Res Publica: A Quest of Ancient Rome

Guess that's as good enough a cue as any.



"Our assailant waited for Kiritsugu to leave so they could mount a direct attack. More dishonorable conduct from this war."

Artoria looked up from the collapsed Irisviel to the forest outside the castle, where an army marched through the bounded field.

As Artoria rushed to the entryway to the castle, armor fully manifested, she saw Roman soldiers lining the foyer entrance. Every eighty men was joined by a man with metal greaves and a feather crested helm. "Caster's army." But they were not in the tight, dense squares of a unit about to enter battle. Instead in two long columns, less a battle formation… than an honor guard.

A man in a toga stepped into the room and gestured grandly, his nearly feminine high-pitched voice carrying surprisingly well.

"HAIL THE GREAT IMPERATOR! HAND OF MARS! SCION OF MINERVA! VOICE OF APOLLO! PRINCEPS AUGUSTUS PATER PATRIAE QUINTUS CINGULATUS ATELLUS IMPERATOR GALLICENSIS!"

"HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!"

Each shout was punctuated by synchronized stomping of feet and the beating of shields from the legionaries.

As the chanting fell away, the herald fell to one knee as before a lord, and Artoria looked down the lines of armored men to catch sight of a young man entering at a stately pace.

He was clad in Tyrian purple robes embroidered in gold, his head concealed by a hood. A prominently displayed knife on his hip was the only indication of weaponry on him Artoria could see; the Caster of Rome completely at ease in in the face of a Servant from the class designed to beat him.

"Caster, what is your business here?"

The man chuckled. "Even in this era, the best of men cannot escape their titles." He extended his right hand, as if offering charity. "I greet you, King of the Britons. And you as well, Lady Irisviel Von Einzbern. I have come to make a proposal of peace and goodwill."

Artoria raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

The mage chuckled in response. "Well, a man of my standing must always go with a certain amount of protection and ceremony when he is away from his home. As do all rulers… but that would be the subject of tonight's feast."

The emperor spread his arms wide as if to encompass the vista around him, eying the entrance hall's decorations like an art critic in an auspicious gallery. "The gothic architecture is quite lovely. This marvelous tiled floor, the crystal chandeliers make the room awash with light, the gold-plated railing are pleasing to the eye, and as a Roman I cannot help but appreciate these marble busts and bronze statuary. With but a few additional items, your banquet hall would be set for hosting royalty indeed." He then inclined his head, the closest Artoria knew he'd ever get to bowing. "Lady Irisviel Von Einzbern, may I impose upon you to have your castle serve as the location for my little gathering? I swear on my honor before Juno that I shall restore the castle to its former state, no trickery or magecraft done."

"Saber…" Artoria narrowed her eyes. Irisviel was still weak from the toll of being the vessel for the Holy Grail's defeated servants, and kept a hand on Artoria's shoulder for support as she stood. She was unsteady on her feet, wincing in pain. Still, Artoria could see no dishonesty in the priest.

"Very well. But tread carefully, Roman. I will not tolerate treachery in my master's home."

Artoria could see the small grin from beneath the Caster's hood.

"Splendid. Centurion?"

One of the more ornate men stepped forward and saluted. "Yes, my Emperor."

"Take your men and locate a suitable room for the banquet. And assign someone to begin the assessment of the castle repairs."

"Yes, my Emperor." The man saluted then turned to the two columns of men. "Alright you lot, you heard your commander! Spread out and find a big room for the banquet. And no looting, damn it! We're the hosts, what kind of hosts steals from his own home, particularly before he has guests over!? You there, Marcus. Pick twenty men and get documenting the damage for the engineers. I want this place looking fit enough to be a Roman palace! Because it is now! Move, move, move!"

Like a well-oiled machine, some legionaries marched back to the doorway and stood sentry, while the rest set their shields and arms down at the ends of the hallway, then took off up the stairs and down the branching hallways, shouting out reports to officers carrying pen and parchment.

Behind the soldiers came, to Saber's keen eyes, less-professional looking men. Rather than armor, they wore brightly-colored tunics. Their long hair was braided, and their beards and mustaches were all rough-looking. These kinds of men Saber could easily imagine facing from the Saxon or Pict invasions.

"Gee Chief Veniximaeus, this place sure looks fancy. So much gold! It really sparkles next to those glowing things." A man with arms as thick as wine barrels and a chest like an ox marveled at the castle. "Hey Gobanitio, take your sandals off and feel this rug! It's like a cloud!"

"Those are tamed nature spirits, Segovax. Don't touch them, or you'll get burned." A man whose aged beard belied his fitness gave a reply that to Artoria sounded somewhat rehearsed, familiar.

"Seems like a waste of a candle. Disrespectful too."

"They last longer than a candle, and only blow out when you want them to." The third figure, Gobanitio, chided good-naturedly.

"Oh, oh, oh! Do you think they have more baths?"

"Yes Segovax, they'll have baths." Gobanitio pointed at her and Irisviel. "Just ask the chief's permission first."

"Um… Chief? Chief's wife?" The large man self-consciously ran his hand through his hair. "What time do I need to show up in order to use your baths?"

Gobanitio laughed. "They're not Roman baths, Seggy, they're like the ones the new kid had. One person only."

"I am no mere chief." Artoria corrected. The warrior was clearly of strong body, but simple mind. "I am a king."

"Oh! So you are a chief!"

Irisviel held a hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle a giggle. Artoria concealed her exasperation at the scene unfolding in front of her, but looked over worriedly as her Master's laugh broke off into a cough. The homunculus waved her off, though Artoria remained concerned but returned her attention to the warriors in front of her.

"He's a Servant. Like you, but smarter," The elder warrior Veniximaeus corrected his subordinate this time. "That one is clearly the Chief's wife, but the Chief's not here."

Artoria saw Segovax think about that information for a long time, before realization seemed to come over his features and a sneaky look came over his face. "Ah, and look how the wife is leaning on the warrior. Clearly they were doing something… naughty." He then turned to Artoria and Irisviel, and cupped his hand around his mouth, as if to somehow deaden his boisterous voice. "Don't worry, we won't tell if you won't."

The wink he added to that was Artoria's last straw. "I am insulted and outraged that you'd imply I'd seduce another man's wife! You will address her as Irisviel Von Einzbern, or Lady, or better yet not at all!"

"Uh…" Irisviel hesitantly spoke up. "Just speak with one of the maids, and they'll show you to a bath."

"Woohoo! Bath time, here I come!" Artoria tried not to think about how gleefully the Gaul ran down the hall, the filth he might be tracking into the mansion, and how he'd conduct himself around the homunculus maids.

"Saber." Artoria turned her attention to Emperor Caster, still standing in the middle of the foyer as more soldiers streamed in. "I had hopes the discussion of kingship would have a genteel air rather than a martial one. Would you consider changing back into your suit rather than your armor?

"I'll keep it on." Artoria growled.

Atellus gestured widely, palms open. "As you wish… king."

******

A few hours later, Artoria sat next to Irisviel as the Roman banquet was laid out before her. But despite the cornucopia of foods, her attention was only for Irisviel; her master was laying down on one of the couches, her head resting almost in Artoria's lap. Saber ran her hand through her pale locks of hair, fighting a grimace noticing how strained the Homunculi's breathing was. The scene was hauntingly reminiscent to Artoria of an earlier time when she had been in the same pose trying to offer comfort to Guinevere, as helpless now as she had been ignorant then.

A pointed reminder on the eve of a supposed discussion of her 'kingship' of how those near her always suffered as she carried out her duties. Saber was taken out of her ruminations as one of the servants brought yet another dish to her place, this one some sort of beef-meatball dish she didn't recognize.

The table the food rested on was set off in center of the three U-arranged couches. Atellus' side held three servants with food and drink, her end had two sets of servants for Iri and herself, and the middle held a fifth set for a guest she only surmised would yet arrive. It did not escape Artoria's notice that these women were all attractive and dark-skinned, though the ones assigned to her and her master had been unintrusive, waiting off to the side.

"Now then, King of the Britons." Artoria turned to face the Emperor as he polished off a glass of wine. "The Grail War is a contest of arms, a test of prowess and cunning to fuel a miraculous wish given to the winner. I would choose another path, one that does not rely on the bloodthirsty temperaments of these secluded old men. If all remaining servants can agree to a criteria that can be fairly judged, then the war is at an end. And the victor's wish swiftly granted."

"And you've chosen me as your first opponent." Artoria did not trust the emperor for one moment. His mysterious defeat of Rider, how the two vanished into thin air, before reappearing an hour later with Rider's master in tow as some sort of supplementary mana source-slash-aide.

Atellus grinned like a wolf with its prey in front of it. "Your pride as a knight and king won't allow such a challenge be unmet. And yet," He reclined back to retrieve a plate of grapes, and when he sat back up his mood was one of casual ease. "This is more a 'Holy Grail Debate.' By the end of the meal, we shall all know the others' worth. And our own."

"That is quite enough hot air from you, mongrel."

"Archer, why are you here?" Artoria turned to see the golden-haired and armored Servant reclining back, already gesturing for a cup of wine.

"The royal archer is our third and final guest!" Atellus replied excitedly, before turning to Archer. "Fashionably late, as is your wont."

"Surely you don't mean to hold a feast of kings in this depressing excuse for a palace. How do you intend to make amends for dragging me out here?"

"Come now, my good king. Drink up, enjoy the… company."

Artoria felt her blood boil at the way Gilgamesh's eyes roved over the servant girls surrounding him. One knelt to pass him a goblet of wine, her face steeled and still as granite. Archer sipped once. Then took a second. "Barely adequate, mongrel. This is the drink of royalty."

From the golden portals of Gate of Babylon, similarly colored pitchers and cups emerged on the servants' plates.

"Wine, swords, jewels, and the best of all things are within my treasury. This alone proclaims me as the one true king."

"Again with that claim. Why does it follow me?" Artoria heard Atellus murmur. He took a strong gulp of Gilgamesh's wine. Artoria took one herself, and found herself surprised by how rich and flavorful it was.

"Yes, this is fit for only the finest rulers. But mere food and drink is not what shall decide this contest. I propose that motive be the deciding factor, and we all share and compare ours. As the first to speak of his kingship, would it not be fitting for you to start us Archer?

"You speak of 'fitting' yet if you could discern anything of worth you would yield, recognizing the True King before you." Gilgamesh gave a lazy glare to the emperor as he drank his wine. "I certainly see no reason to entertain your proposal! We're all fighting for the Holy Grail, motive is irrelevant. But even if we did hold them in high regard, it does not change the fact that the Grail is mine by right, as is every treasure the world over."

Artoria couldn't tell if Atellus was mostly taken aback, or if he was almost successful in concealing his glee.

"Ah, then you could summon it with your Noble Phantasm? Detail its composition? Its true appearance?

Archer scoffed. "You overstep yourself. I have restrained myself out of respect for hospitality, in spite of the paltry display before us is, but do not think I cannot see your covetous eye, nor how you try to lead me on. My treasury has long been uncountable for even my mind. However, that something is considered valuable is all that's needed for it to be mine. Only the most foolhardy of thieves would claim that something of mine is theirs. There is no reason for my desiring the Grail."

Artoria shook her head. "Apparently this servant suffers from delusions."

Gilgamesh gave her a nonplussed look, reminding her of one of the 'meme' portraits Irisviel had shown her while browsing her 'smartphone'. "Were you really such a poor and ignorant child that to behold the king who sat atop gods is as a figment of the mind?"

Artoria noticed Atellus' smile was open and unrepentant. Had he trapped Archer somehow?

"No Saber, I think that's just him being him. And I am absolutely certain of his true name as well. Which means, King of Uruk," Atellus turned to face Archer. "Your statement that you have no motive for the grail is a lie!"

Archer frowned. "Who gave you the authority to make such a bold claim, mongrel? I'll have you know the punishment for those who steal from the king is the same as those who would slander him."

"And I would ask of you the same: Under what justice would you have me condemned?"

Gilgamesh merely smirked. "The law I enacted as a king still stands. Humanity has degraded, but none shall avoid being held to account. As the king stands, and so does his justice and his judgment."

"Yes, just like you enacted the law concerning the Right Of First Night."

"It would be an honor to be chosen by the king to bless their lineage," Archer said matter of factly."

Artoria shot to her feet. "HE DID WHAT?"

Atellus turned to Artoria and shrugged. "Why do you think the gods of Mesopotamia sent the beast who would become his 'only friend'?"

She turned to the King of Heroes, who was looking very murderously at Atellus. "You're Gilgamesh?"

"Yes, I was quite surprised by the lack of braided hair, long beard, and great musculature as well."

"The egoism of kings that followed me, projecting their likeness onto my features in hopes it would reflect some of my grandeur back onto them."

While Artoria looked agog at the two of them, Atellus sighed.

Artoria noticed a new servant walking into the room with a tray holding a pitcher of wine and some goblets. But what stood out was her dress and stature. The girl was very young, almost younger than Artoria when she pulled the sword of selection from the stone. Second, the white toga she wore dragged along the ground like it was made for a taller person and had a hood-like veil concealing her features. She walked with a slow, sedate pace of ritualized formality, yet Artoria could see her hands were tightly gripping the tray, her knuckles white.

Then the suspicious servant tripped, dropping the tray with a clatter and sending the wine splattering everywhere. But Artoria could tell it was all a feint, and the servant's intentions were made clear by the bulge within the folds of her outfit poking out along the back. A bulge she recognized from her years at court: A concealed long knife.

Her suspicions were confirmed as she saw the servant slip a hand behind her back the other ripping off her veil and throwing it toward Atellus' face. Artoria's eyes widened, and she shouted "Caster, behind you!" Yet for some reason, Atellus did not move. But before she could leverage herself up and charge the assailant, the servant drew the knife and lunged off her bended knee like a sprinter. "DIE ROMAN OPPRESSOOOOOOOOH!" To Artoria's amazement, the girl tripped on her toga, and fell flat into the spilled wine, sliding under Atellus' couch and into the middle of the three Servants. Atellus himself merely removed the article of clothing from his face and grinned.

"Hello Visellia Tertia. I was wondering where the daily stabbing attempt was."

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, a show of great surprise for him. "You keep this one around?"

Atellus nodded. "Oh yes. Unlike you, I am not one to trifle with gods, and by showing mercy and fairness to the defeated, others are encouraged to bend the knee."

"Weakness from a mongrel. How utterly unsurprising." Gilgamesh shook his head like a parent admonishing a child. "If you annihilate them, and make an example of any survivors, then your fear will bring the others into line."

"Tried that once." Atellus waved Gilgamesh's insult off as Veniximaeus silently entered, picked up the priestess like a sack of flour, and carried the kicking and screaming bundle out of the room. "Not worth losing veterans to farmhands and fishwives with nothing left to lose. In any case," Atellus readjusted his position. "If motive is not a valid reason for you, then another must be found." He snapped his fingers. "What about the nature of a true leader, and which of us embodies it?"

"Then I am, as always, the superior to you mongrels." Gilgamesh confidently replied. "I am absolute, immutable and flawless. My title is King of All Heroes and Possessor of All Treasures. It is only by my strength that humanity survived the predations of the earth, and so all accomplishments since are mine to claim. All Servants from the Throne of Heroes are my subjects, all Noble Phantasms but a drop in my treasures. I alone am the true measure of worthiness in this world."

He then finished his wine glass, and glared at Atellus. "And you are no Enkidu."

Atellus sighed. "Yes, I am no friend of yours." He then turned to his other guest. "Well King of Knights, what say you? What is the nature of a leader?"

Artoria knew the answer to this since Merlin had appeared before her on that fateful joust. "To be a king is to not be human."

Atellus blinked. "You'll have to explain that to me."

"To unite fractious, warring times, there can be no room for error. The king must settle disputes and destroy invasions. By getting results without fail, even those who resent the king will fall in line."

Atellus looked at her contemplatively. "And what does that cost?"

Artoria started at the red liquid in her cup for a long moment. "... All wars have victims. One must minimize that cost, but to eliminate them entirely is something beyond even a miracle. For the enemy to be most efficiently and utterly crushed, sometimes ground must be given."

Atellus nodded. "Trading space for time to muster forces is a universal stratagem." Artoria didn't think her redirection fooled him.

"You, a perfect king. Such an arrogant woman you are." Gilgamesh's tone held not only his usual disdain, but an air of… interest that sent slivers of ice down her spine.

"Very interesting answers, you two." Atellus politely interrupted. "Say, I think one other person should contribute here. Veniximaeus," Atellus called out into the next room. "What would you say of being a merciful man to your soldiers?"

"If you're not willing to fire a volley of arrows into a melee engagement with your own men in it, you're not fighting to win." Was his prompt reply. After a pause, the man added, "However, a soldier will only complain about such things so long as they're given good food and prompt pay."

Atellus chortled. "Ah, never change Veniximaeus. Never change." Artoria wondered if the Gallic mercenary would have been willing to serve as a knight, had he lived in her time. Gilgamesh just drank his wine and ignored it all.

"Well, I should give my own answer." Atellus handed his cup back to a servant, then leaned forward. "It's in my titles, you see. Princeps. Pater Patriae." Artoria remembered from her Latin lessons under her father what those meant. 'First Citizen'. 'Father Of The Fatherland'. "I am not a god, nor a demigod of any stripe. I am just the man the people chose to guide them."

"Heh. For someone claiming a higher authority as 'emperor', you even admit you're nothing more than a slightly bigger dog."

"Well, even an emperor needs the people's support, Gilgamesh. After all…" Atellus jabbed an accusing finger at Gilgamesh. "Wasn't it because your people beseeched the gods' intervention for your injustices that Enkidu was sent out?"

"And when the gods' supposed check on me saw me as a worthy leader, it made their complaints rather foolish. And what grounds does someone who seized the reins of power have to complain about my supreme self?"

Atellus nodded begrudgingly. "Yes, I took power by military force, however implied. The same as my predecessor, and the one before him. However, the difference between me and them is that I had the will and support of the Roman people." Atellus chewed on a grape before continuing. "We had kings once, you know. Absolute monarchs. But Rome did away with them for that much power in the hands of one man was too reliant on character. The Republic honored the will of the Roman Citizens. Noble and commoner alike were represented. A Dictator, an Emperor, these were merely people temporarily given the power to fix the system in a time of crisis… that lengthened and lengthened in duration. "

"It is human nature to demand a strong ruler." Artoria stated, shaking her head.

"That's just it though." Atellus replied. "The people have to want it, and keep wanting it. If a leader simply demands extraordinary things with no thought to their subordinates, then they will become only a leader of one person: Themselves."

Artoria nodded. "That is acceptable. A king will sacrifice herself for her beliefs. To rule a country is to give up living for oneself. You-"

"That is Merlin talking."

Artoria was shocked to silence momentarily at Atellus' interruption. Merlin? The man who mentored her? What did he have to do with this?

"Look, Arthur Pendragon, Artoria I should say, this is the problem with the Christianity of your time and the Hellenic religion of mine."

"What does religion have to do with this?"

As Atellus began his explanation, Artoria couldn't help but be reminded of her own mentor. "Merlin trained you to be a saintly king. A godly king. A king as close as possible to the omnipotent, perfect, and utterly inhuman God that arose after my time. And you were, absolutely. Nobody in your court found fault with you."

A perfect opposite of her mentor.

If you draw that sword, you will no longer be human.

"By contrast, every hero and god of the ancient world, as far back as Gilgamesh's time, is someone who is larger than life, every vice and virtue of humanity taken to the extreme. You think I overlook the fact Jupiter is a serial rapist when I make my sacrifices to him?"

A miracle has a price. In exchange, you will lose the thing most important to you. You will be resented by all the world, and die a miserable death.

"Merlin made you sublimate any trace of Artoria the girl in order to make Arthur the King who would be the last gasp of the gods to live in peace with humanity. And in the end, he made you a damn martyr, like you medieval Christians love so much."

No. Many people were smiling. If I can make people happy, I'm sure it's not the wrong decision.

"And that's not something that the common man can easily latch onto. A Roman citizen could look up at me and see the path they themselves could follow in, to one day stand where I stood. But how can anyone look up to you, the perfect king?"

If the king is perfect, you shouldn't have any complaints towards him.

"Artoria Pendragon. King of Chivalry. You gathered the finest knights, built the Round Table, crushed Saxon invasions, and created an empire that superseded the Burgundian puppets of the Western Empire. From Ireland to the frozen northlands to the southern forests of Gaul, all followed you. But what happened next?"

I was happy just being in your shadow. Yet you never turned around to face me!

"You never led them. You never showed them the way to act. The Round Table was the example people followed! And when that was shattered, you never picked up the pieces."

"King Arthur does not understand human feelings."

"You were content to stand alone and composed, preferring your own private delusion. You are, now as ever, the same naive little girl that did everything Merlin asked of you. Artoria Pendragon, you are no leader."

There was only one reason I would not give you the throne. You didn't have the capacity of a King.

Artoria's tears were interrupted by the feeling of a blade at her throat. As she focused on her surroundings, she saw everyone else in the room held hostage with blades to their throats as well. Individuals in black bodysuits and skull-face masks filled the room. Irisviel looked fearfully at her as a lithe feminine figure holding her shoulder firmly and kept her blade pressed firmly to Iri's armpit, likely aiming for the Axillary artery. Yet, Artoria could see that Atellus and Gilgamesh were completely calm. Gilgamesh didn't even seem to acknowledge their presence, while Atellus appeared like a man given a pleasant surprise.

"Well now, I do not remember buying this many Persian slaves. And you do not carry the poisoned blades of Visellia Tertia. Are you all our new guests?"

"We are the one, who has become many. We are the many, who are one Servant." The voice was masculine, yet mixed with many pitches and tones, and Artoria couldn't pin down who it came from.

"Tokiomi degrades himself yet again by consorting with you assassins." Gilgamesh grumbled, before taking a large quaff of his wine.

"We are His Shadows."

"Ah, a symbolic representation of Hassan-I-Sabbah's group being many identical and unknown individuals stuck into a single Assassin container. Marvelous what the Throne of Heroes can come up with." Atellus was still at ease in his demeanor. "Now then, Servants of Islam. I know your religious tenants forbid you from drinking, but we have non-alcoholic wine and fine bread. Princeps Atellus welcomes you to this banquet. This Holy Grail Discussion would concern you as well. Come, recline, eat, drink, and be mer-"

In one fluid motion, the throats of every servant and slave in the room was slit at once. Artoria made to pull Irisviel away from her Assassin, but the two threatening them both merely tightened their grip. While Artoria might survive due to her nature as a Servant, it would debilitate her enough that she wasn't sure she could save Irisviel without hurting her or being faster than the assassin. And then there was the toll the mana for regenerating and the subsequent combat would take on her…

Atellus frowned, staring at the bleeding corpses on the floor as they slowly disintegrated into mana.

"Aelia was due for her contract being re-negotiated. Marcus was going to take his daughter Juliana to a local cultural festival. Livia worked customer service for a communications company from the estate, and was due for a raise. We were going to celebrate little Prisca's fourteenth birthday this weekend."

Artoria could now see behind the philosopher and orator the man who succeeded Octavius Augustus and wrestled Mark Anthony for the throne of Rome. A face of marble promising only ruthless retribution.

"So be it, Assassins."

A roar of wind enveloped the room.

"One final question tonight, my guests, before I deal with our very rude intruders. Does the absolute ruler, king, saint, or emperor, stand alone?"

Father...

She had to hold on. It was all she had. "For the king, there is no other way."

Atellus shook his head. "I see we shall have to have some remedial instruction, Artoria. Merlin's grip on you is still strong."

A flash of light enveloped the room, and Artoria's vision whited out. When she recovered her sight she stood in an open field.

"I am Emperor. I am the head of the state. But what is the state but the people within it? I was called by the people, and so to thunderous applause I rung down the Republic and ushered in the Empire. And it is the people of the empire that made me, made Rome, what I am.

IMPERIUM TRUMPHUS!"

"A… Reality Marble? He has a forbidden magecraft like that as a Noble Phantasm?" Irisviel tugged at the fresh green grass, scarcely believing this was Caster's power.

"Welcome, Irisviel and Artoria, to the plains of Gaul. Here, Samnite, Gaul, German, Iberian, Carthaginian, and many others fought and died. Thus, it was preserved in our souls forever more. The world knew far and wide what was done here, because I made sure they never forgot."

Taking in the vista around her Artoria saw arrayed around a hill an army far larger than the one that had invaded her master's doorstep. Glancing behind her she could see the Assassins grouped together in the empty field, further past them a familiar mass of long-haired men with wild eyes on horseback at full gallop charging down upon them.

"The empire was defined by the foreign people it conquered, both those who served as true allies and those who honorably stood in the way of our armies. This was the life I embodied, so too did the people who met Rome."

"HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!" The assembled Legion beat their shields and cheered wildly.

"Dead or alive, I made sure they followed me into the future. The Samnite Legion, the Effective Mercenary Company of Veniximaeus, the last High Priestess of Mephitis, the Shadow of the Pentri. All tied to me."

"HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!" Behind the Assassins Artoria could even see the Gallic cavalry cheering wildly.

"Therefore, the answer to my question is thus: An absolute leader is never alone, for enemies and allies alike surround him!"

"HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!"

Atellus exhaled like a boulder had been taken off his shoulders. Then he met the gaze of the Assassins. "You have nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Ours numbers are greater than yours. Mortal they may be, but you cannot best them all in open battle."

He raised his hand, extended his thumb and then sliced it down.

With a great roar, both contingents of the army charged forward. Some of the Assassins tried to flee to the sides, but to Artoria's eyes, the wind sweeping over the left flank was suddenly tinged with rolling clouds of black smoke which gave all but one of the Assassins pause, the stupid, overconfident, or desperate one entering the noxious cloud.

"Foolish Roman, making me do your dirty work for you." A young girl in white clothing stepped forward from the smoke, seemingly unaffected by the gases that the Assassin who ran into it choked on. The Assassin spat up blood, then collapsed to the ground, twitching in his death throes. As she turned to face the Caster who summoned her, Artoria saw a sign hung around her neck. Written upon it in gold Latin script read: 'Spared from fire and pillage by the grace of Quintus Cingulatus Atellus.' "Are you trying to make me kill you even more?"

"But my dear Tertia, I do so enjoy your tests of my security."

"IDIOT ROMAN! ONE OF THESE DAYS I'LL MAKE YOU CHOKE ON THOSE WORDS AND MAKE YOU REGR-!"

Tertia's vicious tongue-lashing was interrupted as short lived clouds of dust kicked up by horse hooves upwind of the poison cloud came into view. They were the only warning before cavalry surged in a coordinated sweep of the plains, the swift pass killing two of the slower assassins, one impaled by a spear, another decapitated by the sword.

One choose to retaliate, jumping atop a horse and wrestling the rider, but one of his fellow riders in close formation slammed a spear through the Assassin's head before he could bring his blade to bear. They spasmed briefly before the body was thrown off into the stampeding hooves of the charge.

Another disappeared in the confusion, only to reappear after the waves of horsemen, breaking into a mad run towards the source of the poisonous smoke. His sprint covered about five hundred yards before the assassin collapsed as if had been slammed by a hammer. Over his prone form towered a different shadow, a trained killer of different origin and allegiance before diving into the grass disappearing as swiftly as he appeared.

On the other flank, two more fell victim to different shadows, one briefly parrying his assailant before two more piled on him. The one to deliver the final blow rising to his feet and flicking his short sword to get rid of the blood. "What happened to not harming women and children, Arabs? Did you forget that part of your oaths?" The man in his mid-fifties growled in annoyance, seeing his comrades catch another of the enemy killers before he signaled them not to pursue further.

He let them run, but not escape. They simply fled into the lethal range of archers and crossbow bearing mercenaries. Living but minutes more.

Scattering hardly served them better as the Gaulic cavalry made a second pass between volleys, this time closing ranks, leaving no space where one could escape.

And those few who escaped the cavalry, the legion were already positioned to cut down like wheat before the scythe.


*****

When the Reality Marble dispersed, Gilgamesh retrieved his wine and tableware through his Gate of Babylon. "That was an amusing enough distraction, Mongrel."

Atellus grinned. "Gilgamesh, one query before your departure?"

Gilgamesh paused. "Very well. The king shall be generous to this mongrel. Just this once."

"You are the son of the demi-god king Lugalbanda, and the goddess Ninsun, yes?"

"What of it?"

"So are yourself not a mongrel?"

Before Artoria could blink, she could see a weapon in Gilgamesh's hand. The handle was golden, but the lance-like 'blade' was black with red designs that resembled magical circuits.

Was it…

"You…" When Gilgamesh turned, Artoria was taken aback by how utterly demonic he looked. "YOU DARE!"

Atellus grinned smugly. "Master, I believe the banquet has ended." And with that, he and all the items he brought with him disintegrated into astral forms. As Gilgamesh shot off through the roof and out of the bounded field, screaming about divine vengeance, Artoria could only lean on Irisviel for support. Gilgamesh was the strongest servant in the war by far, but Atellus… he may very well be the most dangerous.

Next time, on Fate/Atellus:

A man made a god, and a god of men fight.

"Your doom is nigh!"
But a pawn in their games has her own plan.
"I offer… everything I have left… to you, my lord."
Such a lust for revenge can only grow…
"I want the world to burn. This unclean abomination must be purified in blood and fire!"
When it meets a counterpart across time and space.
"I would be a very poor priest if I did not tell you of our incubating god."


A/N: So about a a year ago in April, I read the amazing Fate/Hollow Order. Around that same time I was reading this quest, so I figured I had to do something Fate related... and then I saw the perfect servant to inspire this version of Atellus. @Telamon loved the sheet I made, so I kept going into this. A few tweaks later, much learning about Roman names and culture, four hours of religious transcription, and here we are. I'll post his character sheet and Fate/Grand Order dialog tomorrow, so for now... enjoy Palpatine!Atellus.