"Hah…"
He opened his mouth and exhaled a slow, dirty breath.
Irritation. Annoyance. A grinding, ugly frustration that wouldn't go away.
That was the mood of the man in red right now.
He had planted the explosives, blown apart Kenneth's hideout, and come this close—this close—to sending that fully-prepared Clock Tower Lord straight back to hell on the very first night.
And yet the end result was still—
One step short.
Something had changed.
This time, Kenneth had discarded his usual arrogance and become absurdly cautious—cautious to a degree that didn't even resemble a "Lord," and certainly didn't resemble the Kenneth the man in red had killed before.
A workshop hidden among civilians as cover.
Emergency contingencies prepared in advance.
A ridiculous volume of Volumen Hydrargyrum stocked for immediate defense.
And then—at the first sign of uncertainty—Kenneth had used a Command Seal without hesitation.
Every move was beyond prediction.
The failure, the exposure, the fact that he'd been forced to retreat… all of it dragged the man in red into quiet self-doubt.
Had he acted too hastily?
In the end, that was the only conclusion he could force himself to accept.
Yes, it had been the best assassination window.
But he had still underestimated Kenneth's competence as a magus. Even against an assassin specialized for murder, Kenneth had managed to stall—long enough for his Servant to return and turn the tables. That alone explained most of the outcome.
And worse—
He'd grown complacent.
He'd underestimated the weight carried by a Clock Tower Lord… and the monsters wearing the names of ancient heroes.
He hadn't been fully prepared. He'd seen an opening and moved before the blade was truly honed.
When Diarmuid was recalled, he should have withdrawn immediately.
Instead, pride had tempted him into trying to finish the kill right in front of a Lancer—and that arrogance had earned him the price he was paying now.
An Assassin simply couldn't match Diarmuid in close combat or burst output. Even in a short exchange, the man in red had taken multiple wounds.
If it had only been the red demonic sword, it would have been manageable.
But his left arm had been struck by the yellow spear—the cursed weapon from Diarmuid's legend, the one that left wounds that could not heal.
Now his entire left arm was a dead weight of constant pain.
Pain was tolerable.
What wasn't tolerable was what came with it:
This injury crippled his future fighting capacity.
Many of his techniques, his tools, even his Noble Phantasms relied on two-handed operation. Losing one arm wasn't just inconvenient—it was catastrophic.
Even remembering the clash made his spine tighten. The power gap had been too great. If not for his own specialized Noble Phantasm—forcing acceleration within a short range—he might not have escaped at all.
He looked at the useless arm again.
His expression didn't change.
Because he still had to assassinate.
That was the task the world had placed on his shoulders.
Ensure Kenneth's death.
Then locate the true trigger behind this Singularity… and eliminate it.
Save the world.
He had been executing that mission for a long time now. And still, he had no answer.
He had killed Kenneth twice already—without failure.
And yet only this time did he feel it.
This time, something was truly different.
The Singularity had finally begun to shift.
And he had a premonition—
This might be the closest he'd ever come to ending it.
Which meant he couldn't afford to waste the chance.
So what was the trigger?
Kenneth?
No. If Kenneth were the cause, the first two cycles should have ended everything.
Chaldea?
Also no. They were repairing Human Order—by definition, they were on the same side. Allies.
In the previous cycle, they had even cooperated to seize the Grail that had been identified as the "cause."
But even with the Grail in hand, the world still reset.
So the Grail wasn't the root, either.
Then what?
If he wanted to solve the problem, he first had to know what the problem actually was—and that was the very thing tormenting him the most.
He couldn't get the answer directly.
All he could do was scrape at the truth, cycle after cycle, war after war, gathering clues like shards of glass.
The Grail wasn't it.
Kenneth wasn't it.
Tokiomi Tohsaka and Kirei Kotomine weren't it.
By elimination, the range narrowed.
So what remained?
What was different this time?
His gaze slid toward the direction of Ryūdō Temple.
He remembered the Matō Master from earlier wars.
And he was fairly certain—
That person had not been named Matō Ritsuka.
So… was that the root?
Was that the source he had been looking for?
His mission wasn't over.
He still had to kill Kenneth.
And then destroy the cause.
And save this world.
Because he was—
A hero of justice.
With his right hand, he pressed one round after another into the chamber of his gun, methodically, without hurry.
Then he strapped his useless left arm tight against his body.
He lifted his eyes to the night sky.
The fatigue in his gaze drained away, replaced by something colder, sharper—
Determination.
Resolve.
His duty… was far from complete.
Moonlight and scattered stars poured down over the shoreline.
On the beach—
A figure as beautiful as a snow-born spirit danced lightly beneath the night sky, leaving a trail of footprints in the damp sand. When the cold seawater rose over her ankles, her laughter rang out now and then—clear and bright like silver bells.
It was her second day in the Holy Grail War.
And the first time she had ever left the Einzbern castle to truly play outside.
So to Irisviel, everything was new.
The bustling city streets.
The countless foods.
And now—
The ocean, the beach, the vast sky overhead—things she'd only ever seen in books.
Born like a blank sheet of paper, assigned a purpose before she could choose one, she had never lived for herself. From beginning to end, the only "people" she had known were Einzbern homunculi.
That made her easy to color.
Easy to satisfy.
Easy to make happy.
Just like now.
For Irisviel, even simply walking outside the castle brought an indescribable sensation.
One she knew the name of.
Freedom.
Something she had longed for—
And never possessed.
"Master…"
On the steps overlooking the shore, Arthur stood watching her. The man in a white suit—steady, vigilant—felt his focus soften when he saw her innocent smile.
That smile…
Once, he had wanted a world where his comrades, his citizens, his people could smile like that—smiles that came from the heart. He had fought for it.
Perhaps, in those days, he himself had smiled with the same purity—an unclouded hope for the future.
But reality had beaten that out of him.
He was no longer the idealistic hero he had once been.
And he could no longer wear that kind of smile.
He had lived too much—before death and after death. Too many worlds. Too many losses. Too many changes.
He was no longer "King Arthur."
He was merely—
A wielder of the holy sword.
Growth, perhaps.
But the cost of that growth was unbearable.
If he were offered the choice again… would he still walk this path?
Or would it have been better to lay down his sword beside his companions and welcome the long sleep?
He didn't know.
"—!"
His eyes sharpened.
Something had brushed against his senses.
The nostalgia vanished in an instant, replaced by cold alertness as he turned his head sharply toward the source.
"So you've come to me."
The direction was clear—
The Einzbern castle. Their base.
Arthur's expression hardened. A blue-green aura surged around him, ripping the calm apart like a storm breaking over still water.
"What is it, Saber?"
Irisviel turned, startled by the wind pressure rolling off him.
"Master," Arthur said, gaze fixed, "a Servant has approached our territory. They're releasing their presence openly—inviting me to battle."
He narrowed his eyes.
"That signature… is Lancer."
His voice lowered.
"We have to return. The second night has begun."
Irisviel nodded quickly, worry flashing across her face.
"Mr. Lucius is at the base alone. That's too dangerous. We need to hurry."
Then she asked, anxious but focused:
"You said Lancer… then it's Diarmuid, isn't it?"
Arthur's answer was immediate.
"No mistake. I've felt his mana before. Only he carries that exact pressure."
A beat.
"Looks like they've chosen us as their first target."
His tone sharpened further.
"I have a feeling this will be a hard fight."
Blue-green wind wrapped around him. The white suit vanished, replaced by silver armor, and the familiar Holy Sword of the Star was once again in his hand.
He was ready.
Before moving, Arthur still did what a Servant should:
He asked his Master.
"Master—what is your decision? Do you want me to accept the duel… or refuse and defend within the castle?"
Irisviel blinked.
"Ah… what do you think, Saber?"
She had no battle experience. She couldn't pretend she did. She entrusted the judgment to the King.
Arthur lifted his sword slightly, voice steady.
"I want to accept."
He spoke with absolute clarity.
"They're close to our base. Their intent is hostile. If I refuse, they may employ methods we can't predict."
His eyes turned sharp as steel.
"Better to strike proactively than be forced into a worse position."
And then, with the confidence of a king who had crossed countless battlefields:
"I'm also fully confident I won't lose to him in direct combat."
Irisviel nodded.
"Then I'm counting on you, Saber."
"Thank you, Master."
Arthur's smile was bright—almost startling against the cold readiness in his stance.
"I swear I will win for you."
Like a knight, he gently took Irisviel's hand and escorted her back to their base… and then, alone, he turned toward the place where Lancer waited.
Ryūdō Temple.
Ritsuka and Morgan felt it too—
That openly provocative surge of mana.
Their expressions turned strange.
"Is this a challenge? A probe? Or something else?" Ritsuka murmured, fingertips lightly tapping as he analyzed. "It's only the second night, and they're already rushing to decide the war. That's… bold."
Morgan's eyes angled toward the Einzbern direction. Interest flickered in her gaze.
"That presence points there… so the target is my 'brother' from another world."
Ritsuka confirmed the angle.
"That's the Einzbern base. Saber's faction."
He narrowed his eyes.
"But choosing Arthur on the second night—are they fearless… or simply overconfident?"
Morgan's tone stayed calm.
"Either way, someone else acting first isn't bad for us."
Ritsuka nodded slowly.
"At least we don't have to use Marshal Gilles as bait."
Morgan tilted her head.
"Then what will you do, Ritsuka? Watch… or enter the game?"
Ritsuka's expression sharpened.
"If nothing else, the one provoking Saber should be Lancer—Diarmuid."
Even among heroes of the same Celtic sphere, Diarmuid wasn't the central epic figure. In raw reputation and historical "weight," he shouldn't surpass an Arthur.
Yes, Diarmuid seemed strengthened this time.
But Arthur had been strengthened even more—this wasn't the old, restrained king. This was Arthur in full, a Saber who carried the air of a seasoned holy-sword wielder.
No matter how you cut it, "Spear Diarmuid" shouldn't have the advantage.
So why challenge him so early?
Ritsuka's brows tightened.
Then it clicked.
Kenneth might be arrogant, sure—but this wasn't simple arrogance.
From last night's events alone, there was one implication Ritsuka couldn't ignore:
Diarmuid had saved Waver.
And the way events connected suggested a hidden thread between Lancer and Rider.
Which meant—
"They may have formed an alliance," Ritsuka said quietly.
And if Kenneth's faction had both Diarmuid and Iskandar…
Then there was only one reason to move like this.
"They're trying to cut Arthur down immediately."
Ritsuka's eyes narrowed.
"I understand now," he said. "That's the plan."
Morgan arched a brow, amused.
"Oh? And what do you intend to do with that understanding?"
Ritsuka didn't dodge.
"Their plan is obvious—so we have to enter."
He spoke firmly.
"We already discussed this: Gilgamesh is carrying an 'End Sword.' If we don't have Arthur's cooperation, a direct clash with the King of Heroes becomes extremely unfavorable."
His gaze steadied.
"To beat Gilgamesh, we need Arthur."
He exhaled once.
"I was still thinking about how to persuade him. But now… the opportunity has delivered itself."
Morgan's interest deepened.
"Meaning?"
"We support Arthur tonight," Ritsuka said plainly. "Make him owe us. Then leverage that debt to secure his cooperation against Gilgamesh."
And then he added the key point:
"To preserve your concealment—and to maximize our sincerity—I'll go in person, with Marshal Gilles, as the visible 'Berserker' team."
Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You'll put yourself in the open? That risk is substantial."
Ritsuka's voice didn't waver.
"To win, risk is unavoidable. A Master's role was never to hide behind Servants forever."
Morgan studied him for a moment.
Then she nodded.
"Very well."
Her tone softened into warning, almost protective.
"Courage is fine. Recklessness is not. I'll monitor the situation. If it becomes too dangerous—abort immediately. Understood?"
"I understand."
Ritsuka's eyes lit with the edge of battle-readiness.
Night was falling.
And a quiet web—woven from "support," "debt," and "alliance"—was already tightening around Saber.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 90)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 95)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 80)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter70)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter70)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter50)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter60)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 30
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 30
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