Chapter 3: Day 1, Early Dawn
Ensemble Versus Illusion
Crystal Hill Casino.
"Everything on black."
Gilgamesh was seated at the roulette table again, betting as he had earlier. He was in the process of amassing a sum that even the casino could not ignore, when a third party entered the fray.
"Me too; everything on black."
Gilgamesh shot a sidelong glare at the man in the seat next to his, who had just placed a mountain of high value chips on the table.
"What have we here? A remora out to steal my riches?"
"Hardly. I'm not interested in the money; I just hoped I could get you to share some of your luck," the man, who wore a gaudy eye patch, said with a broad grin. "I've got a big job after this, and it'll be a real shot in the arm."
The next moment, the roulette ball landed on a black number, and another round of cheers went up from the onlookers.
"Thanks, that's my good luck taken care of. I'll return the 'riches' to your garden later." The man grabbed chips of the same high value as Gilgamesh's as he spoke.
I'll return them to your garden.
Hearing that turn of phrase, Gilgamesh questioned the stranger:
"Oh-ho, eavesdropping on me talking to myself earlier, were you?"
"Talking to yourself? You sure about that?" With an easy smile, the man turned his gaze to Tine, who was still standing behind Gilgamesh. "It's past midnight. Shouldn't you let the young lady there get some sleep soon?"
...!
Tine gasped at the sudden attention, but it appeared that she was still invisible to the dealer and the other customers. She tilted her head in puzzlement at the eye patched man's words.
"I see, it appears you are no ordinary mongrel. Name yourself," Gilgamesh questioned, flashing an arrogant smile. The eye patched man had caught his interest.
"Hansa Cervantes," the man answered, rising to his feet and donning the coat he had been carrying under one arm. In a flash a cross necklace was dangling over his black coat. The dealer and the other customers began to wonder, "What's a priest doing in a place like this?"
Amid the ring of confused stares, the priest who called himself Hansa made a declaration that Gilgamesh and Tine alone would understand.
"I got here a bit late, but I'm this war's overseer. Pleased to meet you."
With that, Hansa cashed his chips and headed for the exit. Before anyone knew it, four women were trailing beside him. Coupled with the casino setting, they produced a scene in which his clerical garments felt strongly out of place.
"I see you ended up going to the casino in uniform after all, Mr. Hansa," one of the four women said as they exited the casino.
"Couldn't be helped. A young lady we got information is one of the Masters entered the casino with a man who seems like a Heroic Spirit. I didn't have time to change clothes. But... don't tell master, okay?" Hansa shrugged, addressing the group of women. "You're the ones who need to get changed. Yesterday, a crater was made in the desert. Who knows what might happen tonight."
He directed his steps towards a certain city institution.
"I'll go ahead to introduce myself as overseer...
"to a man I'll bet is one of the masterminds who caused this joke of a war."
X X
The police station. Interrogation room.
Dawn was still far off. In the interrogation room of Snowfield Police Station, a bizarre interview was being conducted.
"...So, your name is?"
"If you are troubled for a name to address me by, please call me 'Saber,'" the handcuffed aristocratic man answered the sour-faced police detective, sitting majestically in his chair.
"Saber? Like a cavalry saber? Well, ain't that clever. What drugstore did you find that sword we confiscated from you in, anyway?"
A sarcastic query. The man who called himself Saber grasped the meaning, and responded with a cheerful smile.
"I think I'll use that 'right to remain silent.' It's my favorite sword; I'd be in trouble if there was a flood of customers and they sold out."
"...You've got quite a mouth on you for a guy dressed up as a king or knight or something."
"Quite perceptive. I see the officials of this country are of a superior order."
Saber sounded impressed. The detective's response was irritated.
"You touched in the head? Or is it drugs?"
"I suppose so. In my youth, I was even nicknamed Oc e No. To those around me I must have seemed eccentric, but I took it as a compliment."
"I see. So then you bought into your own hype, got carried away and wrecked the opera house?"
"Certainly, I got carried away. It is a fact that, realizing that I had been summoned atop a gorgeous stage, replete with luxury, I was in high spirits," Saber addressed the officers, his expression growing serious. "What you ought to do is look into what it will cost, and how many craftsmen it will require, to repair the opera house. Inform me, and I will make amends."
"You'll have to ask the DA about that. In the first place, does a nut like you even have a chance in hell of covering the cost?"
"If I said I didn't... I'd be lying."
"You got somebody to foot the bill for you or something?"
The costume the man called Saber had on looked to authentic to have been bought at a local party goods shop. It had probably come with a hefty price tag. The detective in charge of the interrogation, having reached that conclusion, was attempting to draw some information out of the man, when—
"If you like, you may even finance it for me. I will not forget the favor."
"And you can quit screwing around!"
The detective banged his palm on the table. Saber brooded for a moment, grunted, then opened his mouth to speak.
"I won't say for free. I can show you a trick. You'll have the chance to see something that's likely beyond the bounds of your common sense."
"A magic trick?"
"Yes. I'll be frank... it's quite something. You'll be amazed."
Saber spoke with an innocent smile like a child's. The police officers exchanged glances, smirked, and decided to play along with the madman.
"Ha. In that case, why don't you show us what you can do in your condition?" one of the officers said.
Saber nodded, smiling, raised his cuffed hands and gave them a shake.
"I have nothing in my hands. Do you agree? Look closely."
"...Yeah."
"...And now, I'm going to
disappear."
"Huh?"
The officers were puzzled, not quite taking in the man's meaning. Then... Saber's body vanished like mist. His handcuffs, left hanging in the air, fell to the table with a loud clatter.
"...!?"
"Wha..."
The officers were all on the verge of panicking. They ran their eyes over their surroundings, stretching hands to the pistols and stun guns at the hips.
"Where'd he go?"
"What happened?"
"Do
not open the door!"
The uproar continued... but as soon as they took their eyes off the man's chair for a moment, he was back in his original position. The only difference from before was the handcuffs, which were lying empty on the table.
"..."
The officers trained their guns on the man, wiping away cold sweat.
"D, don't move! Do not move!"
"I haven't moved a step. I told you, didn't I? That you'd be amazed?" Saber said. Then he wiped the smile from his face, as if to say that the joke ended there, and addressed the police officers with a serious expression.
"Of course, I could have gone through the wall and escaped, or even done something to you. Or taken my leave of the opera house without ever being seen."
The blazing glint in his eyes projected an intimidating air, as if he was about to devour the officers' souls. In spite of which, Saber stubbornly endeavored to prove that he bore them no ill will.
"This is my way of showing you 'respect.'"
"'Respect'...?"
"Before the question of atoning for the crime of destruction, to make another shoulder the blame for it would be a knight's dishonor. If I behaved so, I would never again be able to face the founding king of my native land, whom I love and respect. For that very reason, I ask you, who have proof of my power, to understand. I intend to make amends, but I do not intend to be restrained. I have merely come here to testify that the woman is innocent."
The police officers sank into silence at Saber's quietly-spoken words. The content of the man's words was too out of place and absurd to believe, but an intimidating aura continued to emanate from him, and forced them to accept it.
"That I do not eliminate you with force is the bare minimum of respect due to the noble intentions of loyalty to your task dedication to the public peace. I will abide your restraint until dawn."
The word "respect" came out of Saber's mouth, but the police officers were regarding the man before them with looks of fear. Like frogs caught in the glare of a snake, they were rooted to the spot. It appeared that they truly were faithful to their mission, because they continued to glare at Saber in spite of that.
Saber, perhaps comfortable being the target of their animosity, spoke cheerfully.
"I will vanish with the dawn, so, well, you had better think how to gloss it over now."
Finally, with an innocent smile, he tacked on a remark that really must have been mockery.
"If you like, we can think on it together."
X X
The police station. Conference room.
Watching the events in the interrogation room on his desk monitor, the chief pressed his fingers to his temples and heaved a sigh.
"...He appears to be entirely unconscious of the secrecy of the Holy Grail War."
Then, furrowing his brow, he issued instructions to his secretary, who stood beside him.
"Exclude normal officers from future observation and interrogation. Assign it to members of Clan Calatin. Perform memory alteration treatments on all personnel in the room with him now."
"Understood."
The secretary saluted. As she did so, the chief took the sword lying on the table in his hand.
"...This is the Noble Phantasm we confiscated from him?"
"Yes, sir. It doesn't appear to be anything more than an ornamental sword... but that might be because its true name has not been released."
"No, this really is just an ornamental sword. I can't sense even a speck of magical energy."
When he reached that point, a sudden realization struck the chief.
"...Just now, when he assumed spirit form, did this sword disappear?"
"I can't say, sir... I was distracted by the monitor as well, and didn't notice."
"Hmm..."
According to the report from Faldeus' survey team, Gilgamesh had "fired" hundreds, maybe thousands, or Noble Phantasms the night before. Now, however, not a scrap of them remained. Of course there was always the possibility that Faldeus was lying, but it seemed more probable that some force had acted to retrieve the fired Noble Phantasms to Gilgamesh's treasury.
"There are still a lot of black boxes in the Holy Grail War. It appears we'll need to give some thought to the relationship between Heroic Spirits and their equipment."
With his eyes fixed on "Saber's sword," which he was actually holding in his hands and touching, the chief ruminated on the future.
"I'll ask Caster for his opinion later... although I doubt he'll give me a straight answer."
Then he replaced the sword on the table, and directed his steps towards the entrance of the conference room.
"I'll meet with the woman who appears to be Saber's Master."
"Isn't direct contact dangerous?"
The secretary let her unease show through.
"...If I pawned it off on a member of Clan Calatin and it turned out to be a trap, it would still be risky," the chief answered in frigid tones. "If I didn't have the resolve to put myself in harm's way, I would never have chosen these tactics."
X X
The same time. Another area inside the station.
Ayaka, who had finished her interrogation and been stuffed into the holding area commonly called a "jail" or a "police cell," was exhausted. She lay face up on the bed, still wearing her glasses. Surrounded, not by iron bars, but by walls and a door, she was now completely isolated.
It was a far cleaner room than Ayaka had anticipated. If you left out how cramped it was, the cell seemed more agreeable than camping in a tent, or worrying about mosquitoes and ticks in a cheap hotel.
Ayaka had heard that in America they made no special distinctions between jails, detention centers, and prisons. Then again, she wasn't clear on the difference herself. In any case, it didn't change the fact that she would not be leaving for a while. She resigned herself, looked up at the ceiling, and decided to get some rest.
But agitation kept her awake. Her head was full of the contents of her examination. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why had she been there? She seemed to be Japanese, so what was her objective in visiting America? A long litany of questions designed to sound out a suspect's past. It had been a reasonable, straightforward course of action, but Ayaka had found it unbearably painful.
Oh, I hate it. I hate it.
Even remembering it is a pain.
No, that's wrong. I'm not annoyed.
I just don't want to remember because I'm scared.
While traveling this country's vast expanse, she had been able to forget the past. She had been able to run from her sins.
For a while, I didn't see her, but...
The red hooded girl who had appeared at the opera house. Picturing the smile beneath her hood made Ayaka's whole body break out in a sweat.
She had been made to ride an elevator several times while she was being dragged through the station, and every time she had been on tenterhooks. She did not know how many years it had been. She had done her best to not even enter buildings that had elevators. Because she had known that the instant she set eyes on an elevator, the red hooded girl would be standing behind her.
The police officers had appeared to be unable to see her, but Ayaka had certainly sensed her presence inside the station elevator. Ayaka, paling with fear, had made absolutely certain not to look in her direction. All the while telling herself, "She and I are different people. This has nothing to do with me."
In the end, Ayaka could not tell whether the red hooded girl was a ghost, or an illusion her own mind showed her, or something else entirely. All that mattered to Ayaka was the fact that she could see the red hooded girl.
She was supposed to have come to this city to escape from that girl, so why had it turned out like this? Just as Ayaka settled down to ponder the question afresh, there was a sudden change in her situation.
"Are you well? You look quite tired."
Without warning, the man from the opera house appeared in a corner of her cell.
"!?"
Startled, Ayaka shot upright. The man who had entered unnoticed called out to her again.
"Don't act so surprised. Passing through walls is nothing if I shift to spirit form. My interrogation's been put on hold. I was put in a cell a little farther down, so I came to check in on you."
The man had easily penetrated the locked isolation cell. Perhaps he really was some kind of spirit. There was far less distance between them than there had been even at the opera house, and Ayaka stood up so as to be on her guard. Pressing her back to the wall, she opened her mouth to speak.
"...I thought I told you to leave me alone," she bluntly enquired.
"You're not my Master, are you?" The man asked back.
"...That's right. I'm not your Master or anything else."
Ayaka meant her answer as a curt refusal, but when the man heard it, he grinned like a mischievous child.
"I guess that means I've no need to obey your orders, then!"
"Wha..."
"Now I can bother you all I want. I'm going to take personal care of you, so be prepared."
The man sounded cheerful. Ayaka shook her head. She had had enough.
"Please, just leave me alone."
"As much as I love to grant the wishes of the common people as best I can, there's a reason why that won't do."
"A reason?
In the face of the dubious Ayaka, the Heroic Spirit got straight to the point.
"I think it's due to the rites built into your tattoos... It looks like my magical energy 'lines' are connected to you, instead of the mage who had my Command Seals."
"...What?"
The man's abrupt manner of speaking caused Ayaka to knit her brows.
"In other words, I get magical energy from you, and that allows me to materialize in this world. That means our fates are linked, even if it isn't a proper Master and Servant relationship," he lightly announced, then continued to the dumbfounded Ayaka. "Without you, I probably wouldn't have been able to manifest in the first place. I am in your debt. Thank you."
The man held out a hand to shake. Ayaka brushed it aside and scowled at him.
"...If you feel indebted to me, leave me alone."
"That I refuse to do! I will take good care of you. And bother you as well. I'll save you, even if you wail and rave that you don't want me to. After all, if you die, I disappear, and then I won't be able to obtain the Holy Grail."
"You're going to save me from something...?"
"Of course. From the other participants in this war. Master or not, as long as your magical energy lines are tied to me, you will naturally be targeted."
"This is the worst..."
Ayaka held her head in her hands.
"Think positively," the man told her. "Compared to having all your skin flayed off, being rubbed in salt, and being in the same situation, for example, you're much better off because you're not in pain."
"You give some extreme examples..."
"I've often been told that I am extreme in everything I do."
The man sounded embarrassed, as if he had just been complimented. Ayaka, perhaps realizing that anything she said would be useless, decided to sound him out and broached a different topic.
"You're a noble or something, right? Doesn't being arrested by the police go against your pride or something?"
"It's much better than when I was imprisoned in a mountain fortress. I can step out for a stroll when I please. Besides, if you had been punished in my place, that would have wounded my pride far more. Oh, but I'm not just helping you for the sake of my pride."
"I told you, you don't have to help me at all..."
Ayaka heaved an exasperated sigh. The man continued to address her with an easy manner, completely unlike the speech he had made on top of the fire-engine.
"Call me Saber for the time being. To go without naming myself to my benefactor is dishonorable, but sooner or later I will find an opportunity to tell you my true name."
Saber then turned back to Ayaka with a serious air.
"Won't you tell me a few things now? What were you doing in a place like that? What are those tattoos?" he enquired. After making a troubled face for a moment, however, he shook his head and posed a more important question.
"...Sorry. First, please tell me your name."
X X
A hallway inside the station.
The chief of police, unaware that Saber and Ayaka were conversing in her cell, slightly quickened his pace towards the isolation cells. Just as he reached the elevator, however, a female station employee came running up to him.
"Oh, there you are, chief! There's a visitor to see you."
"Tell them to... No, wait."
He planned to postpone if it was a politician or someone of that kind, but there was also a chance that it was Faldeus or Kuruoka.
"...Who is it?"
"Well... he calls himself a priest, but he looked pretty suspicious to me..."
A priest.
The chief scowled. Another possibility had struck him. Before long it became a suspicion, and the next words out of the station employee's mouth proved it.
"All he'll say is, 'Tell him it's about a cup stolen from Japan. He'll understand.'"
X X
In the city.
On the roof of a particularly tall adjacent building, the woman Assassin focused her mind on the police station below her, quietly adjusting her breathing.
She had searched for information in the city, and learned that the Saber Heroic Spirit had been taken to the police station. After that it was merely a matter of slipping inside and carrying out the assassination, this time in perfect form, or so the woman Assassin had thought. Now that she had surveyed the station, however, a terrifying fact dawned on her.
A great number of mystic barriers had been erected on the site of the police station, transforming it into a fortress that completely shut out all except those who approached through the legitimate entrances. Even if she were to erase her presence and attempt to get in through the front door, barriers designed to expose such subterfuge were set up five or six layers thick. The bounded field had been formed so skillfully that it was hidden even from the nearby mages. She had passed by it during the day and not noticed a thing.
As a result of more focused observation, she detected the "presence" of several mages inside the building. She could not believe it. To her, the city's people were overwhelmingly "infidels," but the fact that mages, viewed as "heretics" by so many religions, were in possession of its judiciary and administrative organs was hard to accept on short notice. Considering the Clock Tower's influence, it was probably not a rare thing in the modern era, but she had nothing to do with the Clock Tower, and it shocked her.
Although they belonged to different sects, there were some in this city who worshipped the same god as herself. And mages, who were not even infidels, were trying to rule them from behind the scenes. She could not turn a blind eye to that.
It was unthinkable that an organization that had erected a bounded field on such a large scale was not involved in the Holy Grail War being conducted in the city. Most importantly, her enemy, the Saber Heroic Spirit, was within. She drew a large breath, and resolved to storm the enemy camp.
The chief of her time had been able to slip — practically dance — through any barrier. She knew that she herself was not so skillful. All she could do was to make use of the techniques she had developed in imitation of previous generations, and fight.
She would go on running until she smashed into a wall. Nothing else mattered. If even her immature self could accomplish something, then her life would have meaning.
No, she did not need meaning. She did not need to think; only to break through.
She digested her silent resolve beneath her black raiment, and took a huge leap into the air. As she fell, she forcibly shut down all the barriers. Her opponents would notice her presence, but she did not care. She would eliminate all enemies. Having made up her mind on that, she became a cannonball hurtling towards the police station.
Several seconds later, all the barriers spread in the skies above it shattered at once...
And the curtain went up on the fanatic's war. She had resolved to fight through to the bitter end alone.
If she had made a miscalculation... it was that she was not, in fact, alone. She had one fiendish reinforcement. But then, she would never have wished for the aid of such a creature.
X X
In front of Crystal Hill casino. The entertainment district.
"A casino, huh? Looks fun."
Flat, who had been wide awake since being interviewed in front of the opera house, was roaming through the entertainment district. Amid the dazzling lights of Main Street, his attention had been captured by the still more dazzling neon of the casino.
"I could have sworn that casinos are forbidden to those under 21 in this state," Jack the Ripper, still in the form of a wristwatch, chided him.
"Oh, I can't go in, then. That's a shame. I haven't had a chance to play in ages."
"Been in one before, have you?"
Jack sounded surprised. Flat wistfully recalled the past as he answered.
"I'm from Monaco, you see. There was a really big casino boat that floated on the sea near my hometown. I used to play there. They had an age limit too, but after a bit of this and that, the owner gave me special permission... He asked me to show him what magecraft I could use in exchange, though, so I did."
"...Truly, you live in a way diametrically opposed to my image of a mage."
"Oh, you flatterer."
"No, it is not my place to speak. If that is how you choose to live, then do as you like. I only pray that the other mages do not do away with you."
Jack sounded exasperated, but something in Flat's story seemed to have aroused his interest. He decided to continue asking about the casino boat.
"Still, if he asked to see your magecraft... was the owner a mage as well?"
"Nope. Well, apparently he used to be."
"...He 'used to be'?"
The watch's dial tilted quizzically in response to Flat's odd turn of phrase.
"Yeah. He turned from a mage to a Dead Apostle."
"Dead Apostle?"
"A bloodsucker... Oh, would you understand if I said 'vampire'?"
Jack's dial bent further at Flat's abrupt declaration.
"It's true that there are theories I was actually a vampire... but even for a mage, isn't that a bit too B-grade occult?"
"Jack the Ripper resurrected in the modern day is way more B-grade occult, though."
"Humph."
The Holy Grail provided the Heroic Spirits with the minimum knowledge necessary to fight the Holy Grail War. If Jack did not know about vampires, that probably meant that the Grail had judged information concerning them was irrelevant to the conflict. Flat thought so, at least. He decided to give Jack a simple explanation.
"Vampires really do exist. Well, mystically speaking, they're called bloodsuckers or Dead Apostles, though. There are people who get bitten by a bloodsucker and then become one after a few years, but there are also all sorts of ex-mages and so on who become Dead Apostles on their own, chasing after immortality or the Root or something like that."
"Mages can become vampires, then?"
"Just between us, there's even one among the higher ups at the Clock Tower. A Dead Apostle who uses Magic."
"Goodness..."
Jack followed his exclamation of surprise with a sarcastic jab at Flat.
"You, of course, would probably become a vampire without a second thought because 'it's cool.'"
Flat's response, however, was unexpectedly serious.
"They are cool, but I don't know about becoming one. I mean, there's the bloodsucking urge and things to consider."
"That's a surprise. I wouldn't have thought you had such commonsensical morals."
"Plus, it's, you know,
inefficient."
"...?"
Neglecting Jack's apparent doubt, Flat pointed to another part of town and said:
"Oh look, speak of the devil and something something."
"What is it?"
Flat's gaze rested on a young man, who stood on the sidewalk of Main Street facing the police station. He had a somehow carefree air about him. Flat kept his eyes on the young man, and casually declared:
"That guy over there, looking toward the police station... He's a Dead Apostle. Probably."
X X
The police station. Lobby.
"You're Chief Orlando Reeve?"
This late at night, the station lobby was mostly devoid of ordinary people. Only night shift officers and the juvenile delinquents they hauled in could occasionally be glimpsed passing through.
The lobby of Snowfield Center Station was considerably more spacious than that of an ordinary police station, forming a well that reached into the third story. The exposed portions of the second and third floor hallways were incorporated into the station's interior design. Unlike the fashionably designed lobby's of some California police stations, it gave the solemn impression of a castle that had been forced to modernize. Standing in the center of that strangely oppressive lobby, the man radiated a singular presence.
He was dressed as a priest, and wore a gaudy eye patch. Just by being in the police station, he naturally drew the stares of the few passersby. The chief, however, stood boldly before the mysterious priest and answered:
"I am Reeve... And you are?"
"Hansa Cervantes. An... 'overseer' dispatched to the Snowfield Center church. I assume you know what I mean."
"I don't think I know what you're talking about," the chief answered expressionlessly. Hansa grinned broadly and spread his hands.
"If you plan on insisting 'magecraft if just a hobby,' or 'my subordinates did it on their own' with this many barriers up, I won't stop you. Even if your Servant does get eliminated, all you'll lose is a safe place to hide. Surely even you value your life?"
"..."
The main jobs of the Holy Grail War's overseer were observing the war's progress and concealing magecraft and miracles from mundane eyes. Aside from those, however, they were also tasked with "sheltering the defeated."
If a Master still had the will to fight even after their Servant had been defeated, they had the option of making a new contract with a Servant who had likewise lost their Master and was just waiting for dissolution. They could then return to the front. In order to prevent that, more than a few mages tried to finish off Masters who had lost their Servants. Even a Master who no longer had the will to go on might find themselves targeted by the other participants. Ensuring the safety of such Masters was one of the jobs of the Holy Church and its overseer.
Of course, even if the chief came to them later and said, "I actually am a Master, so help me," it would be the church's policy to offer him shelter, so Hansa's threat amounted to no more than a jibe or a bluff. The chief, however, seemed to have taken a still shrewder view of that line, and narrowed his eyes warily. Hansa, in contrast, shrugged his shoulders with an easy manner.
"Whoops. I'm not here to ask leading questions. I already know that you're an
outlaw with no ties to the Clock Tower, Chief Orlando Reeve. I could add that you're guilty of perpetrating an unnatural accumulation of personnel. Through your good offices you've been assembling officers from all over since long before this war started. Only circumstantial evidence, but I'd say it's enough."
"...I didn't think you'd have investigated so thoroughly in a mere few days. Impressive."
"It's the Church's informants who are impressive. If you've got the time to praise me, try splurging on donations during service next Sunday."
The chief was not sure if the wisecracking priest was being sarcastic.
"Either way, it is hardly a matter to discuss here. I will show you to the reception room."
"I think I'll pass. It doesn't look like you guys have any intention of playing nice with the Church, and I've got no intention of leaping into the belly of such a shady beast."
Without further ado, Hansa seated himself in one of the lobby chairs. He looked at a flat-screen television mounted on a column before speaking again.
"They've been showing footage of the accident — or incident — at the opera house for a while now. There's a weird guy in it. If that's a genuine Heroic Spirit, it would mean you guys have already failed at keeping the ritual a secret. Can't say we didn't warn you. If you feel like making any tearful apologies, I can give you phone numbers for some big-wigs at the Eighth Sacrament Assembly."
Hansa was smiling, but his provocative manner was openly hostile. The chief answered him with an ice-cold look.
"There's no need for concern. No ordinary person could see it for what it really is."
"Is that so? Let's change the topic, then. Are that Heroic Spirit and its Master here?"
"...If I said yes?"
"They're not in the Church's reports. I'd like to verify at least their faces. Say hello if I can. And if the Master's a woman, I'd like to ask her to dinner; treat her to jalokia jambalaya or something. I don't know about you, but the young lady next to you can come along too."
The secretary, still expressionless, rejected the abrupt offer, and glanced at the chief. The chief heaved a big sigh, and declared bluntly to the persistent Hansa:
"Let me be clear: our ritual is different from the one in Fuyuki. We have no intention of coming to terms with you. Now go pray like a good little priest."
"If we're through talking, I don't need you to tell me to pray in church."
"You won't be praying in a church. You'll be doing it right here," the chief told the ever-wisecracking Hansa.
"Oh?"
"...You said that Servant and Master are 'not in the church's reports,' if I remember correctly."
The warmth was steadily going out of the chief's voice.
"How much do you know? Do you have information that even we don't? Until we bridge that intelligence gap, we cannot possibly send you home."
"Sorry, but I just can't sleep without my pillow. Mind if I run home to get it?"
"Hansa Cervantes, was it? You've made a mistake."
The chief continued dispassionately without lending an ear to Hansa's jokes.
"Didn't you consider that this lobby is already in my belly?"
The chief's tone grew still colder. That was when Hansa noticed — the ordinary people he had sporadically glimpsed in the lobby had completely disappeared.
Clearing out the people, huh.
Even the officers and receptionists who had been hanging around were gone. In their place, a succession of police officers filed in from the multiple entrances adjoining the lobby. All of them were staring coolly at Hansa, and lined up so as to surround him.
These guys... aren't your average cops.
Just their bearing and the way they walked was enough to tell him that they had received more than ordinary police training. At the same time, they clearly had not been brainwashed; they were standing in this "cleared-out" space of their own wills.
Seeing the situation he was in, Hansa, still seated in his chair, glared up at the chief's face.
"If you're going to arrest me, what are the charges?"
"Earlier I believe you said, 'surely even you value your life'... I sensed danger in your speech and conduct. I have received an undeniable threat."
"...You watch too much TV, chief."
"You do not have the right to remain silent. Nothing you say will be used in a court of law. You do not have the right to an attorney, and one will not be provided to you. Be prepared."
The officers slowly began to close in as their chief made his sarcastic recitation.
"Making enemies of us isn't a winning strategy. It doesn't like I can do anything to you, but when you one-sidedly bully a guy like this, the relationship between our organizations is liable to go sour."
"I agree. That's precisely why I would like us to share information amicably."
The chief looked down at Hansa. His gaze was far from amicable.
"You shouldn't startle an ordinary, upstanding citizen like that. I might kick up a fuss."
Hansa glared back, flashing a provocative grin. The situation seemed to have reached critical mass, when... the chief's phone vibrated, and the mood of the room relaxed.
Scowling, the chief took a step back and pulled out his phone. Naturally, he did not relax his vigilance towards Hansa. He cautiously put the receiver to his ear, at which point an inappropriately cheerful voice became audible.
"Yo! How're you doing, bro?"
"If you have business with me, we can talk later. I'm in the middle of something."
The chief, hearing Caster's voice, leapt to a curt reply. Caster, however, delivered a clear warning without listening to his Master's voice.
"Get out of there right now, bro. That, or get ready to meet the enemy with everything you've got. You totally cut off telepathy on your end, so I had to reach you with the blessings of civilization."
"What do you mean? How do you know something like that?"
"That's a trade secret. Well, good luck!"
With that, the call cut off. The chief scowled.
"Good lord, he's a hard man to deal with."
But it had not seemed like a prank call, either. The chief was already well aware that Caster's intelligence-gathering skills were abnormal. But what did it mean that he had now progressed to issuing warnings in real time? No sooner had the doubt crossed the chief's mind, however, than...
Crackle.
Every vein in his body set up a distorted wailing. To be precise, the magic circuits that ran through it did.
The barriers... Shit! What's going on?
The anti-mage barriers erected many layers thick had been destroyed in an instant, with a force like a missile plowing into a shelter.
Picture slipping through the security system of a bank or an art museum without triggering it even once, and successfully carrying out a theft without allowing even the fact of your infiltration to be noticed. That was the kind of barrier breaking the chief had envisioned.
This, however, was like a bomb striking the building and tearing open a hole in the wall to make an entrance. In other words, it meant that whoever had broken the barrier did not care if their intrusion was detected. This was no infiltration; it was an "impact."
"Friends of yours?"
The chief glared at Hansa, but the priest only shrugged his shoulders with every appearance of ignorance.
"I'd be glad if it was," he said while glancing up at the ceiling, "but if my friends come it'll be through the front entrance or the back door, not from up in the sky."
"..."
He can sense it?
The chief could sense that it was the barrier around the upper part of the station that had been broken as well. Even though he knew there must have been some kind of attack, however, he could sense no sound or reverberation from the impact. What in the world had happened? He only had a brief time to wonder...
Before every light in the building went out, plunging all of them into deep darkness.
X X
An isolation cell.
"Finally, you've told me your name. Thank you, Ayaka. One day I will return the favor."
Saber, who had employed all his wiles and at last succeeded in ferreting Ayaka's name out of her, continued his questioning with a cheerful smile.
"And? What are you doing in a town like this?"
"I..."
Telling everything would probably be the fastest way to shut the man up, Ayaka thought, and resigned herself to narrate her experiences.
"I started out in Japan, running from city to city."
"You were running from something?"
"I don't know how many years I did that for. I just drifted around from place to place..."
While biting her lip, seemingly less in irritation than in fear, Ayaka gave a roundabout account of her past.
"Eventually, I ended up back in the town where I started. There was a weird castle in the forest there, and—"
At that point, the light in the isolation cell suddenly went out.
"Huh?"
"Hm?"
Saber and Ayaka look around in unison, but there was no light even outside the little window set in the cell door. They realized that the entire police station was blacked out.
"...A blackout? It should switch over to emergency power soon. I think."
Ayaka sounded a little frightened in the darkness. Saber's wary voice echoed in response.
"...If it is just a blackout."
X X
The police station. Interior.
The woman Assassin had disabled both the main switchboard and emergency generator in quick succession, plunging the police station into total blackness. She blended with that darkness, sweeping through the building like a wind. She occasionally encountered police officers and detectives patrolling with flashlights, but she was a creeping shadow, staying out of the light and never making a sound. She had free rein of the station.
In order to challenge that Heroic Spirit, I will need to risk my own life.
She mentally prepared herself as she raced through the station's long passageways. The special training she had undergone meant that she needed no light to move. Sensing the movement of air, the flow of magical energy, and the echoing sounds of wind, she was able to see her surroundings with her entire body, and even sense the flow of energy within them. This was another of the arts attained by the great chiefs: "Meditative Sensitivity: Zabaniya." A superhuman sensory ability that enabled her to feel currents of power — such as magical energy, water, electricity, or wind — whether natural or artificial, as if they were part of her own body.
She had made use of that power to locate the station's power source, and destroy it. That done, she made for the highest concentration of magical energy. Flowing down the stairs like a waterfall, she finally arrived at a space filled with disordered currents of it. That is, at the most spacious area in the police station — the front lobby.
"...!"
At almost the same time the woman Assassin leapt into the lobby, the uniformed man in its center deployed magecraft to light the space, matching the positions of its existing lighting fixtures.
A mage!
Assassin promptly dematerialized, but even she was no match for the speed of light. In the instant before she disappeared, Assassin's image was burned into several pairs of eyes, the mage's among them.
A shadow dissolving into light. There was no other way to describe the ghostly figure that had momentarily existed in the doorway.
"What...?"
A Servant...?
The police chief was a Master with Command Seals; even that momentary glimpse was enough for him to be certain that what he had seen was a Servant.
That wasn't saber. I only got a glimpse, but those stats... Assassin!?
When a Master looked directly at a Servant participating in the Holy Grail War, they were able to obtain a certain amount of data. It took a form optimized to the mind of the Master in question; a page of a grimoire, or a sheet of parchment. Of course, they could not discern a Servant's true name, but they were able to read their general physical parameters and some of their special traits.
It had only been a moment, so he had not been able to parse most of what he had seen, but he had managed to sense that the Servant excelled in stealth and espionage. Even their appearance — black from head to toe, as far as he had been able to see — suggested Assassin.
Humph... So, a Master saw Saber on TV and decided to send in Assassin. We can't do anything physical to a Servant while it's in spirit form, but it's hard to imagine that it will stay that way for long.
A Servant in spirit form was incapable of taking any offensive or defensive measures. If a Master or other mage possessed the means of attacking a spirit body, they ran the risk of being one-sidedly annihilated. Consequently, remaining in spirit form around hostile Servants and Masters was not a winning strategy. The moment required to rematerialize could also create a fatal opening in a battle of instants.
Best to assume it's already materialized and is hiding somewhere, the chief concluded, and turned a wary eye to his surroundings. There were countless places to hide in the atrium lobby, including the exposed sections of second and third floor hallway.
His Command Seals were concealed under his gloves. How likely was it that he had been exposed as a Master? In the worst case scenario, the chief thought, the Servant might have come for him, and not Saber. He was struggling to plan his next move, when Hansa, who had gotten behind a pillar in a corner of the lobby without anyone noticing, drastically narrowed his options.
"Oh, was that your Servant just now, chief?"
A casual question. The chief glared at Hansa, immediately realizing what it meant.
"Son of a... You're overstepping your jurisdiction as overseer."
"I thought you didn't need a church overseer?"
Hansa flashed a malicious grin, crossed his arms and leaned against the pillar, as if to emphasize that he was just a bystander.
"Just a bit of passive resistance to a big shot who bullies the little guy."
An infidel priest.
If he was an overseer come to confirm the existence of the Holy Grail, then he was a target for Assassin to be wary of. If, on the other hand, he really was a neutral party and had been dispatched simply to verify the Grail's authenticity, then she had no more reason to seek his life than that of any other infidel in the city.
The "chief," however, she could not overlook. The overseer had asked him about "his Servant." Taking into account the many-layered barrier erected around the station, and the fact that he was both a Master and a person of status, even she, ignorant of constitutional government, could easily guess that the man who appeared to be the chief of this police station was probably involved in this Holy Grail War at a fundamental level.
In her mind, priorities shifted. At the present moment, the police chief right in front of her took precedence over the knight of the opera house. She would capture him, then extract information about the masterminds behind this Holy Grail War. Judgment, she decided, would come later.
Assassin materialized in a blind spot of the third floor hallway, and fixed her aim on the chief. She prepared the most suitable Noble Phantasm for capturing the mage for use. She still believed that the chief was her only enemy.
Until an arrow imbued with brutal magical energy came flying down the hall towards her.
"...!"
It came from a total blind spot. Without the keen sense she had acquired to run in the dark, she would not have even noticed she had been attacked until it struck her.
Picking up the disturbance of nearby magical energy and the faint creak of a bow being drawn, she realized she was being targeted.
The woman Assassin twisted, flexing her joints farther than seemed humanly possible, and evaded the arrow that had been closing in on her heart. It flew straight on down the corridor, and struck what was — from the shooter's perspective — the opposite wall.
The impact wrought incredible destruction. The wall burst apart. The room beyond peeked through a hole bored clean through the reinforced concrete.
She did not know how it had destroyed the wall. All she knew for certain was... that the strike had been powerful enough to being down any human, and possibly even an average Heroic Spirit.
X X
An isolation cell.
"...What was that sound?" Ayaka asked uneasily in the darkness. The crashes sounded like something breaking — far off, but definitely in the same building.
"Maybe someone's come after you?"
"I suppose it's possible."
Pale lights sprang to life around them as Saber spoke. A soft, firefly glow filled the isolation cell, and illuminated Ayaka's blank stare.
Water drops about the size of marbles hung in the air. The light came directly from them.
"You can use Magic...?"
"Not Magic; magecraft."
"I'm not sure I understand the difference."
"Magecraft is what humans can achieve themselves with enough time and effort. Magic creates miracles beyond the reach of modern man... Or so I'm told. I'm not a mage myself, so I don't know the details, but apparently the advance of science has turned most Magic into magecraft."
Saber spoke like it had nothing to do with him. Ayaka stared quizzically at the water droplets serving as their light source.
At that, Saber shook his head a tad apologetically.
"Just so you know, I didn't make these."
"What do you...?"
Before Ayaka could even finish the question, Saber disappeared.
"Hey!"
Left alone in the cell with the shining droplets, Ayaka flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. A few seconds later, she got up again.
The door of the isolation cell clanged open, and Saber stepped through it as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He jingled a bunch of keys and grinned broadly.
"I secretly borrowed the keys."
"'Borrowed'...?"
"Ah, a jailbreak. Hehe. It's a bit thrilling!"
"Where'd your knightly honor go?"
Ayaka sounded exasperated.
"I still intend to make reparations for the theater, of course. I also mean to keep my promise to remain in the custody of the officials here until dawn. Before that, however, I'll get you to a safe place," Saber declared, his eyes shining with excitement.
"...Have you considered that this cell is the safest place for me?"
"I wonder about that. This police station is odd. Apparently there are Bounded Fields set up all over the place."
Saber sounded as if he was repeating what someone had told him. Ayaka frowned.
"'Apparently'? Who said so?"
Saber held the cell door open with a fearless grin. The was no sign of jailers outside. All that could be heard were clamoring and shouts of protest from the other inmates.
Saber took Ayaka's hand and walked off out of the cell block. The shining droplets floated ahead.
"Well, you see, it's complicated."
"I don't really get it... What do you mean, 'Bounded Fields'? There are mages in this police station?"
"More than that; apparently they're designed into the building's construction. I was worried that, worst case scenario, everyone in the building might be a mage. Judging by my interrogation earlier, however, that doesn't seem likely." Saber's expression suddenly grew serious. "But this police station was definitely built for mages. If it's connected to the Holy Grail War, then this commotion doesn't bode well for us."
"Why not?"
"They probably originally intended to offer us an alliance, or at least try to get something out of us... But if those vibrations came from another Servant's attack, then they'll probably try to get rid of you before you have a chance to turn against them. Apparently there's a good reason to think so."
"What do you mean, 'a good reason'?"
Saber fell silent for a few moments, but when he had reached a point a short distance removed from the cells, he started to mutter under his breath. It sounded like he was objecting to something.
"Hey now... Tell me things like that sooner. If I'd known, I'd have cut down the door and gotten her out at once."
"Who are you talking to?"
"Oh, sorry. Just pretend I'm talking to myself," he offhandedly apologized before answering Ayaka's question. He still spoke as if he was reporting something he had been told.
"Apparently there's a spell built into the ceiling of that cell... designed to control the composition of the air, and suffocate the human inside."
X X
The lobby.
She noted the shooter's appearance as she dodged. A young woman dressed as a police officer. The large quiver on her back clashed jarringly with her uniform, and she was readying, not a standard-issue pistol or baton, but a bow as long as she was tall.
A Noble Phantasm! That woman must be... his Servant!
The woman Assassin sensed at a glance that the bow was a Noble Phantasm, and judged that an Archer Servant contracted with the police chief was dressed as a police officer and mixed in with the station employees. The woman had the presence of an ordinary mage, so she must possess a skill that concealed her nature as a Heroic Spirit. A proper Master with Command Seals could doubtless have told at a glance, but she had no Master, and thus no way of checking.
Having concluded that her opponent was a Servant, Assassin immediately shifted to an offensive posture. She controlled her center of gravity in order to start moving as she landed. The instant she did, however... she caught the faint sound of rubber soles rubbing the floor right beside her.
"!"
Assassin felt a chill. She neither distanced herself from nor approached the bow woman; she leapt straight up with all her might. She flipped her body 180 degrees vertically, and landed on the ceiling of the atrium.
She saw a black man in the uniform of a police officer. hardly surprising. But he was swinging a weapon shaped like a naginata in a horizontal sweep.
If she had moved backward or forward, she might have been caught by that blade.
Another Noble Phantasm... What can it mean...?
Despite her doubts, Assassin kicked off the ceiling and aimed a kick at the naginata man.
"
Guh!"
He blocked by a hair's breadth with the haft of his weapon, but the kick still sent him flying down the hallway.
No resistance. Is he not a Heroic Spirit?
Despite her confusion, Assassin landed in a different spot, still wary of the female officer's bow. But while she kept her eyes on the far end of the hallways, she neglected the break room door in the wall opposite the atrium. No sooner did she pass in front of it than a large man smashed through the door, charging at her with a giant shield.
"!"
The giant approached her with the force of a cannonball, covering his body with the greatshield. But it was not the man's large build — more than two meters tall — that made Assassin sense danger; it was the density of the magical energy covering his equally large shield.
Another Noble Phantasm...!
In which case, it was dangerous to think of the attack as a mere charge.
Assassin leapt again, worried what hidden properties the shield might have. She landed in the gigantic umbrella of light that shone from the roof of the atrium.
Then she grasped the situation.
About thirty police officers had gathered unnoticed in the lobby, as well as in the open sections of second and third floor hallways. It was obvious that they had not just overheard the disturbance and come running. They grasped a wide array of armaments, each wrapped in unusually dense magical energy. It seeped out of them on numerous different wavelengths, warping the atmosphere of the entire room.
All of it pointed to one fact, a fact that could upset the entire concept of the Holy Grail War: Every one of those nearly thirty weapons was unmistakably a Nobel Phantasm.
"All ordinary personnel have been evacuated through the rear exit. The Bounded Field has been activated, so it's possible to conceal a degree of disturbance from curious onlookers," the secretary reported.
At the same time, one of the newly-arrived officers handed the chief a long object wrapped in cloth. Out of it, the chief drew his own weapon — a Japanese sword in a black-lacquered sheath.
"...Looks like things are starting to get interesting," Hansa whistled cheerily at the spectacle of police officers armed with a plethora of anachronistic weaponry.
The chief issued orders with his glare, and several officers pointed those weapons at Hansa.
"Now that you've seen us, it's even less possible to send you home. We'll need you to stay quietly where you are until we're done with you," the chief coolly announced, his glare trained on the black-robed figure observing the situation from atop a lighting fixture.
"'Until you're done with me'...? That's a Servant, isn't it? What happened to yours?"
The chief's answer was simple and to the point.
"I have no intention of leaking information. I will, however, show you something that will leave you disinclined to resist."
"And what's that?"
"A mage's clumsy battle," the chief muttered under his breath. Then he quietly drew in a breath, steadied his breathing and the magical energy inside him, and clearly declared:
"The power of the heretical shams we've forged to bring down the mighty Heroic Spirits."
"..."
Staring down from atop the lighting fixture, the woman Assassin was steadying her breathing as well. What she had seen had certainly surprised her, but not enough to overcome her resolve, or her faith.
There were seven Heroic Spirits. Or was it six? For some reason the knowledge she had received from the Holy Grail was vague about the number.
But that had never bothered her.
Her actions would be the same if there were a hundred, or even a thousand, Heroic Spirits aiming for the Grail. It just so happened that there were about thirty here.
Eliminate them all.
She made up her mind. At the same time, she murmured softly. Murmured the name of the karma she bore of her own free will; the name of the power she had borrowed from the great chiefs.
"...Capricious Fleeting Shadow: Zabaniya..."
An instant later, darkness spread from the opening of the hood that concealed her features.
"...!"
The chief saw the "darkness" that stretched out from the probable Assassin coming towards him, and immediately leapt back. He escaped by a hair's breadth.
When the "darkness" reached where he had been standing, it shredded the marble floor like cheese.
It spread throughout the lobby, with the black-robed Assassin's head as its center. Even the officers armed with Noble Phantasms were hard pressed to do more than block or evade such an attack.
Then one of the officers at the chief's side lost an arm to the "darkness."
"
Gwah...!"
It coiled around the man's arm like a tentacle, trying to lift his whole body off the floor.
"..."
Silently, the chief leapt, instantaneously drawing his sword. The blade gleamed bewitchingly as it sung through the air, bisecting the black tendrils that grasped at his subordinate's arm. He felt resistance as it cut, and saw the severed "darkness" flutter gently to the ground.
Hair...!?
A mystic art that caused her own hair to grow explosively, and allowed her to control it more freely than her own hands and feet.
That was the chief's initial assessment, but, looking at the rents in the floor, he slightly revised his ideas.
No, this isn't hair anymore. She's taken it into the realm of blades.
So, this is her Noble Phantasm.
"...Almost like Medusa in Greek myth."
Still, it was manageable now that he knew the trick.
If the fight had been one on one, or if his group had consisted of ordinary police officers, they would not have been able to make a move. But the officers gathered here were blessed with Noble Phantasms and trained to slaughter Heroic Spirits. If they lost this head-on collision with Assassin, they would never be able to challenge higher-ranked Servants such as the King of Heroes, the as-yet unseen Rider, or the newly-materialized Saber.
"I see. An ideal opponent for our first stepping stone." The chief refocused on Assassin, and issued orders to his nearby subordinates in a tone of icy command. "Have no fear. It doesn't matter if we destroy the lobby; suppress her by any means necessary."
The chief held his sword in his right hand, and drew a gun from his breast pocket with his left.
"I'll
use up this block before you destroy it."
It was a mystic tool, loaded, not with ordinary bullets, but with special rounds designed to activate spells.
The chief aimed his gun up and fired, as if to signal a shift from defense to offense.
He wasn't aiming at Assassin. He was aiming at the traps built into the ceiling of Orlando Reeves' police station — his mage's workshop — around her.
The built-in magecraft activated, temporarily strengthening the barrier around the police station lobby and isolating almost as thoroughly as if it had become another world. If a tank were to open fire inside the lobby now, no one outside would hear a thing.
At the same time, several demon beasts and several dozen evil spirits were summoned around Assassin, and pounced on the "intruder" the chief had designated with unmistakable hostility.
Should I make that priest a target too? The chief wondered, glancing toward a corner of the lobby.
He could see the eye patched priest pouring coffee from a siphon on the reception desk into a paper cup, apparently unconcerned with the situation.
No. He can wait.
The chief clicked his tongue in annoyance, and turned his eyes back to Assassin, who was unleashing fresh hair-tentacles from near the ceiling.
The evil spirits fluttered through the air, and the panther-like demon beasts circled Assassin, walking upside down on the ceiling. They would all pounce simultaneously, and the officers with long-range Noble Phantasms would fire in unison, shooting through spirits, demon beasts and all.
It was a brute force approach, but it would be enough to measure whether or not their attacks would work on the Heroic Spirit.
The chief recited a brief incantation to control his familiars, and the evil spirits lunged toward Assassin in unison. The officers readied their Noble Phantasms. Then...
"...Ichor of Reverie: Zabaniya..."
No one in the lobby caught the black-robed figure's murmur. Just as only one other person could hear the "song" that emanated a moment later from Assassin's throat.
"
Ugh! What the—?"
Hansa had been about to sip his coffee — now lukewarm due to the blackout — when the cup nearly slipped through his fingers. He pressed his hands over his ears, and turned to look at the source of the sound. He could see that the Heroic Spirit was indeed singing through an opening in the explosion of hair.
Narrowing his eye, Hansa attempted to rationally analyze the sound.
"Well now... this lady's got a range most people can't hear."
As he said, the noise was inaudible to the chief and his officers. But that didn't mean their bodies were deaf to Assassin's song.
Soon, it's results began to register in their eyes.
"
Ngh...?"
The chief sensed an unusual heat coming from his own magic circuits. At the same time, the scene around him began to spin drunkenly.
What? What's happening to me?
The change sprung on the chief and his officers before they could grasp what was happening.
"Wha—?"
One of the officers was being attacked by a demon beast. He caught its fangs on his curved sword.
It was more than just the one beast. All the familiars that should have been attacking Assassin were beginning to lash out at the surrounding police officers.
And that was not all. The officers themselves were unsteady on their feet, as if they — like their chief — were experiencing something like vertigo.
"She's... making our magic circuits go out of control...!"
Despite his faltering legs, the chief managed to call off the beasts. An instruction to his familiars was enough. If he had tried to use offensive magecraft, the magical energy would likely have escaped his control and destroyed his own body.
It probably has a direct effect on the brain of even a non-mage.
It was possible that the reason for their intoxicated state had nothing to do with magic circuits — that something had delivered a direct shock to their brains — but at the very least it seemed to be entirely separate from the hair-extending technique.
I was careless. She must have two assassination techniques worthy of the title "Noble Phantasm."
The woman Assassin leapt from atop the lighting fixture, thrusting at a newly-created opening in the officers' ranks. At the same time, the hair spread throughout the lobby began to converge. It was being sucked back into the black robes that covered her head.
The black-robed shadow leapt from pillar to pillar, seeming to ignore gravity. It was the same way she had moved at the opera house, and like then, it looked to anyone who saw like she had split into countless copies.
And, like at the opera house... she leapt out behind the man who appeared to be leading the police officers with the force of a cannonball.
"Chief! Behind you!"
"!"
The chief swiftly turned, reacting to his subordinate's shout. He narrowly evaded the assassin's hand closing in on him.
It landed on the head of the berserk demon beast that had stopped in front of him. Then...
"Cyber Fantasy: Zabaniya..."
The Heroic Spirit whispered, and, at almost the same instant, the beast's head burst apart.
"...!"
Was that... another Noble Phantasm? Just how many does she...?
The chief groaned inwardly, but it did not look like Assassin was going to give him time to think rationally. She used the force of the explosion to flip over, and a weirdly elongated arm stretched towards him from her back.
"Delusional Heartbeat: Zabaniya..."
"
Ngh!"
Seeing the length of his opponent's arm, the chief judged that even if he drew back, it would still overtake him.
In which case... my only option is to cut through it! He judged, and drew his katana.
Its edge sliced into the long, warped appendage, but Assassin kept coming. She stretched out her hand to the chiefs body, heedless of the blade lodged in her arm. Her fingertips were mere inches from the chief's chest, when...
A loud gunshot sounded, and Assassin was sent flying.
"...Are you unharmed, sir?"
When the chief turned to look, he found his secretary aiming a large revolver. It was clearly not police issue. Based on what it had done to the Heroic Spirit, it must have been another Noble Phantasm.
The weapon ought to have been too modern to qualify, but the potent magical energy seeping out of it seemed to declare that it had existed since the age of the gods.
Not even a Heroic Spirit could take a bullet fired from such a gun and emerge unscathed. Or so the police thought.
Witnessing the black-robed assassin return nimbly to her feet, they readied themselves for more.
The chief called out to the enemy Heroic Spirit, putting distance between them and keeping his eyes trained on her all the while.
"I'm surprised. It seems your Master isn't stingy with Noble Phantasms. Judging by the number you just used in a row, they must be a mage with considerable reserves of energy. Ask your Master if they would be willing to form a united front against Gilgamesh."
The chief considered that it was probably useless, but he proposed an alliance anyway in hopes of gauging his opponent's personality. Even if they refused, sounding out the relationship between this Heroic Spirit and her Master might point him toward a way to resolve the situation.
"You must have noticed the battle in the desert yesterday. Don't you think that eliminating those freaks would be to our common benefit? Ask your Master that."
Assassin's answer, however, was nothing the chief had anticipated.
"...I have no Master."
The voice of a young woman came from beneath the black robes. The chief already knew from her earlier whisper — presumably the name of a Noble Phantasm — but some of the officers blinked in surprise.
"I have no wish to serve a mage. Nor do I desire the Holy Grail."
"What?"
The chief was dubious. Assassin's dark eyes showed clear determination.
"I will smash the Holy Grail War, which has lead the great chiefs astray," she declared, further increasing her alertness to the enemies surrounding her.
Thanks to Febrile Inspiration: Zabaniya, which made her skin as hard as Demon Realm Crystal, she had suffered no direct damage from the bullet. But magical energy was rapidly leaking from her body where it had struck. Perhaps it was an effect of the Noble Phantasm.
If the bullet had actually penetrated flesh and made a deep wound, it would have depleted an average Heroic Spirit's magical energy on the spot.
As they fight... they are adjusting to their Noble Phantasms.
A mere few minutes of battle had convinced her that she was fighting humans, not Heroic Spirits. Their Noble Phantasms, however, were unmistakably genuine.
She did not know or care how humans were able to wield Noble Phantasms, but it appeared that they were not used to using them in actual combat. Even during this short battle, however, she could tell that their bodies were acclimatizing. The more they fought, the more power they would draw from their Noble Phantasms.
Even restricting her attention to nearby weapons, the power of their strikes and slashes was beginning to rise. Some had even begun to display traits unimaginable in ordinary weapons, such as a blade that emitted flames from its edge.
I can't let them draw out this battle.
She had no reason to enter into negotiations. She pondered how best to utilize the chiefs' techniques in this situation. She no longer needed to listen to anything her opponent said.
Or so she thought.
"Don't be ridiculous. An Archer with the Independent Action skill would be one thing, but if you fought like you just did without a Master, you would have vanished a long time ago."
"..."
The words of the man who appeared to be leading the enemy group tugged at her mind.
She had wondered about it herself. She had been racing around the city for two whole days without rest, and mostly without dematerializing. But she still had not vanished. She was still brimming with magical energy...
She had been thinking that her own immaturity had prevented her from properly channeling energy into the techniques that comprised her Noble Phantasm.
No. That doesn't matter now. The enemy in front of me comes first...
The woman Assassin tried to drive her doubts into a corner of her mind, and re-adjust it for combat. Those questions, however, were about to be answered.
With nearly the worst answer she could imagine.
"Splendid! A mudslinging contest after my own heart!"
Without warning, the sound of clapping, and a strangely cheerful voice, echoed through the lobby.
The voice was powerful, and made everyone who heard it feel like they were suffocating. Each clap caused a tension like the distant report of a sniper rifle.
"Who goes there?" The chief called out, looking around. But the owner of the voice was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he had a feeling it was coming from the station's parking lot — outside the barrier.
But that should have been impossible; the lobby was totally isolated from the outside world. The police turned to look at the front entrance in spite of themselves.
Almost as if it had been waiting for that, an abnormality appeared in the barrier. It's influence had turned the entrance pitch black, but now an index finger ran vertically down the glass part of the door... almost as if it was making an incision.
A young man appeared through the door, seeming to push open the gap his finger had made.
"I've been spectating from outside. Truly a splendid fight," the young man declared, energetically clapping.
The police officers looked at each other. The chief, representing his subordinates, repeated his question.
"...Who are you?"
The young man, however, ignored the chief's words, and continued to monologue sonorously.
"Magnificent. You really are superb. I don't know what trick you're using, but really, mere humans challenging a Heroic Spirit! I'll admit I thought you were biting off more than you could chew, but I'll be damned if it isn't shaping up to be a wonderful bout!" Stifling a chuckle, the young man spread his arms wide and began to walk into the center of the lobby. "A lovely fool of a Heroic Spirit who attacks openly despite possessing the art of living in the shadows, versus a mage who leaves his Heroic Spirit behind and puts himself in the line of fire. Quite an entertaining show."
"..."
The chief wordlessly scrutinized the man, still ignorant of his identity. He received no visual information as a Master, so the man was clearly not a Heroic Spirit. He must be Assassin's Master, then, but Assassin was distancing herself from the man, and seemed confused.
Another Heroic Spirit's Master, then?
Either way, the fact that he had torn through the barrier so easily meant that he had real power.
The chief decided to keep his guard up, and continued listening to the man's monologue — while making sure that the words did not contain some kind of
kotodama or incantation — in hopes of learning something.
The young man, utterly unconcerned by the tense atmosphere, began to opine like an excitable spectator at a baseball game.
"Let me see... In my humble opinion, if you keep going like this, around the time she's slaughtered seven tenths of you, the remaining officers will fully accept their Noble Phantasms as parts of themselves, and awaken. Once that happens, the odds will be fifty-fifty. But if even one mage capable of seeing through the nature of her Noble Phantasm remains, the scales will tip in favor of the ladies and gentlemen of the police." After taking the initiative to forecast the flow of the battle, the young man continued: "Exquisite. I mean that. If you make use of your experience in this battle, and manage to replenish your numbers, then you may indeed be able to fight Classes for the battle-mad, like Saber or Archer, head-on."
He did not seem to be an ally, at least, but the chief could not be certain he was an enemy. He might work for Faldeus or Francesca. But that possibility was not enough to make the chief let down his guard.
One officer gingerly approached the man, pointing his Noble Phantasm dagger in an attempt to stop him from moving. Then...
"However."
The young man lightly brushed aside the officer's hand, dagger and all, with his left arm.
Squelch.
There was an unpleasant, wet sound. Then the chief bore witness to an uncanny scene. The officer's hand below the wrist was gone, almost like it had been bitten off.
"What the...?"
The officer stared at the blood gushing from his wrist, his face a mask of confusion.
"I'm stumped for a death worthy of concluding such a fine match."
The young man was still smiling. He was also holding the officer's severed hand.
That was when the officer realized what had happened to him. He became aware of the pain at the same time. His scream echoed through the lobby, just a little bit late.
"
...Ah... AaaHHhh... AAaaAAAaaahhhhhhh!"
"Ha ha! That's a good scream, if a bit conventional. Will you give me a more entertaining one if I cut off your left hand too?"
"That's far enough!"
Seeing his subordinate clutch his own wrist and fall to his knees, the chief fired his gun without hesitation. Like the one he had fired at the ceiling earlier, it was a special round designed to activate the surrounding traps and magical energy reactors.
"Team two surround the man! The rest of you keep your eyes on the Heroic Spirit!"
Countless evil spirits and demon beasts emerged from the mystic formulas built into the floor in time with the chief's order, letting out eerie cries. No sooner had they pounced on the young man, however, than...
"Don't twitter so; it's revolting," the young man muttered without dropping his carefree grin. He lowered the fingers of his right hand, and slowly looked up.
As he did so, all the newborn familiars were crushed by an unseen something, and burst against the floor like water balloons.
"Wha—?"
The chief and all his officers were speechless.
There was no sign that the man had used offensive magecraft. It was almost as if the twisted pressure he gave off had rejected the familiars' very existence. In fact, his mere presence made the officers' skin shiver with fear, and they did not know why.
He was just standing there.
The man lightly squeezed the officer's right hand, which he still held in his left. An instant later it was as dry and withered as a mummy. Then it crumbled to dust and vanished without a trace.
If that was not enough, he picked up the dagger the hand had been holding, and brought it to his lips. He took a bite out of it like it was a cookie. Then, just like that, he poured the fragments down his throat.
"Hmm... This texture... Truly a delicacy worth of the title 'Noble Phantasm.' A toy like this is too much for a human."
What the police officers had just seen was hard to believe. They were sure now:
The man was not human.
He was not even a Heroic Spirit.
He was a "thing" on a different level entirely.
In the now-silent lobby, the man spread his hands as if giving silent thanks. Then he faced the bewildered Assassin with an air of reverence, and kneeled.
"A bit late for self introductions, wouldn't you agree, my dear?"
"...?"
Inside her black robes, Assassin furrowed her brows in confusion.
"My name is Jester Karture. As your Master, I will affirm all that you are..."
At the word "Master," an additional tension ran through the surrounding humans.
The young man who called himself Jester pasted a fiendish grin on his face, and stared up at Assassin. His gaze seemed to lick every inch of her body.
"And as an inhuman Dead Apostle, I will take all that you are."
Dead Apostle.
Assassin felt her whole body shudder at those words. Not with fear of the monstrosities called "vampires"; because she had come to the worst possible conclusion about the situation she had been placed in.
Aimless bearers of death.
Messengers of destruction that drive out humans.
She had never met a Dead Apostle face to face while she was alive, but she had heard tell of them. Every time a great war with the infidels broke out, terrible monsters appeared on the battlefield to rain destruction indiscriminate of creed. At the time of the first great war, it was said, a monster that kept countless beasts in its body had stained the desert with blood. At the time of the second, several monsters — different from the first one — had come, and only gone after they had raged for three days and three nights. When the third war came, yet another monster had appeared, but apparently it had been slain by the ruthless generals of both factions. All she could be sure of, however, was that every one of those monsters had been a herald of slaughter that resented the very existence of the human race. And that they had been called Dead Apostles.
The man had called himself by that grotesque name. What else had he said?
My... Master...?
A chill ran down Assassin's spine.
Impossible. I'm sure I... dealt with... my Master...
As though he had glimpsed her thoughts, the man who called himself Jester Karture rubbed his own chest with an almost ecstatic expression.
"I'll never forget the touch of your palm, like a stern kiss. It seized my heart. Dying once was such a shock even my face changed."
"...!"
Jester's words confirmed her fears. This was indeed the man she believed she had killed.
Then... I still exist because this monster... is sharing his magical energy with me...?
An irrepressible disgust raced through her. It felt like every drop of her blood had been defiled by toxic sludge.
An inhuman thing.
And that was not all. The little she had heard of her speech and conduct was enough to tell her that this man was a danger to all humankind.
The fact that such a creature's energy was flowing through her was unpardonable. She detested her own immaturity for failing to even notice that she had been collared by a Dead Apostle so much she could not bear it. Before she knew it, she was stepping forward, determined to at least cleanse that impurity herself. Determined to destroy the monster before her eyes, and purify herself.
She also felt an impulse to destroy herself, but that was forbidden by her faith. She felt ashamed — even thinking of such a thing was proof of her immaturity — and tried to focus all her energies on eliminating her Master — her enemy.
But...
"...By my Command Seal, I order you: Go as far from this city as possible," Jester said, grinning.
At the same time, Assassin's body gave off light.
"...!"
Assassin tried to shout something, but before she had the chance, the light enveloped her entire body.
And just like that, she was gone.
Jester surveyed the remaining police officers, shrugged, and declared:
"I suppose this is what they call 'passing the baton.' I need the Holy Grail too, you know? What I mean to say is...
"Why don't you blood bags hurry up and drop dead?"
X X
Somewhere in the city.
"A Dead Apostle...? A Dead Apostle! A Vampire! Seriously?"
Caster, listening to the voices from his computer screen, clapped his hands in surprise.
Communicators were built into some of the police officers' Noble Phantasms. He was not, properly speaking, a mage, so they were a bit of a stopgap measure, but he had gone through the motions and, with the addition of his Noble Phantasm Modification skill, he had managed to complete them. They were now functioning more as bugs than as communicators, but Caster considered that part of his after-sales service, and felt no real guilt about using them.
"Things just keep gettin' more interesting. But are there too many unbelievable bits for a play? Oh, who cares? I'm just here to watch and heckle this time around." Caster's expression grew more serious, and his voice dropped to a mutter. "But this might be bad news for my bro and his crew."
Caster sighed. He was reminded of something that had happened when he was alive.
X X
Paris, the first half of the 19th century.
A time when a young Caster had only just arrived in Paris. When, out of a desire to see genuine Parisian drama, he had visited a certain theater in Saint-Martin.
The title of the play was
Le Vampire.
After getting caught up in trouble several times, he had finally managed to reach his seat. Sitting next to him, however, was a rather eccentric man. Just when he seemed to be totally engrossed in reading a book, he would raise his head and jeer, "You call that a vampire? Rubbish!" or grumbled, "These actors lack imagination and creativity..."
Caster thought it odd for a man about twenty years his senior to make a fuss about such things. In the end, he decided to ask the man directly.
"If you don't like fairy tales like vampires, then what are you doing here?"
The man shook his head once and answered:
"Vampires, a fairy tale? Preposterous! They actually exist. I've met them. That's why I was looking forward to this play. But just look at it! You call that a performance? They don't understand the first thing about vampires, and they're not even trying to!"
I've ended up next to an amusing fellow, Caster thought. He decided to ignore the play and ask the man about vampires.
"I met the first one in Illyria. Night after night, I ended up conversing and dining with a living, walking corpse."
"Dining?"
"We didn't sip blood together, if that's what you're getting at. Ordinary meals... But he wished to die as a man. I heard his wish. While he was sleeping in the graveyard — while he was dead — I took out his heart and burned it. But it was only later that I met a 'vampire' in the true sense. One with more power came to see the man who'd broken bread with, and given eternal slumber to, a vampire."
The man stared into the distance as he spoke, as if he missed the past. After he had related his back and forth with the "powerful vampire" for a while, he uttered the vampires' other name.
"They're called Dead Apostles, and they're obviously different from evil spirits or fairies that possess people. Despite being part of the Earth, they despise humanity. In fact, they are the planet's own shadows, with wills of their own."
"They hate people?"
"Yes, they do. I can't speak for every Dead Apostle, of course, but there is a clear wall between them and humans. A manmade blade could never penetrate it. Only a blade consecrated by God, or some other 'power' of the same kind, can pierce them. In any case, if you think of them as just another kind of ghost or demon, you're very much mistaken."
"You're saying the 'vampire' in this play is just an evil spirit...? But I suppose that's only to be expected, if the actors have never seen a real vampire."
"You don't have to have seen one to play one. Human imagination enables anyone to arrive at an illusion," the man responded in a calm tone.
He went on to regale the youngster seated next to him and "eager to learn" on a variety of other topics, from various accounts of his own experiences, to the makeup of the city of Paris, to tales of the emperor Nero and literary recommendations. His conversation was unmistakably backed by experience. At some point, Caster ended up hanging on the man's words, rather than on the play.
After a while, however, the man glanced back at the stage. His face changed color, and he began to heckle the actors again.
"Oh, not like that! They're not ghosts that make you pale with mere terror!"
Suddenly the man announced, "I'm moving to a seat where it's easier to protest!" and rose from his chair.
"Oh yes. Fate must have a hand in this. Tell me your name."
Caster answered, a little embarrassed to be asked by a man old enough to be his father.
"My name is Dumas... Alexandre Dumas."
"Is that so? My name is Charles. God willing, we will meet again."
As he watched the man's retreating back, the youth prayed that he would indeed see that fascinating man again.
Although Caster — Alexandre Dumas — did not know it then, the man he had just been speaking to was one of the most famous authors in France, and had written one of the works that formed the basis for this
Le Vampire.
He was also the one who would later introduce Caster to the literary world.
X X
The present.
"Ah... I was sure Mr. Charles would be in the Throne, since the likes of me got there. I wonder why not. I was always indebted to the man..."
Caster muttered words that evinced a fundamentally different respect from those he used to his Master, then hurriedly turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
"Oh man, if he really is a vampire, they haven't got a prayer
with their current gear."
Sighing, Caster made his keyboard clatter.
"Right now they're customized to boost 'human power'... But... a vampire — a Dead Apostle — well..." Caster muttered, laughing self-deprecatingly as he fiddled with the bits of data that appeared one after another on his computer screen.
"But man, to think I'd actually get mixed up with them... Ya live and learn. 'Course, I'm already dead."
X X
The police station. Corridor.
Saber was walking down a corridor in an area a long way from the lobby, when he suddenly stopped, and turned to look at something. He was staring in the direction of the lobby where the chief and his officers were fighting, but he had no way of knowing that.
"What's the matter?" Ayaka asked.
Saber narrowed his eyes slightly, and answered:
"...I sense the presence of a monster."
"A monster?"
"...Yes. It's an old story." There was a hint of sadness in his expression, rare for a man who usually exuded a wild air. "It was during a war. Monsters forced their way into a battle between me and my rival, slaughtering men of both camps. I sense a similar presence now."
"I don't really get it, but does that mean a monster got summoned as a Heroic Spirit?"
"No, I don't think so. It's not a Heroic Spirit. I don't know whether or not they can even go to the Throne in the first place."
Saber, experiencing a sense of foreboding, determined to be more wary of his surroundings and get Ayaka outside as fast as he could. He recalled those monsters' peculiarities as he began to walk, and continued:
"To make a long story short... in your culture, they would probably be called 'vampires.'"
X X
The police station. Lobby.
"Just checking," Jester's voice resounded through the lobby, " but are you sure you don't want to call in the Servant who gave you those Noble Phantasms? Then again, if making Noble Phantasms is their primary ability, I doubt they'd be much good in a fight scene."
He had yet to move a single step since saying "Why don't you blood bags hurry up and drop dead?"
In spite of that, numerous police officers lay fallen around him. There had been no fatalities yet, but that was hardly surprising. After all, the Dead Apostle who called himself Jester had yet to launch a single attack.
The female officer on the third floor drew her bow back to its limit, her aim fixed on him, and loosed three golden arrows simultaneously. They inscribed a triplicate curve as they sped towards Jester's heart at nearly the speed of sound. As the arrows approached him, however, their radiance began to dim. By the time they reached him, they were ordinary iron arrows, which bounced off Jester without so much as ripping his suit.
He had not moved at all. The arrows had been thwarted by his skin.
It was not as though he had turned to steel, or sprouted scales like a dragon; the mach-speed bow had had failed to penetrate what appeared to be nothing more than soft, fair, human skin.
And that was not all. The officers had the feeling that the more they attacked the man called Jester, the more their own strength was sapped.
An axe-wielder who had begun to draw out the power of his Noble Phantasm fired off a "slash that ignores distance to cut down the enemy"... but, while he could feel the attack connect, he could not manage to knock so much as a single hair on Jester's head out of place.
"R, raaahhh!"
An officer who boasted a massive body hefted his greatshield and charged, but all the force of it rebounded onto him, like he had crash into a giant wall, and he was the one who ended up injured.
All of the nearly thirty police officers piled on attacks with their Noble Phantasms. Jester just ignored them all and continued to condescendingly editorialize.
Fear began to bud in the officers' eyes. A moment before they had been taking on a Heroic Spirit assassin. They were certain they had been able to put up a proper fight. So what was going on? A monster called a "Dead Apostle" that shouldn't even have had anything to do with the Grail War was completely dominating the battlefield. What was a Heroic Spirit, and who were they, trying to defeat one, if a monster this strong already existed, and didn't even have to be summoned from the Throne?
Jester, still smirking, reveled in their looks of fear and despair.
"Don't misunderstand; I am by no means stronger than a Heroic Spirit. Actually, that lovely Assassin even killed me once."
The police force furrowed their brows in confusion, even as they fell to their knees from the mysterious exhaustion. Only five of them, including the chief and his secretary, still retained their full fighting spirit, but their attacks showed no signs of affecting Jester either.
The remaining officers charged with all their might, under the protection of a Noble Phantasm spear. But Jester, with the speed of a predator's fangs, stopped the spearpoint with just his index finger.
"In other words," Jester viewed the smashed spear and despair-filled officers with a pitying smile, "Heroic Spirits affirm human history. They exist to preserve the rules the rules of the human world." Jester gave a little shake of his head, toying with a splinter of the spear between his fingertips. "We Dead Apostles deny human history. We exist to defile your rules."
"You deny... human history?"
"Yes, that's right. And therefore, we are capable of negating the protection of Noble Phantasms created by humans, or those prepared for humans by the gods. A Noble Phantasm created by a god for a god might be a different story, but you can't get your hands on one of those so easily. It's purely a question of compatibility. I'm a snake and you're frogs. That's all there is to it."
Jester finally started walking. He meant to perform the
coup de grβce, now that the atmosphere of the lobby had begun to fill with negativity.
"Of course, if a Heroic Spirit, an emissary of the Throne, were to use the same Noble Phantasms, it would be another story. A Heroic Spirit could probably have beaten me. But no matter what you mere humans do with them, your defeat is inevitable. It's not the kind of thing you can overcome with tactics or fighting spirit."
A Heroic Spirit could probably have beaten me.
To the police officers, those were words, not of hope, but of despair. Because they had abandoned the path of relying on a Heroic Spirit, and chosen human strength... they were being overwhelmed, not by any Heroic Spirit, but by a monster. The officers grit their teeth in the face of that almost comical reality.
But even so, their spirits remained unbroken.
Because their chief was still standing in the center of the lobby, as if to proclaim that he was their last bastion. Their last remaining chance in human form.
Jester must have noticed that too. He walked slowly toward the chief, grinning fearlessly, and asked:
"You know what it is you lack?"
"...Power?" The chief seriously answered Jester's question, gripping his katana in one hand and his pistol in the other.
Jester, however, shook his head, and announced the correct answer.
"Respect."
"..."
"I can tell. You don't believe in any higher beings, let alone gods. Not Heroic Spirits, not the Throne, maybe not even the Holy Grail. And because you don't believe in your own power, you try to rely on tools. There's no respect in that."
Smirking, Jester suddenly lifted up a nearby couch in one hand. With the sofa — now a three-meter long blunt instrument — in hand, he announced to the lobby:
"I can't teach you respect, but I can teach you how fleeting you really are. I'm going to smash in the head of your trusted 'chief' with this piece of furniture — not even a weapon. Then I'm going to break the legs of everyone of you who tries to run, in order. I can break about ten at a time. If you all make a break for it on 'go,' a few of you might make it."
Cackling, Jester took another step closer to the chief. He was already in sofa range.
The chief sensed the approach of certain death, but he did not cry or wail. On the contrary, it honed his spirit.
It's the same. It makes no difference whether it's a Dead Apostle or the King of Heroes walking towards me.
He was up against Heroic Spirits of unparalleled strength. The possibility of his own death was already accounted for.
But I won't go down without a fight, monster.
The chief cleared his mind. At the same time, he dropped his gun to the floor, and gripped his sword in both hands.
"Oh-ho..." Jester, sensing a change in the atmosphere, momentarily halted his steps, and relaxed his lips. "I see. Determined to get in a hit as a human to the bitter end, are you? I'd had you pegged as the type to grasp at life by relying on your Command Seals and using your Servant as a shield. But your resolve won't do you any good. Nothing will get through to me."
Jester stifled a chuckle as he swung the couch up.
"I am curious about the Heroic Spirit behind you, but hey, I'll just eat you and help myself to your Command Seals. It would be impossible under normal circumstances, but as I am now I can use two — no, up to five — Servants at—"
Splash.
Jester suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. He been showered with a black liquid from behind without warning.
"..."
There was no need to wonder what the liquid was. The aroma clinging to his clothes was enough to tell him that it was lukewarm coffee.
Jester turned with a dumbfounded look, and...
"Nothing will get through to you, huh?"
A few meters away stood a priest, holding a paper cup and flashing a fearless grin.
"The coffee sure did."
When he saw that he was facing a priest, Jester wiped the smile from his face, and muttered in annoyance.
"I see. You must be the overseer of this Holy Grail War." He shook his head and sighed. "Deplorable. I hastened to participate because I'd heard the Holy Church wouldn't be involved, but it seems that in the end even this city wags its tail for—"
Splash.
The priest had waited for Jester to shake his head, and flung the remaining coffee at him.
"..."
"You talk too much, dead man." The priest folded the paper cup, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. "If this was an opera or a musical, I'd want to cut about half your lines."
"Hansa Cervantes... You're still here?"
Hansa heard the chief call his name, and shrugged.
"You look like you're in a real fix, chief."
"What's your game?"
"As overseer, I thought I'd give you some tips for staying alive." Hansa matter-of-factly addressed the chief, indifferent to Jester, who was hanging his head in silence. "You can't handle a Dead Apostle of his level unless you use specialized consecrated weapons... or you have a 'singularity' like mystic eyes or therianthropy, or else you're just that good a mage."
"..."
"You lot aren't immature; it was just a bad matchup for you. Honestly, I think you did great against that Heroic Spirit earlier. Put on a good show for me."
The priest frankly praised the chief and his officers.
Jester, once he had wiped the coffee from his face, which showed neither amusement nor anger, coldly declared:
"It appears you know a bit about Dead Apostles. Being overseer must put you in a position to hear about such things."
Jester then dropped his gaze to his own suit.
"So? What do you mean by this?" He asked, pinching a piece of coffee-stained fabric.
"My treat. Sip it instead of these civil servants' blood."
"Ha ha ha ha ha! Your treat! I see!"
Jester burst into laughter. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and...
The next instant, his grin turned upside down, and he hurled the couch at the priest.
"It's free coffee from the reception desk!"
The sofa closed in on the priest, rotating with the speed and force of a boomerang.
The priest did not even try to dodge the flying sofa... He just kicked it straight up.
There was a thunderous roar. A little later, a crash could be heard from the direction of the ceiling. When the police officers looked up, they could see the couch was stuck deep into the ceiling of the lobby's three-story atrium.
"...What?"
The chief, his secretary, his officers, and even Jester, who had thrown the couch in the first place, could not take their eyes off the superhuman feat.
The next instant... Hansa vanished without a trace.
"...huh?"
Jester let out a confused grunt. The priest he was sure had been a few meters away until a moment before was right in front of him swinging a fist before he knew it.
Then Hansa's right fist plowed into Jester's face, just a little faster than Jester could react. Jester went flying through the walls of the lobby and into an inner room.
"...I meant to knock his head off, but it's as hard as you'd expect."
Hansa waggled his limp hand. The chief narrowed his eyes.
"What's your game?"
Hansa had a ready answer.
"What they call 'passing the baton.' I'll get rid of him."
"Do you mean you're going to help us?"
"I'm a priest before I'm an overseer," the priest answered the suspicious chief while cricking his neck. "But, well... there is something I'd like in exchange."
"What is it?"
"Don't tell the church about my wasting drink.
"I'm scared of getting chewed out by master."
Originally Posted by Rafflesiac
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