Feeling that pure magical power filled with an aura of destruction, the color drained from Jubstacheit's face instantly. He understood that Kanjuro hadn't come to debate him but to carry out an execution. Extreme terror overwhelmed everything. He tried to activate the workshop's defensive magecraft, only to find that the surrounding mana was like being stuck in a quagmire, completely out of his control.
"No... you can't! The Holy Grail... is only one step away..." he roared in despair.
Hiding in the shadows, Illya gripped the cold dagger tightly, her eyes wide as she watched this scene. She saw the Grandpa Hayde who, in her impression, was always majestic and unquestionable, looking so pathetic and terrified before Kanjuro. She heard Kanjuro accuse Grandpa Hayde of treating Mama and her as "tools" and "works"... those words faintly overlapped with her memories of Mama's tears and the cold atmosphere of the castle.
(Could it be... that what Papa Kanjuro said... is all true? Grandpa Hayde... is really the bad person who makes Mama suffer?)
At the moment Jubstacheit's spirit faltered due to despair, Kanjuro's hand, which was gathering dark magic, paused slightly. He didn't attack immediately but instead cast a glance toward the shadow where Illya was hiding with a look full of subtle suggestion.
As if receiving an invisible command, the last trace of confusion in Illya's eyes was completely covered by black mist.
At the moment Jubstacheit's spirit faltered due to despair, Kanjuro's hand, which was gathering dark magic, paused slightly. He didn't attack immediately but instead cast a glance toward the shadow where Illya was hiding with a look full of subtle suggestion. At the same time, his voice, full of allure and incitement, rang directly in the depths of Illya's mind like a demonic sound:
"Illya! Now! Do it!" His voice was decisive, carrying an unquestionable tone of command. "Look clearly! It is this decaying, stubborn old man! It is he who, for that ridiculous Holy Grail War and his own selfish thousand-year obsession, turned your mother Irisviel into a puppet without a self and viewed you as a tool to achieve his goals! He never looked at you mother and daughter as people of flesh and blood! It is he who caused your mother to wash her face with tears all day, and he who separated our family! Now is the time for you to personally sever this chain of evil and claim justice for your mother and for us!"
The last trace of confusion in Illya's eyes was completely covered by heavy black mist. Kanjuro's words were like the most potent poison, fermenting wildly in her simple soul. Her small body trembled slightly from excitement and a certain implanted "sense of justice."
(That's right... Mama is always crying... she said everything was for the family, for Grandfather's wish... she said without Grandfather, she wouldn't exist...)
Illya thought confusedly as Irisviel's words, full of helplessness and sadness, echoed in her ears.
(But... if it's really for our own good, why would Mama be so miserable? Why have I never felt true happiness?)
Kanjuro keenly captured her moment of hesitation. He immediately adopted a tone of compassion, as if he had seen through the ways of the world, and sighed:
"Your mother might have once ignorantly felt grateful to the person who gave her form. But in her kindness, how could she see the cold, cruel truth behind it? Gratitude cannot change the essence of being used and sacrificed! Illya, true evil does not become noble in the slightest just because it wears the cloak of a 'creator' or an 'elder'!"
He changed his tone, his voice carrying a hint of seemingly concerned questioning:
"Or... Illya, are you hesitating? Would you rather believe this 'culprit' who pushed you into the fire than believe the 'Papa' who has always cared for you and wants to take you away from this cage?"
These words, which inverted black and white and were highly inflammatory, were like the final straw that broke the camel's back.
"Shameless scoundrel!!" Jubstacheit on the ground heard all of Kanjuro's words and shook with rage. He used his last bit of strength to lift his head, his bloodshot eyes staring fixedly at Kanjuro as he let out an angry and weak roar, "You... you actually bewitched an ignorant child to commit such an act of kin-slaying?! Kanjuro! You are simply a demon! You don't even have the most basic bottom line—"
"Bottom line?" Kanjuro interrupted him with a cold laugh, his voice filled with extreme mockery and indifference. "To have a pure child personally end a thousand years of evil—is this not the most profound and thorough redemption and irony for 'evil' itself? To use your blood to wash away the sins you've committed, Hayde, you should feel honored."
This sophistry completely distorted right and wrong, yet it seemed to give Illya a "justifiable" reason.
The last bit of light in Illya's eyes went out, leaving only a manipulated resolve and emptiness. She no longer hesitated. Gripping the cold dagger tightly, she took firm steps, walking step by step toward Jubstacheit, who lay on the ground with a face like death.
"For... Mama... for Papa..." she murmured, raising the dagger.
Jubstacheit looked at Illya's crimson eyes, which were shrouded in black mist and had lost their luster, and at the high-raised weapon shimmering with the cold light of death. He opened his mouth as if he still wanted to say something. Was it a reproach? A confession? Or regret for the unfinished family wish?
But it was all too late.
The dagger fell without hesitation, accompanied by the sound of a chilling wind!
Puchi—!
The sharp blade accurately pierced the old Magician's heart.
Jubstacheit's body convulsed violently. His pupils dilated completely, and with endless shock, unwillingness, and final extinction, he slumped to the ground, no longer making a sound. Warm blood gushed out, spreading across the floor, staining the cold ground, as well as Illya's small shoes and skirt.
Illya released her grip, and the dagger fell into the pool of blood with a clang. She stood there, staring blankly at the corpse on the ground, looking like an exquisite doll whose soul had been extracted.
Kanjuro walked slowly to her side, ignoring the pungent smell of blood. He gently picked her up and used the pad of his finger to wipe away a stray drop of blood on her cheek.
"It's over, Illya." His voice returned to that hair-raising tenderness. "All obstacles have been cleared. Now, let's go get your mother together, and then... find your disobedient 'older sister,' Artoria. It's time for our family to have a 'reunion.'"
Holding the hollow-eyed Illya, he turned and left the workshop permeated with the scent of death and conspiracy, leaving behind only the corpse of Jubstacheit von Einzbern, lying quietly beneath the massive Magic Foundation—a bloody and ironic full stop to the Einzbern family's thousand-year obsession.
The weak morning sunlight filtered through the thick cloud layer, barely managing to sprinkle over the snow-covered courtyard of Einzbern Castle. Last night's wind and snow had ceased, leaving behind a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional creak of snow-laden branches bending.
Inside the castle, Irisviel woke from a restless dream, her heart haunted by an indescribable palpitation. She put on her robe and walked out of the room, just happening to meet the early-rising, brow-furrowed Artoria in the hallway. Artoria's emerald eyes had lost their usual luster, leaving only heavy exhaustion and deep-seated anger; clearly, she hadn't slept well last night either.
"Saber?" Irisviel called out softly, her voice filled with concern.
Artoria looked up and, seeing Irisviel, merely shook her head slightly without saying a word. That silent heaviness made Irisviel even more uneasy. The two of them moved in tacit agreement toward an arched window facing the courtyard, trying to let the cold air disperse the gloom in their hearts.
However, when they pushed open the heavy window shutters, the sight that met their eyes caused their blood to freeze almost instantly.
In the middle of the courtyard covered in pure white snow, Kanjuro sat leisurely on a carved iron bench brought from who-knows-where. And Illya, their precious little princess, was giggling, chasing a butterfly conjured from dark magical energy that flickered with the light of stardust. Illya's small face was flushed from running, her silver hair fluttering in the breeze, and her face was radiant with a pure and brilliant smile—a shadowless happiness they hadn't seen in a long time.
Kanjuro's face wore a gentle, indulgent smile, his gaze always following Illya's figure. From time to time, he reached out his hand, using magic to create more novel little gadgets to make her happy. This scene appeared warm and beautiful, but in the eyes of Irisviel and Artoria, it was more terrifying than any dangerous battlefield.
"Illya...!" Irisviel covered her mouth, her voice trembling as a cold fear gripped her heart. She suddenly remembered last night—in a half-awake state, she seemed to have gotten up to go to the washroom. When she passed Illya's room, she vaguely heard extremely faint, suppressed whimpers and some... indescribable, face-reddening rustling sounds. At the time, she thought it was an illusion from her confused dreams or the sound of the castle's ancient pipes, so she didn't look into it. But now, combined with this extremely discordant 'warm' scene, that ignored detail slithered back into her mind like a venomous snake, making her whole body go cold.
(Could it be... that wasn't an illusion last night? What did he... do to Illya?!)
Artoria's face was also ashen. Her hands unconsciously clenched into fists, her nails digging deep into her palms. Looking at Kanjuro's sanctimonious appearance and seeing Illya's look of total trust—even a hint of abnormal attachment—her stomach churned. she knew Kanjuro's methods too well; beneath that gentle surface lay a poison capable of corroding the soul. He hadn't just tampered with her memories and toyed with her life; now, he wouldn't even let go of the young and innocent Illya!
"What exactly... does he want to do?" Artoria's voice was low, suppressing a mountainous rage and disgust.
In the courtyard, Kanjuro seemed to sense something and slowly raised his head, accurately capturing the two gazes filled with shock and anger from the window. The smile on his face didn't change in the slightest; it even deepened. He said something to Illya, and she immediately stopped playing obediently, threw herself into his arms, hugged his waist tightly, and turned her head. With those still clear crimson eyes that now seemed to be veiled in an unusual light, she looked toward her mother and Artoria at the window and gave a sweet smile—one that felt utterly foreign to Irisviel.
Kanjuro gently stroked Illya's hair, his gaze meeting Artoria's from afar. That look was calm and rippleless, yet it seemed to be a silent declaration:
Look, is this what you wanted to protect? It belongs to me now.
A chill, sharper than the accumulated snow in the courtyard, instantly soaked through Irisviel and Artoria's limbs. They understood that the worst-case scenario had likely already occurred. Kanjuro's demonic claws had already reached for their final weakness. The morning sunlight, carrying a sense of helplessness, pierced through the clouds to illuminate that eerie yet warm scene in the Einzbern Castle courtyard. At the window, Irisviel and Artoria's hearts felt as if they were pierced by ice picks, and the chill instantly spread through their bodies. Seeing Illya's defenseless, even attached smile in Kanjuro's arms, they knew clearly that any violent resistance or reprimand at this time could cause unpredictable harm to Illya, or even push her further into the trap Kanjuro had woven.
Irisviel forced down the sob in her throat and the churning in her stomach, squeezing out an extremely forced, even somewhat distorted smile. She took a deep breath, pushed open the window shutters, and called out in a voice as steady as possible, yet still carrying an undetectable tremor:
"Illya!"
Hearing the voice, Illya in the courtyard looked up. Seeing her mother, the smile on her face grew even brighter as she waved excitedly toward the window: "Mama! Look, Papa is playing with me!"
The title "Papa" was like a red-hot iron, searing Irisviel's heart. She struggled to maintain her smile, her gaze moving with difficulty from Kanjuro's face—which wore a smile that saw through everything—to focus entirely on her daughter: "Yes... Mama sees. Are you having fun?"
"I am!" Illya nodded vigorously.
Artoria stood behind Irisviel, her face paler than the snowy ground. She forced herself to relax her clenched fists, suppressing her mountainous rage and disgust deep within her heart. She knew she had to cooperate with this nauseating performance. When she raised her eyes and met Kanjuro's smiling ones, countless images from her tampered memories surged up uncontrollably—guidance in the forest, the gratification during the coronation, and those... those fabricated intimate moments filled with warmth and possessiveness. Those memories were so clear, carrying a false warmth that clashed wildly with her current real hatred, making her throat tighten until she could barely breathe.
She pursed her lips and, finally, using a dry voice that sounded like sandpaper rubbing together, forced out a few words with great difficulty:
"Morning... Merlin." She ended up using that name after all, as if doing so could create a bit of distance from the demon before her.
The smile on Kanjuro's face deepened a bit, as if he were very satisfied with their reaction. He stood up while holding Illya and walked toward the castle entrance, his voice as gentle as ever: "It seems everyone is awake. Illya said she wants to have breakfast with Mama and 'older sister'." He intentionally emphasized the word "older sister," his gaze pointedly sweeping over Artoria.
Artoria's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. She lowered her eyelids, avoiding his gaze, her fingertips once again digging deep into her palms, using the pain to maintain her sanity.
At the magnificent yet cold long dining table in the castle, the atmosphere was so eerie it made the food hard to swallow. Illya sat beside Kanjuro, her small face radiant with joy as she babbled about the interesting magic Kanjuro had shown her. Kanjuro listened patiently, occasionally wiping breadcrumbs from the corner of her mouth with gentle and considerate movements, just like a loving father.
Irisviel sat on Illya's other side, chewing her food without tasting it, her gaze almost unable to move away from her daughter. Every time Illya showed closeness or dependence toward Kanjuro, her heart felt like it was being pricked by a needle. She had to constantly remind herself to keep smiling, even though that smile was as stiff as a mask.
Artoria sat opposite Irisviel, her position directly across from Kanjuro. She kept her head down, mechanically cutting the food on her plate but barely putting any in her mouth. She could feel Kanjuro's gaze falling on her from time to time—a gaze that was scrutinizing, playful, and carried a hint of... a familiarity as if looking at a possession, which made her feel as if she were sitting on pins and needles. Those tampered memories haunted her like ghosts, causing her to feel, in addition to hatred, a confused palpitation originating from a fake intimate relationship that she herself detested. She could only grip her butter knife tightly, using all her willpower to combat the churning emotions inside her.
In the shadows of a distant pillar, Jeanne d'Arc stood silently like a mute sentinel. She watched this distorted play of "family warmth" in the dining room, saw the pain and struggle beneath Irisviel and Artoria's forced smiles, and observed Kanjuro's ease as he toyed with everyone's emotions in the palm of his hand. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.
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