C15: Bakersfield (1)

Guest (FF.net): I don't believe I've messed anything up, actually. I mean, just because you hate Kirei and Gil doesn't mean everyone dislikes these characters. I've never disliked any Fate character. Just Zouken for his gross Magecraft. And no, I'm not trying to be unique; I simply prefer them over Kiri or Shirou because they are more powerful at the end of the 4th War and can help the protagonist develop his ability better.

Kiritsugu isn't able to teach Magecraft as shown in the OG. He barely knows Magecraft himself as a self-taught Spellcaster.

Rin is pretty young and therefore isn't teacher material, not when she has her own Craft to focus on. Gil and Kirei are the best choices if you're talking profits and early power-gains.

Plus, they could've encountered each other on the road much like how Gil saw Sakura in the original story and break into a fight anyway. They all live in Fuyuki after all.

Mandvisahuxxx111: I didn't think anyone would notice, lol. I have to disagree though; adoration doesn't ensure that taxes get paid. Managing this is difficult for any politician or national leader, but it's the reverence based on fear that ultimately drives most actions from a governmental standpoint.

Another issue is adoration can so easily turn to hate. Just look at Saber. She sacrificed herself and her life for Camelot, and the moment she ordered Lancelot's execution, half the Kingdom turned against her. Of course, I could be wrong, but I don't think I am. Fear allows a lot of wiggle room than adoration. Politic is cruel and as a leader, I think one should prioritize their own nation and citizens first, they have to be somebody who can make the difficult decisions, but Leo won't rule through tyranny alone.

— — — — —

According to the information provided by the Magus Killer, Bakersfield has been relatively quiet on the political front for the past 2 years. It was almost as if he had vanished from the public eye, only to reappear six months ago. Kiritsugu would have taken matters into his own hands and assassinated the Magus, but he was occupied with his family, his life outside of work, and preparations for the Holy Grail War, which turned out to be a colossal mess of cataclysmic proportions.

The rest is history.

The detective and I start by going through all the sale and rental records, which Oswald surprisingly didn't have to forcefully obtain from the firms or their intermediaries.

It seems even real estate companies are participating in the telemarketing sector by putting out their clients' personal information to the highest bidder, often companies with a pseudo-science products to sell or scamming operations based in Cambodia, Laos, or India.

Given my deep-seeded, generational hatred for scammers, I make a mental note to dismantle their operations in the future... Installing a few bombs in these scumbags' centers and hitting their bosses should do the trick.

While I couldn't do it before as a regular person, I can certainly ensure that these shady bastards face the consequences of their actions now. This feud is as personal as can be.

Afterwards, it's back to business as per usual.

As Kiritsugu had explained to me during those early lessons, 'Magi typically fall into two categories—those who prioritize comfort and luxury, and those more focused on practicality.' Taking this guidance to heart, I've tailored my approach accordingly. Rather than targeting the middle ground, I have specifically focused my search on the high-end mansions, as well as the significantly cheaper but expansive plots of land.

These are the types of properties where a Magus would have the necessary space to set up their Workshop. The more budget-friendly options may sacrifice some creature comforts, but given the frankly immense wealth that Magi possess, customizing the property and having a contractor build from the ground up should pose little challenge.

Finding someone willing to take on the project isn't particularly difficult either with all the construction companies popping up alongside the boom of the real estate market.

In fact, that's how many real estate developers make their fortunes—how I shall build mine as well: First by acquiring vacant and seemingly useless land, constructing visually appealing homes, and then selling them to affluent buyers seeking to 'reconnect with nature' or 'escape the hectic urban lifestyle,' or any other such marketing platitudes.

Thus, a land that was once worthless for agriculture, and was without the modern conveniences most are used to suddenly transforms into a 'golden land' that's 'prime for future developments.'

And you know what they say: If a lie is repeated enough times, it becomes reality.

In essence, it is a lucrative business model that caters to the desires of the wealthy solely.

It takes us a solid week to sift through all the records.

Categorizing each one into the appropriate buckets takes even longer, but we eventually complete the task. In the end, we've identified a little over 500 relevant purchases and rental agreements signed within the last six months that align precisely with our speculations.

"I think I'm ready to call it quits."

Oswald declares, collapsing beside me in my hotel room after a grueling day's work.

The mounting disappearances and the rapidly escalating frequency of mutilated bodies being discovered are beginning to weigh heavily on the Montreal Police Force.

Not only is this one of the worst serial killer cases they've faced in decades, but the killer is also making a mockery of the authorities.

Their actions are growing bolder and more brazen, as if to taunt the police with a defiant: 'Catch me if you can!'

Naturally, this is followed by widespread public unrest. It's not just women and children—even the men are staying indoors after a certain hour, since the killer really doesn't seem to discriminate. The streets of what's supposed to be this vibrant, bustling city have been shut down, and the entirety of Montreal—a major tourist draw for Canada—seems to have gone on lockdown. 'It's like reliving COVID all over again...'

"How did your meeting go?"

I inquire, my eyes never straying from the paperwork I'm meticulously reviewing.

"Terribly." The detective sighs, collapsing onto the bed and retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. My fingers twitch, tempted to join him as my mind involuntarily drifts back to those carefree, happier days when I would share a smoke with the boys behind school.

Those were simpler times... Happier too.

"Open the windows first, you know how I feel about the smoke." I instruct. As a former tobacco addict myself, I understand the urge and don't judge people for seeking that coping mechanism.

It's not even the nicotine we become dependent on, but the ritual—the motions of taking it, lighting it up, and putting it to our lips, at least for me.

I don't want that smell clinging to me anymore.

A lot of former addicts vehemently dislike being around other smokers for a reason...

Like all addictions, it tempts.

Aside from the adverse health effects, it can be so fucking tempting to just bum a cigarette from a friend and take a long drag, especially when under duress.

Then, we'll tell ourselves 'It's the last one,' knowing full-well it isn't, and before we know it, we're hooked on the stuff again.

Been there, done that... I know exactly how hard it is to break that cycle, and am not looking to get addicted for a second time. "Got it, got it. You don't gotta tell me." Throwing open the windows, detective Oswald puts a cigarette to his lips and starts smoking away, sighing in relief as the stress fades.

My teeth itch again, my fingers which are tracing the sentence so I don't get lost in the

Gods know I need a way to de-stress too, unfortunately all the ways to do it are either illegal or harmful, but mostly both.

"Most of those high-end mansions were purchased through third-party—politicians, drug lords, and a few 'new money' types like actors and singers," I list. "Not much seems above board, does it?" His shoulders slump as I deliver the blunt truth. "You mean virtually all of them are shady... Is there even an honest politician left in Montreal?"

"Not a single one."

I reply flatly, my words weighing heavily on the detective as he slumps, puffing up smoke.

"But if you want to stay alive, I'd advise keeping what you know to yourself. I can protect you while I'm here, but I can't remain in Montreal indefinitely. I have other priorities."

Furthermore, the more corrupt the governments of the world are, the more opportunities it opens up for people like me. As the character Littlefinger once said, 'Chaos is a ladder.'

That's why so many in the modern world, especially those with a desperate thirst for power and wealth, secretly crave the collapse of the system. They believe in the ensuing chaos, they can climb that metaphorical ladder to the top, if only they're given the chance. In all fairness, their line of thinking isn't wrong, not from a logical point of view...

The more destabilized and unraveled society become, the more room there is to seize control, this is as factual as facts get.

The difference is that in my current state, I have the power and capabilities to survive, thrive, and reap the benefits. The majority of people do not possess these same skills. In fact, my former self would have been one of the first to get bit if a zombie apocalypse were to occur, let's not kid myself.

Although I wasn't some slovenly 300-pound slob who requires assistance from others just to clean the creases of their fupa, I'd not say I was the living epitome of athleticism either.

Rolling my eyes at his slumped form, I chide. "What's there to be so glum about? Politicians being corrupt is nothing out of the ordinary. The larger and more complex the system, the more opportunities there are for misconduct to take hold."

"Why?"

"Why, you ask?" I shrug nonchalantly. "It just is."

Were I more idealistic, I suppose I might have reacted differently, but fortunately I am not. "Can you change it, then?"

I instantly shake my head. "Nope. How does one go about altering human nature? It's easy enough to say, but when faced with luxuries akin to the royalty of old, how many can truly resist? Even if some manage, they will just be ostracized by the system and never amount to anything—or worse, made an example of… My dreams are grand, yours is unachievable."

I could have lied, I suppose—it may have deepened my hook into him. But that would have only given false hope, and the moment he realized the truth, I'd have a dangerous threat on my hands.

Hopeless people, after all, tend to be the most reckless–unpredictable, and thus the most dangerous wild card.

As for eliminating him… I'll admit, I simply don't have the heart for it. My goal is to rule a kingdom of prosperity, not one of tyranny—mired in death and decay. "Huh… Somebody bought a whole block 8 months ago; had them knocked down in days before contracting a construction firm."

I muse, stopping on the record of a recently-built mansion in the outskirt of Montreal.

"There is also no mention of the man's personal information."

"Could be our guy?"

"Could be." I agree. It is the most suspicious thing we've come across thus far. "Let's head out, I'm dying cooped up in this fucking room."

Grabbing a few more files with me, I make for the door while the detective trails behind me, stumbling forth like a baby-duck.

Neither of us has had much sleep for days, coupled with the sheer mental prowess expended to go through thousands of pages of contracts, even I am weary, much less a normal human. "You know, if you need me to drive…"

"Like Hell I'll let you."

I think I may be a bad influence on him, since Oswald has grown increasingly more and more comfortable with profanity in recent days. 'More irritated too.'

"Fine… Just make sure you don't hit anyone, again." I caution.

"Only happened once!" Grumbles the detective. "And I managed to avoid them, didn't I!"

"You drifted off at the wheel and veered onto a busy sidewalk…" I blanch at the memory. "Even now I still don't know how we avoided a collision."

"It was one time!"

He repeats grumpily as we get on the car.

After learning [Hypnotization] from Kirei, the receptionist and manager no longer bother us. The fundamental principles of the Spell are quite fascinating—it involves transforming our Mana into specific frequencies to broadcast thoughts into a target's mind, making them believe the suggestions are their own.

A true master of the Spell could compel someone to off themselves, and they would obey without blinking twice, but it also depends on the individual's willpower and desires.

For instance, if someone is very fond of dogs, making it a huge part of their personality, and the caster's goal is to change that, the caster will face an uphill battle and require far greater effort to achieve the desired outcome.

There's also a risk that if the Spell encounters too much resistance or the Magus loses patience in the process, the person's neural pathways could simply snap, causing internal bleeding, confusion and lasting damage to the brain. In more severe cases, the individual may even die or fall into a vegetative state.

As expected of Nasu-chan... Even the most basic of Spells can be lethal.

No wonder Magi make up such a huge percentage of the global human-trifficking trade.

They probably go through people faster than a prostitute through dicks.

"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens

Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche

Voila le portrait sans retouche~"

The familiar song on the radio lulls me into a serene state, its soothing melodies blending with the hum of Oswald's new compact sedan, prompting my eyes to drift shut.

I'm roused by the sound of the car door closing, and turn to see the detective carrying sandwiches and coffees. "How long was I—?" Spinning on the seat, my gaze sweeps the surroundings like a startled deer.

"Two hours." He replies concisely.

I groan wearily, massaging my tired eyelids. "I take it we've arrived then?"

"Yes, we've arrived. I've been observing that house for the past half-hour, but there's no sign of the owner yet." He pushes the tray towards me. "Here, you should have something before we get to work."

"Ah, a cappuccino." I remark, picking up the steaming drink.

"Is it not to your liking? I thought kids these days liked sweet?"

The detective comments, hastily unpacking his burger like a starving animal.

"No, it's fine. I just didn't take you for the cappuccino type." I reply with a slight chuckle, while he shrugs in response. "Life has enough bitterness as it is. No need to add more to your coffee, don't you think?"

Snorting, I take a sip of the cappuccino, blowing at the drink to cool it. "Heh, I suppose you've got a point there."

With a slightly more focused demeanor, I step out of the car, then turn to the detective, I instruct, "If anything happens, I need you to run. And if I don't come back out in, say, two hours, drive off and don't look back." His brow furrows, a mix of frustration and helplessness etched on his face. "Is there anyone I can call if you don't return?"

I let out a dry chuckle. "Haha, it's not going to be that easy."

His lips twitch in an irritated expression. "Has anyone ever told you that you have major trust issues?"

"Is it really an issue if there are people actively trying to get you?" I retort.

Paranoia is undoubtedly the healthier approach for a Magi like myself, especially with my lofty ambitions. Hell, I'd argue it is a damn necessity to live even for normal people.

"Oh, and pass me that briefcase."

I grab my gun and assemble the parts in the car, placing the weapon in a plastic bag to conceal it.

'To hell with the environment.'

I think as I skip towards the building under the detective's watchful gaze. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinaire, but as I cross the street, an annoying yet persistent buzzing suddenly starts bouncing inside the walls of my skull, like a kid high on sugar and caffeine both, which are nightmares to handle.

Classic sign of a weak Bounded Field.

This is actually a well-crafted one by Magi standards, designed to redirect discreetly rather than cause unnecessary harm and, as a consequence, risk exposing the world of Magi. 'Jackpot on the first try? Excellent.' I muse with satisfaction, silently ducking into the alley next to the building while my brain goes full anxiety-mode as the Bounded Field tries to assert itself on me.

Unfortunately for him but fortunately for me, the naturally higher Magic Resistance that Magi possess, combined with my intense drive to search the building, renders this Bounded Field practically useless. Well, maybe not entirely. 'This is going to be a real hassle to work with,'

I muse, feeling the irritating sensation of something scraping at the edges of my mind—something like, 'Sandpaper…' It's even more jarring than the ones Kiritsugu set up around the Emiya Residence. Touching the glass, I use [Alteration] to carve a near surgical circle, and cautiously remove the piece lest it falls and alerts the Magus to my presence.

I'm unsure if the Bounded Field has an [Alarm] included in its functions, since Wardstones or its many equivalences have limits, but whether it does or not, trying to reduce my presence is the wisest move I can make at the moment.

After setting down the glass quietly, I leap inside, hiding behind the couch while my eyes scan the surroundings. Violently, my heart thumps in my chest as adrenaline floods my system. It's one thing to talk big, it is another to do. I had never broken into someone's house until now, and it is as nerve-wracking as it is thrilling. Poking my head out of my cover, I'm dazzled by what is in front of me… A golden statue that looks like—"Yep, it is made entirely out of gold."

A quick check with [Structural Grasp] informs me.

Across the room, a jade vase catches my eye, and next to it, several glass cases displaying a dazzling array of jewels. All of them are Mystic Codes. "Holy shit…" The words escape my lips before I can stop them. One of the lessons the Magus Killer taught me was: Never, ever forget to loot. And looking at this trove, I can certainly see why.

Even with the money from the 'commissions' he accepted, going around the globe assassinating Magi isn't exactly a cheap endeavor. Most of the funds for his gear and travel came from the very possessions of his targets, who upon their deaths, naturally ended up in Kiritsugu's bank account.

Typically, the Magus Killer didn't take everything, just the most valuable items, since money was merely a means to an end for him. But I'm not the Magus Killer. Building a kingdom is going to require a substantial amount of funds, and even if my ambitions had been any more modest, money is always going to be a necessity. The issue is, Kiritsigu has refrained from introducing me to his contacts.

'I can only provide the instruction,' The retired Magus Killer had told me that day when I inquired. 'How much you actually take away from it is up to you entirely.'

Making business connections can certainly be a tiresome endeavor, but I do understand why he declined to share his with me.

Providing that access would have undermined my ability to forge my own connections.

"I'll unload about half of these wares to the black market," I muttered to myself, "And hang onto the rest." The sale should sustain me and my operations for a some time, while the rest of the items will serve as investments since I'm 100% positive their value will soar in the next couple of decades.

As for accessing the black market, that's where Oswald comes in.

He may not have firsthand knowledge of those back-alley dealings, but the detective's bound to know someone who does.

"Whoa, slow down there, Leo," I suddenly admonish myself. "You're getting way ahead of yourself…"

Stealthily, I crept around the mansion, discovering little of note aside from the Magus' entire treasury housed within. "Curious," I murmured. Either Bakersfield has also mastered [Spatial Magecraft], "Or he's had a hidden compartment constructed…"

Meticulously tapping every inch of the walls and floor, I at last come across a section of wood that sounds hollow. 'Bingo!'

I could waste precious time searching for the concealed switch, but laziness dissuades me.

'Magical problems require magical solutions.'

Even basic Spells possess a wealth of practical applications.

One such use I've uncovered is the ability to remove sections of buildings or any surface as needed via [Alteration], which is essentially a multi-tool at the ready for every imaginable situation.

Demolishing the false floor (trapdoor), my gaze falls upon my own reflection in the polished, metallic entrance concealed beneath. The architectural plans for this mansion obtained from the construction firm made no mention of any subterranean bunker…

It's not difficult to surmise how a Magus could have kept it off the official records—likely through a combination of financial incentives, liberal applications of [Hypnotization], and perhaps a few judicious bribes of narcotics or other illicit substances to lower the person's ability to form thoughts, which will drastically decrease resistance. My hand stops just as I reach for the second trapdoor—an involuntary reaction to the fear brewing in me.

I'm not afraid to admit I'm afraid.

With Kirei or even the rare spars with Kiritsugu, I knew the odds of dying, while not entirely 0, were still negligible.

This isn't a spar, it's the real deal.

'Maybe I should leave it for another—'

I slap the insidious thought away—literally, way too familiar with the routine already.

That voice is only gonna get louder if I procrastinate. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Leo." Suppressing my fears, I opt for a daring leap instead of the ladder descent to catch the Magus off guard in case they are already there, lurking. Landing soundlessly on the balls of my feet, I discover that the room is devoid of any presence.

The interior matches my expectations—pristine and surgical, enveloped in an almost blinding white aesthetic.

I was hoping he'd be here… Would have made things much simpler for me, but one shouldn't be greedy.

Creeping deeper into Bakersfield's lair, I enter a room full of white curtains and hospital beds where a bunch of sickly people are breathing and being fed by tubes. I'd have thought them corpses if not for the weak in and exhales I still catch, albeit just barely.

'They're all skin and bones.' You'd expect a Magus with evolution as their Craft to take care of their test subjects better, but I guess taking care of this many people at once is kind of too much work for one person to do.

The further I go, the less… Human these test subjects seem.

It started out small at first, with a few spare parts like an extra, but stunted arm or leg; a lot of skin bumps that eventually grow to walnut-size, bobbing up and down with each motion. As a proper 21st Century horror enjoyer, the sight isn't that shocking for me, until I stumble on the 'anthromorphic mutants,' all of whom restrained to the table—howling; shrieking; their eyes begging for the sweet release of Death.

They're not humans with extra animal parts like one'd expect from an animal, instead horrifically modified humans with raised ribcages poking through their chest, bones and spikes in places where there shouldn't be and skin pulled so taut against their skeletal frame I'm genuinely surprised it hasn't burst.

A few look like their mouths have been cut apart to accommodate their new sets of jagged teeth, while some have bulging foreheads, as though their brain has grown so big it creates a large ridge running between. 'Oh, look, it's furry Heaven…' Only there's no fur to be found, only black veins running down their naked forms.

"Holy shit."

I knew Magi's experiments could be deadly; I knew it could be cruel, but this is on another level.

'At least they get mad muscles out of it…'

Though I'm not sure they can even be referred to as humans anymore.

"Just when I'm running out of subject, a rat delivers itself to my doors."

A voice echoes from behind me, emotionless yet not without arrogance.

"Welcome to my Workshop, little rat."

His gaze scans me from head to toes, then the Magus finally smiles.

"You'll make for a perfect subject! Tell me, which animal do you like most?"

"Bakersfield, huh? Unfortunately, it goes against the Codex to spawn mutants. You have a choice now—submit or die under the spear of the Imperium!"

"You think you're a jokester, don't you, little rat… Well, maybe I will give you some rat-like enhancements, it'll fix up your face nicely!"

"Oh, I'm quite the entertainer, alright."

Summoning my spear, I brandish the weapon and point it towards the Magus.

"Your fate is sealed, whether you surrender or not. The Codex doesn't take kindly to Heretics, Blasphemers, or those who dabble in mutant-creation."

"Agh…" Bakersfield, shrouded in a pristine white cloak that conceals the darkness lurking within, groans. "Another dog of the Church. I was expecting more. Oh, well, have at it then."

Arms outstretched in a provocative gesture, the Magus taunts, and I answer his challenge without hesitation, my feet exerting pressure on the ground with enough force to shatter the bricks as I lunge at him.

His initial defensive move traps my first strike between his knee and elbow, now shielded by what appears to be insect-like armor.

Bakersfield gazes at me smugly, but his smirk quickly fades as my [Extended Thrust] springs into action—the tangible hologram drawing first blood successfully.

With a powerful roar, I swing the spear, causing the Magus to slide across the floor to the opposite direction. Regaining his bearing and adjusting his glasses, the Magus comments, "Looks like you're not just all talk—" Yet, before he can complete his sentence, I am already hot on him heels.

Dodging the rapid flurry of thrusts I unleash in under 5 seconds, Bakersfield shouts, the casual indifference in his voice earlier diminishing with each nick I make, replaced by frustration. "Have some class, you religious fucking freak!"

"CLASS MY ASS! All's fair in love and war!"

Screw waiting around to hear my enemies stroking themselves or getting a power-boost.

I might have considered it if he were a Heroic Spirit or at least someone of note, but the right to act tough simply doesn't belong to a 'newbie boss.'

'Know your place, you third-rate antagonist!'

— — — — —

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