The study was still cloaked in that same dim, amber-gold glow. The ticking of the clock on the wall echoed like a suppressed rage, seeping quietly through time. Behind the broad solid-wood desk, Eryx sat upright—his spine as straight as steel, yet his gaze burned with unmasked fury. His fingers struck the desktop with heavy taps, each thud like a war drum, oppressive and deliberate.
"Speak. What is it you want?" His voice was low, but it landed like thunder. "We can sever all ties right now. Without cooperation, you are my enemy."
But Jim showed no sign of retreat. Instead, a slow smile curved his lips.
His finely tailored jacket had begun to crease slightly from how he was seated, but his demeanor remained poised, unbothered. Like a fox who knew it was walking into a wolf's den—yet chose to saunter in with a grin.
"General Eryx, you've misunderstood me," he said with mock innocence, spreading his hands with a light, breezy tone, as if that word—"enemy"—had merely slipped out as a careless joke. "I'm here entirely for your benefit. Truly. I only came into possession of this fragment not long ago. You were the first person I thought to show it to. And perhaps… gather a bit of extra information in the process."
With a smooth motion, he reached into his coat and pulled out the Holy Grail fragment. He placed it gently on the desk—like one might lay down a ceremonial offering.
The fragment glinted dully beneath the light. Though jagged at the edges, it still emitted a faint, ancient power that was impossible to ignore. Eryx stared at it, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes. He had expected Jim to be evasive, slippery, perhaps unwilling to share—but the man had simply laid it all out.
Still, he didn't reach for the shard immediately. Instead, he leaned in slowly, eyes never leaving Jim's face, as if trying to peel away the layers behind that ever-smiling mask. Of course, he was wary—Jim was never this straightforward without a reason. But Eryx also knew: plots crumbled before power. He had strength, and time, and the confidence to play the long game.
"…You're surprisingly direct," he said coldly.
"All for you, General." A flicker of amusement danced in Jim's eyes. "At least now we're certain—Elias also has a fragment. And this one here"—he nodded toward the shard—"is my gift to you."
At last, Eryx reached out and picked up the piece. He felt the faint but undeniable pulse of magic humming through it. A tightness coiled in his chest. The Grail was stirring. Its power had begun to answer the call of the fragments.
He had to act. Before anyone else. Before the others even realized what was happening.
"According to current intel," he said, voice steadying now, "aside from us, Elias holds one piece. And there are two more—both in the hands of forces whose identities remain unknown."
"One of them is likely Edgar," he added after a pause.
"The other remains a mystery," Jim nodded. "But that may work in our favor. The more uncertain the situation, the more off-balance our opponents become."
"You're sure of this?" Eryx's voice tightened again.
"They don't know who I really am. And they certainly don't know about Will's identity. Especially Will—he made quite the show chasing after me. From the outside, it looks like we're on opposite sides." Jim's grin returned, this time sharper, more calculated. "The thicker the fog, the harder it is for them to make sense of anything. That confusion will be our greatest weapon."
Eryx gave a slow nod. His suspicion hadn't vanished, but it was clear Jim's plan held a certain strategic appeal. His thumb brushed along the shard's broken edge, as if each crack whispered a piece of the future.
"So what's next?" he asked.
Jim's eyes glinted, though his voice remained infuriatingly casual. "Naturally, while we uncover the identity of that final party, we'll also be evaluating—whether there's a chance to relieve Elias of his piece."
Eryx's gaze turned sharp. "How?"
Jim shrugged, his lips curving into a mocking smile. "Threaten him… or steal it."
Their eyes locked for a long moment. The air between them seemed to crackle, tense and flammable. But neither flinched. Behind their mutual gaze, there was only a shared, silent understanding—
An alliance born not of trust, but of strategy.
And beneath it, the same cold calculation