Several hours had passed since our escape from the city of Camelot. The desert sun was still scorching despite starting to drift westward, signaling the shift from afternoon to evening.
The heat had slightly lessened, but the exhaustion we felt hadn't faded—in fact, it had only grown deeper, cutting through to the bone.
Our footprints scratched the endless surface of the sand, leaving lines that would soon be swallowed again by the desert winds.
Behind us, the grand silhouette of Camelot slowly vanished from sight, obscured by heat haze and drifting dust.
Yet its shadow lingered in our minds… especially mine. And perhaps Astolfo's, too.
We managed to escape from the pursuit of those knightly guards—at least for now. They hadn't followed this far, maybe due to distance, or maybe because they deemed it beneath them to dirty their hands chasing "the unchosen."
Though we were safe, we were far from secure.
Crossing this desert was a struggle on its own. The sand was deep, as if trying to swallow every step we took.
The wind occasionally turned into a storm, slamming against our faces and forcing some of us to cover up with scraps of cloth or clothing.
Children began to cry from exhaustion, some of the elders nearly fainted from dehydration, and the remaining refugees now placed their hopes on us—the Servants, the survivors, and their only protection in a world rapidly losing its direction.
But nature wasn't our only enemy.
Several times, we had to stop due to the sudden appearance of beasts lurking beneath the sands.
Desert monsters camouflaged with their surroundings, waiting for the perfect moment to ambush.
Astolfo, full of energy, dashed back and forth slashing at the smaller monsters that emerged, still trying to maintain a smile for the refugees.
"Come on! Just a bit more! Don't give up!" he called out, even though his own body had begun to tremble from exhaustion.
Fujimaru helped carry a child too weak to walk, and occasionally comforted panicking mothers.
As for me, I remained at the rear, standing guard, ensuring no sudden attacks came from unexpected directions.
Sometimes I would pause just to gaze up at the vast desert sky, trying to find a clue—a direction we could take next.
This desert seemed endless. But I knew… hope wasn't dead yet.
As long as we could still walk, as long as someone believed, our journey would continue.
And I swear—I won't let a single one of them perish before we reach a safer place.
The sky gradually shifted in color, from orange and purple to the cold of the coming night.
We stopped for a while behind a small sand dune to rest.
Some of the refugees had already fallen asleep from exhaustion, while others sat in silence, hugging themselves to ward off the creeping chill.
We, the Servants and Fujimaru, gathered a short distance away from the group of refugees to discuss.
"If we keep going like this, we'll run out of supplies in two days," Da Vinci said seriously, opening a holographic map she had reconstructed from the information available in this world.
"This desert is too vast and there's no clear route. We can't keep walking aimlessly."
Mash nodded slowly. "We need a clear destination. Somewhere we can use as a temporary base and that's safe enough for the refugees."
I sat on a rock and gazed at the sky, now beginning to fill with stars. In silence, I weighed many possibilities… but before I could speak, Astolfo raised his hand.
"Umm! I have an idea!" he exclaimed cheerfully, lifting the heavy mood in the air just a bit.
We all turned to him.
"When I was first summoned into this world, I woke up in a village in the mountains! That's the first place I remember. The air there was cool and fresh, and… uh, it's pretty secluded, but I think it's safe! No Camelot knights, either."
I tilted my head. "A village in the mountains?"
"Yeah!" he replied, nodding enthusiastically. "It's kind of hidden, like not many people even know about it. But the most interesting thing is… I think the village is protected by Servants too. But they were weird… really quiet, and their presence was… dark. Not evil, just… silent. Like shadows blending into the night."
"Servants with that kind of aura…" Mash murmured. "Could they be Assassin-class…?"
Astolfo nodded. "I think so! They didn't say much to me, but they didn't drive me away either. I felt like they were guarding the village, and the villagers seemed to know their home was protected by 'something.'"
Fujimaru thought for a moment. "If there really is a village there guarded by Assassin-class Servants, then the enemy will likely have a hard time finding it. Assassins are experts at hiding locations and severing information. It could be a good place to hold out and plan our next move."
Da Vinci crossed her arms. "It's the only lead we've got right now… and it's better than wandering through the desert without direction. But we'll need to stay cautious. We don't know what those Assassins' intentions really are."
I nodded. "If that's where you first appeared, then it's likely within a stable area—one that hasn't been too heavily distorted by the singularity. We can use it as a temporary base."
"Yosh!" Astolfo cheered, energized. "Then follow me! I still remember the way—though… it's a little fuzzy, but… we'll get there!"
I took a deep breath, glancing at the refugees already asleep behind the dunes. "If that place can offer them shelter… then we'll go there."
And with that decision made, the night sky became a witness that our journey was far from over. A new destination had been set—and beyond the shadows of the mountains, perhaps the answer to rekindling hope awaited.
.
.
.
The morning light began to pierce through the desert sky, warming the surface of the sand that had been bitingly cold the night before. The refugees slowly started to move, packing up their belongings and preparing to leave the temporary resting place.
Fujimaru and Mash were quietly discussing with Da Vinci the route they would take toward the mountains. Astolfo, as usual, was energetically helping out here and there—cheerfully smiling even though the previous night had been a heavy one.
I stared at the horizon. The air was calm, but something tugged at my senses—a faint magical aura, familiar yet distant.
And then I saw him.
A silhouette appeared from behind the morning's sand fog. His body was wrapped in a tattered cloak, partially torn, and his steps looked heavy. Yet there was determination in the way he walked.
Mash, who stood beside me, tensed. "That's…!"
Fujimaru squinted. "No doubt about it…"
Da Vinci narrowed her eyes and gave a small grin. "Heh… that guy's stubborn as ever."
Meanwhile, Astolfo looked over at us, confused by our sudden silence, then turned toward the approaching figure. He leaned forward, trying to get a clearer look.
"Eh? Who's that? A refugee who got left behind? Or—wait, he's not an enemy, right?"
The figure finally stopped just a few meters from us. His breathing was heavy, and his steps had been faltering, but there was unwavering resolve in his gaze.
He slowly knelt down on the sand, a soft cloud of dust rising with the motion. His head bowed deeply, as if bearing an invisible weight.
"…Forgive me," he said quietly, his voice hoarse but clear. "For arriving only now. I did all I could… to hold Gawain back… to buy you time to escape. I'm sorry… for leaving you then."
I watched him in silence, then slowly stepped forward. My feet moved steadily, my footsteps muffled by the desert sand.
When I stood before him, I reached out my hand and spoke in a tone slightly different from Artoria's—calmer, heavier.
"Thank you… for holding back Gawain. Without you, none of us might've made it out safely."
He slowly raised his head, and our eyes met. There was fatigue etched deep in his expression, but his resolve remained unshaken.
With a hesitant yet firm motion, he took my hand and used it for support to stand.
Once upright, he gently released my hand.
His palm was rough from battle, but there was care in the way he touched. Then he looked at me again, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his otherwise composed face.
"…I don't believe I've heard your name before. May I ask… who are you?"
I gave a faint smile and placed my right hand over my chest, offering a polite, subtle gesture of greeting.
"My name is Altria," I said calmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Knight."
He looked at me for a moment, as though searching for something behind my words. But at last, he simply nodded.
"Bedivere," he said. "That is the name I carry."
The name was spoken with simplicity, but behind it lay a deep history—a weight of duty and honor that could not be ignored.
I gave a small nod. "Then, Bedivere… I'm glad you could rejoin us."
Behind us, Mash and Fujimaru smiled with relief. Da Vinci simply nodded quietly.
But one voice broke the quiet moment.
"Hey, hey, hey…" a cheerful and confused voice rang out from behind me.
I turned slightly and saw Astolfo standing with his hands on his hips, leaning forward a little while pointing at Bedivere.
"Is he… a Servant?" he asked, his tone full of curiosity. His bright eyes scanned Bedivere's figure from head to toe.
"I saw him when he held off Gawain on his own! He's strong, really strong! His movements were quick and precise, and he could even match Gawain—that's not easy, you know!? So, he must be a Servant, right? He has to be, right?"
Astolfo's voice grew increasingly enthusiastic, making Mash chuckle softly behind her hand, while Fujimaru simply smiled more broadly.
Bedivere raised an eyebrow slightly, perhaps a little surprised by Astolfo's very open and expressive way of speaking.
Still, he remained calm, offering a small nod as he replied, "Yes… I am a Servant."
"I thought so! Wow, it's great to meet you! You must be the calm, steadfast knight type, huh?" Astolfo said brightly.
Bedivere looked a bit awkward for a fraction of a second, not quite used to such high energy, but he nodded again and replied in a gentle tone, "Thank you… for the compliment."
I looked at all of them and let out a soft sigh, this time accompanied by a faint smile.
Even though this world is cruel and the desert is unforgiving, small moments like this—light laughter, genuine admiration, and a reunion—make everything feel a little more human.
And our journey… was about to begin again.
After everyone had rested enough and the sun began to rise from beyond the vast desert horizon, we resumed our journey.
The morning wind felt cold against the skin, a stark contrast to the scorching heat that was sure to come by midday. Our footsteps pressed carefully into the sand, leaving faint traces that were quickly swept away by the wind.
In the midst of the journey, within the silence broken only by the wind and the sound of our footsteps, Bedivere—who walked beside me—finally spoke.
"Forgive me if this question comes a bit late…" he said, his voice calm but filled with curiosity, "but… where are you all planning to go?"
I turned slightly toward him. Bedivere's gaze remained fixed ahead, but his expression was serious. He wasn't just asking out of curiosity—he wanted to be sure… and perhaps, he felt responsible.
Before I could answer, Astolfo, walking ahead of us, immediately turned around with enthusiasm, waving his hand. "To the mountains!" he declared cheerfully. "Specifically to a village up in the mountains! That's where I woke up when I was first summoned to this world!"
Mash, walking behind us, added gently, "Astolfo said that place might be safe… because it seems to be protected by Servants of the Assassin class. We want to find out if it can be a shelter for the refuge."
Da Vinci, leading at the front, nodded without turning around. Her voice was clear despite the blowing wind. "And if we're lucky, we might also find more information about Camelot—or even about what's truly happening in this land."
Bedivere nodded slowly. His eyes were still focused ahead, but the look in them showed he was deep in thought.
"Mountains… Assassins…?" he murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself. "Could that place be…"
His voice trailed off, unfinished. As if he were unsure of saying it aloud—or perhaps, he was still piecing together scattered fragments in his mind.
Astolfo turned his body and looked back at Bedivere with a curious gaze.
He tilted his head slightly, smiling as usual. "Hm~? Do you know something about that place?" he asked cheerfully, though his tone was genuinely sincere.
Everyone turned to look at Bedivere, waiting for his response.
The knight remained silent for a moment. He let out a soft breath before finally replying in a calm voice.
"Only a little," he said. "But if it is the place I'm thinking of… then you've chosen your destination wisely."
I looked toward the mountains in the distance. Though faint and still far away, their silhouette was becoming clearer. If what Bedivere said was true… then that place might indeed be a safe haven. But also one shrouded in mystery.
"Do you think they'll accept us there?" I asked quietly this time.
Bedivere responded without hesitation. "If they recognize our intentions… most likely, yes. But Assassins are not a class that trusts easily. We'll have to prove we bring no threat."
I nodded softly, and without saying anything more, we continued walking—leaving behind faint traces in the sand, which began to harden as we approached the rocky terrain leading to the mountains.
The journey was still long… but now, hope was just a little clearer than before.
***
Author note:
Sorry if the chapter quality is not good... And also I'm sorry for my bad update stability.. anyway for this chapter side story will be longer than I planned.. well I just got excited that I make the side story is longers than the plan was but next side story will be shorter than this.
That's all, Thanks for your support.
***
– A Memory That Cannot Be Forgotten –
That day, the sky was cloaked in thick, black clouds. Heavy rain poured down, soaking the grassy field that was usually calm. But this time, the place was filled with sorrow and silence.
The warriors of the Takeda clan stood still, lined up neatly in a quiet formation. They mourned, grieving the loss of their leader—Takeda Shingen.
The figure they respected and followed now lay lifeless. His face was covered with a white cloth, as if to mark the end of an era.
Among the kneeling samurai with heads bowed, Sanada Yukimura trembled as he held back his tears. They fell uncontrollably as he prostrated himself at his lord's side.
A little further from the main line stood a young man—Kitahara Yuuki. His long black hair was tied back, and his violet eyes stared straight at the body of his lord.
He wore a simple samurai uniform, like the others. A bow gripped tightly in his left hand, while a katana hung at his waist.
Unlike the others, his expression remained calm. He didn't cry—not because he didn't feel the loss, but because he chose to stand firm.
The grief he felt was buried deep within his heart, locked away so it would not shake his resolve.
Silently, he swore to himself.
That the memory of his lord… would never be forgotten.
And that his arrows—would always aim toward the path Takeda Shingen had taught him.
The rain had not yet stopped.
Kitahara Yuuki stood silently, letting the droplets soak his face and samurai clothing. The atmosphere seemed to freeze time.
No one spoke, only the sound of rain and the occasional sobbing from the line of soldiers could be heard.
Slow, quiet footsteps approached him.
"Yuuki…" The heavy yet trembling voice came from Sanada Yukimura, who now stood beside him. The man's eyes were red and swollen, but he tried to show strength. "We… mustn't fall into despair. Lord Shingen… wouldn't want to see us broken."
Yuuki gave a small nod but didn't turn. His eyes remained fixed forward, on the white cloth that covered his master's face.
"I know," he murmured softly. "But... it still feels… like the wind no longer blows from behind us."
Yukimura looked at him, falling silent for a moment before replying, "Then we must become that wind. We must keep moving… carrying the hope he once entrusted to us."
Yuuki bowed his head, letting the rain drip from his chin. Slowly, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Then… allow me to walk this path with my arrows."
His hand reached for an arrow from the quiver on his back, then readied his bow.
With calm and reverence, Yuuki aimed at the thunderous, clouded sky.
One arrow was released.
It soared through the rain, leaving a faint trail in the air before vanishing into the black clouds.
Not an arrow of war. Not an arrow of vengeance.
But a farewell arrow—an arrow of tribute to a lord, a leader, a father to the land of Takeda.
And as that arrow disappeared, Yuuki whispered in his heart:
"I will walk your path, Lord Shingen. I will make sure the light of the Takeda name never fades."
Some time after the arrow was released, the farewell ceremony slowly ended. The samurai returned to their posts, carrying grief and memories in silence.
But for Kitahara Yuuki, the vow he made that day in his heart... became the pulse of his entire life thereafter.
He continued to fight for the Takeda clan. He marched through battlefields without fear. But in the end… like many others of the Sengoku era, his tale slowly faded, forgotten by history.
Yet his resolve and vow did not vanish.
.
.
.
Cafeteria – Chaldea
The soft hiss of the automatic door echoed as light footsteps entered the room.
Warm light from the ceiling illuminated the spacious hall, reflecting off the clean metal floors and neatly arranged tables. But this morning's atmosphere was different—quiet, too quiet.
Kitahara Yuuki stepped inside, his usual calm and expressionless face unchanged. His bow was absent, replaced by a clean and tidy standard Chaldea uniform.
Beside him, a young boy with long white hair tied back in a ponytail was lightly trotting to match Yuuki's pace. His bright blue-sky eyes scanned the room with overflowing curiosity.
"Heeh? So quiet… I thought the cafeteria would be packed with Servants fighting over breakfast like usual," Charles I muttered, his tone clearly disappointed—like a child finding the candy store closed on his birthday.
Yuuki let out a quiet sigh, his hands tucked into his pants pockets.
"Most of them are out on missions with the Master," he replied in the same calm, flat tone.
"Oh, is that so?" Charles turned to Yuuki with sparkling eyes before casually grabbing the young man's hand. "Well, whatever! Let's eat anyway. Come on, Yuuki!"
Yuuki didn't respond. He merely glanced at the hand holding his, letting out a subtle breath. He didn't pull away, though his discomfort with the excessive physical closeness was evident.
But knowing Charles I, resisting would only make him cling more—like glue.
Together, they headed toward the main counter—the place where Archer (Emiya) was usually stationed, wearing his trademark blank expression while serving nutritious meals and scolding anyone who tried sneaking an extra side dish.
But this morning, the figure standing behind the counter was not the man known as "Head Chef of Chaldea."
Charles' eyes widened. Yuuki narrowed his gaze slightly.
Behind the counter stood a young girl with short hair streaked with vivid purple highlights that shimmered faintly under the cafeteria's fluorescent lights.
Her hair was a bit messy, and her half-lidded eyes made it clear she had just woken up—probably no more than five minutes ago.
Despite wearing a spotless Chaldea-branded apron, the weary look on her face and the long sigh she let out made the counter feel more like a roadside diner being manned during a third-shift graveyard hour.
"...Chailvier Don Quixote?" Charles asked as he leaned forward, eyes squinting in disbelief.
His tone was like that of a child who had just seen his dog driving a car.
Chailvier slowly turned her head, one eye still shut, the other giving Charles a flat look. She didn't even look surprised.
"Cut the small talk. What're ya orderin'?" she muttered in a half-sleepy tone, her voice slightly hoarse but clear.
Charles blinked a few times. "Ehh? But I was just about to—"
"Hm-hmm." Chailvier raised one hand, signaling him to stop talking, as she let out a long sigh.
"Listen, ya lil' white-haired runt… I got two options: hear yer order or pass out on this damn coffee machine. First one benefits ya more."
Charles opened his mouth, ready to retort, but gave up midway. He finally raised both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright… I don't get why you're the one on shift today, but fine! So as usual I'll have—"
"—Omelet rice, extra sweet sauce, and orange juice. Ya always order that." Chailvier cut in, letting out a quiet yawn before continuing. "And for yer quiet friend who always looks at me like I'm gonna set the Arcade on fire…"
Yuuki stared at her blankly.
"…Light Japanese set. Steamed rice, grilled fish, miso soup, a bit o' pickles. Yeah, yeah, I know. Chill." Chailvier finished as she turned and headed for the kitchen.
Charles looked at Yuuki, then back at Chailvier. "Uwah… You actually remembered all that?"
She only shrugged and answered casually, "I got it memorized 'cause ya two always show up here together. And that Archer guy (Emiya) told me what most of servant usually eat anyway."
She waved a hand lazily behind her as she walked away.
"Now shoo. Sit at yer usual spot or wherever. I'll bring the food later... unless I pass out first."
Yuuki tilted his head slightly, then looked at Charles. "Do you want to sit by the window?"
"Yeah, of course! That spot has the best lighting! Let's go, Yuuki!"
With that, Charles dragged Yuuki toward the seats by the large cafeteria window, leaving the counter behind.
Behind them, the soft hum of kitchen equipment started up, and the scent of omelet and miso broth slowly filled the quiet morning air.
It wasn't an ideal start, but it was one of a kind—lazy, odd, and somehow… full of color.
They chose a table near the large windowpane, where morning sunlight gently slipped through the sheer curtains swaying from Chaldea's artificial breeze.
From that corner, the snowy field outside looked like a nearly motionless painting.
Charles dropped into his seat with a satisfied expression, while Yuuki sat quietly across from him.
"Hmhm~ This place is still the best!" Charles said as he leaned toward the window. "Even with the sky always cloudy, it still feels… peaceful, doesn't it?"
Yuuki gave a small nod. "At the very least, there are no sounds of war or people screaming in death."
Charles blinked. "Uh… that's kinda dark, Yuuki."
But before Yuuki could respond, slow, dragging footsteps came from behind them.
Chailvier appeared, carrying a tray in each hand. She walked hunched slightly forward like someone who hadn't fully woken up and placed their meals on the table carefully—but quickly.
"Omelet rice for the cheerful lil' brat," she muttered halfheartedly, placing a plate of soft omelet drenched in sweet sauce in front of Charles, along with a glass of cold, refreshing orange juice.
"And... classic Japanese set for the silent archer," she continued, putting Yuuki's tray down with warm rice, crisp-edged grilled fish, steaming miso soup, and a few small pickles on the side.
Yuuki gave her a small nod in thanks. "Thank you. I didn't expect you to cook this so well."
"Ain't me who cooked it," Chailvier replied with a yawn.
"Tamamo Cat did the cookin'. I just waited 'til she was done, then napped for five minutes. That's my morning achievement."
Charles chuckled. "Haha, still, thank you, Chailvier!"
She only raised a hand in response and walked lazily back to the counter. "If anythin's burnt or spilled… just pretend it's part o' the taste."
Once she was gone, the table settled into a more peaceful silence. Charles looked at his omelet with sparkling eyes. "Waaah~ As always, it looks super tasty!"
Yuuki picked up his chopsticks slowly. "Eat before it gets cold."
Without any more words, they began their breakfast.
Several minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware and chopsticks. Charles, nearly finished with his omelet, leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look.
"Ahhh... I'm full." He spun his spoon lazily around his fingers.
"Hey, Yuuki… you've told me before that you came from the Sengoku era, right? That warring time in Japan? You said you served under Takeda Shingen."
Yuuki paused, staring at the last bit of grilled fish. Steam from the miso soup gently rose to his face, bringing with it not just warmth—but memories.
"I did," he finally replied. His voice was calm, but unusually heavy.
"I was one of the young archers Takeda Shingen trusted. I was a nobody at first. Just a farmer's boy who could shoot birds from afar."
Charles leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands atop the table. "So how did you join his forces?"
Yuuki looked out the window, his gaze distant as if piercing through the snow and into the past.
"One day, Takeda's army came to our village. They needed more archers, and Shingen himself came to watch the village youths train. I… showed him what I could do. I shot three arrows at three different targets—within a single breath."
He paused for a moment before continuing, almost in a whisper, "He looked at me for a long time. Then said, 'A young man like you will bring a new wind to my army.' From that day on, I no longer lived in the village. I went from battle to battle."
Charles blinked. "You were really young back then, huh?"
"Sixteen." Yuuki nodded. "Too young to die, but old enough to kill."
Silence blanketed the table.
Yuuki continued in a deeper tone, "I saw too many die. My friends, my commanders… and in the end, Lord Takeda himself…"
He clenched his hand in his lap. "When he died, I didn't cry. Everyone else did, but I just stood there. Because… if I cried, who would've held the rest together?"
Charles looked at him with softened blue eyes. This time, he didn't joke. He simply said in a quiet voice:
"...You're really strong, Yuuki."
Yuuki turned to him, slightly surprised.
"But also… kinda dumb," Charles added with a faint smile.
"You carried all that on your own. But it was never just your burden. Takeda Shingen wouldn't have wanted you to give up your whole heart for some grand name or victory."
Yuuki lowered his head slightly. Then, he gave a faint smile.
"Maybe. But if I hadn't done it, I wouldn't be who I am now."
Charles gave a slow nod. "And now you're here, in Chaldea… living in a time you could've never imagined."
Yuuki sighed. "Yeah… a different age. But I think… I can live here. With all of you."
Charles beamed. "That's great! Because I'm not letting you escape being my breakfast buddy!"
Yuuki nodded, and for the first time that morning, let out a small laugh.
Outside, the snow continued to fall with a calm rhythm, and inside the warm cafeteria, two Servants from vastly different times shared a quiet, peaceful moment in a world that never slept.
***
[Servant Profile]
Name: Kitahara Yuuki
Title: The Heaven-sent Archer
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Class: Archer
Alignment: Neutral-Good
Parameters:
Str: C+
End: C
Agi: B
Mana: C
Luck: B
NP: A
Class Skills:
- Independent Action (B)
- Magic Resistance (C)
Personal Skills:
- Takeda Horseman's Discipline (B)
- Sharpened Instinct (A)
- Unnamed Sword technique (B+)
Noble Phantasm:
"Tenkū Issen – Arrow of the Crimson Banner"
Rank: A
Type: Anti-Army
Description:
A crystallization of Kitahara Yuuki's final battlefield—an arrow fired under the crimson Takeda banner as a last stand. Drawing on his will and the spirits of unnamed warriors who fell before him, this Noble Phantasm releases a divine-like shot from horseback or ground, guided by fate to strike with absolute precision. Its power grows the more dire the situation, honoring the desperation of the forgotten.
Backstory:
Kitahara Yuuki was born into a humble farming family in the Sengoku period, a time of relentless conflict and upheaval in Japan. From a young age, he displayed a remarkable talent with the bow, able to hit birds mid-flight and distant targets with unwavering precision.
This natural gift, combined with an unyielding spirit, caught the attention of local samurai, but it was his encounter with the legendary Takeda Shingen that changed his fate forever.
At the age of sixteen, during a conscription event where the Takeda clan was recruiting archers for their military campaigns, Yuuki demonstrated his exceptional skill by shooting three arrows in rapid succession, each hitting separate targets without hesitation.
Takeda Shingen, impressed by the boy's talent and composure under pressure, personally took Yuuki under his wing. Thus, Yuuki became one of the famed Takeda Horsemen, a disciplined archer known not only for his deadly accuracy but also for his fierce loyalty and unwavering resolve.
Despite the brutal environment, Yuuki's heart remained compassionate and honorable. He fought not for conquest or glory, but to protect those he cared for and to uphold the ideals instilled by his lord. Yet, war is unforgiving, and Yuuki witnessed the fall of many comrades and the eventual death of Takeda Shingen himself. His losses carved a deep resolve in his soul, fueling his determination to carry on.
Yuuki earned the title "The Heaven-sent Archer" not only because of his extraordinary skill and precision but also due to the legend that grew around him during the chaos of the Sengoku era. It was said that in critical battles, when hope seemed lost and the tide of war turned against Takeda's forces, Yuuki would appear almost miraculously on the battlefield, his arrows finding impossible targets with unerring accuracy.
Soldiers and commanders alike believed his skill was a blessing from the heavens—a divine intervention to protect the righteous and punish the wicked. The crimson banner he fought under became a symbol of that divine favor, fluttering as a beacon of hope that Yuuki's arrows would bring victory even in the direst moments.
Yuuki died at the age of 19 in a pivotal battle that would determine the fate of the Takeda forces. As the army faced overwhelming odds and was on the verge of collapse, Yuuki stood beneath the crimson Takeda banner, preparing his final arrow.
With unwavering resolve, he unleashed Tenkū Issen – Arrow of the Crimson Banner, a shot that would serve as both his last testament and ultimate sacrifice. The arrow pierced through the enemy ranks with divine precision, shattering their morale and buying precious time for the Takeda warriors to retreat and regroup.
However, in performing this final act, Yuuki was struck down by retaliatory attacks, falling on the battlefield amidst the chaos. His death was swift but not in vain—his final shot was remembered as the spark of hope in the army's darkest hour.
His sacrifice at such a young age gave rise to the legend of The Heaven-sent Archer—a young warrior believed to have been sent by the heavens themselves, delivering salvation with a single, fate-guided arrow before vanishing from the world.