Me? Fight the Three Knights?"
"Is that, serious?"
The moment she had been summoned and received this as her very first order, Medea looked at her laughing, swaggering Master and pointed a finger at herself, her expression one of patient, restrained disbelief. It was the sort of look you might give someone who had just asked a minor character to go take out the main cast singlehandedly.
Her magical mastery was extraordinary. She could construct something resembling a Lesser Grail's magical accumulation core within a matter of weeks, and she was legitimately a top-five mage by the standards of the Age of Gods.
But. You had to understand. Every Heroic Spirit in the Three Knights classes came standard-equipped with high-grade Magic Resistance. Without a workshop even partially constructed, fighting one of them was a roll of the dice, and openly provoking every single Servant in the war at once was essentially choosing to die.
High-grade Magic Resistance meant this: anything below A-rank sorcery and high-sorcery were nullified outright.
A mage could blast away for an extended period and still not put a scratch on a Three Knights Servant's defenses.
That was precisely why Caster had always been considered a difficult pick throughout Holy Grail War history. A single Magic Resistance stat from the Three Knights class could functionally cripple a mage Servant.
This was the first night of the Holy Grail War. It might not even have all seven Servants summoned yet. What exactly had she developed to the point where she could fight anyone?
Was she supposed to use her little rune dagger and go head-to-head with the Three Knights in melee combat, the exact type of fighting that mages were worst at?
"Master, I believe this battle plan is somewhat extreme. Provoking every Servant in the war without first confirming enemy true names or trump cards is undeniably unwise. Your trust in me is flattering, but sometimes too much confidence leads to underestimating the enemy..."
In the standalone villa on the outskirts of Fuyuki City, Medea was in the process of constructing a bounded field when she found herself unable to stay quiet any longer.
The enemy situation was completely unknown. Being this arrogant was just asking to be killed. She had no information on anyone and was already being asked to dive into a massive team battle. What if one of the other Servants was genuinely top-tier? She would become the laughingstock of the entire Holy Grail War.
"Ha. No need to worry. As far as I know, you are the highest possible Servant that can be summoned in this Holy Grail War, a peak existence with a perfect Saint Graph compatibility."
"As for the others? A collection of backwater provincial families. Treat it as entertainment."
The golden-haired, brown-skinned young man waved a dismissive hand, utterly unbothered by the Three Founding Families. He carried the pride of a Clock Tower mage in full.
His name was Atrum Galliasta, a mage of mixed Western European and Arab descent, a young entrepreneur with an oil magnate father.
About a century ago, his family had purchased a certain strand of magecraft with their money and passed it down as one of the privileges of their class. His generation had expanded upon it considerably. Having bought a certain peerage, his standing within the Mage's Association was higher than that of an ordinary mage, though still below that of genuine magical nobility, the Lords such as the Archibald and Barthomelloi families.
When addressing mages of exceptional ability, he habitually referred to himself with a humble honorific.
Only when addressing those he considered beneath him socially did he drop it.
"But..."
"Go right ahead with confidence. I may not match even a fraction of Lady Medea's magical mastery, but when it comes to Mystic Code support and human resources, I consider myself second to none even by Clock Tower standards. For this Holy Grail War, I have invested specifically in one magical furnace, purchased for you."
"?"
Atrum snapped his fingers. Several mages came through from behind him bearing a procession of resources, and Medea blinked at the display with quiet bewilderment.
Excuse me. Are you actually here to fight a Holy Grail War? The combined value of all of this exceeds the prize of the Holy Grail itself, doesn't it?
A magical furnace. He just casually produced a magical furnace. That thing was worth more in the modern world than a high-grade Mystic Eye, wasn't it?
"And these thirty-odd mages are staff I have personally selected."
"They possess weather magecraft capable of summoning lightning. Lady Medea may deploy them as she sees fit."
Atrum gestured grandly at the mages stationed throughout the villa, maintaining watch and bounded fields. As a descendant of an ancient Middle Eastern bloodline who also held a London peerage, his own magical ability had advanced into the realm of sorcery.
But because his family had only joined the Clock Tower a couple of generations ago, the institution refused to recognize regional traditions, treating sorcery as a quaint local custom rather than legitimate scholarship. He was condescended to accordingly.
It left him in a position where he looked brilliant on the surface in modern society and at the Clock Tower, but in reality not a single Sealing Designation-level mage gave him a second glance.
He resented that, naturally and deeply. His father treated magecraft as a rich man's hobby.
But he understood its value. He knew that oil reserves would eventually run dry.
The applications of magecraft were inexhaustible, and the truths it pursued had no end.
The all-capable wishing machine held no particular appeal to him. With oil extraction rights and immense wealth, he could obtain almost anything. What he cared about was his path forward as a mage. He wanted the genuine acknowledgment and goodwill of a true Clock Tower noble Lord. That was why he had paid enormous sums for a Holy Grail War entry slot, coming here to gain experience and prestigious credentials.
"...This level of support is extraordinary, Master. I genuinely do not understand what you are wishing for."
Holding a magical furnace, surrounded by a cascade of magical resources, Medea expressed her sincere bewilderment.
In terms of pure value, one magical furnace alone was comparable to the reward from an entire Lesser Holy Grail War. What kind of absurdly wealthy individual would invest a magical furnace as a strategic resource? Let alone everything else piled on top of it.
She had been thinking her Master must have a screw loose, but looking at it now, perhaps she was the one with the limited perspective. With resources like this in hand, even if preparation time was rushed, she could realistically hold her own against multiple first-rate Servants simultaneously. He had simply thrown enough money at the problem to brute-force her combat power to a higher level.
Three Knights? Three Knights were nothing. She could drop a magical furnace and deliver output equivalent to an anti-army Noble Phantasm. Even a Magic Resistance of A would have to lie down and show some respect today.
"Consider it a way of making amends, or perhaps a demonstration. Not long ago, I hired one of the Clock Tower's three Colors, Aozaki Touko, and became entangled in a dispute with the Izayoi family of the Clock Tower's Creation department over a rather fine dragon blood collectible at auction. I found out afterward, with help from a certain Lord, that Aozaki Touko had already burned the very item I wanted. The matter was eventually dropped without resolution."
"After that incident, I developed considerable admiration and goodwill toward that Lord. I began visiting him once a week, just to maintain the connection. Later I learned he had been a participant in the Fourth Holy Grail War, and naturally assumed he would participate in the Fifth as well. I intended to help him and repay the favor in kind."
"But unfortunately, he chose not to participate. That was both disappointing and regrettable. So I decided to close this Holy Grail War quickly and brilliantly, to prove to him that only he was worthy of being my rival, that everyone else is just a collection of small fry. After winning, I planned to gift him the Grail, partly to build a relationship with a Lord who has known defeat in a Holy Grail War, and partly so that neither of us owes the other anything."
Atrum spread his hands openly as he explained it. No evasion, no omission.
This Holy Grail War was a mixture of business calculation and personal feeling. His upbringing had taught him to think lightly of ordinary lives, to regard those without wealth as a resource that wealthy people could make use of rather than as genuine human beings.
So for him, any human being who could be purchased with money was essentially livestock, not a real person.
A Clock Tower Lord's genuine goodwill, or the extraordinary magical knowledge of a legendary mage like Medea: those were things money could not buy, and for existences like those, he maintained sincere humility and was naturally willing to invest heavily in pursuit of them.
"Building connections with the upper class. How very modern mage of you."
Having learned what her Master actually wanted, Medea gave a small nod.
Brilliant victory, overwhelming glory. Atrum's motivations as an oil magnate looked complex at a glance but were actually quite easy to understand: regret about something involving a friend, desire to connect with that friend as a Lord, and the basic prestige that came with winning.
"However, what is that magical apparatus in the basement? Why are so many children being held there?"
Recalling the device she had seen in the underground workshop upon summoning, Medea frowned and asked again.
Was it some high-level curse that required sacrifice? A great sorcery that needed an offering?
"Ah, that is a workshop I use to refine concentrated magical energy. It incorporates the latest scientific equipment, reducing refinement and chanting time considerably. If Lady Medea ever needs additional magical supply, you're welcome to..."
"The input-output ratio doesn't balance. The amount of refined energy extracted from those lives isn't worth building a workshop at this scale."
"Ha-ha-ha! Compared to the legendary mastery of someone like yourself, of course it seems trivial. But this external apparatus enhances the quality of my own Magic Circuits, which will be useful in managing a situation where I face all six remaining opponents."
He had the audacity to ask Medea to openly challenge every other Servant in the war. Naturally, he had his own confidence behind that.
His magical skill was modest. His personal combat ability was ordinary. But his greatest strength more than compensated for both.
He was simply obscenely, almost unreasonably wealthy.
Other mages fought with craft and personal ability. He fought with money.
From his perspective, his financial resources combined with the name and reputation of Medea of the Age of Gods were sufficient to manage a large-scale team battle. Even if he hadn't provoked anyone, they were going to come for him eventually. Everyone knew Medea's catalyst was in his hands.
So rather than sitting tense and waiting to be ambushed from the shadows, he preferred to set the terms of the decisive battle himself, forcing those proud mages and Heroic Spirits into an open confrontation on his terms. The passive position of waiting to be attacked and the active position of dictating when and where the battle happened looked similar on the surface, but the difference was enormous. By making the provocation himself, he controlled the timing, the terrain, and the opening move.
Knowing everyone would come for him anyway, he might as well turn that passivity into initiative.
"So why exactly do I have to face all six at once?"
"Because they are weak, and Lady Medea is strong. Mere mortals must unite to face a great dragon."
"..."
That's not an explanation. That's just restating the premise.
Could it actually be that I've been underselling myself? That I really am the apex of this Holy Grail War?
That the quality of participants in Fuyuki's Holy Grail War is just genuinely low? A sea of second and third-rate Servants with nothing remarkable among them?
Because I genuinely cannot picture a scenario where a Caster holds off all six other classes simultaneously. My Master doesn't appear to be a fool, so there must be something I'm missing.
"You're certain this is just a standard provincial magical ritual?"
"And in all records and estimates, I really am the highest-caliber Servant this system can summon? The absolute ceiling?"
Without any top-tier Servants present, these resources would let her simply sweep through everyone.
Her Master hadn't questioned anything once, and that unshakeable trust had actually helped ease some of her anxiety. Still, being someone who had always been careful by nature, she wanted to confirm it more than once.
"Ha. Then you really are Goddess Hecate's disciple? The princess of the legendary Kingdom of Colchis?"
He had a certain private dissatisfaction with Medea's evaluation of his basement workshop.
But after considering just how terrifyingly powerful she had to be to have defeated a Clock Tower Lord, Atrum let out a magnanimous laugh and replied with the air of a man who had always had a sense of humor about these things.
"I am, and my true name is genuine without question. You summoned using the Golden Fleece's hide as a catalyst, so naturally what emerged is what you had in mind."
"Then there is nothing more to say. I trust your magical mastery completely, and I ask that you trust the judgment I have made."
Seeing Atrum wave a hand again and begin directing his mage staff to prepare for a dinner banquet, not a trace of insincerity anywhere in his expression, looking for all the world like a man who had already secured the victory, Medea sank into thought.
It was well known that when the war concluded, the Servant's aspect as a Heroic Spirit retained no memory of that specific Holy Grail War.
If her Master trusted her this completely, could it be that she herself had fought a Holy Grail War at some point, gone on a killing spree she had since forgotten, and left behind a reputation she could no longer remember?
The thought made her head hurt. But there was no question that her current configuration was formidable.
She had already accumulated enough to construct something far beyond a mere workshop. Something more like a proper divine temple.
With an opening hand this overwhelmingly strong, she couldn't imagine herself losing. She could hold herself up inside a magical temple and even entertain the idea of fighting a demigod. Cutting down second and third-rate Servants, even first-rate ones, shouldn't be a problem. And yet the more smoothly things went, the more an irrational unease seemed to build inside her.
She kept feeling that this trust was just a little too unconditional. And her Master spoke in nothing but riddles.
Ask him a direct question and he told her she was strong, so it was fine, just go for it.
"Could it be, that I've actually been underestimating myself?"
"Am I actually that powerful? Is the Fuyuki City Holy Grail War system simply incapable of summoning a genuinely top-tier Servant?"
Carrying that thought with her, Medea set aside the magical furnace and began sorting through the pile of priceless rare magical materials, shifting her approach from the construction of a standard workshop to the construction of a high-grade divine temple, a true residence fit for a goddess.
As a mage ranked in the top five of the Age of Gods, her greatest strength was the ability to rapidly convert available resources into meaningful combat power. High Speed Divine Words let her bypass the lengthy chanting requirements for most magecraft, leaving the average modern great mage far behind.
If her Master wanted a team battle, then she would give him a true team battle, grand and glorious and without compromise.
With resources like these, combined with her peak magical mastery, even if a genuinely top-tier Servant appeared in this Holy Grail War, she was willing to meet it head-on.
This was the pride of a mage from the Age of Gods. And it was also her answer to her Master's trust.
You dared to put your faith in the Betrayer Witch.
Then this witch would fight for you with everything she had.
"The summoning... failed?"
In a cheap inn somewhere in Fuyuki City, the blue-haired man in the hoodie stared at the summoning circle and blinked.
He had injected himself with the expensive Thaumaturgical Marrow and had been lucky enough to be selected as a participant in this Holy Grail War.
Most outside mages had already been driven out. Fuyuki City had only a scattered handful of mages left now, and the Three Founding Families already had their participants.
It was never going to be Zouken's turn.
That was precisely why the old man had calculated that Shinji would most likely become a participant and had chosen to cooperate with him, jointly scheming against the biggest threat in this war: Medea of the Age of Gods.
"Why did it fail? Was the incantation wrong? Or was there a problem with the array?"
Seeing no Heroic Spirit appear anywhere in the room, Matou Shinji muttered to himself.
He looked at his right arm, the only part of him that could genuinely be called flesh and blood. The three vivid red Command Seals were still there, but there was no resonance of a formed contract.
"This is a joke. The magical energy was already drawn. I checked the ritual array more than ten times. How did this fail? Why did it fail..."
Shinji slammed his fist into the wall with restrained fury. The wall shuddered and fractured into a web of cracks.
His supply of Thaumaturgical Marrow was only three or four doses. The simulated Magic Circuits they produced paid for magical energy with life force and physical stamina, which meant that unlike a proper mage who could simply attempt the summon again after a failure, Shinji needed days of rest before he could retry. Otherwise the magical drain from the ritual would outright kill him.
But days? He couldn't afford days. Medea's unreasonable rate of development meant that even a few extra days was inviting catastrophe. Who knew what kind of power she'd have accumulated by then?
The Fourth Holy Grail War had been a new version of itself every single day. That information might be unknown to outsiders, but anyone from the Three Founding Families or connected to them knew it perfectly well.
Heroic Spirits grew over time. Every day you delayed your summon was another day you fell behind, another step closer to being handed an elimination notice.
"I have no choice. I have to inject another dose right now. No matter what Servant comes out, I have to complete the summon before..."
"Guh."
The moment Shinji reached for another dose, his body locked up entirely, as though something had frozen him solid. In his mind's eye, he saw himself die, something punching straight through his chest and killing him instantly.
"What... is..."
An overwhelming killing intent swept over every inch of Matou Shinji's body. Cold sweat broke across his forehead.
His body gradually returned to normal. The vision of his own death felt like nothing more than a hallucination.
"Tell me. Are you my Master?"
"...!!!"
"Don't turn around."
A low, strange voice came from behind him, carrying an absolute and indifferent authority.
With Matou Shinji's magical aptitude, he naturally could not summon a high-powered Heroic Spirit. Whatever Servant emerged under his conditions would have both stats and skills drastically reduced. That was precisely why he had aimed for the low-magical-consumption Assassin class, to ensure that even with him as the Master, his Servant's core abilities wouldn't be too severely impacted.
"I see. The summoning succeeded after all. Even inside the ritual array, even with the contract formed, I can't see you with my eyes or sense you with my circuits?"
Shinji composed himself quickly and clicked his tongue softly.
This was, in a genuine sense, his first real contact with a Heroic Spirit, outside of that silver-haired saint he had encountered as a child.
His inexperience had caused the initial misread.
And at the same time, he was deeply unsettled. Because what he had just felt, the killing intent and the wrongness of it, had been produced by a Servant that had been weakened by his inadequacy as a Master.
And even so, a single brush with its presence had given him a waking vision of his own death.
"Do you have conviction?"
The indistinct, uncanny voice asked.
Shinji swallowed. He was calm by nature, but he wasn't beyond fear when he understood that at this distance, before he could even activate a Command Seal, this thing could kill him effortlessly.
"I will give everything I have to magecraft. Even if it costs me everything, I will become a proper mage, and I will pursue the truth of magecraft until the day I die on the road I have chosen. That is the conviction that brought me to this Holy Grail War."
The voice paused, then asked again.
"Do you have the resolve to crush the lives of others in the name of that conviction?"
Shinji answered:
"Of course. For the path I've chosen, even if it means standing against those closest to me, even against those I love, I will cut them down and remove them."
Even if that enemy was his sister, Matou Sakura. Even his biological father, Matou Tsuruno.
His grandfather Matou Zouken, or the family members connected to him by blood.
For the sake of becoming a mage, he would do it without hesitation.
"The contract is formed."
"As long as you do not lose your conviction and continue forward, I will be your shadow."
The killing intent dispersed.
The undetectable ghost behind him receded back into the darkness. It was a killer in the truest sense, a legitimate existence that could be summoned in Fuyuki's Holy Grail War, one that required no specific relic. Only the name of Assassin was needed.
Because the Assassin class, in and of itself, was synonymous with that ancient brotherhood.
"May I ask who you..."
Matou Shinji, finally releasing a breath, asked with some hesitation.
"My name is."
"Hassan-i-Sabbah."
The voice grew more distant but remained clear in his ears. And yet even with a Master-Servant bond in place, the direction of that voice was impossible to pinpoint. It was like a ghost that simply didn't exist.
But even so, for his contractor, the ghost did not withhold its answer.
"You may call me Assassin. Or the shadow that history never recorded."
"The shadow of the First Hassan. The Wraith Hassan.