Chapter 482: [482] The Disgrace of One Who Prays for Salvation
The crimson shroud fluttered in the wind, draped over priestly vestments with red stoles and a mantle. A brown-skinned priest with white cropped hair lowered his gaze, quietly praying toward the empty hands held aloft by the Black Faction’s Servants.
"Return to dust. Those who flee in defeat, those weakened by age—I summon you, surrender yourselves to me, learn from me, and pledge loyalty to me. I grant you rest. Do not forget to sing praises, do not forget to pray, do not forget my name. My body is light, and I shall free you from the heavy suffering of all things."
"—May the Lord have mercy on this sorrowful soul."
When Jeanne d’Arc, after overcoming countless hardships—breaking through the Empress’s corridors, labyrinths, traps, thunderous flames, and ferocious beasts—finally stepped into the chapel, what she witnessed was a boy bathed in holy light, radiating the benevolence of a saint.
The moment she saw him, the Ruler received a revelation.
"...How... could this be?"
Precisely because she grasped the truth, she couldn’t help but gasp. It was absurd. Impossible. The boy before her was—
A Servant.
No, even that could be overlooked. A Master being a Servant, while defying the rules, was at least a plausible occurrence (Sakatsuki: ?).
But the real issue lay in his class. Not Saber, not Archer, not Lancer, not Rider, neither Berserker nor Caster, nor Assassin—he did not belong to any of the seven standard classes.
"Pleased to meet you, Ruler of this era."
"A former... Ruler?!"
Even the normally composed Chiron struggled to conceal his shock. Meanwhile, the Black Faction’s other leader, Darnic, who had somehow followed his Servants and arrived at the chapel, stared wide-eyed at the familiar boy before him.
Though he had forgotten much in the ritual of consuming souls to prolong his life, there was one memory Darnic could never erase: the Third Holy Grail War, where he had staked his life as a magi—the battle that marked the beginning of everything. He could never forget it.
And precisely because of that, he was stunned.
"How...? This... this can’t be..."
Fragments of the past flashed through his mind—the Far Eastern saintly boy, irregularly summoned by the Einzberns, now stepping out from the depths of memory, speaking to him with the same gentle smile unchanged for sixty years:
"My, what an utterly ordinary line from you, Darnic. If you’re still alive, then my survival shouldn’t be all that surprising, no?"
"No... impossible! This can’t be happening! Why?! Why are you here?! Why are you still alive...!?"
The boy shrugged, his tone light and carefree.
"—Because I’m participating in this Holy Grail War, of course. As a Master of the Red Faction."
To Darnic, those words were absolutely unacceptable. Ignoring the speechless man, the boy continued, raising his voice in proclamation:
"I’ve been waiting for this moment, Darnic! The Holy Grail of Fuyuki belongs to me! You magi—who only know how to lead the world to ruin—how could I possibly hand this Grail over to you?!"
Hearing these words, the chains of fear binding him shattered, and Darnic’s expression twisted into something monstrous in an instant.
"...Enough of your nonsense!!"
Enraged, Darnic stepped forward to accelerate—only to collapse awkwardly onto the ground.
"Guh!?"
A searing pain belatedly shot through his chest. When Darnic looked down, he saw the sharp blade of a gun barrel piercing his heart. The sound of a bullet being chambered traveled through his bones and flesh, accompanied by Sakatsuki’s whisper.
"To come here without the protection of your Servant... should I call you brave or just foolish?"
Bang!
There was no need to ponder what adjective suited a corpse. Before anyone could intervene, Sakatsuki pulled the trigger, cleanly ending Darnic’s life. He then flung the corpse aside and leisurely stepped back.
Behind him, Achilles, Atalanta, and Karna—their faces dark—fixed undisguised hostility upon the young priest who had once commanded them:
"Master of Assassin... was it you? The one who killed our Masters?"
Though their bodies had already begun to slowly fade, Achilles still pointed his spear forward, his voice dripping with open hostility.
As first-rate and top-tier Servants, there was only one reason they would suddenly lose their power—their Masters.
Only the death of their Masters would cause them to exhibit symptoms of fading!
Tracing back through their contracts, they saw their Masters lying lifeless in their rooms. As a result, Shirou Amakusa Tokisada and the Empress, who were in actual control of the Hanging Gardens, became the prime suspects in the eyes of the three.
Not just him—Atalanta already had her arrow nocked, and even Karna’s expression was grave as he aimed his god-slaying spear at Amakusa.
The murderous intent of the three heroes was as sharp as blades, yet Amakusa remained unfazed, though his smile carried a hint of bitterness.
"This has nothing to do with me... While it’s true I imprisoned your Masters, I swear upon my True Name that I never once intended to kill them."
"Just because you didn’t, doesn’t mean Assassin didn’t, Amakusa."
His voice clear, Sakatsuki toyed with his bloodstained pistol, ignoring the Black Faction Servants who were subtly radiating hostility, and insinuated:
"You, and that Empress infamous for her poison—regarding the incident where all the Clock Tower magi were killed, I hope you can represent the Church and give us a reasonable explanation."
An Empress infamous for poison, and Sakatsuki representing the Clock Tower?
The sheer amount of information in that statement was staggering. Some Servants lowered their heads, pondering the Empress’s True Name, while others studied the enigmatic young man with thoughtful expressions.
Especially Chiron, the Black Faction’s strategist, who was thoroughly shocked. He had previously assumed, based on preconceptions, that Sakatsuki—who had concealed his Servant’s identity—was the Red Faction’s Assassin, and that the one capable of constructing such a massive garden was the Red Faction’s Caster.
It’s not like we can have magi charging the frontlines to bayonet the enemy while Assassins hide in the shadows quietly building infrastructure, right?
Or should we say, ’I’m an Assassin, I don’t have power like those magi’?
This Red Faction lineup... why is it so bizarre!
At this point, Amakusa could no longer focus on the Black Faction. Watching Sakatsuki who was equally confrontational, the helplessness in his eyes deepened.
Even though he had been wary of this Clock Tower envoy initially, Amakusa now had to acknowledge Sakatsuki’s value. After all, judging by battle records, both Black Faction kills (Frankenstein and Vlad III) were taken by this Assassin.
Amakusa refused to believe the Black Faction would willingly sacrifice their leader plus a Servant just to plant Sakatsuki as a spy.
Not to mention Sakatsuki had protected Atalanta, secured the Holy Grail, and played a pivotal role in battles.
He’d rather lose Achilles or Mordred than let Sakatsuki leave the Red Faction.
But the problem was—he had no idea how those Masters died either!
Could it really have been the Empress...
"Dost thou dare doubt me?!" The Empress’s voice rang in his mind, unusually flustered. "I wouldn’t stoop to such crude methods!"
"Why won’t you answer us, priest?" Achilles pressed forward when Amakusa remained silent. "Guilty conscience? Or are you fabricating lies to deceive us?"
With the Empress causing chaos in his mind and Achilles aggressive outside, even Amakusa found the noise unbearable. In desperation, he waved his hand.
"Enough! I have complete recordings here. Watch them before saying anything more!"
The magical screen unfolded, still intact for now. The three victims simultaneously looked up at the images of Masters they’d never met.
"Hey, Chiron, should we take this chance to strike..." Astolfo whispered, eyeing the chaotic Red Faction.
"No. If we act, the situation will descend into greater chaos," Chiron replied quietly, watching the screen. "Moreover, we’ve lost our Lancer—a significant combat loss. If our interference unites the Red Faction against us, it would be disastrous."
"Conversely, if the Masters are truly dead, the Red Faction Servants will never obey this priest. That’s when we should strike."
"So we wait too..." Astolfo mumbled. Meanwhile, Artoria, Siegfried, and Avicebron exchanged cryptic glances.
They’d received communication from Sakatsuki.
After a silent exchange, Avicebron lowered his head, creating a magical puppet identical to his own aura as cover, then slipped away unnoticed.
Before the situation spiraled out of control, he needed to rendezvous with Reika Rikudou and complete their contract.