At first, Waver didn't know what possessed him to come to this Far Eastern city and take part in the Holy Grail War. Perhaps it was to prove himself. Perhaps it was pride. Whatever the reason, after the battle at the docks, his attitude toward the War had become much more serious, almost solemn.
He had since gathered a good deal of information, studying the Holy Grail War in depth. By the process of elimination, he had even managed to narrow down the identity of Gilgamesh's Master. Now, with the King of Conquerors himself openly naming Tōsaka, and with Irisviel of the Einzberns offering no objection, it all but confirmed their suspicions.
After all, if the Matō family had summoned Gilgamesh, would their mansion still be standing and not consumed by fire?
As for holding a banquet, Iskandar had two motives. First, as a king, he truly wished to meet and speak with other heroes across time. Second, it was a way to demonstrate his majesty. If he could win without fighting, that was ideal. If not, then at least he could use the gathering to observe his rivals and learn of their strengths and hidden cards.
After all, he wasn't some reckless brute. And if there was to be a banquet, there had to be wine.
The King of Conquerors clapped his young Master on the back and said, "Well then, my little Master, how much money do you have? Let's go buy some drinks."
Waver covered his face, sighing helplessly. The memory of the docks still stung. His Servant had smashed open the shutter of a bookstore, stolen his own biography, and left without paying a single coin—like a common robber.
Why not just steal the wine this time, too?
As if sensing his Master's complaint, the red-haired king scratched his head sheepishly. "Ah, that time I didn't quite understand the rules of this age. I blundered. Now that I think of it, I meant to have you repay the shopkeeper with your own money."
Waver's lips twitched. Why my money? He was a poor student—how much could he possibly have? If he were wealthy, he wouldn't be a nobody in the Clock Tower. He wouldn't be buried under debts to the El-Melloi faction either—debts which, more often than not, came from paying reparations.
Hadn't Kayneth's own downfall in the original history been tied to stolen relics?
With a pained look, Waver opened his wallet. The few coins inside stared back at him. He exhaled sharply and handed them all over. He had nothing more. In fact, half of it was borrowed money. From today onward, he would really need to find part-time work just to repay his debts. That is, of course, if he survived the Holy Grail War at all.
Meanwhile, Kiritsugu had already learned of the King of Conquerors' plan. A banquet, held brazenly at the enemy's residence, just before a decisive battle in the name of "fairness." Kiritsugu smirked coldly. Kings, it seemed, were all the same—noble words masking dirty hearts.
Still, it was good news. The alliance was now complete. Berserker remained missing, and Assassin seemed intent on attacking everyone, but with so many Heroic Spirits gathered, their combined strength would be formidable.
That night, thunder split the skies. Wheels rolled across the clouds as lightning bore down on a single house: the Tōsaka mansion.
At its window, Gilgamesh stood with a faint, mocking smile. It was both serene and utterly arrogant.
He had expected this. After displaying his power on the first night, he knew that before long the others would gather against him. Sure enough, after a relatively calm second day, they had come on the third night. More than one opponent, at that.
Thunder rumbled endlessly as the challengers approached. On the street, Balin walked with both swords at his waist. Elsewhere, Irisviel and Aslan made their way toward the mansion, Artoria following close behind. Akuta Hinako appeared in battle attire, while Merlin hummed a tune, smiling faintly—finally ready to face the world outside.
Above them, the Conqueror King's chariot descended in a storm of lightning. Even restrained, its impact shattered the bounded field protecting the mansion's garden.
Iskandar dismounted, gazing boldly at the luxurious estate. He bellowed:
"Golden King! I've come to drink with you. Let this be our rehearsal. After all, when this banquet ends, at least one hero will surely depart."
In the basement, Tōsaka Tokiomi trembled, teacup slipping from his hand. He had been contemplating the path to the Root, his lifelong dream, but now that dream was shattering before his eyes. If Gilgamesh insisted on fighting so many opponents at once, then surely this would spell their end.
Of course, if Gilgamesh had known what his Master was thinking, he would have struck Tokiomi unconscious on the spot and fought on his own terms. He would win regardless, and he certainly would not forgive such cowardice.
If nothing else, he would demand a new Master after tonight.
Still, as he watched Gilgamesh standing tall atop his roof, radiating kingly pride, Tokiomi's despair deepened. He knew his King was strong—but could even Gilgamesh face the combined might of so many?
No. Not a chance.
Desperate, he seized the magical communicator he had crafted, its shape resembling an old gramophone. He shouted into it:
"Kirei! Come save your Master!"
…Wait. That wasn't right.
"Kirei, send every one of Hassan's clones here at once! Whether we can turn the tide depends on you!"
If the Servants were focused on Gilgamesh, then Assassin might find the perfect chance to strike. Perhaps they could still turn the tables. And if the alliance among these so-called heroes wasn't as strong as it appeared, if none of them were willing to sacrifice for the others, then this coalition would crumble just like the Eighteen Warlords of the past.
-End Chapter-
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