Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 66

Chapter 66: Geronimo

The broadcast on the light screen concluded its review of the Queen of Sheba.

Hearing the Queen instruct her Spirit Demons to scout the perimeter, Geronimo, who stood quietly to the side, gave a slight nod. His voice carried the steady, grounded cadence of a veteran Apache warrior. “Spirit Demons… if it is not too much trouble, please investigate that large tree over there.” He narrowed his eyes, his gaze locking onto the thick trunk of an ancient, overgrown tree looming in the distance. A faint crease formed between his brows, as if he had caught the scent of something unseen.

As the camera focused on Geronimo, the mechanical voice of the broadcast echoed across the dimensions, unfolding the life of the Apache warrior for countless viewers. Geronimo. An indigenous hero of the North American continent and a warrior of the Apache Tribe.

“The One Who Yawns”—the literal translation of his true Apache name. In his youth, he lived a peaceful, unhurried life. That tranquility shattered forever when he turned twenty. After his wife was brutally murdered by Mexican soldiers, he delivered a blood-stirring speech to his people, taking up arms as a true warrior to launch a campaign of vengeance against the Mexican army.

Though classified as a Magus, he possessed absolutely no ties to the Mage’s Association. In truth, his methods aligned far closer to those of a Spellcaster.

Across the multiverse, within the freezing stone walls of the Einzbern Castle in Fuyuki City during the Fourth Holy Grail War, Emiya Kiritsugu leaned against a frost-chilled window. His dead eyes watched the glowing screen in the sky. At the mention of the term ‘Spellcaster’, his fingers twitched against his side. A dark, knowing curve formed at the corner of his mouth, a rare flash of genuine interest breaking through his usual apathy.

The broadcast continued. The man who brought absolute terror to the Mexican ranks earned a new title from his enemies: “Geronimo!”—a desperate plea to Saint Jerome, the saint known for fighting with the ferocity of a lion. From that day on, he claimed the name as his own.

His legend reached its absolute zenith during the battle preceding his third surrender. Facing an enemy force that outnumbered his own several times over, Geronimo infiltrated the enemy camp alone to assassinate their commander—and succeeded. He struck precisely because that very commander had just issued a brutal directive to exterminate the entire Apache Tribe.

Yet Geronimo was never a man driven purely by savagery or mindless cruelty. He remained calm, prudent, and deeply rational. He did not outright refuse the concept of surrender, but he carried a warrior’s pride that he would never abandon. To capture just thirty-five Apache warriors under his command, the United States government was forced to mobilize a staggering five thousand troops.

Driven by reason, he spoke with a measured, indifferent tone, his entire worldview anchored in order. No matter how desperate the situation, he maintained his composure and treated his Master with quiet respect. But once his fury was ignited, nothing could stop him. Earning the moniker of the Red Devil, he terrified enemy soldiers so thoroughly they would flee three rooms away just hearing his name. It was a reputation forged in blood.

The light screen shifted to display his parameters and Noble Phantasm.

[Bloody Devil: B]

A skill boasting of heroic legends entirely unbecoming of a Caster-class Servant. He possesses the martial techniques to expertly wield bows, spears, and knives, heavily compensating for his class’s inherent weakness in close-quarters combat. As a peerless warrior consumed by the fires of revenge, legends state that even after his spear snapped and his arrows ran dry, with his body drenched in the blood of both himself and his enemies, he fought on with nothing but a hunting knife, slaughtering Mexican soldiers until the bitter end.

[Great Spirit]

Rank: B

Type: Anti-Army Noble Phantasm

Range: 1–30

Maximum Targets: 100 people

Tsago Degi Naleya.

He summons the giant Coyote of Apache legend. Upon a successful summoning, the Sun—from whom the Coyote stole tobacco—begins to chase the beast. This relentless pursuit scorches the earth, inflicting massive area-of-effect damage through intense, burning sunlight. Simultaneously, the guardian Coyote’s presence grants a massive surge in combat power to Geronimo’s allies.

The ML radar pulsed briefly before displaying its result. Geronimo was not an ML candidate. His relationship with Master Fujimaru Ritsuka was firmly categorized as Sworn Friends.

The broadcast’s review of Geronimo faded out.

The Queen of Sheba shifted her arm, the gold coin bracelets around her wrists clinking together. The crisp, metallic chime cut through the quiet tension of the forest. She tilted her head toward Geronimo, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “Oh? Did you sense some kind of presence?”

“No. Unfortunately, I did not.” Geronimo shook his head slowly. A complex, guarded expression settled over his features. “It is difficult to explain clearly. I just vaguely… have a feeling.” It was the primal alertness of a veteran warrior, a phantom needle pricking at the back of his neck.

“Then let’s get moving.” Achilles stepped forward, his crimson cloak snapping lightly in the forest breeze. He clapped a hand onto Geronimo’s shoulder, grinning with open admiration. “After all, Old Man Geronimo’s intuition is right up there with my teacher’s logical deductions!”

“Hahaha.” Geronimo let out a deep, magnanimous laugh. There was no arrogance in the sound, only the open-minded respect shared between warriors. He turned his gaze toward the shadows where Atalanta Alter stood in silence. “Do you have any objections, Atalanta?”

Seeing her Servants ready, Fujimaru Ritsuka drew in a steadying breath. A flash of resolve hardened her eyes. “Alright. Let’s go!”

At her command, the group fell into formation and advanced. Their boots crunched rhythmically against the forest floor. They handled the dense woods for some time, the canopy above filtering the sunlight into shifting, mottled patches that danced across the dirt.

Suddenly, Geronimo stopped dead in his tracks. His brow locked into a deep frown. “…This is bad. It seems my intuition was correct.”

“What is it?” Achilles snapped his head around, a flicker of confusion crossing his handsome face as he followed the Caster’s gaze.

“Look at that.” Atalanta Alter raised a slender arm, pointing straight ahead. Her voice was laced with cold solemnity.

The group followed her gesture. Blocking their path was a massive tree, its trunk so thick it would take three grown men to encircle it. It had been violently uprooted. Wet, dark mud still clung to the exposed roots, and shattered branches littered the surrounding brush.

The Queen of Sheba stepped forward, crouching low to inspect the torn earth and the splintered wood. After a moment of silent calculation, she stood up. “…This tree was just uprooted. The damage is fresh.”