Chapter 21 High Noon, a Situation Sakura Must Not Encounter
Snowfield, Opera House.
"…A light bombardment capable of incinerating even a Dead Apostle? This is absurd." Someone let out a voice of sheer shock.
"Master of Caster, why do you stand in my way?"
"Saber, we have no intention of starting a war with you, but technically you are under arrest for destruction of public property. I believe taking you in for a few questions doesn't violate our professional ethics. What do you think?" Voices clashed like needles against whetstones.
"Haha, such a charge actually exists! —We're leaving, Ayaka! Normally I'd be happy to be arrested by the precinct to show my sincerity, but it's a different story when the opposition is also a Master. However, give my regards to Caster, 'Director.' One day, I shall properly express my gratitude to you all!"
"Wait? Huh? E-Eh? A princess carry!?"
"Saber is getting away! Clan Calatin follow me! I've already called the Special Investigation Team; they'll handle taking the Dead Apostle's remains back for examination!"
The century-old building, now sporting a massive hole, was a cacophony of noise. The shouting gradually faded into the distance, and the theater returned to silence.
The "heat" of those presences had departed from the building. Sensing this—the "Revolver Cylinder" slowly began to slide.
Slowly, covertly, as if pulled by an external force of its own, it rotated counter-clockwise. It took a long time to click into the next chamber.
Red light bloomed within the "Cylinder." A lump of humanoid charcoal collapsed, only to be rapidly refilled into the form of an adult male.
The thing with the appearance of a man sat up. "That was close. If that Saber knew my ability, all six of my lives would have vanished." He exhaled, clutching his chest where a giant "Cylinder" was embedded.
The Master of False Assassin (the Zealot), High-Ranking Dead Apostle—Jester Karture.
In the events seen from the perspectives of Ayaka and the Director, this Dead Apostle was extremely dangerous. He had confronted Saber, Assassin herself, and the Caster camp simultaneously, causing them considerable grief. However, he eventually caused the balance to collapse by overestimating his own strength, leading to him being reduced to ash by Saber's technique, [Excalibur].
That being said, none of the people entangled in this incident knew what happened next.
Jester's heterodox ability is named [Six Hearted Revolver]. It is the power to steal the lives and appearances of six people and use them as "filler" for himself. A mysterious object shaped like a six-shot revolver cylinder is embedded in his chest, with a heart housed in each chamber. This represents his ability to resurrect multiple times. In a battle between opponents of the same rank, his persistence could even be called the Dead Apostle version of God Hand.
It is an incredibly powerful ability!
"B-Rank... no, a C-Rank Noble Phantasm? Any higher and it really would have been over. I lost another life; four remaining. Dammit, the time and effort required to refill one life won't even be enough if I spend the rest of this Holy Grail War on it. Those bastards."
Jester gnashed his teeth and stood up unsteadily.
Then, he noticed four or five humans remaining inside the theater. They had their backs to him, placing the debris of the roof blasted by Saber's Noble Phantasm into evidence bags. Clearly, these people had not yet noticed Jester.
With a series of patter-patter footsteps, a figure appeared in front and to the side of one of them. The young man glanced up briefly, then instinctively continued his work. After a few more seconds, he suddenly froze, looking up fixedly, his gaze eventually turning to stone.
The Dead Apostle waved as if giving a casual greeting, grinning to reveal fangs: "Hi~?"
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A short while later, the Dead Apostle left the humans collapsed on the ground and walked toward the destroyed entrance of the theater. It would be bad if those Heroic Spirits returned, so the Dead Apostle only had time to drain a portion of the blood before giving up. He didn't even care if they were dead or alive as he swiftly evacuated the scene.
—Something is about to begin. His non-human, monstrous intuition was screaming this warning.
The Dead Apostle, expressionless, strode out the door.
And then he saw her: an ethereal, pure white young girl, her exquisite, perfectly sculpted face narrowed in a frown, staring motionlessly at the theater entrance. Just by standing there, the atmosphere around her seemed to be covered in a snowy stillness that belonged only to her.
Their eyes met. Vermilion pupils reflected a crimson gaze.
"Whoa, you've gotta be kidding me..." Jester's throat trembled with a mix of tension and excitement.
"......A magical energy capacity on par with my own??"
Aside from that "Lord" who was the Ancestor he belonged to, he had never seen a magical capacity that reached his own heights. Jester's mana pool was large enough to sustain four to five Servants.
How could a short-lived human possibly possess such vast magical energy? To call her a darling of magecraft would be an understatement! By comparison, how mediocre were those groups of humans parading around with Noble Phantasms?
If Jester hadn't encountered a certain Assassin first, he surely would have been captivated by her beauty—and then immediately hunted her down to kill her!
Naturally, Jester no longer had the stats of his peak state. Having lost two of his six lives, he could not exert his former magical output. However, his keen eyes could tell at a glance that the girl opposite him was also in a state where her use of mana was restricted and constrained.
"I see, a constitution that cannot properly exert its full magical power away from its own land... But that makes it easier for me! It's like a singular, exquisite work of art—but for a Dead Apostle, it's a supreme tonic, a miracle drug!"
The silver-haired little girl let resolve settle into her gaze and raised her hand. At the same time, Jester lowered his center of gravity. To the point where one might wonder "Is there actually any difference?"—the Dead Apostle began his next act of violence.
Illya: "......"
Illya: "???"
'So why do I suddenly run into a creep like this?' Illya had a few things to say too.
There was a reason Illya had appeared near the theater; a burst of Noble Phantasm-class magical energy had manifested here.
Of course, Illya wasn't the only one who knew this.
......That other girl was currently just staying put and hadn't intervened yet.
In any case, this thing that suddenly popped up was as an eyesore as a grease stain, and now it was pestering her. Its level of thick-skinned persistence was like a stubborn plaster, seemingly lacking even a shred of the dignity expected of a "noble."
To be fair, while he lacked taste, his eyes were capable of correctly perceiving the nature of another's existence.
Though she couldn't say why, Illya had a bad premonition; she suddenly didn't want him to meet Sakura. Based solely on experience, Illya decided this encounter wasn't a coincidence, but a fluke of fate. If he were to meet Sakura, something quite dangerous and unpleasant would happen.
Acting on behalf of a Sakura who might not even be aware of the danger yet, Illya decided to help prune this monster before Sakura had to step in.
Who said Illya was the weakest among the Emiya household group? Today, Illya would prove herself to the world! Taking a deep breath, Illya declared with a touch of confidence:
"[Storche Ritter (White Stork Knight)]"