Chapter 5: The Returning Lord
London was bright and fair today, the weather as clear and sunny as it always was.
By all rights, it should have been an utterly ordinary day at the Clock Tower—yet the Clock Tower's Lord, El-Melloi, felt an inexplicable irritation tightening around his heart.
Inside the Clock Tower, in a spacious, well-lit reception room, Kayneth sat sunk into a classical armchair. His long-fingered hand tapped the tabletop unconsciously—each crisp knock carrying the impatience he was barely containing.
Even so, no matter how restless he felt, Kayneth did not speak. He did not raise his voice or make a scene. Instead, he forced himself to wait with every ounce of restraint he possessed.
Because he needed an answer.
The Fourth Holy Grail War was only a few months away from officially beginning, and before that… there were things he had to clarify completely.
The staff member seated across from him looked even more miserable than Kayneth—practically on pins and needles already.
"Um… Lord Kayneth," the man asked, clutching the hem of his clothes as his voice trembled, "do you truly intend to contact the Grand Marshal of Magecraft… Lord Jewel, the Wizard Marshal?"
Faced with a Lord and aristocrat like Kayneth, the man didn't dare show the slightest discourtesy—especially not when the topic involved that person.
"Yes."
Kayneth slowly lifted his gaze. Coldness sharpened his narrow eyes, and his voice—usually so composed and lofty—was stripped down to something openly cutting.
"What is it? Do you think I'm not worthy?"
An invisible pressure descended in an instant.
The staffer waved his hands in panic, swallowing hard as he hurried to explain.
"N-no, of course not! Every Lord naturally has the qualification to make contact with the Grand Marshal of Magecraft. It's just… this is not child's play, and it certainly isn't something a nobody like me can arrange lightly. So please—please be patient a little longer."
Under Kayneth's oppressive presence, the man gulped and forced himself through the explanation, not daring to provoke him further. Anyone could see Kayneth was in a terrible mood.
In truth, the staffer didn't understand why Kayneth suddenly wanted to reach the Wizard Marshal—the one who was said to appear nowhere and everywhere. That figure had long since become more symbol than person within the Clock Tower, scarcely ever showing themselves.
When Kayneth first made the request, the staffer had almost thought it was an April Fools' joke—he hadn't even known how to respond.
But Kayneth had followed every procedure with complete seriousness, then slapped the formal application down on the desk.
At that point, no matter how unwilling Gordes Musik was to believe it, reality had already caught him.
Still, matters like this were far beyond what a mere functionary could touch. Gordes had already reported it upward to other Lords. The decision would be made by the people at the top.
All he could do now was stall this Lord in front of him… and shoulder the pressure.
"Still not connected?" Kayneth asked coldly.
After waiting for hours, his patience had been ground to dust. He looked at the man across from him—a bloated, middle-aged worker with a tuft of blond hair, a full beard, and a white lab coat—and spoke with flat disdain.
"Has the Department of Law's efficiency fallen this far?"
"A-ah—Lord Kayneth, I've already submitted your request," Gordes stammered, wiping sweat from his brow as anxiety chewed at him. "But as you know, the Wizard Marshal's whereabouts are impossible to pin down. Aside from the Director—and the Acting Director—no one can contact him. Please… please wait a little longer. Lord Barthomeloi has already been informed of your matter. There should be a decision soon."
Gordes tried to steady himself as he spoke.
His magecraft might be mediocre, but he was still an elite of the Department of Law. For years he'd strutted through the Clock Tower like he owned it—yet now he was being pushed into this pathetic state.
If this were some other magus, Gordes could have fobbed them off with excuses, or simply rejected the request outright.
But against Kayneth—someone who crushed him in status, influence, and power—he could only tremble, terrified that one wrong word would ruin him.
"Barthomeloi… I see."
At the mention that Lord Barthomeloi would be coming, the deep furrow between Kayneth's brows finally eased a fraction, his mood settling slightly.
"Lord Kayneth," Gordes said again, dutifully following the instructions he'd been given, "Lord Barthomeloi asked me to inquire… is there some difficulty you've encountered? Are you seeking assistance of some kind? Is that why you wish to contact the Wizard Marshal so suddenly?"
The moment he asked, Gordes regretted it—because Kayneth's answer left him blank.
"No."
"Ah…"
Of course Gordes understood what was happening.
Barthomeloi wanted him to serve as a shield—to absorb Kayneth's irritation while probing for information, and to see whether the issue could be resolved by a less costly method.
And Kayneth understood that too.
After all, Jewel was said to dwell among rifts of parallel worlds, sometimes traveling to other dimensions entirely. Contacting him wasn't like placing a phone call. It would consume immense manpower and resources.
As Acting Director, that expense would be Barthomeloi's to bear—so naturally, she wanted a solution with less waste.
But this time, Kayneth knew one thing with certainty:
Barthomeloi could not help him.
So when faced with Gordes' message, he refused to yield even a hair.
"No."
"I don't need help."
"I want to meet Lord Jewel."
Three statements, each one absolute—leaving no room for bargaining.
Kayneth's unwavering stance ensured Gordes returned empty-handed.
In the end, he could only report truthfully and kick the ball back to Barthomeloi, forcing her to deal with this troublesome Lord personally.
Even without knowing the full reason, Gordes wasn't an idiot—years in the Clock Tower had taught him that much. Kayneth's attitude made it clear this was not an ordinary matter.
And if a small fry like him didn't find a way to get out quickly—if he stayed tangled in it—he might not even understand how he died.
In any world, small people had their own survival rules.
If something would make your life difficult, don't touch it.
The art of living small was, and always had been, staying far away from trouble.
Finally—after such a long wait—Gordes' stalling produced results.
A new message came in from Barthomeloi's side.
Seeing it, Gordes felt as though he'd been pardoned from execution. He hurried to relay it.
"Lord Kayneth—Lord Barthomeloi has begun gathering the materials required for the ritual. However, completing the 'corner-of-the-world' cross-world ritual will take time, so she requests that you wait a few more days. Once we obtain news, we will notify you immediately."
"Good. Understood."
With the outcome he wanted secured, Kayneth gave a small nod and said nothing more.
He understood perfectly: the man in front of him was merely a minor piece. Only Barthomeloi had the authority to decide such matters, and tormenting this nobody would only waste time.
So once everything was done, Kayneth stood and left without hesitation.
To him, every second now was precious.
There were still more things he had to deal with.
No matter what, he had to understand what that dream truly meant.
The future's Chaldea.
The strange man who called himself Lord El-Melloi II.
And…
The end that awaited both himself and Sola-Ui.
A death he refused—no matter what—to accept.
So, regardless of the price he had to pay, he would change his—
(Fate.)Destiny.
Join here to read ahead.
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