Fate’s End

Of course, Yuko had every reason to be astonished.

The small white orb cradled in Kurama’s palm at that moment, though unremarkable at first glance, was, in the eyes of someone as knowledgeable as Yuko, of a value far surpassing what ordinary people could ever imagine.

This little object bore a rather grandiose name: “Miniature Throne of Heroes.” Even the name alone was enough to reveal much about its nature.

To some, its preciousness lay, first, in the very function its name implied—it could house a Heroic Spirit who would normally have to slumber at the ends of time and space, and who could not awaken or gain consciousness unless summoned under special circumstances (typically the Holy Grail War). The Miniature Throne created a portable, condensed version of the Throne of Heroes, breaking the iron rule that a Heroic Spirit could only descend into the world if called forth during a Holy Grail War.

Secondly, the conditions required to form a Miniature Throne of Heroes were exceedingly stringent.

If even one of many criteria was not met, it could not properly take shape. Thus, the value of this tiny white orb was nearly on par with the Holy Grail itself—such a claim was hardly an exaggeration.

And now, this rare treasure, coveted by countless souls, rested obediently and quietly in Kurama’s hand. Its owner, with genuine worry and confusion writ clear upon his face, had come to consult Yuko about how to retrieve the Heroic Spirit he’d previously summoned, and what price would need to be paid...

If Yuko didn’t know for certain that Kurama was not the type to feign ignorance or use a priceless treasure to provoke others, she would have been sorely tempted to launch a flying kick at him herself.

Taking a deep breath, and silently repeating “stay calm, stay calm,” the witch composed herself enough to maintain a serene expression as she answered Kurama’s earlier question:

“That won’t be necessary.”

“…Huh?”

Kurama thought he’d misheard and looked up at Yuko.

On the other end of the screen, the witch’s face was already beginning to twist in frustration…

Only then did the fox demon belatedly realize he might have inadvertently stumbled into yet another minefield.

“Miss Yuko?” he called out, his expression innocent and unassuming.

But the more innocent and oblivious he appeared, the more exasperated Yuko felt—the urge to smack someone only grew stronger.

How did this boy’s luck get to be so preposterous? How could anyone be so blessed by fortune? Even in the world of online games, this would be the stuff of legends!

Even Yuko Ichihara, the dimensional witch herself, now found the stars’ partiality toward certain people utterly baffling—and, somewhat indignantly, unfair.

She forced herself to maintain an even tone and expression, briefly explaining the function of the Miniature Throne of Heroes to Kurama. As she spoke, Kurama’s face shifted through several expressions before settling into a look of sudden enlightenment.

“So that’s how it is…” the fox demon murmured to himself.

He finally understood that Mokona’s earlier collision had not only “split” Diarmuid but had forcibly knocked his true self down from the Throne of Heroes. A whole fragment of the Throne had been dislodged, descending to the present world with Diarmuid, becoming the foundation and nurturing soil for the formation of the Miniature Throne.

As for why Kurama had been able to form a master-servant contract with the lancer without any summoning ritual? The answer was simple.

Through Mokona’s impact, a connection was forged between Kurama and Diarmuid. At the time, Kurama and Mokona were observing Waver’s summoning ritual, and the summoning’s gravitational pull drew Diarmuid over, allowing him to naturally form a contract with Kurama, with whom he now shared a bond.

Neither Kurama nor Diarmuid had realized at the time that the lancer before them was not a projection, but Diarmuid’s true self, knocked down from the Throne by Mokona!

Once this was understood, all subsequent events fell perfectly into place—

Why did Kurama always feel that Diarmuid’s temperament differed somewhat from the original, sometimes acting unlike himself?

It was because the lancer’s true self had not fully shaken off the effects of his long slumber. He was not a Heroic Spirit projected into the Holy Grail War, able to smoothly adapt to the role of servant. He was a being who had truly slept for countless years and awakened suddenly—a far more jarring experience.

And why, after the other lancer dissipated, did he become a spear that pierced Diarmuid’s chest?

That was only natural—Diarmuid was his own true self. When a Heroic Spirit “dies” in the Holy Grail War, if he does not return to his true self, where else would he go?

The fusion of memories brought about by the lancer’s return, combined with the bitterness he felt upon his death, struck Diarmuid—who had not fully recovered—with tremendous force. He had no choice but to return to the Miniature Throne and continue his slumber, awaiting full restoration before he could awaken again and manifest in the world as a true Heroic Spirit.

“…In summary, your luck is truly extraordinary.”

When Kurama finished recounting the entire sequence of events, Yuko exhaled deeply, returning at last to her usual calm demeanor.

Now she understood—the fox’s luck attribute was so monstrous that to envy it was to invite suffering. Though she marveled at his fortune, it wasn’t to her detriment…

Still, she couldn’t help but sigh at the unfairness of fate.

Propping her chin on her hand, the red-eyed witch resumed her languid, nonchalant posture.

“So, what do you plan to exchange for with your second condition?”

Yuko was rather curious about Kurama’s answer this time. She knew he was unlikely to ask for the return of his demon power, but with Kurama’s habit of surprising her, she was genuinely looking forward to his choice.

Kurama pondered for a moment.

He had originally intended to use his second condition to take Diarmuid away.

Previously, he’d said that if Diarmuid didn’t awaken soon, he’d have to leave him behind, ultimately granting him a fate similar to Gilgamesh—possessing a physical body and a magical energy system, able to live freely in the present world. However…

He recalled when he’d explained his origins and plans to Diarmuid, who’d looked momentarily lost but then swore an oath to follow him as his knight, no matter where he came from or where he was headed. Kurama could not, in good conscience, abandon Diarmuid while he slept.

After all they’d been through and the conversations they’d shared, Diarmuid had long since ceased to be just a servant to him—he was now a trusted companion.

Kurama had no wish to betray that trust.

Moreover, taking Diarmuid with him was not a whim, but a decision made after careful consideration.

Though he and Yuko had teamed up to play Gaia for a fool (for Yuko had confirmed that the mysterious force invading his mind had indeed come from Gaia), the Holy Grail was not unique to Fuyuki—legend told of Holy Grails all over the world. Stealing Fuyuki’s would only inconvenience Gaia slightly, with little real loss.

But taking away a Heroic Spirit was another matter entirely.

Though Gaia’s side possessed countless Heroic Spirits and wouldn’t mind losing one or two, having one openly stolen was a direct slap in the face!

Kurama, having resolved to cause Gaia “a bit” of trouble, was more than happy to seize the opportunity.

He had considered all this before deciding to take Diarmuid with him—he simply hadn’t expected that he wouldn’t need to pay any additional price for it.

His gaze swept casually over the screen, and under Yuko’s meaningful look, he spoke in a soft voice:

“For my second condition, I’d like to exchange two-tenths of my demon power, and one item.”

“One item… that only you, Miss Yuko, can provide.”

***

When Waver, never having dreamed he would see his servant again and weeping with joy, returned with the King of Conquerors aboard the Godspeed Chariot to the ruins of Fuyuki Civic Hall, the black hole in the sky had shrunk to the size of a sports stadium, and the torrent of black mud had diminished, no longer cascading down like a waterfall.

Atop the ruins stood the King of Heroes, a youth with striking green hair whom Waver had never seen before, and Lancer’s red-haired master—all three standing together in plain sight. As Waver drew closer, he saw, lying side by side in the sand before them, two black-haired men who seemed to be unconscious.

“What…?” Waver’s eyes widened in shock.

He had never faced them directly, but he knew that one was Saber’s master, Kiritsugu Emiya, renowned as the Magus Killer, and the other was Assassin’s master, the deeply hidden church priest Kirei Kotomine.

“They…”

Waver blinked in confusion, unable to fathom the significance of these two “former masters” being surrounded by the trio.

But soon, the answer became clear.

He watched as the red-haired youth leaned down and murmured a few lines—seemingly from the Bible—over the unconscious Kirei Kotomine. Suddenly, a red light flashed, and the Command Spells that covered the priest’s entire arm vanished in an instant from the torn sleeve—then appeared on the youth’s own hand.

Waver was startled—not only by the youth’s ability to transfer Command Spells so easily, but also by their sheer number. Clearly, these were the accumulated Command Spells from all previous Holy Grail Wars, as the church had claimed.

As Waver was thinking this, the youth stood up, walked over, and smiled at him.

“Please, hold out your hand,” the youth said gently.

Waver, dazed, extended his hand. Before he realized it, the three Command Spells he had used were restored to the back of his hand.

“From here on, you and the King of Conquerors are free to choose your own path,” the youth said, stepping back with a smile to rejoin the golden-haired king and his friend.

“In the name of Command Spells—”

The youth stretched out his arm, and in a burst of crimson light, issued his command solemnly:

“My servant, Lancer—Enkidu! From this moment, you shall remain in this world in your present form. Your magical energy shall henceforth be drawn freely from mana. The mud that forms your body shall never sway your will. In this age, you will reclaim your freedom.”

While Command Spells have little effect if used to issue orders requiring a prolonged duration, Kurama had so many at his disposal that he was able to use them freely.

Half the Command Spells on his arm were given to Enkidu, the other half to the King of Heroes.

Afterward, Kurama made sure both tested their new abilities, confirming that they no longer needed a master’s supply of magical energy but could now draw directly from the world’s “Root.” Only then did he nod in satisfaction.

As for the two men still struggling in sleep and hallucination under the influence of Kurama’s powerful, hypnotic plants?

Kurama was utterly unconcerned.

He glanced back once at the city, still ravaged by fire.

The once modern skyline had long since become a mirage in the flames, but Kurama felt little sorrow—over 500 citizens who would have perished in the blaze had already been guided by his demonic plants, scattered throughout the city, to leave the danger zone while safely asleep.

While Kurama was no saint, he would never stand idly by and let a living hell unfold before his eyes if he had the power to prevent it.

Now, at last, it was all over.

Exchanging a final look of wordless understanding with Enkidu, and offering the oldest king a farewell smile, Kurama said nothing more. In an instant, as Mokona triggered a teleportation, his figure vanished without a trace.

As the great hole in the sky finally faded from existence, Gilgamesh and Enkidu stood together for a moment longer before both dissolved into spiritual form and disappeared.

Waver and the King of Conquerors, after a brief silence, boarded the Godspeed Chariot and sped away toward the distant horizon.

In the ruins of the city, as the flames slowly died, two men lying side by side finally stirred, awakening with soft groans—

Destiny… had reached its end.