Kanjuro bowed slightly, neither humble nor arrogant, with just the right amount of respect and a touch of undeniable firmness on his face. "Hello, Uncle. I am Kanjuro, Taiga's classmate and... boyfriend." He paused deliberately, feeling Taiga's instant stiffening and embarrassed reaction, before continuing, "Regarding that injured man, I believe there might be a misunderstanding. He's just a poor soul in need of help and has no improper thoughts about Taiga. It's understandable that you love your daughter dearly, Uncle, but resorting to violence is probably not the best way to solve things."
"Oh?" The Fujimura Group Leader narrowed his eyes, sizing up the extraordinary young man. "Are you teaching me how to do things?"
"I wouldn't dare." Kanjuro looked up, meeting his gaze calmly. "I simply believe that as a reputable organization in Fuyuki City, the Fujimura Group should act with more decorum and grace. Making things difficult for someone in distress might damage your reputation if word got out. Furthermore," his tone shifted, softening but carrying a deeper weight, "making Taiga sad isn't what a father would want, is it?"
The Fujimura Group Leader fell silent. He did indeed dote on his daughter, and seeing Taiga's red-rimmed eyes, he felt a twinge of regret. But he was even more surprised by the courage and eloquence of the boy before him. That composed aura was not like that of an ordinary high school student at all.
Striking while the iron was hot, Kanjuro took a step forward and lowered his voice with a strange persuasiveness. "Uncle, how about this? I will step in and guarantee that the man will stay out of Taiga's sight completely and stop bothering her. And you, give Taiga, and me... a chance."
He looked at the Fujimura Group Leader with a sincere and deep gaze.
The Fujimura Group Leader locked eyes with him for a long time, the anger in his heart gradually replaced by caution. This young man named Kanjuro was not simple. He finally spoke slowly, his tone softening a bit. "...Can you guarantee that?"
"I guarantee it." Kanjuro smiled, a clean and reliable smile. "I will handle everything and won't let Taiga worry about this matter again."
Leaving the Fujimura Group Headquarters, Taiga's admiration for Kanjuro had almost reached its peak.
"Kanjuro! You're amazing! Dad... he actually got convinced by you!" She was so excited her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled.
"It's nothing, just being reasonable." Kanjuro brushed it off lightly, then asked with concern, "Don't think about those unhappy things anymore. That uncle has been sent to the hospital and will be properly cared for. Now, you can rest easy, right?"
"Mm!" Taiga nodded vigorously, clutching his arm tightly. "With you here, I'm not afraid of anything!"
Kanjuro felt the warmth and dependence coming from his arm, and the corners of his mouth curled into a perfect, gentle arc. However, deep in his eyes, there was only cold indifference.
In the hospital, Emiya Kiritsugu woke up from his coma, his whole body in excruciating pain. In the empty ward, only the smell of disinfectant reminded him of the cruel reality. He tried to move, but it aggravated his wounds, causing a fit of heart-wrenching coughing.
Just then, the ward door was gently pushed open.
Kanjuro walked in alone, wearing that smile Emiya Kiritsugu knew to his very core—the smile of a cat playing with a mouse. He locked the door behind him, isolating them from the outside world.
"It seems the Fujimura Group's 'warm hospitality' didn't sit well with you, Kiritsugu." Kanjuro's voice was soft, yet it slithered into Kiritsugu's ears like a venomous snake.
Emiya Kiritsugu's pupils shrank, and his body trembled violently with fear and rage. He wanted to roar, to struggle, but he couldn't make a proper sound.
"Don't get excited, watch your wounds." Kanjuro walked to the bedside and looked down at him, his tone full of mockery. "I'm just here to tell you some good news. From now on, I'll be 'taking care' of Taiga. You and her are finished."
He leaned down and whispered into Emiya Kiritsugu's ear in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Guess what kind of wonderful expression will be on that sun-drenched face... when she discovers that the meals she made with her own hands, full of 'love,' have always been laced with the'seasoning' I specially prepared? When she finds out that the lover she trusts with all her heart is the culprit who pushed the person she cherishes into the abyss?"
"Ugh... ah...!" Emiya Kiritsugu's eyes were nearly bursting, a rattling sound coming from his throat as despair submerged him like a tide.
Kanjuro stood up, admiring his suffering as if appreciating a perfect work of art.
"Have a good 'recovery,' Kiritsugu. Your despair is my best food."
With that, he turned and left, leaving Emiya Kiritsugu alone in the cold ward to endure the double torture of body and soul, falling once again into the Avici Hell.
On the other side, the oblivious Taiga was looking forward to her next date with her "perfect boyfriend" Kanjuro with a heart full of sweetness. The noose of fate was slowly tightening. The smell of disinfectant in the hospital clung to Emiya Kiritsugu's nostrils like a spiderweb, every breath bringing a sting of despair. The wounds on his body were still throbbing, but sharper than that was the fear seeping from his marrow—Kanjuro had been here. That demon knew where he was.
"Can't stay here... must leave..."
He struggled to roll off the hospital bed, his knees hitting the cold floor with a dull thud. Cold sweat instantly soaked his hospital gown, and his vision went black in waves. But he couldn't care less; his trembling hands grabbed the edge of the bed as he forced his weak body up, moving toward the door one step at a time. Every movement pulled at his wounds like a dull knife cutting through flesh, but he gritted his teeth, not daring to make a sound.
The corridor was empty, the pale lights illuminating his ghostly face. Like a wandering soul, he leaned against the wall and struggled toward the stairwell. The elevator was too conspicuous; he didn't dare use it. The escape passage was filled with the smell of dust and rust. He almost rolled down the stairs, the intense pain nearly making him faint several times, but the memory of Kanjuro's cold smile in his mind acted like a shot of adrenaline, pushing him to keep going down and out.
He had to escape this cage locked by Kanjuro's gaze.
Meanwhile, Fujimura Taiga arrived at the hospital carrying a carefully prepared bento. She still felt a bit of resentment toward her father and guilt toward Emiya Kiritsugu. She thought the uncle would be a bit happier seeing warm food, and maybe she could even persuade him to recover well.
"Uncle, I'm here to see you!" She pushed open the ward door, her voice cheerful.
The hospital bed was empty, the bedding in disarray, and the IV needle hung lonely by the bedside, the dripping medicine forming a small puddle on the floor.
Taiga froze, and the bento box in her hand fell to the floor with a "clatter."
"Uncle?!"
She rushed into the room—no one in the bathroom, no one on the balcony. A sense of foreboding seized her. He was so badly injured, where could he go? Could it be that Dad... She hurriedly ran out of the hospital and stood on the busy street, looking around anxiously but without a clue. Just as she was at a loss and almost about to cry, a familiar voice sounded behind her.
"Taiga? Why are you here?"
Kanjuro was on a bicycle, one foot on the ground, his face showing just the right amount of confusion and concern. The sunlight fell on him, looking as fresh as any ordinary high school student worried about his girlfriend.
"Kanjuro!" Taiga felt like she had seen a savior and ran over to grab his arm, speaking incoherently. "Uncle, Uncle is gone! He hasn't recovered yet, where could he go? Could something have happened?"
"Gone?" Kanjuro frowned, his eyes filled with worry. "Don't worry, we'll look for him together. He shouldn't have gone far." He patted the back seat of the bicycle. "Get on, let's look along the seaside. There are fewer people there; he might have gone there to have some peace and quiet."
His suggestion was reasonable, and his tone was gentle and reliable. Taiga didn't doubt him for a second and immediately sat on the back seat, hugging his waist tightly and pressing her face against his broad back, as if she could draw strength and peace of mind this way.
"Mm! Thank you, Kanjuro!"
Kanjuro felt the girl's complete dependence behind him, and the corners of his mouth curled into an unnoticeable, icy arc. He naturally knew where Emiya Kiritsugu was—he had long since left a hidden magic mark on that stray dog, like a kite on a string; no matter where he flew, he couldn't escape his palm.
He intentionally rode the bike, carrying Taiga, toward the coastal road in the opposite direction of Emiya Kiritsugu's hiding place.
The sea breeze blew against the abandoned embankment, carrying a salty, fishy scent. Emiya Kiritsugu curled up deep inside a damaged drainpipe like a wounded beast, licking his wounds and staying alert to any movement outside. The physical pain and extreme exhaustion made his consciousness blurry, but fear kept him from sleeping.
Just then, a familiar, nightmare-like sound of laughter drifted in with the wind.
He shuddered violently and poked his head out stiffly and extremely slowly.
The setting sun dyed the sea a warm gold, shimmering. On the beach not far away, he saw those two figures—
Kanjuro was pushing the bicycle, and Fujimura Taiga was walking beside him, looking up and saying something to him, her face brimming with a bright, cloudless smile. Kanjuro listened with his head down, occasionally responding, and reached out to affectionately ruffle her hair. Taiga playfully punched him, and then they both laughed... The laughter was so piercing it made Emiya Kiritsugu almost want to cover his ears.
He saw Kanjuro stop, turn around, and hug Taiga head-on. Taiga struggled slightly before burying her face in his chest with a blush. Kanjuro leaned down and whispered in her ear. It was too far to hear the content, but that intimacy and possessiveness were like physical needles stabbing into Emiya Kiritsugu's eyes and heart.
Then, against the backdrop of the golden sunset, Kanjuro cupped Taiga's face and kissed her gently.
Taiga's body stiffened at first, then completely softened in his embrace, her arms circling his neck.
That scene was as beautiful as a movie poster, yet it made Emiya Kiritsugu feel as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. He saw the happiness and trust overflowing from Taiga's face, and he saw that behind Kanjuro's seemingly affectionate embrace, those eyes looking over the girl's shoulder were aimed precisely and coldly at his hiding place.
There was no warmth in that gaze, only mockery, ridicule, and a victor's declaration.
[See, the last bit of your insignificant warmth now belongs to me. She cares for you? Searching for you? At this moment, she has forgotten even your existence.]
Emiya Kiritsugu's heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, nearly stopping its beat. He abruptly retreated into the depths of the pipe, his body trembling with intense pain and anger, teeth clattering as a metallic sweetness welled up in his throat.
He didn't dare look again.
Outside was the warm sunset and a pair of lingering lovers. Meanwhile, he could only curl up in a cold, dark, musty corner, tasting a despair that had been utterly stripped and crushed. Kanjuro had not only destroyed his body and spirit, but even the faint glimmer of light he had chanced upon; he intended to personally defile and snatch it away before his very eyes, using it as the most cruel punishment.
Fujimura Taiga was completely immersed in the sweet kiss of first love. The sea breeze, the sunset, her lover's embrace... all of it constructed a perfect dream, making her temporarily forget her anxiety about finding the "uncle" and all her worries.
She didn't know that just dozens of meters away, the person she had once genuinely wanted to help was sinking further into the abyss of despair because of her current "happiness."
Kanjuro's kiss, like honey-coated poison, not only anesthetized the girl in his arms but also became the final straw that crushed the spirit of the man in the distance.
The sound of the ocean tides came in waves, masking the faint whimpers as well as the silent, cold sneer of a successful conspiracy.
Chapter: Artoria's Stimulation
On the outskirts of Fuyuki City, a forgotten ruin stretched its twisted skeleton under the moonlight. This was a remnant of the devastation wrought by Iskandar's army in the past; charred broken walls, congealed dark red bloodstains, and a lingering scent of death formed the eternal theme here. Kanjuro had once been here, using an endless treasury and beguiling words to guide the king of conquerors' army to turn this place into a purgatory, taking pleasure in admiring the "beautiful scenery" of life withering in despair.
Emiya Kiritsugu wandered aimlessly through this land of dead silence like a walking corpse hollowed of its soul. The feeling of physical weakness grew more apparent by the day, not merely stemming from the beating by the Fujimura Group, but from a deeper sense of "chronic death," as if his life force were being drained bit by bit by an invisible hand. He knew this must be Kanjuro's handiwork; that demon wouldn't even grant him a quick death, insisting that he clearly feel the process of his own gradual decay and collapse.
His heart had already turned completely gray after witnessing the scene between Taiga and Kanjuro by the sea. The last glimmer of light had gone out, and even despair itself had become numb. He lived on, perhaps only because his body hadn't completely stopped functioning.
Just as he stepped over a pile of shattered concrete blocks, an extremely faint sobbing sound, almost masked by the wind, reached his ears.
The sound was so minute, like the dying wail of a young beast, yet it was like a cold needle piercing through his deadened perception. He stopped in his tracks, his hollow gaze following the direction of the sound "283."
Beneath a section of broken, charred beam, a narrow triangular space had formed. Amidst the rubble, a small figure could be vaguely seen huddled there, its body trembling incessantly from fear and cold.
As if possessed, Emiya Kiritsugu moved his feet and slowly approached. He brushed aside the obstructing stones and saw the child clearly.
A boy of about seven or eight years old, with rare brownish-red hair and a face covered in dirt and dried tear stains. He wore tattered clothes whose original color could no longer be discerned, and his exposed arms and calves were covered in small scratches. The boy hugged his knees tightly, burying his face in them, his thin shoulders heaving as he let out suppressed, intermittent whimpers.
Seeming to sense someone approaching, the boy suddenly lifted his head.
What kind of eyes were those—widened to the extreme in terror, the pupils slightly contracting under the moonlight, looking very much like a startled fawn. Yet, deep within this ultimate fear, a faint, unquenchable fire of life—an instinct for survival—was strangely ignited.
This look inexplicably stung Emiya Kiritsugu's long-numbed heart. He seemed to see a shadow from a long, long time ago, someone else struggling amidst ruins.
Looking at the gaunt man with dead eyes before him, the boy didn't scream; he only cringed slightly, hugged himself tighter, and asked in a faint, tearful voice, "...Who... who are you?"
Emiya Kiritsugu did not answer. He simply crouched down in silence, meeting the boy's gaze at eye level. He reached out his hand, his movements stiff and slow, wanting to touch the boy to confirm this wasn't a hallucination born of his impending death.
The boy instinctively shrank back a bit, but looking into the man's hollow yet seemingly non-malicious eyes, he hesitated for a moment and did not dodge.
Cold, rough fingers gently touched the wet tear stains on the boy's cheek.
A real sensation. Warm, and filled with life.
At this moment, Emiya Kiritsugu's heart, which had been like stagnant water, felt as if a negligible pebble had been tossed into it, sending out a barely perceptible ripple.
He opened his mouth, his cracked lips quivering a few times, and with a voice as raspy as sandpaper, he forced out a few words:
"...Name... yours..."
The boy blinked his wet eyes, looking at this strange and frightening yet seemingly... harmless man, and answered softly:
"Shirou... Shirou Emiya..."
Shirou Emiya.
This name, like a faint bolt of electricity, struck deep into the wasteland of Emiya Kiritsugu's consciousness.
He stared fixedly at this boy who had survived in the ruins, at the unquenchable flame in his eyes. A mad and twisted thought sprouted and spread like poisonous vines in his cold heart.
Salvation? No. He had long since lost the qualification and ability to save anyone.
This was perhaps... a curse. It was fate, or perhaps another cruel joke thrown at him by that demon Kanjuro, a vessel for him to deposit his long-displaced, twisted obsession.
He reached out, not to soothe, but with a force that was almost predatory, grabbing the boy's thin arm.
"Come with me," he said hoarsely, his tone brook no argument, and something was reignited in his eyes—not hope, but a certain paranoid, cold determination.
The boy, Shirou Emiya, was awestruck by the complex and inscrutable emotions in his eyes; he forgot to cry and forgot to be afraid. He was simply pulled out of his hiding spot, ignorantly and passively, by this ghost-like man who had appeared from the ruins, toward an unknown future destined to be interwoven with darkness and pain.
Emiya Kiritsugu did not know if this child's appearance was a pure accident or a step already arranged in Kanjuro's vast chess game.
At this moment, he no longer cared.
He only knew that on this ruin created by Kanjuro's own hands, symbolizing despair, he had picked up something—a seed that might carry his last bit of twisted "justice," or rather, his final, powerless resistance against that demon. The night was thick, and the ruins of Einzbern Castle looked like the skeleton of a giant beast under the moonlight, jagged and eerie. Kanjuro stood atop the highest broken wall, his black robe flapping in the night wind as if merging with the darkness. He toyed with a communication rune stone shimmering with a ghostly light; the message just sent by Jeanne caused his nearly eternal heart, which sought "pleasure," to ripple strongly once again.
"Shirou... Emiya?" He muttered the name, the corners of his mouth curling upward uncontrollably, eventually turning into a low, pleasant laugh that echoed through the silent ruins, sounding exceptionally chilling.
"Interesting, so interesting!" His eyes sparkled with the excitement of finding a new toy. "That trash Emiya Kiritsugu actually left behind an 'adopted son' after completely breaking and fleeing Fuyuki? And this adopted son seems to have inherited his laughable and pathetic ideal of being a 'Hero of Justice'?"
He could already see the new script—finding the youth named Shirou Emiya, meticulously nurturing him, giving him hope, granting him power, making him believe he was practicing his adoptive father's unfinished "justice," and then... crushing everything he cherished along with his twisted ideal right before his eyes. Let him follow in his adoptive father's footsteps amidst extreme pain and betrayal, or perhaps... fall into even deeper despair.
"Two generations, father and son, both playthings in the palm of my hand... is there any drama more perfect than this?" Kanjuro spread his arms as if to embrace the entire night of Fuyuki City, his face overflowing with an almost frenzied sense of satisfaction. Emiya Kiritsugu's complete collapse pleased him, but this unexpectedly discovered "sequel" would undoubtedly bring even more lasting pleasure.
However, just as he was immersed in planning the next round of his "game"—
Buzz—!
A massive and sharp surge of energy, like a giant boulder thrown into a calm lake, suddenly erupted from the Leyline Node on the other side of the city, instantly seizing his attention.
The smile on Kanjuro's face froze slightly as he turned to look in that direction. A hint of surprise flashed in his deep eyes, soon replaced by an even stronger sense of interest.
"Oh? Finally... some decent resistance?"
Meanwhile, far on the outskirts of Fuyuki City, within a Magecraft Workshop hidden deep underground.
Artoria Pendragon was suspended in the center of a massive Magecraft Foundation. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her entire body was enveloped in an extremely intense torrent of energy. It was no longer simple golden holy light, nor pure dark magical energy, but a chaotic and highly unstable flow of energy formed by the two violently colliding and repelling each other, yet being forced to merge under the constraint of her powerful will.
The golden light was like burning flames, representing her unyielding chivalry and belief in protection; the black darkness was like a bottomless abyss, carrying the pain of her altered memories, her deep-seated hatred for Kanjuro, and... the dark power originating from Kanjuro that she was forced to accept.
The two forces clashed wildly within her body, tearing at her circuits and searing her soul, bringing pain far exceeding any physical torture. She gritted her teeth, veins bulging on her forehead, and sweat was turned into white mist by the evaporating energy as soon as it seeped out. But she did not flinch, nor did she give up.
Scenes flashed through her mind—the fall of Camelot, Mordred's bloodstained sneer, the disintegration of the Knights of the Round Table... and the sight of Emiya Kiritsugu's broken, despairing eyes as he struggled futilely like a clown in the palm of Kanjuro's hand.
"I cannot... let history repeat itself..."
"I must... have power... to cut through all of this!"
An unprecedented will of determination, like a final dam, forcibly suppressed the violent energy turbulence within her body. She snapped her eyes open!
Vroom—!
All the magical instruments in the workshop erupted with blinding light at the same moment, only to quickly dim, as if all the energy had been instantly drained by the figure at the center.
Artoria slowly landed, the magical radiance on her body gradually internalizing. She still wore that blue and silver armored skirt, but her temperament had undergone an earth-shaking change. Deep within her emerald eyes, golden flames seemed to burn over a cold abyss; two completely different traits, determination and destruction, had reached a dangerous balance within her.
She reached out, and Excalibur condensed into form in her palm. The blade still shone with holy golden light, but at the edges of that light, ominous black 0.5 arcs of electricity were faintly entwined, emitting a heart-palpitating sense of oppression.
She could feel an unprecedentedly powerful force flowing through her body. This was the strength beyond limits obtained by gambling everything, forcibly smelting her own light with the darkness she was forced to accept. The price was immense; her soul felt as if it had been torn apart and then crudely stitched back together, enduring the torment brought by the conflict of two origins at every moment. But... this might be the only chance to oppose that demon.
"Kanjuro..."
She whispered the name, her voice cold and firm, carrying a resolution to stop at nothing.
"It's time for an ending."
She looked up, her gaze seemingly piercing through the heavy layers of earth and the vast distance, firmly locking onto the dark shadow atop the ruins.
The final battle of life and death was on the verge of breaking out.
Far away atop the ruins, Kanjuro clearly felt that challenge mixed with determination and the aura of destruction. Far from showing any fear, the smile on his face grew more brilliant and... expectant.
"Come, my dear 'daughter'," he whispered to himself, as if calling to a long-lost lover, yet his eyes were cold as knives, "let me see if this final sword of yours, which fuses light and darkness, can... please me."
His figure flickered, turning into a distorted shadow, as he took the initiative to meet that challenging aura of tragic resolve sent toward him.
The night was still long. And the final curtain of despair had only just begun to rise.
Chapter: Memory Resurgence, Your Women Are All Mine
The night sky of Fuyuki City had never been as heavy as it was tonight. Invisible pressure, like leaden clouds, weighed low on the hearts of every being that could sense magical fluctuations. The air was stagnant, as if even the wind was holding its breath, waiting for a certain destined end.
Kanjuro's figure flickered a few times among the buildings of the abandoned city, crossing half the city in an instant to land on the edge of a skyscraper's rooftop. Jeanne d'Arc followed like a silent shadow, her violet eyes calmly watching the increasingly clear source of the aura mixed with determination and destruction in the distance. To her, this was not a simple battle, but the collision between the "Pure Evil" she followed and the final form of the rebel—an "observation" endpoint worth inscribing.
"The climax is finally arriving, Jeanne." Kanjuro did not look back, his voice carrying undisguised pleasure, "It's time for me to put a period on the farce of the Holy Grail War."
Jeanne nodded slightly: "I wish to witness your finale, Master."
Meanwhile, in the damp underground insect cellar of the Matou Family.
Countless Crest Worms squirmed in the shadows, making hair-raising rustling sounds. Matou Zouken leaned on his cane, his shriveled body trembling slightly with excitement. His cloudy eyes now flashed with an abnormally bright, almost fanatical light, staring intently at the peerless figure of Kanjuro reflected in the water mirror spell before him.
Beside him, the pitch-black knight—Lancelot (Berserker)—stood like a silent statue. He was shrouded in the curse of Mad Enhancement, but that obsession rooted in his betrayal and pain regarding King Arthur seemed to have become deeper and more distorted after being suppressed by Kanjuro's absolute power and "gifted" to Matou Zouken. He no longer let out meaningless roars; only the gaze beneath his helmet would occasionally sweep over Artoria's figure in the water mirror, revealing extremely complex fluctuations.
"Soon... very soon..." Matou Zouken let out a hoarse laugh, like the cry of a night owl, "Lord Kanjuro is about to obtain the Holy Grail! The secret of immortality... eternal life... finally..." His claw-like hand tightly gripped his cane, as if he had already touched the eternity he dreamed of. Kanjuro granting him Lancelot was not charity in his eyes, but a casual reward from the strong to an ant, a guarantee on the road to eternal life. He was completely immersed in greedy fantasies of the future, utterly unaware that he might also be just an insignificant supporting character in this grand drama.
Fuyuki Church, basement.
Kirei Kotomine stared at the flickering candlelight before him. That face, usually devoid of expression, was now shrouded in a thick haze. The distorted void within him that fed on the pain of others was now churning violently because of Kanjuro's existence.
Shame. An unprecedented shame.
That man, Kanjuro, not only possessed a power and pure "evil" that he could not understand, but had easily taken away the only being he had ever felt a slight "interest" in—Caren (though it was later proven that was more due to Risei Kotomine's plans and his own distortion). Kanjuro treated him as nothing, like a stone by the road; this total contempt stung him more than any frontal conflict and... felt like a morbid attraction.
He vaguely sensed that after tonight, the landscape of Fuyuki City, and even certain rules of this world, might be completely rewritten. And Kanjuro was undoubtedly the center of this storm.
"Gilgamesh." He called out in a low voice.
Golden Spiritrons gathered, and the oldest king of heroes appeared at his side with his usual arrogance, arms folded.
"Mongrel, what business do you have disturbing This King's leisure?" Gilgamesh's crimson snake-like pupils glanced into the distance, exactly where the clash of Kanjuro and Artoria's auras was most intense. An interested expression appeared on his face, "Oh? It seems a good show is about to be staged."
"Go and see," Kirei Kotomine's voice was dry, "Kanjuro... what exactly does he intend to do."
Gilgamesh sneered: "You want This King to act as a scout? Kirei, your orders are becoming increasingly laughable. Besides, your obsession with that man is truly nauseating." He changed his tone, adding with malicious mockery, "Or are you afraid to face him directly, afraid to experience your own powerlessness and insignificance before him once again?"
Kirei Kotomine's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Gilgamesh's words accurately pierced the most secret corner of his heart. He fell silent for a moment. Finally, as if making a certain decision, his clenched fists slowly relaxed. He raised his head, his eyes flashing with a desperate determination mixed with self-destructive tendencies.
"Fine." He spat out the word as if it took all his strength, "I... will go with you."
He wanted to witness it with his own eyes. Witness Kanjuro's victory, or... witness his defeat and death. No matter the result, perhaps it could fill the endless void in his heart, if only for a moment.
Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow in surprise, then let out a burst of laughter: "Hahahahaha! Interesting! Then let us go, Kirei! Let us go and appreciate this... final play, starring a clown and a madman!"
With a flash of golden light, the two figures disappeared from the church basement.
The gaze of fate seemed focused on that long-dilapidated Einzbern Castle, which carried countless causes and effects.
The forest surrounding the castle was silent under the invisible pressure; even the chirping of insects had ceased.
Artoria, holding the holy sword shining with gold and black light, stepped out of the leyline workshop entrance one step at a time, treading onto the ground covered in withered leaves and rubble. Her gaze was as firm as a rock, locked onto the dark figure on the distant rooftop.
Kanjuro stood against the wind, a smile like one appreciating a work of art on his face, watching the king of knights walking toward him.
Jeanne stood quietly to the side, like an eternal recorder.
Matou Zouken held his breath through the water mirror, concentrating intensely.
Kirei Kotomine and Gilgamesh, hidden in the shadows on the other side, watched coldly.
The endpoint of the Holy Grail War, the final duel between light and dark, the convergence point of all cause and effect—
Right now, right here.
Artoria raised her holy sword, the tip pointing straight at Kanjuro, her clear and resolute voice piercing the deathly silent night sky:
"Kanjuro—!"
"With this sword, I shall sever cause and effect and end everything!"
Kanjuro stood at the edge of the rooftop, his black robes motionless in the increasingly violent magical turbulence, as if he himself were a part of the darkness. He observed the now completely different Artoria below with great interest, his eyes indeed revealing a trace of genuine admiration, like a craftsman seeing a perfect work.
"A truly amazing transformation, my dear daughter." His voice carried a strange magnetism, piercing through the noisy energy field and clearly entering everyone's ears, "To blend my darkness with your light so crudely, enduring the pain of a tearing soul, yet still able to erupt with such firm battle intent... this stubbornness and potential are indeed worthy of praise."
Inside him, the power of the deep-as-an-abyss dark bible gathered silently, the authorities of the four Gospels like obedient Servants ready to respond to his will. The threads of space-time were clearly visible in his eyes, and the eternal night treasury (Gate of Babylon) slowly opened in the depths of his consciousness. What it contained was not the king of heroes' golden Noble Phantasm prototypes, but the terrifying forms of all famous or nameless weapons in history after being tainted, distorted, and blackened by his magic. He truly stood in an invincible position; this battle had no suspense from the very beginning.
"However, before the 'reunion' between father and daughter begins," Kanjuro's gaze faintly swept over the surrounding void, his tone carrying a hint of impatient laziness, "there are always some suicidal bugs who like to peer from the shadows and disturb the peace."
The moment his words fell—
"ROAR—!!!"
A roar full of pain and madness tore through the night sky! The pitch-black Berserker, Lancelot, like an out-of-control beast, suddenly charged out from the direction where Matou Zouken was hidden! But his target was not Kanjuro; instead... he blocked the way in front of Artoria!
Beneath his helmet shrouded in the magic of Mad Enhancement, two crimson lights firmly locked onto Kanjuro, his voice distorted and trembling with extreme hatred: "Merlin!!! Do you still recognize me?!!"
Kanjuro raised an eyebrow, a realization and playful smile appearing on his face, as if he had just remembered a trivial matter: "Oh? I was wondering who it was. So it's the... little mongrel whom I stole Guinevere from with a minor trick, and who was finally driven out of Britain like a stray dog by my dear daughter?" His tone was flippant, every word piercing like a poisoned needle into Lancelot's already riddled heart.
Artoria gripped her holy sword, a flash of confusion and pain in her emerald eyes. She looked at Kanjuro, her voice cold: "These memories... aren't they a false past you fabricated to torture me? Why would Sir Lancelot also..."
"False? No, no, no, my lovely Lia." Kanjuro interrupted her with a smile, as if correcting a naive child, "You seem to not yet fully understand the true meaning of 'Space-Time Authority'. When I intervened as Merlin, tampering with your perception and memories and making it all 'happen', what it affected was not just your mind."
He opened his hands as if displaying a great creation.
"Cause and effect are distorted, history is overwritten. In the 'reality' I have woven, I, Kanjuro (Merlin), am the biological father who united with King Uther's consort to sire you and Morgan; I am the mastermind behind the scenes who guided Britain, consorted with Guinevere, and drove a wedge between Lancelot and the King he served; I am... the one who, in the end, also had a relationship beyond ethics with Mordred, our common bloodline."
His words were like the filthiest of curses, forcibly imbuing the most unbearable and painful parts of Artoria's memories with the weight of 'history'.
"In other words," Kanjuro's voice carried a demonic whisper, "for everyone caught up in this 'history', this is the undeniable past they have personally experienced! For example..."
As he spoke, the space beside him distorted.
First to appear was Morgan le Fay, dressed in a magnificent deep purple gown. Her face was exquisitely beautiful yet carried a bone-deep malice and a hint of obsession with Kanjuro. Leaning against him, she looked at Artoria with a mocking gaze: "Father... truly, fate is a fickle thing. I never expected to have the honor of standing by your side in this distant era. It's just a pity that my foolish and stubborn sister still refuses to recognize reality and grovel at your feet."
Immediately after, another figure emerged—it was Guinevere, her expression gentle yet her eyes filled with submission and coquetry. Like a docile cat, she leaned directly into Kanjuro's embrace, her cheeks slightly flushed, not even daring to meet the gaze of the enraged Lancelot below.
"Ah—!!! Merlin!!! You thief! Demon!!!"
Witnessing this scene, Lancelot remembered the 'memories' of the Britain era: his beloved woman being taken by Kanjuro to marry King Arthur, and how Guinevere eventually became Kanjuro's woman. Finally, because of Guinevere and Kanjuro's sowing of discord, he had betrayed King Arthur—these 'memories' erupted like a volcano! The black mist of Mad Enhancement nearly swallowed his sanity. He suddenly turned to Artoria, his voice hoarse with immense pain and fury:
"My King!!! It was I... I was incompetent! I was blind! To be deceived by this demon and commit such a grave error!!" He raised the demonic sword in his hand, and violent magical energy soared into the sky. "Please let me... let me first slay this beast who has defiled Britain, defiled you, and defiled everything for you!!"
No longer caring whether Artoria agreed, he roared and transformed into a destructive black meteor. Carrying all his hatred and madness, he was the first to pounce toward Kanjuro on the rooftop!
Artoria watched this absurd and tragic scene, looking at Lancelot, who was being toyed with by Kanjuro and bore the same 'altered' fate, and at her sister and former queen leaning against their enemy. The fury and resolve in her heart, mixed with a profound sorrow, burned to the absolute limit.
Kanjuro watched the Berserker's charge with leisurely ease, the smile at the corner of his mouth deepening.
"See, Lia? These are the poor wretches bound by 'history'. And between you and me," his gaze returned to Artoria, filled with absolute control and expectation, "it's time to clear the field completely."
The golden ripples of the eternal night treasury bloomed silently and densely behind him, but what rose from those ripples was a darkness so thick it could not be dispersed.
Chapter: Opponent! The Saber who reaches the Root
Facing Lancelot's suicidal charge, which carried world-ending resentment and the magical power of Mad Enhancement, Kanjuro didn't even move a single step. His newly acquired 'Demon-Breaking Eye' flickered slightly, instantly seeing through the trajectory of magical energy, the points of weakness in the power, and the essence of the soul torn to pieces by the curse of madness and painful memories beneath Lancelot's violent offensive.
"Pathetic insect, you've almost lost even your value as a plaything," Kanjuro whispered softly, with a hint of boredom.
He didn't even need to use the blackened legendary weapons within the eternal night treasury.
"gospel of luke, Decree: Time-Scar Shackles."
Invisible space-time ripples spread out with Kanjuro as the center. It wasn't a large-scale time stop, but an extremely precise local manipulation. The flow of time around Lancelot suddenly became viscous and distorted; his rapid charge seemed to fall into an invisible swamp, every movement decomposed into countless slow and difficult frames. The violent magical energy vibrated violently under the shackles of space-time, yet it could not advance an inch!
At the very moment Lancelot was immobilized by the Space-Time Authority, leaving him completely exposed—
Kanjuro raised his hand.
"Gospel of Matthew, Manifestation: Final Spiral."
Dark magical energy converged frantically in his palm. He didn't manifest any known weapon form; instead, based on the infinite source of knowledge from the Gospel of Mark and combined with his understanding of the essence of energy from the Body Alteration Authority, he instantly created and wove a brand-new Black Magic attack that defied existing magical principles!
It was a rapidly spinning dark spiral composed of pure destructive energy! It ignored the Mad Enhancement magical energy protecting Lancelot and, as if possessing its own will, accurately followed the soul fissures seen by the 'Demon-Breaking Eye' and bored directly into the depths of Lancelot's spiritual core!
"Aaaargh—!!!"
Lancelot let out a shrill scream that originated not from his body, but from his soul being torn apart. The black armor on his body shattered inch by inch as if weathered by time, and the black mist of madness was forcibly extracted and annihilated by the dark spiral. His tall frame twitched violently, and the crimson light in his eyes faded rapidly.
Kanjuro waved his hand elegantly, dispelling the space-time shackles.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, Lancelot fell heavily from mid-air to the ground not far from Artoria, kicking up a cloud of dust. He struggled to lift his head, looking toward Artoria, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something, but he could only spit out broken bloody foam. His tortured soul was rapidly disintegrating under the power of the 'Final Spiral'.
At that moment, Guinevere, who had been leaning in Kanjuro's embrace, spoke in a voice that was still gentle but now bone-chillingly cold. Every word was like a poisoned dagger:
"Lancelot, even now, do you still not understand?" She looked down at the dying knight with eyes devoid of pity, containing only utter contempt and a hint of fanaticism for Kanjuro. "I never truly belonged to you, nor did I ever care for your ridiculous, wavering loyalty. From the moment I met Lord Merlin, my body, my heart, and my soul have belonged to him alone."
She even clung more possessively to Kanjuro's arm, as if declaring her ownership.
"To be able to serve Lord Merlin is my supreme honor. And you are nothing more than a pathetic wretch who couldn't even control your own feelings and ended up implicating the king you swore to serve."
"Pfft—!"
Lancelot spat out a large mouthful of blood. Not just his body, but even the final conviction that sustained him was completely shattered by Guinevere's heartless words. He stared fixedly at Guinevere, then turned with difficulty toward Artoria, his eyes filled with endless regret, pain, and a final realization. Then, his head slumped, and his breath ceased entirely. Pitch-black spiritons began to drift from his body; this tragic Knight of the Round Table had finally met his complete end under both physical and mental torture.
Artoria witnessed the entire process. She watched Lancelot be crushed and slaughtered by Kanjuro's absolute power before her eyes, heard Guinevere's soul-piercing mockery, and her knuckles turned white from gripping the holy sword too tightly. In her emerald eyes, golden flames and black shadows intertwined frantically, and her towering rage and cold killing intent almost took physical form.
Kanjuro gently pushed Guinevere aside and clapped his hands as if he had just disposed of a piece of trash. He looked at Artoria, his face still wearing that loathsome smile of appreciation and amusement.
"A noisy fly has been cleared away. Now, my dear daughter," he took a step forward, the power of the dark bible surging around him like an awakening abyss. The light of the four Gospels' authorities flowed in his eyes, and the ripples of the eternal night treasury loomed behind him, radiating an infinite sense of pressure.
"It's our turn."
"Let me see if this ultimate sword of yours, which fuses light and darkness, can... make me a little serious."
Artoria walked step by step toward the place where Lancelot had dissipated, the sound of dry leaves crunching under her feet exceptionally clear in the dead silence. Her emerald eyes reflected the black spiritons that had not yet fully dispersed; there lay her strongest Knight of the Round Table, now easily crushed before her, even his final dignity trampled upon.
"Master Kanjuro!" Matou Zouken's trembling voice came from the shadows, carrying disbelief and a hint of fear. "Why... why did you kill the Heroic Spirit you bestowed upon me? Without him, I..."
Kanjuro didn't even turn his head, simply waving his hand with a charitable laziness: "Don't be in such a hurry, Zouken. Take the long view. Once I obtain the Holy Grail, the chance to make a wish... can be given to you first. Isn't eternal life exactly what you've always dreamed of? Surely that is more valuable than your flawed Berserker?"
Matou Zouken's breathing instantly became heavy, and a terrifying light of greed erupted in his cloudy eyes. His previous doubts and fears were swept away by this massive temptation. His withered lips quivered, and he nearly knelt: "Is... is it true? Lord Kanjuro! Are you... are you serious?!"
Kanjuro didn't respond to him, only staring with a cruel grin at Artoria, who was poised to strike. His voice was full of provocation and anticipation: "Come, my dear daughter! For your fragile Knights of the Round Table, for your kingdom that I toyed with in the palm of my hand, and for your currently boiling hatred... fight me! let me see if your struggle in despair can please your 'father'!"
Artoria stopped and stood opposite Kanjuro. The night wind blew through her loose hair, the mixed silver-gold color shimmering under the glow of magical power. On her body, the holy golden magical energy and the deep dark aura were no longer just intertwining; they were like two roaring dragons coiling around her body, finally converging on the sword of promised victory in her hand.
The light of the sword's blade became extremely unstable. Outside the golden holy light core were violent, surging dark lightning bolts that seemed capable of swallowing everything! The power of the Fuyuki City leylines and the massive magical energy accumulated by the Holy Grail system over hundreds of years flowed frantically into her body like a hundred rivers returning to the sea, forcibly unified and harnessed by her will, which had been tempered through extreme pain!
She no longer suppressed it, no longer resisted it. Whether it was her innate holiness or the darkness forcibly bestowed by Kanjuro—which she had now accepted—both became part of her power, part of her... resolve to cut through everything!
"Kanjuro—!!!"
There were no redundant words, only a roar that condensed all her pain, anger, conviction, and realization! Artoria moved!
Her figure blurred instantly, and the ground beneath her feet cracked inch by inch under the massive counterforce! It was no longer an elegant knight's charge, but like a destructive meteor tearing through the air, carrying a tragic and unstoppable momentum as it lunged straight at Kanjuro! Wherever the holy sword passed, space itself seemed distorted by the gold-and-black light, leaving behind a trail of shattered radiance!
This strike surpassed the limits of speed, contained the vastness of the leylines, and fused the paradoxical power of light and darkness! It was her soul-burning—Final Strike—on which she staked everything!
Facing an attack that would make any Servant or even a god pale in comparison, the playfulness in Kanjuro's eyes finally retracted slightly, replaced by a hint of genuine appreciation.
"Now that's more like it."
He whispered, and instead of retreating, he advanced, his right hand's five fingers spread wide, facing the tearing brilliance of the holy sword directly!
"Gospel of Matthew, Restructure: All Laws Return to Void!"
In front of his palm, the dark magic did not form a shield, but instead constructed a rotating miniature black hole that seemed capable of devouring all light and energy! At the edge of the black hole, space was slightly collapsing, emitting a heart-palpitating suction and an aura of destruction.
At the same time, the light of the "Demon-Breaking Eye" in his left eye flared brilliantly, dead-locking onto the energy core and trajectory of Artoria's strike.
"Gospel of John, Decree: Mental Stagnation!"
An invisible mental impact, like the thickest glue, attempted to entwine and slow down Artoria's will and speed of movement.
BOOM—!!!!
The tip of the holy sword pierced ruthlessly into that miniature black hole!
There was no world-shaking explosion as expected; at the moment the two extreme forces collided, time seemed to freeze for an instant! Immediately following was a sharp shriek capable of piercing eardrums and a violent energy turbulence! Gold and black light exploded frantically from the point of collision, like the birth of a supernova, instantly illuminating the night sky of Fuyuki City!
Artoria grit her teeth, feeling the immense suction and destructive energy coming from the sword's blade. The muscles in her arms bulged, and the light and dark magic within her body burned and output at an unprecedented speed, firmly resisting that "Void" power that seemed intent on devouring everything!
Kanjuro's body leaned back slightly under the impact, but the smile on his face widened even further.
"Not bad! Truly not bad! But... it's not enough!"
He suddenly pushed his right palm forward!
"gospel of luke, Acceleration: Entropy Increase Extinction!"
The rotation speed of that miniature black hole suddenly increased tenfold! The power of devouring and destruction exploded geometrically! The dark lightning on Artoria's holy sword actually began to be reverse-extracted and devoured, and even the golden holy light became flickering and unstable!
"Ugh...!" Artoria let out a muffled groan, the webbing of her thumb splitting as blood slid down the sword hilt. Her body was pushed backward, her feet plowing two deep furrows into the ground.
The absolute gap in the level of power was now revealed unmistakably!
However, at the very moment she was about to be completely devoured, a flash of determination crossed Artoria's eyes!
Instead of retreating, she actively dispersed part of her opposing magic, using that terrifying suction to turn herself and the holy sword into an even more extreme stream of light, like a moth to a flame, resolutely... crashing toward Kanjuro himself!
Using her body as a sword, seeking mutual destruction!
A trace of genuine surprise finally flickered in Kanjuro's eyes.
"Interesting..."
In the space behind him, countless golden ripples emerged frantically, as if boiling—
The eternal night treasury swung open! Artoria stood at the center of the energy storm; the gold and black light was no longer simply entwined, but had completely merged into a chaotic, majestic power containing the dual meanings of creation and the end. The ground beneath her feet silently turned to dust, not destroyed, but assimilated and decomposed by the most primal energy. The structure of space warped and wailed around her, as if unable to bear this over-specified existence.
In Jeanne's eyes, which had always been calmly observing, waves finally rose. She clearly perceived that Artoria's aura, instead of fading under Kanjuro's suppression, was constantly rising and expanding like a bottomless abyss! That was not simple leylines magic, but more like a... torrent from the Reverse Side of the World, from the "Root" itself, being forcibly drawn and poured here by some absolute "will"!
"How is this possible..." Jeanne murmured softly, "The shackles of the counter force... were forcibly broken?" She saw invisible chains of "rules" manifest around Artoria, only to snap and dissipate inch by inch the moment they touched that chaotic light. This was not a clever evasion, but a brutal tearing of the shackles imposed upon the Throne of Heroes with absolute power! "Something... no, some kind of 'mission' is using her body and her will to descend upon this world... and its target is only... Kanjuro!"
In Gilgamesh's crimson snake-like pupils, an unprecedentedly fiery light flickered. He no longer leaned back lazily but straightened his body, as if admiring a peerless treasure. "Mongrel... no, Artoria! You have finally shown a posture worthy of this King exhausting his treasury to cheer for! This brilliance that transcends the boundaries of gods and men, this arrogance that draws the backlash of the Root with one's own will! Hahahaha! Excellent! Only this is worthy of this King's gaze!"
Irisviel clutched her chest, her face pale. She felt joy for Artoria's power, but deep in her heart, an indescribable panic and... sting was also spreading. She looked at the man in the distance whose black robes fluttered, appearing somewhat "disheveled" in the storm yet still wearing a crazed smile. The humiliation and pain from eight years ago were vivid, yet for some reason, at the thought that he might perish here, her heart felt a suffocating pang of pain. That demon... the charm he possessed, his absolute power to see through human hearts and toy with fate, had long since, unknowingly, eroded her soul like poison, causing a bit of unmentionable... infatuation to grow alongside her hatred.
Kanjuro's eternal night treasury, those dark ripples capable of swallowing thousands of Noble Phantasm prototypes, actually began to fluctuate violently, warp, and even show signs of collapsing under the impact of Artoria's chaotic magic! Several blackened Noble Phantasms that were the first to be fired were annihilated into the most basic particles by that pure torrent of energy before they could even get close to Artoria.
"Haha... Hahaha!" Kanjuro laughed instead of getting angry, his laughter filled with a nearly frenzied joy. He wiped away a trace of dark red that overflowed from the corner of his mouth due to the power's backlash, staring at Artoria with burning eyes. "I am so happy! My child! Watching you break free from the cage I set step by step, watching you gather power beyond my expectations! You are no longer that farm girl I discovered and taught in the British countryside, whose fate was at my mercy! Although... all these 'possibilities' were the stage I set for you from the very beginning!"
Hearing this, Morgan's face lost all color, and she took a step back in fear, looking at Kanjuro: "Father! Are you... are you really no longer her match?" She could not imagine that Kanjuro, who controlled everything like a god, would also have a day when he was pushed to such a state.
Guinevere also leaned over, her eyes filled with deep affection and a trace of farewell-like sorrow, whispering softly: "Merlin... are we... going to end?"
Kanjuro did not answer them, only sighing deeply, and in that sigh, there was actually a trace of hard-to-detect... gratification?
The storm subsided slightly, and Artoria, holding the holy sword whose light was restrained yet appeared even more dangerous, walked toward Kanjuro step by step. Her gaze was terrifyingly calm, as if spanning ten thousand years of time.
"Merlin," she spoke, her voice ethereal and distant, "I had a very long dream. In the dream, everything I possessed was beautiful. You gave me everything; the person I loved most was you! My loyal companion was also you, Merlin! I took on the burden of the kingdom for you, without betrayal or sacrifice... The sunlight was warm, and the wind was gentle. At that time, you were always by my side. I thought we could be together."
Her footsteps did not stop, her gaze piercing through time and space to land on Kanjuro's face.
"Only, at the end of the dream... you intentionally exposed it. You tore my dream to shreds! You smiled and personally tore apart all the beauty, telling me it was nothing more than a phantom you had carefully woven. You made me see clearly how my entire life was controlled and toyed with by you..."
She stopped in front of Kanjuro and raised the holy sword, the tip pointing directly at his heart.
"At that moment, my heart really ached, Merlin."
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