At that very moment, inside a hospital room in Snowfield City—
Watching over Kaseoka Tsubaki, Kissyoin Kiara showed a flicker of surprise. Even the Pale Rider, the system's avatar who should have been devoid of all emotion, reacted the same way.
"..."
For Kiara, perhaps it was something like her feelings toward Francesca—fear.
Her heart pounded violently. Just knowing it was Novia made her feel as though every cell in her body had burst into bubbles.
From her perspective, even though she was now walking the path of atonement, that didn't erase the fact of her sins. Wrongdoing remained wrongdoing—repentance and self-reflection could never undo the truth of what she had taken from others. She had stolen far too much. Even if she died in penance, it would never be enough. Some sins could never be compensated.
Originally, Kiara had thought her life would be ordinary. She would study quietly, enter university, and have nothing more to do with the world of magecraft. Yet she still chose to act, to at least make some small amends. That was why, despite knowing the Church would eventually discover her role in exterminating a heretical cult and move to control her, she did it anyway.
In her mind, such an attitude from the Church was only natural. After all, she carried an identity that transcended ordinary people—an inborn quality that had once made her Pope without question.
Back in the 3rd century AD, she had grown up in an orphanage, her congenital illness cured, then joined the Church and received the Sacred Text...
Even now, that congenital illness still lingered within her. But compared to before, it was something trivial, something she had long since treated on her own.
"Sigh."
The black-haired girl exhaled softly, then hopped down from the chair. Her glossy straight black hair swayed with her impatient steps, the very air around her seemed to change with her movement.
"If you want to go, then go. Just keep some strength in reserve. I'll stay here and watch over things. No problem."
At those words, the "darkness" in the corner of the room suddenly rose, gazing intently at the girl as though weighing her reliability. A few seconds later, the Pale Rider slipped through the hospital window and leapt outside, going to meet the one it needed to see as the system.
This was both to dispel the fear haunting the sleeping girl, and to demonstrate it bore no hostility.
Yet the Pale Rider was likely not the only Servant who felt the same way.
---
Atop the tallest building in the very center of Snowfield City—
Though the surroundings were filled with clamor, the rooftop seemed to exist in a world entirely separate.
Perhaps it was due to the strong barrier laid down. Or perhaps it was because of the man standing there.
To ordinary eyes, the feats of Servants already exceeded human limits.
And yet, even with that in mind, the lightning here was abnormal.
Born from the foundation of the Heroic Spirit's nature, imbued with his divine authorities—magnified by magecraft, and further sanctified by blessings tied to the myths bound within the Throne of Heroes.
A storm of lightning that could only inspire terror, that reduced even shadows into dust and scattered fragments. Even Servants would not emerge unscathed beneath it.
Bolts that seemed to freeze time, thunderclaps that blurred the line between reality and fantasy. A ward of runic lightning wrapped around every living thing that approached, tearing it apart and devouring it.
It was, unmistakably, the most open declaration of war upon all participants in the Holy Grail War. A challenge: come, if you dare. Cunning schemes or direct assault—it mattered not. He was there, waiting amidst a compressed storm of divine thunder drawn from both the Norse and Greek pantheons.
And yet—should any Servant reach this place, they might be surprised. For at this fortress-like "final boss chamber," what awaited them was not a Demon King to praise the challengers' courage, but rather—
"How is it, how is it? I made this myself. Novia, hurry and try it."
Seated beside him, with neither Typhon nor Melusine in sight, Manaka Sajo was happily preparing food for him. On the carpet she'd chosen herself—covered in heart-shaped patterns—was laid out breakfast: steamed rice, Saikyō miso-grilled salmon, tofu miso soup, tamagoyaki. A complete Japanese-style breakfast... even though it wasn't morning.
The salmon was tender, not overcooked, the tamagoyaki fluffy and sweet. Altogether, it was excellent.
"How does it taste?"
Novia answered simply: "It's delicious."
Manaka blushed and leaned quietly against his back, her arms around his waist, her warmth pressing against him.
It was only thanks to Melusine now being in the form of a dragon-lance, and Typhon being armor, that Manaka could enjoy such closeness. Otherwise, her own abilities would never have been enough. Even so, Novia found it noisy inside his head—Melusine was tolerable, but Typhon, usually taciturn, turned into a chatterbox when speaking through thoughts.
Since agreeing to Humanity's request, Novia had become the final Servant of this Holy Grail War.
Not exactly—rather, within the rules of the War, he could wield his full powers outside the confines of a Human Order Incineration. Officially, he was summoned as the True Rider, a replacement for Hippolyta. By rights, he should not have been able to use other powers—but "by rights" meant little. His only real limitation was the enormous cost of mana. Yet with his original authority, and the yet-unmanifested Primordial Sword of Oath fused with the Demon Sword of True World, even that was hardly a concern.
With the designated god-era support fueling his abilities, his power was virtually limitless.
To put it bluntly, he could end the entire Grail War in a single night. In a normal Holy Grail War, he would either be the final, strongest boss—or the strongest boss who gets stabbed in the back. Either way, terrifyingly strong.
But he remembered Humanity's request: to stop Choukai from erasing his own existence from the planet.
He had accepted. Naturally, he would fulfill it. The simplest method was, of course, to destroy him outright...
Novia regarded Alcides—the Avenger—who had lost all dignity and honor as a warrior, fallen so far he would sacrifice innocents for vengeance. A corrupted existence, evil itself. And yet... Novia knew his pain was real. He had indeed suffered Hera's curse, and watched the ones he loved die before his very eyes.
Even if reconciliation had eventually come, that agony remained truth.
And in the moment Novia grasped that power, he heard Juno—Hera's Roman aspect—speak through the authority she had given him:
"If it is possible... please, let me see once more the child who cast away all glory, only to seek vengeance upon the gods."
"...So. He's coming."
An immense surge of mana—pure fear to human instinct, terror incarnate—surged forth. A black mist, cutting through layer upon layer of storm, advanced toward them.
"Manaka, from this moment... you are my Master."
"I see. No problem. Then, Novia, you'd better protect me properly, okay?"
She smiled and quickly fabricated a Command Seal on her hand—appearance only, no real function.
Even in that brief exchange, the first challenger emerged through the thunder. Black mist, deeper than night, surged across wind, water, and earth like an apocalypse tolling. It swelled forward, then calmly dispersed, condensing into a humanoid form cloaked in ominous vapor.
Norvia recognized it instantly.
The Pale Rider. From the Book of Revelation. The First of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Conquest. Pestilence. A "system" without destruction in its concept, and thus without fear.
And in its presence, Novia understood what it conveyed:
Please forgive my Master. She bears you no ill will.
Her Master, Kaseoka Tsubaki, had been used as an experiment by her parents since childhood. Novia understood. He would take care of that once the Grail ritual ended.
"...Very well."
At his nod, the Pale Rider seemed to sigh in relief, then silently dissolved into the storm of thunder, offering its power in truce.
The next Servant appeared—
A shadow. A mask, floating above it. One who cared nothing for his own death. One who once sought to merge into the Old Man of the Mountain's shadow.
"You... deign to lower yourself to this wish-granting ritual."
Novia knew him at once.
The True Assassin. One of the nineteen Hassan-i-Sabbahs. Hassan of Serenity's Wandering Shadow.
And as their exchange ended, a third challenger arrived. Unlike the others, she carried provocation.
"Heh... so that's the World Tree of the far North, is it? I wonder what would happen if I fed it to the Bull of Heaven."
A white-haired goddess walked forward. The thunder should have struck her down—but instead, lightning swirled around her, coiling like contradictions made manifest.
At her side stood the roaring metal beast Humbaba, its burning white eyes alight, and her trembling Master, Haruri. And within her vessel, body stolen, was an Einzbern homunculus—Philia.
Philia's worries were not about Novia's strength, nor about her fragile body being destroyed at any moment.
She was simply thinking: If the Bull of Heaven really ate the World Tree... what would happen?
And as the goddess spoke, her tone turned almost amused.
"Unexpected... the gods of the West are all such monsters, forever forcing their love and hatred upon humans without reason. It's only natural those ruled by them suffer, their values twisted. Just like that Avenger I met not long ago."
Then she looked upon Novia, eyes alight.
"And yet you... you bear all love and all hatred within yourself, without being consumed by distortion. Truly... remarkable. I never thought such a man of worth could exist."