Chapter 23 The Battle Record of the Black Grail is as Follows
As the silk threads vanished, Jester regained his freedom, shaking off the final residues.
He narrowed his eyes with a mocking glint. The young girl under his gaze gradually stopped trembling, her brows arching high in a display of extreme irritation.
The power of [Zähre] was too low. [Degen] failed to cause meaningful damage. Even the "silk threads" were easily broken.
Without a word, Illya suppressed the mini-child inside her screaming "I'm so mad!" and poured her total concentration into observing every turn of the situation.
Before her, the Dead Apostle Jester raised a finger. There was no omen of magecraft, but the perceived flow of mana indicated the sensation of a coming move.
In this world, there is not only a distinction between "Magecraft" and "Magic." Beyond those two, there is an additional category known as "Heterodox Abilities" (Special Powers). Supernatural phenomena triggered by innate talent belong to this category.
For example, eyes that can see "Death" are a talent classified as a "Heterodox Ability." It cannot be called magecraft, nor can it be called magic; even if the eyes acting as the medium are replaced, the ability will manifest again within the possessor. This is because the talent belongs to the individual, not to the eyes themselves.
This kind of circuit that triggers supernatural phenomena is fundamentally not a function that a creature like a human should possess. It is considered the strongest power attainable by the human species, standing independent of nature.
But to put it another way—if one is "not human," mastering such an ability becomes much simpler.
[Six Hearted Revolver] was Jester's unique and strongest ability as a Dead Apostle. But similar to magecraft, this did not mean a Dead Apostle lacked other, more mundane universal special abilities that might appear in other beings.
For instance, summoning fire or wind. Or, summoning a wide-area attack (AOE) to grind an entire zone to pieces.
Not missing her timing, Illya threw out her magecraft command without hesitation:
"[Schild (Shield)]!"
Massive stalks appeared in the surroundings; roots over ten meters high burst from the ground, enclosing the silver-haired girl in a narrow circle. The trunks, mutated beyond recognition, transformed into tentacles of giant slashing force, shrieking with twisted, wet snaps.
The girl, looking exceptionally tiny by comparison, was swallowed beneath the overlapping waves, buried by grayish-black mass until no trace of her remained.
The meat-grinder continued for dozens of seconds before finally subsiding, subsequently collapsing into rotted ash.
"Did I go a bit too far? Really, forgetting to preserve the target's utility value because I got caught up in the heat of the moment—that's the danger of excitement in battle! Let me tell you, what a 'darling of magecraft' like you lacks most isn't magical ability, you know?"
The Dead Apostle stepped onto the remaining roots before him and began a long-winded lecture:
"It's perspective! The perspective of seeing your own world shattered, of knowing there are those far stronger than a genius like you! Only then would you think to hone your magecraft further. Otherwise, you end up like today—instantly destroyed when you encounter someone stronger like me!"
He laughed, and laughed, then roared with laughter. After a while, as the rotted ash settled, he suddenly fell silent.
"..."
The young girl, who had been covering her ears, looked back at the Dead Apostle with a mocking gaze of her own. Between the two of them stood a complexly carved, hollowed-out piece of silver.
That piece of silver moved away from the front of Illya; the carvings then unraveled, transforming from scale-like objects back into simple silk threads.
A light breeze blew past.
The threads did not scatter on the ground. Instead, they drifted down like feathers, reassuming their role as strands of the girl's wind-tossed hair. Then, a second "scale" followed. A third. A fourth. A fifth. Even so, hundreds remained.
The hundred silver scales melted together, and the excess threads returned to Illya's beautiful long hair hanging down her back, as if they had been there all along.
Because of this elegant magecraft he had never seen before, Illya was completely unharmed. Jester had intended it as a finishing blow, yet he hadn't even broken her defense. In the awkward atmosphere, neither side spoke for a long time. Finally, Illya muttered in a small voice:
"I didn't need you to tell me that, shut up. I practiced because I already knew."
"...."
Jester understood the methodology of this magecraft. It used hair as a catalyst... and was constructed as a direct connection to the hair itself.
The true identity of [Schild] was a scale-shield alchemy consisting of as many as a hundred layers. Although it transformed hair into familiars, they were not the autonomous type;
because the mana and the physical body were in circulation, it equated to an over-spec supply of magical energy, creating an incredibly sturdy shield.
The silver-haired girl dropped her offensive stance, shifting into a posture where she would simply retreat into her shell the moment Jester attacked.
The problem was...
"How many eons is it going to take to exhaust a massive mana pool capable of supplying several Servants at once!?"
"I said shut up! It's your own fault for being incompetent, don't blame others~ Is there something you're dissatisfied with!?"
"I'm dissatisfied with everything! If you don't want to fight anymore, just stay still and let me kill you. That's too cowardly!"
"Why do I have to be killed by a corpse like you? I haven't spent enough time with Onii-chan yet. Go talk in your sleep elsewhere, you idiot!"
The two of them argued with equal momentum, though it was clear who held the advantage. Jester's maximum output couldn't break the [Shield] in one go. However, the girl couldn't escape Jester; her speed was slower than his. In a one-on-one, no matter how much she focused on self-preservation, it was nothing more than a desperate final stand. Jester could generally take his time.
Jester could slowly pick apart this annoying brat; it was just a waste of time—or rather, it made one despairingly unsure of how long the fight would last.
"Don't worry, I give up. I'm out of options."
"?"
"I can't keep this up. Although it's frustrating, I'll have to leave it to you, Sakura!"
Illya sighed and raised a tiny fist. Simultaneously, the air wavered.
'Who did she say?'
Jester froze, suddenly feeling his entire body being tossed about, engulfed by the air. He saw several black ribbons piercing through the front of his body.
Pure black, a type of Imaginary Numbers magecraft that didn't flash red in the center—they were black, physical shadows that might have once been mixed but were now missing a certain component.
Without a sound, because the attack was entirely undetected, they ran straight through his body. In his rapidly changing vision—which seemed to have undergone a shift in the relative frame of reference with the ground—he saw a woman in a dress.
The woman shook her head troubledly, looking at the Dead Apostle with a helpless gaze as he was flung away, powerless to fight back, rolling to a distance where he could no longer threaten Illya. The ribbons were withdrawn, returning to the woman's hand.
He hadn't seen it clearly.
Although he hadn't seen it clearly, Jester's eyes widened in disbelief.
A character who should not have appeared in this Holy Grail War—an existence far more dangerous to this war than Jester or anyone else.
That person was—
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