The demon fox reveals itself.

Such a turn of events was clearly beyond everyone’s expectations.

Just as Kiritsugu had remarked when Berserker first appeared, in a chaotic melee where all the Servants were thrown together with no apparent strategy, any Master who still retained a shred of reason and cunning should not recklessly reveal their own Servant in such a scenario. Berserker’s appearance was already difficult enough to comprehend; now, Lancer’s actions were even more shocking.

From the conversation earlier, hidden in the shadows between Lancer’s other Master and Rider’s young Master, it was easy to deduce that the Magus who summoned this second Lancer was none other than the legendary elite from London’s Clock Tower, Lord El-Melloi Archibald.

Moreover, from all the available information, the ninth head of the Archibald family, renowned as a genius Magus, did not seem the type to act impulsively just because his original relic was stolen and he failed to summon his first-choice Servant—especially not in such a sensitive, chaotic situation.

“So… what is he trying to accomplish by doing this?”

In the biting chill of the winter night, a man in black named Kiritsugu Emiya silently pondered this, yet issued his orders without hesitation:

“Maya, continue monitoring Assassin. I’ll see if I can pinpoint the positions of Lancer and Berserker’s Masters…”

If Kiritsugu had known that not far from him, a young Master sat securely within the absolute safety of a magical illusion plant barrier, effortlessly gathering all the intelligence he sought…

One could only imagine the “brilliant” expression that would have crossed his face. Unfortunately, Kiritsugu was completely unaware of Kurama’s existence, and the fox spirit himself had no intention of revealing it.

Sitting comfortably in a warm, plush chair with a white bundle nestled in his arms, Kurama stroked his chin with a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“Mokona, what do you think Lord El-Melloi is planning?”

Like Kiritsugu, Kurama also sensed deeper meaning in the sudden attack on Waver by the other Lancer. In fact, with his knowledge of the plot, Kurama had a significant advantage over Kiritsugu, who could only deduce the Clock Tower magus’s character from written records.

The white bundle happily nuzzled into the warmth of his arms.

“Mokona doesn’t know,” he admitted without pretense, but then generously offered his own guess: “But Mokona thinks he must have a goal. After all… Kurama said he’s not the impulsive type, right?”

“That’s right.”

The fox spirit ruffled the little one’s soft belly in encouragement.

“So we can be sure every decision he makes is meaningful.”

But what result does Kenneth hope to achieve with this seemingly reckless surprise attack on Waver?

For the moment, even Kurama could not deduce it.

However, as the situation within the field shifted rapidly due to the other Lancer’s move, the fox spirit began to perceive something…

***

Rider did not belong to the three main Knight classes.

Although this meant his class skills were not as enhanced as Saber, Archer, or Lancer, in the end, the capabilities of the summoned Heroic Spirit were what truly determined strength.

Take now, for instance.

To the King of Conquerors, Iskandar, even though his opponent bore the class of Lancer, in terms of Noble Phantasm and dueling ability, this Lancer was simply no match for him. Such a reckless attack on his young Master was clearly unwise.

Proud as Alexander the Great, the red-haired king could not even be bothered to confront Lancer head-on—he simply flicked the reins, spurring the Gordius Wheel, and easily evaded the assault.

“Lancer, is this how you behave? To launch an attack without declaration? Where has the chivalry you displayed against Saber gone?”

Seemingly oblivious to how his words instantly drained the color from the black-haired Heroic Spirit’s face, the Conqueror King—who appeared blunt and boisterous but was in fact every bit as shrewd as the other monarchs—crossed his arms and spoke with righteous indignation.

Comparing this projection of the same Heroic Spirit, the bright skepticism and ridicule in his tone were impossible to ignore. Watching his other self’s expression shift under the Conqueror’s censure, Diarmuid’s own face turned grim.

He truly could not imagine, if he himself were commanded so, how he would respond.

Would he, like the other Lancer, obey his Master’s order even against his own heart, or…?

For a moment, Diarmuid’s mind went completely blank.

But before he could react, the voice that sent chills through both Diarmuids resounded again, cold and utterly emotionless, as though unconcerned with Lancer’s humiliation:

“What are you doing, Lancer? I told you: by any means necessary, eliminate the thief who dares sully the honor of the Clock Tower and the Mage’s Association! Or… did you not understand?”

Without waiting for Lancer’s response, the owner of that voice softened his tone, though it did nothing to conceal the murderous intent beneath:

“Waver Velvet, your actions have severed what little, pitiful connection you had with the Clock Tower. But as your teacher, let me give you one last lesson.”

“For example, the Holy Grail War is not a child’s game. And as for the mutual slaughter among magi—do you understand what that truly means?”

Before the words even faded, Lancer, previously frozen by the Conqueror’s accusation, had already transformed into a streak of lightning, dashing toward Rider and Waver’s position.

At last, the other Servants began to move.

“Hmph. Pathetic.”

The golden-haired King of Heroes, who had only lingered out of curiosity at the sight of two Diarmuids, was first to declare his scorn for this “farce among mongrels.”

“You may as well continue your little spectacle here, mongrels.”

Turning away, the golden Spirit’s handsome face bore an expression of lofty disdain as he began to fade into spirit form.

“To be worthy of fighting this king, only true heroes suffice.”

With those words, he vanished into a shower of golden light.

But the King of Heroes’ departure was merely the flip of a switch.

As expected, Berserker, now without a target, began to rampage just as in the original story, locking onto Saber as his new enemy.

With the tendons of her left hand damaged and her injury unhealed, Saber was clearly at a disadvantage against Berserker. When Diarmuid, true to his knightly spirit, moved to aid the maiden king with whom he already had an understanding, Kenneth’s voice echoed once more across the warehouse district.

“Oh, how foolish.”

The voice of Kenneth spiraled through the night air.

“Another Lancer’s Master, with such a Servant who fails to grasp his Master’s intentions… it seems we may have much in common.”

The pointed voice was gentle and elegant, as though the person being criticized was not, at that very moment, battling the Conqueror on his orders.

“To defeat the universally acknowledged strongest class, Saber, now is the perfect opportunity, isn’t it? What do you say, other Lancer’s Master?”

“Shall we… join forces?”

…As expected.

At this, the corners of Kurama’s lips twitched up in amusement.

So this was Lord El-Melloi’s true intent—he had calculated everything from the start, rather than recklessly ordering Lancer to attack while surrounded by enemies.

The other Lancer’s delayed arrival was not because he barely made it in time to see the King of Heroes leave, but because Kenneth judged that only by having Lancer appear then could he achieve all his objectives.

Intimidate the other Servants, so they would report back to their hidden Masters, planting the subconscious impression from the outset that the two Lancers were the same Heroic Spirit and likely to cooperate.

Then, by ordering Lancer to attack Waver and thus clash with Rider, he sparked the melee, which would most likely prompt the now seemingly strongest of all, the disinterested Archer, to leave, while the others…

Rider was pinned by Lancer, Saber was still injured, Berserker—once an unpredictable factor—was now focused on Saber…

No matter how one looked at it, this was a situation highly advantageous to Kenneth.

Even if he could not secure a formal alliance with Kurama and his Lancer for the duration of the war, a brief cooperation mutually beneficial to both seemed unlikely to be refused.

In the shadow of a high-rise beneath the moonlit night, with his blond hair slicked back, Kenneth appeared just as Kurama had surmised, arriving near the warehouse district soon after the battle between Diarmuid and Saber erupted, a confident smirk on his face.

To be honest, when he first saw that one of the two battling Servants looked identical to his own Lancer, Kenneth was stunned. Yet after hearing Lancer’s brief explanation and speculation, the prodigy from the Clock Tower quickly began to calculate.

In truth, compared to the Rider he originally wished to summon, this Lancer was like a tasteless chicken rib—too precious to waste, but of little value. As for his abilities as a Heroic Spirit, Kenneth could overlook them, but his statement—“so long as I serve my Master and obtain the Grail, I have no other wish”—was impossible to believe.

A Heroic Spirit who answers a magus’s call to become a Servant must have a longing for the Grail.

The claim that simply descending fulfilled his wish was simply not credible.

Kenneth did not care whether Lancer was lying to him or not. What truly bothered him was the man’s true identity, and the way his fiancée Sola gazed at the Heroic Spirit with increasing admiration.

Were it not for the Holy Grail War…

His eyes darkened. The prodigy didn’t seek the Grail to fulfill a wish, but merely to add another dazzling achievement to his record. He had no desire to waste more time, only to end this war quickly—and send off his troublesome Servant as soon as possible.

Yet, as a clear, youthful voice rang out, Kenneth’s confident smile froze.

“Thank you for your kind offer, other Lancer’s Master.”

With that clear, obviously adolescent voice, all eyes turned as a slender, graceful figure suddenly appeared beside Diarmuid, who stood defending Saber.

He did not seem like a magus Master at all, but rather a Heroic Spirit stepping out of spirit form. The red-haired youth’s gentle smile and serene, handsome features were like a character straight out of a shoujo manga.

“But…”

“I refuse.”

He gently grasped his Servant’s tense elbow, his eyes narrowing in a smile both gentle and pure.

“This is Diarmuid’s will. As his Master, I respect his conviction.”

The words had barely left his lips when the black-haired Heroic Spirit beside him whipped his head around so forcefully it seemed he might injure himself.

“My Lord…”

Amber eyes shimmered with dazzling light. The famed, radiant Heroic Spirit gazed deeply at Kurama for a moment, then knelt on one knee with his hand over his chest in solemn devotion.