Chapter 711: Masters and Servants Gather Here! A Battle Royale Begins!
"Uryu Ryunosuke. Cooperate with me."
The voice was cold, devoid of emotion, like the damp wind blowing under the Fuyuki Bridge.
Kiritsugu Emiya stepped out from the shadows, his trench coat billowing slightly. His eyes were dead, reflecting the murky water of the river nearby.
He had found him. The last variable.
Uryu Ryunosuke.
Having lost his Command Seals and been unceremoniously discarded by the Einzbern family, Kiritsugu was desperate. Old Man Acht had thrown him out like a defective tool, stripping him of his status as a Master.
Most men would have given up. But Kiritsugu Emiya was not most men. He was a machine built for a singular purpose.
World Peace.
It sounded like a child's wish, a fairy tale. But for Kiritsugu, it was a curse engraved into his soul. He desired world peace more than anyone, enough to kill anyone who stood in its way.
The Holy Grail was the only path left. A miracle that could bypass human nature.
Therefore, he had to obtain it. Even without Command Seals. Even without a Servant of his own.
He had spent the last 48 hours burning through his contacts, using every ounce of his skills as the "Magus Killer" to investigate the other participants.
The Three Founding Families were out of reach. The Matou were annihilated (a mystery that still troubled him). The Tohsaka were too entrenched.
The Clock Tower representative, Lord El-Melloi, was a fortress. His student, Waver Velvet, was an unknown variable but likely useless.
That left only one option.
The orange-haired young man crouching in the darkness before him.
Uryu Ryunosuke was not a Magus. He didn't know the first thing about the Root or Akasha.
He was a monster. A serial killer who treated human life as paint for his grotesque canvas.
Just as Kiritsugu found him, Ryunosuke was in the middle of his "art."
Drip. Drip.
The crimson dagger in his right hand was still dripping fresh blood onto the concrete. At his feet lay something that used to be a woman, now arranged in a horrific display of gore that made even the hardened Magus Killer feel a spike of revulsion.
"Hehehe... COOL! So cool!" Ryunosuke giggled, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek.
He looked up at Kiritsugu warily, like a hyena interrupted at its meal.
Hearing Kiritsugu's words, a hint of genuine confusion appeared on his blood-spattered face.
"Cooperate?" Ryunosuke tilted his head, blinking innocently. "With me? Mister, are you interested in art too?"
Talking about cooperation with a murderer while standing over a corpse. It was insanity.
But Kiritsugu didn't blink. He lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his hollow cheeks.
"You are a Master participating in the Holy Grail War, aren't you?"
"Oh?"
Ryunosuke narrowed his eyes. He stuck out his tongue, licking the metallic taste of blood from his lips.
He chuckled, a sound that grated on the ears. "Lord Bluebeard! This gloomy mister knows about the Holy Grail War! What do you think? Is he a sacrifice?"
"Hehehe... Kukuku..."
From the deep shadows behind Ryunosuke, a pair of bulging, fish-like eyes emerged.
A man in a large, ornate robe stepped forward. His skin was pale and sickly, his smile stretched too wide. He clutched a book made of human skin—the Prelati's Spellbook.
Caster. Gilles de Rais. The Bluebeard of legend.
His bulging eyeballs stared intently at Kiritsugu, filled with madness and fanaticism.
"He is not a Master..." Caster rasped, his voice sounding like wet gravel. "I smell no Command Seals on him. Just... emptiness. And the stench of gunpowder."
"A Servant... is it..."
Kiritsugu understood this guy's identity instantly. A Heroic Spirit of madness perfectly suited for a Master like Ryunosuke.
He didn't reach for his Calico. Not yet.
Caster tilted his head grotesquely. "What cooperation do you want to talk about, mortal?"
Kiritsugu exhaled a plume of smoke. "I can help you obtain the Holy Grail."
"I have the tactical knowledge, the resources, and the will to kill other Masters. You have the Servant. We can win."
Despite his disgust for the murderer before him, Kiritsugu pushed it down. He locked it away in the box in his heart where he kept his emotions.
To achieve his goal, he would use any means necessary.
Even cooperating with a murderer. Even helping him kill innocents if it meant securing the Grail.
Sacrifice the few to save the many. That was his equation.
As long as he could snatch the wish at the very last moment, the means didn't matter.
"Hmm?"
Bluebeard's eyes widened. He was about to ask why a man who smelled of justice would help a demon.
But suddenly, the air warped.
Hummmm!
Space itself twisted violently. Gravity seemed to reverse.
"What—?!"
Kiritsugu felt a hook in his navel, a sensation of being pulled through a straw.
In an instant, he disappeared from Caster's sight.
"Lord Bluebeard!"
Ryunosuke let out a startled cry, dropping his knife.
He turned his head, reaching out, but his vision blurred. The concrete pillars of the bridge dissolved into pixels of light.
"Who did it?!" Caster screamed, raising his spellbook. "Show yourself!"
His first guess was that some enemy Servant had laid an ambush. A Reality Marble?
However.
"!!!"
A great force slammed into him, bypassing his magical defenses completely.
Zap!
Under the bridge, silence returned. There was no one left except the silent corpses, their blood slowly cooling in the night air.
...
[Location: Fuyuki City - Central Wharf Container Port]
The salt wind blew harshly from the sea, rattling the chains of the cranes. The vast open space of the container yard was usually empty at night.
Flash! Flash! Flash!
Multiple pillars of light slammed down onto the asphalt simultaneously.
When the light faded, a group of confused and wary individuals stood in a wide circle.
They looked at each other, weapons drawn, mana flaring.
No one understood what had just happened. One second they were in their bases, the next they were here.
But as the dust settled, the situation became clear.
Everyone present was paired up. One Master. One Servant.
It was a forced gathering. A cage match.
Standing near a stack of red containers was a small, trembling boy and a giant man.
Waver Velvet, clutching his hem, looked like he was about to faint. Beside him, draped in a majestic red cape and radiating charisma, was the King of Conquerors, Rider—Iskandar.
Opposite them stood a tall, arrogant blond man in a green suit, accompanied by a handsome warrior with a beauty mark and two spears.
Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald and Lancer—Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.
On a higher vantage point, atop a gantry crane, stood a man who looked like nobility itself, swirling a glass of wine (which he had somehow brought with him). Beside him, glowing in golden armor that outshone the moon, was the King of Heroes, Archer—Gilgamesh.
Tohsaka Tokiomi bowed slightly to his King, sweating nervously.
In the shadows of a container, a priest stood silently. Kotomine Kirei. Behind him, multiple skull-masked figures flickered in and out of existence. Assassin—Hassan-i-Sabbah.
Near the water's edge, a man writhed in pain, his face half-rotted, veins bulging with worms. Matou Kariya. Beside him, a knight encased in black armor roared silently, emitting a black fog of madness. Berserker—Lancelot.
And then there was Uryu Ryunosuke, looking around with glee, and Caster, who looked annoyed.
And finally… the lone wolf.
Kiritsugu Emiya stood alone in the center, his trench coat flapping. He had no Servant. He had no partner.
His peculiarity immediately drew everyone's attention.
"Interesting!"
Iskandar slapped his thigh, a booming laugh erupting from his chest. "It seems some great power transferred us all here! A banquet of Kings, is it?"
He pinched his rugged chin, analyzing the situation with the sharp eyes of a military commander.
"Could this be Caster's method?" He glanced at the creepy, bug-eyed man.
But in an instant, he denied it.
"No, look at Bluebeard over there. He looks just as confused as the boy next to him. He doesn't have the magical capacity for a mass teleportation of this scale."
"But the current situation is too interesting! All Masters and Servants are directly facing each other? Hahaha! I like such unexpected developments! It saves us the trouble of hunting!"
Iskandar laughed heartily, enjoying the chaos.
Waver, who was beside him, shrank his head into his shoulders, trying to become invisible.
Because his teacher, Lord El-Melloi, was staring at him with eyes that promised a slow and painful death.
"Waver... Velvet..."
Kenneth's voice dripped with venom. He stepped forward, ignoring the other Masters for a moment. His pride as a Lord of the Clock Tower had been wounded by this thief.
Originally, Kenneth had prepared a relic to summon Rider, the King of Conquerors.
But his student, this pathetic, untalented rat, had stolen his delivery and summoned Rider himself!
"You're very good, Waver," Kenneth sneered. "To think a rat like you would dare to stand on the same stage as me."
"Lancer!" Kenneth barked. "Kill him for me! Retrieve my stolen property!"
"Yes, my Lord!"
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne didn't hesitate. His loyalty to his Master was absolute, regardless of the honor of the situation.
He kicked off the ground, turning into a blur of teal and speed. His spear, Gae Buidhe, aimed straight for Waver's heart.
"Rider!" Waver shrieked.
But before Rider could draw his sword—
Whoosh!
A golden ripple appeared in the air between Lancer and Waver.
A sharp, golden sword shot out from the void like a bullet.
"!!!"
Lancer's instincts screamed. He had no choice but to abandon his attack. He twisted his body in mid-air, raising his spears to block.
CLANG!!!
The impact was cataclysmic.
What he didn't expect was the sheer weight behind the projectile. It wasn't just thrown; it was launched with the force of a cannon.
"Guh!"
Lancer was blasted backward, his feet carving deep furrows into the asphalt. He flew dozens of meters before barely managing to stop, his arms numb from the shock.
"What?!"
This scene made Kenneth's face collapse.
How could his Lancer, a top-tier Servant, be repelled so easily by a single projectile?
"Mongrels!"
A haughty, majestic voice echoed from above, dripping with disdain.
"Who allowed you to act as you please without this King's permission?"
Everyone looked up.
On the high gantry, Gilgamesh stood with his arms crossed. Behind him, the air rippled like water, opening dozens of golden portals—the Gate of Babylon.
Weapons of legend, Noble Phantasms of every era, poked out from the portals, aiming down at the gathered crowd.
His crimson, serpentine eyes swept over everyone—Master and Servant alike—as if they were dirt beneath his boots.
He spoke with immense pride and condescension, his aura crushing the will of the weaker mages.
"Mongrels. Zasshu."
"Who used a method to forcibly transport this King here? Who dared to interrupt my wine?"
"Step forward."
Gilgamesh raised a hand, and the weapons glowed brighter.
"This King, in his infinite mercy, can grant you an honorable death."
"That is... to have your head severed by this King's sword and displayed as a warning to all who dare disrespect royalty!"
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