"Damn it… it failed again…"
At the mountain gate of Ryūdō Temple, Morgan stared at the summoning circle before her. It had flared with light—only to dim and collapse for reasons she couldn't immediately explain. A faint crease formed between her brows.
She lowered her gaze and began a meticulous inspection. But no matter how thoroughly she checked, she couldn't find a single flaw—nothing to patch, nothing to refine.
Every detail of the ritual array was flawless.
For a grand witch of the Age of Gods like her, a mistake in drawing a summoning circle was simply not a possibility. Not to mention: this was a circle she had personally improved, and it even carried an attached relic—one with deep ties to her—as the catalyst.
And yet, no matter how many times she attempted the summoning, the result was the same.
Each time, the array's operation would be "corrected" by some abnormal force, and the ritual would be declared a failure for reasons that always slipped beyond her expectation.
After several attempts, even Morgan could no longer ignore how wrong it felt.
"Again… that strange energy…"
She lifted her eyes to the dissolving circle and murmured to herself.
"The Counter Force? Or… the world's correction…? So this world truly is at its limit. It can't tolerate me 'adjusting' things here any further, not according to my will."
At that thought, the gloom in her eyes shifted—an odd light returning to them.
Then she reached out and took down the broken hilt of the holy sword that had been hanging at the Ryūdō Temple gate.
She had found this hilt in Matō Zōken's collection room. Its true identity was the hilt of the holy sword Arondight—a weapon she knew well, one bound to her by history.
Legend said it was a lake-forged sword crafted by Viviane—
and the weapon of a certain sinner who filled her with disgust and fury.
So the moment she laid eyes on the hilt, unpleasant memories inevitably rose.
If it were the Morgan of old, seeing something that dragged up such memories might have ignited uncontrollable rage.
But the Morgan of now… even if the sword's owner made her feel sick, it no longer provoked her so easily—no longer drove her into madness with a single spark.
She had no interest in being chained to the past.
There were more important things in front of her—things that required planning, step by step, until they became real.
She had chosen to use this hilt as a catalyst for a reason.
Through the ley lines here—so close in nature to the Greater Grail—she had sensed that in this Holy Grail War, the Berserker class still had not been successfully summoned.
And with such an opening, how could a famed great witch of the Age of Gods resist exploiting it?
Even if Caster was widely considered a disadvantaged class in the Holy Grail War, that judgment focused only on frontal combat power.
For magi—especially an Age of Gods witch like Morgan—her value had never been something measured by brute force alone.
Three months was more than enough time for her to lay countless preparations.
Especially with her Master—Ritsuka—supporting her without condition, trusting her, even selling off much of the Matō household's assets and placing everything into her hands to allocate as she pleased.
What she was capable of doing under those circumstances went far beyond what anyone could imagine:
Perfecting an Age of Gods workshop.
Setting layered mechanisms.
Analyzing the Grail ritual.
And…
finding a small loophole to exploit.
For example:
Having herself act as a Master and claim the final Berserker slot—thereby strengthening their side.
And from the moment she found Arondight's hilt, the identity of the "best piece" was obvious:
Lancelot.
That damned sinner.
That man who couldn't keep control of his own base instincts.
He was, unquestionably, the most useful pawn.
But for a full month, no matter how she modified the circle, how she adjusted the relic, it all ended in failure.
And now there wasn't even a chance left.
Because the detection ritual she had placed in the Great Cavern beneath Ryūdō Temple had just returned confirmation:
That final class—Berserker—had just been summoned.
"…Useless trash," Morgan said coldly. "Useless whether alive or dead. Never good for anything."
Realizing the situation, she flung Arondight's broken hilt to the ground, contempt and revulsion filling her eyes.
Just then—
a familiar voice came from behind her.
"What's wrong, Your Majesty? That's quite a temper. Still angry you didn't manage to summon Berserker?"
The moment she heard him, Morgan immediately smoothed her expression, restoring her usual composure. Even her posture returned to that elegant, regal stillness—utterly different from the fury of a heartbeat ago.
"…No," she said calmly. "You misheard."
She turned to look at Ritsuka as he approached, her face serene—so serene it was almost unbelievable.
"I see. Got it."
Ritsuka nodded quietly. He didn't point out that he'd actually heard everything.
Morgan cared about appearances—especially in front of him.
He didn't fully understand why, but he could tell.
Truthfully, he sometimes felt the Morgan he'd summoned was almost like she had two modes: the version in front of him, and the version when she thought she was alone.
But when he considered the countless strange legends surrounding her, he forced himself to accept it.
"What is it, Ritsuka? It's so late—why aren't you resting?"
Morgan's tone carried a trace of concern.
"Are you still troubled… because the Holy Grail War has begun?"
"…Yeah. That's part of it."
Ritsuka nodded without denying it.
"But not all of it. I came to find you because there's something I want to tell you… or rather, something I want to ask your opinion on."
"Oh?" Morgan's expression turned mildly curious. "You want to discuss something with me?"
"Then tell me."
Ritsuka didn't hide anything. He laid out everything he knew.
Because of memories from his "first life," even without something like Clairvoyance, he roughly knew the participants of the Fourth Holy Grail War.
Even though his involvement had created butterfly effects and shifted certain details, the information still had value.
Among the original Three Families—since he had replaced his "uncle" Matō Kariya—the Tōsaka representative was still the so-called "pot king," Tōsaka Tokiomi, along with his student Kotomine Kirei.
On the Einzbern side, it was likely still that notorious "filial son" Emiya Kiritsugu.
And from the Clock Tower, it should still be the teacher-and-student pair: Waver and Kayneth.
But compared to those familiar magi, the seventh participant was the true oddity.
Because he wasn't a magus at all.
He was an ordinary man—
a serial killer named Uryuu Ryūnosuke.
Ritsuka had once wondered if this timeline might exclude him from becoming a Master.
But after seeing multiple recent murder cases in Fuyuki City, he could now be certain:
The seventh participant was Uryuu Ryūnosuke.
The thought of what that man did made Ritsuka feel physically sick.
So he had tried to use the intelligence network he'd arranged across Fuyuki to drag him out—kill him early, before the war escalated.
But for reasons he couldn't explain, his network had failed to locate the man quickly.
Part of it was practical: most of his insect familiars were tuned to search for abnormal magical energy, and Ryūnosuke—being a normal human—had no mana to track.
Still, Ritsuka couldn't shake the feeling that Ryūnosuke was being "covered" by some unknown force, protected in a way that delayed any clear response.
That was why, when Morgan had proposed summoning the last Berserker herself, Ritsuka had supported her without hesitation.
Yes, strengthening their side was one reason—
but he also had a private motive that belonged to him alone.
Because he knew Ryūnosuke's nature too well.
If that man successfully summoned a Servant… the tragedies he would unleash would be countless.
Magi in the Holy Grail War were ruthless, yes. But they had obsessions, reasons—something.
Ryūnosuke didn't.
He killed because it was fun.
Because he wanted to "compose" his disgusting art.
A madman like that couldn't be tolerated.
Ritsuka didn't pretend he was a good person. He wasn't some saint. For his goals, he could suppress his conscience, choose methods he didn't like, commit himself to a dark will.
But that didn't mean he could accept this.
Killing for amusement.
Torturing at whim.
What was the difference between that and a beast?
No—beasts hunted to live.
Ryūnosuke did it for entertainment.
He was less than a beast.
If he knew tragedy was coming—if he had the ability to stop it—
then he couldn't stand by.
So, clinging to the idea that if they summoned first, they could reduce the tragedy to the greatest extent, he had hoped Morgan would succeed.
But it seemed some things simply couldn't be changed.
Still…
sometimes a turning point arrived when you least expected it.
Just earlier, his familiar had finally caught an abnormal magical fluctuation somewhere in Fuyuki City.
That had to be Ryūnosuke's hideout.
So Ritsuka came to Morgan and proposed something that sounded reckless:
Go after the serial killer right now.
He knew exactly how foolish it sounded—Caster leaving the workshop after the war had begun, going to hunt down a Berserker and fight outside their territory.
But beyond personal motives, he had practical considerations too.
Ryūnosuke was only a normal human. Even if he'd summoned a Berserker, he wouldn't understand the Holy Grail War immediately, and coordination between them would be poor.
Tonight—right after summoning—would be their weakest window.
All they needed was for Morgan to restrain that unknown Berserker briefly.
Ritsuka would seize the opening and kill Ryūnosuke—eliminating their first opponent.
And with Morgan's strength, even if the Berserker's raw parameters surpassed hers, she would still be fine.
But that was only his argument.
Whether to accept it… he needed Morgan's answer.
If she refused, then he could only mark the target and find another way to deal with Ryūnosuke later in the war.
Unexpectedly—
Morgan agreed almost immediately.
No hesitation.
Even at the idea of having to restrain a Berserker outside the workshop, her expression didn't change. She didn't ask where his intelligence came from.
She only answered, calm and decisive:
"Fine. Then let's leave now."
"…Huh?"
Ritsuka froze.
He'd already prepared excuses for the source of his information. He'd braced himself for Morgan to scold him for naivety—for meddling—for sacrificing strategic advantage.
But—
she asked nothing.
She simply accepted.
For a moment, he didn't know what to do with himself.
"What is it?" Morgan asked, noticing his expression shift. She turned slightly and smiled.
"If you have anything else on your mind… you can tell me now, too."
"No. I'm just… surprised."
Ritsuka scratched his head after a long pause.
"So what exactly are you surprised about?" Morgan asked. "Were you afraid I'd reject you? Or criticize you?"
"…Yeah."
Ritsuka nodded.
"I thought you'd refuse immediately and scold me for sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. Caster isn't exactly the kind of team that should rush out first. Leaving Berserker alive would help us drain other teams, test the field, probe strengths."
"Yes," Morgan said. "You're right. Leaving them would be more beneficial to us."
Then she turned slightly, and a soft smile spread across her face.
"But… so what?"
"Compared to gaining some trivial advantage in this boring game of snatching a cup… I'd rather see you happier, Ritsuka."
"You can tell, can't you?"
"My tolerance toward you… is a privilege reserved only for you."
"Your Majesty…"
Ritsuka's eyes shifted. He opened his mouth to say something, but Morgan spoke first.
"Enough with the gloomy face. You don't need to be so restrained in front of me."
"Everything is exactly as we agreed: you trust me unconditionally, and I will respond to that trust unconditionally."
"That is how it should be."
Then she lifted her gaze to the bright moon overhead. Her voice remained calm, but there was warmth in it.
"And one more thing… there's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time, Ritsuka."
"When no one's around, there's no need to call me 'Your Majesty.' Britain has long since fallen."
"And I was never its queen."
"Then… what should I call you?"
Ritsuka blinked.
Something about this atmosphere—this flow—felt… off.
Weirdly so.
And the Morgan in front of him right now was nothing like the cold, terrifying witch of legend he had imagined.
Before he could assemble a response, Morgan's voice—like an evening breeze—brushed past his ear.
"Just like how I call you 'Ritsuka' now…"
"You can call me Morgan, directly."
As she said it, she turned her face slightly away. Her voice stayed gentle, but carried unquestionable certainty.
"This act of insolence…"
"I permit it."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
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Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 80)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 80)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter50)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter50)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter50)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter50)
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