Fuyuki City, late at night.
By day it was just another ordinary city among countless others.
But once night fell and mystery wrapped over it, the place turned into an arena where magi and Heroic Spirits slaughtered each other.
Right now, all was silent.
Even the usual chorus of insects sounded as if some invisible hand had strangled it.
Only the waters of the distant Mion River flowed on in the cold moonlight, quietly making their way toward the deep, dark sea.
On the outskirts, far from the city center, an abandoned factory shrouded under layers of tightly woven bounded fields stood at the edge of an overgrown industrial zone, like a scar the era had forgotten.
Beneath the factory lay another space, deliberately constructed.
The air reeked of machine oil that never quite faded, the metallic tang of old rust, and something heavier still, so thick it felt like it might start dripping at any moment.
This place had been temporarily converted into Kiritsugu Emiya's base of operations.
Rather than a workshop, it was more like a war room.
Under the dim lighting—barely bright enough to see by—a few electronic devices flickered with pale green or dark red indicator lights, providing most of the illumination.
Their low hum was the only background noise.
Spread across an old wooden table was a detailed map of Fuyuki City and its surrounding area.
Different-colored markers crisscrossed it with symbols and arrows.
Scattered among them were files: fragments of intel on the Masters and Servants taking part in this Holy Grail War, city infrastructure blueprints, and obscure documents dealing with the occult.
Kiritsugu Emiya.
Like the cigarette between his fingers, burned almost down to the filter, the man gave off a cold, exhausted, yet unmistakably dangerous air from the inside out.
He wore the same black coat that might as well have been grafted onto him.
The collar was slightly open, revealing equally dark clothing underneath.
Years of hardship and the resolve forged in countless life-or-death choices had carved deep lines into his not-so-young face, as if with a knife.
His eyes were the sharpest thing in the gloom.
Right now, they were fixed on Maiya Hisau across from him, silently cleaning her sniper rifle.
Maiya, as always, was like a meticulously maintained weapon—quiet, efficient, with not a single wasted motion.
She wore a dark tactical outfit that allowed for easy movement, outlining a lean, agile frame.
Every disassembled piece of the sniper rifle in her hands was wiped over and over with an oiled cloth, until the metal gleamed with a cold sheen.
Between the two of them flowed a wordless understanding built up over many years.
A single glance, a brief pause in breathing—that was all it took to convey a complex tactical intent or a read on each other's condition.
They were accomplices. Partners.
The only ones walking the same dark road, shoulder to shoulder, toward a shared goal.
"Assassin's reconnaissance still hasn't come back."
Kiritsugu's voice was low and hoarse, as if scraped by sandpaper, carrying a trace of impatience so faint most would miss it—but not Maiya.
The chaos and abnormality of this Holy Grail War had already far exceeded the simulations he'd run based on the intelligence provided by the Einzbern family.
Especially that anomaly called Rei Ao.
He was like a massive boulder dropped into still water, completely shattering a situation that had already been full of hidden undercurrents.
Maiya paused, stopping midway through wiping the barrel.
She looked up; her eyes were as calm and frozen as Siberian permafrost, without a ripple.
"Hassan's movements take time."
"Especially if he has to avoid the other Servants' perception."
"As far as we know, the only one dead so far is Caster. The rest—Saber, Lancer, Berserker—are all troublesome."
"Saber's swordsmanship is extremely strong; she killed the monster Caster summoned. Lancer has spear skills on par with Saber, and a cursed spear."
"Berserker's Mad Enhancement is very high. His destructive power is frightening."
Kiritsugu didn't answer right away.
He just took a deep drag on the cigarette between his fingers, letting the sharp smoke swirl and settle in his lungs, as if he could press his impatience down along with it.
The nicotine shock briefly jolted his exhausted nerves awake.
What followed, though, was an even deeper sense of emptiness.
"The real problem is still him."
He let the words out like a sigh.
That man still hadn't shown himself.
His gaze dropped, almost on reflex, to the back of his own hand, where three crimson, oddly patterned Command Spells were etched.
They weren't the proper symbols of honor and authority granted by a legitimate Holy Grail system.
They looked more like proof that something had gone wrong in the system somewhere—error-filled, forcibly branded execution codes.
The moment he finished speaking, as if to echo his words, the magical particles in the air started behaving strangely—restless, agitated.
It wasn't the steady fluctuation that came with an ordinary Servant materializing in spirit form.
This was like a high-handed declaration of an existence placing itself above all else.
Golden motes of light appeared out of thin air, like tiny sprites with life and will of their own.
They rapidly gathered and wove together, outlining a tall, straight figure radiating an incomparable arrogance.
The golden armor was ornate and old-fashioned.
Every plate gleamed, as if forged from pure gold and some kind of abstract, conceptual radiance.
In this dim underground room, it was blinding.
Red eyes burned like molten gemstones, filled with a contempt and pride toward all creation that felt innate, not learned.
The oldest King of Heroes, Gilgamesh.
Manifesting under the Archer class—but not through the proper Holy Grail summoning ritual.
He was a Wrong Servant: Archer.
A Servant that should never have appeared, an error, just like the faulty Command Spells on Kiritsugu Emiya's hand.
His appearance was a complete out-of-bounds variable for Kiritsugu's calculations.
And from start to finish, one that could never be controlled.
To this day, Kiritsugu still couldn't fully understand why those erroneous Command Spells had appeared, or how he had summoned this Servant without any relic at all.
But the brutal rules of the Holy Grail War didn't allow him the option of backing out.
To realize that almost fanatical wish—to "eradicate all wars and bloodshed from the world"—
He had to use every ounce of power available to him.
Even if that power itself was like a Damocles' sword hanging not just over his head, but over the entire world.
And the hilt of that sword was held in the hand of a capricious tyrant.
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 220+ Chapters Ahead of Others!