The scenery unfolded as a faded yellow bus rattled along the winding mountain road.
Creak—creak, the grating sound echoed incessantly in his ears.
Finally, seated on the bus, after a four-hour nap, the young man opened his bleary eyes.
He had spent hours with Merlin in a dreamscape, delving into intelligence about Morgan: her mastered or most proficient magecraft, any trump cards she might have, so he could prepare countermeasures in advance.
And the result?
After hours, all he learned was that she was strong—immensely so. She excelled in various magecraft, curses, summoning, and Mystic Code creation, her magical prowess surpassing even Merlin's. Among the greatest witches in human history, she stood at the pinnacle. Beyond that, he gleaned little useful information, though he did hear plenty of tales about Morgan's erratic nature in pan-human history. It confirmed that this Morgan was indeed a woman with a somewhat unstable mind. It also made clear that trying to talk her down, as he had with Artoria, was near impossible.
Honestly, this troublesome and dire situation left Roy feeling a bit at a loss. He had far too little actionable intelligence on pan-human history's Morgan. Unlike an opponent like the Archer-class Heroic Spirit Gilgamesh, whose abilities were fixed as a Servant, Morgan wasn't dead. Her capabilities weren't static, and after fifteen hundred years, who knew how much she'd advanced? Her mastery of magecraft was so profound that outmatching her in magical expertise was daunting.
Still, Roy earnestly pressed Merlin for details about Morgan's life and experiences, hoping to find some breakthrough in the accurate legends Merlin recounted.
Time passed quickly.
Though the journey from London's station to Blackmore Cemetery wasn't short—five hours by long-distance bus, and not even a direct route, as a rugged mountain path, or rather a forest, was impassable by vehicle, requiring travel on foot—he set out alone at night without having the family butler arrange a car.
Considering he might face Morgan head-on, he didn't tell anyone he knew, only casually mentioning to Waver: "Want to go to Wales for some archaeological digging? Maybe meet a witch from the Age of Gods?" And that was it.
If possible, Roy would've liked to bring Waver along. Though Waver's strength was modest, his knowledge and insight surpassed Roy's own. In a pinch, Waver could actually help decipher confusing situations.
Unfortunately, compared to his original timeline, Waver had entered overwork mode early.
Though not yet Lord El-Melloi II, he was already doing El-Melloi II's work—processing documents, preparing for lecturer exams, and serving as a clerical assistant. It was clear Kayneth intended for him to inherit the classroom.
Thinking of this, Roy couldn't force the wailing Waver to come along but felt the development fitting. Waver was destined to take over the El-Melloi classroom, even if not as the Second. He'd become an excellent lecturer, guiding future intriguing students, stabilizing the world's course.
Plus, if Roy became a Lord himself, having Waver around meant no worries about tedious tasks—Waver would handle the paperwork, leaving Roy free to pursue his own goals.
It was, in a way, a convergence of the worldline.
Causality, worldlines…
This world was growing ever more fascinating.
Silently cheering Waver on, and reflecting on his fulfilling life of being exploited by Kayneth and soon by Roy as a relentless tool, Roy considered asking the Botany Department to research an energy-restoring potion to replace golden apples, lest Waver suddenly drop dead from overwork one day.
After the long bus journey, Roy opened his eyes, having discussed plans and Morgan's intel with Merlin in the dreamscape, his thoughts returning to reality.
It was now night.
As the last bus to the area, passengers had disembarked along the way, leaving only Roy, stretching under the night sky, at the final stop.
At the terminus, Roy grabbed his suitcase, stepped off the bus, and ventured into the darkness.
The bus driver, seeing Roy alone so late and heading into the mountain path, advised him to walk a kilometer down the road to a small town, stay the night, and enter the mountains by day.
From years of experience, the driver found the area eerie, surrounded by cemeteries. Though a staunch materialist skeptical of ghosts, the wild beasts in the forest were dangerous. Roy, looking like a tourist noble, might face peril alone.
Appreciating the stranger's kindness, Roy didn't refuse. He nodded, expressed thanks, assured he'd be careful, and disembarked.
He was well aware of the driver's warning about the area's eeriness and the advice to come by day.
After all, this place was near the gravekeepers' village, established since the time of Camlann, Artoria's death, with a fifteen-hundred-year history. In mystery circles, that meant…
A mystery spanning fifteen hundred years, from the end of the Age of Gods, when mystery hadn't fully faded.
Thus, this land, forest, and village, steeped in fifteen hundred years of mystery, were utterly unlike mundane villages. The leyline alone was an exceptional evocation site, storing vast magical energy and souls, surpassing even the Euripides family's spiritual vein. Beyond the cemetery and village, this was Morgan le Fay's stronghold, her anchor in the real world—a veritable workshop of a divine-age witch. It'd be odd if it weren't eerie. Ordinary people aside, any magus with decent spiritual sight or evocation knowledge would sense the danger and steer clear.
If possible, even to confront Morgan, Roy would prefer his own turf or a London suburb, not here.
But circumstances left no choice.
Since his partner Lev had fallen into her hands, Roy had to rescue him, lest he end up like some Demon God Pillar—turned into cake fodder by witches like Medea or Morgan.
And not just Lev—the Anchor of the Planet was a must-have. Items that stabilize the planet's surface and human order's foundation were rare. He knew of one in Western myths and another in Eastern ones, but whether the Eastern one—famed as the "Sea-Calming Divine Needle" or "Ruyi Jingu Bang"—ascended with its wielder, Roy didn't know, let alone search aimlessly in the Wandering Sea's territory. So his focus was on the other Anchor of the Planet: the holy lance, Rhongomyniad.
For his goal, he had to infiltrate Morgan's lair today, but the leyline amplification and workshop enhancements were a real headache.
He wasn't without means to counter her.
Using his sanctuary to neutralize it was the standard but most troublesome solution, risking a stalemate against Morgan's raw power. The simplest was emulating Kiritsugu Emiya's physical approach: blanket the Blackmore Cemetery and gravekeepers' village leyline node with overwhelming firepower, obliterating it all.
But with Lev possibly in their hands, barging in like that would enrage Morgan. Plus, the villagers and Gray were just following orders, devoted to reviving Artoria. Slaughtering innocents for convenience, under some grand cause, was something Kiritsugu might do—Roy couldn't.
So, he used recently learned illusion magecraft to conceal his potent magical aura, then strode into the mountains under cover of night, not actively revealing his magical presence.
Thanks to his angelic protection and consistent training in combat and self-defense, even without magical aid, the rugged terrain didn't hinder him—he didn't even break a sweat. If it were Waver, he'd likely collapse halfway in the dark.
After some time walking…
The sky had fully darkened.
At the forest's peak, beside a towering tree…
"Hm… the routes here are indeed tricky."
Roy sighed, casually drawing a short sword and piercing a wild wolf's head, then stood under the tree, consulting his map.
As the driver warned, the night forest teemed with beasts, perilous for ordinary people who'd falter at a wild boar. Roy recalled slaying five or six beasts along the way.
They weren't phantasmal species, just ordinary wolves and boars enhanced by the leyline, manageable even for hunters, let alone him. Now, even a high-ranking wyvern, chimera, or magical boar would be dismantled for magecraft materials.
But now he understood why this eerie village was notorious in London's magecraft circles as one of the most sinister locations, with so many vanishing here.
In the mundane world, few knew of the cemetery; most mistook it for a trivial tourist spot. No site would market a graveyard. But in the magecraft world, Blackmore Cemetery was infamous—one of the world's most renowned and ancient cemeteries. Countless evocation and necromancy magi yearned to explore it, as did archaeology magi eager to excavate.
Yet, its location remained an enigma despite its fame. Specifics were vague, and while rumors occasionally drew seekers, most information was false. Those lucky enough to find it and recklessly desecrate Artoria's resting rituals were often buried beneath the village as spirits.
Thus, major figures, wary of the terrifying forces behind it, avoided it and forbade their students or kin from seeking it. Those unaware either couldn't find it or didn't return—or if they did, were sworn to secrecy. Blackmore Cemetery became a tangible legend.
Even Roy and Lev, no ordinary figures, only pinpointed it because Lev's high rank and archaeology background made most London secrets accessible to him.
Still, Roy couldn't fathom it.
How did they build a village in the heart of endless forests and mountains, at a key leyline node, with no roads? Even with a map, it was easy to get lost.
How did these reclusive folks manage daily supplies?
Self-sufficient? Never interacting with the outside?
And farming in a cemetery was, frankly, a bit hellish.
About half an hour later…
"Finally made it out…"
After weaving through countless bushes, Roy emerged from the undergrowth.
He glanced at his map, then at the growing number of tombstones around him, murmuring, "This should be it."
Following his line of sight, he pressed forward, navigating the dark forest.
Tall trees with sparse canopies cast mottled shadows under moonlight, blocking most light.
The pitch-black environment made paths nearly invisible.
But this wasn't an issue; he was prepared for night travel.
He fished a portable lantern from his pocket, lit it with a match, and soon a bright orange glow illuminated his face, dispelling the darkness.
"Hm… much better."
With that thought, guided by the light, Roy stepped out of the darkness, spotting more faint lights as his view widened.
Looking closely, rows of dim lanterns hung on posts.
In the distance, the gravekeepers' village came into view.
Checking the map and the eerie surroundings, Roy realized he was in the cemetery.
Studying the map, he saw it was Lev's archaeological map, aimed at treasure-hunting in the cemetery, explaining the remote route requiring bush-crashing and cliff-climbing.
So Lev hadn't planned a formal visit—he meant to blitz the gravekeepers' tombs.
"You thick-browed, honest-looking Lev, I thought you were upright, but you're scheming like this."
"…If he gets caught stirring trouble, the gravekeepers will tear him apart, right?"
Muttering to himself, though exasperated and worried, Roy pressed on, lantern in hand, deeper into the darkness, seeking the cemetery's true exit.
As he advanced, near the cemetery's statues, amid grass swaying in the night breeze, Roy saw tombstone after tombstone. Some, weathered by time, looked ancient; others, white and new, bore "Anonymous." From Clock Tower relics before them, he guessed these were reckless tomb-raiders or rule-breaking magi.
Analyzing the relics, most were from Evocation or Archaeology—crazies coming here didn't surprise him.
But it urged him to quicken his pace. He didn't want to find only Lev's tombstone and relics.
Though Lev's magecraft prowess should handle the gravekeepers short of facing the witch, Roy couldn't help worrying.
With such complex feelings, he hastened, following the tombstones' age to the exit.
Finally, after a long trek, he paused at a corner of the grassy area.
"That's…"
By faint moonlight and his lantern's glow, Roy saw a figure in a gray hood and small black-gray cloak crouching by a newly erected tombstone, offering flowers to a fallen king. Though not close enough to confirm, the familiar silhouette was unmistakable.
"The vessel for reviving Artoria… Gray?"
"No, a living child, not some vessel."
He murmured the question but quickly corrected his rudeness, knowing Artoria would say the same.
No one is born to live or sacrifice for another's destiny.
Having endured Britain's fall and imposed duties, Artoria understood this deeply.
If she knew a girl here was fated from birth to die for her, as Gray was to be Artoria's vessel, her heart would be heavy with guilt.
Sadly, Artoria wasn't here, so Roy had to handle it. Knowing his friend's character, he knew what she'd choose.
"…Am I just fated to be tangled with their British family?"
Sighing inwardly, Roy, lantern in hand, approached the petite figure by the tombstone.
Tap, tap, tap…
In the silent, dark cemetery, his footsteps were stark. Not hiding his presence, he approached openly, the squeak of boots on soil startling the gray-clad girl praying intently at the tombstone.
"Who?"
Hearing the sound, she stood abruptly, turning to see a young man with a lantern approaching through the darkness.
As she looked up, their eyes met, and Roy took in her appearance fully.
His gaze sharpened.
It was indeed a face identical to Artoria's—a king's visage, though not necessarily hers.
After all, this was the infamous "thousand Saber faces," or Nasuverse's signature look.
A hallmark to savor.
"You… who are you? No outsiders are allowed without Master's permission…"
Startled by the figure emerging from the dark, she stepped back but steadied herself, bravely addressing Roy.
He didn't answer, instead studying her face, comparing it to the Artoria he knew.
Purely by appearance, they were identical, but Gray's frail demeanor contrasted sharply with Artoria's ferocious dragon-like presence.
Seeing this girl, Roy felt a spark of joy. Gray was one of his targets, and meeting her right upon arrival was an unexpected boon…
"Um… can't you hear me?"
Unnerved by his stare, Gray tugged her hood to hide her face, saying weakly, "Please leave quickly, stranger. This cemetery forbids outsiders."
Pointing in a direction, she added nervously, "If you're lost, I can guide you down the mountain. Just leave before you anger Master and the villagers!!"
Her anxious tone betrayed her worry.
This was a forbidden place, accessible only to the current gravekeepers. Outsiders provoked the villagers, who could do terrible things over such desecration. Kind-hearted Gray didn't want Roy hurt, so she aimed to get him out before discovery.
"I see…"
Sensing Gray's intent, Roy smiled, understanding her concern.
She was worried he'd get hurt…
Even for a suspicious stranger, she showed kindness.
This girl named Gray was truly a kind child.
Her small gesture warmed Roy's heart.
"Um…"
Seeing he didn't follow, Gray, about to lead him away, turned to speak.
"Flap, flap—"
Suddenly, wingbeats echoed from the nearby forest, and dozens of crows burst out, fluttering wildly.
"…So many crows… familiars? They fit this place perfectly. Cemeteries always evoke souls and crows, bound together."
Watching the crows, Roy mused, then smiled at the anxious Gray. "Hey, Gray, know why?"
"Huh? What did you say?"
His sudden question startled her.
"Why are crows tied to cemeteries?"
"Because crows carry souls."
A deep, aged voice answered before Gray could, coming from where the crows emerged. A black figure appeared there, unnoticed until now.
Roy glanced over, seeing a tall old man approaching.
In the dark night, even with the lantern, his face was obscured. Clad in black, a deathly aura clung to him like dew, devoid of life's breath—a scent of one who dealt with death often, like Euripides, but far denser and more terrifying.
"Gray, go back. I'll handle this guest."
The old man eyed the uninvited visitor warily, calling to Gray sternly. His aged eyes weren't cloudy but sharp with vigilance and killing intent. His broad hand, under the cloak, gripped a massive single-handed axe, ready to strike if Roy made a wrong move.
"Um… Master… I…"
Seeing the old man, Gray grew tense, her gaze flickering between him and Roy, clearly worried her master might harm an innocent.
"Sigh…"
Seeing Gray's naivety, the old man sighed helplessly.
Who would wander into a forbidden mountain cemetery at night, contacting the vessel Gray, if not deliberately? His aura was concealed, undetectable by the village's bounded field unless he used magecraft. The old man only encountered him by chance while checking on Gray.
This was no ordinary person—he came with purpose. If the old man hadn't arrived, Gray might've been tricked and taken, with dire consequences.
Imagining Gray lost, the old man's tall frame shuddered, his grip on the axe tightening, his gaze turning hostile.
No matter what, he'd make this stranger explain himself today.
Still, he told Gray it was fine; he'd verify the guest's origins and, if harmless, escort him out.
Though uneasy, trusting her master, naive Gray nodded and left, urging Roy to stay safe, making him chuckle wryly.
Compared to this grim reaper-like old man, Gray was an angel…
Roy said nothing, not revealing the old man's intent to tear him apart, just waving goodbye to Gray until she was gone.
"So…"
"Deceiving a child like that, when she trusts you so? This gravekeeper planning to carve me up—what's your name?"
"Damned magus… this isn't a place for you. And you seem to know much… even Gray's name…"
The old man's low, raspy voice replied. He'd observed everything; Gray hadn't given her name, yet this strange man knew it, which was highly suspicious. He was certain this man wasn't here by chance and knew some of the village's secrets, making him impossible to ignore.
"Magus, I don't know where you got your information or your aim, but I warn you—Gray is not someone you can target."
"You should die here, but for Gray's plea, confess your information sources, swear on the land never to return, and I'll spare you!!"
His figure loomed like darkness, his voice a cold wind in the night, filled with unyielding authority.
After Gray left, the massive axe under his cloak emerged, glinting coldly, blue magical circuits faintly glowing beneath his black robe.
A warning.
If Roy didn't confess or acted recklessly, the old man would kill him to protect the land's peace.
It was his duty as a gravekeeper.
But…
"Gray's master? So you're this generation's head gravekeeper?"
Facing the cold blade and threat, Roy wasn't fazed, speaking calmly: "Hm, strong killing intent and decent strength. But rest assured, I come with no ill intent…"
(Well, maybe some trouble, since I'm ready to face your boss and snatch your holy lance.)
(But as long as I don't admit it, it's not true.)
"So, why not sit and talk calmly? As for what to discuss…" Seeing the old man's furrowed brow, Roy smiled and continued unhurriedly.
"Let's talk about your so-called truth and purpose. For example—"
[A king's corpse, a sacred tomb, a meticulous funeral, a return across eras, or a futile tale? Why not tell me in detail.]
"!!!"
Hearing Roy's measured words, the old gravekeeper's pupils shrank beneath his robe, his confident, cold gaze shattered, filled with disbelief.
He couldn't fathom how this youth knew the village's deepest secrets.
His giant axe swung down at Roy's body without warning, unleashing a sharp, air-splitting sound.
'—Swoosh!!'
***
If you enjoyed this story, don't forget to drop 5 stars and your power stone. And if you want to read more than 70 chapters in advance, feel free to visit: pat reon . com / KangTL