Chapter 267: Hero Siegfried
The France Singularity began with a single, critical deviation.
Gilles de Rais obtained a Holy Grail from a figure calling himself King Solomon. The infamous Bluebeard used it to summon the Jeanne he imagined in his heart. The reappearance of a Saint who should have been dead was, by itself, a rupture at a pivotal historical node.
But the Holy Grail could summon more than one Servant.
And Gilles de Rais did not stop at one.
Under the banner of the Dragon Witch faction, multiple heroes gathered, each answering that twisted call in their own way.
Now, inside a golden hall deep within the occupied territory, the Dragon Witch sat above them. Below her stood a cluster of Servants whose presence alone could have overturned a battlefield.
"Oh?" A tall man with his torso bare grinned, dark skin gleaming under the hall's light. His short blond hair stood up like wild grass, and his rugged face carried a raw, feral courage. "That evil dragon still has not sent back anything?"
An elderly Servant with pale hair and a black leather coat narrowed his eyes. "It is surprising. I dislike the beast, but I will admit it. Fafnir is powerful."
"Oh, you think so too, Duke Vlad?" The bare chested man laughed. "Honestly, I wanted to wrestle that evil dragon myself. You too, Duke Vlad."
"I will pass," the old man said flatly. "I do not enjoy fighting comrades, Mister Beowulf."
Vlad III, the Impaler, prototype of Dracula, the feared Romanian duke who made terror into policy, looked forward again.
Even he carried a faint caution when facing the man beside him.
Because that man was Beowulf, the earliest dragon slayer of the northern epics. In a sense, the word Berserker traced its first violent shadow back to him.
A king who loved battle.
"Hahaha. That is a pity," Beowulf said, laughing again.
"Hmph. Boring." A hunter girl in attire decorated like a forest crossed her arms and snorted. "An evil dragon is an evil dragon. It is probably off somewhere doing evil."
"No." The pale haired old man shook his head. "Fafnir is a cursed dragon. What it seeks is not that kind of amusement."
He turned and saw the hunter girl leaving.
"Miss Atalanta, where are you going?"
The green haired girl did not look back. The ends of her hair carried a faint yellow tint, lifting in the draft. "If prey has stepped onto our doorstep, I will see it with my own eyes."
Vlad exhaled quietly.
"Even within the same camp, our ideals are not aligned."
The Dragon Witch and her hatred needed no explanation. Beowulf wanted only a strong opponent. Vlad himself was a tyrant who had built his name on cruelty.
But Atalanta was different.
The Greek huntress did not live for chaos. Even if her life never truly intertwined with the great Greek heroes, her actions always leaned toward order.
"Honestly," Vlad murmured, "the fact that she stayed at all, instead of leaving the instant she manifested like the dragon taming saint, is already strange."
He paused, feeling a faint discordance, something like a misremembered page.
Did Atalanta really never intersect with other heroes?
The thought passed, and he dismissed it.
He looked up.
The Dragon Witch, seated on the golden throne, watched them without speaking, as if listening to a voice only she could hear.
"So," Vlad asked, "what is your decision?"
"Decision?" The Dragon Witch's voice was cold enough to cut. "We wait."
"No matter who the enemy is, if they stand in our way, we crush them. That is all."
Her figure vanished the moment the words left her lips.
Vlad stared at the empty throne, then at the space where she had been.
Beowulf's anticipation sharpened into a grin.
"I hope it is someone strong enough to satisfy me."
Vlad remained silent.
Is she really not preparing anything?
This is war.
Why do I suddenly feel like I boarded a pirate ship?
He had the urge to rub his forehead, but held it back. So she gathered them here for a simple meeting, and then left without another instruction.
Outside the golden hall, Atalanta paused.
Wind ruffled the hem of her verdant dress. Her long black legs, extending from clean, curving hips, stood firmly on the polished floor.
Her expression blanked for an instant.
She had received the existence of herself from the Origin Universe.
Fusion. Integration.
"Hmph." Her lips tightened. "So Rowe is here too."
That was why she left first.
…
A gentle breeze crossed a hill.
A saintly girl in white armor raised her head, a cross shaped spear lifted in her hands. Joy surfaced across her delicate features.
"Has my Lord arrived?"
…
"Eh?!"
"You want me to dress up as a witch?!"
Inside a cramped carriage, Saint Jeanne sat rigidly on the bench, staring at the man beside her as if he had just suggested she burn down a cathedral for practice.
Her golden hair gleamed like sunlight, soft strands braided at the back of her head. Beneath her bangs, blue eyes widened in disbelief.
She was wearing black, form fitting clothes that outlined her graceful figure far too clearly for her comfort. Her slender waist curved into full hips, her thighs crossed, pale and firm beneath the dark fabric.
Jeanne turned fully toward him.
Rowe nodded, smiling as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world.
"This is a revelation from the Lord, you know."
"B but…"
"No buts." Rowe's smile stayed gentle, his tone unyielding. "I believe you can do it. Besides, you do not want to be a burden to others, do you?"
"Ugh…"
Jeanne lowered her head. In the end, she could not refuse.
After all, this was the will of the Lord.
And the man before her was the Lord's incarnation on Earth.
"I will try."
"Good."
Rowe looked out the window.
The carriage rocked and rattled. Outside, the evil dragon had been forced into a humiliating role, pulling the carriage forward like a reluctant draft beast. The landscape slid past on both sides.
After Rowe subdued Fafnir, Jeanne arrived quickly. After confirming Rowe was truly the Lord she had sensed, she expected to feel overwhelming excitement.
She was a devout believer. In life, she had received the Lord's revelation. Under that guidance, she led France to victory after victory, reversing the Hundred Years' War's momentum and striking the invaders with decisive force.
To Jeanne, the Lord was not abstract.
The Lord was real.
Yet she felt no urge to scream, to weep, to kneel.
Instead she felt intimacy, ease, a natural closeness.
Before Rowe, she was calm.
A comfort like spring wind.
That comfort confirmed her faith more than any miracle ever could.
And so this absurd scene unfolded.
An evil dragon pulling a carriage.
A saint being talked into playing the role of a witch.
At the opposite end of the jolting carriage, Ritsuka blinked her red eyes, still trying to process what she was seeing.
"You are a saint of monotheism?"
Mash stiffened beside her, immediately anxious.
"Senpai, please be more polite."
Ritsuka waved it off. "It is fine, right? Mister Rowe seems nice."
"Fou, fou."
The small white beast leaped from Mash's shoulder and landed directly in Rowe's lap.
Rowe withdrew his gaze from the scenery, stroked Fou's fur, and Fou purred contentedly, like a cat being bribed with affection.
Rowe smiled.
"Since you all insist I am a saint, how could my temper be bad?"
Then his eyes shifted slightly.
"What do you say, Romani Archaman of Chaldea?"
Ritsuka and Mash froze at the same time.
The watch on Ritsuka's wrist lit up. A gentle face appeared in a floating projection, like a video call forced through time.
"Ah, sorry, sorry! I was wrong, please do not punish me!"
Romani apologized the instant the channel opened, pleading with a speed that made it look rehearsed.
"Why would I punish you, Romani Archaman?" Rowe's tone stayed light.
Rowe did not know Romani Archaman.
If anyone deserved punishment, it was Solomon.
Romani scratched his head, guilt written plainly on his face.
Da Vinci's voice drifted in from the side with a strange little hum that somehow sounded both amused and suspicious.
"Doctor?" Ritsuka frowned. "Do you know Mister Rowe?"
Jeanne also looked over curiously, blinking once.
Romani panicked and immediately threw the blame at the safest target.
"No, no. The former Director knew him. During the Holy Grail War."
While speaking, he winked at Rowe as if his eyelids were filing a request for mercy.
Rowe did not expose him.
Ritsuka and Mash could not verify it either.
Rowe's gaze remained on Romani.
"So, Acting Director Roman. Do you want to comment on my plan?"
"My plan…" Romani's expression turned serious.
He had been listening through the open line. He had heard Rowe and Jeanne's conversation.
And he understood it.
"Let me speak frankly." Romani exhaled. "What you are doing is not restoring human order, is it?"
He could see it clearly. Making Jeanne impersonate the Dragon Witch and taking her position was not the clean solution.
If Rowe wanted to repair a Singularity, he could erase the cause instantly.
He could fall a few more times until the world's correction could not keep up and the Singularity collapsed completely.
It would be crude, but effective.
He did not choose that.
"Ah." Rowe's tone carried faint amusement. "So you noticed."
"You never intended to hide it," Romani replied.
Rowe lifted a hand as if dismissing the point.
"But I think you have seen it too."
Romani paused. His breath caught.
He had seen it.
Romani Archaman, whose true self was Solomon, had once stood at the end of the only Holy Grail War on this worldline. In the final instant before his wish was granted, in the last moment he existed as King Solomon, he saw it.
The future of the world.
The future of human order.
"The future of this world is destined for destruction," Romani said slowly.
"But it is not destroyed because of human order incineration."
"On the contrary." Rowe's voice slid in, steady and precise. "The incineration, the Singularities, are the key."
"Concentrate all hidden rot into a few nodes, then ignite them all at once."
"It is not a wrong method."
Silence filled the carriage.
Jeanne looked thoughtful. Mash looked as if something inside her clicked into place.
Only Ritsuka scratched her head, lost.
What does it mean that incineration is not the real crisis?
What does it mean the Singularities are the key?
Ritsuka's knowledge of Mystery was limited. She could not follow everything.
But she did understand one thing.
Rowe's goal.
Rowe's intention.
Rowe's danger.
Rowe met Romani's gaze.
"You are right, Romani. I am not here to restore human order."
"I am here to expand the Singularity."
"Treating symptoms is not enough. I want the root."
"Only then can the spark be ignited."
To rekindle the world's fire of life.
Romani sighed, the projection flickering.
"Then I can only wish you victory and prosperity."
The channel cut.
Outside, a dragon's roar answered at the same time.
The carriage jolted.
Fafnir's warning.
Fafnir's instinctive alarm at a natural enemy.
Ahead, wild grass swayed under a pale sunset. Rolling hills framed the road.
A man clad in silver armor stood waiting, a greatsword in his hands.
As the dragon, forced into the role of a steed, approached, the man opened his eyes.
"Finally."
"Evil dragon Fafnir."
"I, Siegfried, will behead you here once more."