C50: Sealing Designated?

Guided by the scent of its prey, Caragor stalks closer to the oblivious humans. 

Ears pricked and behind swaying, the monstrous Demon gathers momentum before lunging in the middle of their midst. 

The unsuspecting Magi are tossed about like ragdolls, their cries swallowed by the night. 

Their uniforms seem familiar…

Haven't I seen them before.

What was that Clan called again? 

Yggdrasil? Something like that. 

It begins with an 'Ygg' That much I remember.

"Yggdmillennia?"

A pack of weaklings, novices and the dying in possession of the Greater Grail?

How amusing. 

"The Grand Grail War's gonna be a blast."

A rattling cough from Annalise breaks my concentration, bringing me back to doctor Yasuke, the local black market doctor trusted by most of the unaffiliated criminal elements in town, who's slowly extracting the bullets lodged in the woman's flesh. 

Normally, I'd leave her to her fate. 

But her survival is necessary. 

The Mage's Association and the Church would come down on me like tons of bricks if their agents were decimated with no answer given. 

A few casualties are acceptable, but an outright massacre on both side with no survivor will definitely put me and Fuyuki under intense scrutiny and crippling surveillance from both of the biggest supernatural powers on the planet. With Annalise alive, there will be someone to shoulder part of the blame. 

If they demanded the Second Owner to take responsbility, I can pull the age card for Rin and the 'inexperienced newcomer' card for me as her official spokesperson.

While Annalise slowly recovered, I retrieved my phone and dialed John. He picked up on the second ring.

"—We figured out what was causing all the trouble in Montreal," He said, voice thick with amusement. 

"What was it?"

"—Some idiot decided it would be a good idea to bind a Soul to a Cassette tape and never disposed of it," The golem explains. "A whole urban legend thing started to circulate, granting the tape Mysteries."

"What about Oswald?" I asked, already dreading the answer. 

"—Our dear senior detective was found unconscious in front of the television. He's alive, but left a husk of himself."

There goes one of my contact… "So, Oswald didn't make it."

"—Actually, he did. It's a damn good thing you contacted us, too. Three more days and his body would have been beyond recovery. Five, and his Soul would've been drained."

"How long will it take for him to recover?"

"—I'm thinking three months to half a year with intensive therapy, both mental and physical." John reports. 

"That'll put his career on hold," 

I muse, a plan already forming in my mind. "Once the detective's functional, arrange for a frame-up. Find a death-row inmate, make it clean, and let Oswald take the credit for the capture. I'll pay you a visit once I've finished my business at the Tower."

"—Oooh," John drew out the word, intrigued. "You're rejoining society, Milord?"

I'd hardly call the Association 'society', but—"Yeah… It's about time. While you're at it, help me purchase a few tons of rations."

Triss is technically giving me a loan, but our agreement is I am to provide the Mages' new settlement in Kovir with food in return for the potions, the latter of which will still need to be tested on humans in Nasuverse, which's where House Einzbern comes in. 

Although Homunculi suck as lifeforms; often riddled with diseases or just have a really, really short lifespan; their physical structures and organ functions mirror that of humans at the basic level. They'll be better test subjects than chimpanzees ever could.

"If there are failed Homunculi, don't scrap them. We're going to need test subjects."

The next person I call is my manager, who picks up just as quickly. Instead of words, I hear only heavy breathing mixed with guttural growls. "—Do you have any IDEA how long I've been trying to contact you? What the fuck were you doing?!"

"Family business."

"—How many family emergencies can a fucking kid have?!"

"A lot?"

"—How much is 'a lot?'"

"A whole lot?" I answer awkwardly, then immediately clutch my ears, recoiling from the loud screech. 

It takes me a moment to realize the source of the sound isn't Ms. Manager, but the good doctor who's supposed to be a professional. "—What the Hell's going on over there?!"

"Like I said," 

I glance back to find the man scrambling away from a decapitated, half-chewed head that just rolls down from the chimney. 

"Family business."

Sitting innocently on the stairs, Caragor slow-blinks at me, as if showing off his kill and ask me if I like his gift.

I don't.

I doubt anyone would given the circumstances, but better the head of my enemy than the head of some poor bloke unlucky enough to stumble on my Familiar on his nightly walk.

"Gotta go, Miyamoto-san."

I cut off the call while the underground doctor physically stops his own scream.

"What- What the FUCK?!"

Backpedaling on his hands and behind, he points at Caragor, while the Demon playfully slaps the bloody head around like a basketball. "What, never seen a body part before?"

"It's not just a fucking body part!" The doctor roars. "It's a bleeding, decapitated head! And whose fucking cat's that?!"

"Mine."

"What kind of fucking psycho are you?!"

Chuckling, I gesture at the unconscious Magus and respond. "The kind you don't wanna mess with, so do your job and fix her up."

Although clearly a bit reluctant, he does his job and before long, we're back. 

She'll have to settle for the Fuyuki Church, since there's not a chance in Hell I'll ever bring a stranger, let alone the Tower's agents freely into my Workshop; injured or not.

"You can come out now."

Exiting the red curtains, Gilgamesh sprawls next to the Magus, her downcast; disdainful gaze glued to the girl's face. "You're going on stage?"

"It's time." I shrug, sipping on the bitter tea that causes me to physically cringe. "Too fancy…"

I prefer the cheap, roadside stall tea that has the same yellow hue as piss and tastes like dirt. It is admittedly an acquired taste, but one I've never regretted getting.

"'Too fancy'? That's a first. Is this Queen's drink not to your liking?"

"What can I say? Expensive doesn't always mean better."

What I truly seek aren't the tea itself, but the memories. It's also packed with caffeine, probably more than coffee, which is a nice bonus. 

I miss those days of paranoia when I'd spot shadows lurking in the corners of the room after downing five glasses of that stuff straight. 

I miss the feeling of my heart racing in my chest while I pretended I wasn't just a sip away from a stroke… Good times.

"I have to move my operation eventually. Fuyuki's too small." 

Too boring as well.

"Got a plan?"

"No plan survives contact with the enemies, your Majesty. But if things go according to plan, I will finese the Magi out of their heritances and use that to fund future expenses."

"And if they don't?"

"There are other ways to make wealth." 

Lots, in fact. 

"But I'd still prefer to have influence in the Tower. It'll smooth the path ahead."

"Hence the Magus?"

"Hence the Magus." I nod.

After a few beats of awkward silence, she slides into my view. 

"What about me? You didn't think you can leave me here like discarded garbage, did you?"

"I didn't. Just… Couldn't find the words…"

"Find them now." 

Her closeness, the pressure of her body against mine, the whisper of roses in her hair—all of it ignites a fire I fight to suppress, reining in the primal urges surging within. Damn you, lizard brain. 

"Your Majesty," I rasp, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Will you join me in conquering the world?"

"All you had to do was ask."

I don't remember all of what took place afterwards, but I do remember flashes… I remember a lot of drinking; dancing and just remiscing. Once Gil hit the bed, I returned to the basement that was my room once. Not the prettiest of places, but I've definitely been in worse. Somehow, it feels nostalgic to know this will likely be the last time I stay in this shithole. 

The feeling doesn't instantly make the hovel of a room look prettier, of course—it's not alcohol, but the nostalgia does make it feel a lot more… Endearing.

I spent the evening jotting down my memories of Unlimited Blade Works and making a detailed list of the stocks I plan to buy once I have the funds; stocks that Kiritsugu will have to buy for Rin.

That same evening, I sneak into the Emiya Residence to leave a letter for each member of the household. 

Though I doubt this will be our last time seeing each other, the next time's going to be well into the distant future.

With the Grail gone, I have no reason to return to Fuyuki anymore; none except for my work as a celebrity which's technically funding most of my operations.

Two days later, Gil, Annalise, and I find ourselves on a plane. 

LeBlanc is silent, lost in her own thoughts. 

I don't blame her. 

In fact, I rather appreciate the quiet. 

There's nothing more aggravating than forced small talk in a cramped, public space, especially when everyone in the cabin is watching us like hawks.

From an outsider's perspective, it must be quite peculiar: A guy and two extraordinarily attractive women in their own little section. 

I'd be curious too.

I sleep through most of the flight, woken up by the stewardess for my breakfast.

"Chicken or beef?"

"How 'bout both?" 

Sliding the dish towards me, she winks, which only confuses my muddled brain.

"And a coffee please—black, no sugar."

Just as I'm about to dig into my meal, Gilgamesh lifts the dish, grabs a piece of paper with what I'll assume is the stewardess' number. 

A pair of glass drops from Gate of Babylon and put on me before I know it.

"It stops that Curse of you from activating."

Curse…? She means [Lust Spot]?

"I don't know, some would argue it's a Blessing. And was that jealousy I detect?"

"In your dreams."

We keep up the banter for a while, but even the 2/3 God knows fatigue it seems, which leave me with the absentminded Annalise. 

She hasn't been all there since we recover Jacques' body.

The elder LeBlanc… Let's just say open-casket won't be an option for their family.

"You alright?"

"My brother's dead." Annalise repeats, the only phrase she has been able to since.

I would console her, truly. 

But what can I say to that?

Instead, I opt for a gentle pat on her shoulder and drift back to sleep. I have already saved her life; I'm not obliged to be her free therapist as well. Besides, the girl's a Heiress, she can afford the sessions.

Five hours later, we land and are almost immediately escorted to the Clock Tower by a group in suits. 

They wear not the crisp uniforms I had expected, but rather blazers that look like something a literature college professor might throw on Monday morning.

"Lady LeBlanc, we were expecting you." One of the Enforcer echoes.

The greeting I receive is much less welcoming: "And you… Newcomer. Come with us."

Though his tone grates on me, a wise man knows when to stand firm and when to yield. I'm here to make allies, not more enemies.

Ushered into a car, Annalise and I settle into the backseats, sandwiched between two Enforcers, while the rest take the wheel and the seats behind us. 

As we drive off, I catch a glimpse of flowing golden hair outside. 

I've asked Gil to trail behind. 

The Golden Queen's a walking nuke; her presence would definitely deter even the most determined Magi, but I already owe her debts that, if I might add, still remain unpaid. 

I don't want to accumulate more.

'She wants me to change the world.' 

Gaze fixed on the woman outside, I flash a smile. 'Watch me.'

London was a nice place, at least before it was overrun by an influx of immigrants from around the world. 

That's the issue with loose borders; people of different backgrounds, statuses, and worldviews inevitably clash with the original residents, prompting conflicts and accelerating societal decay. 

Once I've bought the necessary lands, I'll restrict access to only those specifically chosen—fuck globalization. I'm going to gatekeep my Kingdom more than

"Always wanted to visit England…" I muse. 

I have—had a few friends here, granted, one's Scottish, but close enough. "Nice place."

How they managed to get permission to build an entire secret society underneath the Big Ben asides; how they did so without anyone noticing, is the real question. My assumption has always been the House of Lords is closely-connected with the Tower's politics. 

They might not openly fling Spells, but I suspect that some—the Great Lords themselves even—hold high positions within the House of lords. 

This is their turf, there's no way they would allow decisions to be made without their consultation. 

"Lady LeBlanc, someone will be right with you. As for you," 

The Enforcers turn to me. "Jasper Hangman, is it?"

"First of my name; official spokesperson for House Tohsaka and all that jazz, at your service."

"I doubt a newcomer can be of service to anyone." He responds with a snobbish hostility that irritates me. 

But there's no point in quarreling with an Enforcer, just as there's no point fighting an arrest when you can sue the department for wrongful arrest afterwards.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. 

Causing a fuss the first time I enter their territory won't endear me to anyone.

"Come. I'll get you registered in our database, and then we'll need you for questioning."

After a series of tests to determine my Origin and Affinity—information the Magi assure me will be accessible only to the Department Heads—we proceed to the test for Sorcery Traits. "Oh, this is gonna be fun." I remark cheekily.

Either the Perks will get detected, or they won't.

Stepping into the pod, I can't help but smile at the shocked gasps from the observers. "That can't be right…"

"Is the display broken?"

"What's wrong? You look surprised." 

I say lightly, cleaning the glass with my shirt and 'accidentally' revealing both the [Lust Spot] and the side profile of my abs… Anyone who claims being attractive isn't a privilege is either hard-coping or trying to downplay the benefits their good looks have given them, because in the face of beauty, even the biggest red flags will seem minor. 

I have seen girls cheer for serial killers who clearly deserve to be under the prison in a box for being handsome; just as I have heard guys claim they're willing to die for someone who'll never bat an eye in their direction.

As expected, public opinion immediately swings in my favor, albeit only slightly.

"Maybe the display's malfunctioning? How could a First-Gen possess over 20 Sorcery Traits?"

"Can I leave now?" 

With a flourish, I slide my glasses back onto my face, my grin a direct challenge to the blond Enforcer. 

Sometimes, words aren't needed; a look can convey just as much, if not more. 

Even without a single word exchanged, he knows, beyond a doubt, that he has already been outmatched. 

Keeping my posture straight and proud, I follow the man into the interrogation room. I take a seat, casually resting my legs on the cold table, my taunting gaze locked with the Enforcer's. 

Face flushed crimson, he clutches a blue sphere in one hand and introduces. "My name's Sven Glascheit," He practically spits, "An Enforcer of the Tower."

On cue, the sphere glows brighter. "This is the Truth-Seeking Orb. It can tell when someone's lying."

"Let me guess," I counter, a hint of amusement in my voice. "Blue means truth and red means falsehood?"

"Start." He rolls the sphere across the table to me. 

"Nah… I don't think so." 

I nudge the sphere back in his direction, my lips curving into a knowing smile. 

The Truth-Seeking Orb's a quaint little invention from two decades past from what I've read in the Tohsaka Library.

There'd been quite a lot of pushback against the implementation of it. 

Magi, after all, are practically born liars. 

They lie on a daily basis, practically 24/7 to other people and themselves. 

There are family secrets, the kind that can't risk exposure to public scrutiny. 

Hence, another law was conveniently implemented following the Orb's Invention. "Shall I read you the laws, Enforcer? The usage of Truth-Seeking Orb requires court order and can only be enforced if the Magus in question has consented to its use. Am I under arrest? Is there a trial waiting for me in there?"

Seeing my attitude, Sven changes his approach instantly. "I'm trying to help you—"

"Oh, is that what you're trying to do–help me? What do you think I am, five?"

Detectives get raises and rewards for catching criminals, which is why there are so many cases of wrongful arrest and imprisonment in the 80's and 90's. 

Some care about the truth; most don't. 

They just care about benefits and satisfaction.

"If you didn't do it, you have nothing to hide." 

The Enforcer growls, voice heavy with accusation.

I offer him a thin smile that doesn't quite reach the eyes. "We all have skeletons in our closets, Mr. Glascheit." 

Now there's a familiar name, one that dances on the edge of my memory, frustratingly out of reach.

"So you admit you played some part in the attack?"

"I admit I have secrets," I purr, "Things I prefer to keep to myself. Nothing more, nothing less." 

Passing the Orb from one hand to the other, a soft chuckle escaping my lips. 

"Besides, this? This doesn't work on me." As if to emphasize my point, the Mystic Code flickers erratically between blue and red, then shatters, dissolving into a million glittering pieces on the floor. "One of my Sorcery Traits," 

[Veiled] specifically. 

"Prevents such intrusions. I can tell you things from my point of view, and you can check the authenticity with Lady LeBlanc, but you will not treat me like some common criminal."

Jaws clenched tight, Glascheit glared at the Orb. "That's gonna cost you."

"Send me the bills later," I answer smoothly. While I do act like a pauper, I'm far from poor. It's mainly a force of habit to save up for a rainy day. "When you are done with the usual tough cop routine, we can start."

"Start then. I don't have all day."

— [Infinity] —

Life has become a monotonous routine for Lady Barthomeloi. 

Despite her prestigious position, boredom has become an unwelcome companion. 

In her younger years, there had been a constant stream of challengers eager to make a name for themselves by besting the famous Barthomeloi genius, but now that her prowess is a widely-accepted Truth, such occurrences are rare… Rare to the point she's starting to miss it. 

To think, a Magus of her caliber reduced to an office worker.

She has resigned herself to decades more of this mundane existence, until her final breath on a deathbed, until now.

"Over 20 Sorcery Traits in one person?" 

The news immediately spark a long-dormant enthusiasm.

Even O'Connor Belton who possesses 3 Sorcery Traits: The famed [Love Spot] of his ancestor, the dual Noble Phantasms tied to his bloodline, and one other Trait known only to her–his sponsor still pales in comparison to that outrageous number.

"Most of which are not registered in our database…" Her butler continues, laced with incredulity. "They're Traits we've never seen before."

"How credible is this information?"

"There are twenty-nine witnesses in total, Milady."

Snorting, the Queen of the Clock Tower drops her pen and rises. 

"And who is this mystery Magus?"

"Jasper Hangman, self-proclaimed First-Generation Magus."

"First of his name?" 

At their core, Sorcery Traits are Mysteries embedded within one's bloodline—often the result of past interspecies breeding or the accumulation of power across generations. A First-Gen possessing a Sorcery Trait or two is hardly unheard of, but even her own House dares not boast of such a number.

"Verify the information again. If it's true, we cannot let the Democrats get their hands on him."

Orders given, the last official member of Merlin's line bows deeply, retreating from the room. "I won't disappoint you, Milady."

"I know you won't, but if we're late, slap a Sealing Designation on him. Better him be communal property than a member of the Democrats."