Chapter 234: Holy Grail? Is this what you're talking about?
To be honest, Rowe had long since forgotten the promise Poseidon had given him.
A promise was not the same as a blessing. It was closer to an intrinsic attribute than protection, something that could not be dismissed or turned off. Yet Rowe's continuous ascent, his gradual approach toward the primordial, meant that compared to him, such a promise had become weightless.
Neither helpful nor harmful.
Meaningless.
So it had been forgotten. And forgetting it had felt natural.
But right now, everything was different.
Rowe had forcibly reined in the totality of his existence, manifesting only at the level of a top tier Servant. A Sage of Uruk, not at his peak, barely touching the lower boundary of divinity. In that state, the promise returned, not as comfort, but as an absurd mechanism that revived only because he was, in relative terms, weakened.
And it manifested in a bizarre way.
It was well known that when yin and yang intertwined, both sides were marked by the other's aura.
But if the yang outweighed the yin to an extreme, if Rowe's own presence was an ocean, then even if something mixed, it would be diluted by sheer scale until it became imperceptible.
To outsiders, he would remain pure.
Spotless.
Untainted.
To everyone watching, Rowe's so called first time was still intact.
And it carried an unreasonable, almost tyrannical attraction for the women who had come for him.
Rowe did not have proof.
But at this moment, he was certain Poseidon had done it on purpose.
"Do not worry, Rowe. It will not hurt."
Above the Matsuensawa River, under the stars, Atalanta stood atop the tallest building in the district. Green robe fluttering, tiger teeth showing, heroic face bright with excitement, she drew her bow and aimed straight at him.
"I told you. You are my prey."
"Tonight, I hunt you."
Rowe stared at the arrow.
The head was not a cutting point. It was rounded, curved.
Not an arrow meant to kill.
It would not harm him.
It would only capture him.
Atalanta would not injure Rowe. She could not even tolerate the idea of the current Rowe, restricted as he was, taking a wound. She was acting as a hunter and she intended to complete the ritual of the hunt.
If it were only Atalanta, Rowe could manage. Even with the world itself as a constraint, even while suppressing his power so he did not scar the surface or shake the planet, he still had confidence as a top tier Servant.
But Atalanta was not alone.
As her bow rose, moonlight poured down and turned the river into a trembling mirror.
Within that moonlight was a red dot.
A targeting mark.
From the lunar surface, from a sniper type interstellar vessel.
From Artemis herself.
Atalanta was a Servant summoned by the Moon, and she was also an anchor. A point that allowed the lunar surface to lock onto the present world. The moment she aimed at Rowe, Artemis would sense it and respond.
Rowe clicked his tongue and glanced toward Gilgamesh, who was still intercepting Artoria.
Then he saw the golden king look back at him, crimson eyes full of disdain.
"Mere mongrel. After all these years, your talent for inviting disaster has only improved."
"This King is now considering leaving you here and watching."
"AHAHAHA."
"You bastard," Rowe muttered. "Want me to expose your dark history?"
Gilgamesh's smile sharpened.
"Compared to dark histories, mongrel, you have far more than I do."
"I forgot that score until you brought it up."
"What, you want another three hundred rounds?"
"Bring it on. I am not afraid of you!"
The two who had been fighting back to back a moment ago now sounded ready to tear each other's throats out.
Hundreds of golden portals shifted.
A portion of the Gate of Babylon swung, not toward Artoria, but toward Rowe.
Countless Noble Phantasms hummed, edges bared.
Artoria, seated on her mount, narrowed her clear cerulean eyes.
"Are they… turning on each other?"
Atalanta also froze.
Then, in the same heartbeat, her aim slid.
From Rowe to Gilgamesh.
Rowe was her prey.
No one was allowed to harm her prey.
"Run," Gilgamesh said abruptly.
Rowe blinked. "What?"
"Let us have some fun."
In the instant both Artoria and Atalanta were thrown off balance, Gilgamesh slammed the Ark of Heaven forward, surged beneath Rowe, and caught him on the vessel's wings as it cut across the sky.
A gold and emerald streak tore through the night.
"Rhongomyniad!"
Artoria reacted instantly, but the gap was already gone. The storm of light from her spear only skimmed the Ark's wake, shearing away the path it had just occupied.
Atalanta released her bowstring.
A brilliant arrow chased after them, but a Noble Phantasm from the Gate of Babylon intercepted it and shattered it into sparks.
Rowe exhaled.
So that loud internal conflict had been theater. A distraction, nothing more, used to buy a single instant.
Gilgamesh was arrogant. He was never brainless. That had been proven long ago.
Or perhaps, it was simpler than that.
When a friend was at his side, the king of Uruk displayed what he truly was. A ruler with patience, with breadth, with the willingness to cooperate.
"You did not disappoint me, pup," Rowe said dryly.
"Hmph." Gilgamesh folded his arms, disdain carefully worn like a crown. "Those who dare to usurp kingship, those who dare to lay hands on what this King permits, will not be forgiven."
"Also, those who disrespect the King deserve ten thousand deaths."
"You talk big," Rowe said, yawning as he looked back.
Artoria was pursuing again, silver armor flashing under moonlight. Atalanta kept aiming from below, relentless.
At least they had opened distance.
Rowe pulled himself up and sat on the Ark's wing, wind roaring past him.
He met Artoria's gaze across the sky and heard her voice carry, calm and mature even while hunting him.
"Lord Rowe. Do you truly refuse to return with me?"
"I have things to do."
"I can help you. Just as you once did, staying by your side."
"No," Rowe said evenly. "What I have to do is dangerous."
He would not keep a king who screamed powerful bodyguard at his shoulder. Not when the work ahead was, in every sense, the wrong kind of dangerous.
On the other side, Atalanta finally landed closer, leaping down to the riverbank with a hunter's grace. She stood on the grass, looked up at the full moon, and raised her voice.
"Lady Artemis."
A playful answer drifted down.
"Mmm? I am here, Atalanta."
"Help me."
"Of course." The goddess sounded amused. "But when you catch Rowe, you cannot keep him to yourself, can you?"
Silence.
Then Atalanta nodded.
First, capture him.
Then talk about everything else.
The huntress licked her lips, eyes bright with craving, and nocked a new arrow.
This one carried no killing light.
It carried love.
Desire.
It shimmered like moonlight itself.
A Noble Phantasm that had persisted from Greece's mythic age to now.
Her voice was soft, almost reverent.
"My arrow will pierce even the underworld, and return the one I love."
Causality locked.
Rowe felt it as a prickling pressure on his back, and turned.
Atalanta's bow was raised to the sky.
Rowe's mouth twitched. "Gil?"
Gilgamesh laughed, delighted.
"AHAHAHA. Are you afraid, mongrel?"
"Yes," Rowe said without shame. "So why do you not take it for me?"
"Go to hell."
Gilgamesh snapped the Ark forward, mana roaring.
"Hold on, idiot. How could mere causality keep pace with the King's mount, which commands phenomena and cruises the heavens?"
The Ark of Heaven accelerated, tearing into the distance.
And in that exact moment, Atalanta released the shot.
The arrow that could not miss.
It locked onto the one she yearned for.
It locked onto Rowe.
A thunderous boom shook the air.
Moonlight detonated.
Artoria halted, reins tight, eyes fixed on the arrow's arrival.
Three thousand years of longing, empowered by Artemis, became an attack that far surpassed Atalanta's own specifications. A divine class Noble Phantasm, tuned to one target.
Rowe.
"If it is intensity," Artoria murmured, "I will not concede."
She raised Rhongomyniad.
Mana poured in.
True Name released.
A dazzling aurora blossomed between earth and sky, like a nail driven through the world, binding above and below with radiant authority.
"Grant your brilliant light to the one I love."
She used her Noble Phantasm as a skill.
Neither Noble Phantasm was destructive. Even if they struck Rowe, he would not be harmed.
They would only bring him to their side.
This was not a duel to kill.
It was a duel to claim.
Whose love would dominate.
Atalanta's emerald eyes burned.
"When it comes to Rowe, I will lose to no one."
"Oh, Greek huntress," Artoria replied coolly. "My kingly path is to stand before all."
"So Rowe's first time is mine."
The air between them ignited with hostility and rivalry.
Rowe pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Have you considered my opinion at all? This is enough to start a war on its own."
Gilgamesh's patience finally snapped.
"AHAHAHA. Two in one night, daring to covet the King's friend?"
The Ark swung in a hard arc above the riverbank.
Thousands of golden portals opened at once.
Light flooded the sky, as though the world itself had been poured into gold.
Countless Noble Phantasms extended. An endless forest of blades.
A terrifying aura exploded outward.
The collision of those summoned weapons evaporated river water into white steam. Artoria's expression hardened. Atalanta froze.
Their Noble Phantasms were blocked.
Obstructed.
The golden king stood before his friend, arms folded, body radiant.
A king's posture.
Not running.
Not yielding.
"My friend, my subject. No one forces your will."
Rowe grinned at him. "Still arrogant, even now?"
"All things belong to this King," Gilgamesh said, voice low and absolute. "And the King's words are law."
Rowe's grin softened.
"Well then. Thank you."
"But it is about time, Gil."
He clapped once, then rose from the wing.
"I will solve it myself."
Gilgamesh's fury faded. Something like approval appeared beneath the arrogance, and he smiled.
"As you wish."
"If you desire, this King will not be stingy with grace."
Rowe was his friend.
Rowe was also of Uruk.
Friend, citizen, brother. Gilgamesh knew the truth. Rowe looked like he wanted to escape, but he never truly avoided bonds. He faced emotions as they were, even when inconvenient.
That was the Rowe he recognized.
Rowe leaped down from the Ark and landed on the grass with controlled precision.
Gilgamesh said nothing more, only watching.
Then, predictably, he added the insult anyway.
"Go, my friend. Give them a performance worthy of mockery."
"Hm hahahaha."
Rowe flipped him off without looking.
Then he stepped forward, facing Atalanta on the riverbank.
Atalanta smiled, tiger teeth flashing.
"So you finally accept it?"
"I told you. You are my prey. You cannot escape."
"The outcome is not decided yet," Rowe replied.
Artoria drove her mount down as well, spear angled toward the ground, arriving with the calm inevitability of a king placing her flag.
One in front.
One behind.
Rowe looked at both of them, and smiled.
He had been in situations like this before.
As a sage, as one who held primordial wisdom.
Even a battlefield of emotions could be navigated.
He had already prepared a countermeasure.
This was a Holy Grail War.
So he would use the Holy Grail War.
"Arguing like this is meaningless," Rowe said. "Instead, we decide it properly."
"Whoever obtains the Holy Grail wins."
"Win the Holy Grail War, seize the terminal of the Greater Grail system. The Lesser Grail."
"Let that be the key to victory. How about it?"
A shift of the goal.
A controlled retreat.
A moment to breathe.
And time to rebalance himself internally, at least enough to release a fraction of power so he would not be forced into passivity again.
"Otherwise," Rowe added, "if I truly wanted to run, this would never end."
Artoria fell silent, thinking.
If this continued, it really would be endless.
Perhaps binding it to the Holy Grail War was better.
Atalanta snorted. "Trying to play tricks again?"
"I cannot help it. I am only one person," Rowe said.
Atalanta's eyes narrowed, then sharpened with resolve.
"Fine. The key is who gets the Grail."
Rowe nodded.
"Then, the key will be who can obtain the Holy Grail…"
Clang.
His words stopped.
Because something fell from the sky and landed in front of him.
A golden cup.
And immediately after, a petite, beautiful figure dropped down with it.
She wore a blazing red dress, golden hair scattering, a single ahoge swaying like a banner of triumph.
Nero Claudius smiled as if the world existed to applaud her.
"Um, Adjutant said, a cup. Is this it?"
"I got it."
She lifted the cup as if presenting spoils to an emperor.
"I am the victor, am I not?"
Artoria and Atalanta went blank.
Somewhere else, Tokiomi Tohsaka stared through his familiar, mind turning to ash.
Kiritsugu Emiya, hidden and watching, stayed silent for a long time.
Then he spoke, voice flat.
"Maiya."
"Yes."
"Check return flight tickets."
Rowe stood there, stunned beyond speech.
Holy Grail, my ass.
Is this a game?
What is happening?
High above, at the highest point of Miyama Town, on Mount Enzo, a clear laugh rang out.
Spring green hair fluttered. Eyes fixed on Rowe.
The owner of that laugh shifted her gaze slightly toward the woman beside her.
"What do you think, Miss Altera?"
Altera answered with complete seriousness.
"Rowe is a bad guy."
The green haired woman laughed again, brighter.
"He is bad, yes."
"But he is the kind of bad that people like, is he not?"
Attila did not answer.
She also did not deny it.
.....
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