Archer smirks when the blow comes. He leans into it. The raw iron valkyrie blade cuts into his master with a shuddering impact like chopping wood.

Not like - the fox glamour falls away, revealing that Archer had been hauling a wooden log on his back, disguised with an enchanted leaf. In the moment when Saber's blade catches in the wood he strikes like a serpent, cutting sword answering the false blow with a true one. If Saber had committed to the attack she would be dead. 

"Vengeance is [i]mine[/i], sayth the Lord," said Archer as they part. There was an angelic devilry to his teasing smile. "So, no. After all, what will happen when you drink your fill of vengeance? Will you return to the North, hitch your plough and tend your family? I don't think so. If there's one thing the Southerners never understood about us it's that no matter how much they gave us it would never be enough."

He steps about, holding his blade indifferently. This is no master swordsman and no match for the Saber class - his proof is in his arsenal and in his cunning. To stand his ground like this means that he believes he can bring it to bear in full.

"This ends tonight, ancestor," said Archer. "So come, and become another detail in my glorious history."