"Guh—aaaaah!!"
Uemon Ji's limbs were pierced by several golden weapons, pinning him mercilessly to the ground.
Agony radiated from his arms and legs, forcing a scream from his throat.
"Master—!"
Only then did Jeanne realize what had happened, rushing back to Uemon's side.
Though his limbs were completely impaled, such injuries were not fatal for a magus.
"This king's questions remain unanswered. Who permitted you to flee without leave, mongrel?"
Gilgamesh glared down at Uemon, his expression frosty, murderous intent radiating from his face.
He had promised Roy that Uemon would be at his mercy if he proved entertaining. For Uemon to slip away unnoticed was nothing short of spitting on his words.
Unable to move, Uemon could only lie prone, a small pool of blood forming beneath him.
Gritting his teeth, he glared up at the golden Servant, resentment burning in his chest.
"Magi are fools from start to finish. Had I known, I would have had the Greater Grail eradicate every last one of you ten years ago."
Gilgamesh stood atop the streetlamp, looking down at Uemon with undisguised disdain.
"...What did you say?"
Uemon's eyes widened abruptly in shock.
"Your gaze climbs too high, mongrel! Who allowed you to look upon this king?!"
Gilgamesh's handsome features twisted into something fearsome. With a wave of his hand, the golden ripples in the sky expanded further, now numbering over a dozen.
Roy cursed inwardly.
Why did Uemon have to provoke Gilgamesh now?
If he died by the King of Heroes' hand, wouldn't that rob Roy of the chance to kill him himself?
Uemon stared up at Gilgamesh, fear and fury warring on his face.
But as another realization struck him, malice overrode all else.
"Wait—you said ten years ago... the Greater Grail... Could it be that you—that the ones responsible for the catastrophe a decade ago were—"
"Indeed, it was this king—or more precisely, this king's Master."
The corners of Gilgamesh's eyes lifted sharply as a vicious smile spread across his face.
"What of it, mongrel magus? Are you one of those 'Heroes of Justice' types? Unable to bear the sight of suffering before your eyes?"
Judging by that expression, Roy could tell Gilgamesh was savoring the moment.
Crushing the ideals of a would-be hero must have been a rare delight for him.
"...I see. So it was you."
Uemon fell silent for a moment before his features contorted grotesquely.
"Ha... haha... ugh... Lancer! I don't care if you refuse to acknowledge me as your Master! Team up with that traitor all you want! But here and now, I give you one final order—KILL THAT GOLDEN SERVANT!"
He laughed and wept like a madman.
Had he lost his mind?
As the thought crossed their minds, a crimson glow erupted from the back of his hand.
"This idiot!"
Caught off guard, Roy's heart lurched.
He immediately reactivated his Mystic Eyes, trying to seize control of that final Command Spell.
But it was too late.
A Command Spell was a single verse of magecraft—it could be activated instantaneously with the Master's strong will. Unless constantly suppressed by the Mystic Eyes, there was no way to stop its activation.
By the time Roy's gaze locked onto it, Uemon's last Command Spell had already dissolved into pure mana, enforcing an absolute command upon Jeanne.
Jeanne had no choice but to raise her twin spears, sweeping one toward the lone intact streetlamp.
With a crack, the lamp post shattered.
Gilgamesh was forced to leap down, landing on the ground a short distance away.
But now, all traces of amusement had vanished from his face, replaced by a storm of fury.
"To force this king to stand upon the same earth as you mongrels—no death could atone for this insult!"
No sooner had he spoken than the golden ripples unleashed over a dozen Noble Phantasm-grade weapons, raining down like a storm upon Jeanne as she charged—
And upon Uemon, still sprawled on the ground.
Jeanne barely managed to dodge sideways, evading the barrage.
Master—!
She wanted to turn back to aid him, but bound by the Command Spell's compulsion, she couldn't even glance backwards. Gripping her spears, she could only press forward toward Gilgamesh.
Meanwhile—
Uemon couldn't move.
And in this moment, he no longer wanted to.
The Noble Phantasms struck like arrows, piercing clean through his body. His back erupted with gaping holes, his chest torn open. His heart and organs convulsed in agony.
Blood poured freely, the pool beneath him spreading rapidly.
At the same time, all strength left his body.
Injuries this severe would be fatal even for a magus.
There would be no faking death this time.
He was truly going to die.
Uemon's vision blurred from blood loss. The last things he saw were Lancer desperately deflecting the golden Servant's weapons and the traitorous homunculus glaring at him with hatred.
Then, darkness swallowed his consciousness.
"Now that I think about it... what was I even doing with my life...?"
His entire existence had been defined by loss.
Even when he gained something, it was soon torn away.
The despair of losing those who loved him.
The despair of losing those he loved.
And the despair of losing those who needed no love at all.
In his fading mind, he felt a familiar hand gently ruffling his hair.
"Dad... Mom..."
Uemon lay motionless, his eyes losing focus, his breath fading.
The magus who had wandered through four centuries of emptiness was finally dead.
"That bastard just had to cause trouble even in death!"
Roy's eyes burned with fury as he stared at Uemon's corpse.
"...No. From his perspective, using his last Command Spell to provoke the King of Heroes was the right move."
Whether by Gilgamesh's hand or Roy's, Uemon had no chance of survival.
Since death was inevitable, why not create as much chaos as possible before the end?
In Roy's eyes, that was exactly what Uemon had been thinking when he abruptly used his Command Spell mid-conversation.
"Saber, assist Lancer!"
Roy tore his gaze away, turning toward the other battlefield.
Gilgamesh stood unmoving, but the golden ripples around him multiplied endlessly. His face was a mask of arrogance and icy killing intent.
Jeanne was being overwhelmed by the endless barrage of Noble Phantasms. Wounds already marked her body, and the Command Spell's compulsion offered no aid. The gap in their strength was despairingly vast.
"Understood."
Without hesitation, Okita Souji Alter charged forward, her blade sheathed in the light of the void as she aimed a slash at Gilgamesh's head—a desperate attempt to divert his attention and save Lancer.
***
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