Min-jun and Jack moved through the skeletal remains of a vineyard, the fog of Orleans clinging to their clothes like a damp shroud. Min-jun's eyes narrowed as he caught the glint of sunlight on a polished barrel in a distant bell tower.
"Sniper," Min-jun whispered. "Jack, they're watching. Get ready to move on my mark."
He didn't seek cover. Instead, he stepped into the center of the path, a deliberate target.
"**TUSK ACT 4!**"
With a sound like a grinding tectonic plate and a high-pitched, metallic *"Chimin~!"*, his massive pink-armored Stand erupted into existence. She stood there, a mountain of lace-like steel and infinite rotation, acting as the perfect, impossible-to-ignore bait.
The sniper in the tower panicked. The sight of her was too much; he pulled the trigger. The bullet whistled through the air, but as it entered the radius of Tusk's gravity, it was dragged off-course, spinning harmlessly into a stone wall.
"Go!" Min-jun barked.
Jack was a blur. While the soldiers were transfixed by the glowing pink titan, Jack was already behind them. Screams erupted from the thicket—short, sharp, and quickly silenced.
Min-jun dismissed Tusk and sprinted toward the final guard post just as the last survivor leveled a flintlock at him.
"**ZA WARUDO!**"
The world washed into a silent, monochromatic gray. Min-jun didn't waste a second of his nine seconds. Beside him, his pale white Queen of Time materialized. She glided forward with effortless grace, and with a casual thrust, her armored hand punched through the soldier's chest.
*Squish.*
She pulled her hand back, leaving a perfect, hollow donut through the man's torso.
"Efficient as always," Min-jun muttered, looking at the pale white Stand.
The World turned toward him. Instead of a stoic nod, she struck a flamboyant pose, putting a hand on her chin and giving him a wide, beaming, and completely *stupid* smile. She looked incredibly proud of her kill, radiating an airheaded energy that made Min-jun's eye twitch.
"Are you serious?" he groaned. He stepped forward and reached up, grabbing both of her pale white, armored cheeks. He gave them a sharp, frustrated pull. "I wanted a cool, silent King! A terrifying shadow of the end! Why did I get a prideful, smiling airhead?!"
The World's emerald eyes went wide, and her face squished between his fingers. She let out a muffled, metallic protest, her hands waving slightly in embarrassment as she struggled against his grip.
He sighed, letting go of her face. She immediately began rubbing her cheeks with a wounded pout. He dismissed her with a flick of his wrist.
"Time resumes."
The soldier hit the floor. Jack appeared by Min-jun's side, shaking blood off her knives. "All clear, Master! Let's go!"
They crested the final hill, and the sight of a large-scale skirmish opened up below. Ritsuka was there, looking exhausted but determined, standing beside Mash who was currently parrying a wyvern's claw. Emiya was positioned on a nearby roof, his black bow humming.
But the group was larger now. Jeanne d'Arc held her fluttering holy banner, standing beside Mozart and Marie Antoinette.
"Found them," Min-jun said, his voice regaining its tactical edge. "Jack, let's join the fray. But remember: keep the girls hidden unless I call them."
"Race you there!" Jack cheered, leaping down the slope.
Min-jun and Jack descended the slope, a dark, efficient duo cutting through the smoke and scattered wyverns. Min-jun's movements were precise, guiding Jack with subtle hand signals, using the terrain to their advantage. He didn't summon his Stands, conserving his energy, instead relying on his quick wit and Jack's brutal efficiency to dispatch stray threats. Jack, in her element, was a whirlwind of knives and shadows, eliminating wyverns before they could even register the threat.
Their arrival provided a small but crucial relief to the embattled Chaldea forces. Ritsuka, seeing Min-jun alive, let out a whoop of relief, while Mash pushed back a particularly aggressive wyvern, her shield gleaming. Emiya, from his perch, sent a precise arrow that detonated a drake mid-air, clearing a path for Min-jun to reach the main group.
The battle momentarily receded, leaving a small pocket of relative calm as the remaining wyverns recoiled from the sudden, coordinated assault.
Min-jun walked up to the weary group, Jack clinging to his leg. He adjusted his glasses, a calm, almost apologetic look on his face. "Apologies for the delay. We encountered some… unexpected resistance. Min-jun, Chaldea staff. This is Jack." He gestured vaguely at the small assassin.
Ritsuka, though battered, grinned. "Min-jun, you made it! And Jack too! We were worried about you."
Mash bowed her head slightly. "It's good to have you back, Min-jun-senpai."
Jeanne d'Arc, holding her holy banner high, turned towards them. Her expression was one of profound relief mixed with a gentle curiosity. Her eyes, usually clear and resolute, seemed to soften as they landed on Min-jun.
As Min-jun met her gaze, a strange ripple passed through the air around him – a subtle distortion that only Jeanne seemed to perceive. The air crackled, not with magical energy, but with something far older, far more fundamental. She sensed it immediately: an aura. A profound, unwavering spiritual presence that hummed beneath the young man's seemingly ordinary exterior.
It was an aura of sanctity, pure and vast, yet utterly alien. It felt ancient, like the bedrock of faith itself, weathered by ages she could not comprehend. It was serene, yes, but also burdened, holding within it a silent, immense power that dwarfed her own nascent grace. It was as if she was standing before a living relic, a fragment of something so divine it transcended mortal comprehension.
*What is this?* Jeanne wondered, her breath catching in her throat. *This boy… his light… it's different. So much older than mine, so much deeper. It's like standing in the presence of a relic touched by a thousand saints, not just one. More saintly and older than even my own… it's almost… overwhelming.*
A flicker of unease, cold and strange, passed through her. She was a Saint, a vessel of God's will, yet this young man felt… more. Stronger. She couldn't place it. Was he a priest of immense devotion? A prophet?
*Could he be… a future Saint? Another chosen of God, perhaps from an era yet to come?* The thought was both exhilarating and unsettling. His eyes, behind those glasses, held a depth that belied his age, a wisdom that spoke of countless trials.
She felt compelled to introduce herself, almost as if drawn by an invisible force. "Greetings, Min-jun. I am Jeanne d'Arc, Servant-class Ruler." Her voice was steady, but internally, her mind was in turmoil.
"And I am Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Composer at your service," a flamboyant man with an aristocratic flair announced, offering a dramatic bow.
"And I'm Marie Antoinette! The Queen of France, at your service!" Marie chirped, curtsying with a bright smile, seemingly oblivious to the subtle currents swirling around them.
Jeanne, however, could not shake the feeling. She kept her gaze on Min-jun for a moment longer, a faint crease forming between her brows. He met her look with an unnerving calm, a polite nod that revealed nothing of the vastness she had just perceived.
*A future Saint… or something else entirely?* The question echoed in her mind, a seed of confusion and apprehension taking root amidst the chaos of the Singularity.
- - - -
The cold, damp air of Orleans intensified as night fell, chasing away the lingering smoke from the day's skirmishes. The Servants and Chaldea personnel had found a relatively sheltered spot, a small hollow shielded by the skeletal remains of a forgotten church. A crackling campfire, carefully managed to minimize its visibility, offered a meager comfort against the chill and the pervasive sense of dread.
Ritsuka was meticulously cleaning his remaining Command Seals, a tired frown on his face. Mash, ever vigilant, scanned the perimeter, her shield propped beside her like a loyal guardian. Emiya sat a little apart, silently observing, occasionally sharpening one of his spectral blades. Mozart and Marie Antoinette, despite the grim circumstances, found solace in quiet conversation, Mozart occasionally humming a soft, melancholy tune that Marie would attempt to mimic with surprisingly cheerful inflections. Jeanne sat across from Min-jun, her holy banner leaning against a crumbled wall behind her, her expression thoughtful.
Jack, having expended her boundless energy in the day's frantic skirmishes, was curled up contentedly. Her small head rested on Min-jun's lap, her breathing soft and even. Min-jun's fingers, almost unconsciously, stroked her hair, a simple, rhythmic motion that seemed to soothe them both.
He was speaking with Jeanne, their conversation low, almost murmured over the crackle of the fire.
"…and despite the chaos, your presence brings a strange calm to the people," Jeanne was saying, her eyes fixed on Min-jun with that same thoughtful, searching look. "I sense… a deep wellspring of resolve within you, Min-jun. It is most unusual for a human. It feels ancient, yet vibrant."
Min-jun shifted, trying to ignore the subtle probing in her voice. He offered a noncommittal hum. "Survival instinct, perhaps. Or simply the tenacity of a man trying to do his job."
Jeanne didn't seem convinced. Her gaze grew more intense, piercing. "No, it's more than that. It's… a light. One that feels both profoundly sacred and profoundly… *other*."
As she spoke, Min-jun felt a familiar, internal tremor. The world seemed to fade at the edges, the campfire's warmth growing distant. A voice, resonant and clear, echoed not in his ears, but directly in the core of his being.
*"My will is an eternal current, unbreakable. A river flowing through granite. You are of that river, Min-jun. A shard of its unyielding truth. Fear not the storm; it is but water upon stone."*
The words were vague, abstract, yet they vibrated with a fundamental certainty that settled deep into his bones. He saw no vision, heard no explanation, only felt the absolute, unwavering presence of a power that promised an indestructible foundation for his every action.
He blinked, the campfire snapping back into sharp focus. The chill of the night returned. Jack shifted slightly on his lap.
"Min-jun? Are you alright?" Jeanne's voice was gentle, edged with concern. She had noticed the subtle change in his eyes, the momentary blankness. "You seemed… elsewhere."
Min-jun managed a small, tired smile, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Just… a long day. Trying to keep track of everything." He patted Jack's head. "I'm fine, Jeanne. Really."
He felt utterly drained, not physically, but as if his spirit had momentarily expanded beyond its limits to accommodate the divine whisper, and now needed to contract. He needed a moment, a respite from the constant influx of information and the weight of his increasingly complex reality.
"I think I'll… try to get some sleep," he mumbled, gently easing Jack off his lap and laying her beside him on the cloak he'd spread. He lay down himself, using his arm as a pillow, and pulled the spare blanket over both of them. His gaze lingered on the embers of the fire, the orange glow dancing against the shadows.
Jeanne watched him, her brow furrowed. That 'light' she sensed around him… it was still there, but now it felt muted, cloaked. It was a presence that defied understanding, a secret held close by the quiet man who simply called himself a technician.
- - - - - -
The crackle of the campfire and the distant, haunting cries of wyverns faded into a heavy, absolute silence.
Min-jun didn't wake up back in the muddy fields of France. When his eyes flickered open, he was standing in a vast, infinite expanse of blinding, clinical white. There was no horizon, no sky—just a void of pure light that felt neither hot nor cold.
Standing alone in the center of this nothingness was a jagged, grotesque pillar of stone.
Min-jun's breath hitched. He knew that shape. It was a man's face, frozen in a perpetual, agonizing grimace, fused into the very granite of a jagged boulder. It was the "Yo Angelo" rock—the grim landmark of Morioh.
"An illusion?" he whispered, his voice echoing in the emptiness.
He walked toward it. The rock didn't feel malevolent; instead, it hummed with a strange, restorative frequency, a vibration that felt like a heartbeat. As he drew closer, he noticed the stone looked translucent at the edges, shimmering like a heat haze on a summer road.
He reached out. His fingers didn't meet the cold, rough surface of granite. Instead, his hand passed through the stone as if it were made of smoke. Inside the heart of the rock, suspended in a pocket of golden light, was an object.
Min-jun grasped it and pulled his hand back.
It was an arrow, but unlike any he had seen in the stories. The head was carved from a single, massive diamond, its facets catching the non-existent light of the void and refracting it into a million shimmering rainbows. The shaft was made of a gold-like alloy, etched with intricate, swirling patterns that pulsed with life.
The arrow was beautiful—until it began to move.
It wiggled in his grip, a sudden, frantic motion like a fish fighting a hook. Before Min-jun could react, the diamond tip jerked upward with a mind of its own. It lunged, a flash of crystalline light, and buried itself deep into his chest, piercing his heart.
Min-jun didn't scream. He didn't feel pain. Instead, he felt a sudden, violent surge of *wholeness*. It was as if every broken thing in his soul, every fragmented memory, and every drop of exhausted mana was being pulled together, mended, and forged into something unbreakable.
A blinding, sapphire-blue light erupted from the point of impact, consuming the white void. The air began to vibrate with a high-pitched, melodic hum, a sound that shifted from a whisper to a roar of pure, restorative power.
Amidst the brilliance, a new presence began to take shape behind him—strong, vibrant, and overflowing with a kindness that could mend the world.
Min-jun opened his mouth, his voice resonating with a new, authoritative clarity that shook the very foundation of the dream.
"**Kureijī Daiyamondo.**"