Home.
A magic circle pulsed to life across the floor. Artoria, Medusa, and I materialised within it.
Artoria's gaze immediately fell to the anti-materiel rifle still resting in my arms.
"Master... is this the so-called anti-materiel sniper rifle?" She asked, a note of genuine curiosity threaded through her tone.
"The Grail provides Servants with basic knowledge of the modern era. You should already know about it." I stepped out of the circle without slowing.
Artoria fell into step beside me, her expression unchanged. Behind us, Medusa's gaze lingered on my back, the tip of her tongue tracing slowly across her lower lip.
I glanced back and caught her in the act.
"Do you need something?" My question was direct and to the point.
Medusa nodded once and spoke.
"Mana... replenishment."
I raised a single eyebrow.
"Later. My magic circuits haven't fully recovered yet." My words made her tilt her head down, a little sulky.
"Master." Artoria's voice drew my attention. Her hands hovered beside the rifle, fingers a hair's breadth from its frame.
"May I?"
I handed it to her without a word. She took it casually, shifting its weight in her grip as though it were made of plastic—turning it over, inspecting it from every angle akin to a general studying a new piece of siege equipment.
"So this is what replaced the ballista... Compact. Devastating. And requiring none of the strength I possess to wield." She murmured, running her fingers along the barrel.
I left her to it and reached out through our mental link.
Medea. Is the runic circle prepared?
...Not yet, Master. Her voice came through strained and fatigued. These runes are something else entirely. Even for me, this will take some time.
Take as long as you need.
I changed course toward the kitchen, leaving behind a sullen Medusa and an Artoria still quietly admiring her new find.
...
..
.
Later.
Dining table.
I set down dish after dish on the table. A plate of mashed potatoes, two casseroles of meat pies, multiple scotched eggs, sausage rolls and cornish pasties.
Before I could even pull my hand back, Artoria was already there, her stomach betraying her with a low, audible growl.
"Master... is this British cuisine?" She wrapped her arms around her waist, cheeks dusted pink, desperately trying to pull my attention anywhere else.
"It is." I replied.
She slid into a chair, eyes locked onto the spread before her.
Medusa appeared shortly after, wordlessly taking a seat beside Artoria. Her fingers closed around a fork, and twisted it nearly in two.
Medea. Dinner is ready. Come.
Coming, Master. The fatigue in her voice had thinned, replaced by something almost eager.
A magic circle rotated to life beside me. Medea stepped out, her usually immaculate hair ruffled in places, strands falling loose around her face.
"Master, I'm here." She took her seat, looking down at the table and swallowed.
With a sigh, I walked to a nearby drawer and retrieved a comb. Under the collective gaze of all three Servants, I stepped behind Medea and began working through her ruffled strands, smoothing them back into place.
Medea closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
"Master... is this the fabled talent of [Ultimate Barber] at work?" A small, relaxed sound escaped her throat as my fingers worked her scalp between strokes.
"Hm." I affirmed with a sound.
Artoria watched.
Her appetite didn't just fade—it evaporated. The rich aroma that had moments ago made her stomach sing now meant nothing. Her fingers slowly closed around the edge of the table, wood creaking under her grip as shallow impressions formed beneath her fingertips.
I pulled my hands back, set the comb aside, and slid into my own chair.
"Let's eat."
Artoria snapped out of her daze and picked up her spoon. Medea followed, reaching for a Scotch egg. Medusa simply sat motionless, her blindfold facing the table.
At the first bite, Artoria's stiff expression melted away. By the second, she couldn't stop. By the fifth, whatever displeasure had gripped her earlier was already forgotten.
"Master... your cooking is without equal." She spoke between bites, nearly choking on a piece of pastry.
Medea was putting food away at a staggering pace, though even she couldn't match Artoria's speed.
Artoria paused mid-bite and glanced at Medusa beside her. She was eating slowly, deliberately—and without a drop of ketchup.
"Rider... why aren't you using any ketchup? It would taste better that way." Genuine confusion colored Artoria's voice.
Medusa glanced at Artoria. Then at the sausage on her fork. Then at a bottle of ketchup sitting on the table.
Finally, her gaze settled on my neck.
"Blood..."
Her fingers adjusted on her fork.
"...would be better."
Artoria's spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered against the plate. Even Medea paused mid-chew, her eyes narrowing—sharp and territorial.
...
..
.
Stars scattered across the night sky like light spilled across a dark canvas.
I sat with my back against a wall, the grass of our backyard cool beneath me. Above, constellations both known and unknown stretched into infinity. I looked at them with a blank gaze. Where others saw something boundless, something awe-inspiring—I saw an algorithm. One so complex it looped over itself. A complete system with no discernible beginning or end.
Constellations. Planets. Solar Systems. Humans.
All of it—mere data in a matrix so profound that it could no longer be optimised.
Because it was already complete.
...
I had encountered those who wanted to bring hope to this world. People like Shirou Emiya.
I had encountered those who wanted to bring nothing but despair. People like Enoshima Junko.
Countless philosophers have argued that it lies in humanity's hands to forge a perfect world. But that is mere sophistry, the desperate rationalisation of the weak.
Hope is hollow without despair. Despair is meaningless without hope.
If both are defined by the other.
Then, why?
Why do I only possess [Ultimate Despair]?
What about [Ultimate Hope]?
I hold every talent that exists.
So where — is my [Ultimate Hope]?
...
..
.
***
[200 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[5 chapters ahead on P@tr3on = [email protected]/Not_Aaryan]
...
[Ultimate Barber]: An OC talent I created. It means Izuru can act as the perfect barber and set hair in every hairstyles across the world, even create new, personalised ones to perfectly fit a person and increase their charms tremendously.
...
[Authors Thoughts]
Izuru does not have a talent [Ultimate Hope]. What he has is the title Ultimate Hope, granted in hope that he'd become humanities strongest and greatest hope.
And the only way to become its greatest hope? To protect it from extinction.
Yes... To complete the Grand Order. To rise up against human history for the sake of humanity, and combat fate itself.
But he has a long way to go before even thinking about facing Beast 1 Goetia. Honestly, as he is now, even Gil can fold him in two if he just unseals his [Sha Naqba Imuru].