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Page 589
The light no longer simply illuminates, but possesses a tangible pressure, squeezing the air and giving each breath a heavy, magical quality.
Space itself seemed to be slightly distorted and expanded, and subtle halo distortions appeared at the edges of vision, as if this world had temporarily broken away from the physical laws of the ordinary world and become a sacred realm governed by pure magical logic.
"Then, let me—the Lord of the Plant Family, Lidell—be the one to begin this new topic."
Lily Dale's voice pierced clearly through the deep hum of energy in the space. She rose steadily from her seat, which shimmered with liquid light.
The strange light of the ceremony space fell on her, highlighting the outline of her exquisite dress and further emphasizing the majesty of her monarchical position.
In the center of this otherworldly court, constructed entirely of magical logic, beneath the suspended, ever-reflecting and recombinating crystalline light, her voice, with an absolute clarity that cut through all doubt, resounded powerfully:
"The new topic is—"
The brief pause seemed to allow that unquestionable will to be driven into the core of everyone's consciousness like an invisible wedge.
"—Do you support turning the Albion Great Tomb itself into a conceptual weapon?"
"Albion's Great Tomb...Conceptual Armament..."
These words, like pebbles thrown into a stagnant pool, instantly stirred up a silent yet violent magical tremor in the space frozen in magical light and geometric patterns.
The heavy, magical quality permeating the air seemed to suddenly become more oppressive.
The trajectory of the runic particles rotating around the core crystal seemed to momentarily become disordered.
The ambition and blasphemous weight of this issue itself have transcended words.
The moment it was thrown out, it pushed the stage of the Grand Order decision to the edge of an unprecedented abyss, one that could shake the very foundations of the magic world.
.........
Everything was completely covered and replaced in an instant.
The magical circle that Hartres had meticulously constructed to seal off the Albion space of the Spirit Tomb, along with the special domain it maintained, vanished instantly without any resistance, like a sand painting wiped away by an invisible giant hand.
The next moment, Matou Ike and Hatteres were no longer in the depths of the Spirit Graveyard, but stood abruptly on a boundless wilderness soaked in an ominous dark red.
It's not just the ground beneath our feet that's changing.
Almost at the same instant the spatial transformation was completed, Matou Ike's consciousness suddenly realized—they were surrounded!
Silent and seemingly arising from the blood-red earth itself, countless figures, stretching as far as the eye could see, completely surrounded their central point.
It was a silent army, originating from the depths of history.
They gripped spears, swords, scimitars, and lances tightly in their hands, while countless figures sat astride equally armored warhorses.
The sheer number... was breathtaking. As far as the eye could see, there was only a steel forest formed by silent armor and cold weapons, stretching on and on until the blood-stained horizon at the edge of the field of vision, as if soldiers from the entire world had gathered here.
Observe the surroundings at Matou Pond.
This was not the first time he had witnessed such a scene.
The sheer scale of the formation, the military bearing that transcends time and space, the overwhelming and unparalleled presence...
no doubt--
This was precisely the ultimate Noble Phantasm that Iskandar, the King of Conquest, was so proud of—
"The King's Army (Ionioi Hetairoi)!"
That is a miracle that can only unfold when the King of Conquerors manifests as a heroic spirit, a miracle that transcends the ordinary.
It is said that he can turn the deep bonds he has forged with his followers into reality, along with his mental landscape "inherent boundaries," and summon tens of thousands of elite allied forces that transcend time.
That was a mysterious army that ordinary armies could not match and that was beyond the comprehension of common sense.
but--
This massive army before us...
Completely different!
There were no earth-shattering battle roars, no thunderous hooves, no sparks from clashing swords, and not even the slightest trace of life.
Dead silence.
An absolute, chilling stillness enveloped the red wilderness.
Those soldiers in formation, those warhorses mounted... they are not heroic spirits!
They... were mountains of dead things!
Countless broken bodies, like huge chunks of flesh crushed by immense force and repeatedly sliced by sharp blades, covered every inch of land as far as the eye could see.
Severed limbs, torn internal organs, still flowing viscous dark red... all the cruel fragments that constitute "life" were brutally and bloodily piled up, stuck together, and fused together, forming a disgusting carpet of flesh and blood covering the earth.
The armor that once symbolized glory and power is now mostly mired in this swamp of flesh and blood, or hanging crookedly on those inhuman remains, covered with congealed blood and fragments of internal organs.
This is not a re-enactment of the "King's Army".
This is a death exhibition that is the cruelest and most blasphemous in its pursuit of conquest. It is the eternal graveyard of that invincible legion, frozen in this blood-red wasteland after its complete annihilation.
At the center of the ranks of "soldiers," where corpses piled up like mountains and blood stained the ground, a presence suddenly appeared.
It was an exceptionally tall figure, riding a skeletal warhorse that also exuded an inhuman aura.
No, to be more precise—
Among this vast and despair-inducing army of dead creatures, exuding an aura of death and decay, only that one being was surrounded by a faint yet undeniable radiance.
The god Iskandar.
Human eyes and mind are simply incapable of accurately capturing and discerning the true nature of that figure.
Its outline wavers between reality and concept.
Although his height and physique were completely different from the imposing and majestic Iskandar, the Conqueror King, who appeared in the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki City, as remembered by Matou Ike, there were moments when he strangely gave people the illusion—
It is like a clumsy imposter, or perhaps the ultimate form of the once-seen strongman Iskandar after being forcibly stretched, distorted, sublimated, or perhaps corrupted?
This is a form of cognitive blasphemy and confusion.
“…Yes, that’s right.” Hartres’s voice rang out in the deathly silent, blood-red wasteland, carrying an almost fanatical, uncontrollable joy, like the most devout believer finally witnessing a miracle.
"This is... a visit from the gods."
His long-cherished wish, his ultimate goal that he was willing to risk everything for, is now clearly presented before us!
The pure and powerful forms of magic from the mythical era will transcend the barriers of time and space, truly visiting this already decadent world.
The death knell for the stagnant and corrupt magician world dominated by the decadent aristocracy of the Clock Tower is about to be tolled by the very gods who have descended upon it!
The oppressive stillness seemed to freeze time itself.
After an unknown amount of time—perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes—Matou Ike's voice finally pierced the suffocating silence, carrying a cold, seeking-confirmation quality:
“I want to confirm this.” His gaze was sharp as he looked at Hartres, as if trying to pierce through the other’s mask of joy.
"Under the rules of the Holy Grail War, the Master is the absolute pivot for maintaining the Servant's existence. No matter how large a Servant's magical reserves are, once the Master's magical supply and contractual maintenance are lost, they will quickly dissipate due to the depletion of magical power."
He paused, each word crystal clear, "Then, do the 'deities' that appear under these special circumstances... also follow the same laws?"
“Heh…” Hartres let out a short, bitter laugh, tinged with pity and mockery, as if Matou Ike had asked an extremely childish question.
"Ah, you mean that if I, the 'master,' am killed, the god Iskandar might disappear like an ordinary servant?"
He shook his head, as if to say, "Your thinking is still at the level of a mortal."
"Given your abilities and knowledge, Matou Ike, asking this question seems rather foolish. It's simply... meaningless."
His tone shifted to one of confident control over the entire situation:
"Do you think I would tie the 'lifeline' that sustains the existence of a god to my own mere mortal body? I have already distributed 'gold coins' containing the power of contracts to the new generation of magicians in the earthly world through several secret channels."
Magicians who possess the Stat's Coin all connect with the gods through the same path as their masters. They also serve as intermediaries.
His words revealed a precise understanding of human weaknesses.
“And…” Hartres’s lips curled into a meaningful smile, his gaze seemingly piercing through space, landing on the distant figure of a clock tower.
"Among this list of 'new generation' members... is your 'comrade' also there, the infamous El-Melloi II!"
"Tsk!" Matou Ike clicked his tongue. "So that's how it is. No wonder that guy seemed so guilty when he was communicating with me these past few days. I couldn't even see him once."
Chapter 624 Provocation (4k)
“So, now that you know all this,” Hartres said with a playful smile, his gaze like a precise probe, fixed on the Matou Pond across from him.
"Are you still going to block my way?"
"It was just a backstab by a comrade,"
Matou Ike casually shrugged, as if invisible sparks of magic were emanating from the movement, his tone as relaxed as brushing away a speck of dust.
"This minor setback is not enough to create any deep cracks in the foundation of our collaboration."
Hartres' smile seemed to freeze for a moment, and a fleeting, elusive look of confusion crossed his eyes.
Matouike's almost nonchalant reaction clearly exceeded his meticulous prediction.
Sensing the other person's brief hesitation, Matou Ike took the initiative to speak, his words carrying a knowing wisdom that seemed to understand the ways of the world:
"You should know quite a bit about Webervet's past, right? After all, you were 'watching' the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki City from beginning to end through the 'Observation Hole'."
Hartres didn't respond, falling silent. He seemed still processing Matou Ike's illogical nonchalance, like a precision instrument encountering undecipherable gibberish.
Matou Ike continued speaking to himself, his voice carrying an almost teasing certainty, yet also containing an undeniable seriousness:
"In the end, the being you painstakingly sought to summon to descend upon the world is none other than Iskandar."
For Weber, the Conqueror King's significance had long surpassed the worldly definition of a 'lover'; he was an indelible mark etched into his soul.
As his friend, I naturally wanted to help him with his little wish—to bring that king back to the world.
“…So,” Hartres’s voice carried an analytical calmness, his gaze behind his glasses sharply locking onto Matou Ike.
"You're merely concluding that his current act of betrayal isn't enough to shake your side of the scales, right?"
Matou Ike simply shrugged again. The movement was small, yet it acted like an invisible wall, shutting out any possible interpretations or emotional responses.
He chose complete silence, as if the questions Hartres had posed were merely a breeze brushing past his ear.
Thus, the spotlight naturally fell on Hartracey. He didn't pause because of the other's silence; instead, as if receiving some kind of confirmation, his tone became even more certain as he continued his reasoning:
"Before this, you and El-Melloi II maintained some kind of secret communication channel, didn't you?"