Until the moment he was attacked, Darnic still hadn't reacted.
Among all the powers his opponent could've unleashed, there were countless that called for caution. But pulling out… a gun?
Unlike most traditional magi, Darnic was quite modern in mindset. He had long equipped the artificial homunculi of Yggdmillennia with firearms, understanding that in close-range conflict, such weapons had their uses.
But that was only to exploit the fearlessness and expendability of artificial soldiers. In a proper magecraft battle, a mere gun held no true power, especially inside a workshop that had become a dream realm. Even if struck by something so mundane, so un-mystical, it shouldn't have had any real effect.
Could it be that Caster's Master had panicked? Was this some desperate bluff?
Darnic came to a sudden realization. With his political cunning, he instantly traced what he assumed was Roland's mental trajectory, then confidently activated his shield.
As expected, the shield blocked the bullet.
But the power contained in that shot didn't vanish with impact.
Before Darnic could make sense of it, searing pain exploded inside his body. His nerves twisted. His organs screamed. Blood surged from his mouth as the magic circuits throughout his body shorted, connecting in erratic, destructive pathways. Control was gone. His entire body was in chaos.
He couldn't even scream.
He twitched violently, unable to stop his convulsions.
And then Roland calmly ejected the still-smoking shell from the walnut-stocked firearm, letting it fall to the dreamscape floor with a clink.
The Origin Bullet.
Crafted from Emiya Kiritsugu's own Origin, these cursed rounds devastated magi from within, triggering a self-collapse of their very circuits. In a dream or reality, it didn't matter. Their effect was absolute.
It was the magus killer's signature move.
And now it was Roland's.
He looked at Darnic, surprised. "Huh. You're not dead?"
Even after being hit, Darnic hadn't fallen unconscious. His body was wrecked, yes, torn inside out by rampaging magic, but somehow, he remained barely upright.
Lancer stepped calmly forward, helping his Master up without alarm or urgency. His serenity showed one thing: this wasn't outside expectations.
Roland narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't how he remembered Darnic from the Third Holy Grail War.
"Impressive," Lancer said softly, admiring the bullet's craftsmanship. "A condensed origin, injected into the soul upon contact. No wonder it works even here. In a dream or not, few magi could survive that."
Still gasping, Darnic looked up, blood staining his lips, but his eyes gleamed with sharp clarity.
"So… am I qualified now?"
Roland smiled, pleased. "More than enough. Let's sign the contract."
He leaned forward and imprinted his magical signature on the floating parchment.
"Alright. I'll go investigate the other groups now. If you need me, send a familiar to this location, I'll find you."
And with that, Roland turned to leave with Caster in tow, the deal sealed. The contract floated in the air, binding… or so it seemed.
---
Once outside, Caster's voice came quietly.
"That old worm's hiding something. There is more to his reason of wanting to kill Darnic than the matter of the holy grail. Besides, Master… did you sense it too?"
Roland nodded slowly, his eyes still watching the starlit sky.
"Yeah. While currently his mana is rampaging across his body and his pathways are in disarray, he has no possible chance of having a long life. But that guy's body… something's off about it. Even after taking a bullet like that, he's alive, there is no fluctuation in his contract with Lancer, and soul doesn't feel right."
Caster frowned. "It's as if his soul is… present, yet not fully there. There's something eerie. I could feel the ether and circuits in his body, but the ownership was fuzzy. Like the body wasn't truly his."
She added, "And his Servant. That wasn't a relic that should exist."
"Enkidu," Roland murmured. "That relic shouldn't be in this world. And yet…"
He fell into thought, troubled.
After a moment, Caster asked, careful with her words, "So… Master. Do you really intend to abide by the contract? Even after taking the origin bullet, he still managed to stay composed. A person who have that much control over their own emotions should not be trusted easily."
Roland stopped walking.
His gaze dropped to the sigil glowing faintly on his soul, a magical clause binding him to Darnic's alliance.
A wave of disdain rippled through his voice.
"Hmph, is he worthy?"
His tone turned sharper, colder. The quiet pride that had always lingered in his manner now curled into arrogant contempt.
"He's just a mortal… and he dares to bind me with an oath?"
Unlike the loud arrogance of villains or fools, Roland's pride was the deep, burning kind, ancient and god-born. His "humility" was the indulgent kindness of a superior toward the lesser, not true respect.
He wasn't truly gentle, he was simply in control.
The Holy Lord within him influenced him subtly unlike Kira Yoshikage's soul which just imposed the habits directly, no grand declarations, just the quiet truth: he was a dragon in human skin. A noble flame. A sovereign, undying and immortal. Except those his own kind, mortals are not worthy of his recognition.
Even Jackie Chan from the canon only gained the recognition of the Holy Lord after defeating him many times. He called him his nemesis and believed that his body was suitable for his soul to reside in.
And now a mortal had tried to shackle him with a contract?
That would not stand.
"Caster. Lend me your treasure."
Medea blinked. "Eh?"
He extended his hand. "That dagger of yours. The Talisman of Rule Severance. I'll break the contract."
"W-Wait a moment!" she exclaimed, quickly hiding the relic. "If you use this, it will break our contract too! You'd lose me as your Servant!"
Roland froze. "...What?"
Medea blinked. "You didn't know?"
She looked genuinely surprised. "Master… with a soul as noble as yours, one that generates true ether, one that surpasses the gods… how could a mortal contract ever bind you?"
Roland stared.
"Your soul," Medea said gently, "radiates freedom. No shackles can hold it. Not without the combined will of at least four, or better yet, seven, mages of Grand status. Even then, it would strain them."
Only then did Roland remembered one of the passive abilities of the Holy Lord
{The Lord's influence elevates your soul, raising it to his level of nobility. However, due to the Lord's innate disdain for those beneath him, you are not bound to keep promises made to anyone you deem unworthy of respect.}
Roland then looked down at the binding seal from Darnic.
He twisted his soul slightly.
And the contract snapped like thread.
Gone. Powerless. Irrelevant.
"...So what the Holy Lord said about 'mortals' being inferior.....wasn't arrogance. It was just… a fact."