The black mist recoiled as if sucked into a vacuum, the crimson eyes narrowing to slits before disappearing into the void from whence they came. The oppressive weight lifted, leaving the cave feeling startlingly light and fragile.
Min-jun slumped forward, catching himself on his hands, gasping for air. His arms trembled violently. The forced fusion of Tusk's infinite rotation and Crazy Diamond's restorative power had been channeled through his own will, but it had required a third, domineering pressure to force them to merge—a shadowy catalyst that left a cold, silent hollow in his spirit. He felt scraped raw.
On the ground, Siegfried took a deep, shuddering breath. Color returned to his skin. The blackened veins receded, leaving only unmarred flesh. He pushed himself up, strength flowing back into his limbs. He looked from his hands to the exhausted technician.
"The curse is gone," Siegfried stated, awe softening his normally stern features. He placed a fist over his heart and bowed his head. "You have returned my strength to me. My sword is yours, Master of Chaldea."
"Just… don't get cursed again," Min-jun rasped, forcing himself to stand. The cost of that fusion was still a dull roar in his bones. He hadn't just healed Siegfried; he'd violently rewritten a segment of his Saint Graph. It was a one-time miracle born of desperation and something else he couldn't name.
"Ahem!"
Elizabeth Báthory's sharp cough shattered the moment. "Well! That was a flashy little concert! But my ears are still ringing, and this cave is now the most interesting place in this boring forest. Every wyvern for miles is going to come investigate." She pointed her lance toward the entrance. "We need to move! My stage is at that castle, not in this damp hole!"
Kiyohime snapped her fan shut, having subtly placed herself closer to Min-jun. "The loud one is, for once, not incorrect. This location is compromised. We must find the other Master from Chaldea. My Anchin-sama is out there, and he will require our aid." Her gaze on Min-jun was intense, reassessing. Such potent, disciplined power to mend a great hero… it was worthy of respect, and fascination.
Siegfried hefted Balmung, its blade gleaming with purpose. "Agreed. Our duty is to join the main force and confront the Dragon Witch. Lead the way."
Min-jun nodded, his technician's mind analyzing their situation. He couldn't feel Ritsuka or Mash's precise location, but the Singularity's distortion had a clear epicenter—the burning castle where the corrupted Grail pulsed. That was where the conflict would converge. They needed a direct route.
"We head for the castle," Min-jun said, his voice regaining its calm. "But we're not wandering through wyvern patrols." He raised his right hand, focusing on Tusk Act 4 alone this time. The air hummed gently, and the colossal pink Stand materialized, not for combat, but for a precise, surgical application of the Spin.
"What's the big pink lady doing now?" Elizabeth asked, tilting her head.
"Clearing a path," Min-jun replied.
He focused on the concept of connection and stability. He pointed his finger not at an enemy, but at the distant, smoky silhouette of the castle, visualizing a conduit through the chaotic mana fields. Tusk mirrored his gesture.
A single, perfect golden nail shot forth with a soft PING!. But instead of drilling, it carved. It etched a graceful, spiraling path through the air itself—a visible, shimmering ribbon of solidified rotational energy that wove through the trees, over a ridge, and toward the distant objective. Where it passed, the corrupted fog thinned, and the land seemed to settle, as if the path itself repelled the Singularity's chaos. It was a "Golden Bypass," a temporary ley line of Min-jun's own making.
"Follow it," he instructed, lowering his hand as Tusk faded. "It'll lead us straight to the heart of this. It should also discourage lesser creatures from crossing. Stay alert."
Siegfried took the lead, his restored vigor making him a formidable vanguard. Min-jun followed, conserving his strength. Kiyohime walked beside him, a silent, watchful presence. Elizabeth brought up the rear, her idea of "stealth" involving dramatic poses and whispered critiques of the scenery.
"Ugh, this golden road is so basic," Elizabeth complained, gesturing with her lance. "It needs some visual spectacle! Strobes! Sparkles! A proper idol's path should announce her arrival!"
"It is a path of efficient travel, not a gaudy festival float," Kiyohime retorted, not looking back. "Your obsession with frippery is as shallow as your character."
"My character is depth personified! I'm a multifaceted star! You're just a jealous snake who thinks setting things on fire is a personality!"
"The disciplined flame of devotion is beyond your comprehension, you screeching simpleton. My Anchin-sama appreciates subtlety and strength."
"Subtlety? You follow him around like a lost, scaly puppy! It's pathetic!"
"Better a devoted companion than a vacuous noise-maker who confuses volume for value!"
The bickering was immediate, incessant, and cycled through topics with dizzying speed: artistic merit, historical legacy, personal hygiene (Elizabeth accused Kiyohime of smelling of ash; Kiyohime retorted that Elizabeth smelled of cheap perfume and desperation).
Siegfried, at the front, maintained a stoic facade, but the subtle tightening of his jaw spoke volumes. After the fifth minute of a heated debate about whether dragon fire or sonic waves were better for "crowd ambiance," Min-jun felt a profound, soul-deep weariness settle over him.
He glanced at Siegfried. At that exact moment, the Dragonslayer chanced a look back over his shoulder, his calm eyes meeting Min-jun's through their respective glasses.
A perfect, wordless understanding passed between them.
In unison, without any signal, both men—the legendary hero and the exhausted technician—let out a long, deep, and utterly weary sigh.
"Haaah…"
It was a symphony of shared suffering. The sigh of rational beings subjected to irrational, perpetual audio dissonance. It spoke of headaches born not from battle, but from the relentless, trivial chaos at their backs.
Elizabeth blinked. "...Did you two just sigh in unison?"
Kiyohime's eyes narrowed further. "A coordinated expression of exasperation. How discourteous."
Elizabeth planted her hands on her hips. "And uncreative! A proper sigh of disdain should have vibrato! A rising and falling pitch to convey the layers of one's disappointment! That was just… flat. Boring! Like a broken bagpipe!"
"Your entire existence is a broken bagpipe," Kiyohime sniffed.
"Oh, so now we're insulting musical traditions? You wouldn't know good music if it bit you on your—"
"If it attempted to bite me, I would reduce it to cinders long before it made contact, unlike some who seem to welcome auditory assaults."
And they were off again. The bickering resumed its familiar, looping cadence, a relentless background noise to their march.
Min-jun and Siegfried exchanged one more glance. This time, no sigh was needed. A simple, almost imperceptible shake of the head from Siegfried, a slight downward tug at the corner of Min-jun's mouth in response. An agreement made in silence: Ignore it. Just keep moving.
They did. The golden path led them unerringly through the scorched forests and over ashen hills. The distant silhouette of the besieged castle grew larger, its ominous presence a dark smear against the bruised sky. The sounds of distant battle—clangs, roars, and sporadic magical detonations—began to reach them.
Finally, cresting a burned-out ridge, the main group came into view in a clearing below.
There was Ritsuka Fujimaru, looking dust-streaked and determined, standing close to Mash Kyrielight, whose shield was planted firmly in the earth. Beside them stood the radiant, banner-holding form of Jeanne d'Arc, and the more flamboyant figures of Mozart and Marie Antoinette. They were catching their breath, assessing their next move toward the castle gates.
Min-jun raised a hand in a casual, tired wave.
Ritsuka spotted the movement first, his face lighting up with relief. "Min-jun! Over here!"
The two groups converged in the clearing. The golden path behind Min-jun's group shimmered and dissolved, its purpose served.
"You made it," Ritsuka said, a genuine smile breaking through his fatigue. "We saw that golden light in the sky and hoped it was you. Where's Jack?"
"Scouting ahead, clearing secondary paths," Min-jun replied, his voice flat. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "Picked up reinforcements." He stepped slightly aside. "Ritsuka, Mash, everyone… this is Siegfried, the Dragon-Blooded Knight. And Kiyohime, Berserker-class."
Siegfried gave a formal, respectful bow. "I am in your service, Masters of Chaldea. I owe your comrade a great debt."
Kiyohime's demeanor shifted instantly, her sharpness melting into a picture of serene devotion as she curtsied, her eyes fixed on Ritsuka. "I am Kiyohime. My fire is yours to command, Anchin-sama."
Ritsuka blinked, slightly taken aback by the intense focus. "Ah… thank you. It's good to have you both. Emiya and Jack are currently scouting the eastern flank and keeping an eye on the wyvern patrols. They'll loop back soon."
Marie clapped her hands together. "Oh, a new knight and a fiery lady! How wonderful!"
Mozart offered a lazy, two-fingered salute. "More players for our dreadful symphony. Charmed."
Jeanne's gaze, however, was analytical, sweeping over Siegfried's restored form and then settling intently on Min-jun. She could see it—the spiritual fatigue, the slight hollowing around his eyes that spoke of a profound expenditure, not just of mana, but of something more intrinsic.
Min-jun turned to introduce the final member of his impromptu party. "And this is—"
"ELIZABETH BÁTHORY!"
The Lancer had already struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip, the other holding her lance aloft. "The idol of darkness who will captivate this era and drag it screaming into the spotlight! The future number-one Carbuncle in all of Chaldea! You may applaud!"
A brief, awkward silence followed, broken only by the distant cry of a wyvern.
Jeanne, with the patience of a saint who had dealt with far worse, stepped forward. She placed a gentle but firm hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Báthory. Your… enthusiasm is noted. Perhaps we could discuss your role once we have a moment of strategic calm?" Her tone was kind, but it carried an undeniable, steering pressure. Gently, she began to guide the sputtering idol a few steps away from the main group, toward a bemused-looking Mozart and Marie.
Min-jun watched, momentarily confused by Jeanne's specific intervention. He hadn't even finished speaking.
His confusion must have shown on his face, for Jeanne, after settling Elizabeth, turned back and walked directly to him. The others gave them a small space, Ritsuka beginning to quickly brief Siegfried and Kiyohime on the castle's defenses.
Jeanne stopped before Min-jun, her blue eyes searching his. The usual resoluteness in her gaze was softened by a deep, perceptive concern. "Min-jun," she said, her voice low enough for only him to hear. "Are you alright?"
He blinked, giving her a tired but genuine smile. "I'm functional, Jeanne. Just drained. Siegfried's curse was… stubborn. It took a lot of juice to scrub it clean."
She shook her head slowly. "It is not your energy levels I speak of. When you arrived just now… for a moment, the light around you flickered. Not the light of your strange power, but the light of your self. It is as if you… performed a great act of mending for another, but at the cost of some small, pure part of your own foundation." Her head tilted, saintly intuition grappling with a phenomenon she couldn't name. "It feels like you lost something. Something important. Did you?"
Min-jun stared at her, the smile fading slightly but not disappearing. The question was earnest, piercingly accurate in a way he hadn't expected. She wasn't talking about mana. She was talking about the strange, hollow ache he felt whenever he pushed his limits, the nagging feeling that he was trading pieces of a puzzle he hadn't finished assembling yet.
But 'lost'? No. That wasn't the right word.
He let out a short, quiet breath—half laugh, half sigh. He adjusted his glasses, more out of habit than necessity.
"Lost something?" he repeated, his voice gentle but laced with a profound, weary clarity. "You're misunderstanding the situation, Jeanne."
He met her concerned gaze head-on. There was no coldness in his eyes, just a calm, unflinching honesty.
"Nothing was lost," he said simply. "You can't lose what you never had to begin with."
Jeanne's brow furrowed, her compassion struggling against his confusing statement. "I don't… What do you mean? Every soul has its inherent light, its—"
"Well," Min-jun interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he were explaining a simple mechanical fault in a generator. "I was assaulted by my mother."