One month later.
Inside Rowan Mercer's personal world.
"I've finished analyzing everyone else's Noble Phantasms," Rowan said, studying the man in red standing across from him. "Yours is the only one left. I don't believe a Servant can be summoned without possessing something uniquely their own. Not just borrowed swords and bows."
Archer gave a small, tired laugh and dropped onto a bench.
"I don't have a personal Noble Phantasm. Not in the traditional sense. Everything I showed you was produced through my Reality Marble."
He glanced aside.
"Infinite Blade Works. That's what makes me a Heroic Spirit."
Over the past month, Rowan had already unraveled the mysteries behind Lancer's causality-piercing spear, Berserker's resurrection, and countless artifacts taken from Gilgamesh's vault.
Even Ea, the Sword of Rupture, was no longer an unsolved puzzle.
Archer alone remained an anomaly.
Normally, he would never expose his deepest secret.
Not even to Rin.
But Rowan had kept every promise.
The Servants cooperated.
They were treated well.
When research ended, they were free to return to the modern world or seek out their former Masters.
More importantly, hiding the truth was pointless.
Rowan still held Command Seals.
And he was more than capable of tearing into Archer's memories if he wished.
So Archer chose honesty.
Without another word, he began to chant.
"I am the bone of my sword.
Steel is my body, and fire is my blood.
I have created over a thousand blades.
Unknown to Death.
Nor known to Life.
Have withstood pain to create many weapons.
Yet, those hands will never hold anything.
So, as I pray…
Unlimited Blade Works."
The world inverted.
Rowan found himself standing on a crimson wasteland.
Countless swords were embedded in the ground, stretching toward a burning horizon.
Gigantic gears rotated endlessly in the darkened sky.
Archer gestured around him.
"Any Noble Phantasm I've seen can be reproduced here. But every copy is one rank inferior. And certain weapons… like Ea… are beyond my current ability to recreate."
Rowan extended his senses, dissecting the structure of the Reality Marble.
A slow smile formed.
"Fascinating."
To Rowan, this was extraordinarily useful.
His own duplication spells worked on mundane objects.
Magical artifacts resisted replication.
But Infinite Blade Works bypassed that limitation entirely.
With refinement, the degradation could be eliminated.
Even supreme artifacts would become reproducible.
Not just weapons.
Any Noble Phantasm.
Any conceptual armament.
"This will save me an absurd amount of effort," Rowan muttered.
Middle-earth.
The elven city slept beneath silver moonlight.
Rowan gently lifted the still-sleeping Lúthien from his side and laid her back onto the bed. He moved to the window and drew aside the curtain.
Far in the distance, a jagged mountain pierced the horizon.
Angband.
"It's time."
Since their last great war, Morgoth had withdrawn completely.
His armies retreated behind Angband's walls.
The fortress had become a sealed wound in the world.
Rowan knew the pattern.
Morgoth was gathering strength.
Waiting.
He would not make the elves' mistake of allowing that cycle to repeat.
This time, there would be no containment.
No stalemate.
Only eradication.
Rowan intended to devour Morgoth's body and soul.
To claim the Silmarils.
To march on Valinor afterward.
His power had grown enormously.
He had absorbed the Phoenix Force.
Chaos energy.
A black dragon of apocalyptic scale.
He was not yet a full single-universe entity.
But he was close.
Devouring Morgoth would bridge that gap.
Then, among the Valar, he would study the deeper laws of creation.
His personal world would finally reach completion.
Rowan extended his mind across the elven city.
"Galadriel. The time has come. Summon the kings of all races. Convene at the Academy."
They had discussed this plan long ago.
Elves.
Dwarves.
Men.
All had suffered under Morgoth's shadow.
All had spent months forging weapons using Rowan's alchemical methods.
They were ready.
Galadriel laughed as Rowan's voice echoed in her mind.
"At last! When I bring you Morgoth's head, you'll have to call me Queen."
The elven soldiers cheered.
Galadriel activated one of Rowan's crystal orbs and vanished in a flash of light.
Her route was clear.
First, to High King Fingolfin of the Noldor.
Then to the Grey Elves.
Then to the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains.
Finally, to the newly founded human city.
Minas Tirith.
Three days later.
The plains before Angband were filled with banners.
Elves in shining mail.
Dwarves in rune-etched plate.
Men bearing newly forged blades.
At the forefront stood Rowan Mercer.
The architect of this war.
The one who would decide its end.