The heroic spirits of the alliance understood well: someone would inevitably be eliminated from this battle. But as long as it wasn't due to betrayal by their companions, then the only conclusion was that their own strength had fallen short. In that case, the Master who had summoned such a Servant could only blame ill fortune—after all, failing to call upon a more powerful spirit was their own misstep.
Luck, too, is a form of strength. It is often the deciding factor in war. One cannot blame others for poor fortune—just as Kayneth in the original timeline could not. Diarmuid was hardly weak, but Kayneth did not enter the Grail War alone; his fiancée was with him, and through a chain of unfortunate coincidences, he met a miserable end.
The Hero King cast a disdainful glance at the assembled heroes. Though his lip curled, he still recalled that the Holy Grail War was to be fought in secrecy. Since it was a rule, and he a king, he would naturally uphold it. Dissatisfied though he was, he reached into his treasury and produced several treasures, tossing them toward the four corners of the house.
In an instant, a barrier shimmered into being, sealing away sound, light, magic, and all other traces of reality. No matter how fiercely they fought here, the outside world would remain untouched.
At the sight, the King of Conquerors couldn't help but sigh.
"You're a decent fellow, Golden King."
To his mind, rulers as willful as Gilgamesh were usually nothing more than tyrants. Yet here, unexpectedly, Gilgamesh was honoring the rules. That alone was enough to shift Iskandar's opinion—perhaps this King of Heroes truly was worthy of the title.
"Humph! What could you fools possibly understand of my greatness?" Gilgamesh's voice rang with arrogance. "You've come into my domain—stood at the feet of a king and an enemy. Surely you don't intend to crawl on your knees and beg for mercy. If so, that would be the greatest joke I've ever heard!"
Had these heroes united to strike him down, Gilgamesh would have welcomed it with delight. For the King of Kings, anything less than the challenge of countless strong foes was beneath him.
By the same token, had they come seeking his mercy, he would have felt only sorrow and rage—sorrow at the fragility of humanity, and rage that even future heroes might be so pitiful. In such a case, he would have executed them all himself. Gilgamesh already disdained the weakness of modern men. If even their heroes proved spineless…
Then perhaps he would destroy the entire world.
The King of Conquerors burst out laughing and hauled a great barrel of red wine from his chariot. The fragrance drifted out, and his grin widened. Modern vintages, refined over centuries, were far richer than those of antiquity—though still inferior to the draughts of the gods.
"Come, everyone!" he roared. "Sit, drink, and speak of your lives and your ideals. So many heroes gathered here is nothing short of a miracle. It would be a shame if we didn't get to know one another. And when the wine runs dry, then—only then—we fight! Surely none of you are so witless as to think only of battle!"
Gilgamesh crossed his arms, eyes narrowing with annoyance.
"This is the second time, red-haired barbarian. I don't know what backwater spawned you, but your cheap provocations are grating. Still… I shall grant you the honor of sitting at my table."
He eyed the wine before him with faint displeasure, then exhaled and dismissed the thought. To sit at the same table as these others was concession enough; a little wasted wine was of no consequence.
Golden ripples unfurled before each guest, and from them emerged goblets filled with radiant wine, which settled neatly into their hands.
Gilgamesh glanced back at Tōsaka's house with irritation. At that moment, Tokiomi still cowered in the basement—an embarrassment, both as contractor and as subject.
It had been Tokiomi's decision to present himself as a vassal. Thus, whether praised or scorned, it was of his own making. The instant Gilgamesh was summoned, the middle-aged magus had bowed his head and sworn fealty. It reminded Gilgamesh of the past—of the lone minister who had once stood at his side.
But Tokiomi… Tokiomi was no such figure. He could never measure up to her. That minister—whom Gilgamesh addressed by name, even when she scolded him to his face—was irreplaceable. Tokiomi, by comparison, was nothing but a mediocrity.
He recalled the time he sought the elixir of life, only for it to be stolen by a serpent. Returning home, ragged and defeated, he had been chastised by his people—yet it was that scolding which roused him.
In truth, their values were utterly different. His minister had stood firm even when defeat loomed, never allowing him to retreat unless absolutely necessary. But Tokiomi…
Gilgamesh shook his head. He would decide after tonight's battle how best to change Masters.
"Drink. This is from my treasury—the finest wine in the world. Fit for both warriors and women. Fear not, I will not let you fall drunk; after all, I want your eyes clear when you witness the battle to come, and my glory burned into your souls."
Iskandar's eyes gleamed as he swallowed a mouthful.
"Not bad! Your glittering vault truly holds some treasures worth plundering. I can't wait to conquer it all!"
Gilgamesh did not take offense. If he grew angry at every boast, he would long ago have collapsed from rage. Instead, he accepted it as acknowledgment.
"If you can seize it, then try," he said coldly. "But know this—the price will be your life."
-End Chapter-
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