The silence seemed even the wind itself had frozen.
Saber's single tear acted as a key—opening new possibilities, and making the present moment even more delicate.
Irisviel supported her dazed Servant, her beautiful face etched with worry and confusion.
Her ruby-like eyes flickered between Steve, Saber, and the mysterious youth, searching desperately for answers.
Seeing the gentle-hearted Irisviel—so openly worried for her knight—Steve couldn't help but feel sympathy.
He stepped forward, breaking the silence.
"Lady Irisviel,
I completely understand your present feelings."
"If you wish, I could allow that simple image spell to explain everything right here and now—"
Upon hearing this, hope flickered in Irisviel's eyes.
But Steve's gaze lifted almost imperceptibly to a window high up the castle.
"...But your husband, Emiya Kiritsugu, is, shall we say... prone to 'nervousness.'
A face-to-face mental contact like this, even for the sake of candor, might well be misunderstood as a threat, prompting a fatal overreaction that ends any chance of negotiation."
Steve's words doused Irisviel's longing in a bucket of cold water, but also brought her clarity.
Knowing Kiritsugu's temperament, he was surely watching everything closely through a sniper scope, somewhere out of sight.
A rash move—even with the best intentions—could provoke his ruthless response.
"Therefore," Steve concluded with a gentle smile, "to avoid such tragedy, may we come inside the castle—where all sides can lay down arms and talk in peace?"
It was an offer that could not be refused.
By couching his objective—entry into the castle—as a move for safety, he covered his strategy with perfect decorum.
Irisviel hesitated, feeling something wasn't quite right, yet driven by her deep desire for truth.
At last, she turned to the only person she could trust to judge: Saber.
Having finally regained her composure, Saber faced Irisviel's look and nodded with the utmost conviction.
"Irisviel, trust me.
They… especially that child, are no enemies."
Such an endorsement, from the King of Britain herself, carried unimaginable weight for Irisviel and finally tipped the scales.
"...Very well."
With a breath, she faced Steve and gave a graceful aristocratic bow.
"Caster, please follow me."
"Lady Einzbern, thank you. We accept."
The heavy iron gates to the hunting ground creaked open in genuine welcome.
Led by Irisviel, the two heroes passed through the splendid courtyard, entering the cold interior.
Every detail inside reflected the storied traditions of an ancient mage family, but young Red Archer ignored it entirely, trailing silently behind Steve like a shadow.
In the empty corridors, his small figure looked terribly lonely.
It was as though he walked not on marble, but on the scattered memories of a life that would never return.
At last, they were brought to a spacious parlor—warm fireplace, soft couches, fragrant tea. Everything was the very opposite of the deadly woods outside.
"Please rest here a while."
With that, Irisviel and Saber excused themselves, closing the heavy wooden doors between the guests and the world.
Elsewhere in the castle, an intense internal struggle for the Saber team's fate was about to begin.
Waiting always seems to stretch time unnaturally.
Steve sat comfortably, sipping Einzbern tea like an old friend visiting.
But young Red Archer had neither time nor motivation for such things.
He paced restlessly, glancing from window to door, mind full of worries and pain.
Steve left him be, knowing some wounds could not be soothed except by facing them alone.
Second by second, time ticked by.
From deep within the castle, heated, muffled debate could be faintly heard; above, sharp pulses of magecraft several times flared and were forcibly suppressed by the king's equal power.
It was clear—things were not going smoothly.
That near hour of suspended, anxious waiting ended as, finally, a heavy wooden door creaked open.
Irisviel's face still bore traces of tears, yet she now looked resolute.
Behind her came Saber, armor shed for an elegant black suit, standing silently, supportively behind Irisviel.
And then, rising from the depths, came a ghostly man in a black trench coat, exuding the scent of gunpowder, smoke, and death.
Hair disarrayed, face gaunt, but most striking were his eyes—the eyes of one who had seen all the world's ugliness and tragedy, emptied of all but exhaustion.
Emiya Kiritsugu.
The true Master of the Saber team, once called "Magus Killer," finally emerged from hiding.
The man ignored Steve, fixing his hollow yet sharp gaze upon the weakest, most inconspicuous figure in the room—the youth-like Archer.
That gaze—filled with scrutiny, doubt, confusion, and… the unacknowledged trace of a connection buried in his own soul.
With Kiritsugu's appearance, the air in the parlor thickened, as though even the light were consumed by his despair.
At last, the Magus Killer spoke, a voice rasping as though iron scraped iron—each word cold and hard.
"Irisviel and Saber both believe you.
But I only believe what I see with my own eyes.
Tell me, Caster.
Who exactly are you?
What is your real purpose here?"
...