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The Fallen King of Knights and the Witch of the Evil Dragon
New York, Central Park. Inside the McDonald's branch located right in the heart of the park.
In Central Park—the solitary sanctuary of nature amidst the jungle of concrete, steel, and towering skyscrapers—the restaurant was buzzing with activity. People were crowded around, their phones held high, frantically snapping pictures. The center of this spectacle was a woman with pale-blonde hair and golden eyes, seated at a table piled high with a literal mountain of hamburgers. It was Artoria Pendragon Alter, commonly known as Artoria Alter.
She was currently unwrapping her fifty-eighth burger. Even by American standards, her insane gluttony was enough to make onlookers recoil in horror or stare in morbid fascination.
At a glance, she possessed the refined dignity and charismatic beauty of royalty, exuding a coldness so profound it seemed liquid nitrogen would flow if her skin were pierced. That such a figure possessed an appetite capable of making professional competitive eaters blanch was nothing short of a surreal anomaly.
"Hey, ice queen... where is all that actually going? Is your stomach some kind of Void or something?"
Seated across from her was a woman with silver-white hair and golden eyes. Though she possessed a fierce, aggressive temperament, her beauty was equally striking. This was Jeanne d'Arc Alter—Jeanne Alter. She watched Artoria with a look of pure disgust, nibbling on a large American Big Mac and dipping her fries into a milkshake.
"Hmph! Junk food is the ultimate truth. You, who eats so sparingly, are the one at fault. That is why you are so scrawny."
"Has it ever occurred to you that you just eat way too much?"
"Hmph! If you had suffered through the abysmal diet of Britain during the Age of Gods, you wouldn't be spouting such nonsense."
"Right, right... British cuisine. Figures."
"It was far worse back then than it is now. The meat was gamey and tough; the fish stank of the sea; the vegetables were wilted or undercooked; the wine was mere vinegar; the bread was black and hard as stone; the soup was little more than murky water; and the water itself was so full of impurities it was a total disaster."
"Well, we also drank wine during battle because there was no clean water," Jeanne Alter admitted.
She couldn't deny the historical reality of poor dietary conditions. Nodding in rare agreement, she took a massive bite of her burger.
"But Zod... are you really going to be fine with just one milkshake?"
Jeanne turned her gaze to the small, blonde, blue-eyed boy sitting beside her, reading a book. He was nourishing himself with nothing but a single cup of milkshake. The boy offered a faint, serene smile. At that smile, several women in the shop let out muffled shrieks of delight and nearly collapsed, awestruck by his transcendent appearance. Oblivious to the commotion, the boy—Zod—took a sip of his drink and nodded calmly.
"It has high caloric density. One is sufficient."
He was dressed in a child-sized formal suit—a white dress shirt, a black waistcoat, a red necktie, and shorts tailored from premium fabric. He picked up a napkin and gracefully dabbed at a stray drop of milkshake on his lip, an act of poise that triggered another wave of quiet cheers from the crowd.
♫♪♫~~♬♬♪
Suddenly, a ringtone emanated from his waistcoat pocket. It was his mobile phone.
"Hello..."
As Zod listened to the voice on the other end, his expression flattened into a cold, vacuous mask. He stood up immediately.
"Mm... Wait, just one more bite—"
"Wait, Zod! I haven't finished my—"
"Am I expected to wait?"
With those four words, the expressions of both women darkened instantly. They followed him out without another word, climbing into a car parked outside. Artoria Alter took the driver's seat while Jeanne Alter sat in the passenger side. The engine roared to life as they pulled out of the parking lot.
"Tch... one of our revenue streams has been cut. It seems the police have caught on."
"Again? How annoying... Can't we just set up a new one? I thought a new drug trafficking route opened up recently—"
"The change in administration has made things difficult. I'll have to look for a new route elsewhere."
Jeanne Alter glanced at Zod through the rearview mirror.
As he gazed out the window with that cold, detached expression, he looked less like a person and more like a doll. A doll stripped of all emotion. And yet, he was human—a human who possessed emotions.
However, if there was one thing that set him apart from ordinary people, it was his origin. He was a 'Product'—the final Masterpiece and the perfected subject of a classified US superhuman development project, having escaped from a top-secret laboratory.
Another anomaly was that despite ten years having passed since his escape, Zod had not aged a single day.
While the two Servants naturally remained unchanged by time, Zod, despite his superhuman nature, still technically fell within the biological category of 'human.' Yet his physical form remained that of a young boy. Chronologically, he was already in his twenties.
"Why are you staring, Jeanne?"
"Who knows? Maybe I just like looking at you too much."
"How tedious."
"Sometimes, I really doubt if you're actually ten years old."
"Anyone subjected to thorough programming and education as an experimental subject from infancy would naturally develop this level of precocity."
"Haa... My mistake. Forget I said anything."
"Don't be so dejected, Jeanette. The world is not composed entirely of tragedies, is it?"
The sophisticated vocabulary and refined tone he used were jarring coming from someone who looked like a mere brat. He was a man in his twenties trapped in the body of a child.
Screeeech!!
"We have arrived."
Artoria Alter pulled up in front of a quiet, secluded bar. She stepped out to open the rear door and escort him. A guard at the entrance moved to stop them for a split second before recognizing them and quickly stepping aside with a respectful bow.
"Welcome, Boss... and Ladies."
"......."
"Indeed."
"Keep it up."
Zod ignored the guards' greeting entirely, while Artoria Alter and Jeanne Alter gave dismissive acknowledgments as they entered. Inside, a bartender polishing glasses caught sight of the trio and offered a deep, formal bow before reporting the day's events.
"As I always say, Boss... next time, please take an escort with you."
"It draws too much attention."
"Boss, the mere appearance of you and the Ladies already draws everyone's eyes..."
The bartender looked at Zod with a look of disbelief, but Zod ignored him and issued a command like a reigning sovereign.
"I heard one of our revenue streams was severed. It seems the police caught the scent."
The bartender's face paled instantly.
Tap... Tap... Tap...
Zod drummed his fingers on the bar counter. Cold sweat began to bead on the bartender's forehead.
"...Root them out."
"Understood, Boss."
The bartender bowed, made a quick phone call, and then placed a non-alcoholic cocktail in front of him.
"How long?"
"A day... one day will be enough."
Zod nodded and gestured for Artoria Alter and Jeanne Alter to sit beside him. As they took their seats, he picked up a volume of literature and began to read.
"Are we just here as decoration?"
"How disappointing."
In response to their playful complaints, Zod reached out and gave each of them a reassuring pat—a form of body language telling them to remain calm.
The two women grumbled at the contact but soon smiled, stroking his hair in return as they sipped the cocktails the bartender provided.
They looked on with satisfaction at the fact that their man, once a mere escaped test subject, had now become the 'Little Demon Lord' who ruled the dark underbelly of New York.