Chapter 467: [467] Theater, the Assassin of Certain Death and Fran

"Haah... haah..."

Relying on sheer willpower to traverse hundreds of kilometers on foot alone, the Ruler finally arrived after passing through the forest where the red Berserker had invaded the fortress and engaged in fierce combat. Ahead lay the heart of the battlefield.

Homunculi and golems clashed with skeleton warriors in a brutal and desperate struggle. Magical explosions erupted like artillery shells across the terrain, while Servant battles reduced the surroundings to wasteland, conjuring surreal phenomena—twilight sunsets, thunder, and storms—amid the predawn darkness.

No longer gazing at the tragic battlefield, Jeanne d’Arc looked up at the red faction’s aerial fortress. Though Holy Grail Wars were as numerous as stars in this world, such a construct was beyond abnormal—even the Age of Gods would struggle to recreate such a grand spectacle.

"Sieg, I must cross this battlefield now to meet ’someone’ on the other side."

"Why?"

Standing beside the saint was a slender homunculus with silver hair and crimson eyes. It was because she had encountered this girl on her journey that Jeanne had arrived late.

"There is ’someone’ on this battlefield whom I must meet—though I don’t know who that person is. It could be a Servant, a Master, or something else entirely. But I must see them."

Though puzzled, Sieg found Jeanne’s words strangely compelling. She didn’t speak with confidence; instead, her voice carried a trace of unease. Yet, within it was an unshakable resolve that refused to yield.

Ah—the homunculus understood. In her past life, Jeanne hadn’t won soldiers’ admiration by delivering powerful words with unwavering conviction.

Her words held no force to compel others. They were simply an expression of her will—"I will go."

"If that is your will, then there’s no helping it."

As if guided by some unseen understanding, Sieg’s gaze shifted to a distant point on the battlefield—and there it remained, unable to look away.

"It seems you’ve found your purpose as well." Jeanne smiled faintly, though a shadow of worry lingered in her brow.

How long could a defenseless homunculus last in this unprecedented war?

Had Sieg not obtained a Command Spell, Jeanne could have protected her under the Ruler’s authority—ordinary Servants wouldn’t dare harm her then. But now, the Master named "Sieg" had formed a contract with the black faction’s Rider, inevitably drawing her into the battlefield.

As Ruler, all Jeanne could do was offer a blessing to this ill-fated soul:

"May the Lord protect you."

"Thank you." Sieg smiled faintly, bowing slightly to the saint who had helped her so much before turning away without hesitation. Jeanne stood still for a long moment, then turned as well, sprinting in a different direction.

Her holy banner fluttered as she raced toward her destination, accompanied by the sharp roar of battle being torn asunder.

———

Amakusa’s movements suddenly halted. Clicking his tongue, he leaped back with a grave expression.

"Caster, we’re retreating. It seems her ’Revelation’ came faster than expected—perhaps she truly heard something."

Frankenstein, locked in a fierce battle, was baffled by the sudden distance the enemy had put between them and decided to observe the situation for now. Meanwhile, the two on the opposing side continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.

"To carry out impartial judgment, I hear most Rulers chosen are saints. Could she be one of them?" Shakespeare shrugged with a tone dripping in sarcasm. As a writer, he was destined to view every profession with a critical eye.

"It seems so... This is a critical moment, Caster. If she issues a censure against me, the situation will become extremely chaotic. Or, as you’d put it, ’exceedingly dull.’"

"Prolonging a segment devoid of climax is the hallmark of a poor work. In that case, Master, your battlefield tale shall be left unfinished here."

"Mm, let’s retreat—no matter. Conversely, all we need is to overcome this hurdle. Soon, things will escalate beyond even the Ruler’s control. And it seems my decision was correct. After all, I narrowly avoided ’death’ by a hair’s breadth."

Amakusa flicked his wrist, planting Black Keys into the ground before Fran like a makeshift barrier, then turned his back and fled the battlefield at full speed.

"Master, that Ruler is charging straight toward your location! Hurry! The skeleton soldiers won’t hold her back for long!"

"Understood!"

A flicker of impatience rose in Amakusa’s chest as he pushed his legs harder, accelerating further. In the pitch-black forest, devoid of even moonlight, his speed was nothing short of unnatural—far surpassing sixty kilometers per hour, a pace no human could sustain.

Yet, one figure clung stubbornly to his trail. When Amakusa glanced back, his eyes widened slightly at the sight.

"Still chasing, huh..."

As he spoke, four Black Keys shot forth, trailing spiritual flames toward Frankenstein.

"Gh—?!"

Caught off guard, Fran let out a pained gasp. Yet even as the four blades struck her, she didn’t falter—instead, she quickened her pace. Moments later, the hilts simply slid off her body, the wounds sealing instantly.

Ordinary numerical damage meant nothing to a monster like Frankenstein. So long as mana lingered in the air and her core remained unshaken, she would continue functioning endlessly—this was the mechanism of the second perpetual motion machine, created to be ’Eve.’

"...I didn’t expect that."

Amakusa, looking back, wasn’t sure whether to marvel or despair. Had she deflected the Black Keys, he might have understood. Had she stopped, even better. But she hadn’t slowed at all after taking a direct hit!

"Dr. Frankenstein, was it? Her creator. Just how twisted must one’s designs be to forge such a monstrosity?"

Amakusa couldn’t help but smirk bitterly at Shakespeare’s remark. And in that moment, a wicked idea took root in his mind.

"Caster, please materialize. I need your ’Theater’ now."

"Oh ho, I see, I see! Then let the one you both love and hate meet you! ’Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more!’"

Like the devil from

Faust

, a man clad in flamboyant robes appeared, bowing theatrically as the pages of his book rustled noisily.

"The moment of opening has arrived, let there be thunderous applause—First Folio!"

With such a swift release of his Noble Phantasm, the figure of the red Caster instantly dissipated. Meanwhile, Frankenstein, the snow-white bride dashing through the forest, encountered him there.

"Stop."

"Ugh...!?"

It was an unbelievable miracle—the man who should never have been here stood before her, speaking with an uncharacteristically gentle expression. In life, he had never once smiled at her like this.

Frankenstein, who would have accelerated even under attack, now came to a halt. The girl who had always refused to show emotion now gaped in disbelief.

Before her stood a man in a white shirt and black vest—the one who had created her: Dr. Frankenstein.

He was the man who had made her, her father, the object of her hatred—

Why? What in the world was happening?!

It wasn’t his presence that shocked her. What truly stunned her was the doctor’s impossibly tender smile.

From the very moment she first opened her eyes, her father’s face had been twisted in disgust. She had expected blessings, but from his lips came only curses.

It had happened on a quiet November night—

"Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure!"

"How could this be? This thing is nothing but a useless wooden doll!"

"No emotions! Were the connections wired wrong!? The tear ducts don’t work either—this isn’t the perfect Eve, this isn’t even human!"

—So, I’m a failure.

Her sorrow didn’t stem from being deemed a failure, but from pitying her half-mad father as he clawed at his own hair in despair.

"I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry, I’m a failure. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll fix it. I’ll make it right. So please don’t be angry. Don’t be angry, don’t be angry, don’t be angry—"

She wanted to cry, yet for some reason, no tears came. Even the mechanism for weeping seemed defective. Every time she tried to console him as he drowned his sorrows in drink, he would shove her away, strike her, kick her to the ground.

She felt no pain. But each time he hit her... her heart would tighten unbearably, though Frankenstein didn’t understand why.

Seeing her father still consumed by regret days later, the young girl pitied him. She pondered what she could do—how she might comfort him. Resolved, she stepped outside the house.

There, she found all manner of things.

Green trees, a clear and limpid pond, the dazzling radiance of the sun. Perhaps if she brought these to her father, he would be pleased. Just as she thought this, a stray dog suddenly lunged at her—likely reacting to the stench of decay emanating from her clothes.

When she saw the dog sink its teeth into her arm, she simply wrenched its neck apart. In that instant, she received divine revelation.

"How beautiful... This is truly beautiful. A symbol of life, of vitality. Because I lack such things, they must surely be beautiful—"

She then tore open the dog’s belly and discovered its vividly colored innards. These, too, were things she did not possess, so she believed they must be beautiful. In the end, she decided to present them as a gift to her father. The pinkish organs were lovely, the crimson blood exquisite. She felt no sense of ugliness or filth—nor did the metallic scent of blood stir any disgust in her.

...The moment she showed them to her father, their relationship fractured irreparably. Dr. Frankenstein abandoned everything, fleeing solely to escape his creation—for it was now undeniable that she was not merely a failed experiment, but a grotesque, inhuman monster.

A being that found blood beautiful, that marveled at entrails—that was what people called a monster.

"No, that’s not it. That’s not true. I’m normal. I only wanted to make Father happy."

Yet until the very end, her father never smiled at her. He fled in terror, and in his final act, he cursed her absolutely.

"You are a monster! A deranged monster!"

...And so, she struggled to remain normal. She resolved to stay rational, to understand the world’s common sense, and—above all—to obtain a companion.

Why? Because normal people had families. Now that her father had rejected her, she desperately needed one. But such things could not be seized by force, nor acquired by mere desire. So, she decided to visit her father.

"Give me someone who will love me. Give me someone who will look at me. If you call me the perfect maiden Eve, then you have a duty to create Adam, the first man—"

Her father refused. In her fury and sorrow, the girl lost herself. Her rage came from his betrayal. Her grief—from the realization that she would remain alone until death.

All she wanted was love. All she wanted was to love. All she wanted was to know what love was.

...No, if even that wish was impossible, then at the very least, she wanted him to hate her.

Hate me. That is the only bond left between me and this world—between me and you.

She began her pursuit, growing impatient with her fleeing father and killing his family. Yet, even then, her father continued to run, his spirit broken to the point where not even the thought of avenging his beloved could arise in his heart.

"Why won’t you hate me? Why won’t you look at me?"

On the icy plains of Antarctica, the despairing girl finally caught her father and threw herself into the flames with him. And so, the story of Frankenstein came to an end. All that remained was the legend of the "ugly monster."

Now, the father who had betrayed her stood before her, gazing at her with a gentle expression. This was the very moment she had longed for.

"—Yes, this is fine. You don’t have to fight anymore. I didn’t create you for that purpose."

"Ugh... Ah..."

The doctor reached out toward her head—it seemed he intended to do what parents often do for their children. He was going to pat her head. That was what she had always yearned for.

She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be cherished by someone.

She also wanted to love someone else.

That wish was about to come true.

And yet—precisely because of that—

Slick!

A blade flashed. The doctor’s smiling face stiffened, his form dissipating like an illusion. Wooden splinters scattered as two broken pieces of a puppet fell to the ground, utterly motionless.

"A coward who flees from his own creation and sins, not even worthy of being called a villain who sacrifices his own child—don’t embarrass yourself by showing up here."

With disgust, the young man tossed aside the blade in his hand. His palm spread open, pressing down on the charging Berserker’s head, and with a forceful motion, he slammed the hammer-wielding girl into the ground!

Boom!

Amid the swirling dust, the young man’s calm voice continued, "Of course, even if I hadn’t intervened, you would’ve smashed him to pieces, right?"

"Black Faction’s Berserker—Frankenstein."

"Guh..."

The girl groaned in pain, her black cloak fluttering in the wind. In her blurred vision, the figure of the assassin finally came into focus—

White hair flowing, an aura sharp as a blade, and irises of a piercing blue that seemed capable of killing all things.

Though Sakatsuki still bore the marks of battle, for some reason, he clutched a white flower in his left hand. Even as he held her head down with one hand, the young man crouched and gently placed the flower before her.

"Our second meeting, Frankenstein."

He said, "You will die here."