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Fate In Bleach (441)
🕑 Added 2025-03-07 17:00:36 +0000 UTCChapter 441 - The Kings Assemble
Iskandar’s chariot headed towards the Einzbern’s secluded, magically concealed fortress.
“It’s regenerated?” Ailin, observing the chariot, was slightly surprised. He had destroyed both the bulls and the chariot the previous night. Less than a day later, they were fully restored. Noble Phantasms, amplified by their legends, defied conventional logic.
With a flicker, Ailin followed, keeping pace with the chariot. He soon discovered Iskandar’s… eccentricities. While the Gordius Wheel could fly, Iskandar chose to drive it through the forest surrounding the Einzbern fortress, the bulls’ lightning and the chariot’s wheels were tearing through the trees, carving a three-meter-wide path of destruction.
Ailin glanced back. Dozens of Servant signatures appeared on the edge of his spiritual awareness. Varying in strength, they were all cloaked in black, their faces hidden by white, bone-like masks. Had this not been the Type-Moon world, Ailin might have mistaken them for low-level Hollows from Hueco Mundo, not for their power, but for their uniform appearance. Among them were some whose power approached Iskandar’s. But even they were, in Ailin's eyes, mere insects, easily crushed.
A Servant's strength was determined not only by their parameters, but also by their Noble Phantasm. And Ailin had plenty of Zanpakutō that rivaled Noble Phantasms, some powerful enough to obliterate these cloaked figures in an instant. Even without his Zanpakutō, relying solely on his swordsmanship, he could defeat them in seconds.
“Kirei Kotomine has deployed all his Assassins… Is Gilgamesh already working with him?” Ailin mused. No Master could control two Servants. For Kirei to become Gilgamesh's Master, his own Servant had to be replaced.
“Well, if Tokiomi Tohsaka doesn't die, someone else has to take the blame.” Despite Tokiomi being Sakura’s father, Ailin felt no sympathy for him.
Tokiomi was a true magus, willing to sacrifice everything, even break the rules, for the sake of magecraft. Such a man was devoid of emotion. Even his wife, Aoi Tohsaka, was merely a “suitable vessel” in his eyes, not a loved one. The phrase "It's all Tokiomi’s fault" wasn’t just a meme.
The Einzbern’s defensive barrier, while capable of concealing the fortress and offering some protection, was no match for Iskandar's Ionioi Hetairoi. The Gordius Wheel smashed through it like glass.
Iskandar, laughing, steered the chariot through the shattered gates and into the fortress’s grand hall.
“Yo, Saber!” He waved at Artoria Pendragon and Irisviel von Einzbern, who had been alerted by the commotion. “Heard you had a castle. Thought I’d drop by. Bit gloomy, isn’t it?”
Ailin, hovering above the castle, silently agreed. Despite the bright lights and bustling servants, the fortress felt… lifeless. Everyone within, including Irisviel, was a homunculus, a magically created being. In the mage community, they were considered tools, not humans. That was why Iskandar had called the brightly lit fortress “gloomy.”
“Rider, what are you doing here?” Artoria, summoning her blue and white armor, shielded Irisviel.
“Can’t you see I’m wearing modern clothes?” Iskandar patted his chest, then hoisted a wooden barrel from the chariot. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for a drink! Now, Saber, lead the way. Let’s find a suitable courtyard. This gloomy castle is cramping my style.”
Irisviel, worried, glanced at Artoria. She suspected Iskandar’s invitation was a ruse. But to her surprise, Artoria dispelled her armor.
“Saber…”
“Don’t worry, Irisviel. I sense no hostility from Rider. He’s genuinely here for a drink.”
Irisviel, relieved, adopted the role of hostess, leading Iskandar to the courtyard, then discreetly withdrawing with Waver. They both knew this meeting was for the kings. They were mere bystanders.
Artoria and Iskandar sat facing each other. Iskandar punched open the barrel, red wine splashed out. He scooped some with a ladle and drank.
“Ahh…” He sighed contentedly. “King of Knights, I’ve heard the Grail chooses the most suitable Master. This war, this battle between Servants and magi, is a selection process. Only one will claim the Grail. But I believe we can choose the most suitable candidate without bloodshed. You understand, don’t you?”
Artoria paused. She hadn’t considered this possibility before. Iskandar’s claim that she would “understand” was difficult to refute. After all, she herself had become Britain’s king, and the King of Knights, by drawing the Sword of Selection from the stone.
“Indeed,” she nodded. “But Rider, how do you propose we replace a war with… a non-violent selection process?”
Iskandar laughed. “King of Knights, the participants in the Grail War are legendary heroes. If we simply share our ideals, our visions, the most suitable candidate will become clear.” He scooped another ladle of wine and offered it to Artoria.
Artoria accepted and drank it in a single gulp. “And then, Rider? Do you intend to compare our visions now?”
“Precisely!” Iskandar grinned, taking back the ladle. “I am Iskandar, King of Conquerors. You are Artoria Pendragon, the King of Knights. As kings, conflict is inevitable. But if we are to avoid bloodshed, this isn’t a ‘Holy Grail War,’ but a ‘Holy Grail Q&A.’ We will choose the most suitable king through questions and answers.”
“Hold on, Iskandar. I don’t like where this is going.” Ailin materialized from blackish-red spiritual particles. “You are kings. I am not. Don’t tell me you intend to decide the Grail’s recipient amongst yourselves. If so, I’ll be forced to eliminate you.”
“Berserker?” Artoria was startled. Iskandar had invited others? Of course. A non-violent selection process required the participation of all remaining Servants. Otherwise, it was a farce.
“Hahaha, Berserker, if you can surpass us in vision and ambition, earn our respect, we will gladly relinquish the Grail. Then you will be the king of this Grail War.” He looked at Artoria. “Am I right, King of Knights?”
“Indeed.” Artoria nodded. The sole victor among the seven Servants could be considered the “king” of the war.
“Enough of this nonsense!” A golden light materialized. Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, strode towards them.
Artoria wasn’t surprised. Iskandar’s invitation implied Ailin was a potential candidate for the Grail.
“Yo, ‘Goldy,’ you’re late.” Iskandar grinned. “But I understand. Unlike me, you had to walk.”
Gilgamesh sneered. “Mongrel, while I wasn’t summoned as a Rider, I have plenty of flying Noble Phantasms. I’ve soared through the heavens for millennia.”
He wasn’t lying. His Gate of Babylon contained countless treasures, including Vimana, a flying Noble Phantasm superior to any modern aircraft, even equipped with a primitive nuclear weapon. Compared to Vimana, Iskandar’s Gordius Wheel was… pedestrian.
Gilgamesh looked around, his face twisting in disgust. “Mongrels, you dare hold a feast for me in such a dreary place? How do you intend to atone for this insult?”
His displeasure, amplified by his regal aura, was palpable. Irisviel and Waver trembled. Irisviel, though fearful, remained standing. Waver, however, stumbled backward and collapsed onto the ground.
“Don’t be like that, ‘Goldy,’” Iskandar chuckled, offering Gilgamesh a ladle of wine. “Here, a drink for your tardiness.”
Artoria stood, watching Gilgamesh intently. If he attacked, she would be ready.
But Gilgamesh, to everyone’s surprise, accepted the wine. However, after sniffing it, he scowled. “What is this cheap swill?”
