Chapter Forty-One: Traces of the Demonic Fire Aura

At the airport closest to Fuyuki City, Roland walked alongside Medea. Roland drew little attention, but Medea still wore her purple robe, the creamy sheen of her long, shapely legs flashing with each step—an outfit so striking that it should have caused a stir. Yet, no one seemed to notice. With nothing but a simple barrier to cloud perception, the two strolled boldly into the airport and settled onto the waiting lounge’s soft chairs. In this regard, a caster’s advantage far outstripped that of any other heroic spirit.

“Master, is it really wise to watch over the vessel of the Holy Grail so openly? Didn’t you just kill their intended Master?” Medea asked as soon as they were seated, resting her chin on her hand and tilting her head toward Roland. Her long, fair legs crossed elegantly.

“That’s precisely why I need to have a look. After all, heroic spirits can shift into spiritual form. If that so-called Saber never materializes physically, things will become troublesome for me,” Roland replied, gazing out the window. A passenger plane was slowly landing on the runway, and from its doors emerged the woman he had been waiting for.

Her features were flawless, her crimson eyes dazzling, and her lustrous hair cascaded gracefully down her back. Her ample chest was wrapped in a coat of silver fox fur, and her long legs were encased in knee-high boots, outlining a figure of both slenderness and allure.

Irisviel—a beauty so ethereal it could hardly belong to a human—her appearance alone gave away her identity. Behind her, another tall figure descended. He wore a black coat, beneath which was a navy shirt. His face bore a gentle, sunlit smile, as if he were a prince straight out of a fairy tale.

“Tch. Handsome types like that always give off an air of frivolity and indecisiveness…” Medea muttered, passing judgment on Saber with evident bias. “But I can sense it—his magic is deep and powerful. That’s something only Saber could possess. Master, it seems everything is as you expected. The Einzbern Master is still King Arthur.”

She turned her head and caught the look of surprise on Roland’s face.

“How could it be King Arthur?” he murmured.

Medea was taken aback. Wasn’t it Roland himself who, just yesterday, had insisted on confirming whether Saber was King Arthur? The answer was clearly correct—why was he dissatisfied?

“Don’t tell me this fellow is using some sort of disguise Noble Phantasm?” she ventured.

“No, this is indeed King Arthur. The question is, why is King Arthur a man?” Roland frowned and heaved a faint sigh.

It was just as well he came to see for himself today. He hadn’t expected that, with the Holy Lord possessing Avalon, the summoning would produce the original Saber—King Arthur, known as the Old Sword.

In terms of combat ability, the Old Sword, supported by a male body, might well have greater endurance than Artoria. Their fighting styles were fundamentally similar, but when it came to Noble Phantasms, the distinction was vast. Though both wielded divine weapons forged in the Inner Sea of the Stars, the sword in Saber’s hands had its power capped, while the one in the Old Sword’s grasp was merely bound by a scabbard with a release condition.

To heroic spirits truly in the know, Saber’s title as the Star’s Holy Swordbearer shone far brighter than that of King Arthur. Once the restraints on that holy sword were undone, it could cut down Ultimate Ones above and scour Human Evils below—a testament to its overwhelming strength.

Moreover, in Roland’s memory, the Old Sword was inherently destined to be a tool for saving the world, blessed with unique abilities like Beast Slayer. Looking at this Holy Grail War, the only ones who fit the bill as evil, powerful, scheming, and possessing a beast’s nature were the Absolute Evil sealed within the Grail…and perhaps Roland himself.

“So, Master, should we leave?” Medea asked.

“No…” Roland began to agree but then changed his mind, his pupils suddenly ignited with a crimson blaze. “I think I’ve discovered something interesting.”

He instinctively flooded his eyes with magical energy to sharpen his vision. Yet this time, instead of focusing on the ever-dangerous Holy Swordbearer, he turned his gaze to Irisviel, the Master.

“Why does the Einzbern Master bear traces of fire magic?” he mused. It was faint—just a wisp—but as a demon of fire, Roland was uniquely qualified to detect it.

Medea, hearing his words, focused intently on Irisviel as well, but eventually shook her head. “Beyond confirming that she’s the vessel for this Grail, I found nothing else.”

“That’s not your fault,” Roland said, rising to his feet. “My fire merely lingered on her for a while; it never truly merged with her. How curious. There’s no air magic here—how did the Einzberns fully extract that fire energy from her? If I hadn’t come in person, I’d never have noticed it.”

Roland had never figured out why the Holy Lord’s soul had attached itself to Avalon. By rights, the Grail, overflowing with magical energy, should have been its first choice. For the soul to switch hosts, something must have happened.

As for the Einzberns—a family hopeless in battle but world-class in scheming—Roland saw no reason not to suspect them of the worst.

“Let’s go, Caster. Let’s see what mischief the previous generation of Einzbern has wrought.”

—

“Don’t worry, Irisviel. Your daughter is a sensible child. Arriving half a day early is nothing to fret about,” Old Sword said gently as they left the airport. Noticing Irisviel’s curiosity as her gaze wandered over the array of dazzling shops, he tried to cheer her up.

“This is your first time outside the castle. You should see more of this beautiful world.”

“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” Irisviel replied, biting her lip. “It’s also her first time leaving Einzbern. She’s so young, yet already must play the role of candidate. Couldn’t Grandfather have spared her those last few years?”

“I’m sure she has inherited your resilience. She agreed so readily because she trusts you’ll protect her.”

“That’s right. I must protect her,” Irisviel said, taking a deep breath and pushing down her anxiety. “Sorry, Saber, for making you worry. Since it’s still early, shall we go for a stroll? The world is very different now from your time, you know.”

Though it was mere small talk to shift the subject, Old Sword didn’t see it that way.

“I am quite curious about that shop,” he said, pointing to a restaurant with BBQ on its sign. “What does that word mean? It looks like a place to eat…”

Irisviel’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “True enough. We rushed to catch our flight today, so you didn’t get a proper meal. You always have a big appetite—was breakfast really not enough?”

“It was just right. As a knight, I need to eat well to maintain my strength in battle.”

“In that case, let’s go. BBQ means grilled meat—a specialty with generous portions. I think it’ll suit your tastes perfectly.”

“Really?” Saber’s eyes lit up, his genuine expression making Irisviel smile all the more.

“Come to think of it, my daughter hasn’t tried it either. If you like it, perhaps we’ll all go for barbecue tonight.”

She turned, walking backward while watching Saber, and with a sidelong glance at the end of the shop windows, she realized she was near the corner and hurried to turn around.

Even so, she collided headlong with a passerby at the corner.

“Irisviel!” Saber called in alarm.

“I’m fine, Saber…” she replied, instinctively touching her head and quickly apologizing, “I’m sorry, I bumped into you…”

“It’s alright,” the stranger said kindly, offering her a hand. “Are you hurt?”

Irisviel took his hand without thinking, using it to steady herself. But as she prepared to apologize further to the gentle-looking young man, her words caught in her throat.

For reflected in the bright shop window beside him was not a human face, but a fearsome dragon’s head—the very same she had seen on Avalon.