My Lord

Kurama stood dazed in place, unable to recover his senses for a long while. The two main actors in that magical spectacle—which had just revealed to him the true nature of the world he’d entered—had long since departed together, hand in hand (?), leaving only Kurama and Mokona silently behind. The Conqueror King Iskandar, summoned as a Rider-class Servant—known also as Alexander the Great—and his little master, or perhaps his beloved consort, Lord Weber Velvet, had vanished without a trace, and Kurama, the demon fox, made no further move.

—It wasn’t that he was unwilling; rather...

When had this world become so incomprehensible?

Staring at the dark-haired man before him, kneeling on one knee in a posture of utter submission, pledging all his loyalty and life, Kurama traced back the sequence of events that had led to this surreal, even more unscientific scene than any he’d encountered before—even in a world where the laws of science already bent so easily.

It had all begun when he and Mokona silently watched Weber Velvet’s Servant summoning ritual.

From the enormous blood-red magic circle, Weber’s appearance and his unique incantation, to the Command Seals that had mysteriously appeared on the back of Kurama’s hand, and the silent, mysterious force that had subtly influenced his judgment earlier... All these clues gradually wove together, until Kurama deduced the true nature of this “new world” he’d entered. By then, Weber’s summoning ritual was nearing its end.

The magic vortex churned within the blood-drawn circle. Kurama could not help but suspect—though he’d never say it aloud—that the Conqueror King’s exuberant, larger-than-life personality, which so often moved Weber to tears, was somehow linked to the very material used to draw the circle.

Yet to witness a Servant summoning ritual firsthand was an experience beyond words.

Kurama’s own life had been strange enough, and his journeys with Mokona since had been nothing short of legendary. But in this moment, to stand before a hero whose name was etched into both history and myth, to witness his spirit return to the mortal realm through the power of the Holy Grail—that surge of emotion, rooted in the ancient blood of humanity, boiling and rushing forth...

No matter how storied one’s past, the awe was inescapable.

All the more so because the Heroic Spirit now appearing was none other than Alexander the Great—a king Kurama had long admired for the indelible mark he’d left on the world’s history.

Few emperors could claim the glory of an empire that spanned Europe, Asia, and Africa. The Conqueror King seemed born to ride, sword in hand, leading his armies to victory, every city falling before his advance...

—This was a kind of absolute personal charisma that, while difficult to describe, was unquestionably real. Even if one didn’t wish to follow him, respect was inevitable.

So when the Conqueror King spoke those words—an inquiry that might have sounded weak from anyone else, but in his tone became strangely overwhelming: “Tell me, are you the one who summoned me as Master?”—Kurama’s heart surged with excitement.

But that excitement was swiftly replaced by another emotion, one difficult to name—was it shock, or disbelief?

Because the question echoing in Kurama’s ears did not come from Iskandar alone.

Two male voices, each distinct in pitch but both a pleasure to the ear, formed the inquiry Kurama heard.

One voice belonged to Iskandar. The other...

Lowering his eyes, Kurama glanced at the dark-haired youth who had, since that moment, remained kneeling in silence, awaiting his response—

The other voice came from this strikingly handsome Heroic Spirit who had appeared so abruptly before him.

Wavy black hair, refined features, a straight nose, commanding brows and a chiseled face; thin, pressed lips that projected severity and restraint, yet eyes like topaz, brimming with hidden emotion and allure. Beneath his left eye, a seductive beauty mark...

—Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, “the Radiant Face,” chief champion of the Knights of Fianna.

Kurama could not fathom how this man had been summoned.

Magic circle, relic, mage, Command Seals, incantation.

Except for the relic—which only mattered if one sought a specific Heroic Spirit—the rest were all essential for a successful summoning. Kurama reckoned all he really possessed was the Command Seals.

—He wasn’t even a mage!

Even with the “gift of the world,” allowing him to freely convert his youki into the unique energies of other worlds, simply having magical energy within did not make him a mage.

What about magic circuits? The incantations necessary to wield sorcery?

Kurama had none of these!

To be swept into the Holy Grail War as a non-mage was aggravating enough—wasn’t this a bit much? Could the will of Gaia kindly stop toying with him?

To have a Servant delivered without magic circle or incantation—was this compensation for clouding Kurama’s mind earlier?

Of course, the demon fox considered this only in jest. As one of the highest wills of the material plane (or one of them?), did it really need to curry favor with an insignificant outsider like him?

Or perhaps, if it intended to “make amends” after the fact, why go to such lengths to trouble him in the beginning?

Kurama’s thoughts drifted again, and he pressed his lips together, his heart in turmoil.

But to his surprise, the Lancer misunderstood his expression as rejection.

“My lord...”

His beauty was almost unearthly, and though the tear-shaped beauty mark held no sway over Kurama as a fellow man, those deep eyes—tinged with both gentleness and sorrow—could unsettle anyone just by gazing quietly.

Only now did Kurama truly sense the full force of Diarmuid’s legendary charm.

“I was simply... surprised.”

Awkwardly blinking, Kurama tried to explain his long silence.

“No summoning circle, no incantation, and then you appeared...”

He didn’t need to say more; the embarrassment and frustration on Diarmuid’s face spoke volumes. The Lancer himself had only just noticed there was no magic circle under his feet.

“I am truly sorry, my Master.”

The dark-haired youth, already half-kneeling, bowed deeply, his voice a blend of absolute respect, faint shame, and a barely perceptible yet steadfast joy.

“But there is no need for a magic circle or incantation to prove anything.”

He looked up again, his amber eyes alight with unwavering devotion.

“You are my Master. The magical energy flowing through me now, granted by you, is proof enough.”

“………………!”

—Kurama was nearly startled out of his wits.

Once the bond between Master and Servant was established, the Lancer’s words were true enough—but did he have to phrase it in such a way? It was so easily misconstrued!

Suppressing a twitch at the corner of his mouth, Kurama forced himself to nod calmly.

“Let’s talk elsewhere.”

No matter how chaotic his thoughts, lingering in this small woodland near the city at dawn was clearly unwise.

Signaling the handsome knight to dematerialize and follow at his side, Kurama scooped up the worried Mokona, gently rubbing his soft belly, and strode at a steady, unhurried pace toward the forest’s edge.

＊＊＊

This time, Kurama encountered no further surprises.

Following the sloping path down toward the city center, he soon found a small, open inn on a quiet commercial street.

After entering the room, Kurama did not immediately summon his Lancer Servant.

Instead, his first order was for the Lancer—who was not especially adept at acting alone—to go out and scout for enemies.

Diarmuid obeyed his master's command without question.

Despite having barely exchanged any true conversation since meeting, and knowing almost nothing about each other—Kurama, as Master, had not even asked Diarmuid his true name—Diarmuid simply trusted that his Master had his reasons, while Kurama had no time to worry about such matters.

Feeling the magical presence that marked his Servant slip far into the city, Kurama let out a breath and turned to meet Mokona’s silent gaze.

“This time... it seems we’re in real trouble.”

He spoke softly.

The white puffball blinked, half understanding, half confused.

“Why do you say that, Kurama?”

Mokona knew nothing of the strange sensation Kurama had just experienced, so hearing Kurama say such a thing now left him bewildered.

Seeing this, Kurama sighed and began recounting his earlier odd experience.

“Whether or not the worlds we’ve traveled through had their own consciousness, let’s set that aside. Even if they did, nothing like this—such direct interference with thought—has ever happened before.”

As he spoke, his expression grew grave.

Even with the “gift of the world” in hand, Kurama never believed any cheat or golden finger could shield him from every twist of fate.

He was used to careful planning, only acting with every variable in hand—master of strategy, commander of fate from behind the scenes.

To put it bluntly, Kurama was used to ruling his own destiny—especially his mind—never giving anyone the chance to interfere. Precisely because he had once tried and failed to change fate, and after the break in his own destiny line, he clung all the more fiercely to his independence.

So whether it was Gaia or Alaya, whatever their purpose in interfering with his thoughts, they had touched upon his deepest taboo.

He might not be able to strike at such vast, primal forces, but...

Gazing at the Command Seal on the back of his hand, Kurama suddenly smiled.

“If you dared to bring me here, then you’d better be ready... for everything to be destroyed.”

With a smile both demonic and bewitching, the information he’d gathered from the worlds of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and Hunter x Hunter flashed through his mind, finally curling his lips into a chilling, wicked grin.

“Lancer.”

He called out softly.

Soon after Kurama and Mokona’s important conversation ended, the black-haired Servant slipped silently back into the room, not interrupting his Master’s reverie until summoned.

“Yes, my Master.”

He stood with bowed head, posture natural and respectful.

Kurama raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose... I still don’t know your name.”

His smile grew ever more gentle and kind as he looked at this man, forever shadowed by E-rank luck, a strange light flickering in his eyes—

Shall we begin the change with you?

“Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.”