With Atalanta's departure, the only remaining "outsider" left was Jeanne d'Arc. Faced with the saint, Sakatsuki found himself uncharacteristically silent.
It was frustrating—even someone as meticulous as Sakatsuki hadn't anticipated Jeanne and Atalanta's sudden interference. There was no prepared response for this situation.
This was something he should have considered within the illusion. However, Reika Rikudou's Black Magus card was linked to him, and its shattering would trigger an alarm. Knowing that Reika, as an ordinary person, couldn't stay in the illusion for long, he had immediately activated the Baptism Rite, forcibly destroying the illusion.
His hasty actions had not only cost him the perfect opportunity to reason with Atalanta but also left him no room for maneuvering before facing Jeanne's inevitable questions.
The undeniable fact that he, who had defected to the Black Faction, was still associating with enemies from the Red Faction was enough to make Jeanne suspicious.
Though he had hoped to monitor both factions separately to prevent unforeseen incidents, it seemed he would have to withdraw prematurely…
With an inward sigh, Sakatsuki cleared his throat and looked up at Jeanne.
"Don't you have anything to say, Ruler?"
"..."
"Saint Jeanne d'Arc?"
"..."
Strange… Sakatsuki frowned, scrutinizing the motionless Jeanne, who stood as stiff as a wooden post.
Even if she was shocked by his betrayal, she shouldn't be this silent. Come to think of it, had this foolish saint been frozen like this since the moment he appeared?
Sakatsuki could feel Jeanne's gaze on him—yet it wasn't just directed at him. The morning sun rose in the sky, casting its light upon the back of the dignified English gentleman, illuminating the golden hair of the French maiden. Even the colorful clouds of dawn couldn't rival the flush of shyness on the girl's face.
"Sakatsuki, um…" Artoria could sense a wave of heat radiating toward them—a warmth different from the sun's. "Though I don't fully understand, it seems Jeanne is… rather excited."
Excited? A question mark popped up in Sakatsuki's mind.
He hadn't even admitted anything yet. Was the mere possibility of him returning to the Red Faction enough to anger Jeanne into speechlessness?
But one shouldn't underestimate Artoria's intuition. She wasn't wrong—Jeanne was indeed in a state of excitement. Inside her soul, the girl named Laeticia was nearly drowning in the saint's frantic muttering.
"So handsome! So handsome! So handsome! Oh Lord, how can someone be this handsome?!"
This was far from the composed and gentle saint—she was more frenzied than Astolfo in a state of Mad Enhancement!
Like the "Best Match" in Kamen Rider Build, the moment Sakatsuki donned his English attire, the law of victory had already been decided.
As a simple girl from 14th-century France, Jeanne had no resistance against the pinnacle of European elegance, refined over countless generations—the undisputed king of fashion, the suit.
The streets were bathed in the glow of twilight, with a gentle breeze caressing the air. The Assassin had shed his antiquated robes, now clad in a tailored dark suit paired with an Ulster overcoat, exuding an air of composed elegance. His diamond-like iridescent blue eyes and neatly groomed thick white hair perfectly accentuated his gentlemanly demeanor.
To others, it might not mean much, but to Jeanne d'Arc, this was the most captivating combination imaginable.
"What's happening? Sakatsuki just changed his outfit! Why is it so... so impossible to look away? Aaaaaah!"
Her maiden heart screamed in turmoil. Jeanne, who had always held herself to the standards of a saint, found herself utterly flustered for the first time, nearly losing her ability to think under Sakatsuki's gaze.
"Miss Saint! Miss Saint! Calm down!" Laeticia desperately tried to push aside the mental screaming and interjected, "You don't want Sakatsuki to think you're some love-struck fool, a so-called 'love-addled' person, do you?"
Love-addled?! Jeanne snapped back to reality.
Absolutely not! I am a saint—Jeanne d'Arc! How shameful to be consumed by thoughts of romance!
Especially when there are people watching—suspicious figures from the Red Faction, no less, privately communicating with Sakatsuki!
Ahem! Jeanne cleared her throat, stealing a quick glance at Sakatsuki before averting her eyes. "I do have something to ask you... about your clothes—no, I mean, what brings you here tonight?"
Clothes? Sakatsuki patted his suit in confusion but chose to ignore Jeanne's slip of the tongue, answering bluntly, "None of your concern."
"That's good... Huh?"
Jeanne's eyes widened in disbelief. "N-none of my concern?"
"Mm. Reika and I have been in contact for a while." Sakatsuki pressed his lips together, forcing a faint smile in an attempt to deflect. "I came to Sighișoara to fulfill a contract. As for the details... I'm afraid I can't disclose them."
This was the best excuse Sakatsuki could come up with on the spot. By adopting an air of deliberate mystery, Jeanne would hesitate to press further, instead speculating about his motives—keeping him from being outright labeled as part of the Red Faction. Even if she investigated privately, the time it would take would delay things until the final battle.
Thinking this, Sakatsuki stole a glance at Jeanne's stiff expression and sighed inwardly.
But still... even I can tell how flimsy this excuse is.
Strangely, despite being capable of concocting countless schemes to deceive the saint, when faced with her directly, he found himself utterly unable to lie convincingly.
Well, might as well prepare for exposure.
Just as Sakatsuki closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable backlash, he heard her stammer in response:
"O-oh, I see... That makes sense. Y-yes, I understand."
"...?"
Now it wasn't just Sakatsuki—even Artoria turned to stare at the girl beside her, baffled by her reply.
What's going on, girl? You're the Ruler here, for heaven's sake.
But for Jeanne, managing to string together a coherent reply was already the height of composure she could muster as a saint.
"He smiled at me! Laeticia, did you see that? Sakatsuki smiled—he must care about me! What do I do? Is my expression weird right now?!"
Weird doesn't even begin to cover it, Jeanne... Laeticia facepalmed. That slack-jawed yet forcibly restrained look, the twitching facial muscles—it'd be a miracle if no one noticed something was off!
I can't take it anymore—I'll be the one to save the saint!
Yet when Sakatsuki saw Jeanne d'Arc's expression, it only deepened his misunderstanding.
This... this expression—she's so angry she can't even maintain her facade anymore? Is this matter really worth getting so upset over?
As if a 'ding-dong' sound effect played somewhere, the stiffness in Jeanne's expression suddenly shifted. She covered her lips with her hand, adjusted for a moment, then lowered her arm to reveal a flawless ladylike... fake smile.
"Well then, I'll take my leave now. Goodbye, everyone."
Without waiting for a response, Jeanne turned and walked away, step by step, disappearing around the street corner. Only moments later did the sound of hurried footsteps reach Sakatsuki's ears.
"She's... really angry, isn't she?" The young man's face bore a barely perceptible trace of guilt.
"No, perhaps not, Lord Sakatsuki." Artoria mused thoughtfully. Unlike Sakatsuki's subjective judgment, she had her own speculation about Jeanne's state. "It might be due to another reason?"
For instance, his attire... It was rare to see Sakatsuki dressed so formally. Even during the most official occasions before, he had only worn a suit.
Thinking this, Artoria couldn't help but glance over Sakatsuki's outfit. The truth was, his fashion sense was as impeccable as his detective skills—top-tier, without a doubt.
Though Merlin was trash, there was one thing he got right: clothes make the man... But for that girl to lose her composure like this is truly rare.
Ah, if it were me, which outfit would I think suits Lord Sakatsuki best?
Thus, the ever-distracted ahoge opened the gates to a mental game called 'Sakatsuki Dress-Up.'
The silver-white armor was perfect, the purple battle regalia was ideal too, the blue-and-white striped casual wear, the black-and-gold suit, and now this look...
Ah, isn't this a bit too much?
Artoria suddenly snapped out of her reverie, only to find Sakatsuki had already set aside his worries about Jeanne and was walking toward Reika Rikudou.
"How is it? Any issues?"
After losing the substitution cards of the black magi, Reika had no choice but to convert her life force into magical energy to replenish Jack. Her face was slightly paler now, but her smile carried a sense of reassurance.
"Jack is fine, so of course I'm fine too."
"Mmm... Mama..." Hearing Reika's gentle voice, the silver-haired girl murmured, barely opening her eyes before drifting back into a deep sleep under Reika's soft humming.
A glimmer flashed in Sakatsuki's eyes. He could tell that after the purification of grudges, Jack seemed to be undergoing some new form of completion. Under Avalon's protection, they didn't have to worry about Jack failing or turning into a new evil spirit. Everything was moving in a positive direction.
The young girl cradled in her mother's arms was the greatest reward of their efforts—one that even the Throne of Heroes had rewritten itself for.
"Let me see." Sakatsuki's expression softened as he reached out to hold her, but Reika took a step back, evading his arm.
"Your heart is unsettled right now, Sakatsuki."
The woman he had once saved smiled faintly, directly pointing out his state of mind.
"...That's none of your concern, Reika."
"Still, driving girls away is never good. Ah, don't tell me you're in a hurry to see little Jack—we both know there are many ways to gently send her off. Your heart wavered, didn't it?"
Had it wavered? Indeed it had.
He wanted to shed his disguise, yet feared she might become an obstacle in seizing the Holy Grail. He wanted to be ruthless, but found himself unable to remain indifferent.
Like Kiritsugu with Irisviel, or Souichirou Kuzuki with Medea—having a weakness yet becoming softer, more accepting of the world. Whether this was good or bad, he couldn't say.
Sakatsuki remained silent, and Reika seized the opportunity to continue, "Don't hurt the girls' hearts, especially when they've already let you in, Sakatsuki-san."
"...Understood. I'll comfort Jeanne d'Arc, and Atalanta too," Sakatsuki muttered sullenly. Losing interest in the conversation, he nodded to Artoria and turned to leave. Reika watched his retreating figure, her smile tinged with slyness.
The one hidden in your soul was right—that inherent gentleness can never be erased, Sakatsuki-san...
Meanwhile, in Reika's arms, little Jack murmured softly.
"Papa... do your best."
Papa?
Reika's eyes widened in delight as she looked up to find Artoria mirroring her expression. Lowering her voice, she whispered,
"Did you hear that? Little Jack said 'Papa'!"
"She's learning new things. She's learning... to grow."
Reika's arms trembled. Even when lost in the mist, she had never panicked—yet now, tears welled in her eyes. Tears of relief, of gratitude.
Risking her life, discarding the magi's cards, nearly consumed by resentment... Yet all those sacrifices were repaid in this moment.
Artoria smiled, watching this great mother weep. Those glistening tears were like the most beautiful jewels in the world, stirring even the ascetic King of Knights with envy.
If her own... could be like this too, what happiness that would be.
For a fleeting moment, Artoria seemed to see a golden-haired child smiling up at her with utter dependence. Unconsciously, she reached out—only to brush Reika's cheek instead.
"Hm?" The woman blinked in confusion until Artoria hastily withdrew her hand, prompting a gentle smile from Reika.
"Come, Artoria, it's time to return to the Hanging Gardens. Unless... you'd like to spend another day in Sighișoara? We have plenty of time."
Plenty of time? A bolt of realization struck Artoria. Her eyes widened as if struck by a brilliant idea.
"Thank you—you've reminded me, Reika. There is something else we must do."
"Hm?"
Facing the puzzled, tilting head of Reika, Artoria looked down at the sleeping Jack in her arms. Yet deep in her eyes, another figure flickered—a defiant silhouette of gold and crimson.
"Teaching one is teaching... teaching two is still teaching..."
"What are you saying, Artoria?"
"Nothing... By the way, do you know where the Red Saber and her Master are stationed?"
————
Shedding his suit jacket for Hades' black robes, Sakatsuki raced forward under the dim dawn light until his figure stretched into a thin line.
Following Atalanta's scent, he had now left the territory of Sighișoara and even the Black Faction behind. Ahead lay undulating field ridges, windbreak forests stretching along the lines, ancient granaries and windmills, and beyond them all—a stretch of starry sky.
Never had the stars shone so brightly, as if every one of them were within reach. The moist air clung to his lashes, and with each blink, the light of the morning star could even be reflected—as though the sky itself were reaching out to wipe away the tears of the lost.
Just as Sakatsuki was staring fixedly at the dawn sky, his steps suddenly faltered, and he began to descend.
Atalanta's final traces of presence were in the forest ahead.
The wounded huntress, her heart in tatters, had ultimately returned to the woods where she was raised, seeking solace in the dreams of Arcadia.
Stepping into the woods, Sakatsuki saw a sky that seemed even closer. The glimmering surface of a babbling brook reflected light brighter than the stars, while a patch of reeds swayed in the wind nearby.
The scents and sounds of dawn were astonishingly rich. The breeze whispered to all that the earth and plants truly carried fragrance, and the insects that had emerged early from the soil sang intermittently, like a symphony gradually slowing its tempo.
Yet Sakatsuki could distinctly discern, within that deep chorus, the soft weeping of a girl. Her cries were unmistakably filled with sorrow and abandonment, as though the nightmares of the past had once again ensnared her, leaving her no escape.
She had indeed been saved by the moon goddess in Arcadia, raised by a mother bear—but the girl would never forget how her own father, with his cold and merciless hands, had abandoned her in the depths of the uninhabited forest.
—Just as that young man had so decisively severed his ties with her.
In the end, she had failed to hold onto any happiness.
Kill him—she couldn't. Kill him—she couldn't. Kill him—she couldn't.
So, flee. Flee as far as possible, to where he could neither see nor reach her.
That way, she could forget those memories and reclaim the grace of Greece's greatest huntress...
Footsteps sounded. When Atalanta turned her tear-streaked face, she saw that familiar figure.
"Good morning, Atalanta. I'm here."