Chapter Eighty-six: My Heart and Deeds Are Clear as a Bright Mirror

“Holy Sword Bearer, how are you feeling now? I’d say I just saved your life, wouldn’t you agree? Is this really the expression you show your savior? Or do you place me on the same level as Gilgamesh?”

In terms of disagreeableness, the two of you are practically two sides of the same coin.

That was his true thought, yet as a Saber who had already changed Masters twice, he hardly felt qualified to judge others. The reasons for switching Masters were, of course, completely different, but compared to that swordsman from the East, the King of Knights still found himself a little unsettled.

But he could not refuse his Master’s orders, and besides, Roland had indeed saved him. As a knight, failing to fulfill his duty of protection and instead being protected himself was a curious experience. Saber rose to his feet and offered Roland a solemn bow.

Roland, however, appeared almost uncomfortable with such formality. “I guessed you’d won, but judging by Lancelot’s state before his death, it seems the loser was more at ease than the victor.”

“Because Sir Lancelot… is far more suited to this than I am. He could always find a reason to wield his sword, while I… I don’t even know what I should do.”

Saber’s face was clouded with pent-up frustration, even tinged with a hint of despair.

“But haven’t you done wonderfully? The perfect king without personal desires—precisely for that reason, perhaps, Lancelot is tormented by regret over his past decisions.”

“But that alone isn’t enough. It only looks as though I tried to make amends, but in truth, I accomplished nothing. Sir Lancelot asked me to realize what I truly fight for—what does that even mean?”

“It’s a simple matter of literal meaning,” Roland shrugged. “Sometimes, you perfectionists are prone to overthinking. Put aside your current ideals for a moment—back when you were still alive, before your death, what did you fight for?”

“Fairness and justice.”

In any situation, under any guise, King Arthur was always able to discern right from wrong. That was one reason he was hailed as the Ideal King. Just as he once refused Mordred the throne—not out of prejudice, but because the latter lacked the necessary qualities of an heir. He never wasted time explaining himself, though, which only bred discord among those around him.

Saber looked to Roland, seeking his judgment of this answer.

Roland nodded without hesitation. “As expected of my Servant—your answer is exactly the same as mine. I, too, fight for justice.”

“Oh… ah?”

The Old Sword’s perpetually stoic face cracked for once. Roland, fighting for justice? Even after only a few encounters, Saber could sense that Roland was always scheming something. Yet, so far, Roland had committed no true evil—even orchestrating the fight with Lancelot had stemmed from Lancelot’s own will. That was why Saber could accept him as Master.

“No wonder you don’t believe me. After all, I’m not the sort of ally of justice in the broadest sense. The justice I fight for is so small, it only ever covers myself.”

Saber fell into contemplation, and after a long silence, finally spoke: “Such personal justice—I do not understand it, but I accept its existence. Still, with that alone, you cannot protect Britain. It cannot reach the people.”

“And why not?” Roland cocked his head, puzzled. “If I spread my justice to the whole world, then my justice becomes the world’s justice, does it not?”

“After all, humanity is like a flock of doves—one flies right, and the rest will follow. All you need to do is stand on their heads and strike a pose; you can guide the direction of their flight.”

“I cannot accept such rule. It flies in the face of the people’s will. Even if you succeed, how can you be sure your actions are truly just?”

Saber’s voice had grown angry. Such a tyrant was the very thing he despised. The concept of the Knights of the Round Table was founded on equality from the very beginning.

But Roland only sneered, flashing his ivory teeth and answering as if it were the most self-evident thing in the world.

“My heart and deeds are clear as a polished mirror; all that I do is righteous!”

Such pure and extreme idealism left Saber speechless, mouth agape, unable even to retort. Even knowing this was extreme sophistry, he couldn’t find the words to refute it.

But Roland pressed on, taking full advantage of the moment. “Isn’t this precisely what you’re doing now?”

“Master!”

Saber lifted his head and fixed Roland with a grave look. Though this was their first proper interaction, Saber was already keenly aware that Roland was the type he was least equipped to handle, and he wished to avoid conflict.

Yet this subject had truly angered him.

“What, did I say something wrong?” Roland’s gaze remained as playful as ever, as if he hadn’t noticed Saber’s expression.

“You wish only to save your country, and in doing so, you have fulfilled your kingly justice. But does the life that survives and thrives from such suffering weigh less than those you wish to protect within your homeland?”

In this respect, Saber and Kiritsugu were surprisingly compatible. Although their obsessions manifested differently, in essence, they were not so different.

Extreme selflessness is, at its core, a form of selfishness. When lives are measured by value and numbers, it’s all too easy to fall into extremism.

“I… I… must save Britain.”

Saber was at a loss, his words vague and uncertain. Roland’s statement had struck directly at the core of his pain.

“So that’s your dream?” Roland refused to let up. “You weren’t born a king. If you had this resolve before drawing the sword from the stone, then I’d have nothing more to say. But if not, you need to consider—was protecting Britain your goal, or merely the means to fulfill your dream?”

Hearing these cutting words, Saber forced a wry smile onto his pensive and troubled face.

He fell silent, recalling memories untouched for a long time.

Before pulling that sword, Merlin had told him of Britain’s end and fate, yet still he had chosen to accept that destiny without hesitation.

His answer at the time had been:

“There are many who smile. I believe that cannot be wrong.”

He had no dream of his own, but at least, he could protect the dreams of others.

That simple reason was what drove Saber onward.

“I wish to protect their smiles, to safeguard the hope that still remains.”

“Then do so. Compared to the past or future, being able to protect the smiles of the present is already a remarkable feat.”

Roland nodded, seemingly nonchalant, extending a hand to clap Saber’s shoulder. “I am not a paragon of goodness, nor can I promise where my path will lead. But at the very least, in this Holy Grail War, I can assure you—I stand for justice.”

Compared to a true embodiment of evil, Roland—who only wanted to regain his physical form and recover his Command Spells—was almost benevolent. The fundamental reason he could accept Old Saber was because their goals did not fundamentally conflict.

Seeing Roland’s clarity, his ability to see through to the essence of things and guide others without hesitation, Saber could not help but speak from the heart.

“Master, you are truly formidable.”

—

Several hours earlier, deep beneath the Tohsaka estate, far from the battlefield, Tokiomi Tohsaka heaved a deep sigh.

Ever since last time, he hadn’t the faintest idea where Archer intended to wander. That Servant now treated him as if he were invisible.

Even respectfully offering advice only earned him a scolding. Among all Master-Servant relationships, his was likely the worst of all.

Still, Tokiomi did not regret the use of that Command Spell. The King of Heroes was the most powerful Heroic Spirit; in this, he remained certain. Aside from an excessively arrogant personality, Archer was nigh flawless. In theory, he could have done nothing and still awaited victory in the Holy Grail War.

But Tokiomi could not accept such a hands-off approach. He needed a measure of control over his Servant. Fortunately, while Archer hardly obeyed, his apprentice Kirei remained as loyal as ever.

With his Assassin, he could always receive battle reports immediately and dispatch familiars to monitor the battlefield as needed.

“Master.”

A familiar voice came from outside the door—Kirei Kotomine entered, beginning his report.

“According to Assassin’s information, Archer seems to have gone to the Einzbern estate. In the forest, Berserker and Saber appear to be clashing.”

“If all goes well, perhaps we’ll eliminate a rival today.” Tokiomi allowed himself a leisurely smile, turning to regard the magical furnace behind him, already whirring with energy.

“This battle couldn’t come at a better time. The magical furnace is complete at last; after such a rousing fight, Archer’s anger should be considerably appeased.”

“To this day, I’ve yet to earn merit for you, Master. I am ashamed.” Kirei bowed his head deeply, but Tokiomi only waved it off.

“All the Masters this time are veterans—being wary of Assassin is perfectly normal. This is not your fault.”

He stood, retrieving a long black box from the table.

“The past days have been hectic, and I hadn’t time to prepare your graduation gift. I hope it’s not too late.”

With a smile, Tokiomi handed him the box. Kirei opened it to reveal a short sword.

Kirei recognized it at once—Mercury Blade, a finely crafted magical implement. The jewel in its hilt was exquisitely set; both price and utility were most respectable.

“Master, such generosity…”

Before Kirei could finish, a flash of dark red light shot through the room.

It was the sign that a magical barrier had been triggered. Tokiomi rose swiftly, turning his gaze to the outer wards. Swarms of black insects rampaged everywhere.

“Matou family’s insect sorcery? Hmph. Knowing Archer is away, you thought to barge in and settle things, did you?”

Even facing imminent danger, Tokiomi maintained composure, quickly producing his favored staff.

Thinking of the Matou Master, he grew more relaxed still. Kariya Matou was a mere dabbler, someone who’d abandoned the mage’s path halfway—a man barely worth caution.

Moreover, Kirei was by his side. His once-brilliant apprentice, who had excelled as an Executor, was a specialist in dealing with mages.

“Kirei, wait here a moment. Your alliance with me has not yet been exposed. There’s no need to act rashly; simply wait.”

With a calm assessment of the situation, Tokiomi descended to meet the invader.

“The key to the magical furnace is on the desk. If it lights up, that means Archer is burning through mana—do me the favor of activating it, so I won’t be distracted in battle.”

Noticing his Master’s decisiveness, Kirei’s voice grew subtly anxious.

“Master…”

Sensing this, Tokiomi was only more reassured. Despite only two years’ experience, Kirei was, without doubt, someone he could trust.

“There’s nothing to fear now, Kirei,” Tokiomi said confidently as he headed downstairs, not looking back. “The winds of victory are at my back—wait here for good news.”

Tokiomi strode through his garden as if it were not a battlefield fraught with peril.

Kirei watched his Master’s resolute figure retreat, reaching out to gently caress the blade of the Mercury Sword, offering up a heartfelt prayer.

“Master… just don’t die on me now.”

Unperturbed, Tokiomi walked through his garden, ignoring the swarming insects, heading straight for the figure shrouded in a black cloak.

Even on a battlefield seething with danger, Tokiomi maintained his usual grace.

“Kariya Matou, I suppose I must commend you. For a self-taught amateur, you certainly have courage, to march so boldly against the Tohsaka workshop. I can’t tell if you’re a fool or merely fearless.”

Kariya gave no reply, simply waving his hand to command the black mass of insects to surround Tokiomi, their hatred palpable. Tokiomi only frowned, raising his ceremonial staff.

Without hesitation, he activated a defensive array. From the large ruby at the staff’s tip, the intricate family crest unfurled in shining patterns, and Tokiomi began his chant with methodical precision.

“Grant my foe a fierce cremation!”

Scarlet serpents of flame slithered from the array, swiftly engulfing the insects. Tokiomi could already see the outcome: the fire would consume the familiars, Kariya would hurl his last swarm in a desperate gambit, and then Tokiomi would mete out the final punishment.

Yet things unfolded quite differently. Not only did the insects fail to burn, but they absorbed the flames, devouring them like locusts until not a spark remained, their bodies glowing hot as they charged at him with suicidal ferocity!

The sight left Tokiomi aghast. This defied all logic—while the Matou could breed fire-resistant insects, to make them utterly immune to flame was another matter entirely.

Moreover, these weren’t merely immune; the fire he unleashed seemed to nourish them.

Utterly bizarre!

He had just begun to cast a new defensive spell when the swarm, instead of biting, landed atop his barrier and began to swell, eventually bursting into a cascade of dazzling fire!

Tokiomi abandoned all pretense of elegance, rolling across the ground and tossing a mana-infused gem to shield himself, barely surviving the assault.

“Are you really Kariya Matou?” Tokiomi’s tone turned grave, disbelief in his eyes.

The cloaked figure responded with actions, tossing aside the ragged cloak to reveal skin of green scales, monstrous claws, and a twisted, terrifying face—all laid bare before the astonished Tokiomi. With a chilling familiarity, he greeted him.

“Well, Tokiomi, I’ve come back from hell.”

16000/16000. The fat bird is spent; updates will be tallied after tomorrow’s results...

(End of Chapter)