Act I: Chapter III — Goals and Desires

And I thought: better wisdom than courage, but the wisdom of the poor is despised, and their words are not heard.

© Solomon

[Clock Tower, London — 1994…]

In a luxurious room, stunning in its opulence, sat a living legend of the magical society — Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg.

He, just like everything in this room, could be considered a relic of bygone eras, vanished civilizations, and fictional stories.

In the modern world, only five forms of magic remain, and the distinguished gentleman, adorned with the silver of years, was the second among them. Despite his wrinkled face, he had a powerful frame and a fiery gaze full of childlike enthusiasm.

— What a surprise! And you're not ashamed to return after all these years? Who knows, maybe in the next moment they'll soak you in formalin and seal you in a dark basement, — the greatest mage of the twentieth century! — came the sharp remarks from his mouth, and his piercing gaze struck the uninvited guest.

The guest scratched the back of his head and gave a crooked smile, — Such a cold reception for my humble self. Weren't we the best of friends?! Together we tricked young maidens, stole treasures, and engaged in...

Zelretch snorted, — Then remind me how it all ended? What a mess I had to clean up because of you! Don't you have any conscience...

— I have an interesting proposal, — the man said, changing the subject intriguingly, his emerald eyes gleaming with a sly smile.

— I'm in! — the old man burst out with interest, all his previous grumbling was merely a screen for his resentment, because such a grand affair had been pulled off without his involvement...

— … Sigh,

— You haven't changed, old friend.

— And neither have you, sneaking into the enemy's lair and so brazenly drinking wine from my stash, which, by the way, is from Ancient Greece!...

— Ah, so that's what that nostalgic taste was...

Both fell silent for a moment, recalling the wild days of their lost youth.

The man awkwardly smiled and poured a glass for his old friend, — Oh yes, Alistair is dead… now I go by Virgil.

Alistair Crowley — the greatest eccentric of the twentieth century, founder of a new religion, and the greatest enemy of the Clock Tower.

He appeared suddenly and amazed everyone with his extraordinary abilities, but the noble houses of the ruling departments decided to rein in the upstart with no pedigree.

Everyone waited for results, and indeed, they slapped the aristocrats in the face, both figuratively and literally.

Alistair stomped them into the mud with his boots, staining the honor of the noble families, which they could not tolerate.

The public doesn't know exactly how it all ended, but Alistair was expelled from the organization and blacklisted.

Everyone decided that the rising star had dimmed, and that the power of the aristocrats knew no bounds, if not for a series of consecutive resignations of several lords.

The official version was that they decided to pass the reins of power to their extraordinarily outstanding descendants, but in fact, no one saw them again.

Of course, these were just small pranks compared to what really made the organization hate and fear him…

Kishua was not surprised by the change of identity, — Hmm, back then, many important mages breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing of your demise. I'm even curious, who managed to destroy your previous body? — the wizard asked with mockery and clear interest.

— Let's not talk about that, — Virgil concluded with emptiness in his eyes.

He clearly did not want to recall it.

Kishua's pupils widened in surprise — such a dejected expression had appeared on this man's face only once before.

Because of this, he could guess the possible truth of those years.

— Yes… some things… are better left behind forever.

Both of them had their sins and skeletons in the closet, which they preferred to keep silent about.

— So, what plan were we discussing? — Zelretch asked, coughing.

— Oh, it's a certain artifact you're familiar with, because you were involved in its creation… The 'Heaven's Touch' ritual created in Fuyuki City, Japan.

The old man furrowed his brows and glanced sideways at his comrade, — And what future did you see? Since it could interest you so much.

Virgil smiled, — Oh, I would say… it's going to be a 'blockbuster.' Even colleagues from the neighboring world will come to participate, as they simply won't be able to refuse...

Zelretch nodded in understanding, — Ah, a singularity.

He pulled a pair of dice from his sleeve and rolled them onto the table.

— You first.

— Alright.

No one wanted to acknowledge Waver Velvet's talents.

After all, he was not a descendant of an aristocratic family. No eminent person sponsored him, and he studied magical arts mostly on his own.

Nevertheless, he received an invitation to study at London's Clock Tower — the main educational institution and the stronghold of the Mage's Association.

Waver thought he possessed exceptional abilities, was very proud of himself, and considered getting into the mage school his greatest achievement, as people of his standing could not even dream of such a thing.

Moreover, Waver imagined that since the foundation of the Clock Tower, there had never been a student like him, rising to the top, through thorns to the stars, attracting the attention of the entire Mage's Association.

But in reality… no one wanted to recognize Waver's talents. Because he was only a third-generation mage, and his magical crest did not have the density or amount of magical energy that accumulated through generations, passed from parent to child.

Similarly, the bodies of descendants from generation to generation gained more magical circuits, increasing their power and influence. Naturally, Waver couldn't compare to the high-born offspring, many of whom were his classmates; many were mages in the sixth generation or older. Moreover, to master the magical arts perfectly, a whole lifetime isn't enough, so in aristocratic houses, it is customary to pass on all the accumulated knowledge and skills to children from a young age. The wisdom of the generations was the cornerstone of the power of a particular house.

Additionally, in large families, many children are born with different levels of ability, and the noble houses, following calculation, strive to pass all knowledge only to the best descendants, thus raising their qualifications to a new level.

It's no wonder that in this scenario, a newly arisen house hopelessly lost to noble houses: between them was a whole chasm called time.

Therefore, in any matter, preference was given to those who could boast of their lineage. Such is the unshakable order of things.

However, Waver thought otherwise.

It doesn't matter how great the gap in experience and lineage is, it can be overcome by relying on one's own strength.

No matter how many magical circuits a high-born mage has, no matter what secrets he inherits, all this can be disregarded; what is lacking can be compensated for if one deeply understands magical processes and masterfully controls energy.

That is true mastery! Waver was living proof of his theory, so without a doubt and at every opportunity, he tried to demonstrate his magical talent.

But no one wanted to recognize Waver, much less help him.

Most of the students at the Clock Tower had impressive pedigrees and huge privileges, along with sycophants of all kinds who tried day and night to curry favor with the nobility.

The professors were no different from the students.

They saw great potential only in the scions of noble families, and bookworms without a special lineage (Waver: …) were taught carelessly and with little enthusiasm given any knowledge or resources.

This was not only the case at the Clock Tower but also in the Mage's Society.

But why was everything decided by lineage?

Why were only theories covered in centuries-old dust trusted?

Waver asked these questions repeatedly, but no one answered them comprehensively. Professors would embark on vague musings, after which, confident they had convinced Waver of their rightness, they didn't even try to listen to his objections.

Although, at the dawn of the era, there was truly an incredible figure who shook the entire sublunar world!

Not being an aristocrat with an ancient lineage, that person still managed to step onto the pinnacle of the magical pedestal.

But even the name of that mage could not be spoken aloud; how unfair, thought Waver Velvet.

Someone had to expose the outdated system and reveal the problems of the Association, and Waver took up the pen. He nurtured the idea for his work titled "The Path of a Mage in the New Age" for three years, and it took another year to put all the postulates on paper.

Waver meticulously crafted them, writing them in the clearest language possible, trying to ensure everything was precise, logically sound — leaving no room for criticism! Waver poured his soul into the work, and if his creation had passed censorship, it would have surely caused a sensation in the magical community.

Unfortunately, the work first came into the hands of a professor from the Department of Summoning Spirits and Entities named Yufis.

This person, glancing through the text, tore it to shreds and threw it at Waver's feet. The professor's name was Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, and he was the eldest descendant of the noble Archibald family, a mage in the ninth generation.

A remarkable personality in every respect, addressed only as "His Lordship" Lord El-Melloi. To strengthen his position, he decided to marry the dean's daughter at one time and secured a teaching post at the Tower.

At the height that Waver aspired to reach.

In other words, the person who tore apart the work was a powerful, privileged man, and a dreadful snob — the very embodiment of everything Waver despised.

—Your foolish fantasies, Waver, only lead you astray from the true path,— Kenneth declared with blatant arrogance and a touch of pity when it all happened.

He was humiliated in front of the entire class, dragged through the mud!

Remembering this, Waver could still see that condescending gaze.

In his nineteen years, he had never experienced a greater humiliation.

If Kenneth had even a hint of sanity or a shred of pedagogical talent, he would have appreciated the effort and the core idea presented in the work.

In fact, Waver was certain that the professor understood everything but was afraid that this young talent might one day surpass him and take his place. How else could one explain the barbaric act of tearing up a carefully thought-out paper?

Unforgivable! An outrageous injustice! The path to greatness, assured by fate itself, was blocked by some narrow-minded idiot.

And no one would condemn or support him in all this.

So he decided that the magical community was completely rotten.

Perhaps Waver Velvet, harboring resentment, would have calmed down over time, but soon a rumor reached him.

It was said in the Tower that His Excellency El-Melloi, to add the finishing touch to his already brilliant career, was going to participate in some sort of mage battle on the edge of the earth.

Upon learning this, Waver, forgetting about sleep and food, plunged into studying what this could be.

And when he found out that it was about the Holy Grail War, he became utterly engrossed in the subject.

Soon he learned that the main prize in the battle would be the Holy Grail — a Chalice endowed with immense magical power and capable of granting wishes.

To obtain it, participants summon Servants (spirits of once-great heroes) and wager their lives. The battle is fought without regard for rank, status, or lineage, sometimes even with bare hands, relying solely on one's own strength.

By Waver's standards, this way of determining the greatest mage was barely better than a regular brawl, if not sheer barbarism, but it would allow the most inconspicuous talent to bloom.

Since then, Waver knew no peace.

And then, luck suddenly smiled upon him.

It all started with a mistake in the office, where Waver was tasked with delivering, along with the daily correspondence, a certain... package to His Excellency El-Melloi.

And he had to do it as quickly as possible and personally.

It was also strictly forbidden to open anything, and Waver guessed that the package was somehow connected to the Holy Grail War.

And he was right.

Inside lay a sacred relic.

His Excellency El-Melloi had ordered it from Macedonia, and as it turned out later, it was associated with a great hero of the past.

Waver understood that there was no time to think.

Such a chance comes once in a lifetime.

Moreover, he felt no respect or reverence for the rules of the Clock Tower or its inhabitants.

If he missed this battle, there would be no glory for him.

At best, he would graduate as an honor student, receive some medal as a reward, but that would be nothing compared to the reverence and power that the Grail from Fuyuki could bestow.

If he managed to win, all those arrogant aristocrats would finally tremble, or even fall at his feet!

Seizing the relic, he left England that very day and flew to the Japanese islands.

In the Clock Tower, they surely figured out quickly who had stolen the package from His Excellency El-Melloi, but they didn't pursue him. Moreover, no one guessed that he was planning to participate in the Holy Grail War.

They were much more willing to believe that the angry poor student simply wanted to teach the tyrant teacher a lesson.

No one could even imagine that a third-generation mage would enter into a life-and-death struggle with true masters.

Such was the lack of recognition for Waver Velvet's talents in the Clock Tower.

But that didn't matter.

Waver made it to the eastern islands and settled in the provincial town of Fuyuki.

On yet another morning in this entirely new place, Waver lay comfortably in bed, wrapped in a blanket.

It was a special morning.

Waver, trying to suppress a smile that kept spreading on its own, would occasionally lift his right hand and gaze at his palm in the bright sunlight streaming through the curtains.

After staring at it for a while, Waver would stifle a giggle and mischievously hide his hand under the blanket, only to be overwhelmed by the desire to look again.

Reveling in his joy, he barely heard the birds screeching outside the window.

As soon as Waver arrived at the site of the War, the Holy Grail immediately recognized him as a person of outstanding talent.

There was now no doubt: the previous night, a pattern of three marks had appeared on Waver's hand, the very symbol of power that allowed him to command the summoned Servant.

His thoughts were interrupted by an elderly voice calling out from downstairs, a bit drawn-out:

— Wake up, sleepyhead! Come down for breakfast!

The day was so good that even that voice no longer seemed so creaky and annoying.

After all, great events awaited Waver, so he needed to get up quickly and get on with the day. Waver jumped out of bed, quickly pulled off his pajamas, and started getting ready for breakfast. Upon arrival, Waver quickly noticed that on these eastern islands, seemingly cut off from the rest of the world, there was a surprisingly large number of foreigners.

Naturally, Waver stood out from the locals, yet he didn't attract much attention, as there were quite a few people like him.

For greater success, he found an elderly Canadian couple and cast a simple spell on them.

It made them believe that Waver was their beloved grandson who had recently returned from studying abroad.

The role of the fake grandson brought many additional benefits: for instance, he didn't have to pay for room and board.

In other words, two birds with one stone. Waver couldn't be more pleased with his cleverness. Everything was going smoothly. If it weren't for the annoying clucking of the birds outside the window. Trying not to listen, Waver went downstairs.

As on other days, newspapers were on the kitchen table, something was cooking on the stove, and the TV was on, with a news anchor reading the headlines. The elderly couple, ordinary people, greeted Waver with their usual warmth.

— Good morning. How did you sleep? asked old Glen, addressing Waver.

— Morning, Grandpa! Slept like a log, — Waver replied cheerfully as he sat down at the table and began spreading a thick layer of jam on a slice of bread. Without the jam, the 180-yen bread was hard to swallow: it tasted worse than rubber and stuck to his teeth. But with something sweet, it was tolerable.

The kind elderly couple were Glen and Martha McKenzie. They had moved to Japan from Canada over twenty years ago with their son, but he hadn't settled in and soon returned to his homeland, started a family, and stayed there permanently.

Their grandson also didn't stay long in Japan, went abroad, and disappeared; no letters, no calls...

This sad story was told in detail to Waver when he cast the hypnosis spell on them.

The family drama came in handy, and the young mage, without much thought, replaced the image of their grandson in Martha and Glen's memories with his own.

Thus, he became Waver McKenzie.

— Listen, Martha, what's up with those chickens clucking under the window? And where could they have come from, for goodness' sake? — Glen asked his wife in confusion.

— In the yard? Indeed... there are three hens wandering around. But whose they are — I have no idea, — Martha shook her head.

Waver hastily swallowed his bread and began thinking of an explanation:

— Oh... well, you see... a friend of mine asked me to look after them. He left town and entrusted his pets to me. But I'll return them tonight.

— Oh, I see... — the elderly couple exclaimed in unison.

The elderly couple accepted his explanation without question, as if finding chickens in the yard was the most normal thing in the world.

Fortunately, their hearing, diminished with age, prevented them from understanding how loudly the birds were clucking. And surely, they were driving all the neighbors crazy.

But the one who struggled with them the most was Waver himself.

Last night, upon discovering the Command Seals on his hand, he was so overjoyed that he nearly lost his head.

Naturally, he immediately started preparing for the sacrifice.

But Waver hadn't considered that finding domestic birds in the city would be quite a challenge.

Roaming the streets, he accidentally stumbled upon some coop, into which he climbed without hesitation.

But it took him an entire hour to catch just three birds.

Waver returned home not even at night, but at dawn, covered in bird droppings and battle wounds...

It was then that Waver remembered that in the Clock Tower, they usually stocked up on enough birds for any ritual, and you could take as many as you wanted.

And here he was, suffering for the sake of just three chickens! A little more, and he would have been on the verge of tears from the frustration.

If it weren't for the Command Seals on his hand, Waver would have been completely disheartened; in a tough moment, he would glance at the mark and cheer himself up.

But now, it didn't matter.

The ritual would take place tonight. The restless chickens would be sacrificed, and Waver would obtain the strongest Servant in the world.

The relic, hidden in the bedroom closet, would help summon the greatest hero of the past, acting as a beacon to guide him into this world.

Waver had long known who would appear, whom he would be calling upon.

Inside the package stolen from His Excellency El-Melloi was a nearly decayed fragment of a once-luxurious cloak that had adorned the broad shoulders of a revered king.

In his time, he had defeated Persia, crossed Greece, and moved northwest toward India to build the first empire in human history that could be called "global."

Even in his lifetime, this man became a hero, and after his death, he was honored with the title of King of Conquerors. This heroic soul would come to Waver, kneel before him, recognize him as his master, and help him obtain the Holy Grail.

— Grandpa, Grandma, this evening I'm going to return the chickens to my friend, and I'll probably be back late. So don't wait up for me."

— Alright. Just be careful out there. Things are rough in the city these days.

— That's putting it mildly! Everyone's talking about a serial killer. I think they just found a few more victims recently. Some even say it's a whole gang! What a terrible world we live in…

But nothing could dampen Waver's spirits on this beautiful morning.

He was already chewing on his eighth piece of that awful bread, lost in his thoughts. For the first time in his life, he felt such all-encompassing happiness.

In the basement of the Matou mansion, everything was shrouded in darkness, with all sorts of vile sounds emanating from a filthy, bottomless pit.

There were sounds of bones crunching, joints creaking, and disgusting slurping.

Something down there was looking up, and its gaze was so empty and pitiful that it would make any observer feel either guilty or righteously angry at the one responsible for such a tragedy.

— They're all gone… It's so difficult to maintain my form these days, this disgusting, rotting flesh… do you know what that's like? — croaked the old man, coughing as he watched the carnage he had orchestrated.

The young man replied, — I don't know, but it must be… unbearably painful? And the worst part isn't that your body is rotting, since it's just a vessel… but that your soul is rotting, Zouken Matou, — addressing him directly.

Was he horrified by the hellish scene below, or was he one of those true magi who felt nothing for ordinary people?

Even the ghastly corpse named Zouken didn't know.

Something inside this mage… Adam Blake, made Zouken's decaying, feeble soul tremble.

But…

Adam continued his thought, — And that's why you need immortality, not eternal flesh… but the immortality of the soul! And because only the Grail can grant it to you, you need it, and… you need me, just as I need you, Zouken!

The old man grinned, revealing rotten teeth, — Indeed… for the sake of my cherished dream, anything can be used!

Blake smacked his lips, saying, — Oh, even if you have to make a deal with the devil?!… — and then fell silent, waiting for a response.

— Yes, even if I have to give everything, I'm ready to pay any price for my desire, absolutely everything!!! — The madness reigning in the old mage's soul spilled out, his wild grin revealing his predatory nature, like a cornered beast.

The young man's pupils narrowed as he sighed, — Oh, is that so! He clicked his tongue in disappointment but quickly changed his expression.

The barrier covering the city had detected an unexpected guest; it appeared to be a mage.

Zouken squinted, his face frozen in a mask of contempt and disgust.

— Tch, it's him again…

Adam was genuinely surprised, as it was rare to see such an expression on Zouken's face, in fact, he had never seen it before.

Glancing in that direction, he paused for a second and then smirked.

— Oh-oh-oh… yes, yes, I see. I think you should rest, old age is catching up with you, isn't it… sensei," Adam said as he walked away.

Zouken smiled wickedly, — Yes, yes, I eagerly await your performance… my dear student. But if you betray me, then I suppose I'll have to kill you…

A lively young woman was walking down the street, her long pale hair adorned with black ribbons that perfectly complemented her appearance.

Passersby stared in amazement at this strikingly dressed young lady.

At some point, the bustling street became empty, and a deathly silence hung in the air, like a frozen substance.

— Oh, it seems I've accidentally wandered into a boss zone. The main thing is not to get killed before my time. Otherwise, all my efforts will be in vain! — the stranger said in perfect English.

The cute image she had cultivated was instantly shattered by her foul mouth.

The sound of footsteps behind her marked the beginning of the upcoming battle. "Is it appropriate for a young lady to be walking in such attire at this time and place? If the miss has bad intentions, then don't blame others for their actions."

A man in his twenties stepped out of the darkness and politely removed his top hat.

His dark pupils scrutinized the unrecognized guest so intensely that she blushed in embarrassment.

— Oh, don't misunderstand, sir, I just got lost by accident. Would you be so kind… as to show me the way out of here? — the young woman said, fluttering her eyelashes and pouting her soft pink lips at the man.

— Oh, what a sad story. So the miss is in need of help, then she should take my hand, and I will, as it were, show her the way to the source, — Adam smiled as he extended his hand politely.

— What a charming gentleman, excuse me, but my heart already belongs to someone else…— the young woman replied, feigning an apologetic expression.

Blake smiled knowingly, — Indeed, but perhaps you could stop for a moment and chat with me a bit longer?

— Huh? I don't understa… argh… — The girl's face twisted in pain and shock.

The mage turned away and squeezed his palm tighter, and the girl's body dissolved as if it had been an illusion… which it was.

His slender fingers held the still-beating heart of the girl, while a polite smile remained on his lips. — Illusions, of course… Did you study in Britain? How unexpected, but so did I. Would you be so kind as to join me for a cup of coffee and discuss the meaning of life? Sir… oh, my apologies, Miss Prelati.

Prelati spat out a clot of blood and forced a smile, — Oh dear… it seems my raid was unsuccessful… I'll have to start all over again…

Crack!

Another rib snapped like a twig, and her magical circuits began to pulse and heat up.

— Pff… hasn't anyone told you that girls don't like such pushy boys? What a bad gentleman,— Prelati shouted.

Adam dropped the body to the ground, pulled out a white handkerchief, and began carefully wiping not only his own face but also that of his interlocutor.

— I wouldn't want to ruin a pretty doll, especially before the main act. But here's the thing, I need to pass my exam with the teacher and come out unscathed. It's a tough situation, so I have just one question… soft or hard

A gentle smile spread across the girl's face, —Oh, it seems tonight will be unforgettable…

Adam pulled out a straw doll, painted it with the mage's blood, and began chanting mysterious incantations unfamiliar to Prelati, making her heart beat even faster.

Hours later, Adam emerged from the alley, leaving behind only a crimson stain on the asphalt and bits of straw.

— Oh, I think I should stop by the Church and pray for the repose of the unfortunate souls. Amen."

With a brief remark, he vanished into the shadows of the city.