Chapter 8 Pale Rider: Already Driven to Tears
In the Dream
Darkness huddled within the tree-lined shadows under the sun, one might say resolutely refusing to expose even a sliver of itself.
Despite this, the sun overhead shone with terrifying brilliance. Within the territory of the black humanoid—the Pale Rider—he simply allowed the sun to continue releasing its radiance, even letting himself be weirdly confined to this cramped space.
"So many little animals! Mr. Sun is so warm!"
The cheers of a young girl bathing in the sunlight rang out around Pale Rider. The child named Tsubaki Kuruoka frolicked with the animals in such a simple manner, sprinting across the lawn without a hint of weariness.
...She was happy to a point that would make a silver-haired, faux-young girl recall the days spent with a giant, feeling the sting of how much things had changed.
Pale Rider remained in a shadow distinct from the girl, slowly sinking his entire being into a deeper darkness. Tsubaki's excitement gradually faded from his perception.
—They got away.
Pale Rider began to recap. Like a machine, he stacked logic upon logic. A thing that should have been a mere phenomenon was striving to mold its way of thinking into that of a human.
'Tsubaki's identity has been discovered.'
In a Holy Grail War, eliminating those who know the Master's identity is beneficial for the Master's survival... primarily, it aligns with the policy of protecting Tsubaki.
However, that wasn't the actual reason Pale Rider had struck at that moment. He didn't really care for the rules of the Holy Grail War. The only reason he would launch an immediate attack while his main body wasn't even present was that something had exceeded his evaluation criteria.
—Because of the threat.
The rules instilled by the Holy Grail War are to kill one another, to eliminate the opposing Servant or Master. The Rider ignored these rules. But other Masters and Servants who understood and followed the rules would pose a threat to Tsubaki the moment they learned of her existence.
Tsubaki was a potential target for other participants in the Holy Grail War. This war was not safe for Tsubaki.
Those pursuing Tsubaki—this level of strength could not be ignored. Thus, he used an avatar to test them in a place where his power was sufficient. The residence was the location where
Pale Rider had his second-largest concentration of scattered power. If he didn't act immediately, it would be difficult to find another chance to eliminate them.
And yet—he still failed.
Every attempt to pull them into the "Dream" was shattered. The method of displacing their minds had also been unsuccessful.
If it were a human, they would narrow their eyes with a sense of crisis and a hint of anger. But Pale Rider possessed no emotions; he simply and silently categorized the two incomprehensible beings under the highest level of vigilance.
—Is the female a Heroic Spirit? The male, what is he? —No, the female is different from a regular Servant? The male is human, but his strength should be judged as that of a Heroic Spirit??
As if suffering a logic error, the white crescent moon that served as the face of the shadow spun full circle before stopping.
Actually, there was a misunderstanding here from the perspective of an onlooker. It wasn't that Pale Rider was completely unable to see the pair who laughed for reasons he couldn't grasp.
The Rider's power had long since scattered throughout the city, reaching even into every cumulonimbus cloud. They were all his "arms." If Pale Rider wanted to watch, he could watch forever—but he could only watch.
Strength this thin could, at most, cause everyone in the city to contract a plague; it was useless against those two. Since even an avatar with more substantial power couldn't eliminate them, there was no need for wasted effort.
If the main body were deployed, there might be enough power for a direct confrontation, but Pale Rider was guarding Tsubaki's safety. Unless humans took the initiative to enter the hospital, Pale Rider could not act normally. They had won.
"..."
The shadow's darkness seethed like boiling water.
"Mr. Black?"
Hearing the child's voice calling him, he snapped back to normal, molding himself back into a humanoid shape within 0.5 seconds—instantly, right away.
"Are you afraid of the sun?"
—I am not afraid. I just dislike it.
Receiving this answer from his demeanor, Tsubaki tilted her head, not quite understanding. Sensing the wish in Tsubaki's heart, the Heroic Spirit of the Rider extended an arm made of mist and stroked her head, making her cry out from the tickling.
"I really give up on you."
The Fake Rider heard these words, which for some reason felt very fitting. While the two existences within only the Rider's field of vision were still flirting, Tsubaki suddenly said:
"Actually, I was very uneasy at first... Everyone seemed to be running away from this town, as if they were afraid of something. Though I really wanted everyone to come back..."
The girl who had always been in the dream. She was shrouded in a replica of the city, yet her gaze was fixed only on Mr. Black.
"But since Mr. Black arrived, I've been really, really happy. Thank you, Mr. Black."
She laughed.
There might not have been any sentiment in the Rider's mechanical thoughts, but if one had to say, there was one thing.
—This, too, is Tsubaki's wish.
In the end, Pale Rider gave up on his constant surveillance of those two beings. Because what he had to do next was much more important and required far more effort.
As Tsubaki smiled and rubbed the back of the white rabbit once more, the Rider—while letting his once-again-placed palm dissolve the unease in her heart—silently connected all his "arms" to himself.
Pale Rider could not act normally. Therefore, he could only use those "insignificant" "arms" of his.
That's right, they were just a little... Long-reaching.
.
.
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Outside the Regular Roads of Snowfield
A car sped along a straight road stretching through the wilderness. Among the heavy traffic, this particular car carried a notably high number of magi.
The magus in the center was barking orders. He was the leader of this group. Unfortunately, not long ago, his tongue had been brutally slashed for coveting a certain Zealot. Consequently, his pronunciation was unclear, and every word he spoke was punctuated by stabs from his pain receptors.
"I can't stay in thith thnowfield for a thingle thecond longer! Hurry up and drive uth out!"
"No problem, we've already crossed the town boundary!"
The magus, playing the role of a pathetic clown, wanted to leave quickly because his mouth hurt terribly and he had been frightened by the crater. Yet, more pitiably, Snowfield's "favor" toward him had not yet ended.
"?"
First, a familiar circling in the sky dropped down. The group watched in shock. The bird-shaped familiar, entering a state like rigor mortis, kicked its legs frantically while maintaining its breath—appearing both alive and dead at the same time.
Immediately after, a companion felt a powerful urge to vomit.
"Blegh, hurrk, gahh!"
Another companion suddenly noticed something black taking root on his body. Trembling helplessly, he instinctively reached to pull the car door, but it happened to be locked.
While this scene, so absurd it felt like a silent pantomime, played out as if it would last forever, the traffic ahead stopped. The magus thought they might have encountered zombies at the front of the line. His vision suddenly became unstable, and finally, this magus slammed his head down with the force of someone cracking a walnut.
At the end of the road in his vision, only the sign reading [Welcome to Snowfield] flashed by. Screams once echoed inside the car—
—And several minutes later, the car started up again, turning back toward Snowfield.
—346 people.
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Outskirts of Snowfield
An old man and a young man walked together to the edge of the remote wilderness. The two shared a master-disciple relationship. More accurately, the young man was the old man's apprentice who handled chores in magecraft.
Just when the young man thought his master had finally gone mad, a large vehicle manifested right there at the edge of Snowfield. A Jeep treated with magecraft, clearly prepared in advance.
The old man kicked the large Jeep: "Get in, quick, we're leaving now."
The young apprentice didn't have much of an objection, just pure confusion. In any case, he always ended up listening to his master. However, there was still one question.
"By the way, Master, why aren't we taking the main road?"
The old man snorted coldly: "You think I don't know? All the cars that went through the main gate have turned back. Going to the main gate in this situation—are you in a hurry to go die?"
The disciple scratched his head sheepishly.
"Something very bad is out there. Forget about that crater; we need to leave. We can't afford to mess with this Holy Grail War. Don't get yourself dragged into it."
The disciple felt the old man was indeed crazy, indulging in such groundless ideas. Yet he had to believe him, because if this old man had made his career at the Clock Tower, his achievements would have even earned him an official ranking of Fes.
Climbing into the Jeep prepared as an escape route who-knows-how-long ago, the disciple turned his head toward Snowfield in boredom.
"We only got to Snowfield two days ago, and now we're leaving again..."
Neither noticed that they had already driven slightly beyond the borders of Snowfield. After a few seconds, the bored disciple noticed one thing.
His entire body felt hot, as if it were on fire.
The old man turned to look, his eyes widening instantly. He saw patterns, like Command Spells, gradually appearing across his apprentice's body.
"Damn it, use healing magecraft! Where did you lose what I taught you!"
It was too late. The disciple's eyes rolled back, and he fell unconscious. The old man also began to feel that his own condition was wrong. Seizing the time he still had left to scream, the old man quickly grabbed his skin, which was beginning to turn black, and chanted:
"Beneath the Silver Cup, the Northern Spring, thrice returning, revert to the Source!"
When the effect of the magecraft formula made contact with the thing eroding him, it was like using a fire extinguisher to put out a forest fire. The old man finally understood: nothing could represent "Death" more than that thing.
The old man closed his eyes hopelessly. Two minutes later, there were no more people here trying to leave.
—1,876 people.
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Inside the cabin of a passenger plane just 718 meters above Snowfield
The white-collar worker in a business suit wasn't writing on his laptop this time; instead, he was receiving messages on a messaging app on his phone.
"Anna, I'm here?"
"Yes, I'll be back very soon. The trip was faster than I expected. I told you, it's just a business trip to sign a contract, nothing to worry about."
"Afraid of accidents or something? Don't worry, Anna. The probability of a plane crash is 1 in 37.7 million. Besides a plane crash, what other accident could I possibly run into?"
Even as he said this, the white-collar man's expression softened because of his partner's concern. It would have been better if the phrase "Even as he said this" had never appeared.
"?"
The man felt as if the plane had jolted. But strangely, why was there such a large tremor that the phone slipped right out of his hand? The man looked to his left in confusion.
The spots on his arm stared back at him silently. Time seemed to have rotted. At the last moment, the man finally realized: it wasn't the plane jolting, it was his own body convulsing.
"AAAAAAAAAAAGH WAAAAAAGH UGHHHHH!???"
The man let out a scream at maximum decibels. Simultaneously, a collective wail from people of different races rolled through like a wave, filling this coffin in the sky.
There was one piece of good news: on this flight departing from the United States, direct phone calls were prohibited. Therefore, the girlfriend on the other end of the conversation didn't have to remain anxious because of the sudden scream he let out.
About ten seconds later—silence visited.
After an unknown amount of time, the hollow-eyed man picked up the phone, which had a broken corner from hitting the floor, and typed a sentence: After I get off the plane, I'm going back to Snowfield.
"?" "?" "?"
The other end of the messaging app kept typing single characters in rapid succession, but the man didn't even realize the contradiction in his own words as he turned off the phone.
Seeing his behavior, a seatmate with the same look in his eyes spoke up: "You're planning to go back to Snowfield too?"
"Yeah? Is everyone going back to Snowfield?" the man murmured in wonder.
Before anyone knew it, the plane seemed to tilt slightly to the left. Seeing this, a companion nearby shouted, "Are we going back to Snowfield?"
At this sight, everyone laughed and shouted together: "Snowfield, we're back!"
—5,322 people.
The first day of the Holy Grail War. Using a certain moment as the dividing line, Snowfield turned into a comfortable cage.
An open city of festivities that neither refused newcomers nor allowed anyone to leave, it let out a joyful, bustling sound, as if devouring humans inexorably.
'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.'
No matter which Snowfield it was, this initial devastation would not change. The only thing that changed was—
The objects Pale Rider attempted to reach out and touch had increased by two. Yet, the objects that should have been touched had decreased by two.
Even so, Snowfield welcomes you.
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