"What on earth did you do to the Berserker?!"
The old worm still couldn't understand why Lancelot had suddenly stopped attacking. Through his familiars, he could still see Lancelot staring at the virtual light screen before him, his hands covering his face as though he were crying.
Aslan raised an eyebrow, glanced at the old worm, and curled his lips. Even now, the man was still worried about Lancelot. Was he just stalling for time?
"I merely showed Sir Lancelot what he most desired to see. I have to say, no matter his state, Lancelot is a complete daughter-con."
Aslan traced blazing runes in the air with his fingers. Flames shot forth and struck several bugs huddled in a corner—bugs that had been gnawing frantically at the barrier blocking their escape. The old worm no longer had many spells at his disposal; all he could do was herd his insects about.
Since he had shifted the conversation elsewhere, it was clear he was buying time. And if he was buying time, he must have had another plan. Sure enough, a closer look revealed bugs skulking in the corners, clawing and biting at the barrier with their sharpened mandibles. These were not ordinary pests—they were killing machines.
Unfortunately for him, this barrier had been woven from fairy runes. No matter how sharp the insects' fangs, they could never chew through it.
When the familiars he had sent out in secret were reduced to ash, the old worm's eyes burned with resentment. Was this really the end? His long-cherished wish—nurtured over hundreds of years—was finally within his grasp, only to slip away now? The thought was unbearable.
Gripping his cane tightly, he let his body dissolve into a cloud of flying insects—his life core among them.
"Don't even think about it! [Freeze]!"
A cold wind swept through the underground chamber, laden with snow and frost. The stone walls iced over in seconds. The cloud of insects froze mid-flight, crystallizing as the frost spread outward. The old worm's face, twisted in unwilling rage, was locked in the ice.
This frost, wrought from fairy runes and massive magical power, was beyond his ability to shatter. Even in his prime, it would have been difficult; in his current diminished state, it was impossible.
Aslan couldn't tell which of the frozen bugs was the old worm's true life core—but it hardly mattered. The man was one of the most loathsome figures in the entire Type-Moon world. Even after fifteen centuries, Aslan retained faint memories of him. If memory served, the vilest of these bugs was his true core.
Of course, on first glance, they all looked vile enough.
No matter. He would simply destroy them all. The banner of the holy spear folded in his grip, transforming into its spear form and aiming at the frozen swarm.
"Holy Lance—Liberation! [The Spear of Destiny Shining with Light]! Bring a precious miracle to this place."
The spear's tip flared, unleashing a flood of sacred radiance that engulfed everything ahead. Every insect within that light would be burned away. Whether the old worm's soul was redeemed in the process was none of Aslan's concern.
Frankly, if the Lord welcomed everyone without distinction, that would be far too disappointing. Someone like the old worm belonged in hell.
The holy light obliterated the underground chamber, even fracturing part of the barrier. The beam pierced the sky, inevitably drawing the attention of other Servants. Masters and Servants alike frowned. They had only just left the docks—how could such a powerful attack erupt so far from there, and so soon?
This was no work of a modern magus. An attack of such magnitude could earn its wielder a seat among the most feared magi of the age.
Kiritsugu watched the light spear upward and set his phone down for a moment. The voice on the other end barked for his attention, and he finally replied:
"In addition to the firearms I mentioned, prepare several rocket launchers. If you can get something stronger, even better. I'll take them all."
The more he saw of this Holy Grail War, the more Kiritsugu realized that none of the Servants summoned were weak. The pressure was immense, and his current arsenal felt inadequate.
A Chinese friend had once told him something he found profoundly true: All fear comes from insufficient firepower. Kiritsugu agreed wholeheartedly. That was why, after the battle at the docks, he had been calling every contact he had, ordering more powerful weaponry.
If only he'd had the time and connections to get a tank. He even knew how to drive one—and with special armor-piercing shells, it might have posed a real threat to a Servant. But since that was impossible to import into the Far East, he would settle for rocket launchers.
As for the Holy Grail War being conducted in secret?
Hardly a problem. A few more "gas explosions" in the city wouldn't raise too much suspicion—the blast of a rocket and a gas main looked very much the same. Repairs and compensation were the Church's problem. Whether they had the funds for it was none of the Magus Killer's concern.
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit basement, a girl sat with her hands clasped. From the crack beneath the door, a sliver of holy light spilled in. She reached toward it.
She had been lost in despair—yet now, a miracle's light touched her eyes.
Why had it come so late?
Her lips trembled. Though aggrieved, tears of joy slid down her cheeks.
-End Chapter-
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