Chapter 9: Day 1, Evening
A Horse Not Yet Pale; Mud Yet Firm
Hundreds of thousands of people are reported missing in the United States every year.
If you were to ask whether that number of people actually disappear each year, the answer would be that half do, and half do not.
Japanese news media often reports the sensational figure. Actually, however, the greater part of persons reported missing are found within the day, or within a few days. Those who remain missing for more than a year that is to say, those who have truly disappeared make up less than ten percent of the total. Tens of thousands of people each year.
Tens of thousands is not a number that can be overlooked. Even excepting that, however, the numbers for the years leading up to the Holy Grail War were abnormal.
It was a slow change, in a sense. No one realized its true meaning.
No one except the man who caused it.
X X
There was a mass of twisted magical energy called "mud."
Francesca extracted it from the Greater Grail in Fuyuki at the same time she stole a portion of the Grail's "substance."
Faldeus, who had inherited memories of the third War, recognized its nature.
Before that, the Grail had been absolutely clear, unpolluted by that clump of sentient magical energy.
Faldeus, following his memories, had immediately realized its identity. He had immediately proposed the "mud" be quarantined.
No orders, however, had come down for its isolation, disposal, or purification. His superiors and their collaborators had an interest in the muck in the "human evil" that had polluted the Holy Grail and its power and which still retained the power to defile a new grail seventy years later. That is to say, in the infinitely pure, infinitely stagnant wish that had composed a certain Avenger in the third Holy Grail War.
It was the boss of the Scladio Family, Galvarosso Scladio, who had expressed the greatest interest in the "mud," which Francesca had preserved for years in the gaps between the entrails of adaptable humans.
"Bazdilot could Master that toxic bog," he had said.
Faldeus had, naturally, been opposed. Because Francesca, who actually possessed the stuff, had accepted the proposal, however, the situation began to grow increasingly tangled.
All of the muck's hosts had been seized by madness. It had ultimately consumed their bodies as well. Bazdilot, however, remained just as he had been before accepting it into his body. In fact, he was apparently nurturing the mud on his own magical energy, increasing its volume. The Scladio Family praised this as proof of Bazdilot's power as a mage, claiming that he had subjected himself to his own magical domination in order to control the mud while preserving his sanity. Faldeus knew better.
It was true that Bazdilot was employing his own magecraft in order to control and cultivate the muck. He must also be maintaining an extraordinary effort to prevent it from dominating his mind. Nevertheless, Faldeus was aware that there was a single mistake in the Scladio Family's accolades.
Bazdilot was not controlling the mud while preserving his sanity; the man called Bazdilot had been mad long before becoming its host possibly from the very beginning.
X X
Snowfield industrial district. Underground.
"...You're back."
Bazdilot was in the vast mystic workshop with its entrance beneath the meat processing plant. Sensing a presence, he turned. His Servant, Alkeides, stood behind him.
"What did you think of the rumored King of Heroes?" He asked, facing the Archer
cum Avenger.
"...Strong. He showed no sign of rising to my bait. He sometimes flew into a rage, but it was never more than a superficial display."
"According to Francesca, he's a conceited king prone to violent outbursts... I suppose her information is dangerous to swallow."
They had no way of knowing that the existence of the Heroic Spirit Enkidu had put the King of Heroes in an unprecedented good humor. He was now far more tolerant than he would normally have been when summoned. But then, to Bazdilot and Alkeides, Gilgamesh's personality hardly mattered.
After a brief pause, Alkeides addressed his Master.
"O Master, what is the source of your magical energy? Even simply maintaining that 'sacrificial mud' would be beyond any common mage."
"Are you worried that my magical energy will run dry?"
"You must know the number and nature of my Noble Phantasms."
"..."
In a battle between Servants, how freely each was able to employ their Noble Phantasms was often a deciding factor.
A mystic pass now linked Alkeides to his Master, but he was still unable to fathom the limit of Bazdilot's resources. To be precise, he could roughly sense the overall capacity of his Master's Magic Circuits, but the volume of magical energy flowing through the pass between them clearly exceeded it.
"It's simple; I'm merely using 'batteries.'"
Bazdilot reached a hand into his pocket as he spoke. It emerged holding an object the size of a baseball.
At first glance, Alkeides did not realize what it was. Once he did, however, he gave a low grunt of admiration.
The thing in Bazdilot's hand was a crystal wrapped in an air of mystery. Though transparent, it refracted light in complex patterns. It resembled the mystic crystals used by jewel mages, but it seemed several orders of magnitude more pure.
Alkeides had seen such distinctive crystals before. It had the same aura as the "Mana Crystals" that the witches of Greece had once refined from the Mana in the very air. If that was the case, it would mean that Bazdilot had been extracting vast quantities of magical energy from this crystal.
A Mana Crystal stored was like a battery of magical energy, but it was not for boosting or immediately replenishing a mage or Servant's Od. They were primarily used in order to add external magical energy when casting a spell.
Bazdilot, however, was using a trick; by using the "mud" to pollute the energy, he was able to take it into himself and then channel it into his Servant. Using such a method, the corruption of that warped magical energy which might justly be called suffering itself would ordinarily have spread to his brain and driven him mad. Bazdilot was casting his "domination" magecraft on himself in order to manipulate it while keeping his right mind.
Alkeides had no aptitude for magecraft, but he had gained a suitable knowledge of it through his voyages on the Argo and other adventures. He quickly grasped Bazdilot's process. There were still two points, however, that he could not explain.
Was not the production of Mana Crystals impossible with the techniques of modern mages?
And would not a crystal the size of the one his Master now held be exhausted relatively quickly?
As if in answer to his Servant's doubts, Bazdilot rose from his seat.
"...There is no need for you to worry about energy."
The pair proceeded a long a corridor of the underground workshop and arrived at a vast open space. It was far larger than the room Alkeides had been summoned in; almost as large as if the plant above had sunk beneath the earth intact.
There, Alkeides saw it.
Strange machines linked to rows of cylindrical water tanks. The center of the space was occupied by a device reminiscent of a summoning circle composed of modern mechanical technology. In a further corner of the room a small mountain sparkled brightly enough to be mistaken for a castle treasury. Lumps of transparent crystal were heaped up like a mountain of jewels.
"That's only a fraction of them."
Bazdilot's underlings began some kind of operation. The human-shaped lumps in the tanks turned to foam and vanished. In exchange, a Mana Crystal the size of a baseball materialized atop the central apparatus.
"...Sacrifices."
Alkeides understood everything.
"A man called Atrum Galliasta developed the system," Bazdilot explained matter-of-factly. "The Scladio Family stole it and improved it. Atrum was a genius at developing these things, but his skill as a mage was lacking. I hear he died without a fight in the Fuyuki War before he had a chance to improve its efficiency."
"I see. So you derive the magical energy you channel into me by sacrificing human lives."
"The Scladio Family has no shortage of enemies. If you find human sacrifice unforgivable, you could always wring my neck right here."
Bazdilot's eyes were reminiscent less of the grim reaper than of death itself. Alkeides quickly shook his head.
"It is a mere trifle compared with my vengeance on the Olympian tyrants. Not even if the life offered as sacrifice was my own."
Then, his whole frame oozing with reddish-brown energy, he voiced his grudge against the gods.
"They did not even sacrifice the souls of my children... They cast their lives into the furnace for common envy."
X X
The police station.
"Y'know, bro, that Archer who went after the hotel's got me more worried than Saber."
"...As always, you have sharp ears."
"'Avenger,' was it? Looks like Little Miss Francesca was carrying around a bit of something awful dangerous."
"Be that as it may, I hear that the actual Servant was quickly eliminated from the Third Fuyuki War. I suppose no amount of human hate and anger is a match for eminent Heroic Spirits."
The chief and his men did not fight with deluded conviction and hate alone. He would not, however, deny that there was power in rage, hate, and other negative emotions. If they were totally ineffective, he would need to give another thought to their future movements.
"Ha!" Dumas answered, laughing. "You're not giving revenge enough credit, chief. Hate, taken to an extreme, is a form of curse all on its own. You might even call it a kind of Mystery that's still around in the modern day and doesn't need magecraft. Of course, it's not really any kind of Mystery; it's just a human emotion."
"A curse, huh?"
"Yeah. The dangerous thing about it is that the more just the revenge, and the farther you take it, the better it feels. If hate's a curse, catharsis is opium. One taste and you're hooked. Doesn't matter if you're an avenger, or an onlooker reading about one in a book or watching one on stage, or an author turning a profit making other people's revenge into books. Ha ha!"
The chief considered Dumas' words for a moment, then scowled and asked:
"...It seems impossible, but was there a model for your Count of Monte Cristo?"
"Who can say? One of the models was probably my old man. But did Edmond Dantes exist? Did he really take a revenge that thrilled everyone who saw it? Did he give it up in the end? Was the treasure ever real? Only God knows. It's one of those 'Rashomon' things. Well, it's definitely true that I made a mint on the novel! Ha ha ha ha ha!"
"...If, for the sake of argument, there was a real man you based him on, and that man met you now, you'd have no right to complain if he shot you dead."
"I guess so," Dumas assented to the chief's sarcasm, laughing all the while.
"As long as I'm a Servant, I might bump into him someday, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I'll tell him, 'Thanks to you, I made a boatload more than the villains who tricked you'! Ha ha!"
"If I was in his place, I'd still be waiting for a chance to sock you one. What was that line? Oh yes, it was"
"Hey, stop that!" Dumas shouted hurriedly. "Don't quote an author his own work! I won't be able to help thinking up a better line, and then I'll want to revise it! And I can't anymore!"
Some time later, once he had calmed down, Dumas resumed his lecture on the curse of vengeance.
"Anyway, bro, be careful. From a stranger's point of view, proper revenge not unjustified resentment is a pleasure to watch. The curse is contagious, you get me? The harder the revenge is to get, the stronger it is.
"Even that shiny king you're after could get swallowed up by the vengeance of some country bumpkin."
X X
Crystal Hill Hotel. Top floor.
"Humph. He seems to be in high spirits; the forest is taking on an entirely different aspect from what it was by day."
Windows were shattered throughout the suite. Tine was blocking the strong winds that blew at its high elevation with a mystic ward. She had also erected a number of additional wards tailored to deceive the eyes of any outside observers.
Despite the recent attack, Gilgamesh had declared that "no king would ever allow an arrow or two to dislodge him from his height," so they had returned to the hotel. Tine's followers were in the process of mesmerizing construction workers, etcetera.
And the hero himself, ignoring the hardships around him, surveyed the great forest abutting the city. It seemed to improve his mood.
"It appears my friend has found a good opponent for limbering up as well! I am looking forward to it!"
The King of Heroes was looking down at the city, arms crossed. Anticipation of the coming battles must have excited him, because he addressed the following uncharacteristic remarks to Tine:
"Tine, ready an ample supply of magical energy. I will not draw Ea against mongrel riffraff, but even I cannot imagine how much power what I am about to do will take."
The King of Heroes spoke with eyes full of youthful vigor. Tine was momentarily taken aback, but quickly steeled herself and nodded forcefully.
"Please wield your power as you see fit. Even should my body and soul wither and" Tine began to say, but Gilgamesh cut her off with a stern tone.
"No more foolish talk. You are free to offer your life to me, your king, but an immature soul such as yours would give me no comfort."
"..."
"Besides, if you wither and die too quickly, how will I fully enjoy myself with my friend? Or do you intend to force on me the labor of seeking out a new retainer with magical energy to rival your own?"
"I-I didn't mean...!" Tine hurried to deny the accusation. The King of Heroes gave her a wry smile.
"If you wish to offer me your life, your soul may be worthy of it by the time this war is finished the time I keep my appointment with my friend. Do that, and I shall bring a memory of you back to the Throne with me a memory that, in this war, there was one who merited the title of loyal retainer. Consider it an honor equal to becoming a citizen of Uruk."
"I-I'll do my best! Ah..."
Realizing that she had unconsciously raised her voice, Tine hurriedly moderated her tone.
"My humble apologies. As I am now, that horsewoman refused to even acknowledge me as an enemy..."
Gilgamesh appeared confused by Tine's self-flagellating tone.
"If the equestrian's scorn concerns you, that is hubris," the King of Heroes announced with a fearless grin. He must have guessed Tine's discomfiture. "Whatever your resolve, before the strong, a child is but a child. Naturally, you are but a child in my eyes as well."
"But I"
"They would face a proud warrior with courtesy, regardless of their apparent age. But while you may have resolve, Tine, you cannot yet call yourself proud. Anyone can steel themselves in the face of certain death. Those who lack self-respect, however, will lack it even in their dotage."
"..."
Tine was not certain she could ever possess such pride. Disregarding her anxiety, the King of Heroes drew a high-class bottle from the suite's wine cellar and brazenly continued as he drew the cork.
"In that sense, you are fortunate; you are my retainer, albeit temporarily. In but a few days you will be able to boast that you were privileged to serve the greatest and only king and to burn my glory into your memory. But then, being king, I would not know the feelings of a proud
warrior."
Tine's feelings on her king's proclamation of single-minded egoism had gone beyond exasperation. She did not fully understand him, but she was impressed that he seemed to genuinely believe that the world belonged to him. She remained unaware that her senses were gradually numbing.
Suddenly recalling a question that had been worrying her, she decided to risk asking the King of Heroes.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, may I ask by what means you triumphed in the fourth Fuyuki Holy Grail War, as a small part of your glory?"
The King of Heroes grinned broadly and leisurely sipped his wine.
"Oh-ho. You realize, Tine, that only I could answer that question? Under this 'Fuyuki' system, one does not retain memories of the times one has been summoned elsewhere."
"Even if they are in the past...?"
There was no concept of past or future in the Throne. Taking in all of a Heroic Spirit's memories would created contradictions, such as knowing the outcome of a Grail War they were currently participating in. Their memories were therefore supposedly adjusted to match the time and place to which they were summoned.
"It may be a desperate measure on the part of the Throne to curb the world's contradictions, even if only slightly, but it is a wasted effort in the face of my eyes, which see through all futures. Analogizing the past based on a future of a different phase is a simple matter."
The King of Heroes stared confidently into empty space and endeavored to observe himself on a different phase, but...
"Hm? ...'Splash'...? This can't be right... Fishing...? No..."
He appeared briefly troubled, then mystified.
"How odd. As soon as I turn my gaze to the phases around when I was summoned to this 'Fuyuki,' the 'mud' I saw today clouds my eyes."
He seemed, however, not to particularly mind. After a sip of wine, he shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, no matter. If this 'Grail' is genuine, I shall use the magical energy it contains to wash the 'mud' away. In exchange, I shall tell you the tale of how I built the walls of Uruk in full!"
Tine subsequently learned a veritable mountain of facts she wished she had never heard about a city called Uruk... but that is another story.
X X
Evening. Snowfield Central Hospital.
In central Snowfield, there is a gigantic white building. At first glance it could be taken for an art museum, but it was the city's largest and best-equipped hospital, a fortress of hope on whose doors numerous patients knocked seeking treatments ranging from surgery to psychosomatic medicine... Or it should have been. At present, the reception desk was in chaos in the face of the waves of patients that kept pouring in, escorted by their families.
"I'm telling you, there's something wrong with my husband! One moment he's heading off to Las Vegas for work, the next he's back and going on about how he's 'never leaving this city again'! It's not normal!"
"It's crazy! One of went out to Indian Springs on a delivery, but he came right back without even doing the job. Then we sent another guy, and he did the same thing!"
The only commonality between all the cases was that every person who tried to leave the city suddenly returned. Their families brought them in, fearing some kind of mental illness. Faced with the massive influx of similar patients, the hospital suspected that something unprecedented was taking place. They were currently holding an emergency meeting to devise countermeasures.
"Oh, Doctor. Is anything wrong?" A young female nurse called out to an aged physician who had already finished his shift. They were walking in an inner ward of the hospital, slightly removed from the chaos.
"No; I just forgot something in a patient's room."
"Oh, I see. I hear the front entrance is a mess right now, so take care."
"I will, thank you."
The old doctor waited until he was certain the woman was gone. The next instant, his form had changed into that of the nurse who had just been speaking to.
"How's it going, Jack?"
The nurse's that is, the disguised Berserker's brain picked up a telepathic communication from his Master, Flat.
"No problems here. I have obtained a pass card to proceed deeper inside, so you can rest easy."
Berserker had changed into the nurse completely, including the bar code-style card hanging around her neck. He continued further into the hospital, morphing into the people he passed in the halls and gathering information as he went.
"Is this the right direction?" He asked, back in the form of the original old doctor.
"Can you actually see what I see?"
"Yes, sort of. Let me see... The "fog" is thickest up those stairs."
"Understood. I will proceed with caution," Jack nodded emphatically.
"Be careful when you transform repeatedly, okay?" Flat added, sounding as if he had just remembered something. "
If you end up looking like you're going to catch a cold, like you did earlier, I don't think you'll be able to avoid standing out."
"I-indeed... I merely attempted to transform into an ordinary girl; I cannot imagine why I ended up dressed like that, with my thighs and belly showing..."
Before infiltrating the hospital, Jack had practiced morphing into various forms in their motel room in order to find the least suspicious appearance possible. When he had tried changing into a ten year old girl, however, he had somehow ended up wearing a revealing, black outfit that resembled a bathing suit. As a result, Flat had run around in a panic shouting that if anyone saw them they would immediately call the police and his life would be over and covered Jack with a blanket. He had eventually calmed down, but the cause remained unknown.
"Well, I did get to see you lose your cool for once, so I consider it a success."
"Please don't do it again. I mean it."
Berserker heaved a telepathic sigh, then braced himself and turned to look up the stairs.
I still can't see anything. Still, if my Master says it's there, I suppose it must be.
Berserker was infiltrating the hospital in order to locate the source of the "fog" that blanketed the city.
At the motel, Flat had claimed that he could see something like a mist of mana covering the whole city. Even when he transformed into a mage, however, Berserker had not been able to sense anything out of the ordinary. It seemed that Flat, however, could see those alien current.
"This isn't ordinary Mana," he had declared with uncharacteristic seriousness. "How can I describe it...? It's like if every drop of drizzle was an independent living thing... Or like if the town was covered in a swarm of super tiny locusts...
"At the level it's at right now, instruments for measuring magical energy won't register anything. If the 'fog' gets about two degrees thicker, though, I think mages with sharp senses will start to notice it. Even right now, a very perceptive Heroic Spirit or something that perceives things differently from humans like a hematophage could probably sense it."
Flat had then dispatched a familiar and observed the city by sharing its senses. As a result, he had learned that the mist around Snowfield Central Hospital was slightly thicker than anywhere else.
Jack had suggested sneaking inside in spirit form. While immaterial, however, he would be completely defenseless against magical attacks and risked sustaining lethal damage if he encountered any sort of trap. They had therefore decided that Jack would use his own idiosyncrasy to transform into someone affiliated with the hospital and infiltrate it while materialized.
"When push comes to shove, don't hesitate to run. When the situation's critical... when it's really
critical, I'll use a Command Seal to pull you out!"
Flat sounded determined.
"...Master," Berserker asked,
"you just thought that you want me to escape on my own if possible because you don't want to lose such a 'cool'-looking Command Seal, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. Sorry!"
"Honesty is a virtue, but there are times when a white lie would be preferable."
As the exasperated Berserker continued to advance cautiously, his eyes lighted on the words "Special Isolation Ward." It appeared to be a facility for quarantining patients with unusual infectious diseases. Entering or leaving it required passing through a decontamination room.
...What can it mean? Perhaps one of the doctors here is a Master, and they are using this place to keep their Servant isolated?
Jack's musings were interrupted by the sound of someone emerging from the decontamination room. He quickly changed into the form of the nurse he had seen leaving this ward.
A moment later, a woman doctor stepped out into the corridor.
"Oh, didn't you go home already?"
"I'm sorry; I forgot something and..."
"I see. I wonder if they're still swamped over in psychosomatic medicine. It's just been one thing after another the pipeline explosion in the desert, the terror attack on the police station, the tornado this afternoon, etcetera and I'm sure a lot of people must be in shock..."
The doctor, who was apparently trying to consider the situation rationally, gave a self-deprecating shake of her head before continuing.
"My little sister works at that police station, so I was out of my mind until I heard from her this morning... Still, it's not all bad. Little Tsubaki's very stable today. If her condition stays like this, she might even regain consciousness one of these days."
"Really? That's great!"
Berserker did his best to follow the conversation. He could not instantly copy memories.
"Yes. I thought it was somebody's idea of a joke when we first found that weird tattoo on her hand... but now I wonder if the legendary 'protectors of the land' might've given her a good luck charm."
"Really...?"
"Oh, sorry. Here am I, a doctor, going on about silly things like that..."
The doctor laughed to cover the awkward moment, then walked off. One Berserker had seen her descend the stairs, he stepped into the decontamination room. And then...
"...Could you hear that, Master?"
Even over telepathy, Berserker's voice was female to match his appearance.
"Yes," Flat answered,
"and right now, I can see it."
"It's settled, then... I'm almost positive that this Master called 'Tsubaki' and her Servant are through here."
"Yes... but I think you'd better head back for now. If this was a video game, it would definitely be asking you if you want to save right about now."
"I concur. My apologies, but I have no desire to proceed further without making preparations."
Flat's senses weren't alone this time. Transforming into an ordinary person had significantly lowered Berserker's abilities as a Heroic Spirit, but he could feel it too. A dense, ominous aura was swirling around the door that lead from the decontamination room to the sickroom.
"If the stuff that spread into the hallways through the decontamination room is a black fog of magical energy... then what I can see in the entrance to that room is part of a giant waterfall."
Berserker could not see that clearly. But, although his true identity was unknown, he had manifested as a "killer," and all his killer instincts were raising an alarm. They were warning him that the sickroom was filled with the same air that must have surrounded him in the fogs of London. They were warning him that ahead was Death itself.
"I can probably manage if I use my Noble Phantasm... but I can't say for certain. Using bombs to destroy the entire hospital might be a better"
"W-we can't do that! We don't even know if that Master's a friend an enemy or a friend!"
If he can say that in a Holy Grail War, he really must be lacking something a mage needs... Or perhaps I should say that he has something a mage needs to lack.
Well, it's probably just that attitude that brought him together with that wonderful "professor" of his.
Berserker sighed and turned on his heel.
"Understood."
He made a point to remember the letters on the nameplate beside the entrance: "TSUBAKI KURUOKA."
"If I did that, I wouldn't be a 'killer' anymore. I'd be... something else."
X X
Inside Kuruoka Tsubaki's sickroom.
"It looks like... someone no, some
thing was just outside," Jester Karture, still in the form of a young boy, muttered, as if to the girl lying before him.
"Still, when I followed the disease that's eating into people to its source, I never expected its Master to be a dying girl," the boy muttered to himself as he stared at the Command Seals on Kuruoka Tsubaki's hand. He must have somehow snuck into her sickroom after concealing his vampiric face and powers.
"Yes, it's still too soon. Just a little longer... Until the curse of the Servant possessing this girl is ripe..."
Jester continued his ominous mutterings with an ecstatic grin.
"Ah, I wonder what my dear Miss Assassin will do when she finds out about this child. Once she learns that this girl might kill innocent townspeople just by being alive... Ha ha.
"If I use this girl right... I just might get to see Miss Assassin cry!"
X X
Snowfield Central Church.
Oh man, what a screw-up. I can't believe we let that fiend escape.
Hansa Cervantes, the overseer of the Holy Grail War, was in a room he had rented in the central church's residential wing. He stretched out a hand to a wine glass brimming with jalapenos and jolokias and, after giving his thanks to the Lord, began to snack on them.
His subordinates, the "Quartet," were currently in pursuit of the vampire. Hansa himself was making preparations to sortie as soon as they found the creature and, in the meantime, waiting for Masters to call in search of an explanation from the overseer. The first was now coming to its end, however, and there had been no reports and no Masters.
The latter, of course, came as no surprise. This had been advertised as a Holy Grail War without the Holy Church; it was doubtful if any of the Masters would ever call on him.
I'm still expecting the losers to seek asylum, but either nobody's been eliminated yet, or they got killed Master and all...
What should I say to make fun of that police chief if he shows up wanting protection for his whole crew?
Hansa shrugged. On the TV, a documentary on "the continued rise in missing persons cases across the United States" started playing.
"...Over the past several years, there has been a steady increase in the number of people who are reported missing and remain missing for more than a year. If you look at this graph, you can see that this year continues the gradual upward..."
Faced with the missing persons figures displayed matter-of-factly on the TV screen, Hansa frowned slightly.
Another increase. How many of those people fell victim to vampires and other monstrosities...?
There was no expression on Hansa's face as he reached out, took another hot pepper, and bit down hard on it with molars that had been fitted with a variety of consecrated tools.
He had no idea that vampires had nothing to do with the recent increase in missing persons. Neither did people running away from home or fleeing to other countries.
He did not know that a mage, full of pure malice, was behind it all.
X X
The industrial district. Underground workshop.
There was a mountain of Mana Crystals piled up in a corner of the room. Alkeides could sense the high-density magical energy packed into every single one.
"...With that amount," he emotionlessly declared, "I could fight for half a day at full power without difficulty."
"That's half a day?"
"Are you dissatisfied? It is true that it might take longer than that to settle things with that golden king..."
"No. That will suffice."
As he spoke, Bazdilot unrolled a map on his desk and showed it to Alkeides. After he lifted several layers of concealment, several glowing red points appeared on what had been an ordinary map of the industrial district.
"If that's enough to sustain you for half a day..."
The red lights indicated industrial fuel oil tanks, water tanks, and huge gas tanks shaped like giant cylinders crowned with hemispheres.
"If I put together everything I've prepared for this War, you should be able to fight continuously at full strength for several months."
When he heard those words, Alkeides understood. The various tanks indicated on the map were all fakes, designed to keep up appearances. Inside, they were vaults full of Mana Crystals identical to those in this workshop.
"...To produce such a quantity... How many have you sacrificed to this contraption?"
The question was meant sarcastically; he realized that there must have been too many victims to count. Bazdilot, however, answered without batting an eyelash.
"Oh, just twenty-four thousand nine hundred and seventy-six people."
"..."
"Is that enough to shock you? It's only about half the number the South American drug cartels have killed in the past few years."
"No; I was merely surprised that you keep the exact figure in your brain."
"Do I seem so irresponsible with human lives to you?"
Were Bazdilot's words genuine, or was he making a black joke? Not even Alkeides could gauge his Master's true intent by his eyes. The man was like a killing machine.
"Sacrificing that many people in total secrecy is no mean feat."
"It was nothing. It's not as though I was able to abduct several dozen people from in and outside the country a day on my own. It was the connections of my master, Galvarosso Scladio, that made everything possible."
Bazdilot let out a short breath, then continued dispassionately.
"The more massive the Scladio Family grows, the more enemies it has. If they're going to eliminate their enemies anyway, those lives should serve a practical purpose."
Bazdilot then narrowed his eyes and spit out what could be taken for self-criticism.
"Although, I was only able to extract dregs from today's thirty-six... That's because I killed them first."
X X
The Coalsman Special Corrections Center. In Faldeus' workshop.
In his room, surrounded by puppets, Faldeus was thinking.
Bazdilot is dangerous.
No, that's not quite accurate. The real danger is the Scladio Family.
If Bazdilot wins this War, Scladio will be unstoppable. Once the combination of the 'mud' and crystals spreads to the Scladio Family's other mages, they'll become even more powerful than they already are. If that happens, they'll be a check on the Clock Tower and the Holy Church... but government control will no longer be possible.
Having gone over his various concerns, Faldeus made a decision.
I will arrange for Bazdilot to disappear during this Grail War. But that alone won't be enough.
"There is no one else here," he murmured. "I would like to speak directly. Will you agree to that, Assassin?"
Every light in the room went out. All about him, darkness ruled.
It had a different quality from ordinary darkness. Faldeus felt a pressure as if the shadows around him were living, crawling things. A shiver ran down his spine.
Before he had a chance to activate a night vision spell, a voice called out from behind him.
"...Speak that which troubles thee."
Assassin's way of speaking was indirect. Faldeus broke out in a cold sweat and clenched his fists.
"It would mean leaving this city, but... there is a person I want you to deal with in a way that looks like an accident or natural causes. A man who is always protected by several mages, and who we cannot assassinate by the ordinary means at our disposal. His name is"
As Faldeus was about to speak the target's name, the pressure of the darkness increased.
"Set foot on this path, and thou may not turn back."
"..."
"Have thou faith worthy of ending a human life?" The Servant asked his Master for a final confirmation.
"Know that should thy faith ever prove false, the curse will rebound upon thee and devour thee whole. If thou are prepared... speak the name of thy calamity."
Faldeus felt that not only the mystical parts of him his Magic Circuits, his Crest, his Command Seals but even his heart and blood vessels had frozen solid. Even so, he said the name.
"Galvarosso Scladio."
"..."
"The first man you will kill is not a mage or a Heroic Spirit; he is an ordinary human. If he lacked his mystical protection, I could easily kill him myself."
X X
The same time. The Clock Tower.
In an office at the Clock Tower, Lord El-Melloi II was worried. Ordinarily, he would have been planning to set out for Snowfield immediately and at the very least bring his wayward pupil back with him. An unexpected interruption had, however, stopped him in his tracks.
Adashino of the Department of Justice Administration had personally handed him a "written request." It read: "Bearing in mind the circumstances attendant on the loss of Kayneth El-Melloi Archilbald, an important member of the Clock Tower staff, Lords are forbidden from travel to Snowfield, which had been designated a special danger zone." Whatever Adashino called it, it was clearly an order.
Lord El-Melloi II had been forced to a sudden halt in the middle of preparing Mystic Codes for his expedition. He had half expected it, and could muster no great anger.
"Still, Justice Administration's response was too fast."
The Department of Justice Administration had made use of all of its connections to ensure that El-Melloi II would be unable to travel to the scene of the Grail War. They were presumably concerned that he might choose to ignore their "request."
He had already confirmed several lookouts outside, and he lacked the skill to force his way past them.
As a worst case scenario, I should consider the possibility that the masterminds in Snowfield have ties to Justice Administration at the Clock Tower...
No, if that was the case, Justice Administration would have tried to pressure me into going there in advance. They would have wanted me to analyze the Grail War.
A knock on the door interrupted his mental soliloquizing. He opened it, and Rohngall the puppeteer entered, accompanied by the same disciple as the day before.
"Excuse us. Are you in better health today, Your Lordship?"
"Yes. I'm sorry you had to see that. But it appears you've come in a hurry. Do you have more new information?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact... Actually, it was my pupil here who discovered it... It's already begun to be rumored among the Clock Tower's younger residents, and will probably be more widely known tomorrow, but I thought I had better tell Your Lordship first."
El-Melloi II looked quizzical. The boy disciple timidly handed him a notebook computer. When he opened it, the screen displayed a page of what could justifiably be called the world's most popular video sharing site. (It had been acquired several years previously by the operators of a major search engine.)
"Umm, I tried privately searching local news sites and things like that, in case they had any more information about what happened yesterday. Then I found this rock band called 'Snow Smoke' that plays in Snowfield. They uploaded that video."
Could someone have recorded that arrest from a different angle...?
El-Melloi II frowned at the screen. A moment later, a small grunt of surprise escaped his throat.
On the screen was an image of the same Heroic Spirit who was supposed to have been arrested, skillfully strumming a guitar in a jam session with the band members.
"A-a Heroic Spirit... transmitted a video...?"
"Well, it was the band that uploaded it, so he didn't distribute it himself..."
"More importantly, what is this Heroic Spirit doing? What possible plan could lead him to act like this...?"
El-Melloi II attempted to analyze the Heroic Spirit's actions after his own fashion, all the while thinking that the man played guitar oddly well. His musings, however, were cut short by Rohngall's apprentice pointing at the screen.
"Ah! There! Look, in the corner of the screen!"
"Hm...?"
El-Melloi II looked and saw a girl with distinctive glasses and bleached blonde hair. His frown deepened as a single word escaped his lips.
"...Sajō?"
X X
In the forest.
"Hey," Ayaka called out to Saber as they moved through the woods.
"Hm? What is it?"
"...Sorry. For earlier."
"Did you do anything to apologize for?"
Saber seemed genuinely mystified. Ayaka dropped her gaze.
"...Yelling at you, pulling your hair... forcing my selfishness on you."
"You really do worry about trifles, Ayaka. If it will clear your conscience, however, I will accept your apology. I will also apologize to you. For using you as a pretext to propose an alliance without considering your feelings."
Ayaka, faced with the genuinely contrite king, looked away as she answered.
"That's really nothing to be sorry about."
X X
The Clock Tower.
"Oh, so it is true."
El-Melloi II turned to look at Rohngall. The scarecrow-like puppeteer nodded awkwardly.
"As I was saying yesterday, Your Lordship, one of the Association's people on the scene claimed to have seen one of your disciples..."
Once again, El-Melloi II sensed an inconsistency in the conversation.
"The pupil they claimed to have seen," he asked Rohngall, "wasn't Flat, then?"
"No, we heard about Flat Escardos later. But genius or not, surely Your Lordship would not dispatch a peaky lad like him as an advance party? It was Sajō there we were talking about..."
"Wait... I need a moment."
Sajō Ayaka. El-Melloi II did indeed know a mage by that name. Several years ago shortly before the fifth Holy Grail War in Fuyuki she had been a student, not yet fully an adult, and had attended his classes for about a month.
If El-Melloi II had been an ordinary lecturer, they would both probably have forgotten each other's faces after such a brief acquaintance. Due to El-Melloi II's methodical personality, the fact that she had come to him for advice concerning witchcraft, her unwilling involvement in the time Flat had deciphered the Voynich manuscript and caused trouble on a grand scale, and the circumstances surrounding her elder sister, however, they had kept in contact. Still...
"I'm sorry, there's something I want to think on. Would you mind calling again later? Thank you very much for the information."
El-Melloi II expressed his thanks to Rohngall and his disciple, who gave each other quizzical looks. Once they had left the room, he took out his cell phone. Then, with a practiced manner, he quickly typed out and sent an e-mail.
It read: "When you see this, I want you to call me immediately. I have an urgent question for you."
The recipient's name was "Ayaka Sajō."
X X
Somewhere in Snowfield.
"Hm? What's that strange sound?"
Saber instinctively looked around at the abrupt sound of Ayaka's phone alerting her that she had mail. The pair of them were on their way to their "next objective."
"My cell phone. It looks like someone just messaged me."
Ayaka flipped open her phone and frowned as she read the message.
"Oh-ho, so that's a modern letter. If it is a love letter, I shall avert my eyes; read all you want."
"It's nothing like that."
The message displayed on her cell phone screen was just signed "Filia" in Japanese.
Filia. The real name of the "white woman" who had dragged her into this Holy Grail War.
When Ayaka read the body of the message, expecting another unreasonable demand, all she could do was tilt her head in bewilderment. Filia's manner toward her had not changed since their meeting at the "castle," but this e-mail was different. It read like it had been written by a different person.
"Oh, you must've had a rough time too! You're free now, so do whatever you feel like."
"A bit late for that... What does she even mean?"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Oh, there's something I forgot to tell you."
Ayaka shut her phone, deciding to think about it later.
"I, umm... I won't tell you to mind your own business anymore. I mean, I'm sure you'll do whatever you want anyway, whatever I say.
"But," she continued, sounding as though she were forcing herself to speak in order to convince herself as well as Saber, "I'd like you to at least warn me before you do anything dangerous. I know I can't stop you, but I do want you to at least pause for a moment.
"...It'd be a pain if you died and I didn't get a chance to say thank you."
X X
The Clock Tower.
"Thank you very much. I'll be in touch again when I know more."
El-Melloi II hung up the phone. The wrinkles on his brows were deeper than usual.
"...What's going on?" He muttered to himself.
He took another look at the log of the call that had come in response to his e-mail. It was an international call from Romania. With Sajō Ayaka's phone number.
El-Melloi had already heard from Flat that she had gone to Romania on business.
"The person I spoke to on the phone just now was unmistakably Sajō Ayaka herself, and she was unmistakably in Romania."
Rubbing his temples and remembering the girl he had seen earlier in the video the girl who, with the exception of her blonde hair, was Ayaka's exact duplicate El-Melloi II let out a groan.
"But if that's the case... who on earth is that woman in Snowfield?"
Originally Posted by Leftovers
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