Forget Qie Gao-This Is the Era of Tea Eggs

"Pant... pant..."

Kiritsugu Emiya, clad in a black trench coat, sprinted through an alley beneath Fuyuki City's night sky. Even as he fled, he fired bursts from the submachine gun in his hand at the pursuer behind him.

There was the blast of gunpowder and the clatter of shell casings hitting the ground, but no sound of bullets striking their target—not even impacts against the surrounding walls or pavement. It was as if every bullet had been stopped by some barrier solid enough to block them and flexible enough to absorb their force.

Was there really body armor like that?

Science could not create such a thing, but the spectacle unfolding in Fuyuki's night was never built upon the foundation of the primary productive force.

"Scalp!"

With a powerful shout, a silver ribbon-like object lashed toward Kiritsugu's back like a whip. As it neared its target, it began to deform, its sides compressing continuously. By the time it was about to strike, it had become a sheet only a few micrometers thick, ready to slice the Magus Killer in half.

But...

"Time Alter: Double Accel!"

After rapidly chanting the spell, Kiritsugu crouched at a speed no human could ever achieve, dodging the blow. He rolled, rose to his feet, darted around the next corner, and vanished from his attacker—Kayneth's—sight.

"A rat crawling through the sewers can actually touch the mysteries of magecraft. How disgusting..."

Clicking his tongue with distaste, Kayneth continued strolling leisurely behind the mercury sphere formed by Volumen Hydrargyrum, which had been given the command to automatically seek out its target. He stepped around the corner Kiritsugu had taken.

"Hmm?!"

Beyond the corner stood a wall. It was clearly a dead end. So where had the prey gone?

Before he could figure it out, an intense sense of danger rose abruptly in his heart. Magi steeped in mystery were practically idealists, and they placed great importance on things like a sixth sense. Though he did not know what was wrong, Kayneth swiftly issued an order, having the mercury form a protective shell around him.

"Boom!"

The deafening blast of several high-explosive grenades detonating in a cramped space erupted.

Above the explosion, Kiritsugu clung to the building's exterior fire escape and glanced down. Seeing the mercury sphere curled up amid the flames like a woodlouse, he knew his trap had failed to eliminate that troublesome mage. He quickly climbed onto the roof, claiming advantageous terrain in advance for their next clash.

The timeline rolled back a little.

Hesitation was a word that should never have applied to someone like Kiritsugu Emiya. He was like a precisely functioning machine, capable of making the most accurate judgment and acting on it immediately in any situation. He would never waste even a moment on "hesitation."

But that had its prerequisites.

The reason he could make decisions with maximum efficiency on battlefields filled with danger and rapidly changing circumstances was because he had long ago carved everything concerning "killing" into his instincts—after all, machines operated according to preprogrammed routines, did they not?

What to do when there was only one target, what to do when surrounded, what to do when out of ammunition, what to do when the target used fire magecraft, puppet magecraft, necromancy, what to do when the target was a homunculus or a Dead Apostle—he had considered all of it. Even situations like "the target is an Ancestor" or "the target is a Magician" had been accounted for. Whether Ancestors or Magicians, information on them could be investigated, analyzed, understood, and ultimately used to kill them.

But the Holy Grail War seemed to fall outside those categories.

Heroic Spirits were beings constructed from humanity's noble fantasies, woven from humanity's ideals—the highest beings who protected mankind. Their originals had all accomplished great deeds in life, becoming existences akin to "faith" after death.

"Heroes... that's a concept completely unrelated to me."

Kiritsugu could not help thinking that.

For him, although records concerning heroes could be found in history and legend, none of them could serve as a basis for analyzing Heroic Spirits. Those accounts were far too unreliable. In Kiritsugu's eyes, they were riddled with flaws and contradictions.

The Noble Phantasms, abilities, and patterns of behavior of Heroic Spirits were all unknown, and not easily investigated. As a result, Kiritsugu inevitably found himself constrained and hesitant when formulating his response plans.

That was why he had made up his mind with great difficulty before calling the number Caster had left for him.

After repeated rational analysis, he had concluded that Caster possessed an unknown means of gathering intelligence—even the battle plan known only to himself and Maiya had not escaped her notice. She also appeared inclined to ally with him. No, she had used his plan to create the impression that the Caster faction and Saber faction were allied.

Then let's see what you're trying to do.

He arranged a meeting place with Caster's Master—Jizi herself, disguised, of course—and agreed to go alone without a Servant. In reality, that meant nothing. As long as one had Command Seals, a Servant could be summoned to their Master's side anytime, anywhere. Still, considering that Saber completely countered Caster in terms of attributes, the situation favored him.

Moreover, he had chosen the location himself. To prepare for any eventuality, he had already had Maiya arrive by another route and set up countermeasures for all kinds of situations.

Whether he could gain anything from this meeting was another matter, but at least he would not come out at a loss. At worst, he could kill Caster's Master.

Everything had originally been planned perfectly.

So why had things turned out like this?

Kiritsugu: Hell if I know! Why did I run into the Lancer faction on the way here?! Meeting this guy could only be blamed on bad luck, right?! And he actually survived that explosion! Isn't that defense way too absurd?! He's a caster, isn't he? Why put so many points into defense?! Were you so pathetic you couldn't even recruit a tank, so you had to tank yourself?! It's not like you're an ice mage!

Fortunately, Lemonhead, like Tokiomi, loved putting on airs as both a noble and a mage. Thinking that teaching a rat a lesson did not require a Servant, he had not sent Lancer and had instead prepared to take Kiritsugu on himself. Otherwise, Kiritsugu would have been skewered into a skewer and turned into grilled rice cake by now.

When Kayneth reached the rooftop on an elevator made from Volumen Hydrargyrum, he first cautiously separated a thread of mercury and spread it out like a mat, scanning the entire area in all directions without a single blind spot. Only after confirming there were no traps did he step onto the roof—and even then, he kept a protective film around himself.

That was what they meant by once bitten by a snake, ten years afraid of a rope.

Although that determination to never trip over the same stone twice was worth learning from, unfortunately, the person trying to trip him was not merely a slightly uncomfortable stone.

An Origin Bullet could not be blocked with a Mystic Code.

Fortunately, an open rooftop was hardly suitable for ambushes and sniping, while the words "face the enemy head-on"—especially when facing a famous great mage—did not exist in Kiritsugu's dictionary. Otherwise, Kayneth would have died here.

So now, Kayneth was waving his constantly twisting tentacles in a place where there was nowhere to evade and nowhere to retreat, steadily driving a justice-believing "magical boy" into a corner. Naturally, the boy did not want to be tentacled just like that, so he resisted with everything he had. Unfortunately, the flames bursting from his gun muzzle could do no more than slightly slow the other man's advance.

"Click!"

Just like a plot device written by some third-rate screenwriter, at the most critical moment, something always happened to push the disadvantaged side into an even worse situation—like the sound that had just rung out, signaling that his bullets were gone.

"Damn it, I've already used all my grenades. I hadn't prepared to get into an encounter battle with another faction this time. Do I have no choice but to use a Command Seal to summon Saber? But then Rider... Airi..."

Kiritsugu Emiya was in grave danger!

But just like the formula of those third-rate screenwriters, a savior always appeared at times like this to rescue the side of "justice" from the enemy's hands and bring about a great reversal, so—

"You were so late that I thought you'd gotten stuck in traffic. Then I remembered this isn't China, so I came over myself just to be safe. Hmm, looks like some tentacle play is about to happen here. How could an author of wholesome, fresh stories tolerate such heavy material appearing in this book? Let me destroy your hentai plan!"

"Caster!" ×2

(The Banquet of Kings)

"A king without ambition is no better than a vase!"

Rider's furious roar, combined with his massive body, made him seem even more terrifying.

"Saber, you just said that you appeared for your ideals. True, you were once an incorruptible saint, purer than anyone else. But who would wish to martyr themselves for ideals? Who would look forward to a so-called saint who could only comfort the people but did not know how to lead them? Only by displaying ambition and praising the utmost glory could one guide a nation and its people onto the right path."

Draining the wine from his cup in one gulp, Rider seemed ready to continue, but then appeared to remember something. He shook his head to himself and sighed. "Those words probably carry no persuasive power coming from me, do they? Then let someone who, like you, once existed as a model, yet cast aside that so-called example, who became a raging beast to settle his karma with you, abandoning the glory of a hero, offer you counsel."

"What..."

"Show yourself already. Though this is called the Banquet of Kings, a king's words should be heard by all people, and a king should also listen to the remonstrance of his subjects."

"Since you have said so," after Rider's invitation fell silent, a steady, deep male voice rang out, causing Saber—who had remained composed even under the mockery of the other two kings—to tremble with emotion. "Then, my king, please allow me to attend and speak, just as I did beside that Round Table long ago."

"Berserker... no. You are Sir Lancelot!"

Author's Note (Sophistry): Last week wasn't really that padded out... it was daily life, daily life! Without daily life, where would affection points come from? Where would the jokes come from? Where would all the cheerful fun come from...? That's right, it wasn't padding! It was daily life! (He clenched his fist tightly to make himself believe it...)