That night, at Einzbern Castle on the outskirts of Fuyuki City.
Because of its remote location and numerous magical barriers, almost no one knew such a European-style castle existed within a modern Japanese city.
And now, after sixty years, the castle had finally welcomed its rightful owner, carrying with it a glimmer of hope.
Even so, with only two people living there, its cavernous halls still felt unsettlingly empty.
After all, the place was far too large for just two people to maintain, let alone inhabit comfortably. The Einzbern family had only recently dispatched maids to clean, repair, and reinforce the castle. Irisviel and Artoria had been able to move in directly without the usual burdens.
"So, Lancer hasn't left the stage yet." Artoria frowned. "Was it Lancer's own skill that allowed him to survive in the end? Or did his Master strike some sort of deal with Caster from the start and simply put on a show for us?"
"That would be my guess," Irisviel replied.
"But it doesn't make sense, Irisviel—are you certain?" Artoria pressed.
No matter how she framed it, neither possibility felt convincing.
If Lancer could truly escape unscathed at the last moment, he wouldn't have looked so cornered when fighting Caster.
As for the idea of a prior alliance—having Lancer move from the open to the shadows could certainly create a convincing effect. But during that battle, one of Lancer's pistols had been destroyed by Arthur. That alone undermined the notion of collusion.
If anything, destroying a weapon outright would only weaken Lancer's combat effectiveness—something no competent Master would do voluntarily in a supposed partnership.
Unless the alliance had been orchestrated entirely by Caster and Lancer's Master had already abandoned any hope of winning the Holy Grail, such a decision made no sense.
"I can confirm it, Saber. Lancer has not been eliminated, and his soul hasn't been absorbed by the Holy Grail," Irisviel said softly.
As the Lesser Grail, no one was better equipped to sense the progress of the war.
She knew with certainty: this Holy Grail War had barely begun. All seven Masters and Servants were still in play, preparing for the fiercest battles ahead.
"It's not that I doubt you, it's just—"
"Trust your Master, Saber. I will not lie to you."
There was no direct evidence, no detailed theory—just those words, spoken with unwavering seriousness.
If it had been Arthur she was speaking to, such an appeal might have failed instantly.
But after a moment of silence, Artoria chose to believe her. She nodded, her brow relaxing. "You're right. I should trust my Master. Perhaps Lancer's Master is as capable as you."
For all the emphasis placed on strength and magical aptitude, there was another factor just as important: the bond between Master and Servant.
From an outsider's perspective, "compatibility" might seem an illusion—an emotion born from wishful thinking.
Yet, in the Holy Grail War, when both Master and Servant shared purpose, trust, and resolve, their combat effectiveness could increase in ways that defied logic.
By that measure, Irisviel and Artoria might well be the most in-sync pair in this war.
"All right, Irisviel—let's factor Lancer into our plans and review our next moves," Artoria said with a faint smile, returning her gaze to the map of Fuyuki spread across the table.
If nothing unexpected occurred, their primary concerns were Gilgamesh—and the Servant who called himself King Arthur.
But before she could speak further, Irisviel's trembling voice broke in.
"Saber… I—"
"Iri—?"
Artoria turned—and froze.
Terror filled Irisviel's eyes as a shadow solidified and twisted into a dagger, pressing against her neck.
Caster's handiwork.
"Come out, Caster! Since you dare call yourself King Arthur, don't stoop to such cowardice. You… disgrace my honor!"
"Calm yourself. I never intended to hide."
Arthur's voice was cool as he stepped through the door.
Cowardice?
"Isn't it your own failing that you didn't notice me? Did you think you were safe just because you erected a barrier? You truly underestimate me. Do you believe your magecraft surpasses the greatest magi of history—or the magicians of the Age of Gods? Don't be naïve. This is war. The last one standing wins. We are enemies. Whatever means I use, they are not 'cowardly'—merely effective."
His words carried a deliberate weight as he walked toward Irisviel.
Chuckling, he looked down at the white-haired beauty restrained by his shadows. Mocking Artoria's naiveté, he casually pulled out a chair and sat. With a flick of his hand, the shadows pulled Irisviel into his lap.
Without a word, he took her slender arm and slid off his coat.
Irisviel could only grit her teeth, eyes squeezed shut.
Artoria's eyes burned with anger, her golden sword materializing in an instant—yet she held her ground, not striking.
"So this is the King Arthur who kidnaps and molests a lady? Such shameful conduct," she said coldly.
Unfortunately, her outrage only seemed to amuse him.
"No matter what I say, you'll refuse to believe me and insist you're the real King Arthur. Fine. But this is the most efficient way to keep you from attacking me on sight. And it's working—someone as straightforward as you hasn't acted rashly. Correct?"
He smiled faintly, but his eyes drifted toward Irisviel—only to freeze at the sight of the vivid red markings at her collar.
Stigmata?
No—Command Spells.
And not the usual design.
Of course—the three great families always enjoyed certain… privileges.
"But why do you hold the Command Spells?" Arthur asked sharply.
If he recalled correctly, wasn't Artoria's Master supposed to be Emiya Kiritsugu?
"I… I am Saber's Master. Of course I have Command Spells," Irisviel replied, her voice trembling with fear and something else—an unexpected trace of shyness—as she looked at Arthur with flushed cheeks.
From her position, she could see the face beneath his hood.
In that instant, a strange thought crossed her mind.
Maybe… being kidnapped isn't so bad.
In fact… Saber, forgive me, but could you please hold on just a little longer? Right now, it feels as though King Arthur himself is holding me in his arms—in a way that's not rough, but… intimate. And it's surprisingly comfortable.
Saber, please… endure it a bit longer!
-End Chapter-
Visit the Patreon!!
Read 30 chapters ahead, more on the way!
[email protected]/TrashProspector