Sigurd was naturally a powerful Servant.
Ophelia Phamrsolone had added a considerable amount of extra preparation to her summoning circle to achieve this result—she had actually been quite surprised herself. Given Scandinavia's history, a Heroic Spirit named Sigurd theoretically should not have existed at all—yet she had summoned Sigurd regardless. Through this, she had also confirmed a suspicion that had troubled her for a long time.
But—
Before she could rejoice for long, the hero who had once slain a Dragon spoke up in direct denial.
And—she finally noticed that something was wrong.
Sigurd's eyes—the eyes of that great hero, the king of warriors—were they supposed to be this unsettling?
She tensed up instinctively.
"Ah, I see. So that's how it is."
"Your name is Ophelia Phamrsolone. An interesting name—Phamrsolone."
"Is it taken from a homophone of [Angel] after the Common Era? What a beautiful name, just like your appearance, human woman."
Human woman?
What kind of address was that?
Ophelia felt a dangerously familiar sensation.
"Then serve me as a god."
The being called "Sigurd" looked down upon his Master.
"What—what are you talking about? Sigurd? No, that's not right. You aren't Sigurd. Sigurd could never be someone like this."
Ophelia realized that the one before her was not a dragon-slaying hero at all—even if he wore such an outer shell, what lay within was definitely not Sigurd.
"How heartless, Ophelia."
"Didn't we meet a long time ago?"
"Ah, perhaps it only happened a short while ago for me. It seems things are different for you."
The Servant wielding the demonic sword looked at her teasingly.
"I remember your eyes, your gaze."
"That look you cast at me in the very instant the entire world was about to be pruned—it was truly wonderful."
"Ophelia Phamrsolone."
He slowly uttered his