As the sun sank below the horizon, evening slowly cloaked the land in darkness. The streets of Sighișoara grew increasingly quiet.
This was, after all, a small town of fewer than twenty thousand residents, with no major industries. Its economy relied heavily on tourism, marketing its medieval architecture as a charming attraction—making it highly susceptible to external disruptions.
Recently, however, a series of brutal murders had taken place in the town. The killer's methods were horrifyingly cruel, leaving the townspeople in a state of panic—and as for the tourists, they had long fled.
With the shadow of a serial murderer looming over the city, and the Church on the Hill destroyed just the previous night, Sighișoara's tourism had dropped to zero. Many locals, too, had abandoned their homes, vowing to return only after the authorities caught the culprit.
Now, those remaining were few: the truly stubborn locals unwilling to abandon their livelihoods, members of the Holy Church, and magi of the Mage's Association. As a result, once the sun set, the streets became utterly deserted—eerily lifeless.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a sharp, exasperated female voice.
"Ahhh—damn the Age of Gods, damn the divine! How could she possibly hoard so much gold and treasure...!"
"Seriously, is she some kind of dragon obsessed with shiny things? Does she sleep on piles of gold or something?!"
Ruler—Jeanne d'Arc—sat on a bench at a small plaza in the town square, clutching a large paper bag in her arms. In a sulky mood, she stuffed small loaves of bread into her mouth one after another, muttering through muffled bites.
Remembering what had happened earlier that day, Jeanne's face flushed. That Rider of Black... what an awful sense of humor! Were gods all this childish?!
Selene's request hadn't technically violated Jeanne's principles—after all, it hadn't required her to favor the Black Faction in the Holy Grail War. But still...
It was so embarrassing!!!
At that moment, a familiar voice echoed inside her mind, calm but clearly suppressing laughter. "What's so embarrassing? Didn't I pay you?"
"You—! And what do you mean, paid me?! You make it sound like... like I'm some kind of... indecent woman of the night!" Jeanne spluttered, her voice rising before gradually trailing off in shame.
She pressed her burning face into her hands, mumbling softly, "If it weren't for Laeticia... if it weren't for repaying the money I owe her because of my existence, I'd never have agreed to your wicked demand!"
"Eh? Don't say it like that. How's it wicked? It's not like I did anything to you. I spent money on you, didn't I? Every cent went to you."
"I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear it!"
Jeanne furiously crumpled the empty paper bag from the bakery—apparently imagining it was Selene's face—and squeezed it tight with righteous indignation.
"All I did was ask you to model some clothes. I—"
"Ahhh—! Don't you dare bring that up!! You're taller and... bigger than I am, why didn't you try them on?! And those outfits—can you even call them clothes?! There was barely any fabric! Holes here, slits there—it'd be better to just wear nothing at all!"
"Such shameless designs!" Jeanne cried, steam almost visibly rising from her head.
As a humble country girl from France, she had never seen anything like that before—lace-edged, three-point, strappy, transparent... the sight alone had shattered both her and Laeticia's innocent hearts.
"Mmhm... ahem."
From a nearby high-rise apartment, Selene hid her presence and peeked through a curtain toward the plaza where Jeanne sat. At Jeanne's outburst, Selene coughed lightly, half in amusement, half in guilt.
Really, Jeanne... you have to believe me. I didn't expect that a town with fewer than twenty thousand people—half of whom already fled—would still have a store like that. It must be fate.
She had only wanted to find Jeanne a simple maid outfit, but when she entered the boutique and, with a mischievous smile, told the clerk to bring out their 'best and newest' items... the attendant must have misunderstood completely.
The clerk had led them to a more secluded backroom—and brought out lingerie.
And thus, Jeanne witnessed a side of the world she had never wanted to see.
"Ahem... Anyway, all the things I bought are yours now, plus the gold and jewels I gave you—I'm actually losing money here, aren't I? But don't worry. Only the heavens, the earth, you, and I know about this. I didn't leave any copies behind, and I've already altered the clerk's memory."
Selene wasn't lying. She hadn't taken any photos, nor kept any record—she had merely observed, once.
After leaving the ruins of the Church on the Hill, Selene and Jeanne spent the next four to five hours wandering through the few shops still open in Sighișoara. They ate, drank, and shopped for clothes. In the end, Selene bought Jeanne nearly everything she could possibly need.
It was during this casual stroll that Selene had decided—perhaps on a whim, perhaps for effect—to wear something a bit more daring. A short, pleated skirt swayed around her upper thighs, paired with sleek, thigh-high black stockings that clung tightly to her legs. Her stiletto heels clicked sharply with each step, their glossy platform base giving her an extra edge of height—and allure.
The striking outfit made her exquisite legs stand out starkly beneath the short hemline, a contrast made even more pronounced by the exposed curve of her fair, shapely thighs.
It had been a long time since she had worn modern fashion of this sort—perhaps not since her days in the Toaru world, apart from Bright Knight · Excelsis.
After all, the purpose of Selene's participation in this Holy Grail War had already been set from the beginning—it was merely to make an appearance. This was far from a full-scale war, so there was no need for such grim seriousness.
With this relaxed first encounter, Selene would leave her mark and establish the groundwork for future large-scale invasions. There was no need to rush. Relax.
"Now then... let's put this matter behind us. Night is approaching, Jeanne. Prepare yourself. The traitor must be purged—Assassin, Jack the Ripper, should soon emerge to hunt." Selene's expression turned calm and serious in an instant.
"Understood." Nodding firmly, Jeanne tossed the crumpled paper bag into a nearby trash bin. Clearing her mind of distractions, she gazed at the darkening sky and said resolutely, "You intend to use me as bait to draw out the Assassin of Black, correct?"
Looking around at the deserted streets, Jeanne's tone was steady. After spending a day shopping and talking together, her attitude toward Selene had softened considerably. To her, the so-called god was surprisingly approachable—albeit arrogant, aloof, and possessed of a rather mischievous streak.
"That's right," Selene replied evenly. "I'm a pure Heroic Spirit. Unless she's a fool, she wouldn't dare attack me. But you, Jeanne—you're a Pseudo-Servant. Once you suppress your Servant aura, you're practically indistinguishable from an ordinary magus."
"And since you're a woman, in the eyes of Assassin—Jack the Ripper—your heart is quite the delicacy..."
Selene had absolute confidence that Jeanne would attract Jack's attention. Jeanne was a saint—a beacon of purity and compassion. And Jack's Noble Phantasm, Holy Mother of Dismemberment, perfectly aligned with her twisted fixation on maternal figures. The draw between the two was inevitable.
Sensing Jeanne's slight hesitation through their telepathic link, Selene continued, "What's wrong? Because she appears as a young girl? Or because you feel it would violate the fairness of the Grail War? Don't tell me you're hesitating again."
"No. Regardless of her appearance, her cruelty toward innocent civilians is undeniable. Eliminating her does not violate fairness. I will assist you with all my strength."
The embarrassment from earlier forgotten, Jeanne's face was now composed and resolute. Her mind clear, her spirit unwavering.
Assassin of Black—Jack the Ripper—had murdered her own Master, slaughtered innocent civilians in the Holy Grail War, and devoured human hearts to maintain her existence. There was no doubt—she had become an evil spirit.
"Hmm?"
As Jeanne sat on the bench, quietly praying, her eyes suddenly snapped open. "Your Divine Majesty—Assassin of Black, Jack the Ripper, is here."
The moment her words fell, a gray mist rolled swiftly through the streets. Jeanne watched as the plaza's flowers and grass withered in its touch. "This mist... It's poisonous—no... acidic!"
"Come out, murderer!" Jeanne rose to her feet, her sharp voice cutting through the fog.
Assassin's greatest weapon—Presence Concealment—was useless before a Ruler.
Jeanne's vision was not deceived by the murky haze. Her gaze locked onto the rooftop slightly to her left, where she could sense the Servant's aura.
As the Holy Grail War's arbiter, her Ruler privilege allowed her to detect the presence of any Servant within a ten-kilometer radius, nullifying even Assassin's concealment.
Moreover, Jeanne showed no fear—the corrosive mist posed no threat to her. With her EX-rank Magic Resistance, such toxins could not harm her in the slightest.
Maintaining the mist consumed mana—and the Assassin of Black, reduced to hunting humans for their hearts to replenish her supply, clearly had no excess reserves. If this continued, she'd be the one to run out first.
"You're a woman, aren't you?"
From within the fog-shrouded square, a childish voice echoed—clear yet eerie. Hearing it, Selene, hidden in the shadows, couldn't help but let out a silent laugh.
Still asking if she's a woman? Jeanne isn't like Artoria—the flat one. With a figure like that, how can you even ask? What, are you one of those British types who can't tell men from women?
Well... it made sense. After all, Jack the Ripper was British. Her legend as a serial killer had spread across 19th-century London, and this acidic fog—its corrosive vapor—was a manifestation of that industrial "foggy city" itself.
"Jeanne, draw Jack the Ripper out. I'll seize the opening to strike her down instantly—before her Master can use a Command Spell to make her flee," Selene instructed telepathically.
Jack's overall strength wasn't high, but her survivability and elusiveness made her troublesome. Her personal skill, Information Erasure (Rank B), erased all traces of her—memories, records, data—at the instant a battle ended. Her face, name, and powers would vanish from memory. Only machines—cameras and recordings—could retain evidence.
"Understood..."
But in the instant Jeanne responded to Selene, a small figure darted through the night. Leaping from the rooftops like a ghost, she sprang silently from behind—
"Now!"
In a flash, Jeanne's casual student uniform vanished, replaced by her shining armor and battle attire. Every trace of Assassin's presence was within her Ruler-class detection range.
Clang—!
As Jack lunged, Jeanne swung her white-lily battle flag without even turning. The steel tip of the holy banner collided head-on with the girl's single-edged dagger, sparks flying.
As an Assassin, Jack's greatest advantage was the element of surprise. Losing that, and with only C-rank strength, she couldn't withstand Jeanne's counterattack. The impact sent her flying.
Boom!
...
Meanwhile, both the Red and Black factions, watching through their familiars, reacted very differently to the unfolding scene of Ruler Jeanne attempting to execute the Assassin of Black.
The Yggdmillennia clan had already been informed of Selene's intention to eliminate Jack the Ripper and voiced no objection—quite the opposite. Their comrade, Hyouma Sagara, had died by her hands. A Servant who killed her own Master and defected deserved nothing but death. Even the kindhearted Fiore and Caules agreed with this judgment.
But over in the Red Faction's camp, within the nearly completed Aerial Garden of Vanity, one Servant's expression darkened.
Through her familiar's projection, the Red Archer, Atalanta, saw Jeanne threatening—and preparing to kill—a small child. Her face twisted with fury and hatred.
"Archer, calm down. The Rider of Black is hiding nearby. If you go now, you'll be walking to your death," Amakusa Shirou Tokisada warned firmly.
"No, Father! I have to go! That Assassin—she's still just a child!" Atalanta shouted, trembling with outrage.
...
Crash!
The small body slammed into the park bench where Jeanne had been sitting, shattering it to splinters. Rolling several times, she crashed into a nearby tree with a dull thud.
"Ow..."
Looking at the frail little girl before her, Jeanne hesitated for the briefest moment. She had seen Jack's image through the Complete Book of the World—but seeing her in person, that fleeting doubt arose: She's just a child...
She was, indeed, an adorable girl.
Dressed in a black bodysuit and cloak, her short white hair framed a cherubic face with soft cheeks. Her lime-green eyes glared up in defiance, her lips stained with blood. Her petite body curled up in pain—pitiful and fragile.
At a glance, no one could connect this innocent-looking child to the name "Jack the Ripper"—the infamous, bloodthirsty murderer.
But the next instant, Jeanne steeled herself. She remembered who this girl truly was—a merciless killer.
"I, Jeanne d'Arc, as the Ruler of this Holy Grail War, hereby declare: Assassin of Black, Jack the Ripper—you have violated the prohibition. I pronounce your eradication!"
Clutching her wounded abdomen, the little girl—Jack—struggled to her feet, her eyes filled with tears and rage.
"No! You're the bad woman! We only want to be with Mother! No one can separate us!"