After hearing Aslan's instructions, Merlin responded with a wicked smile. When it came to mischief, Aslan was no match for him. The old bastard immediately understood what Aslan was planning—and it happened to align perfectly with some of his own ideas.
Still, Merlin hadn't expected Aslan to go this far. This was…
So damn funny!
"In that case, let's give them a full performance," Merlin chuckled. "No need for this wizard robe anymore. Conveniently, the Sword of Contracted Victory is still in my hand."
He tied his long hair into a high tail, and under the swift effect of transformation magic, his flowing robes shifted into glimmering silver armor. His hair turned a pristine silver-white, his eyes shimmered with a rosy hue, and petals of ethereal flowers bloomed occasionally beneath his feet. Even dressed as a knight, the dreamlike aura clung to him—he still looked like something out of a fairy tale.
Merlin raised the golden holy sword, gazing at the weapon that had once belonged to King Arthur. For a fleeting moment, a rare trace of nostalgia crossed the old bastard's face.
He calmed his expression, adopting the composed demeanor of the former king. And truth be told, when Merlin dropped the mischief and composed his features, his appearance really did resemble the "prince" from countless children's dreams.
But Aslan knew better than to be fooled. No matter how elegant or radiant this old bastard appeared on the outside, at his core, Merlin was a devious menace. The best way to handle someone like him was to admire his beauty… and then slap him across the face.
"How do I look? Do I resemble King Arthur just a little?" Merlin asked eagerly. "Silver knight armor, golden holy sword—even if my hair color's a bit off, the old legends never actually said King Arthur had blonde hair."
He nodded smugly, as if everything were already in the palm of his hand.
Aslan didn't have the heart to tell him the truth—that the real King Arthur had shown up in this Holy Grail War. If Merlin went around playing the part, things could quickly spiral into a farce.
Then again… maybe that was fine.
If no one said anything, and given how unhinged Lancelot could be, who could say for certain which of them was the real King Arthur?
To be honest, Aslan was already looking forward to the chaos when multiple people started claiming to be the Sword Knight.
The sword in Merlin's hand was authentic—it was a high-level Noble Phantasm. No one would suspect a thing. Not until Artoria herself shouted his name, at least. And even then, with Merlin's silver tongue, who knew who'd be exposed as the fraud?
After all, in most records, King Arthur was a man. If Aslan, Merlin, and Artoria all stood together, their identities might genuinely get confused. With Aslan wielding a holy sword and looking the part, someone might label him as the real Arthur. Meanwhile, the ever-dreamy Merlin could end up replacing Aslan's supposed identity. And poor Artoria… maybe no one would believe she was King Arthur at all.
Well, Kiritsugu would believe her. Hopefully.
At first, Aslan had been worried that Merlin would shoot the plan down, but now… the old guy seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much. Yeah, it was obvious—Merlin had been stuck in the Tower of Avalon for way too long.
This Holy Grail War is going to be a mess… and I love it.
"Alright," Aslan said, stretching. "Go to bed early. If nothing unexpected happens, tomorrow marks the official start of the Holy Grail War."
He glanced westward through the hotel window. There should be a plane in the air right about now, maybe just taking off.
As a great man hiding among commoners, Aslan had no intention of making his base flashy or ostentatious. Disguising himself as a wandering traveler, switching between hotels as needed, was more than enough.
As if on cue, a plane landed at Fuyuki Airport early the next morning. For locals, traveling by air was nothing out of the ordinary. When urgent matters cropped up at work, hopping on a plane to another city was just a fact of life.
The Far East, after all, was an island nation. Its interior was mostly mountainous, with the railway running around the perimeter. Major cities hugged the coastline, so planes were often the quickest way to cross the island directly. Geography dictated how people traveled, after all.
From that plane stepped a woman clad in white. Her clothes, her velvet hat, even her snow-white hair gave her the appearance of an elf. Two young men in black suits followed closely behind—handsome, sharp, and looking like bodyguards. One was a little shorter, with long golden hair that shimmered in the morning sun.
As they exited the terminal, countless onlookers couldn't help but glance their way with admiration or envy. The girl—ethereal, like a snow elf—drew every eye. And the two men beside her? Like something out of a romance novel. Some boys would say meeting a girl like her once would be a fate earned through five hundred years of praying to the Buddha.
Envy. Jealousy. Spite. All of it was palpable in the stares trailing after them.
The taller blonde patted the shoulder of the shorter one beside him—at least, that's how it appeared to outsiders.
In truth, it was Aslan who patted Artoria and whispered, "Alright, let's do what we agreed. You're a Pendragon descendant. I'm the Saber-class Servant in this Holy Grail War."
Kiritsugu agreed with this plan. With two Heroic Spirits under his command, he had more flexibility—and more options for deception. Now, not only was the identity of the true Master concealed, even the identities of the real participating Servants were hidden.
And Aslan? With no earthly obsession anchoring him, he should've had no reason to be summoned at all. Only when humanity itself arranged a task for him would a proper summoning occur.
The few times he was summoned came from his own boredom—when he occasionally decided to descend to the mortal realm for amusement.
As for the Holy Grail?
Tch. He was one of the people who liked it least.
-End Chapter-
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