The night was serene, with a sparse scattering of stars under a radiant moon.
A faint mist drifted around, the moonlight cold and the stars brilliant. Occasionally, a few dark ravens flitted through the forest outside the castle, their eerie calls echoing from afar.
CAW—!!
Under the moonlight, small animals around the castle scattered in panic, fleeing the forest. Even drivers passing by and joggers on the nearby road instinctively steered clear, leaving the already secluded castle surroundings eerily quiet.
As the last bystander unknowingly fled in the opposite direction, Roy emerged from the chilling forest. Behind him followed a striking figure in a stylish trench coat, her flowing purple hair and mesmerizing beauty exuding an otherworldly charm—Scáthach.
"All clear. The last of the bystanders are gone. No interruptions now."
After probing the surroundings with his raven familiars, Roy opened his eyes, calmly stating his conclusion.
"Indeed, no irrelevant people remain—or rather, not even irrelevant animals," Scáthach nodded, her gaze on Roy tinged with curiosity. "Master, even at such a critical moment, you go through the trouble of setting up a barrier to clear out bystanders? You really play by the rules."
"What else? Charge in and start fighting? That would expose the mysteries of magecraft and drag innocents into it. A grievance has its debtor—we only need to target Saber and her Master. There's no need for senseless slaughter."
Roy shook his head, looking up at the night sky. "Besides, you must have noticed, right?"
"Of course."
Scáthach nodded, her eyes shifting to the castle a few hundred meters away, calmly analyzing. "They clearly anticipated our arrival and prepared countermeasures. The mana in this area is converging toward the castle, transforming it into a magical workshop. No matter how much we stir things up out here, they haven't come out, and Emiya Kiritsugu hasn't shown himself."
"Exactly. Releasing our presence so openly and setting up a dispersal barrier right in front of their castle is a blatant provocation. Yet, Emiya Kiritsugu still hasn't appeared. What do you think that means?"
Roy pondered for a moment before posing the question to Scáthach.
"You're asking me, Master?"
"Mm."
Roy nodded, and Scáthach replied, "It's not hard to understand. Our plans have long been exposed, and with the strength we command, a direct, forceful approach is most effective. They likely deduced our deployment and prepared accordingly."
"Their options are to fight or flee. Given the situation, it seems Emiya Kiritsugu chose the latter."
As the ancient Queen of the Land of Shadows, ruler of the Celtic underworld and mentor to countless warriors, Scáthach's vast experience allowed her to swiftly analyze the situation and provide a sound response.
"You're saying Emiya Kiritsugu likely fled?"
Roy considered her view but neither agreed nor disagreed. "We can't be certain, but it's a strong possibility. Fleeing is a tactic too."
"Escaping may be shameful, but it's effective."
"True, but something's off. You're underestimating Emiya Kiritsugu's resolve."
Roy shook his head, explaining, "Even if escaping works, that's for prolonged warfare. Tonight, not just us but Gilgamesh's side is set on a decisive battle. Escaping isn't an option anymore."
"Hm? How so?"
Curious, Scáthach prompted him.
"Simple. Constantly on the back foot and the weakest side, Emiya Kiritsugu's position is dire. His only trump card is likely Irisviel, the Lesser Grail. But the Lesser Grail can't activate directly—it needs sacrifices to become the conduit for the Greater Grail. And those sacrifices are..."
Roy smiled, meeting Scáthach's eyes. "Your souls. So..."
"At this moment, Emiya Kiritsugu must do everything to hasten the collection of sacrifices to speed up the Lesser Grail's activation. The best way is to intensify the Servants' battles, gathering the sacrifices as quickly as possible. That way, he can slip through the chaos and achieve his goal."
Scáthach and Roy locked eyes, both arriving at the same conclusion.
"So, if Emiya Kiritsugu is pushing for the Greater Grail's descent, this castle can't be empty. And who's waiting inside is pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"You're right, Master. I know who's in there now."
Scáthach nodded, grasping Roy's logic.
"In that case, let's pay a visit and give our poor, helpless old friend a proper greeting."
With that, Roy strode boldly to the castle gates, no longer concealing his potent mana. His eyes narrowed, and a surge of azure mana erupted.
As an alchemical array activated beneath his feet, a blurred azure figure materialized before him.
"...What's that?"
Under Scáthach's slightly astonished gaze, the azure figure moved. Six shadowy wings unfurled behind it, whipping up a fierce storm.
"Please, Raphael."
Roy raised his palm, and the azure figure—named Raphael, symbolizing the wind ahead—mirrored his action, raising its wind-element hand and striking in sync.
—Swoosh!!
The azure hand touched the castle gate without resistance, a dazzling clash of mana and azure vortexes erupting. The sharp wind blade, imbued with terrifying power and authority, sliced through the magically reinforced steel gate like tofu in an instant.
Wind is unbound, and among the four elements, wind is the most elusive. Against a fusion of the wind spirit Sylph and the archangel Raphael, who governs wind in Christian lore, the iron gate was nothing.
"An angel? No, more like the power of wind... but it lacks divinity, closer to a spirit. Yet it lacks the lively intellect of spirits, so it's a pure alchemical construct—an empty shell?"
Observing Roy's wind-element angel, Scáthach was briefly surprised but quickly deduced its nature with her millennia of experience and magical expertise.
Roy didn't deny being seen through. "Even in the distant Age of Gods, divinities were lofty and untouchable. In this age of declining mystery, how could I replicate a true archangel? This is just a vessel for channeling abilities—impressive-looking but effective only against magi. Against Servants like you, with stronger mysteries, it's less useful."
"Fusing angels with spirits—an intriguing theory blending theology and alchemy. Quite a feat, Master."
"But if the Church's Executors saw you mixing the archangels of the four elements with alchemical spirits into this shell, they'd be furious."
"Perhaps, but to me, alchemy, theology, or science are just tools to climb toward truth. As a magus and alchemist, I don't reject what's useful."
Roy shook his head, unconcerned. "If it serves me, I'll use it. The gods haven't appeared to forbid it."
"Gods appearing... heh, Master, that's quite the sophistry. Where are the gods in this era?"
Scáthach shook her head, continuing, "But your actions could be deemed blasphemous. In the Age of Gods, a deity might have shown up to discipline you."
"True, but that era is gone. The gods are locked in the Inner Sea of the Planet. This is humanity's age now, isn't it?"
"You're right. The Age of Gods is over. To you, gods are just tales in ancient texts, and you're merely exploiting that."
"Angel summoning, demon summoning... Master, you remind me of a remarkable figure."
"Who?"
Impressed by Roy's talent, Scáthach said, "His name was Solomon, the King of Magecraft."
"Solomon, huh..."
Roy paused, then shook his head with a wry smile. "While angel and demon summoning share some principles, compared to that legendary King of Magecraft, I'm far behind. If Solomon were here, he wouldn't need schemes—just summon his demons and crush everything."
"That king could summon the true Seventy-Two Demon Gods, while I can only conjure fake angels named and mixed with alchemy. That's the gap."
Roy didn't accept Scáthach's praise.
He knew his limits—a moderately talented magus, nothing like her description.
And who was Solomon, the King of Magecraft?
The true Grand Caster, the Fist King of Israel, unmatched with his Jacob's Limbs and guarded by seventy-two demon gods, each a top-tier Heroic Spirit. His Noble Phantasm, the Temple of Time, was monumental.
Even the Demon King Goetia, capable of incinerating human history, was merely born from Solomon's corpse, inheriting his legacy. If Solomon wished, he could have done the same.
Comparing himself to Solomon? Roy felt unworthy even before considering Solomon's opinion.
"I see..."
Seeing Roy's refusal, Scáthach smiled faintly, her crimson eyes glinting with unreadable intent, saying no more.
During their conversation, the wind blade finally sliced through the castle gate, opening a path forward.
They stepped inside without hesitation.
...
A few hundred meters from the castle's interior, across a courtyard, a striking figure with golden hair and emerald eyes appeared in their view. She stood at the courtyard's center, sword in hand, as if awaiting them for some time.
The Sword Heroic Spirit—Servant Saber, true name Artoria Pendragon, King Arthur.
As Roy predicted, she was tonight's gatekeeper, but...
Though Saber stood before them, her Master was nowhere to be seen, clearly having fled earlier.
"See? As expected, to hasten the Grail's completion, Emiya Kiritsugu would stake his Saber on the board."
Seeing Artoria alone, defending the line without her Master or anyone else, Roy confirmed his earlier suspicions.
Turning to Scáthach, he explained why Emiya Kiritsugu acted this way. "This way, whether Artoria lives or dies, a Servant's soul will be sacrificed here, ensuring at least one falls in this battle."
"So, he's completely treating Saber as expendable, leaving her to fight alone as a sacrifice? Won't that chill King Arthur's heart? If my Master betrayed me like that, I'd put a few holes in him with my spear first."
Scáthach clenched her fist, mimicking a spear jab at Roy's side, making him cry out for mercy.
"Spare me, please, my queen! I've always been loyal, never betrayed you—my loyalty is as clear as day!"
"Pfft..."
Seeing Roy's exaggerated act, even the stoic Scáthach couldn't help but laugh. She hadn't expected her usually serious Master to have such a playful side.
Not bad for some liveliness. Why always so proper?
"Enough clowning. Don't you see Saber's face darkening?"
"I thought it'd cheer you up and ease the pre-battle tension."
"I'm touched by your effort to amuse me, but I prefer seeing you fight heroically and create miracles. Now that King Arthur's here, let's stick to the plan."
Scáthach rechecked the Primordial Runes on Roy, gently touching his face with a smile. "Go, Master. Even if you die, I'll avenge you and take your soul to the Land of Shadows. I'll... train you my way."
"Please don't assume I'll die! I'd love to see the legendary Land of Shadows, but I'd rather fulfill my current wish and reach a place I long for."
Roy shook his head, grabbing a strangely shaped white staff from the air and stepping forward calmly.
"Hm?"
Artoria, standing ahead, felt a pang seeing the camaraderie between Master and Servant, contrasting her own situation. When she saw Roy, not Scáthach, step forward to fight, surprise flashed across her face.
She stared at Roy, ready to battle, with disbelief, then looked at Scáthach, who sat on the steps as if watching a show, and demanded, "Queen Scáthach, what is this?"
"A good question, but don't ask me—I'm looking for the answer too."
Shrugging helplessly, Scáthach replied, "In short, my Master wants to fight you for some reason and told me not to interfere. That's it."
"Utter nonsense!!"
Artoria's eyes blazed with anger.
"Are you mocking me, Queen Scáthach?"
Ignoring Roy, who stood ready to fight, Artoria's gaze fixed on Scáthach, her voice sharp with fury.
To her, Scáthach sending her Master to fight was absurd. She couldn't fathom the intent and had no desire to battle Roy.
She wanted a duel with a hero like Scáthach, not to bully a magus like Roy.
"Scáthach..."
Artoria glared at the purple figure on the steps, her mana surging. She lunged toward Scáthach, only to be blocked by Roy.
"Where are you going, King Arthur? Haven't we made it clear? Your opponent isn't Scáthach—it's me."
Roy met her gaze calmly.
"Compared to Scáthach, who defeated you once and nearly killed you, fighting me should be easier, no?"
"You!!"
Furious at being blocked and belittled, Artoria bristled but had no interest in tangling with a Master. She surged her mana, accelerating to bypass Roy toward Scáthach, only to find, shockingly, that Roy matched her speed.
"What's your goal?"
"I just want to talk."
"I have nothing to discuss with you. Move, or else..."
Feeling the overwhelming mana erupt, Roy only smiled, his gaze fearless. "Or else what? You'll take me out first? Perfect. I won't let you pass until you do."
"Someone asked me to take good care of you, and I haven't finished that task. I can't let you cause trouble."
"Then I'll have to defeat you first!"
Provoked repeatedly, Artoria stopped holding back. Gripping Wind King's Iron Hammer, she swung fiercely.
Facing the powerful, terrifying strike from King Arthur, Roy didn't dare underestimate it. Raising his palm, he drew a standard holy sword—prepared by Merlin—from his staff to parry.
Clang—!!
The moment the similar holy swords clashed, a burst of mana erupted. Roy was forced back several steps, and his mass-produced sword, vastly outclassed, cracked instantly.
A D-rank Noble Phantasm, ruined by Artoria in one blow—King Arthur's strength was undeniable.
"Whoa, that's some terrifying force. But you held back, didn't you? That strike was meant to disable me, not kill."
"What's with you?"
Seeing Roy block her attack, Artoria's eyes filled with caution. "This power and mana—are you still human?"
Her attitude shifted, treating Roy as a Servant-level foe, her aura rising steadily.
"Of course I'm human—a real human, just... a bit special."
"..."
Artoria didn't buy his nonsense, staring at him warily, her guard unyielding.
"Not up for more talk? Fine, let's get to the point, King Arthur. Someone asked me to deliver a message."
Roy began gathering his mana, not summoning his angel but forming a sword's silhouette in his other hand, gripping it as ripples spread through the air.
"Do you recognize this sword, Your Majesty?"
He asked.
Seeing the familiar blade's outline, Artoria's eyes widened, speechless.
"This sword is..."
The Sword of Selection, Caliburn—the blade she drew in her youth, carrying her initial wishes and resolve...
"Caliburn? Wasn't it broken long ago? How is it here?!"
"Broken doesn't mean gone. If it's broken, you fix it. Don't you get such a simple truth?"
"Lost King of Knights, facing this sword of your original wishes and hopes, do you feel anything different?"
Roy spoke, but Artoria, head bowed, didn't answer, her expression hidden.
Seeing this, Roy sighed softly. "Still can't move past it? Such a stubborn head. Looks like mere words won't reach you. Let's speak as knights—with swords!!"
Silence fell.
A cold breeze swept through under the bright moon.
Moonlight bathed Roy, his trench coat fluttering in the night. As mana gathered in his staff and holy sword, a terrifying aura radiated from him, splashing water in all directions.
Under dazzling mana light, the unsheathed holy sword's piercing cry shattered the night.
Mana and fighting spirit collided in an explosive instant.
Almost simultaneously...
In the northern suburbs of Fuyuki City, mere hundreds of meters apart, Iskandar, Waver, Fionn, Kayneth, Matou Zouken, and Lancelot encountered Gilgamesh atop a streetlamp.
"Well, long time no see, Archer."
Iskandar greeted Gilgamesh casually.
"Hmph..."
Gilgamesh snorted, silent.
Fionn bit his thumb, saying nothing.
"—Arrrrrrrr!!"
Lancelot's emotions surged, far more intense than before.
"Time to fight?"
Matou Zouken asked.
"Now?"
Waver shrank back, glancing around nervously at the close range.
"Lancer?"
Unlike the contrasting Waver and Zouken, Kayneth pondered briefly before addressing Fionn.
"Hey, no small talk at all? Straight to fighting? That's no way to win friends."
Seemingly oblivious to the thickening tension, Iskandar rubbed his head, puzzled. "Shouldn't we declare something before battle?"
You mean trash talk?
But his comment drew looks of pitying disdain from everyone, who, in rare unison, blurted out:
"...Idiot."
"???"
***
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