The night began to fade, the darkness not yet fully dispelled. The early morning mist carried a slight chill. However, Fuyuki City, near the inland sea, had a climate quite suitable for living, so even the predawn fog didn't feel overly cold.
Or perhaps, for Roy at this moment, the sensation of coldness—something ordinary humans might feel—was no longer within his reach. This shift began the moment he gripped the silver staff in his hand.
In the night, Roy stepped through the mist, descending the distant steps one by one.
He didn't use the power of the Wind Angel Raphael to fly, nor did he, like some protagonists entering their final battlefield, employ grandiose magecraft to create an imposing spectacle. He simply arrived quietly at the place most suited for the decisive battle.
Yet, though he hadn't intended it, the spectacle seemed to have formed on its own the moment the staff—representing the pinnacle of this era's magecraft—was born.
At that moment—
Surging mana flared.
Radiant brilliance roared.
The terrifying mana eruption shook the entire Japan.
It was as if, in mythic tales, the birth of a divine artifact triggered celestial phenomena.
Compressing nearly half the mana of Fuyuki's Great Holy Grail as its core, augmented by the alchemical treasure, the Philosopher's Stone, and linked by the Primordial Runes of Norse magecraft—forged with fairy craftsmanship—this staff, though man-made, rivaled divine artifacts in material and presence. It was born in the city beneath their feet.
[Philosopher's Mace]
Though Roy called it his supreme Mystic Code, named casually yet aptly after the legendary Philosopher's Stone at its core, no one with discernment could dismiss it as merely a "Mystic Code."
This slender silver staff held not just thirty years of leyline mana but the terrifying potential of the Philosopher's Stone, activated by constant mana and rune stimulation.
Its miracles might not match Gilgamesh's Ea, Enkidu, or Artoria's Excalibur, nor Karna's god-slaying spear, but its effects were close enough to stand alongside them.
Consider the origins and caliber of those Noble Phantasms.
Against the world, against correction, against humanity's enemies…
Where did they come from?
Divine or stellar creations.
Yet Roy's staff was crafted by his intellect and talent in an age where gods had departed and mystery was scarce, utilizing every resource at his disposal. Scáthach marveled at his terrifying genius.
To her, Roy was born in the wrong era.
With his talent in the Age of Gods—be it Norse or Celtic—he could have reached divine heights as a human.
Perhaps his genius would even terrify gods.
For the Philosopher's Mace, Roy's description of its effects was characteristically straightforward.
Lacking divine craftsmanship, fairy blessings, or access to the Root, he created something tailored to himself—a tool to maximize his magecraft's power, an amplifier perfectly suited to him.
Initially, he aimed to craft a pseudo-Grail Mystic Code using leyline mana for portable power and amplification. But thanks to Gilgamesh's generosity, gifting the Philosopher's Stone, Roy scrapped that plan. With Merlin's technical guidance, he boldly fused the pseudo-Grail and the Stone, forging this treasure.
Its creation thrilled him, a miracle he took pride in, yet he remained rational. Its success wasn't his alone. Without Scáthach's complete Primordial Rune array, he couldn't have crafted such a precise, efficient activation matrix. Without Merlin's guidance, the forging wouldn't have been so smooth.
This was why, despite the risk of Artoria pummeling him, he counseled her afterward.
Not out of love at first sight for the King of Knights's valor—a reckless, hormonal notion—or pity for her past, prompting unsolicited kindness.
As a rational mage, like most, he was driven by self-interest.
His actions stemmed from a deal with Merlin.
Artoria's future? Irrelevant. His focus was his plan's success.
With the aid of two legendary Age of Gods mages—Merlin, the Mage of Flowers, and Scáthach, the Queen of the Land of Shadow—he ignored differences in magical systems and mana properties, using them as materials to create a unique miracle.
A human reenacting a divine myth in the modern era.
Even Merlin, witness to countless heroic tales, and Scáthach, mentor to myriad heroes, acknowledged it as a miracle rivaling magic.
For the Philosopher's Mace, Roy described its function in two simple sentences.
More than a medium for casting magecraft, it was an exceptional amplification device.
Unlike divine artifacts with specific effects—like Ea's world-splitting, Enkidu's divine binding, or Gungnir's sure-hit causality—its purpose was straightforward.
It provided endless mana support, amplifying any magecraft's power fivefold, or tenfold for alchemy, via the Philosopher's Stone.
Simple yet overwhelmingly potent.
Unconditional infinite mana and over fivefold amplification matched the might of chief deities' supreme artifacts.
To Scáthach, its amplification surpassed a Mystic Code, qualifying as a miracle or divine artifact.
Even in the Age of Gods, it would be a legendary epic artifact.
When the staff was born, a torrent of vibrant mana and dazzling elemental light erupted in Fuyuki, illuminating the night sky like the sun, its power sweeping away all like a tsunami, leaving scattered starlight.
As if proclaiming its birth to the world.
The radiant light dissolved layered concealment and mana-restricting barriers like stardust.
The decades-old underground parking lot, along with unclaimed vehicles, met its end in the brilliant mana light. Barriers, bricks, everything melted, leaving a bottomless pit as a silent record.
His long-awaited Mystic Code was complete.
With treasures and trump cards amassed, Roy knew it was time to confront the Grail War's greatest threat.
This time, he didn't conceal his presence but appeared openly under the moonlight, arriving at his chosen final battlefield.
Ryuudou Temple.
After personally offering incense to the Buddha, Roy used enhanced suggestion magecraft to control the temple's monks, sending them down the mountain to beg for alms, then sealed it off.
With preparations complete, he stood before the temple's Sanmon Hall, gripping his staff, awaiting the Grail War's mightiest Servant. Behind him stood the purple-haired Queen of the Land of Shadow, Scáthach, smiling, her demonic aura clashing with the grand hall.
Unnoticing, Scáthach's gaze was fixed on the staff, scrutinizing every detail.
"So, this is the Great Grail's stored mana—Kiritsugu's wish-fulfilling power? Vast and pure… Such purity is versatile; with enough volume, it can do almost anything. But stabilizing and shaping it isn't simple. To ignore the risks and use it as material in such a short time—among this era's mages, only you could do it, Master."
After close inspection, Scáthach discerned its intricacies.
"…A genius? Or a madman?"
As if anticipating a spectacle, she remarked casually.
"Genius? Madman? Neither. Just a lucky mage."
Roy shook his head at her praise.
"This wasn't just my effort. I gathered the mana and the Stone, but the filtering and forging weren't solo feats."
"Alone, I wouldn't dare fuse untested materials—that's suicidal. But with the Queen of the Land of Shadow supervising and a certain mass-producing holy sword scoundrel guiding me, I had nothing to fear."
"After all, I trust you'd protect me, no matter the outcome. Right, Mentor?"
Glancing toward the temple's entrance, Roy answered casually.
"Huh? What did you call me?"
Scáthach froze at the title, pressing him, but Roy didn't reply. The time for chatter was over.
Their awaited guest had arrived.
—Whoosh!!
A howling wind swept through the night, followed by a familiar, biting voice from above.
"Mongrel, is this your chosen burial ground?!"
An arrogant voice echoed from a golden airship, barely visible, high above. The golden king, Gilgamesh, stood at Vimana's prow, peering down at the pair he deigned to call "enemies." His crimson, serpentine eyes mocked the calm Roy and Scáthach, who was itching to spear him.
"A grave?" Roy shook his head. "Sorry, King of Heroes, I don't plan my burial in advance."
He tapped his staff on the ground, unleashing a surge of mana. The Philosopher's Stone at its tip gleamed like a morning star.
In a moment all three could feel and see, a massive transmutation array rose beneath them, enveloping Ryuudou Temple and the surrounding forest.
With the Philosopher's Mace, Roy's hall-sized ritual array expanded tenfold, now displayed for all to witness.
"An open Reality Marble? No… just an instant magical array, not your mind's world but a portable mage's workshop."
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise in them.
As the most ancient king, though magecraft wasn't his focus in this era, his divine wisdom quickly grasped its nature.
"You're correct. Not a Reality Marble or my mind's world—just a simple transmutation array, akin to a mage's workshop for an alchemist."
Roy nodded, stepping back, explaining as he retreated.
"This isn't the Great Grail's true descent point, but it's a leyline node in Fuyuki. Rather than fight over a nearly drained, malice-filled Grail shell at the stadium, I chose this as our final battlefield. Once the victor is decided, I'll purify the remaining All the World's Evil."
"Purify it? You?"
—Hahaha!!
Gilgamesh laughed uncontrollably at Roy's words, as if hearing the greatest joke, clutching his face.
Damn, this laughing maniac…
The serious atmosphere shattered, giving Roy a headache.
"Even knowing my power and glory, you persist in your stubborn, naive defiance?"
Gilgamesh, stifling his laughter, straightened, sneering at Roy's audacity.
"Your courage surpasses Berserker's madness, your fantasies outstrip Rider's dreams."
"You dared, unbeknownst to all, to tamper with my treasure, siphoning the Grail's mana for that staff. Quite the胆量, Crowley? Or should I call you… Foreigner?"
"As expected, you saw through me."
Roy wasn't surprised Gilgamesh pierced his origins.
"If Merlin noticed, the King of Heroes, a Grand Caster, wouldn't miss it. Even Scáthach saw the anomaly."
"Hmph, nothing escapes my eyes. Your soul, not of this world, is uncollected by me. How could such an obvious thing elude me?"
Gilgamesh snorted, his tone dripping with arrogance, shifting his gaze to the staff, a cryptic smile forming.
"The Philosopher's Stone, the Grail's mana, runes, fairy craftsmanship… An intriguing item. Divine?"
No, though aided by others, it was human-made, its effects and achievements a notable miracle.
More crucially…
It lacked an original legend, born from a Foreigner's hands—a treasure he hadn't collected.
Gazing at Roy's unique soul and the newly born miracle, even Gilgamesh's eyes burned with desire.
He decided the flawed, near-drained Great Grail paled compared to these treasures.
After dealing with the impudent Queen of the Land of Shadow, he'd claim Roy's soul and this miraculous Mystic Code for his treasury.
"You seem quite taken with me and my staff." Roy gripped it, facing the skybound king. "I can feel your unmasked scrutiny and desire."
"Hah, as the King of Heroes, all valuable treasures belong in my treasury, within or beyond this world!" Gilgamesh didn't deny it, spreading his arms. "Once I kill you, your foreign soul and that miraculous staff will be mine!!"
"Are you a tyrant?"
Roy felt helpless yet found the words fitting from Gilgamesh.
Scáthach, meanwhile, neared her limit.
The golden fool never acknowledged her, barely glancing her way. Such disdain, not even Celtic gods dared show.
Had Roy not calmed her, she'd have greeted him with a Gáe Bolg Alternative.
"Sorry, but while being valued by the King of Heroes is an honor, it's not my desired end."
"I lack your Clairvoyance, but one thing's certain."
Roy tightened his grip, the Earth Angel Uriel manifesting to his left—not a shadowy form but with some substance.
"My victory is fated, a written conclusion."
"Enough empty boasts. If you seek victory, struggle for it!"
"I understand."
Facing Gilgamesh's lofty gaze, Roy raised his staff. "—Great fortune, Angel of Justice. All creatures of the earth rejoice under your dominion.
Fall, king of the heavens!!"
Feeling increasing pressure and gravity, Gilgamesh frowned as Vimana began to wobble.
In an instant, he looked at Roy and the elemental angel of the left.
A god? An angel? No… a ritual magecraft vessel, its massive array enabling its influence…
The sudden gravity on him and Vimana stemmed from the earth phase's unique authority.
"I see… You're increasingly interesting! Your opening strike? A challenge to my heavenly throne? Fine, I'll play!"
"But making a proud king stand on mortal soil—what a sin you bear!"
Gilgamesh laughed, recalling Vimana before it was grounded, his golden form descending to the earth, entering the battlefield.
His俯视 became a level gaze, acknowledging them as equals.
"Now, Scáthach, lead the assault."
"My pleasure, Master. I've waited long enough."
At Roy's words, Scáthach, long a bystander, grinned menacingly.
She'd waited too long.
"Are your treasury's weapons still sufficient, King of Heroes?"
Twirling her spears, Scáthach licked her lips, eyeing Gilgamesh as prey.
***
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