Caster raised a brow, arms akimbo now as she took a long look at Robin—from his awkward stance to the way he held himself, like someone who didn't quite belong in his own skin.
"You're telling me you've got Archer-class instincts, but no clue how to use them?"
Robin shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."
"Alright," she sighed, stepping back and cracking her knuckles. "Guess it's training time."
Robin blinked. "Training?"
"What, you thought I'd just let you stumble around like a headless chicken? No way. If you're gonna survive in this world, you'll need to actually use that power humming inside you."
She gestured to the clearing around them. "Come on. Let's see what we're working with."
Reluctantly, Robin wear his light armor and his Cloak and then followed her.
The breeze stirred his cloak, and the quiet hum of mana in the air felt stronger now—almost like it was answering her presence.
"Alright, close your eyes," Caster instructed, her voice firm but calm.
"…Why?"
"Because your body already knows what to do. Your mind's what's getting in the way." She stepped closer, her hand hovering near his chest. "Feel it. The mana inside you. The flow. You're a Servant now, Robin. You run on magical energy—let it guide you."
Robin inhaled slowly and did as she said. The world dimmed behind closed eyes, but other senses stirred. He could hear the wind more clearly, feel the pulse of mana in the air, and—somewhere beneath his ribs—a spark.
"Now," Caster murmured, "try to call on your weapon."
"My… weapon?"
"Every Servant has a manifestation of their legend. A bow, in your case. Focus. Picture it. Let it come to you."
He furrowed his brow, concentrating. And at first, there was nothing—just a quiet buzz. But then, like a whisper in the dark, a memory that wasn't his flickered into being. Wood grain beneath his fingers. The stretch of a string drawn tight. The weight of precision.
Suddenly, there was a flash of light. Robin opened his eyes just in time to see a long, elegant bow materialize in his hand, shimmering with emerald and gold threads woven into the grip.
He stared at it in stunned silence.
Caster grinned. "There we go. Knew you had it in you."
"…That was… intense."
"That was just step one," she said, smirking. "Now let's see if you can shoot."
She raised a hand, pointing towards the target in the distance.
Robin looked at the bow, then back at her.
"You sure about this?"
"Dead sure. Loosen your shoulders. Trust your body. Aim with instinct."
He exhaled, drawing the string back with a shimmering arrow of mana forming between his fingers. The moment felt surreal, but his arms moved like they'd done this a hundred times. Maybe they had—before he ever woke up in this body.
Then he released.
The arrow soared, slicing the air in a perfect arc before striking the center of the target with a satisfying thunk.
Caster let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. If that's you with memory loss, I'd hate to fight you at full strength."
Robin blinked, looking down at the bow in his hand. "I… did that?"
She smirked. "You sure did, Robin of Loxley."
And in that moment, for the first time since he arrived, Robin allowed himself a small smile. Maybe this body wasn't entirely foreign after all.
Caster's eyes narrowed as she examined the bow shimmering in Robin's hand. "Alright," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Now it's time for the last step—the part that truly defines you as a Servant."
Robin looked at her, the faint green glow of the weapon reflecting in his eyes. "You mean.. Noble Phantasm...?"
She nodded. "Exactly. Your trump card. The weapon shaped by your legend, your story… and your will. I want you to focus now. Don't think—remember."
Robin furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to remember. After all, these memories weren't his… not really. But when he closed his eyes, a vivid sensation filled his mind: the tension of drawing a bowstring, the silence of the woods, and the unerring certainty of a shot that never missed.
He took a deep breath. "I see… a single arrow. Silent. Deadly. It doesn't matter how far the enemy runs… where they hide… it'll find them."
Caster's eyes widened slightly, sensing the shift in mana around him. "That's it. Your Noble Phantasm is waking up."
The bow in Robin's hand pulsed with energy, green tendrils of light coiling around it like ivy. The air grew still—unnaturally so.
"What's its name?" Caster asked, voice soft but urgent. "Call it."
Robin opened his eyes. Calm. Resolute. "Green Requiem..."
The world responded.
The bow morphed—elegant, sleek, its limbs etched with glowing runes resembling forest vines. A single arrow manifested in Robin's grip, ethereal and humming with power.
Caster took a step back instinctively. "That's Anti-Personnel, isn't it?" she murmured. "Focused… precise…"
Robin nodded, slowly raising the bow, the glowing arrow drawn back without effort. "One arrow. One target. No escape."
The moment he released it, the arrow vanished—no sound, no trail. Just a flicker of green light and then silence.
A few seconds later, a distant crash echoed through the forest, as if something had been struck cleanly from a hundred meters away.
Caster blinked, then gave a low whistle. "It doesn't miss. Not unless your target's a god."
Robin lowered the bow, his breathing steady. "It felt… natural. Like I've done this a thousand times."
Caster smiled faintly. "Then believe it. Because whether you remember the legend or not, you've just proven it's yours now."
And in that moment, Robin of Loxley didn't feel like a man trapped in someone else's story.
He was the story.
Robin stood still, his fingers lightly brushing the bow at his back, his emerald cloak fluttering slightly in the oasis breeze. Caster, standing a few meters away with one hand resting on her hip, gave him a sly grin.
"Well then, how about a little duel?" she said casually, golden eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just a light one. A Servant's instinct is best awakened in battle."
Robin blinked. "A duel…? With you?"
She nodded. "Don't worry, I'll hold back. Besides, if you really are the legendary Robin of Loxley… I'd like to see if the stories have any truth."
Robin gave a slow breath, unsure whether to feel flattered or nervous. "Alright… fine. Just don't go too hard on me."
He stepped back, drawing his bow cautiously as he eyed her stance.
Caster smiled wider and extended one hand outward, palm facing the sky. "Then let's make things interesting."
A surge of magical energy flickered around her fingertips. Then, in an instant, a weapon shimmered into existence—materializing from thin air, like a memory being forced into reality.
Robin's eyes widened. "That… that's—!"
Before him stood a perfectly replicated version of a legendary blade he had only seen once before in his own cellphone screen. It wasn't just a projection—it felt real. The weight, the aura, the very presence of it screamed divine artifact.
"You like it?" she said, twirling the sword effortlessly in her hand. "It's not the real thing, but it's close enough. One of my talents… Imitation. I can recreate weapons of legends, even if they're just echoes."
Robin swallowed. "You're kidding me right…?"
"Nope. It's called False Weapon/Object of Legends Creation. Pretty cool, right?" She raised the blade toward him with a playful tilt of her head. "Don't worry, I'm not going to use my Noble Phantasm..."
"Gee, thanks for the reassurance…"
"Ready?" she asked.
Robin adjusted his stance, heart thudding in his chest as adrenaline began to rise. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Then come," she said. "Let's see what kind of hero Robin of Loxley really is."
Robin took a deep breath and drew his bow, keeping his eyes on the Caster before him. She stood calmly, the replicated legendary sword resting against her shoulder like it was just a stick she picked up for fun.
"I've got a bow, you've got a sword. That's not really fair," Robin muttered.
"Oh? Then hit me before I get close," Caster replied with a teasing grin. "Isn't that what Archers are good at?"
Robin narrowed his eyes. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Of course I am! Teaching is fun, especially when the student is a lost puppy with a famous name."
Without more words.
She dashed forward—light on her feet, her movements fast but not aggressive. She wasn't aiming to hit, just to pressure. Robin instinctively stepped back and fired. The arrow whistled through the air—fast, accurate.
CLANG!
Caster tilted her sword just right, deflecting the shot with a light flick of her wrist.
"Nice shot," she called. "But you hesitated. Don't aim for the body—go for where I will be, not where I am."
Robin gritted his teeth and loosed another arrow, this time leading the shot slightly. Caster twirled aside with ease, laughing as she slid to a halt on the sand.
"Better! See? You're learning already." She held the sword out again, pointing it lazily in his direction. "Now try to move while you shoot. Don't stand still like a tree. Or do you want to be chopped down?"
He muttered something under his breath and shifted sideways, keeping his distance. He fired again, and again—more confident now. The arrows came quicker, tighter. Caster deflected two, dodged one, and let the fourth scrape past her sleeve.
She looked down at the tear in the cloth. "Oh no. My imaginary sleeve," she said flatly, then grinned. "Good shot though."
Robin huffed. "You're not even trying."
"Oh, but I am," she said, stepping forward again. "I'm trying to get you to stop thinking like a human with a borrowed bow, and start thinking like a Servant who owns the battlefield."
With a flick of her wrist, the sword shimmered and morphed—becoming a staff, then a dagger, then a bow not unlike Robin's own.
"Wait—you can copy mine too?" he asked, startled.
"Yup. Watched you long enough already," she winked. "Wanna see how you should shoot?"
Without warning, she fired. The arrow zipped through the air—not to hit, but to test. Robin barely dodged, rolling sideways before popping up behind a rock.
"Sheesh! You call this teaching?!"
"Absolutely! All the best lessons come with bruises. Now keep up!"
Robin peeked from behind the rock, breathing hard, a wild grin starting to tug at his lips. For the first time since waking up in this strange body, he felt something close to right. Not perfect. Not whole. But alive.
"Alright, teacher," he called. "Let's see if I can pass your test."
Caster chuckled, golden eyes alight. "That's more like it, Robin of Loxley."
The skirmish intensified.
Robin ducked behind a low ridge of sand, firing off arrows with increasing speed and precision. Each shot curved beautifully through the air—he was adapting quickly, his instincts sharpening with every exchange.
Caster, meanwhile, danced through the oasis like it was her stage. Her bow had shifted again—now resembling a twisted mythical longbow, black as shadow and humming with unnatural energy. She deflected, countered, and sometimes just outright dodged with infuriating grace.
"You've got good form," she said, weaving between trees. "But you still hesitate when you think too hard. That'll get you skewered."
Robin grunted and fired three arrows in rapid succession. One missed, but the other two came dangerously close. Caster narrowed her eyes.
'He's learning fast. Faster than I thought.'
She leapt up into the branches of a lone palm tree, grinning down at him.
"You know what's missing?" she called.
"What?"
"Instinct! You've got the skills, but you're still fighting with your head."
"Maybe that's because I don't really know what I am yet!"
Caster's smile softened slightly.
"I know," she murmured, too quiet for him to hear. "That's why I'm helping."
And then, like flipping a switch, she launched into action.
Her form blurred. The bow dissolved back into a blade—this time, a shimmering, golden scimitar with strange runes etched across it.
Robin barely had time to react. He rolled, trying to draw distance—but Caster was faster. She closed the gap and slashed.
CLANG!
Robin blocked it with his bow—barely. The force sent him stumbling back.
"No fair," he panted. "You changed weapons again!"
"You should've expected that," she teased. "You're fighting ME, after all."
He tried another arrow, but this time, Caster was already moving. She ducked low, spun around behind him, and tapped the flat of her blade against his back.
"Checkmate," she said with a little laugh.
Robin stood still, then slowly lowered his bow. "So… I failed the test?"
"Not at all," she said, stepping back. The sword dissolved into light. "You passed."
"Didn't you just stab me?"
"Tapped," she corrected, wagging her finger. "Big difference. If I wanted you out cold, you'd already be in the dirt."
Robin narrowed his eyes. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted, spinning once before plopping down on a patch of sand. "But hey, you did good. Even if you're a weird."
He blinked, caught off guard. "Weird?"
"You hesitate like a human, move like a Servant, and talk like you don't belong anywhere."
"…Yeah. That sounds about right."
There was a pause. Then she smiled again, but softer this time. "But even so, you've got good instincts. You just need to trust them more. And if you're really stuck, well—guess you've got me now."
Robin snorted and flopped down beside her. "Great. A chaotic weapon legend-copying teacher with no chill."
"Exactly!" she beamed.
They both sat there, breathing in the quiet of the oasis. The wind stirred the trees above, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused—just two odd Servants, trying to figure themselves out in the middle of nowhere.
.
.
.
A few days later.
The oasis was long behind them now. In its place stretched a wide expanse of golden sand and jagged cliffs, the sun casting long shadows across the terrain as the afternoon began to wane. The wind was quiet, but the silence wasn't awkward—it had become comfortable, somehow.
Robin walked a step behind Caster, his bow slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon. He was getting better at reading the land, moving like a proper Servant now. Still not entirely sure what he was, but more in control than before.
And then, the silence broke.
"Hey," Robin said casually, "mind if I ask you something?"
Caster glanced over her shoulder, a teasing look already forming. "What, finally going to confess your undying gratitude?"
"Hardly," Robin smirked. "I just realized… I don't actually know your name."
She blinked. "Oh?"
"I mean, you've been helping me all this time. We fought, trained, shared food, ran from that giant sand worm thing…" he paused, then gave a faint grin. "Seems only fair I know the name of my… teacher?"
Caster was silent for a moment, her steps slowing ever so slightly. She looked ahead, the wind brushing through her hair. Then, she smiled—but this one wasn't playful. It was calm. Sincere.
"…Alright. I suppose you've earned it."
She turned slightly to meet his gaze, golden eyes glowing just faintly under the fading sun.
"My name is Kurohiko Yuki," she said, voice steady but soft. "Remember it."
Robin blinked. He hadn't expected her to actually tell him, much less like that. "Kurohiko… Yuki?"
She nodded once. "A name I haven't told many."
"…Why tell me?"
A pause. Then, with a gentle shrug, she looked ahead again. "Because I think I can trust you. You… remind me a little of myself."
Robin furrowed his brows. "Remind you? In what way?"
She chuckled lightly, raising a hand to wave the question away. "Now that… is a secret."
Robin blinked. "Wait, hey—what kind of half-answer is that?"
But Kurohiko just turned her back to him, hands clasped behind her head as she kept walking forward with a carefree stride.
"C'mon, Robin of Loxley," she called back. "The world's not going to save itself."
He stared after her for a second, confused but smiling. There was something about that girl—maddening, mysterious, but strangely genuine.
"…Yeah, alright," he murmured, jogging forward to catch up. "But I'm not done asking questions."
"I'd be disappointed if you were."
And together, the two continued walking through the desert—shadows trailing behind them, and the promise of strange days ahead glowing just over the horizon.