The holy man of the church creek

The trials part 1

Shirou pondered silently to himself. Like the voice had told him, he had appeared without choice at the creek of a small church in the distance. It was modest, its wooden walls painted white, and a cross stood erected at the front. Multi-colour-paneled windows depicted the scene of Jesus wearing the crown of thorns, and his disciples watching silently in the background.

It was at that point that the voice originating from the necklace he wore grew silent. Oddly enough, moments before they had left the burning mansion, the voice didn't even seem the slightest bit tired. Rather, it was with a long sigh that the voice once again spoke asking him to stay by the church. In which case, he decided to train from what he remembered from his fight with Archer.

However, things weren't that simple.

Sooner or later, members of the church had taken notice of him, and had at first wanted him to leave, but quickly began sputtering nonsense whenever his necklace began emitting light. He had frowned then, and had adopted quite a sour look after groups of them would then come back referring to him as a Wise Man, or a Holy Man.

He couldn't wrap his mind around it, and still couldn't, but at least he understood that it was the fault of the necklace around his neck which appeared invisible to others. He didn't have a need to hide it as a result, but he still found the phenomenon hard to explain. Thus, he could only hope that the thing would stop glowing at crucial moments. Somehow he would have to learn how to control it, or at least ask the voice what exactly was going on the next time it spoke.

Still, the most unexpected situation had yet to come. Youths practicing swordsmanship had urged him for a match upon noticing the two wooden swords he had created using an ability he called tracing: A higher level of projection magic that allowed him to recreate objects, specifically swords and the like.

The outcome of those matches, is what lead him here.

He stared quietly at Xenovia, her blue hair with a green highlight at the front swaying from a gust of summer wind. Her eyes were staring at him curiously, her pink lips spread thin as she took glances at the swords beside him.

"Something I can help with?"

He asked.

She shook her head, regaining her bearings as she quickly took her sword out from the shrubs.

"I've only heard stories,"

she began, a steady neutrality coming over her features.

"But most involve you defeating disciples of the inner Church."

He smiled wryly.

"Uhm, believe me when I say I never started anything."

Xenovia grunted and quickly adopted one of her practiced stances.

"Regardless, you should understand my curiosity as an inner Church disciple myself."

He frowned, but picked up his swords and adopted his own stance with his legs spread apart, arms by his side, and swords pointed forward.

He noticed the disapproving look on Xenovia's face, but he had grown used to such expressions by now. After all, she wasn't the first to be incredulous or take offense to his stance full of openings.