Fate/Apocrypha - Volume 1 Read online

  Many of the city's buildings were built during the Middle Ages and have undergone repeated repairs and reconstructions, making them no less valuable than those in Sighisoara. Its population of 20,000 is based mostly around the work of agriculture and textiles.

  And of course, there is what you could call the symbol of the city, a gigantic castle which sat atop a small hill, towering above the streets: the Fortress of Millennia. This castle has never changed hands since the Middle Ages onwards and up to present day. The invasion of the Ottoman Turks, the outbreak of the Black Death, and the explosions of modern war - much hardship has befallen on Trifas, but the fortress and the clan which owns it still stand strong.

  The name of the clan is Yggdmillennia. They were magi who in the past came to Romania from Northern Europe. And now, the castle thrived more than ever before.

  It is not only the clan of Yggdmillennia within its walls. There are menials with fine features - no one knew where they came from - working various chores and patrolling the castle grounds with halberds in hand, something unthinkable in this day and age. Walking along the stone floor, one would find status with glowing eyes...

  A sight that would shock any whose eyes laid upon it... but no simple resident of Trifas would be so reckless as to step within this strange castle. When the lights in the citadel are lit, they are forbidden from even stepping outside their homes.

  That is why three months ago, when the lights which had been extinguished for so long became bright again, the people exchanged glances and gloom clouded their faces. The rulers of the castle, those bloodstained tyrants, had returned.

  Praying for the safety of their home, the people of Trifas continued their daily lives...

  Two hours past midnight, and the city of Trifas is already deep in slumber, with the Fortress of Millennia looking down upon it as though in contempt. There is a man standing beside a window in the castle, looking outwards. The eyes of the man, watching over the utter stillness of the streets below, burned with silent resolve.

  The man is Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia, the elder of the Yggdmillennia clan. During the Third Holy Grail War, he participated as a magus on the side of the Nazis, and was the one who instructed that the Greater Grail be transported to Germany.

  But that was more than sixty years ago, and yet there is not a single wrinkle on the man's face. Based on appearance alone, he would be in his late twenties. It would seem that time has stopped for him since the Third Holy Grail War.

  "Yes, everything has been for the sake of this very day."

  Truly, there were a thousand emotions surging in those words. He has been preparing for over sixty years, after all - ever since the Third Holy Grail War, he has been putting everything in order, discreetly in order to avoid drawing any suspicion.

  His only misstep was allowing the information regarding the Fuyuki Holy Grail War to spread; due to this, the holy relics which could act as catalysts disappeared left and right. The most venerable King of Heroes, the King of Knights with the greatest of holy swords, and the King of Conquerors who had controlled half the world - in time, all of their catalysts were scattered and became lost. Of course, the holy relics which the clan has gathered over the previous decades, under his orders, are enough to summon excellent Heroic Spirits. Certainly no less than the relics that the Association has independently gathered as well.

  With the four simultaneous summons of tonight, they will have six Servants. Including the Assassin which was summoned in Tokyo due to certain circumstances, they have now assembled all seven.

  This means that, in a few more hours, the Yggdmillennia will light the beacon of rebellion against the Association of Magi.

  Everything has been proceeding as smoothly as he expected, save one. That the Clock Tower would attempt extermination after his clan declared secession was all within his predictions. That fifty magi would infiltrate Trifas, wait in the woods outside the city, and plan to end it all in one night was also within his predictions. That the Servant he summoned, Lancer, would take barely thirty seconds to annihilate fifty experienced hunters was beyond his predictions - simply wonderful.

  The only loose thread that he did not expect was that the one surviving magus would activate the reserve system. But in a way, he had been prepared for that. He understood that the Association would most certainly hinder him once he commanded seven Servants. Seven versus seven - at least they were numerically balanced.

  Of course, the opponent is the Association of Magi; doubtless they will summon high-ranking Heroic Spirits. However, no Heroic Spirit could possess greater fame in Romania than his Lancer. Ever since Lancer was summoned two months ago, he has been making full use of one of his innate skills to transform Trifas and the surrounding areas into a land he ruled over as Lord.

  As long as he is within this territory, Lancer receives boosts in the ranks of all his parameters, and his Noble Phantasm becomes usable. The only difficulty has been the Servant's somewhat obstinate nature; however, Darnic is hopeful that, with their goals being the same, this will not prove to be a problem.

  They have also grasped who the enemy will send. Aside from the overseer from the Church, all six are magi who specialized their arts towards warfare. However, they all suffer the fatal handicap of having to provide prana for their Servants. Having devised a way to resolve said handicap, the Yggdmillennia's victory is unshakable.

  At the sound of creaking wheels, Darnic turned around.

  "...It's nearly time, Grandfather."

  Said the girl in the wheelchair in a soft and clear voice as she smiled. Darnic smiled back, as though infected by the girl's sweetness.

  "Are you well, Fiore?"

  "I'm all right. My little brother seems a bit restless, though."

  Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia - the only magus within the Yggdmillennia clan with true talent, and Darnic's successor; in other words, she has been recognized as the future elder of the Yggdmillennia.

  Generally, there are two kinds of 'geniuses' in the world. Either one is so gifted as to be able to master a vast range of studies, or one is in possession of a terrifyingly deep wealth of talent in a single field.

  Fiore is the latter. Although she is weak at most types of thaumaturgy, in the fields of spiritual evocation and human engineering, her skills rival or even surpass the first-class instructors of the Clock Tower. In particular, the Coupled Reinforcement Mystic CodesBronze-Link Manipulators she produced, with her own original alterations, boast the power to allow even a third-class magus to bring down a first-class one.

  Over the many generations of thickening blood in the Yddgmillennia clan, it is mostly likely that no magus has appeared with greater aptitude than her.

  "Who could have expected that the Command Spells would appear on both of you at the same time? If we were under the original system of the Holy Grail War, this would have led to a tragedy."

  "...Yes. I guess it would."

  To magi, it is common sense for even teacher and pupil, or older and younger siblings, to go for each other's throats when met with a conflict of interests. However, that would not have been the case for Fiore and her brother, as there is simply too great a difference in power between them. It would only have ended unilaterally with Fiore murdering him as he cowered in fear. Truly, it would have been a tragedy.

  "I heard that the Association of Magi has sent their last magus."

  "Your ears are sharp."

  Darnic gave a wry smile. It was about an hour ago that they received a report from people they have hidden in the Clock Tower.

  "So it's finally starting, then..."

  "Yes, with this day, the Servants of Black and Red shall begin this Great Holy Grail War. And we of The Tree of a Thousand RealmsYggdmillennia shall take in our hands all the mysteries and miracles of the world."

  The sorrow on Fiore's face is not simply due to a dislike of conflict. Like the average magus, she studied at the Clock Tower. Her friends are still enrolled there even now, and she was not particul
arly dissatisfied by the place. Of course, she will not be facing against her friends directly... but it still leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

  Naturally, fear also played a part. In the thaumaturgical world, the Clock Tower is an absolute symbol. Founded at the very beginning of the Common Era, this organization has gathered every kind of mystery, every kind of thaumaturgy.

  It is the most cutting-edge thaumaturgical body in the world - things exist there which Fiore's mind cannot begin to imagine.

  However, defying Darnic - the elder of the clan - would be out of the question. He is a monster who has maintained the fleshly vigor of a man in his thirties despite having lived for over a hundred years, and the possessor of the Thaumaturgical Crest of the clan itself. As soon as she defied him, she would find herself thrown out of the entire clan's network immediately; even were she to escape to the Association, as a blood relative of traitors, what waited there would be a life of nothing but misfortune.

  Nevertheless, Fiore would have objected if their chance of victory had been non-existent. But what she then saw was a giant, bluish-white altar... and the throes of a great magic ward stockpiling pure prana.

  "This is for your eyes only. Do not speak of it to the others."

  Saying this, Darnic had invited her to see what was at the bottom of the Greater Grail, something that had always been hidden. It might not have been fully operational, but the sheer overwhelming amount of prana, the divinity of it, made her feel as though her soul had been pulled from her body.

  "...With this wish-granter, your deepest desire can be granted with ease."

  She could not resist Darnic's whispered words. For she possessed a dream as well, a wish that could never be granted no matter how much she refined her craft.

  Opposing her friends is simply her sentimentality, not something which can obstruct her in the path towards her objective. She has already committed herself to a full confrontation with the Association.

  "Now, accompany me to meet our Lord. Let us go to the summoning of the knights who would protect us."

  "Yes, Grandfather."

  By the time they reached the throne room, where the ritual would take place, four other Masters have already gathered. There are also homunculi taking care of various menial tasks and silently bringing in the required thaumaturgical tools.

  The magic ward itself has already been drawn. It uses a mixture of gold and silver, kept in a liquid state by a temperature-retaining technique. This complex and delicate ward was devised to summon multiple Servants at once.

  All noise came to an abrupt stop. Darnic chose this moment to move to a spot next to the throne and declare with outspread arms.

  "Place the catalysts you have each gathered upon the altar."

  The Masters nodded.

  The first - Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia, a portly man. With a single look at his expression, one can tell that he is a pompous man. His craft is alchemy. His catalyst is kept in a case, perhaps due to its value, or not wanting the other Masters to see it.

  The second - Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia, the girl in the wheelchair. Her craft is spiritual evocation and human engineering. Her catalyst is an ancient arrow, its tip blackened by something - perhaps blood.

  The third - Selenik Icecol Yggdramillennia. Her craft is the dark arts. Despite her clean-cut appearance, her entire body reeked of blood; likely it is due to her kissing the innards taken from the bellies of beasts and humans to be used as sacrifices. Her catalyst is a glass bottle. There are still stains of some kind of liquid remaining inside.

  The fourth - Caules Forvedge Yggdmillennia, the younger brother of Fiore. His craft is summoning. With the freckles on his childish face, one would not think that he is eighteen years old. Diffidently, he muttered the spell for summoning Heroic Spirits over and over again. His catalyst is an old piece of paper. On it is drawn a human figure, with the words 'the perfect human' scribbled in the lower right corner.

  And the fifth, who has already completed his summoning - Roche Flyn Yggdramillennia, the Master of Caster. He is likely the youngest among those present; the thirteen-year-old was watching the scene with interest from slightly further away.

  "Rare of you to leave your workshop, Roche."

  Roche shrugged when Darnic called out to him.

  "Well, this is a Heroic Spirit summoning. You would be lucky just to see it once in your whole life. Even I'd leave my workshop if I can see it a second time."

  He sounded adult, though he overdid himself. Then again, he is quite famous as a magus in the field of doll engineering, putting aside their appearance and design; his puppets, created with only the pursuit of function in mind, lacked somewhat in their artistry.

  Caster had been summoned by Roche two months ago, at nearly the same time as Lancer, and they have spent the entire time manufacturing the golems they would need for the Great War in their workshop within the castle.

  "Where is Caster?"

  "Oh, the master will be coming soon. He's a bit busy with the design of his Noble Phantasm."

  "Then I must give my apologies later. But let us gaze upon this mysterious ceremony once more."

  "All right."

  Roche shrugged. The boy called his own Servant his 'master' out of respect; to him, the legends that Caster gave rise to are worthy of worship. He has every trust in Caster, and feels genuine happiness at helping him in the workshop.

  Caster materialized next to Roche before long, appearing in his blue mantle and full-body suit and wearing an eyeless, mouthless, featureless mask. Roche called out to his teacher in joy, and Caster wordlessly nodded.

  Confirming the positions of the four summoners, Darnic lowered his head in reverence towards the empty throne.

  "My Lord, we will now begin the summoning."

  ...Very well.

  Particles of light gathered on the throne, massing together and creating a human form. The man whom Darnic called Lord was dressed in royal fashion, black as a shadow in the night. By contrast, his face was shudderingly pale, and his silk-like white hair stretched long.

  The instant he appeared, the air in the throne room became tense. When the man stands, one feels overwhelming pressure; wherever he looks, there is ceaseless trembling. But make no mistake, it is not because the man who sat on the throne acted barbarously or violently. It is simply that, once exposed to his icy gaze, you would recognize yourself as a hopelessly weak and powerless existence.

  He is the strongest trump card prepared by the elder of Yggdmillennia, the Lancer of Black - Vlad III.

  The greatest hero of Transylvania, known fearsomely as the 'Impaling Prince' to the Turks, had also spread another name across the world.

  The Little Dragon... or, the vampire Count Dracula.

  Of course, the one before them is not a vampire at all. He was a man of devotion, and a hero who ascended to the throne, no matter how small the nation may be. Especially here in Romania, where his deeds of turning back the numerous invasions of the Ottoman Empire, the Turks who have trampled over every other country, made him a great hero.

  Yes, as long as he is in Romania, he has possibly the greatest fame of all - a match for Heracles in Greece, or King Arthur in Britain.

  After a glance at Darnic, Lancer's majestic voice echoed through the chamber.

  "Now, call the Heroic Spirits who would serve under me!"

  "As you wish."

  With a respectful bow, Darnic then announced to the four Masters.

  "Let us begin, proud magi of Yggdmillennia. With the completion of this ritual, we take our unretractable first step onto the path of war. Do you possess the resolve?"

  The four Masters kept silent, revealing their conviction.

  The air in the throne room changed again. The senses of the four Masters sharpened, so that even the pressure of the Impaling Prince watching them from behind was pushed aside for the time being.

  It is true that the summoning of a Servant is simpler than the complications of a normal greater ritual. However,
it is a clear truth that the ultimate mystery of summoning a Heroic Spirit is something that can take one's life if performed incorrectly.

  One cannot charge forward recklessly, but inching forward and confirming the safety of every step is also the act of a fool. What is needed now is cold-heartedness and boldness - being able to point the barrel at your own head and pull the trigger swiftly.

  "Let silver and steel be the essence.

  Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.

  Let black be the color I pay tribute to.

  Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.