"Mm!!"
The instant the grilled fish touched her tongue, Cha Hae-In's eyes flew wide, as if someone had lit a galaxy inside them. She clapped a hand over her mouth in delighted disbelief, then stared down at the fish in her hands—its charred, fragrant skin still sizzling with aroma.
"This is so good! The skin is crisp in exactly the right way, and the meat inside is springy—it has real bite. Every mouthful bursts with this fresh, savory juice… and this unique spice blend, too. It brings out the fish's sweetness perfectly! I've never had grilled fish this good in my entire life!"
Just like Sung Jinwoo the first time, Cha Hae-In had been properly frightened by the thing's grotesque, almost feral appearance—the warped shape, the leftover scales, the jagged bony spines. Nothing about it looked like food that belonged in a human mouth. She'd wrestled with herself, torn over whether she could even swallow it.
But all hesitation and fear evaporated the moment she forced herself to take that first bite. One second was all it took. She was conquered.
"Lunch is easy enough," Scáthach said, explaining as she went. "Drinks, though—that's a problem in the Land of Shadows. I can't exactly have you drinking the river water here. Over endless years, these waters have soaked up too much death and resentment. For the living, it's nothing but harm."
As she spoke, she reached into Sung Jinwoo's backpack and pulled out bottle after bottle of drinks. They were all supplies he'd brought in himself. He'd spent time in the Land of Shadows before—he knew that if you wanted water here, you'd better carry it with you.
"So you'll have to bring this kind of thing from Earth," she continued. "Pity the kid's [Inventory] won't open in my Land of Shadows. Would've made things much easier."
Cha Hae-In nodded thoughtfully, but her mouth never paused. She kept feeding herself grilled fish, bite after bite.
"Eat up, eat up. A fish this big should be enough for all of us. And if it isn't, we can always go catch another. So don't hold back—if you can't finish, just toss what's left on the ground. That pack of starving monsters won't care whether it's leftovers."
Scáthach said it as she ate as well, tearing into her fish with an unrestrained, hearty gusto. According to her, in Celtic lands—men or women—people lived by taking big bites of meat and big gulps of drink.
Hearing that, Cha Hae-In turned to look at Sung Jinwoo beside her, who looked half-dead, and asked with genuine concern.
"Hunter Sung... do you want some too?"
"........No," came Sung Jinwoo's weak reply, like he might stop breathing mid-sentence. "Compared to grilled fish… what I need right now is… rest…"
He lay there as if every bone had been yanked out of his body, completely collapsed on the ground—like a middle schooler who'd just finished an extreme thousand-meter sprint and immediately ran out of soul. At that moment, even the irresistible scent of grilled fish in the air couldn't coax the slightest reaction from his overdrawn body.
And the fish they were eating now?
Sung Jinwoo had, in fact, contributed.
"It's part of training…"—with that excuse, Scáthach had hooked Sung Jinwoo onto a fishing rod and used him as bait.
The results were absurdly effective—or rather, Sung Jinwoo's appeal as "bait" was downright terrifying. Enormous monster fish, as if smelling a once-in-a-lifetime delicacy, surged in a frenzy. They burst free of the river, launching themselves more than thirty meters into the air, jaws yawning wide with rows of fangs as they snapped and tore and fought over Sung Jinwoo—dangling there like a strip of dried jerky.
And suspended midair with nothing to brace against, Sung Jinwoo had no choice but to fight back. With only his fists and feet, he sent those monster fish—one after another—flying like he was swatting baseballs out of the park.
This is inhuman.I'm going to end up traumatized by these damn monster fish.
Cha Hae-In, watching from the side, was so stunned she forgot to blink—and a little scared, too.
"Ms. Scáthach…" she couldn't help turning to the utterly calm woman beside her, asking carefully, "I mean… this kind of training… isn't it a bit… too much?"
"Is it?" Scáthach replied blandly, like they were talking about the weather. "This is how I've always trained disciples. Cú Chulainn and the others never thought it was excessive back then… Hmm. Or maybe they did say something, and I simply didn't hear them."
With that perfectly matter-of-fact tone, Scáthach delivered a statement so tyrannical and unreasonable it circled back around into inevitability.
"If you want to become strong, the method is quite simple—just live. It's as natural as an apple falling from a tree. Or, if you prefer, only those who become strong enough live to the end. It means the same thing either way. That is the truth the warriors of Ulster believe in."
"Doubt and confusion are privileges for those who survive. In battle, you throw away every stray thought. Which is why Ulster's warriors are, for the most part, pure—meaning thickheaded idiots who only know one road…" She exhaled thoughtfully. "If you ever run into someone like that, remember to stay far away. You'll only become unlucky."
"Then what about you, Ms. Scáthach?" Cha Hae-In frowned, genuinely puzzled by Scáthach's words. "You're an Ulster warrior too, aren't you?"
"Hm. A question that hits like a spear through the throat," Scáthach said with a slight smile. "Of course I am. So if you stand too close to me, you'll become unlucky as well. Make sure you remember that."
Teaching disciples couldn't help but stir memories of the ones she'd had before—Sara, Arataki Itto, and Gorou, whom she'd taken on under the name Kiichi Hōgen; Afune and Shinobu Kocho, whom she'd taken on under the name Nightingale.
Only now she bore the Saint Graph of Scáthach, and her instruction, inevitably, became harsher—more severe, more Spartan. It couldn't be helped.
In Scáthach's memories, there were impressions of Kiichi Hōgen as well. Back in Chaldea, Scáthach and Kiichi Hōgen had both taught Master—Scáthach as Master's Western mentor, Kiichi Hōgen as Master's Eastern mentor, alongside the Buddhist teacher Xuanzang Sanzang.
Even Kiichi Hōgen had taken three excellent disciples in the world called Teyvat. Scáthach, of course, had to prove she was no worse.
She didn't let Sung Jinwoo keep "playing dead" on the ground. With the tip of her foot, she nudged him lightly, urging him on.
"Eat more, eat more. There's training waiting for you this afternoon. A hungry person can't step onto a battlefield. That's why you take big bites of meat and big gulps of drink—get enough nutrition and protein."
"Um…" Cha Hae-In suddenly raised a hand and asked cautiously, "Can I join too? Hunter Sung's… battle training?"
The moment she said it, Sung Jinwoo jerked his head up and stared at her with a look that mixed shock, disbelief, and outright horror—like Kazuma the first time he met Darkness.
There are people in this world… who volunteer for torture like this?!
Scáthach met Cha Hae-In's gaze and said evenly, "Hm? That's unexpected. Tell me your reason."
"I want to get stronger."
It was only one simple sentence, but Scáthach saw all of Cha Hae-In's resolve in it.
Sung Jinwoo was already strong—far stronger than Cha Hae-In. And yet, that very Sung Jinwoo had entered Scáthach's tutelage earlier than she had, enduring this brutal training day after day.
She had become Scáthach's disciple too—Sung Jinwoo's junior. But instead of feeling any closer to them, she felt as if she were being left farther and farther behind. That sense of distance made it impossible for her to stay peacefully in a comfortable place.
Scáthach's eyes shifted subtly a few times. At last, she looked at Cha Hae-In and gave her a gaze that was both satisfied and understanding.
"Of course. It could only be that—and nothing else. I asked a foolish question. I'll have to reflect on that…" Her tone changed slightly. "How are your mana hypersensitivity symptoms?"
"Much better than before. Now I can even enter a Dungeon without a handkerchief. It feels like full recovery isn't far off. That's all thanks to Ms. Scáthach's guidance."
"'A master opens the door, but growth depends on the student.' I won't say it was all my doing. You've achieved what you have because you worked hard enough—and you have the talent." Scáthach offered the praise plainly, then continued. "In that case, I'll need to adjust the afternoon plan. I'll test your capacity with this spear. As for the kid over there…"
"Shishō! Please, go ahead!" Sung Jinwoo sprang up in a crisp kip-up, and the exhausted husk from earlier vanished without a trace. He looked righteous to a fault, his voice earnest. "Please don't let me delay you from guiding your new student! This disciple can find things to do on his own—absolutely won't cause you any trouble!"
How could Scáthach possibly miss that little scheme? But she didn't call him out. She simply nodded.
"Good. I'm glad you have that kind of awareness. I truly didn't teach you for nothing."
The moment Sung Jinwoo realized he'd be spared—at least for a while—from being beaten senseless by Scáthach, his mood flipped from storm clouds to clear skies. Even the grilled fish in his hands, already delicious, somehow tasted richer, more fragrant, more endless in its savor.
Time, in that brief pocket of rest, slipped by in a blink. Before they knew it, afternoon had arrived.
Scáthach and Cha Hae-In stood facing each other, weapons in hand.
Cha Hae-In wielded a rapier. Her swordsmanship was superb, and because she moved with such nimble grace—"like a dancer cutting down monsters"—she'd earned the nickname "The Dancer."
Though she'd banned anyone from using it on the grounds that it was too mortifying.
"Hm. Are you staring at the spear in my hand?" Scáthach, keen as ever, caught the way Cha Hae-In's gaze kept drifting to the vermilion long spear she held. With a twist of her wrist, she flicked out a sharp spear flourish, then smiled warmly. "What is it—interested?"
"Yes…" Being called out made Cha Hae-In a little embarrassed. With her free hand, she scratched at her cheek, curiosity spilling through her voice. "When I watched you fight Hunter Sung earlier, it looked like you used all kinds of weapons, but… I get the feeling this vermilion spear is the one you favor most."
"Good eye. I've mastered countless arts—no matter how strange the weapon, I can handle it as easily as breathing. But if you ask what feels best in my hands, it's the spear."
Then Scáthach's tone shifted.
"However, this isn't some divine armament like you might imagine. It has no grand origin story—no god-forged weapon made by the Sea God's own hands, no holy legend. Regrettably, it's just an ordinary spear. A simple staff, carved and ground from the outer bone of a sea monster."
"Because it's so easy to make, I have many identical crimson spears stored away," she explained with a practitioner's easy calm. "Which means I can attempt all sorts of fighting styles—some rather extravagant. Like weaving an inescapable killing net by dancing eight spears at once… or throwing them all to seal off every possible retreat…"
She paused, and in her eyes there was the expectation of a teacher.
"If a disciple graduates from me successfully—and satisfies me—I'll give them this spear as a graduation gift…"
"…Mm."
As she said it, Scáthach suddenly frowned, a hint of irritation crossing her face.
"I've gone and thought of that worthless disciple again. Being killed by your own weapon—what an utterly shameful way to die. He needs to go back and train from the beginning… Still, the method of wearing crimson spears as armor is rather interesting. Even I, the one who made it, never imagined Gáe Bolg could be used like that. The boy is stupid, yes—but he is, undeniably, a genius in battle."
Scáthach brought her attention back to Cha Hae-In, gathered herself, and continued.
"When you graduate from me, I can make each of you a Gáe Bolg of your own. The only pity is that neither you nor the kid really uses spears…" She tilted her head, then shrugged it off. "Though it's hardly something to mourn. Lancers never seem to have much luck. You two are better off without one."
Just think about the Lancers who've appeared in Holy Grail Wars—Cú Chulainn, Diarmuid, Karna. Every last one handsome as sin, and every last one cursed with rotten luck. Either stabbed to death by their own spear, or defeated because a teammate handed the enemy a Noble Phantasm like it was a gift—like they were born under a hex.
…Well, except for that other Holy Grail War next door, where Illya was summoned by Kotomine Kirei. In that one, Lancer Diarmuid had the time of his life from start to finish—an exhilarating hero's battle, a Master who trusted him completely and survived to the end, and even his final Noble Phantasm release was to fight back the black mud, save his Master, and rescue the world.
He won so hard it was ridiculous.
If the other Lancers saw what Diarmuid got to have, they'd be jealous enough to crack apart at the seams.
---
T/N: woah which holy grail war is that?