In a secluded place outside Berlin, dwelt the ancient magecraft lineage of the Einzbern family, a cornerstone of the Three Families, creators of the Holy Grail system and its core.
Today, in a land untouched by conflict for centuries, battle erupted.
"Remnants, I grant you life!"
A white-clad woman waved her arm, a long thread dancing in her hand, weaving as if alive.
The thread wove through the air, forming birds imbued with life.
They circled her, voiceless yet chirping crisply.
"Go!"
Boom!
At her command, the birds shot forth like arrows. Though small and made of thread, they pierced the castle walls like siege bolts, leaving holes in their wake.
"Irisviel! What are you doing?"
A roar echoed from the castle as its gates burst open. An elderly man stood there, berating the woman.
"What am I doing? Jubstacheit, give me back my Illya!"
Irisviel's elegant face twisted with fury, her expression that of one facing a mortal enemy.
To the keen eye, Irisviel was nearly identical to Justeaze.
"Lesser Grail."
That was the title for both Irisviel and Justeaze.
Living sacrifices for the ritual.
"Irisviel, didn't we agree? Complete the Third Magic to save humanity, and Illya will no longer be needed for the plan. She'll be fine."
Jubstacheit's words were cold, like a preprogrammed machine, his tone shifting only when mentioning the Third Magic.
Irisviel's resolve hardened at his words. She couldn't trust leaving Illya, her daughter, here.
She knew Jubstacheit saw neither her nor Illya as human—only tools.
What saddened her most was that Jubstacheit's pursuit wasn't for himself but for the ideal of "saving humanity."
He treated all equally: Irisviel, Illya, the castle's maids, external magi, even himself—mere tools of varying purpose.
For that dream, he cared for nothing else.
The tragedy? That dream wasn't even his own, just a program etched into his memory.
How could Irisviel leave her daughter here?
If she failed, Illya would become the next her, growing up in this cold, mechanical place without a mother…
"I won't allow it!"
The birds glowed with strange magical light, streaking toward Jubstacheit like vibrant meteors.
At high speed, their threads cut like blades, capable of tearing steel.
"Don't forget who taught you magecraft!"
Jubstacheit raised and lowered his staff, unleashing an invisible wave.
The earth quaked, soil forming a massive arm. With a heave, a towering golem rose from the ground.
The birds struck the golem, chipping away fragments, but their attacks were like mosquito bites—painless.
"You can't defeat me, Irisviel. Go. Win the war, and I'll return Illya to you."
Jubstacheit leaned on his staff, unfazed by Irisviel's rebellion.
"…"
Irisviel faced the thirty-meter golem and the pervasive repelling force.
This was Jubstacheit's "temple," his mana resonating with the land, his power embodying it.
Irisviel was the perfect "living sacrifice," not just in appearance but in her near-miraculous magecraft aptitude—a "miracle" in itself.
"Yes, Jubstacheit, I can't beat you alone… but I'm not alone! Saber!"
A gust lifted Irisviel's silver hair, framing her like a winter goddess against the snow.
Blue light flared beside her, particles coalescing… manifesting.
Golden hair flowed, a king in blue-and-white armor stood by Irisviel, holding an invisible weapon.
A participant in the Holy Grail War, Saber—one of the seven Heroic Spirits—answered Irisviel's call.
"I see… No wonder you've grown bold."
Jubstacheit eyed the petite blonde, his expression wary and grave.
He dared not underestimate her. A name etched in human history, a hero of ancient times—a terror beyond magi.
Normally, Heroic Spirits were untouchable by magi, a gap numbers couldn't bridge.
Especially Saber, with her unmatched Magic Resistance, immune to most magecraft.
Yet Jubstacheit wouldn't surrender.
First, this concerned a centuries-old wish.
Second, though Heroic Spirits outclassed magi, Jubstacheit wasn't ordinary. This was his "temple" (an advanced magecraft workshop), and the Einzberns specialized in alchemy, not fully countered by Magic Resistance. He could fight!
"Go!"
The golem raised a fist the size of a castle gate, slamming down.
Its shadow blotted the sky, an oppressive force bearing down.
From the castle rushed a group of silver-haired, red-eyed women, wielding various cold weapons, resembling Irisviel by seventy percent—homunculi.
"Saber!"
"Yes! Invisible Air!"
Saber swung her sword, the "wind" on it erupting. Roaring, raging, a horizontal tornado of wind and snow spiraled toward the golem, stretching nearly a kilometer.
Snow painted the whirlwind white, a pure vortex with world-altering might.
Stone shattered, the hurricane crushed all in its path. Fortunately, aimed skyward, it spared the castle.
"Go!"
Threaded birds dove from the sky, their sharp claws drawing blood from the homunculi.
***
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