Roland walked steadily, his mind swirling with wild thoughts. The discipline he had honed over the days was so ingrained that he could navigate his route to work with his eyes closed, each footstep an unconscious echo of practiced routine.
Today's outcome had been... satisfactory.
Meeting Matou Zouken had been a risk, but a calculated one. As Roland had expected, the warped old insect would rather burn through every last resource than ever admit defeat. A creature like him didn't run from battle; he thrived in it. And from Roland's detached perspective, the chaos that followed was a playground of entertainment and leverage.
For someone who had rotted from within, Zouken was remarkably straightforward when it came to deals. That alone made him easier to handle than the convoluted minds of most magi.
Initially, Roland had considered transforming Matou Zouken into a pseudo-spiritual entity, a spirit. Compared to someone like Ryunosuke Uryuu, Zouken's potential was exponentially higher. His death could even serve as a proper vessel birth. The temptation was there.
But in the end, Roland dismissed the idea.
No matter how appealing the opportunity, the risks far outweighed the reward. Zouken was the embodiment of pestilence, literally a hive of survival tricks. In the original timeline, he had mastered the centipede's undying way of living, clinging to life long after death had come for him. Without the Great Holy Grail drawing him out in full form, Roland couldn't even confirm whether he was dealing with a real body, a decoy clone, or just a single soul-carrying worm miles away.
And if push came to shove and Zouken decided to reverse time using a loser's privilege?
Embarrassing didn't begin to cover it.
Thankfully, everything had proceeded smoothly.
Even without maximizing his prophetic advantage, Roland could feel it, the wild spirit was close to manifesting.
The presence of that mysterious being was growing stronger. From the nature of its aura, Roland deduced one thing: the vessel must at least possess magical power. Perhaps, it even had a connection to the Holy Grail.
So then… who would the spirit choose?
Fuyuki City had already been combed through. The Matou, Tohsaka, and Ryūdō Temple factions had no traces of it. That narrowed the possibilities.
The hidden Great Grail beneath the caverns…
Darnic, who had survived the Third War…
And Einzbern, who, on this timeline, never summoned Amakusa.
Roland's lips curled into a faint, dark smile. The nails on his fingers had begun to grow again, subtly, unnaturally, like blooming claws sensing prey.
---
In the frozen reaches of an uninhabited mountain range, an ancient castle slumbered beneath the snow.
Today, its icy prison was broken.
The sky remained overcast, yet the soft milky-white glow filtering through the clouds was brighter than the dim haze of yesterday's storm. In a land devoid of birdsong or greenery, even such a simple shift in light felt miraculous.
But Emiya Kiritsugu didn't have the time, or the heart, to appreciate it.
He sat in the castle's dimly lit parlor, a file in hand, silently absorbing the report from his assistant. The flames in the hearth flickered behind him, casting shadows across his tired face.
"The Masters for the upcoming Holy Grail War have been mostly confirmed," he began, summarizing the contents in terse, efficient words.
"Tohsaka remains unchanged, still a dangerous opponent. That family never fails to produce excellent magi. But here's the twist, he took in a disciple from the Church some years ago. That apprentice eventually broke ties and even acquired a Command Seal."
Kiritsugu paused, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"I'd say that one's even more dangerous than Tokiomi."
Silence followed.
He sighed and looked up toward the tall windows that dominated the far end of the room.
A woman stood there, framed by the light. She was like a snow-crafted doll, ivory skin, flowing silver hair, and ruby eyes that gleamed like gemstones. Even clothed in an unadorned white dress, her grace seemed otherworldly.
The princess of the Einzbern family.
And Kiritsugu's reluctant partner.
"Irisviel?" he called gently. "Are you even listening?"
"Yes," she replied, her voice like wind over snow. "And I've told you before, Kiritsugu, just call me Irisviel. We're friends, aren't we?"
Kiritsugu gave a dry smile.
"Maybe. But I'm still the real Master in this war. You're the one who'll have to draw fire, so I'd prefer if you stayed grounded."
In truth, Kiritsugu saw their relationship as a contract, a collaboration born of necessity. As for anything more? That was just wishful thinking.
He had no right to dream of happiness.
Especially not when he had already chosen his own path to salvation.
He shook away the thought and returned to the file.
"The Matou family has also nominated a participant. Someone who failed in their heir succession ritual. He's irrelevant, a pawn. The real problem is…"
Kiritsugu clicked the mouse, bringing up a set of two images, one taken decades ago, and one recent. The man in both looked exactly the same.
"…Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia."
A shadow passed over his face.
"He participated in the Third War and walked away unscathed. Achieved Color-Rank years ago. Since then, he's become a leading voice in soul research and even founded the Yggdmillennia family, a powerful rising faction in Clock tower."
"Wait…" Irisviel turned her head slightly, intrigued. "That was decades ago. How old is he now?"
"Pushing a hundred," Kiritsugu replied. "But thanks to his soul research, he's extended his lifespan. And now, he's throwing his hat into the Fourth War."
He scrolled further down the file, his frown deepening.
"More troubling is his expansion. He's been devouring small families like a political black hole. The Clock Tower is supposed to be rigid and slow to change, but he's bulldozed his way through using a mix of charisma, power, and manipulation."
"He's a magician, but he acts more like a statesman. He blurs truth and fiction, bends rules to his will, and plays the long game. In a few generations, Yggdmillennia could rival the families of the Lords themselves."
Even Irisviel's face tensed at that.
"And the Clock Tower's letting this happen?"
"They can't stop him," Kiritsugu said grimly. "He plays within the system, just enough. The only thing slowing him down right now is an unexpected variable."
He tapped on another file, this time bearing the El-Melloi crest.
"The Clock Tower's participation quota this time was originally reserved by the monarch of the El-Melloi family."
"Is that the El-Melloi of the mineral department?"
"That's right," said Emiya Kiritsugu, a faint smile forming on his face. "For a single seat in the Far East's magic ritual, there's no way the El-Melloi family would go head-to-head with someone as troublesome as Darnik. But clearly, that prodigy named Kenneth didn't think so."
"I guess he couldn't swallow his pride. He bypassed the regulations of the Magic Association and forcibly purchased an additional entry slot. It was submitted through the East Asian branch, he's clearly prepared to compete directly with Danik."