“Lancer, shall we?”

“After you.”

Lancer smiles.

“All right, but you have to keep up.”

“I’m merely giving you a head start, so that you’ll actually get to join in and won’t have to feel left out.”

“Well, aren’t you a thoughtful one?”

Sten and Lancer charge, one after the other; Sten to the right, Lancer to the left of Heracles. They reach him at the same time; a simultaneous attack from two sides. Surprisingly nimble for his size, Heracles dodges by jumping forward. He does a somersault and lands on his feet. Lancer pursues him immediately and attacks with a slash. The crimson spear and the olive-wood club clash. They exchange several blows, but Lancer cannot match Heracles with only one arm. Heracles quickly gains the advantage. Lancer ducks to dodge a horizontal swing and retreats. Right then, leaping over Lancer, Sten attacks Heracles with a downward swing, with his weight and momentum behind it. Heracles meets the attacks with his club and blows him away with a single push.

Sten lands on his feet next to Lancer.

“Not even a scratch? Isn’t that thing made of wood?”

Heracles meets his questioning gaze with a joyful look.

“It is.”

“Then what? Why is it so durable? Was it made by Hephaestus? Or blessed by one of the Olympians? Doused in the River of Styx? Or in the blood of a hundred virgins?”

“No. It is because I made it.”

This time, Heracles attacks. He attacks not with a war cry, but with laughter. His master’s, Illya’s laughter accompanies his. Their laughs are almost synchronized as his blow sends Sten flying even after the latter blocks it. Lancer tries stabbing his throat, and he almost succeeds, but Heracles barely turns his head and the pelt on his shoulders stop the crimson spear. Lancer blocks his next attack, but suffers the same fate as Sten.

They both roll on the ground and quickly jump back up on the opposite sides of Heracles.

Heracles glances at Sten, then turns to Lancer. He feels the light touch of something to the side of his chest. He blinks. Sten is standing right next to Lancer.

Heracles’s eyes narrow down as he lets go of his club.

“You’ve given an opening, great hero.”

Sten flick the blade of his weapon.

Heracles aims with his bow and lets out a salvo.

Magical energy converge around Sten’s weapon.

Lancer steps in front of Sten and blocks the arrows.

“Perfectionist!”

“…”

There is a brief silence where no one moves.

“Wonderful job.”

Heracles congratulates them.

“You are fighting in sync in the first fight you team up. It was great.”

Sten and Lancer exchange glances. Sten shrugs.

“However, I can’t help but wonder something. Both your weapons would qualify as the weapon of a lancer. Which one of you?”

“I am,” says Lancer.

“Then, you are?”

“About that…”

Sten takes a few steps to the side, so that he can see both Lancer and Heracles at the same time.

“…I have a theory I’d like to confirm. So with your leave, I shall ask something to both of you.”

He looks at their eyes.

“How many classes do you guys have?”

Their ayes narrow down as they stare at him, and each other.

“And does the word ‘Changer’ mean anything to you?”

Their eyes open wide, including Illya’s. In fact, she is the one to speak first.

“How do you know that name?”

Sten, satisfied with the response he got, smiles.

“Every servants would know their own class, master of Changer.”

“…!”

“You mean to say we are all Changers? Haha. Hahahaha!”

Lancer throws his head back and laughs.

“I was wondering why everyone kept pulling out multiple weapons.”

Sten strokes his chin.

“Indeed. If you had done so as well, I would have become sure much earlier.”

Illya shouts something but it is not understandable. Heracles tries to calm her down.

Lancer speaks to Sten.

“Hey, she looks angry.”

“I bet she thought Heracles was special, and is now disappointed. That seems to be showing itself as anger. Aren’t you a bit disappointed yourself? Laughing wasn’t the kind of reaction I was expecting.”

Illya stops shouting. She instead pouts. Heracles tries to cheer her up.

“What are you talking about? Disappointed? I just learned I was holding back! Now stay back. You aren’t needed anymore.”

Lancer steps forward. Sten, one brow raised, complies and moves back.

“Enough! Kill them both then!”

Illya shouts. Heracles shrugs, which makes Illya jump where she is sitting.

“Very well. Lancer?”

“You’ll be fighting just me from now on.”

Lancer says calmly. He stabs the ground with his spear.

“Just you? You already…”

Heracles’s voice grows smaller and stops. Something has appeared in Lancer’s hand. A wooden staff, almost as long as he is tall, thin enough to be easily held and wider, slightly curved on one end. Numerous symbols are carved all over the staff. A staff, covered in magical runes, worthy of a caster. He holds it vertically in front of him. He lowers his head and closes his eyes. The trees around them start moving as the ground shakes.

“To think all of you were Changers, and were using it. Here I am, limiting myself to a single class, just to make it ‘fair.’ I kept on with it, and was willing to die, happy that I fought fairly.”

Leafs from the nearby trees circle around him like the eye of a tornado. He spins his staff once and bangs its end to the ground. The leaves quickly gather around his arm; his arm with the missing hand. They converge and jam together. They change.

None of the leaves are visible now, but he has two hands again.

“I apologize to both of you. To you as well King Jason. Although you can’t hear me right now, I now understand that you were similar to them in that regard. I bet you were both Saber and Rider. I apologize to all of you. Had I known, I wouldn’t have held back.”

A sudden gust blows around his legs as teal runes shine momentarily. Red runes appear brightly on his spear and vanish. Greyish blue runes appear and circle around his arms, then leave. Purple ones become visible for an instant in front of his face.

He raises his head and opens his eyes.

“I’m actually glad right now that Bazett is being held up. I don’t like showing this to women. Forgive me little miss, but you are simply in the wrong place in the wrong time. Try not to look.”

He lets go of his staff and grabs hold of his crimson spear, once more with two hands.

“Sorry to keep you waiting fellow demigod. And it’s done. That was the last time I apologize. It is time to begin anew. It is time I showed you my most famous Noble Phantasm! The one with significantly less cool name:”

“Warp Spasm!”