The holy man of the church creek

The Trials: End

Shirou was stunned for a moment as the history of the sword Xenovia pulled out filtered through his mind. Each swing of its blade shooting out towers of divine light and incinerating all adversaries.

It was a weapon that had been covered in bound chains that shattered upon Xenovia grabbing its hilt and flourishing it to the side.

Durandal, the Holy Sword of the legendary Paladin of Charlemagne.

He had once glimpsed Durandal from within Gilgamesh's armoury, but it was far different from the sword Xenovia wielded. It was the product of the difference between two worlds. One was an indestructible Noble Phantasm acting as a vessel of three miracles, and the other was a Holy Sword created from the hands of God capable of unleashing an untold amount of Holy power.

Of course, this had its down sides.

The vast amount of power contained within the Durandal in Xenovia's hands was unstable, and he could easily perceive it through the strained expression on Xenovia's face. This must have been the reason as to why Durandal had been chained and stored within a separate dimension.

From the history, he had glimpsed from the Durandal in Xenovia's hands, its previous wielder Roland had used it to fight an army of a hundred-thousand men. Its immense strength was reason enough to comprehend why Xenovia had not yet mastered the sword.

It was at that moment when Xenovia moved to attack with the sword that he felt it, his body faltering before he fell on his knees. This action was not missed by those fighting on the battlefield and certainly not by Xenovia who abandoned any notion of attack and moved by his side.

"What's wrong?" She asked concerned while warding away the enemies with the intense Holy attribute of her sword.

Instead of replying, the swords he had traced, Kanshou and Bakuya, faded away. All that remained were his hands clutching tightly against his chest and a confused expression over his face.

Others who had gathered their courage soon began to join Xenovia in protecting him as they regarded him as not only a leader, but someone capable of helping them escape their current situation. This assumption only solidified after the majority of them drew the conclusion that he possessed a Sacred Gear.

"What's going on with him? He was fine just a second ago!"

"Does it matter? For now, we just have to make sure he stays alive!"

In the midst of all the shouting, he didn't feel as if his mind was presently there, but rather, the world seemed to rotate around the Durandal in Xenovia's hand. There was a feeling surging within him, demanding a release. To this regard, even the Durandal in Xenovia's hand began to emit a thin sheen of light as Xenovia drew closer to him in her bid to protect him.

It was then that he realized it; what it truly was that was happening.

A sword thrummed from the depths of his inner world, resonating and demanding to be used. Even if it was just a copy, prominent swords like Caliburn had a will of their own, dictating when and who would be able to wield them. This sword was no different.

"Miracles call upon miracles."

If you want release, then I will grant you release, he thought as he gritted his teeth and a projection came forward.