Kariya knew that this line of thinking was wrong — that it would only drive the world into an irretrievable disaster. Yet, in such dire circumstances, the thought had taken root in his heart like a buried seed. Once it sprouted, it would be almost impossible to uproot. From time to time, it surfaced, tickling at the edge of his consciousness, threatening to consume him.
If his spirit faltered, if he slipped into a trance or leaned too far toward extremity, that seed would grow into a towering tree — and by then, it would be far too late.
Kariya admitted he was a man of extremes, even selfish in his way. His entire being was devoted to his white moonlight and the two girls born from her. Perhaps because his life was nearing its end, he could see himself more clearly than ever. Yet even if given another chance to start over, he would make the same choice again.
His white moonlight must never enter the Matou family. Her family would never allow someone with such a strong maternal potential to be trapped there. After leaving the Matou household, he and his white moonlight had always been like two parallel lines — destined to intersect briefly, only to stagger apart once more.
At this thought, a faint, disappointed smile touched Kariya's lips. He turned his gaze to the Einzbern woman beside him.
"Hey… doll of the Einzbern family. I don't know when your end will come, but I know mine will be sooner. If I start to lose myself — if I show signs of paranoia, or if this body fails suddenly…"
Kariya drew a deep breath, his single remaining eye hardening with grim resolve.
"Then cut off my arm. Transfer the Command Spells to one of you. The Berserker cannot leave before this battle ends anyway, can he?"
No sooner had he spoken than the crest worms inside him rioted again, tearing through his insides. Blood spilled from his mouth, his aura weakening further. Even with Merlin's treasure sustaining him with its faint healing effect, it was nothing more than a bandage on a failing body. No magic could replenish a life already spent.
"Mr. Matou!"
Irisviel rushed to his side, steadying him with one hand while the other wove healing magic over his failing body. But as before, the spells could only mend the surface wounds. They could not restore the vitality already stripped away by time and corruption.
Kariya felt the cold creep through his body, his teeth grinding as he clutched at Irisviel's arm. She nodded silently, her expression resolute. Whatever happened, she would ensure the Berserker was never consumed by the Holy Grail.
She found a measure of relief in one small mercy: more than half a century had passed since the last Grail War. The Heroic Spirits consumed then should have long dissolved into pure magical energy. The Grail lacked the strength to reconstruct them into vessels for the world's evil. If not for that, what they now faced would have been nothing short of an apocalypse.
The distant, guttural roar of a motorcycle engine broke through the din of battle, reaching even their ears. It was faint but unmistakable.
"Ally!"
Kiritsugu's voice rang out. He spotted Irisviel across the battlefield, drew a sharp breath, and turned his gun toward a charging assassin puppet. To ensure the damage was fatal, he had even loaded one of his Origin Bullets — forged from his own ribs. The gunshot cracked through the night, and the black mud puppet jerked violently before collapsing backward.
His expression remained cold, detached. Were he a younger man, he might have passed for a striking assassin himself. Even now, there lingered an edge of rugged handsomeness, though time had dulled it.
Not that his wife minded. And truly, no one else had the right to interfere in the affairs of husband and wife.
"Kiritsugu!"
Seeing him, Irisviel's face softened, her tension easing at last. With him here, she felt as though her spine had been restored. No matter how dire the circumstances, having someone to lean on was a blessing.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Kiritsugu's face as he lifted the white, gold-inlaid suitcase in his hand. Irisviel recognized it instantly. She had packed its contents herself. The Dress of Heaven. With it, she could unleash a great magic powerful enough to alter the tide of battle.
But to use it, she needed to be closer to the Grail. And that was impossible right now.
Kiritsugu's gaze shifted toward Aslan — the man wielding the black-and-gold holy sword alongside Melusine, struggling against the massive half-titan. Shock ran through him as realization struck: this was no Heroic Spirit. This was no summon. The man before him was real, living flesh.
As a Master of the three great families, he could tell the difference. The words of the Servant Artoria — the knight he had once summoned — echoed in his memory:
"If it were your true self, perhaps you could resolve this. Irisviel is destined to return to the Grail. Whether you meet him, and whether you earn his aid, depends on fate."
Kiritsugu's eyes widened. The man before him matched the legends exactly. But how could he gain the aid of such a figure?
If Aslan had known what Kiritsugu was thinking, he would have relinquished all claim to the Grail without hesitation. For Irisviel's sake — for her wish — he would have Merlin cast an illusion and forced Kiritsugu to confront the truth of his choices. For in his heart, Irisviel could never be replaced.
Meanwhile, Irisviel prepared herself. The silver threads of the Heavenly Dress spun from her fingertips, weaving into a shimmering curtain that enveloped her. When the curtain fell away, she stood transformed, clad in radiant silver. Holiness emanated from her as she opened her eyes anew.
-End Chapter-
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