"Simply put, Servants are products that affirm human history, those who protect the order of the human world. Dead Apostles and True Ancestors are the opposite.
If you can evolve from imitations into the real thing, you might have a chance to defeat me."
Moran spoke like a tutor, gently guiding them.
Step by step, he imparted knowledge to the officers.
But that was easier said than done.
Even Orlando, who led the officers, hadn't awakened his Noble Phantasm's true name, let alone the others.
The officers mostly interpreted Moran's words as an insult.
An insult to their weakness.
Faced with a reality that was almost farcical, half of the police officers gritted their teeth.
Nevertheless, their spirits were not yet broken.
Because Chief Orlando still stood in the center of the hall.
He was the last hope for everyone, as if to say that this place was the final fortress.
"Haa…"
Orlando felt death approaching.
He didn't cry or make a fuss, but was calm and clear-headed to an inhuman degree.
From the moment he decided to participate in the Holy Grail War,
he had intended to live towards death.
Whether it was the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh, or a Dead Apostle, or an incomprehensible True Ancestor,
in his eyes, these opponents were no different.
They were all terrifying beings beyond human imagination, capable of easily crushing human ants.
Although death was coming faster than expected,
he still had human dignity.
Even if he died, he would struggle with all his might, swinging his unyielding blade at the lofty True Ancestor.
He stood here as a human,
and he would die as a human.
"Hoh… it's finally getting interesting?"
Moran understood his determination and resolve simply from Orlando's grip on his sword.
If anyone dared to beg for mercy, he would show no leniency and grant them death.
He wouldn't hold back; he would truly send them to the underworld.
"As a leader, you're quite good. It's just that the others are a bit lacking. Without composure, you can't unleash your full strength…
Would simply defeating me, destroying me, and crushing my insides be enough to quell the anger of your comrades' deaths?"
Moran's tone was as if he cherished this time of struggle.
At the same time, he continued to pursue the panting officers like a storm, attacking with extreme precision and ruthlessness.
"What…!?"
Orlando had intended to step forward and stop him.
But he was restrained by chains that appeared out of nowhere, each weighing tens of tons.
These were chains formed from the materialization of imagination.
A weight that humans could not escape.
The chains binding Orlando seemed to be shouting, "Now is a crucial moment; don't you dare interfere with my plans."
This, bastard—are you looking down on me!?
That was Orlando's first thought.
But he quickly changed his thinking and began to seriously consider why Moran didn't kill him but instead restrained him.
If he wanted to kill him, it would be as easy as snapping his fingers.
There was no need to restrain him at all.
Looking back, Moran seemed to be senselessly slaughtering them.
But he thoughtfully provided guidance each time.
He even saw through Dumas' Noble Phantasm's characteristics, knowing the process of how imitation Noble Phantasms could transform into the real thing…
Could it be… that he wants to…!?
Orlando's eyes widened as if he had realized something.
His expression was one of disbelief.
Faced with this conjecture, he couldn't be certain, nor did he have any evidence to prove his guess.
"Gah, ah!"
Skin tore, and blood beads scattered.
The officers' wills were worn down to their limits.
"Are you planning to let me kill you? Or are you going to kill me? Which is it? Make up your minds!"
Moran urged them.
At the same time, he pierced his finger into the black police officer's joint.
In the next instant, the sound of shattering echoed as the joints below his shoulders were all dislocated. Every finger was twisted in impossible directions without exception.
"Gahhhhh—!!"
A scream echoed through the police station hall.
It was a hellish, bloody scene, but Moran continued as if it were nothing.
There was a reason why he hadn't allowed his wife to accompany him.
After all, playing the villain was an unpleasant task.
"Now that I've gone to the trouble of destroying them, how can I let you heal them? It would be too tactless to use healing magecraft to recover during the gaps…
Don't you think so, young man?"
"You, bastard… let her go!!"
Moran's elegant and dignified figure, untouched by a single drop of blood, shone like the sun.
But to these police officers,
he was a demon king who constantly brought suffering and cackled with glee.
The world was dyed blood red.
No matter how much they wanted to stop Moran's violent acts against their comrades, they would only suffer the same miserable fate.
Unable to win, unable to resist.
It wasn't a matter of the quality of the police officers' Noble Phantasms.
To them, the being before them already stood at a height that transcended such differences.
Overwhelming difference in strength.
"Guuuh…"
The police officers were all trembling.
Even so, even without hope, they still didn't run away, and no one even looked away from Moran.
It's not that they weren't afraid.
Some of them had tears in their eyes and their teeth were chattering.
If it were a normal mission, retreating would be the logical thing to do.
However, they all understood.
If they chose to back down at this moment, there would be no next time.
Neither the heavily armed mobile unit for combating terrorists, nor the National Guard, would come.
Even if they did come, they wouldn't be more suitable opponents for the True Ancestor than they were, with their Noble Phantasms.
–Top-tier.
Precisely because they were the top-tier pieces prepared by the police department, they were here.
Whether these added honors and titles were Orlando's suggestion or a mental unification promoted by self-suggestion deeply rooted in their hearts, no one knew.
They, who were registered as the "Twenty-Eight Monsters," only had the chief's guarantee.
–You are justice!
An endorsement without evidence, just simple words.
However, for those who believed in these words, they would become a clear curse, or a blessing, a chain tightly bound to action and fate.
Among these people, the one most deeply bound by these words was—a young police officer who still stood on the battlefield even with his right arm shattered.