The light screen flickered, projecting the chaotic aftermath of the game.
Fujimaru Ritsuka stepped forward, his boots crunching over the scattered wreckage littering the floor.
He cast a helpless glance at the ruined board, letting out a long breath.
“You can’t just flip the board because you’re losing…” Jalter’s head snapped toward him.
Her golden eyes narrowed into a fierce glare, her chin tilting up in an arrogant display of defiance.
“You are entirely too rude!
I am a perfectly fair player, thank you very much!” She crossed her arms, the leather of her gauntlets creaking.
“Besides, you have a lot of nerve calling me out in this situation!
It is now Jeanne’s Rule Number Three, and I am exercising my absolute right to ‘do any three things Jeanne wants, no matter what’!” Santa Alter pressed two fingers against her forehead, exhaling a slow, frosty sigh.
A sharp glint of fighting spirit pierced through her dull golden eyes.
“Is there truly nothing left to say?
It seems we have no choice but to settle this with our fists.” A vicious thrill ignited in Jalter’s expression.
She threw her hand out, and the dark flames swirling around her boots roared to life, licking at the edges of her cape.
“Exactly what I wanted!
Pierres, get ready!
Shouldn’t I be allowed to vent my anger every once in a while?” Her icy gaze swept over the trembling phantom bishops huddled in the corner.
A cruel, jagged smile stretched across her lips.
“Give them a thorough lesson.
Be as careful and stubborn as you were during that wretched trial you put me through when you were alive!” Outside the broadcast, Fujimaru Ritsuka raised an eyebrow.
He took a step toward the real Jalter, tilting his head.
“Wait a minute, Alter.
Don’t you lack the actual memories of Jeanne’s life?” Jalter’s pale cheeks instantly flared red.
She whipped around, her golden eyes darting away from his gaze as she stammered out a harsh retort.
“Mind your own business, you idiot!
So what if I haven’t experienced it firsthand?
Hasn’t that idiot country bumpkin experienced it?
Is there a problem with me tormenting him to blow off some steam?!” Ritsuka immediately raised his hands in surrender, waving them back and forth.
“Of course not.
Torment away.” “Hmph.
Good.” Jalter turned her face away, her nose in the air.
The genuine hostility had melted away into a flustered pout.
Back on the screen, Santa Alter observed Jalter’s awkward posturing.
One pale eyebrow arched in dry scrutiny.
“Hmph…
I’ve been wondering about this for a while now.
Have you completely forgotten your conduct as a holy maiden?” Jalter let out a breathy, mocking chuckle, twirling a stray lock of ashen hair around her finger.
She leaned her weight onto one leg, projecting a lazy arrogance, though a flicker of embarrassment betrayed her in her golden eyes.
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.
This is merely a temporary adjustment.
Speaking to you with noble grace would only confuse you, wouldn’t it?
Don’t you get it?
Because you are so utterly pitiful, I am lowering myself to cooperate with you.
This way, a vulgar, crude woman like you can actually understand what I’m saying!” A spark of dry amusement danced in Santa Alter’s eyes.
She allowed a heavy, deliberate pause before speaking, her voice dripping with deadpan sarcasm.
“That must be exhausting for you.
Thank you so much for your deep consideration.
Even I can see how anxious you are.
I was trying incredibly hard to sink to your level just now, constantly biting my lip to keep from laughing.” Ritsuka stood caught between the two ash-haired variants, watching the bizarrely synchronized rhythm of their bickering.
A soft chuckle escaped his throat.
“In other words, the two Miss Alters actually get along quite well, don’t you?” Both Jalter and Santa Alter snapped their heads toward him in perfect unison.
Faint blushes dusted their cheeks as they barked out simultaneously: “You talk too much!” The projection shifted, light and shadow violently intertwining.
The heavy clang of steel ringing against steel echoed through the room, accompanied by the explosive collision of dark hellfire and brilliant holy light.
After a chaotic, kinetic skirmish, the dust settled.
Jalter raised the back of her gauntlet, casually wiping a smudge of soot from the corner of her mouth.
Her brow furrowed in mild annoyance, though her posture remained rigidly straight.
“Hmph.
Mere undead can only achieve this level of entertainment anyway.
As expected, the only reliable ones are Gilles and the Wyverns.” Outside the light screen, a collective shudder rippled through the audience.
Gilles de Rais from the Fourth Holy Grail War, the Caster Gilles from Novum Chaldea, and the Saber-class Gilles all trembled violently.
Their wide, bulging eyes locked onto the screen with rabid fanaticism.
Twisted expressions of absolute obsession contorted their features, their bodies practically vibrating with an indescribable, euphoric thrill.
“Ah…” they murmured in perfect, horrifying unison, their voices dripping with dark intoxication.
“The corpse…
it feels so warm…” On the screen, Jalter stood tall amidst the wreckage, casting a dismissive glance at the battered Pierres slumped across the floor.
“So, what are you going to do now?
Do you still want to play?” She slowly turned her back to them, the dark flames swirling around her boots fading into embers.
Her voice dropped, taking on a self-deprecating, hollow edge.
A heavy loneliness clouded her golden eyes.
“That’s right.
All I ever do is curse the world in the depths of the Inferno anyway.
I have nothing but time.
I’ll play with you for as long as you want.” Ritsuka stared at her retreating, isolated figure.
He rubbed his temples, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.
“Absolutely zero self-reflection…” The Rain God, Tenochtitlan, stood with her arms crossed beneath her chest.
Her sharp gaze remained fixed on the Jalter projected on the screen.
A knowing clarity softened her expression.
“She is just a child starved of affection.
She thinks the only way she can get anyone to pay attention to her is by acting out and doing bad things.” Ritsuka nodded vigorously, his eyes widening in absolute agreement.
“Mhm.
When you put it like that, it makes perfect sense.” Inside the broadcast, Jalter stiffened as if her deepest secrets had just been broadcast to the world.
She whipped around to glare at Ritsuka and Santa Alter, her cheeks burning a bright, furious red.
Her golden eyes darted wildly, her voice cracking with flustered panic.
“Wait!
Stop overanalyzing every single word that comes out of my mouth!
Is that what I meant?!
No!” Santa Alter watched Jalter’s frantic backpedaling and slowly shook her head.
She turned her attention to Ritsuka, her expression hardening into serious resolve.
“You are right, Ritsuka.
As long as that woman’s spirit refuses to admit defeat, this pointless battle will just continue.” She paused, a flicker of exasperation breaking through her stoic facade.
“Even if she is completely beaten down, she won’t give up.
We clearly won the game, yet she stubbornly refuses to accept reality.” Santa Alter crossed her arms, her dull golden eyes locking onto Jalter with absolute certainty.
“For a brat who causes this much of a headache, a particularly strict punishment must be administered.” Jalter’s breath hitched.
She instinctively took a half-step backward, her boots scraping against the floor.
Her brow pinched together in a mix of high alert and genuine confusion.
She forced her voice to remain steady.
“…What do you want?
Do you have some kind of trump card?” The faintest shadow of a gentle smile curved Santa Alter’s lips.
She slowly reached into the large sack slung over her shoulder and pulled out a rectangular card radiating a soft, pure radiance—a Craft Essence.
She held it up between two fingers, her voice dropping into a solemn cadence.
“Of course.
Let us see if you can still spout nonsense like ‘I’ll stay here forever’ after receiving this gift.” The light screen pulsed with a warm glow.
A line of elegant text materialized alongside a shower of golden sparkles, displaying the item’s description for all to see: [Holy Night Sign: A small exchange of kindness can bring a warm miracle.
Everyone breathes into the cold sky, holding decorations as they begin the journey home.
On this holy night, blessings are sent to the holy you.] Jalter stared at the Craft Essence.
Her golden pupils shrank to pinpricks.
Every trace of arrogant defiance froze solid on her face.
Her lips parted slightly, trembling, but her throat refused to produce a single sound.
The raging hellfire surrounding her subconsciously snuffed itself out, shrinking back into nothingness.
She stood completely rigid, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of shock and deep confusion.
Outside the screen, Novum Chaldea’s Jeanne d’Arc blinked at the glowing card.
Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.
“Eh?
Is that me?” Nearby, the Caster-class Marshal Gilles—currently in one of his more lucid, manageable states—stared at the screen with unblinking devotion.
A lovesick sigh escaped his lips.
“Ah…
the holy maiden wearing that outfit is still so breathtakingly beautiful.” Back in the projection, Ritsuka watched Jalter’s utter paralysis.
A gentle, understanding warmth filled his eyes.
He nodded slowly.
“Mm.
I think I can somewhat understand how she feels right now.” Santa Alter closed the distance, her heavy boots clicking against the floor.
Her icy tone thawed, taking on a surprisingly persuasive, almost sisterly edge.
“Your own light…
well, let’s just call it light for now.
Tell me, how does it feel to come face-to-face with the brighter, purer part of yourself?” She paused, a wicked gleam of amusement flashing in her eyes.
“You have been suppressing your true nature so hard, which is exactly why you ended up like this.
If you keep this up, who knows?
Perhaps a ‘Jeanne d’Arc Lily’ might even pop into existence?” In the Chaldea cafeteria, Jeanne d’Arc Alter Santa Lily tilted her head, her ahoge twitching in surprise.
She pointed a small, gloved finger at the broadcast.
“Huh?
Is the Previous Santa Claus talking about me?” The mention of a ‘Lily’ snapped Jalter out of her stupor.
Her features violently twisted back into their default mask of hostility, though the lingering panic in her eyes betrayed her.
She tore her gaze away from the Craft Essence, her spine snapping straight as she forced a harsh, impatient scoff.
“—I am returning to the Inferno.
I do not have the time to stand around playing games with you.” She clenched her fists at her sides.
A fierce, stubborn fire reignited in her golden eyes.
She muttered to herself, her voice grinding with gritty determination.
“I need to hurry up and stabilize my Saint Graph so I can become a proper Servant.
Next time, I will absolutely skewer that foolish woman who dares to call herself a holy maiden…!” Seeing the terrifying Dragon Witch finally turning to leave, the battered, half-dead Pierres slumped against the walls felt as though the heavens had granted them a miraculous pardon.
They collapsed onto the floor, weeping tears of pure ecstasy.
They threw their hands in the air, cheering with the fractured voices of men who had just survived the apocalypse.
“Oh oh oh oh oh!” “We’re liberated!” “We’re saved!
Thank you!
Thank you!” But Jalter’s boots suddenly stopped.
She slowly turned her head, peering over her shoulder.
A chilling, cunning smirk stretched across her face, her golden eyes practically glowing with sadistic malice.
Her voice was light, airy, and utterly terrifying, instantly plunging the cheering bishops into a freezing abyss.
“Oh, right.
There is one last thing I forgot.” She raised a single finger.
An invisible, crushing gravity instantly seized the Pierres, dragging them across the floor toward her.
“Let’s go, Bishops.
I am going to need your help with my training in the Inferno.
Consider yourselves my designated Noble Phantasm targets.” The joyous cheers choked off instantly.
A chorus of desperate, agonizing wails shattered the air.
Tears of absolute despair streamed down their bruised faces as they were dragged into the dark flames.
“Help me~!” “No, please, help me~!” In the world of the Fifth Holy Grail War, Kotomine Kirei stood cloaked in the shadows of the Fuyuki Church.
He watched the broadcast with a dark, serene joy.
A terrifying smile curved his lips, his hollow eyes brimming with absolute, satisfied pleasure.
‘To think that a Bishop who dedicated his life to serving God has now been reduced to the miserable plaything of a Fallen Holy Maiden,’he mused inwardly.’This is truly wonderful.
The utmost pleasure.’ Inside the screen, Jalter vanished into the swirling dark flames, dragging the wailing Pierres with her.
The shadows consumed her retreating figure, leaving behind nothing but the chaotic mess of the overturned game board.
However, the massive light screen suspended in the void did not dim.
It remained crystal clear, signaling to the multiverse that the story was not quite finished.
Santa Alter stared at the empty space where Jalter had stood, shaking her head with a quiet sigh.
She then turned to face Fujimaru Ritsuka.
The harshness in her expression melted away, replaced by a remarkably gentle smile.
Her voice carried a heavy, solemn gratitude.
“…Very well.
All the gifts requested of me have been delivered.
Your work here is finished, and you performed admirably, Ritsuka.
I would never have been able to complete this grueling job without your endless effort.” She lowered her pale eyelashes.
Her tone softened further, carrying a vulnerability that was entirely foreign to the tyrant king.
“If not for your company…
perhaps I would have abandoned this ridiculous sleigh after delivering the very first gift.” She tilted her head slightly, the fur of her collar brushing against her cheek.
A faint, dusty pink bloomed across her pale skin.
She averted her eyes, her voice dropping to a shy murmur.
“…To be perfectly honest, despite how stoic I may look, I am actually incredibly impatient and irritable.
You probably haven’t noticed that at all, have you?” Ritsuka blinked, momentarily stunned by the question.
He reached up, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as a warm, accommodating smile spread across his face.
“Well…
yes.
I might have noticed a little.” Santa Alter looked at his easygoing smile.
An unconscious, shallow curve formed at the corner of her own mouth.
Her dull golden eyes shone with genuine approval.
“That aspect of yours is excellent.
Being so effortlessly easy to get along with might just be your greatest strength as a contractor.” She opened her mouth to say something more, then slowly closed it.
A fleeting storm of internal conflict and deep shyness rippled across her features.
The heavy, oppressive aura of the Altered King softened into something entirely human.
The blush on her cheeks deepened.
She refused to meet his gaze, forcing her voice into a stiff, awkwardly commanding register to mask her embarrassment.
“…Hmph.
I have said this much, and you still just stand there looking clueless.
There is no helping it, then.
Quickly, kneel down and lower your head.” She reached down and wrapped her gloved hand around the hilt of her dark sword.
She deliberately softened her tone, trying to ease the sudden tension.
“It is merely the Dubbing Ceremony.
I am not going to chop your head off.
Just bear with it for a moment.” With a smooth, metallic ring, Santa Alter drew her sword.
Holding the blade point-down, she gently slipped the flat back of the dark steel under Ritsuka’s chin, guiding him down.
Once he knelt before her, head bowed in reverence, she gripped the hilt with both hands.
She lightly tapped his left shoulder with the flat of the blade, then his right.
Her movements were slow, deliberate, and incredibly gentle.
When she spoke, her voice connected with the absolute authority and solemnity of a true king.
“—I hereby formally recognize you, Fujimaru Ritsuka.
I will never forget the events of these past seven days.
I will carve these memories into my very core.” She sheathed the massive sword with a sharp click.
She stared down at the kneeling boy, her eyes burning with fierce determination and absolute loyalty.
“You are my Knight, my attendant, and my guiding star.” Outside the broadcast, within the frigid halls of Einzbern Castle in the Fourth Holy Grail War, Artoria Pendragon sat perfectly upright in her chair.
She watched the knighting ceremony unfold on the screen, a deep sense of respect shining in her emerald eyes.
“…A truly fine vow,” she whispered softly, acknowledging the weight of her alternate self’s words.
On the screen, Santa Alter waited for Ritsuka to rise to his feet.
A gentle anticipation warmed her gaze.
“I expect you to continue striving hard in the future.
Never lose that foolish cheerfulness of yours.” She raised her hand slightly.
Faint, shimmering particles of golden light began to drift upward from her boots, peeling away from her form.
A bittersweet reluctance laced her words, though she smiled through it.
“…Alright.
My time is almost up.
This bustling, chaotic Christmas must finally come to an end.” The golden light particles multiplied, swirling around her like a miniature snowstorm, slowly consuming her dark armor.
“I have one final gift for you.
This is your official reward.
Please, accept it.” As her voice echoed through the void, a blinding flash of gold illuminated the screen.
A line of bold text materialized through the brilliant special effects: [Servant Artoria Pendragon (Santa Alter) officially joins the team.] Her physical form grew increasingly transparent, the edges of her silhouette blurring into pure light.
Yet, her smile remained, bright and surprisingly casual.
“…In other words, you have secured new combat power.
I don’t need to explain further, do I?
Chaldea’s summoning system still has various immature flaws, meaning I will have to train my Saint Graph from scratch.
You’ll just have to bear with my weakness for now.” Her fading eyes locked onto his, brimming with a quiet, overwhelming gratitude.
“It is only thanks to the loopholes and ambiguities surrounding a person like you that so many impossible encounters can happen.
That, in itself, is something worth celebrating.” She raised her disappearing hand, giving him a final, exuberant wave.
Her smile was utterly radiant, free of any lingering darkness.
“My sword will always be with you!
If you ever find yourself interested, you are welcome to ride in my sleigh again!” The golden light completely swallowed her.
Through the blinding glow, her final words rang out, bright, sincere, and carrying the weight of a true blessing.
“Farewell then, Master!
—Merry Christmas!” Her voice faded into the ether.
Her figure shattered into a million golden motes, drifting upward like fireflies before dissolving completely into the light screen.
All that remained was a soft, lingering warmth that illuminated the dark room for a long time.
[Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?