The Same Time, Fuyuki (Illusion)
“? . . . What could that be? I had a feeling I just sensed something nasty.”
“Sure it’s not just your imagination?” Prelati chimed in from beside the confused Francesca as he stuffed his face with sweets.
They had activated two illusions inside Kuruoka Tsubaki’s ward-world using the Noble Phantasm Grand Illusion.
First, they had tricked the ward-world itself in order to trap Saber and Ayaka in an isolated space.
Second, they had cast an illusion to trick Saber and Ayaka’s five senses.
Saber and Ayaka were currently seeing a vision of Fuyuki. It was as if they were decked out in VR gear from head to toe.
The Prelatis chatted happily as they watched Saber and Ayaka in Fuyuki through a mirror.
“Come on! What do you like to eat while you watch movies, popcorn or churros? Whichever it is, you’d better get it ready now! Donuts and hotdogs are good choices too! Don’t you think so too, me (Francois)?”
“Now you’re just showing off, me (Francesca). You know we didn’t have any of those back when I died.”
“I hear popcorn’s been around way longer than we have. On this continent, anyway.”
“You’re kidding! Couldn’t that have been the Age of Gods? Popcorn’s incredible! Divine, even!”
“This ‘popcorn’ sounds impressive. . . . I’d like to try any dish with such a history.”
Saber swallowed to keep his mouth from watering as he healed his wounded belly with his “companion’s” healing magecraft.
“I’ll treat you to as much as you want if we ever make it out of here.”
Ayaka had given up on playing the straight man to Saber and was surveying their surroundings.
The large, red-headed man and the black-haired youth who seemed to be his Master who had charged into the castle still showed no sign of emerging from the door they had smashed.
Given that even the nearby flowers had stopped swaying, Francesca and Francois must have paused their illusion.
“Oh well,” a voice came from overhead again. “You might be better off skipping the snacks so you can focus! I mean, you’d never get a chance to see a show this good while you were alive!”
“Oh? I can hardly wait! Are you going to have me fight Alexander the Great in this illusion of yours?”
“That would be fun too, but it loses a lot of the impact when you realize it’s an illusion. Of course, I can guarantee you an even more entertaining performance. I mean, the whole point is to show you something you’ve never seen before.”
As Francesca’s voice spoke, the scenery began to move again.
After a short wait, the towering, red-haired man emerged from the large, broken door with a big barrel on his shoulder.
After him came the young man, who did indeed look nervous. Other figures followed.
“Is that . . . Filia?!” Ayaka could not help exclaiming. “No, she looks a little different. . . .”
One was a beautiful woman with the same swaying, snow-white hair as Filia.
Beside her was a smaller woman a stern expression dressed in silver plate mail over a blue dress.
“? Who’s she? . . . She looks like a Heroic Spirit, but . . . a lady knight . . . Jeanne d’Arc, maybe?” Ayaka turned and asked Saber, suggesting a name she dredged up from somewhere in her memory.
“What . . .?”
She gasped in spite of herself.
Saber’s usual, nonchalant grin was gone from his face. It was suffused with pure awe that precluded any other emotion, like he had just witnessed the beginning of the end of the world.
“. . . Is this . . . a dream?”
“No, it’s an illusion. You said . . . Huh? Do you . . . know her?”
Don’t tell me she’s his wife, or sister, or daughter, or something. . . .
Ayaka worried that she might be someone close to him. Saber gave a little shake of his head without ever taking his eyes off the woman.
“No, I’ve never seen her before.”
“? What do you mean?”
“Wait,” the dumbfounded Saber managed to answer the confused Ayaka. “I’m checking with my companions. . . . Oh . . . I can’t believe it. Oh . . .”
Saber stood rooted to the spot, his fists clenched.
“There are only two reasons I’m still on my feet and not on my knees right now,” he told Ayaka.
“What would you kneel for . . .?”
“First, for all my faults, I’m still a king myself. It wouldn’t be fair to the people who acclaimed me if I bent the knee so easily.”
Ayaka could not tell if Saber was speaking calmly or not. The next instant, however, she settled on “not.”
“Second . . . I don’t want to take my eyes off the legend I’ve spent my whole life chasing, even for a second.”
He did not even want to lower his gaze for the time it would take to kneel.
Saber’s attitude told Ayaka who the girl in blue and silver was.
It told her, but she had trouble accepting it.
As far as she could remember, that hero, who even she had heard of, was supposed to be a man.
But Ayaka failed to think of any other solution and said the name aloud.
“Don’t tell me . . . that’s King Arthur . . .?”
The central hero of the legends of the Round Table who Richard’s mother had told him so many stories about in Ayaka’s dream, and who Saber had called “the first king of my heart.”
It was not easy for Ayaka to believe, but she could sense the woman’s majestic bearing, and she exuded a quality that was not overshadowed by the massive Alexander the Great walking ahead of her.
“Huh? But she’s a girl. . . . Why?”
“Artoria Pendragon,” a voice that only Ayaka and Saber could hear rang out from the sky, as if in answer to her question. “That’s King Arthur’s real name, you know. Make sure you never write it on a history test, though; you won’t get credit for it.”
“Could this be . . .?”
“Yup. Part of the Holy Grail War that happened in Fuyuki. It was about 15 years ago, though. Man, you wouldn’t believe how lucky I am! You see, that lightning chariot just happened to break the castle’s wards back then. I got a look at three kings all together!”
“Three?”
Did that mean yet another king would be coming?
Ayaka only had a moment to wonder before that final king appeared before King Arthur and Alexander the Great with an air of displeasure.
“. . .!”
It was the golden hero who had beaten Saber in the church.
“Ah ha ha! Don’t be afraid!” Francesca laughed at Ayaka’s caution. “I’m just recreating scenes my familiars saw!”
“What for? . . . Why are you doing this?!”
Ayaka glared angrily at the sky, and the boy and girl’s voices answered.
“We just want to show you.”
“Yeah! And then we want to see how His Majesty reacts! It’s what you call fifty-fifty! A win-win relationship!”
“We’ll fill you in as a show of respect for the Lionheart who was so popular with the masses. You’ll get to know what the great ‘King Arthur,’ more famous than the Lionheart and above all his mental support and the foundation of his chivalry, is really like.”
For an instant, noise ran through the world.
The scenery blurred in a way that made Ayaka imagine she could hear the buzz of static, and the world was instantly repainted.
No.
It continued to be repainted.
There was a view of the large bridge in Fuyuki.
There was a view of King Arthur fighting a spearman at the harbor.
There was a view of Heroic Spirits battling a giant monster in the river and a bizarre knight fused with a fighter jet.
There was a view of a mage mowing down a man in a wheelchair with a gun.
There was a view of a collapsing hotel.
Fantastic scenes set amid scenery that Ayaka recognized were flashing by in few-second increments.
But none of the humans or Heroic Spirits noticed Ayaka or Richard. Some of the figures even passed right through them.
They probably really were just “spectators”—unable to interfere or to be interfered with.
The dizzying, shifting scenery simply unnerved Ayaka.
The scenes included views of the Kurokizaka area, which she did not want to see.
She caught a glimpse of the Semina Apartments out of the corner of her eye for just an instant. That glimpse was enough to make Ayaka hallucinate that her heart was being crushed, and her breathing spontaneously grew ragged.
Just as she instinctively looked down, Francesca’s voice rang out.
“That was just the preview! Don’t you just love previews?! OK, time to show you our feature presentation! It’s a fragmentary record of the fourth War . . . but we’ve edited it into a nice documentary for you to enjoy! Well, spoilers, but it doesn’t have a happy ending!”
The footage shifted again, and this time it lasted more than a few seconds.
The woman who looked so much like Filia was getting off a plane at the airport, accompanied by a black-suited King Arthur.
It was like the opening scene of a movie. Letters floated in the air so that Ayaka could see them.
It was a charming logo that read, “Editor: Francesca Prelati,” in both Japanese and English.
The poor taste made Ayaka’s cheek twitch, but a glance to her side revealed that Saber was still expressionless and still intently watching the scene unfold.
Saber . . .
Is that girl really the King Arthur you look up to so much . . .?
Saber’s tense attitude was infectious, and Ayaka decided against looking away from the illusory world.
“I hope you enjoy seeing your dear King Arthur’s true colors,” Francoise announced maliciously, perhaps realizing that his audience was hooked, as he played the unnatural sound of an intermission bell in the illusion.
“And the moment her Master betrayed her and trampled on her wish.”
X X
A Closed-off World, Crystal Hill, Top Floor
“That was a fascinating listening experience, Flat.”
Flat responded to the voice from Hansa’s cell phone speaker with a sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness! You never said anything even though you were on speakerphone, so I thought you might be bored. . . .”
“I even got to hear a lecture from a Lord of the Clock Tower while I was it. It was a deal with no downsides.”
“Wait, Flat,” the Lord in question’s voice came from the cell phone on the altar. “Whose voice was that? Unless my ears are playing tricks on me, I heard a name that came up a lot in connection to your hometown. . . . Did you call him even before you called me?!”
“S-Sorry, sir! I took turns calling both of you, but the connection to Monaco stabilized before the one to London, and . . .”
“It was an excellent lecture, my Lord. It seems my fate is entwined with your students’.”
“. . . My apologies for that occasion.”
That was all El-Melloi II managed to say before he fell silent. The man on the other end of Hansa’s phone, meanwhile, addressed Flat in a rich, deep voice, as if reminiscing about the past.
“Still . . . this reminded me of the first time I heard an audio drama on the radio, about 80 years ago. I believe it was Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. Of course, today’s villain was terribly stale in comparison.”
“. . .!”
The voice was all Jester needed to realize that the last words were aimed at him.
That much was clear from the meaning of the words, but Jester had felt the speaker’s gaze on an even more basic level.
He might not actually be watching, but he could probably grasp Jester’s every move. Jester knew that he was dealing with a being on that level.
That being made a single request, as casually as he might order a morning coffee at a hotel.
“Flat. This is a good opportunity, so dispose of it for me while you’re at it.”
“. . .!”
Jester’s nerves froze.
He could immediately tell what the “it” he could hear from the phone referred to.
That realization melted the shock and awe gripping his heart, and he finally spoke to the man on the other end of the call.
“Are you . . . Are you really going to get in my way, Lord Vandelstam?!”
“. . .”
Jack was inwardly a little taken aback by the conversation.
I see.
It’s not as though I doubted Flat’s word . . . but he really does seem to be a hematophage of importance.
He speaks like an amiable old gentleman, but behind that is the intimidating air of a powerful king.
Valery Fernand Vandelstam.
Alias, “Van-Fem.”
He was the “hematophage acquaintance” that Flat occasionally mentioned to Berserker, but it seemed he was a far more important figure in the underworld than Jack had imagined.
According to Hansa, he had been designated as one of just under thirty special, high-ranking Dead Apostles and also possessed a “human face” as the head of one of the world’s leading corporations.
He was a unique creature who had built up powerful connections to human society not through hematophage or Dead Apostle abilities, but through economic power and influence—a terrifying hematophage who was powerful both as a human and as a Dead Apostle.
Of course, as far as Flat was concerned, he was just “a super-rich, super-strong hematophage who runs a casino on a fancy cruise ship back home.”
That Dead Apostle, who had earned the nickname “The Devil,” fell silent for a moment. When his voice came from the speaker, it sounded as if he were talking to himself more than answering Jester.
“Dead Apostles are those who deny human history. . . . Is that it?”
He may have already decided that Jester was not worth talking to.
“I see. That’s quite right,” he continued dispassionately, as if for Flat and Hansa’s benefit. “That’s precisely why you’re repulsive. You say that you deny the human world, and all the while you’re in love with a Ghost Liner—a Heroic Spirit—arguably the apotheosis of human history. It’s what they call a double-standard.”
“. . .!”
“I don’t mind you having your fill of humans in bad faith. Conversely, you might fall for a fanatic with beautiful convictions, and it’s only natural that you would treat individuals differently. But changing your stance as a Dead Apostle—your way of being—based on who you’re dealing with? That’s an unnecessary bug in the world.”
Hansa was certain.
If Jester had defiled Assassin purely out of warped desire without making any claims to “deny human history,” this Dead Apostle called Van-Fem would not have done much, if anything.
He had no idea what Van-Fem would have done if Jester had claimed to seal away his nature as a Dead Apostle for the sake of love, but for the moment, at least, that was purely hypothetical. Hansa decided to shelve the question.
When Flat had told Van-Fem about Jester before he made contact with Lord El-Melloi II, Van-Fem had initially spoken warmly of him and called him a fellow affirmer of humanity. He might be decadent and inclined to destructive doctrines, but he was a Dead Apostle who at least saw humanity as worthy enough to plan a murder-suicide with.
But as soon as Hansa described the events at the police station—how Jester had used his power to deny human history while claiming to love Assassin—Van-Fem’s demeanor had abruptly cooled.
That was when he had said Jester’s true name, Dorothea.
It seems clear that this high-ranking Dead Apostle governed himself according to strict rules and that Jester had broken them.
If Jester hadn’t done that, I guess Van-Fem might have sided against us. This is why I hate dealing with Dead Apostles.
Van-Fem was the kind of big name that the Burial Agency, the organization that Hansa held in such high regard, would take on.
Hansa remained on his guard, not knowing when Van-Fem might intervene, but the Dead Apostle seemed to see right through him.
“Hansa, I believe you said your name is? Have no fear. Like the Lord of the Clock Tower, I’m merely a spectator speaking on the front lines from a safe place. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Much obliged. Speaking for the Church, I eagerly await a contribution from you.”
“Do you take checks?” The champion of finance replied calmly, unmoved by Hansa’s jibe. “I’ve grown ecologically conscious lately. I’d rather not consume any more energy with this long phone call.”
Van-Fem said a brief goodbye and ended the call before Hansa was even sure if he were joking.
He had never conversed with Jester directly, and that more than anything showed that Van-Fem had severed ties with him.
“. . .”
“Uh, umm . . . Mr. Fem seemed really angry. Are you OK? If you’re going to make up, I think you’d better start with an email. Even if he won’t take your calls, I’m pretty sure his secretary checks all his emails.”
Flat landed a critical follow-up hit on Jester, who was still on his knees and motionless.
Hansa concluded that this double was no longer a threat and directed the nuns with a gesture.
“It’s too bad, but if you’ve got the time to write emails, write the Church a confession. We’re about to go hunt down your main body.”
That was one of the fiends’ leaders.
I could tell just from his voice. He’s a dreadful enemy . . . but I’ll worry about him later.
Assassin briefly hesitated about her course of action, then apparently decided that she did not have the time to fight a double and made to leave out a broken window—toward where Kuruoka Tsubaki was.
But a massive form covered the broken window, standing in her way.
It was neither a smoke-like demonic beast nor a Kerberos; it was an even more pure symbol of death: a complete skeleton scorched and carbonized by jet-black flames.
One other notable feature was its height, which rivaled the building’s.
“Whoa! A giant’s ghost?!”
Flat was startled like an elementary schooler. Jester, meanwhile, slowly rose from his knees.
“Whoa! A vampire’s ghost?!”
Flat was even more startled.
“The spell should still be effective,” Jack chimed in, still in wristwatch form.
Jester might be a double, but that did not necessarily mean that he could not attack them.
The people around the room tensed while Jester remained downcast and silent. Then . . .
“. . . Hee hee.”
A soft chuckle escaped him.
“I see. . . . So, I’ve been scrapped as a Dead Apostle.”
Jester’s face was still ghostly pale as he broke into a grin with more than a hint of madness in it.
“Then we’re a perfect match now, my dear Assassin.”
“What do you mean?”
Assassin furrowed her brows, sensing something ominous.
“You were abandoned by your chiefs despite holding the strongest faith of anyone, and I was abandoned by the mainstream of the pro-humanity faction because I turned toward a stronger love than anyone. Yes, I see! So, this is the view you saw! Now I understand it in my soul! We truly were destined to be drawn to each other!”
“Stop. You sound like a stalker who lost his job after the he got the cops called on him.”
Hansa looked disgusted, but he did not have time to listen.
He turned his attention to the giant skeleton and considered whether he ought to destroy it or make his escape.
Then, a loud shock shook the building.
“?!”
It was obvious what had happened.
The giant skeleton had raised its arms and begun to punch the building.
“Oh! This is beyond my wildest expectations! That’s a world built on dreams and death for you; it’s as if there’s no end to its nightmares!”
Jester became even more excited as he continued to smile through the pain wracking his body.
“Have it your way, Lord Vandelstam! I’ll prove it to you! I’ll seize the Grail with my beloved Assassin, and we’ll use its power to wake up the spider and wipe out the human race! I’ll go back to affirming humanity when Assassin is the last remnant of the human order! When that time comes, I’ll have you throw a party to bless us, Lord Vandelstam!”
“Is it me, or has this guy stopped making sense?! Maybe I made the spell too strong. . . .”
“Don’t worry,” Hansa answered Flat’s shout. “He was always like this.”
Assassin, who also knew how Jester had been broken all along, planned her counterattack on the skeleton without hesitation.
Suddenly, the flames that spilled from the giant skeleton’s mouth leapt toward Assassin.
“. . .!”
She deflected them with one of her Noble Phantasms, Capricious Fleeting Shadow: Zabaniya.
She held it at bay with writhing blades of hair, but then realized that another, equally gigantic skeleton had appeared on the opposite side of the building and her escape routes were almost totally cut off.
“Ha ha ha! Well now! It’s on course to bring the whole building down! Oh, don’t worry; no matter how much of the city it destroys, one wish from the master of this dream, and it will all go back to normal! Of course, that only goes for the buildings. . . . Oh, what a shame. This poor priest and nuns and mage are all going to die just because you came here!”
“Damn you . . .!” Assassin snarled. Jester basked in her animosity and contentedly screwed up his eyes.
“Oh, not good, not good! The altar!”
“Hey, Flat?! What’s—”
Lord El-Melloi II’s voice cut off. At the same time, the building let out a loud creak.
Before long, Crystal Hill tilted, and the skyscraper, a symbol of the city, loudly collapsed.
And Flat and the others on the top floor were . . .
Originally Posted by OtherSideofSky
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