(Part 1) A mysterious light screen hung suspended in the void where countless parallel worlds converged.
Soft, shifting light spilled from the massive display, broadcasting images that caused viewers across every timeline to hold their breath.
All eyes remained locked on the unfolding scene.
On the glowing screen, Artoria Santa Alter stood tall in her heavy velvet Christmas attire.
A hint of eager interest shimmered in her crimson eyes.
She turned her head toward Fujimaru Ritsuka at her side, her lips curling into a faint, mischievous arc.
Her tone was solemn, yet entirely unable to mask her anticipation.
“Finally, the day has come, Ritsuka.
Tonight will be the last, and most exciting, piece of work.” She paused, her armored fingertip lightly tapping the golden Christmas bell hanging from her waist.
Amidst the crisp chime, her demeanor gained a touch of formal gravity as she slowly stated the reason for their current trip.
“The final letter for ‘Please, Santa Claus’ comes from the homeless Miss Alter.” Artoria Santa Alter nodded slightly, raising a hand to unhurriedly adjust the thick fur-lined cape on her shoulders.
Her words were clear, carrying the distinct insight shared only between those cut from the same cloth.
“An evil Servant struggling in the abyss of curses…
in other words, one of my kind.” She leaned in slightly closer to Ritsuka.
Her voice remained steady as she detailed the requested wish, though her eyes twinkled with dry amusement.
“The desired gift is a board game to play happily with everyone.
Something akin to the Japanese game called Sugoroku, where you move your piece by rolling dice and continuously buy land on the game board.” To ensure Ritsuka fully grasped the concept, she elaborated on the rules.
Her fingers unconsciously stroked the edge of her cape, her tone drifting with a faint, sadistic interest in the mechanics of the game.
“Players squeeze the assets of others through land purchases, rent, or tolls, striving to become a billionaire.
The conditions for clearing the game vary, but most only require reaching a target amount of wealth or utterly bankrupting the other players.” Having delivered the explanation, she turned fully toward him.
The coldness that usually lingered in her gaze completely dissolved.
A genuine smile spread across her lips, tinging her crimson eyes with a rare warmth.
“The Servant who wants this kind of game is right below us.
Aren’t you excited?” She reached out and patted Ritsuka’s shoulder, her fingertips applying a heavy, deliberate pressure.
Her aura suddenly took on the sheer arrogance and defiance of an evil Santa Claus, her voice trailing off with a dangerous playfulness.
“Then let us go.
Do not forget to smile, do not forget to pray, and do not forget the sadism.” Artoria Santa Alter pulled her cape tighter against the wind.
Her presence radiated both the festive cheer of Christmas and the biting, absolute chill of an Alter.
Looking toward the mist-shrouded distance, her voice rang out with absolute fanaticism.
“As an evil Santa Claus, we must complete this final important task!” The broadcast shifted.
Inside the Holy Church of the Fourth Holy Grail War, candlelight flickered violently, casting a dim yellow glow across Kotomine Risei’s weathered face.
He stared up at the light screen in the void, deep creases forming on his forehead.
His thumb unconsciously rubbed the worn leather cover of the Bible in his hand.
“Smiling, praying…
how do these concepts align with sadism?” he muttered, his low voice heavy with deep theological confusion.
On the other side of the dimensional divide, within the timeline of the Fifth Holy Grail War, Emiya Shirou nearly dropped what he was holding.
He instinctively took a half-step forward, his face a mask of utter bewilderment.
“Wait!
What do you mean by an ‘evil Santa Claus’?” he demanded to the empty room.
He truly could not reconcile the warm, generous image of Saint Nicholas with the dark, tyrannical aura radiating from the screen.
The images on the broadcast shifted once more.
A biting cold wind swept across a darkened sky, carrying a flurry of fine snow.
Artoria Santa Alter’s sleigh descended from the clouds, cutting through the winter air.
The silver bells jingled rhythmically with the sleigh’s swaying, a series of crisp, pleasant notes that gradually faded as the wooden runners touched down against the frozen earth.
She was the first to leap off, turning back to offer a hand to Ritsuka in a swift, composed motion.
She looked toward a solitary figure standing not far away in the snow.
Her lips curled into a bold, provocative smile.
Her voice rang out, carrying a deliberate, high-profile arrogance.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.
Santa Claus arrives accompanied by the sound of magnificent bells.” Following her voice, a slender yet imposing figure slowly emerged from the winter mist.
Long silver-white hair fluttered wildly in the cold wind, and pitch-black armor glinted with a lethal coldness in the dim light.
A faint, ominous black mist swirled around her boots.
It was none other than Jeanne d’Arc Alter.
Her eyes were downcast, her posture radiating a heavy mix of impatience and detachment, as if nothing in this frozen wasteland was worth her notice.
A few lines of crisp text flashed across the light screen, vanishing in an instant, but lingering just long enough for all viewers across the multiverse to read: [Jeanne d’Arc Alter.
Current Spirit Core: Ruler.
ML Radar Assessment: Negative.] Jalter looked up.
The moment she registered who had arrived, her brow snapped tight.
Her silver-grey eyes instantly flooded with pure disgust.
She spoke almost through gritted teeth, her tone dripping with absolute loathing.
“This is awful.
Truly awful.
I never expected the worst possible woman for me to actually show up.” Fujimaru Ritsuka followed close behind, leaping down from the sleigh.
When he saw the person standing before him, his eyes widened in surprise.
“Miss Jeanne d’Arc Alter?” he called out.
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the sparse, slightly awkward Christmas decorations adorning Jalter’s dark armor.
He quickly offered a cautious smile.
“That…
that’s a really beautiful Christmas outfit.” Unexpectedly, the compliment did not soften Jalter’s expression in the slightest.
Instead, it seemed to strike a raw nerve.
She snapped her eyes up, anger surging violently in her silver-grey depths.
Her brow furrowed even tighter, and her voice rose in sharp indignation.
“Where?
How can decorations of this level be called magnificent?” She brushed a gauntleted hand over the festive ornaments, her movements full of aggressive disdain, treating them like a plague.
“These are just things the Wraiths did on their own.
They aren’t my taste at all.
If it were up to me, I would definitely arrange them in the pattern of a burning stake.” As soon as the words left her mouth, the fiery anger in her eyes abruptly vanished.
Her lips slowly curled into a playful, highly dangerous smile.
A glint of dark amusement flashed in her eyes as she took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between herself and Ritsuka.
Her tone dropped to a gentle whisper that carried a bone-chilling threat.
“Setting that aside, will you be my scarecrow, Fujimaru Ritsuka?
A scarecrow hanging up there, burning fiercely…
that sounds nice.
It really makes my blood boil.” She leaned in slightly, her gaze locked onto him like a predator.
The malice in her smile deepened.
“That way, the debt I owe you can be wiped clean.
After all, if you’re dead, there’s no need to pay anything back, right?” Back in the forest camp of the Fourth Holy Grail War, Waver Velvet watched Jalter’s aggressive display on the massive screen.
Hearing those heart-stabbing words, he shrank his neck into his collar and instinctively scrambled half a step backward.
“Uwah, she’s still so terrifying at a time like this!” Waver cried out, his face pale with fright.
Just as the words left his mouth, a massive force slammed into his back.
Iskandar, the King of Conquerors, had delivered a hearty, open-palmed strike.
The sheer physical power behind the blow sent Waver stumbling forward.
He tumbled across the dirt several times before finally managing to skid to a halt, looking utterly pathetic in the dirt.
Iskandar crossed his massive arms and raised a thick eyebrow.
His booming voice echoed through the trees, heavy with disappointment.
“Boy, you are far too cowardly!
As the Master of me, the King of Conquerors, you must never be frightened by such trivial threats!” Waver lay flat on the ground, a dull, throbbing ache radiating from his spine.
He looked up at Iskandar’s towering, mountain-like figure, his chest tight with grievance and indignation.
However, faced with his Servant’s overwhelming presence, he did not dare voice a single complaint.
He merely gritted his teeth, crawled back to his feet, and silently brushed the forest dust off his trousers.
[Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?