America, deep within a mountain cabin, a group of men and women—utterly out of place amid the vast untouched wilderness—were holding a meeting in the central chamber.
Faces half-lit in the gloom: some wore immaculate suits, others bore military uniforms adorned with medals not seen in ordinary society.
Half of them possessed the qualifications of magi, though unlike the Clock Tower, not all were magi or magi-users—some lacked even a single magic circuit.
This luxurious lodge, hidden within a natural bounded field, was where the American side convened: those who had colluded with Francesca to prepare this Holy Grail War.
"...What should we do? The Church's branch in the States is growing more forceful. Even people from the Vatican are already on their way."
"All twelve Lords' representatives have declared they'll intervene together."
"They've abandoned factional squabbles? Shouldn't they despise the Church's founder? In the fifth century, they were nearly wiped out..."
"This is bad. Our advantage is that our national power isn't affected by magecraft, so the Clock Tower's Lords can be ignored. But the Church..."
"That side truly is troublesome..."
They nodded in grim agreement.
America, home to the largest Christian population in the world, divided its Churches into three great categories—Evangelical Protestant, Mainline Protestant, and Catholic. Yet all fell under the umbrella of the Holy Church.
While not all were zealots—most were only casual believers—that alone granted overwhelming social influence.
Thus, for those in the cabin, the demands of the Clock Tower could be ignored. But the Church? Not so easily refused.
"If it comes to it, we compromise. Look the other way."
"Are you sure that's wise? Fadius's report on that plague... It's most likely a curse. It'll trap them inside. And if it spreads elsewhere..."
"With him here, something of that level shouldn't be an issue. Perhaps we should have Fadius approach him, show goodwill?"
"...Still, what a pity."
A man in military dress spoke in a flat tone:
"If this power weren't a mystery bound to a single will... if it were in our hands, how great that would be..."
"Don't be a fool. Just the thought of weaponizing Mystery for national defense would bring the Clock Tower and Atlas down on us in an instant. Yes, it's a pity. But don't forget—we're rookies in this field. That's why we agreed to Francesca's plan: to downgrade magic into magecraft. Even if this attempt failed, it was always a centuries-long project. No need to rush."
At that, a woman in a suit smirked with irony, then half-whispered:
"But... could that be why he descended? Because we tried to degrade magic into magecraft..."
No one answered. They all suspected the same, yet feared the thought: that Novia, summoned by the ritual, would see them as enemies. If so, even this bounded field would not save them.
"Then... should we continue with Operation Aurora's Fall?"
Operation Aurora's Fall—the Americans' last resort for this Grail War. If unforeseen consequences arose, they would erase Yukihara City from the earth entirely, taking its eight hundred thousand residents with it.
"...No. Abandon that. It's no longer necessary." The military chief shook his head, then added, "But we must stay vigilant—"
"General!"
Amid the constant stream of reports and precise orders, one voice calling only the title cut through the room like a knife.
The man in uniform addressed as General frowned and turned.
At the doorway, the Observation Division's captain stood at rigid attention, trembling.
"Yukihara City's people... have vanished."
"...You mean the observation was forcibly disrupted?"
If a large-scale magus faction was at work, satellite interference was plausible. Even Servants could obstruct surveillance.
"No. Satellite instruments are functioning normally."
Haltingly, the captain activated the room's control panel. The Observation Division's live feed displayed Yukihara's earth below.
"I'll repeat myself. The people of Yukihara City... have vanished."
The General and the other masterminds behind the Holy Grail War saw it.
The anomaly unfolding in real time.
On the monitor, the satellite image made them all fall silent.
Even those with mastery of both magecraft and science could not comprehend what they saw.
The vast city of Yukihara, eight hundred thousand strong—gone in an instant. Only scattered motes of light remained.
"...What in the world... Could it be a Reality Marble...?"
This was Novia's power as the King of the Wild Hunt:
A Reality Marble in reversed form.
Not replacing reality with an inner world, but sealing reality into the inner world.
In other words, from the very moment he declared his arrival, the Wild Hunt's trial—an inner world capable of simulating up to 150,000 square kilometers—had already begun.
---
Inside that space stretched a world of blackness and scattered points of light.
At its center, in a vast spherical chamber dyed with the hue of the night sky, floated a single wooden chair.
By appearance alone, it could be called luxurious. Yet the timber's hue carried its own unique charm—untainted by gaudy excess. Rather, its presence alone bestowed solemnity to the space.
Were an ordinary man to sit upon it, he would be wholly consumed by the chair's aura, fading from all notice.
But now, a man whose dignified bearing eclipsed even the chair's authority leaned heavily against its back, sighing.
"Hmm... So it's him, after all. I suppose it's about time you and I exchanged greetings, isn't it? Communications from that side don't come cheap."
And the space itself seemed to stir in reply to his words.
"What, so you've already noticed, old man."
On a small table, equally unique in craftsmanship, rested a telephone.
Antique in design—like a lamp at first glance—its horn-shaped receiver hung above, microphone mounted at the end of a slender pillar, and a rotary dial rested on the base.
Something one might see only in films, museums, or antique shops. Except—its color. A sapphire-blue so vivid, it seemed a gemstone artifact.
"Caubak, why'd you change appearances? I thought the 'lock' suited you."
"Call it keeping up with the times."
A youthful voice echoed from the horn, as though the phone itself possessed will.
From their exchange, it was clear: these were none other than Zelretch the Jewelled Magus and Caubac Alcatraz.
"Hah. Anyone else would almost think you're a decent guy."
Zelretch shrugged, glancing back at the sapphire-blue phone.
"So, what is it? If it's just to watch shady magazines and late-night anime, save it. For now, best we pay our greetings."
"Well... Lord Novia wouldn't care for those anyway. I came because of something important."
"Oh? And what's that?"
"This..." Caubac hesitated, then spoke with a resigned sigh. "Hibino Hibiki suddenly wants to find her mother. And you know who that is. The one who nearly destroyed the world."
"I—"
Zelretch's words faltered. He recalled the scene of being gravely wounded by Kiara with the Testament in hand. The pages of the tome he now read flipped faster than ever before.
The "Hibiki" Caubac mentioned—Hibino Hibiki, the girl from The Case Files of the Magician's Box, the human form of the Testament Triteia.
For Caubac, since the fall of the Western Roman Church in the fifth century, he and Be'ze had aided Augustine and Jerome in rebuilding the Eastern Church, after which he returned with the Testament to the Labyrinth—vowing never to emerge again, lest another disaster like Kiara occur.
Thus, for a millennium, Caubac had been little more than a recluse. When he learned recently that the Testament itself now walked the earth as a human, it had thrown him into utter panic—like discovering your computer infected by a virus the moment you log into a questionable website.
As a disciple of Solomon, he nearly froze entirely—but sheer willpower and delusion pulled him back from paralysis.
"Still... that girl should, in time, become a proper Savior, shouldn't she?"
"With Lord Novia present, yes."
The pages in Zelretch's hands whirled on, countless faces etched upon them shifting seamlessly as they passed.
His eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the rotary dial of the sapphire-blue phone spin and reset, again and again—as if savoring old memories captured in film.
Gradually, the turning of the pages slowed.
And at last, the tome reflected the image of a black-haired girl in a hospital ward—her brows furrowed in sorrow.
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