Original Author: Narita Ryohgo (成田 良悟)
Not for commercial use.
Buy Fate/strange fake (1): http://www.amazon.co.jp/gp/product/4048691686/
Notes:
This is the final (10th) chapter of volume 1.
I may go back to do the new scenes that were added to old chapters but that would require comparing both versions which is more work. Maybe the full afterword at least. Haven't decided yet.
Previous: Act I - The War Begins
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Prologue VII: Visitor & _____
The woman was a traveler who had arrived in Snowfield, unaware that the Holy Grail War had begun just a half day earlier.
She entered a drugstore while checking something on the screen of her mobile phone. She asked the man minding the store whether there was a cheap, single-story motel nearby.
The drugstore clerk wore a mohican haircut that clashed with his friendly manner, and he gave the woman directions to a motel. He suggested some better hotels nearby in the same price range, but the woman politely refused.
The mohawk-sporting man looked at her strangely, until he eyed her hands and the nape of her neck.
“Yo, those are some sick tattoos,” he commented.
The woman answered him with a courteous smile, and left the store. She looked at her hands. Identical patterns were inscribed on the woman’s left and right hands. She knew what they were. The same mark had been engraved on both of her shoulders, and her back.
The young woman was around twenty years of age, yet baby-faced even for a Japanese person, so she probably looked two or three years younger than her actual age. She wore glasses of a conservative design in an attempt to look more mature, but as if to contradict that, her hair had been dyed a bold blonde color.
If she were a punk rocker, the patterns on her arms would certainly be a part of that fashion, but…
When she looked at the patterns, she glowered in irritation.
The mohawk-wearing clerk came out the door, and called her from behind.
“Hey, miss!”
“Huh?”
As she turned, the man tossed the woman her phone.
“You forgot this.”
“...Ah, sorry.”
As she caught it, the woman realized that it was her own phone.
During their brief exchange, she had set it down at the register and forgotten it there.
Gripping her phone, the young woman bowed her head.
“Thank you so much.”
“You’ve dyed your hair, but are you Asian? Chinese… no, Cambodian?”
“...I’m from Japan.”
Hearing that, the man with the mohawk spread his hands amicably.
“Japan! You’ve come from a great place! My cousin went to Japan once. Those vending machines blew his mind!”
The woman answered the man’s sociable manner a bit more candidly this time.
“That’s nice to hear.”
“My dad went to Japan a long time ago, too. He brought back some souvenirs from a theme park called Kitsy Land, and we still have them at home. He said he saw ninjas, too! Are there a lot of those in Japan?”
Whether he was joking or actually asking a question, the excited mohican was about to say something else, when the conversation was deafened by the noise of a helicopter rotor overhead.
The helicopter was flying at a frightfully low altitude, and it headed away from town towards the desert.
When the noise finally faded, the mohican man clicked his tongue.
“Argh, those choppers have been flying around since this morning. Damn it, they’re ruining my business! I thought I’d be able to sell earplugs, but I haven’t been getting customers in the first place.”
It was common for American drug stores to combine features of both convenience and general store chains. Even this man, with his flashy wardrobe, was a trained pharmacist who could provide vaccinations and other such services. However, a glance at the goods on display would lead one to first assume that this was a convenience store.
His grumbling caused the woman to raise her eyebrows.
“Since this morning?”
“What, haven’t you been watching the news? It sounds like one of the gas company’s oil pipelines out in the desert exploded last night. It’s a hazard so they’re not letting anyone near the desert.”
“...Does that sort of thing happen often?”
“Nah, I’ve lived here my whole life and never seen anything like it. I had no idea there was something that dangerous beneath the desert this whole time.”
While listening to the man, the woman squinted at the figure of a helicopter flying away.
Like it was challenging something.
Or rather, fleeing from it.
She mulled this over, unaware that she was being watched.
———————————————————————————————————————
Northern Snowfield
Kilometers away from the the skyline of the city’s skyscrapers, a certain facility was ensconced on the threshold between a ravine and a forest.
At a glance, it might have seemed like a fortress built to guard the town, but it was not quite tall enough to be so. Several watch towers dotted the perimeter of the expansive building. A barbed-wire fence further highlighted the strict security in place around the facility.
It was the Colesman Special Corrections Center, one of many privately owned prisons that could be found across the United States.
Private prisons were contracted by the state or federal government, and held inmates under private management. They generated revenue by using inmates as labor in manufacturing and other industries.
Government-run prisons were far from enough to hold a prison population of over two million. Thus, prisons managed as private businesses could be found all over the country, even in Snowfield. To the residents of the city, this was nothing out of the ordinary.
On the contrary, most people didn’t even know that there was a prison. And of course, those who were aware of the underbelly of the prison’s operations could hardly be counted among the normal populace.
As for the “underbelly”...
On an underground floor of the prison there was an “office” the size of a basketball court. Numerous monitors lined the walls of the dimly lit room, silently watched by men and women at their workstations.
A surveillance room was a perfectly normal fixture to have in a prison, but only a portion of the monitors showed images of the inside of the facility. Instead, the majority of the monitors displayed real-time footage from surveillance cameras throughout the city, ranging from the public to the hidden.
Some of the footage was clearly from the inside of private hotel rooms, and no show was made to hide this fact.
From this alone, one would conclude that this was a listening post of some intelligence agency — yet there was something definitely odd about some of the cameras.
Many of these cameras seemed be using the vision of insects or mice, and their fields of view moved and swiveled on their own. One of the airborne points of view passed a mirror-like glass building for a moment, and the reflection was undoubtedly that of a flying bird.
It would be a little while longer before technology was able to create bird-like robots, so this was not a mechanical device, but rather a familiar.
The monitors were showing visual information from both familiars and conventional video cameras. This indiscriminate use of magic and technology was one of the reasons for the Colesman Special Corrections Center’s existence.
In this surveillance room, Faldeus, the master of the familiars, was observing the monitors along with the other employees. However, his attention turned to one display in particular.
While the other monitors cycled between various viewpoints, Faldeus stopped the rotation on the display of interest, gazing at it.
“...Hm.”
Expressionless, the young magus was deep in thought. He had thought that a new magus had entered the the city wards, but…
Who was this girl?
Manipulating the workstation’s controls, he magnified the image. He was viewing a surveillance camera in front of a drugstore on the southern outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a familiar, but rather a cutting-edge optic made from the latest technology, which could resolve visual details even after several dozen powers of magnification.
What had caught Faldeus’ attention was the mark on the woman’s hand.
A magical pattern of some kind adorned the woman’s hand. She was turning to look at a passing helicopter.
...Command Spells?
Faldeus pondered this, but didn’t come to a conclusion.
The anomalous energy signature when the woman entered the ward was unanalyzable even to Faldeus, who had studied at the Clock Tower for many years. If she was a magus, she was making no attempt to hide her mystic energy.
In this part of his enormous underground workshop below the prison, Faldeus had his subordinates conducting 24-hour surveillance of the city. A large-scale ward to detect intruders was in place around the city, and countless cameras were synchronized for mass surveillance. All of these measures were designed to follow the movements of the magi, but skilled magi had many techniques to hide themselves, and it wasn’t even possible to detect their entry.
In other words, this woman who failed to conceal her energy output was either a third-rate magus, or perhaps she was trying to provoke her watchers. Faldeus wondered which was the case.
However, she didn’t seem to have noticed the ward, so the probability of the latter was low.
Considering this, Faldeus was convinced that it was still too early to draw conclusions.
There was also the case of Flat Escardos. Faldeus remembered how the young magus had taken a long-distance bus ride to Snowfield without concealing himself at all, before summoning a Servant in the middle of a public park.
As Rangul’s disciple, Faldeus had managed to avoid becoming embroiled in the inner politics of the Clock Tower without compromising his cover, but even he had heard rumors of Flat, who had been nicknamed “The Accidental Phenom.”
Lord El-Melloi II was a magus who had participated in the Fourth Holy Grail War and survived unscathed. He taught lectures on Modern Magical Studies, which was derided as a worthless subject, but in the space of several years had produced a number of excellent magi under his tutelage, earning him a reputation as the “Genius Counselor.” And the pupil that had been under his wing the longest was none other than young Flat Escardos.
Faldeus had believed that the chances of Lord El-Melloi II’s participation were high due to his previous experience, but he hadn’t expected El-Melloi II’s pupil to come out here on his own, nor had he thought that Flat would repeatedly take actions that would be senseless from a magus’ perspective.
Then again, it was just another bullet on the growing list of events that fell outside Faldeus’ calculations, such as the unique Lancer Heroic Spirit, or whatever mysterious plot the Kuruoka couple was up to.
Faldeus hadn’t lost his composure, but he couldn’t conceal the frustration in his expression at the trouble this whole affair had become, as he watched the woman in front of the drugstore with the Command Spell-like markings on her hand.
“Should we contact the police chief?” asked one of Faldeus’ female employees, also watching the monitor.
He shook his head. “Stand by. We’ll continue gathering intel on Flat and the silver wolf for the time being.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We might have an alliance, but this tidbit isn’t something to be leaked to the other side.”
Faldeus’ own information network was rather different from the surveillance system that the police employed over the city. Furthermore, his personal knowledge surpassed that of the police chief.
The primeval hero, Gilgamesh, and the successor to the land’s native guardians, Tiné Chelc—
The enigmatic Heroic Spirit with what was believed to be powers of transformation, and an eccentric from the Clock Tower, Flat Escardos—
The Kuruoka couple, whose activities were unknown aside from the fact that they were confirmed to still be at home—
The silver wolf created as a magical reagent, and the Heroic Spirit hypothesized to be Enkidu—
Aside from these, there was also Jester Carteur, a powerful Master candidate whose workshop appeared to have been attacked. Numerous burned corpses and one dessicated corpse had been found. Perhaps a Servant had gone on a rampage, or the Master had decided to kill his disciples for some reason. Faldeus’ people were still chasing leads.
“The Heroic Spirit that the Kuruokas summoned interests me after all.”
They would be enemies once the war began. That had been the deal, but it was strange for them to have made no moves at all. A magical call had been made to the Kuruokas to verify.
When a lifeless voice answered, “Sorry. We’ve got important business, so we don’t have time for the Holy Grail War,” Faldeus inferred that something abnormal might have happened.
There shouldn’t have been anything more important than the Holy Grail War to the Kuruoka couple. Yet, this was too odd for a bluff.
There was the possibility that they were under powerful hypnosis by a third party. But the Kuruokas weren’t inexperienced magi. If they were being hypnotized or otherwise controlled, then it would likely be by a high-ranking magus. Faldeus couldn’t ignore the possibility that the Magic Association had dispatched an elite agent.
In that case, Escardos’ actions might be some sort of bizarre feint. Well, even for a feint, that would be just too weird… the spooks in Intelligence could sort this out.
There were still other matters to worry about.
The familiars that Faldeus and his subordinates had deployed to the desert had lost connection yesterday. Other magi had sent countless familiars to the area, but those had been largely annihilated in the clash between the two Servants. Faldeus was aware of this, but something odd stuck out.
Including Faldeus’ own, multiple familiars had been discovered in an unconscious state. The unconscious familiars also had strange sores on their skin. Once it was believed that they were afflicted by some curse or disease, they had been sent to the laboratory for analysis.
“Good grief. It’ll be hard to wrap this up neatly with this many irregularities,” Faldeus sighed, before quickly resetting his expression.
“Miss Aldora, assign Level 2 surveillance to the woman on camera B-357.”
“Yes, sir.”
After giving the order, Faldeus slowly stood up from his chair. As he made to leave the room, he turned to the monitors displaying the interior of the prison.
Men and women were displayed, one by one, in what appeared to be separate rooms.
“Soon, it’ll be time for you to move as well.”
Finishing his inspection of the sinister-looking people, Faldeus muttered to himself as he left his workshop.
“Honestly, these seven days are looking so fun it makes me want to puke.”
As he left the room, a monitor displayed a view from a helicopter. It was the evidence of a clash between two Heroic Spirits — carved into the earth and baked into glass by extreme heat and pressure was a massive crater, several kilometers across.
———————————————————————————————————————
Las Vegas, Nevada
A strange chapel was built atop a certain casino.
There were countless churches in Las Vegas, but this one was particularly unremarkable, lacking ornamentation such as stained glass windows or even any symbols of the Church. People thought it was just a decoration as part of the casino’s theme.
It was the kind of place where gamblers occasionally came to pray for forgiveness when they were down on their luck, or where the winners might come to give their thanks.
“I assume there’s no need for a background briefing, hmm.”
There was a meagerly furnished lounge above the entrance to the chapel. The room was rather cramped, and a charitable person would probably consider this the most modest church in Las Vegas.
A careworn, elderly priest slightly tilted his head away from the altar, and began talking as if to himself.
“Well, how should I put it? The only clergy in Snowfield right now are inexperienced. I wouldn’t expect them to be able to do anything about something like a Holy Grail War.”
In addition to its veneer as a religious organization, the Holy Church was the largest institution in the world. Based in Western Europe, it boasted a system that spanned the globe.
The Church’s mission was the governance of all miracles and magics in the world, and it stood in direct opposition to the Magic Association, which concealed miracles from the world.
However, this relationship was somewhat different when it came to the Holy Grail War.
If a Holy Grail was the genuine article, then it was a treasure of mankind to be managed by the Church. They also had a duty to make sure that this miraculous ritual was not abused to bedevil the public.
Initially, the Church had only quietly monitored the conflict, but after the indiscriminate slaughter that tainted the Second Holy Grail War, it entered the war in an official capacity as its administrator.
If the anomalous tides of magical energy observed last night had been the product of Heroic Spirits, then this affair fell under the jurisdiction of the Church.
The Great Fire of Fuyuki, the destruction of a high-rise hotel, the summoning of a sea monster, and the loss of military fighter jets had all occurred during the Fourth Holy Grail War. The Church’s mission was all the more important now that the potential for even greater catastrophes was present in this war. If the recent energy spike had occurred on the outskirts of the city, then Snowfield would have been wiped from the face of the earth.
Currently, the existence of the desert crater was being covered up. Someone was exercising magical and political power to prevent leaks via every avenue, be it satellite imaging or the press.
During the past Holy Grail Wars in Fuyuki, the Church had moved to conceal knowledge of those highly visible “accidents” as part of their mission to administer the sacred artifact.
This time, however, the Holy Church was not involved with the incident in the desert. This was a point of grave concern to the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament.
It had been determined that the cover-up currently underway in the desert was operated by neither the Holy Church nor the Magic Association, but rather by a third party with the power to control law enforcement and national intelligence agencies. The Church didn’t have all the details, but at the very least it was clear that the federal government of the United States was involved.
Normally, one might think that the Church officials should be thanking these outsiders for relieving them of this most troublesome job… but it also carried the implicit message, “Your power is unnecessary to this Holy Grail War.” Bluntly put, someone was telling them to piss off.
There were some who resented that notion and found it unforgivable. These would be those who presumed to watch over the people of Snowfield. Other voices of different intent spoke of entering Snowfield’s Holy Grail War by force.
And so, the order had come down to the priests in closest proximity to Snowfield — who were qualified to be the war’s administrators — to proceed to the city with all due haste.
“Yes, hmm, how to put it, indeed. These are direct orders from the headquarters of the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. I’m reluctant to have you leave town, but there isn’t anyone else in the immediate vicinity of the site, hm."
The priest seemed rather timid as he continued his spiel.
“If you don’t go, then the next best choice would be me, but look, action’s really more your thing, yes? Hm. You see, I think someone with stamina is better suited to the task this time. Hm. Well, if we were in a state where the Holy Church had more pull, we could force the government to do what we want, but we’re not as strong here.”
It was true that the Holy Church had the power to move nations. Yet, this was only true in countries where the Church’s influence was strong.
In America, the Holy Church’s influence varied by state, and the Church could apply considerable pressure when circumstances such as the elected president and public opinion were favorable. In the states where the Church’s influence was weak, however, it could be difficult to manipulate events.
Even in the case of Fuyuki, Japan, it had only been possible to hush up numerous disasters thanks to decades of preparation for the Holy Grail Wars. The covering up of incidents such as the loss of the fighter planes had required political capital from every possible angle.
“Well, that’s the story. They probably targeted an area where our influence was weak to set their plans in motion. The Gospel has been slow in reaching Snowfield in particular due to loud opposition by the native tribe in charge.”
His eyes still on the Bible in his hand, the old priest turned to face a part of the chapel.
“Erm, uh, are you listening? Hanza?”
A different priest, sitting at the end of one of the pews, replied without taking his eyes off his cell phone.
“Relax, Father. I didn’t hear a single word.”
“You shouldn’t ignore people, hmm.”
“Begging your pardon, government affairs are irrelevant to me. Father, all you need to relay to me is the will of the Lord. A single sentence will suffice, such as ‘Annihilate the enemy.’”
The second priest was pressing buttons on his phone at an abnormal speed. He seemed to be composing a document of some kind.
“No, no, your job is to be an administrator this time, not an Executor. Well, depending on how things go, your other skills might be called for anyway.”
The elder priest sighed at his colleague.
“Hey, umm, Hanza, maybe you should put down your phone when people are talking to you, yes?”
“And you, Father, should look at people when they speak to you.”
With that, the priest named Hanza looked away from his phone and at the priest who was reading scripture. The old man let out an even bigger sigh, and glanced at Hanza.
“Also, in front of other people you need to talk and act more like a priest, yes?”
“I understand, Father. I will change into civilian clothing when I go to the casino in the other city.”
“Hm, I’d prefer it if you didn’t visit casinos in the first place, yes?”
Hanza raised his hands and slowly stood up, ignoring the old priest.
He appeared to be in his mid-30s, and cut a striking figure with a flashy eyepatch covering his right eye. Hanza was a man of Spanish descent, with a look of fearless determination in his eye that gave him the air of a passionate film actor.
“Now, let us be off, Quartet. It’s been a long time since we’ve had work.”
Four young nuns emerged from the shadows, silently falling in line behind Hanza.
The old priest watched them go, when something soundlessly shot forth from his right hand. Perhaps by some special technique, a metallic plate hurled from the priest’s hand with the speed of a bullet. Until several decades ago, the blue coin had been used as a high-value chip in the casino below the church.
In the next instant, Hanza’s arm twisted at an impossible angle, caught the coin, and soundlessly returned the throw as swiftly as it had come.
When the old priest effortlessly caught the coin, it crumbled in his hand. He looked and saw that the metal coin had fallen apart into sixteen equal portions, like a pizza.
“Ah, sorry. I thought your skills had rusted since you were so glued to your phone. Hm.”
Hanza turned slowly to face the old priest, who shrugged.
Then, with a guileless smile on his face, the priest sarcastically murmured, “You could use some action yourself, Father.”
———————————————————————————————————————
Somewhere in London — Clock Tower
The Clock Tower had been stirred into a frenzy, just like their rivals in the Holy Church.
There was, of course, a time difference between London and Snowfield. At the time that the students of the Clock Tower might have been beginning their morning lectures, the opening shots of the Holy Grail War were fired in the desert of Snowfield.
The magi of the Clock Tower either detected the energies given off by the clash, or heard reports from magi in the vicinity of the clash. Before noon, talk of the war had spread throughout the Clock Tower.
Among the uneasy magi were two men, hastily walking towards the lecture hall for Modern Magical Studies.
“I still can’t believe that Faldeus was a spy…”
“It’s the truth. He’s been ruled out as a double agent.”
Walking in front of the young magus was a huge, eerie humanoid figure, not unlike a scarecrow. Its body was wrapped in bandages and burlap, and a hooded coat further concealed its visage.
The large figure was not a human, but rather a makeshift puppet controlled by Rangul, whose doppleganger doll had been turned into Swiss cheese several days prior.
“But Master, can’t you do something about this puppet? Everyone is staring.”
“It also shames me to use this slipshod disgrace of a doll! It’s possible that Faldeus may have sabotaged the other dolls. Still, nothing ventured...”
The doll’s construction was crude, but its sensors appeared to be functioning properly. It focused on the pupil in tow and asked, “Are you nervous?”
“Yes. This is my first time meeting a Lord, after all.”
Lord. The twelve departments of the Clock Tower were each governed by a department head with this title.
The youth’s anxiety at meeting someone of such great stature was clear on his face, and he asked another question.
“What sort of person is he? Um… Lord El-Melloi II?”
“...Ten years ago, even I didn’t think he was anyone special. It was assumed that he was a mere puppet the El-Melloi family had, at their convenience, forced into the unenviable position of heading that hodgepodge of subjects known as Modern Magical Studies. But, we soon learned that we were terribly wrong.”
Rangul continued his brisk pace, calmly spinning his tale.
“Verner Sisimund, the heir to Butterfly Magic. Roland Perjinski. Org Lam. The sisters Radia Pentel and Nazica Pentel. Fezgram Vol Senbern. What do you think these names all have in common?”
“Aren’t they all magi who have been promoted to the ranks Brand and Pride in the last few years? The rise of so many young magi has caused quite a stir. We’re excited about it too.”
The magi of the Association were assigned titles befitting their rank, and the titles below Grand, such as Brand and Pride, were granted to magi of a far greater caliber than their mundane colleagues.
Rangul did not correct his student, adding, “They share one other quality.”
“Eh?” The student cocked his head, bemused.
“All were disciples of Professor El-Melloi.”
“!”
“El-Melloi II himself is but a low-ranking magus. However, his true worth lies elsewhere. His outlook is uncharacteristically broad for a magus, and he has the ability to seize upon and bring out one’s deepest talents. He may well be the greatest instructor in the Clock Tower, and he doesn’t even crush his pupils like Zelretch does.”
The student had gone speechless with disbelief. Rangul continued,
“This is true even of his current students. All of his graduates have achieved the rank of Pride or greater within a decade, without exception.”
“Without exception…?”
“There is talk that numerous people may soon obtain the Grand title, of which there have been few even throughout the Clock Tower’s entire history. Perhaps it is a blessing that the man doesn’t take many students, but if he were to call upon his former disciples one day, it could rock the history of the Clock Tower.”
“Incredible…”
The student had heard that El-Melloi was a popular instructor who had earned many nicknames. But, this was the first time he heard why the professor was so highly evaluated. He was overcome by respect and awe.
“What is his standing within the Clock Tower?”
“If Lord Belfban represents the stubborn old guard, then I might place El-Melloi II in the flexible reformist camp. Well, he is the type to respect one’s merits, regardless of tradition or novelty. Rather than label him a conservative or a reformer, it might be most accurate to call him a neutral party.”
“......”
Rangul offered one last word of advice to his student before they made their visit.
“...Don’t assume you’ll be able to figure him out with a glance. You’ll be the one that gets taken apart instead.”
When the door to the lecture hall opened, Lord El-Melloi II was preparing to give his afternoon lecture.
“Mr. Rangul, what can I do for you?”
Despite his status, the soft-spoken Lord didn’t seem to project a particularly unapproachable aura.
“It is quite bold of you to hold normal lectures in these circumstances, Lord.”
“I considered suspending classes, but there is only so much I can do about the situation this time. Thus, I judged it best to return the atmosphere of the Clock Tower, now so agitated, to its usual calm.”
“Such humility. Given that this is a Holy Grail War, I am sure that you above all can best predict its course.”
“?”
Rangul’s disciple cocked his head, not understanding what his mentor was referring to.
El-Melloi II was silent for a moment, then sighed quietly.
“If I had the skill to divine a conclusion based on my feelings alone, that would be optimal… but my inexperience leaves me no other choice than to cautiously observe the situation.”
Rangul pressed past the Lord’s self-deprecation.
“It is that very prudent counsel I seek. What do you believe to be the goals of the masterminds behind this war?”
“...Even if, at this stage, all I can only offer is mostly half-baked speculation?”
“By all means.”
El-Melloi II frowned deeply in silent thought for several seconds before speaking again.
“From my point of view, there are three or four parties involved, each with different objectives. At the minimum, one party that is suppressing information, and another party that seeks to broadcast information have each exposed themselves… Though, it seems certain that these two powers are cooperating in spite of their different intentions.”
“There are indeed many mysteries about their actions…”
“I think we can assume that for all of the organizations involved, their objective isn’t the manifestation of the Holy Grail. Perhaps they aim to stabilize and mass-produce the Holy Grail War system rather than the Grail itself. The things they have done to provoke us, and the enticement of many magi to the city, may be part of their plans to analyze the Holy Grail War.”
Rangul shook his head at El-Melloi II’s hypothesis.
“Unbelievable… that an outsider would try to analyze a miracle such as the Third Sorcery is just… Furthermore, you’d imply that they would attempt such a farce despite already holding authority over the system?”
“You’re right that magi aiming to reach the Root would never entertain the thought. However, the fact remains that many powers and ideologies are involved in this conflict. Among them…”
El-Melloi II momentary stopped speaking to take a deep breath, before continuing.
“This is little more than a guess, a prediction based on a hunch, but… there is one more thing.”
“One more?”
“You may find this difficult to understand, and possibly quite unforgivable…”
His brow was creased in a wrinkled frown, yet he continued calmly.
“There are those who would seek to degrade the Holy Grail War into a game or a spectacle.”
“That’s… unthinkable. Whatever for?”
“I don’t understand their reasons. But it is no laughing matter.”
El-Melloi II closed his eyes and recalled the Holy Grail War that he knew.
“Among the Masters and Heroic Spirits that fought in the past, there were those who treated the Holy Grail War itself as an amusement. At least they were serious about it. They bet their lives and seized the moment. But this time, I feel that there are people with a commanding view of the Holy Grail War who intend to make a disgrace of the ritual. It’s nothing but an insult directed at them. This means that I must…”
El-Melloi II suddenly stopped, realizing that his fists were tightly clenched. He clicked his tongue at his own display of emotion, and lowered his eyes.
“...Pardon me. I got a tad emotional.”
“Not at all, Lord. This has been very illuminating.”
“From here, once more playing pieces are assembled, the whole picture should become clear. If I take any action, it will be after that.”
Then, he muttered another self-deriding remark.
“...Not that I can guarantee I’ll be of any use once they’ve made their move.”
After soliciting several more theories from El-Melloi II, Rangul exchanged farewells and spoke praisingly, “I’m impressed, Lord, that you dispatched your own student to the site so quickly.”
“My student?”
Something was terribly out of place.
“Yes. The personnel we deployed to Snowfield yesterday reported seeing one of your students some time ago…”
“...What do you mean? I don’t remember sending any-”
Once El-Melloi II thought for a bit, it suddenly hit him.
Today, one student had been absent from his lecture.
While classes had been suspended the past several days, he hadn’t seen that student even once.
“No…”
El-Melloi fished out his mobile phone, and dialed a number.
“——The number you have dialed has not been recognised. Please check and try again.——”
When he heard that message, the pit in his stomach sank even deeper. He called a different number.
“...Yeah, it’s me. I need you to look into something right away. A student’s entry and exit records. Check whether Flat Escardos has left the country.”
It sounded like someone in charge of student administration was on the line.
About 30 seconds passed before the clerk on the phone replied, “Mr. Escardos boarded a flight to America three days ago. The reason for his visit was… tourism. He left a note: ‘Thanks, Professor! Long live the London Star!’ What could it mean, I wonder?”
“That’s all. Thank you,” he answered quickly, and ended the call. Then…
Numerous memories of Flat ran rampant in El-Melloi II’s mind.
From petty mischief such as coming into someone’s room and registering his user ID for a new game as “London☆Star,” to contaminating his honorable sister’s mercury maid Mystic Code with knowledge from a strange movie, to sneaking aboard a casino ship owned by a vampire king and inciting a riot… memories of Flat’s incessant troublemaking replayed over and over.
Wrenching his cheeks in anguish, El-Melloi II cursed the entire world.
“Fuck me…”
“Eh?”
Rangul’s student heard El-Melloi II say something, but he couldn’t understand it. He certainly heard some words, but dismissed the notion that such crude slang could have come from the mouth of the esteemed character with whom they had been having a rational discussion.
“Erm, did something hap-”
But it was too late.
Blood rushed to El-Melloi’s head, and he collapsed in a heap on the lecture platform.
“Lord!? Lord!?”
The young magus was shaken by the sight. But, from the side of the room, one of the students spoke up. She was a young woman perhaps twenty years old.
“The master is always like this when it comes to Mr. Escardos.”
“Huh? Ah, I see...”
“I’ll see him to the infirmary. Excuse us.”
With that, the woman politely nodded at Rangul and his student before hoisting her Lord and mentor over her shoulder.
They watched the bizarre sight leave without knowing how to react. Rangul spoke to his student.
“How should I put this… he is unprecedented in a number of ways… and he seems terribly busy.”
“Yes… you’re right. Let us leave it at that.”
A heavy sigh breathed from the mouth of Rangul’s puppet, followed by a remark tinged with pity.
“There would be no humour in the death of a Lord of the Clock Tower from the likes of overwork.”
———————————————————————————————————————
United States — Snowfield — police station
“Sup, dawg! Mornin’, bro!”
In the office of the police chief, Orlando responded to the screeching phone call with a dour expression.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon. Get back to work.”
“Hey now, you tryin’ to work your Servant to death? Anyway, listen. I asked you to hook a brotha up with some ladies, right? Why don’t you throw in one of this country’s delicacies while you’re at it? Just so you know, I ain’t forking nothin’ over. You’re buying.”
“......Please tell me that isn’t the only reason you called me.”
“You got a problem with that?”
This was either a bluff to hide Caster’s embarrassment, or a test of some kind. Having decided this, Orlando decided to try sincerity.
“I’m sorry for hanging up on you last night. You’ve probably heard the news by now… what do you think about the incident in the desert?”
The women and whatnot had to be small talk. As a fellow Servant, Caster probably wanted to discuss the battle that had occurred in the desert.
“The hell you talkin’ ‘bout? What went down in the desert?” Caster’s confusion was clear over the line.
“...Didn’t you even notice?”
“Well, I drank myself to sleep yesterday. I was just calling to tell you about this fine broad I saw on TV.”
“It seems I was a fool to expect anything from you as a Heroic Spirit,” Orlando muttered in exasperation, as he moved to hang up the phone.
“Don’t call me again. I’ll call you.”
In truth, Orlando had resolved to ignore Caster from now on, and pass any necessary messages through his secretary.
“Damn, bro, you this cold to that Francesca chick too?”
“...!”
Francesca. A chill ran down Orlando’s entire body as Caster uttered her name.
Perhaps sensing the chief’s reaction over the line, Caster cheerfully continued.
“So you’re finally listening. Or maybe you’d understand better if we talked about that Faldeus dude? Your Kuruoka friends from Japan are a hot topic too, yeah?”
“You bastard… How… How much do you know?”
It was possible to share memories and perceptions between Master and Servant. However, since the chief had completely shut off the link to his Servant, Caster shouldn’t have been able to read his memories.
Then, how had the man come to know so much of their classified intelligence?
Had he come to see what they were scheming and spied on them in spirit form?
That troublesome hag couldn’t possibly have sought a meeting with him, could she?
Orlando was plagued by such doubts, but Caster's answer turned out to be simpler than that.
“These days, anything is possible with the internet and telephone. Aren’t you underestimating modern technology? Did you really think I wouldn’t know how to type on a keyboard?”
“Impossible! There’s no way that information would be on the internet!”
“Never mind that. I have my ways. Bro, you don’t know everything about my Noble Phantasms, right? We both keep our secrets. I thought I’d have some fun, so I showed my hand just a bit.”
“......”
Caster put the nail in the coffin while Orlando fumed in silence.
“Oh, right. I just remembered that Fuyuki place in Japan, yeah? The flow of its ley lines is supposed to be about as good as the ones around here. Well, it’s not like I can sense ley lines to begin with, so whatever. Speaking of land, maybe I should dial up our little custodian Tiné Chelc next time. You might be one of the magi that cooked up this party, but did you know that your organization is riddled with their spies? My bad, I'm rambling. Though, if this were one of my books I’d write an even longer monologue. Witty banter is essential after all, bro.”
Orlando roared into the receiver at Caster, who was surely wearing a shit-eating grin.
“You shut your mouth right this instant! Who do you think-”
As he said that, Caster cut in.
“You worried about wiretaps?”
“......!”
“Someone might be listening in, magically or electronically. No matter how secure your own phones are, you can’t deny that they might try something on my end or any of the circuits in between. Haha! It’d probably be a real pain in the ass for you if I kept shootin’ my mouth off, huh?”
Caster was as flippant as ever, but the police chief felt an unfathomable pressure behind the Servant’s words. The thought of how Orlando had been so careless as to let himself be backed into this corner shook him to his core.
Orlando took a deep breath. The chief had already regained his bearings, and made his next move.
“I see. Allow me to sincerely apologize. It seems I severely underestimated you.”
“What’s this now? Dude, you’re creeping me out.”
“I’m saying that I’ve grasped your abilities. If you still insist on flapping your lips, I have ways of dealing with that too.”
“Oh, you’re gonna enforce a gag order on me with a Command Spell? You know, there’s a much easier way to do that without wasting one of your precious spells. If you were a sexy lady, a kiss would do just fine-”
“Enough chitchat. What do you want?”
The police chief had completely regained his imperious composure.
“I told you, bro. Treat me to some good eats. That’ll be enough to seal my lips.
You can bet your ass I won’t be fighting on the front lines. Instead, I’ll be writing this farce into one hell of a novel. Until you snuff it, at least.”
———————————————————————————————————————
Night — Snowfield central intersection
Seventh Street contained an assortment of Snowfield’s essential features, such as the Crystal Hill hotel casino and City Hall. On a corner of the expansive intersection stood a woman who drew the gazes of passersby.
She was a woman of twenty years, give or take, and was marked by flowing white hair, fair skin, and blazing red irises.
The woman certainly attracted the attention of the general public, but this was the Holy Grail War, and many magi had gathered in Snowfield. Their attention was drawn to her for different reasons altogether.
One magus watching from afar whispered to his comrade.
“Look. That’s… a homunculus, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Such refinement can only mean it’s one of the Einzbern models.”
“I knew they’d come. The Einzbern wouldn’t take the theft of the Holy Grail system lying down.”
“But… she sure is exposed. Is it some kind of decoy?”
The quiet conversation was tinged with caution and doubt, yet similar words could be heard all over town. Did she know she was being intensely watched?
The white woman quietly turned her gaze to the heavens, and glared at the world that surrounded her. Those crimson eyes seethed with bottomless rage, as if to deny the entire world.
———————————————————————————————————————
Somewhere
One person in particular was spying on the woman from afar.
When she saw the vision of the white woman in her crystal ball, the observer’s face lit up with joy.
“Aha! She’s here! She’s here! Our last honored guest has finally arrived… hup!”
In some dark space, the young girl clad in a gothic lolita outfit — Francesca — twirled her parasol while giggling in ecstasy.
“I wonder what pawns she brought with her? I can’t help but look forward to them! It would have been funny if she swallowed her pride and brought a Tohsaka descendant with her, but I guess that’s a long shot.”
The girl nonchalantly shook her head at her own words, continuing to pace around the dark room.
“Anyway, it’s all starting! It’s finally time to flip this joint upside down! I gotta do my best!”
A moment later, the crystal ball radiated light, and projected numerous images all over the walls and ceiling.
It showed the King of Heroes walking alongside Tiné, and Lancer and the wolf in the forest. There was even an image of Francesca’s supposed ally, the police chief, in his office. Countless images flashed into existence and disappeared into others.
Francesca’s gaze passed over each of the Heroic Spirits in the images, and then turned to an image without anyone in it. It appeared to be an opera house somewhere, though no production was playing. It merely showed an empty stage and rows of seats.
For a brief instant, the figure of a person appeared in the empty space—
Francesca peered once more at all of the displayed Heroic Spirits, and then murmured sweetly to herself. It was a whisper filled with love for the world itself.
“Now… it’s time to drive out all of the fakes.”
———————————————————————————————————————
On that day, on the edge of an instant — Snowfield’s destiny became ephemeral.
The Holy Grail.
The genuine article would have required the souls of seven Heroic Spirits, yet a partially powered, imitation Grail had been prepared with only six pieces assembled.
There was no doubt that those masterminding such a grand scheme were aware of this.
The false Holy Grail War was likely a preliminary arrangement, and the system was the rock upon which the true Holy Grail War ritual would be conducted. Alternatively, there was a chance that the real event would be held elsewhere, and Snowfield was merely a red herring to distract the Association and the Church.
Many among the Magic Association thought this way.
Of course, it was also possible that the real Grail would properly summon seven Servants, and this situation with six Servants was Faldeus’ bluff, but what would even be the point of such a feint?
While so many magi were puzzled, the masterminds silently progressed their plans.
The true Holy Grail War would be called forth, using the false war as a sacrifice.
All preparations were in place. The only task left was to pull the trigger that would turn the entire system on its head.
In other words, the final Servant of the false Holy Grail War would serve as the first Heroic Spirit of the true war; the calling forth of Saber would set all into motion.
Nothing other than the summoning the Heroic Spirit, possessing qualities both spurious and genuine, would serve as the mediator between the two wars.
Certainly, everything was moving according to plan. The trigger had been pulled beautifully.
That is, until the Heroic Spirit Saber was summoned.
———————————————————————————————————————
The first day — night — Snowfield — opera house
A short distance from the center of town, there stood an opera house that was built around the time Snowfield was founded. It was a building with easily over 50 years of history, and its evident age was accompanied by a solemn air.
Currently, no shows or plays were scheduled. In fact, any new production had been delayed for at least a week in light of “limited renovations in progress.”
The hall was normally shrouded in silence, but tonight was slightly different. On the dilapidated wooden stage, something dramatic was underway.
There was neither any audience, script, nor performance to speak of, yet one could only describe the sight as theatrical.
Was it a tragedy, or a comedy? The figures upon the stage didn’t know, either.
“I ask of thee, art thou my Master?”
The voice was youthful, yet robed in gravitas.
A mysterious man stood on the stage, his blond hair tinged red here and there, his manner of dress immediately declaring him to be European aristocracy or royalty. He seemed to be in his late teens or early twenties. The man had a handsome profile, while his eyes gleamed with a bestial air. Just the sight of him evoked feelings of being devoured whole.
The sword he gripped in one hand radiated the vestiges of a magical brilliance.
Yes, vestiges, meaning—
The faint glow of the sword was the trace of it having been swung, just moments prior.
It was an attack far short of the Heroic Spirit’s full strength.
Nonetheless, it indeed left its mark on the opera house.
The audience seats on the ground level were wildly pulverized. The mezzanine and upper levels had been completely destroyed, and even some of the ceiling had been blasted open, allowing the starry night to peek through. Simply put, the Heroic Spirit had destroyed half of the opera house, which had been the pride of the entire state.
The man looked back and forth from the corpse tumbling from the stage, to the woman with glasses who had fallen on her hindquarters. Then, he spoke in an attempt to calm her down.
“Be at ease. I don’t sense any civilians caught in the blast. Rather, the bandits even fled… Hmph. They did well to get away from me. It is too late to give chase, however.”
The woman heard his calming words, but the only word resounding in her mind was the one he had spoken earlier.
“Excalibur
Sword of ______ Victory
He had shouted this as he attacked, and obliterated half of the huge building.
The woman grasped her situation again, as she racked her brain. Why had she come to this place?
“Now that the pest has been crushed, allow me to repeat myself.”
Again, the man spoke to the dumbfounded woman, who was cursing her entire existence. He asked the same question again, in a slightly more familiar tone.
“Shall I call you my Master? As you can see, I’m of the Saber class. If you accept, let us quickly form a contract and get this over-”
“No.”
An instant reply.
“Absolutely not.”
“What?”
His eyes went wide, as the woman slowly stood up.
The wail of sirens gradually approached from afar. It was the sound of ambulances and police cars. Having seen the destruction of the opera house, the locals were probably in a panic.
An uncanny light emanated from the symbols on woman’s wrists, peeking out of her shirt sleeves. It seemed to be resonating with the man standing before her. Still, the woman paid no mind to the glow on her symbols and the clamor of approaching sirens and shouts. She just glared furiously at the man.
“I won’t let you lot get your way any longer.”
Then, forcing her trembling voice down her throat, she spoke clearly.
“Stay out of my way.”
It was the first meeting between woman with dyed hair and glasses — Ayaka Sajou — and the mysterious, knightly swordsman.
It happened in a half-destroyed building.
Each confirmed the existence of the other, during the worst of times, next to an unknown corpse.
From that moment, the curtain rose on a Holy Grail War, false yet true.
In the end, was this Saber fake, or real?
Nobody knew.
Not the scheming masterminds, and not the involved magi.
Nor the Servants of incomparable power, beginning with the King of Heroes.
In other words, none could form a conclusion, not even the will of the Holy Grail that had manifested the Heroic Spirit there.
Why had Ayaka, a mere visitor to Snowfield, encountered the Heroic Spirit who called himself Saber?
It may have been a quirk of fate, formed not today or yesterday, but rather years in the making.
To answer this question, we must first speak of a ghost story in the city Fuyuki, Japan. It was known as “The Little Red Riding Hood of Semina Apartments," and was well on its way to becoming one of Fuyuki’s urban legends.
You see, in this tale, she———
Originally Posted by Embrace tophats
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