The Fifth Holy Grail War · Fuyuki City
In the living room of the Tohsaka Residence, warm yellow light filtered through the carved window lattices, scattering like crushed gold across the floor.
A faint tea fragrance drifted through the air, and a delicate wooden teacup sat on the low table, still radiating a lingering warmth.
Tohsaka Rin’s brow furrowed slightly.
Her face, which had been composed just a moment ago, was now filled with genuine confusion.
She tilted her head slightly, her clear sapphire-blue eyes full of bewilderment.
She instinctively leaned forward, her voice thick with surprise: “Eh?
What class is an Avenger?”
Beside her, Archer, who was leaning against a pillar, slowly raised his eyes.
The arm that had been casually draped over his other elbow paused for a moment.
His handsome face, usually devoid of expression, now wore a hint of “I really can’t do anything about you” helplessness.
He glanced at Rin first before replying in a slow, steady pace.
His tone was flat yet carried an unquestionable certainty, and he deliberately dragged out the end of his sentence, adding an indescribable touch of perfunctoriness.
“Avenger—that is, an Avenger—is a class independent of the regular seven.
They generally do not manifest in this world.
When they do appear, it means the Holy Grail War has undergone, or is about to undergo, a change…
or so it seems.”
“Why do you know this so clearly, Archer?” Tohsaka Rin’s confusion deepened, her brow knitting tighter.
She straightened her back and placed her hands on her hips, her tone inquisitive.
Her gaze was locked onto Archer, as if trying to find some clue in his emotionless face.
Archer sighed helplessly and raised a hand to lightly press his brow.
A faint, almost imperceptible flicker passed through his eyes.
With his usual tone of resignation, he spoke words that seemed obvious on the surface but were backed by his own hidden calculations: “Yare yare, Master, have you forgotten?
When a Servant manifests, they are granted knowledge by the Holy Grail.”
This was a lie.
In reality, it was because he was an agent of alaya.
Just moments ago, he had quickly flipped through the detailed instruction manual regarding the Avenger class that alaya had urgently sent him.
Such a fleeting stream of information was something only a special Servant like him could receive.
Hearing this, Tohsaka Rin was stunned for a moment, as if processing the words, but she quickly sensed something was wrong.
She stared at Archer’s face for a long time, and her previously relaxed brow furrowed again, her tone carrying a hint of irritation and dissatisfaction.
“Oh…
but what’s with that look in your eyes?
Why do you look like you’re looking at an idiot?” That flash of playfulness and knowingness in Archer’s eyes when he spoke hadn’t escaped her notice.
Hearing her words, the corners of Archer’s lips curled into a mysterious, meaningful smile.
The smile didn’t reach his eyes, staying only on his lips with an indescribable air of teasing.
He didn’t respond, but the playfulness in his gaze only intensified.
This look completely set Tohsaka Rin off.
The girl instantly saw red, and the tips of her ears turned crimson at a visible rate, with a faint heat rising to her cheeks.
Both angry and embarrassed, she clenched her fists tightly, her voice rising in frustration: “Damn it!
I’m going to use a command spell!” As she spoke, she moved her hand to touch the delicate command spell pattern on the back of her hand.
Archer was truly dumbfounded now, his previous composure vanishing instantly.
He straightened up abruptly and took a quick half-step forward, his voice full of shock and helplessness as he hurriedly tried to stop her: “Hey, hey!
Is that how you use a command spell?
It was just a bit of teasing, do you really have to take it so seriously?”
Meanwhile, at the Emiya household, the evening breeze blew gently through the courtyard, carrying the slight chill of late spring.
In a corner of the yard, the cherry blossom tree had shed its pink and white petals, laying down a thin floral carpet.
A shimmering light screen hung in mid-air, the scenes within it clearly visible.
Fujimura Taiga held her cheek with one hand, her eyes slightly red, and her face—which had been full of bright smiles just a moment ago—was now a mask of exaggerated grievance.
While sobbing, she didn’t forget to wave her other hand at the light screen, her tone full of dramatic sorrow: “Wah!
A sudden parting right after a romantic date?
How can it be like this!?
Big sister is so heartbroken, boohoo…”
The crying didn’t sound very sincere; rather, it had a childishly exaggerated quality, yet it still conveyed a bit of regret for the two figures on the light screen.
Emiya Shirou stood to the side, no longer looking at the light screen in the air, his face full of wry helplessness.
He raised a hand to scratch his head and spoke softly to the weeping Fuji-nee beside him, his tone weary: “Wait, Fuji-nee, it’s just the versions of them in the light screen that are parting.
Why are you crying like this already?”
Artoria stood nearby, a few strands of her golden hair lifted by the evening breeze, making her clear face look even softer.
She lowered her gaze to the scene on the light screen where Jeanne dArc Alter and Fujimaru Ritsuka were parting.
Her expression was calm, but her emerald eyes held a faint trace of melancholy.
Hearing Shirou, she slowly raised her eyes and spoke in a calm, gentle voice, possessing the clarity of someone who had seen much.
“…Partings…
indeed, such situations happen many times.
Meetings and partings are common occurrences.
Though there is reluctance, there is often nothing that can be done.” As she spoke, her fingertips lightly brushed the hilt of the sword at her side, and her expression regained its usual composure.
Deep within the Matou Family, an inescapable cold dampness permeated the surroundings.
The dark wooden pillars were covered in mottled patterns, and the flickering candlelight on the walls cast long, shifting shadows, creating a grim and oppressive atmosphere.
The withered lotuses and rotting wood in the courtyard made faint rustling sounds in the breeze, further emphasizing the deathly silence of the space.
Matou Sakura stood quietly under the corridor, her slender figure appearing even more fragile in the dim candlelight.
She kept her eyes lowered, her long lashes trembling slightly to hide the churning emotions beneath.
A deep sense of melancholy was etched between her brows, and her hands were unconsciously clasped in front of her, fingertips curling slightly.
The images from the light screen were still playing in her mind.
she murmured softly, her tone full of unconcealable loss and regret, the end of her sentence carrying a barely perceptible tremor: “Are they…
really going to part?
They were just on a date, dancing together, it was so sweet…”
That soft, delicate voice was wrapped in a faint bitterness, and even the air around her seemed tinged with dejection.
In the shadows not far away, Matou Zouken hunched his withered body, leaning against the wall like a piece of rotting wood.
His gaunt face was bloodless, and his murky eyes rolled slightly in the darkness, glinting with malice and scrutiny.
He remained silent for a moment, a few dry rasps escaping his throat before he slowly spoke.
His voice was hoarse and ancient, carrying the decay of ages: “…Avenger, I remember…
one appeared in the Third Holy Grail War, a weak Servant summoned by the Einzberns.”
He paused, his withered, claw-like fingers lightly stroking his sleeve.
A cold light of contempt flashed in his eyes, his tone full of disdain and indifference, mixed with a sneer: “Can such a fellow really cause any waves?”
His words were filled with contempt for the Avenger class, as if such an existence were nothing more than an insignificant ant in his eyes.
(Angra Mainyu: Why don’t you look behind you?)