(As expected... it's still like this.) Jeanne d'Arc murmured in her heart. She had long since witnessed Kanjuro's methods—witnessed how he trampled on light, crushed hope, and committed the most cruel acts with the gentlest posture.
She might have once had moments of confusion or hesitation, but in the end, she chose to stand in the shadows and become an observer. She could not, like Kanjuro, completely embrace darkness and depravity, building her own happiness upon the extreme pain of others;
But for some reason, she also could not summon a strong will to oppose or stop him.
Perhaps, deep in her heart, that great fire had not only burned away her life but also burned away a certain obsession with "salvation" and "interference." She just watched and recorded, as if witnessing an epic titled "Despair" whose ending was already predestined.
Kanjuro seemed to sense Jeanne d'Arc's gaze. He raised his wine glass across the long dining table toward the shadows of the pillar, giving an extremely slight toast. The smile at the corner of his mouth carried a dark camp's tacit understanding and coldness that only the two of them understood.
Jeanne d'Arc did not respond, merely allowing her figure to blend deeper into the shadows.
Breakfast continued in an atmosphere that was superficially harmonious but filled with eerie undercurrents.
Irisviel and Artoria felt as if they were walking on the edge of a blade; every minute and second was an ordeal.
Meanwhile, Kanjuro leisurely enjoyed this "family bliss" directed by his own hand and adorned with the pain of others.
He knew this was just the beginning; a greater storm was still to come.
And Illya, this most innocent yet sharpest "key," was already firmly held in his grasp.
Kanjuro elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin and, as if casually, said to Illya beside him in a relaxed tone as if discussing the weather: "By the way, Illya, it seems the castle wasn't very peaceful last night. It seems... someone died. Irisviel," he looked up at Irisviel, whose face instantly turned deathly pale, his smile gentle, "do you know what happened?"
Upon hearing this, Illya immediately perked up, her small face blooming with an excitement that was a mix of innocence and cruelty. She couldn't wait to share this "secret," looking up at Kanjuro as if seeking permission. Kanjuro smiled and gave an almost imperceptible nod, encouraging her to speak.
"Mama! Mama! I know!" Illya waved her small hands, her voice crisp.
When Irisviel and Artoria heard "someone died," their hearts almost stopped simultaneously! A worst-case thought instantly seized them—Emiya Kiritsugu! He was currently the person in the castle most likely to be targeted by Kanjuro, and their most important ally!
"Kiritsugu!!" Irisviel cried out in shock, suddenly standing up from her seat, her face as white as paper, no longer caring to maintain that forced smile. Artoria also stood up instantly, cold flames burning in her emerald eyes, her hand already pressed against an invisible hilt. The two exchanged a terrified look and almost simultaneously turned, sprinting out of the dining room toward the castle wing where Kiritsugu might be.
Watching their panicked figures, Illya blinked her crimson eyes in confusion and tugged on Kanjuro's sleeve, her small mouth pouting: "Mama and Sister Saber are such dummies. How could it be that Kiritsugu, who's always missing, died?" Her tone carried a hint of dissatisfaction at her "masterpiece" being misunderstood.
Kanjuro gently picked Illya up from the chair, took her small hand, and walked slowly out of the dining room. He looked down at his daughter, his face still wearing that gentle mask, but his words carried a bone-chilling "honesty":
"Actually, Illya, Papa isn't a good person either." He spoke as if stating a simple fact. "I used your hand to clear the obstacle. These hands are stained with the blood of a relative."
Just then, Jeanne d'Arc walked slowly from the other end of the hallway, silently following not far behind the two of them like a loyal shadow.
Illya looked up at Kanjuro's handsome face so close to her. Those crimson eyes did not show the fear or hesitation Kanjuro had expected; instead, there was a precocious, almost obsessive determination. She squeezed Kanjuro's hand firmly, her small palm carrying an unquestionable strength.
"I know that, of course." Illya's voice was very soft yet exceptionally clear. "From the moment you told me the truth, told me about Mama's and my fate, I've known better than anyone. You might be very bad and cruel to others, but..."
She paused, her crimson eyes shimmering with a light of being completely bewitched:
"But you at least treat me very well, and that's something no one else can compare to! Kiritsugu only runs away, Mom only cries, and Grandpa Hayde only treats us as tools! Only you, Papa, you gave me strength, told me the truth, and let me know what I should fight for!"
Her voice gradually rose, carrying a twisted sense of mission:
"You let me see the cruelty of fate, and you gave me the power to break it! I want to fight for our—yours, mine, and Mom's—true fate! I don't want to be like Mom, a puppet who only knows how to cry!"
Kanjuro looked at the fanatical and loyal light in Illya's eyes, and the smile on his face finally took on a hint of genuine, almost joyful satisfaction. He stopped, crouched down to look Illya in the eye, and nodded solemnly.
"Well said, my dear daughter." His voice was low and powerful, as if performing some dark coronation. "Recognizing fate, controlling fate, and breaking unpleasant predetermined paths... This is our 'Fate/Night'."
He stood up, took Illya's hand, and continued walking forward. Jeanne d'Arc followed behind, looking at the two figures, one large and one small, and Illya's "resolve" which had been completely guided toward darkness. A trace of extremely complex emotion flashed in her eyes, but in the end, it returned to silent observation.
In the distance, the anxious voices of Irisviel and Artoria calling for Kiritsugu could be heard faintly, forming a stark and ironic contrast with the twisted bond and dark determination between "father and daughter," Kanjuro and Illya. The finale of the Holy Grail War was destined to slowly unfold amidst such extreme distortion of causality and emotion. Irisviel and Artoria rushed through the cold corridors of the castle with burning anxiety, an ominous premonition soaking through them like ice water. They slammed open the heavy wooden door of the room Emiya Kiritsugu used as a temporary workshop and command center.
Inside the room, the scene seemed no different from usual. Emiya Kiritsugu stood before a long table covered with maps and magic diagrams, his brow furrowed, fingertips pressing against his temples, clearly concentrating on how to deal with the unprecedented and powerful threat that was Kanjuro. Maiya Hisau, as usual, stood silently in the shadows of the corner, wiping the components of a sniper rifle, her expression cold and stern, like an unshakeable iceberg.
"Kiritsugu!" Irisviel's voice carried a sob and a sense of relief.
"Kiritsugu, are you alright?" Artoria also asked urgently, her gaze quickly scanning the room to confirm there were no signs of battle.
Emiya Kiritsugu was startled by their sudden intrusion and panicked state. He looked up, his bloodshot eyes showing a hint of displeasure and confusion at having his thoughts interrupted. "Iri? Sab? What happened? Why are you so flustered?" He noticed the lingering terror on their faces.
However, in the next second, his gaze passed over their shoulders and saw the figure leisurely stepping into the room—Kanjuro, and Illya, whom he was leading by the hand, a strange smile on her face. Behind Kanjuro, Jeanne d'Arc stood quietly at the doorway like a silent guardian.
Kiritsugu's pupils suddenly constricted, and the confusion on his face was instantly replaced by extreme shock and anger! Almost reflexively, he took half a step back, his hand already reaching for the hidden Contender pistol at his waist! In his mind, Irisviel and Artoria had just rushed in panicking, followed immediately by Kanjuro's appearance; there was only one explanation—
They had betrayed him! They had led the enemy here!
"You...!" Kiritsugu's voice was raspy with anger and a sense of betrayal. Although the muzzle hadn't been fully raised, it was already faintly pointing in the direction of Irisviel and Artoria. His eyes were filled with the pain and cold killing intent of being stabbed in the back by those he trusted most.
"It's not like that! Kiritsugu!" Irisviel immediately realized he had misunderstood and hurriedly tried to explain, "We heard someone had died and thought you..."
Artoria also immediately took a step forward, shielding Irisviel, and said in a heavy voice, "Kiritsugu, calm down! We are not traveling with him!"
But at that moment, a change beyond everyone's expectations occurred.
Maiya Hisau, who had been standing silently in the corner, saw the moment Kanjuro appeared, and the habitual, ice-like stern expression on her face melted rapidly like snow under the sun. From her eyes, which were always as sharp as a hawk's, erupted a nearly fanatical light of absolute loyalty. The corners of her mouth curled up uncontrollably, revealing a smile filled with obsession and joy, completely different from her usual self.
Ignoring the tense Kiritsugu and the desperate-to-explain Irisviel, she walked straight past them to Kanjuro. Then, under everyone's unbelievable gaze, she knelt on one knee, bowing her head—which had never easily yielded to anyone—and said clearly in a trembling voice mixed with awe and adoration:
"Master, you've come."
At this moment, time seemed to freeze.
The anger and suspicion on Emiya Kiritsugu's face froze, turning into a deeper shock and bone-chilling cold, as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. He looked in disbelief at the woman he regarded as his right hand, who was now kneeling at the enemy's feet like the most submissive slave.
Irisviel covered her mouth and gasped. Artoria's emerald eyes were also filled with astonishment. She finally understood that Kanjuro's infiltration was far more pervasive and lethal than they had imagined!
Kanjuro looked at Maiya kneeling at his feet, a satisfied smile appearing on his face. He reached out and gently ruffled her hair as if petting a pet.
"You've done well, Maiya. Thank you for your hard work during your long undercover mission."
Only then did he look up, meeting Emiya Kiritsugu's fire-spitting gaze and the pale faces of Irisviel and Artoria. He smiled elegantly, his tone as relaxed as if greeting an old friend:
"Look, I seem to have arrived just in time to clear up some unnecessary... misunderstandings?"
He looked down and said softly to Illya beside him, "See, Illya, this is the world of adults, full of lies and betrayal. And what we must do," he tightened his grip on his daughter's hand, "is tear off all these hypocritical masks."
The truth was revealed in the cruelest way, and the foundation of trust collapsed in an instant. The air in the workshop seemed to turn into a thick, suffocating poison. The only "winner" seemed to be the demon holding the girl's hand, admiring the despair on everyone's faces. Emiya Kiritsugu stared fixedly at Maiya kneeling at Kanjuro's feet. Those eyes, which were always as calm as stagnant water, were now churning with unbelievable fury and a coldness from being completely made a fool of. His voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth, with a texture like grinding metal:
"I... I envisioned many possibilities... but you were the only one I never expected, Maiya." He trusted her as he trusted his own extended arm, perhaps even more.
Maiya looked up, her face devoid of its former coldness and restraint, replaced only by a near-fanatical piety. She looked at Kanjuro as if looking up at a god, her voice clear and calm, yet every word pierced the heart:
"Betrayal? No, Kiritsugu. I was never truly loyal to you." Her gaze didn't flicker in the slightest. "Eight years ago, in those ruins in East Europe, when I was surrounded by a group of deserting soldiers and thought I was certain to die, it was Master who descended like a god from heaven and saved me. He gave me new life, gave me strength, and gave me a reason to exist."
She paused, throwing out an even crueler truth:
"Even the later 'chance encounter' with you, what you thought was an arrangement of fate, was all part of Master's meticulous planning. Approaching you, becoming your assistant, gaining your trust... all of it was merely to better serve Master."
Emiya Kiritsugu's body swayed imperceptibly. Although he had felt a hint of doubt because of the occasional abnormal reverence Maiya showed toward certain powerful existences, hearing this cold layout with his own ears now still made him feel a sense of vertigo. His expression was distorted, not out of anger, but from the hollow and ghastly feeling of having some core belief uprooted. The "means" and "calculations" he relied on for survival seemed so laughable in the face of the other party's cross-temporal planning.
Kanjuro admired the wonderful expression on Kiritsugu's face as if watching a superb play. He gently patted Maiya's shoulder, signaling she had done well, then turned his gaze toward the pale Irisviel and Artoria, his lips curling into an even more wicked smile.
"It seems there aren't enough surprises here." He spoke unhurriedly, his voice carrying a playful cruelty. "Then, let me add a few more points, lest you all still harbor illusions about so-called 'allies'."
His finger first pointed at Irisviel:
"Iri, my dear 'wife'," he deliberately used this title, seeing Irisviel tremble violently, "though you've always resisted, don't forget that in the face of the law and certain established facts, you are always mine. Within your body, there even flows the magic circuits I 'optimized' for you."
Next, his suffocating gaze fell upon Artoria.
"As for you, my stubborn Sab, or rather..." He deliberately drawled, as if savoring the impact of every upcoming word, "my dear—daughter—"
"What...?!"
This time, it wasn't just Emiya Kiritsugu and Irisviel; even Artoria, who had been trying to remain calm, suddenly looked up, her emerald pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks! Daughter?! This title was more destructive than any weapon!
"I know, but Kanjuro, do you really think treating me like this leaves you without a shred of guilt?" Artoria's voice lost all its composure for the first time, carrying a broken tremor.
She thought of the teachings and companionship of Kanjuro (Merlin) in her altered memories, of those blurred "truths" about her birth, and of her feelings for Kanjuro.
Kanjuro ignored her denial and continued in that factual, despairing tone:
"You think King Uther was really your biological father? No, that was just a front I set up to easily manipulate the throne of Britain. Your bloodline originates from me. It was the combination of my power and that of a certain ancient existence, using Igraine's womb, that conceived you and Morgan. The so-called 'Breath of the Red Dragon' in your body is just another manifestation of my power."
He looked at Artoria's face, which had instantly lost all color, and her swaying body, as if admiring a piece of art about to shatter.
"So, from beginning to end, the kingdom you fought for, the chivalry you upheld, and even your very existence, all stem from me—the one you loathe most. How do you feel about this 'father-daughter' bond, Lia?"
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