In the battle between Gilgamesh and Lucius, anyone with a discerning eye could see who held the upper hand.
The extravagance of Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasms astounded everyone.
No matter the opponent, he could always summon a treasure precisely suited to restrain them. Against the dragon, against the Roman emperor, against anything—his arsenal never faltered.
His attacks even tore through space, striking from angles beyond human perception, impossible to defend against. In this brief exchange alone, no fewer than ten dangerous and bizarre divine thunderbolts—crafted to rival Lucius's lightning—had already been unleashed.
Yet this was the limit of his might.
Even with the Heaven's Chains, Hades's Helm of Invisibility, and countless shields, Gilgamesh struggled merely to keep a safe distance. His brilliance dimmed steadily. Lucius, meanwhile, backed by a vast reservoir of Command Seals, unleashed his prana and Noble Phantasms without restraint, growing fiercer with every clash.
Was the surrounding space truly under Gilgamesh's control?
Were his endless treasures as deadly as they seemed?
No.
For Lucius—whose swordsmanship had already reached the pinnacle of the age and surpassed even Arthur—no matter how powerful or dazzling Gilgamesh's treasures appeared, they were nothing more than glittering projectiles. With a single swing of his magic sword, he swept them all aside.
The battle's conclusion seemed inevitable.
Elsewhere, Kotomine Kirei narrowed his eyes, watching Waver with a faint smile.
Ever since Iskandar had been struck down by Lucius's sword, the young and inexperienced Master had sunk into a strange state of self-recrimination.
"Master of Rider, your Servant has already fallen. Have you nothing to say?" he asked, walking toward him step by step.
Of course, Kirei understood Lucius's meaning.
He was self-aware enough to know his role. He was nothing more than a vessel, a tool to anchor Lucius in the human world. He had no authority to command him; even the Command Seals that marked him as Master were sealed. Their current relationship was purely contractual. Once Lucius's wish was fulfilled, he would likely kill him.
But that didn't matter.
Kotomine Kirei felt no yearning or attachment to life.
His greed lay elsewhere, manifesting in perverse desires.
As long as he could witness more, feel more, savor more, it was worth sacrificing everything—even his life.
So when Lucius spared Waver, simply casting him from the battlefield, Kirei saw it as a gift. A chance. Lucius had promised him a pleasure that would surely drag him to hell. Perhaps that pleasure lay in the trembling boy before him.
"What's wrong, Rider's Master?" Kirei lifted his arm. Three black keys, gleaming with cold blades, materialized in his grasp.
But Waver remained lost in the moment of Iskandar's death, paralyzed by grief. He didn't even notice Kirei closing in.
From Kirei's perspective, the sight was intoxicating.
Before him stood an empty, meaningless soul.
It was like gazing upon his own past. So delightful, he couldn't resist the urge to shape the boy into something like himself.
"Let me teach you how to find pleasure. But first… you must become aware of my existence." He drove the black key downward.
His target was not vital.
He had no intent to kill Waver, only to awaken him with pain.
If the boy remained mired in grief, it would prove there was no joy to be found in him. That was what Kirei believed.
But Kirei and Waver were never the same kind of being. Compared to him, Waver was fortunate.
"Scalp!"
A flash of metallic light burst forth, and the black key was severed as easily as paper.
Yes—Waver had a capable mentor.
"You brazenly stole my holy relic and came all the way here to participate in the Grail War, only to fall into despair the instant your Servant was lost. Pathetic, Waver Velvet. And yet, you had the gall to refute me in class."
Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi had arrived, his tone sharp with scorn and mockery.
Though he had just saved his student, he made it sound as though he had come only to belittle him.
A strange man indeed.
Waver blinked back to awareness, glancing at Kirei, then at the teacher standing beside him. Realization dawned, and fear crept across his face.
Kayneth only sighed, shaking his head.
Have you still not been broken by reality's cruelty?
He said nothing more to Waver, instead turning his gaze upon Kotomine Kirei.
As a participant in the Grail War, Kayneth had naturally researched his foe. Kirei, an agent of the Holy Church, a combat specialist of the Eighth Sacrament.
By comparison, Kayneth's skills lay in theory and research. His magic was advanced, his combat techniques formidable—but still, a magus was fundamentally a scholar. Combat was a byproduct of study, a side effect of the pursuit of truth.
In a true fight, Kayneth might not match Kotomine Kirei.
No matter how grand or destructive his spells appeared, to madmen like Kirei they were little more than gaudy fireworks.
"Asking you to let this boy go… is pointless," Kayneth said coldly. "Even if we spoke of a duel of honor, fought fairly, it would end in nothing but bloodshed."
"…No need for that?" Kirei's eyes flicked to the Command Seal glowing on Kayneth's hand.
Kayneth smiled faintly but gave no answer.
An instant later, an invisible black key whirled through the air, forcing Kayneth's Mystic Code to activate. The Moon Spirit Marrow formed its protective sphere, dispersing the assault.
But even as the barrier faded, Kirei was already upon him, Black Key in hand.
The battle of magi—no, of Masters—had begun.
Meanwhile, Gilgamesh, pressed harder and harder, sought desperately for a chance to retreat skyward, to escape the relentless Roman and regroup. Golden ripples opened before him, and without hesitation, he thrust his hand inside.
What he drew forth was the golden key he had been unable to use during his battle with Iskandar.
The Sword of Separation.
The very weapon Arthur had once seized from him, now returned to the King's Treasury.
Whether Arthur could no longer maintain the seal, or had simply judged the fight too dull without it, Gilgamesh neither knew nor cared.
There was only one thought left in his mind.
How to kill this insolent, vulgar Roman monk before him.
-End Chapter-
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