It was a pitch-black sphere, no more than a few centimeters across, yet the blond, middle-aged Heroic Spirit felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Pure darkness. Extreme density. Absolute mass. And a pressure that screamed danger.
The sphere looked insignificant. But if the seal binding it were fully released, not just Trifas—Romania itself would likely be erased from the face of the earth.
This was no crude burst of energy like a nuclear weapon. What lay within that sphere was gravity potent enough to devour everything. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. He took two involuntary steps back, his Noble Phantasm, Kazikli Bey, gathering power in response.
There was no doubt who he was.
Vlad III—the famed "Young Dragon Prince" of Romania, whose name alone could tear hearts apart. And even standing on Romanian soil, he knew he lacked the right to intercept that sphere.
"Kazikli…"
He murmured the true name of his Noble Phantasm, preparing to strike first. At that moment, a shout rang out from the distance.
"My king! Please, stop!"
A black sedan screeched to a halt nearby. Darnic stumbled out and ran toward them, panic written across his face as he took in the drawn-bow tension between the two.
"Oh?" Vlad III turned his head slightly. "Darnic, is this your counsel to me?"
At the same time, the black sphere in Rhodes' hand vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.
"Yes, my king." Darnic bowed deeply. "The young man before you is the most gifted successor Yggdmillennia has produced in recent years. Rhodes is the pride of our family. I beg your forgiveness for his discourtesy."
"I see…" Vlad lowered his gaze. The murderous intent in his eyes softened into something else.
Unlike the legends of a blood-drinking monster, the Heroic Spirit known as the great hero who advanced Romania's independence was, at heart, a fairly upright man—or at least an upright politician.
"I have no intention of apologizing to him," Rhodes said coldly. "If you believe you can evade that thing, then our fight can continue, Duke."
"Ah…" Darnic shook his head helplessly at Rhodes' show of youthful bravado and bowed again. "Duke, please show mercy."
"No need, Darnic." A smile appeared on Vlad III's face as he stepped toward Rhodes, a faint trace of remorse settling over his worn features.
"This was my fault," he said sincerely. "Had I not appeared so abruptly behind you, there would have been no misunderstanding. In the battles ahead, we should support one another. Let us put this behind us. What do you say, Lord Rhodes?"
His manner was entirely different from how he addressed Darnic. There was no command in his tone, only warmth. With that gentle smile, he looked almost like a harmless grazing beast.
"Put it behind us?" Rhodes echoed, a brilliant smile appearing on his own face. "Such magnanimity, Duke Vlad."
An old fox and a young fox had clearly reached an understanding. Moments ago, the air had been razor-sharp. Now it felt more like cordial conversation.
"Hah…" Darnic exhaled and seized the moment. "Since the Duke holds Rhodes in such high regard, why not let him replace Caules and serve as Master in this Holy Grail War?"
"That would be excellent. I think—" Vlad III began smoothly, as if rehearsed, but Rhodes cut him off.
"Lord Darnic, I returned to the family this time purely to seek refuge. How could I occupy such a precious Master position? Wouldn't that feel a bit… improper?"
He spoke with a smile that was both earnest and false.
"I think it's best for Caules to continue as Master. If the family needs my strength elsewhere, I'll do everything in my power—within reason."
"Uh…" Darnic's expression brightened at the words "everything in my power," and he nearly pressed Rhodes again. Then "within reason" hit him, and his face stiffened.
Rhodes clearly hadn't risen so smoothly at the Clock Tower on skill alone. His political instincts were sharp—sharp enough to rival Darnic himself, the man mocked as having "eight tongues."
Still, as a seasoned politician, Darnic ignored that final caveat entirely. He clasped Rhodes' hands warmly, as if Rhodes were already ready to bleed for him.
"In that case, there's something I'd like to ask of you first, Lord Darnic. I need certain materials to improve my odds in the Holy Grail War."
Rhodes withdrew his hands with a light laugh. His humility vanished the moment benefits were on the table.
"Oh? What do you need?" Darnic asked, surprised.
Rhodes adopted a carefully embarrassed look.
"I need fragments of the Lesser Grail. You collected some during the Third Holy Grail War, didn't you?"
He said it lightly, as though he were asking for something trivial.
"You—" Darnic stiffened, instinctively ready to refuse. Vlad III raised a hand to stop him.
"Of course," the Duke said calmly. "Putting such things to use means Darnic's efforts back then weren't wasted. I look forward to seeing you on the battlefield, Lord Rhodes."
Vlad III was generous with what wasn't his, wearing an air of easy confidence. Beside him, Darnic's face had gone pale.
"As expected of the Duke of Romania—so decisive," Rhodes said with a soft laugh. His eyes, however, gleamed with understanding.
Vlad III was playing games. Whether he intended to bind Rhodes into service or had other designs in mind, he was testing him with layered schemes.
Unfortunately for the Duke, he had no idea that the eighteen-year-old before him was, in truth, a veteran who'd been drifting hairpin turns for centuries.
This routine of honoring talent and lowering oneself?
Rhodes had worn it out long ago.