Japan, Fuyuki City.
Opening her eyes once more, a gloomy sky came into view.
Rolling storm clouds, ceaseless rumbling thunder, and fine threads of icy rain plummeted onto the earth, draping the entire city in a somber gray hue.
In the wooded outskirts of the city, a young girl lay on the ground, a dazed look lingering in her eyes as if she had yet to fully wake from a dream.
She was a stunning girl with a mane of long, flowing crimson hair draped loosely across her shoulders.
Roughly seventeen or eighteen years old and standing about 1.6 meters tall, she wore a chic black dress that hugged her plump figure, with a distinct, wildcat-like edge resting between her brows.
If this were a high school romantic comedy, she would undoubtedly be the undisputed female lead.
Yet whether it was the pair of pitch-black horns on her head resembling wicked blades or the massive black-and-red greatsword resting quietly beside her, both made her extraordinary identity unmistakably clear.
Centered right around her, the falling rainwater instantly evaporated into mist from an invisible heat, carving out a dry circle amidst the downpour.
After a long silence, the girl’s unfocused pupils gradually regained clarity, and her consciousness sharpened.
Blinking her eyes, she pushed herself up from the ground and sat upright.
She had just had a dream.
She dreamed she had become a towering fire giant that blotted out the heavens, brandishing a flaming blade across a frozen, snow-swept wasteland, locked in a brutal clash against countless enemies.
A handsome youth riding a golden-bristled boar, a one-eyed old man, a colossal white-furred wolf…
Every single enemy blocking her path was devoured by her roaring flames, the ice and snow melting away as crimson fire painted the sky in the hues of eternal twilight.
The sheer scale and grandeur far surpassed any blockbuster movie she had ever watched.
Right up until the inferno swallowed the world, the giant herself plunged into eternal darkness.
Reaching up, she rubbed her throbbing temples.
Even though it was just a dream, it felt unnervingly realistic, exactly like she had lived through a second life firsthand.
Fortunately, she hadn’t inherited any overwhelming emotions from the dream, moving purely like an emotionless machine carrying out directives otherwise, her sense of self might have completely unraveled by now.
What an awful experience.
Shaking her head to clear the fog, she temporarily shoved the dream to the back of her mind.
Turning her head, she surveyed her surroundings.
Beneath her was dry soil, flanked on both sides by gloomy woods.
In the far distance, dazzling neon city lights flickered, while faint plumes of fire could be seen rising from the urban skyline, likely from some ongoing blaze.
And right beside her lay that silent, imposing black-and-red greatsword.
“Lævateinn.” She instinctively blurted out its name.
Of course she recognized it.
If her memory served her right, she had just been at home farming event stages, getting ready to stack that sweet continuous dusk buff onto Sister 42.
Yet in the blink of an eye, she ended up stranded in a place like this.
If this sword was here, didn’t that mean…
The girl looked down.
What met her eyes was fair, snow-white skin clearly visible even in the dark, contrasted sharply by the black strap running across her chest.
Gulp.
Her throat made an audible swallow.
Extending a hand, she gently kneaded the indescribable softness between her neck and waist, like a cat making biscuits.
An overwhelmingly vivid sensation surged into her chest, sending an involuntary shiver running through her entire body.
‘So damn real.’ After failing to resist giving it a few more squeezes, the girl came to a definitive conclusion.
She had probably, most likely, definitely transmigrated.
And into Surtr, no less.
Reevaluating the dream with this realization in mind…
That had to have been the apocalyptic battle of Ragnarok.
The boar rider was Freyr, the one-eyed geezer was Odin, and the giant beast was Fenrir.
‘Wait, where does Arknights even get Norse mythology from?’ ‘Shouldn’t Surtr—or rather the colossal behemoth Surtr—be busy chopping up Sami?
Where the hell did Odin come from?’ It made zero sense.
‘Maybe I didn’t become the Arknights version after all.’ Miss Surtr could only settle on that explanation for now.
Without lingering on useless thoughts, she gripped the sword and stood up.
Compared to unanswerable mysteries, figuring out where she currently was took top priority.
The moment the question crossed her mind, a mechanical, synthetic female voice echoed abruptly inside her head.
[Current World Line: Fifth Holy Grail War, Host.] “System?” [You could interpret it that way.] “Fair enough.” Without much fuss, Surtr took the revelation in stride.
Since transmigration was already a reality, having a system pop up was hardly surprising.
It was all bizarre nonsense anyway.
“Did you bring me here?
If possible, send me back right now.” She asked the question that mattered most to her.
Unlike typical loner transmigrators, Surtr hadn’t been alone.
Her parents were alive and well, her home life was peaceful and happy, and she even had a gorgeous, non-blood-related older sister who was dead set on marrying no one else.
Compared to wandering an unfamiliar world on some risky adventure, she wanted nothing more than to return home.
[The host’s transmigration is unrelated to this system.
The system merely bound to the host upon arrival in this world.] [If the host wishes to return to her original world, she may utilize the ‘Random World Travel’ function, which possesses a certain probability of returning to her world of origin.] An illusory interface materialized before her eyes, featuring a prominent red button at the bottom labeled [Random World Travel].
Reading the description, it was just as advertised: destinations were completely random.
If her gacha luck held up, she might strike gold on the very first pull.
If her luck was garbage, she could forget about ever setting foot back home for the rest of her life.
It sounded thoroughly sketchy, but at least there was a glimmer of hope.
Besides, Miss Surtr had always had supreme faith in her gacha luck.
Back then, she had max-potentiated Sister 42 in a single ten-pull.
She shifted her gaze away from the button.
Much as she wanted to hit the button right away, a single warp cost 2,333 Primogems, an amount she definitely couldn’t afford right now.
“How do I get Primogems?
Are there quests?” Shrugging off the suspicious resemblance between the primogem icon and a certain anime gacha currency, Surtr pressed on.
[Quests must be triggered by the host.] The system answered promptly.
[When an individual’s desire reaches sufficient intensity, the system will generate a quest above their head…
Completing quests will yield Primogems and various rewards.] [Additionally, eliminating enemies will drop Primogems.] ‘Did this thing almost say a giant exclamation mark appears over their heads?’ ‘You play Genshin too, huh?’ Getting the gist of her system’s quirks, Surtr didn’t mind its little habits.
She weighed the two options.
Compared to fulfilling wishes—which sounded tedious and full of hassle—beating up enemies for loot was infinitely more straightforward.
Even in the modern era, the Type-Moon universe had no shortage of supernatural freaks, let alone right now during the Holy Grail War.
And according to the system, stronger targets dropped richer rewards.
In this city right now, nothing outranked Servants.
Raising her left hand on instinct, a wisp of crimson flame danced to life at her fingertips.
The flame traced her new name through the damp air at her command, refusing to waver even beneath the pouring rain.
While it nowhere matched the apocalyptic god-slaying power from her dream, incinerating everything around her into cinders would be an absolute breeze.
Her exact combat rating was tricky to gauge without a proper benchmark, but going toe-to-toe with this batch of Servants shouldn’t be an issue.
She had more than enough firepower to throw down in this death game.
Dispelling the fire with a flick of her wrist, the warmth humming through her veins soothed the lingering disorientation of transmigration.
Besides, she was genuinely curious about the Holy Grail—the uncorrupted version, of course.
With an omnipotent wish-granting device, getting home would be a walk in the park.
She had to admit, the prospect was tempting.
And purifying the Grail wasn’t out of the question either.
After all, this Holy Grail War featured Medea, an authentic Age of Gods witch.
Armed with future knowledge and Medea’s top-tier ancient magecraft, securing victory seemed practically guaranteed.
The game plan was already set in stone.
Marry—scratch that, kidnap and recruit Medea, purify the Holy Grail, and claim the ultimate victory.
A flawless plan.
Miss Surtr couldn’t help but inwardly applaud her own tactical genius even the Queen of England would be left speechless.
The only real question was whether the Grand Teacher had already picked Medea up or not.
“What time is it?” Surtr asked the system.
[It is currently 9:31 PM, Tokyo Time.] “Not the real-world clock, I mean what point of the storyline are we at?” [Unknown.] The synthetic voice carried a faint trace of helplessness.
She was just a game system, not Doraemon.
“Fine.” A bit disappointed, Surtr realized she’d have to rely on good old-fashioned luck.
“Do you at least know the way to Ryuudou Temple?” Surtr asked without getting her hopes up, and the answer was, predictably, a flat no.
Glancing around at the dark, identical mountain ridges, Miss Surtr decided to wander into town and find some helpful midnight passerby to ask for directions.
Meanwhile, deep in the woods below Mount Enzou, outside Ryuudou Temple.
The earth had turned into a thick slurry of mud under the merciless downpour.
A blood-drenched, hooded figure in black stumbled along the mountain trail, her breath ragged and shallow, teetering on the verge of collapse with every step.
Yet her faltering feet refused to stop, as if fleeing some unseen pursuer.
Splat.
Her strength gave out, sending her crashing face-first into the sodden dirt as muddy water splattered across her bloodstained cheeks.
“Ha…
haha…
hahahaha…” Rolling weakly onto her back in complete resignation, the woman let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.
Her name was Medea, a Servant summoned into the magical ritual known as the Holy Grail War.
Yet before the war could even officially kick off, her friction with her summoner had spiraled beyond repair.
The aftermath…
Her Master was dead, and she was being hunted down by the assassin he had contracted, backed into a fatal corner.
‘The Witch of Betrayal?
Hah, maybe “The Betrayed Witch” fits me better.’ Medea mocked herself silently.
Cold rain blurred her vision.
Her magical energy bled out like a burst dam, rapidly draining from her spiritual core.
The encroaching numbness in her limbs delivered an undeniable verdict.
She was dying.
She had to be the fastest Servant ever eliminated from a Holy Grail War.
To think that after taking so much pride in her ancient magecraft—convinced she wouldn’t lose to any modern magus—she would meet her end simply over incompatibility with her own Master.
What an infuriating, disgraceful end.
Trembling, she lifted a feeble hand toward the stormy sky, clawing futilely as if trying to grasp onto something, even though nothing met her fingers except the freezing rain.
But in the very next instant, like an answered miracle, her palm found purchase against something solid and warm.
A gentle heat seeped directly through her skin, sinking straight into her freezing core.
The bitter chill instantly melted away, wrapping her body in comfort akin to sinking into a hot spring.
Through her fading, tear-blurred vision, a brilliant streak of crimson pierced the gloom.
Like blazing fire.