Fate: But This Is Not Solomon I Know!

Meung-sur-Loire Fortress – Early Morning

In the misty dawn, the lands surrounding Meung-sur-Loire Fortress still slumbered under a veil of cold, pale fog.

The sun had yet to rise, and only the faint glow of scattered campfires cast dim orange light upon mud-stained armor.

At the mess area, knights stirred from sleep, quietly lining up for their meager rations – a bit of soup, some rock-hard bread, and cold water.

No one complained, but the weariness was evident in each dragging step.

Amid that scene, a sluggish figure emerged from a tent like a ghost who'd overslept – Zoth.

He yawned wide enough to split his jaw, eyes bleary, hair a tangled mess, shoulders shivering from the cold.

"Ugh? Damn it, this morning mist is freezing…"

Zoth grimaced, white breath escaping his lips with every exhale. He folded his arms tightly, hunched up like a winter bear just crawling out of its cave.

Unable to endure the chill, Zoth turned back into the tent. He flopped down onto the ground like a living sandbag and pulled out something only he could touch: the [Ride Book Dimensions] – a spatial vault storing all [Wonder Ride Books] and [Alter Ride Books].

Cold blue light shimmered from within, casting eerie reflections on his face – a face teetering between brilliance and madness.

Zoth let out a dry chuckle.

"I didn't create the Sword of Logos and the Megid… just for fun… but as a precaution."

He muttered, as if to remind himself.

"If anything deviates from the timeline… all I have to do is unleash the Megid… and let them erase everything that shouldn't exist."

His eyes settled on the still-unfinished [Alter Ride Books] spinning in midair. Dark purple runes flickered erratically, unstable. Some leaked volatile energy in sporadic drips, as if they were screaming from being forced into existence.

"Heh heh… if I actually released the Megid… would that damn Counter Force – Alaya send 'hero of justice' Emiya to take me out?"

Zoth laughed, a long, sardonic laugh.

Just as he was carefully adjusting the energy circuit inside a [Blanc Ride Book]—

"Sir Zoth, are you awake?"

A gentle but clear female voice rang out from outside. A tone laced with both concern and inquiry.

Zoth twitched slightly, quickly tossing the [Blanc Ride Books] back into storage. He stood up, brushed off his cloak, and stepped out of the tent.

The cold wind hit his face. In front of him stood Jeanne – the blonde maiden clutching her flag, her soft eyes contrasting with the commanding tone of her voice.

"What is it, Jeanne? You looking for me?"

Zoth squinted, his voice cool and wary as always.

"Sir Zoth, I came to inform you that in a few days, we'll be advancing toward Beaugency,"

Jeanne said, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

Zoth shrugged, putting on an indifferent front.

"Oh~ So we're moving forward again? Got it."

But just as he turned to leave, her tone suddenly shifted to something more serious.

"Sir Zoth…"

Jeanne stepped forward slightly, her hands tightening around the flagpole as if holding something back.

"Last night… where did you go?"

Zoth froze.

He glanced at her, gauging her reaction – then quickly relaxed his expression and smirked.

"Just took a walk along the river to clear my head, nothing major."

His voice was casual, but his eyes flicked away for the briefest moment.

Jeanne said nothing, but in her mind, a haunting image replayed:

The moonlit blood, the screams, the writhing bodies in despair…

And a figure in white-gold armor standing atop a hill, smiling down.

Her grip on the flag tightened, but then… she simply nodded gently.

"If that is what you say… then, farewell."

She bowed slightly, turned away, her robes fluttering in the breeze. Yet her eyes… still glanced back.

Not out of suspicion – but worry.

Zoth stood still, watching her disappear from view. His face turned cold, the smile gone.

"…How the hell did she know?"

He frowned, then suddenly remembered—

"Ah… right. Jeanne can hear the voice of God…"

A sigh escaped him, tinged with frustration and resignation.

"Seriously… I'll need to be more careful from now on."

Zoth muttered and turned back into his tent.

And in that quiet, he sat down once more, opened the [Ride Book Dimensions], and continued his work:

Creating something that could save time –

By incinerating all of history.

---

A Few Days Later – At Beaugency

The sun blazed high overhead, pouring scorching light down onto the dry, dusty earth.

The city of Beaugency simmered like it was trapped inside a bottomless furnace.

On the ramparts, English soldiers squinted under the blinding sun, their armor absorbing heat until each step felt like dragging chains of lead.

"Hot as hell… what kind of cursed land is this…"

One soldier muttered bitterly—

And then—

[BOOM—!!]

A thunderous explosion rocked the land, shaking the ground to its core.

Smoke surged high, a flash of light erupting like lightning splitting the clear blue sky.

The English soldiers turned their heads—only to see a tide of French troops flooding forward like a dam had burst.

The thunder of hooves echoed, war banners snapped in the wind, and the roars of soldiers from the frontline filled the air.

The English forces had no time to react—panic spread like wildfire.

Some fled deeper into the fortress, abandoning comrades to be crushed beneath the steel wave of the French onslaught.

Artillery roared soon after.

Explosive shells smashed into the battlements, raining stone and dust.

Screams, clashing metal, and the roar of fire blended into a bloody symphony of war.

From a distant hill, Zoth stood with arms crossed, eyes narrowed as if trying to see through the smoke and chaos.

He turned toward Jeanne, irritation sharp in his voice:

"Jeanne! Why the hell won't you let me fight?!"

His tone was a growl, each word bitten off. His fists clenched tightly, his whole posture that of a beast caged too long—ready to break free.

Jeanne stood firm, still gripping her flag, her eyes never leaving the battlefield.

She sighed wearily and rubbed her temple—like a mother scolding a particularly stubborn child.

"Sir Zoth, when you take to the field…

Too many lives fall."

Her voice was quiet but resolute… with a hint of sorrow buried deep within.

Zoth twitched. He spread his arms wide, as if unable to comprehend her words, then flailed in frustration:

"I'm a swordsman!

Fighting is what I do, not standing here watching you and the Duke of Alençon give orders!"

He almost roared the words, blood in his veins screaming to spill out onto the battlefield.

Jeanne only shook her head softly—but her gaze stayed locked on his. Deep. Piercing.

Then she said it—

One sentence, sharp and true, stabbing deep into his most vulnerable point:

"Sir Zoth…

Are you no longer afraid of that so-called True Ether devouring you?"

Zoth froze.

Her words hit like ice water poured down his spine.

"How do you know about that?! You've been spying on me, haven't you?!"

He took a step back, finger pointing at her, voice trembling—not from fear of her, but from the sudden exposure of a secret he'd buried.

Jeanne didn't answer immediately. She slowly ran her hand down the staff of her flag, eyes fixed on him—not accusing, not angry—just calm, with a soft smile… as if she had known all along.

"A few days ago…

I heard you muttering near the fortress wall…

Something about… 'The True Ether has started acting up'."

Zoth groaned and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

The weariness wasn't from the battlefield—but from her.

"Didn't think you overheard that…

Just don't go telling anyone."

Jeanne smiled gently and nodded.

"I already know.

You can rest easy, Sir Zoth."

Zoth could only shake his head and chuckle bitterly—

like a wild beast forced to sit quietly among sheep.

He yielded.

Not out of fear—

But because… she was Jeanne.

---

Beaugency – Nightfall

Night had fallen like a thick curtain, draping the battlefield in pitch darkness.

In the cold gloom of the ancient fortress, flickering torchlight danced across the tired faces of patrolling French soldiers.

Bootsteps thudded against the cracked earth. Brief, clipped exchanges echoed between shadows.

The English were now completely surrounded, driven into their fortress like beasts trapped in a cage.

Meanwhile, the French dug in—fortifying defenses, raising barricades, preparing for any desperate counterattack.

At a remote and quiet corner of the camp, Zoth sat slumped against a withered tree.

With a stick in hand, he angrily scratched bitter circles into the dirt.

"All day they won't let me fight…

All day I just stand around watching…

All day it's hauling supplies or digging trenches…"

He muttered, voice full of misery. His face twisted like a hungry cat left in the rain.

Suddenly… Zoth's eyes locked on something.

A small shadow rustled near the bushes… a chicken.

He narrowed his eyes—then grinned with the glee of a demon spotting prey.

Without hesitation, Zoth launched himself forward.

In a flash, the unlucky bird was in his grip, squawking in protest—he didn't care who owned it, what side it was on, or where it came from.

"I've gone hungry for days!"

"Nothing but hardtack or bread that could chip teeth… and even the rare meat barely fills the belly!"

Looking like a starving bandit who just raided a royal kitchen, Zoth wasted no time.

The chicken met its fate, sacrificed to the growling abyss that was his stomach.

With utmost focus, Zoth began prepping the bird with the only culinary skills he remembered from Earth.

No firewood? No problem.

He unsheathed Kaenken Rekka, the sacred flame sword, and casually roasted the bird with divine fire.

The smell of roasted chicken wafted through the air—no salt, no pepper, no seasoning…

But to Zoth, it was the ambrosia of life.

"Tasteless… but at least it's food!"

He nearly teared up in joy.

Then—

"Sir Zoth… A?! What are you doing?! Where did that chicken come from?"

Jeanne's voice rang out behind him, tinged with suspicion.

She emerged from the shadows, still clutching her battle flag, eyes narrowing at Zoth gnawing on a chicken wing.

"Huh? Dunno...

It just… showed up next to me. Probably a wild chicken or something."

Zoth shrugged, face dead serious—like the universe owed him this meal.

"Sir Zoth! You can't just steal someone's property like that! That's not right!"

Jeanne frowned, clearly displeased.

"Yeah yeah, I get it…

But I didn't steal it, alright? It volunteered by walking up to me."

Zoth deflected with lazy logic while tossing bones into a small pit fire.

Jeanne sighed in defeat, muttering:

"Haah… Sir Zoth… you really are something…"

But then, her expression sobered.

Jeanne hugged her flag close and quietly sat down beside him.

"Sir Zoth…

Could you tell me more about this so-called 'True Ether'?"

Her gaze was earnest, concerned—not just as a comrade—but something deeper.

"Eh? Why should I tell you?"

Zoth leaned back, arms crossed, staring lazily at the sky.

"You're not family or anything. At most, you're a fellow warrior on the field."

"Even so…

I want to understand it.

The thing that makes you hesitate when using those strange swords and books."

Jeanne scooted a bit closer, her voice quieter now.

Her eyes gently reached into the pain he tried so hard to bury.

"Geez… why do you care so much?"

Zoth groaned and scratched his head like he might tear the hair out.

"Because I told you…

I'll help pull you out of that madness."

Jeanne smiled, resting her chin on her knees as she looked at the twinkling lights from the distant camps.

Zoth fell silent. Then finally… he spoke:

"True Ether… is the life force of the world.

It's ancient… so powerful it can create what people call 'miracles'."

He paused, rubbing his forehead with a bitter grin.

"It's powerful…

But it eats away at me. Slowly, constantly.

I can't control it.

Every time I draw the sacred sword's power… I lose a little more of myself.

Scared yet?"

Jeanne's eyes widened, the light in her pupils shrinking.

The comrade who had fought by her side just days ago…

Was carrying a power that could destroy himself.

She clenched her fists, then gently patted his shoulder, whispering like a prayer:

"Sir Zoth, you don't need to fight every battle with us…

Only when it's truly necessary."

Zoth looked at her in surprise.

"Seriously…

Why do you even care?

To you, I'm just some drifter you ran into once. Why go this far?"

Jeanne tilted her head, her eyes unwavering.

"Because I want to help you out of that pit of madness.

That's why… I'm trying."

Zoth stared at her.

Something inside him trembled slightly.

Her resolve, her compassion…

That light in her—it was something he thought he'd never see again.

Zoth chuckled softly and closed his eyes.

"Haah…

Now I get why the F/GO boys all liked you so much."

"Sir Zoth? What did you just say?"

Jeanne blinked, confused.

"Nothing…"

Zoth waved it off lazily.

"…anyway, just call me Zoth from now on. Drop the 'Sir' stuff."

Jeanne flustered, waving her hands:

"I-I couldn't! That's not proper!"

Zoth looked at her and grinned:

"Just do it. No need to be so formal… right, Jeannette?"

Jeanne froze. Her eyes widened.

"H-How do you know that name?!"

Zoth snorted smugly:

"Hmph! These eyes see everything!"

(Of course, the truth was he once burned 210 Saint Quartz and 20 summon tickets in F/GO trying to get Jeanne Alter, and out of sheer salt, read every line of her and Jeanne's lore on the Wiki.)

"I-Is that so… hahaha…"

Jeanne laughed awkwardly, unsure if he was serious or just weird.

"Alright! It's decided!"

Zoth pointed at her dramatically, grinning wide:

"From now on, I call you Jeannette. You call me Zoth. No negotiations!"

Jeanne blushed, clutching her flag tightly, eyes wavering.

"Ah… um…

Then please take care of me from now on… Zoth."