Chapter 65: The Beginning of War

Having settled things with Diarmuid, Kurama felt there was nothing pressing to worry about for the time being.

So, that night, the fox spirit, holding the little white creature who had regained all his strength and energy after a good nap, left the inn and began wandering the neighborhood—his main target, of course, being the many tantalizingly fragrant cake shops.

The little fellow had indeed endured enough hardship before this, and the fox spirit thought it was necessary to reward him properly.

Originally, Diarmuid had planned to remain in spirit form to guard his Master’s side, but Kurama stopped him. In the end, Diarmuid had no choice but to don the full set of modern attire handed to him by his Master, his face flushed red.

A tailored, long black winter coat and sharply cut, straight trousers paired with deep brown high-top leather boots perfectly accentuated the Lancer’s tall, lithe physique. Compared to his usual form-fitting battle attire, which also highlighted his lines, this outfit brought out a different, striking charm. The already dazzlingly handsome man now seemed to radiate light, drawing even more attention wherever he went.

Fully aware of his own allure, the heroic spirit of the lance looked at his refined and handsome reflection in the mirror, his expression not one of pleasure, but a slight frown.

“My lord, is it truly wise for me to dress like this?”

Wouldn’t this attract too much attention?

Though he was reluctant to voice such vain concerns, Diarmuid couldn’t deny the truth: he had long understood, since the day his life ended in that blood-soaked, resplendent youth, just how much trouble his face could cause.

But the red-haired young Master merely smiled and shook his head.

“No, this is perfect, Di—hmm, for safety’s sake, I’ll call you ‘Lancer’ whenever we’re out from now on. Let’s get used to it, starting now.”

With that, the boy scooped up the excited little white creature and headed for the door, trailed by the handsome man whose expression was so complicated it was impossible to decipher.

Lancer truly didn’t know how to persuade his Master. Even if his own appearance might cause some trouble, wasn’t the little creature in his Master’s arms even more conspicuous?

Even in the age of myth and legend in which Diarmuid had lived, creatures capable of speech, let alone possessing other mysterious abilities, were exceedingly rare.

Diarmuid was certain that should such a being appear, not only mortals but even deities would be drawn to it.

Yet his Master was about to take this extraordinary little fellow outside in broad daylight, entirely unabashed.

Having obtained all the knowledge of the modern world from the Grail upon his summoning, the knight of the lance sighed inwardly, at a loss for how to deal with his Master.

—How could he not see how much his Master cared for the little creature?

And it was no wonder.

As the small being, perched securely in the red-haired youth’s arms, noticed Diarmuid’s gaze and shot him a wide, adorable smile, Diarmuid looked away, realizing with a sense of defeat that he’d been utterly bested.

This sense of defeat lingered as the trio stepped onto the street.

To Lancer’s surprise, despite the bustling crowds thronging the streets at dusk, no one paid any particular attention to himself or Kurama.

It was not that their presence was completely ignored, but rather that the three of them blended in seamlessly, regarded like any other ordinary passersby.

Perhaps this sounded vain, but considering his own bewitching appearance, Kurama’s gentle yet striking handsomeness, and the presence of an impossibly cute, excited little white creature, how could such a combination only attract the level of attention given to any bystander?

He glanced at his Master in confusion, belatedly realizing that this was likely his Master’s doing.

“If someone like you isn’t qualified to be called a true mage,”

then who among mages could claim excellence?

Diarmuid murmured softly to himself.

To his knowledge, deceiving one or more senses of others was not impossible for a mage, though it was tricky and the aftermath could be troublesome. However, to do as Kurama had done—subtly, silently misleading the perception of so many at once—was far more difficult and perhaps beyond the reach of most.

Unaware that the fox spirit had simply made clever use of the illusion spores he’d once used to confuse Kuroro’s senses in the Hunter world, Diarmuid was on the verge of venerating his Master as something divine.

Kurama, of course, noticed the sudden increase in Diarmuid’s heated stares.

But the fox had no intention of explaining himself.

When the real fighting began, Diarmuid would see for himself that Kurama had not lied. With his servant’s current faith bordering on blind trust, any explanation would be pointless—the loyalty of a hound for its chosen master was, perhaps, too absolute to be healthy.

Still, recalling how, in the original story, Diarmuid had once stood up to Kenneth for the sake of his own principles, the fox spirit sighed inwardly, thinking he might have been overly optimistic in his earlier assessments.

***

The three of them wandered leisurely through the streets of Fuyuki, neither bustling nor deserted.

This area lay between the old mountain town and the new city, still within the bounds of the former but close enough to the Fuyuki Bridge that the architecture bore distinct modern features. The nighttime atmosphere was lively, with a nearby shopping street by the river hosting what seemed a small festival, its stalls brimming with Japanese snacks and games.

Kurama, Mokona, and Diarmuid made their way from one end of the street to the other, sampling treats, and then played their way back. Throughout, the little white creature provoked neither screams nor surprise—his presence was accepted as utterly natural, as if such wondrous beings were commonplace.

Lancer’s vigilance, high at first, gradually eased, though his alertness remained undiminished.

Despite having the knowledge of modern society implanted in his mind by the Grail, Diarmuid had never truly experienced it. To live through it so vividly—especially its pleasures—was a rare, novel treat for one from a distant age of myth.

Yet…

Watching his Master, not far ahead, gently wiping away the sticky remains of a candied apple from the little white creature’s lips, Lancer found himself unconsciously smiling—a gentle softness he’d never shown before.

Of all the Masters, his own was perhaps the only one willing to spend such precious time showing his Servant the charms of modern life.

Sadly, for most Masters, a Servant was more a superior familiar or, at best, a convenient tool—no matter their outward show of respect, their subconscious perception was unlikely to differ.

Of course, Masters never openly admitted this, and the pride of Heroic Spirits forbade them from pondering it too deeply.

So, to encounter a Master like Kurama—perhaps, at last, fortune had smiled on him?

Unaware that his luck stat had never risen above E since time immemorial, the Lancer quickened his step, and for the first time since his summoning, tried to walk abreast with his Master.

***

Two more relaxed, uneventful days passed. That afternoon, after lunch, Kurama was lounging on the living room sofa, absentmindedly stroking Mokona’s fur, when he received a report from his network of dandelions spread throughout Fuyuki.

At the nearby F airport, which Kurama had been monitoring especially closely, a charter flight from Germany had just landed. From it emerged a beautiful woman with silver hair and red eyes.

With her was a fair-haired girl dressed as a boy, her custom-fitted suit setting off an aura of pure, commanding presence that made it impossible to discern her true gender at a glance.

“So, the main characters have arrived?”

Realizing the Holy Grail War was about to truly begin, Kurama felt little tension.

Perhaps it was because, in truth, he had never cared much for war itself, or its supposed ultimate meaning.

“Diarmuid.”

At the lazy summons, the Servant, who had been staring blankly at a chessboard in the corner, snapped to attention and looked at his red-haired Master, who was half-reclined on the sofa with an inscrutable smile.

“Yes?”

That rare look of confusion only added to the Heroic Spirit’s charm.

Kurama’s expression did not waver.

“It’s time for you to take the stage.”

With that same ambiguous smile, the fox spirit gently pinched the little creature’s paw, eliciting a small, happy giggle.

“An adversary you’ve long awaited has just arrived in Fuyuki.”

“…Huh?”

***

Kurama had considered not letting Lancer step forward.

In the original story, the dramatic and tumultuous battle between Lancer and Saber had set the stage for countless other characters and events. It made Lancer’s name—but also doomed any chance of a happy ending from the start.

To fight someone with protagonist-level plot armor and even cripple them—anyone could see what fate awaited such a rival.

And so, Diarmuid’s story ended in tragedy, his final moments consumed by resentment and indignation, all sense of noble spirit lost.

Now that his Master was Kurama, such an outcome seemed unlikely, but the fox spirit still wondered whether to alter the course of events, and whether it was necessary or meaningful to do so.

It was not that he feared Kiritsugu or Saber; he simply preferred not to reveal Diarmuid’s existence too soon.

The summoning of Lancer would likely have been detected by the Church’s monitoring systems, but the fact that Kurama was the Master should remain an absolute secret.

According to the original story, Lord El-Melloi had already been confirmed as one of the seven Masters chosen by the Grail. Kurama wasn’t sure how he’d later lost his qualification, but that was not his concern.

He simply saw no reason to expose himself for the sake of preserving narrative continuity.

Yet, after much deliberation, Kurama decided to follow the original trajectory and send Diarmuid to face Saber.

Firstly, the Heroic Spirit of the lance would not shy from battle. Secondly…

“I truly want to witness the so-called oldest king with my own eyes…”

With such a half-jesting, carefree thought, the fox spirit made his decision.

So, that night, on the warehouse street adjoining the seaside park, the knight of the lance, making no effort to conceal himself, awaited the arrival of the golden-haired king as if by destiny.

“Such a formidable aura… you must be Saber, yes?”

The extraordinarily handsome man raised an eyebrow, his expression calm and untroubled, and spoke thus.