"I think I will find the answer soon, Father..."
Kirei tilted his head slightly, a strange, unfathomable expression flickering across his normally indifferent face. For a moment, the old priest wondered if a demon had possessed his son. "Kirei… are you really Kirei?"
In that instant, Risei felt a profound estrangement from his own child. The black energy coiling around him made the young priest seem alien, even dangerous. He drew a deep breath, stepped forward, and threw a punch.
Kirei, looking at his father, felt no desire to retaliate. After all, he respected him. Yet seeing the resolve in his father's eyes, it seemed he had no intention of allowing this being to be born. Why could his father not understand?
Subconsciously, Kirei raised his arm and caught the punch. The fist, slick with holy water, slammed against his arm. The black magic around him sizzled and dissipated as though burned by intense heat, but it did not harm him.
"Father, the Lord said that all things are equal and that everything has a chance to be born, right?"
Risei looked at the pure malice entwined with his son and immediately understood: Kirei wished for this malice to manifest in the world. He had glimpsed it during the Third Holy Grail War, yet the boy who had carried it then had not been inherently evil.
Now, sixty years later, had the boy—transformed into magic and returned to the Holy Grail—lost all ability to suppress it?
"Kirei! Your father does not believe you could be swayed by evil!"
Risei attempted another corrective strike, but Kirei blocked it effortlessly. Frustration prickled him: it felt as though a father were failing entirely in guiding his son.
"Father, there is good, and there is evil. This being already has consciousness—it is, in some sense, a life. Whether its existence is right or wrong should only be judged after it is born."
No matter the outcome, Kirei was willing to accept it. If the world received the purest, most solemn malice, that too could be a just ending. He could finally witness the truth he sought: whether he himself found joy in the suffering of others.
"Father, I follow the Lord's teachings and treat all lives equally. You have tainted this world with too many selfish desires. That is the Lord's loss. Father, if you insist on refusing to change, I can only let you return to the Lord's arms."
Kirei spoke without realizing it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Below him, the black magic rippled outward like liquid, and the malice it carried made the holy power on his father's fists seem fragile, like a single candle in an encroaching darkness.
Risei's expression hardened. By skill and mastery of Bajiquan, he far surpassed his son. He shattered Kirei's fists with a practiced strike, landing a blow to the young priest's chest.
Regardless of Kirei's state—bewitched or fallen—the first priority was neutralizing his combat ability. Only then could his father confirm the truth, and, if necessary, perform an exorcism.
As if sensing its chosen vessel was at a disadvantage, the black magic climbed Risei's legs like serpents, crawling upwards slowly.
The old priest's voice rose in a chant:
"Eternal life can only be given by death. Here, in flesh, I swear! May the Lord have mercy on this miserable soul!"
White sacred light radiated outward, scattering the black magic that coiled around him and revealing the ground beneath. But the darkness recoiled only to strike again, relentless and vicious.
Risei considered reinforcements. The evil in this world was far more potent than he had imagined. He had assumed only a fraction of it would emerge when the seal was broken, and that the root of the corruption could be purged. He had underestimated its complexity.
Suddenly, a hand seized his wrist, and the full weight of a body dragged down onto him. For a moment, it felt as if he were being embraced by many people. He turned his head and saw them: human figures made entirely of black magic, each clutching him tightly.
"Assassins?"
No. These were not summoned heroic spirits. Their forms, shaped from pure malice, mimicked the postures and abilities of heroes, reconstructed from data recently absorbed by the Holy Grail.
Though weaker than true heroic spirits, they were far beyond the capability of a single human to fight.
Behind Kirei, a figure made of black magic knelt: Hassan. He extended a black dagger. The darkness had discerned Kirei's intent—it would personally return his father to the Lord's embrace.
"Kirei…"
The old priest raised his fists to perform the baptism chant again—but it was too late. Kirei would not stop.
The dagger, formed of pure black magic, pierced the church's vestments, tore through flesh and bone, and sank deep into Risei's heart. The black magic melted inside him, leaving a hollow space. Blood gushed from the wound, and several of the puppet-like attackers loosened their grip.
-End Chapter-
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