In a rare moment of rest, Arthur lay under the sun, lazily yawning with a glass of orange juice in his hand.
"Ahhh~~ What a relaxing day… If I could choose, days like this would last forever."
Jeanne, seated beside him, took a sip from her own glass before replying gently:
"Unfortunately, I don't think that's possible. When the Holy Grail War ends, we'll likely be sent back to the Throne of Heroes…"
"Don't say that, Jeanne! Nothing will separate me from my master!" Mordred cut in enthusiastically, raising her glass of juice as if it were a victory toast.
Arthur laughed at Mordred's spirited declaration.
"Your energy is contagious, Mordred," he said, finishing his drink before casually resting his head on Jeanne's lap.
Mordred huffed, irritated by the scene… but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Even she couldn't deny the value of that fleeting moment of peace.
Five days had passed since the last battle. Five days of silence, of rebuilding, of anticipation. Neither faction dared to make a move during that time. Each side was too busy dealing with its own losses.
---
Inside the Fortress of Yggdmillennia, the masters of the Black faction gathered constantly, restless, questioning what the next move should be. But Arthur's answer was always the same: "Wait."
That simple order began to create division, especially with Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillennia, Astolfo's master.
By near-ironic circumstances, Celenike had survived: Mordred had switched sides before the last battle, and Sieg had been sent away before the official start of the war. And so, she remained alive.
But being alive didn't mean being satisfied.
Celenike, despite her undeniable beauty, was infamous for her cruelty. A sadistic mage, she managed shadowy assassination businesses through curses. The only descendant of the Yggdmillennia family to put her own interests above the clan's, she carried a vengeful personality, utterly incapable of accepting frustration.
Raised and spoiled by elder women who practiced dark arts, for Celenike, patience and self-control weren't virtues—they were torture. That was why, during every meeting, she made it a point to object, to argue, to poison the air with her impatience.
Unfortunately for her, Fiore was now the head of the family. And worse still: Arthur—whom everyone knew to be the true authority there—had no intention of humoring her complaints. On the contrary, he sometimes even seemed entertained watching her squirm, forced to swallow her rage and restrain herself.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the war, the Red faction was also facing unrest.
Even though three Heroic Spirits had already died, Shiro Amakusa still lacked the power needed to completely manipulate the Greater Grail and realize his wish. All he could do was wait.
Semiramis worked tirelessly, day and night, repairing the Hanging Gardens, restoring every corridor, every trap, every defensive spell. Even so, tension grew.
Because the enemy wasn't moving.
The Black faction remained silent, and that silence unsettled the Reds more than any direct attack could.
Among all the servants of the Red faction, Avicebron was perhaps the most tormented by the current situation.
Silent as a shadow, he brooded over a war stuck in a dangerous stalemate. Every second lost was like sand slipping through his fingers, and to him, time was far too precious.
He knew perfectly well: if the Black faction struck first, he would lose his chance to unleash his Noble Phantasm.
And without it… his greatest goal would be lost.
Avicebron hadn't entered the Holy Grail War for glory, nor for blood, nor for destruction. His wish was singular, absolute, unshakable: to complete the work of his life—the materialization of his Supreme Golem.
But it wasn't just the construction of a weapon. No. What he sought transcended simple magecraft.
He sought to reproduce the miracle of God: the creation of life.
Not an imperfect imitation, but the perfect copy, the reflection of the Primordial Man—Adam.
Avicebron believed that if he could mold such a being, his golem would not merely be an artificial creature, but an absolute king, a supreme entity capable of guiding humanity back to the Garden of Eden—leading weak, wretched, lost men and women, adrift in war, suffering, and sin, back to paradise lost.
For him, this wasn't merely obsession—it was faith.
And that faith consumed him like an eternal flame.
---
Meanwhile, in absolute contrast to Avicebron's silent torment, Arthur was enjoying a rare moment of tranquility.
"Jeanne, what did you think of the town we visited yesterday?" he asked with a lazy smile, his head resting on her lap.
Jeanne tilted her head, her gentle expression softened by the afternoon light.
"It was beautiful… prosperous… and it seemed completely untouched by the chaos of the Holy Grail War. Almost as if that place existed outside of this conflict."
"Did you like it?" Arthur pressed, amused.
"Yes," she answered with a quiet, sincere smile.
Mordred, sitting beside them, rolled her eyes at the atmosphere. "Don't you two ever get tired of talking like a lovesick couple?" she muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone.
Arthur only chuckled, closing his eyes as he enjoyed Jeanne's caress.
The time he spent with her had become increasingly precious. Between Fiore's training, his insane bets with Mordred, and his responsibilities as a servant—and, thanks to Fiore, to some extent, even as leader of Yggdmillennia—he always found a way to steal moments just for the two of them.
Strolls through nearby towns, casual conversations, little jokes… all of it made their relationship blossom with surprising speed.
Arthur was not like Sieg in the original story, clinging to a childlike innocence. He was experienced, confident, and knew how to approach Jeanne naturally, without shattering the aura of purity that surrounded her.
Even so, there was still an invisible barrier between them.
After all, that body wasn't truly hers.
And both knew that when the War ended, their time together would be over.
Arthur, gazing at the sky, murmured:
"It really would be wonderful if days like this could last forever."
"Yes… but unfortunately, that's impossible," Jeanne replied, her hand gliding through his golden hair. "When the Holy Grail War ends… that will also be the moment we part."
There was melancholy in her voice. Deep down in her soul, she knew this love was doomed to vanish with the war.
It was an intense fire, but fleeting.
Arthur, however, didn't seem willing to accept that fate.
"Jeanne," he said firmly, holding her hand and pressing it against his face, "nothing will separate me from you."
Jeanne's heart wavered. She wanted to believe.
And for a brief moment—she did.
---
But peace never lasts long in a Holy Grail War.
While Jeanne still stroked his hair, Arthur suddenly opened his eyes, a sharp glint flashing in his pupils.
An instinctive alert coursed through his body.
"Finally…" he murmured, sitting up. "Looks like the moment we've been waiting for has come."
Mordred immediately jumped to her feet, a feral smile spreading across her face. "About time we got some action."
Jeanne, confused, looked at the two of them. "What are you talking about?"
Arthur only chuckled, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Tonight promises to be lively."
---
And indeed, the night was stirring in silence.
Just beneath Semiramis' Hanging Gardens, figures emerged from the darkness of the forest.
It was Avicebron and Atalanta.
The Greek huntress cast him a sidelong glance, her expression cold.
"I won't interfere with your plans, but don't expect me to support them either."
Avicebron, however, seemed unfazed. His eyes, hidden behind his mask, were fixed on the Fortress of Millennia.
"I see… Roche cannot be used this time," he murmured, his voice low and solemn. "In that case… we can only fall back on Plan B."
Before him lay an unconscious mage—the former master of Spartacus.
Avicebron slowly extended his hand toward him, like a priest about to seal a covenant.
"I hope… you and he will prove compatible."
And thus, the first piece of his terrible project was moved.
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."