What kind of future do you wish for humanity?
Perhaps everyone has their own answer.
Amakusa preached the salvation of humanity. Saving one person would bring suffering to another—this was the law of the world. No matter what kind of hero one was, they should fight with full understanding of this merciless rule. Yet Amakusa rejected it, advancing without hesitation toward the utopia he envisioned.
It was an ideal all saints had once dreamed of, the only poison capable of tempting a saint.
As for Shakespeare, the great literary genius who aided tyranny, he pursued "amusement" with unwavering determination. He did not serve the future of humanity. Even if his name was praised and elevated to the ranks of heroes, he remained a servant of stories. He would abandon everything out of boredom, yet pledge loyalty to anyone for the sake of "amusement."
Thus, even if allowing the story to unfold would destroy the world's civilization, he would eagerly embrace it.
But what if a modifier were added to the question? What kind of future do you wish for the humanity of this world?
Now it was Sakatsuki's turn to answer, and his response was—indifference.
To the traveler who had arrived here blessed by the Beast, the fate of this world was simple: it would become another entry in his experimental data. This data needed to be detailed, precise, and valuable enough. As for what would become of the experimental subjects—whether they lived or died, prospered or suffered—
Which experimenter would care how many lab mice they had sacrificed?
At this thought, Jeanne d'Arc couldn't help but cover her face with her hands. As she tried to continue pondering, the unease in her heart grew stronger.
For the saints, the most fatal aspect of Sakatsuki's actions was this—he did not reject Amakusa's plan for salvation.
Just as the young man had told Amakusa when seeking an alliance, all he sought was data on humanity's salvation. In other words, his essence was that of a recorder, not a destroyer. Even if he abandoned his actions, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada would still reach for the Holy Grail to verify the culmination of his sixty years of contemplation.
Even if Shakespeare openly expressed skepticism, and Sakatsuki frankly admitted the plan would fail and lead to humanity's destruction, the saint of the Far East would never agree to give up. He carried the resentment of thirty-six thousand souls, bore the weight of all the world's evils, and would never be swayed by mere words.
It could be said that the alliance had already diverged at this moment. The Black Faction would never allow the Holy Grail to be used for humanity's salvation, while the Red Faction merely sought to clear the obstacles on the path to the Third Magic. For now, the group was only held together by the necessity of uniting against the threat posed by Sakatsuki.
Traveler who does not belong here, return to where you came from. The lives on this planet are not mere actors in your play.
This was the reason for the cooperation between the Black and Red Factions. Yet even as they stood united against a common enemy, Jeanne couldn't help but ponder another question.
Using the Holy Grail to achieve humanity's Third Magic—what a groundbreaking method it was. If it was the wrong path, she would stop it at all costs.
But what if his methods were correct...
"What should I do then?"
With hands clasped together, Jeanne d'Arc unconsciously recited prayers. The wish of the saint cried out in anguish, yet another emotion coiled around her heart, steadily eroding her will to fight—forbidding her from raising her holy banner against that young man so easily.
Was it belief? Belief that the young man's nature wasn't inherently evil, that even as this world slid toward the abyss, he wouldn't stand idly by—even when the ugly truth lay bare before her.
Or was this emotion something baseless, unreasonable—
A shadow fell. Jeanne instinctively opened her eyes to see the beautiful huntress standing rigidly before her, expressionless.
"I have something to say to you, Ruler."
————
The sky gradually turned orange, the sunset truly beautiful—
Siegfried found himself marveling at it once more.
That warm glow existed only briefly, from sunset until nightfall. The dragonslayer squinted at the evening sky, barely resisting the temptation to keep gazing at it forever.
As his thoughts drifted, the twilight faded. Warmth left his body as the cold embrace of death enveloped him like a lover, crimson spider lilies blooming beside his dying form.
He had lost.
This was the undeniable truth. The Dragonslayer of the Netherlands, bathed in dragon's blood, had fought across lands, his fame spreading far and wide—along with his weakness.
When he bathed in the dragon's blood, a linden leaf had stuck to his back, leaving that spot vulnerable—the only chink in his otherwise impenetrable armor.
Especially when caught by those rainbow-blue eyes. The Mystic Eyes of Death Perception would never overlook such a flaw.
For Siegfried, facing Sakatsuki—summoned as an Assassin—was the worst possible matchup. With the protection of the Third Magic, Sakatsuki could afford countless mistakes. But Siegfried... he couldn't afford even one.
Because to err meant death.
The spider lilies bloomed brilliantly, only to be trampled underfoot as the young man waded upstream through the crimson creek. Sakatsuki knelt on one knee before the barely breathing man, his own grievous wounds slowly healing.
"You knew the outcome from the start."
"Yeah." Siegfried admitted, blood trickling from his lips even as he smiled, his gaze pure.
"I still don't understand why," Sakatsuki said. "If it were me, rather than dying in obscurity, I'd bide my time to strike the fatal blow in tonight's decisive battle."
"Ha..." A faint laugh escaped Siegfried's throat. He seemed to shake his head. "Is it me who must win now? The Yggdmillennia? Or you, representing the Blue Faction?"
The dragonslayer's mighty body began dissolving into golden motes—his time to depart had come. "No, none of that."
"What must triumph now is the justice I uphold—my path as a hero."
"Am I wrong, Heroic Spirit Sakatsuki?"
Hearing Siegfried's address, Sakatsuki stiffened slightly, lifting his head as if stung before closing his eyes.
He had been called many things until now—Assassin, teacher, traveler from another world... but never once had anyone addressed him as a 'Heroic Spirit.'
Even he himself felt that he was merely an uninvited guest who had forcibly barged onto the stage, causing chaos and disorder, utterly unworthy of the title of Heroic Spirit.
Yet this hero was willing to share the same name with him, choosing self-sacrifice between loyalty and justice. Her purity and nobility, like a golden star, illuminated the young man's eyes.
The radiance of the hero soared into the heavens, and the hand of fate sighed as it plucked the strings of the harp. The man who should have died was reborn here, only for his fleeting life to be reclaimed by the youth who had granted it to him.
What had he taken away? And what had he left behind?
Perhaps the smile before his departure held the answer. For a warrior, words would always be pale—one's will, spirit, and character had long been entrusted to his spear, to his sword.
Moonlight spilled like molten silver, flowing over the slender streets, the sunken ridges, and the silent stars. A desolate hymn rose with the sound of the harp. The young man who had been gazing at the solitary moon trembled slightly before finally lowering his head, looking at the two relics lying quietly on the grass.
One was a sword, its hilt engraved with a black sacred cross, its blade thin and sharp. The sheath was formed from the petrified feather quill of the World Tree's leaves, its veins branded with patterns that intertwined with the demonic sword flowing with glory and ruin.
Beyond the legendary sword that could drive countless men to madness, Sakatsuki's gaze fell upon the pool of dragon's blood—and the object still pulsating vigorously within it, its color an unbelievable crimson.
It was a heart. The source of the dragon's power. The dragon's curse borne by the dragon slayer after vanquishing the evil wyrm.
Cradling it in both hands, the young man's expression had never been so solemn. He pressed his lips to the heart and swallowed it whole.
Dreamlike and grotesque, yet devoid of any madness.
As twilight faded, the clouds scattered at the horizon, and the poppies withered, the black-robed reaper reclaimed his true power.
There was no sensation of flesh—the dragon's heart dissolved into a warm current the moment it entered his mouth, dispersing into his limbs and bones. The familiar scorching heat and pain assailed him, yet the assassin's expression remained unchanged as he quietly absorbed this gift.
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The heartbeat pounded like war drums. Even just watching the young man seated in the pool of blood, one could sense a terrifying power slowly awakening.
The storm welcomed the goddess of the end. Leaves scattered, trees toppled, and Artoria Alter in black armor appeared in the forest as if she had always been there. She watched Sakatsuki undergoing his metamorphosis, gently pressing a hand to her chest, feeling the same rhythm of tremors.
After a long while, the corners of the Wild Hunt King's lips curled upward. Without turning her head, she turned and walked away.
"Let's go, Llamrei."
The spectral skeletal warhorse neighed, as if puzzled. The cold and beautiful king did not look back, her words carried by the night wind.
"Of course, to prepare for the annihilation of the traitor."
"The final hour is approaching."