Chapter 16 Jigsaw Puzzle
Several hours ago. Snowfield. Kousman Special Correctional Center.
Inside a fortress-like facility that doubled as a prison, more than a dozen technicians were seated at their stations. A young man scrutinized the surveillance monitors.
"Finally found the reason for that sense of incongruity..."
The young man stared fixedly at the figure appearing on the screen, murmuring in confusion:
"Shirou Emiya, the victor of the Fifth Holy Grail War... I didn't even know who he was when I first saw him, but a little investigation reveals it was actually him all along..."
The title "Victor of the Fifth Holy Grail War" alone was information worthy of intense scrutiny for anyone involved in a Grail War. The young man had taken note of the name long ago, but only now was he seeing the man in person.
His name was Faldeus.
He was the core proxy for the "Fake" Holy Grail War, backed by the mandate of the entire nation; his every move represented the United States. His codename was "Livestock." He chose this name to suggest he was merely a tethered hound acting on the power of the state.
In truth, his personal flair was quite distinct—he was a master of the American style of Quick Draw (Iaijutsu), and he had thrived in the early stages of the war by "playing dirty" without any pretense of chivalry.
However, he no longer needed to take the field himself. He could now be called a Master.
As for the Servant originally following him: that individual also wore a skull mask, but was nowhere to be seen. His Presence Concealment was so absolute it seemed to merge with the environment; even when he was standing right there, Faldeus could not see him through the sensory direction he occupied.
The Servant was currently absent, dispatched by Faldeus to assassinate the head of the family belonging to a man named Bazdilot. Thus, his information remained irrelevant for the time being.
"Making such a scene at the Kurouoka residence is just too much. That's why he got noticed. As an outsider, his destructive power is a bit too high... please don't ask me; if I could, I'd also like to know why he's so good at disrupting things."
Faldeus propped his chin in his hand, staring at the monitor for over ten minutes in deep thought. At the end of his contemplation, he reached a conclusion:
"Let's see if we can clear him out. —Send twenty-six people. Sixteen snipers from different angles, and ten for fire suppression. It might not work against a Heroic Spirit, but for him, it's a different story. Maybe the Heroic Spirit will vanish the moment he dies."
While suppressing the urge to take stomach medicine, Faldeus uttered these cold, cruel words. Then, as if remembering something, he tapped his forehead and told his subordinate:
"Regarding who did this... let's see... pin it on Bazdilot."
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Several hours ago. Snowfield. Large-scale Meat Processing Plant.
In the outskirts of Snowfield, there existed an industrial zone crowded with factories. Deep within this area stood a meat processing plant, quietly nestled behind the massive surrounding factories like a castle wall.
Undeniably, there was a vast amount of "meat" piled inside. Specifically, 24,976 people. Even the devastation wrought by Pale Rider seemed to pale in comparison to the deeds of an evil magus. This was not a "natural disaster," but "Human Evil."
Thus, the "Mud" expressed its appreciation... churning happily inside the coat of the man responsible.
In the vast underground space, deep within a workshop protected by several layers of bounded fields, stood Bazdilot—the Master of True Archer, or rather, the Master of the monster Heroic Spirit who currently occupied the dual classes of Archer and Avenger.
He stood like a ghost from the underworld and spoke:
"What exactly happened last night?"
He was met with silence. Alcides stared at him calmly, as if searching for his true intent.
"Do you intend to use this to criticize me?"
An aura capable of freezing a man's heart with a single glare drifted around Bazdilot as he paced within the bounded field.
"No, it is a simple question. You need to know that the mana you leaked last night exceeded your imagination. Though my family members did their best to set up bounded fields, the uncontrollable fluctuations reached a dangerous threshold detectable by the outside world. It was sheer luck you weren't discovered last night."
Alcides looked into the distance, falling silent. After several seconds, he finally spoke:
"Last night, I engaged in combat with a human hero. I judged that only by using a Noble Phantasm could I resolve it reliably. So, I used one."
Bazdilot furrowed his brow. "Do not lie to me. You are the strongest Heroic Spirit in name and reality; it is impossible for you to need a Noble Phantasm against a human."
Alcides responded with an attitude of disinterest. Seeing that, Bazdilot—for perhaps the first time—embodied the meaning of the word "stagnation" with his death-like expression.
Bazdilot, a magus of the "Domination" system, possessed magic that allowed him to "dominate" himself to achieve various ends. Because of this, he could coexist with the "Mud." After summoning the True Archer (Heracles) in secret, he had polluted him into a partial Avenger, forming a bizarre alliance.
There were rumors that he could coexist with the Black Mud not because of magical trickery, but for a simpler reason—he had long since fallen into madness and thus could not be further affected by the "Mud."
Yet, even this madman briefly doubted the truth of Alcides' words.
"Why did you fight him?"
"Because he knows my True Name."
"How does he know your True Name?"
"Likely because of the previous Holy Grail War."
"Is he dealt with?"
"He escaped."
"...How did he escape??"
"Because a Saber who does not belong to this Holy Grail War intervened."
Hearing this chaotic description that sounded like a lie, even the madman froze in pure confusion. It was impossible to understand.
His fist pressed against the wall of the underground workshop, causing spiderweb cracks to appear. Yet he "dominated" his mind with precision, keeping this instinctive subconscious movement separate from his calm words during high-speed thought.
Finally, he withdrew his fist and found the core question: "Tell me that guy's identity."
"You have sufficient information-gathering capabilities, Master. The only valuable information I can declare is that the man originates from the Fifth Holy Grail War."
Alcides, however, did not wish to continue the conversation. He ended it abruptly, manifested his massive, muddy-colored bow, and headed toward the exit.
"I am going to prepare for the battle with the King of Heroes."
—And, whether intentionally or not, he failed to mention the existence of a certain silver-haired girl.
"However, there are two things I wish to remind you of..."
As he reached the stairs leading to the surface, Alcides turned his head and said to Bazdilot:
"Though the possibility is slim... his faction may become our greatest threat.
Also, this is my personal judgment—if it is just you and your family, you cannot defeat him currently."
'So maintain maximum vigilance, but do not make pointless attempts on your own.'
Having indicated this, Alcides left the workshop.
"Shirou Emiya, victor of the Fifth Holy Grail War. A man from a previous war, former Master of the Saber class; servant reportedly Arthur Pendragon. Abilities unknown, no Rank within the Clock Tower."
In the fax provided by his mystic code, Bazdilot received the correct information. He looked at the data, which appeared far too much like a blank sheet of paper, and concentrated his turbid gaze to draft a plan. He remained silent for a long time.
Then, the first thing Bazdilot did was violate Alcides' warning.
"Don't make pointless attempts"—that did not fit Bazdilot's style. Try if you can, discuss it if it fails. Seize victory by any means and any sacrifice; that was Bazdilot's way.
"That guy exposed his location during the disturbance at the Kurouoka residence. Send thirteen people with firearms, but maintain long distance. Also," Bazdilot commanded his subordinate, "—use anti-materiel rifles."
With a single sentence, he had pronounced a death sentence even for a Lord of the Brand rank holding a supreme mystic code. Bazdilot did not believe this man could be better prepared than a Lord for a sneak attack exceeding the speed and power of ordinary bullets.
Then, as if thinking of something, he curled his lips slightly:
"Ah, as for who did it... push that one onto Faldeus."
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Snowfield Center. Construction Site.
Sigma buttoned up his trench coat. He sat on a deserted reinforced concrete structure. Sigma was listening, but he was not the type of person interested in listening to the birds or the flowers. What Sigma listened to were "stories."
Behind him, the boy with the caduceus, whom only Sigma could see, finished the last word and asked happily: "Forgive our curiosity; normally, no matter what we say, you have an
expression of indifference. Why is it that only when 'Shirou Emiya' was mentioned, you suddenly asked us to tell you what happened to him?"
The intended Master of True Lancer: Sigma.
As for now, Sigma didn't even know what he was anymore. His "back-spirit" said that he, the Master, was to become Lancer instead. Regardless, his combat-incapable Servant (though that phrasing was factually problematic) was useless for anything other than telling him stories.
So, Sigma had him tell the story of what had happened with Shirou Emiya recently. His impression after listening was: What kind of person is this...?
The way he fought, the resolve he held. Although Sigma heard every word of these soaring traits, he could not empathize with them. They were things Sigma lacked.
However, he answered Watcher calmly: "Because he is the son of the 'Magus Killer,' and I am the son of the 'Magus Killer's' assistant."
"Haha, there's a connection like that?"
Though Sigma didn't realize it himself, he was perhaps much closer to that man than the other two Masters. Sigma simply let his vacant mind ponder the question:
—We are of the same generation, so why can you carry yourself like that?
Things you don't understand won't become clear just by staring into the distance. A phone rang, and Sigma looked at the contact.
Francesca.
In principle, Sigma was a mercenary and Francesca was his employer. Summoning the Servant had also been her instruction.
"Sigma-kun! Phew, how have you been lately?"
"Not good at all."
The Master of True Caster: Francesca. Although Sigma didn't know it, her Servant... was herself. Or rather, another version of her.
"Inside info! A powerful figure is being targeted by several Masters at once. I'm going to prepare a mountain of popcorn and sunglasses to enjoy the big show! Ah, if possible, I'd like the situation to heat up even more—so, that's where Sigma-kun's hand comes in!"
"...What do you mean?" Sigma frowned.
"Therefore, I am giving an order as your employer," the mastermind of this Holy Grail War said. "—Sigma, go fire a shot at Shirou Emiya."
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This was a story of the Masters in the shadows, a jigsaw puzzle of blades and shadows pieced together by figures with their own agendas.
Only one person was being targeted by the jagged edges of those interlocking pieces.
That person shifted his gaze from the bullet he had just cut down, piercing directly into the eyes of the sniper reflecting his silhouette.
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