Chapter Twenty-Two: The Transformed Einzbern

The holy relic found in Cornwall had already been delivered.

Early this morning, the homunculus maid informed Kiritsugu Emiya of this news, prompting him to hurry to the most magnificent, yet darkest place in the Einzbern estate—the chapel.

Although the Einzbern family was founded during a time when religion still held great influence, as a pure magus lineage, this was not a place to praise the grace of God or to seek solace for the soul, but rather a chamber for ritual ceremonies.

Thus, the stained glass windows of the chapel depicted not religious motifs, but the thousand-year history of the Einzbern family.

They were the oldest among the Three Families, and the most single-minded in their wish.

Had it not been for changing times and their fruitless pursuit of miracles, they might still be living as they did centuries ago, sealed away in the frozen mountains.

Passing through the corridor and arriving at the center of the chapel, Kiritsugu lifted his gaze to the stained glass overhead.

There, the Winter Saint, whose appearance bore a striking resemblance to Irisviel, occupied the principal position, flanked by two magi, all three reaching out toward the Holy Grail in the sky.

Even in the composition, one could sense the Einzbern family's reluctance to rely on outsiders. Beneath this scene, there was another, more recent painting—added after the last Holy Grail War.

Remembering this, Kiritsugu’s eyes hardened, recalling the unfinished conversation with Irisviel that day.

“The Holy Grail War is cursed? It’s not that I don’t believe you, but this matter…”

Faced with Irisviel’s plea, Kiritsugu, though deeply concerned with the Grail, had not lost his reason.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but this is not a lie born from delusion.”

After a brief hesitation, Irisviel’s maternal love overcame her sense of duty to the family.

“Kiritsugu, you know, the Einzbern house has continued to exist for the purpose of recreating the Third Magic. But after centuries of failure, and when not a glimmer of hope remains, proving the Third Magic exists has become more the family’s purpose than actually achieving it.”

To so candidly expose the family’s tragic wish to an outsider made Kiritsugu’s expression grow solemn.

“They were always anxious before, but since the last war, the great grandfather has changed. He no longer cares about these things, as if he’s convinced that the one who can save all is real and all that’s left is to prove it.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

Kiritsugu asked, puzzled. That great grandfather had lived for two centuries, and perhaps had encountered the Grail’s power last time—such a change was not impossible.

“The problem lies here,” Irisviel sighed. “The Einzbern family exists for the Third Magic. Even though we are homunculi, if someone were to become our true master, it could only be the wielder of the Third Magic. But that’s impossible, because only by successfully using the Grail can the Third Magic be recreated.”

“But all the previous Grail Wars ended in failure.”

Kiritsugu spoke gravely. This was a contradiction: the existence of the Third Magician would prompt the grandfather’s change, but only after the Grail is summoned can a Third Magician be born.

“You’re right, he may have been influenced by something. But since he still chooses to participate in the Grail War, there are two possibilities,” Kiritsugu concluded, his face expressionless. “Either the influence is shallow, or he has been deeply affected—and that influence is inseparable from the Grail.”

“—So, whatever the case, everything will become clear once this war begins.”

Heavy footsteps echoed from the other side of the corridor, interrupting Kiritsugu’s thoughts and halting his hand as he reached for a cigarette to soothe his agitation.

“A method to save all of humanity, is it? Hmph…”

He laughed sardonically, committing to memory the image so out of place amid the Western decor—a conclusion the great grandfather had drawn since returning from the last war.

On the stained glass, a coiling shadow occupied the center, surrounded by three motifs in the style of Eastern ink paintings.

Though not versed in the art, Kiritsugu—having grown up in Japan—could recognize what those three ink sketches depicted: a crimson Eastern dragon, a proud steed, and a loyal hound. Were these obscure creatures truly the answer to humanity’s salvation?

Whatever the Einzbern’s scheme for this Grail War, it mattered little. He was determined to use the omnipotent cauldron to fulfill his own wish.

“Kiritsugu Emiya, this is the last aid the Einzbern family will give you.”

With a beard like a frozen waterfall and keen eyes deep-set in his sockets, the elderly man approached slowly, holding a coal-black long case in both hands, Irisviel silently following behind.

Kiritsugu instinctively averted his gaze. Even now, he could not acclimate to that obsessive stare.

From this, it was hard to believe that such a man could be possessed by any unseen demon.

“I am unworthy, Master of the house.”

“With this relic, you are sure to summon the strongest Heroic Spirit!”

As if he hadn’t heard Kiritsugu’s modest words, Ahad, eighth head of the Einzbern family, opened the case to reveal the holy artifact within.

It was a scabbard of gold, adorned with radiant enamel, inscribed with lost fairy script—more a treasure to signify status than a weapon or mere craft.

But its preservation, unmarred by fifteen centuries of time, testified to its value.

The scabbard of the King of Knights—if infused with her own magic, even today it could be used.

Ahad reverently lifted the golden scabbard from its lining, held it in his hands, and offered it to Kiritsugu.

The old man’s eyes gleamed with a wild intensity, staring at Kiritsugu with a fervor that seemed almost cursed.

“This time, the Grail must be summoned, the omnipotent cauldron achieved—our tragic wish is finally within reach!”

Kiritsugu, as always, ignored these mad words, lowering his head stiffly and accepting the offered scabbard with respect.

No exhortation to victory, no obsessive yearning for the Third Magic or the Heaven’s Cup. Irisviel watched Ahad anxiously, and suddenly, as if she had glimpsed something incredible, blinked in surprise.

Yet neither Kiritsugu nor Ahad showed any sign of abnormality. Watching this scene, reminiscent of a knight’s investiture, Irisviel hesitated, swallowing the words on the tip of her tongue.

Had she been mistaken?

Though it was only a fleeting illusion, she seemed to see a bright yellow shadow slowly drift from Ahad’s body to the scabbard, circling it like a dragon guarding its palace.