Fate Nameless/Order

[Chapter 1.1: Class + Racist = Classist?]

[A/N]: Sorry for the late update, I was kind of busy with school works but here's the next chapter and the MC's outfit.

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Amidst the burning city, she scrunched up her nose, trying to fend off the overwhelming stench of burning flesh and death that hung heavy in the air. The once bustling city was now a nightmarish landscape of destruction, with flames devouring wooden structures while refusing to reduce them to ash. The young girl walked through the apocalyptic scene, her gaze unwavering even as she witnessed the grim aftermath.

"This is insane..." She muttered softly, the gravity of the situation sinking in as she realized the disparity between her expectations and the brutal reality. It was beyond anything she had imagined, far worse than the vague description in the game. The lack of vivid description had left her unprepared for the sheer destruction before her. Nonetheless, she continued her path, her footsteps echoing amidst the crackling of flames and distant screams. She had caused a scene similar to this one after all. Her purpose was clear - to leave this Singularity and locate the "protagonist" of the story she had been thrust into. The Last Master of Humanity, Ritsuka Fujimaru.

As she made her way through the chaos, she encountered numerous skeletal undead that crossed her path. With swift and precise strikes, she dispatched each of them, her movements almost dance-like in their efficiency. However, her journey was briefly interrupted when she abruptly halted, her voice carrying in the air.

"If you're planning to shoot a mundane arrow at me, you might as well save your effort," she declared with unwavering confidence, her words carrying an air of assurance that she was more than prepared to handle such an attack.

But her warning fell on deaf ears. Disregarding her words, an arrow suddenly cut through the air from the north, hurtling directly toward her. Despite the imminent threat, the girl stood her ground, her demeanor unchanged as she watched the projectile's trajectory with an almost casual curiosity. "It's futile," she stated in a dismissive tone, her voice laced with a taunting hint. She wore a smug smile, her eyes reflecting her unflinching confidence in her abilities. A sudden gust of wind swept by, and the arrow inexplicably veered off course, missing her entirely. It was as if some unseen force had intervened to divert its path. To her surprise, however, she realized that the arrow was no ordinary projectile-it had been transformed into some kind of modified sword.

"Didn't know he couldn't decipher my words from afar, even with Clairvoyance and all," she muttered with a hint of sarcasm. Before she could delve further into her thoughts, a commanding voice resonated, "Caladbolg!"

Her lips curled into a gratified grin as the familiar name reached her ears. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Bring it on!" With the fluid grace of a seasoned warrior, she drew her sword in a single, smooth motion. Under the moonlight, her sword shone in an ethereal glow with a mysterious mist began to envelop it and dance around the sword.