Wind and snow still shrouded Einzbern Castle, but the blood and madness within the workshop had been temporarily left behind. Kanjuro held Illya's small hand, with the silent Jeanne d'Arc by his side, walking leisurely through the snow-covered woods as if taking a stroll. The castle's massive shadow gradually shrank behind them.
"Papa, are we not going to care about Mama and Big Sister Sab anymore?" Illya looked up, her crimson eyes holding a trace of confusion. She gave Kanjuro's hand a hard tug. "Are we just leaving them there?"
Kanjuro looked down at his daughter's innocent yet cruel face, his expression showing a nearly doting, all-controlling smile of composure. "Them?" he said in a relaxed tone, as if talking about two sulking children. "They are currently hiding in some corner, racking their brains to figure out how to deal with me, their 'evil Papa.' Isn't it good to give them a little... time for solitary reflection?"
"Honestly," Illya pouted, expressing her "dissatisfaction." "Mama and Big Sister are so stupid. They clearly could never be a match for Papa, so why waste the effort?"
"You don't understand, my little princess." Kanjuro lightly pinched Illya's cheek, his eyes flickering with a deep and cold light. "If I push them to a dead end all at once and make it so they can't breathe, they might actually lose the will to live. How boring would that be? It's like a tight harp string; if you snap it all at once, you'll never hear its sound again. You have to give them a little space to 'resist,' to make them think there's still hope, that they can still struggle... That way, when they finally discover that all their efforts were in vain and all their hopes were bubbles I could pop with a finger..."
He paused, his voice carrying a cruelty akin to appreciating a work of art:
"That sense of falling from the clouds into the abyss, that despair of having one's faith completely collapse, will be all the more... mellow and moving. After all, I don't want the beautiful collectibles I've carefully selected to actually turn into lifeless corpses. Living despair is far more worth watching than the silence of death."
Illya nodded her small head as if half-understanding, and then a bright smile of realization dawned on her face. "So Papa is actually so kind! You're thinking of Mama and Big Sister, afraid they'll die too soon!"
Jeanne d'Arc, who had been listening in silence, finally couldn't help but let out an almost inaudible sigh, a faint sense of absurdity flitting through her violet eyes. She whispered to herself, her voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the wind and snow: "They say children speak without inhibition... but for those words to be spoken in this situation is truly... chillingly ironic."
Kanjuro's hearing was incredibly sharp. He heard Jeanne d'Arc's whisper but didn't care; instead, as if hearing an interesting evaluation, he chuckled. His gaze shifted toward the castle, as if he could pierce through the thick stone walls to see the two women who were plotting their resistance in despair.
"Kind?" He repeated Illya's words, a sinister curve hooking the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps. But more accurately, I'm just enjoying the process. With Sab's current strength, even with Irisviel and whatever power might remain in this castle, it's simply not enough to contend with me. What I'm curious about is what kind of means they can still produce to surprise me even slightly?"
His gaze became increasingly deep and dangerous, like a venomous snake eyeing its prey:
"When they exhaust everything and think they've found a chance for victory, only to discover they are still like moths on a spiderweb, where no matter how they struggle, they only make it more interesting for me... When they understand that their so-called resistance, hope, and dignity are all so laughable and fragile before me..."
The wind and snow seemed to become even more piercing at this moment, whipping the hem of his black robe.
"They will deeply realize that giving up all pointless struggle and willingly becoming my possessions, my female slaves, will be their... only, and most 'fortunate' destination."
With those words, he no longer looked back. Leading Illya and accompanied by Jeanne d'Arc, he slowly disappeared into the vast curtain of snow, leaving the endless pressure and the impending deeper despair to that lonely castle.
(Resolution Under Hope and Shadow)
After Kanjuro's departure, Einzbern Castle fell into an atmosphere where deathly silence and oppression coexisted. The smell of blood had not yet fully dissipated, and the air was filled with the lingering chill of despair and madness. In a relatively intact side hall, Artoria and Irisviel sat facing each other, the flickering firelight reflecting their incredibly grave faces.
"Sab..." Irisviel was the first to break the silence, her voice carrying unconcealable worry. Her gaze fell on Artoria, full of concern. "Kanjuro... can we really..." She paused and switched to a more direct question. "Can you really... completely forget the 'kindness' he once showed you?"
Artoria slowly raised her head, the firelight dancing in her emerald eyes with a complex and inscrutable light. Her face no longer showed her previous breakdown or confusion; instead, it was replaced by a settled expression—a mixture of pain and fortitude.
"His 'kindness' to me?" she repeated softly, the corners of her mouth hooking into an extremely bitter curve. "I remember. I remember every detail. Those teachings, that companionship, that seemingly meticulous care... they are etched into my soul like brands." Her voice gradually became cold, with a metallic quality. "But because of that, the harm he later inflicted on me, on Mordred, on Britain, and on everything before us makes me... hate him to the bone!"
She clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white from the force. The aura around her fluctuated faintly; a trace of pure, holy golden light and a wisp of ominous dark light flowed across her body simultaneously, appearing extremely bizarre.
"I must prove to him," Artoria's voice was categorical, carrying the unquestionable determination of the king of knights, "that not all evils can remain at large forever! Not all trampled dignity and hope will remain silent eternally!"
Irisviel keenly sensed the abnormality in Artoria's state. She furrowed her brows in worry: "But your current state... Sab, your aura is very unstable, sometimes holy, sometimes... dark. I'm worried..."
Artoria raised her hand, stopping her words. She looked at her palms, which were sometimes glowing with golden light and sometimes entwined with black mist, a strange, almost enlightened smile appearing on her face.
"Don't worry, Iri. On the contrary, I believe this is the correct direction I've found." Her gaze became profound. "Since witnessing how Kiritsugu completely fell from a cold 'Messenger of Justice' into a mad, pathetic wretch under Kanjuro's manipulation... I seem to have understood something."
She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the endless falling snow, as if staring through it at that omnipresent shadow.
"To deal with someone like Kanjuro, simple anger and hatred will only make us lose our reason and follow in Kiritsugu's footsteps. And pure light and kindness appear so powerless before his absolute darkness and schemes." She turned around and looked deeply at Irisviel, her eyes flashing with a clear and cold light. "We must possess... a mind so rational it is cold, and... power sufficient to counter his kind of darkness. Even if... we need to borrow from the darkness itself."
Irisviel was shocked by the resolute light in Artoria's eyes. She seemed to understand something: "You mean..."
"Fuyuki City's leylines," Artoria said word by word, her tone unquestionable. "The leylines contain massive magical energy and are directly connected to the source of the Holy Grail system. No matter how strong Kanjuro's power is, it is not a tree without roots. I need to use the power of the leylines to undergo deeper cultivation and breakthroughs. Only by understanding and controlling a more primordial power, whether it be light or dark, can we have a glimmer of hope for victory."
"I believe that by gathering all our strength and utilizing the source of the leylines and the Holy Grail, we... will definitely win!"
Irisviel looked at Artoria's figure, which was a blend of holiness and darkness yet exceptionally firm, her heart filled with mixed emotions. She nodded vigorously and took Artoria's hand, conveying silent support. "We definitely will, Sab."
However, after a brief moment of determination, a heavy sense of reality struck again. Artoria sighed softly, a trace of worry tinging her brow. "It's just... Illya. She seems completely bewitched by Kanjuro. From the look of it, she even... enjoys it."
At the mention of her daughter, Irisviel's heart felt a stinging pain like a needle prick. She also sighed heavily, her voice filled with maternal helplessness and deep fear. "Kanjuro is too good at manipulating hearts... He toys with memories and twists emotions. What I'm worried about... is exactly this. I'm afraid he won't truly spare even Illya. I don't know what he will ultimately do to her. Just thinking that Illya might suffer a fate more... terrible than ours, I..." She couldn't go on, only able to grip Artoria's hand tightly as if it were her only support.
The two women stood in silence in the cold castle. The urgency of saving Illya and the immense pressure of opposing Kanjuro were like heavy shackles around them. The road ahead was blurred and hope was slim, but they knew they had no way back. Deep in the night, in a luxurious bedroom in Einzbern Castle that had not been stained by blood, a bizarre yet quiet scene unfolded. Kanjuro lay fully clothed in the center of the wide bed, his breathing steady as if he had fallen into a normal sleep. To his left, Illya was curled up and fast asleep; the little girl was like a small animal seeking warmth, tightly clutching a corner of his black robe, her silver hair scattered on the pillow, a trace of a satisfied curve on her lips. To his right, Jeanne d'Arc lay flat, her violet eyes still open in the darkness, quietly staring at the ornate patterns on the ceiling. Her body maintained its habitual alertness and stiffness; she did not press close, yet she did not move away.
This night, contrary to the expectations of Jeanne d'Arc and (if she were awake) Illya, Kanjuro did not engage in any improper behavior. There was no coercion from memory, no verbal teasing, and not even a hint of ambiguous touching. He simply slept soundly like a truly exhausted traveler, placing two women with vastly different styles yet whose fates were entwined with his by his side, without laying a finger on them.
However, this abnormal "calm" instead stirred more complex ripples in their hearts than any direct violation.
Jeanne d'Arc turned her head slightly, staring at Kanjuro's sleeping profile by the dim moonlight filtering in through the window. That face had shed its usual mockery and cruelty in sleep, appearing exceptionally calm, even possessing a nearly pure beauty. But Jeanne d'Arc knew that beneath this calm lay an abyss capable of subverting the world and toying with souls. She didn't feel relaxed; instead, a deeper emotion spread through her heart—adoration.
It was not adoration for light or a deity, but a fascination with an ultimate "existence." Kanjuro's strength, his coldness, his purity in transcending all moral constraints, viewing human hearts as playthings, and sublimating despair into "art"... all of it was like a massive, dangerous whirlpool, attracting her, an observer who had long since turned away from the light and wandered in the darkness. His "inaction" seemed to her not as mercy, but as another form of high-level control, an absolute dominance that could be manifested without needing physical conquest. This extreme, cold cruelty made her feel a shivering fascination.
On the other side, Illya, whose mind had long since deviated due to Kanjuro's deliberate guidance and her own distorted environment, instinctively drew closer to her "father" even in her dreams. Her feelings for Kanjuro had long surpassed simple daughterly attachment. It was a burning, pathological love born of a fledgling complex, a blind worship of powerful strength, and the "sole understander" concept instilled by Kanjuro. Kanjuro's rare "purity" tonight, instead of disappointing her, further deified his image in her hazy consciousness—look, her father "respected" her so much that even while holding her to sleep, he maintained a gentlemanly distance. (She completely ignored the colder calculations that might lie behind this). This twisted love grew quietly like vines in the silent night, entwining her young heart and binding her deeper to Kanjuro's ship sailing toward darkness.
Moonlight moved silently, illuminating the three still figures on the bed.
Kanjuro remained in deep sleep, seemingly unaware of the intense, distinct emotions directed at him by the two women beside him.
Jeanne d'Arc slowly closed her eyes, no longer looking, but the infinite darkness hidden beneath Kanjuro's peaceful sleeping face was now etched deeper into her perception.
Illya murmured in her dreams, unconsciously clutching Kanjuro's hem tighter, the happy smile on her face deepening.
This was a night without physical entanglement, yet it consolidated the absolute core named "Kanjuro" in this twisted relationship more profoundly than any indulgence. Silence can sometimes breed madness more than clamor.
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