Chapter Sixty-One: The Trace of the Talisman

The name Rin Tohsaka once again tugged at Roland’s heartstrings. That little girl with whom he’d once had a fleeting encounter should have already moved into the Zenjo household. Although her own nature wasn’t exactly docile, the murderer Ryunosuke Uryu was long gone, and thanks to Tokiomi Tohsaka’s efforts, Fuyuki City still maintained a semblance of peace—at least, the daily lives of its citizens remained untouched. Rin Tohsaka no longer had any reason to act.

A series of clues assembled themselves into a complete puzzle in Roland’s mind: the eighth servant, the destruction of the Matou family, and the compliant seven masters.

Suddenly, his lips twitched.

“Do Enkidu and Gilgamesh really have some sort of linked summoning?”

If it truly was the goddess of Venus, Ishtar, then manifesting through Rin Tohsaka would be the most natural thing of all.

“Unlucky, unlucky… I can’t help but feel the Counter Force is secretly targeting me.”

Roland sighed. The Holy Grail War was already extraordinary this time, and he’d gone to considerable lengths just to keep the situation under control. Yet now, another factor from outside the field had appeared.

“I’ll have to put in some extra effort to deal with this, but fortunately it’s Rin Tohsaka. With her as the vessel, Ishtar’s personality will be much easier to communicate with.”

“Master?”

Seeing Roland lost in contemplation, Medea spoke softly, poking the kneeling Kariya Matou with her staff.

“What should we do with this one?”

“Hmm…” Roland stroked Sakura’s soft hair as he looked at Kariya Matou.

The man’s vitality was already on the verge of exhaustion; with intense combat, he’d likely die within days, and even if left alone, wouldn’t survive a month.

“Kariya Matou, I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“My thoughts? Other than dying, do I have any other choice?”

Kariya Matou struggled to lift his head, once again vomiting a pool of pitch-black insect corpses. The Shadow Ninja showed no mercy to enemies; repairing this body had depleted his life force even further.

“Self-awareness is an admirable virtue. It seems you’ve grown from what you’ve been through.”

Roland smiled gently, crouching to meet Kariya’s gaze.

“Death is your destined end. Yet the manner in which you die, that gives meaning to your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a friend,” Roland paused, “who is in need of a transformation. But just as a carefully plated dish brings more pleasure than mere flavor, I believe that an unexpected betrayal is far less striking than, when faced with despair, seeing hope appear—only for that hope to become a blade rather than salvation.”

Roland’s smile was distant, unconcerned: “I want to know—have you abandoned those hollow dreams and given birth to true murderous intent?”

“You mean… to kill Tokiomi Tohsaka?”

When he spoke that name, Kariya’s voice trembled again. But unlike before, this was not from pain, but from a feverish excitement that shot straight from his nerves to his brain.

“Yes. Cast aside all excuses, live freely just once, so that when you enter the grave you can be at peace.”

“Of course I’m willing!” Roland’s tempting words made Kariya let out a beast’s roar. “But I know my body is ruined. Without a servant, I could never defeat that man!”

“I’m well aware of that. But I’m such a benevolent soul, aren’t I? Consider it repayment for your initial kindness in saving Sakura.”

Roland extended a hand. The remaining flames nearby seemed to answer his call, swirling into his palm. He closed his hand, and the burning streams vanished.

When Roland opened his palm again, only a wisp of dark violet gas, like a flickering flame, floated quietly.

“Though it’s just a remnant of battle’s heat, for you it’s enough. After all, it’s only meant to give you one last power.”

He flicked his finger, and the gas shot into Kariya’s forehead.

The scorching magic and immense life force made Kariya howl in agony; he collapsed, every breath spitting dense black smoke.

He’d lost most of his flesh, yet even the insects composing his body began to squirm restlessly, as if infected by the heat. Charred fragments fell constantly from him; but more insects, writhing ceaselessly, adapted to the transformation. Their sleek black skin sprouted rough scales, and the hands became sharp claws.

If Kariya had been a strange, frail magus before, now he was without a doubt a monster.

“My magic capacity, and my body…”

“Compared to before, it’s worlds apart, right? Fascinating—so this is how familiars are made.”

Roland’s voice held a hint of interest. “It’s only a wisp of battle’s heat, but perhaps because you were near death, the transformation worked better than I expected.”

“If you can master this power and unleash it, you’ll become a raging storm.”

Hearing this, Kariya swallowed unconsciously.

“And if I can’t master it?”

Faced with this obvious question, Roland merely repeated with a smile,

“You’ll become a raging storm.”

“Hah, I truly am foolish… So, may I leave now?”

Kariya laughed at himself.

“Feel free. I’m very curious to see how you will burn.”

“I’ll remember your words, Lord Roland.”

Tucking his clawed, scaled hand into his coat, Kariya Matou left behind a desolate silhouette, departing without a backward glance—even omitting any farewell to Sakura.

“This should delight that flashy bastard, and Kotomine’s side is settled too.”

Roland murmured, when suddenly he felt a tug at his trouser leg.

Looking down, he saw Sakura Matou timidly lowering her head, as if she’d done something wrong.

“I’m sorry, because of Uncle Kariya, I caused trouble for you, Lord Roland…”

“No, you did very well, Sakura. In fact, you helped me quite a bit.”

Roland smiled warmly. Now that he’d acquired Berserker, and the Archer group’s progress was going smoothly, plus he’d obtained intelligence on the eighth servant, it might just be luck, but Sakura had indeed helped him.

“But…” Sakura whispered, “Lord Roland spent all morning making that artifact, but had to stop because of me…”

“That artifact? It’s already finished,” Roland said, taking out the item to comfort her and prevent guilt.

It was an ancient and noble-looking, single-handled, square search device, with a finely carved dragon head at each compass point.

“Only the last step remains—activation.”

Although using his own flesh would yield a better result, since his soul was a divine one and his body truly Roland’s—not possessed, just conceptually swapped—the process had been easier than expected.

“Master? What does this thing do? Judging by its appearance, it looks like a tracking-type mystic code.”

“Indeed. Its purpose is to track the divine power that once belonged to me. Since it has been sealed, my own sensing is much weaker.”

Roland began pouring magical energy into the sigil search device.

“Well, in this world, judging by the descriptions of the contracted spirits, under normal circumstances, it should be impossible…”

He stopped abruptly.

On the square search device, three of the dragon heads’ eyes shone with deep red light.

One beam pointed toward the city, another toward Mount Ryozo, and the third toward Roland himself—the dragon head in this direction was so lit up, its red glow seemed to overflow, dyeing the surroundings crimson.

—This could mean only one thing: at least one sigil was nearby.