Fate/Resistance: Alternative.

(Disclaimer: I don't own Type-Moon or any other content used in this book. This is a fanfiction written for fun.)

(A/N: We have officially surpassed the original book in terms of chapters. Lets gooo~)

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Siegfried swung his blade at the assailant, but his sluggish movements allowed Alaric to evade effortlessly, retreating without so much as a scratch. The Saber of Black planted his feet, preparing to launch a more ferocious charge, but—

"Fetter."

At Alaric's command, shadowy bindings erupted from the ground, coiling around Siegfried like serpents. He struggled with all his might, muscles taut and sword thrashing, but it was futile; the bindings were unyielding, their strength far beyond what even a dragon-slaying hero could overcome.

"One down," Alaric muttered, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. "As always, Hollow proves far more effective on Servants than humans. I suggest you don't waste your time Siegfried. Even the maddened son of Zeus couldn't break free of those."

His attention shifted to Karna whose presence was marked by the faint glow of embers dancing around him.

"On this sunrise, Son of Surya," Alaric said, his tone deceptively courteous, "I ask you to leave this battle."

Karna remained silent, the dawn casting a golden hue over his armour. A request made at sunrise—a condition bound to his legend—was impossible for him to refuse.

"..."

Noting Karna's hesitation, Alaric continued with a grin. "Oh, don't worry. I'll come for your head soon enough. Let's save our battle for another day when circumstances are... more suitable."

Without another word, Karna shifted into his astral form and vanished, leaving only a faint trail of heat in the air.

"Wait! Lancer of Red!" Ruler called after him, her voice tinged with urgency. She had questions about the purpose of his ambush, but Karna ignored her and retreated toward the church, his intentions a mystery.

Nearby, Gordes cried out in desperation, holding up his command seals. "Saber! Return to—"

Before he could finish, an armoured hand gripped his wrist, stopping him. Jeanne d'Arc stood behind him, a dagger gleaming in her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, driving the blade—an Anti-Magecraft Noble Phantasm—into the back of his hand. The artefact severed Gordes' contract with Siegfried.

Gordes stumbled to the ground, clutching his injured hand and staring up at her in shock. "Ruler! What are you doing?!"

"No... that's not me."

He turned around to see another Jeanne approaching, confusion spreading across his face. "T-Two Rulers?!"

Before he could process the sight, Jeanne silenced him with a swift blow, rendering him unconscious.

Ruler turned to face her doppelganger, her gaze sharp. "I would like an explanation. You two are not a Master and Servant of this Holy Grail War. While I know of other wars occurring around the world, I've never known one where another Ruler was summoned."

"Fair enough," Jeanne replied, stepping forward. "I suppose we owe you that much. While I may have the Ruler-class designation, I wasn't summoned to mediate a war. I answered the call of my Master... personally."

"I see." Ruler's tone softened slightly. "In that case, may I ask your reason for involving yourself in a conflict unrelated to you?"

Jeanne hesitated, glancing away. How could she explain her Master's whimsical reason—that he sought this war for 'experience' and, frankly, fun?

"That's enough questions," Alaric's voice interrupted from the sidelines. "We've broken no rules, Ruler. You have no authority to interrogate us."

Jeanne sighed, offering a wry smile at his bluntness. Ruler, however, remained composed, placing a hand over her heart.

"I know," she admitted. "But you're still unrelated to this war. I kindly ask you to leave."

Alaric chuckled at her words, a slow, confident grin spreading across his face. "Unrelated? True, for now. But do you know... the Holy Grail may choose a new Master if a Servant falls early enough?"

Ruler frowned but remained composed. "Yes, but such occurrences are rare."

A golden ripple shimmered beside Alaric as a sword emerged, its form twisting and reshaping in his grasp. With a single motion, the weapon flew toward Siegfried, piercing his chest. The Saber of Black shattered into particles of Ether.

As the dust settled, Alaric removed his gloves, revealing two sets of command seals now etched on his hands.

"With this," he said, his grin widening, "I am a Master of Black—a legitimate participant in this war, free to interfere as I please."

Ruler's eyes widened in disbelief whereas Jeanne simply shook her head, understanding what he had done, unsurprised by his ingenuity.

"... I see," Ruler finally said. "In that case, I acknowledge your status. By tonight, you must summon your Servant and abide by this war's rules."

She glanced around, searching for her belongings, only to find them destroyed in the earlier skirmish.

Alaric tossed his wallet toward Jeanne. "Take this. Go to town, get what you need, and catch up with each other. I'll prepare for something in the meantime."

"I appreciate the offer, but I cannot accept it," Ruler replied, shaking her head.

Alaric's gaze hardened, his sunglasses glinting ominously. "Don't play games, Ruler. That vessel of yours isn't made of Ether—it's body, mind, and soul. A human. Without sustenance, it'll deteriorate. Consider it practical advice, not charity."

With that, he disappeared, leaving Ruler in silence.

"Master... no, Alaric may seem cold," Jeanne said softly, "but his actions are guided by a strange sense of goodwill. Please, accept this as a gesture of trust."

Ruler hesitated, her hand resting on her chin. Finally, she nodded. "I shall trust my judgment—for now."

"Thank you for trusting me," Jeanne said with a gentle smile, watching as Ruler began to contemplate her next move.

...

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"To be honest, I never really cared about the world or humanity as a whole. Humanity is suicidal, always putting itself in danger and the planet as a whole just cries about its problems." Alaric admitted, tapping his temple with a finger.

Jeanne listened silently as Alaric's voice carried a tone of weariness, tinged with cynicism.

"The only reason I'm doing this," he continued, his gaze distant, "is because of a man I once knew. He gave everything he had to protect this world. I owe him this much. So you can consider this my actions for protecting the world... just a whim."

Jeanne's voice was soft, almost reverent. "Even so, I still think it's admirable. The man you speak of—he must have been someone precious for you to honour him like this, even without being asked to."

"... Yeah." Alaric paused, a faint smile crossing his lips as memories surfaced. "He was."

...

Alaric stirred awake from his brief rest, the echoes of his past fading into the quiet night. The glow of moonlight illuminated Jeanne's figure in an ethereal shimmer as she approached.

"You're back," Alaric greeted, brushing aside his lingering thoughts. "How did it go with Ruler?"

"It was… strange," Jeanne admitted, "Talking to myself felt surreal, but oddly comforting. We chatted about the modern world and how much had changed. It was like meeting a younger sibling or the twin sister I never had."

"Sounds like you enjoyed yourself," Alaric remarked, standing.

"I did. The shopping helped, too." Jeanne hesitated before adding, "Though I've been meaning to ask—how did you come by wealth in this world?"

Alaric smirked. "Simple. This is a parallel timeline, which means some people are still the same. I sold high-quality jewels from the Golden Capital to the Edelfelts here. Or did you think I resorted to something illegal?" He raised his eyebrows at the last part.

"Well," Jeanne began, her expression a mix of scepticism and concern, "you did mention confiscating wealth from corrupt individuals…"

"I may not follow conventional rules, but I'm not one to judge others for their actions." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll leave judgment to people like you."

"I see." Jeanne gave a small nod, though her expression didn't entirely relax. Her gaze shifted. "Still… you haven't summoned a Servant for this war, have you?"

"Hm?" Alaric tilted his head, feigning confusion. "I haven't—and I don't plan to. You already know why I'm here. The only reason I acquired these Command Seals was to stop your Ruler self here from pestering me."

Jeanne frowned, her concern deepening. "But we're in a 14-way Holy Grail War with two factions. Without another Servant, we're at a massive disadvantage. What if they join forces to hunt us down?"

Alaric's response was calm, and measured. "If we're ever cornered and escape isn't an option, I'll summon a Servant on the spot, using the magical energy stored in the Command Seals. Until then, I'll rely on my own strength."

Jeanne's unease lingered. Though she respected his capabilities, the risks felt too great. "I still think—"

"Let me tell you a story," Alaric interjected. He removed his sunglasses, revealing hollow grey eyes that locked onto her vibrant blue. "Once, there was a man who wielded the greatest shield, one that could defend against any attack, and the greatest sword, which could cut down anything in its path."

Jeanne listened intently as he continued, his voice steady and deliberate. "One day, he faced a warrior who matched his strength. Their battle was fierce, but in the end, the man triumphed with his shield. Yet as he moved to deliver the final strike, the fallen warrior dealt him one last attack. Confident in his shield, the man stood firm—only to be cut down by his own sword, which the warrior had claimed."

Alaric's voice grew softer, more resolute. "I am not that man. I am neither overconfident nor reckless. I will not rely solely on one path, one weapon, or one ideal. I'll master every path available, and I'll walk them all, no matter how dangerous. That's who I am." He extended his hand to her. "Will you trust me on this path?"

Jeanne stared at his hand, her expression conflicted. After a moment, she gently clasped it in her own. "I'm still hesitant," she admitted, her tone firm but tinged with emotion. "I fear that one day, the path you walk will lead to your undoing. But… if you've chosen this road, I'll walk it with you, to the very end."

A faint smile crossed Alaric's lips. "Thank you… for believing in me." She was his polar opposite—the light to his shadow, his conscience where his ambition ran unchecked. And yet, perhaps because of that, he found respect for her more than anyone else.

"Let's move," Alaric said, slipping his sunglasses back on. "We won't engage in battle tonight, but I hope to identify the unknown Servants we couldn't before."

Jeanne nodded, falling into step beside him. "As you say, Master."

And so, under the pale glow of the moon, they advanced into the night.

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The tension in the air was thick as the Masters of Black gathered in the dimly lit throne room of Yggdmillennia Castle. A heavy silence hung over the assembly, broken only by the soft crackle of flames in the hearth. Gordes, nursing his injured hand, stood at the centre, his head bowed in shame under the piercing gazes of his comrades.

"You incompetent fool!" Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia spat, her voice laced with venom. "For all that big talk how have you gone ahead and lost your servant to a measly mage before the actual war even started!? Speak you waste of food!"

"Enough, Celenike," Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia interjected, her tone measured. She glanced at Gordes, sympathy flickering in her eyes. "While I agree his carelessness warrants criticism, berating him further won't change what has already happened. We need to focus on dealing with this issue at hand."

"The girl stands correct," Vlad III, the Lancer of Black, said, stepping forward. The pale light of the room cast sharp shadows across his regal features. His crimson eyes bore into Gordes like daggers. "But that does not absolve you of your failure, Gordes. You not only lost your servant but also allowed an outsider to enter into our war."

Gordes flinched at the accusation, sweat trailing down his forehead. "I-I had no way of knowing he could do such a thing! He used a Noble Phantasm, one unlike anything I've ever—"

"Silence." Vlad's voice was cold and commanding, cutting through Gordes' stammering. "We are not here to hear excuses. We are here to ensure this third party is dealt with swiftly and decisively."

"Darnic," Vlad turned his attention to Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia, the de facto leader of the Black Faction. "You held much political power in the Mage's Association. Who is this mage, and why is he accompanied by a Ruler-class Servant?"

Darnic bowed before speaking, "Unfortunately, even I do not have an immediate answer. However, I can speculate. The Servant accompanying him may be from another war altogether who coincidentally happens to have been summoned to also mediate our war."

"A coincidence you say?" Vlad's eyes narrowed.

"Precisely," Darnic confirmed with a slight nod. "I've already relayed orders to our spies within the Clock Tower. They are working to uncover anything they can about this man. If there is even a scrap of information about him or his origins, we will find it."

Chiron, the Archer of Black spoke up. "While investigations proceed, this mage remains a threat. He knew of Saber's weakness and would most likely discover ours through his Servant's special privileges. We must prepare contingency plans for the possibility that he acts again before your spies yield results."

"Leave that to me," Vlad interjected. "This mage's actions against our Faction cannot go unanswered. By his brazen actions, he has declared himself an enemy of ours. As of this moment, he is to be considered a third party— a rogue element outside the rules of this Holy Grail War. And like any threat, he will be hunted down and destroyed."

The Masters exchanged uneasy glances, their resolve bolstered by Vlad's commanding tone but wary of the unknown foe that awaited them.

"As for you, Gordes," Darnic said, turning his steely gaze on the disgraced magus, "your failure demands consequences. From this moment forward, you are relieved of any direct involvement in this war. Your new task will be to provide full support to Caster in his endeavours."

Gordes paled, the humiliation cutting deeper than the pain in his hand. He opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it under Darnic's withering glare.

"It is decided," Darnic declared. "The next time he crosses our path, we will be ready. This meeting is adjourned."

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"The Saber of Black has been defeated," the priest Kotomine Shirou announced, his calm voice echoing through the chamber as he addressed the assembled Servants of the Red Faction. "Additionally, our Saber's Master and Berserker's Master have chosen to abandon cooperation with us, opting instead to act independently."

"So, it's one down for both sides," Achilles remarked casually, leaning against the wall with a faint grin.

"Not exactly," Shirou replied, his tone measured. "Our Saber remains alive, but according to Karna, the man who killed the Saber of Black has now been chosen as a Master in this War. With both individuals refusing to align with their respective factions, the scales have been... balanced, albeit in an unusual way."

"Don't gloss over the details," the Chaste Huntress Atalanta interjected sharply. "The man wielded two Noble Phantasms and even knew of Lancer's identity. Who is he?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Shirou said with a faint sigh. "Unfortunately, we've uncovered nothing. Neither the Holy Church nor the Mage's Association has any record of him. It's as if he materialised out of thin air."

"Why didn't Karna engage him further when he had the chance?" Achilles asked, his smirk widening in curiosity. "The Son of Surya doesn't usually pass on a fight, does he?"

"Karna stated that the man did not provoke him directly and that 'the time wasn't right.' A typical display of his unyielding honour," Shirou replied with a slight shake of his head, covering for Karna who stayed silent throughout their entire meeting.

Atalanta frowned, her emerald eyes narrowing. "This mage managed to take down the so-called strongest class. We should act preemptively, strike him down before he can disrupt us further."

"Patience, Atalanta," Semiramis, the Assassin of Red, purred, her voice smooth but laced with condescension. "A hunter who lunges at every movement risks falling into a trap. We must first discern his motives and gauge his true strength. So far, he's proven himself to be both resourceful and unpredictable."

"I've dispatched familiars to track his movements," Shirou added. "By nightfall, we'll have a clearer picture of his plans. Until then, focus on the preparations. This War will not follow the patterns of previous Grail conflicts—not with wildcards like him and us in play."

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(A/N: Unfortunately, @Uami doesn't get a thanks for this chapter as I was writing it until the last minute of its upload. I scrapped the chapter before this one where the idea was him summoning a servant and upgrading its Saint Graph. I also wrote the chapter after this but ended up killing half of all the Servants in the war in a single chapter. If you're curious then the Servant he summoned was Alcides... yeah.)