The night in Fuyuki was long.
Across the sea, in London, England, that day too was just as long.
A "Grand Resolution" was secretly convened in the deepest reaches of Albion's Tomb. It concluded quickly, and the unanimous decision of the attending Monarchs was promptly conveyed throughout the entire Clock Tower, and even the whole of the Mage's Association, leaving many in shock.
Magus young and old, experienced and green alike, were astonished at the news that the Barthomeloi coronation ceremony would be held in the Far East, that land where Mystery was thin. They were equally astonished that the Monarchs themselves had resolved to personally travel there—not only those who had attended the Resolution, but even the Monarchs who had not, once they confirmed the news as true, made their decisions without hesitation.
Not all of them, to be sure.
But those who announced their intention to depart already accounted for more than half the Monarchs—over seven in total.
Among them: Political and Administrative Studies, the entire Department of Fundamentals, Creation, Astronomy, Spiritual Evocation, Mineralogy, and Botany.
Of these, only the Fundamentals and Creation were "Democratic Faction." The rest were all aristocrats.
Among the three great factions of the Clock Tower, only the four neutral Departments—Mystic Archives, Curses, Archaeology, and Individual Fundamentals—made no public announcements. The rest, almost all, had already begun to move.
What could be confirmed, however, was that for Barthomeloi's coronation, the Clock Tower Director and Monarch of Mystic Archives would be present.
The Marshal of Magecraft was also very likely to go.
The only ones remaining were Zoology and Botany.
But Zoology, since ancient times, had always been the effective puppet of the Barthomeloi family—their stance was equivalent to Barthomeloi's.
As for Botany, though they were descendants of the First Magician, they had lost even "Magic" itself; they rarely displayed their presence in the world of Mystery, and so no one cared.
Thus, on this day, the entire Clock Tower was shaken. The magical world of all Europe was stirred.
On this day, magi cast their eyes eastward, not knowing what was truly happening there.
The only ones who understood were the Monarchs.
…
"Grandfather, I must trouble you."
Within the Barthomeloi manor, Lorelei rose to greet the tall, gaunt, elderly man before her. The ponytailed girl's skirt swayed as her boots tapped against the floor. Her sharp gaze remained as piercing and heroic as ever—unyielding even before her grandfather, the reigning Monarch of Barthomeloi.
The old man nodded.
"Whether you are on good terms with that Luvia's family, or whether I act this time, all is for the glory of Barthomeloi. It is as it should be."
"Lorelei—how have you adapted to the Magic Crest?"
"I can already wield it freely."
Lorelei answered, and a flash of magical luminescence ran over her entire body before vanishing.
The transplantation of a Magic Crest was itself a complex and delicate process. The older the family, the heavier and more intricate the mysteries within their Crest, and the greater the labor required. Even families no more than three hundred years old—mere infants in the world of magecraft—risked accidents in the procedure, which could destroy the Crest or kill the next heir outright.
For Barthomeloi, the most ancient of mage families with over two thousand years of lineage, the risks were only magnified.
Their Crest was so vast and heavy it covered the entire body.
Its Mystery was so dense that it could stand against even the ancient Phantasmal Species.
Yet Lorelei had taken less than ten days to completely adapt. When Lucan left, she had not yet inherited the Crest. Now, she wielded it as though second nature.
At this, the Monarch of Barthomeloi—who had already transplanted the Crest, yet not yet relinquished his position—showed clear satisfaction, even admiration, in his eyes.
Others might not know.
But he knew very well—his granddaughter not only adapted with astonishing speed, she had even carried out the transplantation herself without assistance.
Moreover, though she had not produced innovative, groundbreaking research, her practical ability alone had already reached a level above even "Grand."
Now, having adapted to the Crest, she had become even greater—far above himself.
"Then, next—since the decision has been made, we must secure qualification for the 'Holy Grail War.' Prepare the most powerful relic!"
"The final judgment of this Grand Resolution I have already conveyed to Director Bricisanne, as well as to the Marshal of Magecraft, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg."
"They may both be present."
Knowing already the general rules of the Holy Grail War, the old man declared:
"The glory of Barthomeloi will be borne by you—tracing back to the glory of our ancestors!"
Hearing those two names, Lorelei nodded solemnly.
As the absolute standard-bearers of the Aristocratic Faction, only those two in the entire Clock Tower warranted their utmost vigilance—of course, after Lorelei herself, perhaps one might also add "Luvia."
…
"That brat Lucan… is he looking down on the resources of his own teacher? To send something like this!"
Within the new El-Melloi residence, in an elegantly decorated study, Kayneth gazed at the golden armor fragments within a box before him. He snorted coldly. Though his words were displeased, his narrow azure eyes were filled with satisfaction.
Lucan Luvist… had, in the end, responded to his goodwill.
"Well, as the gift of an excellent student, I shall graciously accept it."
Kayneth summoned a maid.
"Place this with the other two Heroic relics I've collected."
Once the Holy Grail War began, he would select from among them.
It was said this Grail War was something extraordinary indeed.
Then, he too would have to take it seriously.
…
"—This aura, without doubt, belongs to a mighty relic of an ancient Hero!"
Elsewhere.
Though the Grail War had yet to begin, the Monarch of Trambelio, drawing upon the immense resources of his family, had already secured a relic of great power in very little time.
The towering, broad-shouldered ruler of the Fundamentals Department gazed at the fragment in his hand, resembling part of some heavy weapon, and laughed heartily.
"The original Berserker."
"The greatest dragon-slayer!"
…
The deepest depths of Albion's Tomb.
Within the observatory under the control of the Department of Astronomy.
The Astronomical Monarch gazed upon the "Sea of Stars Within."
…
"Weber, how's your thesis coming along?"
"Already finished—this time, it'll shock him for sure!"
…
"Kiritsugu, how fares your relic?"
"It is long prepared, Elder of the Einzberns."
In Germany, deep within a secluded forest, within an ancient courtyard unknown to outsiders.
A man with short, disheveled black hair and faint stubble on his face answered the white-haired elder before him.
He said, "That Hero will surely bring us victory."
"Is that so…"
The elder narrowed his eyes.
"If you are that confident, then I shall entrust everything to you."
"In combat, we have no talent. But as for magical energy expenditure—the Einzbern family will provide it all."
"So long as in the end, you grasp the Grail, that is enough."
"—You may make further preparations, should you wish."
The man called Emiya Kiritsugu remained stone-faced, unshaken.
"My preparations are already complete. Nothing more is needed."
"With the tools at my disposal, even should my opponent be a Monarch above 'Grand,' it will not be a problem."
"That confidence… no wonder you are called the 'Magus Killer,'" the elder praised, though a trace of regret lingered in his eyes.
Regret, that the secluded Einzbern family seemed completely unaware of what had transpired in the outside world.
And Emiya Kiritsugu, even less so, had no inkling of the upheaval in the Clock Tower within a single day.
Nor of the colossal entity named the Clock Tower, nor of the Monarchs—nor even the one and only "Marshal of Magecraft."
…
And so.
"What meaning is there in this?"
"What meaning at all?"
Back at the hotel suite that afternoon, the spirit form of Hystia couldn't understand the boy's decision.
To make public what should have been the hidden Holy Grail War—she could not comprehend.
To this, Lucan only said:
"Of course it has meaning."
It meant preventing interference from the Counter Force.
It meant ensuring he himself did not fall into a "battlefield of carnage."
To seize the initiative—
Whether Barthomeloi, or Kayneth.
Even the Trambelio family, or the Astronomical Monarch in his observatory—
All had his contingencies laid in place.
None could escape his grasp.
Could he really control them?
Hystia deeply doubted it.
…
"The Holy Grail War, huh…"
"Sounds like fun!"
Far East, Yamato, within Tokyo.
A golden-haired short girl paused on the roadside. Her ears twitched, as if she had caught something amusing upon the wind.
She broke into a bright, adorable smile.
"—The Grail, huh?"
"I want to play too! Let me try it for myself!"