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com
https://mp4directs.com
NOVEL: Fate Strange Fake
1. NOVEL: Fate Strange Fake
2. Fate/Strange Fake
3. JatesfrangeFakr
4. Fate strange Fake
5. “( r
6. Prologue III: Assassin
7. Prologue IV: Caster
8. Prologue V: Rider
9. Prologue VI: Lancer
10. Extra
11. Chapter 1
12. Prologue VII
13. Archer
14. Lancer

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 NOVEL: Fate Strange Fake

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Fate/Strange Fake
Volume 1°

Translation by:

Nakulas (2008 version), OtherSideofSky (Post Caster chapter) and Mew

(extra chapters of 2015 version) Typesetting and PDF: HumbertoZero

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JatesfrangeFakr
7 i -f h / i [ i y ! ) i i < 7

Ryogo Narita

Original Work/ TYPE-MOON

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Fate strange Fake
7 i F h / 7 h 1/ 7 5 7 i -M

CONTENTS

Extra “Betrayer” 001

Prologue I “Archer” 013

Prologue II “Berserker” 028

Prologue III “Assassin” 046

Prologue IV “Caster” 058

Prologue V “Rider” 069

Prologue VI “Lancer” 082

Extra “Observer. Or, Character Creation” 097

Chapter 01 “The War Begins” 104

Prologue VII “Visitor &••••” 129

DESIGN:WINFAN WORKS

Truth, at times, crushes the world’s lies,

But it cannot erase the ‘truth’ that ‘the lies were there.’ Not even with the
power of the Holy Grail.

“Betrayer”

Extra

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Betrayer

A cleft.

That city, rising from the darkness of the surrounding hinterland, was
certainly worthy of being called a “cleft”.

It was not a disjunctive barrier, of the kind that might separate day from
night; light from darkness. Rather, it was a harmonious barrier, one that
demarcated a boundary between things of the same ilk. That was the strange
thing about the city of Snowfield.

It was a watershed, but the things it divided were not so different as magic
and sorcery, nor were they as similar as men and beasts.

In a sense, it was a hazy boundary, smudged with the colors of dawn and
dusk. But it was more than just a divider. It was a black nexus, begotten from
a blending of pigments.

To put it differendy, it was the boundary between one town and another; the
boundary between nature and man; the boundary between a man and a
megalopolis. It was not at all unlike that indistinct morass that separates
dreams from mere sleep.

The American West. The city lay a while to the north of Tas Vegas.

Its surroundings were a product of a delicate balance. North of the city was a
vast ravine, reminiscent of the Grand Canyon. To the west lay a dense forest,
an unusual sight in such an arid area. To the east, a tract of lakes and
marshes; to the south, a vast desert unfolded.

Though the city had not one smidgen of farmland, it was surrounded in all
four directions by land perfecdy suited for agriculture. Indeed, that city alone
was a strange existence that stood out from its surroundings like a sore
thumb.

A boomtown with its sights set on the future; a city with just the right mixture
of the natural and the artificialthat was how some might describe Snowfield,

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dazzled by its beauty. But in reality, the city was built on arrogantly arrogant
notions. Sometimes, those notions were apparent; but sometimes, they were
not.

The lie of the surrounding land was as natural as it could be. It was as if that
townthat cleft, that nexus, that blending of countless colorshad deemed itself
fit to bring concordance unto its milieu. The town became as a black stage,
evaluating all that surrounded it.

According to records pertaining to the very beginning of the 20th century, the
area was home at the time to a few indigenous peoples here and there, and
essentially nobody else.

Starting about 70 years ago, though, the area began to rapidly develop. By the
time the 21st century rolled by, the land had undergone a total
transformation. Now, it was home to a thriving

city of 800,000 people.

“Of course, rapid development can happen anywhere. The fact that we have
been asked to investigate such a seemingly-typical city indicates that we
ought to devote special attention to the city’s origins.” Thus grumbled an
elderly man, clad in blue-black robes.

The night sky was dark, and there was not a star in the sky. It seemed like the
clouds could burst open at any time.

From a sparse grove of trees at the edge of the vast forest to the west of the
city, the old man peered through a pair of binoculars. As he gazed at the light
thrown offby the agglomeration of skyscrapers off yonder, he went on, with
disdain apparent in his voice.

“Hrm... binoculars these days really are quite handy. They come into focus
with just a push of a button; and further, its less of a hassle to use them than
to go to the trouble of sending out a familiar.... What a wretched age we live
in.”

With a sour look on his face, the old man spoke to the young apprentice

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standing behind him. “Don’t you agree, Faldeus?” he asked.

The man called Faldeus stood beside a tree perhaps two meters away from
the old man. His voice filled with doubt, he replied, “Never mind that. More
importandy, need we really be so concerned about that thing? That so-
called... Holy Grail War’?”

— The Holy Grail War —

It was a phrase often appearing in fairy tales and legends from times past.
The moment that phrase left Faldeus’s lips, his teacher lowered his binoculars
and spoke at him, with exhaustion apparent in his eyes. “Faldeus, is that a
joke?”

“No... I meant...,’’stuttered the apprentice. He lowered his gaze, as if

expecting a harsh punishment.

The old man shook his head and sighed, anger entering his voice. “I did not
think I would have to ask, but... just how much do you know about the Holy
Grail War ?”

I did skim over the materials I was given, but...”

Then you know enough. Be it a mere rumor among children or the ramblings
of a third-rate tabloidas long as there is some possibility, no matter how
small, that an object described as a Holy Grail will come into being, we
cannot afford to ignore it.”

“For it is the true desire of all magi, yet at the same time a mere means to the
ultimate end.””

Once upon a time — there was a battle.

It took place in a certain country in the Far East.

The battle took place in an ordinary town, unbeknownst to its people.

However, that battle hid a truly dreadful secret. Indeed, it was a war that
brought about a miracle called the Holy Grail.

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The Holy Grail.

It is an eternal miracle.

It is a legend.

It is a relic of the world of the gods.

It is a terminus.

It is hope— and so, to seek it is to admit despair.

The very identity of that object referred to as the Holy Grail changes from
time to time, from place to place, and from person to person. In that war, the
Holy Grail was not quite the “Sacred relic” that it is often pictured to be.

There, it was said that the miracle called the Holy Grail appeared in the form
of an omnipotent wish-granting device.

But it was merely said to be so, for at the time that the battle to claim the
Grail began, the wish-granting device called the Holy Grail did not exist.

Before the Grail itself appeared, seven spirits were manifested.

From all of this world’s histories, traditions, magics, and fictions from every
medium, “Heroes” were selected to be summoned into the present-day world
as “Servants.”

They formed the fundament of the Holy Grail War, and were absolutely
essential for the eventual summoning of the Holy Grail.

Those spirits, beings immeasurably stronger than humans, were called forth
to destroy one another.

The magi who summoned those Heroic Spirits were known as “Masters.” In
order to earn the right to obtain the Grail, a right which could devolve upon
but one, they too slew one another. That carnage is precisely what is known
as the Holy Grail War.

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The spirits, once slain in batde, flowed into the vessel of the Holy Grail; and
when that vessel was filled, the wish-granting machine was completed. That
was the system underlying the Holy Grail War.

Those batdefields were perhaps the deadliest, most noxious places in the
world.

The participating magi had to conceal their existence from the rest of the
world, as always, and so they trod quiedy through the night, letting loose the
flames of batde while unseen.

As part of its mission to oversee those objects described as Holy Grails, the
Church dispat-

ched its own supervisor. The noxious batdefields gleamed with a sanguine
veneer as they were cleansed by those overwhelmingly powerful spirits.

And, now—

The Holy Grail War: a battle fought five times on an island in the Far East.

Something appeared in an ordinary town in the States. That something was

accompanied by harbingers akin to those seen in that war fought in the Far
East. Rumors of that something spread among magi.

As a result, the Associationthat organization which brings all magi

togethersaw fit to conduct a secret investigation of that town. And so, it came
to pass that an elderly mage and his disciple were dispatched.

“...very well. Your knowledge of the Holy Grail War is sufficient. However,
Faldeus. I am unimpressed by your lackadaisical attitude. It disappoints me
that you know so much about it, yet care so little. Depending on how things
turn out, this could become a matter that concerns the entire Association.
Were that to happen, those wretches from the Church would surely turn up.
Get it together, Faldeus.”

“But is this really the place ?” replied Faldeus, skeptical despite his teacher’s
admonitions. “The system underlying the Holy Grail War was built by the

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Einzberns and the Makiri. Is it not tied to the land that the Tohsaka proffered?
Could someone really have replicated their system... a full seven decades ago
?”

“If this is indeed the place... ah, yes. In the worst-case scenario, it is possible
that this place was built solely for the sake of the Holy Grail War.”

“It couldn’t be!”

“Calm yourself; that was just one possibility. It is said, after all, that the three
founding families did anything and everything to attain the Grail. In any case,
we have yet to learn who is attempting to recreate the Holy Grail War in this
town, Faldeus. It would not surprise me if the perpetrator was some relation
of the Einzberns or of the Makiri. ...One of the Tohsaka is at the Clock
Tower, so I doubt it is their handiwork.”

The old mage returned to his binoculars, leaving open the possibility of the
founding families being involved.

It was perhaps an hour till midnight, and yet the city lights were almost as
bright as ever. Snowfield stood serenely against the overcast night sky,
boasting of its own existence.

After surveying the area for a few minutes, the old mage prepared to cast a
spell, as if it was the only reasonable thing to be done. The spell would render
his binoculars capable of viewing the ebb and flow of ley lines.

The apprentice gazed upon his master from behind, and meekly asked, “If a
Holy Grail War truly does take place, surely neither we of the Association
nor the devotees of the Church would keep quiet about it... ?”

“Indeed... but there have only been omens thus far. Back at the Clock Tower,
Tord El-Melloi said that there were irregularities in the ley lines, but.... Well,
that was just a crude hypothesis on his part, to say nothing of that student of
his. Hence, we are now here in this land, in order to verify El-Melloi’s
predictions.”

Exhausted, the old mage chuckled.

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With a mixture of irritation and scorn permeating his voice, he talked and
talked at great length, perhaps at his disciple, or perhaps at himself.

“Of course, no Heroic Spirit can be summoned unless preparations for a Holy
Grail have already been made. If a Heroic Spirit is indeed brought forth, our
doubts will immediately be cast away... but I would prefer for that not to
happen.”

“It’s a surprise to hear that coming from you, sir.”

“Speaking for myself, I very much hope that the rumors surrounding this land
are nothing but. And if something does materialize here,

I would like for it to be a fake Holy Grail.”

“Does that not contradict what you were saying earlier? That the Holy Grail
is the true desire of all magi and a means to the ultimate end...?”

“Well... I suppose it does,” he replied, furrowing his brow. “But even if,
hypothetically speaking, there is something here worthy of being called a true
Holy Grail, I say confound that! It would pain me to see the Grail appear in a
country with such a meager history.... I am sure that many magi would do
anything to reach the Root, but, to be frank, I would not. If I were to reach the
Root... it would be like an ill-mannered youngling muddying up my
bedchamber with his unkempt shoes. That wouldn’t do for me.” He shook his
head exasperatedly.

“Is that so?”

For the umpteenth time that day, the old mage sighed at his apprentice. “In
any case,” he wondered out loud, changing the topic of the conversation, “in
this new land, I have to wonder... just what manner of Servants could be
summoned?”

“Indeed. Leaving Assassin aside, the identities of the other five classes
depend entirely on their summoners, so we truly have no way of even
predicting what might happen.”

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Unable to contain his aggravation with Faldeus, the mage harshly rebuked
him: “If you leave

Assassin aside, there are six classes remaining, you clod! It was not two
minutes ago that I spoke of the seven Servants! Enough with your
tomfoolery!”

Each Heroic Spirit summoned to the Holy Grail War is placed in one of
seven classes.

Saber.

Archer.

Lancer.

Rider.

Caster.

Assassin.

Berserker.

The Heroic Spirits are summoned in forms that accord with their various
special characteristics, thereby honing their abilities even further. A Hero of
the sword may be summoned as Saber; a Hero skilled with the spear as
Lancer.

To reveal one’s true name is tantamount to broadcasting ones weaknesses and

special abilities; as such, Servants are typically referred to by their class
names. Each class is also endowed with various skills, each able to influence
combat in its own distinct way.

For example, Caster has the power of Bounded Field Creation, while
Assassin has the ability of Presence Concealment.

In a sense, the various classes are like chess pieces, each with a distinct
ability.

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But each player has only one piece. The chessboard is irregular, designed for
a battle royale. And every piece has the chance to control the board, provided
that its moverits Masteris strong enough.

It was this most fundamental principle of the Holy Grail War that Faldeus
had bungled. His teacher lamented that he had such an unworthy disciple, but

Faldeus remained emotionless, despite having been scolded.

He hadn’t turned a deaf ear to his teacher’s words, nor did it seem that he was
reflecting on his indiscretions. “No, there are six classes in total, Mister
Rohngall,” he said, in a soft and steady voice. “...What?”

Suddenly, a chill ran up the spine of the old mage, Rohngall.

This was the first time Faldeus had referred to him by his name.

He wanted to yell at Faldeus; to ask him what was going through his headbut
Faldeus’s icy glare stopped him. Rohngall remained silent.

Faldeus’s emotionless visage twitched. “In the Holy Grail War waged in
Japan, there certainly were seven classes,” he said, coolly pointing out his
teacher’s mistake. “But in this city, there are only six. The Saber classthe
strongest and most suited for battledoes not exist in this false Holy

Grail War.” “What... are you talking about?” Something crunched in his
backbone.

His Magic Circuits, his nerves, and his blood vessels all conveyed a warning
signal, causing an alarm bell to ring in his ears.

His apprenticeor at least, the man who must have been his apprentice until a
few minutes agotook a step towards him. “The system created by the Makiri,
Einzberns, and Tohsaka was truly amazing,” he said, in a voice bereft of
emotion. “That’s why we couldn’t copy it perfecdy. We would’ve liked to
begin the war with an exact copy... but we used the Third Holy Grail War as
our template, and that was a real mess of its own, you see. It really is a
shame.”

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Faldeus clearly looked as though he couldn’t be past his mid-twenties, and
yet he was narrating events from over 70 years ago as if he had seen them
himself.

Just when it seemed that his expression was going to turn sinister, the corners
of his lips contorted, as if pulled at by invisible strings. Still as cool as ever,
he spoke from the bottom of his heart.

“You referred to my nation as ‘young’. But that is all the more reason for you
to remember, elder.”

“...What?”

“That you ought not to make light of a young nation.”

crunch crunch crik crak creak crack crik crunch

Every last one of Rohngall’s bones and muscles creaked. Perhaps it was
because he was tightening his guard, or perhaps he was just outraged.

“You wretch... who... are you?”

“I’m Faldeus, of course, old chum. Of course, the only thing you really know
about me is my name. Anyway, I really have learned quite a bit about the
Association up ‘till now. I suppose I ought to thank you for that.”

Based on his extensive experience as a mage, Rohngall knew right away that
the man standing before him was no longer his apprentice; rather, he was an
enemy.

Rohngall readied himself to kill Faldeus the instant that long-time

acquaintance of his made a move. And yet, alarm bells continued to ring
through his head.

He must have known precisely how capable a mage Faldeus was.

There were no signs that Faldeus had been concealing his strength. As an
experienced spy for the Association, he could be sure of that.

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At the same time, though, his experience as a spy made it clear to him that he
was in a dan-

gerous situation.

“You must be a plant, then, from another organization, sent to infiltrate the
Association. And you have been one ever since you told me you sought to
become a mage.”

“Another organization, eh?” With a gluey, syrupy voice, Faldeus corrected

Rohngall. “The Association seems to be under the impression that a group of
non-Association heterodox mages is responsible for the creation of this Holy
Grail War, but.... I mean, honesdy, how could... well, never mind.”

As if to indicate that there was nothing more to be said, Faldeus took a step
forward.

He wasn’t particularly menacing, nor did he present himself as an enemy, but

it was nonetheless clear that he was plotting something. Rohngall clenched
his teeth and smoothly lowered his center of gravity, preparing himself to
respond to whatever Faldeus might do.

“Do not underestimate me, child.”

As he spoke, he readied a plan to make the first move in this duel of magibut
he had already lost.

By the time they had begun trying to outwit one another as magi,

Rohngall had already been defeated by the man standing before him “I’m not
underestimating you, sir.”

—for Faldeus had not planned to fight him as a mage in the first place.

“I’ll hit you with everything I’ve got.”

Faldeus ignited the lighter that he was holding in one hand. A cigar suddenly
appeared in his other hand, which was empty until then.

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It looked like apportation, but there were no signs that he had used any
magical energy.

Seeing that Rohngall was puzzled by his actions, he grinned. It was a grin
from the very core of his being, a smile of a sort that Rohngall had never
seen. He went on, saying, “Haha, that was just an illusion—a trick. Not
magic.”

“.j>”

“Ah, well, you see, we aren’t really an organization of magi, specifically. I

hope you aren’t too disappointed,” said Faldeus, without even the slightest bit
of tension in his voice. He lit his cigar. “We answer to the United States of
America. It just so happens that we have a few magi among our number;
that’s all.”

Rohngall was silent for a few moments, and then he replied. “I see. Now,
pray tell, what does that cigar have to do with everything you’ve got’?”

Rohngall was trying to buy time to ready his magic. But the instant he spoke
those words—

Something burst through the side of his head. Everything was decided in an
instant.

It was a wet- and blubbery-sounding explosion.

The bullet decelerated as it pierced his cranium. Lead scattered everywhere,

swimming in a sea of brain-fluid as it burned his mind away.

Instead of exiting through the other side of his skull, the bullet ricocheted
around his brainpan, putting an instantaneous and permanent end to the old
man.

And theneven though he was quite apparendy dead, dozens more bullets
pierced his body, as if to deliver a final blow.

The bullets were not all fired from one place. There must have been more
than a dozen marksmen situated at various locations.

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That was clearly overkill. What an inexorable way to destroy.

His aged limbs bent and crumpled powerlessly, like a marionette forced to
dance to rap music.

“Thanks for the dance. That was pretty funny.”

Rohngall’s body sent up a red spray as it slumped to the ground, squelching.

Faldeus looked at the fresh corpse and clapped slowly. “You look thirty years
younger now, Mister Rohngall.”

A few minutes later—

Faldeus stood still before the body of his teacher, collapsed in a pool of its
own blood.

But the forest around him had changed. There was a strange atmosphere
around him.

Dozens of men clad in camouflage gear moved out of the forest from behind
Faldeus.

Each one of them wore a black balaclava and held a silencer equipped assault
rifle, each engraved with a different designrustic, yet detailed.

Their races were scarcely discernible, never mind their emotional affects.
One of them straightened up and walked up to Faldeus, delivering a salute as
he spoke. “Reporting in, sir. Situation is normal. We’ve found nothing out of
the ordinary.”

“Good work, buddy,” replied Faldeus. Whereas his underling spoke quite
formally, Faldeus’s voice was warm.

He ambled over to the corpse of the old mage, looking down at it with a weak
grin on his face.

Still facing away from his subordinates, he said, “Well, then... seeing as how
many of you are probably unfamiliar with these so-called magi’, let me give

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you the rundown.”

The uniformed men had already fallen into formation behind him. In silence,
they listened to Faldeus speak.

“A mage is not a sorcerer. Don’t clutter your imaginations with fairy-tale

creatures and legendary beasts. Think of... ah, that’s it—think more along the
lines of a Japanese anime or a Hollywood flick. That’s all there is to them.”

Extra

He squatted down before the body of what was once his teacher, grabbed a
piece of it, and lifted it into the air with his bare hands.

It was a bizarre sight, but nobody so much as raised an eyebrow.

“They die when they’re killed, and physical attacks are reasonably effective
against them. Now, there are some who cover themselves with a veil of
mercury, strong enough to deflect thousands of bullets. There are others who
can transfer their consciousness and extend their lives with the aid of insects
embedded in their bodies. But... well, the former type has no defense against
an anti-tank rifle, while the latter type almost certainly couldn’t survive a
precision missile strike.”

They may well have figured that Faldeus was joking. The camouflaged men
struggled to suppress their sniggering.

But the moment they heard the next thing Faldeus had to say, they all fell
silent.

“There are exceptions, though.... For example, this fellow, who wasn’t even
here in the first place.”

“...could I ask you to elaborate on that, Mr. Faldeus ?” inquired one of the
gunmen, ever-so-for- mally. Faldeus cackled and tossed a piece of the
corpse’s flesh at him.

He caught it staidly. He looked at the piece of meat, likely part of a finger,

and gasped with surprise, “...wha?”

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Under the illumination of his flashlight, it was clear that white bone
protruded from the red sinews of the flesh.

But there was something wrong. Something unlike the flesh of a true human.

Transparent threads, not entirely unlike fiber optic cables, extended out of the
flesh and wormily wiggled about in a most disturbing fashion.

“A cyborg, so to speak? Well, we call it a puppet. Mister Rohngall is a

terribly cautious investigator, you see. He’s not so foolish as to come all the
way out here with his real body. At the moment, he’s probably situated either
in one of the branch chapters of the Association, or in his own atelier. I’ll bet
he’s all in a tizzy now!”

“Apuppet...? That’s preposterous!”

“It is something of a spectacular technique, but do notice that he wasn’t able

to make it seem perfecdy human. The form of an old man works well for
concealing those imperfections, I suppose. I hear there’s a puppetress whose
dolls are utterly indistinguishable from the bodies they’re modeled on...
they’d even pass a DNA test.” Faldeus talked and talked, sounding
disinterested, as if he were an uninvolved third party.

The soldier frowned. “In that case, would he not have heard everything you
said earlier?” he

asked of Faldeus, his commanding officer.

“He would have. Just as planned.”

“Er...P”

“I went to the trouble of gloating like a fool prior to killing him precisely in
order to ensure that the Association would come to know of everything that I
said.” Faldeus stood atop the fake body, lying in a pool of fake blood, and
gazed up into the dark sky as it began to drizzle. Contentedly, he murmured,
“Consider this a declaration... our warning to the magi.”

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And that marked the beginning—

The beginning of the banquet of men and Heroic Spirits; the beginning of the
false Holy Grail War.

Prologue I: Archer

He was truly a mage, in every respect—

Yet at the same time, he had stagnated, in every respect.

The false Holy Grail War.

He knew that it was an imitation of the ritual once carried out on an island in
the Far East. That did not bother him.

It matters not.

Perhaps it is a sham or a counterfeit; even if it is, though, that does not

matter. As long as it yields the same results as the original, it will suffice.

No proud mage would rely on the fruits of another’s labor. Such a mage
would choose instead to construct a system of her own, just as the three
founding families created the Holy Grail War. He, however, was quick to
follow in the footsteps of others. To lead or to follow—both options were
reasonable, in a sense.

From the very beginning of this mere imitation of the Holy Grail War, there
were none as determined in every respect as he; none as enthusiastic than he.

From the very beginning, he was prepared for anything that might happen
when he came to Snowfield.

When he first heard the rumors, he laughed them off as mere gossip. Then, a
report issued by Rohngall sent tremors through the Association. News spread
from mage to mage until it reached him.

He was from a family of not-insignificant repute among magi, but his

lineage’s power was on the decline. As the head of his family, he was under

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pressure.

He had formulated his fair share of magical theories in his time. He was an
intelligent man. He knew quite a few techniques. All he lacked was raw
power, of the sort that should have been built up over many generations. This
drove him to ever-greater frustration.

The standard thing to do in this situation would be to spend many years

researching ways to increase his family’s power, and then to pass that
knowledge, along with his Magic Crest, on to a sufficiendy-able descendant.

But he was in a hurry.

His son was even less capable of magic than he was.

There were many families whose magical natures grew weaker and weaker
over time, until they completely lost touch with the world of magic.

This is no laughing matter.

I will not allow myself to fall like the Makiri.

Like any other organization or corporation, the Association was rife with
obstacles.

Only a mage of a powerful bloodline could come to possess a method for

producing powerful, thriving successors.

It was a catch-22. He was a mage, in every respect, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

He bet everything on the perhaps-fake Holy Grail War, came to Snowfield,

and put all of his chips on the table.

All of his assets, his whole past, and even his future.

I have nothing to fear. Everything will go smoothly.

So as to demonstrate his resolve, he extirpated his son. His son, who had no
future.

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He did the same to his wife, who tried to stop him.

He felt nothing for her, a woman who could not bear him thriving offspring.

Even so, he found it shocking that she understood nothing of what it meant to
have self-respect as a mage.

It must have been her fault that his son was lacking.

Alas, she was the best woman he could obtain with his current rank.

In order to move up in the world, he had to win this war.

Even if this Holy Grail were a counterfeit, the mere act of winning a so-called
Holy Grail War would suffice to improve his standing as a mage. He could
even find a path to the Root by winning this war.

Or perhaps he could learn the secrets of the Makiri and the Einzberns.

No matter what, he was bound to be in a better position by the end of this

war.

What a splendid gamble that was.

At the very least, he would reap a reward more valuable than all the things he
risked in entering the war.

He thought about all the various ways he could benefit from this war—but
not once did he consider the possibility of his defeat, and the ensuing end of
his lineage.

There was a good reason that he didn’t consider the possibility.

He had a solid chance to win.

Or at least, he had a good enough chance to justify having done away with
his son.

So... these are the Command Spells, I take it ?

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They were a litde bit different from what he had expected.

Even so, he gazed at his right hand, a loving smile stuck to his face as if he
were gazing upon his own newborn child.

The seals took the form of a loop of chain, and served as proof that he had
been selected as

a Master in this Holy Grail War.

But if these have appeared....

Then the Grail has recognized me! Me! As a Master!

As the one who shall control that Heroic Spirit! As he spoke, the man glanced
at the cloth parcel beside him— and then, he laughed.

He laughed. He laughed. He laughed.

A grand ravine, north of Snowfield.

In the mountain chain near the ruddy cliff face, there was a system of caves.

Though the caves were originally formed by natural processes, they now
served as the mage’s atelier. He had established a Bounded Field to prevent
others from approaching.

A lamp lit the space around the mage. He picked up the parcel and carefully
and respectfully removed an object from it.

It—was a key.

It would not, however, be appropriate to describe it as a mere key.

It was exceedingly ornate, and about the length and weight of a small
survival knife.

It seemed to him that the jewels that ornamented it were extremely valuable,
both magically and monetarily.

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I have heard tell that it was summoned in a previous Holy Grail War using a
fossilized snake....

And using this relic, there is no doubt that I shall summon it.

Once upon a time—when his family was still powerful—one of his ancestors
wagered everything, much like he had just done, to obtain that key.

What his ancestor sought was the treasury of the golden city, which was said
to house all things that exist in the world. That key was the device that would
open the gates deep within the city of legend.

He had no interest in material wealth. A treasury enshrining every possible

magical artifact, however, was something he could not overlook.

When all was said and done, that ancestor managed to verify that the key was
genuine, but made no further progress. He never found the treasury itself. The
key was impregnated with some magical energy of unknown origin, but that
did not matter to the mage at this point.

It was a relic belonging to the Heroic Spirit he desired. The key would serve
as a superlative catalyst, all but ensuring that he would attain the Servant he
sought. The time has come.

Tet us begin.

The mage stood up—and his smile vanished abrupdy. He set aside his
emotions and his selfish desires, focusing all his attention on the ceremony he
was to conduct.

He unified all his senses, focusing them to a point, and sealing off those
which were unnecessary.

His nerves, his blood vessels, and the invisible Magic Circuits that ran
throughout his body. He felt a hot liquid racing through those pathways and
—

The mage spoke a summoning invocation, both a felicitation of his self and a
malediction against the universe.

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A few minutes later.

He lost his life and everything he had sacrificed for this war.

The lineage of magi to which he belonged had met its end.

It all happened in a split-second. A mere split-second.

Following a battle of a mere few seconds, he met his end, just like that.

“I did it.... Ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha! I did it!”

When the mage saw it appear before him, he could not remain silent.

There was no need for him to ascertain the being’s true name.

From the very beginning, he knew what he would summon.

He just barely managed to suppress a roar of joyous laughter. For a few

seconds, he just stood there, ignoring the Heroic Spirit.

The Heroic Spirit’s countenance was tinged with clear and obvious
displeasure. Nonetheless, he carried out his duty as a Heroic Spirit. Of
course, there’s no telling whether or not he conceived of it as a “duty” in the
first place.

“...Answer me. Are you the insolent mage that dares make an entreaty to a
king in all his radiance ?”

He had golden hair and golden armor.

As a Servant, he was defined by his unparalleled magnificence. His query to

the mage was laced with contempt.

The mage was dismayed when he heard the Servant’s question. Even though
he could sense the sheer overwhelming power of the being before him, he felt
a twinge of anger.

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How dare a mere Servant be so impertinent!

His pride as a mage won over his trepidation. However, an ache in the
Command Spells on his right hand brought him back from the brink of rage.

...So be it. Given this Hero’s personality, I should expect as much.

Right at the outset, he would have to make their relationship clear.

Fate/Strange Fake 1

In this war, he would be in charge. The Heroic Spirit he had summoned as a

Servant was merely a tool of his.

Yes. It is so. I am your master.

He prepared to complete his response to the Servants query, extending his

right hand forward to display his Command Spells— where upon he realized
that his right hand had gone missing.

“...Huh? Wha?”

He was at a loss for words. His stammers echoed throughout the cavern.

Though not a drop of blood had fallen from his body, his right hand was
clearly gone.

Panicking, he lifted his wrist up to his face. The sharp odor of burnt flesh
filled his nasal cavity.

Faint wisps of smoke were rising from the stump of his wrist. Clearly, his
hand had been cut off with some sort of flame.

The moment he became consciously aware of that, a surge of pain shot

through his nervous system and— “HiAAgAA-
giAAAiigaAAAAAaAAAAAaaAIAAaaaAAAAAaaaaaaaa!” A scream—a
scream—an overpowering scream.

He shrieked at the top of his lungs, sounding like some kind of enormous

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insect. Noticing this, the Heroic Spirit, sounding bored, said, “So, you are a
jester, knave ? If that be so, amuse me with more elegant screams. This will
not suffice.”

The Servant didn’t even lift an eyebrow, prideful as always. It would seem
that he was not responsible for the disappearance of the mage’s right hand.

“HiaAAA, AAaa, hiiAAAaaAAAaa!”

In the face of this incomprehensible happening, the mage was about to lose
control of himself—but as a mage, he could not allow that to happen. He
forced himself to calm down, and quickly composed himself.

There is someone... within the Bounded Field!

How could I allow this to occur? How injudicious of me!

Under normal circumstances, he could have sensed any intruder the moment
they entered these caves, since he had made them into his atelier. However,
he had let his guard down while he was focused on summoning his Servant.
The intruder could have snuck in unnoticed while the caves brimmed with the
Heroic Spirit’s magical energy.

Even so, there were other traps setup to support the Bounded Field. None of
the traps had been activated. If the intruder had managed to deactivate every
trap that stood in their way, the mage would have to be quite cautious in
dealing with them. That much was clear to him.

As he magically reconstituted what remained of his right hand, he faced

towards the presen-

ce he now sensed—towards the tunnel that led out of the cave—and

bellowed, “Who are you?! How did you get past my Bounded Field?!”

And then—a response came right away, sounding forth from the darkness of
the cave.

However, the response was not to the mage, but rather to the golden Servant:
“O mighty king, Your humble servant begs permission to present herself

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before You.”

The Servant thought for a second and then replied, haughtily,

“Very well. I shall grant you leave to witness my glory.”

“...I am most grateful for this privilege, Your Majesty.” Her voice was clear
—immaculate, even. It was devoid of emotion, as if it rejected all that was.

She emerged from the shadow of a boulder—and though her voice alone left
the impression that she was young, she was even younger than her voice
suggested—perhaps twelve years old. Her skin was dark brown, and her hair
was a lustrous black.

Clad in the elegant beauty of her ceremonial garment, decorous in every way,
she was as a child of noble upbringing. Though her face was pulchritudinous,
accentuated further by her dress, the expression she bore was somewhat less
resplendent.

She humbly took a step into the atelier and bowed deeply before the altar
atop which the Heroic Spirit stood. Then, unconcerned about the dirt on the
ground, she fell to her knees.

“ Wha....” The mage choked back a cry of rage. Unable even to discern how
strong the girl was, he could not afford to act rashly. Meanwhile, the girl paid
the mage no heed.

The Heroic Spirit was unsurprised by the girl’s deferential posture. He looked
down at her and spoke, with great power underlying each word. “You have
done well not to spill the blood of a mongrel in my presence. However, the
air is now filled with a most indelectable stench of flesh. If you wish to
render unto me an explanation for this indiscretion, do so now.”

The girl briefly glanced at the mage.

“I beg Your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I thought it fitting to render

retribution unto that thief for having stolen the key to Your treasury, as he
was unworthy of facing justice at Your hands,” she replied, still kneeling.

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As she spoke, she brought forth a piece of human flesh.

It had, for sure, been part of the mage’s body, and it was magically connected
to the Heroic Spirit by virtue of the Command Spells inscribed upon on it. It
was, in other words, the mage’s right hand.

The golden Heroic Spirit nodded at the girl’s response. He looked down and
saw the key, placed on a pedestal by his feet. He picked it up—and then
tossed it away, disinterestedly.

“This key is a trifle. There lives not a single man in the entirety of my garden
who would dare lay a hand upon my treasures. Though I did order that this
key be created, I did not need it, and

Fate/Strange Fake 1 so I did away with it.”

The mage had been speaking an incantation to numb the pain in his right
wrist. When he heard the Heroic Spirit’s statement, he was shocked.

One of his ancestors had staked everything on the hopes of attaining the key
to that treasury.

That artifact, his family’s one and only pride, had been tossed away like a
piece of filth. And that too, by his Servant, a being who should have been his
slave; his tool.

Overcome with rage, the pain in his right arm grew dull, even as he stopped
chanting the incantation.

However—as if to deliver a fatal wound to the mage, the brown skinned girl
turned to look at him, and spoke at him in an intimidating voice. “If His
Majesty wishes that it be so, I shall do no further batde with you. I ask that
you depart now.” Her voice dripped with pathos.

“Wha...”

“If you do so, I will not have to slay you.”

“--.” The mage lost control of himself.

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The fury that had welled up within him took control of his Magic Circuits. He
did not even have the capacity to speak. Hysterically, he released all the
magical energy stored in his left hand.

He put all of his magic, his madness, his might into a sphere of black light,
and flung it at the girl with all his strength. It soared towards her, tearing
through space, ready to consume her whole—it blitzed; it surged; it raced.

The girl should have been destroyed by his burst of magical energy before
she could take another breath.

But that didn’t happen.

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“( r
A silent chant.

As her lips moved, magic began to take form around her.

Almost immediately, immense magical energy erupted between her and the
mage.

It was like a spell that had been compressed so far that it became soundless—
a chant of overwhelming power.

And at the very end—the mage saw it.

An enormous firey maw, perhaps twice as tall as him, appeared in front of

her and drank down the magical energy he had released, and then—

— That cannot be.

That was the last thing he ever thought.

In the end, what was it that could not be ? He did not even have time to
contemplate that.

— Th-that can’t... ca-cannot... that... c-can’t be.

As a mage, he would have liked to think that even if he were to die, his
lineage would live on... but then, he recalled that it was a mere few days prior
that he had slain his would-be successor with his own hands.

— It can’t be! It cannot! I... I will... die? Here? That c-cannot....

— That cannot cannot cann-

And then, the mage vanished.

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He lost his life and everything he had sacrificed for this war.

The lineage of magi to which he belonged had met its end.

It all happened in a split-second. A mere split-second.

Following a battle of a mere few seconds, he was swallowed up by those

flames. He met his end, just like that

“I beg Your forgiveness for having subjected You to such an unseemly sight,
Your Majesty.”

She had just killed a man, but she was not flustered. She bowed her head
before the Heroic Spirit.

The golden Servant looked upon her so as to say that it did not matter to him.
Then, in reference to the magic the girl had used, he said, “I see. So your
people have ruled this land in my absence.” The magic she had just used did
not originate within her self.

Rather, it was likely that she had exploited the ley lines of the land.

In acknowledgement of that fact, emotion flitted across the girl’s face for the
first time. Her head still bowed low, she wistfully replied, “We have not ruled
it. Rather, we have lived in harmony with it. ...Just as Your Majesty
surmised, my people are but mere commoners once outside Snowfield.”

“A mongrel shall never be anything but a mongrel. Those with magic are no
different than those without.”

His arrogance suggested that he believed all things save for himself to be
alike. The girl did not reply.

The Command Spells that had been on the mage’s right hand had already
migrated to her own right hand.

Magical energy now flowed into the Heroic Spirit’s being not from the mage,
but from the girl. As he observed this, he spoke as imposingly as ever—
somehow bored, but at the same time infinitely majestic. “Very well. Once

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again, answer me. Are you the insolent mage that dares

make an entreaty to a king in all his radiance ?” The golden Heroic Spirit.
The greatest of all Heroes. The man said to be the king of all kings— The girl
gave a firm nod, and bowed down before him once again.

“...I do not seek the Holy Grail,” said the girl quietly, as they made their way
out of the cave.

She had identified herself to be Tine Chelc. As the Master of the golden
Servant, she was now a participant in the Holy Grail War.

And yet, she had made the contradictory declaration that she did not desire
the Holy Grail. Elaborating on her true goals, she said, “We wish to drive out
the magi who selected this place as the site of their Holy Grail War, who have
run roughshod over this land. Such is the extent of our desire, Your Majesty.”

She declared her desire to destroy the Holy Grail War without the least hint
of gravitas. The golden Heroic Spirit—the king summoned into this age as a
Servant of the Archer class—disinterestedly replied, “I do not care for the
Grail either. If it is the true Grail, I shall punish the knaves who stole my
treasure; and if it is a false Grail, I shall execute the ingrates who performed
this ritual.”

“Your gracious words reassure me, Your Majesty,” she thanked him.
Continuing on, she spoke of her people: “For a thousand years, my tribe has
lived in harmony with the land on which Snowfield was built. We even
protected it against the tyrants from the east who sought to rule this place.
But then, a sect in their government joined forces with those wretched magi...
and in a mere seventy years, they overran this land.” Her voice was thick
with a mixture of rage and sadness.

But the Heroic Spirit did not seem to care. “What rot. It matters not which
mongrel reigns supreme over this mongrel land, for it is a part of my garden,
and shall in the end return to me. Ordinarily, I would not deign to interpose in
a squabble among mongrels... but if they dare lay their hands on my
treasures, that would be a different matter.”

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As always, he thought only about himself. And what did the girl make of that
?

She did not find it terribly unpleasant, nor was it particularly surprising.

He conducted himself as a king at all times, and so none could question his
kingship.

His indomitability inspired a twinge of something like envy in her.

She composed herself and stepped out of the cave.

Outside the cave, perhaps a hundred people in black garments stood at

attention, awaiting her return.

The majority of them were brown-skinned, just like her, but there were also a
few white- and black-skinned people among them.

They had driven a fleet of vehicles to the lip of the valley and encircled the
entrance to the cave. Clearly, they were not there to do an honest day’s work.

They laid eyes upon the girl and the imposing man beside her and—

In unison, they reverently knelt before the girl and the Heroic

Spirit.

“Who are these knaves?”

Tine, too, knelt before him before replying. “...They are but the members of
the society that seeks to revive our tribe and defeat the magi that have
descended upon the city, Your Majesty. I have succeeded my father as the
society’s representative. And so, I must fight in this war.”

“Oh?”

Many people knelt before him in veneration. Perhaps it reminded him of how
things had been when he was alive. His eyes faintly narrowed as he ever-so-
slighdy acknowledged her.

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“Mongrels though you may be, you seem to understand who is worthy of
your worship.”

“We would not dare to meet Your Majesty’s splendor with anything but the
deepest gratitude.”

“So, you wish to make use of my might for your ends. It seems that you have
prepared adequately for the forthcoming battle.”

She knew she was supposed to be honored by that comment, and yet she was
uneasy.

The king was very clearly bored, and took no pains to hide it.

And right away, as if to confirm her suspicions, the Heroic Spirit spoke: “But
this grail is, after all, a false one. The other rabble who have been drawn here
are mere trifles. Deliver judgment unto them as I may, I shall find no respite
from this tedium in doing so.”

By the time he had finished speaking, he had brought forth a small botde.

Everyone who was there to witness it would fondly reminisce about it later.
And what was it ? It was “a distortion of space, from which emerged a single
carafe that fell right into the Heroic Spirit’s hand.”

It was a beautifully-ornamented vessel made of who-knows-what. Perhaps

china or perhaps crystal—either way, it was lustrous and translucent. Some
sort of liquid washed about within it.

“If this war will be a mere trifle to me, it is only fitting that I treat it
accordingly: as a childish game. There will be no need for me to use the full
force of my abilities. Until an enemy worthy of my power comes forth, I shall
spend my time in leisure.”

As he trailed off, he unsealed the vessel and was about to down it at a single
go, when—

Fate/Strange Fake 1

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Right then.

With timing so perfect that it must have been brought about by the
machinations of fate, rather than chance—

The earth cried out.

[-°° __ _° ■ __ •]

Tine and her followers all turned to look at the sky.

They had heard a mighty roar off in the distance—one with the power to
shake both heaven and earth.

But it was too beautiful to be called a “roar”. It was as though a giant angel or
its ilk, or perhaps even the Earth itself, was singing a lullaby.

They could tell that the sound had come from far, far away—from the forests
that lay to the west of Snowfield.

That tremendous rumbling noise, which laid waste to the very laws of
physics, was, for some reason, something Tine had faith in.

It was like the first cry of a newborn, and at the same time—

It was almost certainly the voice of a stupendously powerful Servant.

Archer, too, stood motionless upon hearing that voice.

The bottle he had conjured was at his lips. He had been about to drink, when
he stopped— and it was then that the golden king displayed a powerful
emotion for the first time.

Even those who had known Archer for some time would say that it was rare
to see him so emotional. That king among all kings was quick to anger, and
by no means level-headed—but to think that even he could be brought to this
state.

“That voice... could it be?”

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His eyes lit up with surprise, consternation, bewilderment—and then,
exhilaration.

“...Is it you?”

Tine noticed that the Heroic Spirit s powerful aura wavered for a mere instant
as he whispered those words.

But, without a moment’s hesitation, Archer exuded arrogance once again,

overbearing as always. He burst into a fit of earnest laughter. The sound of
his jubilant voice penetrated the vast sky, higher and ever higher.

And then, after he had had his fill of laughter—

“Ha! What fortune! What am I to call a happenstance of this sort if not proof
of my kingship ?!”

He swelled with delight and vigor, as though he had not been bored just a few
moments earlier.

“Rejoice, mongrel girl! It seems that I shall have occasion to use the full
force of my abilities in this war!”

The king of heroes was uncharacteristically talkative, perhaps because he was

awash in joy.

“What a pleasure it would be to end it all in a duel on yonder plaza.... But

then again, if he has been summoned as a mad warrior, or if.... No; I shall not
speak of it. This is not a matter that the mongrels ought to hear of.”

He was in a pleasant mood, unable to stifle his laughter, as kingly as ever. As

he stared in the direction from which the roar came, he spoke to Tine, who
still knelt beside him.

“Took upon me, Tine.”

Shocked that the Heroic Spirit would refer to her by name, Tine raised her
head to look up at him.

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The king tossed her the botde he had been holding.

“It is an elixir of youth. I imagine you have no need for it at your age, but
now that it has come to this, I do not need it, either. Be grateful.”

“Y-yes...? Yes, Your Majesty!” Her eyes were wide with surprise.

Archer glanced at her for a moment before going on. “If you wish to become
my subject, I shall command you thus,” he said, majestically. Though he paid
little attention to her, Archer was in high spirits as he delivered his kingly
order. “You are but a mere child. Act as one. Until you learn the ways of the
world, it will suffice for you to gaze upon my kingly might with jubilance.”

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https://mp4directs.com
Prologue I: Archer

Though there was a touch of sarcasm in his words, they were nonetheless
powerful.

She had discarded all her emotions for the sake of her tribe, and yet, when
faced with his words, she faltered.

Indeed, because she had discarded her emotions, she could do nothing but
display her utmost respect to him. She was unable to jubilate, and so hung her
head.

“I shall attempt to do so. Your Majesty,” she said, apologetically.

And so—with that, one Servant and his Master had stepped onto the
batdefield. Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, along with the girl whose land
had been stolen.

Prologue II “Berserker”

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Prologue II: Berserker
England — somewhere in London

The Clock Tower.

For most, that term refers to a popular tourist destination in London.

For magi, however, it means something else altogether.

It is the headquarters of the Association, which brings coundess many magi

together, and at the same time, is the finest educational institution for the
training of young magi.

It could well be said to be the Vatican of magic. For as long as England has
existed, it has produced first-class mage after first-class mage, each of whom
has gone on to elevate the art of magic to a new level.

“Fuck...”

A word unbecoming of that austere institution resounded through the halls.

“You know what you are ? In a word, you’re an imbecile,” said a man in his
early thirties, remonstrating the youngster facing him. His long hair fluttered
in the breeze as he swore.

He wore a red coat with golden ornamentations on its shoulders, and his face
bore a tremendously sour expression.

But that youngster desperately replied—

“Oh, come on! At least describe me with three words!”

—with a response that was just a bit off.

“You’re a cretin and an imbecile. There are no other words to describe you.”

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The youngster stood his ground, unintimidated by the stern man.

“But I really, really want to participate, professor! I’ve got to go to the States
for the Holy Grail War!”

“For fuck’s sake! Don’t bloody go around yelling about that in the hallways!
You incorrigible imbecile! Damn it all... where did you hear of it ? It’s not a
top-secret matter, but it certainly isn’t something a rotten little
whippersnapper ought to know about!” The professor gave the clingy
youngster a piece of his mind, having checked to make sure that there was
nobody in the vicinity.

He was an instructor at the Association, the finest educational institution in

the magical world, and was known to all as Lord El-Melloi II. Apparently,
that wasn’t his real name, but everyone who knew him referred to him as
Lord El-Melloi II out of respect.

Though he was still young, he was said to be the finest lecturer in the Clock
Tower. Every student who had taken a course taught by him had gone on to
become a first-rate mage. His students became famous among magi the world
around for their exploits.

As such, he earned the respect of many magi, who bestowed upon him
various nicknames,

Fate/Strange Fake 1

such as “Professor Charisma”, “Master V”, and “Great Big Ben 9 London
Star”.

He had no great exploits to his own name, however, and did seem a bit
irritated that his students were stealing the spodight.

But for now, what was irritating him was specifically the young man standing
before him, who was also one of his students.

In response to his professor’s question about the Holy Grail War, the
youngster nonchalantly replied, “Yesterday, some professors and

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administrators from the Association were holding a council meeting in one of
the basement lecture halls, right ? You know that famous puppet master, Mr.
Rohngall? That was the first time I actually saw him in the flesh!”

Upon hearing his student’s reply, El-Melloi’s expression turned indistinct,

perhaps with in- furiation. He applied a claw hold to his student’s face and
hissed, “Why—the—fuck—do you know what happened in that meeting?”

“I was a bit curious, so I eavesdropped!”

“That was a top-secret meeting, you twit! They must’ve set up dozens of
Bounded Fields!”

He averted his eyes. “Er, well, see, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was really,
reaaally curious...” he replied, apologetically.

“So I figured, why not try hacking into the room’s own Bounded Field? And
what do you know, it worked!”

—silence.

The use of the word “hacking” among magi was not a peculiarity of his: its
use was in fact rather prevalent among younger magi. His actual actions
likely had nothing to do with hacking or cracking; presumably, he meant that
he had bypassed the Bounded Field unnoticed, snuck into the meeting, and
eavesdropped.

Flatt Escardos.

He was the most senior of Lord El-Melloi II’s students.

Though he entered El-Melloi’s tutelage as a young man, he subsequendy

spent many years in the Clock Tower, unable to graduate.

To describe him in a single word, only El-Melloi’s terms of abuse would

really be appropriate.

Using a few more words, however, it would be fair to describe him as a man
with boundless magical potential and talent. A man who, however, critically

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lacks the ability to put that talent to any good use.

He was the eldest son of the Escardos line, a family that lived on the coast of
the Mediterranean Sea. It was hoped that Flatt would be a mage who had
Magic Circuits the likes of which are rarely seen, along with the talent
necessary to control them, but—

Alas, his magical talent was for naught, since he lacked the stern disposition
that is necessary

for all magi.

At first, he was hailed as a prodigy and studied under a number of other

professors. Eventually, though, all of them started bellyaching about Flatt,
and so in the end, he was assigned to Lord El-Melloi II, for there was nobody
else available.

Years passed. As Flatt’s magical talents developed, he came to surpass all the
other students. Other professors were unable to achieve the same results with
their students. This was a good sign for Master Vs reputation.

That said, Flatt had too many other problems, and so was still yet to graduate
from the Clock Tower.

Usually, Lord El-Melloi II would refuse to overlook a student’s weak points,

unwilling to send an underprepared mage out into the world. But this time
and only this time, he had begun to regret having made that choice.

“A talented idiot is the most dangerous kind of idiot...” said Master V,

calmly.

Master V had moved past anger. He had achieved a sort of ascetic

enlightenment. That said, he looked as sullen as usual. He whacked his
student and said, “I’ll pretend I never heard any of this. Now quit harassing
me about this.”

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https://mp4directs.com
Prologue II: Berserker

“I won’t be a bother, professor! I just, you know, I need some kind of item to
summon a hero, right?! I don’t know how I’m supposed to find one of those!
Like, if I had a portrait of Napoleon, could I summon Napoleon?! An
emperor would be the coolest thing!”

“If I were the Heroic Spirit Napoleon, I’d rather have you face the firing
squad than make a contract with you!”

El-Melloi thought about making a break for it, but he decided against it.
Instead, perhaps because something about the Holy Grail War had come to
mind, he asked Flatt a serious question. “...Flatt, you know, you’re.... why do
you want the Holy Grail? I can’t imagine that you take magic so seriously
that you’d want to reach the Root. Knowing you, I have to ask—you aren’t
planning on wishing to graduate, or wishing to peeve me off as comeuppance
for not letting you graduate, or anything that stupid, right ?”

El-Melloi was completely unprepared for Flatt’s response.

“Because I want to see it!”

“...what ?”

“I mean, it’d be so super-cool! It’s the Holy Grail! Hider and Gobbles wanted
it for the Third Reich! And Shi Huangdi and Nobunaga and Godzilla all
looked for it too! If it really exists, I’ve just gotta see what it looks like!”

“His name was Goebbels, not Gobbles. Godzilla never looked for it. I don’t
know about Nobunaga or Shi Huangdi, but historically and culturally
speaking, that just doesn’t seem right.” El-Melloi corrected Flatt on the points
that didn’t matter, but stayed otherwise silent.

Flatt waited a while for his professor to respond, expecting to be thoroughly

scolded. Eventually, El-Melloi sighed, and calmly and kindly said, “Do you
understand what a war of mage against mage really entails? You might well
experience things worse than death, and end up being killed gruesomely, not

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having accomplished anything.”

“And people who know that still look for the Grail, right? Now I want to see
it even more!”

El-Melloi was about to yell at him, telling him to think about it more—

—but even if he did think about it more, this moron would probably end up
saying the same thing.

Having arrived at this conclusion, he decided to question Flatt from a

different angle.

“Well, tell me this: do you have what it takes to kill somebody for the Grail?”

“Uh.... What if I could win without killing people... like, we could play chess,
or...”

“Brilliant! If your opponent happens to be the World Chess Champion, that

just might work! Hell, maybe you could even have a chess boxing match!”

“...This is a tricky problem, huh. I really, really want to see the other
Heroes... and if it works out, I want to make friends with them! If I made
friends with six Heroes, I’d be an awesome

mage! We could even conquer the world!”

El-Melloi remained silent. He had figured that Flatt had completely lost track
of his initial question somewhere along the way.

He wasn’t planning to admonish Flatt, nor was he particularly surprised by

Flatt s ramblings.

He put his hand to his chin, and seemed to be thinking about something for a
while—

And eventually, he snapped back to reality, and said, “...that’s not

happening.” He flatly put a stop to Flatt’s fantasies.

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“Yeah, yeah, well, I’m counting on you, professor! Or, should I say.

Great Big Ben 9 Fondon Star!”

“Don’t call me that to my face! And honesdy, why did you have to pick that
nickname! ? You’re making fun of me, aren’t you? You are making fun of
me, you clod!”

“Well, don’t worry! I’ll think up a new nickname for you. It’ll be perfect!
Fike, um, how about ‘Magical Miniskirt Professor’! ?”

“Fuck off and die!”

In the end, Flatt clearly looked miserable after having been dealt with so
coldly by El-Melloi. He wandered around the academic wing of the Clock
Tower. He walked down a long corridor, humphing in a manner unbefitting a
man nearly 20 years of age.

And then—

“Ah, good to see you there.” A woman called out to him from down the
hallway.

She was one of the administrative personnel of the Clock Tower. In her
hands, she held a large box and a small bundle.

“These packages are for your professor. Could you pass them onto him?”

And so, she thrust the two packages into Flatt’s hands. Now, he would have
to hand these over to Master V, but— Aw, man, I bet he’s still mad.

Flatt thought negative thoughts as he headed back up the hallway, where

upon he was overcome by curiosity about the contents of the box. He used
clairvoyance magic to examine its contents.

He saw a small knife with a sinister-looking design on it, probably designed

for ceremonial

use.

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And then, with his keen powers of clairvoyance, he saw a name inscribed on
the blade. An electric sensation shot through his body.

Could it be...!

Professor...! You got it for me!?

Taken in by his own misinterpretation, he set off at a run, carrying the box
with him.

There were a number of symbols on the inside of the box, but they weren’t
written in any script he could read. Presumably, they were magical
instructions from some other country or somesuch.

He could figure out how to interpret those instructions at some other time.
For now, he had one goal: to get to the center of the academic wing, as
quickly as possible.

“Son of a fuck... he’s back again?” Lord El-Melloi II was clearly not pleased
when he saw a certain someone sprinting down the hallway towards him.
Strangely, though, when Flatt caught up to him, with a small package in his
hand, he started babbling about things that had nothing to do with the Holy
Grail War.

“Pr... Professor... you... g... got... this... this thing... for... me!” gasped Flatt, as
he showed the parcel to his professor. Having run a hundred meters at a
breakneck pace, Flatt had run out of breath quite quickly.

El-Melloi looked at the parcel, unsure at first what it actually was. When he
saw the address and logo printed on the exterior, he realized what it was and
nodded. “So, you... what, do you want this ?”

Flatt nodded his head furiously, like he was some kind of head banger.

“Well, alright. If you want it, you can have it. I didn’t need it anyway.”

Hearing his professor’s response, Flatt glowed with happiness—the greatest

joy of his life thus far.

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“Thank you so much! I mean, really, thank you so very much! I’m so glad
I’m your student, prof!” He dashed off, almost tearful with joy.

“Damn. When I was his age, I was everything he isn’t. I bet he used
clairvoyance to look inside it.... What was in there that he wanted so much?”
El-Melloi muttered under his breath, exasperated.

A few minutes later—

El-Melloi II had returned to his room. As he thought about his incompetent

pupil, a cabinet caught his eye.

It was a double lock, with both a physical component and a magical one. El-
Melloi carefully undid the locks and picked up the object inside the cabinet.

It was a peculiar-looking protective case, in which rested a piece of cloth.

From the looks of it, it was an antique. It was decaying, and had no apparent
use.

However, given that it was the most carefully-secured object in the room, it
was evident that it was no mere raggedy scrap of fabric.

“Take the other Servants as your subjects and conquer the world, huh....”
Thinking back on Flatt’s ramblings, he frowned and scowled.

“If I couldn’t stop him, I was considering letting him have this... but I’m glad
it didn’t come to that.”

Still frowning, El-Melloi II sighed in relief and put the lid back on the case.
He thought about the parcel he had let Flatt have.

“I suppose I’m in no position to talk, but they really should rethink that
system of having students courier other people’s mail. Not that it was a
particularly important piece of mail.”

“Well, anyway, if that’ll get him to forget about the Holy Grail War, that’s a
good thing.”

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A few months earlier—

El-Melloi had been enjoying some Japanese video games in the privacy of his
room. Every time he finished playing a game, he filled out the survey card
that had been included in the game box and jotted down his impressions of
the game. It was just the proper thing to do.

Of course, he had to pay international postage to have the cards airmailed

back to Japan, but he did so nonetheless. Thanks to that, he had been entered
into a number of sweepstakes, and so his room was filled with all sorts of
game merchandise.

That’s not to say that he filled out the surveys just to get merchandise. To the
contrary, he had litde interest in most of the products he received. He really
did just want to relay his opinions back to the game designers.

And then, a few months after that—

If there was any merchandise El-Melloi really did want, he would just order it
direcdy. When he saw the sender’s name—that of a Japanese company—on
the package Flatt had brought to him, he figured that it was just another piece
of bonus merchandise. And so, he didn’t even bother to open it before letting
Flatt have it.

Just as El-Melloi suspected, it was nothing more than a piece of game

merchandise.

Judging from the company’s name, he figured it was an action figure from
some sort of game about robots or something of that ilk, but—

In actuality, it was from a simulation game called “Night Wars of the British
Empire”.

And as for what that piece of merchandise was

A few days later — the City of Snowfield — Center Park

The sun shone brightly, hanging high in the midday sky.

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Flatt had hopped on a plane to America post-haste. Of course, he was
thoroughly unprepared for the journey.

He had a vague idea of how the Holy Grail War worked, but he was clueless
about the specifics.

Ah, Flatt—a man who had more important things to worry about than the
Holy Grail War—

And a man who gazed at the sigils on his right hand with glee.

“These are... so... awesome! If I use these... Command Spell thingums... will
they disappear?”

He rubbed his hand over and over again. Every so often, he would mumble
something—and then, his shoulders would droop. It was as though he was
heartbroken.

“It’s like they’re gonna vanish. I’ve got it! I absolutely won’t use my

Command Spells, no matter what!”

Apparendy, Flatt had somehow figured out that Command Spells disappear
after being used. If anybody else with knowledge of the Holy Grail War had
been in the park at that time, they surely would have apprehended Flatt then
and there and taken him in for interrogation.

Tuckily for him, the only people in the park were ordinary people— mostly
children with their parents.

Flatt stared at his Command Spells for a while longer. Eventually, he opened
the cloth parcel he had been holding.

From it, he removed a knife.

It was a dastardly-looking knife, tinged in red and black, and was, all in all,
rather crass.

Even though it was still sheathed, its blade was none the less bizarrely

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lustrous—elegantly so, even.

“Man oh man, thank goodness for Master V. I mean, sure, he was beating
around the bush, but he had this awesome relic all ready and waiting for me!”

Flatt still hadn’t realized that a mix-up had happened. Looking at the knife
with his own eyes did not dissuade him. Rather, it left him more confident
than ever in the verity of the knife, and it spurred him onwards, bringing him
all the way to the States.

And then—imagine!—the Holy Grail had selected him to participate in the

war, and had endowed him with Command Spells for that purpose.

He stared alternately at his Command Spells and his knife—and every so

often, he mumbled something.

Perhaps thirty minutes had passed, when—

A shocking scene unfolded in the park—and had any other Masters known
about it, they surely would have fainted from the shock of it.

To be frank, it was miraculous. If his teacher, El-Melloi II, had been there to
witness it, he would likely have praised Flatt. Of course, he would have been
furious while doing so. And he would have kneed Flatt in the unmentionables
a few times first.

Was it a miracle ? Or was it a mere stroke of luck—or perhaps, something

achieved by Flatt’s own latent talents ? Either way, in a certain sense, Flatt
had delivered a powerful slight against the false Holy Grail War.

Of course, the only one who was aware of this was Flatt himself.

“I ask of thee: art thou the Master who hath summoned me ?”

*L.. wha!?”

Upon hearing that frighteningly crisp voice, Flatt leapt out of his seat and
looked around for the speaker.

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As before, though, all he could see were families and couples walking about.
Whoever it was that had spoken was nowhere to be seen.

“Aye,’ say ye? I shall take that as an affirmative. Our contract is complete.
As partners in search of the Holy Grail, let us be jolly chums.”

“Huh ? Huuuh! ?”

Flatt furiously gyrated his neck in all directions, but still could not find
anybody who seemed like the one who had just been speaking.

Perhaps witnessing the young man in a panic, the voice continued on.

“By the stars... you have summoned me before the eyes of the public, and
without an altar at that! Quite some pluck you have there, O Master of
mine.... Hold it right there.... If you did not use an altar, did you neither speak
the summoning incantation! ?”

“Uh, um... sorry, there was a lot of magical energy flying around, and I was
kind of fiddling with it... and I guess we linked up. Man, I’m really sorry
about summoning you this way.”

“I see... Well, that is quite alright—in fact, it speaks volumes about your
excellence as a mage.”

Apparendy, the voice of that Servant-ish being was being transmitted straight
into Flatt’s head.

He soon realized that magical energy was flowing through his Command
Spells and going... somewhere. Rather shyly, he started talking to the voice in
his head. “Er, erm... I guess this isn’t really the, um, the right time to ask,
but... are Servants always like this?”

“Not at all, lad. I am a special case. Don’t let it bother you.” The Servant’s
voice was friendlier than Flatt had imagined, and it was quite refined and
polite, to boot. Oddly enough, he was unable to get any idea as to what,
specifically, the Servant’s identity might be.

Prologue II: Berserker

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“In any case, I do not really have a definite “identity”, so to speak. You could
say that my appearance and manner are of all varieties—but then again,
perhaps you could not. It is that sort of thing.”

Upon hearing any ordinary voice, one can typically tell if the speaker is a
man or a woman; or if the speaker is old or young; or maybe even what the
speaker’s occupation is. Something about the voice is bound to give away
those details. But this voice, which was transmitted directly into Flatt’s head,
was devoid of any special characteristics. It was like he was speaking to a
headless monster. “So, um... could you tell me what your name is ?” A casual
question.

If the knife in his hand was what it seemed to be, the Servant would surely be
just what he expected.

And yet, Flatt was unable to reconcile his impression of a “Heroic Spirit (?)”
with the voice inside his head.

This made sense, since he knew that his image of a “Heroic Spirit (?)” did not
precisely accord with the class of beings called “Heroes”.

But, well—in any country where British films and novels were popular, there
couldn’t be many who hadn’t heard of that Servant. Granted, in terms of
notoriety, he wasn’t quite on par with Sherlock Holmes or Arsene Lupin, but
—unlike those two, he had really existed, once upon a time.

For some reason, the Servant remained silent. Flatt nervously looked around,
but—

Suddenly, a man of large build, dressed in shades of black, entered his field
of view.

“Boy oh boy! You finally manifested!”

“I what? What in tarnation’re you talkin’ about, boy?” The man in black
looked at Flatt suspiciously.

Flatt yelped, and his face turned a ghastly shade of white.

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Of course the man would be wearing black.

He was a policeman, with a handgun holstered at his hip. He peered down at

Flatt—a man sitting on a bench in front of a fountain in the middle of the day
with a knife in his hand.

“What in blazes are you doin’ yammerin’ to yourself, son? And what’s that
there knife for? You’re acting mighty suspicious.”

“N-no! I mean! This isn’t!”

Flatt was ratded. He tried to explain what he was doing, when—

“Did that surprise you?”

Suddenly, the police officer began to act in a kind manner. He handed his
truncheon to Flatt.

It felt like a real truncheon—but the moment he grasped it, it vanished into
thin air.

Surprised, he looked up from his hand, only to find a conspicuous lack of a

police officer. In

the officer’s stead, he saw a woman dressed in a positively lascivious dress.

And then, the woman spoke to him. “I thought I might demonstrate my

specialty to you before introducing myself.” The voice, though certainly
feminine, had the same feel to it as the voice that had been in his head just a
little while prior.

“Huh? Huh? What! ?” Flatt grew more and more surprised.

Then, the woman disappeared from before his very eyes and—

“I apologize for starding you, Master. I thought this way might be faster.”

The voice was in his head again.

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Some of the nearby families seemed to have noticed that something was off.
Some rubbed at their eyes while others cocked their heads, and a few children
even asked their parents why the police officer turned into a woman and then
vanished. Of course, their questions were met with laughter.

Given what they had seen, and given that the imprint left in the ground by the
woman’s high heels remained, they could be certain that what they had just
seen was no hallucination.

The truth was not for the ordinary people who looked on with suspicion—
only within Fla- tt’s mind would it be revealed. “Allow me to introduce
myself once again. My true name is—“ Flatt waited for him to continue, with
bated breath.

He knew what his Servant’s true form was. However, in the legend in which
he appeared, the Servant’s true name was far more important.

Flatt waited and waited for the voice to continue echoing in his head, but—

When the Servant finally did continue, what he said surprised Flatt in an
altogether different way.

“To be frank, I do not know.”

“Are you serious!?”

Flatt had risen halfway off the bench he was sitting on. Realizing that there
was nobody in front of him, and that he looked rather silly, he embarrassedly
sat down while furtively glancing about.

Paying no attention to the young man’s antics, the Servant continued to

speak, with a voice devoid as ever of any peculiar characteristics.

“None ought to know my true name, save perhaps for myself—the true me,
not the me of legend. ...Or, perhaps, the one who put a stop to my murders.”

The knife Flatt held was not a true relic, but rather, an imitation.

But where that Heroic Spirit was concerned—

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It could draw forth a much more powerful spirit, precisely because it, like the
Heroic Spirit, was an imitation designed for public consumption.

That Servant had no name, though there was proof that he once lived in this
world.

And yet, none knew what he truly looked like.

None knew his appearance; his true name; whether he was a man or a
woman;

Or whether he was even a human at all.

He—though his gender was not known—was a symbol of fear; one who
terrified the world. The people imagined him in coundess ways, and he was
the topic of myriad tales and theories. Perhaps a doctor;

Perhaps a teacher;

Perhaps an aristocrat;

Perhaps a prostitute;

Perhaps a butcher;

Perhaps a devil;

Perhaps a faerie;

Perhaps a conspiracy; Perhaps madness.

It was not even certain whether he was a single person or not. The people s
fear of him was exploited to create all manner of stories about him—and then
they were unified into a single legend.

But he was not merely a legend. He had really existed.

Indeed, for Flatt, who had spent many years at the Clock Tower, his legend
was probably the one closest to home.

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Everyone knew what proof there was that he existed.

In the district of Ton don known as Whitechapel—

There were found the macabre corpses of five prostitutes. There could be no
greater proof.

“That said, there is a name by which I am known, and by which I identified

myself in my letters.”

“Jack the Ripper.”

A few months earlier—

El-Melloi II had played the game “Night Wars of the British Empire”.

He had mail-ordered the game from Japan, thinking that it would be a

wargame about the various legendary knights of England.

Alas, the Japanese do not distinguish between the homophones “knight” and
“night” in writing, and in this case, they had meant the latter. The game’s
protagonist was based on a real person, who wandered the streets of London
at night while fighting against the maddened personality within him. At
times, he would also end up fighting demons. It was one of those adventure
games.

Even though it wasn’t what he was expecting, El-Melloi played the game
until he cleared it, and jotted down a list of his honest opinions about the
game. First on that list was his opinion that “the game’s title leaves
something to be desired”.

When he turned the survey card over, he noticed that there was some
information about the prizes he could win in those sweepstakes.

If you send in this card, you could be one of 100 lucky winners to receive a
replica of a knife with Jack the Ripper’s signature on it! (Sheath included)

Like hell Jack the Ripper would inscribe his name on a knife.

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He snorted at the thought. He lost interest in the prize itself, and returned to
impassively writing down his thoughts about the game.

And all the while, he was utterly unaware of what that survey card would end
up bringing about.

And then, a few months after that—

Flatt sat in front of the fountain in the park, having a mental conversation
with the being in his head.

In just a short while, he seemed to have gotten the hang of the situation, and
was speaking naturally with the being.

“So, you’re saying that because you were nobody at all, you gained the power
to become anybody at all, huh....”

“Righto. You got lucky, though. If I had manifested as a Servant of any other
class, I would have possessed your body and gone on a maddened rampage
to... well, in any case, let us just say that I would be swimming in blood by
now.”

“Uh....” Flatt found it difficult to interpret that as a joke. He couldn’t help but
look around at the faces of the people around him.

Were Jack to go on a rampage, most magi would worry that ordinary people
would come to

know of the existence of magic. Flatt, however, found himself relieved for a
different reason, one rather atypical of a mage.

“U-um... by the way, what class are you? Are you Assassin?”

“Ah, my apologies. I am of the Berserker class.”

“Huh?”

The Servant’s answer sent Flatt into a tizzy.

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Flatt wasn’t a complete ignoramus—he had done some basic research into the
Holy Grail War.

He knew that Servants of the Berserker class would gain power in exchange
for losing their sanity.

Perhaps Jack understood why Flatt was confused. He began to matter-of-

facdy explain the nature of his class.

“You see, I was enshrined in legend as a symbol of madness. The class of the
maddened warrior is the only one that really fits me.”

“Ah... like how a negative times a negative makes a positive!”

Any ordinary mage... or indeed, any ordinary person would have to wonder if
that explanation would fly. Flatt, of course, took it in stride.

This, in turn, surprised Jack, who mumbled something before amending his
explanation. “If I were the soul of an actual person, this probably would not
have happened. Since I was just an emblem of madness, however, I suppose I
was overlooked. It is quite the miracle. Then again, perhaps there is
something unique about this Holy Grail War itself.”

“Wow. Servants really are awesome!” As usual, a simple response from Flatt.

Recalling a matter which had made “him” uneasy, the Servant started talking
about something else. “By the way, when I appeared before you in the form
of a police officer—why did you not attempt to hypnotize me... or use some
other form of magical suggestion? Surely that is the most basic sort of
magic?”

“Huh? ...Er, well, I figured I should make sure the cop understood what was
going on, first.”

“I was worried about your competence for a moment there, lad.”

Flatt, sensing that there was a tinge of embarrassment in the voice in his
head, changed the topic of conversation. “So, if you find the Grail, what’ll
you wish for?”

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“Hrm... as you are my Master, I suppose I ought to inform you... but I beg
you, please do not laugh at me.”

The sane Berserker hesitated for a moment before continuing to let his voice
echo in Flatt’s head.

“...I want to know who slew those five prostitutes in Whitechapel— in other
words, my own

Fate/Strange Fake 1

identity. That is all.”

“Your identity...”

“I am a mere fable, with no real presence. And yet, when I think of the people
inventing stories and hypotheses about my true identity and nature—it
frightens me. I do not expect that you will understand me, given that you
have a body and a name and a past to call your own.” His voice sounded
meek.

He just wanted to know who he was.

It was an unusual idea, but at the same time, it was likely all that the Servant
desired.

Flatt thought for a while. Then, straightforwardly, he asked the Servant a

question. “So when you find out who you are, what will you do ? Tike, if
someone summons you somewhere besides a Holy Grail War... will you
appear in the body of the person you once were ?”

“That may well happen. Though my current form differs from the person I
once was, it remains true that I was once a serial killer. The legends about me
are all based on that premise. If I am a person of legend who also existed in
fact, the onus is upon me to be as true to my reality as possible.” The way he
spoke somehow conveyed the impression that he was lonely.

“Doesn’t that just mean there’s no real you?” stated Flatt, straightforwardly

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and to the point, with no sense of decorum whatsoever.

Flatt was just such an outrageously frank person. The Servant was taken
aback, and the voice resounding in Flatt’s head reflected that.

“...Do people ever tell you that you lack decorum?”

“Ahaha, they totally do! All the time! Thanks!”

“I was not commending you... but, well, that is fine. We need not discuss this
matter any further. Anyway... I am surprised that you saw fit to summon me.
You could expect neither the might of a Hero nor the morality of a man from
me.”

It was an eminently reasonable thought.

Never mind that Jack the Ripper himself was the one asking. Anyone would
be hesitant even to be around him, and to summon him as a Servant on top of
that—

Flatt, frank as frank could be, replied.

“I love people like you! You know, men of mystery with secret identities and
all that!”

“Come on, that’s so cool! Besides, you’re an awesome guy! Isn’t that
great!?”

He may have had a mage’s intuition, but his temperament was... not so mage-
like.

If there was one way in which his temperament was fitting of a mage—

It was that his intuitions differed ever so slightly from those of most ordinary
people.

To phrase it in the most generous way possible, he was gifted with a

superabundance of cu-

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Prologue II: Berserker

riosity—and magi ought to be curious.

Though it was unclear how the Servant interpreted Flatt’s reply—

He, a Servant who should have been composed of pure madness and
savagery, readied himself for battle. With the slightest bit of optimism in his
voice, he spoke.

“Very well, my Master. Where shall we begin? Using my abilities, we can

infiltrate any place whatsoever, and slay the enemy Masters where they
stand! I await your orders. What might they be?” The Servant was clearly in
high spirits.

His Master, on the other hand, just sat there with a calm smile on his face.
Truly, he was the least mage-like of all magi.

“The weather s nice today. Tet’s just enjoy the sun for a while. It’s nice and
warm!” “Wha...!?”

Thus began the journey of a young man who knew nothing of tragedy, and
the Villainous Spirit who created nothing but tragedy.

There was just one thing they shared: none stood further from the ideals of
the Holy Grail War than they.

That one thing, and nothing else.

Prologue III

“Assassin”

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Prologue III: Assassin
In a certain land, there once lived a woman of deep faith.

That was all. That was the whole story.

The devout woman was so pious that she behaved as a heteroclite. And so,
the people scorned her as a zealot.

Worse still, even those who worshipped the same god as she looked upon her
with contempt. But the zealot did not hate the people.

The people only hated her because she was yet weak of faith.

She was not pious enough. It was as simple as that.

The zealot forged on, pushing herself even harder.

She sought after the miracles created by her predecessors, and recreated every
last one of them.

But her faith was still weak.

It was far, far too weak.

—or at least, that’s what the zealot heard, as the world screamed at her.

Every man of faith began to shun the zealot.

Myfaith is weak.

My faith is weak.

My faith is weak.

In the end, the zealot was unable to do anything. She lived as a zealot, and
died as a zealot. Not as a martyr. She lived a life of nothing, and then, she

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was gone.

And yet, the zealot did not begrudge the world.

She was ashamed of her own weak faith, and gave herself over to the
maelstrom of faith once again.

The zealot felt no hate for the people. Only the gods of the heathens drew her
ire.

So lived the zealot, irredeemable in the eyes of the common people.

That was the whole story.

That was where her story was supposed to end.

—until the moment when the false Grail chose the zealot.

Nighttime — Eastern Snowfield — the Marsh District

The marsh district unfolded to the east of the city center. It was home to
many crystal-clear lakes.

In between the lakes were countless many swamps. A network of roads was
knitted through the district.

Out of all the land surrounding the city, the eastern region—the Marsh
District—was likely the most developed; even so, there was not much in the
way of civilization save for a few fishing spots and vacation homes.

And on one particular plot of land, there was an enormous vacation home.

A Bounded Field had been established there. Even if an ordinary man were
able to detect the home, he would be unable to bring himself to worry about
it.

Architecturally speaking, it really was in bad taste. Compared to the

lakeshore boarding house a litde to the west, it was a bit too Gothic, designed
with black and gray motifs.

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And—

In the basement of the house, a number of magi were present. They had just
completed a summoning ceremony.

The summoning was a success.

All that remained was to answer the Servants query in the affirmative,
thereby completing the contract.

But—

This is strange.

The summoner, a mage by the name of Jester Karturei, stared quizzically at

the Heroic Spirit he had summoned.

Around ten of his disciples were also present.

And in the center of the summoning circle stood one other figure, clearly
neither human nor mage.

An air of intimidation, infinitely deep and pure, emanated from a solitary

woman, clad in black robes.

She seemed quite young, but it was difficult to be sure, since she kept her
face turned to face the floor.

Right then, Jester felt a severe sense of foreboding.

The summoning should have brought forth an Assassin.

For the most part, it is impossible to pick the class into which a Heroic Spirit
is summoned.

But there are exceptions.

Prologue III: Assassin

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With the appropriate preparations and incantations, one can choose to
summon either Assassin or Berserker, each of which has a special
characteristic that makes this possible.

Accordingly, Jester chose to summon a Servant of the Assassin class.

By their very nature, only a small number of Heroic Spirits can be summoned
as Servants of the Assassin class; and at first glance, the being at the center of
the summoning circle seemed to be one of those Heroic Spirits, but—

I was under the impression that Assassins always wear a white skull mask....

Heroic Spirits of the Assassin class all clad themselves in a black robe and
hide their faces with a skull mask. Jester knew that much from his earlier
research.

But the woman before him, though wrapped in black cloth, did not wear a
white mask. Her actual face was visible from between the layers of fabric.

In that case, am I supposed to pose the question...?

This was Jester s first time actually experiencing the Holy Grail War. Of
course, this Holy Grail War was an imitation from the beginning. It was
impossible to anticipate the ways in which it would differ from the War in
Japan.

In the first place, it was bizarre that the parties behind this entire war—the
stars of the show—had yet to reveal themselves. Jester assumed that a clan at
least as renowned as the Einz- berns would have been involved in the
creation of something so grand and elaborate as this Holy Grail War, but he
did not sense the presence of any magi fitting that description.

Perhaps they were hiding themselves well; or perhaps they were watching
from afar.

Jester set all of his doubts aside, and waited for the Servant to make a move.

And then—the black-clad woman slowly raised her head. Jester s form was
reflected in her pupils.

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“I ask of you...”

Her gaze was as powerful as she was intimidating; deep and infinitely black,
pure and unpolluted.

The mage unwittingly let out a quiet murmur as he chuckled softly, waiting
for the Servant to continue speaking.

“Are you... the mage... who has summoned me... to attain the Holy Grail?”

She rubbed the black cloth wrapped around her mouth and spoke deliberately
and delicately.

Relieved that she had finally spoken, Jester stepped forward. Brimming with
a newfound confidence, he spread his arms as if to welcome her into this
world.

“Indeed, I am. I shall.”

“Delusional Heartbeat.”

The moment she spoke, time stopped.

Jester felt something brush against his chest. He lowered his head to look at
it.

What’s this ?

And tHen—he saw somethINg Red in frOnT of his torso, and he

NOTICeDThaTiTwAs in facT HOlDingontO soMeThlnG rEd, ANd HE
realiZe d Tha T T h e T hINg iT WASh OL d iN g W As Ac T u a Li Ly HIS
he a rT,A nd

He did not raise his head back up. Jester’s body collapsed to the ground.

“How...!?”

Seeing their master’s body suddenly turn utterly immobile, Jester’s disciple-

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mages panicked. Their eyes grew wide as they looked at the situation
unfolding before them.

A third arm, red in color, had sprouted from the woman’s back. It extended
all the way to Jester’s body, and where it brushed against his chest—

How strange. That red hand came to hold a heart—and then crushed it.

The remaining mages looked at their master’s body and at the woman, their
gaze flitting back and forth. They cried out, frenziedly.

“Y-you rogue!”

“What did you do to Lord Jester! ?”

“Are you not a Servant!?”

As they panicked and shouted, the mages armed themselves with weapons
and intensely focused their magical energies.

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https://mp4directs.com
As she looked upon Jesters disciples emotionlessly, the blackrobed woman
said just one thing.

Indeed, it was ephemeral.

“Our god most-compassionate... has no chalice....”

Perhaps they heard her, or perhaps they didn’t. Either way, one of the men
drew a magical-seeming dagger and leapt towards her, trying to impale her
through her back.

And then—

A wet, aberrant sound echoed around the chamber as her shoulders began to
warp.

Her left arm reached backwards at an abnormal angle and ever-so gently
touched him and—

“Cyber Fantasy.”

And right away, his head burst into flames and splattered everywhere,
accompanied by an explosive noise, as if his head had itself become a bomb.

Hearing the blast and seeing a flash of light, the mages all cowered in fear.

Only two of them had perished—but that was enough to convince them that
they were dealing with a real, honest-to-god Servant: a being against which
they were utterly powerless.

“I shall cleanse... the heretic magi...”

As she spoke deliberately, she stood still, not moving for some few seconds.

It seemed like she was allowing the magi time to flee—but they did not. In
unison, they took a great leap backwards and unleashed the full force of their
magical energies on the women.

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Witnessing this piteous sight, the black-robed Servant slowly shook her head,
an almost-des- pondent look in her eye—

And yet, without a trace of mercy, she spoke words of power.

“Ichor of Reverie.”

And then—silence descended upon the chamber.

The black-clad Servant was surrounded by the corpses of magi.

All of the mages that had tried to release their magical energy upon her had
—for some reason— been consumed by their own mighty flames. Their
remains were strewn about the floor.

The only one who had any idea what happened was the Servant. She hastened
up the stairs out of the basement, still silent.

She reverted to her spirit form, and, unseen by anyone—

She raced off into the darkness of the night. She, who once had no direction
in her life, had finally found a definite purpose.

Prologue III: Assassin

The zealot sought proof.

Proof that she was truly a person of faith; proof that she was one of Allah’s
people. Nothing more.

It was not until much, much later that she realized that her search for proof
was itself evidence that her faith was weak.

When she was young, she honed herself, so as to earn a name—a name that
would serve as a proof of her faith.

In order to attain that name, which would evidence her piety, she would have
to attain power—power enough to perform a divine miracle.

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However, only a particular, special sort of miracle would suffice.

It had to be a miracle that could bring death, swiftly and reliably; a miracle
greater than any known to a zindiq or mohareb.

She was a member of a sect that pursued such miracles: the Hashshashin, a
cult that was zealotic by its very nature.

Even in the innermost circles of the cult, however, she was scorned as a
zealot among zealots.

The past grandmasters of the cult had all performed a miracle bearing the
name of Shaytan, and in doing so earned their titles.

Each and every one of them was shocked by her deeds.

None of them was prepared to believe what they had seen. She was but a
young girl, a mere lamb—

How could she master all the miracles performed by the preceding 18
grandmasters ?

There was no question that she had honed herself with the most Herculean of
efforts.

It went without saying that she had spilled much of her pure, uncorrupted
blood in the process.

And yet, the people of her sect would not recognize her as a grandmaster.

“What have you accomplished? You have imitated miracles already

performed. That is naught but rote. It is because your faith is weak that you
are unable to bring forth a miracle of your own contrivance.” She was
certainly talented.

That is to say, she had talent enough to master the abilities of all the
grandmasters of the past. She had the strength to bear the pain she went
through as she mortified her flesh. She had the fortitude to face any hardship
through strength and willpower. But she was not endowed with the talent

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needed to bring about a miracle of her own invention.

That was only half the problem. Her ability to master so many miracles, when
mastery of a single one would take an ordinary person a lifetime—that was
the other half. The people may well have feared her, knowing that she was
able to achieve those miracles in a matter of years.

“And thus, you are weak of faith. We cannot bestow the tide of grandmaster
unto one such as yourself.”

That argument was mere sophistry. And yet, she accepted it wholeheartedly.

I see. My faith is not deep enough.

How much I have yet to learn. I have brought shame upon the miracles
oftheformer grandmasters.

She did not resent anyone else. She merely continued to hone her own
abilities.

And when a new grandmaster—the Hundred-Faced—was selected—

She saw that he was capable of all manner of things, things she could not do
herself, but she did not envy him. She only felt shame at her own impiety.

In the end, the zealot found no proof of her faith, and vanished into the mists
of time.

Or so it should have been—

But, what a quirk of fate! When she was summoned by the man called Jester,
she was given knowledge of the world by the Holy Grail, and immediately
came to know her destiny.

She had to bring the Holy Grail—that emblem of heresy—unto naught. That
was all she desired.

And though she was not unaware that the past grandmasters had all sought it
— she felt only sorrow.

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She did not resent those grandmasters. Neither did she revile them.

Their faith was, without a doubt, deeper than hers. Even now, they were
worthy of her respect.

Her hatred was directed at that which had led them astray: the Holy Grail
War.

She had to put an end to it. She tore through the dark of the night, hastening
forth in search of the Holy Grail.

Given that she had slain those magi, she would soon lose her supply of
magical energy.

She was still receiving magical energy, but it was a mere trickle.

When the flow of magical energy came to a complete stop, she would vanish.

Would that happen after a few days ? A few hours ? A few seconds, even— ?

But it mattered not.

Until her last moment,

Even if her body was a mere apparition—

The nameless Assassin would not question her purpose.

Believing that the piety of at least those who, like herself, had been faithful
would be rewarded,

She, without a moment s hesitation, made the Holy Grail War itself her
enemy.

A few minutes later.

In the basement of the lakeside cottage where the nameless Heroic Spirit was
summoned, there were no men; only corpses.

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By the time Assassin departed, this became an even more certain truth.

“Kira!”

A pristine laugh rang out.

But the truth was what it was.

In that room, there were no men; only corpses.

“Khaa! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

A peal of laughter echoed. It sounded like the laugh of a child, jubilant from
the bottom of its heart; but at the same time, it was warped— somehow
perverted.

But the truth was still what it was.

In that room, there were no men; only corpses.

“Wow, that was a surprise! To think that the Holy Grail would bring me such
a kooky little maverick!”

The man bounded up like a jack-in-the-box, the Command Spells on his right
hand still gleaming.

“How beautiful...”

I was planning on awakening the Spider with the power of the Grail and
living to see this tiresome world be destroyed, but....

I had no idea I still had “emotions”—those vestiges of humanity!

He trembled, beset by emotions— and the truth remained what it was.

In that room, there were no men; only corpses.

Given that the truth was what it was, it could only mean one thing. The mage
Jester Kartu- rei, now choked with emotion, was, at this point, a corpse.

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“What pathos! What pulchritude! How bewitching, resplendent, dainty,
picturesque, cute! Oh, what a tragic mistake I have made— when I once had
so much time and so little to do, I should have mastered the Ars Poetical I
cannot find the words to describe her piety!”

Jester was having the time of his life. Paying no heed to the corpses scattered
around the room, he began to unbutton his shirt. Magical looking emblems
appeared on his bare chest— emblems that were entirely unlike Command
Spells.

It was a ring of six red marks, similar in form to the cylinder of a six-shooter.

Fate/Strange Fake 1

However, one of the six marks—the one closest to his left breast— had
turned dark.

“She crushed my concept-nucleus with such ease! I was as careful as I could

be! And it didn’t even matter! With her arm, she could return even a being far
stronger than me to naught!”

Jester touched the darkened mark with a finger, whereupon his fingertip was
sucked into the skin of his chest. Strangely, not a drop of blood fell from the
mark. He shoved his hand up to the wrist into the muddy flesh-colored
morass and squelched at his own innards.

“My mage-soul has been utterly destroyed.”

Then, like a gear, or indeed, like a revolver, the six marks rotated, almost as
though they were wriggling. The darkened mark shifted to his left flank,
loading a new red mark on his left breast.

“In that case, I had best put on a new face from here on out.”

And then, somehow—just as those six marks had moved, his body and face
pulsated. A moment later, he had the appearance of an entirely different man.

He withdrew his finger from his chest and placed it on the darkened seal at
his side. He was in a state of ecstasy as he rubbed his finger around it.

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“That concept-nucleus was shielded by countless many layers of protective
magic. And despite that, she made all of that as unto less than nothing with
that red arm. Her fingers reached the very core of my being.... An arm so
simple, and yet ever so fiendish! And yet—nay, thus!—it is beautiful! A
Noble Phantasm—what a thing!”

He continued to speak to the corpses strewn around him, with a clear,

resounding voice. Of course, they did not respond.

“I am surprised that she was able to use that fearsome technique without
hesitation, and so many times at that. Had she access only to the energy of
any other mage—an ordinary one, unlike myself... she surely would have run
out almost right away.”

He flashed his unusually-sharp canines at the altar of corpses. He continued

to talk to himself in a booming—and almost bewitching— voice.

“I suppose I need not tire of the world quite yet.... That beautiful assassin!
Her piety! Nary could I allow her to vanish without a name!”

That—was a statement that could only be made by those who had seen her
memories.

Via the linkage of magical energy that connected a Master and Servant, the
former could view the latter’s thoughts and memories as though they were
dreams.

“Of course not! Who would dare let such a thing go to waste! ?”

If Jester spoke true, it would mean that he had learned of her faith through a
dream he had while he was dead, but—

“I shall grant you a name! Your beautiful face; your beautiful soul; your
beautiful power; your beautiful faith... I will desecrate them and defile them
and derogate them and debauch

Prologue III: Assassin

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them and degrade them all! What greater pleasure could there be! ?”

He laughed heartily. His visage gradually took on a wicked color.

“O pleasure! O impermanence! O beauty! I will make that beautiful Servant

kneel before me, and I will destroy her faith, and when I have drained the last
of her power, what a sight that will be!”

Jester’s heart beat to a euphoric rhythm as a shadow extended from the

ground beneath his feet.

It was a red shadow—a red as supremely deep as the emblems on his chest.

When the shadow finally wrapped itself around the bodies of all of Jester’s
disciples, it divorced itself from the ground, and became a crimson wave that
engulfed the coundess many corpses.

And then, right away, the shadow withdrew back into Jester’s body. As it did,
it was a yet-dee- per red than before.

In just seconds, the bodies had been reduced to mere skeletons by that
inexorable shadow.

“The Holy Grail? The destruction of the world? Those, too, are wonderful!
This, I grant! But what trifles they are! They are mere dreck before her
despair!”

And then—

He, a living corpse—a vampire —climaxed from envisioning the taste of the
Servant’s blood, as his dead eyes glowed bright with life.

“As fellow heretics in this land, let us be the best of friends! Khaa...
Khahahahahahahahaha- hahaha!”

And so, with nary a proper contract binding them—

Assassin’s Master infused the Holy Grail War with a toxic darkness.
Taughing and laughing and—

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Prologue IV “Caster”

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Prologue IV: Caster
The room was dark.

Through a small gap in the window blinds, the roof of the neighboring high-
rise was visible.

Judging from the backdrop behind the neighboring high-rise, it seemed that
the room was rather high up, and located at the center of the city of
Snowfield.

The stars shone outside the window.

The room, illuminated by the pale starlight, felt something like a modern
office.

From the rows of desks with computers to the air-conditioning unit on the
ceiling, nothing seemed unusual about the room. One could easily forget that
this room was also part of the stage atop which the Holy Grail War would be
enacted.

However, none of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were illuminated. The
dignified voice of a leaderly man resounded through the darkness—

As if to say that this city itself was the Holy Grail War.

“Well, then... it seems that the other five Servants have been summoned,”
said the man. He spoke with great gravitas.

“Indeed. As of this time, the only Master whose identity we have been able to
confirm is Tine Chelc, who brought the King of Heroes under her control.
We have been unable to establish contact with Mr. and Mrs. Kuruoka, who
had planned to ally with us in the War. We are aware of multiple other magi
in the city, but regrettably, we have been unable to determine which of them,
if any, possess Command Spells,” replied a humble voice from the darkness.

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“Is that so,” replied the man, with barely-concealed frustration and
disappointment in his voice. “The city-wide surveillance system is
surprisingly impotent.”

The other individual calmly continued to deliver her report. “We did observe
one mage who, in a park in broad daylight, displayed his Command Spells
and summoned a Servant. However, the Servant performed some variety of
unusual illusion, without revealing itself. In doing so, it evaded our agent
who was situated there, disguised as a sunbather. At first we thought the
mage to be a fool, but it seems that he is quite capable.”

“And you have not identified the Heroic Spirit ? Nor any of its characteristics
?”

“I am afraid not. Furthermore, with regards to the first Heroic Spirit

summoned—even though the summoning took place in the city, we were
unable to make heads or tails of the surveillance data. We are certain that the
Heroic Spirit was summoned, but we have been unable to ascertain anything
else, not even its location.”

“Hm.„. I presume this to be the doing of those governmental interlopers,

judging from that ‘declaration’ of theirs.”

Fate/Strange Fake 1

He must have been referring to the incident with Rohngall and Faldeus some
days prior.

However, the other person, his subordinate, shook her head, responding in the
negative.

“I am afraid that cannot be so. The first summoning occurred essentially at

the same time as the issuance of their declaration.”

“...In that case, it is most likely that the first summoning was performed by
the Kuruoka family.” He stood up quietly, a sour look on his face, and went
on. “So be it. In any case, the greatest obstacle facing us is the King of
Heroes. We need only eliminate him.”

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“Aye.”

Silence was about to descend over the room—when, suddenly, the phone
began to ring.

The leaderly man reluctantly picked up the receiver and, in a most

businesslike manner, said, “...it’s me.”

“’Sup, bro! How ya doin’?”

The man made a show of furrowing his brow. “Caster. What do you want?”
he replied.

“Come on man, don’t be like that! Listen. I was just watching the boob tube,
and guess what?! They said that some of the babelicious broads around these
parts cost millions of smackers a night! Is that legit! ?”

“...what if it is ?”

“Call one in for me tonight, bro. Help a brutha’ out.” The man on the other
side of the phone was blunt. Very blunt.

“I am no brother of yours.” The leaderly man’s cheek twitched.

“Why not, man? Don’t tell me you forgot about how we made a blood oath!
We’re blood brothers! You know, I like the sound of that— blood brothers. I
looked it up on the internet— apparendy people do this sort of stuff in
Scandinavia all the time. I dig it!”

“...You, a Heroic Spirit, forged a contract with me, your Master. That is the
precise extent of our relationship.” His temples twitched as his grip on the
receiver grew firmer.

There were Command Spells boldly visible on the back of his hand, forming
a shape evocative of chains.

In that case, the man on the other side of the phone must have been his
Servant. It was strange that they were so distant from one another, both in
terms of physical distance and in terms of their relationship—it was unusual

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for a Master and Servant to converse by phone.

The Servant grumbled, “You just don’t get it, man,” before resuming the
conversation at a rapid-fire pace, putting pressure on his Master.

“Don’t get me wrong, okay? My job is to make Heroes. I sure as heck am not
a Hero myself. But if you want to treat me like a hero, that is A-OK.
’Specially when it comes to the ladies. No, wait, come to think of it, of course
I’m a hero! I mean, come on—how can a guy boink a hun-

dred chicks and make a thousand babies and not be a hero to forever-
aloners!”

“Enough with the implausible tall tales. If you have time to tell lies, you have
time to work. Return to your duties.”

“Yeesh! I’ve gotta keep doing that ? Step into my shoes for a bit, man!
Listen. All I want from the Holy Grail is good food and hot babes. More
importantly, I want to see what kind of drama comes out of this war, and
what happens to all the participants in the end. That’s all! But at this rate, I’m
gonna go mad from all this work before the war ends!”

Caster’s Master sighed and humored Caster, acknowledging his complaints.

“I will prepare women and food for you. Now, return to your work with all
due speed. Produce weapons ever more sublime. ”

“Man, you’re a real wet blanket. You know, this isn’t even my specialty.
Don’t forget that, kay? Besides, if you wanted a counterfeiter, there are better
people out there! So I was on the internet yesterday, and I read about this guy
named Elmyr de Hory. And plus, I heard a rumor— apparendy, there’s
another guy who can use some kind of super-ultra-awesome magic to copy
things over and over again. “

“A mere copy is of no value to us. A counterfeit that does not surpass the
original object will be of no avail against the King of Heroes.” “Ha! So ya
like my adaptations, huh?! I’m so happy I could cry. Not! Go screw the
pooch, why don’tcha! Ah, bugger. If I’d known this would happen, I
wouldn’t have joked about my stories being better than the real thing back

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when they made all that racket about forgeries. I mean, shit. I’d put that
incident a hundred years behind me, and I was totally getting down and dirty
with Cleopatra and Yang Guifei, and then you come along and drag me out of
bed. And look at me now! I’m here slaving away, doing your dirty work! I
was not expecting that, man! This is a load of crap. Who’d want to hear a
story like this ?! Gimme a break!”

“Do not misunderstand me. I chose you not because of those anecdotes about
your life. Quite simply—you are one who can create legends that exceed the
legends of old. I believe that you have the power to invent tales that surpass
even the greatest legends of old—and the power to give form to those tales,”
his Master replied, quelling his frustration. He had immediately recognized
that Caster’s tales were full of lies.

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https://mp4directs.com
“Ha! Look, bro, I don’t give a rat’s behind about your compliments. Hey,
I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you take those compliments and write a book
based on them? And then go ahead and read it to your old lady. While she’s
in bed with me, that is! ...Actually, if you’re going to do that, show me a draft
first. See, I’m a lot better with fixing crappy scripts than I am at writing
legends, so “

The man did not hear Caster out to the very end, hanging up the receiver mid-
sentence.

The flood of words receded, leaving the room utterly silent once again.

The man went on to speak into the darkness of the room, acting as though his
conversation with Caster had never happened.

“Gilgamesh: the king of Heroes.... It seems that his nameless sword and his
infinite treasury shall prove to be our greatest obstacle.”

The man stood up from his chair once again, and slowly paced around the
room with his hands behind his back.

“As such, I shall have no choice but to overwhelm him with numbers before
he draws his sword. We must use every means available to us to lure him into
a state of weakness—and then we will murder him, honorably.”

With every step he took, he left a powerful—even intimidating— aura. It was

as though the darkness itself glowed the color of exigency.

“However, mere numbers will not suffice to defeat him. After all, on top of
being unaffected by physical attacks, Heroic Spirits are immeasurably
stronger than even the finest athletes. Of course, the Caster I have summoned
is an exception. In a brawl, I should imagine that even I might have the upper
hand... but that is not my concern now.” He glanced askance, as if he had said
something he should not have. He then collected himself and continued to
pace.

“Then again... what if men could master the use of Noble Phantasms?”

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In the context of the Holy Grail War, a “Noble Phantasm” was a nigh-godlike
ability possessed by each Hero. Take, for example, the sword Ama-no-
Murakumo from the legend of Yamato Takeru. It, like, all Noble Phantasms,
is a symbol of the Hero that wields it, and draws out the greatest powers of its
wielder.

Naturally, they are not the sorts of things one could find lying around in gun
shops or antique shops. Indeed, it would scarcely be an exaggeration to say
that summoning a Servant is equivalent to summoning a Noble Phantasm. So
immense is the power of a Noble Phantasm—a wild card that can turn the
tide of battle.

“Suppose, furthermore, that each of those weapons were more powerful than
the original items on which they were based. What then?”

Having walked deep into the darkness of the room, the man stopped before a
wall, and—

He raised his right hand—the hand on which were inscribed his Command
Spells—and flipped a switch. The room lit up.

In the room, suddenly awash with light—

A line of people extended from one end of the expansive room to the other.
Each one of them was clad in black.

They were not the black robes typical of magi, however—a distinctive piece
of equipment hung from each of their waists, like an emblem of authority.

Men and women stood there in no particular order. All in all, there were
perhaps 30 people in that lineup of police officers.

Each of them stood at attention, their black uniforms exuding an impressive

aura. Each one held in their hands a weapon, each of a different type.

What a bizarre sight.

Those utterly stony-faced uniformed police officers held swords, bows,

shields, spears, chains, scythes, and bludgeons, among other things. What’s

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more, they all had a pair of handcuffs and a pistol holstered at their belts.
They had long since passed “unfitting” and were well into the realm of
“absurd”. One of them even had a golden arquebus over his shoulder. It was
like they were entertainers in police garb, on their way to a performance to
promote tourism in the Snowfield area.

Odds are, however, that any half-decent mage that saw them would not laugh,
but rather, would faint.

A power that had been tempered with magical energy and vitality seeped out
of the weapons they were carrying, as if to erode the very air within the room.

Those Noble Phantasms were all counterfeits.

Even so, they were mightier than their originating legends.

“Clan Calatin: the Twenty-Eight Monstrosities”

“Those were the warriors of Celtic myth who crossed swords with Cu
Chulainn. Effective immediately, that will be your codename.”

As he gazed upon that overwhelming yet out-of-place power with satisfaction

—

He—the police chief of Snowfield—spread his arms wide and issued a

booming declaration.

“Though my words may mean little, as police chief, I shall guarantee this. As
a mage, I swear this.”

“You are justice incarnate.”

Upon hearing that, the entire line of police officers stamped their feet in
perfect unison. As one, they saluted the police chief, who was their Master,
and at the same time, their master.

And upon witnessing that action, any discerning person would have come to
understand.

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Prologue IV: Caster

They were not mere police officers; rather, they had undergone some sort of
special training beyond what was typical in their profession.

Their organization had established a “net” that ensconced the entire city.

All they required of the Servant was his talent of Noble Phantasm creation, a
task with which the magi under their control had assisted.

In other words—

Mere humans though they were, they would defeat Heroic Spirits, thus
shaking the very foundations of the Holy Grail War.

In the end, what destiny awaited them— ?

That was a story that the man summoned as Caster had not yet finished
writing.

Even an unwritten story, however, has an audience.

After the officers had left, the room echoed to the sound of delicate applause.

“...What are you doing here ?” The chief grumbled vexedly without turning
to look. Obvious disgust showed through in his voice, which he loaded with
enough pressure to crush the soul of a small animal.

Thereupon, the owner of the applause poked her face out of the shadows.

“What’s this? It kind of feels like you’re giving me the cold shoulder. Can’t I
drop in even if I don’t have business ?”

It was a girl who appeared to be in her mid-teens. She wore a gothic lolita-
style dress with black and white keynotes, and clasped an over-decorated
umbrella despite being indoors.

“At the very least, this is no place for outsiders.”

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“Oh, so I’m an outsider now ? You’ve sure gotten high and mighty, newbie.”

The girl giggled and twirled her umbrella. Despite her peevish remarks, she
gave the impression of being in high spirits.

“Still, that was a masterpiece. How’d it go? ‘You are justice’? What a
performance. If I was judging the Golden Raspberry Awards, I wouldn’t
hesitate to nominate you for Worst Actor!”

“I wasn’t trying to put on a show. I only stated the truth.”

“Oh? What’s this? Could it be that you seriously believe you’re justice?
You’re one of the perpetrators of this grand scam, remember.”

“I am.”

The girl burst into a cackle at the chief’s unflinching response.

“Wow! I wish I had your nerve! That’s not very patriotic, is it ? I mean, f you
really loved this

country, you’d never call all this ‘just’!”

“It may be true that I am no patriot, and no pious man of God, but I do take
pride in the fact that my actions are the results of just beliefs.” Sounding
more as if he was trying to convince himself than the girl, the chief
continued: “Of course, I won’t claim that our justice matches the Grail’s.
Should circumstances demand it, we may end up making enemies of not only
the Association and the Church, but the Grail War system itself as well.”

“Don’t worry so much. Ruler won’t be in this War.”

The girl waved a hand as she spoke, as if to mock the words the chief had
uttered with such determination.

“What?”

The next instant, the tone of the girl’s smile suddenly changed.

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“And even if Ruler does show up after it switches over to the real Grail War,
it’ll be too late.”

It was still an innocent smile, but now it had taken on the cruel look of a child
rhythmically stomping on a line of ants.

“The Snowfield Holy Grail War will be elevated from a fake to the real deal,
and veer off course. Once that happens, Ruler won’t be able to stop it, or
even intervene. We’ll be able to rape the Grail War all we want!” Her breath
whitened as she went on triumphantly, sunk in ecstasy. “Don’t you see how
wonderful this is? I never thought I’d get another chance to have my way
with that holy maiden, then turn her into a pile of cinders that aren’t even
good for pig slop! Oh, it’s incredible! It’s the best! I hope Ruler does come! I
couldn’t manage to break her spirit back then, but this time she won’t be a
hero whose work is done! She’ll die as a Ruler who wasn’t able to do her
duty! I’m sure that will get to her!”

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https://mp4directs.com
At that point, her smile suddenly returned to normal and her excitement
leveled out.

“Don’t you think its just wonderful?” She asked the chief.

His answer, however, was curt.

“...I will do it if it becomes necessary, but I do not consider it a laudable

action.”

“You’re so uptight. A real stick in the mud,” the girl teasingly addressed him,
twirling her umbrella. “Don’t you ever get tired of being a hero ? It’s so
much easier when you know you’re the bad guy, you know ? Whatever you
do, you can just pass it off with a ‘Because I’m the bad guy.’ Acting crazy is
easy, too. You can just pass off anything you do with a ‘Because I’m crazy.’”

Then, with a malicious narrowing of her eyes, she added a final, sarcastic
remark.

“Oh, but justice works the same way! Sorry about that!”

With that, the girl turned to go, but she abrupdy stopped, looked back, and
asked the chief:

“Oh, that’s right, didn’t Mr. Fake Caster want a woman? If he does, why
don’t I go and keep him company?”

“Hurry up and return to headquarters. Without any unnecessary detours.”

Getting a response pregnant with rage so intense it was practically homicidal,

the girl shrugged her shoulders and turned her back on the chief again.

“Yes, yes. I’ll wait my turn like a good girl...”

After he had watched the girl open the door normally and go, the chief spat:

“Play the mastermind as long as you can, you old bitch.”

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But there was no smile on his face, and no sense of composure... Anyone
who saw him would have taken his words for the excuses of a sore loser.

But even if they were, his mind would remain unclouded. His conviction had
already reached a place beyond his pride, or even his life.

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Prologue V: Rider
In conclusion, “he” was a being as foreign as could be.

“He” was summoned to this false Holy Grail War as a Servant of the Rider
class.

“His” existence was proof that this Holy Grail War was false; proof that there
was nothing less worthy of the tide “Holy Grail” than the object of this War.

Only in name was “he” a Heroic Spirit, and “he” was not by any means a
Hero.

Then, a Villainous Spirit ? A Demonic Spirit ? Nay. Neither term suffices to

describe “him”. In some places, “he” was described as a “curse”, while in
some religions, “he” was said to be “divine punishment”.

In the Holy Grail War, Servants are selected from the past and the future—
from every age of mankinds history.

The classes into which the Servants are summoned transcend time. A Hero of
the past, known only via lore, may be summoned, as may a Hero of the
future, not yet born into this world. If the Holy Grail War had existed when
Amakusa Shirou lived, he may have even been able to summon his more
powerful future self, an icon of heroism.

From that perspective—“he” had existed since time immemorial, and “he”
would likely continue to exist far into the future. “He” lived a shorter life
than anyone, and “he” lived a longer life than anyone.

And so, “he”—a being with physical presence, though not a Heroic Spirit—

Even at this very moment—there is no doubt that “he” continues to take the
lives of those that live on this planet.

Indeed, perhaps “he” does so that “he” may “himself” provide nourishment

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for life to begin anew.

How beautiful.

Thus thought a certain young girl as she gazed upon that which sprawled
before her.

It was a city she was familiar with.

It was the city where she was raised. Ever so many buildings towered over
her, scraping the vast sky above with such vigor that they seemed ready to
swallow her up too.

A pair of six-lane causeways met at a mighty intersection. The primary north-

south and east-west arterial roads of the City of Snowfield met there, not far
from the city center. From the skies above, the roads would seem to form an
enormous crucifix, identifying the nexus of the city.

An observer looking only upon those grand roadways might well think
himself to be in a city as grand as New York or Chicago. Indeed, those roads
raced past the city limits into the multifarious natural environments
surrounding Snowfield with such ardor, it was as though they had asserted
that they were a part of those surroundings—nay, that they were in fact the
culmination, the perfection of all nature.

But—something was amiss.

And the girl found this city, this familiar city, to be beautiful precisely
because something was amiss.

She stood at the center of the enormous intersection, which was itself at the
center of the city.

It was a scramble intersection, allowing pedestrians to cross it in every which

way—but, of course, vehicular traffic would resume at some point, forcing
one to vacate the road.

And yet, she had stood there for more than ten minutes.

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The traffic lights had cycled any number of times.

But—silence reigned. Not a single car honked at her. And that was as it
should be—

For there was not a single human anywhere to be seen.

An empty intersection.

A road devoid of vehicles.

Did she notice that it was silent ? Then again, did she even notice that it was
odorless ?

From the middle of the road, it was clear that the causeways lacked any
human presence.

The girl imagined an asphalt-colored red carpet, a most contradictory thing.

She was overwhelmed by the beauty of the complex of tall buildings before
her.

In the absence of people, concrete—that symbol of humankind— seemed like

a beautiful object of nature, sprung from the Earth’s surface.

If a building were a tree, what a grand, harmonious forest this city would be.
In that case, the city hall tower, tallest of them all, would be a veteran among
them.

She knew not why she was there.

Hence, she wandered the town in search of an answer.

But that brought sadness unto her.

Though she found this world beautiful in its lack of people, she also found it
lonely.

At first, she felt nothing but loneliness; within a few days, though, she had
grown accustomed to it.

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Indeed. She had wandered this empty town for a long, long time.

After about three months, she had stopped counting the days.

She was never struck by hunger, though she knew not why. During the day
she would wan-

der the town, and come dusk, she would sleep.

At night, lights would go on in the empty buildings. She would look up at the
night sky and be comforted by the stars. Few things are more unsettling than
witnessing lights go on in a building empty of people, but she had long since
grown used to it, faced with the absurdity of a city empty of people.

As loneliness departed her heart, the void it left was filled by the pleasure she
felt from being in this empty city.

After looking about the city a while, she lay down in the middle of the
intersection and idly gazed up at the night sky

— Daddy. Mommy.

The faces of her parents came to mind.

— I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it right.

Her first instinct was to apologize.

But then, she realized that she wasn’t even doing anything she should
apologize for, and—.

Two old emotions welled up within her.

One was loneliness, stemming from the impossibility of encountering anyone

else. The other was—

Snowfield Central Hospital

An enormous edifice stood in the central district of the City of Snowfield,

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covered in white paint.

At a glance, it looked very much like an art museum. In fact, however, it was
a large hospital, furnished with the finest equipment in the city.

It was a castle of healing. Multitudes of patients knocked at its gates, seeking

treatment from surgeons and psychosomaticists and all sorts of other
specialists.

Of course, not all the patients came for elective procedures. Many were
brought to the hospital for other reasons.

“...I am afraid that I must inform you that it will be difficult for your daughter
to regain consciousness from this state,” said a doctor to a man and a woman.

They glanced at each other. They were probably in their thirties, and seemed
to be from East Asia. They seemed more than a little flustered.

“As of today, our daughter has been hospitalized for one full year.... Is that a
sign that her

condition has taken a turn for the worse ?” asked the man, in fluent English.

“...Physically speaking, there are no symptoms that would suggest your

daughter’s condition is worsening. Nonetheless, it becomes more difficult to
recover from a coma as the duration of the coma increases.”

The patient had been under her care for a full year now, and had yet to
recover consciousness. She had entered a vegetative state. Only her body
continued to develop, and that too, at a slow pace.

She was just ten years and three months of age.

Who knows what happened to her. One day, she abruptly lost consciousness
and wouldn’t wake up, and so, her parents, terrified, brought her to this
hospital.

An examination revealed that her body was studded with lesions, particularly
around her cranium.

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After performing a biopsy on one of the lesions, it was found that they were
caused by an unknown strain of bacteria. The doctors all panicked, fearing an
epidemic within the hospital.

In the end, the bacteria turned out not to be contagious, leaving it a mystery
as to how the girl herself became infected in the first place. The doctors
considered having a hospital with even more advanced facilities examine her,
but for whatever reason, they were denied access, and so, the girl remained
under observation in this municipal hospital.

“We have not observed any changes in the state of the bacterial infestation.
Unfortunately, this means that the bacteria will continue to impede her
cerebral function going forward. The bacteria have not caused so much
damage as to induce necrosis; nonetheless, they have severely impeded her
mental functions.” The doctor spoke as soothingly as she could.

“Is that so....” replied the woman, worry permeating her voice.

“Keep in mind, this doesn’t mean that recovery is impossible. There have
been cases where a patient has been in a vegetative state for over 10 years
before regaining consciousness. As we learn more about the genome of the
bacterium, more treatment options will become available to us. Please, don’t
lose hope.” She was doing her best to keep their spirits up, but—

The patient’s father looked ever more disconsolate.

“Never mind her consciousness... are her reproductive functions still intact?”
he asked.

“...Pardon?”

For a moment, she didn’t understand what she was being asked.

She simply could not grasp what he had meant by “never mind her
consciousness”. For a short while, there was a powerful silence.

Before long, the man spoke again, unwilling to let the silence drag on.
Rephrasing his question in greater detail, he said, “I would like to know

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whether or not her ovaries and uterus—or

at the very least, just her ovaries—are developing normally.”

“Er... well, the lesions are only inhibiting growth in the part of her brain to
which they are localized, so there haven’t been any adverse effects on her
other organs, but...” The doctor just told him the facts as they were, still
unable to figure out why he was asking about that. But—

Upon hearing her response, the patient’s parents looked at each other once
again. Their faces lit up.

“Really!? Well, in that case, thank you ever so much! We will continue to
pay her hospital bills as we have been, so please, continue taking good care
of our daughter!”

“I’m sorry? That’s not... I mean...”

“We are truly grateful to you, doctor. There, you see, dear? You don’t need to
worry about that anymore.”

“Right you are, honey. Tet’s get going... we need to make preparations for
tonight.”

The young couple waltzed out of the hospital in high spirits, leaving behind
the utterly perplexed doctor.

She had no idea what would be appropriate to say to them, and so, she just
stared at them as they departed.

“Goodness me.... What was the matter with them...?”

Perhaps the shock of finding their daughter comatose had left them all
muddled up. The next time they came to the hospital, she would have to
recommend that they attend counseling.

As she thought about the peculiar couple, she stepped through the exterior
door to the sterile room.

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After being sprayed with a disinfecting gas and scoured with ultraviolet light,
the interior door opened, to reveal a single bed.

On the bed lay a sleeping girl with an IV drip.

Though it seemed at first glance as though she was merely asleep, her face
was emaciated and lifeless, and it did not seem as though she would ever
regain consciousness.

“...Even if your parents abandon you, I won’t. I’ll never give up on you.”

The only sound emanating from the girl was the sound of her breath. As the
doctor looked at her, she checked her IV drip and her vitals with a renewed
determination.

And then—she discovered something unusual.

“...oh?”

She noticed the abnormality while she was repositioning the girl.

Something red appeared on the right hand of the motionless girl.

“What... are these...?”

She took a closer look at the girl’s hand. There, she saw crimson sigils that
reminded her of loops of chain.

“A tattoo...? But who?”

Access to the girl’s room was stricdy controlled, and there was no way
anybody could have brought tattoo implements inside. Besides— when she
had checked on the girl that same morning, there was certainly nothing out of
the ordinary. A chill ran down her spine.

“Is this... some kind of... prank?”

And though there was no way she could even have known that magi actually
existed—

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Those marks were, without a doubt, Command Spells.

The other was a blend of pain and fear.

She was still a young girl, but when she remembered what her parents had
done to her when she was younger still—

That was certainly not cruelty. Rather, it was rationally-applied love.

““We will make you into an illustrious mage.””

They showered her with love as they spoke those words. Though she was
young, she understood that.

And yet, the pain ate away at her.

The pain the pain the pain pain pain pain pain pain dominated her childhood.
Even though she must have had pleasant memories, happy memories, and sad
memories, they were all over written by overwhelming pain.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do it right, so...”

Even when she tried to forget, she could not overcome the pain.

If it had been mere cruelty, she may have been able to seal all of that away.

Unfortunately for her, she really did feel that her parents loved her.

Indeed, that was why she could not flee. She could do nothing but suffer
through it.

From a young age, she believed that she could reciprocate her parents’ love
by suffering.

Alas, she did not understand that her parents did not love her as a person.
They only loved her as a vessel for the continuance of their family line—as
their future in the world of magic.

Her parents both carried a magical pedigree, and indeed, were among those

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that made off

Fate/Strange Fake 1

with some of the machinery underlying the actual Holy Grail War.

The knowledge they gained was relevant not just to the Holy Grail War—
they had also acquired part of a certain mage’s system of entomomancy, and
quickly adapted it to their own use.

Their goal: to develop a new way to modify the flesh using even smaller
bugs.

And after decades of trial and error—they were finally on their way to
perfecting a sort of pseudo-entomomancy.

They used magically-modified bacteria that would better their host.

If they were properly used in the body of a young mage, they would amplify
the mage’s Magic Circuits. That was their plan.

Once they had perfected their techniques, they chose their firstborn daughter
as their distinguished first test subject. She experienced great agony. Though
her body was scarcely altered, her Magic Circuits had been amplified beyond
measure.

As she grew up, her Magic Circuits approached completion. All that was left
was for her to inherit the magic of her family. Then, their plan would have
been a perfect success, but—

Unluckily for them, they lost control of some of the bacteria, and so the still-
young girl was deprived of her consciousness.

In order to ensure that it would remain possible for their daughter, with her
amplified Magic Circuits, to succeed them, her parents hospitalized her. Of
course, by this point, her parents had no interest in her as a person.

And then—

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As yet unaware that her parents had all but forsaken her, she wandered on
and on in the world of her dreams, a cleft between life and death.

Perhaps because of how the bacteria modified her, her dreams were far and
away more realistic than any ordinary dream. In the end, though, it was but a
world in which she could neither taste nor smell.

It was but a dream.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry... I’m sorry for hurting...!”

As she experienced flashbacks to her past, she screamed out into the empty
world. Though she brimmed with magical energy, she lacked knowledge. She
was a witch—but a powerless one.

In her dream, she mustered all the strength she had—and she screamed. On
and on.

As if to support her, her altered body made her Magic Circuits run wild in the
world of her dreams.

As if they recognized they were going to vanish; as if they were mere

children crying out

“Don’t leave me!”—every cell in her body cried out.

“I’ll do it right! I will, I’ll bear the pain!”

And though she did not know what it was she should do right— “So please,
please don’t leave me! Don’t leave me...!”

Then—she saw a flash of light.

There was a mighty gust of wind—a roar in a soundless world.

She didn’t know what was going on. She leapt to her feet, and looked around
the intersection and—

All of the roads were covered in a black fog.

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Something had changed, but she couldn’t understand what it was.

As she stood there utterly stupefied, a voice rang out.

It was a grating sound, like the scraping noise of swarms of insects batding
one another.

And yet, those were words—words with meaning.

“I A S K : A RE YOU MY MASTER?”
She could not have known what those words meant, and yet— That Servant
was bizarre beyond measure.

To begin with, “he” lacked a persona—let alone the nature of a Hero.

After all, “he” was not a human in the first place.

When “he” was granted knowledge by the Holy Grail, however, “he”
appeared as a Servant, in the form of a formless mass of awareness. “He” had
neither emotions nor even internal monologue. “He” was a mere mass of
knowledge about the Holy Grail War, created by the system— something like
a robot.

The words “he” spoke were like dread incarnate, but— she was not scared.

Someone was there, so she would no longer be lonely. Something had

changed in her unchanging world.

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https://mp4directs.com
She was so happy about that—that she looked up at the skyscrapers shrouded
by the black haze, and timidly told “him” her name.

“Who are you? My name is Kuruoka Tsubaki.”

And so, she became the distinguished first Master of the false Holy Grail
War.

None could have known of their contract, forged in a dream, and— Indeed, in
the outside world, the girl remained unconscious.

Snowfield — the Kuruoka residence

“It’s about time for Faldeus to issue his declaration.”

After returning from the hospital, the Kuruokas were in high spirits, getting
ready for the ceremony they would conduct that night.

“The ley lines of this area should soon be at their mightiest. Then, I will
receive my Command Spells. Once I have them, everything will be in place.”

“Plus, we’ve even prepared a Noble Phantasm as a relic... and if it came

down to it, we could use it as a weapon ourselves.”

“Indeed we could. If we are to call forth Shi Huangdi, we must be prepared to

demonstrate a proper degree of respect.”

Their daughter was not a matter of discussion at this point.

Apparendy, they were preparing to summon the most celebrated figure in

Chinese history.

Unfortunately for them, all their preparations would be fruidess.

Not because their unconscious daughter had taken the Command Spells that
would have been theirs.

If that were the only issue, they could well have received a different set of

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Command Spells.

In the end, they did not receive any Command Spells— but they did receive
something else.

Sensing something unusual, the husband looked at his right arm.

“Mm...?”

There was a black spot.

At first glance, it looked like a bruise. He frowned, wondering if he had

bumped against something. He looked over to his wife. “Dear, what do you
think this... hey! ?” He was shocked.

Similar black spots appeared all over her face and her arms—and then, she
collapsed to the ground, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

“H-hey...!?”

Fate/Strange Fake 1

He tried to get to his wife, but his field of view grew mushy and indistinct.
Everything split into a rainbow of colors and fell upwards.

By the time he realized that it was he who was falling, it was too late. He did
not even have the strength to stand.

As he laid on the verge of unconsciousness, he understood what was

happening.

Magical energy was being sucked out of his body and carried off to
somewhere else.

As it was not his actual life-energy that was being stolen, he would not die
from this. However, he would certainly fall into a stupor.

— This can’t be.

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— If someone... attacks us now....

— No, what if... somebody... already....

Even as he fell into an eternal darkness, his mind was full with thoughts
about the Holy Grail War. Not once did his daughter cross his mind.

And then, a few minutes later—

Both of them leaped to their feet as though nothing had happened.

Their bodies were still covered with the black spots.

“...Come to think of it, today is Tsubaki’s birthday, isn’t it ?”

“Ah, that’s right, dear! I’ve got to bake a cake!”

They were conspicuously unwell, and yet they spoke calmly. And about
something out of the ordinary for them, at that.

Indeed, they had lost whatever personalities they once had and—

They became living dolls, who lived their lives just as their daughter wanted
them to.

She danced with “him”. She danced with “him”.

To forget the time she spent awake.

“He” danced with her. “He” danced with her. To grant her every wish.

“Yay! Thank you! Daddy! Mommy!”

“It’s okay, Tsubaki. You did a good job.”

“That’s right. You’re our precious little treasure.”

Having received such a wonderful present, she gaily frolicked about her
house.

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After having her fun for a while, she smiled at the mass of black fog that
stood next to her. “Thank you for bringing my mom and dad here!”

Prologue V: Rider

The Servant did not even nod in reply. “He” merely continued to exist.

The sights of the real world were projected into her dreams.

Perhaps that was the power of the magical energy that had blossomed within
her while she was unconscious. Given that it is impossible to affect the real
world from within a dreamscape, however, magic used to project the real
world into a dream-world was useless; a line of research that few magi would
bother to pursue.

The Servant merely facilitated the girl’s unconscious magic.

“He” manipulated her parents in the real world so that they would behave just
as she wanted them to.

Of course, “he” also absorbed their magical energy. “His” instincts compelled
him to do so.

“He” could not understand human emotions. “He” merely possessed

knowledge.

And indeed, because of that, and because of the great strength “he” had, “he”
made the girl into the greatest and worst dark horse of the Holy Grail War.

“He” rode on the wind and the waters and the birds and the people and—

Hence, it was appropriate for “him” to be of the Rider class, for “he” had
ridden “his” way to dominance over the world.

Much more importandy, however—

“He” was an embodiment of calamity, and the people gave “him” an alias
that reflected that. Perhaps that spurious assignment of a personality to “him”
was the most important reason that “he” was summoned as Rider.

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At one time, “he” let loose the Black Death, which killed thirty million,

And at another time, under the name of the Spanish Flu, “he” killed fifty
million.

“He” was the horseman who brought calamity to all. His alias:

Pestilence.

As to whether anyone would recognize what “his” alias is, or indeed, that
“he” had been summoned as a Servant in the first place—

Either way, the false Holy Grail War was finally on its way to becoming a
maelstrom of chaos.

Prologue VI “Lancer”

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Prologue VI: Lancer
The forest was deep—ever so deep—

He looked as if he had fallen into a bottomless bog.

—Run

-run —run

-run -run

-Run -Run

—RUN -run

He dashed through the forest, cutting through the night as he went. Had he
really thought about why exactly he was running ? Perhaps.

His actions could be described by the simple verb “flee”, but he did not have
it in him to contemplate that verb and to run at the same time. We could well
say that the reason he was “fleeing”—

In other words, the desire to “live”, was what impelled him to race forth.

He acted on instinct, not on reason.

He was impulsive, not rational.

He did not even know whether he ought to flee. He merely leapt forward and
forward again, on and on.

How long had he been running ?

With every step, his legs cried out in agony. The pain radiated throughout his
body unattenuated.

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But he had to keep going. His body did not want to stop, nor did his mind.

Perhaps the endorphins had already cut out. Wave upon wave of
unadulterated pain washed over his body, over and over and—

His ferocious instinct was strong enough to get him through even that.

Trees swept past him like a breeze, and indeed, given how he wended his
way through the forest, it was like he had himself become the wind. Just
when he was about to arrive at the end of the breeze—

A magically-enhanced bullet pierced through the wind.

Before he could even feel pain, his body was overcome by shock.

His momentum carried him to the ground. The earth mercilessly battered his
body. As if it were comeuppance for the way his legs had kicked at the
ground as he ran, the vast earth became as unto a weapon and walloped him.

An unvocalized scream.

Try as he might to stand up, the convulsions that overcame his body would
not let him do so.

As his mind heard his body cry out in pain, his ear heard a quiet voice echo
out.

“...you have caused me quite some trouble.” The speaker seemed level-
headed, but beneath his calm veneer, there were clear indications that he was
incensed.

The man, who seemed like a mage, lowered his heavily-ornamented revolver
and carefully trod on the stomach of the collapsed escapee— and then he
shoved the still-hot barrel of the revolver into the open gunshot wound.

There was a hissing sound as the escapee s flesh was scorched. The odor of
singed meat echoed about the forest.

The escapee opened his mouth wider than should have been possible and

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exhaled moist air from the depths of his throat.

“This is absurd. Of all the things that could have happened, you received the
Command Spells! What a farce!”

The escapee screamed noiselessly as he thrashed about. There certainly were

chain-like markings on his body that looked like Command Spells.

“Why do you think I went to the trouble of making you? Why do you think I
amplified your Magic Circuits to their utmost limit? Why do you think I have
even let you live this long?”

The mage quietly shook his head and kicked the escapee—still writhing in
pain—like a soccer ball.

“...To win the Holy Grail War, I must summon a being that transcends every
Hero.”

He walked up to the escapee—and stomped on his face again.

“If I do not summon a being that exceeds every Hero—a being who has such
power as to be called a god—I cannot hope to defeat those

Heroes who are said to be kings.” And again.

“And if it has come to this... I have no choice but to summon a being more
ancient than the first Hero—one of those of Egypt who became gods.”

And he trampled him.

“But even the power of the Command Spells, combined with the latent power
of this land, do not suffice to call forth a being as powerful as a god. I, too,
must violate a few strictures to pull

that off.” And he crushed him.

“And you—you were to be my catalyst! A catalyst to summon a god! Why

would you refuse that honor! ? You have repaid my kindness with malice!”

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The escapee could no longer even attempt to scream. He could see litde but
the darkness of the night and the ever-spreading red of his own blood.

And yet—

Even if breathing itself had become painful for him—

As he drank down the blood that spilled forth from his throat, he tried harder
still to stand up. Upon seeing the escapee that was unwilling to admit defeat,
the mage sighed and—

He laid his foot on the escapees back and mercilessly crushed the escapee
under his weight. “Enough of this. I have any number of spares at the
ready.... You will return the Command Spells to me. Then, you will die. And
you will die in the way I prescribe. I will throw you into a furnace and use
your remains to build myself a new experimental subject.”

He extended his right hand towards the escapee’s Command Spells.

The escapee could not care less about the Command Spells and whatnot.

He did not even know of the phrase “Holy Grail War”, let alone its meaning,
live.

He, as a living being, merely obeyed the instincts that welled up within him.
live. live.

Even then, as the end drew near, those instincts had not waned an iota, live.
live. live.

—that was all that he was aware of.

live. live. live. live live live live live. live. live. live live live live live. live,

live. live. live. live. live.

live livelivelivelivelive livelive livelivelivelivelivelive live

livelivelivelive livelive livelive livelive livelive livelive live livelivelivelive

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live livelive live live livelivelivelivelivelive livelivelivelivelivelivelivelive
livelive livelive livelive live livelive livelive livelivelivelive livelive
livelivelivelive live livelivelive livelive livelive livelive live livelivelive

livelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelivelive
liveliveliveliveliveli- velivelivelivelivelivelive —live!

Not “I don’t want to die.”

Nor was it quite “I want to live.”

It was not a desire, but rather a simple instinct,

The mere hope to “live.”

Had he himself noticed this distinction? Or—

Then again, did he even have the means to express the notion “I don’t want to
die”?

His body slowly came to rest, but—

Out of all the living beings in the Snowfield area, his will was the strongest.
And with that mighty will, he screamed.

The mage did not realize what that scream meant—and so, he did not notice:

That in that instant, the ritual had been completed.

That the escapee’s scream was his alone; that it was his own form of magic;
that those were words of summoning.

That, the mage did not know.

Just a moment ago, the fifth Servant had been summoned into the ravine to
the north, and—

It seemed that the false Holy Grail was in a bit of a rush to manifest the sixth
Servant.

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Of course, from the very outset of this Holy Grail War, with the summoning
of Rider, the nature of the summoning ritual had always been rather vague.

But in any case, it was in that moment that—

The sixth Servant finally descended upon the forests of Snowfield.

A brilliant light shot through the forest, and a mighty whirlwind swayed the
nearby trees.

The mage was tossed a few meters away by the strong wind. Startled, he
readied his gun—but just then, he felt an enormous rush of magical energy,
and so, strengthened his Magic Circuits. “Wha....”

Before his eyes, a being appeared, clad in a simple piece of cloth.

That the being was a Heroic Spirit was clearly evident from the
overwhelming magical energy that poured forth from it.

At the same time, there was something unusual about it.

It looked far too plain to be a Hero.

It didn’t seem to have anything that could really be called “equipment”, and
its clothing seemed rather shabby. Of course, it’s not like a Hero’s value
depends on the value of his material possessions, but— even so, just what
sort of Hero would be without even a single weapon?

He quietly surveyed the being.

A woman?

Based just on its face, he would call it a woman.

It had lustrous skin and soft features.

However, its chest and its hips were hidden by the loose cloth it wore. Its
limbs alone exten-

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ded outside the cloth, and they seemed to be quite firm and taut.

N-no, wait... that might be a man.? Which is it...?

The Servants face seemed to retain some vaguely childlike features, making it
easy to interpret as either a man’s face or a woman’s face. Either way, its
body was firm. It was tensed like a coiled spring, and could likely rocket
forth in the same manner. That much was clear to the eye. Whether it was a
man or a woman, its face was beautiful all the same.

Is... Is that... is that even a... a human?

The mage felt a twinge of embarrassment.

It certainly had a human face, but there was something discomforting about
it. He couldn’t figure out how to describe it, but there was definitely
something wrong with it. Perhaps it was just too perfect. There was nothing
visually out of the ordinary about it, but its entire body exuded an odd aura—
kind of like a mannequin. It was as though it were a puppet, in the magical
sense.

He couldn’t really make out its build, perhaps because of its loose garments.
He became less and less certain whether the Heroic Spirit was a man or a
woman, or indeed whether it was a human or something else altogether.

Nonetheless, one thing was for sure.

That Hero was unbearably beautiful.

It was a paradoxical being, possessing both the impurity characteristic of

mankind and the immaculacy inherent to nature.

Its body was like the velvety boughs that enwrapped the statue of Venus. It
was as though the Heroic Spirit’s form defied classification as a man or a
woman; a human or a beast; a god or a demon.

With the forest behind it, the Heroic Spirit, a being of perfect harmony, let its
lustrous hair flutter in the wind and—

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“Are you... the Master who called for me ?” it asked of the wounded escapee,
sprawled on the ground before it.

Ah, what a gentle voice it was.

Its voice, too, was androgynous. In the end, the mage would never learn its
true identity.

The escapee was bewildered by the sudden flash of light and burst of wind
that accompanied its appearance, but when he took one glance at it, he knew.

The one who stands before me is not my enemy.

He knew that that alone was an absolute truth.

For a short while, he suppressed his urge to flee, and gazed intendy at his
savior.

Fate/Strange Fake 1

His eyes were ever so pure, as if he were imagining what lay within the
Heroic Spirit’s very soul.

It quietly knelt down as the escapee staggered to his feet, so that it could look
him in the eye, and—

“__” said it, with words that the mage could not understand.

The escapee replied to it.

“_ _” it responded, again quietly.

And then, the Heroic Spirit reached out and lifted the wounded escapee into it
arms. “Thank you. We have formed a contract.”

It spoke as if to a friend of countless many years—and so, the escapee felt

relief.

He was granted life. His heart swelled large with emotion.

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He knew he would have to flee no more—and at long last, he could collapse.

“Im... possible... impossible! This cannot be!” His shouts echoed about the
forest.

Unable to understand what he was witnessing, the mage waved his gun about.

“This is preposterous! I will not stand for this!” he yelled.

As he did, he aimed his gun.

And at the end of his barrel laid—

A silver-coated wolf, its fur stained with blood and dirt, resting in the arms of
the Hero.

“You troglodyte! This just... you have no abilities to speak of! You are a
mere chimera! And you are a Master! ? I cannot believe this!”

The mage continued to fiercely brandish his ornamented gun, taking careful
aim.

“Please lower your gun. My Master does not wish you harm,” said the Heroic
Spirit, quietly. “Wha...”

He was surprised by the politeness with which it spoke, but more importandy,
he was unse- tded by the contents of its statement.

“As if! What sophistry...”

“I can understand the language of his kind... and in any case, it is not difficult
to surmise what you have done to my Master.”

The mage tried to scoff at the Servant, but it continued to speak, a solemn
expression on its face. “And yet, my Master does not wish you harm. ...Do
you understand what this means ?”

With that, it turned away from the mage and began to slowly walk towards
the edge of the forest.

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“W-wait! Please, wait! You desire the Holy Grail, do you not!? Would you
not agree that you would have a better chance of attaining the Grail if I were
your master, rather than that mangy cur?”

And when the Heroic Spirit heard that, it stopped in its tracks, and—

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https://mp4directs.com
It turned around.

That was all.

And right away—the mage let out a short yelp. With his gun still in hand, he
turned his back on the Heroic Spirit and the wolf and bolted into the forest.

So awesome was the power of interdiction in the Heroic Spirit s gaze.

When it had seen the mage vanish from its sight, it expunged the harsh hue
from its eyes and set forth towards the river, to heal the animal it accepted as
its Master.

It could neither hear the sound of running water, nor could it see any, but—

Even so, it could sense the presence of water off yonder. And so

It kicked at the ground, gendy holding the wolf to its chest, and bounded
through the forest, as fast as a falcon.

As he tore through the forest, the mage screamed internally.

“aa aAA aaaaAAA AAaaaAAAAaAAAaaaaaAaa!”

He, who had been the pursuer, was now being pursued, as he wove his way
past tree after tree.

Why!

Why! Why! Why, why, WHY!?

Why was it that... that mangy cur!

Why was it not me!

Neither the Heroic Spirit nor the silver wolf was chasing him.

He knew that, and yet, he fled, with all the power his legs could muster.

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He fled from the unbearable shame and unalterable reality that followed him.

After he had run a while, the mage realized that he had, at some point, exited
the forest— and remembered that his atelier was close by. Finally, he was
able to let his legs slow down.

And then, when he had come to a complete stop, he turned to face the forest.

“Just... what was that Heroic Spirit!?” he wondered, talking to himself.

He had refined all the magic that he and his ancestors had developed to create
that chimera. Its body contained far more Magic Circuits than that of any
ordinary mage. Granted, its lifespan—both as an offering and as a living
being—was extremely short, but that was alright, as it was merely a catalyst
to be used to summon a Heroic Spirit. And yet, it, of all things, received the
Command Spells.

Even with all his experience as a mage, he could not understand how a mere
beast—one that

did not even understand what the Holy Grail War was—could become a
Master.

“Was that a Hero with some connection to animals... ? But that was just a
chimera—not even an animal. It was a meat puppet. Perhaps it was a Hero
with some connection to... chimeras...?”

Given that the wolf looked rather like a dog, the mage also considered the
possibility that the Servant could have been the hound of the Celts. In the
end, though, he could not reconcile his image of that fierce warrior with what
he saw of the Heroic Spirit.

“Tsk... well, so be it. I will just have to steal his Command Spells. No,
actually, anyone’s Command Spells will do. I had best get started. If I sic the
rest of my chimeras on them when they enter the town, I ought to be able to
make off with that cur, at the least....”

He was already back in high spirits, with his senses back about him.

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He truly was worthy of praise as a mage.

Alas, it was not praise that awaited him, but— “No, sir, we sure can’t have
that.”

“? ?....?!?”

“We really would prefer not to have any more sources of uncertainty. My
humblest apologies.” Those cold words chilled him to the bone.

“—” The mage opened his mouth to ask who was there. From his throat came
not words, but warm, red blood.

“We already have magi wandering around the city who didn’t manifest any
Command Spells. It’d be a real pain if you went around causing trouble on
top of the Holy Grail War. The Association and the Church are trouble
enough. We can’t afford to make an enemy of the militia, you see. They are
public servants, after all.”

Upon hearing him speak, the mage realized that the man standing before him
was a man who once was a disciple of the puppeteer Rohngall—a man of the
Association by the name of Faldeus.

Of course, more important to the mage than Faldeus’s affiliations was the
question of how to stop his neck from spewing blood.

“Oh, no, don’t bother. Just listen as you are. I have no particular desire
answer your questions, nor do I plan to let you live. As such, I have taken the
liberty of slitting your throat.”

Faldeus slowly twirled a Swiss Army Knife in his hand. Drop after drop of
red dripped from it. It was not a ritual weapon, of the sort typically used by
magi, but rather, an ordinary knife, of the sort one might find in a typical
outdoor recreation store.

“Tut-tut. Even if you weren’t expecting this to happen, you shouldn’t fall
victim to an un-en- chanted knife. Your ancestors must be weeping.”

“ —.-.” A wheezing sound came from the mage’s throat, but he was unable to

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draw a

breath.

He was rapidly losing consciousness

“...come to think if it, who are you, anyway? Eh, whatever. Not like you can
answer me anyway,” said Faldeus.

As Faldeus looked down on the mage, with his guard up as always, he slowly
waved his right hand.

The mage felt a shock.

And that was the end. The mage’s consciousness left him, never to return.

When Faldeus waved his hand, innumerably many bullets flew through the
air and rent the mage’s body.

Faced with that gory sight, Faldeus remained emotionless.

Perhaps because he could not even imagine the possibility that a stray bullet
would hit him, he did not even breathe harder as the bullets raced by in front
of him.

Just like when he had Rohngall’s puppet destroyed, the gunshots were
muffled. A leaden force sashayed through what had been the mage’s body.

When about half of the mage was gone, Faldeus waved his hand again.

In less than a second, the hailstorm of bullets ceased. Faldeus sat down on a
nearby boulder. His expression finally softened some.

“I do beg your pardon. I’m something of a chatterbox, you see. I never know
when I’m going to leak confidential information, so I can’t really have a good
conversation unless I’m talking to a corpse,” he courteously said to the lump
of flesh, which, of course, could not hear, let alone understand him.

“I must say, I’m a bit concerned about what the Kuruokas summoned.... And,

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to be honest, you’ve gone and made a huge mess yourself. I just had a look
through your atelier, and... well, I’m astonished that you would try to
summon something on the level of a god. That’s a foul against the system.
Didn’t you know that ? Wars have rules too.” Faldeus spoke fluidly and at
length, now that he was speaking to a corpse. His former reticence had
vanished altogether.

“Even if this whole business is some sort of test for us, we really do need you
folks to have a bit of self-control.”

Unlike when he had Rohngall’s puppet destroyed, he did not have an army of
underlings surrounding him. Also, he was speaking at a real corpse, not a
mere puppet.

“I had a look at the footage we took in the forest... And, well, it’s amazing
that he—well, maybe her, so why don’t we go with ‘it’? ...In any case, it’s
amazing that it could be summoned as a Heroic Spirit. If you had managed to
summon it as Berserker, you very well might have gained the power of a god
that you so desired.”

It seemed that Faldeus truly was surprised by what he saw, as evidenced by

his emotional

Fate/Strange Fake 1 state.

Perhaps it was a pleasant surprise for him. A smile crept over his face.

“Well, the system shouldn’t allow for that sort of thing, but seeing as how
there’re anomalous happenings everywhere, I wouldn’t put too much faith in
that. By Jove, someone might have even summoned something positively
unspeakable in a secret hideout somewhere. Then again, that thing that your
pet summoned is quite unspeakable itself.” Faldeus gesticulated as he spoke,
as if he were talking to an old friend. With a corpse on the ground before
him, he spoke to himself, so as to reinforce his own understanding of the
situation. “To begin with, it was never so much a Hero...

“As it was a Noble Phantasm of the gods themselves.”

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Of course, that Hero had the body of a human.

However, it was not human.

Tong, long ago, the gods fashioned a doll from clay and sent it to the earth to
appear within a forest. That doll was neither male nor female; rather, it was
phantasmal.

It lacked human knowledge, and so, it gamboled about the forest like a beast.

However, it had power that surpassed human understanding. When it was

enraged, it was said to be mightier than even the Hero who ruled a certain
kingdom at the time.

That king laughed at the doll with contempt. “Nary can my might be
compared to that of a beast,” said he, refusing even to lay eyes upon it.

The king believed his power to supreme; that there could not be a being
stronger than he. Thus, the king laughed off rumors of the beast.

When that beast met a certain celebrated hierodule, however, their fates
changed forever.

When that genderless mass of clay met that woman whose beauty
transcended gender, it fell in love at first sight.

As they spent six days and seven nights together, sharing meals and sharing a
bed, the clay doll slowly assumed a human form, as if to imitate that beautiful
prostitute.

The clay beast who was ignorant of mankind attempted to assume that
prostitute’s beauty.

When it made that paradoxical beauty its own, the clay doll lost much of its
strength. In exchange, it gained human wisdom and reason.

Though it had lost much of its divinity—

Its power still far exceeded that of man.

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Prologue VI: Lancer

And then, the doll, now endowed with the body and the wisdom of a human,
stood before that mighty king.

They fought a battle that shook the heavens and the earth, and once the battle
was over, each acknowledged the others strength.

The golden king and the clay doll.

Surely, there could be no beings further apart than they. Nonetheless, each
became the other’s one and only friend. They embarked on coundess many
adventures, sharing their pain and their pleasure with one another.

And then, millennia after those golden-and-earthen days—

Their fates changed forever again.

At a stream perhaps ten kilometers distant, the Heroic Spirit cursorily treated
the wounds of the silver wolf—its Master—and laid him down to rest.

„I must say... I am relieved. I was worried that the whole world had been
buried like Uruk, but it seems the world is as beautiful as ever.”

It looked at the vast wilderness before it. Using the language of beasts, it
described the world to its Master, as it lay at its Master’s side.

However, its Master had already fallen into a deep sleep, and did not reply.

Taughing softly, it sat down, and gave itself over to the sound of the flowing
water, when—

Suddenly, it turned to look northwards.

Using its class ability, Presence Detection —it detected a presence far, far to
the north. A very familiar presence.

Indeed, it detected the presence right as the golden-armored Heroic Spirit

walked out of the cave.

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“Could it be—”

Unable at first to believe what fate had wrought, it opened its eyes wide and
—

“...is it you?”

It was sure that the presence it sensed to the north was none other than the
king it knew. It slowly stood up.

Fate/Strange Fake 1 A short silence.

In that while, just what went through its mind?

Bewilderment.

Consternation.

And finally—overwhelming joy.

Not only did fate bring them both to the Holy Grail War, but it also afforded
them another opportunity to engage in mortal combat.

But what of that ?

Even if it took his head, and he took its heart, what of it ?

The ties that bound them would not fray from a duel or two.

Nay, even if they slew one another a thousand times over, they would hold
strong.

“Haha...”

It let a very natural smile appear on its face. It opened its arms wide and—

“What fun it would be... to continue with the duel we fought on that plaza.”

With its arms outstretched, it sang in a mighty voice, from the very core of its

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being.

It was a gentle voice.

The Hero Enkidu.

Its song shook the very earth, becoming like a beautiful undulation of the
land that reached every part of the Snowfield area.

That was evidence that all the Servants had assembled—

And it was also a signal to commence battle.

All the magi and Heroic Spirits had convened on this false stage.

They sought to dance upon it—despite knowing that this Holy Grail War was
a false one. Truth and falsehood were secondary to their desires. They fought
not for the Holy Grail, but for their convictions—

It was a Holy Grail War for them alone.

That was the spark that began the war.

“Observer. Or, Character Creation”

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Extra
“Observer. Or, Character Creation”

The space was a completed world.

Jet black with points of light.

In the center of a room in the wide, perfect sphere dyed in the color of the
night sky, there floated a wooden chair.

Based on its appearance alone, it would be enough to call the chair

extravagant, but its wood gave it a refined hue, and one would not think it a
repulsive gaud of the elite. Rather, just by existing here, it imbued the space
around it with a conspicuous gravity.

If an unrefined person sat in the chair, that person would likely be consumed
by the weight of the chairs existence and hidden from surrounding view.
Such was the significance of the chair.

The space had been prepared for the sole purpose of exhibiting the chair.

A man exuding a solemnity that outweighed that of the chair leaned back in
it, emitting a loud creak.

“Hm...”

If one were to draw a reduced map of the universe based on this room, the
man sitting in the chair would be at its center, emitting an air surely befitting
its master.

His external appearance would probably place his age in the 50s or 60s.

One could sense the trials of his life in the wrinkles etched deeply on his face,
but his eyes remained brimming with brilliance, such as one might see in
someone ten years his junior.

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“This axis is wrong... these lines will be annihilated too...”

When the man slipped his finger into the sky, the heavenly bodies displayed
on the surrounding walls began to revolve.

“Oh, this cut-off isn’t so... no, it’s the worst. That damned giant spider will
wake up. It’s a century too early to face that.”

Then, as if to match his words, the pages in the book hovering in front of the
man turned with a flutter, inscribing multifarious information in real-time.

The thickness of the book was about that of a standard encyclopedia.

Regardless, as the man guided his finger through the air, thousands— tens of
thousands of pages were born and erased.

After continuing this activity again and again, the old man muttered as if in
boredom.

“As I thought, no matter how this is resolved, it doesn’t result in a

satisfactory outcome for the Association. Having said that, there isn’t enough
reason in my interventions. Yes, it’s a com-

plete stalemate.”

The man who seemed to be talking to himself suddenly asked the space
behind him for an opinion.

“What do you think? It’s about time you said hello. That communication
device there is working fine.”

At that, the space replied,

“How rude of me. It seems you’ve noticed.”

There was a small wooden table of similar design to the chair. Atop it sat a
telephone.

It had the shape of a very old telephone, the kind that looked like a table lamp

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at first glance. But instead of a light bulb, there was a conical speaker.
Mounted on a thin post was a microphone. A dial was affixed to the base of
the device.

It was a telephone you would only find in movies, museums, or antique

shops, save for one difference. Unlike the black color of most antique
telephones, this one was a beautiful blue color that evoked sapphire. At a
glance, one could only think that it had been crafted from an enormous
precious gem.

As for the question of how long the telephone had been there, there shouldn’t
have been anything in that space until several minutes prior. But, the
telephone was wonderfully integrated with the harmony of the room, as if it
had always existed there.

Indeed, addressing the phone had confirmed the fact of its existence, as if the
history of the room had been rewritten.

“With a litde more time, I had planned to make the phone’s bell ring.”

A youthful-sounding voice resounded from the telephone’s speaker.

It seemed as if the phone was speaking according to its own will.

“Do I strike you as an old man who talks to himself ?”

“Did you ask me that because you knew it was me ?”

“Where do you think we are ? I can count the number of people who can get
inside.”

Rolling his shoulders, the old man glanced at the blue telephone.

“So, what business do you have here ? If you want to have tea, come back
later. Unfortunately, I’m wrapped up in some troublesome work.”

“Yeah, I’m actually here because of that.”

“What?”

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“If you’re going to choose someone to observe the incident at Snowfield,
don’t pick from the magi. You should select a world on the basis of being an
intruder.

With that, the telephone’s dial slowly began to turn, returning to its starting
point at certain intervals before turning again.

Fate/Strange Fake 1

At the same time, the heavenly bodies revolving around the room — and the
book that the old man was reading — began turning faster than they had been
before.

Inscribed on the pages was the face of a human, and that person’s
information.

At times, it was male. At times, it was female.

At times, it was elderly. At times, it was a child.

At times, it was musclebound. At times, it was obese.

At times, it was a saint. At times, it was a vicious murderer.

At times, it was a magus. At times, it was a priest.

Flipping between countless qualities such as race, gender, age, body type,
clothing, personality, and occupation, the book’s pages turned with incredible
momentum.

“You’re quite confident in the turning of the planets.”

“The trajectory to the future is like a labyrinth. It’s my specialty.”

Someone passing by the two at this moment would likely have found it a
bizarre conversation.

“Of course, unlike my labyrinth, the destination one makes depends upon the
person.”

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The pages kept turning at a high speed, and the displayed faces smoothly
blended into each other.

As if he was watching a scene from times past, the old man sat back and
watched as the telephone continued to turn its own dial.

Then, after some time, the turning of the pages slowed.

Inscribed on one page was an Eastern person.

“Next is to... yes, she needs some glasses.”

The pages turned delicately. A thin-framed pair of glasses appeared on the

person’s face.

“...Is that important ?”

“Who knows? I’m just back-calculating from the result I arrived at. Whether
or not it has any meaning at all is something we can consider later.”

“Hmph.”

As he looked at the information on the final page, the old man spoke to the
telephone behind him.

“Still, you’ve suddenly involved yourself with the world. If you’re that bored,
just visit the town yourself. Shouldn’t there be a cafe that caters to readers ?
You can kill plenty of time there.”

“No... this isn’t exactly killing time. I’m rather involved with the incident this
time.”

“...I see. It’s something that one has thought of.”

The old man immediately understood the meaning behind the telephone’s
words, and recalled someone’s face. He took a deep sigh— and then his lips
twisted into a smile.

Extra

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“So you have a bit of a plan... all the more reason you can’t intervene. It’s the
sort of fool that rejoices as more intruders are involved. Let the Holy Grail
War this time be followed through by an outsider.”

“Yeah, you’re right. If you handled this poorly, it would confirm the world.”

It was certainly a bizarre conversation that could only happen between these
two. Then, the person behind the telephone — or possibly, the telephone
itself — looked at the person now described in the open book, and spoke in a
cheerful voice.

“Her universe is a pseudepigraphon, or perhaps it’s the opposite. Let’s hope

for the best and watch over her.”

The book was opened to a picture of a young girl.

It was an apparendy Eastern girl in her late teens to early twenties, with dyed
blonde hair.

Below her portrait was a name beginning with the letter A.

And then, with her as the center—

Here and now, the curtain would rise on a Holy Grail War smeared in
falsehood and vanity.

Now... it’s time to spur on the fakes.

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https://mp4directs.com
https://mp4directs.com
Chapter 1 “The War Begins”

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Chapter 1
The War Begins

What sort of being was Gilgamesh?

Tine Chelc’s information on him prior to his summoning was cursory, at best.

However, with just that sliver of knowledge, she had been determined to
stake her destiny, and the obsession she inherited from her ancestors, on this
Heroic Spirit.

Gilgamesh, King of Heroes.

Eons ago, in what was later called Mesopotamia, there reigned a great king
who would become the hero of the land. During the early days of an age in
which the gods still lived, and people had greater power as individuals than
they do now, this hero, born of a union between man and god, ruled over the
fortress-city Uruk.

He was known as both a despot who destroyed his country, and as a king who
stood on the precipice of history and brought the land into a new age.
Regardless of what end he met, the fact remained that Uruk flourished as a
nation of magnificent splendor under the rule of Gilgamesh. His vault was
said to contain all of the works of gods and men, and it was rumored that they
were the original versions of all Noble Phantasms used by heroes of later
ages.

In the past, this Heroic Spirit, who possessed great divinity, was apparently
summoned in the Holy Grail Wars of a land known as Japan. It was said that
Gilgamesh s power surpassed that of many other heroes, and that he had
emerged as the victor.

From what Tine had heard, he was a man of many skills and was competent
in all areas, but more importantly his combat style was so overwhelming that
it gave everyone else pause. The stories about raising the fortress-city and

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collecting countless treasures out of greed had caught her attention.

Once Tine committed herself into this Holy Grail War, she was prepared to
cast aside her integrity. Her side needed transcendent power in order to take
back their land from the infringement of the greedy. In other words, she
needed to be even greedier than the usurpers—

That was how Tine had been raised.

So, she knew she had to be ruthless. If Gilgamesh was a tyrant who would
trample on an enemy already laid low just to eliminate them, so be it.

It didn’t matter how much she tainted her honor.

Her people would chase the violators out of their land, and cleanse it in its
entirety.

To fulfill the duty she had inherited from her ancestors, Tine intended to
abandon her girli-

sh heart and offer her entire self to the powerful despot.

She wasn’t afraid of death. What Tine truly feared was nothing other than the
continued rape of her ancestral homeland at the hands of the magi outsiders.

However, she had miscalculated.

She wasn’t wrong about Gilgamesh’s quality as a hero.

Tine, who lived in the modern era, simply did not understand the true
significance of a hero who had been alive in an age when gods freely mixed
with humans. It didn’t matter whether he was a tyrannical or a benevolent
king.

She had utterly underestimated the magnitude of his power. Tine had no
inkling of the overwhelming might that the golden-armored Heroic Spirit was
said to have displayed during previous Holy Grail Wars.

However, to the the Heroic Spirit Gilgamesh, these conflicts were dull affairs

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mired in conceit and foolishness, save for a brief moment.

So, what sort of being was Gilgamesh?

Right after Tine swore her loyalty to him, she glimpsed a hint of the truth.

He was a man with the royal disposition of a king, and the heroic soul of a
champion. When the garment that the King of Heroes had graced her with
was torn away, she saw a torrent of pure power.

Night — Northern Snowfield — Wide Valley

“You are but a child, so act like one. While you are still ignorant in the ways
of the world, simply rejoice in the brilliance of my kingship.”

“I shall endeavor to do so.”

When Tine lowered her head at Gilgamesh’s words, it happened.

"... >”

An enormous flow of mystic energy blanketed the surrounding space and

converged at a point beside Tine.

“!?”

It was more than just energy.

The purest magical element she had ever seen in her life — no, it even had a
divine aura to it — coalesced in the King of Heroes’ right hand, and
materialized in the form of a dagger.

But, the object had too bizarre a silhouette to be called a simple dagger. It
looked very similar to Gilgamesh’s summoning catalyst used by the magus
that Tine had eliminated earlier.

“A key... sword?” Tine murmured without thinking.

Gilgamesh haughtily replied, “Do not speak of this in the same terms as the

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key in the hands of that clown.”

Grasping the key-sword, Gilgamesh turned its tip skyward.

“This is something like a contract I bound myself, given form.”

His tone seemed bored, but his expression contained a hint of joy.

“Pay attention, Tine. And show me your proof.”

"... ?”

Before Tine, whose head was bowed, it opened.

The energy flowing from the key-sword surged into all of the space around it,
and opened a portal in the world itself.

Tine’s black-clad allies were sent into a clamor, but the voices of the crowd,
which amounted to hundreds of people, were silenced by the trembling of
space.

The dimensions themselves seemed to be shaking, and only Gilgamesh’s

voice clearly reached Tines ears.

“Know this — my subjects would never be shocked by a mere children’s

game.”

While he spoke, the distortion in space converged on a single point.

A single sword emerged from the distortion in front of Gilgamesh. It was

nothing like the earlier key-sword, but it was certainly no normal weapon.
The sword had a strangely shaped blade.

As if enjoying himself, Gilgamesh spoke directly to the sword.

“O Ea. It may be unpleasant to wake from your slumber, but I shall soon
provide you with a feast.”

An instant later, the King of Heroes moved.

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“No, you won’t be bored. No one will.”

He was graceful in every gesture, and arrogant in all respects.

Then, taking a stride filled with unconcealable jubilation, Gilgamesh’s figure

suddenly vanished from sight.

With a single step, he had gone somewhere else.

That was all he did, but even to Tine who was learned in magic, Gilgamesh’s
gesture was imbued with an overwhelming fire she had never experienced
before, and perhaps might never

Leaving a Masters side was an unthinkable act for a Servant to commit. The
workings of the Holy Grail War were engraved in the brains of all Servants at
the time of their summoning. Gilgamesh couldn’t have been unaware of the
risks of leaving his Master alone.

Yet, Tine, stunned by the heat of the moment, could find no fault with his
actions.

She had to burn into her memory everything that happened from now on.
This was the premonition Tine felt as she was flooded with Gilgamesh’s
power.

The feeling that welled up in the heart of the young girl, who was supposed
to have abandoned all emotion, was a fear of the unknown. Or perhaps...

Seconds Earlier — Western Snowfield — Large Forest

“Master, I’d like you to wait here... just for a litde while.”

Enkidu brushed the cheek of the silver wolf, who looked at him with anxious
eyes. Then, he knelt on one knee before his Master, and softly splayed his
fingers in the earth.

“It will be all right.”

As Enkidu smiled, the surrounding trees began to rustle.

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“The forest will protect you.”

They were suddenly concealed from the sky by a frantic movement of

branches and leaves, and powerful mystic energy began to flow into the
earth. It was completely as if the forest had a will of its own, and deliberately
formed a natural magical Barrier.

“I have to go. If I meet him here, the forest would be killed, and I’d have no
way to protect you. Can you forgive me ?”

Enkidu hugged the silver wolf as it gave a feeble howl.

“Thank you, Master. As long as life beats within this breast of mine, I swear
to return to you.”

At the same time that Gilgamesh had disappeared from the company of Tine
and her allies, Enkidu also made a single stride on the earth.

He was as modest as the wind, and as pious as a spring. Having said that, the
joy expressed in Enkidu’s powerful footsteps was no less than that of the
King of Heroes.

“...This is bad. Let’s leave the forest.”

Faldeus, sensing an anomaly, ordered his men to retreat over the radio.

“What’s going on?”

“The flow of mana has changed. It is likely that the woods are now under its
control.”

As he said this, Faldeus felt an enormous power streaming through the forest.
Silendy, without harming the woods, it moved as if gliding upon the earth.
One could even call it the wind.

In awe of the presence of this Heroic Spirit that had become one with the
forest, Faldeus confirmed its bearing, and then issued orders to his
subordinates.

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“...As you withdraw, stay as far away from the desert as possible. We’ll
deploy UAVs and familiars in that area.”

Then, in the skies high above Snowfield, a great force seemed to disrupt the
atmosphere, and something of equally monumental power passed through.

Faldeus felt this flow of power several seconds after he issued the order to
retreat.

“Could it be?”

Was something happening there ?

After calculating the possibilities, Faldeus came to a solution, and rejected it..

Or rather, he hoped that it wasn’t true.

“We haven’t even begun to grasp their power... do they intend to start
already?”

In the city — a cheap motel

In a cheap motel that was old even by midtown standards, Flat woke up,
though he had been sleeping soundly just a moment ago. The motel was
situated along a highway a short distance from the center of town.

As the young man rubbed his eyes and rose, his Servant Jack spoke.

“What’s wrong, Master? Are you having trouble sleeping? If you need to use
the toilet, just say so. I will turn into spirit form and wait here.”

“...I just noticed, but being spoken to like this right after I wake up reminds
me of those cartoon character alarm clocks.”

Flat was speaking to his left wrist.

On that wrist was a steampunk-styled antique wristwatch, and Jack’s voice

came from it.

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“Normally I would already be in spirit form, but you’re the one that said ‘it’d
be awesome if I looked like a spy,’ so here we are.”

Jack was currently Flat’s personal wristwatch.

After leaving the park, Flat decided to test Jack’s power of “transforming into
anything,” making him turn into everything from people to plants and
animals, and then eventually inanimate objects.

At first, he thought, “there’s no way Jack the Ripper’s true identity was an
inanimate object.” But according to Jack, there were apparently many
romance novels in which “Jack the Ripper was actually a person possessed
by a cursed item,” and then he had shown Flat how he could transform into a
surprising variety of objects.

After testing out a wristwatch transformation, Flat took a liking to its design,
and the topic had turned to planning for his personal safety by wearing it
regularly.

Fie always wore the watch except when he was showering or on the toilet,
and the two initially communicated via telepathy until Flat uttered something
very unlike a magus:

“This is kind of tiring. It’s more fun to talk normally.”

And so they spoke out loud when no one was watching.

Flat got off the bed, and checked Jack’s time against that of the motel room’s
clock.

“That’s amazing, though. There’s no difference at all.”

“Well, let it be said that punctuality is a quality of the English gendeman. At

least, that would be true if I actually was a gentleman.”

“So even gentlemen can be serial killers, huh?”

After unmindfully trampling on Jack’s feelings, Flat went to the bathroom,

stoppered the sink, and began to fill it with water.

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“What are you doing?”

Flat wet his fingers while answering Heroic Spirit Wristwatch’s question.

“Don’t you feel anything?”

“Mrgh...”

While Jack choked on his words, the young Master placed his finger on the
bathroom mirror and started drawing a simple magic circle.

“Two conspicuous sources of magical noise, heading southward.”

At that, Jack spoke in a somewhat embarrassed tone.

“I’m not proud of it, but basically, my abilities as a magus are poor. They
would increase if I were to take the form of a mage, but attempting to sense
abnormalities of mana while in this form is an impossible task.”

“Oh, so if you turned into a radar dish, your sensing powers might go up!”

“...Are you really a magus from the Clock Tower?”

Ignoring Jack’s doubts, Flat casually kept moving his finger until he
completed the magic circle. Then, he spoke some incantation at the mirror...
and the water in the sink changed.

There were a series of ripples on the water’s surface, and then it displayed
some kind of vision.

Seeing an image of a desert in the water, the wristwatch’s hands ticked.

“What is this?”

“Some people are using familiars to monitor the desert, so I’m just taking a
little peek,” Flat replied nonchalantly.

“...What?”

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“If I sent a familiar out now, it wouldn’t make it in time,” Flat explained
offhand.

Although Jack wasn’t a specialist in magic, he had some essential knowledge

transmitted from the Holy Grail system.

From that knowledge, Jack understood that “taking a peek at someone else’s
familiar” was no trivial feat.

It would make sense if Flat was a neophyte in magic, but coming to the Holy
Grail War as a tourist, or interfering in the spells of a Master magus that was
actually fighting in the war, was something no sane person would do.

And if it were so easy, would it not mean the collapse of this entire system
that ran on familiars ?

As doubts swirled in his head, Jack spoke.

“Can you really do something like that? No, I mean, even if it were possible...
isn’t it risky? If they trace it, our location could be compromised.”

“Mmm, I did it in a way that I wouldn’t be found out... though I can’t say for
sure that we won’t be detected. The Professor wouldn’t be able to, but he’d
probably have a hunch and hunt me down later... oh, but someone of Luvia-
chan’s level might just cause an energy backflow and blow up this entire
motel...”

Murmuring some rather unsetding things, the young man refocused and kept
talking.

“Well, if they do find us out, I’ll just apologize as hard as I can!”

An icy wind buffeted Jack’s heart, and he muttered to himself as Flat laughed
innocently.

It wasn’t completely accurate, but it was still a sentence that, just a bit,
described the essence of his Master.

“I’m terrified that you’ll still be saying such things after you’ve killed

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someone.”

Ill

Southern Snowfield — Desert Region

There was an expansive desert to the south of the city.

It wasn’t as large as the deserts of Colorado or Arizona, but it continued as

far as the eye could see from the city, and someone who wandered in
carelessly could easily be stranded.

In the middle of this desert, they faced each other.

From here, the forest and the city were no longer visible, and there was
nothing but sandy ground, save for some sparse desert-adapted flora.

The Heroic Spirit of the spear, Enkidu, had arrived earlier, and was quietly
gazing at the night sky.

There, a golden figure hovered in the air, as if to smother the coundess

twinkling stars. The Heroic Spirit of the bow was clad in golden armor, and
he gripped something in his hand.

Enkidu knew exacdy what was in the floating man’s hand.

He also knew that the man was floating thanks to the power of a special
Noble Phantasm.

And, of course, he knew who the man was.

Heaven and Earth.

The distance between the two was roughly 120 meters.

The Heroic Spirits met each other’s eyes.

One set of eyes looked down upon the ground, while the other stared into the
night sky. But each gaze was neither condescending nor reverent to the other.

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Once they had identified each other, they exchanged no words.

But an instant later, both of their lips curled at exacdy the same time... and
they laughed.

They laughed, as if to express that everything was now enough.

Meanwhile — Somewhere in urban Snowfield — Rooftop

The nameless Assassin stood on the rooftop of the tallest building of a section
of the city, the casino hotel “Crystal Hill.”

She was there to get the lay of the land, and to feel out the presence of those
people involved with the Holy Grail War.

It was a conspicuous move, but if someone came to target her, that would just
speed things up. She was perched on that rooftop in a tactlessly
straightforward tactic, observing the city—

Until something caught her attention.

It was south of the city. There was only desert on the horizon.

But the zealot did not avert her eyes, intendy scowling at the valley between
Heaven and Earth.

“Oh... has the party begun?”

Observing Assassin from the rooftop of a different building, the bloodsucking

magus, Jester, also sensed the anomaly.

His powers of perception were not especially strong. Nonetheless, a tingle ran
up his spine as he sensed the presence of... something.

Perhaps it was the instinct of someone who had lived so long on the margin
between life and death.

Right now, somewhere in that desert, something was happening.

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Noting this premonition of a sense other than that of magical perception, he
smiled a dastardly grin and sneered.

“This war will be our wedding aisle. Do try to show us some fireworks.”

Snowfield — Desert Region

After taking the time to exchange a smile, Gilgamesh moved.

The strange sword in his hand — the Sword of Rupture, Ea — activated, and
unleashed its true form as a Noble Phantasm.

Noble Phantasms.

They were possessed by Heroic Spirits, and made up a part of their concept
as heroes.

Some were weapons wielded by heroes throughout their lives. Some were
parts of a hero’s body. Some could be considered the soul of the hero itself, a
spatial artifact that painted over reality. Noble Phantasms came in coundess
forms, and they varied from hero to hero.

To Gilgamesh, who had obtained every treasure there was, mediocre Noble
Phantasms were mere trinkets to be tossed into his vault. But this sword was
one of the few exceptions that was especially prized among the Noble
Phantasms that Gilgamesh owned.

Yet, the sword bore no inscription.

Though it was called Ea, this was merely a nickname of convenience he had
given it.

In fact, it might not even be a sword at all.

After all, this was something that had existed long before swords and spears
had appeared in history.

It hailed from an era more ancient than humans, older than even the planet
itself.

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It was a rarity among rarities, a pure manifestation of the power wielded by
gods to enact Genesis.

It was the beginning of all on this planet. It was that which clove apart
Heaven and Earth.

It rent the void and created the sky, then pierced the sky and returned it to the
void.

This power symbolized the Beginning and the End, and only Gilgamesh, who
inherited the essence of the gods, was permitted to wield it.

Therefore, when Gilgamesh swung the sword with all his might, it was
defined as...

Anti-world Noble Phantasm.

Offensive Noble Phantasms were classified into tiers such as anti-personnel,

anti-army, anti-fortress, and so forth.

In many cases, an anti-personnel Noble Phantasm was more appropriate to a

one-on-one batde between Heroic Spirits than an anti-army or anti-fortress
Noble Phantasm. But when it came to the sheer power of an anti-world Noble
Phantasm, considerations such as compatibility and applicability went out the
window.

It was absolute power — the power to destroy the World itself.

Regardless of whether the opponent was an individual or a group, it simply

broke the world they existed in.

Such was the attack which Gilgamesh unleashed with all of his strength.

Against a single Heroic Spirit, Gilgamesh attacked without hesitation. This

was neither play nor negligence. The King of Heroes discarded his usual
arrogance and put everything he had into a single attack.

On the ground stood the Heroic Spirit Enkidu.

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This attack was a message to his oldest, only friend. It was a song of pure joy
for their reunion, conveying everything he felt as a king, as a hero, and as the
man Gilgamesh.

“O Ea, sing to thy heart s content.”

Gilgamesh spoke these words not to the Heroic Spirit below him, but to the
sword in his hand.

As if in response, the cylindrical sword twisted the air while spinning like a
tunneling drill. The whirlwind grew and drew in even more air, and a small
tornado formed.

The two cyclones combined and created an even greater distortion in the air
— all of this was drawn and compressed in the sword.

The layers of wind grew even denser and exceeded the physical laws, quickly
turning into a lethal weapon that ripped apart all of Creation, and began
condensing into a fissure in space itself.

Sound and light converged in the distortion, and silence and darkness
encircled the sword. As if to excite the howls of the seemingly living weapon,
Gilgamesh gripped it even more strongly, and swung it down at his long-lost
friend without hesitation—

“ENUMA ETISH!!”

Star of Genesis — Separate Heaven and Earth

The distortion ruptured.

The entire universe that had been compressed beyond limit focused around
Ea, and was released by its wielder’s slash. The resulting pressure wave
sundered the nearby space. The World itself was sucked up by the chasm of
the Void, and turned inside out.

Who would believe that this scene was caused by the swing of a sword?

The Void emerged from the chasm, rupturing space further. The World

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eroded, giving way to countless fissures in reality.

The sands cracked like clay. The sky and clouds were shredded like so much
paper.

It was a hellish landscape, as if a painting of the desert had been thrown into
a blender.

The “slash” of the sword twisted and tore the planet, sending a wave of
destruction at the Heroic Spirit standing on the ground.

Then, Enkidu...

Police Station

Chief of Police Orlando Reeve — acolyte magus that he was — sensed the
swirling auras south of the city.

“Even within town, we are detecting countless, minute energy sources. It is

likely that the magi who have infiltrated Snowfield have deployed familiars
to the desert.”

Orlando was quiet for a few seconds after hearing his aide’s report. The
police chief silently looked out the window.

Earlier, he had finally received news that six Servants had been gathered.

However, he hadn’t predicted that the situation would accelerate this quickly.

He suspected it to be a plot of Faldeus and that meddling old fool, but there
was no point in investigating it now.

Far away, there was a power so terrible as to make him tremble.

Even if the clash was happening tens of kilometers away, it could no longer
be ignored as someone else’s problem.

It was a wave of power just enough to cause slight discomfort, but every hair
on Orlando’s body stood on end.

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What he felt now was very similar to witnessing an F5 tornado looming down
on his hometown as a child.

Fighting down turbulent, gut-wrenching emotions, Orlando calmly

commanded his subordinate.

“...Call the entire field team. I’m going to brief them.”

There was probably no need to assemble them here. Until several minutes
ago he had actually been thinking that individual comms would have been
enough.

But, after feeling this massive flow of mana, he reconsidered. It was time for
a slight change of plans.

At this point, it was no longer possible to think of the Holy Grail War as “a
war between magi.”

Now, there was all the more reason to speak to the field team, face to face.
He had to tell them that the flag of justice was already flying behind them, as
they stepped into this foreign batdefield.

Orlando wasn’t so naive as to think that this war could be won with
complacence. In a truly pressing batde, that mindset could be the difference
between life and death.

It was all or nothing.

The chief felt space itself warp in the desert, and reaffirmed his conviction.

Justice.

They had to trust that the power of that word would protect them. The enemy
was just that formidable.

Desert Region

The blow that declared the start of the False Holy Grail War could well have
been the final attack that ended a Holy Grail War.

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Many Heroic Spirits would not even warrant the use of Ea.

Most Heroic Spirits whom the King deemed worthy to wield his sword
against would be awed at its power, yet challenge the King anyway.

Heroes that witnessed the power of Genesis would feel a variety of emotions.

Resignation, determination, terror, fear, horror, hatred, or perhaps joy.

But there was only one Heroic Spirit who would smile with nostalgia in the
face of hell on Earth, the amalgamation of Death and the Void.

Ah, yes.

While a vast power trampled Heaven and Earth and smashed the World on its
path toward him, Enkidu smiled an expression of deep relief.

It was an attack devoid of deceit or subterfuge.

Though it lacked the sheer magnitude it had during the Age of Gods, the
nature of his power was exacdy as it had been.

“—I’m happy, Gil.

...So happy that I can test my powers against yours like this again...”

There was no one more human than him, though he hated humans — no one
more divine, though he denied the gods.

The King of Heroes, who stood upon the apex of Creation, was fighting him
seriously as an opponent.

In that case, Enkidu could only respond in kind.

As he thought this, the Heroic Spirit turned with a gende motion.

“Adjusted for this era... I think it’d be something like this.”

The Void shattered the earth as it made its way towards him. The Heroic

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Spirit smiled, and smiled, and smiled—

“I’ll fight with everything I have too, Gil.”

Then, the world went into flux.

Northern Snowfield — Wide Valley

“What on Earth...?”

Tine Chelc was confused.

She had sent her condor familiar after the Heroic Spirit, but it couldn’t keep
up at all.

But she knew immediately that something was happening, based on the
ground tremors coming from the south.

Right before Gilgamesh had departed, he had said, “This batde has become
worthy of my true might.” In other words, the source of the earth-shaking
howling was probably her Servant, who had gone off to fight seriously.

An enormous quantity of od — her body’s internal mystic energy — was

flowing away.

The power supply to a contracted Servant was provided by the Holy Grail
established in the land and the Master’s own energy.

While she was on this land, Tine could draw upon the mana gushing from its
leylines and convert it to od as she pleased, but now she felt as if her body
would be sucked dry if she lost her focus. Tine’s magic circuits jarred as she
converted energy at a shocking rate.

Still, the girl let no discomfort show on her face, and bore the burden. She
would show no weakness in front of the comrades who had placed their faith
in her.

Besides, if she faltered at a trifle such as this, she would be unworthy to be a

subject of the King, as Gilgamesh had said.

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As these thoughts went through her head, Tine embraced a single conviction.

There was a Noble Phantasm that destroyed the World itself.

Gilgamesh had shut off the shared perception and telepathy that linked them
as master and familiar. So, Tine didn’t know what was actually happening at
the batdeground, but this energy flow told her enough.

Tine was convinced that no Servant could clash with this much power and
hope to survive.

Should she rejoice in the removal of a chess piece so early in the game ? Or
should she lament tipping their hand to the other Master camps ? As the girl
doubted herself, something happened that bewildered her even further.

"... >”

Because Tine used a unique brand of magic that shared energy with the earth,
she felt it even at this distance.

“Impossible!”

Enough power was flowing to the desert to oppose Gilgamesh. And it wasn’t
from the leyli-

nes.

It was as if the planet itself had come into that location, and funneled a
gigantic amount of mana into it.

It was enough to delude one into thinking that Gaia, the Counter Force of the
planet, was opposing Gilgamesh’s power to destroy the World.

Then, she understood.

Right now, the Heroic Spirit fighting Gilgamesh in the southern desert was at
least as powerful as he was. It was a being outside the rules of the game.

Desert Region

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Enkidu’s manifestation as a Lancer was probably due to his Noble Phantasm.

However, it was not quite accurate to call it a Noble Phantasm.

It was a Chisel to tie the bond between gods and men. This was Enkidu’s true
nature.

According to one tale, in an attempt to cling to their power, the gods had
placed Gilgamesh upon the earth as a chisel to ensure that humans would
continue to worship the gods as gods.

However, he did not fulfill that duty, instead reigning in such a way to
personally drive humanity away from the gods. Perhaps the King of Heroes
had forgotten his charge, or perhaps he simply ignored it.

A spear was made to question, investigate and discipline the King of Heroes,
who had failed in his duty. Namely, Enkidu was born as the concept of a god-
forged weapon to pierce Gilgamesh’s hostility and return the Chisel to the
gods’ own hands. Thus, the likelihood was high that he was chosen by the
Holy Grail for the Lancer class.

It could also be said that his Noble Phantasm — an attack that used his own
body as a wea-

pon — was best personified by a Lancer.

He would simply puncture the World and stitch it back together.

If a wall existed in the chasm between Heaven and Earth, he existed to pierce
that concept.

But, the gods miscalculated again, as they did with Gilgamesh’s hostility.

The weapon gained knowledge of its own after descending to the earth and
interacting with humans. It then tried to bridge the worlds of gods and men in
its own way. The Chisel would indeed be returned to the gods — in other
words, by approaching the gods.

That is, gods would not rule humanity. And humanity would make its way to

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the realm of the gods.

Thus, Enkidu chose to become a system.

He chose to be a weapon wielded by the King of the Earth, a pathway that

would be fully expended for the evolution of the World.

And, he made a decision as a human.

He would be someone that rid the King of his solitude, and would always
stand by his side.

In the instant that an attack to destroy Eternity drew near—

The planet sang.

A gigantic amount of mana gushed forth at Enkidu’s feet, and moved to

swallow Enuma Elish head-on.

“Don’t hold back.”

Those words were not directed at the Heroic Spirit he was facing.

As the King of Heroes had spoken to Ea, so too did Enkidu speak to the
massive mana engulfing the Void cracks in space. He spoke directly to the
planet.

“I am a weapon. Wield me as you please.”

Instantly, enough mana surged forth to make the earlier flow seem like a
mere trickle. Several times more mana geysered from the earth’s surface,
becoming a cyclone of energy enveloping Enkidu’s body.

Then, the energy became a titanic lance of light to pierce Heaven and Earth,
with the Heroic Spirit as its core.

It was a concept that once propagated life.

It was the fiery coals that had been used to overcome mankind’s first fears.

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It had walked alongside mankind through hell, and now, it sang of Paradise.

The Separation of Heaven and Earth was of little consequence.

From the past to the future. From the future to eternity.

It would link the land and sea to the heavens.

Terror was etched in the karmic endeavor of Fife. Thus, with time humanity
would rewrite it down to its genes.

Both a weapon and a tool, a mud doll without form.

Walking among humans, it, who had acquired the joy of friendship, shouted.

As this world was already Hell, humanity would create Paradise on its own,
and comprehend the Beginning.

Enuma Elish!!!

0 Humanity, Bind Thy Gods!!!

Whilst destruction had been loosed upon the earth, a mighty strike hurtled
toward the sky.

Enkidu, The Chisel of the Gods, stitched the sundered World anew as it drove
a straight line at its target, meeting the world-tearing Sword of Rupture in a
violent clash.

And then...

In a dream “...What’s that ?”

In bed, Kuruoka Tsubaki opened her eyes as she felt something like the
ground shaking. With sleepy eyes, she turned toward the window, but
everything seemed the same as usual.

As soon as she thought that, a brief flash light the far-off sky, and soon after
that, she heard a dull noise that seemed to tear at the atmosphere.

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“Thunder!”

A chill ran down the girl’s back, and she rolled up into a ball. She pulled the
covers over herself, and began trembling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

It wasn’t clear what she was apologizing to. The young girl continued
mumbling words of apology at each peal of thunder.

She was used to being the subject of magical experiments by her parents from
an early age, and she didn’t fear the spirit that bore her no ill will. Yet, it
seemed that she was terrified of natural phenomena such as thunder and
earthquakes.

“Thunder is so scary...”

At that, the Darkness in the back of the room stirred, and gently encircled the
bed, shielding the girl from the light and sound.

Then, the Darkness divided into a second Darkness, and slipped through a
crack in the window, exiting the house.

It was a world within a dream.

There were no signs of people.

Tsubaki’s parents were neatly lined up on the bed, sleeping like the dead.

The fragment of the Darkness — the Pale Rider — used its own energy to
ride the north wind blowing towards the south of town.

This strange realm was a psuedo-world created by linking Tsubaki’s mystic

energy and dreams to the foundation of the Holy Grail War embedded in the
land of Snowfield. It was something approaching the incarnated mental
worlds called Reality Marbles by magi, but as a space born of the
convergence of many conditions such as the mana-rich land and Tsubaki’s
innate skills, it obviously could not persist without limit.

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The surroundings of the world were limited to the Snowfield region that was
the foundation of the Holy Grail War, and the world was bound by many
rules — but Tsubaki, who had unconsciously manifested this phenomenon,
had no way of knowing that.

Her only wish was to spend happy days with her beloved family.

As long as its Master wished it, the Pale Rider would only use its power to
make Tsubaki’s wish come true.

It had no emotions, nor did it desire the Holy Grail. It only functioned as an
indifferent system to fulfill its Master’s wishes, like a Holy Grail whose
functions were gready restricted.

Nor did Tsubaki have an outrageous wish to make of the Holy Grail. If she
did, it would be to keep living as she did, into old age. In this regard, her
team could be considered the victors of the Holy Grail War.

The Pale Rider silently continued to protect her. It acted to rid Tsubaki of her
troubles.

For example, thunder and lightning had appeared in the dream world, so the
Pale Rider was wriggling its way into the real world, to dispel the distortion
in reality.

The Pale Rider had no emotion, just as humanity’s fear of disease would
never die.

Therefore, she had no concept of destruction. Therefore, she had no fear.

It didn’t matter that the obstacles were so powerful they could well be the
trials described in the Book of Revelation.

Reality — Desert Region Power and power.

Noble Phantasm and Noble Phantasm.

Divinity and weaponry.

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When the two extremes crashed into each other, the spatial distortion blasted
the surroundings asunder.

In the interstice between the two attacks, an immense struggle of energies

commenced.

In the distant past, the Sacred Prostitute watched the heroes clash from the
ancient city of Uruk, speaking these words in a daze:

“I felt as if the World was born seven times, and destroyed seven times.”

In the midst of such swirling power, the two Heroic Spirits never ceased
smiling.

It was not as if they could spare a moment to laugh. If either one let his guard
down for even a moment, his body would be rendered unto oblivion. Both of
them knew that.

Nonetheless, it was but a trivial matter. To these two, this was mere child’s
play. A childish contest of wits.

Still, neither could afford to restrain himself nor give the other any ground.

They only wanted to compare their powers. They wanted to struggle, and
bash fist against

fist.

That they were technically enemies in the Holy Grail War was little more
than happenstance. It simply the fastest way for each to feel for himself that
his friend was there.

Fate/Strange Fake 1

Their friendly batde just happened to involve everything around them.

Besides, the energies of the two Noble Phantasms cancelled each other out,
and dispersed into the surroundings.

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Though, this “dispersion” left tornadoes that ripped and tore their way into
the surrounding landscape.

“I’m relieved.”

As the winds howled, the two descended to the ground, and Gilgamesh
finally spoke.

“I was puzzled by the remarkably nostalgic form you’ve taken, but it seems
that you haven’t regressed on the inside.”

Somehow, Enkidu appeared to have taken on the form that he had when the
two met for the first time. Enkidu’s original form was that of a shapeless mud
doll, so he had probably taken many shapes over time.

The King of Heroes was haughty to the end, but he still spoke with an
attitude clearly different from the one he showed to others.

“Still, to come all the way out to the desert to receive me... you’re a selfish
one, as always. Only you would be foolish enough to prioritize your concern
for a forest over welcoming me.”

He had not actually expected Enkidu to come greet him, and spoke with
casual sarcasm.

“Dreary land that this is, I even notice sand worms and rats. Have you finally
matured that you can distinguish between lives ?”

His words were pointed, but there was no hint of hostility.

While the avatar of arrogance criticized his friend’s selfishness, Enkidu

shook his head, replying,

“I don’t have the right. As a tool, how I ought to be depends on the will of
my Master. Ah, but I do make the final judgment. It’s better if I’m the only
one the desert resents.”

Gilgamesh sighed with exasperation.

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“Are you going on about that again? You haven’t changed, even in death.”

“Meanwhile, you’ve been reborn as a living tyrant.”

The retort to Gilgamesh, who had been called a wise king in his youth, was
equally sarcastic. But it too contained no animosity.

“Indeed. If my childhood self knew of my current state, I daresay he’d

commit suicide.”

Gilgamesh spoke so casually compared to the time when he had manifested

in the cave that one might wonder if he was a different person. If the magi
that knew his usual attitude saw this now, they would probably be wondering
why the androgynous Heroic Spirit hadn’t been killed yet.

The reasons were many, but there was one objective factor in particular that a
skeptical magus would probably accept — though, this reason actually didn’t
even register in Gilgamesh’s mind.

Even for the King of Heroes, this opponent could not be easily killed.

Such was the strength of this Heroic Spirit.

Anyone who had observed their clash would agree.

And, the fight still wasn’t over.

Still in Gilgamesh’s hand, Ea’s blade once again began rotating, and the
space behind Gilga- mesh began lighting up as if in response.

“Is that so ? In your youth, if you were the boy that Shamhat described, I
think you would have chosen to live. Not for the future, but for the citizens of
Uruk who were still alive in that moment.”

Countless tentacles stirred from the sand, as if they were a part of Enkidu’s
body.

In response, Gilgamesh again used his Noble Phantasm to float into the sky.
Then, his treasury — the King’s Treasures, Gate of Babylon — opened in the

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space behind him, and dozens, then hundreds of Noble Phantasms emerged.

Simultaneously, the ends of Enkidu’s earth tentacles transformed into

countless different weapons, from spears, to swords, to bows.

One breath later, over a thousand projectiles thundered into each other.

The cacophony of clashing metal rang out over the windy batdefield.

Only two Heroic Spirits stood there.

Still, the clash between the two Heroic Spirits, each an army unto itself, was
so violent that it could only be called a battlefield.

The collected Noble Phantasms of the most ancient hero, said to be the
prototypes of all Noble Phantasms, were innumerable.

Weapons that would be the ultimate trump cards of ordinary Heroic Spirits
were hurled forth without reserve.

To counter this, Enkidu became one with the earth, transformed the body
given to him by the gods, and created countless divine weapons.

It was a furious, inexhaustible exchange of ultimate attacks.

The paradoxical scene illustrated the how well matched their friendship was.

The conversation had been cut short again, but neither was upset by this.

It was enough for them to be here together, in this place.

Whether it was a match of wits through words, or a fight to draw blood, all
were worthwhile

Fate/Strange Fake 1 “conversation” to both of them.

This was all the more why Gilgamesh found it unforgivable that someone
would dare to throw cold water on their joyous reunion after thousands of
years.

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A chill wind blew behind Enkidu.

While continuing to control countless weapons of sand, he looked to the

north.

“It’s coming.”

“Oh?”

Sensing that it was no bluff, Gilgamesh also turned his attention northward,
but he could feel nothing.

It was probably because Enkidu possessed the highest level of Presence

Detection that he was able to pick up on the subtle presence.

Originally, neither Gilgamesh nor Enkidu would have paid such a feeble aura
any mind. In fact, they had completely ignored the familiars spread out across
the area.

But this was different.

It was far fainter than the birds and insects that served as familiars. A
strangely weak presence.

Enkidu instinctively felt a bizarre pressure from the aura.

“...Something terrible is coming. It’s probably the sort that’s my natural

enemy.”

Gilgamesh raised his eyebrows at that.

Enkidu had no weaknesses. Gilgamesh knew this fact well.

If there was one exception, it would be the death that hounded him — Ruin
itself, none other than the curse of death that the gods had placed on him.

“...I see. I lost myself in our celebration. I’d completely forgotten that there
are thieves about who intend to lay hands on my Grail, my treasure.”

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“Do I count as one of those thieves ?”

“You don’t need the likes of the Holy Grail, do you? You yourself are
capable of becoming a flawed wishing machine.”

At Gilgamesh’s strange, offhand remark, Enkidu replied,

“I can only imitate it at best. Well, my wish has already been granted
anyway, and it’s not as if my Master desires the Holy Grail.”

Casually speaking of forfeiting the war, Enkidu focused an intense gaze

northward while he kept talking.

“But, I’m obligated to protect my Master. I can’t disappear because of some

interference

Chapter 1

here. I’m going to run away for now, so let’s continue this another time.”

As Enkidu said “run away” with a smile, Gilgamesh frowned.

“What sort of mongrel is your Master, that you would go to such lengths? If
it is of such worth, let me judge it myself.”

If it bored him, he would end the Master right there.

Such was the implication in Gilgamesh’s words, but Enkidu shook his head,
chuckling,

“No way. You only know how to judge gods, humans, and wine, right ?”

Gilgamesh’s face was full of question marks, though he wasn’t actually that
interested in Enkidu’s Master. He let out a very un-kingly sigh, and said,

“In that case, let us continue the party after I execute the insurgents.”

Raising his head, Gilgamesh’s eyes contained quiet rage at the curs who had
dared to interrupt him.

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While continuing to shoot down the torrent of Noble Phantasms with his
tentacles as if nothing had changed, Enkidu tried to soothe the irritated king.

“You can’t do that, Gil. A king isn’t supposed to make a gloomy face like
that. When a king worries his subjects, it upsets them even worse than the
fear of a tyrant.”

“You’re lecturing me on the way of kings right after deciding to turn tail? A
thousand transformations you might have, but you really haven’t changed.”

With a broad grin, Gil raised Ea again. In response, the Noble Phantasms
scattered about the area roared. Ea, strengthened by the power of the Noble
Phantasms, twisted the World once more.

“This will be my final blow tonight. Accept this in place of a contract for our
reunion.”

“Of course.”

Enkidu fused with the earth again, and spoke while gathering power in his
body.

“I’ll run away right after that. Though I feel bad for Ea, using it as a
smokescreen.”

“Don’t jest. Is not all of Creation blinded by my power?”

Then, the two smiled again, and in the next instant—

With even greater power than before, the two Enuma Elish, the two Creation
Epics met, and left their marks on the World.

The sight left scars on this desert land, and in the hearts of most of the
watching magi, that even time would find difficult to heal.

Several minutes later...

The raging tornadoes had delayed it greatly, but the fragment of the Pale
Rider finally arrived in the middle of the desert.

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But, everyone was already gone, and there was no spatial distortion to be
found.

For a short while, it rode the wind and circled the area, and then the Pale
Rider allowed that body to dissipate from the world.

It would not pursue the Heroic Spirits that had disappeared.

After all, it had come to eliminate the sounds of thunder that had frightened
Tsubaki — and those sounds were now gone, so there was no need to do
anything else.

All traces of Heroic Spirits were finally gone from the desert, and it returned
to silence.

The bodies of some bird familiars that had grazed the Pale Rider as it moved
lay comatose on the desert floor. The moonlight illuminated the land, as it
always had.

Hence, the first batde of the False Holy Grail War drew to a close.

Assassin, who had felt the enormous powers, hardened her hostility and her
caution, while the bloodsucker was wide-eyed at the strength of the King of
Heroes and his opponent.

“Incredible! Beyond all expectation! Is this not the power to violate my

Servant!?” he muttered in admiration.

The magi in the city reacted in various ways. Some who sensed the danger
fled, while others embraced their ambitions now that they had witnessed the
miracle of Heroic Spirits, and began forming schemes to keep their rights as
Masters from being stolen.

The epicenter of the fierce clash between magical energies was observed in a
far-off country — it was noted in the Clock Tower, headquarters of the
Magic Association.

No one had died this time, but both the Magic Association and the Holy
Church, who had planned to only quietly observe the ritual, revised their

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plans. This flow of mana had been outside of their jurisdictions.

This conflict could no longer be ignored.

An unspeakable war between magi had ignited in the land of Snowfield.

In light of this, the genuine and the spurious were no longer concepts that
mattered.

Prologue VII “Visitor &••••”

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Prologue VII
Visitor & ••••

The woman was a traveler who had arrived in Snowfield, unaware that the
Holy Grail War had begun just a half day earlier.

She entered a drugstore while checking something on the screen of her

mobile phone. She asked the man minding the store whether there was a
cheap, single-story motel nearby.

The drugstore clerk wore a mohican haircut that clashed with his friendly
manner, and he gave the woman directions to a motel. He suggested some
better hotels nearby in the same price range, but the woman politely refused.

The mohawk-sporting man looked at her strangely, until he eyed her hands
and the nape of her neck.

“Yo, those are some sick tattoos,” he commented.

The woman answered him with a courteous smile, and left the store. She
looked at her hands. Identical patterns were inscribed on the woman’s left
and right hands. She knew what they were. The same mark had been
engraved on both of her shoulders, and her back.

The young woman was around twenty years of age, yet baby-faced even for a
Japanese person, so she probably looked two or three years younger than her
actual age. She wore glasses of a conservative design in an attempt to look
more mature, but as if to contradict that, her hair had been dyed a bold blonde
color.

If she were a punk rocker, the patterns on her arms would certainly be a part
of that fashion, but...

When she looked at the patterns, she glowered in irritation.

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The mohawk-wearing clerk came out the door, and called her from behind.

“Hey, miss!”

“Huh?”

As she turned, the man tossed the woman her phone.

“You forgot this.”

“...Ah, sorry.”

As she caught it, the woman realized that it was her own phone.

During their brief exchange, she had set it down at the register and forgotten
it there. Gripping her phone, the young woman bowed her head.

“Thank you so much.”

“You’ve dyed your hair, but are you Asian? Chinese... no, Cambodian?”

“...I’m from Japan.”

Hearing that, the man with the mohawk spread his hands amicably.

“Japan! You’ve come from a great place! My cousin went to Japan once.
Those vending machines blew his mind!”

The woman answered the man’s sociable manner a bit more candidly this
time.

“That’s nice to hear.”

“My dad went to Japan a long time ago, too. He brought back some souvenirs
from a theme park called Kitsy Tand, and we still have them at home. He said
he saw ninjas, too! Are there a lot of those in Japan?”

Whether he was joking or actually asking a question, the excited mohican

was about to say something else, when the conversation was deafened by the

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noise of a helicopter rotor overhead.

The helicopter was flying at a frightfully low altitude, and it headed away
from town towards the desert.

When the noise finally faded, the mohican man clicked his tongue.

“Argh, those choppers have been flying around since this morning. Damn it,
they’re ruining my business! I thought I’d be able to sell earplugs, but I
haven’t been getting customers in the first place.”

It was common for American drug stores to combine features of both

convenience and general store chains. Even this man, with his flashy
wardrobe, was a trained pharmacist who could provide vaccinations and other
such services. However, a glance at the goods on display would lead one to
first assume that this was a convenience store.

His grumbling caused the woman to raise her eyebrows.

“Since this morning?”

“What, haven’t you been watching the news? It sounds like one of the gas
company’s oil pipelines out in the desert exploded last night. It’s a hazard so
they’re not letting anyone near the desert.”

“...Does that sort of thing happen often?”

“Nah, I’ve lived here my whole life and never seen anything like it. I had no
idea there was something that dangerous beneath the desert this whole time.”

While listening to the man, the woman squinted at the figure of a helicopter
flying away.

Like it was challenging something.

Or rather, fleeing from it.

She mulled this over, unaware that she was being watched.

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Northern Snowfield

Kilometers away from the the skyline of the city’s skyscrapers, a certain
facility was ensconced on the threshold between a ravine and a forest.

At a glance, it might have seemed like a fortress built to guard the town, but
it was not quite tall enough to be so. Several watch towers dotted the
perimeter of the expansive building. A barbed-wire fence further highlighted
the strict security in place around the facility.

It was the Colesman Special Corrections Center, one of many privately

owned prisons that could be found across the United States.

Private prisons were contracted by the state or federal government, and held
inmates under private management. They generated revenue by using inmates
as labor in manufacturing and other industries.

Government-run prisons were far from enough to hold a prison population of

over two million. Thus, prisons managed as private businesses could be
found all over the country, even in Snowfield. To the residents of the city,
this was nothing out of the ordinary.

On the contrary, most people didn’t even know that there was a prison. And
of course, those who were aware of the underbelly of the prison’s operations
could hardly be counted among the normal populace.

As for the “underbelly”...

On an underground floor of the prison there was an “office” the size of a

basketball court. Numerous monitors lined the walls of the dimly lit room,
silently watched by men and women at their workstations.

A surveillance room was a perfectly normal fixture to have in a prison, but

only a portion of the monitors showed images of the inside of the facility.
Instead, the majority of the monitors displayed real-time footage from
surveillance cameras throughout the city, ranging from the public to the
hidden.

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Some of the footage was clearly from the inside of private hotel rooms, and
no show was made to hide this fact.

From this alone, one would conclude that this was a listening post of some
intelligence agency — yet there was something definitely odd about some of
the cameras.

Many of these cameras seemed be using the vision of insects or mice, and
their fields of view moved and swiveled on their own. One of the airborne
points of view passed a mirror-like glass building for a moment, and the
reflection was undoubtedly that of a flying bird.

It would be a little while longer before technology was able to create bird-like
robots, so this was not a mechanical device, but rather a familiar.

The monitors were showing visual information from both familiars and
conventional video cameras. This indiscriminate use of magic and technology
was one of the reasons for the Coles- man Special Corrections Center s
existence.

In this surveillance room, Faldeus, the master of the familiars, was observing
the monitors along with the other employees. However, his attention turned
to one display in particular.

While the other monitors cycled between various viewpoints, Faldeus

stopped the rotation on the display of interest, gazing at it.

“...Hm.”

Expressionless, the young magus was deep in thought. He had thought that a
new magus had entered the the city wards, but...

Who was this girl?

Manipulating the workstations controls, he magnified the image. He was

viewing a survei-

llance camera in front of a drugstore on the southern outskirts of the city. It

wasn’t a familiar, but rather a cutting-edge optic made from the latest

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technology, which could resolve visual details even after several dozen
powers of magnification.

What had caught Faldeus’ attention was the mark on the woman’s hand.

A magical pattern of some kind adorned the woman’s hand. She was turning
to look at a passing helicopter.

...Command Spells ?

Faldeus pondered this, but didn’t come to a conclusion.

The anomalous energy signature when the woman entered the ward was
unanalyzable even to Faldeus, who had studied at the Clock Tower for many
years. If she was a magus, she was making no attempt to hide her mystic
energy.

In this part of his enormous underground workshop below the prison, Faldeus
had his subordinates conducting 24-hour surveillance of the city. A large-
scale ward to detect intruders was in place around the city, and coundess
cameras were synchronized for mass surveillance. All of these measures were
designed to follow the movements of the magi, but skilled magi had many
techniques to hide themselves, and it wasn’t even possible to detect their
entry.

In other words, this woman who failed to conceal her energy output was
either a third-rate magus, or perhaps she was trying to provoke her watchers.
Faldeus wondered which the case was.

However, she didn’t seem to have noticed the ward, so the probability of the
latter was low.

Considering this, Faldeus was convinced that it was still too early to draw
conclusions.

There was also the case of Flat Escardos. Faldeus remembered how the
young magus had taken a long-distance bus ride to Snowfield without
concealing himself at all, before summoning a Servant in the middle of a

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public park.

As Rangul’s disciple, Faldeus had managed to avoid becoming embroiled in

the inner politics of the Clock Tower without compromising his cover, but
even he had heard rumors of Flat,

who had been nicknamed “The Accidental Phenom.”

Lord El-Melloi II was a magus who had participated in the Fourth Holy Grail
War and survived unscathed. He taught lectures on Modern Magical Studies,
which was derided as a worthless subject, but in the space of several years
had produced a number of excellent magi under his tutelage, earning him a
reputation as the “Genius Counselor.” And the pupil that had been under his
wing the longest was none other than young Flat Escardos.

Faldeus had believed that the chances of Lord El-Melloi II’s participation
were high due to his previous experience, but he hadn’t expected El-Melloi
II’s pupil to come out here on his own, nor had he thought that Flat would
repeatedly take actions that would be senseless from a magus’ perspective.

Then again, it was just another bullet on the growing list of events that fell
outside Faldeus’ calculations, such as the unique Lancer Heroic Spirit, or
whatever mysterious plot the Kuruoka couple was up to.

Faldeus hadn’t lost his composure, but he couldn’t conceal the frustration in
his expression at the trouble this whole affair had become, as he watched the
woman in front of the drugstore with the Command Spell-like markings on
her hand.

“Should we contact the police chief ?” asked one of Faldeus’ female

employees, also watching the monitor.

He shook his head. “Stand by. We’ll continue gathering intel on Flat and the
silver wolf for the time being.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We might have an alliance, but this tidbit isn’t something to be leaked to the

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other side.”

Faldeus’ own information network was rather different from the surveillance
system that the police employed over the city. Furthermore, his personal
knowledge surpassed that of the police chief.

The primeval hero, Gilgamesh, and the successor to the land’s native
guardians, Tine Chelc—

The enigmatic Heroic Spirit with what was believed to be powers of

transformation, and an eccentric from the Clock Tower, Flat Escardos—

The Kuruoka couple, whose activities were unknown aside from the fact that
they were confirmed to still be at home—

The silver wolf created as a magical reagent, and the Heroic Spirit
hypothesized to be Enki- du—

Aside from these, there was also Jester Carteur, a powerful Master candidate
whose workshop appeared to have been attacked. Numerous burned corpses
and one dessicated corpse had been found. Perhaps a Servant had gone on a
rampage, or the Master had decided to kill his disciples for some reason.
Faldeus’ people were still chasing leads.

“The Heroic Spirit that the Kuruokas summoned interests me after all.”

They would be enemies once the war began. That had been the deal, but it
was strange for them to have made no moves at all. A magical call had been
made to the Kuruokas to verify.

When a lifeless voice answered, “Sorry. We’ve got important business, so we

don’t have time for the Holy Grail War,” Faldeus inferred that something
abnormal might have happened.

There shouldn’t have been anything more important than the Holy Grail War
to the Kuruoka couple. Yet, this was too odd for a bluff.

There was the possibility that they were under powerful hypnosis by a third
party. But the Kuruokas weren’t inexperienced magi. If they were being

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hypnotized or otherwise controlled, then it would likely be by a high-ranking
magus. Faldeus couldn’t ignore the possibility that the Magic Association had
dispatched an elite agent.

In that case, Escardos’ actions might be some sort of bizarre feint. Well, even
for a feint, that would be just too weird... the spooks in Intelligence could sort
this out.

There were still other matters to worry about.

The familiars that Faldeus and his subordinates had deployed to the desert
had lost connection yesterday. Other magi had sent coundess familiars to the
area, but those had been largely annihilated in the clash between the two
Servants. Faldeus was aware of this, but something odd stuck out.

Including Faldeus’ own, multiple familiars had been discovered in an

unconscious state. The unconscious familiars also had strange sores on their
skin. Once it was believed that they were afflicted by some curse or disease,
they had been sent to the laboratory for analysis.

“Good grief. It’ll be hard to wrap this up neady with this many irregularities,”
Faldeus sighed, before quickly resetting his expression.

“Miss Aldora, assign Tevel 2 surveillance to the woman on camera B-357.”

“Yes, sir.”

After giving the order, Faldeus slowly stood up from his chair. As he made to
leave the room, he turned to the monitors displaying the interior of the prison.

Men and women were displayed, one by one, in what appeared to be separate
rooms.

“Soon, it’ll be time for you to move as well.”

Finishing his inspection of the sinister-looking people, Faldeus muttered to

himself as he left his workshop.

“Honesdy, these seven days are looking so fun it makes me want to puke.”

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As he left the room, a monitor displayed a view from a helicopter. It was the
evidence of a clash between two Heroic Spirits — carved into the earth and
baked into glass by extreme heat and pressure was a massive crater, several
kilometers across.

Las Vegas, Nevada

A strange chapel was built atop a certain casino.

There were countless churches in Las Vegas, but this one was particularly
unremarkable, lacking ornamentation such as stained glass windows or even
any symbols of the Church. People thought it was just a decoration as part of
the casinos theme.

It was the kind of place where gamblers occasionally came to pray for
forgiveness when they were down on their luck, or where the winners might
come to give their thanks.

“I assume there’s no need for a background briefing, hmm.”

There was a meagerly furnished lounge above the entrance to the chapel. The
room was rather cramped, and a charitable person would probably consider
this the most modest church in Las Vegas.

A careworn, elderly priest slightly tilted his head away from the altar, and
began talking as if to himself.

“Well, how should I put it? The only clergy in Snowfield right now are
inexperienced. I wouldn’t expect them to be able to do anything about
something like a Holy Grail War.”

In addition to its veneer as a religious organization, the Holy Church was the
largest institution in the world. Based in Western Europe, it boasted a system
that spanned the globe.

The Church’s mission was the governance of all miracles and magics in the
world, and it stood in direct opposition to the Magic Association, which
concealed miracles from the world.

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However, this relationship was somewhat different when it came to the Holy
Grail War.

If a Holy Grail was the genuine article, then it was a treasure of mankind to
be managed by the Church. They also had a duty to make sure that this
miraculous ritual was not abused to bedevil the public.

Initially, the Church had only quiedy monitored the conflict, but after the
indiscriminate

Fate/Strange Fake 1

slaughter that tainted the Second Holy Grail War, it entered the war in an
official capacity as its administrator.

If the anomalous tides of magical energy observed last night had been the
product of Heroic Spirits, then this affair fell under the jurisdiction of the
Church.

The Great Fire of Fuyuki, the destruction of a high-rise hotel, the summoning
of a sea monster, and the loss of military fighter jets had all occurred during
the Fourth Holy Grail War. The Church’s mission was all the more important
now that the potential for even greater catastrophes was present in this war. If
the recent energy spike had occurred on the outskirts of the city, then
Snowfield would have been wiped from the face of the earth.

Currendy, the existence of the desert crater was being covered up. Someone
was exercising magical and political power to prevent leaks via every avenue,
be it satellite imaging or the press.

During the past Holy Grail Wars in Fuyuki, the Church had moved to conceal
knowledge of those highly visible “accidents” as part of their mission to
administer the sacred artifact.

This time, however, the Holy Church was not involved with the incident in
the desert. This was a point of grave concern to the Assembly of the Eighth
Sacrament.

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It had been determined that the cover-up currendy underway in the desert was
operated by neither the Holy Church nor the Magic Association, but rather by
a third party with the power to control law enforcement and national
intelligence agencies. The Church didn’t have all the details, but at the very
least it was clear that the federal government of the United States was
involved.

Normally, one might think that the Church officials should be thanking these
outsiders for relieving them of this most troublesome job... but it also carried
the implicit message, “Your power is unnecessary to this Holy Grail War.”
Blundy put, someone was telling them to piss off.

There were some who resented that notion and found it unforgivable. These
would be those who presumed to watch over the people of Snowfield. Other
voices of different intent spoke of entering Snowfield’s Holy Grail War by
force.

And so, the order had come down to the priests in closest proximity to
Snowfield — who were qualified to be the war’s administrators — to proceed
to the city with all due haste.

“Yes, hmm, how to put it, indeed. These are direct orders from the
headquarters of the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. I’m reluctant to have
you leave town, but there isn’t anyone else in the immediate vicinity of the
site, hm.”

The priest seemed rather timid as he continued his spiel.

“If you don’t go, then the next best choice would be me, but look, action’s
really more your thing, yes ? Hm. You see, I think someone with stamina is
better suited to the task this time. Hm. Well, if we were in a state where the
Holy Church had more pull, we could force the government to do what we
want, but we’re not as strong here.”

It was true that the Holy Church had the power to move nations. Yet, this was
only true in countries where the Church’s influence was strong.

In America, the Holy Church’s influence varied by state, and the Church

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could apply considerable pressure when circumstances such as the elected
president and public opinion were favorable. In the states where the Church’s
influence was weak, however, it could be difficult to manipulate events.

Even in the case of Fuyuki, Japan, it had only been possible to hush up
numerous disasters thanks to decades of preparation for the Holy Grail Wars.
The covering up of incidents such as the loss of the fighter planes had
required political capital from every possible angle.

“Well, that’s the story. They probably targeted an area where our influence
was weak to set their plans in motion. The Gospel has been slow in reaching
Snowfield in particular due to loud opposition by the native tribe in charge.”

His eyes still on the Bible in his hand, the old priest turned to face a part of
the chapel.

“Erm, uh, are you listening? Hanza?”

A different priest, sitting at the end of one of the pews, replied without taking
his eyes off

Fate/Strange Fake 1 his cell phone.

“Relax, Father. I didn’t hear a single word.”

“You shouldn’t ignore people, hmm.”

“Begging your pardon, government affairs are irrelevant to me. Father, all
you need to relay to me is the will of the Lord. A single sentence will suffice,
such as Annihilate the enemy.’”

The second priest was pressing buttons on his phone at an abnormal speed.
Ffe seemed to be composing a document of some kind.

“No, no, your job is to be an administrator this time, not an Executor. Well,
depending on how things go, your other skills might be called for anyway.”

The elder priest sighed at his colleague.

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“Ffey, umm, Ffanza, maybe you should put down your phone when people
are talking to you, yes ?”

“And you, Father, should look at people when they speak to you.”

With that, the priest named Ffanza looked away from his phone and at the
priest who was reading scripture. The old man let out an even bigger sigh,
and glanced at Ffanza.

“Also, in front of other people you need to talk and act more like a priest, yes
?”

“I understand, Father. I will change into civilian clothing when I go to the

casino in the other city.”

“Ffm, I’d prefer it if you didn’t visit casinos in the first place, yes?”

Hanza raised his hands and slowly stood up, ignoring the old priest.

He appeared to be in his mid-30s, and cut a striking figure with a flashy

eyepatch covering

his right eye. Hanza was a man of Spanish descent, with a look of fearless
determination in his eye that gave him the air of a passionate film actor.

“Now, let us be off, Quartet. It’s been a long time since we’ve had work.”

Four young nuns emerged from the shadows, silently falling in line behind
Hanza.

The old priest watched them go, when something soundlessly shot forth from
his right hand. Perhaps by some special technique, a metallic plate hurled
from the priest’s hand with the speed of a bullet. Until several decades ago,
the blue coin had been used as a high-value chip in the casino below the
church.

In the next instant, Hanza’s arm twisted at an impossible angle, caught the
coin, and soundlessly returned the throw as swiftly as it had come.

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When the old priest effortlessly caught the coin, it crumbled in his hand. He
looked and saw that the metal coin had fallen apart into sixteen equal
portions, like a pizza.

“Ah, sorry. I thought your skills had rusted since you were so glued to your
phone. Hm.”

Hanza turned slowly to face the old priest, who shrugged.

Then, with a guileless smile on his face, the priest sarcastically murmured,
“You could use some action yourself, Father.”

Somewhere in Tondon — Clock Tower

The Clock Tower had been stirred into a frenzy, just like their rivals in the
Holy Church.

There was, of course, a time difference between Tondon and Snowfield. At

the time that the students of the Clock Tower might have been beginning
their morning lectures, the opening shots of the Holy Grail War were fired in
the desert of Snowfield.

The magi of the Clock Tower either detected the energies given offby the
clash, or heard reports from magi in the vicinity of the clash. Before noon,
talk of the war had spread throughout the Clock Tower.

Among the uneasy magi were two men, hastily walking towards the lecture
hall for Modern Magical Studies.

“I still can’t believe that Faldeus was a spy...”

“It’s the truth. He’s been ruled out as a double agent.”

Walking in front of the young magus was a huge, eerie humanoid figure, not
unlike a scarecrow. Its body was wrapped in bandages and burlap, and a
hooded coat further concealed its visage.

The large figure was not a human, but rather a makeshift puppet controlled
by Rangul, whose doppleganger doll had been turned into Swiss cheese

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several days prior.

“But Master, can’t you do something about this puppet ? Everyone is

staring.”

“It also shames me to use this slipshod disgrace of a doll! It’s possible that
Faldeus may have sabotaged the other dolls. Still, nothing ventured...”

The doll’s construction was crude, but its sensors appeared to be functioning
properly. It focused on the pupil in tow and asked, “Are you nervous ?”

“Yes. This is my first time meeting a Tord, after all.”

Tord. The twelve departments of the Clock Tower were each governed by a
department head with this title.

The youth’s anxiety at meeting someone of such great stature was clear on
his face, and he asked another question.

“What sort of person is he ? Um... Tord El-Melloi II ?”

Prologue VII

“...Ten years ago, even I didn’t think he was anyone special. It was assumed
that he was a mere puppet the El-Melloi family had, at their convenience,
forced into the unenviable position of heading that hodgepodge of subjects
known as Modern Magical Studies. But, we soon learned that we were
terribly wrong.”

Rangul continued his brisk pace, calmly spinning his tale.

“Verner Sisimund, the heir to Butterfly Magic. Roland Perjinski. Org Lam.
The sisters Radia Pentel and Nazica Pentel. Fezgram Vol Senbern. What do
you think these names all have in common?”

“Aren’t they all magi who have been promoted to the ranks Brand and Pride
in the last few years ? The rise of so many young magi has caused quite a stir.
We’re excited about it too.”

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The magi of the Association were assigned tides befitting their rank, and the
titles below Grand, such as Brand and Pride, were granted to magi of a far
greater caliber than their mundane colleagues.

Rangul did not correct his student, adding, “They share one other quality.”

“Eh?” The student cocked his head, bemused.

“All were disciples of Professor El-Melloi.”

“El-Melloi II himself is but a low-ranking magus. However, his true worth

lies elsewhere. His oudook is uncharacteristically broad for a magus, and he
has the ability to seize upon and bring out one’s deepest talents. He may well
be the greatest instructor in the Clock Tower, and he doesn’t even crush his
pupils like Zelretch does.”

The student had gone speechless with disbelief. Rangul continued,

“This is true even of his current students. All of his graduates have achieved
the rank of Pride or greater within a decade, without exception.”

“Without exception...?”

“There is talk that numerous people may soon obtain the Grand tide, of which
there have been few even throughout the Clock Tower’s entire history.
Perhaps it is a blessing that the man doesn’t take many students, but if he
were to call upon his former disciples one day, it could rock the history of the
Clock Tower.”

“Incredible...”

The student had heard that El-Melloi was a popular instructor who had
earned many nicknames. But, this was the first time he heard why the
professor was so highly evaluated. He was overcome by respect and awe.

“What is his standing within the Clock Tower?”

“If Tord Belfban represents the stubborn old guard, then I might place El-
Melloi II in the flexible reformist camp. Well, he is the type to respect one’s

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merits, regardless of tradition or novelty. Rather than label him a
conservative or a reformer, it might be most accurate to call him a neutral
party.”

Rangul offered one last word of advice to his student before they made their
visit.

“...Don’t assume you’ll be able to figure him out with a glance. You’ll be the
one that gets taken apart instead.”

When the door to the lecture hall opened, Lord El-Melloi II was preparing to
give his afternoon lecture.

“Mr. Rangul, what can I do for you?”

Despite his status, the soft-spoken Lord didn’t seem to project a particularly
unapproachable aura.

“It is quite bold of you to hold normal lectures in these circumstances, Lord.”

“I considered suspending classes, but there is only so much I can do about the
situation this time. Thus, I judged it best to return the atmosphere of the
Clock Tower, now so agitated, to its usual calm.”

“Such humility. Given that this is a Holy Grail War, I am sure that you above
all can best predict its course.”

Rangul’s disciple cocked his head, not understanding what his mentor was
referring to.

El-Melloi II was silent for a moment, then sighed quietly.

“If I had the skill to divine a conclusion based on my feelings alone, that
would be optimal... but my inexperience leaves me no other choice than to
cautiously observe the situation.”

Rangul pressed past the Tord’s self-deprecation.

“It is that very prudent counsel I seek. What do you believe to be the goals of

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the masterminds behind this war?”

“...Even if, at this stage, all I can only offer is mostly half-baked
speculation?”

“By all means.”

El-Melloi II frowned deeply in silent thought for several seconds before

speaking again.

“From my point of view, there are three or four parties involved, each with
different objectives. At the minimum, one party that is suppressing
information, and another party that seeks to broadcast information have each
exposed themselves... Though, it seems certain that these two powers are
cooperating in spite of their different intentions.”

“There are indeed many mysteries about their actions...”

“I think we can assume that for all of the organizations involved, their
objective isn’t the manifestation of the Holy Grail. Perhaps they aim to
stabilize and mass-produce the Holy Grail War system rather than the Grail
itself. The things they have done to provoke us, and the enticement of many
magi to the city, may be part of their plans to analyze the Holy Grail War.”

Rangul shook his head at El-Melloi II’s hypothesis.

“Unbelievable... that an outsider would try to analyze a miracle such as the

Third Sorcery is just... Furthermore, you’d imply that they would attempt
such a farce despite already holding authority over the system?”

“You’re right that magi aiming to reach the Root would never entertain the
thought. However, the fact remains that many powers and ideologies are
involved in this conflict. Among them...”

El-Melloi II momentary stopped speaking to take a deep breath, before

continuing.

“This is litde more than a guess, a prediction based on a hunch, but... there is
one more thing.”

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“One more ?”

“You may find this difficult to understand, and possibly quite unforgivable...”

His brow was creased in a wrinkled frown, yet he continued calmly.

“There are those who would seek to degrade the Holy Grail War into a game
or a spectacle.”

“That’s... unthinkable. Whatever for?”

“I don’t understand their reasons. But it is no laughing matter.”

El-Melloi II closed his eyes and recalled the Holy Grail War that he knew.

“Among the Masters and Heroic Spirits that fought in the past, there were
those who treated

the Holy Grail War itself as an amusement. At least they were serious about
it. They bet their lives and seized the moment. But this time, I feel that there
are people with a commanding view of the Holy Grail War who intend to
make a disgrace of the ritual. It’s nothing but an insult directed at them. This
means that I must...”

El-Melloi II suddenly stopped, realizing that his fists were tightly clenched.
He clicked his tongue at his own display of emotion, and lowered his eyes.

“...Pardon me. I got a tad emotional.”

“Not at all, Tord. This has been very illuminating.”

“From here, once more playing pieces are assembled, the whole picture
should become clear. If I take any action, it will be after that.”

Then, he muttered another self-deriding remark.

“...Not that I can guarantee I’ll be of any use once they’ve made their move.”

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After soliciting several more theories from El-Melloi II, Rangul exchanged
farewells and spoke praisingly, “I’m impressed, Lord, that you dispatched
your own student to the site so quickly.”

“My student ?”

Something was terribly out of place.

“Yes. The personnel we deployed to Snowfield yesterday reported seeing one

of your students some time ago...”

“...What do you mean? I don’t remember sending any-”

Once El-Melloi II thought for a bit, it suddenly hit him.

Today, one student had been absent from his lecture.

While classes had been suspended the past several days, he hadn’t seen that
student even once.

“No...”

El-Melloi fished out his mobile phone, and dialed a number.

“-The number you have dialed has not been recognized. Please check and try
again.-”

When he heard that message, the pit in his stomach sank even deeper. He
called a different number.

“...Yeah, it’s me. I need you to look into something right away. A student’s
entry and exit records. Check whether Flat Escardos has left the country.”

It sounded like someone in charge of student administration was on the line.

About 30 seconds passed before the clerk on the phone replied, “Mr.
Escardos boarded a flight to America three days ago. The reason for his visit
was... tourism. He left a note: ‘Thanks, Professor! Long live the London
Star!’ What could it mean, I wonder?”

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“That’s all. Thank you,” he answered quickly, and ended the call. Then...

Numerous memories of Flat ran rampant in El-Melloi II’s mind.

From petty mischief such as coming into someone’s room and registering his
user ID for a new game as “London AStar,” to contaminating his honorable
sister’s mercury maid Mystic Code with knowledge from a strange movie, to
sneaking aboard a casino ship owned by a vampire king and inciting a riot...
memories of Flat’s incessant troublemaking replayed over and over.

Wrenching his cheeks in anguish, El-Melloi II cursed the entire world.

“Fuck me...”

“Eh?”

Rangul’s student heard El-Melloi II say something, but he couldn’t

understand it. He certainly heard some words, but dismissed the notion that
such crude slang could have come from the mouth of the esteemed character
with whom they had been having a rational discussion.

“Erm, did something hap-”

But it was too late.

Blood rushed to El-Melloi’s head, and he collapsed in a heap on the lecture

platform.

“Lord!? Lord!?”

The young magus was shaken by the sight. But, from the side of the room,
one of the students spoke up. She was a young woman perhaps twenty years
old.

“The master is always like this when it comes to Mr. Escardos.”

“Huh? Ah, I see...”

“I’ll see him to the infirmary. Excuse us.”

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With that, the woman politely nodded at Rangul and his student before
hoisting her Lord and mentor over her shoulder.

They watched the bizarre sight leave without knowing how to react. Rangul
spoke to his student.

“How should I put this... he is unprecedented in a number of ways... and he

seems terribly busy.”

“Yes... you’re right. Let us leave it at that.”

A heavy sigh breathed from the mouth of Rangul’s puppet, followed by a

remark tinged with pity.

“There would be no humor in the death of a Lord of the Clock Tower from
the likes of overwork.”

United States — Snowfield — Police Station

“Sup, dawg! Mornin’, bro!”

In the office of the police chief, Orlando responded to the screeching phone
call with a dour expression.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon. Get back to work.”

“Hey now, you tryin’ to work your Servant to death? Anyway, listen. I asked
you to hook a brotha up with some ladies, right ? Why don’t you throw in one
of this country’s delicacies while you’re at it ? Just so you know, I ain’t
forking nothin’ over. You’re buying.”

“.Please tell me that isn’t the only reason you called me.”

“You got a problem with that ?”

This was either a bluff to hide Caster’s embarrassment, or a test of some

kind. Having decided this, Orlando decided to try sincerity.

“I’m sorry for hanging up on you last night. You’ve probably heard the news

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by now... what do you think about the incident in the desert ?”

The women and whatnot had to be small talk. As a fellow Servant, Caster
probably wanted to discuss the batde that had occurred in the desert.

“The hell you talkin’ ‘bout? What went down in the desert?” Caster’s
confusion was clear over the line.

“...Didn’t you even notice ?”

“Well, I drank myself to sleep yesterday. I was just calling to tell you about
this fine broad I saw on TV.”

“It seems I was a fool to expect anything from you as a Heroic Spirit,”
Orlando muttered in exasperation, as he moved to hang up the phone.

“Don’t call me again. I’ll call you.”

In truth, Orlando had resolved to ignore Caster from now on, and pass any
necessary messages through his secretary.

“Damn, bro, you this cold to that Francesca chick too?”

Francesca. A chill ran down Orlando’s entire body as Caster uttered her
name.

Perhaps sensing the chief’s reaction over the line. Caster cheerfully
continued.

“So you’re finally listening. Or maybe you’d understand better if we talked

about that Fal- deus dude? Your Kuruoka friends from Japan are a hot topic
too, yeah?”

“You bastard... How... How much do you know ?”

It was possible to share memories and perceptions between Master and

Servant. However, since the chief had completely shut off the link to his
Servant, Caster shouldn’t have been able to read his memories.

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Then, how had the man come to know so much of their classified intelligence
?

Had he come to see what they were scheming and spied on them in spirit
form?

That troublesome hag couldn’t possibly have sought a meeting with him,
could she ?

Orlando was plagued by such doubts, but Caster’s answer turned out to be
simpler than that.

“These days, anything is possible with the internet and telephone. Aren’t you
underestimating modern technology? Did you really think I wouldn’t know
how to type on a keyboard?”

“Impossible! There’s no way that information would be on the internet!”

“Never mind that. I have my ways. Bro, you don’t know everything about my
Noble Phantasms, right? We both keep our secrets. I thought I’d have some
fun, so I showed my hand just a bit.”

Caster put the nail in the coffin while Orlando fumed in silence.

“Oh, right. I just remembered that Fuyuki place in Japan, yeah? The flow of
its ley lines is supposed to be about as good as the ones around here. Well,
it’s not like I can sense ley lines to begin with, so whatever. Speaking of land,
maybe I should dial up our litde custodian Tine Chelc next time. You might
be one of the magi that cooked up this party, but did you know that your
organization is riddled with their spies ? My bad, I’m rambling. Though, if
this were one of my books I’d write an even longer monologue. Witty banter
is essential after all, bro.”

Orlando roared into the receiver at Caster, who was surely wearing a shit-
eating grin.

“You shut your mouth right this instant! Who do you think-”

As he said that, Caster cut in.

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‘You worried about wiretaps ?’

“Someone might be listening in, magically or electronically. No matter how

secure your own phones are, you can’t deny that they might try something on
my end or any of the circuits in between. Haha! It’d probably be a real pain in
the ass for you if I kept shootin’ my mouth off, huh?”

Caster was as flippant as ever, but the police chief felt an unfathomable
pressure behind the Servant’s words. The thought of how Orlando had been
so careless as to let himself be backed into this corner shook him to his core.

Orlando took a deep breath. The chief had already regained his bearings, and
made his next move.

“I see. Allow me to sincerely apologize. It seems I severely underestimated

you.”

“What’s this now? Dude, you’re creeping me out.”

“I’m saying that I’ve grasped your abilities. If you still insist on flapping your
lips, I have ways of dealing with that too.”

“Oh, you’re gonna enforce a gag order on me with a Command Spell? You
know, there’s a much easier way to do that without wasting one of your
precious spells. If you were a sexy lady, a kiss would do just fine-”

“Enough chitchat. What do you want ?”

The police chief had completely regained his imperious composure.

“I told you, bro. Treat me to some good eats. That’ll be enough to seal my
lips.

You can bet your ass I won’t be fighting on the front lines. Instead, I’ll be
writing this farce into one hell of a novel. Until you snuff it, at least.”

Night — Snowfield central intersection

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Seventh Street contained an assortment of Snowfield’s essential features,
such as the Crystal Hill hotel casino and City Hall. On a corner of the
expansive intersection stood a woman who drew the gazes of passersby.

She was a woman of twenty years, give or take, and was marked by flowing
white hair, fair skin, and blazing red irises.

The woman certainly attracted the attention of the general public, but this was
the Holy Grail War, and many magi had gathered in Snowfield. Their
attention was drawn to her for different reasons altogether.

One magus watching from afar whispered to his comrade.

“Took. That’s... a homunculus, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Such refinement can only mean it’s one of the Einzbern models.”

“I knew they’d come. The Einzberns wouldn’t take the theft of the Holy Grail
system lying down.”

“But... she sure is exposed. Is it some kind of decoy?”

The quiet conversation was tinged with caution and doubt, yet similar words
could be heard all over town. Did she know she was being intensely
watched?

The white woman quietly turned her gaze to the heavens, and glared at the
world that surrounded her. Those crimson eyes seethed with bottomless rage,
as if to deny the entire world.

Somewhere

One person in particular was spying on the woman from afar.

When she saw the vision of the white woman in her crystal ball, the
observer’s face lit up with joy.

“Aha! She’s here! She’s here! Our last honored guest has finally arrived...
hup!”

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In some dark space, the young girl clad in a gothic lolita outfit — Francesca
— twirled her parasol while giggling in ecstasy.

“I wonder what pawns she brought with her. I can’t help but look forward to
them! It would have been funny if she swallowed her pride and brought a
Tohsaka descendant with her, but I guess that’s a long shot.”

The girl nonchalantly shook her head at her own words, continuing to pace
around the dark room.

“Anyway, it’s all starting! It’s finally time to flip this joint upside down! I
gotta do my best!”

A moment later, the crystal ball radiated light, and projected numerous
images all over the walls and ceiling.

It showed the King of Heroes walking alongside Tine, and Tancer and the
wolf in the forest. There was even an image of Francesca’s supposed ally, the
police chief, in his office. Coundess images flashed into existence and
disappeared into others.

Francesca’s gaze passed over each of the Heroic Spirits in the images, and
then turned to an image without anyone in it. It appeared to be an opera house
somewhere, though no production was playing. It merely showed an empty
stage and rows of seats.

For a brief instant, the figure of a person appeared in the empty space—

Francesca peered once more at all of the displayed Heroic Spirits, and then
murmured sweetly to herself. It was a whisper filled with love for the world
itself.

“Now... it’s time to drive out all of the fakes.”

On that day, on the edge of an instant — Snowfield’s destiny became

ephemeral.

The Holy Grail.

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The genuine article would have required the souls of seven Heroic Spirits, yet
a partially powered, imitation Grail had been prepared with only six pieces
assembled.

There was no doubt that those masterminding such a grand scheme were
aware of this.

The false Holy Grail War was likely a preliminary arrangement, and the
system was the rock upon which the true Holy Grail War ritual would be
conducted. Alternatively, there was a chance that the real event would be held
elsewhere, and Snowfield was merely a red herring to distract the Association
and the Church.

Many among the Magic Association thought this way.

Of course, it was also possible that the real Grail would properly summon
seven Servants, and this situation with six Servants was Faldeus’ bluff, but
what would even be the point of such a feint ?

While so many magi were puzzled, the masterminds silendy progressed their
plans.

The true Holy Grail War would be called forth, using the false war as a
sacrifice.

All preparations were in place. The only task left was to pull the trigger that
would turn the entire system on its head.

In other words, the final Servant of the false Holy Grail War would serve as
the first Heroic Spirit of the true war; the calling forth of Saber would set all
into motion.

Nothing other than the summoning the Heroic Spirit, possessing qualities
both spurious and genuine, would serve as the mediator between the two
wars.

Certainly, everything was moving according to plan. The trigger had been
pulled beautifully. That is, until the Heroic Spirit Saber was summoned.

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The First Day — Night — Snowfield — Opera House

A short distance from the center of town, there stood an opera house that was
built around the time Snowfield was founded. It was a building with easily
over 50 years of history, and its evident age was accompanied by a solemn
air.

Currendy, no shows or plays were scheduled. In fact, any new production had
been delayed for at least a week in light of “limited renovations in progress.”

The hall was normally shrouded in silence, but tonight was slightly different.
On the dilapidated wooden stage, something dramatic was underway.

There was neither any audience, script, nor performance to speak of, yet one
could only describe the sight as theatrical.

Was it a tragedy, or a comedy? The figures upon the stage didn’t know,
either.

“I ask of thee, art thou my Master?”

The voice was youthful, yet robed in gravitas.

A mysterious man stood on the stage, his blond hair tinged red here and
there, his manner of dress immediately declaring him to be European
aristocracy or royalty. He seemed to be in his late teens or early twenties. The
man had a handsome profile, while his eyes gleamed with a

Fate/Strange Fake 1

bestial air. Just the sight of him evoked feelings of being devoured whole.

The sword he gripped in one hand radiated the vestiges of a magical

brilliance. Yes, vestiges, meaning—

The faint glow of the sword was the trace of it having been swung, just
moments prior.

It was an attack far short of the Heroic Spirit’s full strength.

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Nonetheless, it indeed left its mark on the opera house.

The audience seats on the ground level were wildly pulverized. The
mezzanine and upper levels had been completely destroyed, and even some
of the ceiling had been blasted open, allowing the starry night to peek
through. Simply put, the Heroic Spirit had destroyed half of the opera house,
which had been the pride of the entire state.

The man looked back and forth from the corpse tumbling from the stage, to
the woman with glasses who had fallen on her hindquarters. Then, he spoke
in an attempt to calm her down.

“Be at ease. I don’t sense any civilians caught in the blast. Rather, the bandits
even fled... Hmph. They did well to get away from me. It is too late to give
chase, however.”

The woman heard his calming words, but the only word resounding in her
mind was the one he had spoken earlier.

“Excalibur”

“Sword of _ Victory.”

He had shouted this as he attacked, and obliterated half of the huge building.

The woman grasped her situation again, as she racked her brain. Why had she
come to this place ?

“Now that the pest has been crushed, allow me to repeat myself.”

Again, the man spoke to the dumbfounded woman, who was cursing her
entire existence. He asked the same question again, in a slightly more familiar
tone.

“Shall I call you my Master? As you can see. I’m of the Saber class. If you
accept, let us quickly form a contract and get this over-”

‘No.”

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https://mp4directs.com
An instant reply.

“Absolutely not.”

“What?”

His eyes went wide, as the woman slowly stood up.

The wail of sirens gradually approached from afar. It was the sound of
ambulances and police cars. Having seen the destruction of the opera house,
the locals were probably in a panic.

An uncanny light emanated from the symbols on womans wrists, peeking out
of her shirt sleeves. It seemed to be resonating with the man standing before
her. Still, the woman paid no mind to the glow on her symbols and the clamor
of approaching sirens and shouts. She just glared furiously at the man.

“I won’t let you lot get your way any longer.”

Then, forcing her trembling voice down her throat, she spoke clearly.

“Stay out of my way.”

It was the first meeting between woman with dyed hair and glasses — Ayaka
Sajou — and the mysterious, knighdy swordsman.

It happened in a half-destroyed building.

Each confirmed the existence of the other, during the worst of times, next to

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an unknown corpse.

From that moment, the curtain rose on a Holy Grail War, false yet true.

Fate/Strange Fake 1

In the end, was this Saber fake, or real?

Nobody knew.

Not the scheming masterminds, and not the involved magi.

Nor the Servants of incomparable power, beginning with the King of Heroes.

In other words, none could form a conclusion, not even the will of the Holy
Grail that had manifested the Heroic Spirit there.

Why had Ayaka, a mere visitor to Snowfield, encountered the Heroic Spirit
who called himself Saber?

It may have been a quirk of fate, formed not today or yesterday, but rather
years in the making.

To answer this question, we must first speak of a ghost story in the city
Fuyuki, Japan. It was known as “The Little Red Riding Hood of Semina
Apartments,” and was well on its way to becoming one of Fuyuki’s urban
legends.

You see, in this tale, she-

next episode: [Fake02]

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Golden Rule: A

Divinity: B (A+)

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EnumaElish:

The Star of Creation that Split the Heaven and Earth

Rank: EX; Classification: Anti-World; Range: 1 ~99; Maximum Target:

1000persons

Using the Sword of Rupture Ea to cut space. It is a power used by the gods
when they separated the heaven and earth. As for power it is possible to say it
is an attack close to the very top of all Noble Phantasms. By receiving the
support of Noble Phantasms in the treasury, damage is further increased.

Gate ofBabylon:

i e King's Treasur

Rank: E~A++; Classification: Anti-Unit; Range: —

The Golden City that is the King's Treasury, moreover the golden key
connected toit. Treasures such as many Noble Phantasm prototypes, or the
models of humanity's inventions from all times and places, these rare items
were stored. They can be taken out freely. Naturally whether or not they can
be handled depends on the user.

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Archer
Master: Tine Chelc Name: Gilgamesh Sex: Man

HScW: 182cm 68Kg Alignment: Chaotic Good

Personal Skills
Money problems are completely unknown.

Class Skills NhgcResistince: C IndependentAction:A

NoblePhantnsm

Skill that shows how much Divine Spirit aptitude, how related one is to a
god, one has. He was suitable for the highest rank but since he loathes gods it
is Rank-Downed.

CLASfD'''^

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Lancer
Master: Wolf Name: Enkidu Sex: None
H&W Controlable at will Alignment Tru e Neu tral

STR - M.E

end - I si

AGI :ji| jgg m

Personal Skills * 3 -^
Transfiguration: A

Scats are situationally distributed based on a fixed pool of creation points. It

is a special skill due to being an Automatic Doll. When the rank is high the
amount of creation points is also high. From A to A+ the cost rises. That is, 2
ranks worth of points is necessary.

Presence Detection: A +

Highest rank of Presence Detection ability. Via the Earth, is able to sense the
presence of things at long range. If close range, an equal or lower rank of
Presence Concealment can be nullified.

Class Skills IvhgJC Resistance: - (Because of the skill "Transfiguration," the

magical energy star fluctuates accordingly.)

NoMePhantasm

EnumaElish:

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mans. Let us J- th e Gods Ab o \

Rank: A++; Classification: Anti-Purge; Range: 0~999; Maximum Target:

1000persons Ability of Enkidu s to transform its own body into a Divine
Construct.

The Counter Forces known as Alaya and Gaia's powers How into a keystone
made of light. Then giant amounts of energy are transformed into a form that
the world can recognize and pierces the opponent in one hit. In response to
things that threaten the destruction of the planet or humanity the power is
increased.

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