Britain, London.
The vast majority of people in the world do not know that behind this modern international metropolis, there is an unknown side.
Mage’s Association.
Built upon the Tomb of Albion, with the tenet of “passing down magecraft as knowledge”, it is an institution jointly established by magicians in this era.
In other words, it’s a place for modern magicians to huddle together for warmth.
Unlike Japan, which is in the middle of the night, London is just reaching the afternoon at this moment.
The high-hanging sun pierced through the clouds, bringing a bit of warmth to the cold city.
Inside the building named Clock Tower, in a retro-decorated office.
A man with long black hair sat behind the office desk, leaning his body against the back of the chair, with a cigar in his mouth, exhaling smoke.
Exhaling a puff of white air with excessive nicotine, Waver raised his right hand and placed it in front of his eyes.
On the slightly frail back of his hand, three crimson carvings formed the shape of wings.
Command Seals.
It is the passport to the ritual called the Holy Grail War.
A bitter smile played on the corners of his mouth.
Even though he had voluntarily given up his eligibility to participate not long ago, he hadn’t expected the Holy Grail to seek him out on its own.
Did that mean, deep down, he hadn’t actually given up?
Was he happy?
Without a doubt, after all, this had always been his wish.
Was he afraid?
The brutality of the previous Holy Grail War was still vivid in his mind; even though he had experienced so much more compared to ten years ago, he still couldn’t guarantee a safe return.
Then, should he go?
To give up his current life, to give up the responsibilities on his shoulders, to give up everything he had achieved in the past—to survive that brutal battle, he had to possess that kind of resolve.
Taking a deep drag from his cigar, exhaling, taking another deep drag, exhaling, he repeated the action.
Gray, Flat, Lucian, Caules, the El-Melloi Classroom, and barely adding Reines and Melvin.
Before he knew it, he had formed so many bonds in this world.
If he went to participate in the Holy Grail War, he might have to give up everything he had gained.
If it were his past self, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated like this at all.
Waver smiled bitterly.
Only when there was barely anything left of his cigar did he stub it out in the ashtray, which was already crammed full of cigarette butts.
Looking once again at the Command Spells on the back of his hand, Waver made up his mind.
Taking a sheet of letter paper from the drawer and placing it on the desk, Waver Velvet gripped his fountain pen tightly and began to write the first testament of his life.
Fuyuki, Ryuudou Temple.
Thanks to the shallow magical knowledge in the giant’s memories, Surtr at least didn’t have to worry about how to trespass.
She brought Medea straight to Ryuudou Temple and used a single Suggestion spell to make the monks let the two obviously suspicious-looking figures inside.
Although there were many restrictions on using magecraft, it was still extremely effective against ordinary people.
Meanwhile, inside the guest room.
Surtr handed a cup of hot water to the black-hooded figure in front of her.
The short walk over had been enough for her to convey her request to the other party; now, all that was missing was their reply.
Medea huddled in the corner of the room, her expression hidden beneath her hood.
Too much had happened today, and to be honest, she still hadn’t fully processed it all.
First she was summoned, then betrayed, and then betrayed again.
After turning the tables on her Master, she was hunted down by Lancer, only to be saved by someone just as she was on the verge of death.
In just one short day, the constant ups and downs had left Medea thoroughly exhausted.
But now, she was forced to face another choice.
Should she just return to the Throne of Heroes, or sign a contract with Surtr, whose appearance and name were both highly questionable?
Did she want to live?
Of course she did; only by living on would there be hope.
However, the Witch who had just experienced a backstab was now suffering from a bit of PTSD regarding such matters.
After a long silence, she took the cup and suddenly spoke.
“My name is Medea, Medea the ‘Witch of Betrayal’.”
Surtr was puzzled, not understanding why the other party was suddenly introducing herself.
“Right, and?”
she asked in return.
“…”
Seemingly not getting the reaction she expected, Medea continued.
“The reason I ended up like this is because I betrayed my Master. I used magecraft to burn him to ashes, leaving not even a corpse behind. Even so, do you still want to sign a contract with me?”
Her words carried a tone of self-abandonment.
Surtr felt a gaze coming from beneath the black robe, staring intently at her face, as if trying to judge whether she was lying.
To be honest, she hadn’t thought about this issue at all, since she had already known the other party’s True Name long ago.
And the other party’s previous Master, that Middle Eastern oil baron, was also a piece of trash who experimented on children—the kind of guy who deserved to be killed a hundred times over, whose death was not to be regretted.
Medea’s action of letting the children go had also won Surtr’s favor.
She didn’t deny that the other party was a bit crazy; after all, chopping up one’s own younger brother and throwing him into the sea wasn’t something a normal person would do.
But overall, she was still in the Lawful Good alignment.
Furthermore, her beautiful appearance was a major plus in Surtr’s book.
Perhaps that last point was the key?
In any case, her answer wouldn’t change.
“Of course.”
Surtr didn’t hesitate for a second.
“Every betrayal has a reason, and I believe you won’t have any reason to betray me.”
Rather than saying she trusted Medea, it was more of Surtr’s confidence in herself.
What was this, narcissism?
Medea gained a new understanding of the woman before her.
But it didn’t feel bad.
Even though they had known each other for less than an hour, the impression Surtr left on Medea was highly positive.
The other party was her savior, had accepted her identity as a witch, and her looks perfectly matched her aesthetic preferences.
Even considering the upcoming Holy Grail War, a Master with the strength of a Servant greatly increased their chances of winning.
There was absolutely no reason to refuse.
This woman was damn sweet.
Perhaps trusting her just this once wouldn’t hurt.
Medea drank the hot water in her cup.
“From now on, you are my Master.”
Her words were imbued with magical energy.
As her voice fell, Surtr felt something trying to establish a connection with her.
She did not resist.
She allowed the other party to link with her soul.
The moment the contract was established, a flame pattern composed of three red lines was branded onto the back of her hand.
“The contract is sealed.”
With this, Surtr had officially entered the Holy Grail War.
And right across from her,
Surtr’s scalding magical energy flowed into Medea’s body through the contract.
Like sweet rain after a long drought, a visible flush returned to her originally pale face, and the comfortable sensation of being filled up made her let out a soft hum.
It wasn’t until she noticed Surtr’s strange look that she snapped back to normal, coughing lightly into her hand to mask her embarrassment.
“Since your injuries haven’t healed yet, go get some rest first. We can talk about everything else tomorrow.”
It was impossible to digest such a massive amount of magical energy all at once; she still needed a good rest to recover.
At the same time, the system’s notification rang in her mind.
“[Quest completed. Primogems × 300. Current Primogems: 300. System Shop unlocked.]”