After some friendly conversation—
Well, perhaps not entirely friendly—following Roy's candid sincerity, Belsac, who had been steely and defiant, finally lowered his guard.
Had it been anyone else, Belsac would've died before becoming a guide, leading a stranger intent on robbing their tombs into the gravekeepers' village. But with that token in Roy's possession, the situation was different.
Seeing the blue-gold glow of the legendary scabbard Avalon in Roy's hand, Belsac, faced with the treasure once lost by Artoria, couldn't hold back tears. His hand instinctively reached toward the radiant light, and he asked earnestly, "May I take a closer look?"
Roy, understanding the old gravekeeper's fervor, didn't refuse and handed Avalon over freely. After Belsac's repeated inspections and reverent touches, his familiarity with Artoria's essence confirmed it: this blue-gold scabbard was indeed the sheath of the Holy Sword, the entrance to the ideal land, Avalon.
With the token verified, Belsac's attitude toward Roy shifted dramatically. Though still wary of fully trusting the stranger, he couldn't deny that as the current holder of Avalon, Roy was entitled to involve himself in the village's affairs.
Led by Belsac, Roy followed him to a small village nestled against a steep cliff—the gravekeepers' village he'd glimpsed from the distant cliffs.
From afar, he'd sensed the village's modest scale, but up close, it surprised him. The houses were intricately interwoven, their numbers sparse—roughly a hundred households, a place that could vanish in time yet had endured through fifteen hundred years of quiet history.
Most buildings were crafted from ancient blue stone and dark roundwood, exuding an old Britannic charm with hints of mystical ritual. Strange patterns, seemingly random yet faintly magical, were etched into the stone and wood, catching Roy's eye and prompting closer scrutiny.
Inside the village, dark red brick paths wove through complex alleys, reaching every corner. It was late, so the streets were mostly empty, but the few villagers drawn by earlier commotion wore attire that, while modern, was outdated—styles favored by the Clock Tower's traditionalist magi.
Given the village's remote location, with scarce external supplies and insular inhabitants, its backwardness was understandable.
Upon arriving with Belsac, night had fully settled. Deep in the mountains, the village predictably lacked streetlights or electricity. Only scattered moonlight and kerosene lamps at doorways provided illumination, faintly revealing the resting villagers through dim glass.
"This aging village feels lifeless, like it could die or vanish any moment…"
Walking through, Roy shared his thoughts with Belsac.
"…"
Though Roy's words were harsh, they rang true. The village was dying. A century ago, it housed hundreds of families; now, barely a hundred remained. Trapped on this land, it was indeed fading, likely to vanish within a century or two.
He sighed, "It's inevitable. Living in such an oppressive, isolated place breeds decline. It's an inescapable fate. But our gravekeeper clan has lived through generations like this—we've come to accept and understand it."
"Haven't you ever thought of leaving?" Roy pressed.
"…Leave this land?"
Belsac shook his head slightly at the question. "Of course, we've considered it. Like birds or ravens caged too long, we yearn for open skies. But the time hasn't come. Our day of liberation hasn't arrived, so we can't leave or find true freedom."
"A binding?" Roy asked.
"Yes, a covenant and oath from our ancestors."
Mentioning this, Belsac's face showed traces of sorrow and melancholy.
"Let's not dwell on that. Come to the church. As an outsider, strolling openly will draw attention. As Avalon's holder, you're entitled to be involved, but it's best to avoid too much notice. Follow me to the church for the entry ritual, then I'll explain everything about this place."
"By the way, there are two complicated figures there who aren't fond of magi like you. With me, there won't be issues, but stay quiet and avoid conflict."
"…Got it."
Noting the village's many peculiar rules, Roy didn't reject Belsac's well-meaning advice and followed closely. Belsac's physical resilience was impressive—Roy almost compared him to a Church Executor. Despite a pierced arm from Moonlit Essence and injuries from the shattered bounded field, he moved as if unscathed, leading Roy swiftly through the village. Roy considered offering healing, but Belsac's bandaged arm and brisk pace silenced him; the old man seemed fine.
'Are you forged of steel too?' Roy thought wryly.
The church Belsac mentioned was a modest blue-stone building on the village's north side, overgrown with moss from neglected grounds.
Under cover of night, Belsac pushed open the door, and they entered.
Though small outside, the interior was surprisingly spacious, perhaps due to the high ceiling, lending it a formal air. The decor was simple—rows of wooden pews, a spotless brass candelabrum on the pulpit, and polished wooden steps, clearly well-maintained.
Roy noticed candelabra, chandeliers, and metal ornaments like armor and axe blades on the walls, each faintly mystical. Preserved from ancient times, they weren't potent enough for summoning grand Heroic Spirits but were fine as evocation relics.
More striking was the black Madonna statue at the church's center.
Unlike Fuyuki's church with its cross and Virgin Mary, this church venerated a black Madonna. Despite some Christian elements, the statue felt starkly different from typical church icons.
"This Madonna statue… something's off."
Under Belsac's puzzled gaze, Roy approached the black Madonna, lightly touching it, his eyes scrutinizing its anomalies. Like standard Madonna statues, it held an infant symbolizing the Savior, but its face lacked maternal compassion, exuding sternness or even a demonic aura. Yet, it wasn't just the aura—Roy focused on the statue's face.
"Artoria…?"
Murmuring as he studied the statue's cheeks, Roy noted deliberate obscurities, but the face resembled the beautiful Knight-King strikingly.
"No, not quite…"
Scanning the statue's chest, he dismissed the idea. The iron-clad dragon-like Artoria lacked such a figure—Roy recalled his fist aching from striking her chest. So, this statue was… Morgan? The indistinct infant in the black Madonna's arms was likely Artoria.
Britain's witch cradling Britain's savior—what a grim joke.
Though the red dragon's king was a savior, the witch was far from a saint.
Still, an intriguing statue.
'So, this black Madonna was likely crafted over a millennium ago, after Artoria's disappearance at Camlann, by Morgan for the villagers, with orders to revive Artoria, alongside magical tools for the purpose. Since it remains, this statue might be part of her workshop and revival plan.'
Recalling Merlin's tales of Morgan, her actions, and this statue, Roy formed a hypothesis. Under Belsac's astonished gaze, he reached to examine the statue's secrets, but—
"Seems our guest is quite interested in the Madonna statue?"
As Roy's hand nearly touched it, a middle-aged man's voice interrupted, and a priest in vestments emerged, halting him.
Roy glanced over, his expression turning curious.
Rather than "portly," the priest's physique was better described as rotund—a human-sized ball of fat draped in a red robe, creating a jarring impression.
Priesthood didn't scream "obese," and even middle-age weight gain shouldn't reach this extent. Though the man's smiling face and chubby demeanor seemed affable, the oppressive aura he exuded belied harmlessness. Belsac, beside Roy, visibly tensed upon seeing him.
Behind the priest stood a tall young nun in traditional attire, her youthful face dotted with freckles, tea-brown eyes sharp with cunning, and golden hair peeking from her headscarf. Around Roy's age, her charm was evident as she carried a candle to light the priest's way, likely his apprentice or assistant.
Their attire caught Roy's attention.
Having dabbled in the Anglican Church's foundations, he knew Christian customs. Though in Britain's remote mountains, their garb wasn't Anglican but distinctly Roman—Holy Church style. Combined with the priest's aura, it was clear: he was from the Holy Church.
A Holy Church priest, especially a high-ranking one, in this gravekeepers' village raised intriguing questions.
The priest noticed Roy's gaze, sensing he'd been figured out, and was about to inquire when Belsac spoke.
"Good evening, Father Fernandez."
He named the rotund man directly.
"Good evening to you, Mr. Belsac. I didn't expect to see you at the church so late."
"And this is?"
Fernandez smiled warmly, greeting Belsac, then looked curiously at Roy.
"This is my guest, here to help investigate leyline issues—a magus from the Clock Tower."
Belsac crafted a plausible identity for Roy.
"Oh? A Clock Tower magus? Quite young!"
Fernandez nodded, eyeing Roy thoughtfully, his gaze shifting subtly but maintaining politeness. "Greetings, young magus. I'm Fernandez Cruz, and this is my assistant and nun, Ilmia. May I have your name, and which department are you from?"
Facing the shrewd, rotund priest, Roy knew he was probing.
He didn't call it out or mind, instead offering a surprising name: "Merlin."
"Nice to meet you, Father Fernandez. I'm Merlin—just call me that."
Merlin?
The answer stunned the priest.
He glanced suspiciously at Roy, then at Belsac, seeking clarification.
Belsac understood Roy's intent.
This wasn't an ordinary village; its greatest secret was Artoria.
By calling himself Merlin, Roy signaled he was here for Artoria, Artoria's mentor in legend. The name didn't answer directly but hinted at his purpose.
The priest's surprise stemmed from the same. As a Holy Church Executor monitoring the village, he knew some of its secrets. He understood the villagers' reverence for Artoria.
If Merlin was here for Artoria?
Why was Belsac so calm? Recently, the leyline's mana had been disturbed, and tonight, Fernandez sensed fluctuations near the cemetery, but as an outsider, he couldn't investigate the forbidden grounds. Now, Belsac brought "Merlin," a clear alias, shortly after. There had to be a connection.
So…
Was the village undergoing a major change? Was their king returning, or was something else at play?
'Trouble…'
The priest shook his head, joking, "Merlin, huh? A legendary name. For a moment, I thought the Magus of Flower had returned."
"You jest. It's just a coincidence. Merlin and Artoria are legends, never to return to this land, right?"
Roy smiled, countering the priest's probe.
"You're right. The Magus of Flower is just a legend, a figure from fifteen hundred years ago, probably long dead."
'If that incubus were truly dead, it'd be better for everyone…'
Roy bantered, inwardly scoffing.
After entering the village and seeing the Madonna statue, Belsac completed the required ritual. As Roy boldly asked about the statue's origins and secrets, Fernandez was surprised but, seeing Belsac's silence, answered seriously.
"No idea. Perhaps an ancient village custom, so it differs from typical ones. I only know every visitor must pay respects here. Why? Is Merlin interested?"
Roy nodded slightly. "Yes, it's rare. Also, it resembles… an old friend, so I was curious."
"I see. It's an ancient village relic. Even I don't know its full story—only its creator might."
Fernandez shook his head, glancing at Belsac. "It's late. Since the guest has seen the Madonna, the ritual can proceed. I have matters to attend, so I'll leave him to you, Mr. Belsac."
"Understood."
Belsac nodded expressionlessly.
Under Fernandez's meaningful gaze, Belsac knelt, praying to the Madonna statue, his tall frame resembling a knight's oath.
Roy mimicked Anglican custom, making a cross before the statue. Perhaps an illusion, but he felt its gaze fixed on him, almost alive.
After the ritual, they left.
Before departing, Fernandez gave Roy a pointed reminder.
"Mr. Merlin, this village is small but full of secrets and taboos. Don't offend lightly. If you need help, come find me."
With that, the rotund priest and his assistant left—not to rest but directly toward the village's outskirts, unmasked. Belsac's gaze darkened.
He guessed Fernandez's intent.
Leaving openly was a warning and a call for aid, signaling Roy and Belsac not to escalate. The village remained under Holy Church oversight, and if matters spiraled, more forces would intervene.
'Clever guy.'
Noticing Fernandez's intent, Roy couldn't help but respect him.
He hadn't acted earlier, noting Belsac's injuries and stance. Lacking confidence to subdue Roy and sensing a shift, Fernandez decisively sought reinforcements.
No Holy Church Executor was simple.
…
After meeting the priest and completing the entry prayer, Roy followed Belsac out the church's back door.
Crossing another complex graveyard, they reached a secluded wooden cabin—Belsac's home.
Though the strange gaze from the black Madonna lingered, tempting Roy to unmask its truth, Belsac firmly forbade such sacrilege, so Roy only inspected it briefly before letting it go.
The result: the statue was old, imbued with divine-age craft, but just a ritual tool, no grand secrets. Perhaps knowing this, Fernandez had let Roy examine it casually.
This village's secrets kept piling up…
Roy felt an uneasy gaze, making him restless.
Finally, they reached a modest cabin—or rather, a cluttered storeroom. Seeing the rickety wooden bed and sparse furniture, Roy confirmed Belsac lived here. Sitting on a grimy oak stool, he discreetly poured out the rusty-smelling water from Belsac's offered cup.
Though Belsac frowned at the rudeness, he said nothing, cutting to the chase.
His expression complex, he said, "I never imagined Avalon would return to the gravekeepers' village, and in this way. After Artoria lost it, we thought it gone forever. Fate seems predestined."
"What do you mean?"
"Some things you already know, so let me explain slowly."
"Not long ago, our cemetery's leyline and ritual array experienced mana fluctuations. Gray seemed to resonate with Artoria, but it stopped abruptly and hasn't recurred. I thought it an accident, but your arrival with Avalon suggests destiny's hand."
"You mean?"
"Magus, you're searching for your friend, right? Look here first. If he's not in the village, he's likely below."
Belsac continued unhurriedly, "I'll help find your friend, and I hope you'll assist me."
"With what?"
"Join me to investigate the witch's magical array below the village. I'm no expert, just a gravekeeper with spirit knowledge. As the village's greatest secret, other magi can't enter, but you, with Avalon, can."
Belsac nodded. "So, I ask you to help me check what's wrong with the array below. Since that incident, the leyline's been erratic, disturbing past souls. If this continues, the land will suffer."
"The witch's magical array? …Huh, so there's such a secret below."
Roy rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Interesting. I'll agree. If Lev's not above, he's likely below. I'll go with you."
"Good."
Belsac nodded.
"By the way, watch out for the church folk—they're not fond of magi. They're likely setting an ambush outside. But don't worry too much; I'll help you leave. It's late, and you must be tired from your journey. Rest here tonight. I need to deal with beasts growing restless from the leyline, so I'll take my leave."
Beasts…
Recalling the hyper-aggressive animals that attacked him on the way up, Roy looked thoughtful.
Were they affected by the leyline? And…
Noting the timing of the leyline and array anomalies Belsac mentioned, Roy realized something.
It coincided with the Holy Grail War's start, when Artoria was summoned. So—
The anomaly was likely triggered by the Grail War's influence, sensing Artoria's presence, activating the array early.
Because Artoria didn't die this time, choosing to live, did it create a paradox in the revival ritual, causing these chain reactions?
Roy rubbed his forehead, pondering, feeling closer to the truth. He also had an idea to lift the gravekeepers' curse.
But it needed confirmation.
If it worked, this trip might yield more than expected.
"Are you okay, Mr. Roy?"
Seeing Roy deep in thought, Belsac asked.
"Nothing, just considering some things. They need verifying. But… this might not be bad for you—a rare chance to break your bonds."
"You mean…?"
Hearing Roy, Belsac's eyes widened, but Roy didn't elaborate, raising a hand.
"Shh, some things aren't certain yet, and speaking them might jinx it. Just take this seriously, Mr. Belsac. It's a rare opportunity for you."
"…"
Facing Roy's cryptic, magus-like riddling, Belsac looked helpless.
He nodded gently, pleading in a low voice, "Then, I leave it to you."
"Leave it to me. In a way, our interests align now."
Roy's tone was earnest, his gaze sincere, without deceit.
Yet Belsac had an uneasy feeling, suspecting Roy hid ulterior motives.
And he was right. If this resolved as Roy hoped, he wouldn't just take Gray—he might take the whole village. Then, the leyline and its hidden treasures would be his, and he could excavate Morgan's grave to his heart's content.
The witch's workshop?
He'd strip it bare!!
***
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