Chapter Fifty-Five: The Eighth Servant

After the Masters had dispersed, Roland’s interest waned considerably.

“From here, I just need to guide the Holy Grail War’s course at my leisure. Still, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve forgotten something.”

He pondered a moment, then realization dawned: “Ah, I promised Zolgen Matou I’d take care of Darnic, didn’t I? Oh well, it hardly matters—there’s nothing that fellow can do anyway.”

“After all, he’s not even a Master. If you wish, Master, we could simply kill him,” Medea suggested, aligning herself with Roland’s thoughts. Even though Zolgen Matou was a centuries-old monster—by strict count, older than Medea herself in this incarnation—Medea, who styled herself as humbly versed in magecraft, still had confidence she could handle him.

“That won’t be necessary. He’s still useful to me, and as long as Darnic remains, their grudge won’t end. But if he ever dares to invoke a contract against me, I’ll have Killer Queen blow the entire Matou family to the heavens.”

Clapping his hands, Roland cheerfully decreed the Matou family’s fate. Then, turning to gaze in the direction of the old city, he paused in surprise.

Although the new city of Fuyuki had grown bright from the secret war’s effects, the old city across the river remained largely shrouded in darkness—except for one place where flecks of flame blazed with abandon, painting the sky a vivid orange.

“Caster, that place—isn’t it the Matou estate?”

“That’s right. There aren’t many good ley lines in the old city, and that’s where the Matou house is located.”

With Caster’s confirmation, Roland’s expression grew puzzled. “But I haven’t blown it up yet—why is my ally gone already?”

He was certain he lacked the power to manifest his will so directly, which meant something truly had happened to the Matou family.

With a swift gesture, he summoned shadows to envelop himself and Caster, and in an instant, they appeared at the Matou residence.

Unlike his visit two days prior, the centuries-old Matou mansion now lay in ruins.

Standing amid the darkness, his crimson eyes gazed coldly at the crater in the center of the grounds, as if a meteor had struck.

Once, a luxurious western-style manor had stood here; now, it seemed erased, as though someone had taken a rubber to the landscape.

“Master, there’s no sign of anyone nearby,” Caster reported after circling the area.

“The Shadow Legion’s scouts found nothing either. It seems whoever did this has already left. Judging by the timing, it must have happened during the clash between Enkidu and Gilgamesh.”

Roland stepped to the crater’s edge and peered in. Not only were the worm pits and secret rooms obliterated, the very foundations looked leveled.

“Who did this? Causing such an uproar—there’s no way it went unnoticed by everyone else.”

Caster approached, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Do you think this was a mage’s work?”

“If there were any trace of magecraft, I’d have sensed it instantly.”

“So, it was a Servant’s doing, then. How interesting…” Roland’s lips curled into a cryptic smile. “Tonight, my ninja soldiers have been watching every Servant and Master. Just where did this intruder come from?”

“You mean—?” Medea’s brows furrowed as she caught his implication.

“There’s an eighth Servant.”

Roland’s voice was icy as he declared his conclusion.

The rules of the Holy Grail War were as flimsy as paper, but even so, Roland hadn’t expected such a loophole to appear in this fourth iteration.

The other Masters had shown off their talents for the Grail’s sake, but for the most part, still played within the boundaries. The only one able to break the rules—Caster—was under his command.

So where had this mysterious eighth Servant appeared from? And why target the Matou family?

“Zolgen Matou’s reputation is hardly sterling, but to attack so brazenly without knowing the inner workings—especially against one of the three founding families—would turn every Master against you. Even for an outsider, this is a reckless move.”

With a thought, Roland sent out threads of shadow, which spread through the city once more.

Since the Shadow Legion hadn’t found clues at first, he now ordered them to locate the culprit.

“I care little for the fate of that old worm, but judging by the sheer destructive force on display here, I doubt Zolgen Matou was so easily killed. If all goes well, we’ll soon discover the true face of this eighth Servant.”

Abruptly, Roland’s gaze shifted toward Mount Enzo, as if his vision might pierce the massif’s depths.

His brow knit, and a look of vigilance crept across his face.

Ever since the Greater Grail forcibly selected him, Roland had sensed an intangible connection—something emanating from deep within the Grail itself.

The feeling was familiar. When he’d met Irisviel, the lingering trace of Fire’s demonic energy inside her had given him a similar impression.

Yet the signal he’d just caught was on an entirely different level—something far beyond the faint magical residues one could sense only up close.

Roland’s expression grew rarefied and grave. Even though the sensation had faded and there was no sign of danger nearby, he refused to dismiss what he’d felt as mere illusion.

“Let’s go, Caster. It’s time to return. I need your help with something.”

“Gladly. What would you have me do?”

Roland glanced at Medea, who had come to stand shyly and expectantly at his side, and said, “You possess the skill called Item Creation, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Medea blinked in surprise, then nodded, somewhat puzzled. “Though it was only ranked B at first, after merging with later legends, it’s now an A. For any reasonable item—amulets for luck, potions near to elixirs of immortality—I can craft them.”

Item Creation, seemingly unremarkable, was in truth Caster’s greatest asset. The artifacts Medea could fashion would be priceless treasures to modern magi, a virtual walking mint. Even an ordinary person, armed by Medea, could match or exceed the combat power of other Masters.

But since Roland had little need for such things, Medea’s creations so far had been small and mostly gifted to Sakura.

Retracting his gaze, Roland started back to their base, his mind replaying the Grail’s earlier summons.

Though it seemed impossible—though he could not imagine how such a thing might be achieved—if the Holy Lord, that omnipotent, tireless boss who spanned the whole adventure, was involved, then the odds were no longer zero.

“I want to create a special artifact, to test a certain… suspicion of mine.”