Master, was desperate enough to consider cooperation. His hatred for the Matou family and love for that woman - Aoi, wasn't it? - might make him amenable to an alliance. But his deteriorating physical condition and the unstable nature of his Servant made him a profoundly unreliable partner. Berserker's Mad Enhancement erased all reason, leaving only destructive fury. Too dangerous.
Kiritsugu Emiya was ruthlessly efficient, a tactician who approached the Grail War with military precision. On paper, he might make the ideal ally. In reality, he was far too dangerous to trust. The man operated on a level of cold calculation that would see Souta discarded the moment he ceased to be useful. And Saber... Artoria's rigid code of honor would never mesh with the necessary pragmatism of war.
Waver Velvet might be naive enough to accept an alliance. Young, inexperienced, clearly in over his head - Souta had spotted him days ago fumbling through the library's magecraft section, looking like a lost child. But Rider's unpredictable nature added complications. Iskandar didn't think like a typical Servant, didn't follow the expected patterns. That made him both an opportunity and a risk.
The other Masters were worse options. Tokiomi Tohsaka was too entrenched in magus politics, too convinced of his own superiority to consider an equal partnership. Kayneth... Souta couldn't even remember the man's full title, only that he radiated Clock Tower arrogance from every pore. Kirei Kotomine was a danger best avoided entirely - that empty gaze in the church had chilled Souta to the bone.
Souta paused at a crosswalk, watching the traffic light change from red to green. The decision was clear - Waver was his best chance for a viable alliance, but the approach needed careful planning. He couldn't appear weak before the King of Conquerors, nor could he risk frightening the inexperienced Master into defensive posturing. Timing would be everything.
As he stepped off the curb, Souta felt the faintest presence of his Servant nearby, watching, waiting like a shadow at the edge of perception. Together, they would need to navigate this deadly game with perfect precision. The war was beginning in earnest now, and every move, every word, every fleeting glance could mean the difference between survival and destruction.
The pieces were in motion across Fuyuki's chessboard. Now it was time to play his opening gambit.