To be honest, Aslan nearly couldn't stop himself from slapping him.
He had always known that his friend—who had once been both mentor and comrade—was carefree to a fault, but he didn't expect Balin to be this terrible at choosing his words. Then again, compared to Merlin, the knight in front of him was practically a saint.
Aslan had only come to say a quick hello; he hadn't planned on getting into anything deep. But Kayneth, clearly taking him for a full-fledged ally, immediately laid out his entire strategy. In his mind, Aslan was part of their faction—and more importantly, Kayneth believed Aslan didn't truly care about the Holy Grail. He was here just to pad his résumé, so to speak.
As long as one of them won the war, it would be a net positive. Outsiders would see Aslan as part of the El-Melloi faction, and even if he emerged victorious, it would still boost their prestige.
Kayneth's trust in Aslan ran deep. He trusted his own judgment, too. He could tell that Aslan wasn't the type to harbor grand ambitions—and to Kayneth, a man without ambition was a man who could be trusted.
That's why he shared everything, even admitting that he planned to launch an attack—today or tomorrow—using Balin. Instead of hiding in the shadows and waiting to be ambushed, they would shift the battlefield elsewhere. It would protect their stronghold and give them the initiative.
Balin agreed wholeheartedly.
After realizing the unfamiliar-yet-familiar man before him truly wasn't the Aslan he once knew, Balin felt a strange sense of loss. After so many centuries, someone with his old friend's face had appeared—someone with a deep understanding of fairy script. That was no coincidence. Fairy script had to be the true family magecraft.
Aslan, meanwhile, was secretly thrilled that Balin had bought the lie.
Of course, he never expected that his spirit form would actually be summoned in this Holy Grail War. How to put it... this essentially confirmed that he wasn't that Aslan. After all, how could the historical Aslan be both a Servant and walking around in the flesh?
Why did I just accidentally make things easier for myself?
Then Balin clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Your ancestor and I were like brothers—both comrades and mentors. Why don't you call me foster father? I'll leave all my belongings to you. Sound good?"
...!!!
Aslan nearly summoned his forging hammer on the spot.
Fortunately, he had taken precautions. He had already sealed the hammer away in his magic gift suit, locking it down precisely to avoid pulling it out by reflex in moments like this.
"That won't be necessary," Aslan replied, forcing a smile. "We've already inherited plenty of forging equipment from our ancestors. Times have changed. No need to rush into battle with swords anymore. Better to activate the old gear and snipe from afar."
Good grief, Balin. Now you want my descendants to call you foster father? You've got guts. Why not try asking Lü Bu or Lü Fengxian to call you that next? See if you survive long enough to hear their answer.
Balin nodded, apparently taking it all at face value, a note of admiration in his voice. "Yes, that guy's forging skills were exceptional. The sword I carry was forged by him. But… did he ever complete that vision of his? He really lived up to the name Aslan. Out of everyone in our group, he was the one destined for greatness."
After a brief exchange with Kayneth, Aslan decided it was time to go. He was beginning to worry that if he stayed too long, Balin might eventually see through him.
Wandering through the city, Aslan circled the urban landscape. On one level, he was updating his mental map of the area. On another, he was quietly setting things in motion. After all, he had come to the Fourth Holy Grail War with a very specific task in mind.
As he walked, he sensed faint flickers of magical collisions—likely Servants probing one another's presence. It was only ambient mana left behind from these tests, but it created a subtle, tense undercurrent in the atmosphere. Real combat hadn't begun yet, but the city already felt like a powder keg.
That same night, a shadow flitted toward the Tohsaka estate. It moved with the grace of a ballet dancer, executing acrobatic feats that seemed impossible for a human body. It twisted nearly 360 degrees, brushed its cheek against the floor, and dodged magical traps with uncanny fluidity—more gymnast than thief.
But just as it reached for the core of the magical defense—a ruby—light flashed.
A golden sword pierced through its hand and the gemstone in one clean stroke.
A voice followed, cold and dismissive.
"Rats should crawl on the ground."
A storm of golden swords rained down.
Several Masters watching through their familiars frowned at the scene. Aslan, viewing the live broadcast via Merlin's scrying magic, showed little reaction.
Thinking about it, whether Tokiomi summoned the Wise King or Little Twinkle, either one would've been better than summoning that tyrant.
At least the child and old-man versions of the king were easier to reason with. They wouldn't throw themselves recklessly into battle.
And yet, ironically, it was precisely because they had summoned the most arrogant form of the King that their chances of winning were higher. Aslan wasn't too concerned. After all, victory in the Holy Grail War depended on more than just brute strength. Strategy, adaptability, and contingency planning mattered more than people realized.
The youthful King would unleash his treasury to the fullest. The elder King, with a calm and seasoned heart, would remain unshaken, unmoved by success or failure. That kind of wisdom prevented impulsive errors and ensured that when it was time to fight, it was all or nothing.
"Merlin," Aslan said, his tone sharpening. "Get ready for battle. I want you to hide your staff. When you fight, use only your sword. I want you to masquerade as Saber. Understood?"
-End Chapter-
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