Prologue
The space was a complete world.
Jet black with points of light.
In the centre of a room in the wide, perfect sphere dyed in the colour 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 chair's existence and hidden from the 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.
"This is a problem… these lines will be annihilated too…no, it should have been annihilated…."
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…. even if those Ṫ̸̲̎͂͆̊̍̉͊͝h̵̬̣̑̄͠i̴̢̜͚͓̥̯̍̉̈́ͅṋ̶̎̏̄̏́̇̀̚͝g̶̢͉͖̞̃͝s̸͎͖̰̹̬̊͗͛̈́ make their hosts stronger it would simply be devoured."
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. The Ṫ̸̲̎͂͆̊̍̉͊͝h̵̬̣̑̄͠i̴̢̜͚͓̥̯̍̉̈́ͅṋ̶̎̏̄̏́̇̀̚͝g̶̢͉͖̞̃͝s̸͎͖̰̹̬̊͗͛̈́ would have to be dealt with. Having said that, there isn't enough reason in my interventions. Yes, it's a complete 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."
At that, the space replied,
"How rude of me. It seems you've noticed."
There was a small wooden table of a 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 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 colour of most antique telephones, this one was a beautiful blue colour 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 little 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?"
"If you're going to choose someone to deal with those things don't pick from the visitors. You should select someone on the basis of it being a sacrificial lamb. for dealing with them is not a simple task."
With that, the telephone's dial slowly began to turn, returning to its starting point at certain intervals before turning again.
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 parameters and 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 monster.
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 speciality."
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."
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, he needs to be prepared."
The pages turned delicately. A stack of books and grimoires appeared in his hands. About the knowledge contained within them, only the man and the person himself would know.
"...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 some of them 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.
"So you have a bit of a plan… all the more reason you can't intervene. It's the sort of being that rejoices as more intruders are involved. Let those things be followed through by someone who's duties are bound to dealing with them."
"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.
"His universe is an alethinoupigraphon, though I guess he's the perfect candidate for the task. Let's hope for the best and watch over him."
"Hmmm, I guess I could at least give him some guidance."
"What!"
At the old man's words, the person behind the telephone became agitated.
"But if you-! …Is that wise?"
"Whether it is or not, I guarantee that it will be an interesting one."
Said the old man in a mischievous tone.
"..' sigh'... I guess that I can't deny."
Sighing, Knowing that the old man wouldn't change his mind, the person on the telephone simply remained silent.
The book was opened to a picture of a young man.
It was apparently an Eastern man in his late teens to early twenties, despite his young appearance, he was already sporting perfectly white hair, along with a tanned skin giving him an exotic appearance.
Below his portrait was a name beginning with the letter E.
And then, with him as the centre —
Here and now, the curtain would rise on a story about ideals and hypocrisy, love and tragedy, selfishness and selflessness.
Justice—a word commonly wielded by those in power to justify their actions, often imposing their self-crafted rules upon others or eliminating obstacles to their goals.
Ironic, he thought, that someone striving to be an ally of justice would meet his end by the hand of that very justice.
His execution was broadcast worldwide—the execution of the worst criminal in modern society.
This is fine, he mused. If his death could bring peace, he would gladly lay down his insignificant life.
Curses were hurled at him. "Monster!" "Murderer!" "Devil!" "Satan!" The words rang out, venomous and unrelenting.
And then, the command for his death was given.
All the while, the man paid little attention to the chaos around him.
He looked up at the sky, a canvas of blue dotted with clouds, and smiled. Not out of joy, despair, mockery, or defiance. It was a simple, ordinary smile of satisfaction.
…
As the floor beneath him gave way, darkness consumed him—until he jolted awake, as though roused from a nightmare.
Gasping for breath, he sat up. He was lying in a bed, his right hand instinctively reaching for his neck, feeling the faint impression left by the rope.
"Ah, you're finally awake," a voice to his left said, followed by a chuckle as though finding his own words amusing.
He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of someone unexpected.
An old man, exuding an air of elegance even while seated on a simple wooden chair, observed him with a mischievous gaze. His white hair and beard framed a face marked by sharp features, and his crimson eyes held a certain inhuman quality.
A chill ran down his spine. He knew this man and recognized his presence.
The Director of the Clock Tower, wielder of the Kaleidoscope, the Ninth Dead Apostle Ancestor. Both revered and reviled in the Magus community.
Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, the Wizard Marshal, sat with his jewelled cane resting against his chair.
"... Good day, Wizard Marshal," he managed, regaining some composure to offer a polite greeting.
"Ah, no need to be so formal, young man. You can just call me Zel."
"... Understood, Wizard Marshal," he replied, feeling swept up by Zelretch's pace.
"May I ask a question, Wiza—"
"Zel," Zelretch interjected smoothly.
"... Zel, then. About my question."
"Ask away, young man. I'll answer to the best of my knowledge."
"Why am I here? I was supposed to die."
"Oh, you died, make no mistake. But you were also... not killed," Zelretch said with a hint of amusement, placing a hand on his chest. "Though I wouldn't call your current state 'living' either. More like a limbo, perhaps."
"I... see," he responded, still trying to process the information.
"Then where are we? What is this place?"
"We are 'outside,'" Zelretch answered cryptically.
"I... I see. And why am I here?"
At this, Zelretch smiled, his teeth bared in an almost predatory grin. "That, young man, is a very good question."
He fell silent.
"..."
Zelretch stood, using his cane as a walking stick, and approached the door. Turning his head, he locked eyes with the young man.
"Let me ask you this: Do you want to save everyone?" And with that, he exited the room, his footsteps gradually fading.
The young man stared at the door for a few moments before lying back down. There were so many thoughts swirling in his mind, that he didn't know where to begin. Yet, Zelretch's words echoed louder than the rest. Covering his eyes with his right arm, he murmured, "Save everyone… huh."
Sleep claimed him once more.
…
When he awoke, he gathered his bearings and left the room. To his surprise, the house was a replica of his home in his hometown. Chalk it up to the wizard's eccentricity, he thought, dismissing the incongruity.
Navigating the familiar space, he found Zelretch in the living room, sipping tea.
"Tea? I hope it's to your taste," Zelretch offered.
"... Thank you," he said, accepting the cup and sitting opposite the Wizard Marshal.
They drank in silence for a few minutes before Zelretch broke the quiet.
"So, shall we begin? What is your answer, I suppose?"
"... It's impossible to save everyone," he admitted.
"True, even God cannot save everyone," Zelretch nodded, taking another sip. "But that doesn't mean one should give up trying. Wouldn't you agree, young man?"
He stared at Zelretch as if the old man had grown another head.
"I didn't expect the Wizard Marshal to care about ideals and the salvation of others," he said, his words tinged with sarcasm.
Zelretch chuckled, clearly amused. "True. But saving humanity aligns with my goals, so you could say it's a byproduct of my pursuits. Now, what is your answer?"
"... What do I have to do?" he asked at last.
"Hmmm, I won't go into details just yet. That might lead to... unwanted consequences," Zelretch said, his tone light yet serious.
"Then what am I supposed to do? And why me? My talent in magecraft pales compared to others at the Clock Tower, even ordinary magi…."
"That's something we can work around," Zelretch said, snapping his fingers. A stack of books and grimoires appeared on the table.
"Wha—"
"It's never too late to learn," Zelretch said, gesturing to the stack. "These contain knowledge on astral mysteries, alchemy, Kabbalah, thaumaturgy theories and practices, and...insights on souls and parallel worlds."
"How is this relevant to what you want me to do?"
"Very much so. It will expand your knowledge and, by extension, your magecraft. As for the latter two... I'll leave that for you to decide."
His expression grew more complicated.
"What you ask is impossible. I don't think I could understand even one of these in my lifetime. And the latter... isn't it impossible for me to delve into those fields? Only a handful can wield True Magic."
"..."
"Why me, then? There are more talented people. Why not pick one of them?"
"True, your talent isn't remarkable. And yes, I know many who are more suitable." Zelretch's gaze softened, his voice firm. "But I chose you."
"Do you know why I entrusted the blueprint for the Jeweled Sword to that girl's ancestor instead of the Einzbern or the Matou?"
"..."
"Because of his heart. I knew he wouldn't stray from the righteous path. That's why, young man, I chose you. You might forget, abandon, or even betray your ideals. But one day, you will find your answer."
Silence settled over them. He clenched his fists, staring at them in his lap. After a few minutes, Zelretch spoke again.
"I'm sure you'll finish reading and studying them all. After all, Time is no longer an issue for you."
"What do you mean?" He looked up, intrigued and wary.
"You made a contract with the Counter Force, did you not? Let's just say, eternity is on your side, though you might not like it."
He frowned at the ominous words.
" Well as for the issue regarding the True magics, I didn't say that you'll have to become a user, I said, learn from it."
At that, he gave him another grin
Zelretch grinned once more. "Now, let's not get too sidetracked. So, what do you say? Are you willing?"
Still processing everything, he muttered, "I... guess?"
"Hahaha, that's the spirit, young man!" Zelretch clapped him on the shoulder, leaving him scowling. "Now, I must be off. I'm a busy man, you know. I'll return when the time is right."
He stood, pulling him up with him.
"What?"
"I'm counting on you, Mr. Ally of Justice," Zelretch said, patting his shoulder one last time before stepping through a kaleidoscopic portal. And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind only the stack of books as evidence of his visit.
"...What?"
For a moment, he stood there, his mind unable to catch up with the situation. If this were a battlefield, he'd already be dead. Maybe it was the familiarity of the house that made him let his guard down.
Though he should have expected it considering who the old man was.
"Huh? ...HUH!"
And so, not knowing that his determination, ideals, and dreams would be tested in the future, past, and present, his existence as a Guardian had already begun.