[Do as thou wilt, that shall be thy law.]
...
What's it like to suddenly become a father?
Joyful?
Or perhaps resentful?
Roy wasn't sure how he'd feel under normal circumstances, but at this moment, his heart held no deep emotions.
Neither joy nor irritation was particularly pronounced—just the same calm as always.
The reason, of course, lay within himself.
He understood this clearly.
He didn't have any particular fondness for Tohsaka Sakura, only a measure of pity for her circumstances.
In the original timeline, Sakura's fate was undeniably tragic.
This included, but wasn't limited to, being adopted by a monstrous old man, being thrust into a pit of horrors by her own father, losing the only uncle who cared for her in a war, enduring years of transformation and torment in secrecy, and ultimately falling for the same person as her long-estranged sister...
If a goddess of fate existed in this era, her treatment of Sakura could only be described as brimming with malice.
Thanks to memories from a past life, Roy held a certain foresight in this world. Though not as precise as future sight, it aided him in understanding and deciding key events.
One such event was Sakura's adoption by Matou Zouken.
So...
'Does this make me a righteous hero saving a girl from a nightmare?'
Flipping through a storybook, Roy gazed at the dim sky outside, murmuring to himself.
Probably.
Though part of his motive was to set up his next moves, the outcome undeniably saved Sakura from a tragic life.
A gentleman judges actions, not intentions—this was enough.
He didn't deny there was some self-interest involved, though.
"..."
Closing the book gently, Roy's lips curved slightly.
He looked out the window. Post-snowfall Fuyuki City was eerily quiet, its gray streets cloaked in white, gleaming under the moonlight streaming through the glass, bathing him in a pure, radiant glow that flowed quietly in the starry night.
He shook his head, chuckling self-deprecatingly yet with a sense of openness, muttering jokingly.
"Rather than a hero of justice, maybe I just want to play at raising a girl..."
He felt pity, a touch of favoritism, and a desire to do something within his power.
Being honest was best. He wasn't breaking any laws. In fact, his actions were likely the best choice for everyone.
Was the trade worth it?
Adopting another's daughter at the cost of a family's Magic Crest—didn't that seem excessive?
To others, perhaps. To Roy, it was worth it.
Unlike magi obsessed with pursuing the Root, his desire for it wasn't as intense.
Compared to typical magi, his family's magecraft was unique, and he didn't lack for Crests.
Alchemists valued inheritance even more than magi. A genius magus creating a unique first-generation Crest wasn't too costly; the main concern was rejection.
Alchemists, however, could develop their own formation systems, reconstructing a Magic Crest suited to the user with enough materials. Though less valuable than ancient lineage Crests, it was the best solution for inheritance issues. The research cost was exorbitant, beyond most families, requiring specialized alchemists.
Most such alchemical traditions resided in the Atlas Institute, notorious for shunning outsiders. Thus, most so-called alchemists in the world were frauds. The few groups with this capability included the Crowley family, whose magecraft was alchemy. As the current head, Roy was well-versed in this technique, which gave him the confidence to sign the Magecraft Oath with Tokiomi.
'If Tokiomi knew the guy he bonded with today was outwitting him like this, he'd probably be furious.'
But Roy didn't care much.
Whether Tokiomi learned the truth was irrelevant.
Even if he came knocking with the Magecraft Oath, it wouldn't bind Roy. The oath specified the Crowley family's Magic Crest, not the original lineage Crest. Who said an alchemist's replicated Crest didn't count as an inherited one?
As for Tokiomi resorting to force, there was even less to worry about.
By choosing to participate in the Holy Grail War, Roy and Tokiomi were destined to be enemies. They'd clash in the war, and one might not survive.
If it came to that, neither would hold back for Sakura's sake.
Compared to the Clock Tower's endless scheming and deceit, Roy preferred the freedom of the open sky.
But one thing at a time. He disliked the Clock Tower's environment of betrayal and political squabbles among old fossils neglecting their magecraft. That didn't mean he hated magecraft itself. On the contrary, he was intrigued by the world's hidden secrets and upcoming events.
Like the Holy Grail War.
Experiencing fascinating anomalies, gaining knowledge, and forging his path in magecraft until he claimed his desired treasure.
That was enough.
As for scheming with other magecraft families or emulating some transmigrators by amassing power, seizing the Clock Tower, raiding the Mystic Eye Train, or confronting the Twenty-Seven Ancestors—leaving aside whether he could, why would he? What reason was there? What meaning did it hold?
To grow strong just for strength's sake?
To make others fear him, crushing the mystic world single-handedly?
This wasn't a world of lunatics vying for magnetic field power to dominate.
Nor was it a cultivation world, striving for immortality through relentless advancement.
There were many ways to live, many choices.
Doing such things without purpose or meaning was simply too dull...
Roy had no grand ambitions of ruling or uplifting humanity to the stars.
He only needed to do what he wanted and what he could.
Namely—
[Do as thou wilt, that shall be thy law.]
This was Roy's creed, his magecraft, his life's philosophy.
'Do what you desire, pursue what you seek—that is your principle.'
With that thought, Roy closed his storybook, turned off the bedside lamp, gently pinched her soft cheek, tucked her in, and quietly left.
"Goodnight, Sakura."
Rest well. Such peaceful times won't last long. I should head out to prepare for the coming war.
"So, for now, I'll leave Sakura in your care. That shouldn't be a problem, right, Mr. Matou Kariya?"
Roy slowly turned his head toward a secluded spot near the door.
There, in the corner, stood a gentle-looking man with a backpack, dressed in black sportswear, his black bangs half-covering eyes filled with deep concern.
"...Thank you."