Chapter 7: Day 1, Afternoon ①The Canon of the Demigods
In a dream.
"Mr. Sun's all nice and warm! Don't you think so, Mr. Black?"
The Snowfield of Tsubaki's dream world.
Kuruoka Tsubaki sounded innocent as she sat on the lawn of a garden where animals gamboled.
The fantastic entity called "Mr. Black" — Pale Rider — however, was huddled under the shadow of the trees.
"Oh? Do you not like Mr. Sun, Mr. Black?"
As if in answer to Tsubaki's question, Rider gave a sudden shiver.
"Just a little," she had a feeling the black mass was saying, based on its behavior. It could just be her imagination, but Tsubaki called out to Rider anyway.
"If you don't feel good, why not go inside?"
Rider, alias "Mr. Black," had not spoken to Tsubaki since their first meeting. Since taking numerous animals into her dream, however, it had gradually begun to express itself through its behavior, although only at the level that it was possible to tell if it was in a good or bad mood, like an animal.
As Tsubaki headed inside, she suddenly looked around at the silent residential district, and murmured:
"I wonder if everyone left because they don't like this city..."
Tsubaki's expression clouded over. "Mr. Black," now roughly her same size, leaned in close to her and rubbed her head, almost as if to ask, "Is anything the matter?" Tsubaki smiled at it, and shook her head.
"Thank you. I'm fine, Mr. Black."
Then, looking around at the countless animals frolicking in the garden, she continued:
"I mean, now there are so many animals here. Not like before..."
"Now that it's like this, mom, and dad, and
everybody else will stay in this city, won't they?"
Rider heard those words, and judged that they constituted her "wish." Rider was currently an exceedingly incomplete wish-granter that took orders from its Master, Tsubaki.
Rider began to wriggle, ready to use its power to make the situation she wished for reality. At present, however, Rider was not capable of complex inferences.
And...
X X
The real world. The outskirts of Snowfield.
The long road ran through the wilderness, and several cars ran along the road. Several mages were riding in one of them. They were not very well known, even in the Clock Tower. They were, however, one of the parties that had caught wind of the rumors, and visited Snowfield with an eye to making a name for themselves.
"We just passed the city limits."
The words of the young mage who was driving elicited groans from the middle-aged mage in the back seat.
"'Ully! Wet uph ouph of 'ish shiphy, wickwy!"
They could not tell what he was saying, but they could tell that he was terrified.
He had attempted to negotiate with a Heroic Spirit — apparently Assassin — and ended up with a dagger through his tongue. As healing magecraft was not his strong suit, he went on wailing at the driver, his apprentice, with his tongue wrapped in amulets.
"I understand, master. We gave up the moment we saw that crater in the desert, so we're with you in wanting to run."
"The car in front of us is probably full of mages too. There's a familiar circling over it, and..."
Then, the driver noticed a change. Starting at about the point they had left the city limits, there were a number of cars parked on either side of the road. The car that had been running a ways ahead of them hurriedly pulled over and stopped as well.
The driver was wondering what could have prompted that, out here in the middle of nowhere, when he saw the familiar that had been flying above the car in front of them plummet to earth. At the same time, he experienced a powerful nausea, and it became difficult for him to continue driving.
"...!?"
He hurriedly pulled the car over into the shoulder, and looked into the rear view mirror, prepared to excuse himself.
"Ex-excuse me, I suddenly felt... Master!?"
The scene reflected in the rear view mirror was abnormal. The middle-aged mage, his teacher, had collapsed, his body limp and his face pale.
"This is bad. We have to..."
Suppressing his own nausea, the driver turned to the senior apprentice in the passenger seat, and gave another shudder. The senior apprentice's face was also pale, and he was twitching. What looked like blue bruises were emerging on the backs of his hands and neck.
"Wha... Ah... Aaaahh!"
Then, the driver noticed. Similar bruises were rising on his own arms, worming their way into his body. A scream echoed in the car. Silence followed.
Several minutes later, the car slowly started moving. The other cars stopped around it likewise began to move as soon as their engines started. Every one of them making a U-turn, and heading back into Snowfield.
Inside the car making its way into town, the blank-eyed driver announced:
"I'm so looking forward to going back to Snowfield!"
"Yes, it's such a nice city. We've got to get good seats to watch the Grail War!" The senior apprentice in the passenger seat answered, his eyes equally vacant.
The bruises that had formed on their bodies had largely faded, and their complexions were recovering. Their minds, however, had become something else entirely.
"Ull, ully, ack oo a shiphy."
Listening to their master's cheerful wails, they drove the car across the wasteland. To the city of Snowfield, where the chaos of battle raged on.
On this day, at this moment, the city of Snowfield became a lenient prison. A prison that let no one leave, and refused no one entry. It looked almost as if the city had a will of its own, and was gobbling people up.
X X
North Snowfield. The large ravine.
What's happening...? Who are those Heroic Spirits...?
Tine Chelk poked her face out from the back of Vimana, a flying Noble Phantasm Gilgamesh had drawn from his treasury. The scene that had taken place was burned into her eyes.
Gilgamesh had squared off with the mystery Archer. A mysterious female Servant had interrupted their battle. Gilgamesh had looked obviously displeased at the interruption, but events had moved on before the intruder had a chance to respond.
That instant, the mysterious Archer, who one blow from the female Heroic Spirit had buried under a mountain of rubble, had sent that rubble flying like a volcanic eruption.
Numerous giant boulders had were flung so high into the air that Tine had to crane her neck to see them. Then several of the stones suddenly shattered, and arrows shrouded in vast quantities of magical energy appeared from among the fragments. The mysterious Archer had flown up with the rubble, and loosed countless arrows from behind the soaring rocks.
The rain of arrows, each one accompanied by its own tornado, sped down at Gilgamesh and the female Heroic Spirit, pulling the shards of the shattered boulders into the swirling vacuums as they came.
An instant later, Gilgamesh launched weapons from his Gate of Babylon, while the female Heroic Spirit nocked multiple arrows to the bow that appeared in her hands, and fired them all at the same time. The weapons and arrows, fired at speeds too fast for Tine's eyes to follow, were warding off the violent whirlwinds one after another.
It's only to be expected of His Majesty... but just who is that Heroic spirit...?
Based on the fact that she had appeared on horseback, she was most likely Rider. Based on her skill with a bow, however, she could just as easily be Archer. But that would mean that three different Archers had manifested in the city.
Or can she use a bow with that much force, despite not being an archer...?
Impossible, Tine thought. That would be like an archer competing with the other classes in swordsmanship.
The King of Heroes had swords like Ea and Merodach despite being Archer, but, leaving out their fearsome power, he would never attempt to match the Saber class head-on in pure swordsmanship. That, at least, was what Tine thought then.
The scene playing out before her eyes, however, defied her common sense.
"..."
The female Heroic Spirit held out her right hand beside herself, and a horse appeared there. She then lightly mounted it, and vigorously road it off up the ravine.
The cloth wrapped around her arm was still overflowing with concentrated divinity. She circulated the potent magical energy into the horse through its bridle. Horse and rider, moving as a single organism, rapidly threaded their way through the rain of gales. Massive chunks of rubble had begun to fall back to earth. She began to gallop lightly over them, eventually riding across even the boulders still in mid air.
Witnessing the female Heroic Spirit traveling backwards up the waterfall of rubble, Tine was sure.
She can only be Rider!
That would mean that a hero who naturally possessed the qualities of an archer had taken the form of Rider in this War. It might be reasonable to suppose that the force of her bow had been enhanced by divine aura flowing from the cloth wrapped around her arm.
Then that cloth is a Noble Phantasm... one that strengthens its user's abilities...
As she watched, the female Heroic Spirit climbed high into the sky, and at last arrived at the peak of the falling rubble. Then, pinpointing the figure of the mystery Archer below her, she drew her bow taut atop her steed.
The mystery Archer noticed her presence, and turned to look at her through the cloth that covered his head.
"..."
The horsewoman was facing him, the sun at her back, and drawing her bow coated in concentrated divinity.
"...I see."
"Archerrr!"
Baring her powerful animosity, the woman put her whole being into the shout.
"...So it's you,
queen of treachery," the Archer muttered.
He readied his own bow, not even bothering to evade, and made concentrated divinity well up from the cloth around his own arm. Then he intercepted the five arrows the horsewoman had fired with as many arrows of his own. The arrowheads collided without so much as an inch of deviation. The magical energy they had been imbued with clashed, rebounded, and assailed the surroundings as a great wind.
While blocking the wind, and the pebbles it carried, with her own magecraft, Tine watched for the archer's next movement.
But it was the horsewoman who moved first. She was refining a divine aura, even more potent than before, behind the archer's back. She had leapt off her steed as she fired, and, using it as a decoy, had gotten behind her enemy.
"...Impudent," the archer muttered, and started to turn. Before he had the chance, however, an arrow struck his back, just where his heart was, at the speed of sound.
And yet, for some reason, no sooner had the arrowhead struck the man's body — struck the cloth draped over his head — than it splintered, scattering to the winds without eating into his flesh.
"I knew it..." The rider he had called "queen" groaned at the sight. More than surprise, the groan seemed to imply the confirmation of her conjecture.
"...I see," Gilgamesh muttered. He had temporarily re-boarded Vimana, and been surveying events from the ground.
"Has Your Majesty learned something?" Tine timidly inquired.
"How that mere bowman was able to defend against all my Noble Phantasms," the King of Heroes replied amusedly, "as well as why he failed to defend against a blow of that mere horsewoman's fist."
"There is a reason, then...?"
"A trifle. His armor is special, that's all."
"His... armor?" Tine asked, turning to look at the archer, who had returned to earth.
The archer was wearing almost nothing that could be called armor. The only things covering his upper body were the strange, patterned cloth draped over his head, and other patterned cloth wrapped around his arm.
"It is most likely the hide of some species of demonic or divine beast. It can have been no small task to work it into that form, but it was probably originally something like an Ugallu."
Gilgamesh gave the name of a Babylonian monster as an example, but that was not enough to satisfy Tine.
"You mean that this hide repelled all of Your Majesty's tremendous blows?" She pressed.
"Numbers do not enter into it. Divine or demonic beasts sometimes reject human civilization itself in that way. A moment ago, I hit him with anything and everything — not only my first-class armaments, but even the Noble Phantasms of lower orders that I would ordinarily not even bother firing. I do not believe he repelled them all with skill alone. If he did so with his body, or some form of magical energy, however, it would fail to explain the fact that the hide is completely unharmed."
At that point, the King of Heroes narrowed his eyes, and tightened his grip on Merodach, the sword of selection.
"Occasionally a creature of that sort appears — a singularity that rejects human civilization itself. At the very least, no tool created by humans will pierce that skin."
The set of Gilgamesh's lips softened slightly.
"What is it, Your Majesty?"
"Oh, just that if he skinned the beast himself, I have high hopes for him."
Seeing the wry smile on the King of Heroes' face, Tine realized what those words meant. This Heroic Spirit — the epitome of strength — hoped that the archer standing before him possessed strength to rival his own. Surely he would have condemned an ordinary Heroic Spirit who relied on the power of a Noble Phantasm to swat aside his treasures as irreverent.
Tine was reconfirmed in the belief that the bowman under her gaze was a fearsome enemy. He was, after all, sufficient to give this great and proud king "high hopes."
"Even without his armor, sweeping my Noble Phantasms aside with his bow was a feat of consummate skill. It was worthy of praise, although I would never be so common."
"But what are those Noble Phantasms wrapped around both of their arms...?"
"Most likely some sort of legacy a god forced on humans. Observe; they are the same item, but each of them uses it in an entirely different manner."
"?"
Tine did as the King of Heroes bid her, casting a spell for sensing magical energy on her eyes, and staring closely at the battle.
There was indeed a difference. The horsewoman was circulating the high-density magical energy — worth of the name divinity — throughout her body. The bowman, however, only applied it to his weapons; he never accepted the power into himself.
"Why...? If he channeled that divine aura into a body with the qualities his has, he could probably overwhelm his opponent."
The King of Heroes grunted, and pondered Tine's words. Then a shade of joy entered his expression, as if he had discovered a curious toy.
"I merely find the gods I know disagreeable... but it seems that fellow despises the gods he believed in so deeply that he wants to kill them."
"He hates... his gods?"
"Comical, is it not? I'm sure it was those same gods who created that sturdy body of his. Imagine, maintaining such force of will while despising his very existence. The fool shows promise."
Gilgamesh's words had not reached the horsewoman, but as she loosed arrow after arrow at the archer, she shouted:
"Why? Why do you not take my father's power — the power of the war belt — into yourself? Are you looking down on me!? Mocking me!?"
"The power of a god is not for housing in one's own body," the bowman answered solemnly, parrying her shots, each of which was imbued with the power to destroy armies, with the bow in his hand.
"...What?"
When she heard that, the horsewoman finally noticed the
thing flowing deep into her opponent's body. A power like scorched poison, utterly unlike that of a god, filled the bowman. He was using that power to control the energy that radiated from the "war belt" by force, as if it was his familiar.
Readying his bow, imbued with the mingled powers of a god and
something else, the archer uttered words like a curse, imbued with mingled rage and scorn, from behind his cloth.
"It should be forced to submit, trampled underfoot... and ruled by the might of man."
X X
The same time. The police station.
"Report for you, sir. Confirming multiple responses thought to be Heroic Spirits in the northern ravine. One of them is thought to be Archer — Gilgamesh."
Having received the secret report, the chief of police heaved a large sigh. Then he turned his gaze on the girl mastermind sitting on his sofa and eating a cake she had produced seemingly from nowhere.
"...You're going to explain this, Francesca."
"Explain what? I'm pretty sure I explained the summoning of the true Heroic Spirits before we even started."
"What I want to know is who summoned what."
Francesca looked away from the chief, who glared quietly at her, a finger on her chin.
"What? You want to know that, in a Holy Grail War? Nope. I know that Heroic Spirit's identity, and its Master's information, so I could tell you, but, on the other hand, it doesn't seem like Faldeus or his bosses trust you that much. Whatever shall I do?"
"Don't play dumb. Between this and the incident last night at the opera house, it's doubtful whether the participating mages have any idea of secrecy. Openly attacking a casino hotel in the middle of the day gets the townspeople involved. The Dead Apostle hasn't shown himself yet, but I've gotten reports of people injured by broken glass!"
The chief's tone became slightly rougher as he spoke. Francesca turned to him with a gloomy smile.
"Oh? I thought we were prepared to involve civilians the moment we decided on this city as the stage for the Grail War."
"Not in such a visible form. We summoned that Caster in order to win reliably while still keeping damage to a minimum. If any Master is willing to involve the people of this city for no real reason, I believe they should be eliminated immediately."
"You really are uptight. Well, it's not like I'm out to slaughter the townspeople either, so I'll give you a hint," Francesca giggled. "You know God? I don't mean the one the kids at the Holy Church worship; I mean gods from a different mythology."
"...?"
"You see, back when this planet was still overflowing with magical energy — what they call the age of the gods — all sorts of 'concepts' and 'foreign bodies' had relations with humans. They had intelligence, but in the end they were different creatures."
Francesca stared into the distance as she spoke, narrowing her eyes, as if at a fond memory.
"When that happened, as you might expect, there were some mix-ups. Lots of comedies and tragedies came out of them. Well, that's also true when it's just between humans, but... Anyway, when your partner's basically a mass of energy, the mix-ups and misunderstandings are on a whole different level! So, the laughter and the sadness both get scaled up, you see?"
"...What are you trying to say?"
"Of course, hate boils up to match, too."
Then, turning her attention to the swirls of magical energy she could sense from the direction of the ravine, she ecstatically recalled what she had seen the previous evening.
"It's true that his class is Archer, but his essence has totally changed. I guess it'd make sense to say he's about half Avenger now."
"...'Avenger'?"
The chief had heard from Faldeus that the Einzberns had summoned a Heroic Spirit of that special class in the third Holy Grail War. Apparently it had not been very strong, for a Heroic Spirit, and had been swiftly eliminated. He remembered, however, that Faldeus — who had read the data an actual participant had left in his own puppet — had told him, with a grave expression:
"I have no definite proof... but if that Heroic Spirit had won through, the world itself might have ended. Anyway, it was a weird one."
If an entity with the same nature as that Heroic Spirit had appeared, surely that made it unbelievably dangerous?
The chief scowled. Francesca shrugged her shoulders, and told him about the bowman — Avenger. Told him cheerfully, delightedly, as if she cherished the very vengeful grudge of that Heroic Spirit.
"Although, that Heroic Spirit's grudge isn't against humanity... it's against the old, old gods who've already gone and disappeared or rotted away or hidden themselves somewhere these days."
X X
The large ravine.
The bowman and horsewoman with the same Noble Phantasm continued their battle, mixing long and close range attacks. The horsewoman had produced a spear and bow from the magical energy with a pronounced tint of divinity that was native to her frame. She made skillful use of both in conjuction with her trusty steed as she kept up her assault on the bowman.
Could that horse be one of her Noble Phantasms? Tine wondered as she watch the combat.
It displayed movements like those of a phastasmal beast, and inconceivable in an ordinary horse, as the horsewoman attempted to drive the bowman further into a corner. But then, as if it had sensed something, the horse stopped, and reared up on its hind legs. As it did so, countless weapons embedded themselves in the ground between her and the bowman.
"I thought I told you not to interfere!"
The horsewoman glared at the man who had fired them.
"Fool," that man — the King of Heroes — spat back. "I have to no ear to lend a woman so ill-mannered as to not dismount in the presence of a king."
He stood in Vimana's prow, gazing calmly down. The space behind him glittered with the points of the innumerable Noble Phantasms that slept in his treasury.
The horsewoman temporarily distanced herself from the two archers, and stared suspiciously at the man aboard Vimana.
"A king? You?"
"Ignorant as well as impudent. You may be called a queen, but I suppose you are one of thieves who squabbled over bits of my garden in my absence. Sickening."
There was no sarcasm; his frigid words were charged with unmistakable contempt.
"You are not worthy of existing in the same place as the true king — myself. Be gone."
With the air of a man sweeping a pebble from the roadside with his foot, the King of Heroes launched a swarm of Noble Phantasms from his Gate of Babylon.
"...!"
Instinct must have warned the horsewoman that taking a direct hit from them would be unwise. Skillfully handling her steed, she weaved her way through the rain of Noble Phantasms.
Then the cloth-covered bowman loosed a pointed shaft, his aim fixed on the horse.
"!"
The horse dodged the arrow by a hair's breadth, but lost its balance. The second wave from the Gate of Babylon was bearing down on horse and rider. Instantly, even more powerful magical energy welled up from the horsewoman. She rolled together the magical energy within herself, thick with divinity, and the pure magical energy welling from the cloth — which could be called divinity itself — and channeled it into the spear in her hand. The horsewoman hurled her spear at the King of Heroes, endeavoring to repel the countless Noble Phantasms bearing down on her with brute force.
The spear, cloaked in divine aura, drove through the second shower of Noble Phantasms, hurtling toward Gilgamesh's heart. The King of Heroes, however, did not move a step. He deployed a number of shield Noble Phantasms from his Gate of Babylon. The spear closing in on him drove through several of them before coming to a halt.
"It's been bugging me for a little while now — what's with that ridiculous number of Noble Phantasms?"
The horsewoman sounded exasperated. Gilgamesh ignored her, and pronounced with an air of indifference:
"Coming against be with the power of a god, of all things... Your insolence knows no bounds, woman."
Then, surveying the horsewoman, he grinned. It seemed his interest had been slightly piqued.
"You may not have come through unscathed, but I see you did manage to take several high-ranking Noble Phantasms."
The horsewoman was losing a not inconsiderable quantity of blood from wounds on her shoulders and sides. Several of the Noble Phantasm she had not been able to completely parry must have grazed her. Even so, she comported herself as a warrior astride her mount.
Seeing that, the King of Heroes gave a nod, and considered.
"It appears the blood of a god I do not know runs thick in your veins. I had thought my pleasure spoiled, but with both of you as my opponents, this should at least serve as a warm-up for fulfilling my agreement with my friend."
The King of Heroes still made a show of complacency, but there was no carelessness or conceit in his eyes.
"You are touchstones. You may not fall without my consent."
To the King of Heroes, a serious warm-up meant testing everything he had prepared against the battle with his friend, including wiles he would never normally employ.
"...If you insist on continuing to get in my way, I'll eliminate you first, Golden King."
At that point, the King of Heroes gave a scornful laugh.
"In your way, am I? Are you certain you did not mean your salvation, girl who calls herself queen?"
"What...?"
Gilgamesh glanced at the bowman standing imposingly before a heap of rubble as he answered the dubious rider.
"If you cannot even realize when you are being toyed with, how do you intend to hunt that man?"
"...You say I'm being toyed with?"
"As Heroic Spirits, you and he belong to different orders. You cannot be so cheap as to fail to realize that."
Even Tine, observing the Heroic Spirits from the shadow of Vimana, was able to grasp the King of Heroes' words.
Masters in the Holy Grail War were granted the simple clairvoyant ability to know their opponents' general strengths and weaknesses, divided into status, strength, agility, and so on. The way this information appeared to each Master varied depending on their sensibilities. Tine visualized it as the difference in the speeds of the currents of six rivers flowing from a mountain.
As far as she could see, all the rivers ran swiftly for the King of Heroes and the cloth-shrouded bowman. Compared to them, the horsewoman's flowed at a gentle pace. The river governing luck, in particular, stood out as slow in its course. Even in a simple comparison of basic abilities, she seemed to be at a slight disadvantage. It appeared that she was raising her natural power several ranks by housing the divine aura of her Noble Phantasm in her own body. Against an opponent who possessed the same Noble Phantasm, however, it would not be sufficient to give her an advantage. There might possibly be a difference between housing the power of a god in one's own body and using it as a tool, but Tine was unable to conjecture what effect that difference might have.
While Tine pondered, the horsewoman's expression stiffened, and she shot a piercing glare at the bowman.
"I know he outclasses me..."
For just an instant, the tone of her voice matched her youthful appearance. The next, she launched into a bold declaration, bearing her unadulterated animosity.
"After all,
I was killed by this man!"
"What?"
For a moment, Tine froze, not comprehending the rider's behavior. She knew what the words meant, but she could not understand the point of shouting something that would give others a hint to the horsewoman's true name. She was acquainted with the bowman, and against the King of Heroes, concealing her true name likely meant little. Still, it was impossible to know where a familiar might be watching. Could she afford to reveal a clue to her true name under those conditions?
Perhaps the horsewoman was more impulsive than Tine had imagined. The thought turned Tine's mind to the true names of the enemy Heroic Spirits.
A woman called a queen, skilled in horse-riding, who uses a bow and spear.
A hero who killed her.
A cloth Noble Phantasm they both possess.
An animal pelt that denies humanity.
Inside Tine, who had studied a wide range of myths and epics in preparation for the Grail War, a number of puzzle pieces fell into place, and formed the figures of two heroes.
She did not, however, accept that answer easily. The horsewoman was one thing, but the impression she got from the bowman was just too far removed from the hero she had pictured.
Then, as if to prove it, the horsewoman shouted:
"But my end is of no importance!"
She stared at the bowman, and then at Tine.
!?
Tine stiffened under her unexpected gaze. The horsewoman, however, made no move to attack her, and returned her glare to the bowman.
"Answer me!
Why did you aim for that child?"
The archer's response, in contrast, was dispassionate.
"It is only natural to target a Master who carelessly shows herself alongside her Servant. Though a child, she is a mage who has joined battle with the resolve to crush her enemies. I have no cause to make allowances for her. Of all people, you, queen, whose origin is
war itself, ask me this?"
"Quiet! Shut your mouth and wipe it off your face! I told you to answer, but I don't want to hear commonplace arguments that sound like they come from the mouth of a stranger!" The horsewoman bellowed irrationally. Re-materializing her spear, she pointed it at the bowman, and continued her questioning.
"You were the one who bent every accepted rule of the battlefield into whatever shape you desired with your strength and cunning! That's why I believed that you... that you at least were a man who would never do such a thing!"
Her attention was now completely focused on the bowman. From Tine's perspective, it seemed like the perfect opening. However...
"My king..."
"Leave them be. Watching two clowns slander each other is a form of entertainment."
Despite what the King of Heroes said, there was no disorder or inattention in the magical energy that cloaked him. Tine could, however, sense something like a curiosity to know more of his opponent's natures. The bowman, at least, must have considerable ability, to arouse the interest of her haughty king. It was the horsewoman, however, who was on Tine's mind.
That rider is angry that the archer targeted me...? More than she is about being killed herself? ...Why?
Tine had offered up her life for the sake of her people. From the time she had determined to summon the King of Heroes and eliminate the mages, she had been prepared to have the tables turned on her and be killed instead. From her perspective, the bowman's argument was sound.
Does she not even view me as an enemy...?
Indifferent to the girl's confusion, the horsewoman shouted again from atop her horse.
"I have heard that you were merciless in battle; that you even pillaged the streets of enemy towns. I'm sure you used cowardly sneak attacks, too, if it served your goals. But that would not shake the fame of a hero if it was done for the sake of his ambition."
The mounted girl raised her voice still higher, her manner more mature than her appearance.
"But, whatever the circumstances — even if you faced a cursed child who would bring disaster to the world — I was sure you never gleefully aimed your bow at a child! You would be the last person to forgive that!"
"..."
"Where did you abandon the name that was the glory of the gods, that echoed in awed and reverent song throughout our native land, to the ends of the fertile plain of the Thermodon:—"
Abandoning herself to momentum and rage, the horsewoman made to shout her enemy's name, not caring that doing so would reveal her own, when...
"Silence."
One word from the bowman froze the air around them.
At the same time, a shadow — the same reddish-brown color that stained the man's body — welled up, and wriggled like a living thing. It was hate; it was fear; it was scorn; it was regret; it was envy; it was pity; it was rage; it was resignation; it was malice; it was mortification; it was despair; and therefore it was empty.
From the depths of that shadow, like a range of emotions distilled to its absolute limit, came a voice that seemed to place a curse on all who heard it.
Even the bold horsewoman looked daunted for a moment, and Tine thought her own heart might stop. Only the King of Heroes remained calm. His lips actually curled in a faint smile, like a critic viewing comedy.
"The hero that name belonged to no longer exists," the bowman continued, ignoring all three reactions. "No, 'he' is no longer even a hero. He was a fool who ingratiated himself to pleasure-besotted tyrants, and paid for it by burning off the robe of earth — his human soul — in flames and thunderbolts. On his deathbed he broke his oath, and chose pleasure over pain!"
"Who are you? What do you want...?" The queen asked, cold sweat running down her cheeks. She was convinced that the man was not the great hero she knew.
"I am but a human being. I reject the gods of Olympus — your father Ares included — and I will trample and defile them. I am simply an avenger, and I live for nothing else.
"Yes, my flesh and blood, my very soul, is the shadow of a fool who fell so low that he became a god."
X X
The police station.
Francesca twisted with excitement, remembering the "Heroic Spirit" Bazdilot had summoned, which she had viewed through her crystal ball early that morning with his permission.
"Aah! My guts are about to boil just thinking about it! That sense of living only to defile and blaspheme the gods! I love it! It reminds me of my best friend, you know? I bet they'd get along great if I brought them together. But then, their grudges are against totally different gods."
The chief began to leave the room, ignoring Francesca, who was rambling incomprehensibly in a world of her own.
"Oh? Where are you off to?"
"To deal with the situation, obviously."
"Are you crazy? It looks like you had a good match with that Assassin girl yesterday, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing you can do about the kids up at the ravine." Francesca closed her legs, and addressed the chief with a serious look. "If you're not careful, King Goldy might kill you the minute you butt in."
The chief was well aware that what she said was correct. But as a mage who had to put the secrecy of magic first, and as a police chief who had to ensure the safety of his city, he could not sit quietly by.
"I can't just leave them to it. At this rate, a stray shot could easily demolish a building. I'll sound out Faldeus for help as well, although I doubt it will do any good. Even if he can't directly intervene in the fighting, it's better to tackle the cover-up sooner than later."
"Oh, you don't have to get so worked up. I've already taken measures."
"What...?"
Francesca grinned obscenely at the dubious chief, and pronounced a sentence that would cause him even more headaches:
"You see, the Servant I summoned is heading there to interrupt them as we speak!"
X X
"I see..."
The horsewoman heard the bowman's voice, filled with deep resentment and determination, and the fury vanished from within her.
"Then you are no longer
him."
She narrowed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and gently stroked her horse's neck. In an instant, the divine aura enveloping her intertwined with her own magical energy, rapidly increasing its purity.
"...!? This is..."
Sensing the magical energy through the leylines of the land, Tine gasped in spite of herself.
The Holy Grail War system — at least if it was identical to the system in Fuyuki, which Tine had investigated beforehand — should be incapable of summoning a Divine Spirit. The extent to which a Heroic Spirit, once summoned, could wield divine power, however, was something Tine did not know.
If the horsewoman was who Tine thought she was, then she must be a demigod, with a god for a father. She lacked the power of a full Divine Spirit, but what would happen if that cloth-shaped Noble Phantasms supplied the difference?
Tine's face paled, but she neither feared nor doubted. At her side stood a king who she paid greater reverence than any god.
"In that case, I will not try to put you back on the right path. I will eliminate you as an enemy, along with the golden king."
When he heard those words, a fiendish smile stole over the King of Heroes' features.
"I see you know how to bark, girl!"
His grin was a picture of arrogance. There was none of his earlier scorn and contempt in it.
The King of Heroes' had been the first to notice: The presence of the rider, who had been running wild, allowing her emotions to get the better of her, had instantly switched over to that of a warrior befitting the divine aura the cloaked her.
And at the present moment, the eyes of the King of Heroes, which were less proud, had seen through to a part of his opponent's true nature — what she was about to attempt to become. But because the king was a king, he stuck to his pride.
"You have some nerve to lump me, a king, in with a mere avenger! I shall grace your barbarity with a laugh, along with your farce!"
It was true that, in this Holy Grail War, the King of Heroes was neither conceited nor careless. So long as he was a king, however, his arrogant disposition would always remain his natural pose.
The bowman, meanwhile, twisted his lips in a brutal grin beneath his monster hide.
"A good omen. I may not believe in the forgotten tyrants, but perhaps the stars do move our fates."
As he spoke, ominous magical energy coiled around the arrow nocked to his bow. The aura it gave off was such that an amateur mage, or even an ordinary human, would have noticed it.
"It is only the outset of war, and already I have the opportunity to fell a pair of demigods."
The quality of the arrow was not all that had changed. He had dropped his earlier daunting pose for a more natural posture. The bow and arrow hung loosely at his side. At first glance, it almost looked like he had abandoned his combat stance entirely.
In spite of his posture, however, the eerie pressure he radiated only continued to increase. The average fighter would be assailed by a terror that was almost despair the instant they set eyes on him. His opponents, however, were a queen clad in divine power, and the original hero king wrapped in golden radiance.
Faced with two rulers who showed not the slightest fear, the bowman forced muddy, black energy to ooze from every inch of his frame, and...
"Alright, that's enough of that."
Just as all three Heroic Spirits seemed about to make their moves, the guileless voice of a boy echoed through the snow-covered forest that extended as far as the eye could see.
"...What?"
Tine's bewildered exclamation came a moment after the boy's interruption.
"...!?"
"!"
"..."
The queen widened her eyes in shock, the bowman narrowed his eyes slightly, and the King of Heroes ran a suspicious eye over the surrounding scenery.
They should have been standing in a large ravine with only sparse vegetation. And yet, before the boy's words even had time to register, trees completely filled their view. They were standing in the midst of a forest dominated by the white of the snow that lay thick on conifers, overwhelming the hues of their needles and bark.
Powdered snow fell on Tine's bare, slender arms, and she felt the chill through her skin.
Forced teleportation?
As she hurriedly gathered a layer of air around herself for protection, Tine attempted to conjecture what had happened to them.
But such advanced magecraft — practically Magic — just isn't...!
Currently, there was nowhere near Snowfield where it would be possible to see scenery like this. There was the great forest to the west, but the variety of trees was different, and, despite the name "Snowfield," actual snowfall was rare in the region.
It was also possible that they had been drawn into another world — a unique space called a "Reality Marble" — by a Servant. Tine had heard that there were Heroic Spirits that employed such techniques.
And yet, Tine's Servant, the King of Heroes, showed no particular sign of alarm.
"Do not lose your head," he told her. "It is merely an illusion."
"An illusion...?"
Illusion was a diverse type of general-purpose magecraft. It could be used for concealing a specified place, confusing senses of direction in a specified area, or even cast on oneself to aid in training or reinforce suggestion. Most ordinary illusions, however, were ineffective against targets possessing Magic Circuits above a certain level, or a Magic Crest. As a result, very few mages attempted to master it as anything more than convenient, general-use magecraft. In fact, Tine had experienced having an illusion cast on her in the past, but she was linked to the leylines of the land, and had strengthened her senses through them, so it had had no effect on her.
In the present circumstance, however, she could feel the cold even through the leylines.
...Going by magical energy links, we're definitely still in a canyon in the land of my ancestors... This really is an illusion, then... But could there really be an illusion powerful enough to fool not just human senses... but the land itself as well!?
How many human mages could have reached that level? With a special medium, such as powerful Mystic Eyes, it would be a different story, but in ordinary circumstances an illusion of that level would be considered beyond the realm of human mages.
...A new Servant!
She could not tell if this was the work of a Noble Phantasm, or of raw magecraft. At the very least, however, it was highly probable that the owner of that boy's voice was a new Servant.
"This won't do. You all need to cool your heads. What are you thinking, playing your trump cards on the very first day? Of course, rumor has it that certain people played their trump cards in the desert before the show even started! Ha ha!"
The boy's voice carried through the entire snowy forest, but it was impossible to pin down wear it had come from. It was almost as if each individual snowflake was acting as a speaker for it.
Gilgamesh acted as if he had not heard the voice, and spoke with a tone of mild displeasure:
"To think that there was another mannerless ruffian waiting to spoil my entertainment at the last moment. I do not know what you are after, but did you imagine you could deceive my eyes with this paltry illusion?"
"Oh my, that's the Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, for you! The whole human race's landlord, who enjoyed equal fame as an enlightened monarch and a despot! Looks like I can't pull the wool over Your great, haughty, wise and pedantic Majesty's penetrating eyes! Whatever shall I do?"
An address that went beyond over-embellishment into obvious mockery sounded through the illusory forest in a boyish voice. Then, an instant later... A different, androgynous voice rang out from from behind Gilgamesh and Tine.
"Then how about your ears, Gil?"
Tine turned, and saw a Heroic Spirit. A Heroic Spirit with a face and build that could be taken for either male or female, and to which an indefinable trace of youth clung. A smooth, lean body that reminded Tine of a perfected beast. Features so graceful and beautiful that it did not seem to matter if they were male or female.
This Servant is...
Tine was immediately able to recognize what the entity that had appeared suddenly behind her was. She had only viewed the events from a distance, through a familiar, but this was certainly the Heroic Spirit Gilgamesh had confronted immediately after manifesting; the one he had made the crater in the desert with.
Based on their timing and words, however, Tine also immediately recognized that this must be an illusory fake.
In that case, how would the King of Heroes react? Before Tine could finish turning to look at him, Merodach flashed in his hand and dispersed the illusory Heroic Spirit.
"Who gave you permission to mimic my friend's form and voice?"
A searing tremor crossed the pass between them to shake Tine's Magic Circuits. She was able to imagine that the King of Heroes was likely seething with cold rage, rather than abandoning himself to an outburst of emotion.
"And for attempting use them to deceive me, even ten thousand deaths would be too kind. I will make you regret your rash act using every device humankind has ever created purely to inflict pain."
Once more, the boy's voice rang out through the snowy forest:
"Don't be mad, Your Majesty. It was just a mischievous fool's joke."
Calling itself a "fool," it begged the king's pardon in name only.
At that, however, Gilgamesh flashed a look of anger more intense than ever before. His angry roar echoed in the forest, as if to rebuke the place itself:
"Simpleton! A fool is one who brings others merriment by simply being!"
It seemed he had strong personal views on fools. His bearing was even haughtier than usual, and his words seethed with undisguised rage.
"And yet you call yourself a fool, and attempt to make a boorish excuse of your being one! You are no longer even third-rate; you cannot even call yourself a fool! You are no more than an imbecile drunk on his own eccentricities!"
Gilgamesh's unprecedented display of anger made Tine break out in a cold sweat. Even the things that enraged him differed from the ordinary mass of humanity, so she, as his retainer, was unclear what she should be wary of in future. For the time being, she made a mental note that any discussion of "fools" was taboo in the king's presence.
But then, she did not expect to have any opportunity to broach the subject herself.
At that point, a crushing noise sounded from a distance away, and tress that were supposed to be products of illusion made very real splintering sounds as they were mowed down.
The illusion was apparently visible to the queen as well. She looked up at the sky, her face a mask of rage, and shouted:
"Don't mock me! Where are you? Show yourself, dealer in deceptions!"
She had appeared to compose herself earlier, but her fury had once again overtaken her.
Tine was wondering what the queen had been shown, when confusion suddenly entered her expression.
"What...?" The horsewoman abruptly froze, and shouted at the empty air. "You're telling me to withdraw, Master? But...!"
"!"
Hearing her voice, Tine immediately understood. The horsewoman's Master must have just telepathically instructed her to retreat.
The bowman, meanwhile, continued to stand, calm-faced, amid the snow, as if he alone were not being forced to see any illusion.
The horsewoman faced the bowman, shot him a sad, almost pitying, look, then hung her head.
"...Understood, Master. I'll obey."
Still astride her horse, she made her spear vanish, faced the King of Heroes and the bowman, and declared:
"We'll meet again, golden king. And you, self-deceiving avenger. Next time, I swear to face you as a warrior, as martial etiquette demands."
"Do you imagine I would allow a brigand who irreverently seeks one of my treasures to leave this place?"
"You're a king, aren't you? Narrow-mindedly pursuing a fugitive doesn't suit a king. If you want to chase me, get down off your throne and run like a warrior."
Tine expected the King of Heroes to respond with indignation. Gilgamesh, however, grinned fearlessly and made no move.
"You are fortunate," he addressed her back. "Ordering me to descend from my throne is worthy of death... but I was already forgetting my position as king when I faced
him. I will not call it self-admonition, but I will grant you a pardon in honor of my reunion with my friend. Accept this honor with gratitude."
When he had finished his roundabout declaration, Gilgamesh turned to look at the other Archer.
"Of course, I cannot guarantee that he will turn a blind eye to you."
As if in response, the boy's voice rang out through the snow:
"What's this? Is Her Majesty leaving? Well, I'm in a bit of a predicament myself, so let's retreat for the moment, True Archer. Or would you prefer 'Avenger'?"
Gilgamesh then glared at the forest itself.
"your sentence is unchanged, base fiend. Even mongrels are beyond you," he declared ill-humoredly.
After declaring the boy's voice a "fiend," the King of Heroes turned to the bowman and delivered a royal proclamation.
"It is meaningless to conceal your true name any longer, mongrel. Rather, if your goal is to defile half of yourself, would not naming yourself bring you closer to that ambition?"
Arrogant to the last, Gilgamesh gave the bowman a royal order:
"You have my royal permission. Speak your own true name."
They bowman cracked a wry smile at the absurd command. Then he shouldered his bow, and, beneath his leather covering, slowly opened his mouth to speak.
"My name is
Alcides."
The horsewoman heard that name, and wordlessly shook her head.
Tine did not understand the import of the name at first. Soon, however, she singled out a sliver of memory from within her brain.
"The child of Amphitryon and Alcmene, in whose veins flows the blood of Mycenaean royalty."
She remembered that it was the childhood name of a great hero — the name he had been given
as a human.
"Golden king, mightiest of kings, who the kings of my acquaintance cannot even hope to equal, we shall meet again. Next time, I shall trampled the divine power that slumbers in your innermost depths beneath my feet."
He had barely finished speaking when the muddy magical energy that oozed from him enveloped him completely. It bored an empty hole in the forest's snow-covered floor. An instant later, even the mud was gone, and the bowman had vanished as completely as if he had never existed at all.
"Well then, some other time, Your Majesties. If you're ever in the mood for depravity, give me a call, okay? After all, I do have my origins in folly and madness! Ahahahahahaha! Aahahahahahahahaha!"
The voice still had the quality of an innocent boy's, but its laughter echoed insanely through the forest.
The voice had barely faded when the snowfield vanished like a mirage and the original ravine spread out around Tine and the Heroic Spirits.
The horsewoman, who had remained throughout, surveyed Tine and, for some reason, flashed a faint smile. Then, clasping her horse's bridle, she gave her name:
"Now that he's given is true name, I suppose it's pointless to hide mine from you."
Shaking her head in exasperation, the queen raised her voice:
"I am Hippolyta, child of Ares, the god of war, and Otrera, a priestess of Artemis. I am the war-chief of the proud Amazons! Golden king and young vassal, we shall meet again!"
No sooner had she finished her introduction than she galloped off on her horse. Then the horsewoman — Hippolyta — turned to specks of light along with her steed, and disappeared completely.
Tine had been through a shocking, if brief, time. While using magecraft to steady her own mind, she asked her own Servant, the King of Heroes:
"With all due respect, Your Majesty... was it alright not to give your own name?"
"..."
At that, the King of Heroes slightly raised his eyebrows. Then he shook his head, as if to dismiss some thought, and looked up with a totally undaunted grin.
"Heh... They are not worthy to hear my name. If they stand before me once more, I will do them that honor."
Tine nodded comprehendingly. She never doubted the king's words. Then, one problem did occur to her.
"What did that voice that sounded like a little boy's mean by 'a predicament'?"
"Humph."
At Tine's question, the King of Heroes wiped the expression from his face, and stared in the direction of the city, which was visible from the ravine.
"It probably meant the brigand that spoiled my reunion with my friend."
"?"
"I thought to dispel the curse of death with one swing of my property, but I never imagined it would conceal its tracks
in such a form."
"The curse of... death?"
Tine furrowed her brows.
"Fool," Gilgamesh declared with his usual fearless grin. "Is it not discourteous to wear a look of worry in the royal presence?
"You are under my royal protection. If you have the time to fear curses, spend it in awe of me."
X X
The same time. Coalsman Special Corrections Center.
In the monitoring room, the numerous scenes projected onto banks of modern monitors through familiars and mystical surveillance devices created a warped atmosphere.
The room's master, Faldeus, furrowed his brows as he viewed the accumulating data.
It appears that, as I thought, it will be necessary to eliminate Bazdilot soon.
No; his backers, the Scladio Family, are likely the real problem. Regardless of the Grail War's outcome, we'll lose our grip on the reigns sooner or later at this rate. If that happens, we'll lose any means of stopping them, even with the help of other departments — no, even with the full power of the White House.
Faldeus inwardly wore a sour look, but he did not let it show on his face.
This was not his only problem. The particulars of the Kuruoka's movements still eluded him, and as long as the Servant they had summoned remained an unknown quantity, he could not afford to make any careless moves.
If the Heroic Spirit that silver wolf summoned — most likely the Babylonian clay doll — is Lancer, then the Kuruokas must have summoned Rider or Berserker.
The Heroic Spirit the silver wolf had summoned — Enkidu — appeared to be Lancer.
Jester Karture and his clique — now corpses — appeared to have summoned the woman Assassin.
The chief of police had summoned Caster, Alexandre Dumas pčre.
And Tine Chelk commanded Archer, Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes.
Flat Escardos appears to have had some type of communication with a Heroic Spirit in the park... The possibility of that being Berserker is slim. In which case, the Heroic Spirit the Kuruokas summoned is most probably Berserker.
He knew that the Kuruokas had been attempting to summon Shi Huangdi, but he could not see the point of summoning such a Heroic Spirit, who must excel in devising tactics and stratagems, as Berserker. If Shi Huangdi had manifested as Berserker due to some error, it was possible that the Kuruokas were under the thumb of the mad Servant. All of that, however, was no more than Faldeus' speculation.
He had considered sending his own Servant, the true Assassin, to investigate. In the unlikely event that the Kuruoka's Servant was his Assassin's natural enemy, however, he would end up losing a powerful pawn under his very nose.
It's just one thing after another.
Cashura, who had summoned Saber, had been killed by the fake Assassin. Doris Lusendra, who had summoned the true Rider, refused to cooperate with, or even contact, Faldeus. Haruri, who had been scheduled to summon the true Berserker, was out of contact. From Sigma, who should, following the order, have summoned Lancer, he had received only the short message: "I definitely summoned something, but I have no idea what it is. I will report again when I learn its true name."
Our objective is not to use the Holy Grail to grant a wish. It is to go beyond that... to advance the analysis of the Third Magic itself.
What would happen if you obtained the Grail and wished to obtain the Third Magic, Faldeus suddenly wondered. He judged that no good would come of such childish speculations, however, and decided to abandon them.
There's no need to insist on the outcomes of individual battles... but our side does need to win.
Tine Chelk did not seek the Grail, but what would happen if she obtained it and wished for the destruction of the Snowfield Holy Grail System itself? Such worries set off alarm bells in Faldeus' brain.
In a worst case scenario, we can have a double agent eliminate Tine... but we would need to aim for an opportunity when the King of Heroes is engaged in combat with another Servant.
Before that, however... we need to ascertain Saber's movements. We should have cameras on every significant point in the city, but none of them show that woman with glasses. I was sure she would make contact with the Einzbern homunculus, but...
They had maintained surveillance of the "white woman" — the Einzbern homunculus. She had temporarily disappeared the previous night, but was currently caught in their surveillance net. Strangely, however, she had been in and out of shopping malls, casinos, and other such places since that morning. Faldeus could see no consistency in her behavior.
Possibly a trap to throw us off? I assume she must have noticed she's being watched.
It was entirely out of his hands. Problems were cropping up one after another, and it was giving Faldeus a headache. He could not help pressing a hand to the corners of his eyes.
"Chief Dioland."
One of Faldeus Dioland's subordinates, a woman, called out to him.
"What is it, Aludra?"
"It's about the mages in the city who failed to become Masters... We're observing some strange movements."
"?"
Faldeus looked at the report she handed him, then at several of the countless monitors.
"...Strange indeed."
A significant percentage of the mages had left the city before noon. Many of them must have turned tail when they saw the crater in the desert. Many mages had also suffered injury at the hands of the fake Assassin — the full-fledged fanatic. Under the circumstances, it was only natural for mediocre mages to realize the matter was beyond them and flee.
The odd part was what happened next. All the mages that had fled the city that morning had turned their cars and bikes around and returned to Snowfield.
"...Could they have been hired by some other family as soon as they left the city?"
His first thought was an intervention by the Clock Tower. He considered it possible that they had observed the mages leaving the city and promised them some form of compensation for becoming pawns of the Clock Tower. That hypothesis, however, was refuted by Aludra's next words.
"It's not just mages, sir."
"...What?"
"All ordinary civilians who left the city on business, etcetera, after a certain time have turned back."
An uneasy chill ran through Faldeus.
"..."
He keenly felt the inadequacy of his own awareness. Something was happening in the city; something on a scale greater than ordinary magecraft. He knew it was happening, but he did not know why.
A barrier for clearing the area of people? No... They're returning to the city, so I suppose it would have to be a barrier for drawing people in... But for what purpose? I've heard that, in the fifth Fuyuki Grail War, there was a Heroic Spirit that tried to gather Od from civilians, but...
There were a lot of black boxes in the fifth Holy Grail War. He did not know what fate that Heroic Spirit had met. He had, however, received information that there had actually been mass fainting incidents at the time, and that the Holy Church had covered them up as gas leaks. Apparently rumors that gas had leaked from an unexploded chemical weapon dropped by the American military had spread among the local high school students, and Faldeus' colleagues had conducted a follow-up operation to suppress counterfactual rumors... Or so he remembered hearing.
An unexploded chemical weapons... I wish it could be explained away with something like that. Considering our throughput, our hands are full with just the crater incident.
Snowfield has a population of eighty thousand... We've made arrangements so that we can deal with matters even if all of them were to disappear... But, if possible, I'd like to avoid anything so troublesome.
Or so Faldeus thought, when he noticed that his hand was clenched tight on something. It was a balled up scrap of notepaper covered in fragmentary writing. When Faldeus carefully spread it out, he saw that it was a message clearly addressed to himself.
Do you not notice?
The barrier walls of this facility are thick.
Therefore, it does not enter here.
"..."
In this Holy Grail War, Faldeus was contracted with the true Assassin, Hassan-i Sabbah. Hassan, however, rarely initiated conversation. In the first place, he seemed averse to actually speaking, so when he did communicate, it was usually through methods like this one. In addition, the writing always looked as if Faldeus had scribbled it himself. It almost seemed designed to convince anyone who saw it that the Heroic Spirit Assassin was entirely a delusion of Faldeus'.
"And 'it' is...?" Faldeus muttered under his breath.
As if in answer, compression artifacts started to run across the screen of one of the computers sending and receiving data. A row of characters popped up, weaving its way through the gaps, and seared itself into Faldeus' brain. It was a short line, consisting only of an answer to Faldeus' question:
The cursed plague-wind.
X X
Two hours later. A cheap motel.
"Ah, we can finally go out!"
Flat Escardos opened the window curtains, and stretched his arms high over his head as he basked in the incoming sunshine.
"I never expected him to get
that angry at me..."
Flat's big stretch only lasted a moment, then his shoulders drooped and he let out a sigh.
"And I can't believe the catalyst that summoned you, Jack, wasn't something the Professor prepared for me; it was all me jumping to conclusions..."
A gentlemanly voice emanated from the steampunk-esque watch on his left wrist.
"It can't be anything compared to how I feel knowing that I was summoned with a prize from a video game. Besides, shouldn't you be glad you got off with just a two-hour lecture?"
Berserker — Jack the Ripper — had become a Heroic Spirit Watch. Flat responded to his consolations with a little shake of his head.
"A whole two hours."
Flat collapsed onto the bed, clutching his newly-purchased cell phone, and curled up dejectedly.
Not fifteen seconds after Flat had emailed the phone number to his teacher, Lord El-Melloi II, he had received an international call from England. The roughly two hour lecture and just under thirty minute policy meeting had only just concluded.
Flat had barely picked up the phone when angry voice had roared out of it and launched into a lengthy sermon that even Jack — in wristwatch form — could hear. It had begun with Flat running off to America on his own, and extended to questioning on a variety of subjects, until...
"Who the hell did you learn the summoning spell from? I refuse to believe that looked it up on your own from materials in the Great Library. Was it Tōsaka?" The professor had asked.
"Oh, that's right. I should just have asked Rin... Actually, though, once I got here I did this and that, and sort of ended up summoning him without a circle or an incantation," Flat had answered truthfully, at which point, after several minutes of silence, the scolding had resumed even fiercer than before.
Flat's mental exhaustion appeared severe, but Jack deliberately hurled more hard words at him all the same.
"Bear up. I heard the whole thing, and as far as I can see it was concise, easily understood, and yet so sound as to brook no refutation. The problem lies with you for supplying enough material to stretch such an efficiently-delivered lecture out to that length. Content yourself with losing only two hours of time."
"That's not it, Jack."
"Call me Berserker. And what is it, then?"
In place of a head, Jack quizzically inclined his long minute hand.
"While he's in the Clock Tower, the Professor is hounded by so many responsibilities that he really can't afford to waste even a minute," Flat explained with a calmer expression. "But because of me, he had to waste a whole two hours. That makes me feel like I've really done something wrong..."
"I see... You're more considerate of your professor than I thought."
"There are only three or four people who are the Professor's apprentice and don't respect him!"
"So there are a fair number, then...? Still, even just hearing him speak over the phone, I could tell that he must be an exemplary teacher of magecraft. Bearing in mind that you say he survived a past Holy Grail War, he must be a first-class mage as well."
Jack merely related his honest impressions. Flat's face lit up.
"Of course! It's not just the Grail War; the Professor solves all sorts of cases at the Clock Tower too! There was 'The Divided Castle Adra: The Moonlit Crest Contest Serial Killings,' and 'Dangerous Beauty: Vanishing at the Towers of the Twin Faces,' and 'The Super Express: Judgment Eye' and, umm..."
"I see. I'm sure you continue to inflict a great deal of damage on your professor's stomach by arbitrarily naming his cases and tell them with enough bells and whistles for a steam engine."
"Oh, I don't add anything to them. The Professor really is legendary at the Clock Tower! Oh, I know! Do you want to try talking to him on the phone a bit more? He's busy, like I told you just now, so I think it would have to be quick, but..."
Jack considered Flat's suggestion for a few moments, then gave a big shake of his minute hand.
"Thank you, but no. I only spoke with him briefly earlier, but he seemed to see right through me... Yes... he had an air almost as if he was going to rearrange me into
something else."
"Oh... Well, everyone who talks with the Professor does say that, but it's not like he means badly..."
"Yes, I understand that it's not intentional. I'm sure it's just a habit of his. Nevertheless, his ability to see through to a person's true nature is vaguely terrifying. I worry that if I kept talking to him I might end up feeling satisfied with my own existence from that alone, and pass on without ever getting my wish."
"I see..."
Flat sounded disappointed as he sat up in bed.
"But I have learned that he can be trusted," Jack continued. "One of the more mage-like mages I know of would have humored me and used every trick in the book to coax me into abandoning the Grail War and lure me to the Clock Tower. My very existence is a valuable research subject, after all. The fact that he did not must mean that he is either too softhearted for a mage, or a person capable of looking at the big picture instead of immediate loss or gain."
They really had spoken only briefly, but Jack felt a certain degree of trust in — and a sort of sympathy for — the man called Lord El-Melloi II. The latter boiled down to the feeling that Flat must have put his professor through a great deal of trouble as well.
Blissfully unaware that his own lack of inhibitions had produced a feeling of solidarity between his teacher and his Servant over the telephone, Flat threw open the curtains and surveyed the bright sunlight outside.
"That's right! The Professor is an amazing person! He can see way farther ahead than me, and..."
Flat stood staring out the window.
"What's wrong?" The wristwatch asked. "It's better not to show your face too much. I believe your professor just instructed you to 'keep quiet and lay low.'"
"Oh, he did, but I was just thinking... The fog is awfully thick..."
"What fog?"
Jack looked out the window as well, perhaps intrigued by a word with a connection to himself, but all he saw was a clear view illuminated by brilliant sunshine.
"What are you talking about? There's no fog out there."
Jack wondered if Flat suffered from some disease of the eyes. The smile vanished from Flat's face as he answered:
"No... That's not what I mean... A fog of magical energy... I mean, there's been a little of it ever since I got here, so I thought it might be due to the Grail's influence, but..."
"?"
Flat's speech was fragmented. He observed the scenery outside the window for a short while, then spoke in a grave tone.
"Berserker, this could be rather bad."
"What is it?"
"We might be surrounded by something... extremely dangerous..."
"Is an enemy Heroic Spirit attacking? Have they set a ward around the motel!?"
Jack did not really understand what Flat meant by "fog," but he did understand that, while Flat was a natural airhead, he was not the type of person to joke about such things. When he heard Flat's answer, however, Jack wished that he was.
"Oh, not just the motel... At minimum, this thing covers the whole city."
Originally Posted by Sandstorm77
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