What Kind of Servant Is She?
Muramasa Shirou's first thought upon seeing her was simple: gorgeous.Gorgeous clothes, gorgeous hair, gorgeous eyes, gorgeous twin swords—even her heroic presence was dazzling.
She wasn't tall—slightly shorter than eighteen-year-old Shirou—but her proportions were slender and perfectly balanced. She wore a lavish blue-purple kimono with wide sleeves that radiated elegance. The vivid fabric was adorned with intricate maple leaves and cherry blossoms, showcasing the finest of Japanese artistry.
And yet, this traditional beauty was spliced with modern flair—black lace accents drawing attention to her ample chest.
At her waist hung two pairs of swords, short and long, one on each side. Her hands rested casually on the hilts. Long, cherry-colored hair was tied neatly, and her piercing blue eyes held a sharp, murderous gleam.
The moment Shirou recognized her, his heart seized.
Killing intent.
It wasn't metaphorical—it was almost tangible, a razor edge between "you die" or "I die." No middle ground. No hesitation. Pure, unfiltered intent to kill.
The Servant—whether summoned by him or drawn here by sheer chance—raised her sword toward her own Master. Like an Asura, her presence radiated death as she declared:
"I've finally found you—the one who holds the origin of the sword. The swordsman who has reached infinity."
The blade dipped, its chill deepening.
"You are my destined rival. Only one of us will leave this alive. Only after bathing in your blood can I reach the highest realm of the sword."
As expected of a Berserker, Shirou thought grimly, the brain's not firing on all cylinders.
He didn't hesitate—"Doraemon!" he shouted.
And then—she was gone from view.
The sense of danger, however, only sharpened. Every pore of Shirou's body screamed with fear. Death.
She was fast—faster than human senses could track. His body reacted before his mind did; magic surged violently through his circuits, gathering in his hands to form two incomplete swords.
Projection!
That icy point between his brows—her aim—never wavered.
In that instant between life and death, time seemed to stretch. He caught sight of Doraemon's panicked expression, and the blur of a blade passing by.
Miyamoto Musashi—summoned not as a Saber, but as a Berserker.
No… not even a true Servant of this world. She was a living human who had answered the Holy Grail's call by pure chance.
Her situation was, in some ways, similar to King Arthur's.
What now?Should he burn a Command Spell to stop her?
But just as Musashi had said, Shirou too felt an overwhelming killing intent—something etched into the very creation of his soul: the will to dominate through Origin.
They were born for this—one to kill, one to be killed.
With a sharp crack, Musashi's strike shattered his half-formed blades. The Servant's raw strength blew through his arms and sent him tumbling backward.
She was on him instantly—short blade poised to strike between his eyes.
Death's shadow locked him in place. And yet… his mind felt strangely clear.
That fleeting clash had given him something. Through her sword, he felt her understanding of the void—the "emptiness" she sought yet had not attained. And he understood his own path: not zero, but infinity.
Infinity meant never losing. It was mastery over all swordsmanship, bringing all creation under the domain of the infinite.
All swordcraft—making, wielding—was now his to grasp.
But the gap between them was still too vast.
"Projection!"Rolling aside, he conjured twin swords once more—mirror images of hers, glowing faintly with blue-green prana.
Even without conscious memory, his body moved with instinctive skill.
He caught her dagger's thrust dead-center. But her single slender arm pressed against his full strength, immovable.
Those cold blue eyes glimmered with playful malice.
"Too young."
A bloodthirsty grin curled her lips. She had been toying with him—testing him. The short sword was the distraction. The long sword was the killing blow.
Niten Ichi-ryū—Musashi's famed two-sword style. One yin, one yang. One to bind, the other to kill.
The second blade fell, a torrent of sword energy tearing toward him.
Still, Shirou refused to use a Command Spell. Every nerve was focused on reading her blades, tracing their construction in his mind—materials, forging techniques, the lifetime of mastery in their steel.
Complete. The blueprint was his.
"Explode!"
White light flared—his twin projections shattered in a violent blast.
Boom!
Musashi was thrown back over ten meters, landing lightly with a somersault. She rested her long sword on her shoulder, blue eyes fixed on the settling smoke.
"Oh my… didn't cut you in half. What a pity."
Shirou stepped from the haze."That's your plan? Kill your own Master?"
His counter was Illusion Collapse—a technique he'd learned from Archer. But unlike Archer's refined craft, Shirou's version was raw, enough only to push Berserker back.
His mana was spent. His hands bled from over-strained circuits.
Still, his fear had burned away, replaced by a sharp, almost eager will to kill.
The duel had lasted seconds. Two exchanges—and Berserker had nearly killed her Master.
Japan's Sword Saint, indeed.
PS: Guess which Doraemon gadget the protagonist will use to beat Musashi?Originally I considered the Fantasy Character Egg—it can summon actual Superman. A Superman who can circle the earth dozens of times per second could probably rip Goetia in half bare-handed.But… that's boring.
I have a better idea.Hint: It's sword-related, and if you know your Doraemon gadgets, you'll get it instantly.