Chapter Eighty-Two: The Rules of Victory Have Already Been Decided

After obtaining the soul of the Holy Lord, Killer Queen fell into a state akin to deep slumber. Though Roland could still summon her for use, his Stand now always seemed to carry the weary sensation of being dragged from bed in the middle of the night, so he often let her remain asleep most of the time.

Moreover, from another perspective, Roland's need for Killer Queen had greatly diminished. As the soul of the Holy Lord, a red contract spirit, she could fulfill most of his requirements, creating a rather peculiar situation.

In many cases, Roland’s physical body was stronger than his Stand.

Despite the Stand's transformation and ascension thanks to the Holy Lord’s soul, shedding its original glass cannon nature, it remained, in essence, a half-body manifestation of Roland’s soul.

Unless absolutely necessary, pulling out the Stand for battle would only create an unnecessary vulnerability, since any injury inflicted on the Stand would return fully to Roland himself.

However, this did not mean Roland had no expectations for Killer Queen.

This power, which reaches into the realm of rules, is the key to heaven, the seed of a new world.

And now, its shape had already begun to take form.

“How astonishing,” Gilgamesh cast a nakedly hostile gaze at Roland. “Though you’re but another arrogant mouse, among the Masters, you certainly possess above-average courage.”

Unlike before, Gilgamesh’s eyes, usually filled with derision, now glinted with a sinister light.

Even in the Holy Grail War—a battle that gathered heroes of antiquity—other Servants would marvel at his strength, moved by his overwhelming power.

Such awe, fear, and wariness were the finest wine for Gilgamesh. As the primordial king, he was meant to be the center of attention, the one gazed up to in reverence.

In any environment, at any era, those who defied this rule would meet his ruthless punishment.

But today, he had suffered two consecutive setbacks. The pallid, dazed Swordbearer whose worldview had been shattered was one thing—Gilgamesh could overlook that, seeing the other as a jester and feeling no need to rush his execution, finding more amusement in prolonging it.

Before his greatest rival prepared for the true final battle, he needed some entertainment to pass the time. But that did not mean just anyone could challenge his dignity.

“To step forward even in such circumstances—your bravery is worthy of praise, but that’s all it is. If you’d obediently stayed out of sight, perhaps you’d have been happier. Do you think contracting Saber changes anything? When he’s reduced to a mere performer in the stands?”

Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes flashed with icy resolve, issuing an irrefutable decree.

Indeed, Saber’s current state was poor. Lancelot’s strike hadn’t landed directly on the old sword, but even the compressed, flowing sword-light that merely grazed Saber’s body shattered his silver armor, leaving a bloody gash from shoulder to waist.

Yet more troubling than his physical wounds was his mental state. Even Roland, who hadn’t interacted much with Saber, could clearly see the turmoil on his face—the pain of having his ideals denied by someone like Lancelot, and of killing the man due to his mercy.

For the king of knights who still held justice in his heart, only he could truly understand such agony.

Seeing Saber in this state, Gilgamesh delivered his judgment with lofty disdain.

“Your Servant is now weak beyond measure. In modern terms, it’s like catching a high fly ball above the pitcher’s mound—he would struggle even to touch me. In such decline, do you think he stands a chance against me?”

“You seem to have misunderstood something, King of Heroes. Who said I needed Saber’s power? Some things are only meaningful when done with your own hands—having others do it for you takes all the fun away.”

Roland turned, glancing at the source of the voice above, his eyes saturated with an unyielding crimson.

“—For example, smashing your detestable face.”

“As last words, they’re certainly unique,” Gilgamesh’s expression twisted with anger. “Even killing a worthless ruffian like you would dirty my hands, but since you’re arrogant enough to challenge a king’s dignity, you must pay with your life. That is the law I have set for myself.”

Faced with the King of Heroes’ threat of death, Saber, though still lost in confusion and lacking his own answers, instinctively raised his sword, ready to defend his new Master.

But Roland stopped him with a single look.

“I appreciate your loyalty, but rather than worrying about me, it’s better to head to the castle and protect Irisviel.”

“I cannot leave you to face Archer alone…”

“Then stand aside and watch. If you can’t even do that, I will truly be angry.”

Saber’s expression darkened, but in the end, he withdrew several dozen meters, refraining from interfering in the battle.

Roland’s indifference to Gilgamesh’s threat only deepened Gilgamesh’s rage.

Gilgamesh stared at Roland, his eyes growing ever more cruel.

Yet, being ignored twice, he knew that speaking further would only make him seem foolish, so he merely snorted coldly, causing a strange pressure to ripple from the void behind him.

Golden ripples slowly spread in the air, but only one appeared.

To use multiple Noble Phantasms against a mere magician would be an insult to himself. Yet, given his earlier harsh words, the new ripple produced a strange spear—the archetype of the infallible magic spear.

The moment Roland was targeted by that spear, his instincts screamed a warning. The oppressive sense of inescapability wrapped around him.

“It’s over.” Gilgamesh lifted his chin arrogantly. With his proclamation, the magic spear shot forth like an arrow loosed from the string, aimed straight at Roland’s heart.

Even for him now, this strike carried real danger, but it was not terrifying.

With fire, with air magic, or simply with his own strength, Roland could block it.

The only question was whether to trust the now dormant Killer Queen. Ignoring the threat, Roland focused on the sensation of that power. Each time his consciousness drew closer to the Stand, his mind pulsed with a fierce sense of purpose.

A sense that he could change everything, seize ultimate authority.

The problem was whether he would attempt to grasp a power he did not yet understand, risk allowing disaster, and commit a supremely foolish act—a humiliation to his own wisdom.

In that moment when all things seemed to halt, Roland abandoned resistance, turning to Killer Queen at his side.

Though her form had changed greatly, Killer Queen remained calm, meeting Roland’s gaze and tilting her head slightly.

“This is… my other half,” Roland said, smiling joyfully as he embraced his Stand once again.

In the blink of an eye, the sonic boom, the ringing of the infallible magic spear, all abruptly ceased.

Upon the battlefield, only Roland’s steady and absolute declaration remained.

“The law of victory is already set—Killer Queen!”

(End of chapter)