Chapter 7: The Bargain with Zōken Matō
Time: Not long ago.
Place: The northern outskirts of Berlin, Germany.
The shadow of the Einzbern family's castle draped itself over a forest dressed in silver-white snow.
As the winter wind swept through snow-laden branches, a low male voice cut through the stillness—its tone sharpened with open suspicion.
"You again? What are you doing here, Makiri Zolgen?"
From deep within the woods emerged a tall figure, beard and hair gone gray-white. The current head of the Einzbern, Achad, stood amid the snow.
His silver hair—an unmistakable mark of the Einzbern line—blended into the falling flakes. His gaze, like a blade of ice, pinned the hunched figure before him.
It was Zōken Matō—absent for many years.
"Don't be so hostile, Achad."
Zōken's voice was still the rasp of rotting wood scraping against itself, yet he forced a faintly casual tone.
"Looking at the world as it is now… there aren't many 'old friends' like us left."
"Einzbern does not welcome you."
Achad's voice didn't soften by even a fraction. Every word came out cold enough to freeze.
"I know that," Zōken replied, swaying slightly as if Achad's rejection meant nothing. "But if I still came, that means I have my reasons, doesn't it?"
"If it weren't important… why would I risk provoking you again by stepping onto this land of memories?"
"Reasons?" Achad's sneer echoed through wind and snow. "You mean the relic you mentioned in your letter? Hah. A vampire who has long betrayed his original ideals—utterly fallen—now has the audacity to come here under the pretext of 'borrowing' a holy relic? Don't push your luck."
He continued, words honed and biting:
"Don't forget: Einzbern and Matō are both participants in the Holy Grail War. The war is imminent—yet instead of preparing, you want to rummage through Einzbern's collection for an advantage."
"That shamelessness… exactly as it was two hundred years ago."
"Achad… though I have changed over these many years, I haven't fallen into becoming a Dead Apostle," Zōken said, shaking his head.
From beneath the hood, his shadowed eyes showed something complicated.
"At least… not yet."
"And yet what difference is there between your current state and a Dead Apostle?" Achad pressed, merciless. "Two hundred years—only two hundred—and you've decayed into this."
"It's hard to prevent myself from doubting that the rotten thing standing here is the same Makiri Zolgen who visited this place two centuries ago."
"…."
This time, Zōken couldn't answer.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, leaving only silence.
Even to him, the contradiction—the absurdity—between his old grand ideals and the rot of his present soul was something he could no longer explain cleanly.
Seeing he wouldn't speak, Achad chose not to dwell on the past further and shifted topics.
"Fine. Then tell me: what 'holy relic' are you looking for?"
"Even in your current… say what you are… your ability should be enough to obtain a suitable catalyst without coming here. So what is your real objective?"
"You're right," Zōken said at last. "This visit is to fulfill a promise."
"Or rather… to awaken a transaction that has slept for a long time."
His voice gained a solemn weight, subtle but unmistakable.
"Long ago, I forgot the details of that deal entirely. Only recently—when the fog in my mind cleared—did I remember again."
"And the relic involved… is something only the Einzbern possess. That is why I came."
"A… transaction. And a relic only Einzbern has?" Achad's expression shifted, despite himself.
He narrowed his eyes and studied Zōken's gaze—and what he saw startled him.
Inside that decayed, ugly shell, those eyes carried an unexpected firmness.
Those eyes…
They looked like the eyes of the 'ally of justice' from two hundred years ago.
The shock was real.
By all rights, someone in Zōken's condition should have forgotten even his own name.
So why—
Why did that gaze, that soul, still resemble the Makiri Zolgen of old?
For a moment, Achad couldn't make sense of it.
But it didn't matter.
To Achad, whether it was "Zōken Matō" or "Makiri Zolgen," both were detestable.
One out of contempt—disgust for a creature like this.
The other out of old resentment buried deep in the heart.
The Einzbern, heirs to the tradition of the Third Magic, were fundamentally different from other mage families. They weren't descendants or direct successors of the Third Magician.
They were creations—products of the Third Magician's disciple.
The Einzbern were, in essence, a magecraft workshop—born for a single purpose:
To make the Third Magic manifest in this world once again.
After a century of effort, Einzbern finally produced a miracle: the "Winter Saint," Justeaze—a beacon of hope for the family whose entire reason for existing was the rebirth of the Third Magic.
But that fragile hope had been stolen at the moment it sprouted—by a hateful man named Makiri Zolgen.
More than two hundred years ago, he had visited Justeaze, persuaded her with words and ideals, and made her offer everything for the sake of the "Grail."
Einzbern's century of labor was nearly reduced to ash. Forced into the "Three Families," they became entangled in the Holy Grail War.
And the promise he'd made then—that when the Greater Grail was completed, the Third Magic would truly manifest—was never fulfilled.
Every prior Grail War had spiraled out of control.
Einzbern's resentment toward Makiri Zolgen ran deep.
So now, seeing that oathbreaker again, Achad felt that not killing him on the spot was already proof of restraint.
Helping him?
Impossible.
Especially when they were both entrants in the coming war—enemies, by definition.
What kind of fool would fund an enemy's catalyst so the enemy could turn it against you?
"Whatever happened to you, whatever promises you made to someone… none of it concerns Einzbern."
Achad turned away, his voice returning to pure indifference.
"Makiri Zolgen. Leave. And do not appear here again."
"We have no desire to revisit the past."
To Achad, Zōken's affairs were not worth entangling with.
His mission was simple: ensure the completion of the Greater Grail and bring about the Third Magic.
Everything else was noise—unnecessary, and dangerous to indulge right now.
He started to walk.
"Wait, Achad."
Zōken called from behind—this time with a faint note of temptation.
"What if I said… helping me this time is, in truth, also helping yourself?"
Achad paused and looked back, brow furrowing.
"What do you mean, Makiri Zolgen?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
Seeing Achad finally waver, Zōken lifted his head and continued in a calm, coaxing tone:
"I know Einzbern's mission is to ensure the Third Magic is completed."
"And it doesn't matter who wins the Grail—so long as the Third Magic is realized. Correct?"
"Then what if I told you…"
"This time, I have a way to make the Grail truly descend."
"What choice would you make then?"
"…."
At words touching the Grail and the Third Magic, Achad stopped fully. The stillness on his face cracked into something more complicated.
After a long beat, he spoke:
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because of this."
Zōken moved as if he'd prepared for this exact question. From within his robes he produced a thick scroll and tossed it to Achad.
"Hm? This is—"
The scroll traced a dark arc through the air and landed neatly in Achad's hand.
"A… Self-Geas Scroll?!" (a self-binding magical contract)
The instant his fingers closed around it—and he felt its texture and the mana embedded within—Achad's cold expression shifted into shock.
He knew what it was.
And precisely because he knew, he was stunned.
"You brought this out?"
"Are you serious, Makiri Zolgen?"
"Of course." Zōken's rasp was firm.
"If I want you to set aside two hundred years of resentment, I must show matching resolve."
"Here and now—whether you call me Zōken Matō or Makiri Zolgen—I pledge my soul, my life, and my ancient bloodline to the World, the Root, and the omnipotent King of Mages…"
"And I will sign this self-enforced contract with you."
With his words, the parchment in Achad's hands began to tremble uncontrollably.
In the next instant, it snapped open and floated in midair, displaying the contract terms in full.
—Self-Enforced Geas.
[Bound subject: Zōken Matō / Makiri Zolgen / ■■■■.
Swears to the World, the Root, and the King of Mages.
Upon fulfillment of the conditions below, this contract becomes an absolute commandment, binding the subject without exception.]
[Oath: Makiri Zolgen, bearer of an ancient bloodline, who walks to save mankind, alias Zōken Matō.
When the Fourth Holy Grail War concludes, he shall cause the miracle of the Greater Grail to descend, fully complete the Third Magic, and help the Einzbern family fulfill their long-held wish.]
[Condition 1: Einzbern provides the holy relic Makiri Zolgen requires. From the moment of transfer, the contract takes effect.]
[Condition 2: No deception. No betrayal. Any falsification incurs binding punishment.]
[Signature: ■■]
"A genuine self-enforced geas…" Achad murmured.
As a veteran magus—and head of the Einzbern—his eyes weren't dull. He recognized the keystone spellwork at a glance.
He simply hadn't believed Zōken would go this far.
"Using your soul and life as collateral… making a promise like this…"
"You filthy old worm who's clung to life for centuries… you're really willing to stake that much?"
"I am."
Zōken met his eyes, calm, each word clear.
"I know what my irresponsibility in the past burdened Einzbern with."
"You won't trust me now. So if I want your help, only this level of commitment is barely enough to qualify."
He paused, then continued:
"With a self-geas binding me, I cannot violate it. The witnesses are the World and the Root."
"If I dare break my word again… you can imagine my end."
"For a decayed body that has survived like mine… surely this is the guarantee that would reassure you most."
"…."
Achad fell silent.
Zōken's reasoning left no room for easy rebuttal.
Achad trusted neither "Makiri Zolgen" nor "Zōken Matō."
Without this geas, he wouldn't even have stopped walking—let alone helped.
But seeing it…
Achad had to admit he was tempted.
This wasn't like the "verbal promises" of two centuries ago. A self-geas binds.
Break it, and even someone as capable as Zōken would die—horrifically.
And unlike those who didn't care about life and death, Makiri/Zōken was clearly not that kind of man.
If he had been, he wouldn't have endured becoming something so grotesque just to keep living.
Which meant: if even this man was willing to offer such a guarantee…
Achad had no reason not to feel moved.
Einzbern's obsession with the Grail was no weaker than Zōken's obsession with survival.
This "sincerity," distasteful as the source was, had struck home.
"Then tell me your demand," Achad said at last, turning back.
His voice was low, grinding like sand.
"If you've gone this far… even I should hear what it is you want."
"Hmph. I knew you'd agree."
A meaningful smile curled at Zōken's lips.
"Rest assured, Achad. This time, my will won't waver."
"The Greater Grail you've dreamed of will truly descend."
"As for what I want… it's simple for you."
"Because it should already be in Einzbern's collection."
"Say it clearly," Achad ordered, tightening his grip on his cane.
His eyes sharpened, locking onto Zōken, searching for any crack.
Zōken slowly raised his head. Under the hood, his eyes flashed with solemn intent.
"What I need is simple."
"I want the golden dagger that Einzbern discovered alongside Avalon—found in that same tomb."
"That blade…"
"The 'Corroding Golden Blade' belonging to the Witch of the Isle."
Join here to read ahead.
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