Fate/Zero:Act 16
Act 16
-04:08:29
Two o'clock A.M. -
The streets fell asleep into a silence deeper and more complete than usual. Even the resident night-owls - perhaps terrified by the repeated cases - obeyed the appeal to self-imposed curfews and were submissively drawn into their homes. Even the shadows of cars disappeared from the road's surface. The asphalt, clearly lit by street lights alone, was frozen by the air of the winter night.
This townscape where human life had completely ceased looked like it belonged in a scene with toys stretched to life-size. If a place beyond the recognition of normal humans was called an 'alien world', then that was, without a doubt, what nighttime Fuyuki was.
A single heroic horse sprinted cross that bizarre landscape as though it ruled over the place. Waver was being carried on its vigorous back, hurrying towards his place of death. Directly behind him was the massive and magnificent chest of the King of Conquerors, so close that even its pounding heartbeats were transmitted.
Even if he were to survive this night, Waver would never forget this tense, silent exaltation. There was a time known in the world as the 'moment of truth'. When the soul, bared and released from all deception and embellishment, took in the sweeping view of the world in its true state, there existed an instant that knew nothing but the shaking of the heart. Surely, that was what he was reflecting upon right now. The instant when any and all of the world's mysteries and paradoxes were comprehended and yet remained unanswered. The instant the meaning of existence and the value of death could be clearly grasped even without words. It was a time of supreme bliss, of release from all of the bewilderment and uncertainty, the hardships of human life.
The warhorse leisurely slipped out of the sleeping city and jumped toward the riverbank, filled with still water in the color of darkness. In the still night, the great bridge they were aiming for was lit in white by the brilliance of hollow mercury lamps.
"Rider, that's......"
The King of Conquerors responded to the pointing Waver with a nod.
Standing on the bridge illuminated as if by broad daylight, his brilliantly golden, majestic appearance radiated all the more, as though sneering at such counterfeits as artificial light. The remorseless coldheartedness of his eyes' deep crimson glint froze Waver's entire body with fear even when they were hundreds of meters apart.
Servant Archer, King of Heroes Gilgamesh -
It wasn't that he hadn't prepared himself. From the beginning, he had understood that this was an unavoidable opponent. Even so, now that he was once again facing the real thing, the air of intimidation overcame all of the heart's defenses and came to crush the core of his soul.
"You scared, boy?"
Rider, who felt Waver's shaking, asked quietly. The boy frankly nodded without any pretense of bravery.
"Yeah, I'm scared. Or I guess, to put it your way, 'my heart is jumping with excitement'."
At his tense response, the King of Conquerors' face broke into a pleased smile.
"That's exactly it. When the enemy is mighty, the yearning for the sweet wine of victory becomes utter bliss. Oh ho, looks like you understand it now."
Bucephalus strode majestically, carrying the bravely boasting Rider to the foot of the bridge.
This would be their fourth and doubtless final chance meeting. The primordial King of Heroes and the legendary King of Conquerors. To the two of them, both occupying the wide four-lane road as though they owned it, the only obstacle that could hinder them was each other. The bridge was a one-way road; if one wouldn't back down, then the other wouldn't try to avoid. For a competition of tyranny between these two kingly beings, it was an inevitable, even fated battlefield.
Bucephalus stopped his hooves, having halted after evidently sensing the will of his rider, who rewarded him by scratching his mane.
"Boy, wait here for now."
" - Huh?"
Rider lowered himself from the back of his beloved horse, stood on the ground, and began walking with an air of composure towards the waiting enemy. As though it had been prearranged, Archer also began walking to meet him halfway, his heels ringing out haughtily.
They were not warriors who simply competed with their martial skills alone. Seeing as they would both compete in tyranny in addition to crossing swords, they must also proceed through the proper channels.
"Rider, where is your vaunted chariot?"
As soon as he opened his mouth, Archer questioned him with restless anger.
"Ah, that. Well. Aggravatingly, that Saber has carried it off."
Rider replied with a carefree shrug. Archer stared at him, scrutinizing with his blood-colored eyes.
"...Did you forget what I had decided? You were informed that you would be defeated at your most perfect condition."
"Hm, now that you mention it, that's right."
With no fear for the intimidation, Rider, in an exceedingly bold and ferocious way, bent his lips and smiled.
"True, my weapon has been consumed. But do not take that lightly, King of Heroes. Tonight, Alexander is incomplete, and therefore beyond complete."
It was an incoherent manner of speaking, but Archer did not sneer at his nonsense, and looked over Rider's entire body with sharp eyes that seemed to cut into him.
" - I see. Yes, your Aura is overflowing. It is unusually stalwart. It seems you do not stand before me without some prospects of victory."
It was the truth. While he had lost one of his Noble Phantasms, the amount of prana seething from Rider right now was several times higher than before. The three expended Command Seals that Waver had intended to 'waste away meaninglessly' were unwittingly exercising an effect. When using Command Seals to activate ultimate authority, the more vague the contents, the more reduced the effects will be. On that point, as Waver's earlier orders all lacked concreteness, in terms of using the Command Seals, they were in effect wasted. On the other hand, a Command Seal activated not as an absolute command bending the will of the Servant, but with the consent of both parties, would not only enforce the Servant's actions, but also become a way to support and amplify them. In this case, similar to how Kiritsugu's Saber achieved Spatial Relocation, the Command Seals could at times make possible unprecedented things that overturned the normal methods of magecraft, things on the same level as 'Magic'.
While the method of usage made little impression, since the three Seals conformed to the Servant's own will and furthermore were activated in succession, Rider received a definite effect from Waver's Command Seals. As long as he aspired toward the action of 'victory', Rider would receive an amplified amount of Prana support compared to normal. Frankly, the current Rider was, even more so than in the past, at his 'most perfect'.
"Hey, Archer. Speaking of decisions, wasn't there one more agreement from our banquet before?"
"The conclusion that we would have no choice but to kill one another?"
"Didn't we say we would drink up the rest of the wine before that?"
Rider, with an honest smile unthinkable for one preparing for mortal combat, urged the King of Heroes.
"At that time, some boorish fellows tried to spoil our banquet... but there was still something left in the bottle. You can't fool my eyes."
"As expected of the king of usurpation. You are sharp-sighted when it comes to the belongings of others."
Archer, with a bitter smile, once again called forth a set of drinking vessels from the alternate-world 'vault' to his hand. The bottle was emptied, and the rest of the high-quality wine from the Age of the Gods at its bottom was poured completely into two cups. Like two boxers crossing their gloves, they solemnly knocked their cups together.
"One more thing, King of Babylonia. My last summation to you."
"Permitted. State it."
His goblet still raised, wearing a serious face while some rascally naivete remained in his gaze, Alexander began.
"For example, if my Ionion Hetairoi was equipped by your Gate of Babylon, it would undoubtedly become the most powerful army. Even that President of the West wouldn't be more than a break of wind."
"Hm. And?"
"Once again, will you not be my ally? If we join together, we can surely conquer as far as the ends of the stars."
Hearing this, the King of Heroes, as though he had heard some very satisfying satire, laughed out loud without a care.
"How deeply amusing you are. It has been a long time since I have laughed this much at something other than a jester's foolish nonsense."
Even as he laughed, his ruthless dreadfulness did not weaken in the slightest. Perhaps killing intent and great delight held roughly the same meaning to this golden ruler.
"It is unfortunate, but I do not require a second friend. Past and future, my companion will only be one - and there need not be two kingly ones."
At such a resolute response, the King of Conquerors simply nodded quietly without showing his dejection.
"That is a high and lonely kingship. I shall challenge that unshakable state of affairs with great admiration."
"Good. Display yourself to your heart's desire, King of Conquerors. You are a foe worthy of my judgment."
The two Kings gulped down their last drink together, disposed of the emptied cups, and turned back on their heels. Without turning around again, the two each returned to the bridgehead they came from.
Waver, who had watched over their last toast with a tense expression, went to meet the King's return with a sigh.
"Do you two actually get along?"
"Well, we'll be killing each other now. Or he could be the last opponent in my entire life that I will exchange glances with. I can't be ungrateful."
"... Don't be stupid."
Waver countered Alexander's joking tone with a stifled voice.
"There's no way you can be killed. I won't accept that. Did you forget my Command Seals?"
"That's right - yeah, that's it."
With an intrepid smile, Rider once again straddled the back of the waiting Bucephalus and unsheathed the sword affixed to his hip.
"Gather, my brethren! Tonight, we shall mark our gallant figures into the strongest legend!"
A wind of hot sand blew onto the bridge as though responding to the King's call and scattered the mist from the river.
The thoughts of the Heroic Spirits who had once seen the same dream as the King, drawn from beyond time and space, now came together and wove around the sword of the Cypriots.
A boundless blue sky. A horizon, blurred by the heat haze, that all would gaze at with a single heart in order to ascertain its very end.
The mental images of the brave ones who crossed time to seek the battlefield eroded even reality and turned the uninhabited great bridge into a great plain with a raging whirlwind.
And one by one, the Heroic Spirits hastened to the stage of the decisive battle they were ordered to.
"Ahh......"
This was the second time Waver had seen the spectacle of the arrayed Ionion Hetairoi in their magnificence. Even though it was no longer something to be shocked by, now that he knew the meaning of this ultimate Noble Phantasm which actualized the kingship of Alexander, he was overwhelmed by a sense of awe even greater than the first time.
The shining elites of the cavalry - the bond of lord and servant they had formed with the King of Conquerors once upon a time could overcome even the separation of life and the afterlife.
There was no place where their battlefield, sublimed into eternity, could not be actualized. If the King of Conquerors would again set forth in tyranny, then no matter where he was, his servants would hasten to him.
That was the pride of being together with the King.
The joy of being able to battle together, of their hot surging blood.
"Our enemy is the King of Heroes, mightier than tens of thousands - an opponent lacking in no regard! Come, heroic warriors, show the original Heroic Spirit the way of our tyranny!"
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh - !!!"
At Alexander's roar, the cheers of the arrayed troops rose into the air.
Only the solitary Archer was before them, confronting the great host which boiled like the high seas, but he did not show a speck of dismay and simply stood, imposingly blocking their path. His appearance, painted in gold, was like a single arduous towering peak. The air of intimidation was unmistakably unprecedented, precisely what would come from a demigod Heroic Spirit.
"Come, lord of the vanquishers. Now you shall know the true form of a King......"
At the boldly boasting King of Heroes, the host of Heroic Spirits, led by the heroic horse Bucephalus, finally charged in a wedge formation.
Rider bellowed as he spearheaded the vanguard. Answering his roar, the knights released a battle cry. To the surging waves and harsh thundering songs, Waver added his own small voice with all his might.
"AAAALaLaLaLaie!!"
-03:59:48
At that moment, Saber was wandering aimlessly around eastern Shinto in search of Irisviel. Naturally, she too noticed the smoke signal sent out at Fuyuki Municipal Hall.
Though she did not understand the significance of the signal, it undoubtedly had something to do with the Heaven’s Feel. Like one critically ill who would turn to any doctor, as if grasping a lifeline, Saber immediately turned the vehicle and sped in the direction of the smoke signal's flare.
Saber, who did not need to cross the Mion River to reach her destination, was not attacked by Archer who was guarding the bridge, and arrived first at the Fuyuki Municipal Hall.
Saber drove the V-MAX through the silent night scene; revving the V-type four-cylinder engine, she drove into the front porch, the walls of which still looked new.
There was no sign of the enemy in sight, and neither could she sense any killing intent hidden in the darkness. In that case — was the enemy hiding within the building?
Saber gazed for a moment at the pitch-black area near the outer wall of the Municipal Hall, turning the V-MAX around to the guiding road designated for visitors. She followed the sloping path that extended below the building and entered the underground parking area.
In the underground area where the moonlight could not reach, the white light of the headlights cut through the darkness to shine on the icy cement wall. The wide car park, designed to accommodate more than a hundred cars, had not yet been opened for use; only several cars from the construction company were parked here and there; the rest of the empty space was heavy with dusty air.
The rough roar of the V-MAX’s engine was also swallowed up in an instant by the strange, crypt-like silence. Saber warily glanced at her surroundings. All around her was dense darkness, the shadows of the support pillars that had been built all over the place… Extremely suitable for the enemy to hide his form. More importantly, her instinct felt the murderous intent that almost saturated the air.
“Ah…”
From the floor came a resentful sigh; it sounded like the groaning of the dead from a dark abyss.
Saber could not have heard this sound wrongly, for she had many times been its target—
“URRRRRR!!”
She immediately reacted to the explosion that closely followed the roar.
Saber twisted and retreated quickly. In the spot she had just been, the V-MAX left behind was surrounded by fire that splashed like rain. In just one instant, her beloved steel steed was turned into a shapeless heap of scrap. The gunpowder scent of burning reached Saber’s nose.
“This weapon is—“
Saber had an impression of it. This was the rain of fire that had turned Lancer’s Master and the rest—all who had fallen terribly victim to Emiya Kiritsugu’s calculations—into pitiful corpses. It was the mechanized shooting weapon that had become mainstream in this modern world.
In the depths of the darkness, red lotuses of flame blossomed once more. Under the firelight that shone from the muzzle of the gun, the black shadow of Berserker lengthened to a state of deformity as it gestured threateningly on the walls of the underground parking area. Without the slightest hesitation, Saber leaped into the air, dashing out through a baptism of flying lead bullets. The stray bullets of unimaginably destructive power tore open a large hole in the cement of the ground and walls. That power obviously could not be spoken of in tandem with the weapon that Maiya had used. Saber sensed that even though she was a Servant, if she were hit she would be fatally wounded; she gnashed her teeth in anger.
Of course, she could not have known the process by which Berserker had obtained the small machine guns. Both of the crazed black knight’s hands held a modern firearm that Kotomine Kirei had prepared using the power of his position as Supervisor; Berserker nimbly and freely operated them as if they were extensions of his own hands. The firearms’ structure and holster were all immersed in the hated prana, and had turned into fierce magecraft military equipment that could threaten even Saber.
“▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅！”
The two machine guns were not in any way inferior to the black knight’s angry howl; screeching hotly, they attacked Saber. The bullets, faster than the speed of sound, were still unable to surpass the speed of Saber’s sword. Nevertheless, the speed of twenty-odd bullets per second left her only able to parry.
Berserker could confer the properties of a Noble Phantasm on the weapon in his hand, regardless of its origin or time period. Once it had been upgraded to the category of Noble Phantasm, the difference in power between the two weapon types of ‘sword’ and ‘firearm’ forced Saber into a decisively disadvantageous situation.
Because the building's construction was not yet finished, a large number of paint cans were piled in one corner of the parking lot. One of the stray bullets struck them, and the calcined bullet caused the solvent to explode. The underground darkness was dissipated by red lotuses of flame.
Saber was so restricted by the curtain of bullets that she could not close in; she looked around in search of a method by which she could return from certain defeat. Then, she saw a small truck parked in a lot at the corner of the car park.
“— That’s it!”
Accepting the risk that she could be forced into the corner with no route of retreat, Saber dashed toward the vehicle she had set her eyes on. Berserker pursued her as she fled, at the same time shooting at random with the firearms in his hands. Saber made a ferocious step that narrowly preceded the howling bullets, dashing to the back of the truck. She brandished the flat of her blade upward, flinging the structure of the vehicle into the air.
At that point, the rain of bullets targeting Saber crumpled the truck as if it had been a paper model. Saber continued to hide behind the structure of the truck, pieces of which had been scattered all over, using her shoulder to halt the rotating chassis. In this manner, she dashed toward Berserker.
Berserker continued to shoot, using the machine gun to mercilessly smash the structure of the truck to iron chips. Even though the heavy frame of the truck quickly met its disintegrated fate, from Saber’s perspective, as long as the ‘temporary shield’ could close the distance and bring Berserker into proximity of her sword’s attack, it would be enough.
“Uaoaoaoao!”
The bullets, which had penetrated the structure of the truck, grazed her face and shoulders. One bullet sent sparks flying in all directions as it impacted the oil tank, combusting the fuel inside. The structure of the vehicle, already unrecognizable, was consigned to the flames. Nevertheless, even this did not stop the pace of Saber’s attack.
When the distance to the adversary had closed to less than ten meters, Saber picked an opportune moment to throw the wreckage of the truck toward Berserker. Facing the flaming iron scrap, Berserker not only declined to dodge, but also brought up a single hand in the attempt to smash it with one fist.
— The time was ripe.
“Ha-a!!”
With a great shout, Saber once again pressed in on the burning structure of the truck with the thunderous speed of lightning, using all her strength to drive her attack downward. The precious sword pierced the burning piece of iron that had been used as a distraction; the point of the sword closed in on Berserker on the other side.
Blocked by the obstacle, Berserker was completely unable to see Saber’s actions, and thus had no way of avoiding this attack. In the third clash of blades, Saber finally scored a hit on the enemy in one blow. From the point of her sword, a sense of having scored a direct hit traveled up to her hand.
But—
“— Too shallow!?”
On Saber’s side, because of the blocking shield, she too could not directly see her target. Even though she had indeed scored a hit on the other by relying on her intuition to attack, she had ultimately not been lucky enough to score a critical hit in that blow. The front part of Invisible Air, though it had accurately made contact with the center of the forehead of the black helmet, it had been unable to smash the skull inside.
The outside of the truck was subject to a heavy rain of bullets, and its inside had been pierced by a sword; this time it finally broke into two pieces. Although Berserker had not received a fatal wound, the fierce attack to his face made him stagger backward and left him unable to recover for a short moment. That was time enough for a follow-up attack. Now the scales of victory were tipped toward Saber.
Saber kicked aside the burning vehicle wreckage and lifted her sword high into an upward stance. This time, she would definitely not let him off. She aimed at the top of Berserker’s defenseless head and gambled victory on the following direct attack.
The stance, speed, and timing were all perfect. It was a strike worthy of the name of the sword-wielding Heroic Spirit, enough to make one believe that the outcome had been decided—precisely for this reason, the instant when Saber’s sword was stopped in midair was especially surprising.
Berserker threw away the machine guns, trapping the blade of Invisible Air between his bare hands before her eyes. That consummate skill was unbelievable on two counts: the first was that he had used an impossible stance to respond to Saber’s follow-up killing blow, and the second was that he had done so even though it was impossible to perceive the path of Invisible Air. But the Black Knight had grabbed the white blade with his bare hands to seal Saber’s attack as if he had known every detail of Saber’s sword, from the shape to the length, like the back of his hand.
Saber suddenly realized the fatal danger of having Berserker come into contact with her weapon; she shuddered violently. She banished the astonishment of her heart to the back of her mind and used all her strength to kick out towards the black knight’s chest. Berserker, who could not take the blow and was forced to retreat, released the precious sword, allowing Saber’s beloved weapon to narrowly escape the danger of being corroded by the other’s black magic.
The sprinklers on the ceiling at last reacted to the flames spreading all around; they began to violently spray curtains of water. Even though their bodies were exposed to torrential pour of water, the silver and black knights still did not move in the slightest as they confronted each other.
In Saber’s heart again rushed forth a question that could not be overlooked.
The deceptive illusion of Invisible Air had been ineffective against Berserker. He was obviously very familiar with the sword protected by an invisible sheath. In other words, that meant that he had originally known her before she had become a Heroic Spirit.
At the warehouse district and Mion River, this black knight had shown an abnormal persistence in attacking Saber. If his actions had not been under his Master’s instructions, but this insane Heroic Spirit’s own hatred…
The more she stared at the black fog, the more indistinct the details of the armor became. This indicated that around Berserker’s body was twined a delusive protection similar to Invisible Air, making it impossible to see the true face of this Heroic Spirit. But at this point Saber could not but believe — he was undoubtedly one of the knights who had known her.
“… Your skill says that you are by no means an anonymous knight. Answer me!”
Saber made up her mind and cried out loudly to the enemy she confronted through the mist.
“Since you have recognized that I am the King of Britain Arturia Pendragon and challenged me as such, you should make known your background with the glory befitting a knight! To issue a challenge while hiding your identity is akin to plotting against me!”
The patter of water, like a heavy downpour of rain, was slowly penetrated by a clear clatter — ka-da-ka-da — of metal. Though it was very slight, the sound that permeated the ears chilled her soul; undoubtedly, it came from Berserker — under the cover of the black mist, his full-body armor was trembling.
That was the gentle sound of the armor that completely covered his limbs as the pieces rippled softly and knocked against each other.
“You…”
Saber finally discovered the source of the strange sound, like a sigh or a groan, crawling across the ground.
That grinding, sobbing noise originated from the depths of the black helmet. Berserker’s entire body shuddered, revealing an emotion that could not be suppressed.
Laughter — when Saber understood it thus, an unspeakable shudder ran through her body.
Lacking sound logic or proof, with only her sixth sense as guidance, she realized one thing: her previous interrogation had been a fatal mistake.
It was a pity that she had realized it too late. The words that would have summoned to her the worst possible curse had long since been spoken through her own lips.
The black fog painting the black knight’s entire body began to swirl and contract. Within the rushing mist, the pitch-black armor finally revealed its true colors.
It was perfect armor that was neither exquisite nor crude, but which perfectly melded magnificence and functionality.
The delicate, nuanced workmanship of a smith who had put in his utmost effort succeeded in granting it an air of formidability and fine construction. The countless marks and scratches etched into it became carvings highlighting the wearer’s illustrious military exploits, adding a touch of valor to the armour. It was an ideal battle outfit that all knights could not help but envy.
Saber recognized the hero that had once worn that armor to ride forth on the battlefield. At the Round Table of Camelot he had been an unrivaled swordsman more radiant than any other; he had been a knight more excellent and a warrior more loyal, more brave than any other.
“You are— how could—“
She wished that she had seen wrongly. He was the ideal incarnation embodying the true face of a ‘knight’. That illustrious appearance could not have become the pitch-black form corroded by the Mad Enhancement curse.
The black knight laughed sinisterly as if mocking Saber’s thoughts, reaching for the hilt of the precious sword in its scabbard. That sword had neither been picked up nor stolen. This Heroic Spirit who had been hiding his name all along was finally revealing his own Noble Phantasm.
Saber could only watch on helplessly as he slowly drew the precious sword from its scabbard.
She could not have been wrong; the design of the sword was the same as that of her own, and the fairy letters carved into it was proof that it had not been forged by mortal hands. The flash of the sharp blade under the moonlight was like the water of the lake as it shone with radiance. That was a limitless sword that would not be damaged regardless of the attack it had received.
Only he who was exalted as ‘the perfect knight’ was worthy of having that sword; its name was also known as ‘Arondight • The Indestructible Light of the Lake’ — that evidence spoke the bearer’s name even more clearly than if he had said it himself.
“… Ar… thur…”
The vengeful cry reverberated within the black helmet. With this one vibration, the mask that had already cracked under Saber’s previous blow now shattered.
From the fractured mask was revealed a blackened face.
Nothing remained of the beautiful visage that had once drawn the admiration of many women. Yesterday’s hatred had made him as gaunt and pallid as a phantom; only his eyes, filled with hatred, gave out light. That was the visage of a living dead man who had lost everything to a curse.
“… Ah…”
Saber felt her knees weaken. The unyielding King of Knights forgot herself in helplessness; as if unable to bear the weight of water droplets raining upon her shoulders and back, she fell to her knees on the wet floor.
— Even those who are heroes will fall so far as to lose even the most basic sense of honor —
In the past, someone had spoken to her thus.
In that case, had the curse started from then?
“… Do you really…”
Saber looked at the figure before her eyes, who had long since lost the distinguished dignity of yesterday and had been thoroughly changed by his descent into the seat of madness; hot tears rushed forth, and she could only question.
“… Do you really hate me so much, my friend…? Even if you have become as such… Do you hate me so much, Knight of the Lake?!”
In that instant, the young girl who always maintained her glory to the very end, who fought for honor to the very last—
That was the instant in which she was defeated.
-03:59:32
In the silence, a repulsive odor of burning assailed his nostrils; it seemed that a fire had broken out somewhere in this large edifice.
Unhurried, Emiya Kiritsugu’s steps were light and decisive as he slowly walked to the center of the empty porch.
He moderately relaxed the muscles of his entire body, not using excessive strength to any area. On the other hand, his nerves reflected the entire situation of the surrounding area, like a mirror more quiet and clear than the surface of a lake sealed in ice, more sensitive than hearing, more distinct than vision, with no blind spots. He had transformed himself into a probe that could instantly sense any slight movement as he strolled through the darkness.
Kotomine Kirei should be somewhere here in the Fuyuki Municipal Hall, awaiting Emiya Kiritsugu’s arrival.
Considering this outcome, the ambush that Kiritsugu had planned had truly been an utter failure. But he felt no regret whatsoever, as he had finally been able to ascertain the true colors of Kotomine Kirei, the enigmatic adversary; this was still considered a large gain. Precisely because Kiritsugu’s many predictions had come to nothing, he had gotten the answer through the process of elimination.
To sum it up, that man had no interest whatsoever in the Grail.
Under ordinary circumstances, all the Masters would battle for the sake of pursuing the Grail. This idea had taken root as a lasting first impression; it had blinded Kiritsugu’s eyes all this time, until today. This was precisely why Kiritsugu had felt uncertainty and a lack of understanding toward Kotomine Kirei’s actions — which had had nothing to do with the Grail.
But tonight, Kiritsugu had clearly seen Kirei’s strategy for the ceremony for the Grail’s descent and discovered that he had been fundamentally wrong.
In using the Fuyuki Municipal Hall as the sacrificial altar, Kirei’s preparation had really not been thorough. This fragile fortress was already lacking as a magecraft stronghold, but he did not take any defensive measures. Even if time had been pressing, he should at least have set up basic traps and protective screens. Furthermore, if there had truly been no time to prepare, then why would he have done something like summoning the other Servants to come forth for a decisive battle? Even taking a hundred steps back, even if he really did know absolutely nothing about defensive magecraft, then why would he choose the one leyline out of the four that was most unsuitable for a defensive battle?
On thinking this, Kiritsugu could only believe — to Kotomine Kirei, the descent of the Grail was of secondary importance. That man had picked the Fuyuki Municipal Hall solely because the chances of being ambushed there were lowest. In comparison to a successful descent of the Grail, he hoped more to gain the most advantageous initiative in the final decisive battle between Masters.
Kotomine Kirei’s goal was not the Grail, but the bloodshed involved in the process of obtaining it. The reason for that could not be investigated, nor did it need investigation. It was enough to have understood who exactly the Executor’s target was.
Kiritsugu slowly gripped the Thompson Contender; feeling the touch of walnut wood under his fingers, he thought of the face he had only ever seen in a photograph.
At this point, even if he tried to pinpoint how and where his path had crossed with that of Kotomine Kirei, it was only a hollow attempt. Kiritsugu’s life had not sailed so smoothly as for him to assert that he had never made an enemy of someone. That he was an outsider who had gatecrashed the Heaven’s Feel solely due to a personal feud with Kiritsugu — this possibility could only be eliminated due to reasons of probability. Though there was only a very small chance that an outsider could have lasted to the very end of the Heaven’s Feel, as well as directed a farce that had changed the direction in which the Grail had progressed—the reality was before his eyes, and Kiritsugu could only accept it as the truth.
Emiya Kiritsugu had never sought the truth nor answer to things. To him, only the ‘situation’ had ever been worthy of concern.
He had merely vowed in his heart that he would save more people. There was no distinction between the lives that were saved. The balance that measured sacrifice and salvation had nothing to do with reason or circumstance. Thus was his existence. He would certainly not be foolish enough to inquire as to the significance of his actions.
Therefore — in Kiritsugu’s heart, none whatsoever remained of the fear and sense of crisis that he had previously felt towards Kotomine Kirei.
From the starting point of knowing what his motives were, that man had fallen to become a simple obstacle that hindered Kiritsugu’s progress. No matter how strong an enemy the other was, as long as Kiritsugu was sure that it was someone he must challenge, that person was no longer one for which he would feel anything. There was no fear, no hatred, neither underestimation nor compassion; he considered only one thing: elimination. That was the only function that Kiritsugu gave himself as a killing machine.
The large auditorium that comprised the first to third floor could be said to be the key area of Fuyuki Municipal Hall. Kirei placed the corpse of the dead homunculus on the stage - which, having been completely renovated, was waiting only for the first performance.
In its soft abdominal cavity, a foreign object could definitely be felt. It was likely that the Grail that had been mixed in with the organs was now regaining its original form. Though Kirei could now cut open the abdominal cavity and remove it, he was not anxious to do so. When one more Servant’s soul was reclaimed, the outer covering should automatically collapse and reveal the Grail. He had only to wait.
Archer was confronting Rider at the bridge; Berserker was blocking Saber at the underground parking garage. Everything was running smoothly. Now there was no one to disturb Kirei.
He left the auditorium and arrived at the corridor. Instantly, the black smoke that suffused the air assailed his nostrils. The origin of the fire should be the underground battlefield. From the density of the smell, the fire had already spread to the different areas of the structure. But all the wire connections to the outside, including the fire alarm, had already been cut off; as long as the fire did not spread outside the structure, it would not be discovered by the nearby residents.
With every step he took, his mood became more passionate; the holy words of benediction could not help but spill from his lips.
“He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me—“
He was here. Now he was sure to meet with him.
Emiya Kiritsugu was nearby. Just as Kirei desired his arrival, so did he search for Kirei.
The flames had dispersed the darkness, flickering and dancing in various areas of the corridor. Warm air caressed Kirei’s face, but he did not care. The tide of blood that roiled in his heart burned even hotter than the flames.
Now, Kirei felt blessed for the first time. The God who had never blessed him before in his life had finally given him a revelation.
What he pursued was this catharsis of hatred, this joy of the fight.
“— Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life—“
The tongues of flame followed the walls up to the ceiling, turning into signposts showing the way to Hell in invitation to the two men.
They advanced silently, high-spiritedly, without hesitation, toward the place of the decisive battle.
Thus, they met one level below ground - the storage space for large props directly beneath the stage.
At the other end which roiled with black smoke, Emiya Kiritsugu saw the slender figure clothed in vestments.
At the other end which roiled with hot air, Kotomine Kirei saw the black overcoat of his mortal enemy.
The radiance of the Black Keys in his hand reflected the brightness of the barrel of the magecraft gun.
They both perceived the killing intent; they had long come to realize that blazing sensation.
So there was no further need for words for communication.
They finally looked directly upon each other with their own eyes; they came to the same conclusion at the same time.
Seven Masters. Seven Servants. All that was merely what could be called the ‘situation’.
To Emiya Kiritsugu, this war was—
To Kotomine Kirei, the entire battlefield of Fuyuki was—
Everything of everything existed for the sake of bringing down the enemy before them.
Within the raging flames, the blades were moving.
Three in his left, three in his right, the Executor pulled out a total of six Black Keys and sprinted forth.
The sight of the assassin’s gun trained on the shadow that closed in with the wind.
At this moment and in this place, the curtains opened soundlessly upon the final showdown.
-03:59:04
The earth rumbled and clouds of sand were blown up as Ionian Hetairoi approached -
Even before such an overwhelming spectacle, the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh did not move in the slightest.
The only thing dwelling in those red eyes gazing at the magnificence was complete blood-colored joy. It was a feeling beyond the bounds of mundanity, known only to the king who had completely exhausted all the pleasures of this world.
In truth, Archer was pleased.
He was tired of how he would be invited till the end of time, repeatedly, to farces that were battles in name only. And now, he had finally obtained an opponent he could recognize as an 'enemy'.
A challenge from that Rider was worth using his full strength to gain supremacy.
"Lashing dreams together and aspiring for tyranny... I will praise your enthusiasm. But brave soldiers, have any of you discerned it? The truth, that a dream is something you ought to wake up from before long."
Archer, with the key sword in hand, unlocked the vault from thin air. However, he did not deploy Gate of Babylon. What he took out was only a single sword.
"And thus, it was inevitable that I would be the one to block your path, King of Conquerors."
- Could it really be called something as specialized as a 'sword'?
It was a weapon of far too abnormal a shape. There was a grip and a hand guard, and its length was about that of a longsword. But the crucial section where the 'blade' should have been assigned deviated far too much from the form of an edged weapon. It was a dull blade with a pillar made of three sections lined up, and a tip which spun in a spiral shape. The three pillar sections were like querns, slowly continuing to rotate in alternation.
Yes, it was no longer a sword. Something born before the appearance of the concept that this world called a "sword" can't possibly have the shape of a known sword. It was something constructed by a God before humans. It was the actualization of the works of a God recorded at the beginning of the world.
The three quern-like cylinders, acting in concert with the movement of the Heavens, revolved as each creaked with a weight and power equivalent to tectonic movement. The enormous amount of seething and overflowing prana was beyond measurement.
"Now, know the conclusion of your unfulfilled dream. The truth shall be shown by my own hand."
Archer held his hand high above his head, and the sword of the beginning gradually increased the speed of its revolutions. Faster with each rotation, ever faster...
Rider, who perceived the threat simply through instinct, pressed on Bucephalus' reins.
"It's coming!"
He yielded the first move to Archer. That was fine. Even though he yielded it, it was just one blow. Ionian Hetairoi would trample that lonely golden shadow without waiting for the next.
That being the case, he had to devote himself to overcoming that one blow. Archer boasted incomparable Noble Phantasms; this was unmistakably a trump card only for when, in his own way, he believed the time was ripe.
Was it an anti-army Noble Phantasm?
An anti-fortress Noble Phantasm?
Or it could be an anti-personnel Noble Phantasm, and what he truly intended was to shoot only at Rider, at the head of the army, bringing him down with certainty...
It rumbled as a tornado roared, and an enormous amount of prana surged forth from the grip of Archer's sword.
"Now awake, Ea. A stage befitting you has been prepared!"
Ea - the God of earth and water from ancient Mesopotamian mythology who had separated Heaven and Earth.
Called by this name, the Sword of Rupture was the primordial sword present at the creation of the world in the Age of Gods. The role the blade of the beginning accomplished - it was nothing short of that which had cut apart what had been shapeless into Heaven and Earth, what had given a definitive shape to that distinction.
And now, the rotating God sword, haughtily blowing up storm winds, would once again perform that miracle of genesis. The golden King of Heroes triumphantly shouted a declaration.
"Come now and look up - to Enuma Elish!"
Heaven screamed, and Earth shook.
An enormous collection of prana was released, grinding at the laws of space.
The sword tip Archer swung down was not aimed at anyone in the first place.
It was no longer a matter of aiming at anyone. What the Sword of Rupture's blade cuts down cannot be contained to simply 'the enemy'.
Rider, driving his horse hard, saw before his eyes the fracturing of the earth, and the opening of an abyss.
"Hmn?!"
He had observed the danger that was slowly occurring at his feet, but the momentum of the charging Bucephalus could no longer be repressed.
"Hii - "
The fate of falling could no longer be avoided; Waver stifled his scream. But of course, the horse and rider carrying him right now were not the kind to be daunted by a danger of this level.
"Haa - !"
Responding to Rider's reins, the heroic horse flew high into the sky with a kick of its splendid hind legs.
It was a bloodcurdling leap and glide. But sure enough, at the end of that single instant which seemed endless to Waver, what Bucephalus landed on was firm ground on the opposite side of the fissure.
However, before he had time to feel relieved, Waver paled at the horrific state of the following cavalry.
The brigade of King's Guards, not having legs as strong as Bucephalus', could not completely cross the rupture in the earth, and fell helplessly into the abyss like an avalanche. The warhorses of the ranks further back braked at the very brink and were saved from the miserable fate of the fall; however, it was yet nothing more than the beginning of the tragedy.
"Boy, hold on!"
Reprimanding him, Rider grabbed onto Waver while clinging to Bucephalus' mane.
In the time it took the heroic horse to sense the danger and jump back to a safe zone, the fissure expanded further in width, swallowing the surrounding earth and the knights.
No - it wasn't only the earth. The cracks stretched out from the surface to empty air, distorting space and sucking in the atmosphere. The entirety of their surroundings were blown into the end of the void by a surging wind.
"T-This is..."
It was such a scene that even the King of Conquerors was at a loss for words.
The Sword of Rupture commanded by the King of Heroes - what its single strike bore through was not only the earth, but the world itself, stretching to the sky. The attack was not even something to be discussed as a matter of whether it hit, or whether its force was advisable. Soldiers, horses, the dust, the sky - nearly everything that used the cut space as a foundation was swallowed and disappeared into the surging void.
Bucephalus planted his hooves firm with all his strength and resisted the atmospheric pressure of the vacuum; even as this happened, the great plain of hot sand woven by Ionian Hetairoi cracked, shattered, and collapsed into the abyss of the void like the ending of an hourglass.
Before that one blade was swung, all things were nothing more than chaos which could not form any meaning -
After that one blade was swung, a new truth divided and distinguished Heaven, Sea, and Earth.
The released tumult of genesis was no longer in the realm of an anti-fortress Noble Phantasm. It was an irregularity that broke down not only that which possessed shape, but all of creation. That was the true form of the anti-world Noble Phantasm that made the King of Heroes transcendent.
Heaven fell, Earth broke; within the darkness where everything returned to nothingness, only Archer's Sword of Rupture shone with brilliance. The dazzling light continued to complete the destruction, like a star of creation, the first thing illuminating the new world.
Rider and Waver could not ascertain all of this to the end. To begin with, the Reality Marble they were in was maintained by the total prana of the summoned Heroic Spirits. Before the world itself disappeared, the bounded field broke apart at the seams once over half of the army had been lost, and the distorted laws of space once again returned to the way they had been.
And so, as though awakening from a dream, Bucephalus, carrying the two of them, landed on the great bridge of nighttime Fuyuki.
On the opposite bridgehead the golden Archer stood, blocking their path with a bewitching smile. The location of the two did not change; it was as though time had rewinded back to the outset of the battle.
The only change that could be seen was the existence of the Sword of Rupture in Archer's hand, which was still twisting and growling even now.
And the fatal change that could not be seen - the disappearance of Ionian Hetairoi, Rider's trump card.
"Rider..."
The giant Servant, with a serious and dignified face, posed a question to his Master, looking up to him with a pallid expression.
"Come to think of it, there's one thing that I have to ask you."
"... Huh?"
"Waver Velvet. Would you be a servant, and serve me?"
His entire body shook with violent emotions. Then, like the bursting of a dam, floods of tears poured out.
It was a question that he knew would always be out of his reach, and yet one he had been yearning and anxiously waiting for. There was no need to search for a reply; it was because he had already prepared one, hidden deep in his heart like a treasure.
"You - "
The boy, called by his name for the first time, threw out his chest without wiping away his tears, and replied with a steady voice.
" - You, are my King. I will serve you. I will give my all for you. Please, guide me. Please let me see the same dream."
The king of tyranny smiled at the words of oath. To his servant, that smile was a reward surpassing any prize.
"Hm, very well."
As soon as his heart was enveloped by the uplifting joy - Waver's body was truly lifted into space.
"... Huh?"
The King picked up the boy's short body from the back of Bucephalus, and gently lowered him onto the surface of the asphalt road. Having lost the elevation from atop the horse and returned to the vision of his original height, Waver felt nothing but bewilderment at once again savoring his shortness and smallness.
"It is my duty as the King to exemplify the dream. And it is your duty as the servant to ascertain the dream of the King, and pass it down to later generations."
Upon a saddle so very high that his shaking hand could no longer reach it, the King of Conquerors smiled firmly but brightly as he passed down his royal command.
"Live on, Waver. See everything through to the end, live long, and tell it; the nature of your King; the spirit of this Alexander."
Bucephalus neighed, beating his hooves as though in encouragement - but in the end, was it for the King who would now face his death, or the servant who was entrusted with a difficult charge?
Waver hung his head, and did not raise it. Alexander took that as consent. There was no need for words. From this day until the end of time, the servant would be guided by the figure of the King, and the servant would remain loyal to that memory. In the face of the oath, even separation was meaningless; under the command of Alexander, the bond formed between King and servant was eternal and beyond time.
"Now, Bucephalus, to conquest!"
And so, the King of Conquerors kicked the flanks of his beloved horse, and went off to face his last sprint. Aiming for the bitter enemy waiting for him, he let out a screaming war cry.
He was a strategist. He acknowledged fully the indisputable flow of battle. But 'that' was different from 'this'. The King of Conquerors Alexander could not think of any other prescription other than charging toward the golden Heroic Spirit.
There was no resignation. There was no despair. What was there was only the utter excitement bursting full from his heart.
Strong - he was too strong. The hero who tore apart the world itself was undoubtedly the strongest enemy in Heaven and Earth.
In that case, this man was the last enemy.
He was higher than the peak of the Hindu Kush, hotter than the hot sands of the Mackran - he was the last obstacle in this world. And so, how could the King of Conquerors not challenge it? If he can surpass this, what lay beyond was surely the ends of the world. The faraway dream he had always been seeing was waiting to be fulfilled right now, before his eyes.
"To Philotimo" - he challenged it because it was unreachable; he expressed his tyranny, exemplified it, for the sake of the servant who watched over his back.
The King of Heroes, towering over his path, calmly gazed at the challenger, and released the treasures of the vault. Twenty, forty, eighty - a swarm of Noble Phantasms deployed from thin air, shining like so many glittering stars. That light made the King of Conquerors reminiscent of the starry sky of the East far off in the distance that he would look up to.
"AAAALaLaLaLaie!!"
Bellowing with a delight that shook his heart, he rushed on together with his beloved horse.
With haughty growls, the rain of stars approached. Incessantly, mercilessly, the impacts trampled over their bodies. However, that pain was nothing more than a worthless trifle compared to the excitement of this sprint.
There were times when he had succumbed to that sort of faint-heartedness - and yet was not about to reach 'the furthest end'. How foolish. What a disgrace.
The 'end' he had been seeking was now towering over his path. Having crossed countless hills, forded countless rivers, he finally discovered the ending point.
Thus, he would surpass it.
He would step across that enemy.
One step, and one step further. The only thing he had to do was simply repeat that. If he continued to accumulate it, then even that figure far in the distance would most surely be reached by his blade.
The swarm of stars poured on boisterously. In his fury where even his consciousness was prone to recede, his posture inadvertently and carelessly began to decline.
Then he realized that, at some point, he had started running on his own feet. How far did his beloved horse Bucephalus reach? Where did he end? He wanted to mourn for his friend, who had boldly carried out his duty to the end, but that was why he could not stop now. This step he would now take forward was in itself the mourning for those who were scattered.
His golden rival, as though understanding this, said something with an expression of amazement. But he could not hear him. Not even the flashes of light grazing past his ears, with the sounds of violent winds, could reach his ears.
What he heard, was simply - the sound of the waves.
The sound of the waves breaking onto the remote empty shores - of the sea at the world's end.
Aah, that was it. With a bright feeling, he understood it.
How had he not recognized it during all this time? - This violent throbbing of his heart was the roaring of Oceanus.
"Hahah... AHAHAHAHA!"
He saw his dream as he ran on the beach. The sensation of the sprays he kicked up felt pleasant on his toes. The bright red soaking his feet might be the blood flowing from his own abdomen, but what of it? Right now, he was watching a dream of the sea. How could there be any greater bliss?
The King of Heroes awaited him, right before his very eyes. One more step - and then, just one more, and his sword, brandished high, could cleave apart the crown of his head.
"Haaaah - !!"
With a ringing victory cry that reached the Heavens, he swung down the sword of the Cypriots.
It was the peak of a moment when he was convinced of his victory. The instant that should have passed in the blink of an eye seemed, for some reason, to stretch into an eternity. It was as though time stood still -
No. In truth, it did stop - not the flow of time, but his own body.
Just before the swung sword could reach, his blade, his limbs, his shoulders, and his abdomen were wrapped around by a tough chain; the King of Conquerors sighed.
Enkidu - the secret among secrets contained in the King of Heroes' vault. The restraint that captured even the Bull of Heaven.
" - Good grief... All these oddities, one after another..."
There was no wonder or regret. He simply derided himself for finally tripping over a small careless mistake. A bitter smile rose from his bloodstained lips.
The sword of the Cypriots could not reach him; however, Gilgamesh's Sword of Rupture pierced through Alexander's chest with its dull tip. He could feel the sensation of the slowly grinding blade inside his vitals. This sword just becomes more and more absurd - the King of Conquerors felt amazement as well as admiration, as though this was the affair of another.
" - Have you awoken from your dream, King of Conquerors?"
"... Hm, yes. I suppose..."
It could not be carried out this time, either. It had ended with the unfulfilled dream remaining as it was - unfulfilled. However, now that he thought about it, that was a one-time dream he had wagered his life for in the past.
The fantastic dream he saw in Asia Minor in the remote past - now, in this Far East land, he was once again seeing the same dream.
Thinking nostalgically on such checkered circumstances, Alexander smiled.
If he could see the same dream for even a second time, then it would not be strange to have a third.
Which would mean -
It was nearly the right time to see the next dream.
"This expedition has, been... exciting, in all respects as well..."
Alexander murmured in satisfaction, narrowing the corners of his eyes which were blurred by a blood haze. Ascertaining his expression of rapture, Gilgamesh solemnly nodded.
"You may challenge it however many times you wish, King of Conquerors."
To his worthy opponent, whose entire body was skewered from head to toe by the rain of Noble Phantasms, yet who did not stop until thwarted by the Chain of Heaven, the King of Heroes gave his greatest reward - he honored him with true feelings of admiration.
"Until the end of time, this world will always be my garden. Thus, I can assure you. You shall never find this world tiresome."
"Ooh...? That's, good to, hear..."
In the end, carelessly giving out the appropriate response, Servant Rider was quietly extinguished.
In terms of time, it was merely a short battle. It was nothing more than an offense and defense that barely filled the few seconds it took for the mounted Heroic Spirit to gallop across to the opposite bridgehead.
However, it was equivalent to a lifetime to Waver, who had it all burned into his eyes without blinking once.
He wouldn't ever forget it. Even if a lid was closed over his heart, he couldn't possibly forget. The scene his eyes caught in the last few seconds had already become a part of his soul and was impossible to detach.
Waver simply stood rooted to the ground, alone where he was left behind on the road, unable to move in the slightest. He repeatedly acknowledged that he must move, but he felt that if he tried to walk a single step he would collapse onto his knees.
However, he absolutely could not kneel down now.
The golden Archer, gazing at Waver with his brutal blood-colored eyes, slowly walked up to him. He must not avert his eyes. Even though his entire body was frozen with terror, he at least understood that. He would not survive if he averted his eyes now.
The boy shook with fear he did not attempt to hide, yet he stubbornly did not avert his eyes; Archer stood before him, and posed a question in a voice completely devoid of emotion.
"Boy, are you Rider's Master?"
He had thought that he couldn't possibly speak from a throat frozen by terror, but just as he was asked about his relationship with 'him', he was released from his stiffness for a short moment. Waver shook his head, and replied in a hoarse voice.
"No. I'm - his servant."
"Hmn?"
Archer narrowed his eyes, looked all over Waver in his entirety, and finally noticed that no place on his body conveyed the presence of the command seals.
" - I see. But boy, if you truly are a loyal subject, you have a duty to take revenge for your deceased King, do you not?"
Even with the second question, Waver answered with a strangely calm heart.
"... If I challenge you, I would die."
"Of course."
"I can't do that. I was ordered to live."
Yes - he couldn't die. Not now, when the last words entrusted to him by the King were engraved into his heart.
Waver must escape from this dilemma no matter what. He was before an enemy Servant and had no way to defend himself; even though it was a desperate situation where nothing could be done - the one thing he definitely could not do was give up. He could not ignore the way he had made the oath.
And that was perhaps a pain far more cruel than resigning himself to death.
The boy shook helplessly before the death he could not escape from, but his gaze alone made his adamance known. Looking down wordlessly on that too-small stature for a short while, Gilgamesh simply nodded once.
"The path of devotion is a great labor. Do not ever mar it."
He had no reason to raise his hand against a mongrel who was neither Master nor traitor. That was his decision as the King.
Waver watched his departure as the golden Heroic Spirit turned on his heels and calmly walked away. Before long, the figure was gone from his sight, and a cold wind blowing across the river completely scattered the air of battle that had been stretched out the entire time; afterward, the lone boy realized that he had been left behind in the night, and finally understood that everything had ended.
His knees shook again at the miracle that was his survival.
Right before Archer changed his mind, he had truly had the intent to kill Waver. The killing intent he released as naturally as breathing had wordlessly announced that. Had Waver averted his eyes, or collapsed with fear, or choked in his reply, that would have truly happened.
If one was to sneer at how he had only begged for his life, then one simply did not know of the remorselessness of the King of Heroes. Simply being alive after resisting his terror was a conflict, and a victory. It was the first time Waver Velvet had gained a victory in a challenge by himself.
It was an unsightly and very small battle. It was far from brave, or spectacular. No one yielded to him, and he obtained no plunder. The only thing he did was survive and escape from a dilemma.
Even so, Waver was happy. He was proud. Only Waver himself could understand how priceless it was for him to arrive at that impossible conclusion under those circumstances. That honor was in him only. Even if it appeared unsightly to an onlooker, there was no reason to feel ashamed.
He complied with the order of the King. He saw everything through to the end, and lived on.
He wanted to be praised. By that massive, heavy palm. By his rough, unreserved, and thick voice. This time, he wouldn't need to hide his embarrassment. He could have thrown out his chest unreservedly and boasted about his accomplishments to the man.
Yet - in this night sunken in silence, Waver was helplessly alone. No one was beside him. Like the him from eleven days ago, Waver was alone, left behind in a heartless and apathetic corner of the world.
The battle was only for him. No one had noticed what he had surpassed by himself in his loneliness. No one was praising him.
But if one were to call it a cruel treatment - then no, it wasn't.
He had been rewarded with more than enough words of praise just now. The grandest King in the world had recognized and assigned him. He was told that he would be added into the ranks of the servants.
The order of events was simply reversed.
He had now been praised for the far future as well; the only thing to do now was to devote all that remained of his life to accumulate enough accomplishments to match that eulogy.
Yes. Simply because of those words at that point in time - he was not alone.
The moment he understood this, his days as a boy was over.
And then he knew it for the first time; sometimes, tears flowed free from humiliation or regret.
Now, on the empty bridge, looking down on the black surface of the flowing river, Waver Velvet wet his cheeks without any regrets.
They were the warm and crisp tears of a man.
-03:55:51
– A woman was crying.
Her beautiful countenance became more ragged by the day with sorrow, and wrinkles of dilemma were etched into the ends of her brows; the woman was silently crying.
She blamed and questioned herself.
She was ashamed beyond measure.
As a sinner who shouldered all the guilt and blame in the world, she could only wet her face day after day with her tears.
Everyone was speaking wicked words of her – an unchaste wife, a traitorous queen.
Those foolish plebeians blinded by the glorious myths did not know the truth, but only surrounded her and reprimanded her all at once.
They did not even know that her husband was not a man.
In this world, only her noble visage made ‘him’ give out his true heart.
However, all ‘he’ could recall were her frustrated and sorrowful tears.
Yes, ‘he’ had hurt her.
Loved her –
Was loved by her –
That was the root of their fall.
Even she must have had discarded everything back then and consigned herself.
An ideal king was needed to save the country ravaged by chaos and war – and a noble and virtuous queen needed to be beside the king. That was the way the monarch was supposed to be in the dreams of the populace.
A woman’s life was so insignificant compared to this grandiose ideal.
Even if the king wasn’t a man, even if this marriage was between two women who hid the true gender of one and could never be consummated, this sacrifice was necessary to protect the country and its greater good.
Even so, ‘he’ still wanted to save her.
The first time ‘he’ had been granted audience in the court, ‘he’ had sworn silently in his heart that ‘he’ would do anything for this woman, and would even give up ‘his’ life for her.
It had been too late when she discovered that it was this thought of ‘his’ that had been tormenting her.
She had fallen hopelessly in love with ‘him’.
She had already discarded the happiness of a woman. Love was the greatest taboo.
Even if this romance was impermissible, there should still have been a path in which they could make their difficult resolution, shoulder their sins, and continue till the end.
What man would not fight against the entire world for the woman he loved?
However – ‘he’ could not do that.
She was not a ‘woman’, nor was she a ‘human’, but a mechanical part called a ‘queen’ that supported the king ruling the world.
'He’ was not a ‘man’, nor was he a ‘human’, but a mechanical part called a ‘knight’ that served the king with absolute loyalty.
'He’ was the man called ‘the Knight of the Lake’ – incomparably brave, courteous and chivalrous, elegant and flamboyant at the same time. ‘He’ was indeed the personification of the essence of chivalry, an existence that all admired.
Not only was this ideal knight worshipped by all, he had even been blessed by the fairies. This title was ‘his’ ultimate glory, and at the same time the greatest curse bestowed upon ‘him’.
The ‘perfect knight’ who served the ‘perfect king’ – this man could only live in this way that others had expected and trusted ‘him’ to, and so give up ‘his’ life for it.
'His’ life did not belong to ‘himself’, but to the people who honored chivalry and gave their lives for it.
And the king that ‘he’ served was truly too perfect, a hero that was absolutely flawless. The ‘Knight of the Lake’ could never harbor any thoughts of betrayal towards this ‘King of Knights’ who had saved ‘his’ home country from the depths of war.
'He’ swore ‘his’ absolute loyalty to the perfect monarch, and made a noble friendship with the monarch.
'He’ also knew that, behind this noble chivalry, there was a tormented and ignored woman who wept by the day.
Just which path had been the correct one? No one could tell now.
Should ‘he’ have been cruel till the end and stayed with ‘his’ ideals, or should ‘he’ have discarded loyalty and lived for love?
While ‘his’ heart was twisting in agony, time was passing mercilessly by. Finally, the worst outcome greeted ‘him’.
Villainous fellows had shattered the king’s prestige to pieces, and the betrayal of the queen was finally revealed to the world. In order to save the queen, who had been given the death sentence, ‘he’ could only go against ‘his’ king in arms – thus, ‘he’ lost everything.
A knight turned traitor –
'His’ disloyalty broke the balance within the Knights of the Round Table. Finally, this incident became the trigger of war and carnage, and the country shattered to pieces in the flames of war.
Men had often called ‘him’ with those mocking tones.
That stained name was carved deeply in the history of the past and would never be washed clean.
Therefore, she fell into a deep self-deprecation for having misguided that ‘perfect knight’, and was crying to this day.
In the end, the only thing ‘he’ had done for the woman ‘he’ loved – was to make her cry forevermore.
Had ‘he’ been born as a sordid man without honor, ‘he’ may have taken away the queen without a moment’s hesitation and destroyed the king’s prestige.
But ‘he’ was a knight, an overly perfect knight.
For the king who was ‘his’ rival in love, for the one who caused the woman ‘he’ loved to step onto that painful and difficult road – 'he’ had never had any feelings of hatred till the end.
Yes, who could possibly depreciate that famous king? That king, whose glorious name was passed down through the eons, was more courageous and noble than anyone else. That king had ended that troubled time.
That king, who had never lost a battle, was uncorrupted and just, honorable but never affected by personal emotions, and had never made a mistake in life.
After all, that king had never blamed ‘him’ throughout life. Even when the king had gone to exchange blows with ‘he’ who had been discarded by the Round Table, it had been a helpless act to make an example out of ‘him’ with the country as their witness, and never the king’s original intention. For ‘him’, who had committed the greatest sin of betrayal, the king had always treated him with a pure and noble friendship even to the very end.
That noble king was so ‘correct’. How could anyone hate or despise that monarch?
However – if that was the case, then to whom should ‘his’ regret and her tears be dumped upon?
The hatred ‘he’ brought to the grave was extracted at the end of time’s long passage, and tormented ‘him’ for an eternity on the Throne of Heroes that had no end… And then ‘he’ finally heard the call from afar.
Come, mad beast.
Come, stubborn vengeful spirit. That sound from the end of time had called.
That sound woke ‘his’ long-held wish.
Had ‘he’ not been a knight.
Had 'he' been a beast knowing no honor and had no reason, had 'he' been a demon fallen into the league of beasts, maybe 'he' could have avenged this hatred and regret.
Yes, madness was the road to salvation.
A beast would not be lost. Therefore, it would not feel pain. No one expected anything of it, no one entrusted anything to it. If ‘he’ could become a beast and direct the movement of ‘his’ limbs with nothing but ‘his’ own desire –
This wish became the connection that linked ‘him’ with the end of time, and placed ‘him’ on this battlefield that ‘he’ cared and knew nothing about.
'He’ had long ago forgotten ‘his’ name, long ago forgotten ‘his’ disciplined vow. ‘His’ body only existed to perform the murderous skills that ‘his’ hands had long been drenched in. The pride that took shame in this no longer existed, and the heart that regretted was lost as well. This was who ‘he’ currently was – the existence called ‘Berserker’.
There were no regrets. To fall, to be freed, that was what ‘he’ had sought.
Moreover, the merciless hand of Fate had even arranged such an ironic rendezvous.
"... Ar… thur…”
The call that slipped out of 'his' lips no longer meant anything.
Even so, this silver swordsman who now knelt in the torrential rain was undoubtedly that person whom 'he' had both loved and hated in the past.
That noble visage and that majestic and solemn face, which innumerable hopes and blessings had been bestowed upon, was now kneeling in front of despair. Now the king knew the truth that had been hidden for so long, knew the hatred that had been buried in eternal darkness. The king forgot the pride of a monarch and mourned.
– Do you hate me so much, my friend? –
Yes, that’s what I wanted to see – the beast in his heart cried, the knight in his heart sobbed. Savor it well. Now you know how many tears we’ve shed for your transient glory, how we have annihilated ourselves, wasted our days, and sat in emptiness waiting for old age.
Now was the time when his buried injustice would be revenged. The fallen black knight lifted his sword of vengeance up high.
– Do you hate me so much, Knight of the Lake?! –
Ah. Yes, that’s right.
At the time, had I not been a knight, but only lived as a man –
Had I not been a loyal subject, but hated you as a human –
Then, perhaps, I could have saved that woman!
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