On the very night the church meeting ended, a massive wormhole abruptly opened in the skies above Fuyuki City. An overwhelming surge of magical energy poured out from its depths, flooding the surrounding area.
Almost instantly, every Servant and Master currently in Fuyuki looked up, their gazes drawn to the bizarre phenomenon unfolding overhead.
Ordinary people without Magic Circuits wouldn't have been able to see the wormhole itself—but the multiple silhouettes descending from the sky were unmistakable enough that even civilians noticed something strange happening above the city.
"So this is Fuyuki City ten years in the future… I never imagined the Holy Grail's power could be so great—strong enough to bring us forward in time itself.
"Still, if Fuyuki is the battlefield of the Grail, then our opponents are most likely the city's outstanding magi.
"I do wonder, though… what kind of exceptional magi still exist in Fuyuki after ten years."
Tōsaka Tokiomi and the others emerged from the wormhole, then descended onto the rooftop of a tall building. As he looked out over a Fuyuki that had subtly—but unmistakably—changed from a decade ago, a contemplative expression crossed his face.
"Regardless, this Holy Grail War is quite disadvantageous for us.
"According to the Grail's rules this time, we are able to directly perceive our opponents' True Names when we encounter them.
"However, the Blue faction comes from ten years in the future. It's only reasonable to assume they've thoroughly researched our Holy Grail War.
"We may have crossed time itself, but while the battlefield remains Fuyuki, we've effectively lost our home-field advantage."
Tokiomi paused, then turned slightly, addressing the six Masters behind him.
"I believe everyone here understands the situation.
"So I propose this—no matter what grudges or conflicts we may have had in the past, let us set them aside for now.
"Once the faction war is resolved, we can settle our personal vendettas then. What do you say?"
His words were directed at the other six Masters standing behind him.
Just like the Masters of the Fifth Holy Grail War, those of the Fourth had never been united to begin with. In fact, the rifts between them were far deeper—far uglier—than those among Tōsaka Rin's generation.
Take Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald and Waver Velvet, for instance.
Teacher and student from the Clock Tower—yet Waver had stolen the relic Kayneth was meant to use, summoning Rider, the King of Conquerors, Iskandar.
Left with no other choice, Kayneth had resorted to a backup relic, summoning the radiant Lancer, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.
Then there was Matō Kariya, who from the moment he arrived had been glaring at Tōsaka Tokiomi with undisguised murderous intent.
Among the Masters of the Fourth Holy Grail War, Kariya was a particularly unusual case. He had little interest in the Grail or any wish it could grant.
The only reason he had subjected himself to Matō Zōken's crest worms—sacrificing his lifespan and forcibly amplifying his magical power—was to seek justice for the little girl, Sakura.
Staring at the eloquent Tōsaka Tokiomi standing before him, Kariya could barely suppress his urge to kill.
But just as Tokiomi had said, this Holy Grail War began with a faction battle.
Even if Kariya wanted to murder Tokiomi right here and now, the other Masters wouldn't simply stand by and watch.
Every single one of them coveted the Grail. And to win it, they first had to secure victory for their faction.
So despite the deep-seated animosity between them, none of the Masters were foolish enough to weaken the Red faction by turning on each other prematurely.
Kariya considered striking—but the odds of success were low.
In the end, he swallowed his killing intent, deciding instead to wait until Tokiomi was isolated.
Emiya Kiritsugu and Kotomine Kirei, meanwhile, remained silent from start to finish.
Both were rational, calculating individuals. Even if they harbored deep grudges against others present, neither would reveal it openly at a time like this.
As for the final Master of the Fourth Holy Grail War—
He was, for all intents and purposes, just an ordinary man.
Through a bizarre stroke of fate, he had summoned a Servant: Uryū Ryūnosuke.
The unhinged-looking young man was now animatedly chattering away, repeating "This is so cool!" over and over as he spoke to a Servant with unsettling, bulbous eyes.
"To think that I—an Archibald by blood, an elite lecturer of the Clock Tower—would be forced to cooperate with people like this," Kayneth scoffed coldly.
"A thief, a disgrace to magecraft, and a problem child who doesn't even look like a magus.
"This faction war does not inspire confidence. At this point, I can only hope the enemy is even more incompetent than we are."
Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald wasn't just the head of his illustrious family—he was a prodigy who had been hailed as a genius since childhood.
Even among magi, he was a figure of great renown. He had every reason to be arrogant.
To be honest, among all the Masters present, the only one Kayneth regarded as even remotely worthy was Tōsaka Tokiomi, who also hailed from a prestigious lineage.
He had once held some expectations for Fuyuki's so-called "Three Great Families."
But look at what the Matōs and the Einzberns had sent this time.
A broken loser who needed external methods to artificially boost his magic.
And a disgrace who sullied the honor of magecraft itself.
That so-called "Mage Killer" was nothing but a joke in Kayneth's eyes.
Magecraft was a symbol of status—an art that allowed magi to reach realms unattainable by ordinary humans.
Yet some people abandoned that pride, choosing instead to rely on mundane firearms.
The moment Kayneth laid eyes on Emiya Kiritsugu, his disgust rivaled—if not surpassed—what he felt toward Waver.
All things considered, while the Masters and Servants of the Fourth Holy Grail War appeared united on the surface, in truth they were nothing more than a loose pile of sand.
It had to be said—the trial imposed by this Holy Grail was brutally harsh.
Faction warfare required trust as its foundation. When goals aligned, such trust could at least be maintained by shared purpose.
But everyone here knew the truth.
The faction war was only the first stage.
After it ended, a second battle—a civil war—would inevitably follow.
Under such rules, how could anyone truly trust their so-called allies?
After all, no one knew when the person standing beside them would suddenly become an enemy.
"Rat skulking in the shadows—having gazed upon the visage of this king, do you not intend to emerge and kneel?"
As Tōsaka Tokiomi stood there, troubled by the fragile state of the Red faction, golden particles suddenly shimmered behind him.
A Servant clad in resplendent golden armor, with radiant blond hair, appeared midair.
The most ancient king—the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh.
One of the greatest beings upon the Throne of Heroes now stared coldly at an apparently empty stretch of sky, his voice ringing with authority.
At Gilgamesh's words, the other Servants immediately went on high alert, positioning themselves protectively before their Masters.
They hadn't sensed anyone nearby—but Archer's actions were never without reason.
When the night sky remained silent, anger crept across Gilgamesh's face.
He snapped his fingers.
"This world has no need for those who defy my command.
"If you intend to keep hiding, then die in that dark corner."
With the snap of his fingers, the black night sky rippled like the surface of a lake, golden waves spreading outward.
From those ripples, countless blades—swords, spears, halberds—slowly emerged.
At Gilgamesh's gesture, they shot forward like golden bullets, tearing through the darkness.
These weren't crude weapons.
Each and every one was a genuine Noble Phantasm.
A Noble Phantasm was usually a Servant's ultimate trump card—some Servants didn't even possess one.
And yet this man, clad head to toe in gold, wielded countless Noble Phantasms thanks to his ability—
Gate of Babylon.
Within the Gate of Babylon lay treasures from every era—of every type and rank. Even Gilgamesh himself claimed he didn't know exactly how many artifacts his treasury contained.
What's more, the Noble Phantasms fired from the Gate automatically returned and replenished themselves.
As a result, what other Servants cherished as irreplaceable trump cards were, to Gilgamesh, nothing more than expendable ammunition.
Several D-rank Noble Phantasms streaked across the sky, blasting toward a spot that had appeared completely empty.
"'Presence Concealment,' my ass. I knew that skill was unreliable."
At that very moment, a man's irritated voice rang out from the empty air.
A figure abruptly appeared in the night sky.
Facing the incoming D-rank Noble Phantasms, Ren Kuroda didn't draw his blade. Instead, he moved with hands and feet alike, effortlessly batting the weapons aside.
The Noble Phantasms from the Gate of Babylon could unleash their True Names—but without doing so, they were little more than exceptionally sharp weapons.
Ren's current body was that of a Servant. Combined with his naturally resilient half-demon physique, deflecting a few D-rank Noble Phantasms was trivial.
As for why Ren was here—
It was simple.
He was gathering intelligence.
Even though Kotomine Kirei had already explained the nature of their opponents, some things were far more reliable when seen with one's own eyes.
With an A-rank Presence Concealment skill layered atop his own innate ability to suppress his aura, Ren had been quite confident in this reconnaissance mission.
And rightly so.
Ever since Tōsaka Tokiomi and the others arrived from the past, Ren had been lurking in the shadows, observing them.
None of the other Servants had noticed him—
Until Gilgamesh suddenly acted.
Ren was confident in his stealth.
If Gilgamesh had detected him, it was most likely due to one of the countless, absurdly varied Noble Phantasms housed within the Gate of Babylon.