Ritsuka "Gudao" Fujimaru may be Japanese, but his mother was actually a Filipina who originally went there to work but she also found love and family. She raised him in her Catholic faith with the same vigor and devotion as she did with everything. She even had converted her husband and they go to church every Sunday, pray the rosary every day and go to Bible studies to ponder and lead other to understand the Word of God. They celebrate Christmas not as a mere day off but a true celebration of the birth of the one true King. And every Lent they cry for their sins, the sacrifice their lord had made and for those who are not blind, deaf nor mute but behave like such.
All this changed when he was invited to join an organization called Chaldea. He knew he was special, but didn't know he was capable of Mage craft, he used the sacraments, laying of hands, even exorcism on some maladies, but never mage craft. Then Chaldea is up in flames, as it all seems to end whilst holding the hand of a cute girl in an inferno, he clutched the rosary around his neck and did as his mother taught him to do, pray.
For the Lord will never abandon his flock.
In which a certain someone appears but, is he a servant or something else?
1
The 48th Master
The air in Antarctica didn't just bite; it attempted to colonize the lungs.
Ritsuka Fujimaru stepped off the transport, his breath hitching in a crystalline plume. To the scientists and magi surrounding him, he was merely "Candidate No. 48," a late addition to a desperate roster. To himself, he was a son of a Japanese salaryman who had learned to kneel before he could run, and a Filipina mother who had taught him that the world was built on two things: hard work and the Grace of God.
Underneath his thick Chaldea uniform, he felt the familiar weight against his sternum. It was the Rosary—heavy, silver, and smelling faintly of the sandalwood box it had occupied for generations. It wasn't just jewelry; it was a legacy from the Vatican, a "sacred relic" passed down through the hands of those who had fought spiritual battles long before the word 'Magecraft' had entered Ritsuka's vocabulary.
"Welcome to the end of the world," a voice muttered nearby.
Ritsuka didn't answer. He simply reached into his pocket and touched the beads. "Our Father, who art in heaven..." he began internally, a rhythmic anchor against the dizzying high-tech sterile white of the facility.
The Stray and the Beast
As he wandered the halls, lost in the labyrinthine architecture of the observatory, he stumbled upon a small, white creature. It looked like a cross between a squirrel and a miniature dog, possessing eyes that seemed far too intelligent for its fluffy exterior.
Most of the elite mages he'd passed ignored it or looked at it with clinical detachment. Ritsuka, however, stopped dead.
"Oh, hallo there, little one," Ritsuka said, his English clear and polished—a byproduct of his mother's insistence on a global education. He knelt, regardless of his schedule. "Are you lost? You look a bit lonely."
The creature, known to the staff as Fou, tilted its head. It was an entity of immense, dormant power, a potential Beast of Calamity. But Ritsuka didn't see a threat. He saw a 'stray.' And a Fujimaru never, ever left a stray behind.
"Are you hungry? I think I have a bit of dried mango left from my pack," he whispered, pulling out a small piece of the golden fruit. "My mom says it's better than candy."
Fou sniffed the offering, then chirped, hopping onto Ritsuka's shoulder. The "Beast" found itself pampered by a boy who didn't know the meaning of 'threat assessment' when a pair of sad eyes were involved.
"Ritsuka Fujimaru?"
He looked up to see a young woman with lavender hair and a shield-like presence. Mash Kyrielight. She looked at the boy—who was currently letting a dangerous anomaly chew on his sleeve—and then at the Rosary peeking out from his collar.
"You are the 48th Master," she stated. "You... possess a very calm heart rate. Most people are terrified when they arrive."
Ritsuka stood up, Fou still perched on his shoulder like a fluffy familiar. "I've survived my mother's Sunday cleaning sessions and my father's conversion classes, Mash. After that, a mountain in Antarctica feels like a walk in the park. Is it time for the briefing?"
The Interview: Faith vs. Science
The command center was a hive of frantic energy. At the center stood Director Olga Marie Animusphere, a woman who radiated the kind of "Main Character" energy that usually led to a headache.
"Fujimaru," she snapped, looking at his files. "Your Magic Circuits are... nonexistent. Your pedigree is a void. Your only qualification is a high Rayshift compatibility and a recommendation from a 'Church official' I've never heard of. Tell me, what can you actually do?"
Ritsuka stood straight. He didn't talk about circuits or Od. He thought about the laying of hands, the prayers for the sick his mother had led in their small parish, and the strange way fevers would break when he whispered the Sacraments.
"I can endure, Director," Ritsuka replied, his voice steady. "And I can pray. In my experience, those two things cover about ninety percent of life's problems."
Olga Marie stared at him as if he had just suggested using a wooden spoon to fight a dragon. "This is Magecraft, not a parish retreat! Levv, get this boy to the Coffin. I can't deal with a 'Faith Master' right now."
The Inferno
Disaster didn't announce itself with a trumpet. It came with a dull roar and the smell of burning ozone.
The sabotage was absolute. One moment, Ritsuka was drifting into a forced sleep in the Rayshift Coffin; the next, the world was a screaming kaleidoscope of red and black. The facility was in ruins. The 'Coffins' were failing.
Ritsuka crawled out of the wreckage, his skin stinging from the heat. The command center was a tomb of glass and fire. He saw Mash, pinned under a massive slab of reinforced steel, her life force flickering like a candle in a gale.
"Mash!"
He stumbled toward her, his hands bleeding. He didn't have the strength to lift the slab. He didn't have the magecraft to teleport her out. He was just a boy in a burning room.
He fell to his knees beside her, his fingers instinctively finding the silver Rosary. The beads were searing hot, yet they didn't burn him.
"Master..." Mash whispered, her eyes losing focus. "It's... it's over. Please... save yourself."
"No," Ritsuka growled, his Filipino stubbornness flaring. "My mother didn't raise a coward. And my Lord didn't bring me to the end of the world to watch it burn."
He clutched the Rosary so hard the silver cross pressed a permanent mark into his palm. He closed his eyes, ignoring the alarms, the explosions, and the encroaching void. He didn't pray for a spell. He didn't pray for mana. He prayed with the "Vigour and Devotion" that had defined his household.
"Lord Jesus, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof..." he whispered, his voice rising above the roar of the flames. "But only say the word, and my soul shall be healed. And hers! Say the word for her!"
The air in the room didn't just change; it stilled.
The fire didn't go out, but it ceased to be hot. The shadows in the corner of the room lengthened, coalescing into the shape of a man standing amidst the wreckage. He wasn't wearing armor. He wasn't carrying a staff.
The Man looked at Ritsuka. It was a gaze of infinite sorrow and infinite strength—a look that recognized the boy, the Rosary, and the "Stray" Fou shivering nearby.
"The world is bleached, Ritsuka," the Man said, his voice a resonance that filled the boy's soul. "But the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
The Man reached out a hand. He didn't touch the slab. He didn't touch Mash. He simply willed the moment to persist.
"Will you walk with Me, little shepherd?" the Man asked. "The path leads to a Cross. It leads to seven wounds in the side of history. But I promise you... you will not walk it alone."
Ritsuka reached out, his hand trembling, and grabbed the Man's sleeve.
"I'm a Fujimaru," Ritsuka choked out, a tear trailing through the soot on his cheek. "We don't leave anyone behind. Not the world, not Mash... and especially not You."
The world turned white. Not the white of the bleach, but the blinding, merciful white of a Transfiguration.
The Rayshift began.
And as Ritsuka Fujimaru vanished into the void of the first Singularity, the "Christ-Servant" stood in the center of the burning Chaldea, a silent guardian over the boy who had brought a Rosary to a war of Gods.
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