Rowan's words landed like a slap.
For the first time in a very long while, Gilgamesh's expression changed.
"Surrender?" he repeated softly.
Then he laughed.
"So that's the kind of man you are."
"Interesting."
"You've earned my attention."
"I'll entertain you and your Saber personally."
The modern jacket on his body dissolved, replaced by gleaming golden armor that radiated regal authority.
Blond hair. Gold plating. Arrogance given form.
Rowan clicked his tongue.
"I really do have a weakness for rich people."
He tapped the ground.
"Mirror Space."
If most Servants owned a handful of Noble Phantasms, then Gilgamesh owned a treasury.
Robbing someone like that was infinitely more satisfying.
"Petty spatial tricks," Gilgamesh scoffed.
"I've shattered worlds inside Reality Marbles before."
"This is nothing."
Golden ripples opened behind him.
Within each ripple floated a weapon.
Swords.
Spears.
Axes.
Chains.
Blades of every shape and era.
Each one a Noble Phantasm.
Gilgamesh was born at the twilight of the Age of Gods, a being forged to rule over heroes and humanity alike.
The King of Heroes.
His greatest treasure was the vault that contained nearly every prototype weapon in existence.
And as a Servant, he could open that vault at will.
He did not dirty his hands with melee combat.
Kings did not cross blades.
Kings executed.
From afar.
Rowan took two steps forward and spread his arms.
"Go ahead."
"Show me everything."
Behind him, Artoria clenched her jaw.
She had already drawn Excalibur, ready to charge.
Rowan had stopped her.
Told her to stand down.
Which felt… wrong.
It was starting to look like Rowan was the Servant.
And she was the Master.
"Arrogant fool."
Gilgamesh flicked his hand.
The sky screamed.
A storm of Noble Phantasms erupted toward Rowan like a golden hurricane.
Each weapon carried destructive force.
Enough to obliterate buildings.
Enough to kill Servants.
Gilgamesh calmly manifested his throne and sat down, ready to watch Rowan be torn apart.
Then he stood back up.
All the weapons vanished.
Every single one.
They disappeared about a meter from Rowan.
As if swallowed by nothing.
Rowan remained untouched.
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed.
"Space displacement?"
He saw it now.
A faint, invisible distortion in front of Rowan.
A spatial fissure devouring everything that reached it.
"Tch. Parlor tricks."
Gilgamesh changed tactics.
The incoming weapons curved in midair, attacking from every direction.
Rowan grinned wider.
"Looks like you really do own a lot."
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They kept coming.
"Inside you go."
The warped trajectories bent again.
Every weapon curved back toward Rowan.
And vanished.
Again.
And again.
None of the weapons carried true conceptual authority.
They were powerful.
But not law-tier.
Which meant Rowan could still manipulate them.
Gilgamesh's face darkened.
"You dare interfere with my treasures?"
More portals opened.
The sky filled completely with golden ripples.
A rainstorm of Noble Phantasms poured down.
Minutes passed.
Ten of them.
Not a single weapon landed.
Not one.
Then—
Silence.
No more ripples.
No more weapons.
Gilgamesh stared.
"…Why aren't they returning?"
Rowan closed the spatial gateway in front of him.
"They're mine now."
"Well."
"Since you're out…"
"I'd say we're done here."