But the deathly silence that filled the courtyard after Steve finished speaking didn't last long.
Unsurprisingly, it was that innately proud man—Lord El-Melloi—who broke the silence first.
After recovering from the initial shock, the face of Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald once again wore the elegant, cold mask befitting a Clock Tower noble. He stepped closer to Steve and, as if appraising a student's thesis, began speaking slowly and with a condescending tone.
"What a... remarkable speech, Caster."
Kayneth's voice was steady, but betrayed a slight tremor. "Replication of magic, salvation of souls, the gateway to the Root... The blueprint you've described is enough to drive any magus mad with desire."
"But—" He suddenly sharpened his gaze, stabbing forward with the incisiveness of a scalpel. "You appear to be gravely mistaken. We are magi, seekers of truth, not fools who fall for a charlatan's nonsense!"
"And everything you just told us is based on nothing but abstract, uncertain 'possibilities'!"
"Who can guarantee that this so-called 'Jeweled Sword' won't run wild while absorbing magical energy? Who can say your so-called 'Third Magic' will act exactly upon the soul and not create some new monster instead?"
"And more than that—why should we believe you? You're an anonymous Caster, and we don't even know your true name!"
His words stabbed right at the root of doubt buried deep within the hearts of all who didn't know Steve's true identity.
Yes, Caster had performed miracles and provided a flawless solution...
But just who was he?
Once again, tension gripped the courtyard.
Iskander stopped laughing, regarding him with newfound interest.
Gilgamesh folded his arms, a broad smile forming—as if he were waiting for a magnificent show.
But faced with Kayneth's pointed interrogation, Steve's expression did not change in the slightest. He simply met Kayneth's eyes as one might a child waving a wooden sword before a giant.
"Your questions are justified, Lord El-Melloi."
His reply was measured. "The world of magi is grounded in logic and empirical proof."
"So allow me, as a fellow magus, to answer you as a magus should."
He gestured with his other hand, lightly sweeping through the air.
Instantly, countless dazzling magical models, constructed of starlight, spread out between them. Their intricacy and theoretical depth stunned even Tokiomi and Waver, magi in their own right.
"As for the risk of energy overload: the jewel sword's conversion efficiency has an error rate better than 36 decimal places—orders of magnitude more stable than your vaunted 'Volumen Hydrargyrum'."
"As for the risks of the Third Magic... I'd venture the Einzbern family has prepared for this millennium-old wish of theirs much more thoroughly than you imagine."
"With the Dress of Heaven as the ritual regalia, and myself as external insurance, the probability of success is one hundred percent."
Each of Steve's statements struck like a precisely aimed bullet, shattering Kayneth's technical concerns one after another. Kayneth's scowl deepened.
"And the last question..."
He dismissed the magical models, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to span endless time and space. "...Why am I worthy of your trust?"
Steve smiled, a look betraying the weight of history itself.
"Lord El-Melloi, your footing stands on that bedrock known as 'modern magecraft'."
"What you seek is the journey to the Root, paved millennia ago by the great sorcerer Solomon."
"You are heirs, seekers—carrying the struggles of those who came before, fighting your way forward across your lifetime."
"There's nothing wrong with any of that."
"But... Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald," he sighed, addressing him by his full name, "have you ever considered that this path might have an end?"
"The mysteries are vanishing. In one thousand years, magi may no longer exist."
"The glory and heritage you treasure will eventually fade to mere dust in history."
"What... what nonsense are you spouting?!" Kayneth cried instinctively, but his retort sounded weak.
After all, it was the consensus of all the current Lords that the closer one drew to the present, the faster the mysteries of this world faded away.
The essence of magecraft, in truth, was no different than a stage magician's trick in the real world. Both only work as long as the "trick" goes undiscovered—as long as the mystery stays hidden.
Yet as science and technology advanced ever faster, the unknown wonders of the world naturally diminished. The space in which magi could act and manipulate would only grow narrower, more suffocating.
Kayneth, though proud, was the very epitome of "morality and law" among the current twelve Lords of the Clock Tower—he could not long deceive his own heart.
With his lineage and power, it was his duty to guide all along the correct path. Such was the mission of the nobility.
And the man before him—who had seemingly placed those lofty ideals into practice—spoke nothing but the truth.
"I'm not spouting nonsense."
At this moment, Steve's voice took on an air at once remote and weightless, out of place in this age. "I'm only stating facts."
"And I have come here to change these facts."
"I ask you, Lord, what is needed when the era of mysteries draws to its close?"
He did not wait for Kayneth to answer.
"What's needed... is a guide for the new era."
"Just as King Solomon heralded the Age of Magecraft, in the far future, when magi can draw no further mysteries from this planet, someone must look to the stars."
"And in that age... a man who can unify all remaining mysteries, draw energy from the cosmos itself, and create a brand new system to return mystery to greatness—such a one will arise."
At that moment, Steve stepped forward, and the entire magical field of Ryuudou Temple resonated with his steps.
"—That is 'Cosmic Magecraft'."
Kayneth's body trembled violently. An impossible light flashed in Tokiomi's eyes.
"Magic... of the cosmos?"
"That's correct."
Steve's voice rang out like a prophecy from the throne of heroes.
"In truth, I am neither the spirit of any hero from your histories or legends."
"My legend has not yet been recorded in this age."
"Because I come... from your future. From a faraway parallel world—of the year 2077."
"And I am the founder of this brand-new foundation of the miraculous: [Cosmic Magecraft]."
Boom—!
These words struck Kayneth and Tokiomi with all the force of a thunderbolt from the heavens, piercing down to the souls of magi.
In that instant, their entire worldviews as magi had been thoroughly, mercilessly shattered.
A completely new "mystical foundation" established... what an achievement that would be!
This could not be summed up by the labels of "genius" or "the strong."
It belonged to the domain of legend—akin to, even above, King Solomon himself.
Kayneth's face drained of color in an instant. His proud station as Lord, his family's illustrious heritage and talent that let him stride through the Clock Tower's halls—all felt utterly insignificant as dust before this.
He finally understood.
Why could this Caster control the Greater Grail so easily? Reproduce legendary miracles?
It was because he himself was a living myth—a living practitioner of the Root.
To lose to him... no, even "losing" wasn't the right word.
What shame was there in accepting his kindness? In letting a "magical king of a new era" guide those "younger" ones still fumbling in the dark?
Before such an insurmountable "rank," pride was meaningless.
For the nobles who believed in "aristocratism" and valued hierarchy within the Association, kneeling before a magical king is but natural.
For a long moment.
Kayneth took a deep breath, exhaled, looked up again. The fractured mask of his face had vanished, replaced by a complicated expression—impatience, awe, and a stubborn attempt at composure all blended together.
The lemon-haired lecturer first straightened his bowtie. Then, mustering all the grace expected of a Lord, he responded.
"...If you must insist, then as a fellow seeker of truth, I will... at least, for now, accept your plan."
"But let me be clear—if anything goes wrong during the ceremony, the Archibald family will not stand by silently!"
This supremely arrogant declaration was the herald that the final resistance had completely collapsed.
Steve smiled, and nodded faintly to him.
"As you wish, Lord El-Melloi."
At this point, all potential crises were averted. Every participant at the site had reached consensus.
Steve then raised the Jeweled Sword high—enveloping all in the courtyard in a baptism of starry light, as if it were a sacred rite.
"So then—"
His voice rang out across the night sky like a bell, heralding the new age.
"The Fourth Holy Grail War—the final ritual begins now!"
…