Medusa's chains recoil in midair — not voluntarily, but as a reflex, as scorching rune-fire sears past her. The flare bursts with a complex, looping sigil — red and gold traced through the air like a jagged sunwheel — and slams into the ground beside her.
She skids back, heel digging trenches through the cracked stone.
A second later, her eyes snap wide."Caster!" she hisses, her tone half-spat venom, half-unfiltered disbelief. "Why would you ally yourself with these worms? These things? You're one of us."
The newcomer — tall, sharp-eyed, robed in a loose cobalt mantle that shifts like smoke over battle-worn armor — plants his feet and rolls his shoulders.
His spear is gone - even if he'd prefer otherwise, replaced with the focus of his new class: his hand glows with etched runes, each line sparking faintly as magic condenses behind them.
He exhales. "Ally? Please. You're no comrade of mine. We fought once, remember? I got better. You… clearly didn't."
Another glyph burns to life above his palm — this one etched in fire — and launches in a horizontal arc. It doesn't hit her directly, but it cleaves space between her and Mash, cutting off her advance.
Medusa snarls and retreats a step. Her chains retract, again, like muscle memory, forming a twitching corona around her head.
Caster turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. His tone's casual, almost conversational.
"Yo. Servant-class Caster this time. For… reasons." His grin's lopsided. "Let's just say she and I aren't exactly drinking buddies."
His eyes flick to Mash, assessing quickly. "You've got heart, shield girl. That's rare." He shifts to Jack now, gaze sharp but not hostile. "You. Black coat. I'm guessing you're the Master. I'll keep things simple: I'm offering a temporary truce. You command, I'll back you up."
Jack raises a brow, tilting his head slightly — not rejecting, but not committing either.He still doesn't trust the guy, but pragmatism wins.
"Fine," Jack says. "I'll coordinate. Keep her attention off the weak links."
"Exactly what I was thinking," the Caster mutters with a hint of a grin. "Let's hope you're smarter than you look."
"People keep saying that," Jack says flatly. "Still alive, though."
Mash readjusts, her shield raised again, bracing for the next assault.
But Medusa's voice interrupts — lower now, shaking slightly. Not fear. Rage.
"…I don't care," she breathes. "Ally, enemy… you'll all end the same. Dead. Stone."
Her hair lifts again — writhing like serpents in a storm. The chains bloom out behind her with full murderous intent now, all pretense gone.
Jack, still watching from behind Mash, clicks his tongue.
"She finally lost patience," he mutters. "Or maybe this was the plan all along."
Chains fire out in a spiraling arc, this time targeting Caster directly. It's not a barrage — it's pressure. Control. She's not trying to kill him with one hit. She wants to stop him from casting entirely.
"She's trying to suppress me," Caster growls, weaving a defensive rune in mid-air. "Not bad. Not good enough."
Fire crackles at his feet, forming a new ward as he steps through it.
Jack watches. Silent. Thinking.
She didn't strike at him earlier. Just Mash. Now Caster. Still not him.
Is she underestimating him? Or does she know something?
Mash shifts her stance, circling toward Medusa's flank.
Jack lets her go, then glances toward Olga in the back — pale, breathless, but not screaming anymore. At least not yet.
The battlefield is forming again.And this time, it's not a standoff. It's war.
-
Suddenly, the comms crackle back to life. Roman's voice, urgent but professional, cuts through the tension.
"Apologies for the delay! The moment I heard 'Medusa,' I dove into the archives. Here's what we know: Mystic Eyes capable of petrification — deadly if unguarded. That scythe she wields? Likely the Harpe, a legendary weapon forged for slaying monsters. Expect brutal slashes and precise strikes. She's vicious and unpredictable."
Jack's lips twitch into a grim smile, not breaking his gaze from Medusa.
"Yeah, I figured. But if she wanted to turn us into statues, she would've done it already. So, the Mystic Eyes are noted... but not factored. I'm betting her focus is somewhere else. Always is with these types."
Roman continues, urgency sharpening. "We need to end this fast. Medusa looked staggered after that Caster attack. Jack, you should direct the fight."
Jack nods slowly, already calculating. "Mash — I want you to clamp her down once. Hold her on the ground with your shield. It'll force her focus to split, and yeah — it means I'll be exposed if she breaks free. But that's where Caster comes in. He kills her efficiently."
Fou, near Olga, lets out a low growl, sensing the tension.
Olga, still pale but steadying, mutters, "I just inherited Chaldea. I'm not going down here."
Jack glances at her with a smirk only he can pull off in moments like these. "Good. Then stay close. Don't get cute."
The crackling tension in the air thickens — the calm before the storm.
Jack locks eyes with Mash. "Ready?"
She nods, voice steady but fierce. "Ready."
Jack steps out from behind her shield, voice low but sharp.
"Alright. Let's bring this snake down."
-
Medusa lunges again.
Her chains crash down like coiled thunder — not with the brute-force intent of a single decisive blow, but a ceaseless tide meant to choke. Every cast, every rune Caster dares to form, is met with another steel lash to intercept or disrupt. She moves like a dancer mid-frenzy, every motion wild, yet underlain with maddening precision.
And Caster?
He's grinning like a man caught in a storm he asked for.
"Persistent, aren't you," he mutters, rune-flame spinning from his fingertips only to be shattered mid-chant. His coat singes at the edges. Hair wild, eyes narrowed. "Hell of a class change…"
He dodges low, rolling through a sweep of chains, then vaults up a broken support pillar, runes trailing behind him like ember-scars in the air. It's a chase, now — a deadly spiral that keeps him moving, but her eyes off the others.
Which is exactly what Jack wanted.
From the rear, Jack watches it all unfold. The two monsters tearing through the battlefield, demolishing what little structure remains of the ruins. And yet... not once has Medusa glanced back toward him or Olga.
She could have.
She hasn't.
And Jack, ever the gambler, makes the call.
"She's focused," he mutters. "Too focused. She either doesn't see us as threats… or wants to prove something to him first."
He doesn't bother explaining aloud. No time, and no one to convince.
"Mash," he says, louder now, "go."
She nods and charges.
Her footsteps pound over the rubble as she bursts toward the entangled Servants — a silver comet with a violet shield. Medusa doesn't notice her until it's too late.
Because, in that split second, Caster finally scores a clean cast.
"Raudhr eldr!" he roars.
A torrent of fire — less a beam, more a blooming column — detonates upward between him and Medusa, forcing her back. She reels, snarling, chains pulled reflexively to guard.
And that's when Mash hits.
Shield-first, low and brutal — a full-body tackle.
Medusa doesn't fall like a woman. She crashes like a felled beast — stone and ash erupting as her back slams into the cracked floor. Her chains lash wildly in all directions, but Mash is already atop her, shield wedged against her throat, gauntlets gripping tight.
The two lock together, limbs straining, bodies shaking from the pressure.
Jack doesn't cheer. He doesn't need to.
He just turns, walking a few steps forward — placing himself a little closer to danger, and a little farther from Olga.
She notices.
"Wait," Olga says, voice small, almost hoarse. "What are you doing?"
Jack glances back. "Drawing a line."
"But you're—"
"I'm betting she doesn't care about me. Or you. She's locked in on them. Let's not break the illusion."
Fou chitters, leaping beside him, small claws digging into cracked stone.
Roman's voice comes through again, less frantic now, more focused. "Jack, this is working. Medusa's not in full control — she's aggressive, but not strategic. That kind of Servant should have wiped you out in seconds. Either she's holding back… or something's wrong with her."
Jack replies dryly. "Either way, she's grounded."
Caster lands nearby — breath sharp, shoulder scorched, but smiling like he's getting a second wind. He doesn't waste time.
He begins tracing again — not fire this time, but a subtler glyph, traced with steady fingers into the air.
"Going to end it," he says, low. "Now that she's pinned, I can…"
But Medusa screams.
It's not just rage. It's desperation. A soul-cracking screech that surges with some deeper force — something wrong. Her chains explode outward in all directions, not controlled lashes, but a shockwave.
Mash is thrown back — not far, but enough.
Jack's coat flutters as he instinctively ducks, holding firm.
Caster's rune stalls midair.
And Medusa rises.
Slowly. Not elegantly. Not gracefully. But like something clawing its way back up.
Blood drips down her temple. Her expression is not madness now.
It's resolve. Cold and clear.
"…He was mine to kill," she mutters. "You had no right. I don't care what this place made you. You don't get to run."
Her eyes flare — not glowing. But hot. Focused.
Her chains slide into place again — not flailing, now. Poised. Clean. She's regaining rhythm.
And Jack, watching her reconstruct herself from blood and hate, quietly curses.
"...She's adjusting."
Caster spits to the side, shaking out his right hand. "Then I'll just have to go bigger."
Jack raises a hand.
"Wait."
The Caster halts. "You got a better plan, coat-boy?"
Jack's voice is cold. Firm."Kill her now."
-
There's no hesitation.
The moment the words leave Jack's lips, Caster's hands snap through the air, not with flourish — but with precision. The lines of a rune form mid-motion, not drawn but burned into existence, scorched into the fabric of space by raw will and control.
"Berkanan sowilo," he intones — sharp and clear.
A second rune blooms above his palm, jagged and angular, ringed with symbols of destruction. Not a fireball this time — but pure annihilation, shaped like a downward spear of radiant heat.
Medusa's chains flinch, recoil — they know.
And she knows too.
But she doesn't retreat.
Instead, she surges forward — not toward Mash, not toward Olga, but toward Caster.
Straight into the blast.
Her eyes wide, lips drawn back in a twisted grin. "You always were faster than me," she breathes. "But not by much."
Then the spell hits.
It's not elegant.
It doesn't burn like fire or slice like steel.
It devours.
A column of blinding golden-red tears down from above, enveloping her in one staggering crash. The sound is sickening — not a scream, not really, more like an echo pulled from a throat already gone — and then silence.
Dust. Heat. The ground scorched black.
When the flare fades, there's nothing left but the smell of ozone and iron. Her chains, severed and scattered, twitch faintly before turning to ash.
Mash stumbles to her feet, breathing hard, shield dragging along the ground. Her knees wobble, but she stays upright.
Jack exhales, once.
Behind him, Olga finally sits down, just collapsing onto a broken step, eyes wide and unblinking. Fou curls next to her quietly.
There's a moment where no one moves.
Then Caster straightens. Not triumphant. Not somber. Just tired.
He walks forward, toward the still-glowing scorch mark. Stops a meter short of it.
"…Wasn't always like that," he mutters. Not to the others. To himself. "We weren't friends. But we fought together once. Should've stayed that way."
He raises a hand and dispels the lingering heat — the magic snuffs out in a breath of steam.
Then he turns back toward the group.
"Well." His voice is a little hoarse, but steady. "That's that."
Jack narrows his eyes. "You knew her well?"
Caster shrugs. "Enough to know what she was capable of. And what she used to be."
Mash looks toward the burn mark, then away quickly. "Was that… really Medusa?"
Roman's voice cuts in through comms — his tone serious, now with confirmation behind it.
"Yes. Jack was right. That was Medusa — Rider-class in the records, but something's off about her here. She had Harpe, which explains the scythe — a divine slayer weapon. But she wasn't using her full potential. Not even close."
"She held back," Jack says, his arms crossed. "Could've ended it earlier. But she didn't."
Roman pauses. "Maybe she wasn't in control."
Mash mutters, almost to herself. "...Or maybe she wanted to die."
No one answers that.
Then, Caster nods to Jack. "Anyway. You gave the right order. That hesitation was all I needed."
Jack doesn't smile. "You're welcome."
Olga stirs now, finally breaking her silence. "Is… is it over?"
Caster raises a brow. "For now. But if something like her was summoned this close to you… you're going to need more firepower. And a lot of luck."
"Alright, enough standing around." The Caster rolled his shoulders, stretching like a man who'd just finished a warm-up, not a deathmatch. "You lot look like you've been dragged through a warzone backwards—which, fair. But if you're planning to survive the next hour, we need to move."
Mash tightened her grip on her shield. "Move where?"
"Somewhere that isn't a leyline hotspot with a target painted on it." Cu jerked his chin toward the skeletal skyline. "This whole district's a graveyard, but there's a church up the hill. Walls are thick, and the priest's long gone. Good place to catch your breath."
Jack didn't move. "And why should we trust you?"
Cu's grin was all teeth. "You shouldn't. But I just barbecued a Gorgon for you, so either I'm the worst double agent ever, or you've got piss-poor options."
"…Fair."
They moved.
-
Fuyuki Church – Half an Hour Later
The church was less a sanctuary and more a corpse—peeling plaster, shattered stained glass, and a crucifix hanging crooked over the altar like a bad punchline. Jack leaned against a pew, arms crossed, watching as Cu lit a handful of rune-lanterns with a flick of his wrist. The blue glow caught the dust in the air, turning the place into a haunted aquarium.
Olga sat stiffly on a broken bench, her coat singed at the hem. Mash stood near the door, shield at the ready, though her shoulders sagged slightly. Even Fou had settled, curled atop a hymnal like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle.
Jack broke the silence first. "So. Names."
Cu didn't look up from his rune-work. "Cú Chulainn. Caster-class, this time around. Don't ask."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Jack tilted his head. "But you're not from here, are you?"
"Smart kid." Cu finally turned, crossing his arms. "No, I'm not part of this Grail War. Or whatever's left of it."
Olga stiffened. "What do you mean, 'whatever's left'?"
Cu's expression darkened. "Exactly what it sounds like. This singularity's a fucking mess. The Grail's corrupted. The Servants are… wrong. Medusa wasn't herself—just a shade of whatever this place twisted her into. And the others?" He exhaled sharply. "Worse."
Mash's voice was small. "The other Servants…?"
"Gone. Broken. Or working for the thing that broke them." Cu paced, boots scuffing the rotten carpet. "Saber's MIA. Archer's a ghost. Lancer's—" He cut himself off. "Point is, this isn't a War anymore. It's a slaughterhouse."
Jack's fingers drummed against his sleeve. "And you?"
"Got summoned by accident. Woke up in the ruins, figured I'd pick a side before something picked me off." Cu shrugged. "Lucky you."
Roman's voice crackled through the comms, strained. "This aligns with our readings. The Fuyuki Grail's been tampered with—it's not just a singularity, it's a wound. And if the Servants are corrupted…"
"Then we're not just fixing history," Jack finished. "We're putting down rabid dogs."
"Bingo," Cú said.
"You mentioned Archer. When we dropped in, we were hit by a projectile storm. That him?"
Cú gave a sharp grin, then grimaced. "Bingo again."
"If you thought I was cowardly? That guy's worse. If I were a proper Lancer, I'd have skewered him already." He sighed. "But as a Caster? Best I can do is sense him coming. Either way, we can't linger."
Jack pressed. "The others?"
Cú shrugged. "Still out there. I don't know all their identities. But you should worry about two: Saber—and Archer. Especially Saber. The rest? We pray we don't meet them."
Olga dug her nails into her knees. "So what do we do?"
Cú grinned, razor-sharp. "You've got a Master, a Demi-Servant, and me. Not exactly an army." His gaze locked onto Jack. "But you've got one hell of a loophole."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"
"The Grail's still here. Twisted, but active. That means your Command Seals still function. You could summon a Servant. A real one. Fresh contract. Clean slate."
Mash's eyes widened. "Another Servant? But the mana cost—"
"Would kill most people," Cú agreed. "But near this leyline? With the Grail's energy pulsing nearby?" He smirked. "You just might survive."
A sharp voice cut in: "You'd better not be talking about unbounded mana intake without a bounded field."
Da Vinci entered, sleeves rolled up, eyes bright with frustration and brilliance. "Because if you are, Cú, I will beat you over the head with your own spear."
Cú chuckled. "Guilty. But it'd work."
"Barely," Da Vinci snapped. "And only after turning this whole node into a crater—and you into a cautionary tale."
She turned toward Mash, gaze sharp. "Luckily, we have something better."
Mash blinked. "Me?"
"Your shield," Da Vinci said. "It's not just a Noble Phantasm. It's a spiritual anchor. If calibrated properly, it can interface with Chaldea's summoning systems. That gives us a workaround."
"We can remote-deploy a Servant," Jack realized.
"Exactly," Da Vinci said. "The leyline gives us raw energy. The Grail gives us spatial integrity. Your shield gives us the tether. Chaldea handles the rest."
Cú tilted his head. "So... like a spiritual relay tower?"
"Exactly," Da Vinci said. "High latency, low stability—but it'll hold. One transfer. Maybe two, if nobody sneezes."
Mash stepped forward, clutching her shield. "I'm ready."
"You'll have to be," Da Vinci warned. "Once we trigger this, you become the summoning locus. If sync is off, it'll feel like a lightning bolt through your spine."
"I can take it."
Cú gave a low whistle. "Damn. Kids these days."
Jack exhaled. "Let's do it. Who are we calling?"
Da Vinci grinned slyly. "Doesn't matter. We have no catalysts. It'll be random—whoever's best suited to you."
A pause.
"Standby for Spiritron alignment," Da Vinci said, activating her holopad. "Mash, kneel. Center yourself. You're the keystone."
Mash obeyed. The leyline pulsed in time with her breathing. Faint sparks shimmered at the edges of reality.
Cú stepped back. "Hell of a lot better than vaporizing yourself. I take it back."
"No, you don't," Da Vinci replied dryly. "But thanks anyway."
Light surged. Air cracked. The ritual began.
"So," Jack asked Mash, "what kind of Heroic Spirit did you bond with? No one's asked that yet."
He glanced at her shield. "Seems kind of important."
Mash hesitated. Looked down.
"I… don't know."
"You don't?"
"You were sent off Chaldea earlier. I thought I died when 'he'—whoever he was—offered to bond with me. I accepted. I didn't have time to think. I don't even know who he is."
She clutched her shield tighter.
"I don't even know the name of my Noble Phantasm. I'm sorry. I must seem like a terrible Servant."
Cú muttered, "Kid…"
Roman's voice returned, louder now. "It's not your fault, Mash! It's ours!"
"You just defeated a Servant!"
Mash offered a soft smile. "Thank you, Doctor. But I only won because of Senpai and Mr. Caster."
"Alright, enough," Olga said, stepping between Jack and Mash. "We don't have time for this. Jack—summon. Mash—we'll talk later."
Jack started toward the ritual circle, then stopped. "…What do I do, exactly?"
Olga exhaled loudly.
Roman tried to answer. "Normally, you'd chant and focus—"
"—But thanks to me," Da Vinci interrupted cheerfully, "Chaldea's systems handle most of the process! Just reach toward the shield and channel! No chanting! Isn't that amazing?"
Jack extended his hand toward the summoning light.
Cú spoke up. "You know… I would've liked to know you better, Master. Heard what you said to Lancer earlier. 'Your hair… it does you justice. Mythic and fierce. I could admire a beauty like that.' That's gold."
He glanced around. "And with these lovely ladies—"
"Three," Da Vinci snapped.
"—We'd have made quite the team. I like my women brave," he nodded at Mash. "Though I'm not against a damsel in distress," he added, nodding at Olga.
A burst of light flared. A silhouette emerged—slender, average height.
An old voice rang out:
"Now, now, I am but an ordinary man! Perhaps just a tad cleverer than most. My magical bullets may aid you… but mind you, I've only so many!"
As the brilliance faded, the new Servant stood revealed.
"Servant—Archer. At your service, Master." He bowed low.
An older man. Not ancient, but clearly past his prime. White hair slicked back, save for a rebellious strand over one eye. A mustache. A fitted vest over a crisp white shirt. Pinstriped trousers. A long, absurdly elegant cape—its interior patterned like a blue butterfly. And a cane—ornate and theatrical.
Roman and Da Vinci bickered over the comms. The summoning had worked—but only just. They'd be offline for a while, burned out by the effort.
Mash was silent. Fou, too. Whether in awe, confusion, or just stunned by the man's appearance—it wasn't clear.
Cú raised an eyebrow, his grin tight. "We got help, alright. Just not sure we can trust it."
Jack stared, baffled. Was he supposed to be impressed? The Servant that best resonated with him was a flamboyant old man?
Still, he extended his senses. Time to see what this Archer could do.
The only one visibly thrilled—perhaps out of desperation—was Olga.
She clapped once, too loudly, her relief almost manic. "Great! It succeeded! Now we can finally get out of here!"
Moriarty's—or rather, the unknown Archer's—eyes twinkled beneath his silver brow. He gave an exaggerated bow, cane sweeping out with theatrical flair.
"My, such enthusiasm. A delight, truly. I do enjoy being welcomed." His smile was genteel, composed—yet something about it made the skin on the back of Jack's neck prickle.
Olga turned toward him, clearly ignoring the unease in the room. "Yes, well, you'll earn your welcome if you help us survive what's ahead. And don't think I won't Command Seal you into submission if you cause problems."
"She's not even his master, though... is she really that desperate for a sense of control, again? What did this woman go through?", Jack thinks to himself, upon hearing her comment.
He placed a hand over his heart, mock-wounded. "Oh, madam, how severe. I assure you, I'm quite obedient. Especially when it suits me."
Mash shifted her weight, unconsciously placing herself between the new Archer and Jack. Fou hissed, very quietly.
Jack's gaze narrowed. Let's see what makes you tick, old man.
The Master's vision flared as he invoked his command interface, drawing up the new Servant's parameters. Data scrolled through his mind's eye—sharp, cold, and unpleasant. Just as he had secretly done with Caster before.
[Class: Archer]
Independent Action: A+
Highly autonomous. Can act without orders or magical energy for extended periods.
Magic Resistance: D
Can resist minor magecraft. Barely functional in this singularity.
[Personal Skills]
Freeshooter (EX):
Impossible trajectories. Improbable hits. This skill bends causality—no barrier too thick, no shadow too deep. Not his skill. But it's his now.
End of the Spider Thread (A+++):
Anomalously high. Malevolent tactics, manipulations without backlash. Dangerously adaptive. Entropic tendencies.
Charisma of Wicked Wisdom (A):
The kind of leader who builds empires of vice and lies. Strategic, persuasive. Possibly sociopathic.
Noble Phantasm – [Locked]
Insufficient synchronization. Data fragment: "Asteroid" detected. Conceptual weight anomalous. Caution strongly advised.
Jack dropped the scan. His stomach turned, not out of fear, but revulsion. This servant will really be troublesome. What he hates most, is having to think, after all.
"So," he said aloud, "you're... not a simple sniper."
The Archer's grin twitched wider, his moustache twitching with the motion. "Ah. You peeked. Naughty boy."
Cu moved beside Jack, arms crossed. "You feel it too, huh?" he said quietly. "This guy's not clean. He's got too many threads pulling in too many directions."
Jack replied under his breath. "He's no hero."
"No. He's something else. Something worse. But dangerous times call for dangerous friends."
At that, Moriarty twirled his cane with a flourish and turned to Olga. "Now, my dear commander—may I ask where we're going? Not that I mind wandering, but I do prefer maps over mysteries."
Olga straightened, immediately falling back into her role. "We're headed northeast. There's a convergence point atop Mount Enzou—our scans say the Grail is lodged there, or what's left of it. And based on Cu's report, Saber's guarding it."
"A Grail, a mountaintop, and a final boss. Classic," Moriarty mused. "And Saber, you say? Curious. I'll do my best not to disappoint."
Olga squinted at him. "You'll do your job. That's what matters."
Roman's voice, crackling again through the comms, tried to cut through the tension. "The leyline's fading fast—we're not going to be able to provide support for long. Archer—was the last thing we could push through before it collapsed. You're on your own until we can re-establish connection."
"That explains the sudden silence," Cu muttered.
Da Vinci added, "And no Command Seal abuse, please. We don't want to destabilize the bond right after it formed."
"Noted," Jack said.
He stepped forward, shoulders squared. "Then we move. We've got one shot to fix this before Saber makes this place permanent."
Moriarty tapped his cane once, the chime oddly musical. "Lead on, dear Master. I'll follow."
Mash kept glancing back at him as they gathered what little they had. Fou hadn't moved from her shoulder since the summoning. Jack caught it—Mash was wary. Instinctively. And if Mash was wary, it wasn't just gut feeling.
As they began the march north, tensions simmered just below the surface.
Cu walked ahead, scouting. Olga barked instructions. Mash kept close to Jack, silently protective. Moriarty hummed an old tune none of them recognized, walking with a casual elegance like this was just a stroll through Hyde Park.
Jack couldn't help it—he spoke up.
"You said you were an ordinary man. With magical bullets."
"Indeed," Moriarty replied without turning. "A contradiction, is it not? I find such things delightful."
Jack pressed on. "What's your name?"
"A name?" The Archer finally turned his head slightly, just enough to flash a smile. "Oh, let's keep that mystery just a bit longer. Names have power, you know. And in this corrupted little world, I'd hate to give too much away too soon."
He winked.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
"So, why did you answer the call, then, huh? They told me that when you have no catalyst, the servant who manifests is the one who resonates most with you. I don't really see similarities between us. You're too annoying, I can tell already."
"But, let me see it from the bright side... from what I saw of your "kit", you're quite the schemer, aren't you? Why don't you make a plan for us to beat Saber, then, or something?"
Moriarty's pace didn't falter, not even for a beat. The cane clicked along the fractured pavement with crisp, deliberate rhythm, echoing faintly against ruined stone and rusted steel. Jack's words might have been flippant, but they carried weight. Even Cu turned a curious ear.
The old man chuckled softly. Not mocking—amused. Delighted.
"A plan, is it?" Moriarty murmured. "Oh, I could. And I would. But I'm afraid there's a problem."
Jack raised an eyebrow, tone half-derisive. "Of course there is."
"Indeed. You're asking me to solve a puzzle without the full board." He finally turned his head fully toward Jack now, walking backwards without a care, his grin widening into something unsettlingly sharp. "I don't know this Saber. Not her disposition, her Noble Phantasm, her alignment. Not even her mood. Am I to throw darts at a blank canvas?"
"That didn't stop you from showing up," Jack shot back.
"No," Moriarty agreed. "It didn't. But then, I never do anything for free. Or cleanly."
Mash's eyes flicked over to him again, subtle but wary. She didn't like this game. Not at all.
Moriarty turned forward again and raised his cane, gesturing at the broken skyline ahead. The ruined city stretched toward the horizon, and past it, the looming, smoke-streaked silhouette of Mount Enzou.
"But if it's strategy you want…" he said, voice now tinged with a different tone—measured, weighty, serious beneath the veneer of performance, "...then let's speak plainly."
He tapped the cane once into the ground.
"First, we assume Saber has fortified the summit. Obvious. Height advantage, symbolic value, leyline saturation. Not a fool's choice."
Cu grunted in agreement.
"Second, we assume she knows we're coming. Either by magical perception, or simple logic. So any approach is compromised the moment we crest the lower ridgeline."
Mash nodded. "So a frontal assault—"
"—would be suicide," Moriarty finished. "Yes. How vulgar. She'll have traps. Constructs. Familiars, possibly. A Knight-class Servant with time and territory is nothing short of a fortress."
"And you have a way around that?" Jack asked.
"Oh, I have many. But I need variables. Does she fight alone? Does she hold the Grail willingly, or is she possessed? What of the mountain itself—collapsed tunnels, leyline channels, geothermal vents?" He turned to Olga. "Do we have topographic data?"
Olga frowned. "Limited scans. What we got back was badly degraded—interference from the Grail's emission signature. But yes, there are geothermal weaknesses along the southern side. They're unstable."
"Unstable means exploitable," Moriarty said, eyes gleaming. "We can weaponize terrain. Perhaps isolate her."
Jack cut in. "You're talking like this is a chess match."
"Oh, Jack," Moriarty said with a grin. "Everything is a chess match."
Jack made a face like he'd swallowed something bitter. "You're exactly the kind of guy I hate."
"I do hope that won't affect our working relationship," Moriarty replied cheerily. "But to answer your earlier question—why did I answer your call, hmm? You said you don't see similarities between us. But I do."
Jack frowned. "What?"
"You don't like to think," Moriarty said, voice lowering, smooth as poison. "You'd rather act. Move. Solve things with fists and instinct. Because thinking gets you into places you don't want to be. Memories. Choices. Consequences."
The silence was sudden, sharp. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Jack didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Moriarty continued. "You don't want a partner. You want a direction. And what better direction than a mind like mine?"
The group fell into a taut, watchful silence. Mash didn't speak. Cu didn't joke. Olga just kept walking, but even she cast a sideways glance at Moriarty like she was waiting for something to explode.
After a few moments, Jack finally exhaled. "You keep talking like that, I'm going to hit you."
Moriarty laughed again. "Then I'll know I'm on the right track."
-
Elsewhere, high above the city, cloaked in the haze of dusk and brimstone, a golden figure stood at the edge of a crumbling ridge. The wind blew through her hair—long, white, and faintly shimmering in the ambient mana of the mountain.
Saber opened her eyes slowly.
"They've begun moving," she said quietly.
Behind her, the Grail pulsed—twisted and incomplete, embedded in the stone like a corrupted heart.
She didn't move. Didn't smile. But her grip on her sword tightened.
"Let them come."