The atmosphere suddenly turned tense. The desert wind felt heavy, as if carrying whispers of death with every gust. Before us, wanderers from all corners of the world stood in silence, forming an irregular line in front of the grand gates of the Holy City of Camelot. Not a single word was spoken.
All eyes were fixed on the towering gate, where sky and wall seemed to merge into a single line separating hope from destruction.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed among the gravel and sand. A man emerged from behind the gate, his body clad in silver armor that reflected the morning light.
In his hand, he held a massive sword, and when he drove it into the ground with a metallic clang that shook the air, everyone seemed to freeze.
I recognized him immediately.
Gawain. The Knight of the Sun.
With a voice that thundered all the way to the back of the crowd, he shouted:
"Silence!! The Holy Selection is about to begin! And those worthy of entering the Holy City shall be chosen personally by Her Majesty, the Lion King!"
There was no mercy in his tone—only the rigidity and certainty of one who viewed the world in black and white. He then turned upward—toward the figure standing proudly atop the city gate.
The Lion King.
The unmoving sovereign, standing tall in majestic silence. Slowly, she raised one hand into the air. A simple gesture… yet its power shook the entire field.
Suddenly, light descended from the sky—golden pillars of light lashed the ground, enveloping several people among us.
One by one, their bodies were bathed in a warm yet blinding light, as if heaven itself was selecting them.
Astolfo, standing beside me, tensed up, eyes wide.
"What's happening to them…?" he asked in a soft but trembling voice.
I turned to him, exhaling slowly. "They are the ones chosen."
"Eh? But… isn't that too few? There are still so many—"
"Enough!" Gawain's voice once again split the air, sharp like a blade cutting through silence.
"The Holy Selection has concluded! Those who have been chosen—approach the city gates! You will be welcomed into the splendor of the Holy City."
He paused for a moment.
"And for those who were not chosen…"
Gawain slowly pulled his sword from the ground. Sunlight gleamed off the blade, blinding, marking the beginning of something far more terrifying.
At once, the knights stationed around the area drew their weapons as well. The sound of metal scraping filled the air—a deathly rhythm creeping closer.
The wanderers began to grow uneasy. Whispers of panic spread. Some stepped back cautiously, while others looked around, hoping this was just part of a ritual.
But nothing happened by chance in the presence of the Lion King.
And I knew exactly what was about to happen next.
The Lion King did not move. She remained standing atop the city gate, silent like a sacred statue carved by divine hands—yet her gaze was clear, sweeping across the crowd and stopping precisely on us.
I froze.
Did she notice something? Could she… recognize that I was using Artoria Pendragon form? Did that gaze mean she knew who I really was?
Still, I tried to quell that fear.
No. Maybe it was just my imagination. Most likely, the Lion King's attention wasn't directed at me… but at the person beside me.
Astolfo.
He was far too conspicuous. Long pink hair, eye-catching armor, and a vibrant personality—he was not someone easily overlooked, especially in a setting this rigid.
It made sense if the Lion King or Gawain kept their eyes on him longer than the rest.
They must be suspicious. With Astolfo's aura so different from an ordinary human's, they had likely concluded that he was a Servant—though they wouldn't yet know his true identity.
As for me…
My cloak concealed nearly my entire body and face. No visible symbols, no weapons. But because I stood too close to Astolfo, they must have assumed I was a Servant as well.
Regardless of what identity they imagined—be it comrade, bodyguard, or ally—the suspicion remained.
I slowly turned, surveying the surroundings. The morning sun, once warm, now felt blinding as it reflected off the swords and armor of the knights.
We were surrounded.
There was no way out. The city's knights had spread out into full formation, creating a wall of steel that slowly closed in from all sides.
The refugees around us began to panic—some stared in confusion, others tried to step back. But none of them could go far. There was no gap to escape through.
They… truly intended to eliminate everyone who wasn't chosen.
Astolfo, standing beside me, finally sensed the shift in atmosphere. He looked around with a confused expression, until his eyes met mine.
"Altria!?" he whispered, tense and unsure. "What's happening? Why are the knights… surrounding us?!"
I didn't answer right away. The words I wanted to say clumped in my throat, like heavy stones refusing to be spoken.
But in the end, I met his eyes—the bright eyes of a knight who always smiled, even in chaos—and with a voice low but steady, I said:
"…Because the Holy Selection was never meant to offer mercy to those who failed. This isn't a trial… it's an execution."
Astolfo froze. The usual smile on his face vanished, replaced by an expression of shock and disbelief. I could see how my words sank into his mind, shattering the last fragments of optimism still clinging on.
I took a slow breath. Then, in a calmer and firmer tone, I called out to him.
"Astolfo."
He flinched slightly, as if only just remembering I was beside him. "Eh… yeah? What is it…?"
"I need your help."
He nodded quickly, though his expression was still clouded with confusion. "O-of course! What can I do?"
I looked behind us, toward the line of knights standing like a living wall slowly closing in. Then, I turned my gaze back to his.
"I'm going to use my power to break through the knights' defenses in the rear. When that opening appears—even if it's just for a moment—you need to lead the refugees out. Get them as far away as possible… as fast as you can."
Astolfo stiffened. Then, in a quiet voice, he asked, "Wait… you're serious? You're going to face them alone…?"
I didn't answer with words—just lowered my head slightly in affirmation.
"…Are you sure you can do it alone?" he added, more softly this time, like he was afraid of the answer.
I looked at him, sharply but calmly.
"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be asking you to do this."
Silence hung between us for a moment. Astolfo stared at me for a long while, before finally summoning his lance and gripping its shaft tightly. He nodded quickly.
"…Alright. I'll do it. I'll make sure they get out safely. But promise me something, okay?"
I turned to him. "Promise what?"
"That if you're still alive after all this… we'll meet again. Outside."
I held back a small smile, barely visible beneath the shadow of my hood.
"In that case… don't keep me waiting too long."
I let out a long breath, slowly releasing the weight that had gathered in my chest. Then, without saying a word, I turned around and began to walk—passing through the refugees still gripped by confusion and fear.
Step by step, I made my way to the rearmost line, standing face-to-face with the guarding knights who formed a wall of steel, their expressions showing not a shred of mercy.
Their cold stares pierced my skin, but I did not flinch. I had no time to be afraid.
They began to advance, slow but certain, a tightening ring of death. When only a few steps separated us, I raised one hand to the side.
In an instant, a sword materialized—Excalibur, still shrouded in the magical veil of Invisible Air, vibrating softly in my palm, as if it too could feel the tension in the air around us.
My other hand followed, gripping the hilt firmly. My breathing was calm and steady. My feet, rooted firmly to the ground.
And then—with power surging from the core of my body to the tip of the blade—I swung the sacred sword forward.
"False—Excalibur!!"
A blast of light and mana surged forward, engulfing the line of guarding knights in a wave of blinding brilliance and screams. The earth cracked. Dust and flame rose into the air in a swirling blaze.
Chaos erupted in an instant.
The refugees who had been frozen in confusion began to move. They saw the opening I had created and didn't waste it. Amid the screams and frantic shouts, they started to run for the escape path.
And among them, I saw him—Astolfo—moving quickly, guiding, calling out, making sure no one was left behind. With a rare serious expression on his face, he led them away from the circle of death.
Not far from him, I caught a glimpse of Mash Kyrielight, swinging her shield to protect the fleeing crowd. Fujimaru Ritsuka and Leonardo da Vinci were there as well, helping to direct and shield the refugees as they retreated with the surge of escaping lives.
They all passed me by, and I didn't move—only stood tall, a temporary bulwark.
Then, slowly, I turned back to face the city gates—and there stood Gawain.
His gaze was sharp, stunned. There was anger in his eyes, but also confusion. As if what I had just done was something he could not fully comprehend.
I looked up to the top of the gate. But the Lion King was no longer there. Only emptiness remained.
Had she left?
Did she believe Gawain would take care of this on his own—eradicating those deemed unworthy?
I clenched my fists and exhaled, then looked forward again.
Gawain lowered his gaze, then gave a signal. The other knights immediately moved, chasing after the fleeing refugees.
But he himself… chose to stay here.
His eyes locked onto mine.
And in an instant, he lunged, shattering the ground beneath him, closing the distance between us in a flash. Before I could even fully raise my sword, he had already swung his attack.
But—
Clang!!
Someone stood in front of me. A shield—no, not a shield. A long sword blocked Gawain's slash, and the figure before me didn't waver in the slightest despite bearing the brunt of the Knight of the Sun's blow.
Even though I could only see his back, I knew instantly who he was.
"…Bedivere," I whispered, barely audible.
He glanced over his shoulder at me, his silver hair fluttering in the wind.
"Protect them. Focus on what truly matters," he said—brief, firm, and full of conviction.
I stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. My grip on Excalibur tightened.
Then I turned—and ran, cutting through the dust and morning light, toward where the refugees were escaping.
I couldn't waste the time he had given me.
Not now.
.
.
.
The desert wind swept dust and sand in every direction. The sun was rising higher, radiating a heat that burned the skin, making every breath feel heavier. But I didn't stop running.
My steps came to a halt for a moment when I saw a few refugees left behind, lost among the shifting dunes stirred by the wind.
"Over here, quickly!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the rush of the wind.
An old man had collapsed, clutching the arm of a little girl.
I dismissed Excalibur and—
I rushed over, lifting them one by one, then guiding them to the safe path—a narrow route between two sand dunes that Da Vinci and Mash had prepared as an escape route.
The sand kept shifting, covering footprints, leaving many disoriented. Astolfo ran to the other side, lifting a small child who had been separated from their mother.
"Hey! Hold on tight, okay? Don't be scared!" he called cheerfully, though his face was drenched in sweat and dust.
A few refugees were nearly struck by arrows from knights approaching in the distance.
I raised a hand and formed a short-lived mana barrier, just enough to block the attack.
With my other hand, I summoned Excalibur in its Invisible form.
As the shield shattered, I leapt forward, swinging my hidden Excalibur to destroy a large sand mound and open a new path.
"This way! Don't stop!" I shouted, helping a mother carrying her crying baby under the scorching heat.
Mash and Da Vinci were also busy, shaping paths through the deep sand, while Ritsuka Fujimaru helped carry supplies and called out to separated refugees.
Mash then turned toward me.
"Altria-san!" she called. "Some of them are too weak to keep walking! What should we do!?"
I turned to her, my breath heavy, sweat trailing down my temples. "If you have to… carry them on your back. We can't leave anyone behind."
Mash nodded firmly, then began lifting a small child onto her back.
I looked behind me again. The knights were getting closer—their dust clouds rising on the horizon. They were coming like an unstoppable storm.
I bit my lip.
There was no more time.
I looked down at Excalibur, still cloaked in Invisible Air in my hand.
"…Just a little more time…"
I raised it high. A faint glow began to shine along the blade, and I swung it toward the enemy's path—creating a massive sand explosion to obscure their vision.
"Go! Now!!" I shouted loudly.
Astolfo glanced back at me, his eyes filled with concern. But he nodded and kept guiding the refugees, leading them away from the oncoming storm.
I turned and followed them, my steps faltering slightly—but my resolve unwavering.
In this scorching, unforgiving desert… a small hope still lived on.
And I swore to protect it.
***
Author's Note:
Starting from this chapter, each chapter will include a short side story! These stories will focus on my original Servant who made their debut in the Special Chapter. Occasionally, I might also write short side stories featuring canon Servants too.
I hope you enjoy these glimpses into their world—stay tuned!
***
- An Unexpected Morning -
The Chaldea hallway was quiet that morning. The soft blue-white lights reflected off the metallic walls, casting the usual calm stillness unique to the interdimensional base.
Slow footsteps echoed, belonging to a girl in an oversized hoodie and a white beanie marked with a cross. Her short black hair, streaked with bright purple highlights, looked messy—like she had just rolled out of bed. Her pink eyes stared blankly ahead. Her name was Chailvier Don Quixote, a Servant of the Lancer class.
She walked alone down the hallway toward the cafeteria. Her stomach growled, and she hoped to get some breakfast in peace—without socializing. Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as planned.
...
Cafeteria – Chaldea
When she arrived at the cafeteria, the only sounds were the clatter of pots and the crackling fire from the open kitchen. The place was empty. No lines of Servants, no early morning Rider vs. Berserker debates or laughter.
Dragging her feet, Chailvier walked over to the ordering counter. Behind it stood a white-haired man in a black apron—Archer (Emiya) The head chef that handling the cafeteria.
"Ah, Lancer. Morning," Archer (Emiya) greeted her while stirring a pot of soup.
Chailvier gave a small nod. "Hm."
"So here's the thing," Archer (Emiya) said, getting straight to the point, "most of the staff and Servants who usually help out are out on a mission with the Master. Think you can lend a hand with the orders?"
Chailvier stared at him blankly, then turned her face away. "Ain't my job."
"But I could really use the help. You're the first one here, and I know you got the time."
"…Tch." She let out a long sigh, lowered her head, and finally muttered, "…Fine, whatever."
A few minutes later, Chailvier stood behind the counter wearing an apron marked with the Chaldea emblem—way too big for her slim frame. She looked awkward, but didn't complain. Archer (Emiya) gave her a quick rundown of what to do. She nodded silently.
Slowly but surely, Servants began to file in. Some looked surprised by who was helping serve food.
"Eh? Chailvier?!" Astolfo exclaimed cheerfully. "You're working here now?!"
"Shut it and grab yer toast," Chailvier replied flatly, placing the tray on Astolfo's table without looking at him.
Mordred passed by with a wide grin, clapping her hands. "A knight working as a waitress, huh? The world's full of surprises."
Chailvier just sighed again and went to fetch the next order.
Though she started off half-heartedly, her hands grew steady and sure. She delivered trays, remembered names, and even helped cut bread for smaller Servants like Nursery Rhyme.
In between it all, Archer (Emiya) watched her from behind the kitchen.
"You're not bad at this," he commented plainly.
Chailvier glanced over briefly. Her eyes were still blank, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly.
"…I was hungry, ya know. So this's revenge or somethin'."
That day, without even realizing it, a quiet morning turned into a busy—and just a little warmer—one.
The cafeteria was starting to fill up. Low chatter and soft laughter floated through the room. The scent of toasted bread, soup, and coffee permeated every corner.
Chailvier strode in with a tray in hand, delivering order after order. Though her face remained expressionless and a hint of reluctance lingered, her movements grew more confident.
"Here's yer tea—no sugar—for Miss Helena," she said, placing the cup carefully on the table.
"Waaah~ Thank you so much, lady knight," Helena Blavatsky replied cheerily. "You've got a very… urban vibe today!"
Chailvier blinked once, then walked away without answering.
When she returned to the counter, Archer (Emiya) handed her two large bowls.
"These are for Spartacus and Heracles. Please bring them over—but be careful not to mix them up."
Chailvier raised an eyebrow. "Why do I gotta deal with those two?"
"because I'm busy frying fifty eggs for Napoleon."
"…I regret comin' in early," she muttered under her breath.
Reluctantly, she carried the bowls toward the slightly… hazardous end of the cafeteria. There, Heracles sat like a mountain of muscle, while Spartacus was energetically shouting something about justice for breakfast.
"These are for both of ya," Chailvier said, trying to sound as calm as possible as she set the bowls down.
Spartacus leapt to his feet immediately. "Which one is mine? Don't let the oppressors steal the people's share!"
Heracles stared at his bowl, then at Chailvier, then at Spartacus's bowl.
Chailvier sighed deeply. "The bigger one's yours, Heracles. The one with more rice is yours, Spartacus. Don't swap."
They stared at her for a moment… then sat back down and began eating.
"…That worked, huh?" she whispered to herself, turning away.
Back at the counter, Archer looked at her with half an impressed smile.
"You've got a natural talent for handling crazy Servants," he remarked lightly.
Chailvier just shrugged.
After a while, the rush began to subside. Plates piled up, and the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Chailvier finally sat at a table near the kitchen, taking what was left of her own breakfast—some soup and toast.
"So," Archer (Emiya) said as he joined her, "how was working breakfast duty?"
"It was annoyin', ya know," she replied softly, blowing on her soup.
"But you stuck it out."
"…Only 'cause I was way too hungry to leave empty-handed."
Archer (Emiya) offered her a small smile.
"Thanks for the help."
Chailvier didn't answer—she just continued eating slowly. But under the table, her foot tapped lightly, like someone who didn't feel quite so lonely this morning.
This feels… better than grinding gacha all day just to get wrecked by RNG.
And maybe—just maybe—she'd show up early again tomorrow.
***
[Servant Profiles]
Name: Chailvier Don Quixote
Title: The delusional knight
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Alignment: Lawful-Good
Parameters:
Strength: D
Agility: C
Endurance: C
Mana: B
Luck: E-
NP: A-
Parameters When using Np:
Strength: A
Agility: B+
Endurance: B+
Mana: B
Luck: E-
NP: A-
Class Skills:
- Magic Resistance (A)
- Riding (B)
Personal Skills:
- Imagination Booster (A)
- Chivalric Resolve (B)
- Delusional Knight's Pride (C)
Noble Phantasm
I'm a True Knight!
Rank: A-
Type: Anti-Unit / Anti-Self
Description:
A manifestation of Chailvier's unwavering belief in her knightly ideals. This Noble Phantasm temporarily enhances her combat capabilities to near-perfect levels, increasing her strength, agility, and endurance dramaticall.
Backstory:
Born in a small village overshadowed by legends of ancient heroes and knights, Chailvier Don Quixote grew up immersed in stories of chivalry, justice, and honor.
From a young age, she dreamed not just of becoming a knight, but of embodying the purest ideals of knighthood—to be a true champion of the weak, a beacon of hope in a dark world.
Though lacking noble blood or grand lineage, Chailvier's heart was as vast as the myths she adored. She trained tirelessly, often alone, wielding makeshift weapons and donning improvised armor fashioned from whatever she could find.
To those around her, her devotion seemed more fantasy than reality—a delusion, some said. Yet she never wavered.
Eventually, her unwavering spirit caught the attention of the Counter Force, who summoned her as a Counter guardians and Servant to aid in preserving the flow of history.
As a Servant with Lancer class, Chailvier carries the title "The Delusional Knight," a reflection both of her idealistic nature and the boundless power that her delusions unlock.
Though she sometimes struggles to reconcile the harsh realities of the world with her dreams, her heart remains steadfast. For Chailvier, being a true knight is not about titles or glory—it's about the courage to stand firm and the will to protect, no matter the cost.