This proved a stark contrast to the Dragoon class, which specialized in the use of ranged combat. Unlike the Knights, the Dragoons had only benefited from the passage of ti and the advancent of firearms technology in particular, allowing them to supplant the Knights as the church’s go-to field agents for a ti, resulting in sothing of an unofficial rivalry between the two castes.
Thankfully, the three ’support’ castes didn’t possess any particular grievances towards one another, though that didn’t really an much when you considered how both the Knights and Dragoons tended to look down on them despite how valuable they were.
Take the Doctor caste for example; as their na implied, mbers of this caste specialized in the treatnt of wounds, both natural and those inflected by Demons, spirits and what have you. Or the Arias, so nad for their ability to exorcise and severely weaken Spiritual and Demonic entities by reciting verses from holy scriptures. And finally there were the Tars, those who possessed the ability to summon and control various ’Contract Spirits’ to both attack and provide support.
While their overall combat ability tended to be weak, and few, if any, possessed the talent for summoning required to beco a Tar, not even the most die-hard fanatic could deny that the Support Castes provided a much-needed service, to the point most Exorcist teams typically possessed at least one support caste mber among their ranks.
That being said, while most of her fellow pages quickly found themselves a niche to fill, Xenovia proved decidedly harder to place. Despite her faith and ability to recite the bible by heart, her lack of patience, blunt deanor and general preference of confronting her foes directly made her ill-suited to beco an Aria or Doctor, while her general disdain for firearms and anything even closely resembling heathen ’Magic’, eliminated any chance of her becoming a Dragoon or Tar.
Fortunately for Xenovia, her skills and dedication to the way of the sword had not gone unnoticed by her instructors, and she soon found herself apprenticed to Griselda Quarta, a high-ranking Exorcist who took her on as her personal Squire, even going so far as to beco her legal guardian. which proved to be an...interesting experience, to say the least.
Oh, make no mistake, Xenovia was eternally grateful for her master’s tutelage, but that didn’t change the fact Griselda could by bloody terrifying when she wanted to be, usually simply to get a reaction out of her Squire. Despite all that, Xenovia would freely admit that Griselda was the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother figure, and for the longest ti she’d done everything she could to earn her approval.
She could still rember the smile on her master’s face the day she’d passed the Knight Trials, the sa day she was deed worthy of wielding Durandal. To this day, it remained one of her fondest mories, and following her excommunication it served as one of her strongest motivators for retaining Durandal. So deep was her respect for Griselda, in fact, that despite being excommunicated, despite casting aside her faith and throwing in her lot with the Grigori, Xenovia hadn’t cast aside her teachings, which was why she was currently gasping for breath, Durandal held before her as she glared at her opponent.
It would be no exaggeration to call this place a battlefield, an arid wasteland marred by the scars of battle, the land itself scorched by raging flas, littered with shrapnel from scattered blades and shattered earth. On one side stood Xenovia, clad in her skintight battle suit, the blessed fabric, which was designed to deflect small arms fire, littered with tears, exposing the glancing wounds she’d received over the course of the battle, a stark contrast to her opponent, who despite breathing heavily from exhaustion, was completely unhard.
"Do you wish to continue, Emiya-sama?" she called out, looking on warily as the self-proclaid ’Faker’ caught his breath, part of her secretly hoping he would choose to continue, as she hadn’t had such a satisfying duel for so ti now.
"No, I think that’s enough for today." The magus gasped, rising from his crouch, the beautiful Chinese falchions he seed to prefer vanishing back into the ether as he wiped the sweat from his brow, drawing her attention the shock of white that interrupted his forrly red hair "Thanks again for the workout, Xenovia-san."
"Think nothing of it, Emiya-sama." The forr Exorcist assured him even as she returned Durandal to its storage dinsion "Governor Azazel has entrusted with your well-being, so it is only natural that I assist you with your swordsmanship training."
And in all honesty, Shirou needed all the help he could get. While his combat skills and fighting style were certainly impressive for his age, especially given his claims of having received no formal training outside of basic Archery, it ant little if he faced an opponent who could simply overwhelm him with pure force or speed, which were the bread and butter of Devils who chose to engage in close-combat.
"Still, I can’t believe Azazel had sothing like this set up..." Shirou mused, gazing around at their surroundings. At first glance, one would be forgiven for believing they were standing in the middle of a rocky desert filled with dead trees beneath a cloudy red sky. Barren, that is, save for the ornate Silver door that was conspicuously standing right in the center of the rock-strewn land. A door that Shirou knew for a fact led to the basent of Azazel’s mansion back in Kuoh "He really does have a lot of ti on his hands."
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