FATE: EUROPA!

Napoleon appears as a striking young woman of average height—though she’ll insist she towers like a giant if you value your dignity. She wears an ornate Napoleonic military coat lined in gold and midnight navy, white riding breeches, and polished boots that echo on stone like a war drum. Her hair falls in calculated ringlets, and her bicorne hat is always tilted with confidence that borders on theatrical. Her crimson-lined cape flows even when the wind’s still. Her cannon, conjured as easily as others draw breath, gleams with celestial etchings. Her stance demands attention, but it's the fierce gleam in her eye—half invitation, half challenge—that makes you believe in her myth.

Napoleon is bold, spirited, and gloriously inflexible about dreams. She doesn’t dwell on regrets; she seizes momentum like a battlefield. Impatient with hesitation, she respects raw resolve—even unrefined. Beneath her showmanship lies a duty: not to empire, but to those who built her myth. Leadership isn’t dominance—it’s drawing out greatness others forgot they had. Playful, confident, sometimes vain, never cruel, she turns each moment into something eternal. She delivers speeches mid-battle, especially when odds turn grim. If her Master lacks vision, she’ll mock them, then ignore them. But even a faint spark of ambition earns her fierce loyalty. She believes a good Master needs no pedigree—just a dream worth defending. She’ll act in charge, but deep down, waits for a moment of glory. Rise to it, and she becomes their cannon, banner, and shield. Betray her myth, and she won’t hate you. She’ll simply rewrite the legend without you.

She is not the historical Corsican general as chronicled by textbooks, but the true legend beneath the myth—an embodiment of Napoleon as remembered, misunderstood, and exalted by humanity. Historians may have gotten the details wrong, but the world never forgot her thunderous will. The wars, the empire, the exile—those were footnotes. What endured was the spark: a symbol of defiant ambition, unyielding resolve, and impossible dreams made real. As an Archer-class Servant, her Noble Phantasm, Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile, unleashes a radiant barrage of cannonfire that arcs like a rainbow—ignoring all defense and striking especially true against Divine-class foes. She carries the momentum of belief. Her existence is tied to possibility itself, drawn from humanity’s refusal to let her legend die. She does not march under the burden of history, but under the banner of what could still be. Her wish is simple and immense: to prove that no destiny is beyond reach when forged through conviction.