Twilight had already fallen. As they rested in the hotel they had booked, Novia stood by the window, gazing at the city that was soon to become the stage of the Holy Grail War.
In truth, this had always been Snowfield's fate. The city itself had been built to host the Holy Grail War—sixty years of growth had turned it into a metropolis of over 800,000 souls.
When Novia first stepped foot here, he had considered attempting a Servant summoning. But for reasons unknown, no mana flowed into him…
To be precise, the mana demanded was far too great, and his first attempt failed outright.
It was then Novia understood: he could never summon anyone outside of himself. If he tried a Grail summoning, it would merely serve to hasten the recovery of his own power under the current system's rules.
As for why the Subspecies Grail War in the Seventh Labyrinth of Alcatraz had succeeded—well, that was because back then Novia had monopolized the mana reserves that should have gone to four Servants, forcing success by sheer volume.
After all, before the Incineration of Humanity, summoning an existence of excessive power had always been improbable.
The Age of Gods had ended. The Age of Man had come. Humanity's future required no godlike might, save in cases where such power threatened the balance and peace of mankind and the planet.
Take, for example, Fate/strange Fake: to prevent Choukai from erasing his own Heroic Spirit aspect "Heracles" out of revenge against the Greek gods, the world responded by manifesting the Amazon Queen Hippolyta.
In other words, Hippolyta's very role was to oppose Choukai.
Still, Novia understood well the reason for Heracles's madness.
It lay in the difference of perspective between man and god—the seed of insanity.
As seen in Fate/Extra CCC FoxTail and Case Files, the divine perspective compared to humanity's was like three dimensions compared to two. Gods saw past, present, and countless futures all at once. To meet a god was like entering a game of infinite branching routes, where the god could simply choose one path to move in harmony with you.
It was precisely this gulf of perception that had driven Heracles into madness, twisting him within the Black Mud into "Typhon," the Avenger seeking revenge upon Olympus.
Thus, even as Alcides the Avenger, deep within him remained the image of that noble, pure hero Heracles. He still pursued vengeance against the Greek gods without hesitation—even knowing that, as an Avenger, his very body in this Grail War had been forcibly warped.
Novia knew this well. He understood what the Greek gods had done. And from his perspective, Heracles seeking vengeance was… entirely natural.
Vengeance was a normal emotion. The key was not to let it consume you—lest it twist even your original wish beyond recognition.
And as one who had inherited the authority of the Roman gods, themselves born from the Greek pantheon's borrowed forms, Novia felt a responsibility. Since he had received their aid, he ought also to resolve the troubles they had left behind. After all, he too had once borne the mantle of the mighty Heracles.
To him, the lauded Heracles the hero, and Alcides who chose vengeance at any cost—were nothing more than light and shadow.
"Familiars for surveillance, is it…"
In the silver-haired youth's reflection on the windowpane, small birds glided past. Novia recognized them. Ever since they had entered Snowfield, there had been no avoiding the familiars and hybrid magecraft-science surveillance deployed by Fadius, one of the masterminds behind the false Grail War. To counter it, Novia had used Runes to cloak his group from detection.
At that moment, Melusine was clinging shamelessly to him, ignoring the murderous look Manaka Sajo was giving her from the side.
Typhon sat awkwardly on the bed, wanting to say something but too shy to voice it.
All in all, the atmosphere was… harmonious enough.
"Novia, there's no need to summon anyone. After all, you've already got me—the strongest."
Melusine's words were not wrong. Even in today's world where mystery was nearly gone, her power was far beyond what ordinary Servants or magi could contend with.
But the real reason she said it was because Novia intended to summon Nero. And for the mightiest of dragons, the Roman Emperor was a target of extreme vigilance. To her, Nero was far more troublesome than small fry like Typhon or Manaka.
If Nero really arrived, Melusine might no longer get to sleep beside Novia every night. After all, among them, that woman had the largest chest.
"I'm strong too! Very strong! Absolutely no problem!"
Typhon raised her hand energetically, insisting on her own strength, boasting she could summon her machine-body at any time.
"I-I'm strong too… more or less… yeah, pretty strong…"
Compared to the two primordial dragonkin, Manaka Sajo was rather lacking in confidence.
At their responses, Novia couldn't help but laugh softly.
"It's fine. Let's wait until nightfall. It won't be long."
If all went as expected, the Holy Grail War had already begun. The six Servants of the false Grail War were all in play.
Thanks to the Runes, not even the first clash of Gilgamesh and Enkidu would affect them here.
Still, even knowing that, Melusine and Typhon likely wouldn't care much.
Novia understood: come nightfall, when that blonde Ayaka formally encountered the war's sole Saber—Richard the Lionheart—the True Holy Grail War would begin. Then, perhaps, he could attempt Nero's summoning.
But as the hours passed, Novia, waiting patiently for Richard's televised debut after accidentally destroying the opera house, saw instead a wholly unexpected figure.
On the local Snowfield cable news, a reporter stood in front of an opera house that had not been destroyed at all, but instead glowed with a brilliant, multicolored radiance.
And beside the reporter stood a man, black-haired streaked with white, dressed as though in cosplay.
"What a lively place! It reminds me of the old camps. Wonderful! Though… this appearance of mine—could it be because of my sister and brother-in-law?"
Any magus watching would have doubted their own senses, wondering if they were caught in some illusion cast by an unknown rival.
The more one knew of the Grail Wars, the stronger that suspicion would be.
For no matter what, even on a small local channel, the live broadcast clearly showed the form of a genuine Heroic Spirit.
"Ahaha! My apologies, everyone! Seems we've got something of an emergency here. Allow me to show you all the spectacle of legend—no, the form of a true hero!"
The man's voice seemed to vibrate in the skull, its meaning pouring straight into the hearts of those who heard.
Who was this man? Which Servant? Countless viewers, countless magi, would be asking the same.
But Novia knew well that this was not Richard the Lionheart.
It was the forefather of Western Europe—Charles the Great.
Or, as history named him: Charlemagne.
---
Meanwhile, in a certain home in Tokyo, a red-haired high school senior scrolled through a short clip that had shot to the top of the video sites in mere minutes.
Staring at Charlemagne in the video, she felt a flicker of confusion. Somehow, she thought—if this man were female, he might even resemble her.
But she quickly set the thought aside. Graduation was approaching, and she still hadn't decided whether to go straight into work or pursue university.
On such matters—matters that determined the course of one's life—the red-haired girl remained undecided.