Chapter 31: Welcome to the Moon
The portal rejected Riya with all the grace of a bad joke, spitting him out into a cold stone courtyard like trash tossed through dimensions.
He hit the ground hard, rolling once before groaning and pushing himself up with a grunt.
"Damn you, Zelretch," he muttered, brushing off the strange, chalky dust that clung to his jacket.
He looked up.
The sky was dark—not nighttime, just a strange, simulated black with artificial stars twinkling in frozen constellations.
The place was quiet.
Too quiet.
Stone paths stretched out in all directions between orderly rows of trimmed hedges and marble benches.
A large fountain babbled in the center, but its water glowed faintly with something magical, unnatural.
The whole place felt like a movie set, pristine but lifeless.
Riya stood, instinctively checking himself.
Clothes intact.
Body fine.
More importantly—he closed his eyes and focused—yes.
The magical signatures of his Servants were still inside him, pulsing softly in his core.
One channeling for each servant once per day.
Ten minutes for every servant.
Power limited, but sharp as ever.
He wandered the strange city for what felt like hours, footsteps echoing on the polished streets.
The people were wrong.
They smiled too much.
Laughed too easily.
Every conversation felt staged, like they were all stuck in the same five lines of small talk.
An old woman dropped her groceries.
A child ran to help her.
A passing man clapped and said, "How heartwarming."
Then, a few blocks later, it happened again.
Same groceries.
Same child.
Same clapping.
Riya's eyes narrowed. He tested them—spoke to the child directly, asked his name.
The child blinked and smiled blankly, like the question hadn't registered.
"NPCs," Riya muttered. "Fake people in a fake city."
Still, he waited.
Walked.
Studied.
Something was still off.
There had to be some normal people around here right?
Eventually, he found him.
A student sat alone on a bench, legs crossed, watching the artificial crowds go by with visible boredom.
His hair was wheat-colored, messy but styled with intention.
He looked up when Riya passed.
"You look as lost as I felt three days ago," the student said, voice dry.
Riya stopped, wary. "You're real."
"So are you. That makes two of us. Well, until things get bloody, anyway."
Riya didn't answer. He just studied the boy's posture—casual, but not relaxed.
"Name's Shinji," the boy added. "So what's your story, mystery man?"
Riya ignored the question. "How long have you known this place is fake?"
Shinji shrugged. "Long enough. Nothing here adds up. We're inside some kind of boot camp for master candidates."
Riya thought 'Well He said that too casually,
Maybe he is not so normal after all.'
Suddenly, the sky shifted.
The stars blinked out one by one, and a massive yellow sphere bloomed in the sky like a rising sun made of mana.
Purple particles drifted upward from every corner of the city, pulled toward the glowing orb.
Then, a mechanical voice echoed from everywhere at once:
"Over one hundred have advanced to the main tournament."
"Twenty-eight spots remaining."
"As a result, the Garden of Moratorium has been deemed as denied."
"We will now commence the purge of all remaining life-forms and NPCs."
The air went still.
"This concludes the final review. And the final show of goodwill."
"Only those who kill other Master candidates will go on to the main tournament."
"You have no time. Just like your lives — you never had any grace periods to begin with."
...
'Well that's just great.'
"Nine spots remain."
'Hey hey its way too damn fast!'
"Five spots remain."
'Didn't you heard me!!!'
Little did riya know that what he thought couldn't be heard by the mechanical voice.
Then.
Riya heard it before he saw it: the faint hiss of a blade.
He didn't turn.
Just reached back and grabbed the wrist mid-swing.
Shinji froze.
His eyes widened. The knife trembled in his hand.
Riya finally looked over his shoulder, eyes glowing with Jack's bloody red hue.
"Really? Behind my back?"
Shinji stammered, trying to spin a lie. "L-Look, I just... it's nothing personal, okay?"
Riya's expression didn't change.
"Exactly. It's not personal. I also need the Grail. I need Chaldea. I need to fix the timeline. I need to see my family again."
"So... Shinji. Please die for me."
He invoked Jack's daggers.
Ten precise slashes, and Shinji hit the ground.
He was dead.
"Coward," Riya muttered.
A burning sensation crawled up his hand.
He glanced down.
Three glowing Command Seals shimmered against his skin.
"I'm in," he whispered.
"Qualifiers have finished."
"The sands of the hourglass have depleted."
"We will now begin our purge"
"Farewell to the defeated"
"Lie to rest together with the transient artificial paradise."
All those that remained Behind...
Were now dead.
As Riya stood over Shingy's corpse, command seals lit up on his hand — hot, red, and undeniable.
The mechanical voice returned once more:
"Candidate confirmed. Access to main tournament granted."
A tremor rippled through the air, and from the sky descended The Ladder — a massive, ornate capsule shaped like a descending throne, gleaming with polished gold and engraved with crestwork.
Its sides opened like petals, revealing a lavish interior.
Crimson carpets lined the floors.
Golden fixtures glimmered along the walls.
A king-sized bed sat near the center beneath a grand crystal chandelier.
At the far end, a personal hot spring bubbled gently, steam rising lazily in the perfumed air.
He stepped inside and the capsule sealed shut behind him with a hiss of mana.
A gentle upward hum began — the Ladder was ascending.
As he took a few slow steps, trying not to sink into the plush velvet carpet, a voice echoed:
"Now, summon your Servant."
He took a breath, let mana gather in his command seals, and then etched a summoning circle into the white carpet, drawing upon Semiramis's formula and Jack's sacrificial blood magic.
Wind rose around him. Mana swirled. His voice echoed as he invoked the chant.
The summoning circle flared with white light across the golden floor, etching itself with swirling sigils and runes.
Golden light exploded from the center.
"Then, with a burst of radiance and swirling wind, a man stepped forth — cloaked in regal garb, his presence as sharp as the sword he drew."
"Servant Saber. Richard I. The Lionheart himself."
"Shall we paint the next battlefield in glory, my Master?"
Riya cracked a smile. "You're exactly the kind of overconfident idiot I need."
Richard grinned. "Then we'll get along just fine, my master"