Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!!
The sound of breaking the sound barrier echoed in their ears as they moved at blinding speed.
Roar! Roar! Roar!!
Black flames blazed fiercely, dark lightning crackling in the air. Two figures collided, then parted in an instant.
In a high-speed world imperceptible to the naked eye, beyond even magical detection, their forms flickered. Golden eyes blazing with unyielding light met ice-blue pupils, each responding to the other. In the next moment, the two figures, one dark, one radiant, clashed again.
Amid the fierce combat, they locked eyes, and a faint smile passed between them.
"Terrifying growth, Master." The Count remarked.
Crackle! Crackle! Crackle!!
"Roy!!" The Count shouted, his voice gleeful.
Dark currents surged through the black flames, buzzing as they arced through the air, leaving trails of darkness. The vengeful Avenger laughed wildly, calling out to his old friend while delivering a merciless kick.
"Count!!" Roy called back.
Bang!!
Roy reacted swiftly, raising his right arm to block the Count's unrelenting strike. Seizing the moment, he clenched his left fist, dark red lightning dancing across it, and aimed a brutal punch at the Count's chest.
"Black Flash!!"
Fueled by power and speed rivaling the Count's, combined with honed combat skills, the punch struck at a cunning angle with unpredictable force, a lethal blow.
The dark lightning streaked past, a chilling sense of danger rising. Its power was immense; without a specialized defensive Noble Phantasm or divine artifact, even goddesses like Ishtar or Taiga in their possessed states would be left clutching their stomachs in agony.
Normally, Roy's Third Magic made intricate techniques unnecessary, unlimited magical energy condensed into blasts could resolve nearly any issue. Against foes like Tiamat, immune to raw energy, such moves were ineffective.
Time constraints limited Roy's mastery of the Third Magic to its surface. His approach was raw power: stats, mechanics, and techniques all boiled down to overwhelming force.
Now, with Tiamat's self-sealing imposed on himself to block the Third Magic, Roy unleashed every untested technique he'd devised, holding nothing back.
As he'd promised, this was a fair fight. No cheating with magic, just pure combat.
Whoosh!!
His iron fist, cloaked in black light, tore through space, surging toward the Count's chest with terrifying force.
The Count's brow furrowed, his expression tensing.
In the next moment, with masterful control over Monte Cristo's treasure and unmatched agility, he conjured a flame in his palm, slamming it downward to unleash a burst of energy. The flames propelled him into a perfect midair flip, dodging Roy's punch and dispersing the incoming dark light.
The deadly strike missed, and their figures emerged from the high-speed world, returning to reality.
"You dodged it so easily? Impressive, Count…" Roy said, shaking his left hand, still wreathed in black light, and chuckling wryly at the missed blow.
"Kuhahahahahahaha!!" The Count laughed, flourishing his cape as he retreated to Ritsuka's side, shaking his hand with exhilaration. "That was dangerously close, Master. Almost had me."
"It didn't land, did it?" Roy replied, shaking his head, unperturbed by the miss.
"Count…" Ritsuka interjected, noticing the Count's dark green cape was torn, half of it fluttering in Roy's hand, dissolving.
Though he'd dodged, it wasn't complete. Roy's punch, imbued with adhesive magical energy, had ripped a chunk of the cape during their clash.
"Are you okay, Count of Monte Cristo?" Ritsuka asked, concerned.
"I'm fine, Master. Just took a small hit." The Count said, shaking his head.
"Seeing my dear friend grow beyond even my reach is bittersweet, but mostly, I'm thrilled." He added, meeting Roy's gaze with a smile.
"I never thought I'd struggle to beat you without magic. You've done well with the power I gave you."
"Perhaps. After all this, no growth would be a disappointment, wouldn't it?" Roy replied, smiling back.
"You're right. This is the growth I expected, Master." The Count said, his tone shifting. "But even with such power, the weight in your heart hasn't lessened…"
Peering into Roy's eyes, the Count, who knew him best, saw deeper.
"Is that so…" Roy murmured.
"I feel fine. I've met fascinating people, those dear to me, and experienced incredible things, growing stronger until… meeting you again."
"I'm happy, truly happy…"
"If that's the case…" The Count sighed. "Then so be it, accomplice. Let's settle this. A fight needs a winner, doesn't it?"
Roy nodded. "Yes."
Their momentum didn't waver.
As magical energy surged, the torn fabric from the Count's cape in Roy's hand dissolved into violet-black particles, boiling in the air.
Crackle! Crackle! Crackle!!
With the sharp buzz of dark currents, the violet-black particles danced around Roy and a shadowy figure behind him, forming black lightning. Unlike the Count's grudge-fueled black flames, this lightning was a distinct manifestation of Monte Cristo's treasure, carrying intense resentment.
This power stemmed from the divine treasure the Count gained in life, the source of his black flames and lightning. It was this miraculous power that once allowed him to burn Roa, the Serpent of Akasha, to death.
Roy's power, also from Monte Cristo's treasure, differed. Instead of venomous flames born of grudge, it was a raging lightning that defied fate, capable of breaking the Fourth Holy Grail War's despair. Though similar in nature, it lacked the soul-burning curse, wielding only raw, devastating force, more efficient and terrifying in combat.
"Let's continue." Roy said.
The mighty Noble Phantasm of Monte Cristo, Tiger, Burn Fiercely, cloaked both their forms.
Distinct black lightning coursed over Roy's body, accelerating his movements, pushing his speed to its peak without buffs, the fastest he'd ever been in his base state.
Even without the Third Magic, his magical energy was efficient and formidable, practically cheating compared to ordinary magus.
Roy's expression grew serious, his focus absolute. The suppressed resentment in his heart coalesced into dark currents, buzzing as if venting against the flames from the same source.
This was the fruit of long-repressed emotions. As the Count noted, Roy carried immense burdens, an invisible pressure, a tiger's roar in his heart, born when he arrived in the unfamiliar Nasuverse.
An ordinary college student from a normal timeline, thrust into a strange, disorienting, oppressive world. Everything he'd known, his life, his experiences, was erased, forcing him to adapt, to become someone else, to live a new life in an alien world.
When he gained a foothold in Fuyuki, Roy felt little attachment. He planned to collect his house insurance and flee to a place like Malaysia for a simpler life.
This new life was exhausting. He had no interest in plots, saving people, or aiding others. As an ordinary person, he lacked the power to avert tragedies.
Rest. Find a quiet place, close his eyes, and rest.
Live slowly, enjoy life, find peace alone.
He was a man detached from purpose or value, planning to earn money before the Holy Grail War, move to a low-cost country, avoid danger, and live freely.
He'd buy books, fill shelves, and read slowly for years.
Until…
Looking at the Count, Roy felt an indescribable pang.
That was his simple, earnest plan.
The Count changed him, shattering his plans, pushing him to this point, reshaping his second life.
The Fourth Holy Grail War dragged him from apathy, avoiding danger, coasting through life, into a desperate struggle for survival, navigating a vortex of conflict, clawing his way out.
The ember of his suppressed fire was kindled then.
Those seven days transformed Roy's heart and mind. His bond with the Count and the Monte Cristo treasure became the catalysts for change.
Entering the Holy Grail's core, he was prepared to vanish. But a fateful encounter with the Root gave him solace at his physical and mental limits, mending his breaking spirit, granting rebirth and unparalleled power to a man ready for death.
Yet revival brought emptiness, a wave of disorientation.
Reflecting on his actions, despite avoiding entanglement, he'd become a dancing figure on this stage.
Seven days changed much, yet left nothing, like a butterfly's dream slipping through his fingers.
Ready to exit, he was thrust back onto the stage. How should this play unfold?
Lost, his encounter with the Root led him to Shiki Ryougi, unconnected to him, altering her path.
Visiting Arcueid was a mere detour in his aimless journey.
He was strong. With the Third Magic, reaching the world's pinnacle was only a matter of time.
But this sudden power and constant deviations left him adrift, acting without purpose.
Meeting Shiki for the Root, summoning Artoria for Merlin, encountering Arcueid and Aoko for Zelretch, he was always driven by others, rushing to the Seventh Singularity, Mesopotamia, for someone else's cause.
From start to finish, he never acted on his own desires, always moving in a fog of uncertainty.
He wasn't the all-knowing figure he seemed.
In less than a year, so much had happened.
He couldn't stop, refused to stop. Pausing meant thinking, confronting his confusion and suppressed emotions. Endless battles were his release.
How could he not sense Shiki or Arcueid's feelings?
But Roy, unable to see through his own clouded heart, couldn't accept others or make promises.
The Count saw this. His appearance wasn't just to aid Ritsuka's trial but to guide Roy, to free his suppressed emotions.
An unseen force intertwined with flames, forging a cage of the heart, a trial chamber.
"Nothing more to say?" The Count asked, sensing Roy's unrest, the trial chamber's emergence revealing more.
"No need to suppress yourself or stay lost, Master. You're your own person, with your own will."
"You've met people you cherish. Don't hold back or wander aimlessly. Step forward boldly. Our meeting isn't a chain but a push, a small aid toward your future."
"…"
Roy didn't speak; maintaining this state against the Count was his limit.
But the Count's words, like a gentle nudge, stirred him.
The Count didn't press his advantage. Though they spoke of combat, neither was serious. Roy held back, without the Third Magic, his over nine thousand magic circuits weren't easily countered. The Count was guiding, not fighting, his vengeful heart focused on the old man who once guided him, aspiring to do the same.
Ritsuka and Roy were his accomplices, treated equally, supported from behind.
Glass-shattering sounds echoed in their clashes, like thin ice breaking in Roy's heart.
Something within him was fracturing. The trial's essence shifted subtly.
A test for Ritsuka, but also the Count's guidance for Roy.
What should he do?
"Wait, and hold hope."
Roar!!
Dark currents buzzed through the black flames, two distinct energies clashing in a fierce collision.
Emerging from high-speed movement, they paused, gazing into each other's eyes, halting the fight.
"Is the victor decided? Shall we continue?" The Count asked, discarding a piece of Roy's clothing.
He'd gained the upper hand.
"No need…" Roy said, a bittersweet smile crossing his face, a hint of relief in his expression.
Ritsuka, rushing to catch up, saw Roy's wry smile and heard faint, fleeting words.
Thank you.
Was it real or imagined? She couldn't tell.
"Roy...senpai?" She ventured.
She didn't understand, but saw Roy's troubled expression and heard his sigh…
"Fine, you win this time, Ritsuka."
"That's… it?" Ritsuka's eyes widened in surprise.
She hadn't expected such a fierce battle to end so abruptly, fizzling out.
___
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