Chapter 6: Day 1, Noon
Two Archers, and...
In a dream.
"Yay! A doggie!"
An innocent cry resounded in the sunlit garden.
"There's a kitty, too! And a squirrel!"
She chased after the animals scurrying back and forth across the garden lawn, catching one of them and hugging it to her.
"You brought them all, didn't you, Mr. Black? Thank you!"
The girl looked up to where an enormous black shadow — Rider — wriggled. Tsubaki called the Servant "Mr. Black"; it did not appear to frighten her.
Countless birds flocked through the sky overhead, and small animals ran energetically around her. The garden had the air of a miniature petting zoo, and Tsubaki was happy in it.
"Tsubaki, it's almost time for lunch."
"Remember to wash your hands."
"I will!"
At a word from her parents, Tsubaki went into the house. She turned around once to take another look at the sun-drenched garden.
Birds singing. Cats and dogs basking in the sun on the lawn. Squirrels munching on nuts with its children. It was the picture of her ideal garden. Only the great black shadow swaying in its center was out of place. Tsubaki, who seemed not to notice its strangeness, beamed with satisfaction.
Unaware of what was taking place in the world to pay for her modest garden.
X X
A cheap motel.
"Next, the news. Veterinary hospitals throughout Snowfield are in a state of panic. Since early this morning, animals across the city have been entering comatose states, and worry that this could be a new form of communicable disease is spreading among residents. All the affected animals soon regained consciousness, but based on the fact that reddish-brown spots have appeared on their skin, an investigation in cooperation with the Municipal Board of Health is..."
"Hooray! The formalities are finally over with. I've done it, Jack!"
In spite of the news running on the local cable station, a carefree voice filled the cheap motel room.
"Indeed. Celebrating is all very well, but at present I question the wisdom of shouting my true name at the top of your lungs."
"Oh, I guess you're right! Sorry about that! In that case, let's think up a nickname for you! Something like, umm... The English Hell-Slasher, or..."
"Just call me Berserker," the Berserker watch pointed its hands at the excitable Flat.
Flat's high spirits had to do with the cell phone in his hands. It was the latest model, capable of sending emails with photos attached and making international calls. He was delighted that, with it, he would be able to make contact with his master in the Clock Tower.
"I'm finally connected to all sorts of things. I went out of my way to buy the actual phone yesterday, but I was only able to use it as a camera and radio."
Flat was staring at the screen, viewing a variety of photographs. They included, for example, one of the exploded opera house.
"I wish I'd gotten a shot of that Heroic Spirit's performance yesterday. I was so excited about getting interviewed myself that I ended up missing my chance..."
"Well, I suppose taking a photograph is one way of obtaining intelligence on enemy Heroic Spirits..."
Jack was trying to take a positive view of the situation.
"Oh, but I did get a picture of the Dead Apostle, and of one other Heroic Spirit!" Flat responded, eyes shining. He pointed the screen at the watch. It displayed an image of the Dead Apostle who had gone on a rampage through the police station parking lot the day before. "This is valuable! All the other people who took pictures deleted them because of the Church ladies' hypnosis! Oh, I'm so glad I trained to avoid hypnotic suggestion!"
"Wait a moment. The vampire concerns me, but more importantly, tell me all about this 'one other Heroic Spirit.'"
"Oh, that's right. Your eyes were glued to the battle between that priest and the Dead Apostle, Jack, so you wouldn't have noticed him."
"Why did you not say something to me at the time!?"
"Well, it was only for a moment, so I figured it could wait," Flat answered lightly.
Berserker thought that it was about time he gave his Master a good talking-to, and was about to enter into a telepathic harangue. Before he could begin, however, Flat's next words poured cold water on his temper.
"Besides... if we'd slipped up and made a fuss, and he'd noticed us,
I'm pretty sure we would have been killed instantly."
"...What?"
"I've never seen such an incredible mass of energy before. It's not even a question of what abilities he has, or what his true name is... I think we'd probably be dead the moment he laid eyes on us."
Flat's expression was the same as ever, but Berserker intuitively understood the truth of the boy's words. They had had a brush with death, and Flat, far from blurting it out immediately, had actually forgotten to tell him until just then. That fact made Berserker uneasy, but at the same time it gave him an odd sense of security.
"...Really, you are the limit... I'd taken you for a mere fool, but now I see you can be dry about the strangest things."
"You thought I was a fool this whole time?"
"I take it you're upset?"
"No. In fact, I'm kind of glad." Grinning cheerfully, Flat thought back on the Clock Tower, which was almost a second home to him. "People have always been weirdly afraid of me or avoided me, ever since I was a little kid... The only ones who ever call me things like 'fool' or 'idiot' to my face are the professor, and his sister, the princess, and everyone else in our department, and the OBs..."
Flat's tone was solemn. Berserker almost sympathized with him for a moment, then thought better of it.
"Wouldn't that be... well... quite a lot for most people?"
X X
Several minutes later. London. The Clock Tower.
While Snowfield was greeting the dawn, morning was still a long way from London. In a room of the Clock Tower — the nucleus of magecraft — two of its executives had come face to face for a consultation on the Holy Grail War in Snowfield.
"I knew he was a fool... and an idiot..." Lord El-Melloi II muttered, grimacing. The man sitting with him — Rocco Belfaban — let out a sigh before answering.
"I concur, Mr. II."
The pair were looking at images relayed by mages who had been sent to infiltrate the Snowfield site. A pool of mercury used in mystical communication was currently displaying a recording of Snowfield's local news broadcast.
"Huh? Am I on TV? Oh wow, I wonder if the professor or Reines are watching!"
No sooner did El-Melloi see an excited Flat face the camera and say those words than he experienced the vivid sensation that his stomach was dancing a jig while playing the violin badly. Rocco, seeing the deep furrows on El-Melloi's brow, addressed him half-pityingly.
"I bear some of the responsibility for forcing him on you in the first place, but, to be honest, you've kept him on so long I've gone past admiration for you and into exasperation." The old mage made his chair creak as he continued. "Both master and disciple entering the Grail War behind their professor's back... You might as well just say that recklessness is part of your curriculum."
"I can't deny it."
"Still, while Flat is a problem child, he's also an unmitigated genius. If by some chance he manages to bring the Great Grail system back to the Clock Tower, nothing could be better. And if he manages to bring back an actual Heroic Spirit as a research subject, it could rewrite the books."
The old man was, in short, suggesting that they might come away with only the tastiest morsels. El-Melloi II gave a slight shrug.
"I see. Words worthy of the head of the Department of Summoning and Lord of the School of Spiritualism. Then again, Director Eulyphis might come right out and say 'asset' instead of 'research subject.'"
"Leave off the sarcasm. You know better than anyone that being an acting Lord doesn't mean anything."
"Yes, I agree. I'm merely keeping the seat warm. Which do you think will happen first — our princess reaching maturity, or the stately procession making its way through Fuyuki and other special spiritual lands coming back?"
"I told you to leave off the sarcasm."
Rocco was a rigid conservative, even by Clock Tower standards. By all rights he ought to look down his nose at a "temporary Lord who refuses to side with the conservatives or the reformists" like El-Melloi the II, but at present they were talking like virtual equals. That was because his own position was a little like El-Melloi II's.
The proper Lord of the School of Spiritualism — it's director, the present head of the Eulyphis family — and his successor, Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, were temporarily absent from the Clock Tower due to a special assignment. And until they returned from their lengthy mission, Rocco had been appointed to fill the position of Lord as their representative. He craved power, but also realized that he was unsuited to the office of Lord, and so ended up feeling ashamed of himself at conferences. So ashamed that he could feel his life shorten every time another Lord, especially Lord Barthomeloi, glared in his direction. Thanks to that, he had apparently developed a sympathetic side for Lord El-Melloi II, who must feel even more ashamed than he did.
"Still... that man in armor who turned up later on is a bigger problem than Flat. If he was a Heroic Spirit, I suppose we should take it to mean that the Americans lack the power to keep the Grail War entirely secret."
"I can only imagine that he exceeded their expectations, but..."
El-Melloi II wanted to declare categorically that an Heroic Spirit who would voluntarily appear on television was unprecedented, but the image of a certain broadminded Heroic Spirit who would probably have given his own true name on the air if given the chance kept popping into his head.
"...Well, you can never tell what might happen in a Grail War," he muttered to avoid the issue, then launched into his views on secrecy. "The secrecy maintained by the Holy Church and ourselves won't last more than another five years. After that we'll enter the era when anyone can upload high definition images to social networks in real time. Once that happens, the ability of information to spread will outstrip the pressure to conceal it. We are approaching a crossroads where we will have to choose to either explore new methods of secrecy, or to reveal something."
"Humph... I'm sorry, I haven't been keeping up with the times; what field of magecraft uses the term 'social network'?"
"..."
El-Melloi II remembered that the old man in front of him was a staunch conservative mage who balked at ordinary telephones, let alone cellular ones, and wondered where to begin. Then the cell phone is his own pocket sounded to tell him he had mail.
"Excuse me."
He did not recognize the address, but the title "To Mr. Absolute Territory Magician!" was enough to tell El-Melloi II who had sent it. He struggled desperately to maintain his cool while mentally shouting, "Fuck."
"My stupid fool of a pupil has finally made contact."
"Oh-ho. How fortuitous."
El-Melloi II next scanned the mail's contents.
"Hi, Professor! This will be my phone mail debut! Thanks to your help, I was able to summon the best Heroic Spirit! Look at my Berserker!"
A photo of a steampunk-style watch was attached.
"I don't have a clue what he's talking about..."
El-Melloi II wondered if it was not his student who had gotten the Mad Enhancement skill, but then thought that Flat had probably had it already, and kept his cool. A few seconds later, another mail from Flat arrived.
"I've discovered my first Heroic Spirit in town! Actually, if you include Berserker and the man in armor, I guess he's my third. He seemed scary, so of course I couldn't just say hello. I wonder what I could do to make friends with him."
"Honestly, that idiot..."
He opened the attached photo, experiencing the vivid sensation that his own stomach had begun head banging to death metal. Then he saw the flashy man riding in the back of the Cadillac in the picture, and his stomach's wailing suddenly stopped. And not just his stomach — his breathing, blinking, and even his heart might have stopped for a few seconds.
"Impossible..."
"What is it, Mr. II?"
Rocco sounded concerned, but in El-Melloi II's head, the pieces were falling into place. He had gotten word of the crater formed in the desert. Besides, while the man's clothes and hair were different from those he remembered, he could never fail to recognize the unbelievably powerful Servant he had once seen in Fuyuki. If that Heroic Spirit was involved, then a crater or two were to be expected.
Rocco stared at El-Melloi II's pale face, worried that anxiety might cause him to collapse again, when time abruptly resumed, and El-Melloi II sprang to his feet, overflowing with energy.
"...Excuse me. Do you mind if I email for a moment?"
"Oh... No," Rocco nodded, overawed.
Email? He wondered, seeing the grave look on El-Melloi II's face,
Is he going to write a letter here? Where's his pen? He was apparently under the impression that the earlier communication had arrived via mystical telepathy, or something of the kind.
Behind the old mage's back, El-Melloi II was entering text into his cell phone at an incredible speed.
"As your professor, I'm giving you an assignment: no matter what happens, stay away from that Heroic Spirit."
After thinking for a moment, he made one addition.
"Hurry up and mail me your cell phone number, you *****."
X X
The same time. Snowfield. The top floor of Crystal Hill. The royal suite.
Gilgamesh, unaware that his photograph had caused a mage's heart to stop for several seconds, was looking down on the city through the full glass siding of his superlatively opulent room.
"Ha ha ha! As I thought; even in the simple arrangement of its roads and buildings, the city of Uruk is more beautiful!" He laughed good-humoredly, comparing it to the city he had once ruled.
Once they had gotten back to Tine's workshop in the Cadillac, he had had Tine gather only the bare necessities, and taken her to the top floor of the casino hotel. The funds, naturally, had come from his casino winnings of the day before. Because he used the fortune he had won in their casino at their hotel, the management regarded him as their finest customer.
In addition to Tine, a number of her black-clad subordinates came to stay as bodyguards. One conspicuous man, and a crowd who respectfully followed him. To the hotel staff, they must have looked like some billionaire and his servants. Possibly they took Tine, due to her age, as a servant's daughter or the rich man's ward.
Tine did not understand Gilgamesh's intentions. He was a king, so probably he wanted to base himself in the most luxurious rooms in the city. To her, however, moving to such a conspicuous place was merely unnerving. It would probably be watched by the enemy mages who had built the city, and, as it was not even a workshop, it would be difficult to make ready against attack. And even if they did make it into a workshop, that would hardly be enough to assuage her anxiety.
"I hear that there was a case in a previous Grail War in which a Master crushed a workshop by bringing down the entire hotel it was in. Our enemies' organization is vast, so they may attempt to destroy us, Crystal Hill and all," she had counseled.
"Let them do as they please," Gilgamesh had replied easily. "Ordinarily I would tell you to overcome such trifles yourself, but I suppose I am the one who summoned you to this place. I shall at least lend you a parachute."
It was impossible to tell whether Gilgamesh was serious or joking. He continued to stare down at the city with a graceful bearing. Before long he moved to the west wall of the room.
"It seems my friend is in quite a festive mood as well," he chuckled, looking out at the great forest that extended as far as the eye could see. "I mean, making such a vast wood dance..."
Tine, hearing those words, looked toward the forest as well. As one of the Protectors of the Land, she soon realized what was happening. The whole forest was shifting and rustling as if it was a single creature.
"Your friend?"
"Yes. I shall tell you about him sometime, if the mood takes me. Still, our reunion banquet was quite replete. If only we had not been interrupted, we would have gone on for three days and three nights."
That tremendous battle... for three whole days...
Gilgamesh's words made Tine feel faint, and nervous sweat run down her back. It was no joke; if the King of Heroes said so, then he really could fight for three days and three nights. If there was any reason he could not, it would be because she was his Master.
As a mage, and heir to ancestral power, she had thought she was strong. But what she could do in the face of powerful Heroic Spirits? Tine continued to wonder, but she was determined to use everything she had.
"...At present, our allies are tracking the movements of other mages. The head of the Kuruoka family, who appears to be one of the architects of the city's system, is behaving as if he has nothing to do with the Grail War, but..."
"Why report that to me? As Master, you decide how to act."
"...Yes, Your Majesty."
Gilgamesh glanced at the despondent tine, flashed a wicked grin, and asked:
"So, Tine, you want to take back this land, do you not?"
"...! Of course I do!"
"In that case, wouldn't you agree that that making a wasteland of this banal scenery, along with those mongrel mages, would be the fastest way to do it?"
"What...?"
It did not seem like just a joke. Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, could easily achieve what he had said. The battle in the desert a day ago had taught her that he had the power.
"Your Majesty jests..."
"I jest? Is it not the solution closest to the your ancestors' 'dearest wish'? What difference is there between the life of the clown who first summoned me and those of the mongrels who crawl through this city? Would it not be simplest to use those Command Seals of yours and order me to erase the city? I could even wait for your compatriots to evacuate."
"..."
Tine considered a while, then timidly answered:
"If I were to commit such an atrocity... I would be the same as the mages who stole this land."
"Lacking. That's an answer you found, not one that you thought of yourself."
"...!"
Tine was deeply ashamed to be seen through so easily. Even she knew that that was the wrong answer.
I swore to become even greedier than the mages, and steal back the land. So why do I hesitate to destroy this city? Why? Why? Why?
Tine hung her head in shock, failing to fathom even her own heart. She could not answer the king's question. She had no choice but to face his judgment. The girl's heart began to fill with a fear she thought she had cast aside. She had been prepared for death from beginning. Now, however, she was more frightened of disappointing this Heroic Spirit.
Gilgamesh saw the state Tine was in, saw through what she was thinking, and laughed as he continued.
"So, you've begun to doubt. I approve."
"What...?"
"Doubt is a foundation for demolishing blind faith. What are you looking so gloomy for? I was merely teasing you a little. Let it pass."
There had obviously been nothing "teasing" about his import, but for the moment Tine felt relieved. Her self-doubt, however, did not disappear. It clung to her heart.
"Still... even setting your wish aside, when you look at human garbage, do you not find yourself wanting to blow it all away?" Gilgamesh vented, sounding bored as he looked down on the city once more.
"...?"
"Honestly... I toured the city in person yesterday, and most of this era's mongrels are utterly worthless. Mongrels ought to flourish in my garden, but merely growing in number is ugly."
"What... do you intend to do about it?"
Tine was nervous that the King of Heroes might suddenly decide to "remove" the townspeople from his sight. As if to assuage such worries, however, Gilgamesh shrugged.
"Do not concern yourself. I would hardly go out of my way to clean up refuse." Gilgamesh sounded bored as he surveyed the city. "Although if I were to incarnate and truly savor life's pleasures, it would be another story. When that time comes I may consider culling the mongrels unworthy of life, but that has nothing to do with me now. If the mongrels choose a slow ruin, I shall simply watch their foolish end with a laugh."
Then he went on, waxing nostalgic for the distant past and seeming to speak half to himself.
"If my garden was to be spoiled by rampaging monsters, I could not ignore it, but if it is the road the mongrels choose for themselves, I shall not object. Although if they fail to notice that a choice remains, I may at least grant them hardships as guideposts."
Hearing those words, Tine felt both relieved and awed. This King of Heroes was indeed a king who would treat the whole Earth as his garden. A king among kings, equipped with an unshakable "self," who would pass sentence on the human race.
Tine sensed something that was not divine justice. She continued to stare fixedly at Gilgamesh, hoping to identify it.
"What is it? Have you finally noticed that the greatest pleasure in this world is to look on my glory? Very well, I permit you. Stare at me to your heart's content, and pass on the tale to your offspring until the stars perish."
Tine thought that he must be joking this time, but she could not shake the feeling that he was serious.
I don't really understand, but he really is an incredible person...
Tine — who, although mature for her age, was still fundamentally a child — appeared to accept Gilgamesh's eccentric speech and conduct, and — judged by ordinary standards — extreme aspect, as "just how kings are." In a sense, you could say that they were highly compatible.
Then the King of Heroes opened his mouth to deliver another indifferent, capricious proclamation.
"Now, today... I suppose we ought to begin by removing the flying vermin."
"Flying vermin?"
"Yes. It seems that there is a boorish fellow who got in the way of my and my friend's joyous reunion. Yesterday I made a circuit of the city in search of the scoundrel, but I did not find them. Therefore, there is nothing to do but sit and wait for them to come to me."
"Wait...? You mean here?"
"Naturally," the King of Heroes answered the bewildered Tine in a voice brimming with confidence. "One of the most formidable opponents of the Holy Grail War taking up a position as conspicuous as this one will not go unnoticed. Of course, my friend — another dangerous foe — is making a racket in the forest... but whichever way the vermin are drawn, there will be fewer of them."
I wasn't clear what basis Gilgamesh had for his declaration, but in any case he made it confidently.
"Insects cannot resist dazzling lights. Once I've enticed them in, I shall incinerate them without a trace."
Then, the next instant... a biting wind blew through the city of Snowfield.
X X
The police station. The chief's office.
"Yoohoo. Doing well, newbie?"
Francesca's voice was brimming with youthful energy.
"Go home, you old bitch."
The chief practically spit his reply.
"Oh? What's this? I knew you were calling me that behind my back, but you just might hurt my feelings, saying it to my face. I enjoy physical wounds more than mental ones, so I wish you'd think before you speak."
"Shut up."
The chief was plainly hostile to the gothic lolita girl, but she did not show the least sign of leaving.
"Yes, yes, I'll be quiet. Let me say just one thing, though: you keep going 'old, old,' but you know, it's only been three years since I started using this body. Even its organs are pretty. Want a look?"
So saying, Francesca quickly rolled up part of her dress, exposing her bellybutton. And something bizarre along with it.
It was a shapely belly at first glance, but there was something on it that did not belong: a wide zipper, installed directly into the flesh. It was made of a material like human teeth, and extended from near her rib cage on both sides, joining above her bellybutton. One did not like to imagine what one could see if one were to open it.
"Well? Do you want a look? You do, don't you? A good look at a girl's s e c r e t o r g a n s?" Francesca giggled seductively. The chief, however, did not turn a hair.
"What do you want? Come to laugh at me when I'm down?"
"Of course not! I came to check up on you! Talk about a disaster. I mean, a Dead Apostle being a Master? Not even I could have foreseen that! We've got to eliminate them quickly!"
"Liar. Anyone could tell that you're secretly overjoyed things have gotten interesting."
"Oh, is it that obvious? But you know, I do loathe Dead Apostles. They are enemies of the whole human race, after all. I'm on humanity's side, so I'll never let the likes of them have it."
Francesca self-confidently threw out her chest.
"You're just struggling for prey," the chief spat again.
"What's this? Are you pouting? Was that handsome priest stealing your spotlight come as that much of a shock?"
"More importantly, how do we treat the Holy Church?"
"You can ignore them for now. Any Master that wants to go running to them at the last minute will do it on their own anyway."
Francesca twirled her umbrella, then suddenly puffed out her cheeks.
"Either way, there were parts of what happened last night that weren't even fun for me."
"Which ones?"
"I mean, It was an executor and a Dead Apostle who got to stand out in the end! That's not right! Outsiders like them aren't supposed to have such big roles in the opening moves!"
Francesca shook her umbrella and her fist as she spoke. Then she suddenly stopped moving, spread her arms wide, and declared to no one in particular:
"Servants and their Masters are still the stars of the Holy Grail War!"
"..."
"...Don't you agree?"
Just as she turned to the chief with a broad grin... the area around them was enveloped in the roar of an explosion, and every pane of glass in the chief's office windows shattered.
"!?"
And it was not just the office. A thunderous roar and a blast of wind shook every window on the north side of the police station to pieces.
"Ah ha ha ha ha ha! Now it's starting! Have you bought a pamphlet? Got your popcorn? Oh, but I guess it would be donuts for you, chief. Hurry up, or you'll miss out on the match of the century!"
"You bitch...!"
The chief glared at Francesca. He was still unaware that the police station was not the only building with broken glass...
X X
Several dozen seconds earlier. North Snowfield. A large ravine.
A red clay ravine several kilometers further north of from the cave where Gilgamesh had been summoned.
The man stood on a rise that reached almost the same elevation as the top floor of Crystal Hill. A lean, wiry man, just over two meters tall. His hands clutched a bow. It was larger than an ordinary longbow, but it seemed a little undersized in the tall man's hands.
The man's dress went beyond "eccentric" to become what could only be called "bizarre." The first thing that caught one's eye was a long, decorated cloth draped vertically over his body. And not draped over his shoulders, either; the cloth was centered on the top of his head, and, having completely covered his face and the back of his head, went on to hang down so that it concealed both the front and back of his body. The only parts of his head that peaked out from under the cloth were his ears. On his upper body, however, he wore nothing else. A dark dye stained every inch of his exposed skin. It was also marked with some sort of design in a white dye, but it was hidden by the aforementioned cloth, and it was impossible to get a full view of it.
The man — who looked at first glance like he was about to appear in a horror game and chase its protagonist around — smirked under the cloth that covered his face, and silently drew his bow taught.
Then his fingers released the bowstring, and loosed an arrow. An arrow that flew far faster than the wind, and outstripped even the speed of sound.
X X
High above Snowfield.
A wind like a blade carved a straight line through the city of Snowfield. It split the air, throwing off shockwaves. By the time a roar like thunder filled the area, the wind had already passed.
At the wind's center was a single arrow. It was headed toward the top floor of a skyscraper in the heart of Snowfield — Crystal Hill.
The arrow shot by the mystery man plunged ahead like a laser, defying the laws of physics by never slowing or losing altitude. It had already traveled more than 20 kilometers. That alone was enough to prove that the archer was no human, and no ordinary mage.
Shockwaves raced through the sky over the city. The impact and noise together shattered the glass of every building below the arrow's trajectory one after another.
No human — no, not even a Heroic Spirit — could survive a direct hit from such a missile unscathed. The strike would reduce their entire upper body to mincemeat before it even pierced their skull.
The arrow was charging straight toward its target: Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, who had taken up his position on the highest floor of Crystal Hill.
Or rather, the head of the girl standing beside him — his Master.
X X
Crystal Hill. The royal suite.
Tine, who had been facing Gilgamesh, suddenly turned to look out the north window.
"What...?"
The sound had not reached her yet. She had merely sensed a disturbance in the mana filling the sky, and turned to face it for no reason in particular. By the time she sensed the wind being ripped to shreds, it was already too late. A tiny point of death was closing in on the girl, too close for her to react in time. No matter what she tried to do now, there was no way of avoiding the supersonic arrow.
At least, not for her.
"..."
An instant later, when the arrow had come within 20 meters of the hotel, thunder sounded outside the glass. There was a dazzling flash, and countless tiny bolts of lightning streaked through the sky. One of them appeared to strike the arrow, and what should have been a killing blow disintegrated in the air just short of its target. The shockwaves, however, still shattered the glass, and assailed everyone in the room.
" "
A wordless incantation. A wind sprung from Tine's hand, and became a protective wall, knocking the shower of falling glass away from her, Gilgamesh, and her black-suited followers.
"Are you unharmed, my lord?" She called out to Gilgamesh as soon as she had steadied her breathing.
"It is nothing."
The King of Heroes was uninjured, but sounded displeased.
"What was that lightning...?"
"The very thunderbolts are my Noble Phantasms. It appears they have intercepted some attack," Gilgamesh replied offhandedly.
"An attack?" Tine could not keep from blurting out.
When she looked out the window, she saw that there were a number of discs floating around the top of the building. The Noble Phantasms continued to make their rounds, clad in miniature lightning, inscribing beautiful geometric designs against the vista.
"Auto Defensors. There was a chance that my friend might jestingly launch a surprise attack. I set them up as a precaution, but..."
Gilgamesh looked to the north, and pulled a Noble Phantasm from his "treasury" — a weirdly curved lens set in a golden ring that floated in the air. Despite having only a single lens, it displayed distant scenery like a telescope.
"I never imagined it would serve to repel the arrows of a mere archer."
The image that appeared in the ring was that of a man, facing them and fearlessly readying his bow.
"An archer...?"
A doubt passed through Tine's brain. Archer was none other than Gilgamesh, who was standing beside her. Could this man be a Rider, Assassin, Berserker, or some other class who happened to wield a bow, then? When first caught sight of the archer through the golden ring, she had immediately been surprised by how high his statuses were. In terms of pure statistical values, he could even be said to surpass Gilgamesh.
Berserker, then...?
Tine was wary. Gilgamesh, however, remained expressionless.
"...Are you coming?" He muttered.
But the second shot had already been fired.
The Auto Defensors' lightning activated to intercept the arrow, but although several bolts struck home, it slipped through the gaps in the bolts to fly straight at Gilgamesh. The speed at which electricity travels through air — that is, the speed of lightning — while slower than light, still should to have been more than sufficient to catch any ordinary arrow. The speed of that arrow, however, was beyond human limitations.
Gilgamesh immediately materialized his armor, and swept the arrow aside with his left gauntlet. It seemed that it could not completely kill the shot's momentum, however, because a portion of the armor cracked, and fragments of gold showered the floor.
"...Oh-ho."
Gilgamesh surveyed the broken pieces of his own armor with an icy look, slightly narrowed his eyes, and...
"The barbarian has considerable skill with the bow, but he is ignorant of manners. I shall use him to clear the rust from my treasures!"
The next instant, a gigantic Noble Phantasm appeared beyond the shattered glass, floating alongside the top floor.
"What is..."
"Tine, you shall ride in back."
"May I?"
"Were I to leave you here, I could not entirely protect you from those hateful arrows. It would be inconvenient if you, my Master, were to die before I fulfill my agreement with my friend."
Tine responded to her "king's" matter-of-fact declaration with a forceful nod, and climbed onto the rear of enormous Noble Phantasm.
One of the many Noble Phantasms that Gilgamesh possessed — Vimana. Shaped like a golden yacht that had sprouted gigantic fairy wings, it was a miniature flying warship. The king's hoard, said to include every treasure, included not only weapons, but all the fruits of human intellect.
Once Tine was on all fours at Vimana's rear, Gilgamesh launched his golden craft. Tine was nearly sent flying by the sudden acceleration, but she invoked windbreak and gravity manipulation magecraft, and somehow managed to steady her balance and breathing.
Gilgamesh took up an imposing stance in the prow, and set the ship on a straight course toward the archer. Arrows — presumably fired by his target — flew at the him periodically, but the dozens of interception systems Gilgamesh had deployed around the ship shot were shooting them down perfectly.
"Amazing..."
The girl realized afresh what she was riding on, and could not suppress an exclamation.
"Even something like this..."
Was the emotion in the voice of the girl who thought she had thrown all hers away awe, or was it longing?
X X
North Snowfield. On the high slope of a ravine.
"...Oh-ho," the archer muttered, looking at the golden ship that had now arrived in front of him. His voice was low. Behind it lay a tinge of admiration, and a faint hint of self-mockery.
"You were the one who launched that surprise attack. I suppose you don't intend to beg for your life?" Gilgamesh asked. He had alighted onto the rise from the prow of his ship.
In response, the uncanny archer, who stood roughly ten meters ahead of him, slowly raised his head.
"..."
"Do you have any last words?" Gilgamesh asked.
The mysterious archer, however, gave no answer. He silently drew his bow taught... and unflinching launched an arrow at Tine, who was poking her head out from behind Vimana's rear seat.
"!"
The supersonic missile rushed at Tine's face. She might be able to deaden the shockwave with a wall of wind, but she could not block the arrow itself. Tine was once again conscious of death approaching before her eyes, when... Vimana's Options — the interception Noble Phantasms — shot it down in the nick of time.
"Fool. Did you imagine they would deactivate when I disembarked?"
"..."
Ignoring Gilgamesh's words, the archer fired a second shot, and then a third in quick succession. Tine had already hidden herself inside the craft, but he continued to ply his bow with a force that threatened to pierce Vimana's armor along with her.
A vein pulsed in Gil's temple. An onlooker, had there been any, could have told that the man was not seriously trying to shoot Tine, ship and all — he was simply trying to provoke the Heroic Spirit Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh either failed to notice that provocation, or, having noticed it, was yet more irritated by the archer's continuing to ignore him and target his Master, because an tinge of anger began to creep into his dispassionate tone.
"I see. That is certainly the correct choice, if you are obsessed with victory, or if you would choose the easy path to it. I might do the same myself in jest, depending on the circumstances."
A moment later...
"But such acts are permissible only because it is I who do them! They are not for the likes of you!"
Bellowing a declaration that stretched the limits of credulity, Gilgamesh launched countless Noble Phantasms from his Gate of Babylon, which opened behind him.
The archer seemed helpless under the rain of blades, some of which were of high rank. He, however, brandished his bow with his left hand, and went about sweeping aside the shower of Noble Phantasms with a speed that defied even a Heroic Spirit's expectations.
"What?"
"..."
The Heroic Spirit, who had deflected dozens of Noble Phantasms without so much as a scratch, wordlessly stretched an arm out to Gilgamesh, palm up, and beckoned provocatively to him with his fingers. When Gilgamesh saw that, his eyes narrowed, and he struggled to keep fury out of the voice that resounded across the rise.
"...I see you have light fingers. In that case... how about this?"
With a malicious grin, Gilgamesh deployed his Gate of Babylon over a wide area of the rise. The entrances to his treasury, deployed so as to surround the archer on all sides, began to twist like a tornado. Then they fired innumerable Noble Phantasms with the force of machine guns, raising a veritable whirlwind of lights and impacts high above the eminence.
Tens, hundreds, thousands of Noble Phantasms poured down on the man who stood in the tornado's center. They were blades or wisdom; suffering or salvation. There were dragon-slaying long swords; cursed swords that bring ruin; hero-killing spears; formless thunderbolts. The originals of every Noble Phantasm that human hands had ever possessed or created were being hurled out unsparingly. A hellish rain of mankind's legends, fired from fired from every conceivable angle.
Tine, witnessing that fearsome scene, imagined that not even a single scrap of the archer's flesh would survive it. As the whirlwind settled, however, it disclosed a sight that betrayed both Gilgamesh and Tine's expectations — the archer, unharmed and brushing dust from the long cloth that covered his body, and mountains of innumerably Noble Phantasms piled about him.
"Impossible..."
Gilgamesh, in contrast to the wide-eyed Tine, stared wordlessly at his opponent. For a brief while, silence reigned on the rise. Until it was broken by the archer's stifled laughter.
"He... hehe... he... heh... ha... ha ha..."
There was obvious derision in the sounds audible from beneath the cloth.
"...What's so funny?" Gilgamesh asked, expressionless.
The archer responded with a single, clearly-spoken word:
"
Weak."
If anyone who had confronted Gilgamesh in the past had heard that word, they would have doubted them man's sanity.
"..."
It seemed to Tine that the temperature of the area had suddenly and precipitously dropped.
"Blindly hurling your arms... You would do better to throw sand," the mysterious archer continued in spite of the atmosphere. "Only a real weakling — or a mindless beast — would be felled by such child's play."
It was a feeble voice, but its words were more than simple ridicule. They seemed charged with some implacable obsession.
"...Oh?"
Gilgamesh's expression changed. Tine was worried that he might explode into a rage, but, on the contrary, there was actually a faint smile playing about the corners of his mouth. In that instant, Gilgamesh's ruling emotion had switched over from "anger at an ill-mannered assailant" to "curiosity concerning a powerful foe."
"...Draw the sword in the deepest recesses of your storehouse. Then we shall be equals," the mysterious archer declared to the King of Heroes. Whether he had received the information from someone, or had sensed an exceptional presence from within the "treasury" during the earlier attack, he was telling Gilgamesh to "come at me with your most powerful weapon."
"Ea is practically my other self. It is no sword to be used on a weakling such as you," Gilgamesh cheerfully returned the provocation, grinding his teeth as he smiled.
Then another sword appeared in Gilgamesh's hand, in place of Ea the Divider — Merodach, said to be the original of swords of selection told of in various regions of the globe. A sword to determine whether his opponent merited drawing Ea, which symbolized himself.
"Prove to me that you are mighty enough to be worthy of beholding Ea."
"Foolish... If you had drawn it, you would not have to die," the archer whispered, then stretched out his free right hand to his side.
A new cloth materialized in it. At first glance it appeared to be a sash painted with a plain design, but those capable of viewing things from another perspective would immediately be able to tell how strange it was.
"That is unmistakably... a Noble Phantasm...!"
Even to Tine's eyes, the magical energy coating that sash seemed abnormal. When Gilgamesh saw that cloth, so coated in a divine aura so thick that it seemed an actual god must have used it, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"It differs somewhat from the gods I know, but it seems the principle is the same..."
It was a Noble Phantasm that held no interest for the self-proclaimed misotheist Gilgamesh. He was, however, curious to see what transformation the archer might now display. His Gate of Babylon had proved ineffective, so there was no sense in a surprise attack. Gilgamesh struck an imposing stance, and waited for his opponent to act with half-expectant eyes.
"..."
The archer smiled behind his cloth, and made ready to unleash the power of his Noble Phantasm. A few second later, a blow imbued with divinity shook the earth.
X X
The great forest.
"Gil... seems to be fighting someone strong..."
Enkidu abruptly stopped what he was doing and turned his gaze to the northeast of the forest. It was merely an expanse of tress, but Enkidu could see something else. Using his Sense Presence skill, he was able to sense Gil's strong aura from afar, as well as another, equally powerful presence.
"It's strange. I have a feeling we've gone over the number of Heroic Spirits summoned in a Grail War," Enkidu wondered, but decided that such things happen, and went on with his work. All the while keeping alert to Gil's presence, and readying himself to go and check immediately if it weakened.
"Oh?"
With the result that, barely a few minutes later, he sensed another abnormality. Another, entirely different presence had suddenly appeared right beside where his friend and the other were fighting.
"Another presence... and another strong one."
X X
On the rise.
A blow imbued with divinity shook the earth. But it was not the mysterious archer who had launched it.
"...What?"
Tine, who had peeked her head out from Vimana's rear seat, could not believe what she was seeing. Just as the archer had been about to unleash the power of his cloth, a horse had appeared out of nowhere, and the girl riding it had landed behind him.
Her age was probably between 16 and 18. At the very least, she did not look like she could be more than 20. Her long hair was neatly gathered at the back of her head. The healthy tone of her skin was wrapped in a peculiar garment of soft cloth and leather.
The girl, who gave an overall impression of activity, soundlessly approached the archer from behind with a look of cold dignity on her face.
"...?"
Gilgamesh furrowed his brows. The archer, noticing his gaze, tried to turn... and the girl's fist embedded itself deep into his cloth-covered face.
The sound of the impact seemed like nothing less than an explosion. The archer's body was launched with the force of a bullet to lodge itself in the side of another small eminence, which then began to crumble.
After a moment of silence, a simple fact dominated — the girl's slender arm had sent a man on whom the Noble Phantasms Gilgamesh fired from his Gate of Bayblon had had no effect flying.
The girl glared at the pile of rubble that had buried the archer alive with eyes filled with a powerful hate, then glanced behind her at Tine and Gilgamesh, and declared:
"That fiend is my prey. Do not interfere."
After a brief pause, Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes.
"...This is precisely what is meant by 'killing the mood,' girl."
From Gilgamesh's tone, Tine judged that he was definitely displeased. His heart-pounding battle had been interrupted, so anger was to be expected. And if you included the first day, this was the second time someone had put a damper on one of his fights.
The situation being critical, Tine attempted to at least discover their opponent's identity. One fact, however, deeply confused her. The cloth wrapped around the archer's arm had seemed to be a Noble Phantasm, and yet the exact same cloth was wrapped around the arm of the girl in front of her. It was not just the pattern; even the potent divine aura that seemed to shake the air around it was identical.
It couldn't be... the same Noble Phantasm...?
As Tine wondered, and Gilgamesh stewed in his rage... the rubble of the collapsed rise burst with a thunderous roar like an erupting volcano.
The mighty gathered in a Holy Grail War where real and fake intermingle... and the fate of the Grail was dragged ever deeper into the chaotic morass.
Originally Posted by OtherSideofSky
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