"W-What do you want?"
Watching Sigurd barge into the submarine's control room, Goredolf recalled what Leonardo da Vinci had just told him. His face turned pale as he forced himself to gesture for Munier—who had only received a rough bandaging to stop the bleeding from his head—to escape through the emergency exit.
"Choosing to compromise when your life is in danger? Not a bad choice."
Sigurd did not seem surprised that the man before him had made that choice.
He was well aware of what surrounded his body. The fact that this man could stand before him without dropping to his knees or wetting himself was already proof of considerable courage.
"How did you avoid getting lost in that world, and how are you able to surface here?"
"Hand that thing over."
"I have no particular interest in killing weaklings, so—understand?"
So his target was Paper Moon.
That thing was practically one of Chaldea's lifelines. Without Paper Moon, it would be impossible for Chaldea to find its bearings or measure distances within Imaginary Space.
If they handed it over, Chaldea would be trapped to death in the Scandinavian Lostbelt.
But... but.
Munier had already gone up to the deck through the emergency passage. The bleeding in his head had only just stopped, and the dizziness had not faded.
Goredolf swallowed.
All right, he admitted it—Fujimaru Ritsuka was indeed an exceptionally capable Master. Supposedly, he could command a double-digit number of Servants in battle simultaneously, and direct them with great precision. Such a thing had never been heard of even in the Clock Tower's records, but the problem was—
There were no Servants left for Fujimaru Ritsuka to command.
That monster who had seemed to be on their side had vanished somewhere. He could no longer hear its distinctive roar.
Mash