Her emerald eyes, which had only recently regained their clarity, were instantly stained blood-red again, and her silver-white hair showed signs of spreading! The pseudo-avalon inside her body sent bursts of needle-like pain!
"It's Kanjuro... it's his power!!" Saber's voice trembled with disbelief as she clutched her heart, which felt like it was about to split open, her blood-red eyes staring fixedly at the "erased" void in the distance. "He... he didn't use his true power just now... Was he toying with us?!"
A bone-chilling cold instantly swept through the hearts and minds of the three kings.
Letting him leave?
This might be the most fatal and regrettable mistake they had ever made in their long lives and careers of conquest!
What they were facing was not at all a "strong enemy" that could be defeated by joining forces.
But rather... a natural disaster walking the earth, possessing the authority to subvert the world!
Jeanne d'Arc looked at the "nothingness" created in an instant before her eyes, speechless for a long time.
Meanwhile, Kanjuro slowly dissipated the dark holy sword in his hand, as if he had only done a trivial little thing.
He gazed in the direction of Einzbern Castle, a silent smile that was a mix of anticipation and cruelty appearing on his face.
The hunt had only just begun. And the prey had already realized the terror of the hunter. On the long streets of Fuyuki City under the night sky, neon lights flickered, yet they could not dispel the inexplicable chill in the air. Kanjuro and Jeanne d'Arc walked side by side toward the hotel, looking like two travelers returning late. However, the surrounding peace was soon broken by a discordant "noise."
Jeanne d'Arc's footsteps paused slightly, a hint of alertness furrowing her silver brows. She felt a faint but twisted fluctuation of magical energy hidden beneath the city's pulse, flowing quietly through the "253" spiritual pulse like sewage.
"Oh my," Kanjuro chuckled almost at the same time. He sniffed, as if savoring the scent in the air. "How interesting... a scent mixed with low-grade dark alchemy and unorganized Black Magic, like the clumsy graffiti of a beginner. Pity, it has the form but lacks the spirit; it hasn't even grasped the true essence of 'evil' and'slaughter,' remaining entirely superficial." His tone carried the pickiness of a professional connoisseur and a hint of condescending disdain.
"Yes," Jeanne d'Arc replied in a low voice, her sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings before finally settling on Kanjuro, her expression complex and hard to read. "And... this magical fluctuation carries a hint of something familiar to me... a nauseating feeling." It wasn't familiarity on a power level, but rather a certain quality that stirred up some unpleasant memories.
Kanjuro followed her gaze and looked up. On a public notice board by the roadside, a brand-new wanted poster was pasted, trembling slightly in the night wind. Several lines of text and a blurry surveillance screenshot were clearly printed on it:
"Emergency Notice: Recently, several cases of missing children have occurred in our city. The victims all vanished mysteriously at night. If you have any clues, please contact the police immediately. Those who provide effective information to assist in solving the case can receive a reward of one million yen. The culprit's whereabouts are unknown; they are extremely dangerous."
"Missing children cases?" Kanjuro touched his chin, a glint of playfulness flashing in his eyes. Then, as if he had just remembered, he let out a soft sigh, though his tone held little genuine concern. "Speaking of which, my lost daughter Rin seems to fit this target range as well. Looking at it this way, I'm afraid she's likely met with misfortune."
"Indeed," Jeanne d'Arc's sarcasm was undisguised, her cold gaze scraping across Kanjuro's face like a knife. "And you, as a father, still look like an unconcerned bystander, even showing some interest." She had long since seen through him; this man's gentleness was but another mask, with utter chaos and sin underneath.
Hearing this, Kanjuro was not annoyed. Instead, he turned his head and gazed at Jeanne d'Arc with those eyes that had recently appeared increasingly "gentle." That gaze was deep, as if containing endless tolerance and understanding, but Jeanne d'Arc knew better than anyone that beneath this gentleness was a void and malice colder than the polar ice caps. He was the incarnation of sin himself; this gentle gaze only made her feel a deeper chill.
"Go find her quickly," Jeanne d'Arc said, looking away, unwilling to meet that false gentleness any longer, her voice cold as she urged him.
"Mm, no rush," Kanjuro remained slow and methodical, his hands in his trench coat pockets as he set off with a leisurely pace, as if taking a stroll. "As long as we follow this clumsy yet unique dark aura, we'll eventually find the source. More than that, I'm curious which 'colleague' is acting in such an... un-aesthetic manner."
He walked ahead, and Jeanne d'Arc followed silently half a step behind. Her mood was exceptionally complex. Even though she had already chosen to fall into darkness and had witnessed countless tragedies by Kanjuro's side, at this moment, feeling that dark magic ahead—which shared the same source as Kanjuro's but was far inferior—and thinking of the missing children, a long-lost emotion called "worry" actually cast a tiny stone into her frozen heart.
"This aura," Kanjuro suddenly spoke without turning his head, his voice steady. "You should be quite familiar with it too, right? This 'craftsmanship' of deliberately twisting life and desecrating norms for a certain 'purpose'—though crude, doesn't that unpleasant core of obsession remind you of a certain... or rather, a certain type of 'old acquaintance'?"
Jeanne d'Arc's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
She nodded, the movement so light it was nearly invisible.
Yes, she remembered.
She remembered those fanatics who committed extreme acts under the banner of holiness;
She remembered those "fellow travelers" who would stop at nothing, even sacrificing the innocent, for their so-called "higher goals."
Only this time, the opponent was using a more direct and filthy dark power.
And at the thought of how Kanjuro might "appreciate" or even "intervene" in this drama directed by another dark walker, for the first time, Jeanne d'Arc felt a sense of unease and resistance from the depths of her soul regarding what was about to happen.
Even if she was already in the darkness, not all darkness was worth "appreciating."
Beneath the bright and beautiful surface of Fuyuki City was another nauseating sight. The dark and damp sewer network had become a perfect place to hide filth and evil. The air was thick with an inescapable stench, a mix of metallic blood, the cloying scent of rotting corpses, and the rank smell of sewage, enough to make any intruder's stomach churn.
Deep within these labyrinthine passages, a crudely expanded space served as a temporary "residence" and "workshop." This place could hardly be called fit for human survival. The walls were stained with dark substances of unknown composition, and the floor was littered with terrifying severed limbs—some shriveled and blackened, others still hanging with fresh blood, some even showing signs of being gnawed on, attracting the buzzing of flies.
At the end of this slaughterhouse-like area was a slightly more "organized" room, but the level of horror here was even worse. Around the room, more human corpses were stacked or hung like decorations—men, women, young and old—all dead in gruesome ways, dripping with blood. Many corpses were highly decomposed, revealing white bones. The thick aura of death had almost solidified into substance.
In the center of this hell on earth stood two figures.
One was a hunched man wearing tattered medieval-style robes. His face was thin and haggard, his eye sockets sunken, and a non-human, turbid, and fanatical fire burned in his eyes. In his withered hands, he tightly held a magic book bound in some unknown black leather, radiating ominous fluctuations—this was the source of the twisted dark magic Jeanne d'Arc had sensed: Caster, Gilles de Rais.
The other was a young man in modern clothing, a morbidly excited smile on his face: Uryu Ryunosuke. He looked at the "masterpiece" before him with satisfaction, as if admiring a work of art.
"Grandpa! Look, this is the new 'delicacy' I brought!" Ryunosuke pointed toward the corner of the room like he was presenting a treasure, his voice full of twisted achievement. "This girl is clearly different from the others; she'll definitely make the best work!"
In the shadows of the corner, Tohsaka Rin's hands were tightly bound by crude rope, her small body trembling slightly from fear. Her little face was pale, her lips had lost their color, and those ruby-like eyes inherited from her mother were now filled with the ultimate terror of facing the unknown cruelty. Looking at the nightmare-like scene around her and hearing the words of those two non-human beings, her stomach churned.
Caster—Gilles de Rais, his turbid eyes greedily swept over Rin, as if evaluating a rare material. He stuck out his scarlet tongue and licked his dry lips, making a raspy sound like sandpaper rubbing together:
"Mm... Ryunosuke, you have... indeed brought an incredible 'material' this time." His gaze seemed to pierce through Rin's body, looking directly at her essence. "Within her... flows the bloodline of powerful Black Magic; she is the descendant of some profound dark existence. Such a precious 'vessel' and'source,' if she were simply eaten like those vulgar pieces of meat, it would be too much of a waste, too... sacrilegious."
He raised the dark magic book in his hand, the pages turning on their own without wind, emitting an even denser evil aura.
"She must... must be refined using the most noble and exquisite dark alchemy, her perfect body and hidden bloodline together! Extract her essence, drink her power! This will surely bring us closer... closer to that Holy Maiden (Jeanne d'Arc)! No, we might even gain unexpected benefits beyond our imagination! Hahaha—!"
Caster let out a demented laugh that echoed through the corpse-filled room, hair-raisingly chilling.
And Rin, bound and in extreme terror, caught the key information in Caster's words—
Bloodline of Black Magic? Descendant?
These two terms thundered in her mind, temporarily even overriding her fear of her current situation.
(Black Magic... bloodline? Is he talking about me?)
(Could it be... my origins are related to Black Magic?)
Deep in the dark sewer, the foul air was almost stagnant. Tohsaka Rin's mouth was tightly covered by a crude cloth, allowing her only to make muffled whimpers. Her ruby eyes, inherited from her mother, were filled with fear and indignation. She watched the hunched figure—Caster Gilles de Rais—pacing in his "workshop" built of corpses and despair.
Caster suddenly stopped, his withered fingers pressing hard against his temples, his turbid eyes filled with unspeakable agitation.
"Why... why have I been so restless lately, as if my soul is being scorched by fire..." he muttered to himself, his voice raspy like rubbing gravel. "This throbbing... this call from the unseen... I always feel that the great Holy Maiden Jeanne d'Arc... she is nearby... on this very land!"
As if to confirm his words, the grimoire in his hand, bound in human skin and radiating forbidden knowledge of the deep sea and ancient evil gods—the Codex of R'lyeh—actually began to tremble violently on its own!
The pages flickered open and closed frantically, making a strange "clack-clack" sound. The inhuman script on them seemed to come alive, twisting and squirming, emitting an even denser ominous light. This Noble Phantasm, with a rank as high as A+, capable of independently casting Great Thaumaturgy to summon and command deep-sea monsters, seemed to feel a natural enemy-like fear at this moment, or... something it both craved and feared intensely was approaching.
Rank: A+
Type: Anti-Army Noble Phantasm
Range: 1~10
Maximum Capture: 100 people
Explanation:
A grimoire bound in human skin. It can summon and command monsters from the deep sea. This book possesses the ability to act as a magical reactor core, allowing it to independently cast Great Thaumaturgy and ritual-level spells, regardless of the user's own magical energy.
It contains forbidden knowledge about the Elder Gods from before the dawn of humanity.
Just as Caster became increasingly frantic due to this anomaly, thinking with both anticipation and apprehension that Jeanne d'Arc might truly be close at hand—
At the grime-covered entrance of the sewer, two distinct yet equally powerful auras, like invisible blades, easily sliced through the filth and despair permeating the place.
Kanjuro frowned slightly, elegantly covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. His deep eyes swept over the nauseating environment before finally landing on the silent 0.5 Jeanne nearby. His tone carried blatant disgust and a condescending critique:
"This person's... taste is truly appallingly low. Their methods are filthy and base, with no 'art' to speak of." He shook his head gently, as if critiquing a failed piece of trash. "To think they kidnapped my precious daughter to a place like this... that even maggots would despise."
Jeanne d'Arc remained silent, not responding to Kanjuro's mockery.
Her ice-blue eyes pierced through the darkness, as if she could already see the once familiar, now completely twisted figure deep within the lair.
She felt the magical energy emanating from that codex of rlyeh—a source identical to her own fallen aura yet even more chaotic and foul—as well as the thick, inseparable scent of blood and death in this space. Finally, it turned into a barely audible sigh, one carrying the exhaustion of centuries and a hint of coldness:
"I didn't expect... that after my death, he wouldn't regain his sanity but would instead become even more extreme... delving into such deep, forbidden Black Magic," her voice was cold and clear, like a frozen lake. "And... it seems he has used this sinister power to commit countless... unforgivable sins."
Her gaze seemed to transcend physical distance, meeting the feverish eyes deep within the lair.
An old friend remained, yet was unrecognizable. Former faith had turned into the most extreme sacrilege; former loyalty had become the most frenzied destruction.
The operation to rescue Rin was about to begin, but at the entrance of this sewer, a storm born from the past, concerning corruption and obsession, was already quietly brewing.
Meanwhile, Kanjuro was like an interested spectator, ready to enjoy this tragedy of an "old friend reunion" that was destined to end in bloodshed.
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