The fourth layer of the labyrinth—this was the final destination of the Subspecies Holy Grail.
A golden chalice suspended in space radiated colorless magical light, illuminating the surroundings and the throne below.
"Well now, two adorable little blood bags showed up. And one of them is even my kin. How unexpected—I haven't tasted one like you before."
Wolfgang Faust stepped out from behind the throne, the corner of his lips curling into a grin. The faintly revealed fangs gleamed like those of a beast.
"But since we are both intelligent beings, let us begin with proper introductions—"
With exaggerated courtesy, the vampire bowed deeply, his manner disarmingly gentle—yet the look on his face was one of pitiful compassion, like a butcher indulging in the final moments before slaughter. But his words were cut off by Novia.
"Wolfgang Faust, vampire. You used the Subspecies Grail to extract Heroic Spirit cores for your experiments."
"Oh? You've gone and said everything I meant to say. That magical energy of yours... you must be the only Servant who survived the four-way battle earlier. To think you even defeated the dragon I created..."
Clicking his tongue in mock admiration, Wolfgang's fingers tapped rhythmically, like a metronome.
"Truly, you're a fitting final offering to elevate my rank. A worthy last meal for this body of mine."
"Enough talk. I'm going to kill you."
Spear and deathclaws clashed again and again.
Novia's magically charged spear swept through the air; the black-clad vampire countered with razor-sharp, elongated talons.
In an instant, the two entered a realm of high-speed combat far beyond the capabilities of ordinary humans. In just one second, they had crossed a twenty-meter distance, exchanging blows. Their figures streaked across carpets, along walls, their afterimages vanishing almost immediately.
Blades collided at breakneck speed, sending shockwaves through the surrounding space. Moments later came the delayed crash of metal against metal—followed quickly by Wolfgang's body, severed cleanly at the waist, dropping sideways like a puppet cut loose.
"Not bad... You really are a powerful hero."
But then came regeneration. Restoration. This was why vampires were called immortal—he recovered even before he needed to draw a breath.
"Unfortunately, for my ritual now... you're too late. Under this great magical circle wrought by the Mother of Babylon, no Servant can escape—nor survive."
Wolfgang bared his white teeth and let out a wild, unrestrained laugh. Around him appeared twenty glowing Spirit Cores. He snatched them up in a blur and stabbed them all into his own heart—activating the true Holy Core.
"O Lord Lycaon, bless me, your descendant of Arcadia. In the name of Wolfgang Faust—"
"Heroes upon the Throne of Heroes, go forth and destroy!"
As his cry echoed, monstrous howls followed.
A massive crimson apparition, over three meters tall, let out a frenzied scream.
A mockery of anti-heroes, formed from congealed, turbulent blood, answered only to Wolfgang Faust. Several Servants—mindless and devoid of will—let out guttural howls as they emerged.
This was the culmination of his experiments: a method to forcibly manifest Heroic Spirits without a Master.
"Go now—Daedalus the Labyrinth Lord, Demon Musashi, the Blood Axe King, the Persian King, the Doppelgänger Doctor, the Knight of the Lake—wreak havoc! Hahahahaha! Let the guardians rejoice—what better opening act could you hope for!"
The humanoid phantasmal creature roared with laughter—a mocking certainty in his victory.
"Go on! Kill me if you can! If you don't end me right now, my existence will ascend to a higher plane!"
On Wolfgang Faust's pallid face was a look of ecstasy, composure, pity—and above all, scorn.
At his command, chaos surged forth—sealing the demon maze in malevolence. Massive sword swings, thundering beasts, and hundreds of crimson storms descended—manifestations of countless Noble Phantasms, all aimed directly at Novia—
"Noble Phantasms, is it? I remember—true mystery grows stronger the more ancient it is."
He merely extended the hand holding his spear. A violent blue storm—an endless torrent of death—swirled around the weapon.
To defeat this vampire, ordinary Servants would never suffice. That he had inadvertently devoured the magical energy meant for summoning others... perhaps it was because this task had been entrusted to him alone.
That thought crossed Novia's mind.
Even in this incomplete form, he knew—if he called her name, she would answer. No matter where she was.
And with that, the silver-haired boy let out a quiet breath.
He whispered gently:
"Come to me—Albion."
The words became power.
From the silver cross pendant hanging against his chest, a faint light shimmered. A single silvery thread broke through the magical seal of the labyrinth and soared into the sky—toward the distant horizon.
Thread: a symbol of connection, of fate.
But take note—though it may reveal bonds between people, its absence does not mean those bonds cease to exist.
Unseen ties—those whose very existence might be in doubt—are granted a path to manifest. The thread is simply a guide.
As it once was long ago—this was a guiding light toward a destination no power could deter, a horizon of light that could not be exchanged for anything else.
Because of that—
In Wolfgang's startled, bewildered eyes, three complex magical circles abruptly lit up in the first, second, and third layers of the maze. Blue light flashed across the entire labyrinth, rushing forward at unmatched speed, and finally arrived at his level.
"...What is this nostalgic rhythm...?"
The silver-haired man looked up in a daze.
A dragon, blue-black in hue, stood as tall as him.
It was a figure both utterly unfamiliar—and yet deeply engraved in his memory.
"...Novia. Is that you, Novia?"
From the dragon's mouth came the voice of a human girl.
"I've kept you waiting. It's me—Albion."
"Novia, I've waited for you all this time! There's so much I want to tell you..."
As the blue glow flashed, and her words faded, the blue-black armor that wrapped the dragon's form gradually melted away, revealing the human shape beneath.
"I've always wanted to apologize. I'm sorry—I couldn't protect you. And I've always wanted to thank you..."
Pale, delicate hands—just like a thousand years ago—gently caressed his face.
"Albion... Albion, I've always wanted to say..."
"I'm truly grateful... that I got to meet you."
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