While Kayneth was still immersed in the pain and shock of the trans-reincarnational betrayal, a dark magic sphere, deep as an abyss and constantly twisting, had already condensed in Kanjuro's palm. The sphere seemed composed of the purest malice and void, exuding an aura that devoured all light.
"Farewell, Lord. This, perhaps, is another form of the 'the Root' you so longed to touch." Kanjuro's icy voice, devoid of any emotion, seemed to come from the depths of the underworld.
Before the words faded, the black sphere, as if possessing a life of its own, shot precisely towards Kayneth's heart!
"No—!!!"
Kayneth let out an utterly wretched, desperate scream filled with unwillingness. The moment the dark sphere touched his body, there was no violent explosion; instead, it silently sank into his chest like a drop of water into a sponge.
Immediately, Kayneth's eyes instantly became bloodshot like spiderwebs, his eyeballs bulging horrifically. He clearly felt a cold, deathly dark energy, capable of eroding the soul's very origin, spreading madly from his heart, devouring all his vitality and magical power. In the final moment before his consciousness sank into eternal darkness, he indeed "touched" an ultimate power — a "the Root" belonging to termination and void, the deepest despair at the end of the magical path.
"I... saw..." A gurgling, air-leaking sound came from his throat. His body convulsed violently before finally collapsing forward powerlessly, slamming heavily onto the cold, barren ground. Warm blood gushed from beneath him like winding little snakes, quickly staining the earth red. His life force, like a candle in the wind, was abruptly extinguished.
Kanjuro glanced indifferently at Kayneth's corpse, then turned to Jeanne, who stood behind him like a silent shadow. "Now, it's your turn. Fulfill your unresolved 'obsession'."
Jeanne stepped forward expressionlessly, her silver armor reflecting the cold moonlight. She walked to Kayneth's corpse, looking down upon this Clock Tower genius Magician from above.
Kayneth's residual consciousness, or perhaps fragments of his soul, seemed to sense the overwhelming hatred, voicing a silent question.
"Confused?" Jeanne's voice was like clashing ice. The holy sword in her hand — now entwined with flames of vengeance, not the sacred gold but a deep, blood-like crimson-black — "The 'Witch' condemned as a heretic by your Church and burned alive at the stake centuries ago, Saint Jeanne d'Arc, is me." Her gaze was sharp as a blade, seemingly able to pierce through time and space to stare directly at that unjust trial. "And the Clock Tower you pride yourselves on, is its foundation not rooted in that hypocritical ecclesiastical system?"
Kayneth's residual consciousness understood instantly!
He not only learned who Kanjuro's Servant was but also, in the final moments of his life, confirmed with an absurd certainty — Kanjuro, possessing such terrifying strength and methods, was destined to be the final victor of this Holy Grail War! Endless regret, curses upon his betrayed fate, and hatred for everything in the world intertwined into his final thoughts, and then —
Jeanne's holy sword, carrying the vengeance fire that incinerated all, swung down without hesitation!
The sword light flashed. Kayneth's corpse was cleanly split in two, severing all life completely. Dark crimson flames danced on his mangled remains, as if conducting a funeral rite from hell.
Only then did Kanjuro step forward leisurely, elegantly bending down. With his black-gloved hand, he cleanly severed Kayneth's right hand bearing the command spells at the wrist. He picked up this bloody "trophy," glancing at Jeanne, whose aura remained icy.
"Let's go. Diarmuid should have already sensed something has happened to his master."
Jeanne slightly frowned, somewhat puzzled. "Leave at such a time? Not wait here or set a trap?"
A chilling arc curled at the corner of Kanjuro's mouth, his eyes glinting with malicious delight in toying with people's minds. "Destroying a person's body is easy. But crushing a person's spirit, making them taste the cycle of hope and despair — that is true art, far more interesting than mere killing."
Jeanne nodded thoughtfully and said no more. Their figures melted into the night once again, as if they had never appeared.
Almost simultaneously with Kanjuro and Jeanne's disappearance, a swift figure burst through the night, landing on this barren ground where the slaughter had just ended. Diarmuid, sensing the extinguishing of Kayneth's life through the master-Servant contract bond, had rushed here in frantic anxiety.
However, what met his eyes was only Kayneth's corpse, split in two and soaking the earth with blood, along with the lingering aura of dark magical power and vengeance fire in the air that made his soul tremble.
"master!!!" Diarmuid let out a grief-stricken roar of fury, kneeling on one knee beside Kayneth's corpse. His handsome face twisted in pain and rage. Gripping his twin spears tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms, endless regret and killing intent surged in his chest — if he had insisted on following then, would the outcome have been different?
Meanwhile, Kanjuro had already returned to the hotel suite like a ghost.
Seeing Kanjuro return safely, Sola-Ui immediately rushed up to him joyfully, her eyes filled with anticipation and urgency. "Lord Kanjuro! How... how did it go?" Her voice trembled slightly from nervousness.
Kanjuro didn't speak. He merely took out that bloody, command spell-bearing severed hand unhurriedly and displayed it before Sola-Ui.
Looking at that gruesome remnant of her fiancé, Sola-Ui felt a wave of nausea and intense physical discomfort. Yet, simultaneously, a twisted, morbid excitement coiled around her heart like poisonous vines — this meant the shackles binding her were about to be completely broken!
"Once we have this," Kanjuro shook the severed hand slightly, the command spells gleaming eerily under the light, "through a simple magecraft ritual, the command spells on it can be transferred to you. Then, you, Sola-Ui Nuada-Reeah Sofialy, will become Diarmuid Ua Duibhne's rightful new master."
Sola-Ui's eyes erupted with intense, desperate light. She eagerly reached out, wanting to touch the command spells representing "freedom" and "love."
However, Kanjuro deftly took a step back, evading her fingers. A teasing, provocative smile played on his face as his gaze wandered over her chest, which rose and fell slightly with excitement. "Don't be hasty, my dear 'princess.' Before receiving your reward, shouldn't you first learn... how to better please your 'benefactor'?"
Sola-Ui's cheeks instantly flushed with shameful crimson. But after only a moment's hesitation, she obediently, even with a hint of obsequiousness, proactively untied the sash of her robe.
She knelt before Kanjuro as if a devotee offering a sacrifice to a deity. Those hands, which should have performed precise magecraft, now trembled clumsily as she began, with all the methods she could think of, eagerly trying to please the man who controlled her fate.
Jeanne stood quietly in the corner of the room like an emotionless observer, coldly watching this scene.
Watching Sola-Ui's act of sacrificing her own body and dignity for another man (Diarmuid), her heart was filled with questions: Did the current Sola-Ui truly still understand what love was? This emotion, built upon betrayal, deceit, and self-objectification, was less like love and more like an obsession-driven possessiveness to the extreme — the greatest blasphemy and disrespect to the very words "love."
Kanjuro half-closed his eyes, his posture like a monarch appreciating a clumsy performance.
His right hand continuously toyed with that bloody severed hand, the command spells occasionally reflecting faint yet piercing light under the lamp.
He neither explicitly pushed her away nor gave any positive response. He merely enveloped Sola-Ui's efforts with that all-knowing, playful silence, as if assessing the value of an object, or simply enjoying the pleasure of absolute control the process itself brought.
His low voice, carrying a commanding tone, rang out. "Say it. Say you love me, and make it sound sincere."
Sola-Ui's movements halted, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face.
Kanjuro took the command spell-bearing severed hand and slowly traced it before her eyes, like the serpent tempting Eve. "Say it."
Sola-Ui's psychological defenses completely crumbled. She looked up, tears of humiliation and desire welling in her eyes, and said in a trembling voice, "I... I love you, Lord Kanjuro..."
"Your tone isn't sincere enough," Kanjuro commented indifferently.
Sola took a deep breath, forcing herself to speak in a more melodious tone: "I love you, Lord Kanjuro... more than anything in this world..."
The curve of Kanjuro's lips deepened as he continued to press her, as if conducting a cruel trial: "Then, between me and Kayneth, who is more worthy of your devotion?"
This question plunged Sola into a brief silence once more. Having to personally admit to completely repudiating an old flame (even one without feelings) for a new one still carried a moral impact.
Kanjuro did not rush her, merely stroking the bloody command spells with his fingers.
Ultimately, the longing for Diarmuid overwhelmed everything else.
Sola closed her eyes, as if giving up all struggle, and said in a nearly hollow tone: "You... You are more important... Kayneth... he cannot be compared to you at all..."
"Say it completely," Kanjuro commanded.
"...You, Lord Kanjuro, are my only master." Sola's voice carried a sob, yet it was strangely mixed with a pleasure derived from her own degradation.
"I... I long to be your slave, to serve you forever..."
Kanjuro's low laughter echoed in the room, carrying the pleasure of total control and a deeper level of malice. He did not stop; instead, he gently lifted Sola's chin with his fingertip, forcing her to look at him through tear-filled eyes.
"A very moving performance, my dear Sola."
His voice remained gentle, yet it was like honey-coated poison. "Now, tell me one last thing—in your heart, between me and Diarmuid, who do you love more?"
Sola was completely stunned, her mind going blank.
Just now, for the sake of the command spells, she had trampled upon the last bit of guilt she felt for her fiancé, Kayneth, and spoken words of submission to Kanjuro.
But now, Kanjuro actually wanted her to choose between him and her dream-like "true love," Diarmuid?
This was simply placing her on the grill of the soul to be scorched repeatedly.
An instinctive, nearly obsessive emotion for Diarmuid made her blur out, with a hint of defensive stubbornness: "Diarmuid! He is my true love! I am doing all of this for him!"
As soon as she finished speaking, Jeanne's pupils in the corner contracted imperceptibly.
She looked at Kanjuro, waves rising in her heart. He actually dared to directly force Sola to choose between her twisted "love" and the controller of reality? This was no longer simple manipulation, but a deeper level of mental destruction and reshaping.
She felt a chill at Kanjuro's methods, but at the same time, an indescribable curiosity and reflection deepened—what exactly did he want to gain from such a cruel psychological experiment?
Was it to verify the fragility of human nature, or purely to enjoy the thrill of playing with the fates of others?
This nearly demonic insight and cruelty made her, amidst her fear, develop a renewed scrutiny and... a subtle appreciation for the essence of "power."
After all, she herself had been betrayed by so-called "faith" and "justice," knowing full well how powerless pure "goodness" could be at times.
Hearing Sola's answer, Kanjuro did not get angry but laughed instead. His smile became increasingly "gentle," yet the coldness in his eyes could almost freeze the air.
He gently stroked the command spells on the severed hand and said unhurriedly: "Oh? For him? How deeply moving. But, Sola, if you insist on saying you love Diarmuid more right now..."
He paused, his voice carrying fatal temptation and threat: "...then I'm afraid I cannot give these precious command spells to you. A woman whose heart is filled with another man does not deserve this 'gift' from me."
Sola felt as if she had fallen into an ice cellar, her whole body cold. She looked at the command spells within reach; they were her only key to "happiness" and the ultimate goal that supported all her crazed actions.
Kanjuro seemed to see through the struggle of her soul, whispering in her ear with a seductive tone like the serpent in Eden: "Think about it. As long as you get them, you can rightfully stand by Diarmuid's side, become his only master, fight alongside him, and even... win the Holy Grail to be together forever.
What a happy thing that would be. For the sake of this happiness, what's wrong with saying the 'correct' things for a moment?"
"Happiness"... "Together forever"... These words shattered Sola's final psychological defenses like a magic spell.
Compared to obtaining Diarmuid, what did a moment of insincerity matter?
So-called "true love," in the face of real power and desire, seemed to become something that could be weighed and sacrificed.
Under the extreme temptation and pressure, Sola's spirit completely collapsed.
She gave up thinking, gave up her already twisted insistence on "love," leaving only the most primitive instinct—to obtain, to desperately obtain the command spells that represented hope.
She lifted her head again, her face a mix of tear stains, humiliation, and a nearly sacrificial flush, shouting with all her might:
"You! I love you more, Lord Kanjuro! Diarmuid... Diarmuid is absolutely nothing!
He is nothing more than a blade to be driven, a... a vessel to realize my obsession! Only you! Only you are the master my soul recognizes! I beg you... give the command spells to me!"
She nearly shrieked this statement that completely betrayed her original intent. Then, as if drained of all strength and dignity, she slumped limply to the ground, leaving only ragged breaths. She looked up at Kanjuro with eyes mixing despair and a final hope, asking in a broken voice:
"Like this... are you satisfied?"
She had surrendered her final dignity and soul, all to trade for that illusory "future" built upon countless betrayals.
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