"...What a truly terrifying battle."
Waver pulled back his gaze, which had been fixed on monitoring the fight until just now. The familiar scene of the second-floor room in the elderly couple's house, where he was lodging, came back into view. What he had just seen through his eyelids was an image relayed from the perspective of the rats he controlled as familiars. With his talent, this level of magecraft was something he could manage.
"Hahaha! With opponents like these, this Holy Grail War will truly be interesting."
The one speaking had short red hair, red eyes, and wore a massive red cloak. Towering over two meters, his body was burly and muscular, an imposing giant of a man.
From his demeanor and booming tone, the timid Waver knew immediately—this type of Servant was the hardest for him to deal with.
"..."
Waver was deeply displeased with the giant's attitude.
If this had been his own house—though strictly speaking, it wasn't, since he was squatting in someone else's—it would have been unbearable to have such a slovenly brute lounging around. He had already ordered Rider to remain in Spirit Form whenever unnecessary, but Rider insisted, "The feeling of having a body is too good," and refused to comply. The longer he stayed materialized, the more mana Waver had to waste maintaining him. To Waver, this waste was unforgivable, but Rider didn't care in the slightest.
What made it worse was what Rider did after wasting so much of Waver's precious mana... absolutely nothing. No matter how Waver pleaded with him to go scouting, Rider ignored him, preferring to nap or chew on pancakes while watching Servants battle on the "big screen."
Such a Servant—better off without!
"Hey, get serious! The Holy Grail War has already begun!"
Unable to hold back, Waver raised his voice. He noticed, however, that Rider's bored expression suddenly shifted, showing the delight of a man who had discovered a treasure.
"This Holy Grail War seems to have gathered extraordinary heroes and champions. If I could gather them all under my banner..."
"..."
You're thinking about peaches again, aren't you? Waver sighed, too tired to even complain.
"Um... Rider, with your speed, you could have intervened, right? Why didn't you take the chance to strike while those two were fighting just now?"
Waver asked a question that could be considered provocative.
"Hm? What kind of question is that?" For once, the King of Conquerors' eyes grew stern. "I am the great King of Conquerors, Iskandar! Not some petty coward. When heroes clash in such a glorious duel, I look upon it with admiration, not with schemes of profit. Even if you are my Master, do not demand I abandon honor for the sake of victory."
With that, the King of Conquerors flicked a finger against Waver's forehead. Waver felt as if his brow had exploded. A burst of unimaginable pain sent him reeling backward.
It was Rider's middle finger. Though he hadn't even used his full strength, that finger—gnarled like an old tree root—left Waver's forehead red and swollen with a massive lump.
Violence again! Physical abuse again! The pain ignited fear and fury within him, snuffing out the last of his rationality. To be attacked by his own Servant—it was the second time. It was also the second time in his life he had ever been struck.
But...
"Yes... y-yes, please forgive me. I won't do it again."
Waver activated his skill: Endure.
...
"The battle has ended."
Emiya Kiritsugu lifted his head from the scope of his firearm and spoke into his communicator. "Maiya, did you locate the Master of that mysterious Servant?"
"Sorry, no." A mature woman's voice came through the other end.
"Then the operation is over. Withdraw."
Kiritsugu calmly disassembled his weapon and placed it into a gun case.
Yet not everyone could remain as calm and composed as he was.
"Master, is this really your plan? To lie clumsily in the dark like some fool, waiting for a crack of God's mercy?"
Her tone was not just dissatisfied—it carried disdain and anger.
With those words, a golden-haired girl slowly materialized behind the man.
She was petite, about fifteen years old in appearance, with shoulder-length golden hair, emerald eyes, fair skin, and a face beautiful even without adornment. Upon her head rested a crown, and over her shoulders a blue cloak. From the very moment she arrived in this world, an aura of supreme kingship emanated from her.
But now, her expression was grim. She had watched the battle from beginning to end, yet her Master's only command to her had been something fit for a fledgling dragon—"Hide, and remain on guard." Such a childish order.
This girl was undoubtedly a Heroic Spirit, and every Heroic Spirit's heart longed for battle!
The clash of Servant against Servant still lingered vividly in her mind. Her once-calm and frozen heart had been stirred to boiling by the sight of their fight.
And more than that, her curiosity about that black-clad woman grew.
Because that woman was no Saber—she was.
The other had shown no bow nor horsemanship, and neither did she lose herself to madness. She had fought almost entirely in close quarters against one of the three knight classes, Lancer. The golden-haired girl could tell—even though the two had seemed evenly matched most of the time, in sheer basic attributes, that black-haired girl surpassed even a Lancer who stood at the very pinnacle of his class.
It made no sense!
Could she be some special kind of Assassin? The girl considered it, but even she could not be sure.
For her, whose intuition verged on foresight, this was the first time.
Assassins were never meant to confront the three knights head-on. Their abilities were always a tier lower. They were supposed to hide in shadows, stalk prey, and wait for the perfect moment to strike.
She thought this, then glanced at her own Master—expressionless, base, contemptible. Just like him.
If not for her intuition warning her that some greater monster lurked nearby, she would not have tolerated staying with this man at all.
But that black-clad Servant was different.
From the moment she stepped gracefully into battle, from the way she conversed with that sun-like Lancer, the golden-haired girl felt an uncanny resonance—as though, in that instant, they shared the same thought.
In that moment, she understood—this mysterious Servant would never flee, never cower from any challenge.
She was a king. And so was she.
So when she saw the two exchange mutual respect at the end of their battle, while she was forced to hide in silence, she admitted—it made her bitter.
Her silent Master offered no explanation. Just as when they first met unpleasantly—his gaze held no joy at summoning the King of Knights, only a hidden loathing.
She knew what his eyes meant: that the mighty ruler of Britain, the legendary King Arthur, was nothing more than a girl. How absurd the world must be!
To her, this was no mere thought—it was an insult. A direct insult to her honor.
Raised as a man, she lived as one. Nearly every moment of her life had been spent in the education of kingship. Even in the three meager hours she was allowed to sleep, she was haunted by the teachings of kingship. Tireless days of study and training never ceased.
All the preparation, all the patience, all the sweat, all for the fulfillment of destiny. From the moment she drew the sword from the stone, she had accepted the loss of her humanity. The moment she became king, that sword would forever be stained in blood to protect her people. Countless would die for her, but she had vowed to cut away her desires and lead her people to victory.
And so she had drawn the sword without fear.
If not for Irisviel, she might well have allowed this man to die and simply awaited another summoning in the Throne.
But Emiya Kiritsugu, the so-called Magus Killer, was a cold realist.
He dreamed of world peace, but chose the cruelest path to pursue it. If peace required slaughtering half of humanity, he would do it without hesitation. Morality, justice—it mattered little. Only results mattered.
And yet, the tragedy was this: in the depths of his heart, he could never truly discard his sorrow.
"..."
So, when faced with the golden-haired girl's question, his only answer was once again—silence.
By the time Satsuki returned to the inn where she was staying, it was already the next morning.
Angra Mainyu opened her drowsy eyes, glancing at Satsuki, who had come back empty-handed.
"Machines can't be relied on, and neither can people."
Even after being stood up, Angra Mainyu still spoke with restraint. Perhaps this so-called All the World's Evil was actually just another name for ally of justice.
What's more, her beautiful body betrayed her with an ungraceful sound.
Gurgle~~~
Satsuki had no words. She had promised but failed to deliver. It was her fault, so she offered no excuse, silently walking into the kitchen instead.
"What are you doing? Cooking?"
Maybe it was because she had taken on a female form, but Angra Mainyu's temperament seemed to have shifted as well. Though she complained with her words, inwardly she was curious what her Servant was up to.
If possible, she even wanted to help.
But when she tried to enter the kitchen, she was blocked by an invisible wall of air.
From inside came Satsuki's voice: "Since I broke my promise, I'll make it up to you. Wait a moment, it will be ready soon."
The silver-haired woman's lips curved upward slightly, but she quickly suppressed it, giving a small hmph before lying down on the bed. She turned on the television, focusing on the news of recent events in the country.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Satsuki had already donned proper cooking attire: a chef's hat and apron. After a quick inspection of the kitchen and refrigerator, she had already formed an idea.
"You went to fight last night, didn't you?"
Angra Mainyu's voice drifted in from the living room.
"Not exactly. Just a bit of entertainment."
Replying casually, Satsuki stretched out her hand, and suddenly a common grass carp appeared in her grasp.
With a swift stroke across its body, the fish's scales and its life were simultaneously stripped away.
Flipping it over, she materialized a Truth-Seeking Orb in her palm. It transformed into a small golden blade of light, which she used to swiftly slice open the fish's back and remove the bones. In an instant, the fish was split into two fillets, each scored with crosshatch cuts.
For Satsuki, this was no challenge. With the aid of the Tenseigan, every stroke was precise, each cut identical in spacing. In the blink of an eye, the crisscross pattern was complete.
Perhaps even Hamura Ōtsutsuki never imagined that one day the Golden Wheel Reincarnation Explosion would be used in cooking.
Once the cutting was done, she divided the fillets into three sections, placed them in a bowl, and added the basics—scallion, ginger, garlic—to remove odor and enhance flavor.
From the very beginning, she had also used the gravitational control of the Tenseigan to occasionally stir and press the fish, squeezing out excess moisture.
Then she coated the prepared fish in bean flour and slid it into preheated oil.
The commotion in the kitchen was not small. Especially when frying—once the bean-flour-coated fish hit the oil, the whoosh of splattering and the bubbling that followed was like an applause, an irresistible torment and temptation for the hungry.
Gurgle~~~
Hearing this sound, Angra Mainyu grew even more restless, writhing on the bed like a dying fish.
But this was only the beginning.
Frying alone was not the soul of this dish. Satsuki smirked faintly, and from a dark space retrieved several fiery red pickled chilies.
These had been her favorite in her previous life. Even after reincarnating as an Ōtsutsuki, she had gone to great lengths to have her subordinates gather ingredients from her past. Chili peppers, of course, were a priority.
In the Warring States era of the shinobi world, such goods were a rare luxury, even more valuable than gold. The rarest varieties she only encountered after gaining influence over daimyō and lords.
After all, agricultural productivity in those times was extremely limited, barely beyond primitive small-scale subsistence farming. They did not farm for efficiency or trade, but for survival, with most cash crops only existing in the wild.
As she thought about this, the essence of the dish was finished—the sauce was ready. She poured it over the golden, crispy fried fish.
Done.
Satsuki clapped her hands out of habit. The fish was plentiful, and as a Servant, she did not need food—only mana. Together with a bowl of rice and a slightly modified miso soup, it would be enough.
With that in mind, Satsuki released the repulsive barrier blocking the kitchen and carried the dishes out.
But she had underestimated just how ravenous Angra Mainyu would be when faced with real food.
The silver-haired woman, who had been ignoring her moments ago, locked her red eyes immediately onto the dishes the moment Satsuki emerged from the kitchen. The instant the food hit the table, the silver-haired princess practically crawled from the bed on all fours, eyes glowing with a terrifying hunger as she snatched up the chopsticks.
"Itadakimasu."
Before the words even finished, Satsuki witnessed firsthand what it meant to eat like a storm devouring clouds. The speed of it was almost identical to how she herself once looked when tasting her hometown's food for the very first time.
Soon after, however, Angra Mainyu's expression shifted into one of both pain and delight, overwhelmed by the pickled chili. From her face, Satsuki finally understood what it meant to suffer and enjoy at the same time.
It made her thoughtful. As a human, going without food and water since last night wouldn't have been fatal, but the discomfort and hunger would have constantly gnawed at the body. Even as a member of the long-lived Ōtsutsuki clan, Satsuki had never reached the point of transcending food entirely.
But now, as a being transformed into the over-spec existence of Saver, Demon-Buddha Māra Papiyas, so long as her mana supply was sustained, not only was eating unnecessary—even sleep was optional.
What's more, she possessed the colossal Tenseigan, its ocular power and chakra granting her endless reserves. Even after battle, her stamina was scarcely diminished.
The only things she could truly lose, and not recover, were her mental strength—her spirit and focus.
In the shinobi world, her body had already reached the level of a sage. After gaining the power of Demon-Buddha Papiyas, she had essentially become immortal.
In terms of energy, beyond the ocular power of the Tenseigan and the ceaseless Ōtsutsuki chakra drawn forth from her body, almost all her energies were converted under the template of the Demon-Buddha into End-of-Dharma Power. This was a force that negated nearly all other energy systems in existence—for its very essence was to deny miracles, to deny magecraft.
The end of magic, the dissipation of spiritual energy—this was the End of Dharma. Its power was the terminal force born from a planet's ultimate despair, when all hope had perished.
As for her Noble Phantasm, though she could not use that hand-wheel freely, its might was undeniable—more than sufficient as her trump card.
Returning to Spirit Form, she changed once more into her black kimono and stepped outside to the entryway. The sky was already bright, filled with the sound of car horns and the chatter of pedestrians.
Such a life had once been close to her, yet now it felt impossibly distant.
She had once been just another soul in the mortal world, struggling through it, destined to live an ordinary life that might end with some regrets, but still tolerable.
Now, everything was different. Not "better" or "worse," but simply new. It was like someone reborn after dying a natural death—impossible to ever again accept a fate with such a visible end.
Now she longed to see the most distant landscapes of this world, to uncover every unknown, to conquer its highest peaks, to defeat its strongest enemies.
That was why Lin had become Satsuki.
She slowly pushed open the door, and her pupils shrank. At the corner of the street, she spotted a particular figure.
A man, in his twenties, outwardly ordinary. But not ordinary at all—for his body reeked of blood, a stench of malice and cruelty, the kind of karmic miasma that only came from those who slaughtered for pleasure.
To Satsuki, from her height and perspective, it was plain—this man was nothing more than a mere human.
No matter how much karma clung to him, he was still but an insect before her.
And yet, he had caught her attention for one reason: the marks of a Command Seal upon his body.