The Spearman’s Return

“Diarmuid?”

Kurama certainly hadn’t refrained from leaving the room with Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Havoc because he had known in advance that the Lancer would awaken at such a perfectly opportune moment. In truth, the fox spirit’s original plan had been to seize the moment when those two withdrew and try to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone from Lust.

After all, if he didn’t intervene here and simply allowed the story to unfold on its own, not only would the Philosopher’s Stone vanish along with Lust’s death in the wake of Mustang’s fury, but that pleasant and affable Lieutenant Havoc—who, most importantly, was so adored by Mokona and always knew how to make the little one laugh—would be grievously wounded by Lust over a trivial mistake. Though he would survive, he’d lose all sensation below the waist and be forced to retire from the military far too soon.

For a soldier, such a fate was a calamity almost too great to bear. And because of Havoc’s close bond with Mokona, Kurama simply couldn’t stand by and watch him come to harm, nor could he bear to see his beloved white bundle of fluff grieve for him.

That was why the fox spirit chose to snuff out disaster at its very source.

He hadn’t expected, however, that before he could put his carefully laid plans into action, just as Lust lunged forward with her claws, the miniature Servant container he wore as a pendant at his neck suddenly erupted in radiant light!

The rest required no explanation. By the time Kurama’s vision cleared from the brilliance, he saw his own Servant—noble and unyielding, twin spears in hand—standing protectively before him.

“My lord.”

Even though he heard Kurama call his name, Diarmuid, quite unexpectedly, did not look back. His voice was steady, as if Lust’s claws—scraping and sparking between his twin spears mere centimeters away—were of no consequence.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

Though phrased as a question, his tone left no room for doubt.

Kurama arched a brow at that, realizing in an instant that something about this dark-haired Servant seemed... different.

“I’m fine,” he answered promptly, pushing aside his musings for now. “But Diarmuid—waking up so soon, are you sure you’re alright?”

Miss Yuuko had said he would slumber for quite a long while, as the price for severing his true self from the Servant container and the Fate world. Yet now, here he was, awake so suddenly...

The fox spirit’s brow furrowed faintly at the thought.

Surely nothing’s wrong...

Diarmuid, catching every flicker of Kurama’s expression, offered a faint, rueful smile.

“It seems nothing escapes your notice.” His voice was clear, yet tinged with a peculiar, unconscious allure. “I forced myself awake because I sensed some strange, unidentified force approaching you. Because it was a ‘forced awakening,’ my soul’s strength and resilience are still unstable. After this, I may... have to sleep for an even longer time.”

He spoke of these consequences with a careless air, his expression calm and touched with gentle mirth. Only when he continued did a hint of regret and apology surface in his gaze:

“For a considerable time to come, I’ll only be able to rouse myself from slumber briefly, and only when you’re in danger, Lord Kurama. So I hope you’ll...”

—Take care of yourself in my absence. Don’t let yourself be caught in peril.

Though he left the words unsaid, the warmth and brilliance in those amber eyes conveyed all he wished to express.

The fox spirit let out a bold, unrestrained laugh.

“Diarmuid, you must have sensed it too.”

For the first time, Kurama let drop the mask of gentle innocence before this loyal Servant, his laughter brimming with a certain regal arrogance:

“I’m not some fragile magus who can’t fend for himself without a Servant’s protection.”

His emerald eyes glinted with sly, mischievous amusement—the trademark smile of the fox spirit—as he met Diarmuid’s gaze head-on, slightly surprised to find only helpless warmth there, and none of the discouragement or disappointment he’d expected.

“For that much, I’ll admit—though I hate to say it—you’re absolutely right.” Diarmuid sighed softly, then with a casual flick of his spear, sent Lust—who’d gathered her strength for another assault—crashing into the opposite wall.

He seemed not to care in the least for what he’d just done, turning instead to look straight into Kurama’s eyes.

“But since I’ve chosen to follow you, that is something I must accept.”

“My lord, you are so strong—so strong that you need neither the protection nor the loyalty of a knight.”

With a gesture Kurama knew all too well, Diarmuid knelt on one knee, head bowed, offering the highest salute to his master.

“So please—wait for me.”

“Just a little longer...”

“Please wait until the day I can awaken fully, and stand at your side as a true Servant.”

The gaze he lifted was so steadfast, so full of hope, that Kurama was momentarily dazed. Just as he was about to nod, almost against his will, Diarmuid suddenly lashed out, sending Lust—who’d somehow recovered and leapt at them again—flying once more.

The subtle, tender atmosphere of moments before was shattered in an instant.

Kurama blinked, realizing he’d nearly been ensnared by some kind of charm spell.

Could it be...

Watching Diarmuid’s face—now tinged with irritation—as he turned and glared sharply at the battered Lust, Kurama confirmed his suspicion: not only had Diarmuid’s power and Noble Phantasm grown, but the allure of that teardrop mole at the corner of his eye had also intensified dramatically.

So that was why he’d asked Kurama to wait for him.

His slumber had truly fused him with a power beyond imagination, making him no longer just a temporary projection under the Grail’s influence, but a true Servant.

With a sense of having acquired something extraordinary, Kurama stroked his chin and decided to turn the page on what had just happened—as if nothing at all had occurred.

Meanwhile, the Lancer—whose pivotal moment with his master had been so rudely interrupted—looked even more dazzlingly beautiful for the anger burning in his heart.

“You... are neither human nor immortal, nor yet a Servant’s projection,” he said coldly, fixing his gaze on the dark-haired woman before him. “Though your veins carry blood, your heart does not beat... What are you? Why, time and again, do you seek to harm my lord?”

And—how dare you interrupt my most important moment with Lord Kurama!

Unforgivable.

His expression grew ever colder at the thought.

The woman, however, let out a soft, mocking laugh.

“Oh my,” she said, standing upright and brushing the dust from her skirt. “One after another, you all insist I’m not human... You men really don’t know how to cherish beauty, do you?”

“Isn’t that right, John?”

She spoke Lieutenant Havoc’s name with an intimacy like a lover’s murmur, though she already knew she’d get no reply. With a careless curve of her lips, she continued, “Even if I’m a homunculus, didn’t I already say so? I have emotions, thoughts of my own, and love for my father... I—we—are all ‘human,’ you know.”

Before her words had faded, Lust darted forward again—a blur racing straight for Diarmuid.

But the Lancer only snorted, thrusting his yellow short spear forward—and drove most of it deep into Lust’s abdomen.

“Heh... I told you, this kind of attack won’t work.”

The dark-haired woman showed not the slightest sign of concern. Even as she was skewered by Diarmuid’s spear, her face twisted into a bizarre, mocking grin.

“For us, such wounds...”

But this time, her words trailed off unfinished.

For as the tip of the yellow rose spear withdrew, Lust spat a mouthful of blood, and the body that had so easily healed from Mustang’s bullets before now failed to show any sign of regeneration. Around the wound left by the yellow rose, sparks of electricity crackled, strange patterns like fissures attempting to mend or reconstitute her flesh—but no matter how they gathered, her injury remained.

At last, shock widened the woman’s eyes. She looked up at Diarmuid, incredulous.

“What did you do?!”

The dark-haired Lancer responded with a proud, faintly smiling press of his lips.

“You just claimed to be a homunculus—creatures who heal from any wound and can’t be killed so easily?”

How laughable.

Having absorbed modern knowledge through the Grail and the first Lancer’s information about the founding families of the Holy Grail War, Diarmuid found her words absurd.

The Einzberns were world-renowned for their skill in creating homunculi. Yet even their creations could hardly claim to be unkillable, or truly human. The arrogance of the woman before him was beyond belief!

Diarmuid had no reason to defend the Einzberns’ reputation, but he had once seen their homunculus, Irisviel, with his own eyes. He knew well the nobility, beauty, and fragility that defined her.

So for this being to claim kinship with homunculi...

He felt almost mocked.

But, more than that, he was simply furious that she had interrupted his moment with Kurama.

Under Lust’s terrified gaze, the Lancer advanced step by step. With another blow from the yellow rose, he ensured she could no longer move, then reached into her chest, and—amid her frenzied screams—wrenched free an oval gem radiating an uncanny, blood-red light.

“My lord, is this... what you wanted?”

He turned, ignoring the raving, disintegrating form of Lust behind him. A flicker of red rose had already severed the faint thread tying the crimson gem to Lust’s body. Bowing his head, he held out the stone to his red-haired master.

Kurama reached out, ready to accept the Philosopher’s Stone so easily within his grasp...