The burning Fuyuki City. The Civic Hall and the surrounding park district, the residential neighborhoods — all of it reduced to ruins. When the black mud finally receded, nearly half of Fuyuki City had been destroyed in the disaster. Gas pipelines ignited and blew street after street apart.
Predictably, the prisons in this corner of the Far East would be crowded again before morning.
Not only gas company personnel, but Fuyuki City municipal officials as well.
After the gas company employees, civil engineering interns, and accounting-department members of the anti-social roster, it was now the turn of stable government workers to join the honor roll of Holy Grail War scapegoats.
Pale moonlight filtered through the scattered clouds and fell across the rubble, adding a note of desolation to the wasteland. There were almost no living people left here. Anyone who could run had already run. Kayneth's wheelchair, enhanced by magecraft, drifted and turned at full tilt, making its escape shortly after the black mud appeared, moving no slower than a standard automobile.
Survivors with Kayneth's capabilities were, inevitably, rare.
"Wh... where is this, I..."
In the wreckage of the Civic Hall, the black-robed priest slowly opened his eyes. He pressed a hand to his aching head as he emerged from that hellish scene, his expression caught somewhere between daze and a cold, cutting edge. The memory of his struggle with Emiya Kiritsugu kept replaying in his mind.
The memory was clear, because it hadn't been long. He remembered dying in that fight. Losing to Emiya Kiritsugu, a man who should by rights have had no chance of winning.
"Oh my. You're actually still alive? Your heart was shattered and you still survived? Even I'd have to start wondering if you were a Dead Apostle who infiltrated the Church."
A girlish voice drifted over, tinged with amused teasing. Kotomine Kirei sat up and looked toward the sound.
A girl in a black-and-white dress, with a large magical sack on her back — much larger than herself, stuffed with who-knew-what — sat idly on a chunk of rubble above him, looking down at him with curious interest in her smile.
The resurrection of the dead was, in a certain sense, a remarkable miracle.
As a member of the Church, Kotomine Kirei had no access to the Association's method of transferring consciousness into puppet substitutes. Nor was he equipped like the Burial Agency's members, each of whom carried effectively unsolvable Mystic Codes. Surviving with a destroyed heart and having been submerged in black mud, and then crawling out of that — even a Grand Magus like herself found the mechanism difficult to parse.
"...Who are you? What happened here?"
"Francesca Prelati. Hasn't the Church been quietly investigating me lately? Don't tell me — an enormous organization that rivals the Mages' Association, and you don't even have my appearance on file?"
Miss Francesca propped her chin on one hand, clearly entertained. Though naturally, the idea that the Church could have documented her appearance was laughable, given that her face had never stopped changing.
As a Magician older even than the Worm-User of Kiev, her ability to conceal her information was formidable. It took someone as broadly experienced as Lord Kayneth of the Clock Tower to identify at a glance which handful of figures in the modern Magus world ranked among the top illusion specialists.
"As for what happened here? You're the son of the Church's supervisor for this city. If you don't know, why would I?"
She paused, then added with a laugh: "By the way, for everyone to fight so desperately over something they thought was an omnipotent wish-granting device... this farce was rotten from beginning to end, rotten in a way I found absolutely fascinating, rotten in a way that makes me deeply regret not getting involved personally."
"Say, say, say — isn't Fuyuki City's Holy Grail War system a little different from other magical rituals using the Holy Grail name? You're the Church's supervisor here. How about giving me a participant's slot in the next Holy Grail War?"
"I did dig you out of the rubble, after all. Asking for a small reward isn't unreasonable, is it?"
She stroked the silver thread-familiar on her shoulder — one that had just lost its mobility and been newly caught — and blinked, genuinely interested in securing a slot, apparently not at all concerned that she was looking at the man who was responsible for her father's death.
"I should already be dead. Did you save me?"
Kotomine Kirei pressed a hand to his chest and felt no heartbeat. He frowned in mild confusion.
"Now, now, I'm an illusionist, not a healer. Based on my observation, I believe you were reborn when this strange black mud absorbed you. It's a power of malice — it descends upon those who are evil by nature."
She didn't try to leverage the rescuer's name for her own benefit. After all, from what she could read in Kotomine Kirei's utterly detached expression, there was no trace of resentment toward her to be found.
And she had, of course, killed his father, Risei Kotomine.
A man who showed no resentment toward the person who killed his father was hardly going to feel gratitude for being rescued.
She hadn't left immediately after digging up her souvenirs. She had simply wanted to see the state Kotomine Kirei was in, and to try to work out the mechanism behind his revival. Not expecting anything from him. Consider it academic research.
"Did it give me a new life..."
Kotomine Kirei looked at the gold cross on his chest with a blank gaze, then swept his eyes across the surroundings. He covered one eye with a hand, and the corner of his mouth curved without restraint. The world was burning, and an evil man had crawled out of hell.
So this was the Holy Grail. The Holy Grail that everyone had pursued. The scene of destruction that Illyasviel had been chasing!
All that talk of happiness, of survival — lies, all of it. How could a Heroic Spirit Servant from the future like Illyasviel not have known what the Holy Grail truly was? No wonder she had wanted it so badly. So that was the reason. That was Illyasviel's true wish — the exact same joy he had been searching for!
He understood now. He finally understood why he had summoned Illyasviel!
That was the real compatibility between them. The shared anticipation for a world collapsed into miserable ruin!
"Heh. Hehehe. Hahahahahaha! HAHAHAHA!"
Kotomine Kirei clutched his shoulders and laughed uncontrollably. Oh Illyasviel, why hadn't you told him sooner? You wanted to keep this joy of destruction all to yourself, didn't you?
As expected of malice. As expected of you. We really were the most compatible pairing after all.
"What incredible evil. What incredible cruelty. This ruin, this lamentation — this is the pleasure I have always yearned for! This twisted defilement, coming from the bloodline of Risei Kotomine? My father's killer is right in front of me and I'm standing here appreciating this beautiful scenery!"
"Hahahaha! Impossible! Is this even real?! What does any of this make me? Did my father produce a dog? A raving, worthless mad dog?!"
Was this man really a Church priest?
Was he not taking things a bit far?
Watching Kotomine Kirei's unhinged laughter, Miss Francesca felt a chill. Not fear — just the sense that this person might be more extreme than even she was. She merely enjoyed watching things, finding amusement in others. The black-robed priest in front of her, on the other hand, had taken the world's ruin and its descent into hell as his personal source of entertainment.
Was that a good thing? No, it was not. Because if the world ended, who would she find her amusement in?
"My, my. Looks like I dug up a mad dog."
Miss Francesca pressed a hand to her forehead as if pained, though her expression remained thoroughly intrigued.
Mad dog it was, then. Not her problem. She was just here on a trip.
Picking up a few local souvenirs to bring back to Snowfield. And by that measure, she had more than gotten her fill.
Not only had she gathered the souvenirs — she had also obtained the personal Holy Relic of a Magician at the peak of the divine age.
"Calling yourself a Caster, American Magus — you saw it too, didn't you? That is the omnipotent wish-granting device. The machine that can fulfill any wish, at the price of the world itself. That is the Holy Grail's truth. My personally paid admission fee."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Father. An omnipotent wish-granting machine that couldn't even submerge one city — I have serious doubts about that answer."
"No! It simply hadn't finished taking form. The evil of the world. I will meet it again someday, and when that day comes, I will personally bring it to completion with my own hands!"
"..."
Fine. No point observing any further. This man had already gone mad.
One little magical ritual in the Far East, and you're talking about destroying the world. That was a bit of a stretch, wasn't it?
Even setting that aside — if the Twenty-Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors were ever awakened, they'd be far more frightening than your little Holy Grail.
Getting no serious answers about the Holy Grail, Miss Francesca felt a wave of boredom. But that was fine. The souvenirs she had gathered were enough to keep her in research material for a good while. When the time came, she could always try to reconstruct a version of it in Snowfield and have some fun...
"Hmph. Still wasting breath on a rotten maggot. You must be getting old."
"?"
Just as Miss Francesca gave up on getting anything worthwhile from this exchange, a creaking, decayed old voice came from behind her. She turned. From within the sea of fire, dozens and hundreds of insects fell from the sky and gathered into the shape of a hunched figure.
"Old man warned you. Take one more step into Fuyuki City, and old man will send you flying out of Fuyuki City."
"What?!"
Diarmuid, what the hell, you fired something close to a city-level Noble Phantasm and couldn't kill a single Magus?!
The moment she heard that voice, Miss Francesca's entire body went cold.
Goosebumps. Pupils wide. And then without a second's hesitation, she hoisted up her sack and bolted. She had only dared to come out because she'd watched the Worm-User of Kiev take a direct hit from Diarmuid Ua Duibhne's near city-level Noble Phantasm. She didn't have the confidence to fight that old monster head-on!
How was he not dead?
How long was this old thing's health bar?
That output would have ground even her down to dust, so how was he still walking?!
"Hehehe. The young are always so hot-blooded. Did old man's insects exist only on the ground? Had he adjusted the angle of that Noble Phantasm's release a little differently, old man would've needed a few years of recovery himself."
"Cough — cough cough — wait, wait, this is a misunderstanding, Worm Master, I wasn't trying to provoke..."
"Hand over the Age of Gods Magician Medea's Holy Relic. Or die here."
She'd barely managed to start running before she was surrounded by dozens of winged insects capable of stripping a water buffalo to bare bone in moments. Miss Francesca's laughter died in her throat.
She turned her head stiffly with her bag still on her back, and found herself looking at Zouken Matou — gasping for breath, his magical energy nearly spent.
The mantis catches the cicada.
But the oriole waits behind.
Half a day spent digging up her hard-earned souvenirs, and now someone was turning up to steal the whole haul.
"What Holy Relic? I don't know what you're talking about, Worm Master. Why make accusations without evidence? The Age of Gods Magician Medea's Holy Relic would be inside the Clock Tower. I'm a Magician with a terrible relationship with the Clock Tower — where would I get something like that from?"
"Hmph. The silver thread-familiar on your shoulder was crafted by the Age of Gods Magician Medea. You think covering the magical aura with a spell would fool old man? Fuyuki City's things are not for an outsider to profit from. Hand it over. Then get out of Fuyuki City. Old man will let you leave with your life."
"...Can we negotiate?"
"You have no grounds to negotiate with old man."
Is that so?
But the moment Zouken Matou said those words with his wheezing laugh, Miss Francesca went quiet instead.
She turned her gaze around, studying the insect swarm and the hunched old figure with a measuring eye.
Yes. When the balance of power and interests was this unequal, this old thing would never truly negotiate.
And yet — even now — it remained exactly that. A negotiation in everything but name. He only appeared to be threatening and coercing her.
In reality, he was still feeling her out.
"Old man. If you had ambushed me directly, I would have dropped the Holy Relic and the bag without a word and left immediately."
Miss Francesca had caught something, and the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. Her excess of words was a deliberate stall for time.
Because she understood clearly: Zouken Matou didn't typically waste this many words on her.
"You're the one who's getting old, old man. Puffing yourself up with borrowed authority. I thought you had at least seven or eight tenths of your magic and your insects left. Looking at you now, you don't even have one or two tenths remaining. With this much left, you still dare to come out here and threaten me? You think your type-advantage over me means you can do whatever you please?"
"You're not the one leaving. I am. The Age of Gods Magician Medea's Holy Relic and everything else I dug up here — I'm taking all of it. And your life, old man... I'm taking that too!"
At full strength you'd have me beat, I'll admit that. But coming at me with barely any reserves left and trying to bluff your way through?
You're another Grand Magus-tier monster, and you've gone soft in your old age.
The words had barely left her mouth before the swarm of winged insects charged without hesitation toward a Miss Francesca who had dropped all pretense of respect. She immediately activated her illusion magecraft, and to avoid being surrounded, she launched directly into full combat against Zouken Matou.
Two Grand Magi unleashed a storm of battle magic that crossed and clashed in all directions, flowing through the ruins in an ongoing exchange.
Insects were immune to illusions — but Miss Francesca's repertoire was not limited to illusions alone.
Informed by her experience of being caught off guard by Lord Kayneth, she had made a point of visiting the Fuyuki City Self-Defense Forces armory before leaving town. It had done something to address the weakness in her physical combat capabilities.
And this was her answer:
Modern magecraft!
She chanted an incantation Zouken Matou had never heard in his life, then pulled a rocket launcher out from under her skirt and fired it point-blank.
"Sakura. From today onward, you are the head of the Matou family. From now on, you are not permitted to contact the Tohsaka family. Your magical training will be under my guidance until you come of age, and the Matou family archive will be fully open to you."
In the Matou household, inside the recently renovated family villa, Matou Tsuruno spoke gravely to the small purple-haired girl standing before him — expressionless, timid, not quite knowing where to look.
All around them stood bookshelves. The atmosphere was ancient and dense. This was the inner sanctum of the Matou family archive, where hundreds of years of magecraft texts and research had been sealed away.
"But I can't disobey Grandfather's orders..."
The purple-haired girl murmured hesitantly. The ideas Zouken Matou had planted inside her were deeply rooted. In the Matou household, no one disobeyed the will of Grandfather.
"Hmph. That old thing doesn't dare show his face even if he isn't dead. He signed a self-imposed enforcement contract and now he wants to object? Does he think he's been alive too long?"
Tsuruno dismissed the thought with a curl of his lip. He wasn't certain whether Zouken Matou was alive or not. But he did know about the enforcement contract.
The document Tokiomi Tohsaka had presented to him not long ago left virtually no room for argument.
Sakura Matou's claim as the legitimate head of the Matou family was now beyond dispute. That old thing could consent or not — it didn't matter.
"Remember this, little Sakura. Our Matou family may be in decline, but with your talent, you can absolutely restore it. If you encounter difficulties, you can come to me. As long as it's within the Matou family's ability to help, your will is the Matou family's will."
"This is your authority. Your identity for the rest of your life. No one may oppose you."
The purple-haired girl nodded with a half-understanding expression. Tsuruno had been taking her and her brother out to expensive restaurants every day for the past two days, and they hadn't returned to that underground room full of insects even once.
Grandfather had made no attempt to interfere either. Something was already beginning to feel different.
"Authority? I can... not listen to Grandfather anymore?"
"What is Zouken Matou? He was pushed so far into a corner he had to sign an enforcement contract. I'll call him Father as a courtesy — take that away, and he's just a stubborn old carcass. What standing does he have to give you orders?"
"I don't quite... understand..."
"You will, in time. For now you only need to remember two things: the head of the Matou family is you, and the Matou family's long-held wish is something you'll need to carry out to a certain degree. Everything else is unimportant."
He waved it off. As a Magus, Tsuruno's talent was inferior to his younger brother Kariya Matou's. But after Kariya refused the path of magecraft and left, Tsuruno had become the previous generation's Matou family head by default. For him, that had never been a disaster.
Because Zouken Matou had given up on him long ago, never taught him anything of value, never used him for more than assistant-level errands. He had been a leader in name only.
So who inherited the Matou family meant nothing to him personally. His only real concern was the family's assets and the ability to live comfortably and without care.
On most days he simply drowned himself in Fuyuki City's finest drinks, living like a spoiled young heir with nothing to prove.
The only real pressure in his life had come from Zouken Matou's continued existence. Now, with Sakura at the helm, he could push every obligation, every so-called responsibility and long-held magical wish, right into someone else's hands.
All that mattered was that his son Shinji Matou grew up like him: comfortable, unbothered, and rich.
As for those inscrutable Magi and their incomprehensible business — let them fight their battles among themselves.
"A wish?"
"Victory in the Holy Grail War. Reaching the pinnacle of magecraft. Or something about saving the world or humanity — the old texts mention something like that. I can't read most of it."
Tsuruno's understanding of magecraft was, in certain respects, only marginally above Kariya's. So the contents of the old magical texts and their inscribed family wish were to him roughly what advanced calculus was to a middle school student.
Push a person hard enough and they can do almost anything — but math that doesn't go doesn't go.
"And what about my brother? I'm the head of the family now. Will he..."
"Don't worry about him. If he sneaks in again to steal books, just beat him up."
Thinking of his son Shinji Matou gave Tsuruno a headache.
He had no idea who had gotten into the boy's head, but for the past several days Shinji had been doing nothing but reading one magical text after another that he'd somehow sneaked out of the Matou archive, studying day and night. Even getting caught and hit hadn't stopped him from going back.
The way Shinji looked at him recently had a quality to it.
A sort of... pity. The expression of someone looking at an ordinary person who had no understanding of the wonders of the magical world.
And there was a subtle undertone of something else — a quiet maturity suggesting he wanted to leave the Matou family entirely, venture out into the wider world, and broaden his knowledge and experience.
"I understand..."
Some of the lost look faded from the purple-haired girl's eyes. Young as she was, she was beginning to take on a new shape. She had been discarded by her birth father Tokiomi Tohsaka twice over — privately told not to return to the Tohsaka household, not to call him Father. She had come to understand, more or less, that the Matou family was her only home now.
And the Matou family's wish was naturally her wish too. Her gratitude to the family that had taken her in.
"The victor of the Holy Grail War will be me. I will reach the pinnacle of magecraft, save humanity and the world, and fulfill the wish that the Matou family has carried for hundreds of years!"
"Foster Father, I will work as hard as I can. The one who claims the Holy Grail in the next Holy Grail War will be me, without a doubt!"
Because.
I have already decided.
Little Sakura made that silent vow in her heart, and spoke it aloud as a promise to her foster father Matou Tsuruno. If the Matou family was her only home, she would protect it with everything she had. She had already been thrown away by family twice.
There would not be a third time. No matter who stood in her way.
The victory in the next Holy Grail War that Tsuruno spoke of would belong only to her, Sakura Matou.
Even if she might die. Even if it would be dangerous. She, Sakura Matou, would bring the Matou family's hundred-year wish to its end and reach that pinnacle of magecraft to save all people.
This was her resolve. Her ideal.
"Artoria. You finally understand. The continuation of Britain is above all else..."
The inner sea of the stars. A vast and boundless world.
A beautiful girl with silver hair and pale blue eyes, wearing a black dress with a black cross-shaped magical staff in hand and black boots — after observing the events of Fuyuki City's Holy Grail War through long-range magic, her face that typically carried an expression of complete detachment and absence of desire finally showed a trace of something she could not entirely suppress.
She was a girl born in Tintagel, within the span of human history. The fairy-born child carried by Igraine, daughter of the British Isles, the formal sister of Artoria Pendragon. She had despised her father, King Uther, long ago. Had despised her younger sister Artoria. Had despised the humans who refused to obey her.
But all of that was the past. Now she had retreated into the inner sea of the stars, having survived from the age of Britain's great kingdom to the present. The only thing she still genuinely cared about was Britain itself.
For that reason, centuries ago, when she had still been active in the outside world, she had even gone so far as to fabricate a Holy Lance, and had attempted to use the Gravekeepers to enact some plan to truly revive her sister Artoria.
"Why didn't you understand sooner? Why were you so foolish? Why did it take this much for you to grasp it?"
The true inheritor of the British Isles — the "true king" — Morgan shook her head and exhaled softly.
She had, of course, seen Artoria's speech at the banquet between kings. It had been guided by the Age of Gods Magician Medea, and by the standards of many heroes present it was quite extreme, but from Morgan's perspective it was admirable resolve.
Because even if her own historical reputation was not particularly favorable, she was not without feeling — only that she could no longer experience strong joy or sorrow, anger or love. Those capacities had gone cold long ago.
"Artoria. Now you have the standing to be beside me, rather than that former foolishness — that failure to understand the hearts of people. Only the you of now deserves to be called a king. A king who will make Britain endure no matter the cost. That is the king Britain recognizes."
Having spent such a long age keeping watch over Britain, Morgan's heart had frozen completely.
The only remaining warmth worth any consideration was the wish she had carried for so long.
Only "ruling Britain" — and ruling Britain meant ensuring Britain's continuation. And so Artoria's wish aligned closely with her own will. Cruel, willful, low in certain ways — she was practically the template for a wicked woman.
And yet even so, having lived this long, the only thing she still had the capacity to care about was Britain.
"The Holy Grail War. Hmph. Laughable. You actually thought something like that could fulfill the wish of Britain's continuation. You've always been naive."
"If you had won, you shouldn't have made that wish at all. Because the Grail in that place can reach the Root, and the Root contains all possibilities, every answer to everything in existence. All you had to do was wish to touch the Root, and you would have received every method available to ensure Britain's continuation."
The Holy Grail, in isolation, was worthless.
But that particular Holy Grail in Fuyuki City — in Morgan's assessment — had some actual technical merit.
For one reason and one reason only: it could genuinely reach the Root.
Wishing for things was a trivial, worthless use of it. The only real value was in touching the Root itself, because the Root was omniscience and omnipotence, the perfect repository of all answers.
The Magi were impressive enough. The Marshal of Magecraft, Jewel Mage, was impressive. This power would have been terrifying even in the age of gods. But the so-called Magics were merely derivatives invented by Magi after touching the Root — compared to the Root itself, not even worth mentioning.
"Considered in that light, it isn't beyond attempting. Take it as a form of entertainment, one possible option to explore."
"Artoria. The you of now genuinely pleases me."
She had, in fact, started to feel the itch for a little fishing trip herself.
Even going from the inner sea of the stars to the outside world would be troublesome and would considerably weaken her. But she had never relied on something as crude as combat ability. What she relied on was the magical knowledge inside her mind.
Without exaggeration, her expertise and ability in magecraft ranked within the top five even by the standards of the divine age.
For instance, if she had participated in Fuyuki's Fourth Holy Grail War, only that Age of Gods Magician Medea would have merited her genuine attention. Every other participant, as far as she was concerned, was bait — none of them understanding how to properly exploit the rules of a Holy Grail War.
The pity was that Artoria had died too quickly. Barely finished speaking at the banquet and already she had been eliminated in the team battle. By the time Morgan had started thinking through how to leave the inner sea, the enlightened version of Artoria was already gone.
The next Fuyuki Holy Grail War would take another sixty years. She had the time to wait, of course, but having finally seen an Artoria with actual resolve — and then not being able to observe her up close — was genuinely frustrating. It was the feeling of a person who normally cared about nothing at all, finally finding something of interest, only for it to vanish in an instant.
"That Francesca Prelati dug up fragments of the Fuyuki Holy Grail and plans to recreate a Holy Grail War in Snowfield. The ley lines there are rich enough that it probably wouldn't need sixty years to open..."
If the Fifth Holy Grail War was too long to wait for, what about going to Snowfield to fish first?
Consider it practice. Take the Holy Grail there for research while she was at it?
See if the preliminary requirement could be bypassed for a direct line to the Root?
Morgan sat on her throne, chin propped in one hand, thinking it over idly.
Though the difficulty of the Fuyuki Holy Grail War did seem a little troublesome — what with absurd figures like King Gilgamesh and a first-rate Age of Gods Magician like Medea being involved.
Going in as a fisherman might not be as comfortable as she had imagined. She had no desire to end up like Kayneth, the Lord who got bombed by the fish instead.
But a Holy Grail War in Snowfield would be different. The difficulty ceiling there would definitely be lower.
A standard first-rate Servant would probably count as bait-level in that setting.
The idea of going there purely for entertainment, and summoning Artoria for a little play, wasn't impossible.
"Though both the Fifth Holy Grail War and the Snowfield Holy Grail War will certainly have that Age of Gods Magician Medea present..."
Thinking of that Magician's record, Morgan frowned slightly. Though that wasn't the main concern.
What mattered was that the Age of Gods Magician Medea was strange. Particularly her appearance.
"Since when did Medea look like that? And since when did an Age of Gods Magician become proficient in close-range combat?"
"And Artoria — she's going backward as she ages, isn't she? How does a king get killed in close quarters by a Magician of all people