Chapter 14 Jester Has Arrived; Jester is Dead
Police Chief Orlando Reeve, while considering himself inferior to a true Heroic Spirit, possessed combat intuition far surpassing that of an ordinary human. Though inconspicuous, he was actually the strongest human in the Caster faction—more powerful than any single member of Clan Calatin.
However, as the Chief reached the perimeter of the opera house and sensed the bizarre aura within, he couldn't help but furrow his brow ever so slightly.
"Follow my orders. Once inside, do not act rashly. Stay calm and prioritize a standoff."
While directing his squad, the Chief led them toward the theater's interior.
"There's a Dead Apostle running amok in the theater~ Hehehe! How entertaining! I'd love to join in, but I get the feeling there will be something even better to meddle with soon, so I'll leave this to you, Chief-kun!"
The person who gave him the intel was Francesca. That woman, inhabiting the body of a white-haired, black-eyed girl, had uncharacteristically contacted the Chief. She was likely a Master as well, though he didn't know what kind of Heroic Spirit she had summoned.
The Chief was likely being used by her. But since this involved a vampire species, for the safety of Snowfield's citizens, he had no choice but to come. It was his duty, after all.
With a wave of the Chief's hand, twenty-eight people—the entire combat strength of the Caster faction—rushed into the opera house doors all at once.
"Everyone inside, don't move!!"
The sight that followed left the Chief stunned, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth.
'Damn you, Francesca, you never mentioned there were two Heroic Spirits in here!?'
Without considering Noble Phantasm effects, if all twenty-nine of them pooled their strength, they might handle one—but with two, how could they possibly fight? The Chief broke into a cold sweat instantly.
An Assassin shrouded in black robes. A Swordsman holding a blade. Both stared at him before simultaneously shifting their gaze back toward the Dead Apostle.
Only a bespectacled girl with short hair stood frozen, staring in his direction. The Chief found himself lock-eyed with wide, blue pupils. After a brief, silent exchange of "friendly" looks, the two of them followed the gazes of Richard and the Fanatic.
Then, the Chief saw it too.
A white-haired presence, trailing a mental hallucination of a sea of blood, stood there leisurely with a provocative smile. Illogically, neither Heroic Spirit moved a finger against him.
"Well now... actual ordinary humans have arrived? The world truly favors me. I only mentioned it in passing, and yet I've been gifted with so many extra blood bags!"
Jester spoke, then suddenly scratched his head to correct himself: "Ah, sorry, sorry, my mistake. Looking at those dazzling Noble Phantasms in your hands, you aren't ordinary humans—you must be the work of Caster. It's an easy mistake to make, though; since only your weapons are special, you yourselves are so weak you could be mistaken for commoners!"
'Why aren't the two Heroic Spirits moving?'
Feeling a chill down his spine, the Chief silently pointed the blade of his long knife at the Dead Apostle. Without looking away, he spoke to Richard and the nameless Assassin:
"May I regard you as beings capable of communication?"
The Chief was an excellent commander. One manifestation of this was his ability to distinguish primary from secondary conflicts and finalize a negotiation within a few sentences.
"No problem for me."
"If it is only for now."
The two Heroic Spirits replied, maintaining their respective auras. The golden swordsman's eyes lit up as he directed the girl standing with him: "Ayaka, go stand next to the soldier with the shield over there."
As the girl named Ayaka ran to the shield-bearer, the Chief asked her: "What is the situation here?"
She replied all in one breath: "Saber says that man used two things called Command Spells in succession! One was: 'When Saber launches an attack on me, go attack his Master,' and the other was 'Suicide is forbidden!' The situation turned into this!"
It seemed that before the Chief's "fashionably late" arrival, an incident had already occurred. He was one step too late.
The Chief understood. In short: the golden Swordsman couldn't attack the Dead Apostle because doing so would trigger the Assassin to kill the girl named Ayaka, and the Assassin herself couldn't kill the Dead Apostle.
Thus, all four of them were paralyzed.
...This was a mess.
He didn't know the details of how it happened... but this Dead Apostle had managed to suppress both a Saber and an Assassin simultaneously. He had disrupted the situation to an incredible degree! Looking at the Assassin's expression, she looked so frustrated she was about to cry.
The Chief made a hand gesture.
The collective Clan Calatin began to move. An Archer fired a magnificent arrow; the Dead Apostle, unbothered by the violent sound of parting air, simply tilted his head to dodge. Seizing this opening, a swordsman arrived instantly, his draw-and-strike technique flowing like a torrent. The Dead Apostle lightly kicked the ground, leaping into the air.
A gunman pulled the trigger; mana bullets reflected in the Dead Apostle's pupils along with a startling boom. Jester's response was merely to manifest flames out of thin air. The void-fire engulfed the mana bullets, and both vanished.
A giant man wielding a hammer let out a thunderous roar, swinging down at the Dead Apostle's landing point. Jester touched the ground with one hand, spinning his body like a ghost to evade, standing upright on the left and taking two light steps on his toes.
However, someone was already there.
Clan Calatin did not rely on individual combat power; they used coordination to drive an opponent into a corner before delivering the killing blow. This was a combat style unique to a team of human monsters equipped with Noble Phantasms.
At the very instant the command was given, John took a deep breath, no longer hiding his presence, and lunged out from the shadows of the audience seats. The dagger flipping in his hand brought the bastard vampire firmly into range, tracing a brilliant arc of a slash.
To avoid detection, John used the pillars and seats of the building for cover; then, he stopped breathing so he couldn't be noticed by sound; finally, as preparation for fighting a vampire, everyone wore magical dress that neutralized scent. The combination of these three factors led to this "sure-kill" strike.
"Zabaniya - Delusional Heartbeat!"
Simultaneously, a red arm streaked across the battlefield toward the Dead Apostle's chest, serving as the decisive key to the battle. Front and back, the Dead Apostle had nowhere to run.
Sensing his predicament, the Dead Apostle showed a look of hopelessness... which immediately transformed into a bored smirk.
He snapped his fingers. A fledgling flame-colored tornado appeared in front of him, deflecting the red arm, which only managed to scrape away a chunk of the Dead Apostle's side.
As for his direct rear, he ignored it entirely. The Noble Phantasm dagger struck Jester's back, lost its brilliant light, and suddenly shattered into three large fragments. This was followed by a backlash like punching a brick wall with full force.
As John's body stiffened from the reaction, Jester grabbed his arm, inflicting a pain so intense it felt like the limb was being torn off. To the accompaniment of John's screams, the Dead Apostle spoke nonchalantly:
"Decent entertainment.
Though I only cooperated for a bit of fun, you were actually quite impressive. Enough to pique my interest, at least.
Miss Assassin, you still have the same old problem—your skills are useless against Dead Apostles. As for you, human-kun... let me put it this way..."
He split his mouth to reveal sharp fangs:
"They say there is a divine beast in the world that is invulnerable to any weapon forged of human endeavor. Think of us Dead Apostles as a sub-species of that hide's power—
A human's Noble Phantasm, or the protection of a Noble Phantasm prepared by a God for man... as long as it is used by a human and not a Heroic Spirit, it is no different from a cracker to us. Just who do you think you are, imagining you could touch me with a Noble Phantasm while remaining a mere human?"
He caught one of the fragments of the Noble Phantasm still falling through the air, put it in his mouth, and swallowed it with a loud crunch:
"There exists no human who can defeat me while fighting with a Noble Phantasm."
One against three classes, and immune to human Noble Phantasms... It was impossible.
Clan Calatin could not win. Facing this undeniable monster, the Chief's sweat flowed even more freely. To be precise, the upper limit of Jester Karture's existence was to stage such a perfect scene of devastation.
Through Command Spells, his own regeneration, and his specific attributes, he had managed to restrain Saber, Assassin, and Caster's group simultaneously. Because his "counter" was not present, Jester had achieved perfection on a stage where he could finally perform at his peak.
However, people often fall into the abyss at their highest point—and the same goes for non-humans.
Jester's grip on the arm began to tighten. The vampire's claws crushed into bone and pierced veins. An instant before John's right arm was turned into a fountain of blood... a golden flash of a sword swept upward, sending the arm that was about to crush the limb flying into the air.
This wasn't the police station. A Heroic Spirit Saber was on the scene, and he would not sit by while a Dead Apostle tormented humans. The Dead Apostle's lost arm regenerated instantly, his vermillion eyes seeing that Richard was watching him.
"Perhaps as a human one truly cannot defeat you. I offer no comment on that. However, this is a battlefield for Heroic Spirits."
Finally, Richard flicked the blood from his blade and laughed, exposing him.
"Because I didn't know Dead Apostles had that trait, I allowed these warriors to attack, nearly causing this warrior to lose his arm. For that, I am truly sorry. But—the farce ends here."
'I feel like I missed something while I was getting carried away.'
Because of those nonsensical words, the Dead Apostle Jester felt a distinct sense of foreboding.
"You may have balanced Saber, Assassin, and Caster almost simultaneously, but that was a mistake. At most, you could only use Assassin to restrain me; rely on the fact that Assassin can't deal effective damage to you; and handle the Caster lineup separately. Their arrival alone is the greatest help to me.
The proof is: why am I able to swing my sword at you here?"
Richard said.
Jester's vermillion eyes caught a sight in the distance: the Fanatic, manipulated by the Command Spell, was mechanically launching an attack on Richard's Master.
However, a human holding a shield barely blocked every strike; a human with a sharp spear drifted through the gaps, slowing the Heroic Spirit's rhythm; and a human firing a gun shot mana-draining bullets at the Assassin Servant.
Jester's pupils constricted.
'...Damn it, I forgot!'
"Your strength should be enough to face Assassin without fleeing, or to win a duel against Caster," Richard smiled. "However, there's one more person over here—me. So, goodbye."
This time it was Jester's turn to sweat. He decided almost instantly to lunge at a random human nearby to use as a hostage. However, even this attempt to capture a shield failed.
The King began his march.
In the standoff, a speed that surpassed all else—which had been accumulating unnoticed—made a shattered path extend directly between the Dead Apostle and the human warriors. It created a comical scene where it looked as if the Dead Apostle was rushing toward his own dead end.
"Overrun."
A torrent that permitted no resistance or escape first knocked Jester over, sending his entire body flying into the air. In a place where no one could act as a meat shield and there was nowhere to hide, the light of a magnificent sword, resembling the Sword in the Lake, was raised high.
"Ex—... Excalibur!!"
Strikingly similar to the light of a certain King of Knights, a brilliant gold-and-white light bloomed freely within the cramped theater, predictably carving a massive hole in the roof.
As the theater stoically met its predetermined fate, Jester met his "baptism" as well. The light turned into temperature, and the temperature turned into heat. It grew hot, the temperature rose, and finally, he was scorched. Jester's silhouette vanished within the unavoidable, magnificent, holy light.
No thanks from others were necessary; for Richard, compared to the future chance of getting a look at the greatest of Kings, this was a triviality he would never remember.
The Dead Apostle, the worst of Masters, Jester... due to a slight oversight...
He was once again a little bit dead.
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