Kayneth sat in his hotel suite, sipping red wine and leafing through fashion magazines. Every so often, he paused to deliver a sharp critique of some unfortunate design, using it as a way to relieve the pressure of the Holy Grail War.
If anyone were to read the notes scribbled in the margins, they might be shocked — even unsettled — by the ruthless precision of his comments.
After all, his criticisms were not merely sharp; the tone and choice of words were enough to make the designers themselves blush in shame.
Lately, he had even entertained the notion of introducing his family to the fashion world upon returning to Britain. The industry, in his view, was overrun by pretenders — grotesque and tasteless "artists" who sullied the craft. Fashion was meant to inspire, not terrify. Look at this dress, he thought with disdain. What's the difference between her and a ghost?
Setting down his coffee, Kayneth glanced toward the window. The sun was sinking below the horizon; the second night of the Holy Grail War was about to begin. Yet all signs suggested it would be a quiet one. No strong magical disturbances had been detected thus far. The chaos of the first night, it seemed, had left every Master cautious.
Especially that mysterious burst of holy light. It had appeared just after the Servants had left the beach — an attack so powerful it could have been a Noble Phantasm. But the aura did not match any of the Heroic Spirits present.
That could only mean one thing, obvious to anyone who thought about it: someone else was still lurking in the shadows.
Just then, the VIP phone in his room rang. Kayneth started to rise, but his wife, Sola, shook her head. As the leader of their team, he could not risk unnecessary danger.
She answered instead. The voice on the other end was simply a hotel staff member, politely reminding them of their VIP status on the top floor — but then came the real message:
"Excuse me, is this Mr. Archibald? There is a gentleman in the lobby who claims to be an old friend of your associate, Mr. Balin. He says he has come to discuss important matters. Would this be a convenient time?"
Kayneth's gaze shifted to his spearman. Balin raised an eyebrow and shrugged. The only "old friend" who fit the description was likely Aslan. That meant a group of swordsmen were here — probably to propose an alliance. Considering the golden warrior from last night, such a move made perfect sense.
"I understand," Kayneth said. "Please send them up."
He deactivated the workshop's defensive barrier. If the visitors had come in good faith, there was no point in greeting them with hostility.
The man who arrived was indeed Servant Aslan, accompanied by Irisviel. The visit was no mystery — they had come to negotiate an alliance. This was, of course, Kiritsugu's plan. The man himself remained in the background, letting Irisviel and Aslan act as the face of the Swordsman team. The objective was clear: unite against Gilgamesh.
After his display at the docks, the Golden King had become the common enemy.
It would be a lie to say that he had not left a mark on every Master's heart. His strength was undeniable — so much so that respect had curdled into fear. As long as Gilgamesh lived, no one could truly rest easy. Especially Tōsaka Tokiomi, who likely dreamed every night of ending his Servant's arrogance once and for all.
Gilgamesh's insubordination had already forced Tokiomi to burn through two of the Command Spells he had intended to save for forcing a suicide — leaving none for ensuring obedience. Perhaps, when the Golden King finally fell, the magus would breathe a long-awaited sigh of relief.
In the elevator, Irisviel took a deep breath. Artificial she might be, but she wasn't naïve enough to think the enemy's base would be undefended. Traps could lie in wait the moment they stepped inside.
Aslan placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Anyone with a working knowledge of the Grail War would know better than to harm the Einzbern homunculus — destroying her would render the Lesser Grail useless. And even if they had walked into a death trap, Aslan was confident he could break them out. If it came to that, Kiritsugu would be just as happy; suspicion would shift away from them, and Irisviel could quietly retreat to the church while their true forces remained in play elsewhere.
When the elevator reached the top floor, Kayneth did not greet them himself. Balin and Sola were waiting instead — both as a courtesy and a precaution. Allies could become assassins with the right opportunity.
Balin's expression softened when he spotted Aslan. He gave a casual wave, smiling at the thought of catching up with an old comrade. If the alliance succeeded, all the better.
Irisviel and Aslan followed their hosts into the living room, where Kayneth awaited. Without preamble, Irisviel withdrew a rolled parchment — a magic contract.
Its terms were simple: during the alliance, neither Irisviel nor Aslan could attack the Lancer team, and the Lancer team would not attack the Swordsman team. The alliance would end only when all other participants had been eliminated.
Of course, the contract was Kiritsugu's work, and he had made sure to leave openings. While Irisviel and Aslan were the visible Swordsman team, they were not its only members. When the moment came, Kiritsugu, Artoria, and even Maiya could move against the Lancer team without technically breaking the agreement.
-End Chapter-
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