So-called chance encounters

“Thank you for your trust, my lord.”
Even though the Knight of the Lance had already bowed his head deeply, the slight tremor that escaped his voice, despite his best efforts to maintain a steady tone, revealed his tumultuous emotions all too clearly. This display caused the other Lancer, who had paused his duel with Rider and now stood quietly observing his counterpart, to show a complex expression, while Kurama, the recipient of such respect, could not help but smile wryly.

“Diarmuid...”

“With my lance, my hands, and my body, I shall offer you all that you wish for, my lord.”

Perhaps wishing to spare his other self—the one whose luck seemed to have plummeted due to the stark contrast between their respective masters—any further embarrassment, Diarmuid spoke before Kurama could utter any gentler or more considerate words. He raised his head slightly and solemnly declared his oath.

In those amber eyes, shimmering intoxicatingly under the moonlight, there gleamed an unsettling brilliance. The spirit of the lance bore an expression of unprecedented relief, relaxation, and joy, prompting Kurama to arch a brow, finally allowing a subtle smile to curve his lips as he lowered his gaze.

“Very well, I look forward to it.”

His lips parted lightly; the young master seemed to express his trust in his servant with effortless ease.

Witnessing this scene, the other heroic spirits who had ceased fighting watched with varying reactions. The King of Conquerors, satisfied with his own little master, and Berserker, whose expression betrayed nothing, observed quietly. The other Lancer, however, and Saber—standing close enough to see every detail—were struck most profoundly, their faces betraying a fleeting envy.

For the former, the emotion ran deeper, for he and Diarmuid were once the same person. If not for that fateful accident...

Clutching his twin spears tightly, Lancer abruptly turned away.

He silently admonished himself.

His chosen lord was Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald, the master he had selected by his own will!

Even if his master did not acknowledge his resolve or allow his persistence, he would not falter...

Growing paler, Lancer pressed his lips together and glanced toward where his master ought to be.

Yet, to his disappointment, it remained empty.

Even though Kurama had appeared and—albeit with polite wording—flatly refused Kenneth's proposal for a temporary alliance, Lancer's master still showed no intention of revealing himself.

Just as the King of Conquerors had remarked, he remained hidden in the darkness, unwilling to show his face.

As a master, this was not the cowardice the King had criticized; rather, it was a cautiousness that, in the context of the Holy Grail War, was perhaps laudable. Still, something within the spearman’s heart quietly shattered.

“My lord...”

A whispered lament escaped, betraying a sorrow he himself could not name. Yet apart from Diarmuid, who kept a part of his attention on his other self, none of those present noticed Lancer's momentary distress.

“So I say...”

Rubbing his cheek, the red-haired spirit observed that Lancer no longer attacked, and Berserker, Saber, and Diarmuid’s standoff seemed settled. Raising his hand, he signaled, “Is that the end of it?”

After speaking, perhaps sensing that his words were a bit anticlimactic, the King of Conquerors waved his hand again.

“Don’t misunderstand, I’m not eager for more—though if you wish to continue, I, Iskandar, would gladly oblige.”

This bold declaration drew a soft laugh from Kurama.

In truth, among all the servants, Iskandar, King of Conquerors, was the one most suited to Kurama’s taste. His temperament resembled a blend of Yusuke and Kuwabara, though his commanding aura and intellect far surpassed Kurama’s old friends. Still, the familiar energy made Kurama instinctively more comfortable around the emperor, and he responded with greater openness.

“Indeed,” Kurama nodded in assent, then turned, his gaze sweeping calmly over the silent high-rises encircling the warehouse district.

“Diarmuid, let’s go.”

He seemed unconcerned that his departure might bring unexpected changes to the situation. Kurama took his servant’s hand, waited for him to nod to Saber, exchanged a glance with the King of Conquerors across the distance, and finally, after casting a lingering look at his other self, allowed a gentle smile to touch his lips.

“Well then, gentlemen, until we meet again.”

As when he first appeared, the fox spirit’s form gradually vanished from sight, leaving everyone in stunned awe. Unlike Diarmuid’s simultaneous spirit transformation, no matter how the others strained their eyes and senses, they could discern no clue to his disappearance.

“Lancer, withdraw,” Kenneth’s voice finally rang out from the darkness, laced with what sounded like barely contained frustration.

At the command, the spearman cast a deep look at Saber and the King of Conquerors before bowing submissively and fading from sight.

For a moment, only Saber, Rider, and the still restless Berserker remained on the warehouse street.

The King of Conquerors arched his brow at the ominous spirit wreathed in black smoke.

Berserker, sensing something, shifted his gaze from Saber to the red-haired monarch seated atop the divine chariot.

Iskandar let him stare without concern.

But Berserker suddenly released a piercing scream, then abruptly transformed into spirit particles and vanished into the cool night wind.

The red-haired giant blinked in surprise.

That fellow... was he here for comic relief?

Even one as thick-skinned as he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by Berserker’s unreliable exit.

Maintaining a solemn expression, Rider lowered his gaze to the golden-haired girl nearby.

“It seems the curtain has fallen.”

The girl, radiating a fierce and noble fighting spirit, relaxed her furrowed brow.

“Thank you for your assistance, King of Conquerors.”

She bowed respectfully.

The emperor laughed heartily.

“It’s nothing. I simply didn’t want anyone to ruin such a splendid battle.”

“Well then, Saber, until we meet again.”

The divine chariot thundered skyward, crackling with lightning. The girl left alone watched it disappear, her heart unable to settle its turbulent thoughts—

Masters and servants: Kurama and Diarmuid, Kenneth and Lancer, the seemingly timid black-haired boy and the King of Conquerors, and... Kiritsugu and herself.

Trust and understanding...

Truly difficult things to attain.

“Elyse... No, it’s nothing.”

“Let’s go home, too.”

With a sigh, the golden-haired knight turned away, her armor fading.

—This is the Holy Grail War.

＊＊＊

Diarmuid’s mood was clearly off, and Kurama was well aware.

Though the spearman seemed revitalized on the battlefield thanks to Kurama’s support, his previous anxieties and worries mostly dispelled, the fate of his other self...

It must have struck him deeply, and only now, in the quiet, did he have time to process it.

Since returning, the spearman had sat alone by the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, his aura of solitude and strong aversion to others’ presence making the tall, handsome man resemble a small animal desperately lacking a sense of security, pitifully curled in the corner, tending to some nameless wound.

Kurama watched him silently for a while.

In the end, he decided to leave the space to Diarmuid alone.

“At times like this, solitude is needed, not companionship.”

Carrying the white fluffball, Kurama left the inn, glancing back at the darkened room and thinking of the spearman sitting dazed by the window. He shook his head silently.

Mokona nuzzled his face.

“Don’t worry, Kurama.”

The soft fur brushed his neck, its gentle tickle making the fox spirit laugh quietly.

“Ha, Mokona, you shouldn’t worry either. I’m hardly so naïve as to offer kindness out of pure goodwill.”

But for those who treated him sincerely, he gave a little more care and genuine feeling.

Besides...

“When it comes down to it, I’m not really the kind of lord Diarmuid hopes to serve.”

Though the spearman’s wish had become so humble—just to have a master willing to let him serve, to stake his honor for their sake, to realize the loyalty that once seemed within reach but ultimately eluded him—Kurama felt that, deep down, Diarmuid still harbored some expectation for his ideal lord.

Unfortunately...

Kenneth scorned the spearman’s devotion, and Kurama...

His leniency toward servants wasn’t because Diarmuid was special; were it Rider, Assassin, or even Saber, as long as their actions didn’t interfere with Kurama’s plans, he wouldn’t intervene in their choices.

—Not trust, merely indifference.

“So, choosing me as master may not be Diarmuid’s luck after all.”

The fox spirit shrugged carelessly.

Still, compared to Kenneth, Kurama thought, at least he could guarantee that Diarmuid would retain his pride and dignity as a heroic spirit and hero from start to finish, never forced to bow to command spells, never dying with bitterness in his heart.

He only wondered if this was enough for the Knight of the Lance.

Withdrawing his gaze, Kurama hugged his white companion tighter.

“Enough of that. Mokona, where would you like to go tonight? I’ll keep you company.”

“Waaah!”

The white fluffball cheered happily, ready to answer Kurama, when suddenly—

“Hey, mongrel.”

Accompanied by an imperious voice, a handsome spirit clad in golden armor appeared abruptly before them in a blaze of golden light.

“What sort of creature is that in your arms?”

The newcomer narrowed his eyes, openly intrigued.

“There exists a creature in this world unknown to this king...”

Raising an eyebrow, the tall spirit stepped forward, casting a vast shadow over the fox spirit.