Volume 1 - Bloody Opening
[When fantasy and reality become intertwined, our story begins—]
...
Long ago, magecraft and science were equally regarded as fields of study.
But as the ages advanced, the mysteries pervading this planet began to fade into obscurity, growing harder to perceive. Magecraft, too, withdrew from the public eye, gradually forgotten by the era.
Even today, mentioning magecraft is dismissed as mere fantasy. Yet in this age where mysteries have vanished, there still exist those who wield this arcane inheritance, concealed on the other side of the world. They call themselves—
"Magi."
Now, as fantasy and reality intertwine once more, our story has begun.
...
A certain winter in the late twentieth century.
The Japanese archipelago, Hyogo Prefecture, Fuyuki City.
This year's New Year arrived earlier than usual, and the weather was colder still.
The sky was growing dark, thick clouds blanketing the heavens above. The winter chill, combined with the dim light, created a stifling atmosphere. After a while, a few crystalline snowflakes fell from the heavy cumulonimbus, and a gusting north wind swept them up, carrying the icy specks northward together.
The glistening snowflakes drifted down sporadically, a layer of pure white veil descending upon the steel jungle, gradually cloaking the gray-black city in white, before slowly flowing along the man-made ditches or pipelines into the underbelly of the city.
Due to the timing, this country's New Year had only just passed, students in Japan hadn't returned to school yet, and office workers hadn't finished their holidays. Many people were still away in distant places, enjoying this hard-earned break. As a result, the once-bustling streets now appeared somewhat desolate. Aside from a few shops that had opened early, most were closed for rest, making the view from afar even more forlorn.
Wandering alone through this hazy, silver-gray world, a traveler far from home in a foreign land felt not the beauty of the snow-draped surroundings, but a deep-seated sense of isolation and loneliness.
Just like now...
"I hate snow."
Suddenly, a low murmur echoed through the empty streets, shattering the world's original silence.
A fierce wind whipped up, scattering the veils of snow in midair, sprinkling fallen flakes onto the piles on the ground, unknowingly adding fresh strokes of pristine white to the world.
The black-haired young man trod upon the snow beneath his feet, holding up a red umbrella, his boots crunching along the snow-covered white streets. Gazing at the scene before him, he let out a faint sigh from within.
"I hate snow, and I hate winter and New Year even more..."
Though voicing such sentiments during a festival that most people celebrated with joy might seem out of place.
But sometimes, what the majority enjoys doesn't mean everyone does—at least not for a wanderer far from home.
"Because... it makes me miss my hometown all the more."
Roy brushed the snowflakes from his clothes, tightened his coat a bit more, and couldn't help but tilt his head back, staring blankly at the gray sky still scattering dots of flying snow.
Another year, another festival. At this time, the snowdrops in his hometown should be blooming too.
—Roy Alexander Crowley, twenty-two years old, a wandering magus with a modest reputation in the mystic circles, known as a genius among people, and also a transmigrator who had taken over this body a few years ago.
His predecessor was an outstanding young magus in the Mage's Association, frequently active within the Clock Tower's domain. Blessed with exceptional talent and the privileges of noble blood, he had carved out his own place even in that gathering of prodigies. Aside from some family mishaps, it was already a highly successful life template.
However, the original owner met with an accident two or three years ago. To put it simply, he secretly dabbled in a forbidden magecraft ritual that violated the Clock Tower's agreements, but it backfired, costing him his soul. His body lay lifeless as a corpse on the carpet for two full days and nights. It was during that window that Roy transmigrated into this unfortunate fellow.
When he first opened his eyes, seeing not the underworld he expected but some lavish noble mansion, Roy was incredulous.
He clearly remembered his last sight in memory: a roaring semi-truck barreling toward him. The intense impact across his body in that instant was something he'd never forget.
It was a sensation no one who'd never been hit by a truck could understand. In that brief moment of consciousness, he could clearly feel his life slipping away.
Yet when he opened his eyes again, it wasn't the mythical pitch-black underworld, nor a hospital's white ceiling. Instead, it was an antique red ceiling adorned with all sorts of strange patterns, the air thick with scents like mercury, lapis lazuli, blood, and various indescribable odors.
That day, an unlucky soul from another world, like so many predecessors, was delivered here on a sunny morning by some interdimensional trafficking ring using a semi-truck as their tool.
As the victim of this abduction, a fine young man from the twenty-first century, Roy felt utterly speechless.
He'd been walking on a pedestrian crossing, strictly following traffic rules, and in an urban area no less. How could a runaway semi-truck suddenly appear there? Though he'd vaguely heard the piercing whistle in his ears, it was obviously too late. After enduring the agony of life and death and coming to his senses, he'd already been forcibly trafficked to another world.
So when Roy awoke in a room cluttered with bizarre experimental materials and blood, he was completely bewildered.
The many oddly shaped bottles and jars around him were shattered, and the strange odors assaulting his nose left him disoriented.
But he wasn't given much time to puzzle over it. Soon after, a wave of discomfort—or rather, the original owner's memories—flooded into his mind in torrents, giving him a rough understanding of the world and his situation.
Strangely, the original owner of this body was also named Roy, a single name with the surname Crowley.
—Roy Alexander Crowley.
The family was a magus lineage spanning five generations—wait, six now, since this generation's Magic Crest had already been passed to him, and in a rather forced manner at that.
The entire family was situated near the suburbs of London, with a decent-sized leyline as its foundation. Though it couldn't compare to those great magus houses with nine or more generations of inheritance, having their own territory in London—the sacred ground of magecraft where the Clock Tower stood—already surpassed most magus families in the world.
But this supposed stability had been utterly shattered. His parents, years ago, had heard rumors of a near Age of Gods Phantasmal Species appearing somewhere. As magi pursuing mysteries, they naturally set off without hesitation to the border region between Poland and Belarus, seeking that legendary treasure from the Age of Gods. And unfortunately, they never returned from that trip.
Fortunately, when they left, they had considered the possibility of dying in pursuit of the Phantasmal Species. But for magi—those wondrous beings who chase mysteries and truth, or put simply, won't die unless they sealed their own fate—losing their lives on the path to mystery and truth was entirely worthwhile.
Reaching the Swirl of the Root was also the family's longstanding wish, so before departing, they passed the Magic Crest to their blood heir, Roy Alexander Crowley, hoping he would carry on the bloodline and family legacy, continuing the journey toward truth until reaching the Root.
At this point in the memories, Roy already thought these parents were insane, forcing the family and Crest onto a teenage child for some rumor of a Phantasmal Species, burdening him with the heavy responsibility of continuing the lineage. But he didn't expect there to be even more to it...
After the Crowley magus couple vanished in the primeval forest, and the Clock Tower's specialists brought back news of their death, the original owner of this body didn't grieve over his parents' passing. Instead, he was ecstatic at inheriting the long-coveted position as family head, staging a veritable farce of filial piety.
For the original owner, their death wasn't a tragedy but the best news ever. With the previous Crowley head gone, he could rightfully become the new authority over the entire Crowley magus family. That meant he could mobilize most of the family's resources for himself and access the forbidden knowledge sealed in the family library ahead of time.
So after his parents disappeared, not only did he not mourn, but he grew even more unrestrained.
Under the guise of mourning, he holed up at home and conducted all the experiments he couldn't before, eventually growing so arrogant as to touch truly forbidden experiments. In just two short months, excessive dabbling in taboo knowledge drove him mad, ultimately costing him his soul—and giving Roy his chance.
After reviewing these memories, Roy could only grit his teeth and sum up the family with two words.
"...Insane."
Then he glanced at his somewhat haggard reflection in the mirror and couldn't help pointing at it, cursing, "You're insane too."
Though he dearly wanted to say these words to that insane family face-to-face, the dead were gone, and in this situation, no matter what he said, they couldn't hear. On the contrary, it was precisely because that guy want to be killed so thoroughly that Roy got this chance to borrow the corpse and return to life. If it had been a living person he'd displaced, Roy would have felt guilty. But since the other had done himself in, that was different—any psychological burden naturally vanished.
In any case, after initially accepting this identity and reality, Roy didn't idle about or simply enjoy his new life.
Though he'd been sent flying by a truck and not only avoided outright death but also escaped becoming a lifelong vegetable on a hospital bed, gaining a new life in another world, that didn't mean he could breathe a sigh of relief and relax now.
The world of magi was far crueler than ordinary society, with no room for sympathy or pity.
Not to mention, he was now a sixth-generation magus who'd just lost his parents' support, a genius magus apprenticed under the head of the Clock Tower's Department of Spiritual Evocation.
Without top-tier magus backing, despite being called a sixth-generation genius magus, how much capability did a teenage fraud like him have back then? Magus families devoured and encroached on each other, like big fish eating small ones. If not for his close ties to a certain Lord, the Crowley family would likely have been carved up by other covetous forces long ago.
To conceal that he was an imposter, he not only had to pretend to be a genius and curry favor with his cheap professor in public, but behind the scenes, he frantically absorbed the original owner's memories, cramming magus knowledge and the Crowley family's inherited magecraft, strengthening himself as much as possible to gain the power for self-preservation.
Time flew by, and several years passed quickly.
During this period, many things happened around Roy, and he made numerous choices. To protect his foundation, he agreed to many of his professor's conditions. He also claimed externally that due to his parents' death, he couldn't focus on studying magecraft, so he took a leave of absence to seclude himself in his workshop for in-depth study, using that time to intensively catch up on magus knowledge and barely keep his identity from being exposed.
And now...
Sometimes, one has to admit, habit is a terrifying thing. After so long forcing himself to cram, even he could feel the changes in himself.
At least in magecraft, he had to praise the original owner—though a death-seeker, he truly had talent, no wonder that somewhat acerbic professor had taken notice.
He'd delved into magecraft initially just to maintain his genius facade, avoid slip-ups, demonstrate his value, and secure his professor's protection. But now...
Roy had to admit, magecraft was truly, truly wondrous and beautiful...
Every bit of progress, every puzzle solved, brought visible increases in strength. The sense of fulfillment he'd gained during this time was something he'd never experienced in his previous life. For him, this feeling was deeply satisfying, brimming with accomplishment.
Subtly, he seemed to be leaning toward becoming a true magus.
However, unlike those genuine magi who'd abandoned emotions and ceased being human, at least his feelings were still rich.
He could feel joy, satisfaction, and also... sorrow from being alone in another world.
Well, sorrow was overstating it—at most, a touch of sentimental nostalgia triggered by the scenery.
After all, since arriving in this world, he could say he'd been in a state of constant mental tension every day. Not only did he have to role-play at all times, but he relied on drugs to stay alert, forcing himself to learn those obscure and difficult magus theories. He wished he could split himself in two to use every moment; it was nothing but study after study, more exhausting than his final exam sprint in high school. There hadn't been a single moment of ease or warmth.
Now, having finally escaped that inhuman hellhole of the Clock Tower and set foot on this soil again, seeing a festival so familiar from memory stirred some nostalgia in Roy's heart.
But enough with the sentimentality; it was time to stop. For this trip, he'd spent a fortune on preparations and even deceived his professor. This wasn't the time to come here and wallow.
Fine, before everything begins, he'd make as many advance preparations as possible. This opportunity was once-in-a-lifetime for him; success or failure depended on what came next.
With that thought, Roy pulled up his hood and turned to look in a distant direction—the direction of this city's leyline managers, the Tohsaka family.
First step: Since he was on their turf, it was only proper to greet the local lord first. He'd go meet that infamous All The World's Evil. Then figure out how to hoodwink them and snag the purple-haired side character. He'd started planning for today over a year ago...
So, ready?
'Are you ready?'
"Yes, I've been ready for ages. Let's get started... I can't wait to dive headfirst into this thrilling Holy Grail War..."
It seemed like an inner murmur, or perhaps casual self-questioning. Finally, this traveler setting foot in a foreign land once more smiled faintly, holding his red umbrella as he gradually faded into the snowy veil, his silhouette vanishing like an ink blot rippling in water, until it disappeared at the street's end.
—A brand-new story has begun.