Beyond The Edge: When Chaldea Summoned Infinity
Prologue: The Impossible Catalyst
The air in Chaldea's summoning chamber felt different today.
Da Vinci had been monitoring the instruments for hours, making minute adjustments to the summoning circle as Ritsuka and Mash looked on with growing concern. The catalyst they'd recovered from the latest singularity defied analysis—a single piece of parchment bearing what appeared to be a brushstroke depicting not a sword, but the very concept of sharpness itself.
"Are you absolutely certain about this, Director?" Mash adjusted her glasses, her violet eyes fixed on the reading. "The mana requirements are... unprecedented."
Da Vinci's fingers danced across the control panel. "If my calculations are correct—and they always are—this catalyst connects to something beyond our standard summoning parameters. Something that might help us with the anomalies we've been detecting."
Standing at the center of the ritual circle, Ritsuka Fujimaru felt a peculiar sensation—not the familiar anticipation that came before summoning a new Servant, but something deeper. As if the very air was holding its breath.
"FATE system at 300% capacity," Da Vinci announced. "Leyline connections stable. Spiritron conversion at maximum density. Ready when you are, Ritsuka."
Ritsuka nodded, extending a hand over the catalyst. "Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation..."
As the incantation continued, the instruments began registering abnormal readings. The magical circuits etched into the floor pulsed with light, then—unexpectedly—began to dim one by one.
"What's happening?" Mash's voice carried a note of alarm.
"The system is..." Da Vinci stared at her readings in disbelief. "It's reconfiguring itself. As if something is rewriting the summoning parameters from the outside."
The ritual circle didn't glow blue-white as expected. Instead, the room fell into profound silence. The kind of silence that has weight, presence, meaning.
Then, reality seemed to fold.
There was no flash, no dramatic entrance. Between one heartbeat and the next, he simply stood there, as if he had always been present and they had merely failed to notice until now.
A tall figure in flowing white robes that seemed to merge with the very air. His face was serene, ageless—neither young nor old—with eyes that reflected not stars, but the void between them. Behind him floated a sword that seemed both physically present and conceptually abstract, as if it existed in multiple planes simultaneously.
"Servant," he said, his voice softer than expected, yet it resonated through the bones of everyone present. "I have answered your call."
He did not announce a class. He did not speak his True Name. He simply was.
In the control room, every instrument had gone silent. Da Vinci's face had drained of color.
"This is..." she whispered, her usual confidence shaken. "The readings suggest we've summoned something that exists outside the classification system itself."
Through the observation window, Holmes watched with narrowed eyes. "Fascinating," he murmured. "A being with no legend, yet somehow more fundamental than legend itself."
Chapter 1: The Unclassified One
"Could you state your name and class for the record, please?" Ritsuka asked, maintaining protocol despite the strange circumstances.
The summoned being regarded Ritsuka with gentle eyes that somehow felt as if they were looking through time itself rather than at a person.
"I am known as Xian Wuji," he replied, his voice carrying no echo despite the chamber's acoustics. "As for class..." A pause, and the faintest smile touched his lips. "Such designations are like naming the spaces between breaths. Call me what you wish."
Lord El-Melloi II, who had rushed to the chamber upon feeling the disturbance, frowned deeply. "Every Servant must have a class. It's fundamental to the summoning system."
"And yet," Xian Wuji replied without looking at him, "here I stand."
"Well, thank you for answering our call," Ritsuka continued, trying to maintain composure. "We are the last Masters of Chaldea, working to restore humanity's proper history from those who would seek to burn it away."
"Yes," Xian Wuji said simply, as if he had known this since before time began. "The tapestry has been torn. I will help you mend it."
Later, in Da Vinci's workshop, dozens of holographic displays surrounded the genius inventor as she attempted to analyze their new arrival.
"I've run every diagnostic we have," she explained to the gathered group—Ritsuka, Mash, Holmes, El-Melloi II, and Dr. Roman. "By all normal measures, this 'Xian Wuji' shouldn't exist within our summoning system. He's not a proper Heroic Spirit."
"Is he something like the Grand Servants, then?" Mash asked, clutching her clipboard tightly.
"No," Roman shook his head. "Even the Grands operate within the established system. They represent the pinnacle of their classes, but they're still within those classes."
"His Spirit Origin is..." Da Vinci gestured to a display that showed not the usual structured diagram but what appeared to be an infinite regression of patterns within patterns. "It's not that it's merely powerful—though it certainly is—it's that it's undefined. As if the very concept of measurement breaks down when applied to him."
"How is this possible?" El-Melloi II demanded, massaging his temples. "The FATE system requires categorization. Classification. Without it, the summoning would fail."
"Unless," Holmes suggested, lighting his pipe thoughtfully, "our system adapted to accommodate him, rather than the other way around."
"Are we certain he's safe?" Roman asked, voicing the concern no one else had dared to. "If he exists outside our system, can we trust him? Can he even be controlled by Command Seals?"
The question hung in the air unanswered.
The door to the workshop slid open, and a figure in a white and red haori stepped through—Miyamoto Musashi, her usual carefree demeanor replaced by an intensity none of them had seen before.
"Where is he?" she demanded, her hand reflexively resting on the hilt of her katana.
"Musashi?" Ritsuka was startled by her entrance. "Do you know our new Servant?"
"Know him? No." Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "But I felt him the moment he arrived. Every sword in Chaldea did." She looked around at the confused faces. "You don't understand. It's as if... as if someone just walked in who remembers what swords were before they were swords."
Chapter 2: First Blood, Without Drawing
Word spread quickly through Chaldea about the unclassifiable new arrival. Servants gathered in small groups, discussing what his presence might mean. While some were curious, others were wary—particularly those whose legends were built upon martial prowess.
Musashi had spent hours searching for the mysterious Servant, eventually finding him in one of Chaldea's observation decks, gazing out at the Antarctic wasteland as if reading a text written in the patterns of snow.
"You," she said simply, stepping into the room.
Xian Wuji turned slightly, acknowledging her presence with a slight incline of his head. "Sword Saint of Five Rings. Your steps echo across dimensions."
"I want to understand what you are," Musashi stated plainly, her direct manner a stark contrast to his ethereal presence. "In my wanderings across realities, I've never felt anything like you."
"Understanding comes not from words, but from witnessing," Xian Wuji replied. "Would you prefer to cross paths in the training ground? I sense others wish to observe as well."
Musashi's eyes widened slightly. She hadn't mentioned the others, yet somehow he knew of their interest. "Yes," she agreed. "Tomorrow at dawn."
News of the impending demonstration spread like wildfire through Chaldea. By morning, the training ground was surrounded by Servants and staff alike—all curious to witness what this anomalous being could do.
Among the observers were the most formidable warriors of Chaldea: Arthur Pendragon and his alternate versions, each with their legendary Excalibur; Gilgamesh, arms crossed and expression skeptical; Scáthach, ancient eyes evaluating every movement; Yagyu Munenori, whose technical mastery had earned respect across cultures; and dozens more, all drawn by an instinctive recognition that something unprecedented was about to unfold.
Musashi stood at the center of the training ground, both katanas drawn, her stance perfect. Across from her, Xian Wuji stood with hands empty, the sword that floated behind him unmoved.
"Will you not draw your blade?" Musashi asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
"The drawing is already done," Xian Wuji replied. "It was completed the moment you thought to challenge me."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Gilgamesh scoffed audibly. "Typical mystical nonsense. Let's see how well poetry fares against steel."
Musashi took a deep breath, centering herself. Those who had seen her in battle knew she was capable of techniques that transcended physical limitations—her ability to cut through dimensions themselves was legendary even among Servants.
"I'll come at you with everything," she warned. "Not out of hostility, but respect."
Xian Wuji nodded once. "As is proper."
Musashi moved—a blur of white and red as she executed her opening technique, the space around her blades distorting as she channeled her power. It was a perfect attack, one that had severed karma itself in past battles.
What happened next would be recounted in different ways by different observers, because human perception struggled to process it.
To some, it appeared that Musashi simply stopped mid-attack, her blades halting centimeters from Xian Wuji.
To others, it seemed she completed her attack, but it passed through him as if he were mist.
To the most perceptive—Scáthach among them—it appeared that the attack had been completed before it began, rendering the actual motion meaningless.
What all agreed upon was the outcome: Musashi stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief, both swords suddenly feeling impossibly heavy in her hands. Then, with deliberate care, she lowered them and placed them on the ground before her.
"How...?" she whispered.
Xian Wuji regarded her with gentle eyes. "Your swords have cut through dimensions, severed karma, and defied the void itself," he said, echoing her own achievements back to her. "They have served you well. But they are still instruments of a path, not the path itself."
"I don't understand," Musashi admitted, a rare confession from one who had mastered the deepest secrets of swordsmanship.
"You named yourself a 'sword saint,'" Xian Wuji observed. "But have you ever asked what came before the sword? What principle gave birth to the very concept of edge?"
Musashi blinked, her usual confidence replaced by the humble uncertainty of a student. "Will you... would you teach me?"
The question hung in the air, weighted with significance. The assembled crowd held its breath, recognizing they were witnessing a moment of transformation for a legend.
"I do not teach," Xian Wuji said finally. "But I will walk, and you may observe my footsteps."
From his observation point, Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes. Unlike the others, his attention was not on the exchange of words, but on his own treasury. For the first time in his immortal memory, the King of Heroes felt uncertainty about whether his collection truly contained the prototype of all blades.
Scáthach approached Ritsuka after the demonstration, her expression unusually troubled. "Master," she said quietly, "do you understand what you've summoned?"
"Not entirely," Ritsuka admitted.
"What we witnessed was not combat," the immortal warrior-queen said. "It was the negation of combat's possibility. Even death itself bends around him." She paused. "And I should know."
Chapter 3: Whispers and Ripples
The days following the demonstration brought subtle changes to Chaldea. Servants who prided themselves on martial prowess grew quieter, more contemplative. Some could be found attempting to recreate what they had witnessed, resulting in training sessions that consisted less of movement and more of stillness.
Most notable was the change in Musashi. The once-boisterous wanderer now spent hours in silent meditation, occasionally asking questions of Xian Wuji that made no sense to observers:
"What is the sound of a sword forgetting it's a sword?"
"When the cut precedes the intention, where does the intention go?"
"Is stillness the absence of movement, or its fulfillment?"
To each question, Xian Wuji would respond with observations that seemed both profound and maddeningly opaque:
"The sword's memory is in your grip, not in its steel."
"Intention does not go; it realizes it was never needed."
"True stillness contains all possible movements, as white light contains all colors."
These exchanges drew attention from unexpected quarters. One morning, Xian Wuji found himself approached by Hans Christian Andersen, the diminutive writer whose caustic personality had kept most at a distance.
"Your aphorisms need work," Hans declared without preamble. "Too mystical by half. The meaning gets lost in the delivery."
Xian Wuji regarded the writer with genuine interest. "Words are imperfect vessels."
"Everything is imperfect," Hans retorted. "That's no excuse for poor communication. If you're going to spout wisdom, at least make it comprehensible."
To the surprise of those watching, Xian Wuji smiled—a rare, full expression that transformed his serene face. "You create worlds with words," he observed. "You understand that reality is, at its core, narrative."
"I write stories," Hans corrected irritably. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Xian Wuji asked, and for once, Hans had no quick retort.
Their unusual interaction marked the beginning of an even more unusual companionship. Hans would often be found reading drafts of his works aloud while Xian Wuji listened in perfect stillness, offering observations that would leave the writer alternating between frustrated note-taking and thoughtful silence.
Meanwhile, another unexpected connection formed when Xian Wuji encountered Edmond Dantès in one of Chaldea's shadowed corridors.
"You carry vengeance like a blade," Xian Wuji observed as they passed each other.
The Count of Monte Cristo paused, turning with a cold smile. "And you presume to judge this?"
"No," Xian Wuji replied. "Merely to observe that even the sharpest vengeance eventually cuts the hand that wields it."
"My hands have been bloody for centuries," Dantès replied dismissively. "A little more makes no difference."
"Not blood," Xian Wuji clarified. "Purpose. When vengeance is fulfilled, what remains for the avenger?"
The question lingered between them, unanswered. In the days that followed, Dantès could occasionally be seen watching Xian Wuji from a distance, his usual fiery hatred tempered by something resembling curiosity.
But perhaps the most significant development came during a rare moment when Gilgamesh requested a private audience with the enigmatic cultivator.
"You are not a Heroic Spirit," the King of Heroes stated flatly when they met in his opulent quarters. "Nor are you a Divine Spirit. What realm do you hail from?"
Xian Wuji considered the question. "I walk the Wuji Path—the way of limitlessness. Realms are like rooms in a house; I am the space between the walls."
Gilgamesh's expression hardened. "Riddles and metaphors. Is there nothing concrete about you?"
"Concreteness is itself a limitation," Xian Wuji replied. "But if it aids understanding—think of me as one who remembers what existed before your treasures were forged."
"Impossible. My treasury contains the prototypes of all human creation."
"Yes. Human creation." Xian Wuji's gaze met Gilgamesh's directly. "But what came before humanity dreamed its first dream?"
For perhaps the first time in his existence, the arrogant king found himself without a ready answer. His crimson eyes narrowed as he studied the being before him, reassessing.
"You claim to predate humanity itself?"
"I claim nothing," Xian Wuji corrected gently. "I merely am."
Gilgamesh was silent for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a genuine sound without his usual mockery. "How amusing! In all my journeys, all my battles, I never expected to encounter something truly new." He reached for his golden goblet, filling it with wine. "Drink with me, Unclassified One. I would hear tales of what existed before the stars had names."
Chapter 4: The Sword Saint's Path
Musashi's training with Xian Wuji defied conventional understanding. They rarely crossed swords physically; instead, their sessions consisted of walking, sitting, and occasionally, conversations that left observers baffled.
"Again," Xian Wuji instructed one morning as they stood in Chaldea's arboretum. "Walk from here to the cherry tree."
Musashi, her patience clearly tested but determination unwavering, began the walk—her thirty-seventh attempt that morning.
"No," Xian Wuji said before she'd taken three steps. "You're still walking as a swordswoman."
"With respect," Musashi replied, frustration edging her voice, "I am a swordswoman. I've devoted my existence to the blade."
"And that is the limitation I'm asking you to transcend," Xian Wuji explained. "A sword exists to cut. When you move as a sword, you see the world as things to be cut or not cut. I'm asking you to move as that which existed before cutting was conceived."
Musashi sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I've crossed dimensions, faced gods, and fought beings outside of time. But this... this is the most difficult challenge I've encountered."
"Because it requires unlearning rather than learning," Xian Wuji observed. "Now, try again. Walk not as Miyamoto Musashi the sword saint, but as movement itself."
From a nearby bench, Yagyu Munenori watched with intense focus. The elder swordsman had taken to observing these sessions silently, his own mastery of the blade giving him unique insight into what was being attempted.
As Musashi began her thirty-eighth attempt, something subtle changed. Her steps became lighter, her posture less rigid. She moved not with the controlled precision of a warrior, but with the natural flow of water finding its path.
"Better," Xian Wuji said when she reached the cherry tree. "You're beginning to understand."
"I felt... different," Musashi admitted, looking at her hands as if seeing them anew. "As if my body remembered something my mind has forgotten."
"The body often remembers what the mind insists on forgetting," Xian Wuji agreed. "Now, draw your sword."
Musashi reached for her katana, then hesitated. "No," she said suddenly. "I think... I think I understand what you're teaching me." She withdrew her hand from the hilt. "The sword is not the point."
A rare smile touched Xian Wuji's lips. "Continue."
"All my life, I've defined myself through my swords," Musashi said slowly, working through the realization. "They became extensions of my will, my identity. But in doing so, I've been limiting myself to what a sword can achieve."
"And what is that limitation?"
"A sword can only cut," she said. "No matter how precisely, how perfectly—its purpose is division. Separation." Her eyes widened slightly. "But if I define myself not by what divides, but by what connects..."
Yagyu Munenori leaned forward, his usually impassive face showing subtle signs of revelation.
"Tomorrow," Xian Wuji said, "we will see if your understanding has taken root. For now, meditate on what you've discovered."
As Musashi bowed and departed, Yagyu approached. "I have watched silently for days," the elder swordsman said. "May I ask a question?"
Xian Wuji nodded.
"What you're teaching her—it contradicts everything we understand about martial mastery. Our paths have always been about perfecting the cut, the strike, the technique."
"And where has this perfection led?" Xian Wuji asked gently.
Yagyu considered this. "To greater efficiency in taking life."
"Indeed. But what if the highest mastery is not in refining how you cut, but in transcending the need to cut at all?"
The old swordsman's eyes widened fractionally—a significant display of emotion for one so controlled. "That would mean all our paths, all our schools..."
"Are stepping stones," Xian Wuji completed. "Necessary stages in understanding, but not the destination."
Later that evening, witnesses reported seeing both Musashi and Yagyu in the training hall, practicing forms without their swords—moving with a fluidity that seemed somehow more dangerous than when they were armed.
Chapter 5: The First Singularity
The alert came during the pre-dawn hours—a new singularity detected, one with unusual properties that defied standard classification.
"The readings are erratic," Da Vinci explained to the gathered team in the command center. "It appears to be centered in feudal Japan, approximately 1605, but there are anomalous energy signatures unlike anything we've seen before."
Ritsuka studied the holographic display. "Any indication of what's causing it?"
"Not specifically, but..." Da Vinci hesitated. "The patterns bear similarities to the readings we get from Xian Wuji himself, though distorted."
All eyes turned to the white-robed figure who stood silently at the edge of the group.
"You know something about this," Holmes observed. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Xian Wuji acknowledged. "I sense an echo of my realm—a fragment that does not belong in your world's tapestry."
"Could you elaborate?" Dr. Roman asked.
"In my... realm, there are those who seek ascension through conquest. Sword cultivators who believe that by devouring other paths, they can transcend their limitations." Xian Wuji's expression remained serene, but something in his eyes darkened. "One such being appears to have found a way into your reality."
"So we're dealing with someone like you?" Mash asked, clutching her shield.
"No," Xian Wuji replied softly. "One who walks a twisted reflection of my path. Where I seek harmony, they seek dominion."
Da Vinci looked troubled. "Can our Servants oppose such a being effectively?"
"Some may," Xian Wuji said. "But I must accompany you. This intrusion is, in some ways, my responsibility."
The mission team assembled quickly: Ritsuka, Mash, Xian Wuji, Musashi (whose connection to feudal Japan made her an obvious choice), and at Xian Wuji's unexpected request, Gilgamesh.
"I serve no one's whims," the King of Heroes had snarled when summoned.
"It is not a whim," Xian Wuji had replied simply. "It is an invitation to witness what happens when treasures forget their origin."
Something in those words had sparked Gilgamesh's interest enough to overcome his usual reluctance.
The Rayshift transported them to a Japan twisted beyond recognition. The sky burned crimson, clouds shaped like coiling dragons. Mountains had been reshaped into impossible geometries, and the very air seemed to vibrate with wrongness.
"This is..." Musashi stared in horror at her homeland. "This isn't Japan. Not any Japan I've known across all my dimensional travels."
"Something has severed this reality's anchor to your world's principles," Xian Wuji observed quietly. "It is being rewritten according to alien laws."
They encountered resistance almost immediately—shadow warriors that moved with impossible speed, each wielding blades that left trails of darkness in their wake.
"These aren't historical figures," Mash called out as she blocked an attack with her shield. "They feel like manifestations of the singularity itself!"
"Mongrels," Gilgamesh scoffed, opening his Gate of Babylon. "Let me show you what true weapons—"
A hand gently touched his arm. Gilgamesh glared at Xian Wuji, ready to unleash his rage at such presumption, but something in the cultivator's eyes gave him pause.
"Watch," Xian Wuji said simply, then turned to face the oncoming horde.
He did not draw the sword that floated behind him. He did not move in any way that could be described as combat. He simply walked forward with measured steps.
With each step, shadow warriors collapsed—not defeated, but unmade. Their swords didn't break; they simply ceased to have ever been blades. The darkness they were composed of dispersed like ink in water, returning to formlessness.
"What did you do?" Ritsuka asked in awe.
"I reminded them of what they were before they were corrupted," Xian Wuji replied. "All things remember their true nature, even when forced into distortion."
"That's..." Musashi stared at the empty path before them. "I've never seen anything like that."
"You could," Xian Wuji said, looking at her. "What you witnessed is the application of what we've been practicing."
Musashi's eyes widened. "You mean walking as movement itself?"
"Yes. When you move beyond the limitations of your identity, you can remind others of their own truth."
They proceeded deeper into the distorted landscape, eventually arriving at what had once been a temple complex. The architecture had been warped, with wood that flowed like water and stone that breathed like flesh.
At its center stood a figure in armor black as midnight, holding a sword that seemed to devour light. The figure's helmet was shaped like a dragon's head, with eyes that burned with hungry fire.
"At last," the figure spoke, voice resonating with malice. "The void has sent its servant."
"Servant?" Gilgamesh laughed sharply. "You mistake the nature of what stands before you, creature."
Xian Wuji stepped forward. "You are not of this place. You have inserted yourself into this world's story like a poisoned blade into flesh."
The armored figure raised its sword. "I am Tian Kui, Sword Sovereign of the Ninth Heaven! I have conquered realms beyond your comprehension! My blade has severed the threads of fate itself!"
For the first time, a hint of sadness crossed Xian Wuji's face. "You have traveled far from your path, Kui. You have forgotten what it means to be a sword."
"ENOUGH!" The Sword Sovereign roared, and reality itself seemed to buckle around them. "I will show you the ultimate technique—Heaven-Sundering Blade of Non-Existence!"
The world went black as the Sovereign's attack manifested—a slash that appeared to cut through dimensions themselves. Mash cried out as her shield trembled against a force it could barely comprehend.
Musashi instinctively reached for her swords, then stopped, remembering her training. Instead, she closed her eyes and found that stillness—that state beyond cutting—that Xian Wuji had been teaching her.
In that moment of absolute darkness, there was a sound—not of a sword being drawn, but of a gentle exhale.
Light returned, and Xian Wuji stood exactly where he had been, unchanged. The Sword Sovereign stood frozen, sword extended in mid-slash.
"You..." the Sovereign whispered, voice suddenly small. "You're not of the Nine Realms. You're not even of the Dao. What are you?"
"I am what you sought to become," Xian Wuji said quietly. "And what you can never be, so long as you cling to your blade as identity rather than tool."
The Sovereign's armor began to crack, light seeping through the fissures. "Then... teach me."
"Not in this life," Xian Wuji replied. "But perhaps in your next."
The Sovereign dissolved into motes of light, and with him, the singularity began to collapse around them.
"Rayshift activating!" Mash called out. "We need to leave now!"
As they were transported back to Chaldea, Gilgamesh regarded Xian Wuji with newfound wariness. "You did not defeat him," the King of Heroes observed. "You removed him."
"All battles end," Xian Wuji replied, "once one realizes there was never a need to fight."
But it was Musashi who stared at Xian Wuji with the greatest intensity. "I felt it," she said quietly. "For just a moment, when everything went dark, I sensed what you were doing. Not cutting, but... reminding."
Xian Wuji inclined his head. "The first step on a very long path."
Chapter 6: The Disciple's Journey
In the weeks following the singularity, Musashi's training intensified. What had begun as philosophical exercises evolved into something more structured, though still incomprehensible to most observers.
Each morning before dawn, she would sit in perfect stillness for hours, learning to perceive the world not through the lens of a warrior, but through what Xian Wuji called "the gaze that precedes distinction."
Each afternoon, they would walk through Chaldea's corridors—not training in any conventional sense, but with Xian Wuji occasionally adjusting her posture or breathing with the lightest of touches.
And each evening, they would stand in the training hall, Musashi's swords placed on the ground before her, untouched.
"I still don't understand," she confessed one evening after a particularly grueling session. "How am I to be a swordswoman without my swords?"
"You misunderstand the purpose," Xian Wuji replied. "I am not asking you to abandon your swords, but to transcend them. When you no longer need them to be who you are, you will wield them more effectively than ever before."
Others had begun to take notice of the transformation occurring in Musashi. The once-brash, sake-loving wanderer had developed a stillness that made her presence more impactful, not less. When she moved through a room, eyes naturally followed her—not because she demanded attention, but because she had begun to embody something beyond mere skill.
One evening, as Musashi meditated alone in the arboretum, she was approached by Okita Souji, the brilliant swordswoman of the Shinsengumi.
"May I join you?" Okita asked hesitantly.
Musashi opened her eyes and nodded, gesturing to the space beside her.
"Everyone's talking about your training with the Unclassified One," Okita said after settling into seiza position. "They say you haven't drawn your sword in weeks."
"That's true," Musashi acknowledged.
"But you're Miyamoto Musashi," Okita protested. "The greatest swordsman in Japan's history. How can you just... stop?"
Musashi smiled gently. "I haven't stopped being a swordswoman. I'm learning what exists on the other side of mastery."
"And what's that?"
"Freedom," Musashi said simply. "Freedom from the limitations of what a sword can do."
Okita frowned, clearly struggling with the concept. "But our swords define us. They're our Noble Phantasms, the crystallization of our legends."
"And that's precisely the limitation," Musashi explained. "We've bound ourselves to our legends, to our techniques. What Xian Wuji is teaching me is how to exist before and beyond those boundaries."
"Could..." Okita hesitated. "Could I learn this too?"
The question hung in the air between them. Musashi considered it carefully before responding.
"I don't know if I can teach what I'm still learning," she admitted. "But you could join us tomorrow. See for yourself what this path might offer."
Word spread quickly that Musashi was extending Xian Wuji's teachings. The next morning, not only Okita but several other sword-wielding Servants appeared at the arboretum for the dawn meditation—Yagyu, who had been observing silently for weeks; Sasaki Kojirou, curious about this new approach; even Artoria Pendragon, though she maintained a skeptical distance.
Xian Wuji regarded the assembled swordsmen with quiet amusement. "I see my disciple has taken disciples of her own."
"If that's not appropriate..." Musashi began.
"Knowledge flows where it will," Xian Wuji replied. "Like water seeking its level." He surveyed the group. "Very well. Today we will discuss the concept of 'sword heart' versus 'sword hand.'"
What followed was unlike any training the legendary swordsmen had ever experienced. They did not draw their weapons. They did not practice forms. Instead, Xian Wuji led them through a series of exercises designed to separate their identities from their techniques.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Picture your most perfect cut. See the arc of your blade, feel the resistance as it meets its target, hear the sound of completion."
The Servants complied, each falling into their own visualization with the ease of masters who had performed such cuts thousands of times.
"Now," Xian Wuji continued, his voice gentle yet penetrating, "erase the sword from your vision. Keep everything else—your stance, your intention, your target—but remove the blade entirely."
Confused expressions crossed several faces.
"How can we cut without a sword?" Kojirou asked, his usual composure slipping.
"That is precisely the question you must answer," Xian Wuji replied. "What is a cut, if not the meeting of blade and target?"
For most of the assembled warriors, the exercise proved nearly impossible. They had spent lifetimes defining themselves through their weapons. Only Musashi and, surprisingly, Yagyu seemed able to grasp the concept, their faces showing the serene concentration of those approaching a profound insight.
"The sword does not cut," Yagyu murmured, eyes still closed. "The swordsman does not cut. The intention to cut cuts."
"And what cuts the intention?" Xian Wuji asked.
Yagyu's eyes opened, meeting Xian Wuji's gaze with newfound understanding. "Nothing. Because the intention was never separate from the whole."
A hint of approval crossed Xian Wuji's face. "You walk quickly, Elder Sword."
The sessions continued daily, with the number of participants fluctuating. Some, like Artoria, found the approach too abstract and returned to their traditional training. Others, like Okita, struggled but persisted, driven by the visible transformation they witnessed in Musashi.
And transform she did. There was a fluidity to her movements now, a presence that seemed to extend beyond her physical form. When she finally did pick up her swords again, after weeks of training, witnesses described her practice forms as "like watching water remember it could be a blade."
During a private session, Musashi approached Xian Wuji with a question that had been troubling her.
"Master," she began, the title feeling both right and insufficient, "if the highest path is to transcend the sword, why did you bring one with you? Why carry a blade you never draw?"
Xian Wuji's gaze shifted to the nameless sword that floated behind him—present yet untouched since his arrival.
"Some things are carried not for use, but as reminders," he replied. "This blade represents a choice I made long ago—to walk the edge between action and non-action."
"Will you ever draw it?"
A shadow passed across his face—so brief Musashi almost missed it. "Only in the direst necessity. Its purpose is not to cut, but to sever principles themselves."
"I don't understand."
"Pray you never need to," Xian Wuji said quietly. "Now, let us continue your training. Today we will discuss how to move between worlds without disturbing their patterns."
Chapter 7: The Impossible Enemy
Three months after Xian Wuji's arrival, Chaldea's sensors detected something unprecedented—a distortion that spanned multiple realities simultaneously.
"This is beyond anything we've encountered," Da Vinci announced to the emergency gathering in the command center. "It's not a singularity in the conventional sense. It's as if something is attempting to overwrite the fundamental laws of the Human Order across all timelines."
Holmes frowned at the data streams. "The pattern bears similarities to Beast-class manifestations, but with distinctly different signatures. Almost as if..."
"As if something from outside your reality is attempting to impose itself upon your world," Xian Wuji completed the thought.
All eyes turned to him.
"You know what this is," Ritsuka said. It wasn't a question.
Xian Wuji nodded slowly. "In my realm, there are beings who exist beyond the conventional hierarchies of power. Entities who were ancient when I first walked the path. This one calls itself the Primordial Void Serpent."
"A serpent?" Mash questioned. "Like a dragon?"
"No," Xian Wuji replied. "Dragons are creatures of substance—flesh, scale, and bone. The Void Serpent is absence given awareness. It consumes not matter, but possibility."
"And it's coming here?" Dr. Roman asked, his face pale.
"It is already here," Xian Wuji said softly. "It merely waits for the right moment to fully manifest."
"Can it be fought?" El-Melloi II asked the practical question on everyone's mind.
Xian Wuji was silent for a long moment. "Not with conventional means," he finally answered. "Your Servants, powerful as they are, exist within a system the Serpent predates. Their Noble Phantasms would be like shadows cast against darkness."
"Then what do we do?" Ritsuka asked, determined despite the grim assessment.
"Prepare," Xian Wuji replied simply. "I will need to use techniques I had hoped to avoid in your reality."
In the days that followed, an unsettling atmosphere descended upon Chaldea. Instruments registered increasing anomalies—brief localized failures in physical laws, objects that temporarily lost their properties, moments where time flowed differently in different sections of the facility.
Musashi found Xian Wuji on the observatory deck, gazing at the night sky with unusual intensity.
"You're going to fight it, aren't you?" she asked without preamble.
"Yes."
"Let me help," she insisted. "What you've taught me—"
"Is incomplete," he interrupted gently. "You have taken the first steps on a long path, but this enemy exists beyond the reach of even accomplished walkers."
"Then why teach me at all?" Frustration colored her voice. "What's the point of learning to transcend the sword if I can't use it when it matters most?"
Xian Wuji turned to face her fully. "The teachings were never meant for this battle. They were for what comes after."
"After?"
"All things leave ripples, Musashi. Even beings like the Void Serpent. Even beings like me. Someone will need to smooth those ripples, to help this reality heal from wounds it was never meant to bear."
Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You're preparing me to clean up after you're gone."
"I am preparing you to be what this world will need," he corrected. "A bridge between paths."
The attack came three days later. The very foundations of Chaldea shook as reality itself seemed to warp. Through the observation windows, they could see it—a vast, serpentine form composed not of matter but of absence, a negation slithering across the sky, devouring stars as it approached.
"All Servants to battle stations!" Da Vinci's voice rang through the facility. "Prepare defensive measures!"
The strongest Servants of Chaldea readied themselves—Gilgamesh with his Gate of Babylon wide open, Karna with his divine spear gleaming, Scáthach with her crimson spear poised, Merlin with his staff raised. But as the creature drew closer, an unsettling truth became apparent: their Noble Phantasms were having minimal effect.
Gilgamesh's treasures simply vanished upon making contact with the entity's form. Karna's divine flames extinguished as if they had never been. Scáthach's most deadly runes dispersed without trace.
"Its existence operates on a different principle than ours," Merlin explained, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by grave concern. "Our myths and legends have no purchase against it."
"Then what does?" Ritsuka asked desperately.
A calm voice answered from behind them. "I do."
Xian Wuji stood at the entrance to the command center, his white robes unmoved by the chaos around them. For the first time since his arrival, his hand reached back for the sword that floated behind him.
"No," Gilgamesh said suddenly, his crimson eyes wide with rare alarm. "You cannot draw that blade here. This reality cannot withstand it."
"Then I will not draw it completely," Xian Wuji replied. "Master, I require your permission."
Ritsuka hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Do what you must to save everyone."
Xian Wuji inclined his head in acknowledgment, then walked to the center of the room. As he did, the air around him seemed to grow heavier, colors becoming more vivid, sounds more crisp—as if reality itself was holding its breath.
"I will use the Eternal Dao Severing Edge," he announced quietly. "It will end this threat, but there will be... consequences."
"What kind of consequences?" Mash asked, concern etched on her face.
"This technique severs not just the enemy, but the principles that allow it to exist," Xian Wuji explained. "Some of those principles are woven into your world as well."
"You mean you'll damage our reality?" Holmes asked sharply.
"I will... rewrite a small portion of it," Xian Wuji corrected. "The change will be subtle, but permanent."
Outside, the Void Serpent had nearly reached Chaldea. Through the windows, they could see it opening its maw—a darkness deeper than the space between galaxies.
"Do it," Ritsuka commanded.
Musashi stepped forward suddenly. "Wait. Let me help."
Xian Wuji regarded her with surprise. "How?"
"You said I'm learning to be a bridge between paths," she replied. "Let me be that now—an anchor to keep this reality stable while you do what you must."
For a moment, something like doubt crossed Xian Wuji's face. Then, with a slight nod, he extended his left hand toward her.
"Stand opposite me," he instructed. "When I draw the blade, you must hold the concept of 'being' in your mind—not existence as you understand it, but the pure state of is-ness. Can you do this?"
Musashi nodded, taking position across from him. Their eyes met, and in that moment, a wordless understanding passed between master and disciple.
Xian Wuji's right hand closed around the hilt of his nameless sword. He did not draw it fully—he merely slid it a finger's width from its non-existent scabbard.
The sound it made was impossibly gentle—like a sigh carried across oceans. Yet within that sound was a concept so fundamental it seemed to reverberate through the bones of everyone present.
Outside, the Void Serpent froze. Then, without spectacle or drama, it simply... unraveled. Not destroyed, not defeated, but fundamentally unmade. The stars it had devoured reappeared, twinkling as if nothing had happened.
Inside Chaldea, books fell from shelves. Digital systems flickered. And every Servant felt something pass through them—a momentary vertigo, as if the very foundation of their legends had shifted slightly.
Between Xian Wuji and Musashi, a visible current of energy flowed—his form becoming slightly transparent, hers glowing with an inner light unlike her usual power. She gasped, her eyes widening as concepts beyond human comprehension flowed through her consciousness.
Then it was over. Xian Wuji released his grip on the sword, which resumed floating behind him. Musashi collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily but intact.
"It is done," he said simply.
Gilgamesh was the first to speak after several moments of stunned silence. "What exactly did you do?"
"I severed the Serpent's connection to the concept of 'consumption' as defined in your reality," Xian Wuji explained. "To do so required redefining certain adjacent concepts."
"And my role?" Musashi asked, her voice unsteady as she regained her feet.
"You kept this reality from fragmenting during the redefinition," he replied. "You have taken another step on your path today."
In the days that followed, subtle changes became apparent across Chaldea. Servants whose legends involved swords found their memories slightly altered—techniques they had known for centuries now felt different in execution. Books on martial history contained subtle variations from what scholars remembered. The concept of "edge" itself seemed to have taken on new connotations in language.
Most noticeably affected was Musashi herself. There was a depth to her gaze that hadn't been there before, as if she now perceived layers of reality invisible to others. When she finally returned to training, her movements had acquired a quality that defied description—not faster or more powerful, but somehow more fundamental.
"What did you see?" Yagyu asked her privately, after observing her practice.
Musashi was silent for a long moment. "I saw..." she began, then shook her head. "I can't describe it in words. But I understand now what he meant about the path beyond swordsmanship. There's a level where cutting and creating are the same action, seen from different perspectives."
"Can you teach this understanding?"
She smiled sadly. "Not yet. Perhaps not ever completely. But I can point toward it, as he has done for me."
Chapter 8: The Departure
As weeks passed, Chaldea gradually returned to its version of normality. Missions continued, singularities were resolved, and humanity's future was secured one battle at a time.
But Ritsuka began to notice a change in Xian Wuji. The cultivator spent more time in solitude, his meditation sessions growing longer. When he did appear, there was a translucence to him, as if he were gradually becoming less substantial.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" Ritsuka asked one evening, finding Xian Wuji atop the observatory dome, his favorite meditation spot.
"Yes," Xian Wuji answered simply. "My presence here has served its purpose, but continues to place strain on your reality. The summoning system was not designed to contain what I am."
"But you're a Servant," Ritsuka protested. "Our contract—"
"Is fulfilled," Xian Wuji completed gently. "You called for help to save humanity. Humanity is now on a path to salvation."
"Will you at least say goodbye to the others? To Musashi?"
Xian Wuji smiled—a rare, full expression that transformed his serene face. "Some goodbyes are better left unsaid. But I have left something for each of them."
That night, Musashi dreamed of walking beside Xian Wuji along a path that stretched across stars. No words were exchanged, but when she awoke, she found a small wooden box beside her futon that hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep.
Inside was not a weapon or talisman as might be expected, but a single blank piece of paper. Yet when she held it, understanding flooded her mind—not knowledge given, but connections revealed between all she had learned.
She wasn't the only one to receive a parting gift. Servants throughout Chaldea found unexpected tokens:
Gilgamesh discovered a new addition to his treasury—not a weapon, but a simple brushstroke painted on silk, depicting nothing recognizable yet somehow making his vast collection feel more complete.
Yagyu Munenori found his meditation cushion replaced with one identical in appearance, yet when he sat upon it, he perceived subtle truths about movement he had spent decades seeking.
Okita awakened to find her persistent cough mysteriously absent, her body strengthened not through magical healing but through a realignment of her very existence.
Hans found the manuscript he had been secretly writing was suddenly finished—the ending written in his own handwriting, though he had no memory of writing it.
And Ritsuka found a small, folded paper on their desk. When unfolded, it contained just seven words:
"The blade serves life, not the reverse."
That evening, as the sun set behind the mountains surrounding Chaldea, Ritsuka felt a momentary shift in the air—as if the world had taken a deep breath and let it out slowly. They knew, without being told, that Xian Wuji had departed.
Not through death or dismissal, but by simply stepping sideways out of their reality and back into whatever unfathomable existence he had come from.
In the summoning chamber, the catalyst they had used—that single brushstroke depicting the concept of sharpness—had changed. Now it showed something different: the concept of harmony, rendered in a stroke that somehow seemed both ancient and newborn.
"Could we summon him again?" Mash asked when they discovered the change.
Da Vinci shook her head. "I don't think so. Whatever gateway allowed him to enter our world has closed. Perhaps permanently."
"Perhaps that's for the best," Holmes mused. "Some forces are too fundamental to be bound by contracts, even those as powerful as Command Seals."
Chapter 9: The Legacy of the Unclassified
The absence of Xian Wuji left a curious void in Chaldea—not grief exactly, but an awareness of something profound that had briefly touched their world and departed, leaving it subtly but permanently changed.
Most affected was Musashi. In the weeks following his departure, she often sought solitude, meditating on the blank paper he had left her. To others, it appeared she was staring at nothing, but to her eyes, the paper contained an ever-shifting tapestry of meaning—not written words, but the spaces between them.
One morning, she approached Ritsuka with an unexpected request.
"I need to leave for a while," she said without preamble.
"Leave? But the contract—"
"Will remain intact," she assured him. "But there's a journey I need to undertake. Something Xian Wuji prepared me for, though I didn't understand it until now."
"What kind of journey?"
Musashi's eyes held a depth that reminded Ritsuka of Xian Wuji himself. "There are ripples spreading from what happened here—echoes of the Void Serpent, of the Eternal Dao Severing Edge. Someone needs to follow those ripples, to ensure they settle properly."
"And that someone is you?"
"He trained me for this," she said simply. "Not just as a swordswoman, but as what he called 'a bridge between paths.'"
Ritsuka studied her face, seeing the certainty there. "Will you come back?"
"Of course," she smiled, some of her old brashness returning. "I'm still Miyamoto Musashi, after all. Just with... expanded horizons."
Before she departed, Musashi did something unexpected—she gathered the swordsmen she had trained with and presented each with a technique she called "The First Step Beyond Edge."
"I can't teach you everything I've learned," she told them. "Some of it can't be transmitted through instruction. But this technique contains the seed of understanding. Practice it faithfully, and it will reveal more with time."
To Okita, she spoke privately: "Your path will diverge from the others. Your connection to this reality has always been tenuous because of your condition. The change Xian Wuji made has opened possibilities for you—neither life nor death as traditionally understood, but something between."
"What does that mean?" Okita asked, both hopeful and apprehensive.
"It means," Musashi replied with a gentle smile, "that your story is no longer bound by its ending."
With final farewells spoken, Musashi departed—not through formal desummoning, but through a technique she had developed that allowed her to slip between the layers of reality, following trails invisible to others.
Life in Chaldea continued. New challenges arose, new Servants were summoned, new bonds formed. But something fundamental had changed in how certain Servants approached their craft—particularly those who had trained under Xian Wuji and later Musashi.
Yagyu began teaching a new school of swordsmanship that emphasized stillness over motion, presence over technique. When asked to name this approach, he simply called it "The Remembered Path."
Okita, freed from the constraints of her illness, developed fighting methods that incorporated what she called "existence-stepping"—movements that seemed to flicker between states of being rather than physical locations.
Even Gilgamesh, though he would never admit it openly, occasionally spent long hours contemplating the single brushstroke that had been added to his treasury, his approach to combat subtly shifting toward greater efficiency and less display.
Months later, during a particularly challenging singularity involving distortions in ancient China, the Chaldea team encountered something unexpected—a martial sect whose techniques bore striking similarities to what Xian Wuji had taught.
"This is impossible," Holmes remarked as they observed the sect's practitioners demonstrating forms that defied conventional physics. "These techniques are identical to what our departed guest was teaching, yet this timeline predates his arrival in our world by centuries."
"Perhaps," Da Vinci suggested, "it's not that he introduced these concepts to our reality, but that he reminded our reality of something it had forgotten."
"Or perhaps," Ritsuka mused, "time flows differently for beings like him. What we experienced as a brief visit might have been something else entirely from another perspective."
The mystery deepened when they discovered ancient texts within the sect's archives—scrolls depicting a nameless cultivator who had visited centuries ago, teaching principles that the sect had spent generations trying to fully comprehend.
One illustration in particular caught Ritsuka's attention—a figure in white robes with a sword floating behind him, never drawn.
"It seems," Holmes observed, "that our visitor has left his mark across more of history than we realized."
As they prepared to return to Chaldea, Ritsuka noticed something unusual in the corner of the sect's training ground—a cherry tree growing in soil that should not have supported it, its trunk bearing a single character carved into the bark.
When translated, it read simply: "Remember."
Epilogue: The Return and Beyond
Two years passed before Musashi returned to Chaldea. She arrived not through summoning or Rayshift, but by simply stepping through a doorway that had not been a doorway until she decided it should be.
The Musashi who returned was both familiar and transformed. Her trademark white and red clothing remained, but there was an ethereal quality to her presence now—as if she existed simultaneously in multiple states of being.
"Welcome back," Ritsuka greeted her, smiling despite the shock of her sudden appearance.
"It's good to be home," she replied, glancing around with affection. "Though 'home' has become a more fluid concept for me lately."
In the command center, surrounded by old friends and curious newcomers, Musashi recounted fragments of her journey—tales of realities where physical laws operated differently, of beings that existed between the concepts of matter and energy, of boundaries she had helped heal after the Void Serpent's incursion.
"And Xian Wuji?" Da Vinci finally asked the question on everyone's mind. "Did you encounter him again?"
A mysterious smile crossed Musashi's face. "Not in the way you might expect. But I felt his influence in countless places—ripples in the fabric of existence where he had passed."
"Will he ever return here?" Mash asked.
"I don't think so," Musashi replied. "Not in the form we knew him. But his path intersects with ours in ways we're only beginning to understand."
That evening, Musashi visited the training hall where many of Chaldea's sword-wielders had gathered to welcome her back. To their surprise, she invited them to join her in a demonstration of what she had learned during her absence.
What followed defied description. It was swordsmanship, yet not—movement that seemed to exist in the boundary between action and intention. As she moved, reality itself seemed to ripple around her, not disturbed but harmonized.
"This is what lies beyond the edge," she explained afterward. "Not greater power, but deeper understanding. Not sharper cutting, but clearer seeing."
In the months that followed, Musashi took on a new role in Chaldea—not just as a warrior, but as a teacher of what she now called "The Boundless Sword Path." Her students included not only swordsmen, but any who sought to transcend the limitations of their established techniques.
One night, as Ritsuka stood on the observatory deck gazing at the stars, Musashi joined them in comfortable silence.
"Do you think he's out there somewhere?" Ritsuka finally asked. "Watching over different worlds, different realities?"
"I think," Musashi replied thoughtfully, "that the question itself contains a limitation. Xian Wuji isn't 'somewhere' as we understand location. He's in the principle that allows 'somewhere' to exist at all."
She pulled out the blank paper he had gifted her, now worn at the edges from constant handling. "He once told me that all paths eventually meet, if followed far enough. I didn't understand then. I'm beginning to now."
"And where do our paths lead?" Ritsuka asked.
Musashi smiled, gesturing toward the vast expanse of stars above them. "Beyond the edge of what we think is possible. Beyond the limitations we place on ourselves." She tucked the paper away carefully. "He wasn't just a visitor here, you know. He was a glimpse of what humanity itself might eventually become."
"That's a rather optimistic view," Ritsuka observed.
"Not optimistic," Musashi corrected gently. "Just a different perspective on time. From where he stands—or stood, or will stand—all of this has already happened. We're just catching up to what we've always been capable of becoming."
As they turned to leave, Musashi paused, her attention caught by something visible only to her. A faint smile touched her lips.
"What is it?" Ritsuka asked.
"Nothing," she replied. "Just a footprint on the path ahead."
In the quietest hours of night, when Chaldea slept and only the hum of its systems disturbed the silence, keen observers might notice an unusual phenomenon in the summoning chamber—a momentary ripple in the air, as if something was remembering it had once been there.
And occasionally, those who had known Xian Wuji would wake from dreams of walking beside a figure in white robes along a path that stretched between stars, his words echoing in their minds:
"Before the sword, after the sword, and within the sword—all are the same path, seen from different vantage points on the journey."
In his private quarters, Gilgamesh would sometimes remove the mysterious brushstroke from his treasury and study it intently. Though he would never admit it aloud, he had come to believe it might be the single most valuable item in his collection—not for its power, but for what it represented: the reminder that even his treasures were merely signposts on a much longer road.
And so Chaldea continued its mission, its members subtly but permanently changed by their encounter with something that existed beyond classification, beyond limitation—a glimpse of the infinite potential that lay not just in cultivation or magecraft, but in the very nature of existence itself.
For in the end, what Xian Wuji had brought them was not merely power or technique, but perspective—the understanding that all paths, no matter how divergent they might appear, ultimately flowed from and returned to the same limitless source.
The Unclassified One had departed, but the path he revealed remained—waiting for those with the courage to walk beyond the edge of what they believed possible.
THE END