In the underground insect chamber of the Matou family, Aslan was mildly surprised when he heard the old worm's cry. What startled him even more was that the fool, Kariya, actually obeyed—teleporting Berserker right to the old worm's side.
Has half his body being broken rattled his brain?
Or perhaps the agony from his earlier battle had clouded his judgment?
If Kariya truly heard what the old insect had said, and had taken even a moment to think, he should have realized the danger the creature was in. Even if he wanted Berserker to retreat, placing the knight directly beside that thing was the worst possible choice. If saving Sakura was his true goal, letting the old monster die here would have been the simplest and cleanest solution.
Would Tokiomi then send Sakura to another family? Certainly. But it could hardly be worse than condemning her to the Matou household. The likeliest option would be sending her to the Edelfelt family in Europe—distant relatives of the Tōsaka line, and practitioners of twin-based magecraft.
The Edelfelts were a renowned magical family in Finland, the "Land of a Thousand Lakes." Famous Gandr magi had come from their lineage, known by the title "Scales that Measure Ore." Their most distinctive trait was the sisters—two heirs born to each generation, a practice that ran counter to the norm among magi, who typically avoided multiple successors. This dual-heir tradition was the origin of their epithet Libra.
If Tokiomi had known the truth about the Matou family, he likely would have sent his daughter there without hesitation. In that sense, the old worm had hidden his family's filth very well indeed.
Kariya's compliance, then, was less baffling in context. Aslan had underestimated the nightmarish authority the old insect held over his nominal descendants. Coupled with the battlefield chaos and Kariya's own crippling pain, his obedience was almost reflexive. Perhaps, even now, Kariya regretted listening.
When the black knight materialized, Aslan curled his lips into a smile and slipped back into the shadows. Berserker was in high spirits—he would naturally charge the mysterious monster before him. And with no Command Seals left, Kariya could do nothing to stop him.
"Heh… heh… heh… Seems I win this round," the old worm rasped. "No matter how strong you are, you can't pierce a Heroic Spirit's barrier. I'll remember today."
His body dissolved into a writhing swarm and scattered into the darkness, but he was careful to leave behind a few insects to observe. If Berserker managed to destroy the unknown entity, all the better. If not, he would still gather valuable intelligence on his enemy's abilities.
If this being truly intended to kill him, he couldn't simply run forever. He had to learn how to kill it in return. After all, he could not abandon the Holy Grail—the treasure that might grant him immortality.
He had finally uncovered a method to use the black Grail to achieve eternal life. How could he allow anyone to interfere now? Waiting fifty years, even a hundred, might be possible—but this pursuer seemed likely to outlive him.
After all, the old worm was, at his core, still human. The one hunting him was almost certainly not.
His current method of forcibly replacing bodies to extend his lifespan inevitably damaged his mind and soul. In this world, longevity always came at a price. Danic, in another world, had achieved it by devouring souls—favoring infants to minimize damage to his own essence—yet even he had suffered fragmentation of the soul.
The old worm's method had even harsher side effects, worsened by the sheer length of his unnatural existence.
For his plan to succeed, the next Holy Grail War was non-negotiable. He must win.
"Lancelot… you're so far gone you don't even recognize me," Aslan said quietly, his voice tinged with something like pity.
Hearing his true name, the black mist around Berserker condensed into a magic sword in his grip. He lunged forward, only to have the blow stopped cold by the holy spear in Aslan's hand.
"I count myself fortunate," Aslan said, "that my soul and mind once journeyed to a singularity in another world… five hundred years ago. Sir Lancelot, allow me to show you a great treasure."
His eyes slowly turned molten gold, the power of his dragon blood boiling to life. With one arm he held back Lancelot's strength; the other pressed to his temple, reaching deep into his memory. He extracted a fragment and shaped it into an image.
A moment later, glowing runes danced in the air as he swept aside another of Lancelot's attacks with the spear. Berserker, perhaps struck by Aslan's resemblance to King Arthur, did not let up for a second.
"Sir Lancelot," Aslan warned, "I hope your heart can endure this in your current state."
With a sideways motion of his hand, a shimmering projection appeared between them. On it was a girl in black and purple armor, a massive shield in hand, pink hair falling over one eye.
Lancelot faltered for just a heartbeat. That style of armor… he had seen it many times before—on his sons. But this was no boy. This was… a girl.
Then, on the screen, the girl crouched slightly, a warm smile on her face.
[That's it, father~]
-End Chapter-
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