Mystery—the true source of power for the magi of the Type-Moon World.
And because of that, as science advanced, Mystery dimmed under humanity's relentless pursuit of knowledge. The strength of modern magi was a pale shadow of what their ancestors once commanded.
In recent centuries especially, the endless waves of industrial revolution had bled Mystery dry. Magecraft weakened with it. Spells like "Suggestion," which in the Age of Gods could twist a person's very will, could now barely alter memories at all.
But the Arcane Magic Rhodes wielded from the D&D system didn't rely on Mystery. Arcane Magic was about taking directly from the world itself—letting mere humans grasp the fundamental concepts of reality, condense them into "elements," and store them within his personal Strings.
The number of Strings a caster possessed represented how many times he could "pluck" the world's concepts with his mortal body. That number grew as his power did.
Day after day, year after year, twelve years passed. Rhodes was no longer a frail infant, but a sickly, sharp-faced boy with dark red hair and a perpetually indifferent look.
"Still not enough…" Standing in his dim workshop, he muttered. "Twelve years, and I've only managed to grasp eight Strings?"
"Well, no helping it. The rules of the two worlds don't match, and converting spells into Magecraft is agonizingly slow. I've only managed a few Arcane cantrips so far. At least those don't cost Strings to cast."
As he sighed, something soft pressed against the back of his head.
Behind him was a voluptuous young woman—twenty-seven or twenty-eight by appearance—the same "inferior" automaton who had nursed him as a baby.
Under Rhodes' tinkering—or perhaps "reconstruction"—her appearance hadn't changed much, nor had her lack of speech. But her movements and expressions had grown more natural. And after he infused the lingering soul of a girl who had died in an accident into the automaton, she gradually developed that useless burden known as "emotion."
"Tch…" Feeling the softness against his head, Rhodes scowled. "I'm starting to regret engraving those emotional circuits into your core."
Still grumbling, he picked up two parchments from the desk and tossed them to his doll-like, big-breasted caregiver.
"Deliver this letter for me. To the Edelfelt Family in Finland. Those war hounds should be interested."
He shook the parchment. Neatly penned across the surface were the words: "Artificial Crystals Replacing Natural Crystals for Magecraft Storage—Research and Mass Production Analysis." Clearly, high-level research material.
Of course, Rhodes hadn't written a single word himself. Being a lazy archmage, he'd made the poor automaton girl spend the entire night writing it out for him.
◇◇◇
A few hours later, in a sunlit courtyard shaded by parasols, three figures sat enjoying cups of Helsinki coffee. For an arcanist, nothing was more important than a sharp mind, so Rhodes had a fondness for the stimulating drink.
Beside him sat an elderly matriarch and a small blonde girl—no more than eleven or twelve, just entering the "middle school starter pack" years.
"A fine report. Truly your work? You seem far too young." The old woman's husky voice carried doubt, but no contempt.
Her face was lined like tree bark, but unlike most elders, there was no rot in her presence—only wisdom and a brisk, sharp air.
"Young, am I? If age were everything, turtles would rule the world." Rhodes' voice carried a note of mockery. "My experience may be shallow, but producing something at this level is still within reach."
"You realize, don't you, young man, that report alone could earn you a Seal Designation from the Clock Tower's Department of Law?" The matriarch spoke with calm reason. "Revealing it is terribly unwise. Why not present it to the Yggdmillennia main house? You'd reap far greater rewards."
"It's different. Compared to those ignorant aristocrats, I appreciate you and the Edelfelt Family more." Rhodes replied with the poise of a politician. "They call you the 'elegant hounds'—surely not without cause?"
"Besides, why should the strong care about the whining of the weak? A Seal Designation is just the cry of losers unwilling to admit defeat."
"What an amusing boy. If you really are as young as you look." The old woman studied him, her calm tone pressing down like a weight. "Very well. The Edelfelt Family accepts this trade. In exchange for your research, we'll guarantee your safety and rights—provided, of course, it's genuine."
For the Edelfelts, jewel Magecraft's crushing cost had always been their greatest burden. Like the Tohsaka, they inherited jewel-based Magecraft, fixing spells into gemstones to skip incantations and cast by burning money.
Thus the saying: the depth of an Edelfelt's purse defined their strength in battle.
If artificial crystals could replace natural ones… the savings would be astronomical.
But to Rhodes, this was nothing more than bait—a mere scrap of his true knowledge.
"My apologies. I have experiments to resume. I'll take my leave." Taking the contract signed by the Edelfelt head from the maid's tray, Rhodes offered a perfunctory excuse and prepared to go.
"Wait, Mr. Rhodes." The old woman smiled kindly. "How about introducing your bloodline to ours?"
She said it as casually as asking about lunch. Rhodes, however, looked as if he'd just bitten into shit.
"Care to explain what exactly you mean by 'introducing bloodline'?" he asked dryly. He hadn't expected her to be this blunt, dressing up siring as a noble arrangement.
"Simple. You'll mate with an Edelfelt woman and sire a child. You needn't bear responsibility. The child belongs to the family. In return, we'll give you half the profits from your artificial crystal research." Her words were flat, as if such proposals were everyday matters.
"Not impressive at all." Rhodes curled his lip. From the corner of his eye, he caught the blonde girl's disgusted frown, her delicate brows knitted tight. She didn't stop the proposal, but her face spoke volumes.
Perhaps that was the tragedy of nobility. Compared to some greasy middle-aged magus, Rhodes' looks at least made him a "better" option.
"And this young lady?" Rhodes asked, glancing at the blonde. Her response was sharp, mocking.
"Luviagelita Edelfelt. Spare me your worthless pity. I'm not the one asking you to sire a child." The blonde girl—the same Luviagelita who would one day appear in Fate/stay night—answered with scorn.
Famed not for grace, but for her unfortunate nicknames: "Crane of the Ladies," "Hound of the Arena." Even in her youth, Miss Luviagelita overflowed with arrogant presence.
"Excellent." Rhodes chuckled, mischief flashing in his eyes. "I may refuse siring contracts, but developing a 'pure' physical relationship with Miss Luviagelita sounds just fine."
"You—!" Luviagelita bristled like a cat with its tail stepped on, about to vault the table and strangle him. The old matriarch's hand snapped out, yanking her back into her seat.
"That suggestion is acceptable. You may 'properly' pursue Luviagelita." The matriarch's calm tone softened, her hidden hostility ebbing.
"Perfect." Rhodes nodded lightly, rising with mock elegance. "Then I'll take my leave, Lady Edelfelt."
◇◇◇
Moments later, watching the boy's small figure retreat into the distance, the old woman's lips curved into a mocking smile.
"So he noticed…" she murmured, her words dripping with killing intent.
Siring had only been a pretext. The true plan was to bind Rhodes to the Edelfelt family through "affection over time." His refusal had ripped off the polite mask, making him a future threat.
And yet, his playful teasing of Luviagelita had stayed her hand.
She wanted to see how far this gifted boy could go. And Luviagelita would be her investment. As for whether Rhodes would ever actually bed her…
—Well, time would tell.