The underground space gradually reshaped itself under Aslan's hand, shifting into an entirely new form. Watching these changes, the remaining participants of the Holy Grail War could only give up. After all, Aslan's strength alone was overwhelming. Who would dare challenge him now?
Kayneth, observing remotely through his familiar, finally allowed himself a small, relieved smile. Even though Bahrain had been destroyed in the final moments, the matter had been resolved without further escalation. That was the best possible outcome: no catastrophic fallout, no need to answer to superiors, and no ammunition for rivals to use against him.
Still, this battle had become far too conspicuous. The rain of attacks from the sky had already drawn too much attention. His own faction did not have the influence to suppress such an incident entirely.
He raised his eyes to the man seated opposite him, the other monarch, who still wore that same easy smile — patient, waiting. Kayneth exhaled softly. So that was it. This was where the real game began.
His lips twitched in frustration before he finally asked, "Fine. State your purpose."
The white-haired man smiled, accepting the compromise without gloating. "It's not particularly complicated. First, I need the assistance of El-Melloi. In return for funds and manpower, I will form an alliance with your faction. Naturally, I also ask that you help conceal the… consequences of this Holy Grail War."
He blinked leisurely, then continued, "At least until I claim victory in the next one. And as I've already said — the doors of Chaldea are always open to you. Perhaps, after working there for a time, you'll grow fond of our little organization in Antarctica. I'm quite serious."
For a brief moment, the man's expression shed its ease, revealing instead a grave, commanding presence. The carefree mask slipped away, replaced by the aura of someone who had built an organization from nothing, who bore the weight of both a family and a discipline, who dared to challenge the world itself.
Kayneth leaned back against the sofa, gaze distant. The conditions were tempting. Very tempting. After a long pause, he clenched his teeth, fixing his eyes on the man before him. "I agree. Let us sign the contract."
The white-haired monarch's cheer returned instantly. He clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent! Let's finish quickly. Then I must rush to the Grail's location and see who else I might recruit into Chaldea. Rebuilding an organization is exhausting — short on funds, short on manpower, short on everything…"
Kayneth sighed as he signed his name on the contract. For all the man's seemingly frivolous complaints, there was no denying his capability. Among the many monarchs of the Clock Tower, few would abandon their institutions, strip their families of wealth, and gamble everything on forging something new.
And though Chaldea remained loosely tied to the Clock Tower, in truth it was this man's domain alone. Still, Kayneth knew well how the Clock Tower operated. Should this man fall, those vultures would not hesitate to sink their claws into Chaldea.
Elsewhere, others made their own choices. Kiritsugu had already withdrawn from the war through his earlier agreement. Kayneth now followed the same path. But Kariya…
Kariya's mood was bleak. He had no chance against the man before him — rushing forward would only mean death, especially in his current condition.
He staggered into a shadowed corner of the underground chamber, collapsing onto a jagged stone. Inside him, the swarm of Crest Worms writhed uncontrollably, preparing either to burst from his flesh or devour it as nourishment.
Grimacing against the agony, Kariya glanced at the obedient Berserker standing nearby. He looked down at the Command Seals etched on his hand and let out a long, weary sigh. Was his participation in this war a blessing or a curse? He could no longer say. All he knew was that, at the end, he held nothing.
"In the name of my Command Seal… do as you wish, Berserker. Once more, in the name of my Command Seal… use this last reserve of prana as the strength for your own actions."
His head lolled to the side, vision dimming. Truly, he had never thought his life would end in such mockery. With that bitter thought, Kariya closed his eyes.
He did not know of the small cruelty awaiting him. Though the Matou household had burned, its library had been partially insured. Copies of mundane texts still existed. One day, Shinji — while sorting through his family's remnants — would stumble upon the novel his uncle had written as a schoolboy. Fascinated, he would submit it to a publisher in his uncle's memory.
If Kariya had known, would he have used his last breath to erase such black history? It was much like neglecting to wipe a computer before death — a final indignity.
As for Lancelot, with the war's conclusion, the madness of his Berserker state gradually faded. Aware of his purpose, and with little prana left to sustain him, he drew back the shroud of dark energy cloaking his form. His true armor gleamed faintly, a sight achingly familiar to Artoria. Removing his helmet, Lancelot knelt before her with solemn reverence.
-End Chapter-
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