The Seventy-Second: The King’s Hunt

Gilgamesh undoubtedly possessed an extraordinarily captivating face.

Moreover, with two-thirds divinity, he was perpetually shrouded in an aura of strength that ordinary people could scarcely fathom—a presence cultivated not by mere arrogance or haughty aloofness, but by something far deeper. In a sense, the King of Heroes truly had the right to look down upon all beings from on high.

However, Kurama was not counted among those “beings.”

Caught off guard, Kurama suddenly found himself trapped between the golden-haired Heroic Spirit, who leaned in close, and the wall at his back. That nearly flawless countenance loomed ever larger in his vision; the porcelain skin, so perfect it seemed devoid of pores, was mere inches away, and those faintly rosy lips exuded an indescribable touch of allure.

Few could resist being stunned by such breathtaking beauty.

And yet—

Kurama blinked, his eyes fixed on the golden youth who had just leapt back, widening the space between them and deftly dodging the Rose Whip's thorns in the process. A subtle, enigmatic smile played on Kurama’s lips.

“Oh?”

Struck back, the King of Heroes’s expression brimmed with curiosity and delight.

“I had thought you were just a little fish,” he mused.

But it seemed there might be unexpected rewards in store.

In truth, Gilgamesh had only passed by by chance, his sharp eyes catching sight of Mokona’s silhouette and hearing it speak clearly, which had piqued his curiosity enough to stop and reveal himself. Only now did he truly turn his attention to Kurama, whom he had barely noticed before.

And upon closer inspection...

The King of Heroes arched an eyebrow. For an ordinary human, this youth’s appearance was perhaps a touch too exquisite.

He hadn’t noticed before...

With that thought, the most ancient king’s gaze grew even more intrigued. Was it that this one’s beauty followed a gentle, harmless path, so lacking in aggression that—even far above the norm—it failed to draw immediate attention? Or had someone deliberately masked their presence, reducing a person who should have drawn every eye to the level of an ordinary passerby?

Either way, Gilgamesh found it most interesting—especially given his current irritation with Tokiomi’s “advice,” which made him disinclined to return to the Tohsaka mansion too quickly, and his fascination with the curious little creature in the youth’s arms.

But while the King of Heroes was intrigued, Kurama clearly had no intention of cooperating.

“Is it really wise for you to show yourself so openly before a ‘normal human,’ Archer?”

With perfect composure under Gilgamesh’s interested gaze, Kurama curved his lips in a calm smile, the fox’s voice soft and unhurried.

When he saw the other’s expression freeze for an instant at his words, Kurama finally believed that this bizarre “encounter” truly was a coincidence. He exhaled quietly—being accidentally caught by Gilgamesh was far preferable to being deliberately targeted.

The King of Heroes’s surprise at having his identity seen through by this completely unfamiliar youth lasted only a few seconds.

“Oh? If you can so clearly call out my class, can you still be called a normal human, mongrel?”

He spoke languidly, a casual, almost disdainful smile on his strikingly handsome face.

He could not immediately discern the youth’s identity, but he must be one of the few Masters who had yet to reveal themselves.

Which one could it be?

One of the two Lancer Masters? The mad Berserker’s? Or the Caster’s, who had yet to appear before anyone?

The first and last mattered little to Gilgamesh, but if it were the one in the middle...

Recalling that less-than-pleasant encounter not long ago, the smile faded gradually from the golden Heroic Spirit’s face.

“Pray you are not the mongrel destined to bear the wrath of the King.”

His tone turned cold, and he added the words as if from nowhere.

Kurama needed only a moment’s thought to discern the implication. Since he had no intention of clashing directly with this ancient king for now, he simply smiled and nodded.

“Ah, I am not.”

Momentarily startled by Kurama’s prompt and natural response, Gilgamesh’s lips again curled with interest.

“Good.”

It was hard to say if he was sneering or merely wearing that same proud, condescending smile as before.

“So now, answer my question.”

“What exactly is that creature you hold in your arms?”

Kurama sighed helplessly. Despite the change in conversation, the ancient king’s curiosity about Mokona had not waned in the slightest.

Though he knew the question was born of idle interest, Kurama had no doubt that if he failed to dispel it, his precious white fluff-ball would soon become an object of Gilgamesh’s covetousness.

“Mokona is Mokona.”

Tightening his embrace around the white bundle, Kurama gently pinched its tiny paw in comfort before lifting his gaze to the Heroic Spirit, offering a self-possessed, unyielding smile.

“Mokona is my most cherished and precious family and companion—one I would guard with my life.”

“Oh?”

To Kurama’s surprise, the King of Heroes laughed instead of growing angry.

Kurama’s reply seemed flawless, but both of them knew he had sidestepped the original question—Gilgamesh wanted to know Mokona’s species, yet Kurama had answered only with Mokona’s significance to him.

What’s more, his words subtly carried the message: “If you want Mokona, you’ll have to step over my corpse first!”—a message that, to the King of Heroes, was gravely provocative. Had he been less patient, he might already have struck.

Yet the golden Heroic Spirit only let out a short, ambiguous laugh, and did not pursue the matter.

The two stood at a measured distance, gazes locked in a silent, peculiar tension.

In Gilgamesh’s blood-red eyes danced mockery and appraisal; Kurama’s emerald eyes were as pure as an unblemished frozen lake, carrying both mild surprise and serene composure.

“You—”

The golden king’s brows lifted once more, and he began to speak. But before he could finish, a sudden gust of magical wind heralded the arrival of a black-haired Heroic Spirit, twin spears in hand, who landed before Kurama in a posture of utmost vigilance.

“Archer.”

The Lancer, appearing out of nowhere, looked toward the most ancient king, who stood not far away in relaxed ease, and frowned slightly.

“What brings you here?”

At these words, the golden Heroic Spirit let out a derisive laugh.

“Since when does the King need to report or explain his actions to you, mongrel?”

His tone was scornful, and a golden halo began to shimmer and whirl behind him.

Diarmuid pressed his lips together, saying nothing, but the sudden tension in his arms made it clear just how alert and wary he was in that moment.

The tension between the two was palpable—battle could erupt at any instant. Yet, just as the atmosphere reached its peak, a voice as gentle as flowing water pierced the silence.

“Say, King of Heroes—”

Kurama, smiling as ever, peeked cheerfully from behind the Lancer’s back, a glint of cunning in his eyes.

“Before you truly decide to make a move, wouldn’t you rather... take a look at this?”

As his words fell, Gilgamesh lifted his gaze to him with casual indifference—only for his ever-calm expression to be replaced, in that instant, by a look of unprecedented blankness.

***

That night, contrary to expectations, Kurama was not attacked by Kiritsugu.

Later, having learned from the dandelions that the hotel where Kayneth was staying had recently suffered a mysterious assault, Kurama’s expression briefly grew complex.

Kiritsugu’s decision not to target him—first, because Kurama’s earlier appearance had been so dramatic that it made others wary of his unknown strength, which Kurama had anticipated. Second, Kurama had thoroughly concealed both his and Diarmuid’s traces with demonic plants and modern technology, rendering Kiritsugu’s methods completely ineffective. If the man still hadn’t uncovered Kurama’s whereabouts, Kurama was not the least bit surprised.

It was much more interesting, however, that Kiritsugu had chosen to attack Kayneth’s group instead.

“Perhaps he’s thought of it too?” Kurama mused.

The two Lancers’ Noble Phantasms shared a connection. Destroying the yellow rose, or eliminating one of the Lancers, would lift the curse preventing Saber’s left hand from healing.

Of course, all this was only conjecture. What truly surprised Kurama was that Kiritsugu would take such a radical step to provoke another Master and Servant over a mere possibility.

Kiritsugu was not the sort of reckless man to let his decisions be swayed by slim chances.

“Unless he’s found some crucial evidence that could turn possibility into certainty…”

Kurama stroked his chin, pondering further.

In any case, the story’s return to its expected course was a boon: with a predictable path, there would always be loopholes to exploit. And with Kayneth’s group now the focus of the troublesome Kiritsugu’s attention, Kurama had more leisure to make his own arrangements.

He cast a sidelong glance at the black-haired Lancer, who, since returning to the hotel, had sulked in silence—always at Kurama’s side, never letting down his guard for a moment, yet refusing eye contact or conversation beyond a stiff “Yes” to every question, a cold aura emanating from him.

Kurama gave a resigned smile.

“Diarmuid.”

“…Yes.”

“It’s late. Mokona and I are going to rest now.”

“…Yes.”

“There’s nothing more to guard against tonight. If you wish, take some rest yourself—though I know you are a Heroic Spirit.”

“…Yes.”

Only when the soft click of the door closing sounded did the Lancer finally stiffen.

He lowered his head in silent contemplation for a long while before gazing intently at the closed door.

“My lord…”

What are you truly thinking?

For the first time, the black-haired Servant realized he did not understand his Master at all. Having recently endured a profound shock, he bowed his head, dejection and disappointment radiating from his entire form.

***

Though he had not sent a familiar to answer the church’s summons to the Masters, Kurama quickly learned through his network of demonic dandelions of Father Risei’s call for all Masters to join in the “hunt for Caster and his Master.”

The prize for participation and victory was an extra Command Seal—a powerful lure for any Master.

But Kurama had no interest in this. He had no need to use Command Spells to bend his Servant to his will, so he simply acted as though he knew nothing. While the other Masters prepared for the hunt, the fox set about his own plans.

If only he could disregard a certain uninvited, illustrious “guest,” his mood would be much improved.

“Gilgamesh, does your Master never restrict your daily activities?”

Raising an eyebrow, Kurama looked at the golden-haired Heroic Spirit, who lounged on the sofa savoring fine wine. At this moment, he truly pitied the head of the Tohsaka family.

“You’re rather bold. Who gave you permission to address the King by name, mongrel?”

It was more a habitual jab than a serious reproach, but the King of Heroes did not answer the question directly.

Soon, however, he chuckled low.

“Tokiomi is busy with his ‘arrangements’ at the moment. It’s not yet time for the King to appear. I thought he might be interesting, but...”

He paused, looking up at the red-haired youth who sat even more leisurely across from him.

“And you? Lancer’s Master? An extra Command Seal is on offer as a reward, yet you have no intention of joining the hunt for Caster?”

Kurama smiled faintly.

“If the King himself has yet to determine his ultimate quarry, why should I be in any hurry?”

For a moment, their gazes crossed in silence, and a faint scent of gunpowder seemed to fill the air.

“You’re not wrong,” the King of Heroes finally said, looking away with a soft laugh.

“This is the King’s hunt.”

Yet the true prey may not be what all expect.

A glimmer of sardonic amusement flickered through blood-drenched crimson eyes as Gilgamesh drained his cup in a single motion.