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Chapter 221 - Blood Lord: Do You All Just Love Fighting Me That Much?

The real Scotland Yard looked exactly like its dream version—identical in every detail. But unlike the bustling dream version, the real police station was silent and deserted, with only thick mist quietly spreading through the halls.

That silence didn't last long.

The sound of hurried footsteps soon broke through the stillness.

The moment they learned that Artoria had come under attack, Mordred and Guinevere rushed straight there without hesitation.

Although Ritsuka Fujimaru and the others wanted to follow, considering their slower travel speed and the fact that they hadn't yet fully earned Nursery Rhyme's trust to form a temporary contract, Guinevere and Mordred chose to split up and head there first. Ritsuka's group would catch up later.

Despite Guinevere's strength and agility being enhanced significantly thanks to Will's shared stats, he was still far from matching Mordred's top-tier Servant specs. Ultimately, he had to endure the journey carried in Mordred's arms princess-style.

Still, the stat boost wasn't useless—at the very least, his body could now withstand the full brunt of Mordred's breakneck sprint.

"Artoria! Can you hear me?!"

Guinevere shouted loudly from Mordred's arms.

"Father! Where are you?!"

Mordred echoed his call.

The two of them scanned their surroundings, yelling Artoria's name, hoping for any kind of response. But all they heard was their own voices echoing through the empty police station.

"Mordred, put me down," Guinevere said. "This is where Artoria was attacked. You should be on alert."

"Huh? Oh—right!"

Mordred nodded and went to set him down. But just as she did, Guinevere spotted a glint of cold steel behind her—a dagger lunging straight toward her back.

"Trying to sneak up on me?!"

Sensing the strike, Mordred reacted instantly. She flung Guinevere forward and reached into the air. Her glowing golden sword, Clarent, materialized in her hand, and with a sharp twist, she swung it at the attacker behind her.

The dagger was easily deflected by her blade. And just as she was about to cleave her assailant in two, she finally saw the attacker's face.

Even with dull, lifeless eyes and an empty expression, there was no mistaking it—it was the face of her self-proclaimed adoptive daughter, Jack the Ripper.

In that instant, Mordred halted her slash, barely avoiding cutting Jack down. But the pause cost her—Jack's dagger plunged into Mordred's side.

At the same time, a surge of magical energy shot at Mordred from another direction, aiming straight for her head.

But another sword suddenly intercepted it—Guinevere's.

Though it shouldn't have been fast enough to block the spell, a fiery blast ignited behind the blade mid-swing, drastically accelerating it. The magic collided with the sword and burst into a flurry of sparks, the heat and shockwave neutralizing the attack.

Guinevere had scrambled back to his feet and jumped into the fray to protect Mordred, using one of the Rune: Powder Keg spells he'd recently acquired from Will to block the sneak attack.

With the breathing room Guinevere created, Mordred grabbed Jack's wrist just as she tried to stab her again. After a brief hesitation, she chose not to attack. Instead, she flung Jack aside with a forceful throw.

"Ah, what a shame. Looks like that plan failed..."

A calm male voice emerged from the shadows. "I had hoped to seriously injure one of you right away—would've made things much easier moving forward. But now this is going to be a hassle."

From the darkness emerged a man in a researcher's coat, long hair draping over his shoulders. He stepped calmly into view.

"You've been eliminating Nightmare fragments far too efficiently. At this rate, all our plans will be in shambles. So, I'm afraid we'll have to use more direct measures."

"Who the hell are you?! What did you do to Jack? Why is she like this?" Mordred barked, glaring at him.

"Jumping straight to asking a Servant's identity... That's not usually a question people expect answers to," the man sighed, then turned to Guinevere. "Though judging by your expression, I assume you've already figured it out?"

"You're carrying the original Azoth Sword, made from the Philosopher's Stone," Guinevere replied coldly. "Clearly, you never planned on hiding your identity."

"I didn't really have a choice," the man replied with a helpless shrug. "Some Servants might be obscure enough to go unnoticed, but I seem to be too well-known among modern magi. Everyone recognizes me at a glance."

He gave a small, regretful sigh and bowed theatrically.

"Very well, as a courtesy to the famed Knight of Rebellion... Allow me to introduce myself. I am Von Hohenheim Paracelsus. Just a humble physician and magician. Oh—and the discoverer of the Philosopher's Stone. Pleased to meet you."

Though his words seemed polite, Guinevere knew better than to trust a single one.

Von Hohenheim Paracelsus—nicknamed "Bean Dad" by Chaldea's agents—was, in gameplay terms, a weak and underwhelming unit. But in the lore of the Nasuverse, he was a living legend: the father of modern magecraft. Nearly 90% of all magi could be traced back to his teachings.

And like most magi—who'd execute nine out of ten for war crimes and still miss some—his character was deeply flawed.

Unlike the average magus, who used humans as disposable lab rats without a second thought, Paracelsus knew it was wrong.

He just didn't stop.

"Forgive me," he'd say, "I know this is cruel... but in the pursuit of truth and knowledge, I must go on... Please, understand."

And then he'd sacrifice another test subject—wracked with guilt, yes, but never stopping. Endlessly remorseful, yet forever unrepentant.

"I know it's wrong. I'm sorry. I'll do it again."

A truly infamous figure in Chaldea's criminal record—on par with Shakespeare as one of early FGO's worst-case scenario guests.

In this Fourth Singularity, he was one of the three masterminds behind the curtain: the "P" of the trio known only as "PBM."

"As for your second question—regarding Miss Jack the Ripper here... I'm afraid that's not really my fault," Paracelsus said with feigned innocence, glancing at the lifeless Jack. "She simply inhaled too much miasma. Her consciousness is now trapped entirely in the dream. Given that, I merely used the Philosopher's Stone to form a temporary contract. No harm in that, right?"

"What about Artoria?!" Guinevere snapped, ignoring the excuses. "What did you do to her?!"

"Artoria..." Paracelsus murmured, stroking his chin. "Ah, I see. So she really is that King Arthur. I'd begun to suspect as much. Fascinating... The results of using her in experiments could be quite enlightening."

He smirked. "If you're asking where she is, well, of course she's in my workshop. But don't expect me to tell you where that is—we are enemies, after all."

"Oh yeah? Then I'll just beat it out of you!"

That was all Mordred needed to hear. She lunged at him, Clarent crackling with lightning-like magical energy.

Knowing that Mordred would hesitate to seriously hurt Jack, Paracelsus immediately commanded her to intercept.

But Guinevere stepped forward, slashing a wide arc with his blade and blocking Jack again. Thanks to the stat buffs he'd leached off Will and his stash of rune-based explosives, he could now go toe-to-toe with low-tier Servants—at least enough to keep Jack busy without hurting her.

Sure, all the buffs were "hand-me-downs," but Guinevere stood proudly. His current strength? Entirely self-made. After all, who completed all those system tasks and earned those rewards?

He did.

Meanwhile, Paracelsus found himself in serious danger. Despite wielding the all-purpose wonder tool known as the Philosopher's Stone, he was no warrior. Facing someone like Mordred—a top-tier Servant even among the elite—left him no room to retaliate.

But that made Guinevere uneasy.

Paracelsus, despite his tendency to stir up chaos, wasn't a complete fool. He should have known better than to confront Mordred in person. So why was he here, throwing himself to the wolves?

"Something's off," Guinevere muttered. "Mordred, fall back! He's up to something!"

"Oh? So you've figured it out... but a bit too late," Paracelsus smirked.

"I'll admit—yes, the real me can't defeat you. So... let's continue this in the dream."

He raised his Azoth Sword—and a blinding light erupted from the blade, flooding the entire space in white.

At the same time, an overwhelming drowsiness swept over Guinevere. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, impossible to keep open.

But even then, with Paracelsus's words echoing in his ears, he didn't feel even the slightest panic.

Instead, he just... wanted to laugh.

—Seriously, what is with these people?

Why do they all ignore me, the easy target... and insist on fighting Will in the dream world?

With that thought, Guinevere closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

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