[—After a long wait, everything has finally been declared: it has officially begun.]
——
"Like this… like this… and then like this…"
"All we need is to adjust the spirit-evocation mode. Then, using the ley lines and karmic ties, we refine the catalyst and the ritual—further tuning the Saint Graph within the framework of the ceremony."
"That way, even a Servant who was originally 'restricted' can bring out more of their true strength."
"…Yes. Good. Very good."
After parting from his lover Sola, Kayneth traveled alone to Ireland. By virtue of his status as a Lord, he gained access to a local stronghold of Mystery, intending to exploit the region's ley-line characteristics and the conceptual weight of Celtic myth to perform his own summoning.
Noon.
The central ridge of the Ellen Mountains—the cradle of Celtic myth.
A massive, fully silver barrier—like a membrane wrapped in mercury—enveloped a patch of land, and around it stood countless figures.
They were humanoid, standing upright on two legs… but if you looked closely, the wrongness became obvious.
They had human bodies.
And every single one of them had the head of a beast.
Wolves.
Werewolves—wolfmen.
That was how ancient people described them.
This wasn't an ordinary mountain range, but a warped magical domain, a bounded demesne hidden deep in the mountains year-round. Unless someone burned an entire forest to ash in one sweep, an ordinary human would never find it.
Because the masters of this domain were the werewolves themselves.
Black fur thick enough to cover their entire bodies. Over two meters tall. Limbs thick with power. They only needed to part their jaws a little to reveal rows of sharp teeth.
Within sight alone, there were over ten of them.
If a normal human had trespassed into their territory, they would have been locked onto by those eerie green eyes in an instant—then torn into pieces.
But today was different.
Kayneth needed the ley lines and the "Ellen Mountains" concept, so he had already contacted the natives in advance. He provided them with food as "payment," and only then was he permitted to conduct his ritual here.
Crunch. Crunch.
The grating sound of feeding was everywhere.
Looking around, corpses lay with their viscera ripped out, bones scattered across the ground. Fresh blood sprayed like fountains, staining the earth—along with the werewolves' fangs and claws.
Then a dull thud.
Something round rolled from a werewolf's hand and tumbled all the way to the edge of the silver membrane.
A head.
A grotesque head—even in death. Its eyeballs were gone, likely dug out by one of the werewolves.
If an ordinary person saw this scene, they would probably faint on the spot.
But on closer inspection, those were not human bodies.
They were the strange remains of bizarre beasts—odd-looking birds and animals.
Kayneth had purchased them from the Department of Zoology before leaving, as gifts for the natives. That was why he could walk into their demesne and perform his summoning so brazenly.
Still…
Trying to restrain Phantasmal Species with human morality was naïve.
In body structure and in the very "tier" of life, the difference between them was greater than the difference between humans and dogs.
Compared to the blood-meat from the Department of Zoology, the werewolves were far more interested in Kayneth himself—an obvious human packed with magic circuits, reeking of dense mana.
They wanted to taste him.
Wolves were cunning. Wolves were deceitful. Wolves had always been cast as symbols of evil.
Not long ago, they agreed only because they were starving—and because they recognized Kayneth was dangerous.
To eat him at the lowest cost, they accepted his terms temporarily, lured him deep into their territory, and then gathered their entire surviving force—preparing to hunt him at the final moment.
As the Age of Gods faded and human development expanded, their habitat had been shrinking.
By today, the werewolf clan's numbers were already pitifully low.
They didn't know how Kayneth had discovered their home—but if a human knew this place, they would never have peace again.
No matter what, Kayneth had to die here.
Minute by minute, more werewolves gathered.
They lifted their heads, eyes fixed on the mercury membrane covering the land within, muscles taut—waiting for the person inside to emerge.
After a long wait, they finally got what they wanted.
Crack. Crack!!
The boundary began to fracture, the slow shattering ringing like ice splintering.
Inside, the blond young man who had remained there for so long finally rose to his feet.
He turned his back slightly, glanced at the messy surroundings, and the corner of his mouth curled into an uncontrollable smile.
So what if fate tried to limit him?
He—Kayneth—was not someone who bowed easily.
Even if fate shackled both him and his Servant, so what?
He had found his own method.
He was ready to rebel.
"Hmph. That familiar, rancid stench… it's enough to make one sick."
The moment he stepped out from the barrier formed by Volumen Hydrargyrum, Kayneth sensed the abnormality around him.
He looked.
Endless darkness—no, not darkness.
A pack of werewolves, black fur gleaming.
At some point their numbers had increased.
When he arrived there were only a dozen or so. Now there were at least thirty—likely the entire clan's fighting strength assembled here.
"…."
Kayneth's gaze sharpened.
In their eyes he saw greed—utterly undisguised.
Even though he wasn't a zoology magus, he could easily read their intent.
They had marked him as prey.
And they were hunting as a pack.
So even after the "negotiation," even after he paid them, they chose betrayal?
Hah. Beasts were beasts. Time wouldn't make them understand humans. They were never worthy of trust.
"Now I finally understand why you Phantasmal Species have fallen so far."
Facing the werewolves as they closed in, Kayneth didn't move. Calm and composed, his words carried a faint edge of mockery.
"The reason is simple—"
Before he could finish, several werewolves—over two and a half meters tall—launched their ambush.
They struck from behind, from his blind spot.
And worst of all, they were terrifyingly fast—and nearly silent, save for the ripping sound of claws shredding the air.
This was the physical horror of the werewolf breed.
"You picked the wrong opponent."
Kayneth's tone remained flat.
And then—without even looking back—he simply turned and walked away, acting as though the lethal strike behind him didn't matter at all.
Because in the brief instant just before—
Outside the shattered boundary, the werewolves that had been snarling so arrogantly had already become corpses, their bodies still faintly warm.
And standing atop those bodies was a figure—calm, composed—
left hand holding a sword, right hand gripping a spear, gazing silently into the distance.
Then a gentle male voice followed.
"I am Lancer—Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, first warrior of the Fianna."
"My lord. From this moment onward, I shall serve as your Servant."
...
The Tohsaka residence.
Having completed every preparation, Tohsaka Tokiomi stood upon the summoning circle he had painstakingly drawn.
He began his summoning, chanting loudly as the ritual activated.
This time, he had spared no effort. Catalyst and ritual scale were both at the absolute peak of what he could manage.
The liquid used to draw the ritual circle wasn't ordinary blood—it was liquefied gemstone, produced by dissolving high-purity jewels.
To reach this day, Tokiomi had poured in nearly all the wealth he had accumulated across his lifetime.
To him, this was a gamble staking his entire life's work—no retreat possible.
Succeed, and he would ascend in one step—approaching the Root.
Fail, and everything would collapse. The Tohsaka line would decline, leaving only his daughter to carry the family forward.
For a family head—for a father—this was undeniably irresponsible.
Even so, he still chose it.
Because he had complete confidence in his daughter.
If even a mediocrity like him, through careful planning and steady growth, could reach this level…
Then a daughter whose talent surpassed his by a thousandfold surely could as well.
And magi were selfish—self-centered by nature.
He knew a father shouldn't force such pressure on his child… but when the only road in his life that might reach the Root lay before him—
he still made the choice.
I'm sorry, Rin.
Forgive your father. Just this once… one last time.
Behind him, the Kotomine father and son—present as observers—were stunned by the overwhelming scale of the ritual.
Especially Kotomine Kirei, whose gaze was fixed on the radiant altar above.
It was said to be the fossilized shed skin of the primordial serpent, the first of its kind in this world.
As Kirei imagined the heroic legend tied to that relic, even his heart felt a long-lost sense of awe.
...
"Like this… like this… and then like this…"
In the outskirts of Fuyuki City, Waver, having arrived first under Kayneth's instructions, also felt the call of the Grail.
After sending to "heaven" the sacrificial chickens he'd bought—whose constant crowing had driven him nearly insane—he began his own preparation.
He crouched low, chanting as he carefully drew the magic circle on the ground with chicken blood mixed into a mercury-like fluid.
With Kayneth's lent mystic essence aiding him, the process became far more efficient—
but Waver still didn't dare relax for a moment.
A summoning ritual carried risk.
This was the critical test of a magus's fundamentals.
One mistake, and he could die on the spot.
Even so, there was no fear in Waver's eyes.
To him, some things were more important than his life.
——
——
"We've won—We've won, Kirei! This battle is absolutely ours!"
"Great—great! It worked! I really did it this time!!"
"Oh? Boy—are you the Master who summoned this king?"
"Damn it, mongrels! Why is it you two again?!"
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