Because Surtr had deliberately throttled the blast radius of her attack—combined with the Matou family’s subterranean workshop possessing its own ancient anti-intrusion wards—the precious grimoires and esoteric research materials had emerged virtually unscathed from the blaze.
“Will these materials be sufficient for your counter-ritual?” Surtr gestured toward the crystalline catalysts stacked in the workshop vault, roughly filling a four-square-meter chamber.
Considering the five-hundred-year lineage of the Makiri clan, the hoard felt surprisingly modest.
‘That ancient leech probably burned through the vast majority of his fortune keeping his decaying body alive.’ Surtr mused silently.
“Mmm…
an ordinary modern magus would certainly struggle with this modest stockpile, but in my hands, it will be more than adequate.” Medea nodded with supreme confidence.
The underlying principle of thaumaturgy was fundamentally rooted in equivalent exchange.
The greater the magus, the more miraculously they could maximize limited resources.
And coincidentally, Medea stood as one of the most accomplished sorceresses in the entire history of human civilization.
Ignoring the witch’s subtle flex, Surtr rolled up her sleeves and shoveled the high-grade gemstones and alchemical ingots directly into her spatial inventory.
Next came the ancestral texts.
Considering that lingering too long might attract other opportunistic Servants looking to intercept the spoils, they had zero time to inspect the grimoires volume by volume sweeping the entire library was the only logical choice.
Finding a large burlap sack, Surtr tossed hundreds of ancient leather-bound tomes inside like bags of trash, cloaked their spiritual presence, and swiftly departed the Matou estate, leaving behind a scene of smoldering, apocalyptic devastation.
A short while later.
Matou Shinji—the orthodox, sole remaining heir of the prestigious Matou clan—finally strutted back toward his loyal ancestral manor after spending the entire afternoon messing around town.
Thud.
His leather schoolbag slipped from his fingers, landing heavily on the pavement.
Shinji stood frozen at the wrought-iron front gates, staring blankly at the Matou residence before him, which looked like it had been dredged through a subterranean volcano and baked in liquid magma.
A soul-deep, utterly bewildered sound squeaked out from his gaping jaw.
“Eh…?” Meanwhile, Ryuudou Temple.
“Home sweet home, at last.” Stepping across the threshold of their mountain base, the tension coiled around Surtr’s shoulders finally relaxed.
Even if it was merely a temporary field outpost, returning to familiar territory brought an undeniable sense of safety.
She had zero intention of hunting for other Servants tonight.
While the skirmish at the Matou manor hadn’t depleted her physical stamina, the sheer psychological disgust inflicted by the old worm had left her mentally drained.
“In that case, Master, I shall retire to the workshop immediately.” Without requesting a single second of rest, Medea prepared to transport the captured grimoires into the bounded workshop she had constructed earlier in the day.
The sooner they analyzed the ritual data and cleansed the Greater Grail’s taint, the sooner they could secure total victory.
“I appreciate the hard work.” Surtr couldn’t offer much assistance in occult deciphering if the task involved burning the Grail to cinders, she was your girl, but academic research was Medea’s domain.
The burlap sacks of ancient tomes were hauled into the temporary workshop.
Compared to the colossal, mountain-wide bounded temple Medea had erected in the original timeline, this single-room workshop looked remarkably modest.
For one, time was tight secondly, they had zero intention of relying on a passive, entrenched turtling strategy.
Their faction possessed two Servant-tier combatants, granting them an overwhelming numerical and tactical advantage in open warfare.
Their primary operational doctrine was simple: Surtr would pin down enemy Servants in glorious melee while Medea assassinated the vulnerable Masters from the flank.
Unlike the veteran magi of the Fourth Holy Grail War, the juvenile Masters of the Fifth War had zero concept of operational concealment as long as Medea didn’t get careless, picking them off would be child’s play.
Even a Bajiquan grandmaster like Kotomine Kirei was utterly powerless against an Age of Gods sorceress floating fifty meters in the sky.
As long as she didn’t get baited into close quarters.
‘I should definitely remind her about that later.’ Not wanting to interrupt Medea’s focus, Surtr prepared to head toward the guest room, but Medea called out before she reached the sliding door.
“Master, could you entrust Avalon to me for the night?” “Sure, but what do you plan to do with it?” Surtr pulled the golden scabbard from her spatial cube and handed it over.
“Without its true owner around, the scabbard shouldn’t provide much utility, right?” “Under conventional thaumaturgical rules, that is indeed true.” Taking the divine relic into her pale hands, Medea offered a confident smile.
“However, utilizing specialized Age of Gods rituals, I can unlock a portion of this Mystic Code’s conceptual healing authority—though it will not reach the level of completely reversing instantaneous fatal blows.” “You can actually pull that off?!” Surtr’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.
She had originally confiscated the scabbard purely to deny Saber an invincible cheat code, never expecting such a massive tactical windfall.
Her current physical vessel was extraordinarily durable, easily trading blows with top-tier Servants on equal footing.
Yet compared to a true, mythological Fire Giant, she was still incomplete.
To draw a direct comparison: her current baseline stats were roughly on par with a fully powered Artoria.
Raw strength and defense were her primary assets, but agility remained her glaring weakness.
Furthermore, while Lævateinn’s single-target burst was slightly below Excalibur’s peak output, her ambient mana regeneration was vastly superior.
She was already a top-tier powerhouse in this Holy Grail War, but complacency was fatal.
This war was crawling with unpredictable freaks and cosmic entities.
With Avalon’s regeneration reinforcing her body, her frontline endurance would skyrocket to terrifying heights.
“Naturally.
I will do my utmost to complete the modification before our next engagement.” Medea promised.
“Mhm.
Just don’t push yourself too hard.
Even if Servants don’t technically need sleep, mental burnout is still a real thing.” Surtr offered a word of care.
Judging by Medea’s feverish expression, the witch clearly had zero intention of sleeping tonight.
“I understand, Master.” Though Medea nodded obediently, Surtr knew the workaholic witch hadn’t absorbed a single syllable of that advice.
Then again, in her past life, Surtr was an all-nighter champion who routinely went forty-eight hours without sleep, so she had no moral high ground to preach from anyway.
Leaving magical engineering to the master was always the right call.
Without lingering in the workshop any longer, Surtr slipped out of the room and returned to her personal quarters.
With the tedious occult deciphering delegated to Medea, Surtr found herself completely free for the night.
After glancing toward the workshop one last time, she swiftly shed her clothes, stepped into the adjoining bathroom, and sank into a steaming, fragrant bath to wrap up her evening.
Even though she had inhabited this body for a full day, the nonstop string of battles and Medea’s constant presence had prevented her from conducting a thorough anatomical inspection of her new form.
Out of pure, rigorous scientific curiosity, Miss Surtr naturally lingered in the tub quite a bit longer than usual, and there was little need to elaborate on the rhythmic, curious splashing echoing from the bathroom.
When she finally emerged wrapped in a towel, her face was flushed with the profound satisfaction of having acquired “new knowledge,” completely washing away the lingering mental pollution from Zouken’s bug pit.
All in all, it was a thoroughly delightful evening.
The next day, around noon.
Surtr was gently roused by warm winter sunlight streaming across the tatami mats.
The futon beside her remained neatly folded, indicating that Medea hadn’t returned to sleep at all last night.
‘What an absolute workaholic.’ It made her, the Master lounging in bed at noon, feel a tiny pang of guilt.
Of course, only a tiny pang.
After a quick morning wash, Surtr checked in on Medea’s progress through their telepathic contract, learning that the witch had already flown to the Great Cavern beneath Mount Enzou to conduct field calibrations on the Greater Grail.
‘Her operational efficiency is terrifying.’ She had lost count of how many times she had praised Medea’s work ethic.
For some bizarre reason, she was beginning to feel like a useless slacker boss being completely carried by a hyper-competent subordinate.
‘Must be an illusion.’ After asking if Medea required any extra muscle and receiving a polite decline, Surtr let out another impressed sigh.
‘Too capable.’ Speaking of which, what was on her agenda for today?
Did Servants even pick fights in broad daylight?
Should she crawl back under the covers and take a nap?
No…
doing that would make her an irredeemable freeloader.
Reflecting on her options, she wasn’t completely out of tasks.
She could take advantage of the daylight hours to scout for enemy Servant traces across Fuyuki.
First, take a leisurely stroll through the shopping districts to see if she could bump into Rider.
Even if Rider wasn’t Medusa in this timeline, Surtr could instantly recognize almost any mythological Heroic Spirit by their armor and visual traits.
Along the way, she could casually harvest minor system commissions from pedestrians.
And if no Servants turned up by afternoon, she would pay a “friendly” visit to Fuyuki Church to see what Kotomine Kirei was cooking up in his confessional booth.
‘Right.
That’s the plan.’