Chapter 2: Day 0, Midnight
The Heroic Spirit Incident
Somewhere.
"Oh, so that's where you are. You just had to turn up
there, of all places, my little sacrificial pawn."
In the darkness, Francesca slumped her shoulders with an air of boredom, and watched the scene reflected in her crystal ball. It was an image of the old Snowfield opera house.
"I mean really, the Heroic Spirit summoned there is sure to be
Art."
In the image, she could see the figure of a lone girl stealthily creeping into the opera house.
"I wish you'd gone to Sigma's place. They have a strong uncertainty factor, and the synergy would have made thing much more interesting," the girl dressed in gothic lolita clothes grumbled to herself, then immediately regained her smile as she continued:
"Well, maybe it's for the best. I just had an idea for a fun game."
She contacted someone with magecraft, then returned her attention to the crystal. She had been staring listlessly at it in the dark for about ten minutes, when—
A powerful light shone from the crystal. That moment, she noticed a peculiarity in the image that made her eyes sparkle.
"Oh? What's this? Now who could that be? Assassin, perhaps?"
The words were barely out of her mouth when another change came over the image. Francesca stared excitedly at the "corpse" in the crystal ball and let out a cackling laugh.
"Ah ha ha! Amazing! Stupendous! A sudden accident! I wonder what will happen next!"
Francesca flashed an ecstatic grin, her cheeks flushing obscenely while her eyes sparkled like a child's.
"Oh! Oh, Art, whatever will you do now? Your Master dead the moment you're summoned! Isn't it dramatic?"
She shouted wildly, and all the while she laughed, laughed, laughed—
Catching sight of the next thing reflected in the crystal ball, she cocked her head limply to one side, still smiling.
"...What's this?"
Then, her head full of question marks, she muttered:
"Who is... that Saber?"
X X
America. Snowfield.
Inside the partially-collapsed opera house, Ayaka Sajou was cursing her fate.
She could not help it, even if she had brought it on herself.
Because the circumstances she now found herself in seemed like nothing but some god or devil's prank.
Lying beside her was a human corpse.
There was no external wound, but the man's body was stiff, with a look of anguish as if his heart had been crushed. She could not detect the least sign of life.
To Ayaka's eyes, it had appeared that a hand really had crushed his heart. but... that heart was gone now, and there was no trace of a tear in his shirt, let alone a wound on his chest.
And the "someone" who had crushed his heart was gone as well.
She had been forced to retreat by the mysterious man who had appeared before Ayaka's eyes.
The story goes back a bit.
A few minutes ago, Ayaka was a prisoner.
She had been bound from head to toe with a magical cord belonging to what the corpse had been before it became a corpse — a mage.
"You must have taken me lightly indeed to imagine that you could hide from me like that."
The mage sounded shocked. He scrutinized Ayaka's body all over, and tilted his head.
"Those marks look like command seals... So you're the one Faldeus mentioned. What are you after?"
"...No idea. A weird white woman told me to come, so I came."
Ayaka's tone was brusque. Her eyes were brimming with resignation at the world and anger at her unreasonable situation.
The mage saw that, shrugged inwardly, and continued without apparent interest.
"I see. I suppose that makes you a poor stray mage made into a sacrificial pawn for the Einzbern 'flesh puppet'... Well, I can't have you getting in the way of the ritual. Sorry, but I'm going to deal with you first."
The mage sent mana surging through the magic circuits that crisscrossed his body, and was about to end Ayaka's life without emotion, like it was just work, when—
"...Humph."
He suddenly halted, and touched a finder to an earring which seemed to be a magical implement of some kind.
"Yes... ... This woman? Why?"
He seemed to be conversing with someone through the earring, but Ayaka of course could not hear the other side of the conversation.
"...I see. Understood. I'll play along with your game."
Once he had ended the call, the mage let out a big sigh, and turned back to face the still-bound Ayaka.
"It may be a mere whim, but I can't say I'm not interested."
"...?"
"Oh, I'm just going to see how much loyalty the Heroic Spirit I'm about to summon will swear to me." The mage's twisted slightly, and he stifled a chuckle as he continued. "I want to know whether or not the noble hero once hailed as the king of the Knights of the Round Table will obey an order to kill a defenseless woman."
All Ayaka managed to understand was that she was probably going to be killed by the "noble hero" who was about to be summoned.
"And if this whatever of the Round Table refuses to kill me, I... still won't be spared, will I?" Ayaka spoke cynically and without enthusiasm.
"I could always use a Command Seal, but unfortunately I'm not enough of a hedonist to waste one on a game. I'll just snap your neck with that cord."
"Are you sure that's wise? If you don't kill me first, I might ruin your ritual."
"Your voice is shaking. Don't bluff."
The mage maintained his air of indifference in this face of Ayaka's half-desperate sarcasm.
"Do you know why I just as good as told you the true name of the Heroic Spirit I'm going to summon?"
"...?"
"I did it because this summoning is another 'declaration of war.' It doesn't matter if it gets out; on the contrary, I hear it will make for a grand irony when it gets back to the Einzberns and the Association through your employer. Totally useless, if you ask me, but I get paid all the same."
Among mages, it was basic common sense to conceal information, but this mage only shrugged as he continued relating his commission to spread it.
"In short, we've already made allowances for the infiltration you gambled your life on."
"..."
"Speaking of which, I would have liked to make sure whether or not those faux-Command Seals have the power to obstruct my summoning, but... Really, I'm sure Francesca sees us as just another one of her toys. Well, even if you do put up a fight and spoil the ritual, I still get paid. I'll just accept that I drew the short straw and give up on the war."
Ayaka silently lowered her eyes, feeling the portion of the magical cord that was constricting her neck twitch.
The mage, indifferent to her condition, began to recite an incantation before the altar set on the stage.
"For elements, silver and iron. For foundation, stone and the Archduke of Contracts."
The succession of words meant nothing to Ayaka. At the same time, it was a countdown to her death.
"For ancestor, my great master _______."
Oh, it's too soon.
Ayaka groaned softly, listening to the mage's chant as though it was none of her concern.
So, my dramatic escape ends in a place like this.
"For the alighting wind, a wall. The gates of the four directions close."
Is this a simple trick of fate, or is it "her" curse?
She thought she would prefer the latter, if possible.
Well... if it is, I wonder if this will be enough to satisfy... "her."
She thought there being a reason for it would make it all just a little more bearable.
As if running from the reality that she was about to die.
"...?"
Suddenly, she noticed. Noticed the currents of strange power that flowed through her body as the mage's chant filled the hall. It felt like all the blood in her body had become iron, and was feeling the pull of an external magnet.
Soon, Ayaka realized that the pulsation was not in her veins, but came from five tattoos inscribed on various parts of her body.
Deep resentment, or great joy.
She hallucinated that her entire body, with the tattoos as its focal points, was emitting a cry. Little by little, the cry was growing louder, and drowning out the mage's chant.
The mage, however, did not seem to notice the change. He was alert, keeping up a continuous flow of mana to her magical restraints, but it appeared he had no intention of interrupting his summoning ritual...
But then, even if some grand magecraft was invoked, Ayaka did not think it would bring any optimistic developments, like incapacitating the mage or automatically warping her to a safe place.
It couldn't be a self-destruct, could it?
Either way, her own death was almost certain. The fact sent a wave of fear coursing through Ayaka, and along with it a craving: "I don't want to die."
But even those feelings seemed somehow like they were happening to someone else.
I don't want to die? Why? What reason have I got to live?
Ayaka could not tell whether it was her own brain raising these doubts, or whether it was the tattoos inscribed on her arms and the curse the "white woman" had built into them making it do so. The noise of the tattoos had grown so loud it had paralyzed her basic powers of judgment. They seemed to be cheering, or screaming, as if to welcome something that was about to appear. Then, the next instant—
Corporeal "death" swept down on the opera house stage.
But not on Ayaka; behind the mage who was to have been her executioner.
"Emerge from the ring of restraint, O Guardian of the... scales...?"
How long had "it" been there? To Ayaka's eyes, at least, it looked as if it had materialized out of thin air.
A petite human figure swathed in shadow-black robes. Ayaka could see that its whole body was covered in black cloth, but she could not make out the face. All she remembered clearly was the moment a weirdly long arm stretched through a gap in the robes, and came to rest on the chest of its victim.
As soon as she saw that, Ayaka knew. Knew that the situation she now found herself in no longer belonged to the world she knew — it was on the other side of the world's shadows, invisible to the eyes of those who lead ordinary human lives. The moment she realized that, a diminutive human figure appeared in her field of view.
A young girl wearing a red hood.
Whether she was actually a phantom or a real image, Ayaka in her confusion could not tell.
Why here? This building doesn't even have an... elevator.
The "thing" that had appeared on the opera house stage looked as if it was standing on the corpse. "It" faced Ayaka with an innocent smile.
Even before she realized what that smile meant, dread ran through Ayaka from head to toe.
It was hard to say which came first, the almost audible shiver than ran down Ayaka's spine, or the black-robed intruder crushing the heart-like thing that appeared in its long hand.
"Gah... bah...?"
The mage vomited blood, still not comprehending what had happened to his body. It was doubtful if he even realized who had killed him.
Ayaka was terrified of both the black-robed figure and the girl in red, but at the same time she was thinking detached, somehow impersonal thoughts, like "Oh, I'd hate it if they got the wrong idea and thought I killed him." She probably knew instinctively that she would be crushed by the fear if she did not.
The moment the mage ceased to move, the magical cord that had been binding Ayaka from head to toe crumbled away. The realization that she was free distracted her for a moment, and in that moment—
The girl in red disappeared from her view—
And the black-robed figure stood in her place.
"...!"
Her breathing stopped.
"...Are you a mage who seeks the Holy Grail?"
A mechanical enquiry.
When she heard the figure's voice, a chill so intense that what she had felt earlier could not compare shot through Ayaka like countless needles.
From the voice, Ayaka could tell that the figure was a young woman. Maybe even younger than herself. But the sense of presence the woman's body gave off was incomparably colder, sharper and more oppressive than the mage who had threatened to kill her. Even though she had never encountered this being before, there were things she felt sure of.
If I answer wrong, I'll be killed.
If I lie, I'll probably be killed too.
The woman had no intent to kill her yet. But if Ayaka made one wrong choice, she would not have time to sense that change before she ended up just like the mage whose corpse lay on the floor in front of her. Having arrived at that conclusion, Ayaka decided to give the black-robed woman an honest answer.
"I—"
Just then—
A surge of light enveloped the stage.
"!"
"!?"
The black-robed woman was on her guard and jumped back out of the light, but Ayaka, who had only just been released from her restraints, could not even stand. The best she could do was to squint in the direction the light seemed to come from.
There was a figure in the light.
Multiple human figures.
Ayaka could not believe her eyes.
The scene only lasted a few seconds, but time in that space seemed to have stopped. Several of the figures kneeled on the spot... and welcomed the last, and darkest, figure to appear.
As the light faded, the multiple figures vanished before Ayaka could notice them go, and only the last and most vivid figure remained: A blond man, still young and magnificently dressed. Here and there his golden hair was broken by streaks of red, and a pair of blazing, bestial eyes were set in his beautiful face.
Just as Ayaka had been able to sense an almost palpable "death" from the black-robed woman, who now glared at the man from a short distance away, she could sense an extraordinary "heat" from the man who had appeared in the light.
The man surveyed his surroundings wide eyed, and said:
"Well now, this looks just a bit out of the common."
After he had glanced at the mage's corpse lying at his feet and the black-robed woman who regarded him warily... the man continued with a broad grin.
"The way you're dressed, and the flow of 'power' I sensed just now... Are you a follower of the 'Old Man of the Mountain,' by any chance?"
"...!?"
The atmosphere instantly changed. The man's words sounded like nonsense to Ayaka, but they seemed to strike a chord with the black-robed woman.
"Either way, as long as we both seek the Holy Grail, we must be enemies. What will you do?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the black-robed woman sprung into action with a surge of murderous intent. It was like a shadow on the ground had leapt into the air. She bounded into the wings in a single breath, and left afterimages in her wake as she darted between the pillars that encircled the stage. When she flew past gaps in the curtains, it created the illusion that she had split into dozens of people.
"Ha ha! Magnificent! I've never seen anyone lighter-footed than Loxley before!"
The man, eyes sparkling like a child's, shouted a name Ayaka did not recognize and praised the black-robed woman as she flitted about glaring death at him.
"..."
As if she had taken his praise as a challenge, the woman leapt still faster, and then... suddenly vanished into thin air.
"She... disappeared...?" Ayaka murmured, dumbfounded, and looked up. Just then... the black-robed woman appeared from the blind spot of everyone there. She jumped out behind the man, not from above the stage, but out of the shadow he cast on the floor.
A weirdly long arm stretched from her back, and made for the center of the man's back, just above his heart. An arm of clear death, identical to the one that had slaughtered the mage just a minute before.
But that arm never reached the man's body. An arrow fired from nowhere sent it flying off course.
"...!?"
The black-robed woman's eyes widened slightly in surprise. As far as she was concerned, the blow had come from a complete blind spot. For you see, that arrow had appeared suddenly at the man's feet — indeed, from within the shadow he cast on the stage floor.
"Ha ha, being compared not to your liking? But splendid work, as always," the aristocratic young man muttered to no one in particular, then drew his sword with a smile.
It was exquisitely wrought. Even Ayaka could tell that it was the kind of sword that royalty used. Then, still smiling, he let out a cry... and swung.
"_____calibur."
Once again, light enveloped the interior of the opera house. It surged from the man's mana-infused sword like a lightning strike, and made a beeline for the black-robed woman, who was beating a hasty retreat. Then—
A violent crash, followed by the sounds of something collapsing reached Ayaka's ears. When she timidly opened her dazzled eyes, she saw... the starry sky peeking through the collapsed roof of the partially-destroyed opera house.
"..."
The man addressed the dumbstruck girl.
"I ask you, are you my Master?"
When she heard those words, Ayaka's brain, which had not managed to keep up with the shifting situation, finally began to regain its equilibrium.
She reconsidered her situation. It looked like the mage's "ritual" had been safely accomplished, but the results were nothing like what she had been told. According to the "white woman" who had brought her here against her will, the ritual was supposed to conjure up the ghost of an ancient hero. Something like that, anyway. The white woman had called it a "Heroic Spirit," but she had also said that there would only be one of them. So why had she been able to see multiple figures in the light earlier? Had it been the man himself who fired that arrow when he was in danger?
Ayaka's doubts came in rapid succession, but she soon ceased to care. As her head cooled, she realized the position she had been placed in, and felt nauseous.
The mage's corpse lay before her eyes. He had died. Right in front of her. Just like that.
The man looked at the corpse too, but he just tilted his head a little to one side, and addressed her again. There was no sign that it came as any particular shock.
"Be at ease, it doesn't seem any of the common people were caught up in it. On the other hand, it appears that the rebel escaped as well... Humph, she did well to get clean away from me. Still, there's no going back now."
Was a person's death normal to him? Ayaka found that hard to accept.
Oh, I see now. So this is the kind of thing that... the "white woman" wanted to make me do.
"Participate in the Holy Grail War," she said. And of course it's normal for people to die in a war.
She wondered how it had come to this. How things had ended up this way. How she had ended up leading this kind of life.
"That being the case, I ask you once again."
The man posed a question to Ayaka as she lay lamenting the past. It looked like he would not give her time to seriously reflect on how she had come to this point.
"..."
In this chaotic situation... she made up her mind about just one thing.
I can't accept any more deaths. Not even if "destiny" tries to force them on me. Not even if resisting it means dying myself. At least I'll die fighting. It's not like my life is worth anything either way.
"May I take it that you are my Master? I am, as you can see,
of the Saber class. If you understand, then let us conclude our contract at on—"
"You're wrong."
Closer to half-desperate than to resolute, Ayaka wrung a cry from deep in her throat.
"Completely wrong."
"What?"
The tattoos on her body shone faintly in response to the man's voice, and she realized that they were resonating with him. If she agreed be his master now, she would probably be able to usurp control of the Heroic Spirit, just like the "white woman" had told her she would. But she ignored the "white woman's" designs, and glared at the man.
"I won't... do what
you people want anymore," she declared, forcing herself not to tremble with fear, and resolved to lay down her life if she had to. "Just... leave me alone."
Ayaka had been sure that she would be killed by the man's sword the moment she spoke. He was different from the black-robed woman, but she could still sense the power of an extraordinary being, completely unlike an ordinary human, from the man in front of her. Normal people were probably the same as worms to him. Or so Ayaka thought.
But, contrary to her expectations, he cocked his head as if at a loss, and returned his sword to its sheath as he spoke.
"I see, so you aren't my Master. In that case, I suppose there's nothing to be done."
Then he looked up at the nearly half-collapsed ceiling and heaved a sigh.
"Is this a theater? Oh dear..."
He narrowed his eyes as if he had received a shock of some kind, and crossed his arms as if lost in thought.
"So modern playhouses are as fragile as that... I suppose the knowledge I got from the Throne isn't enough to really understand..."
Muttering to himself, the man vanished into the wings of the stage.
Ayaka, who had been left behind, let her mouth hang open for a few seconds before a sudden realization struck her.
"I'm... saved?"
But the thought only lasted a brief time...
"Freeze!"
A man's angry shout came from one of the entrances.
It was a different man from before, but Ayaka was able to identify him at once.
The men who appeared from the entrance were wearing matching outfits — police uniforms — and aiming riot control Taser guns at Ayaka. They had not drawn their handguns even though the area was deserted, perhaps because one glance told them that Ayaka was unarmed.
"Put both hands behind your head and get down on the floor! Slowly!"
"...Yes, sir," Ayaka replied unenthusiastically, and slowly did as she was told.
I'm obviously the victim here, she thought. But when she considered that she was a trespasser at the scene of what looked like a terrorist bombing, well, it was probably a natural reaction. And on top of that the mage's corpse was still lying beside her, and the suspicious altar he had used remained on the stage.
Ayaka thought that this looked like it would turn out to be quite the tangled mess, when a thought that it would be difficult for anyone else to understand suddenly crossed her mind.
Police stations... have elevators, don't they? Oh, how depressing.
Actually, I might die from the "white woman's" curse before it comes to that.
While Ayaka was lost in thought, the police officers surrounded her and confirmed that the mage beside her was dead.
"Hey! Did you do this?"
"No, no. I'm the victim here," Ayaka answered in fluent English. The officer pinning her arms responded.
"If that's true, then what happened here? Why are you in the opera house while it's closed for renovation?"
"Umm... Well, you see..."
Ayaka considered lying that she had been abducted by the mage, but she would soon be exposed if they checked the local surveillance cameras, and that would only make things even more confused. But she could not tell the truth, either.
The police officers seemed to have concluded that Ayaka's reluctance to speak was indeed suspicious, and one of them produced a pair of handcuffs.
"You are under arrest for trespassing, and suspected terrorism and destruction of property. You have the right to remain..."
Wow, they actually say it.
Ayaka found herself thinking as she listened to the Miranda warning she had often seen in American TV shows. She did not know what would happen next. She was prepared to die, but she could not accept dying while still falsely accused of the mage's murder and the destruction of the opera house. She was still lying face-down on the floor as she pondered, and when she opened her eyes... there "she" was again.
A young girl wearing a red hood.
The police officers did not seem to be able to see her. They passed back and forth through the area where she stood without comment.
The red hood was pulled far forward, and Ayaka could not make out anything from the nose up. But the girl was looking at her, and smiling faintly. She opened her mouth to say something.
Ayaka did not want to listen. She did not want to see any more. But still she could not look away.
Ayaka knew why. This was a self-inflicted curse, and it had bound her for years.
The girl in the red hood was trying to tell her something, when...
"Wait."
A commanding voice reverberated through the opera house. At the same time, the girl in the red hood vanished.
When Ayaka and the police officers turned to look in the direction of the voice, they saw a man resplendent in noble garb standing among the solitary VIP seats in a portion of the third floor that had escaped collapse.
Huh? That's...
Why is he still here?
Ayaka wondered, but the man faced Ayaka and the officers, and unilaterally declared:
"I will give testimony. It was not that bespectacled girl who killed the man."
"Who's there? Don't move!"
Maybe it was a matter of distance. It was not Tasers that the police officers trained on the man as they shouted, but handguns. The man, however, gave no indication that he cared, and continued to majestically deliver his speech.
"Incidentally, it was not she who destroyed this theater, either."
"What?"
"I did it, with this sword."
The man audibly slapped the scabbard of the sword hanging at his waist as he spoke. The police officers scowled. They signaled to each other with their eyes, and several ran off towards the VIP seats where the man was. They did not seem to believe the story that he had done it with the sword, but they did appear to be wary of this man who had named himself the culprit.
"Be careful, he may have planted more bombs."
The man seemed to have heard the officers' whispers, because he began to sound annoyed.
"I would prefer not to be lumped in with bombs and... Hm?"
He broke off in mid-sentence. Part of the half-destroyed ceiling had begun to collapse again.
"Look out..." Ayaka mumbled instinctively.
The officers noticed it as well and tried to run, but it did not look like several of them would make it in time.
Then the man in the VIP seats laid a hand on the sword at his hip, and drew it in a motion reminiscent of Japanese
Iai.
The power could hardly compare to his earlier strike, but a streak of light nevertheless extended from the blade and smashed the chunk of falling stone to atoms.
Both the police officers who had been saved by a hair's breadth without understand what had happened, and those who been powerless to do anything from their places of safety were left blinking in amazement.
The man who had accomplished this feat addressed the stunned officers with a regal bearing. As he spoke, he turned his gaze on Ayaka for just a moment, and flashed her a little smile.
"Will this be enough to prove me guilty?"
X X
The same time. West Snowfield, in the forest.
"...I sense a strange presence."
Enkidu, the Lancer Heroic Spirit, who had spent a day with the silver wolf who was his Master turning the forest into a Bounded Field, sensed a disturbance in mana flowing from the city, and muttered wonderingly.
"Seven souls in service around one powerful one. And another strange soul beside them. I wonder what they could be."
The silver wolf appeared to intuit Enkidu's tension, and let out an uneasy whine.
Enkidu replied in a soothing voice while stroking his Master's back.
"It's alright. I won't go anywhere tonight.
"I have preparation of my own to make so that I can face Gil at the end with my full power."
X X
In front of the opera house.
"We're coming to you live from the city center, where part of the opera house has just collapsed. What can have happened to this historic building, which boasts more than fifty years of tradition?"
A reporter for Snowfield's local cable TV station was keeping up a live commentary in front of the partially-destroyed opera house. The reporter, having already interviewed several people, called out to a nearby young man.
"Excuse me, can I have a moment? Do you know what happened here?"
"Huh? Am I on TV? Oh wow, I wonder if the professor or Reines are watching!"
The young man in question wore a steampunk-styled wristwatch.
"Are you a local?"
"Oh, no! I just happened to be here sightseeing, and... Umm, I don't know what happened either, but when I was going to bed my heart suddenly went crazy, and when I looked towards the opera house, there was a big boom, and the wall started crumbling just like that!"
"Your heart went crazy?"
"Yeah, it was, umm... a hunch! That's it!"
The reporter turned a suspicious eye on the young man, who acted like he was hiding something, but just then... they sensed movement in the direction of the opera house, softly thanked the young man, and ran off without pressing him further.
"The police officers who entered the building have just come out! The police have someone in custody! Could it be that the opera house explosion was no accident, but a deliberate plot?"
The TV camera was filming the group that emerged from the scene, and broadcasting the image live to televisions all across Snowfield. The image of the youth in an anachronistic costume who came out handcuffed by the police.
X X
The same time. Northwest Snowfield. Coalsman Special Corrections Center.
"Good grief, this has gotten to be a real nuisance. I mean, trouble at the summoning of the all-important Saber... This is supposed to fall under Ms. Fracesca's jurisdiction; perhaps her bad habit has reared its head again."
Faldeus heaved a sigh, but then began to contact various locations, as if to say that this degree of trouble was within expectations.
"It's me. The incident at the opera house is to be reported as an accident. Some paints used in the renovation caught fire, and..."
He had gotten that far when his words abruptly trailed off.
"...Excuse me. I'll be in touch again later."
He ended the call and turned his gaze to one of his banks of countless monitors, a screen that displayed the local cable broadcast.
When he saw what was being shown, he initially wondered if a hostile mage might be showing him some sort of illusion. Any mage well-versed in the Holy Grail War would probably have harbored the same doubt. After all, local cable station it might be, but... a genuine Heroic Spirit was being shown on live television broadcast.
X X
In front of the opera house.
The buzzing crowd of onlookers turned to look at each other when they caught sight of the youth's anachronistic appearance. To all appearances, it was the costume of an actor who had been preparing for a performance. Maybe gas or something had exploded during a rehearsal? When they considered the incident with the desert pipeline that had been reported that morning, many of the onlookers were still inclined to think it an accident. Even the reporter was beginning to think that maybe it had not been a crime after all, but some mishap during the renovation.
However...
The man being led by the police suddenly leapt forward — still handcuffed — and reached the top of the tallest vehicle there, a fire-engine, in a mere few bounds.
The crowd was taken aback by the fact that the man had dashed up the engine without using his hands at all, relying only on the strength of his legs. The flustered police officers pointed Tasers at him. And amid the noise and tumult...
"Hear me, people of Snowfield!"
The man's voice carried strangely far.
"Having destroyed your theater, a sacred place in which to recite poetry and perform tales, We are overcome with shame. Everything is due to Our negligence. We will make no excuse."
Like a direct jolt to the brain, the meaning of the words easily penetrated the minds of all who heard them. Almost like a magical covenant.
"But in lieu of explanation, We will make you a promise! We swear by the great ancestor of Our chivalry, Arthur Pendragon, and by the great knights the songs of whose victories resound in Our native land that, on Our honor, We will compensate you for the destruction of this theater!"
The townspeople listened in awed silence.
It could hardly be called a speech; it had not even filled thirty seconds. When they considered only the meaning of the words, they were inclined to laugh it off as nonsense. But coming from the man's mouth, those words were accompanied by an mysterious ring of truth that shook the ears and hearts of the crowd.
Could he really repay them for the opera house?
Just who was this man?
"Thank you for your courteous attention! We pray that your lives will be full of most excellent song!"
Doubtful silence reigned. Having said his piece, the man dismounted the fire-engine contentedly. Then, just like that, he was bundled into a patrol car and taken away. No one spoke. Everyone was overwhelmed by the atmosphere the man had projected.
Except for one person, the young man who had been interviewed earlier. He turned to the watch on his arm, eyes shining, and clapped as he whispered:
"Amazing! Cool! I bet he's the king of someplace! Talk about charisma! Oh, Jack, I've got it! Let's make it so you were really the king of someplace too!"
"Well, there are certainly numerous theories that I was actually royalty, but... is that really what we should be thinking about after our first sight of a Heroic Spirit, one of our enemies, in the flesh? I have a feeling that he left several clues to his true name just now. King Arthur and so on?"
"Oh no, it will be so much more fun and exciting to find out who he is later! I know, let's not fight him and make friends instead. I mean, he's so cool."
"I have grown genuinely uneasy about whether you understand the meaning of the Holy Grail War."
While the pair of Heroic Spirit and Master conversed, a bespectacled female inconspicuously emerged, still not handcuffed, and was made to board a patrol car. The onlookers' heads were still full of the man who had appeared shortly before, and most failed to notice her. Only that young Master, Flat Escardos, displayed an unusual reaction.
"Huh?"
"Is something the matter?"
"No, that person just now... Maybe it was just my imagination."
Flat looked after the patrol car, head tilted to one side, and maintained that attitude as he resumed his telepathic conversation with the Heroic Spirit.
Well, I say telepathy, but Flat was actually speaking out loud, and so came to be regarded by the other onlookers as "a dangerous guy who gets worked up and talks to himself."
Thus, although it was a matter of only a few minutes, to the citizens of Snowfield, the "mystery man's speech" was an unforgettable event, not only to the onlookers who were at the scene, but also to those who had heard his voice over the local cable station.
And to the mages who had been peering through familiars and surveillance cameras as well.
X X
The same time. Northwest Snowfield. Coalsman Special Corrections Center.
"Good grief. This is more than just unexpected."
Faced with a worrisome situation, Faldeus — one of the driving forces behind the "Fake Holy Grail War" — shook his head and sighed.
"So much for aiding and abetting their escape. He was supposed to learn about the secrecy of magecraft from the Grail as soon as he was summoned..."
Watching the cable broadcast and the footage transmitted to him through familiars at the same time, Faldeus was at his wit's end.
"We were fully prepared to make enemies of the Association and the Church, and we spread the word to the mages, but... who could have imagined a Heroic Spirit would go on TV and promise reparations to ordinary citizens?" Faldeus grumbled, seemingly to his subordinate Aludra, who was beside him, and gave a little shake of his head.
He could only sense the man's presence through familiars, but he was unmistakably a Heroic Spirit.
"If he'd assumed spirit form the police wouldn't have been able to see him, much less handcuff him. What the hell is he thinking...?"
Faldeus then turned his attention to the bespectacled woman who had quietly emerged after the man.
"...The tattooed woman."
It was the woman who had arrived in town half a day before. The one tattooed with designs that resembled Command Seals.
"Still, I'm sure I reported to Ms. Francesca that she was heading for the opera house."
A number of misgivings occurred to Faldeus as he sighed and wondered what he had bothered raising the surveillance level for.
What if allowing herself to get arrested by the police is part of this woman's plan?
What had happened to Cashura, the mage in charge of Saber? Taken out? By that woman?
Is it possible that she suspects the police station is in league with us, and is using this to get her Heroic Spirit inside?
No, even if she is, there has to be some other way.
The questions were endless, but Faldeus judged that pondering them now would produce no answers.
"...Is this still within your calculations, then, Ms. Francesca?" he muttered, staring vexedly up at the ceiling.
X X
Somewhere.
"Oh, honestly! It's inconceivable! Unexpected! Completely unforeseen! But I suppose it's things like this that make life worth living! What fun! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!"
Francesca was alone in the dark room, rolling with laughter.
"Hee hee, ha ha ha ha! Hyah ha ha! Oh, oh, no more! It's too good! My spleen and bile ducts will get all twisted up!"
She lay face-up, flapping her feet with a heartfelt smile. All the while Francesca was shouting, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Ah! Ah! I've watched so many Grail Wars, but even I've never seen a Servant get arrested by the police before! I don't know why Art didn't show even though we used
that medium, but I don't even care anymore!"
She went on laughing for about another three minutes. After that she staggered to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes, and turned her gaze to the crystal ball. Reflected in it was a scene of that Saber being made to get out of the patrol car and taken inside the police station.
"Oh, I see. So that's how it is," Francesca went on happily talking to herself, nodding in apparent agreement with something. "The other Master's must at least know that there's a Heroic Spirit in the station now, so they'll all be gunning for the police! Oh, how dreadful! I'll be snacking and cheering you on from here, so do your best, Mr. Police Chief!"
X X
The Same time. The Police Station.
"That's... King Arthur?"
The chief of police, Orlando Reeve, spread his office blinds with his fingers and peered out at the parking lot. He saw that the Heroic Spirit — apparently Saber — was walking to majestically for someone being "hauled in," and sighed with his usual sour look.
"I see we didn't send out Clan Calatin in time."
"It happened in the city center. Apparently some officers on patrol rushed in before they could take care of it," his secretary reported coolly. When she had finished, she asked the chief about future developments.
"How do we proceed? Deal with them inside the station?"
"Assemble the members of Clan Calatin here... but first, investigate the woman who was brought in. Find out if she's a Master or not. Depending and the circumstances, we may be able to form an alliance."
"An alliance, sir?"
"If the what Francesca told us is correct, that should be King Arthur, but... On TV, he swore 'by Arthur Pendragon,' didn't he?"
"Yes, sir. We have also received a report to that effect from the officers who were at the scene."
"In that case, doesn't swearing by yourself sound strange to you? He could always be some hero linked to Arthur — a knight of the Round Table — but wherever he comes from, we can't expect to challenge Saber and come out unscathed. If he manages to fire his Noble Phantasm even once in the time between our taking care of his Master and him disappearing, it will mean trouble."
The chief clasped his hands over his desk, concealing his mouth as he continued:
"To begin with, if that woman is enough of a mage to steal the right to be Saber's Master, it's only natural for her to have some kind of plan."
"I don't know about that, sir. It's also possible that she is an amateur and only knows the rudiments of magecraft."
"A puppet of the Einzberns?"
The preceding evening they had received a report that an Einzbern homunculus had entered the city. Faldeus and Francesca were probably aware of it as well, but the chief had not yet exchanged information with them on that point.
But even if the Einzberns were making no direct moves, it was a real possibility that they were employing some outside mage. If they feared betrayal, they could always find some means of manipulating an amateur who merely possessed magic circuits to do their bidding.
"Also consider the possibility that Francesca, not the Einzberns, is behind her. That woman would betray us in five seconds if she thought it would be fun. Faldeus is allied with us, but even he could easily turn on us depending on the inclination of his superiors."
The chief continued with slightly downcast eyes, recalling the clash of Heroic Spirits in the desert, and the gigantic crater that had been born as a result.
"In any case, as long as we have not only Gilgamesh, but another Heroic Spirit capable of facing him on equal footing to deal with, we can't have too much insurance."
Then, looking to the future looking to the future from the dual standpoints of police chief and Master, Orlando dispassionately issued instructions to his secretary:
"Keep a watchful eye on both the woman and the Heroic Spirit. For the time being, choose detectives who don't know the circumstances, and treat them as strangely-dressed suspects in a possible terrorism case."
Lastly, he added the most personally important of his instructions:
"...Don't neglect Caster's surveillance. You know what he's like; if he hears about this, he's entirely capable of trying to take over the investigation himself."
"Actually, there was a request from Mr. Caster a little while ago. 'Let me play in the casino,' again."
"Denied. See to it that his meals meet his demands, and nothing else."
The chief replied immediately to his secretary's matter-of-fact report, his face still expressionless. As she departed, he muttered exasperatedly, fingers on his temples.
"Good lord... What kind of Heroic Spirit goes to a casino when there's a war on?"
X X
Snowfield. Crystal Hill Casino Hotel.
Crystal Hill was the tallest building in Snowfield. It was also a first-class hotel, and home to the largest casino in the city. It was said that the breadth and luxury of its facilities were a match for even the finest Las Vegas casinos.
Of course, true gambling enthusiasts still tended to head for Las Vegas across the desert to Snowfield's south, so it hardly attracted many visitors from abroad. Even so, the millionaires who congregated in the young boom town loved it well enough, and Snowfield's largest entertainment facility, Crystal Hill was majestically enshrined in the city center.
In a corner of that casino, a grand wager was about to unfold. Although, as far as the one betting was concerned, it was a mere diversion.
"Everything on red."
At the carelessly spoken words, a mountain of chips were moved onto the roulette table. A quiet stir ran through the expensively-dressed people around it, and turned to see who had placed such an extravagant wager.
The man in the center of their gazes — Gilgamesh, the Archer Heroic Spirit — sat in his chair at the roulette table, plain for all to see. He did not even seem to be particularly enjoying himself. Though he sat gracefully, the piercing look in his eyes seemed to appraise the dealer's skill. He looked less like a first-class gambler than he did the owner of the casino. Unusually, his hair was slicked down, and he wore not his golden armor, but a suit in a flashy cut.
Gilgamesh, who had no sooner arrived at the casino than he had racked up a string of big wins, naturally attracted stares. He was now dealing in sums that would give even a minor millionaire pause.
Before long, cheers and applause broke out as the roulette ball landed on a red number. The corners of Gilgamesh's mouth turned up slightly, but his improved spirits seemed to be purely in response to admiration, rather than to having just made a large profit. He casually grasped a handful of the highest value chips he had acquired and rose from his seat, leaving a sum almost fifty times the winnings of the average gambler behind him. He accepted a cocktail glass from a passing waitress, and swished the drink in his mouth as he made his way to a more sparsely populated area.
"...Hardly fit to drink," he muttered to himself.
I'm sorry, a girl's voice sounded inside his head.
"You have no reason to apologize," Gilgamesh, still holding the cocktail in his mouth, replied telepathically.
Standing motionless beside him was Tine Chelk, his Master. Persons under twenty-one years of age were forbidden from entering casinos in this state, and violations carried harsh penalties for the offending casino. Yet no one questioned Tine's presence. No one so much as looked in her direction.
"Well? No one should be able to see you."
Maybe because there was no one nearby, or maybe because telepathy simply was not to his liking, Gilgamesh spoke aloud except when sipping his drink.
...Yes, Your Majesty. The blessings of this ring are truly wonderful.
On her finger, Tine wore a ring engraved with the script of ancient Sumer.
"It's nothing grand enough to call a blessing. Merely a trinket that wards off prying eyes. The mongrel rabble is one thing, but it is not powerful enough to deceive the eyes of a mage or a Servant."
For about half a day after making the gigantic crater in the desert, Gilgamesh had gone off somewhere with a parting, "At least defend yourself on your own."
Tine could sense the mana that linked them, so she had known that he had not vanished or dissolved their contract, but she had not had the slightest idea what he was doing. Once night fell, Tine and the others who had been with her on the north side of town had returned to the headquarters of the "guardians of the land," and there he had been, having procured civilian clothes from somewhere and wearing an expression of apparent ill-humor beneath his slicked-down bangs.
"Show me the place in this city where the most people and riches gather."
As a result, Tine had ended up taking Gilgamesh to Crystal Hill, the city's number one casino, and to the entertainment district that surrounded it. She could not fathom his intentions, but she had no reason to disobey. The city center could be called her enemies' base, and if she was an ordinary mage, she might have hesitated to go there. But while Tine understood the situation, she felt little unease. She had complete faith in the power Gilgamesh had displayed in the desert the previous night. So much so that she worried more that she might become a hindrance to him.
Then, when Tine had been stopped by the clerk in charge at the entrance of the casino, Gilgamesh had handed her that ring.
"If someone can see you, it means that they possess considerable powers of observation. I leave the treatment of any except thieves with their eyes on the Grail for you, my Master, to decide. They are none of my concern."
...Understood.
Tine bobbed her head respectfully, then addressed Gilgamesh concerning his recent exploits.
Still, the skill you have displayed this past hour has been truly magnificent.
"Skill has nothing to do with it. All the riches of my garden return to me in the end. To me, gambling is the same as shifting money from my treasury to my purse. The act may be meaningful, but it is not a game to take pleasure in," Gilgamesh answered with a look of boredom, flipping the valuable chips he held into the air as he spoke. The Heroic Spirit in modern dress surveyed his surroundings afresh as he continued:
"But... this is the greatest flow of wealth this city has to offer?"
I judged that the banks and stock exchange would not present the sights Your Majesty desired, and excluded them.
"I see. Still, it will do. This amusement center exchanges one currency for another, building a world of its own."
A world?
"Yes. Money is the ultimate invention, a spell that has brought maturation and decadence to the mongrels at the same time. I do not despise it myself. It is such a fine thing, and yet its greatest use is 'waste' — comical."
Gilgamesh shrugged his shoulders and laughed as he spoke. It appeared that this Heroic Spirit had a fondness for luxury. Even his present attire exuded an aura best summed up by the phrase "a youngster who's gotten his hands on a fortune he couldn't use up in Vegas and gotten carried away."
In contrast to Gilgamesh, who seemed strangely at home, Tine had naturally never set foot in a casino before. She was uneasily surveying her surroundings when his voice sounded in her ear.
"No woman who would use my power should quail at anything but me."
I'm sorry.
"I'm certain I told you already — Children should act like children, bright-eyed at whatever meets their gaze. Of course, all the world must appear dim in my presence."
As Your Majesty says.
Unable to tell if Gilgamesh was joking or in earnest, Tine merely bowed her head.
Gilgamesh, seeing that, narrowed his eyes in apparent displeasure.
"I do not mind you showing me deference. It is only natural. But do not put faith in me blindly. If your eyes can shine, use them to see your way."
?
"No, not only me. Be it 'God,' or this 'Nature's blessing' you speak of, or the cherished wish of generations of ancestors, it makes no difference. Abandoning thought to revere or depend on something means letting your soul fall into decay. An insolent one who would bluntly try to make a stepping stone of me, though unpleasant, would still be a worthier partner."
When he got to "the cherished wish of generations of ancestors," Tine realized that she herself was being indicated, and stiffened. Gilgamesh emptied his glass as he questioned her.
"Which are you, mongrel girl? Is retaking this land from the mages your will? Or do you speak as another's puppet, abandoning choice and making fate your excuse?"
...!
"As long as my friend is here, I intend to amuse myself with the jest, this 'Holy Grail War.' If you do cast aside your childishness and try to make use of me, you must be prepared to bare your true character."
I... I...
That was as far as Tine managed to get in her telepathic response. She did not have an answer to Gilgamesh's question, at least not now.
She was prepared to risk her life.
She was also prepared to kill. She already had blood on her hands.
But whether that was her own will, or whether she was being swept along by the muddy stream of fate, even she did not know. She had never seriously considered the question until Gilgamesh had asked her.
"Well, no matter. Many of the people of Uruk were emotionally mature by your age, but I cannot expect as much of the mongrels of this era."
It looked as if Gilgamesh had not really wanted an answer, and he did not force Tine to continue the conversation. After one final remark, he directed his steps towards another gambling table.
"Those who offer up their souls to something of their own firm will, however, I commend."
Perhaps he was remembering someone in particular. A somehow nostalgic smile played across his lips.
"Even if they are the sort the mongrels call mad."
X X
Somewhere in the city. Inside a building under construction.
The partially-constructed building stood on a site slightly removed from central Snowfield. Under normal circumstances it would be deserted at night, after the construction people had gone. Now, however, a black-robed woman — the Servant Assassin — had erected her barrier there, and ordinary humans could no longer so much as perceive the entrance.
As she rested her body, the woman Assassin silently closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Although she had been caught up in Saber's powerful strike, there was not a single wound on her. Perhaps she had employed some kind of secret technique.
Nonetheless, she still knew neither her opponent's fighting strength, nor his Noble Phantasm, nor even his true name. Her temporary withdrawal had probably been tactically correct. Yet the fact that she had retreated in the face of the enemy at all had sunk her heart into a deep abyss.
That man had known about the "Old Man of the Mountain."
Who is he? How much does he know of the techniques of the great chiefs?
He is among those led astray by the Holy Grail. That much is certain.
I must think of a plan for dealing with him.
If that Saber had been a man whose only skill was unleashing those powerful slashes of light, she could deal with him as things stood by making liberal use of her own Noble Phantasm. The possibility of using up her mana and vanishing as a result would be high, but she would have no regrets about that. She had not yet noticed the flow of mana that still linked her to her Master.
The woman Assassin cemented her resolve as she devised countermeasures for the man. She sensed an air of unrest ever since Saber had been summoned. Just before he appeared, there had certainly been multiple presences in the light. Some of them had been clearly inhuman. Later all the figures had coalesced into one... but there was the arrow that had knocked away the arm of her Delusional Heartbeat Zabaniya. That Saber did not appear to have fired it. Furthermore, the arrow had been laced with a powerful poison. Because she had acquired resistance as a result of her training, it had had no effect on her, but it would have numbed the sinews of an ordinary person, rendering them immobile. The man had not seemed the type to use poison for preference, and there was still the mystery of why the arrow had flown out of his shadow. That meant she could not fight him recklessly.
Her own immaturity had prevented her from calling down inevitable death on her opponent. If one of the great chiefs had been in her position, they would surely have been able to reap the mysterious Heroic Spirit's life without raising an eyebrow. Her own inability to accomplish that was proof of her immaturity.
How should I deal with that man?
There was a Noble Phantasm related to her poison resistance — a technique of scattering poison that a chief called "The Tranquil" had once employed — but that would also effect people other than her target. In life she had ceaselessly trained herself for the duties of an assassin. But all of that was for bringing ruin to the enemies of the faith, not for massacring innocent people. There might be coreligionists of hers among those who walked the city. And even if there were not, there would be some who might one day have a change of heart and convert.
She had spent the day seeking out and challenging the many mages who had infiltrated Snowfield. As they were all clearly infidels, she had reaped the lives of any who had engaged her with murderous intent. As long as they were not involved with the Holy Grail War, the mages were not definitely marked for death, but she had no reason to overlook those who sought her life. Most of the mages who had not been hostile had no sooner learned that she was a Servant than they had begun to proposition her: "I'll manage the Command Seals somehow, so make a contract with me," "Let's go after the Grail together," "Once we have the Grail you can wish for whatever you want." She had stabbed their tongues so that they would not be able to speak such depravities for a while. When it came to mages who had only come to enjoy the spectacle, she had simply left them with the warning, "The ritual in this city is a heresy against nature; have nothing to do with it." If she had had more time, she would have taken the opportunity to recommend conversion, bat at present she had no such luxury.
Eliminate the ones behind this Holy Grail War. That is my only duty.
She switched her thoughts to another track, stood on the edge of the building, and flung her body high into the city night. She could still sense many mages, and they showed no sign of running out. It was her task to search out the masterminds of the Holy Grail War from among them, and give them just retribution for their slights to the chiefs.
X X
The same time. On a rooftop.
The woman Assassin's Master, Jester Carture, watched over her from afar, grinning ecstatically. He rattled on to himself, slowly clapping his hands.
"Ah... Magnificent! You were fully justified in your retreat, and yet you feel shame at your own immaturity. But such pride is for kings and knights to worry about, not you! Still, the sight of your shame is truly beautiful!"
Jester was among those who had observed the events in the opera house from the shadows. He had completely erased his presence and witnessed the affair from beginning to end. He could say with certainty that there was something unusual about the Heroic Spirit who appeared to be Saber. As far as Assassin's Master was concerned, she had had slim chance of victory, Noble Phantasms excluded.
"You would almost certainly have lost in a head-to-head firefight. But not to fear; you are an assassin. Seek your opening from the shadows, and deal him certain death from behind! Upholding the honor of what you believe in through such dishonorable means is your very way of life!"
Jester described her way of fighting to suit himself, and praised her life to suit himself. He danced round and round in the darkness alone, literally jumping for joy.
"What purity! To think that there was still such a promising fruit left in the human race! All mankind should watch her life, comprehend it, sympathize with it, and learn from her example! No, I tell a lie! She is too good for mere humans! I, I alone, am fit to savor her with my eyes, to break her, and to devour her!"
Once he had finished shouting his boundless egoism, Jester surveyed the city lights that stood out in the darkness of night below him, and licked his lips with barely-suppressed excitement.
"How could I let anyone else have her? Even those fiendish Heroic Spirits in the desert, or to the new swordsman. I will permit them to torment her. By all means, make her despair. But it must be I who eats her in the end!"
At that point Jester stopped grinning for a moment, and narrowed his eyes as he turned his attention to the darkness of night itself. As if he were glaring at something human eyes could not see.
"Cursed servant of the planet. Surround the city with your burden of death if you will, but I won't surrender that girl, even to you."
X X
A dream.
Rider had no mind. A system for carrying death to humans. That was his true nature.
While his Master, Kuruoka Tsubaki, was sunk in peaceful slumber, Rider dreamed as well. A process of recalling what had transpired during the day, and sorting the information he had accumulated. There was neither desire nor regret in it. It was no more or less than data sorting for the purpose of abiding by the Holy Grail system and guarding the safety and wishes of his Master.
Almost a full day had passed since the events in the desert. The data Rider was sorting was largely the same as it had been the day before. But several "birds" now flew in the dream world, he recalled Tsubaki rejoicing at the sight of them.
"Birdies!"
"Hey, did you bring me those birdies too?"
"Thank you!"
"I love animals!"
Tsubaki's guileless words were replayed over and over again. In the past day, that was the moment that the girl, his Master, had been most excited. That was the course his Master wished for. Having confirmed that, Rider began to do his duty.
He acted so as to ensure that, in case his interpretation turned out to differ from Tsubaki's, he would be able to correct his course immediately. Slowly. Slowly. And so, silently, brutally... he began to spread throughout the town.
X X
Somewhere in the city.
Surrounded by mountains of old-looking books, Caster was resting his feet on his desk and staring at the screen of a notebook computer with an excited grin.
"Oh-ho, so when ya put the notes and lyrics into the computer, the little lady in the picture sings! Oh, what a time to be alive! The Grail War's got nothing on this!"
He fiddled with the computer for a while, rattling on in that vein all the while. At last, a bizarre tune, such as to waste the capabilities of that sophisticated software, became audible from the computer.
"..."
Once he had listened to it all the way through, he tried listening to songs made by other people for comparison. Then he nodded as if convinced of something.
"Yeesh. My violin teacher told me back when I was a brat, but I guess I really ain't got any musical talent. Can't do anything about that; might as well focus on the Grail War."
With a sigh, he switched the image on the computer screen. A stream of highly-classified information, such as would never normally be lying around on the internet, flashed across it.
[Confirmed that all birds utilized as familiars have revived from apparent death state.]
They appeared to be reports from an organization connected to Snowfield. A long succession of sentences sprinkled with mage terminology.
[Confirmed that all functionality as familiars has been lost. Abnormal spots in various places.]
[No pathogens discovered, but confirmed faint traces of magical energy possessing unusual properties, interpretable as both mana and od. Conjecture that birds we failed to recover have similarly revived.]
[Case category upgraded to C class. Future developments under the jurisdiction of Mr. Faldeus Dioland.]
Following such disquieting statements, still more bizarre documents and footage from Snowfield's local cable station appeared on the screen.
[Received information that police have secured one Heroic Spirit, thought to be Saber.]
"Haha, for real? Looks like we've got another weirdo on our hands!" Caster cackled, playing back what appeared to be a video recording.
When he saw the figure addressing the public, his eyes widened, he clapped his hands together, and rocked his chair back and forth as he shouted:
"! Looks like the station's saddled with another troublemaker!"
Then he blurted out words of compassion for his Master, mingled with sarcastic laughter.
"Too bad for the chief. Guy could get an ulcer from this."
Caster spoke as though it was all someone else's problem, and kept on talking to himself, carefree to the end, as he perused still more information.
"Now for the kickoff of a fun seven days! They say it took God that long to make the world, so let's see what these guys can whip up."
Then, just a little regretfully, but still grinning, Caster slowly shook his head from side to side.
"I'd like to at least hold out long enough to see the finale with my own eyes, but I guess I've only got seven days too."
Caster rocked his creaking chair hard and looked around at the high-piled books, flashing a self-mocking smile and laughing under his breath.
"If I was the great Shakespeare, I'd write up the story playing out in front of me, but I think I'll do my best to kick back in the gallery and enjoy the show! Smoking hot babes and tasty grub included! Haha!"
Originally Posted by Mcjon01
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