A slick, blond man lounged in his comfortable seat, gazing at the beautiful woman standing nearby.
Atrum Galiasta, from a rising magus family in the Middle East, aimed to secure a prominent position for his lineage within the Clock Tower. As the new heir, he had spent a fortune to secure participation in the Fifth Holy Grail War.
Winning this war would gild his family's history, earning them a respected place in the Clock Tower!
That was his goal. To that end, he had spared no expense, purchasing a building in Fuyuki City and transforming it into his personal fortress.
"My family is still new to the Mage's Association. I'm staking my reputation on this Holy Grail War. Unlike that half-hearted El-Melloi who treated it like a game, I'm here to win. The investment's on a whole different level," Atrum Galiasta said from his sofa, casually draping an arm around the beautiful woman beside him, sharing his ambitions with the Servant he had summoned.
She was Medea, the infamous betraying witch from the distant era of Greek mythology.
Even facing a legendary figure, Atrum showed no restraint or fear, carrying himself with the arrogance of a wealthy noble.
Like a seasoned middle-aged man, he asked, "Do you think money can buy titles and glory?"
Though he appeared only twenty-five, Atrum's words carried an odd, weathered gravitas.
Or perhaps a comical sort of gravitas... someone young pretending to be world-weary.
Medea listened without mocking him, responding earnestly, "No. Anything you can use, regardless of its value, is your strength. If materials are your weapon, there must be strategies to match."
Atrum scoffed, waving the cigar in his hand. "Don't get it wrong. As a magus, I've prepared to crush the other Masters. Follow me... I'll show you something."
He stood, leading Medea to another area.
As the elevator ascended, they arrived at a sealed-off section. When the doors opened, the scene inside made Medea's expression shift slightly.
A massive machine stood within, connected by tubes to surrounding transparent glass containers. The tubes converged at a central structure resembling a control console.
That alone wasn't much, but what unsettled Medea was the sight within the glass containers... children, curled up, unconscious!
There were six of them in total!
Medea immediately understood what this place was. Frowning, she asked, "This is a refinement workshop?"
"My family's magecraft system generates magical energy through sacrifices, using the most primal form of curses. This workshop, however, uses a more modern, efficient system. Let me show you."
As Medea watched, puzzled, one of Atrum's female subordinates, at his signal, tapped a tablet. Liquid began rising in the containers, about to engulf the children.
Once covered, they would be refined into pure magical energy!
Medea's frown deepened. She turned and said, "Can you stop this? There's no need for such a method to gather magical energy."
But Atrum clearly had no intention of heeding his Servant. He didn't order a stop, and his subordinates continued. The machine moved swiftly, and in an instant, the children were reduced to crimson blood, leaving no trace, flowing through the tubes to the central area.
In that moment, with the hum of electricity, the magecraft activated. A small, transparent crystal appeared on the central platform.
It was a pure magical energy crystal, dense and immensely valuable.
"Strange, isn't it? In legend, didn't you kill your own children without hesitation? Why care about these ones?" Atrum remarked, proudly explaining the machine. "Fresh materials are always best. What used to take a month to refine now takes mere moments."
He grew more boastful, pointing to the distance where numerous children hung, all unconscious, clearly in a coma.
"No need to worry about materials either. These aren't from Fuyuki... they're top-quality imports from elsewhere."
"Oh, how surprising," Medea said suddenly, her voice dripping with irony. "So that's how I'm described in legend? The betraying witch."
Her words caught Atrum off guard. He looked at her, confused. "Don't you know what you did?"
"Jason? That golden-haired pretty boy? I did know him, and I even joined the Argo's adventure. But the story you've recorded is completely different.
"He was a smooth-talking blond, sure, but compared to you, my Master, he was far less repulsive. You could even call him charming."
Her mocking words stung. Medea lightly raised her hand, touching the platform that had just used six children's lives to create a walnut-sized magical crystal. With a faint tap, a brilliant light erupted, and a massive crystal... roughly the size of a soccer ball... materialized atop it!
Atrum's face twisted in shock. "What just happened?! How did you create magical energy from nothing?!"
"Nothing? Oh, to you modern magi, it might seem that way. Your techniques for generating magical energy are still a step... no, a dimension... behind."
"And the chanting? I designed this workshop to cut chanting time to just three days and nights!"
Medea's mockery deepened. "I don't need chants. For me, magecraft is merely issuing a command."
She glanced around. "What you're doing here is despicable. As your contracted Servant, I ask you to stop using this workshop and release these people."
"No, I really don't understand Servants at all," Atrum said with a self-deprecating laugh. He smirked at Medea, raising his right hand, where the Command Spells glowed red.
"By the power of my Command Spell, I order you not to use your Noble Phantasm against me!"
His voice, now devoid of amusement and brimming with hostility, activated the spell. One of his three Command Spells vanished, and an overwhelming force bound Medea, preventing her from directly harming him with her Noble Phantasm.
Medea stared at him, stunned, as if she hadn't anticipated this. Atrum, grinning, stepped forward and swung his fist.
"Getting ambushed by the betraying witch would be quite the blunder!"
As he swung, he continued to taunt her.
He wanted her to understand that he was the Master, and no matter how legendary she was, she was nothing more than a dog to him.
But his fist was stopped, as if blocked by something, unable to affect the woman before him.
He felt his hand strike something solid, the full force of his punch rebounding with no reduction, twisting his face in pain.
The pain was excruciating, like punching a steel plate!
"You call me the betraying witch, yet you're the one breaking our pact first, my Master," Medea mocked, her hood falling to reveal her beautiful face. Her lips curved slightly, her gaze like that of someone watching a clown.
"And don't you know a magus should always have their territory prepared? Otherwise, I might've taken that punch to the face."
Her words pierced Atrum's pride like a blade.
"Though it doesn't match my own experience, this legend does offer some conveniences," Medea said, a strange, lightning-shaped dagger appearing in her hand.
She raised it, facing Atrum.
"You can't attack me! That's the Command Spell's order!"
But Medea acted without hesitation. The dagger didn't strike Atrum... instead, under his baffled gaze, she plunged it into her own body!
"Are you insane?!" Atrum laughed loudly, as if watching a fool. "If you want to die, I'll grant your wish! End yourself, Medea!"
The Command Spell took effect, its red glow fading, but Medea merely smirked at him. She touched her wound, and the bleeding area began to heal.
This change sent a jolt of fear through Atrum.
"What's going on?! Why isn't the Command Spell working?!"
He shouted, raising his arm again to repeat the command!
Then, a flash of cold light!
A wave of searing pain surged through him, overwhelming his mind and halting his thoughts!
***
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