Chapter 6. The Perspective from the Other Side
"So, what is the situation now!"
The Chief stood up, slamming the table in disbelief, bringing his gaze closer to the darkness on the monitor.
If his upbringing hadn't been so refined, a word starting with "F" might have already escaped his lips; however, as he lacked such a habit, he forced it back down.
"The... the surveillance cruise drone is suspected to have been shot down!"
"Good work. I know."
The Chief was, after all, the Chief. Even though his subordinate's words were essentially a correct piece of redundant information, he didn't show a hint of redirected anger. Instead, he responded accurately and rationally, his entire being quickly returning to a state of calm.
Far from the image of a magus peering from the shadows that the red-haired youth or the blonde swordsman might have imagined, this side was in a state of bizarre panic.
However, no one could blame him.
It wasn't because he was a superior. It was because anyone who saw that footage could faintly feel how surreal it was.
"John."
"Sir."
"What do you think?"
"If I may be blunt, sir... he's strong like a monster. At least, that's what I was thinking just now."
To ease his unease, John's hands were clenched into fists.
Coincidentally, just one night ago, he had felt an intense sense of omnipotence from wielding a Noble Phantasm.
The moment of realizing that there are existences one simply cannot handle, and understanding the limits of one's own skills, had arrived ahead of schedule.
However, as he gave this instinctive evaluation, he also realized that his position as part of the "Clan Calatin- Twenty-Eight Monsters" was quite delicate.
The Chief knit his brows tightly, sinking into deep thought as the recorded footage began to loop.
A Servant.
That blonde swordsman was definitely a Servant. The speed that was hard to track with the eye, the storm of slashes, the combat power visibly exaggerated to the point of transcending
magecraft, and the non-magical armor appearing out of thin air—all of these were things a Servant should possess.
Had the red-haired man summoned a Servant in advance? Was it cheating?
However, if that blonde swordsman was a Servant, what was the red-haired Master doing?
He was... practicing his swordplay with his Servant?
And what on earth were they, swinging their swords with such absolute seriousness yet maintaining a relative balance for a short duration? This wasn't practicing; this was a battle!
Though there was no disposal of the loser by the winner, and it was by no means a fight to the death, the aura transmitted from both sides—the fighting spirit—was entirely earnest.
"Chief."
"Don't look at me with such hopeful eyes. Neither you nor I could take ten moves from that Servant even while holding a Noble Phantasm. I am not that much stronger than the rest of you."
What the Chief and John could see was not the same.
To put it one way, if John could only see an aura of sword flashes and shadows, the Chief could roughly discern the specific outlines of about thirty of those moves.
And then, just by deciphering the offense and defense of a few of those moves, the Chief understood that these were actions he could absolutely never replicate with the longsword Noble Phantasm at his waist.
In principle, the "Clan Calatin" and even the Chief himself, aimed to surpass Servants by wielding Noble Phantasms with human bodies.
Yet as that sense of omnipotence peeled away, the Chief realized the road in that direction was overwhelmingly long.
Even so, it was too late to modify the plan. Or rather, seeing such a battle made his heart unwilling to stop the plan.
That figure remained etched in his impression.
He was a human.
"Sigh."
The completion of his ultimate vision was right there, yet he wasn't on their side; instead, he was likely an enemy. The Chief's current mood was indescribable.
The Chief's willpower had not given up. After all, this wasn't an option; it was simply a fact to be accomplished. Nevertheless, the Chief had not yet envisioned a future for them after surpassing this battle.
The most convenient explanation was to deflect by saying the Servant the opponent summoned was too strong, but the stronger the Servant, the more it only proved how much stronger that man was.
"Just what kind of person are you?"
The Chief rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a headache-induced mumble that only sent ripples through his own heart.
The etymology of the "Clan Calatin" refers to the twenty-eight warriors who once fought Lugh's son, Cú Chulainn—one of the greatest heroes of Celtic mythology—and died in battle, leaving a brief mark in his legend.
The Police Department unit "Clan Calatin-Twenty-Eight Monsters" were ordinary humans who had inherited that name, hoping to recreate the myth.
So, in a place the Chief didn't know about, what kind of person was a guy who, on one of his growth paths, had fought to the death with the real Cú Chulainn and even earned the genuine article's surprise and praise...?
The Chief watched the recording several more times. In the video, the youth alertly pointed a magnificent bow and arrow in the direction of the drone.
He didn't even hear a sound. In less than half a second, the drone's screen went black. Only something blue was in close proximity as the final frame.
Finally, he stood up from his office chair.
"I need to find Adelina. John, do you know where she is?"
"Most likely in the underground training grounds."
Adelina was the "Archer" among Clan Calatin. As someone not involved in the way of the bow, the Chief had things he had to confirm with her.
"Observation Team, do not recover the drone. I will not arrange for anyone to recover the drone either. At the same time, do not take it upon yourselves to send people or drones to monitor him again. If that guy finds more information, we'll be in a lot of trouble."
Before leaving, the Chief left a warning that served as a notification and shut down the computer.
This series of measures meant they would lose track of the red-haired youth for a long time.
However, there was no choice. The other party was already alert, and there would surely be something waiting at the spot where the drone crashed. They couldn't take the bait; the Chief was very clear on this.
About fifteen minutes after leaving the large office, the Chief, following John, found Adelina.
The female archer put away her bow and arrows and saluted the Chief.
John stepped back of his own accord. The Chief nodded in return.
"Adelina, if I asked you to shoot a small drone at an altitude of three thousand meters, could you do it?"
The female officer's eyes widened, and she asked blankly, "If I may be so bold, why would you have such an idea?"
"It's just a personal interest as a layman."
The Chief didn't reveal anything. Thus, under these circumstances, the female officer gave an answer unclouded by any doubt.
Staying within the realm of what she could see, she pointed out "common sense" that the Chief and the others had overlooked:
"Chief, a small drone can be considered the size of a brick. Three thousand meters is equivalent to counting 1,000 floors up from the bottom. Please imagine: you are on the first floor, drawing a bow to shoot a brick placed exactly on the roof of the 1,000th floor. That is the answer to this question."
It was impossible. To be able to do such a thing was to transcend the human domain.
The female officer expressed this realization tactfully.
True enough. It took half an hour for a specialized drone to climb to three thousand meters; equipping it with a magical camera that could film normally at such a distance cost over a hundred thousand dollars, yet destroying it took only half a second.
Hearing this conclusion, the Chief let out a bitter, wry laugh.
.
.
.
Inside a shop with a sign that read "Oasis Cafe," a middle-aged man sipped his coffee.
"Tch, this tastes terrible."
He was not a Master.
Not yet.
Following the expression of disgust was a string of uncontrollable, loud laughter. Strangely, although he with his white hair behaved so erratically, not a single customer in the shop turned their attention his way.
Sometimes, a divergence happens very simply. If he hadn't completed that research, he wouldn't have been able to join the fray. However, as if helped by God, that research was finished, and the great undertaking was now complete.
The man split into a murky smile.
Perhaps affected by a Bounded Field, the shop's decorative electric lights flickered, fluttering a dangerous signal as if about to burn out. Customers began to complain to the owner, yet still, no one noticed the man with the face full of sneers.
As long as this step was completed, both the Command Spells and the summoning circle would be in his grasp. Even if they were one of the families that established the False Holy Grail War system.
"Wait for me, Kuruoka."
His dark, gloomy gaze looked straight into the distance.