Chapter 2: Mystic Eyes of Death Perception
Fujimaru Ritsuka had always kept a secret—one tied to where he truly came from.
That secret was—
He wasn't a person of this era.
To put it more bluntly… he wasn't even a person of this world.
It sounded absurd, but at this point he had no choice but to accept it as fact—especially after his grandfather, that damned old beast, that old worm, had repeatedly forced him into spirit-invocation rites. Over and over again—rituals he'd once encountered, magecraft ceremonies, even attempts at Heroic Spirit summoning—those memories that should never have returned grew clearer and sharper inside his mind.
Compared to the ten wretched years he'd spent in Fuyuki, there was another place—Chaldea—that had suffered a sudden calamity when a bomber's attack triggered disaster without warning. The observatory had been swallowed by an unknown, massive explosion. As one of Chaldea's elite Masters, he had been dragged into it as well.
Even now, he could still remember the crimson flames bursting out in front of the Spiritron frame.
And even earlier than that—earlier than that life—there had been a life before a life, where he was nothing more than an ordinary young man who died of congenital heart disease.
Only… in that world, he had happened to know exactly what kind of world he was in now.
Those two sets of memories should have faded and been forgotten. Ritsuka himself couldn't even say whether he still "counted" as those two people. If anything, it felt less like reincarnation and more like being reborn—again and again.
In many Eastern myths, there were ideas like that. Buddhism spoke of cycles of rebirth as well. He felt as though he existed in that state.
I am me—and not me—and yet all of them are me.
The soul was the same, but the memories and lives were different—lives that should have remained separate, ignorant of one another. Yet for some special reason, they had reconnected, flowing back together and linking into one.
For someone beginning a new life, these complicated, shocking memories should have been discarded. He was, after all, a new person too.
But his luck was truly atrocious.
Even in a "new" life, he had landed in misfortune like this. Under day-by-day torment and relentless stimulation, the memories of those two other lives kept flooding into his mind. By the time he fully accepted them—by the time they became crystal clear—more than ten years had already passed in this world, a world unlike either of the previous two.
Six quiet years. Ten years of suffering.
That kind of experience twisted a person. At least, that was what Ritsuka believed. Those memories belonged to "a past self"—a set of memories from a distant world, not something that should have clung to him so stubbornly.
In the end, though, he was grateful to the "two other versions" of himself.
He was glad that the self from the life-before-the-last—an utterly ordinary person—had not given in to despair while waiting for death in a hospital bed. Instead, he searched for things that could bring him peace and enjoyment.
It was during that time that he watched Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night, and The Garden of Sinners. Later, he even went out of his way to play Fate/Grand Order.
Those stories gave him a serenity he had never known before.
Even now, when he revisited those memories, he could still see it—beneath the Temple of Time, under that storm of meteors at the edge of the heavens, the silhouette of a man smiling.
And he still remembered what Da Vinci said:
"One sacrifice."
His regret, though… was that he hadn't died back when Part Two's story began.
Even now, he still didn't know whether that ordinary doctor—who loved strawberry cake, who bickered with him nonstop, who complained constantly yet worked harder than anyone—had ever returned.
And he couldn't help thinking:
If he had recovered those original memories earlier, then his Chaldea self wouldn't have died.
He would have seen through Lev's scheme sooner.
He wouldn't have ended up like this.
But what was done was done.
The one thing worth being thankful for was that his "previous-life self" was, by any standard, a top student. He had deep knowledge and accumulated skill in spiritual evocation and related disciplines. That meant that even while the old worm forced him to train and practice familiar magecraft, he still had room to hide more refined, more specialized techniques in other fields.
As for the eyes—these eyes that were the same as Shiki Ryougi's—Ritsuka didn't know their true origin.
Even after reading through another self's memories, he could confirm one thing with certainty:
His Chaldea self had never possessed these eyes.
The only clues he had came from the very first life's memories.
He remembered his "previous-life profile" clearly: he had been an outstanding student at the Clock Tower, studying in Lord El-Melloi II—Teacher Waver's—classroom. He was diligent and eager to learn, but in that room he was only… solid. He had talent in many areas, but he wasn't the best at any single one.
To put it simply, he and Kadoc were mediocrities among geniuses.
They were chosen as Masters largely because they learned quickly and adapted well. Within Team A, if someone had to be cast aside, there was no question—it would have been the two of them. That was exactly why the two of them got along: a kind of mutual understanding among those at the bottom.
So were these eyes something he was born with in this life?
Or had he, in the moment of Chaldea's explosion, crossed the boundary between life and death and met the conditions to "open" them?
In the end, those were the only two possibilities he could think of.
Either way, they were Mystic Eyes straight out of myth—and their power was terrifying.
No wonder the old worm didn't dare tamper recklessly with his brain.
He didn't dare gamble on whether these eyes—recorded in legends as "a gaze that guarantees death"—held other properties he didn't understand.
So… without complete certainty, he wouldn't risk his life?
How very fitting.
Cowardly as a worm, Matou Zouken—just like the state he was in now.
And precisely because of that, Ritsuka had been given so many rare chances.
However these eyes had come to him, it no longer mattered.
Yesterday's "past life" was too far away.
He was no longer simply the Ritsuka of Chaldea, nor the boy on the hospital bed.
More than ten years had passed. Whatever happened in Chaldea was no longer his concern.
Because he knew he wasn't the fearless Gudao of FGO—just an ordinary person who happened to bear the name Fujimaru Ritsuka.
The "real" Master was probably his sister—Fujimaru Rikka.
When he remembered her—orange-red hair, a bright smile that never seemed to fade—Ritsuka clenched his fist in silence.
I'm sorry, Sis.
I'm leaving you to carry that burden alone.
As for me…
What I still have to do hasn't changed.
I will take the revenge my heart demands.
And with my own hands, I will seize the freedom I've been denied for ten years.
—
Time: One year before the Holy Grail War begins.
Place: Fuyuki City, within the Matou residence.
By the flicker of candlelight, an abnormal pulse of mana began to spread through the room.
Hah—
Suddenly, the flames died.
The surroundings fell back into their original darkness.
"Failed again… Without a relic and the right timing, I can't do it after all."
Deep inside the pitch-black room, a black-haired boy sat on the floor, looking battered. He reached out, struggling to push himself up—clearly, the reckless attempt had cost him dearly.
Then he glanced back at the magic circle on the floor behind him.
A delighted smile tugged at his mouth.
His condition was terrible, but it couldn't hide the excitement burning inside him.
The sixty-third adjustment.
Success.
His custom Heroic Spirit summoning circle had finally taken shape. Now he only needed to obtain a few specific relics, and it would be complete—
Grrrk—grrk—!!
A harsh scraping sound tore through the silence—like an old branch splitting in a winter night.
The wooden doorframe began grinding against the rough floorboards. Dim corridor light—what little existed—spilled into the room, barely brightening it… and exposing the shape of the magic circle on the floor with nowhere left to hide.
The sudden sound, the sudden light—
Ritsuka's previously bright mood turned instantly grim.
He snapped upright, his gaze locking onto the nauseating figure standing in the doorway.
A moment later, an aged voice drifted in.
"So you were adjusting the Heroic Spirit summoning circle again? Ritsuka, haven't I told you already—without the correct timing, you will never succeed. And you don't even have a relic as a catalyst right now. Be careful. Don't cause an accident."
At the end of the corridor light stood a hunched, terrifying silhouette—small, withered, and sinister. His tone oozed displeasure at Ritsuka's repeated disobedience.
He was the true master of the Matou household.
Matou Zouken—a horrifying monster who had lived five hundred years.
He looked like a mummy crawling out of a coffin—his body shriveled, sickly, as if he could drop dead at any moment.
But to be fooled by that appearance, to underestimate him, was to invite death.
If you counted from the day he was born, the monster was at least five hundred years old.
Sensing the old monster behind him, Ritsuka forced himself upright in one sharp motion. He scratched his hair, putting on a mask of irritation.
"Old worm, didn't I tell you not to bother me? What, you still don't trust me?"
"Heh… heh…"
A dry, rasping laugh rolled out of Zouken's throat, carrying a chill that crawled into the bones.
"Calling your own grandfather a worm? What a rude little brat. I haven't 'disciplined' you in too long—you've forgotten even the most basic manners. It seems I ought to give you a lesson you won't forget."
His tone shifted abruptly.
The cane in his hand—like dead wood—slammed into the floor.
Crack—crack—!!
The heavy strike boomed dully. Then, with a harsh, grating sound, Zouken's body began trembling at a visible speed.
In the next instant, countless wing-bladed insects—like a black tide—erupted into the air. The frequency of their wings was so shrill it made the scalp prickle.
A heartbeat later, the mass of insects became a storm of blades, surging straight at Ritsuka.
"—?!"
Ritsuka's pupils tightened.
Zouken attacked without warning, but shock didn't make him lose control.
This place was his workshop. Every inch of it was within his domain. He had no reason to fear.
He twisted his body, dodging the first wave of wing-blade strikes. At the same time, his hand snapped behind his waist.
The moment a cold, familiar touch met his palm, his mind steadied.
The swarm struck again—dense, relentless—
But this time he was ready.
He swung his right hand—gripping the knife—and sliced through the air, tracing along the black lines that had appeared across the insects' bodies.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Three razor-sharp cutting sounds ripped through the room.
His blade—glinting coldly—cut precisely across the "lines of death" on the insects. Several wing-blade bugs were severed instantly, breaking apart and raining down like scraps of black paper—lifeless.
Ritsuka's eyes were no longer black.
They had turned into a clear, watery blue.
The light of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception flowed within them, and undisguised killing intent—almost tangible—locked onto Matou Zouken.
"…"
The moment that gaze pinned him, Zouken's expression finally shifted.
In his cloudy eyes, a flicker of wariness appeared.
What an extraordinary pair of Mystic Eyes…
"Not bad," Zouken said, "but it's still not enough, Ritsuka!"
The test wasn't over.
Zouken had no intention of stopping, nor of giving Ritsuka even a moment to breathe.
He opened his mouth and spat out several more grotesque insects, then commanded all his wing-blade bugs to join them—forming a net-like formation in midair, a woven killing field that came down toward Ritsuka in a grinding, shredding sweep.
Zouken had lived too long not to know his weakness: close combat.
So of course he had devised ways to compensate.
This technique—built specifically for opponents who specialized in physical combat—was a composite kill pattern formed by wing-blade insects, blastflame bugs, and Feilian bugs.
The Feilian bugs served as connectors, while the other two types provided offense.
If the enemy dared to touch the net with a weapon or body, the blastflame bugs would explode instantly.
If the enemy tried to avoid contact, the wing-blade insects would rush in and slice them into pieces.
To command different insect familiars, to combine their properties and drive them as one—
That was one of Zouken's true specialties.
And this time, he held nothing back.
Even a veteran magus could easily die to this single move.
Come. Let me see how far you can go.
Zouken's eyes burned as he stared at Ritsuka, eager to witness what came next.
Ritsuka didn't hesitate.
With the hyper-clarity granted by the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception—and with his own study of insect familiars—he could tell instantly that this was a highly sophisticated composite technique.
So he didn't foolishly try to block it head-on.
Instead, he drew a specially crafted mystic code from his side.
To commemorate certain fragments buried in his memories, he had given it a name:
Sex Pistols.
A revolver with a six-round cylinder.
The name was a tribute, yes—
But with the insect familiars he'd carefully selected to support it, this revolver was far more than a joke.
With multiple insects assisting, it had features like rapid reloading, reinforced firing, aim support, bullet selection, and target tracking.
Aside from the fact that it couldn't chat with its owner like the "original," it was—in terms of function—an outright upgraded version.
"Magic bullets—load."
Ritsuka's voice was cold as ice.
His fingertips tapped lightly against the cylinder of Sex Pistols.
In the next second, several runes flared. His customized magical rounds—Ignition Rounds—clicked perfectly into place.
Three golden beetles crawled from a hidden compartment along the gun's frame and latched onto the bullets' heads, like precision "navigation units."
Bang! Bang! Bang!!
Three heavy gunshots shook the room.
Three crimson bullets burst from the barrel and, guided by the beetles, carved three wickedly angled arcs through the air.
The watery blue gleam in Ritsuka's eyes sharpened further.
The Mystic Eyes had already locked onto the net's weakest nodes—the core links where the Feilian bugs connected everything.
BOOOOM—!!
The collision happened in the blink of an eye.
A blast of near-thousand-degree heat erupted, a shockwave of hot air slamming through the room like an invisible fist.
The "unbreakable" insect net was annihilated in an instant.
Bodies of insects rained to the floor and burned to ash—Zouken's familiars and Ritsuka's beetles alike.
But there was no doubt about one thing:
Zouken's attack had been neutralized—cleanly.
"Clap. Clap. Clap!!"
Zouken didn't rage.
He applauded.
Those hands, like dead wood, came together in slow, deliberate claps—almost as if praising Ritsuka's performance.
In the dim room, the last candlelight cast shadows across half his sunken face. In his hollow eye sockets, an unreadable glow flickered.
He looked like a vengeful spirit from a horror film—so eerie it made the spine go cold.
He really is drifting farther and farther from being human…
Ritsuka tightened his grip on the gun, disgust deepening in his chest.
The old worm truly was a monster—inside and out.
Always appearing without warning.
Always acting with unrestrained malice.
Not human at all.
If Ritsuka were certain he could kill him cleanly, he would have put a hole in that disgusting skull on the spot.
"Put away your toys," Zouken said. He couldn't read minds, so he didn't know what Ritsuka was thinking—but when he saw the revolver lift toward him again, he spoke first. "Your performance just now satisfied me greatly. It seems these years of training haven't wasted my 'care' for you."
His tone paused, and a hint of greed seeped through.
"Your danger sense, your physical skill, your magecraft—none of it looks like someone's first real fight. I had thought to teach you the cruelty of magi through actual combat… but it seems unnecessary."
Then he continued, voice thickening with appetite.
"And that's fine. Seeing you so excellent gives me even more confidence that you can win this Holy Grail War."
Ritsuka's expression didn't soften in the slightest.
Instead, he raised the gun and fired once—straight upward.
Bang!!
A red flash.
A dark crimson poisonous insect dropped from the ceiling, splattering down with wet mucus still clinging to it.
Ritsuka didn't even blink. He lifted his foot and crushed it into pulp.
Sticky fluid seeped between the floorboards, releasing a sharp, nauseating stench.
"So you were trying to teach me," Ritsuka said, voice flat, "never to let my guard down?"
His tone held no emotion.
Only coldness.
"Heh. That was the idea," Zouken rasped. "But since you already understand, there's nothing more to say."
His attempt—distract and strike from an angle—had been exposed. Yet he showed not the slightest embarrassment, only a sinister laugh, as if such shamelessness was beneath his notice.
Ritsuka, having eliminated every hidden threat, shot back without courtesy.
"Is that so? Old worm—if you have no confidence in me, why don't you enter the War yourself? Do you really need such ridiculous excuses just to test me?"
He tilted his head, the sarcasm cutting sharp.
"With your centuries of experience, getting a Grail right outside your own door should be easy. Or is it that your rotten body and shattered soul barely have the strength left to command your bugs?"
"What a sharp-tongued brat," Zouken said. "So you've learned quite a bit about me."
He heard the probing beneath the taunt, but he didn't get angry.
To him, those matters were a century-old blur. He hardly remembered them—and saw no reason to argue.
His reasons for attacking Ritsuka had been twofold:
To punish Ritsuka for disobeying him and attempting summoning again.
And to test his practical combat ability—while giving him a "lesson" he would never forget.
Now that the confirmation was complete, there was no need to linger.
"…"
Ritsuka stared at the silent monster, a faint disappointment surfacing inside him.
He had wanted to hit a nerve—wanted to see whether there was still emotion under that numb shell.
But Zouken's reaction was like dead water.
Not even a ripple.
He truly didn't care who he was anymore.
"So what are you here for this time?" Ritsuka asked.
He lowered the revolver, then feigned impatience.
"Just to test me? To feed me nonsense? Or…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…Have you finally decided you've lived long enough? Did you come here to ask me to set you free?"
His lips curled.
"If that's the case, then I'd be happy to oblige, my dear Grandfather. I promise you'll feel no pain at all."
Before the last word finished, Ritsuka had already reloaded.
Those watery blue Mystic Eyes flared again, and his ice-cold gaze—sharp as a blade—locked onto every fatal point on Matou Zouken.
Zouken looked back into those eyes.
And within that pale blue reflection, he seemed to see a figure—familiar, yet strange—blurred as though behind frosted glass.
A shadow that belonged to someone long dead.
Join here to read ahead.
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Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 64)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter10)
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