The Heroic Spirit before Kotomine Kirei frowned slightly.
"Hero King… I think you've misunderstood. I am a member of the Church. Yes, that's right—I believe in the Lord. How could I possibly feel pleasure from disaster or suffering?"
Gilgamesh only smiled, saying nothing more. The man before him had been bound in invisible shackles for far too long. It would take far more than a few words to make him recognize the ugliness in his heart—and the darkness he carried.
To be honest, Gilgamesh wanted nothing more than to see what kind of chaos this man would unleash upon the world once he awakened.
You love me.
Kirei's mind flashed to a vision—
A woman in a white room, a dagger glinting coldly, hot blood splashing onto his face and into his eyes.
Ah… I'm thinking of it again. Truly, the King of Heroes has a way with words. With only a few sentences, he struck at the most tangled, most fragile part of my heart. Yes… now that I recall, I did curl the corners of my mouth slightly when reporting to my teacher. Could it be that I truly felt pleasure from another's pain?
Kirei closed his eyes, burying his thoughts deep. When he opened them again, his face was as indifferent as before—untouched, as if nothing in the world could stir him.
Gilgamesh regarded him with growing interest. He was merely an observer, but from a personal standpoint, he wished to see this man awaken to his true self. That would be… entertaining. In all this age, to find such a fascinating individual was rare indeed.
Moreover, Gilgamesh felt no small measure of distaste and impatience toward his current Master, Tokiomi. It was a rare privilege to walk this world again, and the Holy Grail War ought to be a time of joy and indulgence. Being tethered to such a dull man as Tokiomi was… insufferable.
Of course, the King still intended to replace his Master. But there was no need to rush—six days remained. The priest before him already carried the seed he had planted in his heart. Once it sprouted, the time to change Masters would come. Until then, Gilgamesh could amuse himself by watching Tokiomi's tiresome charade.
The man pretended to be calm, masking every thought behind unnecessary aristocratic reserve.
Gilgamesh often entertained the idea of retrieving a truth serum from his treasury, just to watch Tokiomi confess his hidden thoughts with a terrified expression. But such treasures were wasted on the uninteresting.
No matter how miserable a boring man becomes, in the end, boredom remains boredom. The outcome was predictable, and so Gilgamesh felt no anticipation for Tokiomi's reaction under such a potion's influence.
Elsewhere, Tokiomi—brushed off by Kariya—felt humiliated, insulted, and provoked. Naturally, he chose to leave the ruins without another word.
Kariya, meanwhile, still searched for the basement entrance. But even if he found it, there was nothing left to see underground. Aslan had reduced the basement to emptiness room by room, cleansing it with fire. He would not allow even a rib bone to remain connected to this house—or the insects that infested it.
Indeed, Aslan had burned every last bone to ash. Strictly speaking, not even the ash remained.
The stench of charred remains in the basement was no less overpowering than the ruins above. It clawed at Kariya's nose, and at his heart.
After searching fruitlessly for a long while, Kariya finally leaned against the scorched wall, sliding down in exhaustion. His body was reaching its limits.
Then, a thought struck him. There had been one survivor from the fire—his eldest nephew, Shinji.
Shinji was now in the hospital. Though he would need time to recover, his life was not in danger. Gritting his teeth against the pain and fatigue, Kariya forced himself to his feet and headed toward the hospital.
Part of him was concerned for the boy's safety and mental state. But the larger part… wanted to know whether Shinji had seen how the fire started, and where his sister had gone.
After all, in Kariya's heart, his nephew could never compare to the daughter of the woman he loved.
At the same time, on the city's coast, Kiritsugu was reviewing a report sent by a friend—information on the magus factions participating in the war—while occasionally gazing at the sea.
So many had come from the Clock Tower this time. But he felt no real concern; two of the three were only students. Eliminating them would not be difficult. For now, he set the report aside.
The real threat was the King in golden armor. But taking down the Golden King was no easy task.
As Kiritsugu weighed possible strategies, he waited for the signal. When the phone at his waist finally rang, he didn't answer. Instead, he fired a flare into the sky.
A short while later, a fishing boat sped toward his location.
Kiritsugu stubbed out his cigarette and leapt aboard. The crew gave him a brief nod before removing the black waterproof tarp they wore, revealing a black, reinforced case.
Opening it, Kiritsugu's normally cold expression softened into a smile. His old friend had over-delivered—providing far more than expected. With these tools, even if he couldn't kill the Golden King, he could certainly eliminate his Master.
Still, going after the King alone would be a gamble. The odds weren't good. And so—despite his distaste—Kiritsugu knew he would have to seek an alliance.
Even if only for a single day.
-End Chapter-
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