Chapter 52: The Tohsaka Family Drops the Ball Again

Before the figure of the newcomer had even appeared, a ferocious, almost grotesque smile of excitement twisted Gilgamesh’s face. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, a rain of Noble Phantasms—enough to obliterate this entire harbor district—soared into the shadows. Yet rising to meet that onslaught was a golden rain of light, just as numerous, just as awe-inspiring. Shockwaves erupted in concentric rings, blossoming in the air like flowers, their thunderous aftershocks unceasing as rolling storms.

In the face of such a spectacle, even the Rider, who truly commanded the chariot of thunder, seemed diminished, forced to the ground. Setting aside past grievances, he moved to the side of the dumbfounded Kenneth, his voice grave as he issued instructions.

“Master, under this assault, protecting you is far more difficult than clashing with this Golden King. It seems he was hiding much of his strength before. If they come to blows, I’ll prioritize getting you and the little one out of here.”

This was not a negotiation, but a command. For Kenneth, being ordered around by his own Servant was intolerable, but the circumstances left him no room to argue; he could only scowl in silence.

Saber gripped his holy sword tightly. If the battle remained one-on-one, he could barely manage, but whatever happened, he would protect his Master. Yet Gilgamesh, in his wild bombardment, cared nothing for the thoughts of those around him. He knew well—this was not even a warm-up, merely the prelude.

It was the greeting of long-separated friends, a reunion after ages apart. This kind of battle, this kind of contest, belonged to him and Enkidu alone—a physical pact between them, tangible and undeniable.

“Well, Gil—it’s been a long time, hasn't it?”

At last, Lancer revealed himself. Like Gilgamesh, he disregarded the other Servants, fixing his gaze solely upon the Archer.

After four thousand years apart, Gilgamesh’s grin only widened. He did not reply with words, but with action. In an instant, the golden ripples multiplied by the thousands, spreading and surging, banishing the night from the harbor and replacing it with a dazzling golden sky.

Even the distant New City could glimpse this radiance. Up close, it was as if one stood beneath a sky full of stars. Among these innumerable, resplendent stars, rare and legendary weapons emerged—spears of certain death, swords that slew dragons, each just one of many. Faced with this overwhelming array, Lancer’s expression held not a trace of fear.

The earth beneath his feet became his senses, lending him strength, responding to his will, and beginning to forge. Noble Phantasms no less mighty than those in the Archer King’s treasury were shaped by the land itself. Around Enkidu, weapons shining with the light of legend burst from the ground, gazing at the stars in the sky above as if in silent challenge.

Before their eyes could meet, the next round of battle began.

Meteoric swords and lances tore the sound barrier as they hurtled towards Enkidu, but he merely looked up at the now-levitating Gilgamesh and commanded the earth to roar.

As if choreographed, every Noble Phantasm met its match, clashing in pairs with unerring accuracy. Many shattered outright, the air filled with explosions and the wailing of sundered metal. Gilgamesh’s excitement only grew, his attacks coming faster and faster, but each time he raised the tempo, Enkidu followed seamlessly.

By the time the blaze of explosions had roused most of the distant residents, Gilgamesh finally paused.

“Hahahaha—!”

His laughter was triumphant. “Now I am satisfied. Though your appearance stirs nostalgia, you are no mere youth. To greet me here, have you finally changed your perspective on life?”

Lancer answered with a humble tone. “I have not changed, nor am I fit to judge the value of life. As a tool, my actions are dictated by my Master.”

“Still saying such things? Even if you regret it, it’s too late!” Gilgamesh soared higher. “I’m not nearly finished!”

Beside him, a new ripple appeared—not a weapon this time, but a golden key. At the sight, Lancer frowned.

“Gil, if it’s a true fight you want, choose another place.”

But Gilgamesh gripped the golden key, paying no heed to Enkidu’s words.

Someone else heard, however.

“Ugh—!” Kneeling on one knee, Tohsaka Tokiomi braced himself against a table, his ashen face beaded with sweat. He strove to maintain an air of dignity, but under the Heroic King’s overwhelming output, his circuits—ordinary by magus standards—were near their limits. Only by tapping into the magical gems he’d prepared in advance could he endure, and even then, not for long.

He could feel his magic circuits screaming in protest, nearly exhausted. Yet more than the pain, he worried about the battle itself. Such conspicuous clamor violated every necessity of secrecy; as the city’s overseer, the Tohsaka family would have to clean up the aftermath, an ordeal sure to drain his energy.

If only there were gains to show for it. Yet here, with three-on-one odds, Archer was entangled by Lancer, and two other Servants hovered nearby, their Noble Phantasms yet unreleased, waiting like predators.

Despite this, Archer continued to expose his treasury, even considering unveiling his trump card.

“This is bad, very bad…”

Though he had high expectations for Archer’s prowess, Tokiomi, who had not gone to the battlefield himself, made a decision from the perspective of an outsider, unwilling to let the Tohsaka family’s ambitions end here.

“By command spell—Heroic King, return to me at once!”

With the power to even achieve spatial transfer, the command spell’s effect left Archer no choice but to express his murderous displeasure.

“Tokiomi—!!!”

The next moment, Archer vanished from the scene, leaving several bewildered pairs behind.

Watching from atop a high-rise, Roland couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity.

“To still try and keep secrets in a moment like this—clearly, Tokiomi doesn’t understand the Heroic King’s strength. Just as I expected.”

“You’re right again,” Caster replied, surprised. “This was the perfect chance to settle things. Yes, it would expose some secrets, but it was also an opportunity to eliminate the competition. What is that Master thinking?”

“He doesn’t trust his Servant,” Roland pointed out. “Though he acts humble, Tokiomi is a traditional magus. His attitude toward Servants is probably the same as Kenneth’s.”

A note of anticipation colored his words. “But this time, it wasn’t just any battle interrupted—it was a reunion between old friends. Such fury won’t fade easily. I doubt it will be long before this pair turns against each other.”

The thought made Roland chuckle. As the city’s overseer, the Tohsaka family had always been the most reliable of the three founding houses—tactically prudent, wise in their choice of Heroic Spirits.

Yet no matter how strong their hand, misfortune always struck when the cards were in Tohsaka’s grip, as though a curse ran in their blood.

“When it comes to failing at the critical moment, the Tohsaka family never disappoints.”

Cradling his chin, Roland turned to look behind him.

“What do you think, Kirei?”

Across the rooftop stood the priest in his black cassock, his expression grave and complex as he regarded Roland, his gaze flickering between Caster and the unmistakable Command Spells on Roland’s uncovered hand.

—There, clear for all to see, was the mark of a Master.