Steve's last sortie had rendered the command room silent and solemn with awe. The five left the Shadow Border and stepped out onto the cold asphalt streets of Fuyuki City. It was past midnight; the city had long since fallen into slumber, lit only by the dim, lonely glow of streetlights.
Steve walked at the group's center. Cloaked in the invisibility of cosmic magecraft, the five vanished—not only their forms and voices, but even the very concept of their existence erased from this world. Like ghosts, they strode through empty streets, slipping quietly toward their predetermined goal: the tallest building overlooking the entire Shinto Stadium.
No one spoke. Only the faintest, magically suppressed clink of armor on pavement was heard. Nerves were stretched to the breaking point; hearts pounded in their chests. They would soon face the greatest of the Clock Tower's Lord, the King of Magecraft who had laid the very foundation of all magecraft: Solomon.
They arrived at the skyscraper's base. Instead of the front entrance, Steve led them through a hidden emergency stairwell. Their muffled, hurried footsteps echoed in the chill, spiraling upward—each step drawing them closer to the climactic stage that would determine the fate of the world.
At last, they reached the top. Before them stood a rusty iron door to the rooftop.
At the team's vanguard, Mash drew a deep breath, gripped her enormous shield, and—with no hesitation—pushed the heavy door open.
Screeeee—!
A gut-wrenching screech of metal shattered the rooftop's silence. Chilled night wind swept in. Their eyes widened—pupils shrinking to the limit—at the scene before them.
Two figures stood at the center of the roof.
One, majestic yet ascetic, wore a simple white robe. Long silver hair fluttered softly in the evening breeze, with ten rings adorning his fingers, each a symbol of his power. He smiled with a serene omniscience, golden eyes as tranquil as still water, showing no surprise whatsoever at their arrival.
It could be no other than the legendary King of Magecraft—Solomon.
Beside him stood a middle-aged man, suited immaculately—his noble bearing at odds with that of a man who might be a father. With gray hair and features reminiscent of Olga Marie, his gray eyes radiated both scholastic wisdom and aristocratic composure.
He was Marisbury Animusphere—the Lord of the Astromancy Department, founder of Chaldea, and Olga Marie's father.
It was as though time itself stopped.
While King Solomon had shown barely a flicker of reaction, Marisbury's calm demeanor froze completely the instant he saw who stood before him. His mind was beset by a tempest of shocks. First came astonishment. Why? Why hadn't Solomon's Clairvoyance set off any alarms? How had these people simply appeared?
Next, a profound sense of confusion and dismay. He scanned the five figures. The man at the fore with black hair—he'd never noticed before. The towering shield-bearer and the boy behind her looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place them.
But the remaining two—those, to him, were shockingly familiar and utterly absurd!
One had exactly the same face as the Servant beside him! Though his demeanor was colder, gloomier, there was no mistaking it—this was Solomon's own visage!
The fifth person was… someone unfamiliar, but the blood connection screamed at him. The bright gray hair, the golden eyes, the radiant, sacred apparel, and that mature, determined face—she could be none other than his daughter, Olga Marie, but all grown up!
The daughter who should still be a child, now appearing before him as an adult!
"What… what's going on?" Marisbury's composure was shattered. He spun toward his Servant, asking with a mixture of surprise and wariness, "Solomon! When did these people appear? Why didn't you…"
"Master," Solomon's voice was calm, stating facts as if mere objective data. "My observations are constant. Yet, until the final instant as the door opened, these five never entered my vision. Among them, that Caster employed an exceptionally advanced concealment magecraft. Its root principle lies outside anything I established as a magical foundation on this planet. Thus, my vision could neither analyze nor detect it."
"Magic not of this world…?" Marisbury's eyes narrowed with a dangerous light. The implications left him genuinely unsettled. Solomon's Clairvoyance had always been his greatest asset—now that asset had a blind spot.
His gaze then locked on the man before him with Solomon's face—a gaze heavy with disbelief. "Then, what about him? Double summons? Or…?"
Solomon's golden eyes turned to Lev, gaze piercing beyond skin to the depths of his soul. After a pause, Solomon replied, still neutral, "He is not genuine. His spiritual core belongs to one of my seventy-two pillars, the demon god Flauros. At present, he is a Servant disguised in my shell, using some unknown magecraft."
Relief briefly relaxed Marisbury's taut nerves. Anything but "Solomon versus Solomon," the most absurd, unpredictable scenario possible. As long as his ally was the real King of Magecraft—the only one in human history—no plan could threaten his supremacy.
He straightened his tie; that ruler's calm smile returning. He barely met the gazes of Ritsuka, Mash, and Lev, or even his own daughter, merely glancing at Olga Marie's complex expression. Finally, his gaze settled on Caster—the leader of this incomprehensible team.
"This is truly a surprise," Marisbury said with a measured smile, as if entertaining guests in his own living room. "So. You uninvited guests have gone out of your way to slip past my 'eyes' to stand before me. Could you kindly share your purpose in coming here tonight?"
…