A slimy sensation transmitted instantly!
Lancer felt his arm go numb as the essence belonging to The Propagation surged frantically into his Spirit Origin along those tentacles!
"Ugh!"
Lancer let out a muffled groan, his movements stiffening for a split second.
In that lightning-fast interval, the bizarre insect's entire body suddenly transformed into a streak of light. With a "whoosh," it followed the shaft of Gáe Buidhe and, like living mercury, burrowed directly through a gap in the armor of Lancer's arm!
!!!
Lancer stood frozen on the spot as if struck by lightning.
He could clearly feel that cold, alien presence rapidly spreading within his body!
Simultaneously, the contract link between him and Kayneth fluctuated violently as his master's life gradually faded, yet due to the insect's intrusion, it entered a bizarre state.
Phantylia had been standing there the whole time, watching this sudden yet swiftly concluded horror show with great interest, as if enjoying a unique stage play.
She even lightly clapped her hands with her fan.
"Tsk tsk, truly... amazing efficiency."
Phantylia's tone carried the admiration of an art connoisseur, along with a hint of realization. "As expected of The Propagation's handiwork... even if it's just a negligible wisp of its aura, in a world lacking the corresponding resistance, it can still spawn such a... creation."
She looked at Lancer, whose body had begun to tremble unnaturally. Pain, confusion, and a gradually spreading eerie hollowness flashed across his face. The interest in her fox-like eyes grew even stronger.
"Now then, loyal Mr. Diarmuid Ua Duibhne,"
Phantylia's voice suddenly took on a strange rhythm, as if countless whispers were murmuring in his ear, plucking at his deepest emotions and vulnerabilities. "Heroic Spirit who has lost his master and been shackled... for what do you fight now? Whose orders shall you follow?"
Following her words, the 'insect' that had invaded Lancer's body seemed to be guided by some force. It stopped its violent attempts to consume and instead transitioned into a state of fusion.
Lancer's eyes struggled violently. The pride of the Love Spot, the grief and indignation over his Lord's passing... all sorts of intense emotions collided within his Spirit Origin.
Phantylia smiled and reached out a finger, lightly tapping the air from a distance.
A streak of light sank into the space between Lancer's brows.
The struggle gradually subsided.
Lancer slowly stood up straight, his head lowered.
When he raised his face again, that originally handsome and resolute face still maintained the silhouette of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, but his eyes had completely changed.
His former loyalty and openness had vanished, replaced by a hollow indifference.
"That's more like it."
Phantylia satisfiedly folded her fan and walked up to the controlled Lancer, looking him over like a newly acquired tool. "A hollow shell that retains most of its combat skills but has shed the boring shackles of chivalry, with a little interesting surprise nesting inside... Hmm, much more useful than that noisy Magus from before."
"Let's go, Lancer."
Phantylia turned and walked toward the deeper darkness outside the factory, her voice languid. "Let us see how much more this Holy Grail War can hatch."
The controlled Lancer said nothing. Like the most silent shadow warrior, he held his twin spears and followed Phantylia's back with slightly stiff yet still swift steps, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the abandoned factory.
When Herta followed a trace of Phantylia's residual aura into this abandoned suburban factory, what she saw was not the expected scene of a conspiracy or battle, but a bizarrely empty space.
She walked forward slowly, the sound of her heels clicking against the concrete floor echoing clearly in the vast workshop.
Then, she saw Kayneth lying in the shadow of a massive machine.
This Lord of the Clock Tower had long since lost his former elegance and arrogance.
He lay in his own pool of blood, the front of his expensive suit torn open from the inside, revealing a jagged hole with glimpses of damaged chest tissue beneath.
His complexion was a mix of deathly gray and sallow yellow. His breathing was so faint it was almost non-existent, yet his chest rose and fell slightly.
"Oh?"
Herta raised an eyebrow slightly and stopped in her tracks.
She recognized this face—from the intelligence shared by Long Night Moon, this was Lancer's master.
Only, this state was far more pathetic than the "arrogant Magus" described in the reports.
She didn't approach immediately, but simply stood there and raised her hand, giving a light beckoning gesture toward Kayneth.
An invisible force field lifted the broken body, letting him float slowly into mid-air like a specimen awaiting inspection in a lab. Controlled by Herta's will, he rotated steadily a few times to allow for observation from all angles.
"Violent internal rupture... major organs in the thoracic and upper abdominal cavities show signs of being forcibly expanded and partially consumed by a foreign object."
Herta's voice sounded calm and clear in the silence, as if she were giving an anatomical analysis report. "Residual tissue at the wound edges shows signs of erosion and enzymatic decomposition not caused by magical energy... some kind of biological entity was gestated here and then left. Time... approximately ten to fifteen minutes ago."
Her gaze fell on the back of Kayneth's hand—where the command spellss should have been, there was now only a faint scar, almost invisible. The contract link had long been severed.
"Interesting."
Herta's fingertips lightly tapped her arm. "Vital signs are so weak they're almost non-existent, magic circuits are exhausted, and the soul is on the verge of dissipating due to the forced severance of the contract and extreme physical trauma... yet he's hanging on by a thread, unable to die."
She noticed a spell slowly circulating within Kayneth, like an incredibly thin spider silk, barely maintaining this broken shell so it wouldn't immediately collapse.
"This method of forcibly prolonging life... is crude and inefficient."
She first thought of Phantylia.
But then she dismissed it.
The methods Lord Ravager Phantylia excelled in tended to be more mental in nature.
This crude method before her didn't quite fit her stereotype of Phantylia.
"Then, who is it?"
Herta quickly filtered through the known participants of the Holy Grail War in her mind.
She thought for a moment but reached no definitive conclusion.
"Whatever."
Herta waved her hand dismissively, as if discarding a useless piece of rag.
Kayneth's body, suspended in mid-air, instantly lost its support and fell back to the cold floor with a "thud" like a sack of rags, splashing a few spots of blood.
Herta turned, preparing to leave this boring place.
However, just as she took two steps, a wheezing sound like a broken bellows and the rustle of clothes rubbing against the floor came from behind her.
Herta's footsteps stopped. She turned slightly and looked over with a hint of surprise.
The body on the ground that should have been completely silent actually twitched a finger slightly. Those gray, unfocused eyes used the last ounce of strength to turn extremely slowly toward her.
In that gaze was a humble plea.
"Yo."
No emotion could be heard in Herta's tone. "You're quite resilient; that fall didn't kill you."
She walked back and looked down at Kayneth from above.
Those eyes that once flashed with a Magus's arrogant light were now filled only with the cloudiness of the dying, and a clearly transmitted message:
(Save... me...)
Herta looked into this gaze.
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