Fate/ Lost Post Ch 4

I do not own Mushoku Tensei nor anything by Type-Moon, including Fate.

This work was commissioned by Anon.

FATE/ Lost Post

Chapter 4

Images and sounds…

The booming clash of iron and steel reverberated around me like thunder. The distorted memories of a life I once lived batter my unconscious mind with fervour that leaves me reeling.

Throughout this maelstrom of endless sensory recall remains that single solitary hill, rust-red and engulfed in the halo of a horizon out of my reach.

“-ng master?”

The image fades, black encroaches, and the world shifts as what fell away to the depths of a mind filled with memories I call mine but struggled to bear all the same.

“Young master…”

A voice rings out in the dark, feminine, caring… and beckoning me away from the tumultuous recall.

How odd…

“… Rudeus? It’s nearly time for supper,” a gentle voice spoke above me. A hand resting atop my shoulder softly jostles me, rousing me from the recesses of my unconscious state.

My eyes open quickly, the dark room making it easy to adjust as I wake. Lilia is crouched beside me, her features shadowed by the gloom of the late afternoon… or was it evening? My head is dizzy, and my body feels… drained, but I seem fine otherwise.

My lips stick together; I moisten them as I meet Lilia’s gaze, “Lilia?”

“Good evening, young master. Did you have a pleasant nap?” Lilia asks, her words carrying a hint of teasing as she helps me sit up.

“Mm,” I reply words, feeling like too much effort. Lilia seems to become more amused as she helps me back onto my two feet.

“Well, I am glad you were just napping; we were starting to worry when we couldn’t find you,” Lilia tells me, brushing down her legs where she was crouched.

“Oh? Sorry,” again, my words come out slow, weighed down by my own tongue. A part of me rebels against the change in focus, desperately desiring nothing more than to chase down the errant thoughts of stray memories.

I shake it off; Archer’s memories will wait; I recall little as it is anyway.

“It’s alright,” Lilia reassures, “though I am curious about what has kept you up here all day, Rudeus.”

Lilia was looking around now; the set sun had cast the room in low light, leaving it duller than usual, an achievement considering this room was quite empty. Well, that might be a bit unfair. The desk and chair combo was well made, the design appealing enough, though my knowledge of furniture and woodcarving is, at best, near non-existent.

The books were the most exciting thing about this particular room.

“Hmm, what’s this,” Lilia hummed, moving to the side of the room near the chest. There, lying on the floor, still open, was the book on magic. “What’s this doing out… did you get this out, young master?”

I glance back her way; my eyelids feel leaden, and it is a struggle to think; my whole body feels exhaustion that goes down to my very bones. It is not difficult for me to conclude such a state is the result of my practising magic.

Recalling that Lilia had asked me a question, I nod, the act taking an inordinate amount of focus as I struggle to remain upright.

“Oh,” Lilia sounded amused, bending down to scoop the book up, “and what, pray tell, were you doing with this book, Rudeus.”

“Magic,” I mumbled, my eyes fluttering, wondering whether it might be worth asking Lilia to help me off to bed.

“Mag-“

I heard the sudden fluttering of paper, Lilia letting slip a small, quiet breath.

Concerned, I force my eyes open again and spot Lilia looking at the book’s cover, her violet eyes catching the dying light and reflecting a curious look and a narrowed gaze.

Then they shift to me.

Lilia’s gaze softens the sight of my tired form, forestalling her inquiries as she moves to scoop me up, my young body held easily in her arms.

She is… warm.

“I was not aware you could read, young master?” Lilia whispers, her voice low as she moves out of the office, her steps faint to my ears.

I can only nod; exhaustion refusing to be denied settles on me like a heavy blanket, and I feel my consciousness slip.

“What spell did you cast, young master? Lilia speaks up again, her voice forcing me awake, as I will not let her down despite my state.

“Water Ball,” I force out from behind uncooperative lips.

“I see.”

I know not what happened next, my body failing me as I drifted off to sleep again, thoughts of food and dinner forgotten.

I would not wake until the following day; it would be among my young life's most eventful.

---FATE/Lost Post---

Upon awakening, I found that the exhaustion I had endured the previous evening was completely abated, a long night's rest serving me well. Now, I found myself in the position of being eager for the day ahead. With my discovery of my abilities to wield magic and, more importantly, the magic I knew in my bones was the magic of Archer, my past life, I had work to do.

Knowing just how dangerous using magic could be, I would have to be alert from now on. My less than stellar attempt at Water Ball had left me seemingly alright, but that spell… the magic that had conjured that imitation of Paul’s sword…

How powerful was Archer that an incomplete spell casting could drive me into the depths of such bone-weary tiredness?

How powerful could I become?

With a plan in mind and tasks to complete, I hurried downstairs; at three, this meant cautiously hopping down the stairs so as not to kill myself, but the enthusiasm remained. Reaching the central area of the house, I was startled by the sudden excited explosion of movement that was my mother.

I had not taken two steps towards the table before she was in motion, and I found myself scooped up and held aloft, Zenith’s blue eyes awash with an almost palpable joy.

“Good morning Rudy! Guess what I heard,” Zenith cheered, twirling about with me held in her embrace.

The clueless, startled look on my face must have been answer enough because Zenith did not wait long before plopping me in a chair and crouching in front of me.

“So, is it true? Did you use magic yesterday?” Zenith asked, her hands resting on my much smaller knees. Though overwhelmed, I could not help but note my mother's glowing expression, the pure joy she felt all but permeating the air around her in an aura of giddiness.

Her eyes were filled with such… wonder… it was…

Confronting.

“Rudy?” Zenith pressed, “It's ok if you didn’t but-“

I nod my head quickly, not wanting to cause confusion.

Zenith proves she can display even greater joy as she quickly embraces me on the chair and lets a light squeal slip. I… I find myself looking about for a hint of what is happening as I am unsure what to do in this situation.

How… odd for me to be confronted with this degree of happiness.

It leaves me with a tangle of emotions I am in no way prepared to process, and as such, I settle for lightly patting my mother’s back.

“Oh, oh, will you show me, Rudy?” Zenith asks, pulling out of her embrace, now fidgeting.

I nod once more, seeing no issue with a short demonstration.

Zenith, with breakfast forgotten for the moment, takes me by my hands, and swiftly I am pulled outside. As we go, the last thing I see is Paul turning to Lilia, who is wearing a smile of her own.

His expression is not nearly so joyous but a mask of puzzlement, “I- but… We haven’t even taught him how to read?”

If their conversation continues, it is lost to me as I am outside with Zenith holding the Magic Manual I had been using to teach myself in her arms. I do not even recall her grabbing it. Swiftly, I find myself put safely in the centre of the yard; my body turned away from anything that could be damaged.

Zenith might be overestimating my skills as I look at a gap in the yard between the stable and the garden wall. Carravagio looks up, the horse seemingly interested in all the excitement, a short snort spearing from its nostrils as it observes all the movement.

I soon find myself as the centre of attention of both people and animals as my family are standing about watching, curious to see my supposed skill. Paul and Lilia stood off to the side, Lilia with polite interest and Paul looking stern-faced while still appearing attentive. Zenith was another matter entirely.

She sat behind me, holding open the book and talking to me with barely restrained energy. I wonder if it would be considered odd to think of my mother as adorable, but right now, there is no other word to describe her.

“Ok, Rudy, just do what you did yesterday, ok, give it your best shot!” Zenith encouraged, holding the book up so I could see the passage.

I gave her a nod before rereading the passage, my mind repeating what I could recall from the previous day.

When I had first attempted to cast the Water Ball spell, it had been a ways off what was described in the text. I thought about my mana, the unique feel of the energy as it moved through me, and how it flowed into my fingertips.

It was night and day when compared to the Trace spell I cast.

I needed my mana to move like that, not a slow, meandering flow but a surge, a rush of power guided as I willed it.

“Let’s give it a go,” I mumbled to myself, glancing one last time at the passage in the book and spotting the smile of my beaming mother.

A part of me… an old part, was left somewhat perturbed by the display of happiness and left me with a desire to try and… dissect the nature of it, but I rolled my shoulders and refocused on the task at hand.

I close my eyes and lift my hand as I had the day before, but I do not think of the words this time.

My mind instead focuses on the end goal.

I recall watching the water form before my outstretched hands, minuscule as they were; it was a solid proof of concept.

Then I thought of the eruption of power brought forth by those two words, which I knew in my very core belonged to Archer.

That had been the magic of my past life.

I needed my mana to flow like that.

With the picture of a fully realised Water Ball in mind, I began to speak, my eyes remaining closed as I felt my mana move.

“… Let the great protection of water be on the place thou seekest. I call a refreshing burbling stream here and now. Water Ball.”

It wasn’t nearly as slow as yesterday, but it was but was not equal to Archer’s spell.

But it was enough.

My magic moved, a rush lesser than it could be but more than it had been guided to my hand and shaped in my mind.

When I opened my eyes, there it was.

A ball of water, proving the spell was aptly named, hovering in front of my hand, burbling and rolling fluidly.

An excited squeal broke my focus as Zenith scooped me up, the spell broken, and the water cast across the grass in a light spray. Zenith was prancing about, twirling me happily and cheering boldly as she went.

“My little boy is a genius!” Zenith laughed elatedly, moving over to Lilia and Paul.

Lilia was smiling and politely clapping, and Paul had a scrunched look.

Or perhaps he was just constipated.

“Well done, young master,” Lilia said quickly, patting me on my head. My emotions finally caught up to me, and I felt a not-inconsiderate amount of pride bubble in my chest, my mind finally catching up to the praise Zenith and Lilia were presenting me with.

I… I liked this feeling, seeing them both happy… I liked this feeling a lot...

“Mm… guess he can do magic,” Paul grunted.

Paul was less enthused.

Paul’s reaction aside, Zenith had more than enough energy to compensate immediately going into talks of getting me a tutor. Zenith’s words only made Paul look more constipated, the man pulling himself up and crossing his arms.

“Zenith, we agreed if we had a boy, he would be a swordsman,” Paul lectured, making Zenith halt her celebrations. “You can't deny the boy’s interest in swords. Magic aside, he was born to be a swordsman,” Paul declared undoubtedly.

The atmosphere about us changed dramatically as Zenith quickly rose to stand, and Lilia was not far behind. “Paul… you can't be serious,” Zenith intoned.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Lilia said, half a beat behind Zenith.

Being confronted by the two women, Paul seemed to lose some of his momentum, his demeanour shifting instantly.

“What?”

Lilia’s tone leaves even me feeling pressured, “Do you not recall what happened the last time he picked up a sword?”

Lilia, her tone ever respectful, speaks up, “If you need a reminder, you need only look at your child’s eyes.”

Paul takes a step back, his arms raised.

“Whoa, now, I haven’t forgotten or anything but…” Paul takes a moment, probably assessing the situation as the two women stand protectively before me.

I am left with another peculiar emotion in my chest at the sight of the concern for my well-being on display… I am left wondering if this is because of my lack of knowledge or if my memories of Archer are messing with me.

“He collapsed, Paul! Just touching your sword left him unconscious on the floor, and if Lilia hadn’t heard the thud, who knows what would have happened?” Zenith bites back, worry and concern in every word.

“I know,” Paul replied, his brow furrowing.

“Then how could you still think that Swordsmanship is that path for him? Who knows what will happen if he picks up a sword again? I certainly don’t?” Zenith fired back, her stance unfaltering.

I recalled the spell I used, Archer’s spell, that summoned that replica of Paul’s sword, the weapon wreathed in blue floating before me.

What would have happened had I managed to successfully summon the weapon properly?

“I don’t know, okay!” Paul admitted, his arms thrown up, “But we can't just act like it didn’t happen either! We should at least… at least see what we are dealing with, observe with us present… Perhaps it’s a… magical ailment,” Paul finished his words, a strange mixture of fretful and determined.

I also noticed that he had chosen his last words carefully, having stopped to rethink his utterance. Perhaps my family had an inclination of what my issue with weapons was… maybe there was a precedent for my situation.

Was that good? Would it be better to know, to have some understanding of my situation… or would it be a damning nail in the coffin.

“Paul-“

“No, hear me out… this goes beyond me wanting him to be a swordsman; this is something…. Something important,” Paul iterated adamantly.

Lilia looked back at me, her face adorned by a comforting glance; no doubt she thought I might have been too young to understand what was happening. On the other hand, Zenith had a very conflicted look.

“But he is already talented at magic… why risk it?” Zenith tried one last time, causing Paul’s lips to thin.

Lilia cleared her throat, making both Greyrat’s look to her, “Perhaps… a compromise. We get Rudeus a magic instructor as Lady Zenith wishes… but at the same time, we should at least see if he can hold a sword; if he can, why not educate him in both?”

Zenith seemed to be mulling it over.

Paul moved.

Only a few moments later, he was back, his sword in his grasp, his grip as snug about it as its sheath.

“Paul-“

He silenced Zenith with a raised hand, placing the sword out on the grass before stepping away, “Zenith, be ready to cast healing magic, Lilia… stand close to him… be ready to catch him,” Paul ordered before standing so that he was directly across from me.

“Son… pick up the sword,” Paul instructed, his arms crossed, his green eyes piercing as he intensely observed me.

This was an experiment I quickly realised.

“… Rudeus, if you feel anything, let me know,” Zenith instructed me, shooting a fiery look at her husband.

“I’ll be right next to you, young master,” Lilia joined in.

I swallowed loudly; I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bundle of nerves. It was so peculiar to feel concerned despite that a part of me longed to draw nearer, to free the steel of the blade from its sheath.

I walked forward, and true to her word, Lilia was there right by my side. Zenith trailed us, and I could see her worrying her lip when I glanced back.

Paul was watching, but I could see his tenseness that betrayed his worries.

When I reached the sword, I could feel it again.

Reminiscence, nostalgia, a sort of vibe.

Echoes of Archer’s life bleeding into my new one.

I grasped the sheathed weapon; it was as heavy as I recalled and just as well made; even with the sheath concealing it, I could already feel the weapon.

My hand wraps about the hilt, and the world falls away.

I pull it free slowly; it is heavy in my grasp, and dragging it from the sheath requires considerable effort. But the ring of the metal as it pulls free is enough to keep me going, my hands warming to feel of the exposed blade.

My heart thrums in my chest, and I feel my mana stir as I witness… something.

Impulses of something not of myself or Archer but… of the sword.

I drop the now empty sheath, my newly free hand tracing the flat of the blade, the feel of the edge barely touching my fingers with the lightest of pressures as I admire the blade's sharpness.

I move as the blade remembers, and my hands glide to the hilt. Despite my size and strength, my two small hands are spaced apart to compensate as I hold the weapon aloft.

I wield it.

I see that rust-coloured hill, a sky filled with rolling clouds and broken light… I see something take its place in that soil, stabbed into the dirt.

My eyes open, and I behold Paul, his arms still crossed, his expression transformed.

His eyes dance over me, searching, but now there is a knowing in his eyes, and he nods.

“I will get him his magic tutor… we begin your training when they arrive.”

---FATE/Lost Post---

When I was Archer, the term mage conjured… an adverse array of feelings.

I was left with no small amount of worries while awaiting the arrival of my tutor, images in my mind practically willing themselves into existence.

Faceless figures with bodies piled behind them.

It would seem that the mages of my old world left a potent impression on me. A tower with a clock, jars upon jars filled with all manner of gruesome items. An array of corpses… brutalised in a manner of ways.

Malformed things attack me as I fly across the battlefield, my bow launching, twisting coiled arrows that explode with force and thunder.

Archer, it seemed, did not have a positive relationship with the mages of my old world. I did not know enough about this world to draw conclusions about those who occupied it, so I was left to worry and fret, urged on by old instincts that I couldn’t hope to control.

Then, the day at last came.

Despite my instincts warning me beforehand, I felt it irresponsible not to try and keep an open mind. Despite this, when the door opened, I was surprised all the same. I was not alone either; Paul and Zenith seemed startled, which did nothing to help my peace of mind.

The person before us looked to be nothing more than a young girl. She stood before us with little to her aside from a staff that set off alarm bells in my head and a suitcase I can only assume carried her belongings.

She was short, eclipsed in height by both Paul and Zenith. With her young looks, she also had a slight figure and pale skin. Her complexion was only emphasised by the fact that she had long, water-blue hair that hung down to her waist and tied back into two braids. Her eyes were of a similar shade of blue, only brighter.

Her attire was well made but matched little with what I knew of mages; she wore a black hat with a wide brim and a pointed tip that bent back, decorated with bands of white and bronze. Around her shoulders was a traveller cloak with a broad collar that encapsulated her neck; it had a light earthen colour and trailed down to her heels. Her clothes were well-tailored, better than others I had seen in town.

A dress of black and grey stopped above her knees with a shaped pattern cut into the hem. Over this, she whore a jacket of sorts that stood in stark contrast to her dress with an ivory white fabric accented with blue and held closed by polished bronze metal clips. Her shoes were leather boots with a notable heel that did little to add to her height, and at first, glance, were white leather of some sort with bronze accents at the toes.

“My name’s Roxy Migurdia; pleased to meet you,” the young girl greeted politely, removing her hat and holding it in front of her.

I would have expected seeing a young woman as my magic instructor to make my instincts settle some, as she did not appear overly threatening.

Somehow, they got even worse.

I quickly realised none of us had responded, as did my new magic instructor, who began to fidget on the spot, even playing with her bangs as she waited nervously.

“Oh… I take it you must be the home tutor,” Paul finally responded, clearly his mind still playing catch up.

“But aren’t you a little…” Zenith trailed off.

I kept my silence and settled for simply observing my eyes dancing between the girl's expression and the peculiar colour of her hair. Or was it peculiar? It’s not like I have met many people to be able to judge what is considered the norm.

Lilia has deep red hair; maybe that’s abnormal?

Either way, the young girl in question’s expression seemed to harden at Zenith’s sentence, incomplete as it was, the term ‘little’ clearly getting to her. It was impressive; her cross face was nothing to scoff at.

My instinct worsened once more… what the hell kind of trauma did I go through as Archer that a young mage girl made me so damn warry?

Or were mages from my old world just that damn dangerous?

Questions for later.

“So, where is this brilliant student of mine?” Roxy enquired, her cutting blue gaze searching for a person not present. I can't blame her as, again, I supposedly was not even old enough to be taught reading yet.

Likely, magic was above most in my age group.

“Oh! He’s right here!” Zenith explained, embracing me against Paul.

Roxy’s expression was not impressed.

The girl sighed, “Yeah… you hate to see it. Some kid shows signs of being an early bloomer, and their idiot parents think that means they're special.”

“What was that?” Zenith asked, face a mask of barely contained ire that made Roxy’s angry face look like it belonged to a kitten.

“Nothing! Umm… Just I’m not sure a boy your son’s age will be able to comprehend magic theory,” Roxy quickly corrected herself. Again, the girl would likely be correct in any other case; she just incidentally wound up dealing with me.

“Don’t you worry out, little Rudy here is a genius, you’ll see,” Zenith placated with pure, unfaltering confidence.

“I understand…” Roxy surrendered, picking up her staff and suitcase and walking off the porch, “I’ll do what I can.”

She made it to the bottom of the steps before she looked back, “Well? Are you coming?”

Oh, that was directed at me; I drop from my father's arms and hurry after her, my eyes dancing between her staff and her hair.

Soon enough, I sat on a chair while Roxy gave me what sounded like a cut-and-dry introductory lecture. The issue was it was covering information I was already well aware of, given my reading of the Magic Manual, but I maintained focus, not wanting to be rude.

“To start, I will demonstrate a basic incantation, so repeat after me,” Roxy finished her staff coming up as she turned away from me.

“Miss a moment?” I quickly cut in.

Roxy lowers her staff and glances back at me, her expression disinterested, “What is it?”

“Sorry, I just have a few questions,” I quickly iterate, not wanting to earn her ire but not wanting to pass up a chance to lay some long-standing questions of my own to rest.

“… *Sigh* fine, ask away,” Roxy nods.

“Thank you. Though you explained the three categories of magic, I have a question about mana itself, as in measuring the amount an individual possesses.”

Roxy looked at me with wide eyes and a look of pure confusion.

“… Pardon?”

I cleared my throat, “How does one measure the amount of mana they have? Are there units of measurement for it? Is there a set amount issued to spells? How do you calculate this…”

I trail off because Roxy now looks even more confused.

Right, a more straightforward question, “How do I work out how much mana I have.”

Roxy blinks once more but answers, “You should be able to feel your reserves as you use them; I suppose if you wished to measure your reserves, you could break it down into the number of spells you could cast…”

“Ok, and is there a set speed at which the mana in a body is recuperated, or does it vary from person to person,” This was information that Archer knew of as it was the basics of Magecraft, the essential observation and measuring of Od and Mana.

It tied into Magic Circuits, which seemed to be absent from my new body, and I remember the mana of my world mattering as Mages built their workshops in areas of dense mana for their… experiments.

Roxy was again baffled.

So that settles it. Mages of this world subscribed to an entirely different set of knowledge or had yet to progress their understanding to a degree comparable to mine. It was a terrifying thought, considering I recalled that I was not much of a mage by my world’s understanding of it.

My skill lay more in the realm of… killing.

“L-look kid, I don’t understand what you are asking me here,” Roxy finally admitted, her features scrunched up quite noticeably, her grip on her staff tight.

“… How do incantations work,” I asked.

“Sorry?” Roxy asked, now looking very put upon.

“… Why do you have to say the incantation?” I ask finally.

At this, Roxy’s confusion is transformed, “Well, how else are you going to cast… Look, perhaps a demonstration will help. Here, I will cast, you observe, and then we can take a crack at those questions, OK?”

“All right,” I surrender, sitting back to watch her cast.

A moment later, Roxy is darting over to save one of my mother's prized trees that she just happened to bifurcate. However, this was useful as it allowed me to see that Roxy could also use Healing Magic, much like my mother.

“R-right, perhaps you should have a go now…” Roxy quickly directed. I wasn’t foolish enough to miss that she was doing so to avoid my enquiries, but I was willing to accept she didn’t know.

Hopefully, I didn’t show my hand too much; my instincts from Archer were screaming caution at the mere idea of a Mage not knowing something.

Standing up, I set myself to the task at hand, recalling that the spell Roxy had used to devastate my mother’s prized flora was Water Ball. Thinking about it, I don’t think I have ever actually launched that spell; my focus has always been too preoccupied with actually feeling the mana.

I closed my eyes as I had when I showcased my ability to my family, focusing on the mana in my body and calling it forth. This time, I knew how it was supposed to feel, making the matter far easier. The flowing nature of the spell brought forth my mana like a tide of potential yet to be realised.

I opened my eyes to begin the incantation…

And there at my fingertips… a ball of water, proving the spell was aptly named, hovering in front of my hand, burbling and rolling fluidly.

But… I hadn’t recited the incantation yet.

“W-w-what! What the-“

Oh right… mage.

Archer’s instincts were screaming at me.

They were nearly as loud as Roxy’s shocked exclamations.

I felt a headache coming on.

A.N.

Hey everyone, so cool update here; with the benediction of Anon, this little piece will now be releasing early right here on Patreon.

Fate/ Lost Post is an important fic to me as it allows me to challenge my creative focus, letting me not only take a pause from writing G.N. but also practice writing something to a set design.

Anon is also exceptionally focused on his design, making the writing process an all-around intriguing endeavour as I adhere to the grand plan. Hehe.

Anyway, those of you who like a little variety can look forward to this from now on, so please enjoy. Though updates for this one will remain… sporadic, seeing as I haven't even seen the second damn Season of M.T. yet… I haven’t even played Cyberpunk yet, even though I bought it…

I cry… oh well, Ima go have a sandwich!

Until next time!