In the gray waters of the Wandering Sea—forgotten by the passage of ages—a miracle that defies every common sense in both magic and engineering is unfolding.
If the Lords of the Clock Tower were to witness this spectacle, they would probably rip out their own Magic Crests on the spot and eat them out of despair.
"...This isn't scientific! Or magical! What kind of principle is this, anyway?!"
Right now, Sion, the Atlas Academy's genius alchemist, was holding her head in confusion, despairing as she screamed at the small, busy creatures moving before her.
They were a horde of white, round, adorable ball-shaped robots—about the size of a clenched fist—but they were definitely not miniature Doraemons. They swarmed like diligent worker ants, constantly pouring out of Steve's spacious white pocket.
They needed neither rest, mana, nor blueprints, for Steve had already uploaded Chaldea's structural plans directly to the hive-network.
"Self-regulated nanocluster construction," Steve explained leisurely from a folding chair, holding a glass of ice-cold cola freshly made from a Gourmet Tablecloth. He spoke like a supervisor.
"In my era, I could throw a test model onto a barren planet, and a month later, you'd have a fully equipped interstellar port."
"As for something as simple as refurbishing the inside of Chaldea Base, to them, that's just homework."
Blinding streams of silver light surged as the rough, dark rock walls of the Wandering Sea were visibly being eroded and rebuilt at astonishing speed.
Gray stone transformed into pure-white composite walls. Intricate magical circuits were layered under the floor, and the mainframe of the Spiritron Calculation Device rose up like blocks being stacked sky-high.
Corridors, control rooms, infirmaries—even the cafeteria and master bedrooms were restored exactly as remembered.
Sion's earlier estimate was that this would be a vast project, taking over three months and requiring every technology Atlas had. Thanks to something that could only be called technology-magic, it was completed in a fraction of the time.
"All right, inspection complete," said Steve, clapping his hands, gazing with satisfaction at the brand-new base. "Now then, let's go greet our guests."
…
December 31, 2017. Antarctica.
A blizzard howled like a white Grim Reaper, raging across the land.
This was the harshest environment on Earth—and Chaldea's last line of defense for humanity.
But now, that line of defense had completely collapsed.
Once warm and bustling, Chaldea was frozen solid, and its familiar corridors overrun by black-clad killers.
After the great cost of losing a genius (Leonardo da Vinci), the survivors at last boarded the tank-like Shadow Border, fleeing from a homeland turned into a death zone.
"...Damnit! Damnit! DAMNIT! How did this happen?!"
Goredolf Musik, the newly appointed—and plus-sized—director gripped his seatbelt in terror and despair as the vehicle rocked.
"My Chaldea! The Chaldea I bought for so much money! I just inherited it—how could it be gone so soon?!"
"Director, calm down! You'll really hurt yourself if you bite your tongue!" Meuniere shouted from the driver's seat, frantically turning the wheel. Cold sweat ran down his forehead as he stared at the snowy wasteland ahead.
"The heat signature's getting closer behind us! It's moving crazy fast! It's that black monster!"
"It's not just the monster…" murmured Sherlock Holmes, face grim in the passenger seat. Those eyes that always pierced the truth were now clouded with anxiety.
He stared at the red, human-shaped blip on the radar, advancing at a speed that defied physics.
"That priest who calls himself Kirei Kotomine… is chasing us on foot at 80 kilometers per hour."
"And the weapon he's carrying was engineered for use on actual tanks."
"Eighty kilometers an hour?! Is he even human?!"
Goredolf's shrill cry echoed through the cabin.
In the back, Ritsuka Fujimaru clutched Fou tightly to her chest. Trauma was etched in her eyes, the result of witnessing a precious comrade's death.
Mash stayed by her side. Although she had lost Galahad's power, she still gripped her shield and stood ready to stake her life for those she protected.
"Senpai…"
Mash softly called out, trying to offer Ritsuka even a little strength.
"...I'm all right, Mash."
Ritsuka took a deep breath, struggling to break out of her grief.
She was the Master, the pillar of strength for everyone here. She couldn't allow herself to falter.
"Holmes, how much longer for the Shadow Border's submergence prep?"
"Still 180 seconds to go! But at this rate, with their speed, we'll be caught before we can dive!"
Holmes' voice was mercilessly calm. "Someone will have to go out to stop them. Otherwise… a miracle is all we can hope for."
As that desperate countdown ticked down, just as the black-clad killer was about to leap onto the roof, Kirei Kotomine aimed his Black Keys at the Shadow Border's tires—
BZZT—BZZT.
Suddenly, an extremely loud electronic noise interrupted the Shadow Border's encrypted communications. It wasn't enemy jamming; if anything, the signal coverage was overwhelming.
"What's this?"
Chaldea Operator Da Vinci Lily stared at the console in disbelief.
"Someone just forcibly hijacked our comms? This encryption… It's not Mage's Association or Atlas—more like… some unknown military cipher?"
The next instant, the noise faded, replaced by a processed, metallic synthetic voice that rang clearly through the vehicle.
[Attention Shadow Border.]
Independent guerrilla fleet belonging to Proper Human History.
Your craft is currently being pursued by hostile creatures Oprichniki and high-risk Servants Alter Ego.
For survival, immediately adjust course to heading 2-7-0.
I repeat, alter course to 2-7-0.
We will provide fire support and recovery operations.
This is not a training exercise. Or a trap.]
Dead silence descended.
"An independent guerrilla fleet?!"
Goredolf was the first to leap up.
"You've got to be kidding! In this blizzard?! In Antarctica?! What other fleet could be here besides Chaldea?!"
"This is definitely a trap! That priest's scheme! He's waiting in ambush!"
"No… it's not that," Holmes said, rapidly working his terminal as a flash of inspiration crossed his eyes.
"This signal isn't coming from the ground. It's coming from way up in the sky!"
"Besides, if the priest had that kind of hacking skill, he'd have sabotaged our engine already. Why bother with all this?"
"But, heading 270…"
Meuniere stared pale-faced at the dashboard.
"That's right at the glacier's edge! If we go that way, we'll be stranded!"
"Want to gamble, Miss Ritsuka?"
Lily swiveled her head to look at the young Master.
Though a created Heroic Spirit, at this moment, the decision was left to humanity.
Ritsuka bit her lip.
The pursuers were closing in. In the rearview mirror, Kirei Kotomine's relentless smile could be seen.
Running in a straight line would be a dead end. Trusting the suspicious signal could be a trap—or their only way out.
"...Meuniere!"
Ritsuka suddenly looked up, hope rekindling in her eyes.
"Turn! Heading 270! Full speed ahead!"
"Eh?! For real?!"
"I believe in that transmission! Because… it says it's from Proper Human History!"
"Aghhhh! Fine, let's die together!"
Meuniere let out a strangled scream and yanked the wheel hard left.
The dozens-of-ton Shadow Border traced a breathtaking curve in the snow, hurtling toward the edge of the cliff, kicking up a whirlwind of snow as it went.
…
3,000 meters above them—
The completely cloaked red behemoth, the Asteria-class, drifted silently above the blizzard like a slumbering giant.
On the bridge, Steve gazed at the tank's desperate gambit on the holographic screen. He smiled, satisfied with the choice.
"Excellent decision, Ritsuka Fujimaru. As expected of the Master I chose."
He slowly swirled the glass of wine in his hand. Beside him, Sion studied the radar, her fingers running across the keyboard.
"Optical camouflage disengagement countdown… 30 seconds."
"Main gun, loaded."
"Gundam ready for deployment."
Her voice trembled, but with excitement.
"Steve, are you really going to go that far? That priest might have a heart attack, you know?"
"Of course, Sion," Steve replied, putting down his wineglass and straightening his collar—a necessary ritual before taking the stage as savior.
"It's the premiere, so it has to be flashy."
"Let's show our guests from the Lostbelt what a Supreme Commander welcome really means."
He raised his hand, pointing grandly at the vast white space ahead, as if announcing himself to the world.
"Asteria-class: Hold position and decloak! MS Team, attack readiness!"
"Our targets: that troublesome black dog… and that fake priest!"
…