"Hohenheim-kun, could you please take care of the dishes? I have to go out for some shopping."
"Understood. I'll start right away."
When Ruler brought the homunculus to the church, Alma had naturally been startled. But after hearing that he had no family, was frail, and had nowhere to go, she granted him permission to stay for a while.
At that time, he gave the name Hohenheim.
It wasn't meant to imply anything, but the name belonged to one of the greatest alchemists in history. His own body was crafted through Einzbern-style alchemy—the product of a thousand years of isolation from the outside world—so it wasn't as though he descended from Hohenheim's lineage. Even so, taking the name of such a legendary alchemist felt strange.
Until just recently, he wasn't even acknowledged as a living being. To be able to carry a name at all was a novel sensation.
Hohenheim now lived in the church with Ruler, offering labor to Alma as payment for lodging.
"Homu-kun, take care not to overwork yourself. Thanks to that dagger, you can move and exert yourself like a normal person, but that doesn't mean your body is actually sturdy."
"I know."
A homunculus's fragile body was never meant to withstand even light physical labor. His strength was much weaker than his apparent age suggested; as labor, he was barely passable. But healing from the enchanted dagger covered that weakness.
Each time his muscles strained and tore, they healed—rapidly—causing his physical strength to rise at an accelerated pace. His natural first-rate magic circuits could also be used, if not perfectly. Before, his body couldn't endure magecraft at all, but the dagger's healing spread through every form of damage—including self-harm from magecraft.
"My body's structure is basically the same as a human's. If I keep moving like this, strength will come naturally."
"I see. I'm glad."
Even so—his lifespan was hopeless.
Being an artificial lifeform and a gifted alchemist himself, he understood. Healing might slow deterioration, but at best it granted a little more time. Three to five years, perhaps. Ten would be a miracle.
He had three people's worth of dishes to clean. It took about ten minutes. After that, until Alma returned, he had nothing to assist with, leaving him idle.
"Homu-kun, what do you plan to do from now on?"
Suddenly, Ruler posed the question.
"I didn't ask before, since you'd only just escaped that place… but now that you're free, how do you intend to live?"
"How to live, huh…"
Hohenheim lowered his head, thinking. Then shook it.
"No… I can't imagine anything. It's strange. Back at the fortress, I wanted so desperately not to die, to stay alive—but when I finally reach that state, I suddenly have no idea how to live."
"That's a type of discovery. Some things can only be known after stepping outside that environment. Until now, your only goal was "to live." That alone. But now you've achieved that. So you'll need a new goal: 'how to live.'"
"A goal for living…"
"In other words, a dream. Something you want to try. Anything is fine—even something small."
"I see. So I have to decide everything for myself. Freedom is… surprisingly constraining."
He didn't look constrained. If anything, he simply seemed troubled thinking about the future.
"Difficult, isn't it? This is what's called the 'punishment of freedom.'"
"Punishment… of freedom?"
Ruler tilted her head at the unfamiliar phrase.
"It's from a thinker named Sartre."
Freedom has no direction. You must choose your own path, and that struggle brings pain. Freedom sounds good in theory—but in practice, it's difficult.
"My life, my responsibility… I must choose for myself."
"Yes, but there's no need to force yourself. Homu-kun, you were just born. It's all right to rely on adults you trust. This is a difficult issue—there's no need to solve it alone."
With a grin, Ruler pointed her thumb to her chest.
"I see. Then I'll consult Alma-dono."
"…Oh."
The self-proclaimed big-sister figure was promptly ignored, leaving Ruler a little deflated.
□
In two skirmishes, Caules had accomplished nothing.
He fully understood he was not first-rate—barely someone who should have been able to host Command Spells at all. Choosing Berserker—who consumed twice the normal mana—was simply because he had no other viable option.
There was no way he could command a first-class Servant. Even a low-rank one could be bolstered by Mad Enhancement. In truth, Berserker was his only path.
In an ordinary Holy Grail War, Caules would have dropped out first.
But this wasn't ordinary.
He had strong allies. More importantly, the Berserker he summoned—Frankenstein—had a unique Noble Phantasm.
Bridal Chest — "The Maiden's Chastity."
It had no offensive power, but absorbed excess mana from the surroundings and recycled it. Meaning: Berserker's mana cost was practically zero.
He also gained mana for her Noble Phantasm by using homunculi as fuel.
Thus Caules, as a Master, only needed to stay alive.
If he died, the chain binding Berserker to the world would break—even with her mana supply.
He had no combat skills, no exceptional intellect. A mindless Berserker was merely a killing tool; commands were nearly pointless.
Honestly, he often felt he wasn't needed at all.
Hearing the familiar sound of a wheelchair, Caules looked up.
"Sis."
It was Fiore and Archer.
But seeing Fiore, Caules frowned. Not because Archer pushed her chair—he had long accepted their unusually amicable relationship. Their bond was closer to friendship than strict master and servant.
What caught Caules' eye was the suitcase on Fiore's lap.
"…Why are you carrying something that dangerous? Going somewhere?"
Her suitcase held her personal Mystic Codes—deadly weapons that even first-rate magi would fear. Bringing them meant something serious was unfolding.
Predictably, Fiore nodded.
"I'm going to make contact with Assassin and their Master."
"Contact? You look ready for war."
Assassin should be an ally. Armoring herself for a meeting made no sense.
Fiore sighed.
"Caules, computers are nice, but at least read the local newspaper."
"Yeah yeah, I know."
His lazy reply made Fiore's eyebrow twitch.
"She's right, Caules. Nowadays, the decline in reading habits is a real issue. Newspapers are even used in classrooms to help address it. Reading them is not a bad habit."
"What era are you from?!"
Caules shot back. First computers, now newspapers—this Archer blended into modern times too well.
Watching them bicker, Fiore couldn't help but laugh.
"What's funny, Sis?"
"Sorry… nothing."
Not answering further, Archer pushed Fiore's wheelchair away—clearly ending the conversation.
"See you, Caules. Hold down the fort."
Then she left.
Immediately after they vanished, Berserker tugged at Caules' sleeve.
"What is it? …You mad?"
She growled and nodded.
Caules blinked. What part of that conversation upset her?
"…My sister?"
"Vv."
Apparently so.
Her Mad Enhancement rank was low; she retained emotions and toddler-level thoughts, though not speech or advanced reasoning.
They reached Caules' room. He straddled a backwards chair, resting his chin on its back.
"So you don't like me being friendly with Sis—someone who might become an enemy later?"
Berserker nodded.
She wasn't wrong. For now they had a common enemy—the Red faction. But once Red was defeated, a brutal internal war for the Grail would begin.
"…Even so, it's my sister. You know I can't win against her."
Fiore was a first-rate mage capable of killing others of her tier. Caules was… not.
"And that Archer—too much of a mystery, right?"
"Vv…"
Berserker couldn't plan based on True Names, but her animal instincts screamed danger. A Servant wielding countless Noble Phantasms… turning him into an enemy was suicidal.
"But first we need to deal with Red's Lancer and Rider. Don't approach them."
"Wii."
She nodded quickly—apparently traumatized by her earlier loss to Red Rider.
"Newspaper, huh…"
After their conversation, Fiore's words resurfaced. He grabbed the local paper and skimmed through.
Then folded it and stood.
"Berserker. I'm going to help Sis. You guard the fortress."
"…"
She nodded, unable to follow the reasoning.
"It'll be fine. Sis won't fall behind easily. And any proper magus would avoid fighting two-on-one."
This wasn't wishful thinking—it was magecraft logic.
Caules couldn't fight directly, but he could bluff.
The article he saw:
A massive serial murder case—rocking all of Romania.
□
Shishigou and Saber had left Trifas and arrived in Sighișoara. They had taken over a hotel room with a Suggestion spell—far preferable to the catacombs they'd been sleeping in.
Saber, thrilled with the proper bed, claimed it immediately. Shishigou wondered if this was really Mordred, but since there were two beds, he didn't complain.
The next day, they began their assignment. The Mage's Association had ordered them to investigate Sighișoara.
The support mages deployed there had abruptly gone silent. They had observed and reported the earlier battle between Black Saber and Red Lancer, so they should have been highly capable. For all of them to vanish at once—obviously abnormal.
"Black Assassin… what kind of bastard is he?"
Shishigou muttered.
He'd met every Servant except Assassin. The carved-out hearts of the corpses made the purpose clear: magical energy replenishment.
"Tch. No way he's a proper Heroic Spirit."
Saber spat, switching between anger and disgust.
Red's Servants were confirmed—none had been consuming souls. Black's side all remained in the fortress—except Assassin. The culprit here was obvious.
"Still… an Assassin making this big a scene?"
"Just a dumb killer. Come on, Master. I won't lose to some sneaking backstabber."
"Yeah. True enough."
Saber was not the concern. Shishigou was. Assassin was the natural predator of Masters. Even the strongest Servant lost the war if their Master died.
Some records spoke of a single Assassin-summoning Master ending an entire variant Grail War in three days.
Even so, Shishigou walked openly through the silent streets—for one reason:
Assassin would come for him.
Saber's sixth sense suddenly flared.
"Fog's rising…"
The straight, unobstructed alley was clear moments ago. Now fog wrapped around them.
Too sudden. Unnatural.
"Saber—don't breathe it. It's poison."
Shishigou felt the sting in his throat and nose instantly. Saber, with high Magic Resistance, did not.
He covered his face with the hide-jacket, breathing through it until it eased.
"We're leaving, Master."
Saber grabbed his arm and ran.
This wasn't magecraft—it felt like a Noble Phantasm. Assassin's domain.
Fortunately, Saber's Instinct pierced the fog's interference. She knew the correct direction through sheer combat intuition.
Eventually, the fog thinned. They had escaped.
But it wouldn't end here.
"We're through, Master."
Shishigou inhaled fresh air.
The instant relief washed through him—
—when a blade flashed.
A metallic ping, and the broken tip of a dagger fell at his feet.
Saber had intercepted it.
A girl stood behind them.
Black Assassin.
"…You cut my knife. That's mean."
"Hmph. Like I care."
Saber pointed her sword. Small or not, she'd give no mercy. A murderer without honor, an enemy Servant, and worst of all—someone who attacked her Master. She had appeared. Therefore, she would die.
"Either way, you're my dinner. Premium steak. Drop that head of yours and accept your fate."
"Eeh? You talk weird. Tonight's dinner is your hearts—Hamburg steak!"
Saber moved first—parrying the next thrown knife with her gauntlet, then slashing. Assassin flipped away, unbelievably fast.
Fast—but inferior in direct combat.
Saber thrust her blade toward the girl—
—and the duel began.