Sakura Matou Rewrites Destiny

On the rooftop of Einsbern Castle.

Kiritsugu Emiya, whose movement space had been steadily compressed by Kischur Zelretch's relentless use of Mage's Will, had long since prepared a vast arsenal of weapons on the rooftop, enough to unleash firepower that would astonish even an entire police squad.

Yet no matter how overwhelming Kiritsugu Emiya's firepower was, it proved utterly futile against the pinnacle of offensive-defensive Mystic Codes—Mage's Will. Crafted from 140 kilograms of mercury as its medium, this creation leveraged the physical properties of mercury combined with Kischur Zelretch's own expertise in fluid manipulation, rendering Kiritsugu's efforts powerless.

Magazine after magazine emptied in vain; dodge after dodge against Mage's Will's slashing strikes.

Under Kischur Zelretch's unhurried, deliberate advance, Kiritsugu Emiya was soon cornered into a dead end on the rooftop.

Behind him, the edge of the roof promised a bone-shattering fall; before him, Kischur Zelretch pressed ever closer.

In that moment, Kiritsugu Emiya seemed trapped with no escape...

"Kiritsugu Emiya... even at the end of your rope, you still refuse to face me head-on?"

Seeming fixated on Kiritsugu Emiya's failure to use the Origin Bullet, Kischur Zelretch, who had already devised a countermeasure for it and sought to reclaim his honor, did not rush to strike down the man he saw as cornered. Instead, with fury etched across his face, he issued another invitation...

"Kiritsugu Emiya... bring out your trump card, bring out your Origin Bullet, and let us settle this once and for all!"

Silently, Kiritsugu glanced at the recoilless rifle disguised as a castle rooftop drainpipe at his feet.

Turning his gaze to Kischur Zelretch, whose anger was tinged with anticipation, Kiritsugu Emiya understood clearly... the Origin Bullet meant nothing to Kischur now. The true decider wasn't the Origin Bullet, but the recoilless rifle camouflaged as a pipe at his feet.

Without a word, Kiritsugu Emiya didn't reach for the recoilless rifle directly. Instead, before Kischur's eyes, he slipped his hand into his coat, mimicking the motion of drawing a gun.

As Kischur Zelretch focused intently on Kiritsugu's hand entering his coat, a faint sound—a pin being pulled and a spring snapping—echoed from within Kiritsugu's chest. Seconds later, Kiritsugu Emiya, poised in a gun-drawing stance... exploded.

Literally.

A flashbang, counted down in Kiritsugu's mind, was yanked from his coat in the motion of drawing a gun.

In less than a second, the flashbang, its pin already pulled and spring released inside his coat, detonated directly in Kiritsugu's hand.

A deafening 170–180 decibels of noise and a blinding 6,000,000–8,000,000 candela of light slammed into Kischur's eardrums and eyes.

Even though Kischur Zelretch, wary of the Origin Bullet, had been fully focused on Kiritsugu and had already prepared his spells, triggering defensive magic the moment Kiritsugu's hand emerged, his defenses were meant to counter a direct shot from the Origin Bullet...

A scream of "Ah...!" tore from Kischur as his sight and hearing were instantly stripped away, robbing him of nearly all his senses in that moment.

But Kischur Zelretch was, after all, a top-tier Magus, and he had prepared thoroughly to counter Kiritsugu Emiya. Thus, even though he had been outmaneuvered once more, he managed to command Mage's Will to auto-target, attack, and defend before his physical faculties gave out.

Kiritsugu Emiya, clutching the exploding flashbang, had indeed successfully blindsided Kischur again, but he himself was no better off. Faced with such intense light and noise, even though he had braced himself and shut his eyes immediately, a mere layer of eyelids was no match for such brilliance.

Like Kischur, Kiritsugu Emiya had lost nearly all his senses.

Yet... Kiritsugu Emiya was still Kiritsugu Emiya—a man ruthless enough to spare even his own kin.

Perhaps through prior training, or the accumulated trials of years of assassinations, he had forged the endurance to withstand such agony.

In that instant of the explosion.

Relying on prior calculations and observations, as if he still possessed sight and hearing, Kiritsugu dropped low, grabbed the recoilless rifle, and simultaneously dodged an automatic slash from Mage's Will.

With the rooftop's layout mapped in his mind, Kiritsugu Emiya hoisted the recoilless rifle, ignoring the pain, and aimed his charred right hand by feel at Kischur, pulling the trigger.

The primer ignited; the grenade launched.

In a flash, with the two men less than ten meters apart, even as Mage's Will shifted instantly into a defensive stance, forming a mercury wall as impenetrable as a 'non-Newtonian fluid,' its mass was still too low against TNT measured in kilograms.

Though it triggered the grenade's detonation early and shielded Kischur from the blast and shrapnel, the sheer impact force, violent tremors, and air-pressure shockwave could not be fully blocked.

With the explosion's roar, Kischur, along with the 140-kilogram Mage's Will, was hurled backward, crashing heavily onto the roof, rolling and crushing a section of the castle's tiles.

What is it like to be hit by an M20 75mm recoilless rifle?

Kischur didn't know how others experienced it.

But he knew his own experience all too well...

Massive hemorrhaging, at least a third of his bones fractured or cracked, several internal organs throbbing with pain. If Kiritsugu Emiya's grenade from the recoilless rifle hadn't been partially stopped by Mage's Will, Kischur might well have been blown into several pieces.

Even so, Kischur was nearly completely combat-ineffective.

Though as a Magus, he could still perform simple actions using the mystical energy of mana, that was the limit of what he could manage.

Staggering up from the shattered rooftop, barely standing with the aid of Mage's Will and mana, Kischur Zelretch tasted defeat once more.

And it was almost identical to his last encounter with Kiritsugu Emiya—the sole difference being that last time, he had survived thanks to ordinary human-made protective gear, while this time, he fell to ordinary human weaponry.

Of course, at such close range, Kiritsugu Emiya, though taking far less damage than Kischur, had no Mage's Will to aid him. Thus, even if he could still move, he was far from comfortable; a piece of shrapnel had nearly torn off his already injured right arm...

But undeniably, Kiritsugu Emiya had won again.

Reaching into his coat with his relatively intact left hand, he drew a custom pistol... the Origin Bullet that Kischur Zelretch had so longed to face again, now aimed squarely at Kischur.

44. 'Father and Son'... King and Subject

Just as the battle between Kischur Zelretch and Kiritsugu Emiya had reached its conclusion.

In a peculiar space filled with gray rock everywhere, under the gaze of countless blood-red eyes.

The battle between Artoria and Mordred had reached its white-hot stage.

Kicking aside the 'Little Boat' charging at her from the side, while gripping her holy sword with both hands to block Mordred's slash, Artoria looked at the nearly frenzied Mordred, a flicker of gloom passing through her eyes.

"Why, Father King, why... no matter what I do, you refuse to acknowledge me, and why do you bind yourself to a fate that was never meant to be yours!"

"There is no why, Mordred."

Though Artoria always carried a sense of guilt toward Mordred, that guilt did not stem from refusing to acknowledge her, nor from her actions causing Mordred disappointment.

Artoria, who had walked this path, never regretted her decisions—she only felt she hadn't done well enough.

The reason Artoria felt guilty toward Mordred was entirely... because of herself.

If she had done better, if she could have prevented her sister from becoming the 'Witch,' if she could have crushed the conspiracies she faced... then Mordred would never have been born, and there would be no Mordred suffering like this now.

Yes, Artoria's guilt toward Mordred could be called pity, or it could be called self-blame.

The gloom in Artoria's eyes was simply because she believed she hadn't done well enough.

As for acknowledging Mordred or changing her stance... for this timeline's Artoria, that was an absolute impossibility.

She was the one chosen by humanity, the near-perfect 'King of Men,' the 'Holy King.'

Having accepted such a fate and acknowledged this path, how could she ever change her stance or deny her own road?

As for accepting Mordred... that was even more impossible. Mordred, born from Morgan's conspiracy, was never a possibility for this timeline's Artoria to accept from the start.

If she accepted her, wouldn't that mean Artoria had compromised with Morgan's scheme!

More seriously, if Mordred were the Prince, the acknowledged heir... then Morgan would have the reason and power to seize the throne from Artoria.

Based on Artoria's understanding of her sister Morgan after inheriting the throne... letting her become king would be a disaster for the entire world.

Thus, for this timeline—or for most timelines—accepting Mordred was nearly an impossible choice for Artoria.

Yet for Mordred, this was absolutely unacceptable.

Her longing, her regret, her ambition, her... love... would never allow her to accept this.

Hating the 'King of Men and his kingdom' yet loving Artoria as a person, Mordred had completely fallen into the distortion of 'hatred.'

Upon hearing Artoria's cold refusal to acknowledge her once more, to take off that hateful and 'yearned-for' crown.

Mordred, grinding her silver teeth to dust, sank utterly into madness.

Red lightning began to surge from Mordred's body, and the great sword in her hands started to swing wildly, disregarding defense entirely, slashing at Artoria like a life-for-life exchange.

At the same time, Mordred's mount, the 'Coffin Lid' Prydwen, stopped attacking Artoria alone.

Instead, it spat out a mass of clear water to slow itself, then swiftly moved beneath Mordred's feet.

Riding a little boat, sailing through the sky full of red thunder.

At this moment, Mordred was like a Demon God...

"Answer me, answer me... Arthur... if you just handed me the throne, none of this would happen, everyone would be happy—why, why won't you accept it! Do you hate me? Hate me for being Morgan's child!"

Dodging the red thunderbolts Mordred slashed out from the air, Artoria felt that Mordred's strength had become abnormally fierce. Relying on her terrifying instinct, she quickly closed in on Mordred.

After carefully confirming the look in Mordred's eyes.

Once again, their Noble Phantasms clashed, and Artoria was sent flying, sword and all, by the immense force Mordred had unleashed.

Facing Artoria, who had lost her balance and was blasted away like a cannonball.

Mordred's face was twisted, and she no longer felt any pity for her father. One red thunderbolt after another quickly gathered into a crimson torrent, crashing toward Artoria.

Even with the highest A-rank Magic Resistance, being struck by this red thunder torrent was far from pleasant for Artoria.

As Artoria, midair, was blown away by the thunder, a clear look of pain flashed across her face.

For an instant, Artoria even felt as if she had been roasted.

But paying such a price, Artoria naturally gained something valuable enough.

Enduring the burning pain on her body, amid Mordred's nearly twisted laughter, Artoria slowly rose from the ground, having just glimpsed something in Mordred's eyes that should not have been there.

Then, without a moment's hesitation, she began to unleash the Noble Phantasm in her hands.

Golden specks, like a swarm of fireflies, rose in this desolate, mysterious space, converging toward the Noble Phantasm in Artoria's hands.

At this moment, framed by countless golden 'Fire Flies,' Artoria looked like the most sacred Valkyrie, too holy to be defiled...

But Mordred felt nothing for this scene. Watching Artoria gather the Light of Victory.

Mordred, like a Demon King, began to gather blood-red thunder as well.

"Hahaha, Arthur... kill you, once I kill you, the throne will still be mine... mine—Go, grant the incompetent king—Cruel Rebellion!"

The blood-red thunder, like divine judgment, was nearly unavoidable... If Artoria's Avalon were still here, perhaps she might have a chance of surviving under this thunder...

But now... Artoria seemed doomed.

Is that really the case?

Artoria, who led Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table to near-unbroken victory... could she truly be so pathetic?

Impossible!

As the crimson lightning was about to strike her, Artoria—who had already finished gathering the magical energy for her Noble Phantasm but had held back until now—suddenly spoke the activation words for another Noble Phantasm.

"O Little Boat of Avalon, bearer of my final peace—guard me as I journey to the beyond!"

45. Silly Paimon

Prydwen, a shield-type Noble Phantasm with the nickname "Coffin Lid." (Surfboard)

In truth, Prydwen itself was a small boat capable of sailing on Avalon Lake, a vessel meant to carry the eternally sleeping King Arthur into Avalon.

Though at age fifteen, out of rebellion, Mordred once stole Prydwen for a time and ran around with it.

In the end, however, this Noble Phantasm returned to Artoria's side.

Therefore, don't be fooled by Prydwen now being the Rider Class Mordred's Noble Phantasm mount.

As long as the connection was reestablished, Artoria could also use this Noble Phantasm!

And as for reestablishing that connection... after so many clashes earlier, Artoria had long since re-linked her own magical energy with Prydwen.

With Artoria once again squeezing out her own magical energy, forcibly driving the activation of a second Noble Phantasm.