"My lady saint, are you alright?"
In a burning fortress, Jeanne Alter was curled up on a bed, trembling like a frightened animal.
Gilles de Rais, the Caster-class mastermind of this singularity, genuinely cared for her. His grief over Jeanne's death had driven him to madness, but his feelings for her, whether they were friendship, love, or reverence, remained unchanged.
At the sound of his voice, she seemed to find her anchor and slowly returned to her senses. "Gilles, is that you?"
"It is I, Jeanne. Are you alright? That man... how dare he treat you like that! Damn him! Damn him to hell!" he cursed, as if his words could somehow kill Mo Wang.
But his curses offered no comfort.
"Don't, Gilles," she said, forcing herself to sit up. Though she was a mere copy, a product of Gilles's longing, she still possessed a core of Jeanne's strength. "What is our situation?"
"Besides Rider, Lancer, and Berserker, the other Servants are still alive," he said after a moment's hesitation. "But without Fafnir to keep them in check, the wyverns will be harder to control."
In a single attack, they had lost four key assets: Fafnir, their strongest fighter; Martha, their Rider; Vlad III, their Lancer; and Lancelot, their Berserker. Jalter's high-end forces had been wiped out in one fell swoop.
She said nothing, her eyes empty as she stared at him.
"Jeanne, it is all my fault," Gilles said quickly. "That Rider... I never thought she would retain a sliver of consciousness even under Mad Enhancement and choose to take her own life as a saint. And Lancelot... defeated by two little girls. It is all my fault."
He didn't mention Fafnir or Vlad. Fafnir had been beaten to death by that monster Mo Wang, and Vlad had been ganged up on by a whole team of Servants: Charlemagne, Archer, Cu Chulainn, Marie, Mozart, the real Jeanne, and even his own Saber-class self. Not even Gilgamesh could have survived that.
But his words were meaningless.
"Just one attack... and we've lost more than half our forces... That monster!" Jalter's body began to tremble at the mere thought of Mo Wang. His every word, his every glance, was like a needle under her skin.
"Jeanne..." Gilles reached out to comfort her, but she slapped his hand away.
"Don't touch me! I... I need to be alone." She lowered her head, the emotional wounds far deeper than the physical ones. "Gilles," she said, looking up at him, "who is the real Jeanne? Me, or her?"
"You, of course!" he replied without hesitation. "Listen, Jeanne, you were burned at the stake, betrayed by everyone! The French army at Compiègne locked you out of the city! Charles VII refused to pay your ransom! He watched you die! And it took twenty years for anyone to defend you! This is God's mockery! Why else would we deny Him?! Am I not right, Jeanne?"
"...Yes," she whispered, though a part of her still clung to the hope that she was the real Jeanne. "You are right, Gilles. I have nothing left."
"Then let us correct this mistake," Gilles said, his frog-like eyes no longer seeming so comical. "You saved this country, so you have the right to destroy it. It is as simple as that."
If Mo Wang had been there, he would have torn Gilles a new one for spouting such nonsense. But for the broken Jalter, his words were a balm, reigniting the flames of vengeance in her heart.
"You are right, Gilles," she said, a new resolve in her eyes. "Your words, though extreme, are a comfort to me."
"My honor, Jeanne," he replied. "Rest now. Tomorrow, I will present you with an army even stronger than before."
...
The next morning, Mash woke up to a bewildering sight. The entire town was bustling with activity, like a carnival. Civilians and soldiers alike were rushing towards the town square, carrying pots and pans.
"Mash, you're finally awake," Romani's image appeared beside her.
"Doctor, what's going on? Is this...?"
"Yes, it's Mo Wang's doing. The whole town is in an uproar."
"I knew it," Mash said, a wave of dizziness washing over her. "What has he done this time?" Can't he just be quiet for a day?
"You'll have to see for yourself," Romani said with a sigh.
Mash dashed to the town square and saw Fafnir, bound by dozens of golden chains. Mo Wang was standing on its head, shouting something to the crowd.
"What... what is going on?" she panted, trying to make sense of the scene.
"Miss Mash, you're awake," Shirou-Morgan said, appearing beside her.
"Miss Emiya! What is happening? What is Senpai doing?"
"I think... Mr. Mo Wang is holding a dragon-slaying festival?"
"A... a dragon-slaying festival?" Mash's brain shut down for a good ten seconds.
"Yes. This morning, he announced to the whole town that he was going to kill Fafnir in front of everyone. And he said that anyone could try to kill it, and that there would be a dragon meat cooking competition afterwards to crown the best dragon meat chef in the city. Everyone's very excited."
"A dragon-slaying festival? A dragon meat cooking competition?" Mash was speechless. Now she understood the look of utter resignation on Romani's face.
"Where... where is everyone?! Why isn't anyone stopping him?! This will cause a panic!" she cried, looking around for her comrades.
Shirou-Morgan just patted her shoulder and pointed. "If you're looking for them... I think they're even more excited than the townspeople."
Mash turned and saw her fellow Servants gathered around Fafnir, cracking their knuckles.
"Heh, slaying a dragon? How interesting. I never had the chance to do something so grand when I was alive," Cu Chulainn said, a savage grin on his face.
"It's just a tied-up dragon. What's so exciting about that? You have such low standards," Archer scoffed.
"Oh yeah? Like you've ever killed a real dragon," Cu retorted. "If you're not interested, then what are you doing here with all those swords?"
"As a chef, I must ensure the ingredients are fresh," Archer said calmly.
"You liar! Those are all famous dragon-slaying holy swords! You've made replicas of them, you cheater!"
"One must have the right tools for the job. Unlike you, who plans to poke a dragon with a spear. Are you trying to pick its teeth?"
"I'll poke you first, you bastard!"
"What are they doing?" Mash asked, her face a mask of despair.
"I think... they've both signed up for the dragon-slaying competition," Shirou-Morgan said. "And by the way, Emperor Karl has also entered."
Sure enough, Charlemagne was there too, his eyes wide with childlike excitement. "Whoa! A real dragon! I wonder if my sword can kill it."
"Not... not Charlemagne too! Don't tell me—"
Mash's eyes darted to the front of the crowd, and there were Mozart and Marie, just as excited as everyone else.
"Look, look! Amadeus, it's a real dragon!" Marie squealed, tugging on his arm.
"Oh, my dear Marie, I see it," he said, a strange light in his eyes. "To witness the slaying of a dragon with my own eyes... and with so many heroes gathered here... Ah, my musical inspiration is flowing!"
Mash covered her face with her hands. There's no hope for them either. What was she going to do? Her entire team had gone completely insane.