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(Fate) Chapter 261: A Suicide-Type Noble Phantasm (2.4k words)
🕑 Added 2025-01-17 16:44:15 +0000 UTC"The gap is just too large... What a monster!"
Even though Faldeus had mentally prepared himself, witnessing the flawless radiance of the moon transform into a silver arrow in that boy's hand, and then seeing it strike down his Servant under the guidance of the night, still left him sighing in disbelief.
As for the departure of his Servant, Faldius did not have any emotion at all.
After all, becoming the Master of the true Assassin had never been part of his original plan.
"So, what exactly is he trying to achieve?"
Faldeus began to ponder, and soon a realization dawned upon him.
Wel..Promise had not gone out of his way to hide his actions, so the answer was, in fact, quite apparent.
"First the lightning, and now the arrow... As of this moment, three participants in the Holy Grail War have already been eliminated tonight.
"And all of this happened in less than an hour!
"From what I’ve gathered, some of them headed toward Enkidu’s forest, others went to Gilgamesh’s location, and another suspected..no likely her—has gone to confront François.
They have been quiet for five days, and now they are dividing their forces to act like this. Could it be that... they want to make a final decision and end this Holy Grail War tonight ?"
This person is so high-profile, is he declaring war on everyone? !
As the realization dawned on him, Faldeus’s eyes widened slightly.
The more he thought about it, the more plausible his conclusions became.
When he looked back up toward the sky where Promise had been, he found that the boy’s figure was already gone.
Yes..
Promise had moved on to hunt his next target.
After figuring it out, Faldeus quickly turned and called his superiors.
As he waited for the call to connect, an unsettling question came to his mind.
Could they really stop him?
If they truly had the capability, would these past five days have remained so unnervingly quiet?
It didn’t take long for Faldeus to arrive at an answer.
"Come to think of it, possessing the weakest student under a Clock Tower Lord with no magical circuits or talent for magecraft... that certainly fits the definition of 'weak,' doesn’t it?"
Faldeus chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the situation.
After all, Promise was known as the weakest among all Greek heroes.
Thanks to Waver’s relentless efforts in crafting an elaborate disguise, most people...including Faldeus—believed Promise to be no more than a vessel for some greater entity, akin to Ishtar’s possession as a product for the Holy Grail War.
After all, even in Nasuverse, the idea that a figure recorded in the Age of Gods could suddenly resurrect in modern times and study under a Lord-level professor seemed far too outlandish.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, in Snowfield City’s police headquarters...
The area had long been cleared of civilians, with magical barriers in place to drive away any ordinary individuals.
Jeanne d’Arc had been present here for quite some time.
However, from the moment she entered this place, she had been trapped in a powerful illusion.
This illusion was the Noble Phantasm of the true Caster summoned in this Holy Grail War: François Prelati, a mage from Jeanne’s era who had survived to the present day.
Noble Phantasm: The City That Never Existed, For Madness Shall Know No End!
François’s Noble Phantasm created a vivid simulation of flames consuming a church, with a girl tied to a stake, burning alive.
This scene was none other than Jeanne d’Arc’s death.
François repeated this illusion in front of Jeanne of Arc over and over again, and deliberately simulated the angry shouts and accusations of the crowd.
By the way .it was clear from François’s taunts that she may have played a part in Jeanne’s tragic fate.
Jeanne d' Arc just looked at the illusion in front of her, showing no emotion.
At this moment, beautiful, sky-blue eyes showed neither sorrow nor pain—only peace and warmth.
Walking through the crowd of jeering figures, she quietly searched for a specific presence amidst the repeating scenes of her death.
Now, she found it.
Jeanne stopped in front of a figure blending into the raucous crowd—a doll-like girl with exquisite features, laughing gleefully as she hurled curses at her.
"François."
Looking at François, who had gone through countless bodies and now appeared as a woman, Jeanne calmly spoke amidst the radiant flames, "I’ve found you."
As soon as those words fell, the illusion shattered.
Emerging from the collapsing dreamscape, Jeanne returned to the police headquarters.
Within the station stood not only Jeanne and François but also 28 police officers wielding counterfeit Noble Phantasms, as well as the Master of the true Caster, Police Chief Orlando.
"Jeanne! Jeanne! You’re finally here! Did you come for me? I’m so happy, truly so happy!"
François, the architect of the illusion, now danced in front of Jeanne with a perfectly fabricated look of innocence and glee, as though she had nothing to do with the situation.
Jeanne, however, did no respond to François.
Instead, she turned her gaze to the calm and collected Orlando, and the 28 officers surrounding her with weapons drawn.
"Saint Jeanne d’Arc, I have a question for you,"
Ignoring the hypocritical François's performance beside him, the seemingly meticulous Sheriff Orlando said,
"Did you respond to the Holy Grail as a Ruler-class Servant?"
As a Ruler, Jeanne had unique privileges in the Holy Grail War, including the ability to discern Servants’ true names and details, sense Servants within a 10-kilometer radius, and issue Command Spells twice to any Servant.
This was why Jeanne had been able to reveal François's true identity and understand her circumstances.
"Yes," Jeanne nodded.
"Then, if you are the arbiter, why are you interfering in the Holy Grail War like this?" Orlando pressed, his brows furrowing.
At this, Jeanne smiled faintly, placing her hand over her heart as she replied softly, "Because the reason I responded to the Grail and came here was to help him obtain the Grail."
"Help someone else obtain the Grail?"
Hearing her words even François froze, her expression shifting to one of disbelief as she looked at Jeanne—the saint she had sought to torment.
"Yes," Jeanne affirmed, her voice gentle but firm. "This was the revelation given to me by the Lord, and... it is also my own decision.
"This Holy Grail War is far too unusual, and its potential for destruction is very vast. Originally, countless innocent lives would have been caught in its wake. But when he appeared, everything began to change."
"The Lord told me that he is the hope to end it all and prevent tragedy. And I have seen it with my own eyes—how he stopped calamities from spreading, how he saved the innocent, and the quiet wish in his heart..."
As she spoke, Jeanne’s lips curled into a gentle smile. "So I came, to help him obtain the Grail and put an end to everything."
Hearing this, François tilted her head thoughtfully, a curious smile tugging at her lips. "Is this what they call divine favoritism? When the scales of judgment are tipped by the hands of a righteous goddess?"
"But it’s still so amusing! Jeanne d’Arc, the saint who once carried the banner of salvation, now raises it for someone else!"
After finishing her statement, François burst into unrestrained laughter and even her other self—the Servant summoned alongside her, also appeared and joined to laught with her.
The two of them laughed uncontrollably, doubling over and eventually collapsing to the ground, utterly devoid of composure.
"No, when I came here, I knew that I was unfit to be the arbiter of this Holy Grail War, so, I had already set down my banner."
Jeanne’s tone remained gentle as she reached for the sword that had always hung by her side—the Sword of St. Catherine.
Noble Phantasm:
La Pucelle: The Crimson Holy Maiden..
This was a conceptual weapon crystallized from Jeanne’s inner world, manifesting the very flames that had consumed her at the stake.
These purifying flames burned only those Jeanne deemed necessary to defeat, carrying the power of divine judgment capable of incinerating all.
However, the cost of this Noble Phantasm was too high.
No...even too high was an understatement.
To activate it, she had to unsheath the silver sword, slice her palm, and pray to her Lord.
In doing so, she would endure the flames herself, sacrificing her life in the process.
This was just a suicide-type Noble Phantasm.
François, who had been laughing moments ago, froze in shock.
She watched as Jeanne slowly drew the silver sword, its flames beginning to ignite and coil around her.
The fire grew, crawling along her body, recreating the historical image of Jeanne burning at the stake.
François had subjected Jeanne to the illusion of her death for so long, yet she didn't expect that as soon as she came out of it, this saint would replicate it in reality.
Her expression changed slightly and just as she and the servant she had transformed into in the past were about to take action together to stop Jeanne, the sheriff who noticed something was wrong also looked gloomy and was ready to take action..when.
"Really... How should I put it..this is completely unnecessary."
A single finger extended and pressed against the hand that was steadily drawing the holy sword, ignoring the purifying flames that licked at it.
Jeanne blinked in surprise as Promise appeared before her, gently pushing the sword back into its scabbard.
Promise looked at Jeanne a bit speechlessly and said, "I told you to hold them off, not to blow yourself up! Seriously, if you’re going to self-destruct, just do it silently...don’t do it while claiming it’s for my sake!"
He sighed, already imagining the future at Chaldea, where he would likely have to meet Jeanne frequently.
If she actually succeeded in her self-sacrifice here, he’d owe her a favor.
Just the thought made Promise’s scalp tingle.
To be honest, he didn't want to think about it anymore.
And he thought she was a Pure Saint with no hidden motives.
"When I heard them say that you didn't need help and could only deal with the people here by yourself, I felt something was wrong. Fortunately, I I got here ahead of time. How could you be so scheming?
"What’s the plan? Trying to guilt me into owing you a favor? Hoping to leverage that to make me paint you a picture later?
"I’m telling you right now—no way! Not happening!"
Hearing Promise’s words, Jeanne, who had been momentarily caught off guard, became visibly flustered as she quickly shook her head and said, "No, no, that’s not what I meant! I was just trying to help..."
"Help? This is what you call help? You’re clearly causing trouble!" Promise shot her a sharp look. "This is what we call malicious intent!
"I’m telling you, I won’t fall for this... Forget it, here’s the deal. If you promise not to self-destruct, we can talk. Maybe, just maybe—I’ll consider painting you something."
"Wait, you’d really paint something for me?"Jeanne froze for a moment, then her eyes lit up.
"And you say you’re not angling for my paintings!" Promise exclaimed as Jeanne D' Arc was once again flustered and speechless, struggling to find words to refute him.
She stammered, but deep down, she couldn’t deny it.
There was no way.
After witnessing that night when the stars became his canvas and the heavens his paint, like a re-enactment of the painting scene of Artemis, the moon goddess of the Age of Gods,
Even though she was a saint, she couldn’t resist the temptation.
Promise noticed her flustered reaction and feigned disdain, though the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his amusement which Jeanne quickly noticed and and suddenly realized something—this young man, whom even the scales of judgment had been tipped to favor, was far from an upright and saintly figure.
In fact, he was petty and vengeful.
He had been keeping meticulous records of grudges, even against gods.
He had a penchant for teasing people, and the countless figures who enjoyed watching him get into trouble weren’t doing so without reason.
But it is precisely because of this that the heroes and gods have been unable to do anything to him and could only choose to pamper him.
Realizing she had been teased, Jeanne couldn't help but puff her cheeks slightly in mild indignation.
Seeing her reaction, Promise quickly shifted his gaze toward François and Police Chief Orlando.
François, who had risen to her feet and was preparing to curtsy in greeting, froze when Promise’s golden, thunderous gaze locked onto her.
"I hear you had a hand in Jeanne’s persecution back then. And to be honest, you reek of curses. How many bodies have you swapped into? How many unjust souls’ hatred are you carrying?"
And this moment, Promise was wearing his immaculate white robes, with his golden eyes glowing with divine light as he spoke.
François opened her mouth to respond, but Promise didn’t give her a chance.
"And you," he turned to François’s Servant, "spying on me every few days like I wouldn’t notice. I’ve warned you before, haven’t I? but you still didn't stop. You really think I don't have a temper, don't you?
"And Jeanne d'Arc don’t think for a second you can guilt me into owing you a favor for a painting. It’s not happening!"
"I wasn’t—!"
At this point, even Jeanne’s breathing grew slightly uneven,
"But..." Promise smiled slyly, raising his hand to reveal a pure white paintbrush.
"If I make you owe me instead, forcing you to work for me in the future, that sounds much better, doesn’t it?"
With those words, he brought the paintbrush down.
In an instant, darkness enveloped the room.
Before anyone could react, they found themselves standing on a dark, endless path—the road to the Underworld.
Along the sides of the road, crimson spider lilies bloomed, their eerie beauty contrasting with pale poplar trees bearing no fruit.
The sound of hooves echoed through the darkness, growing louder as a spectral carriage approached.
Riding atop the carriage was the blurred silhouette of a man, his figure wreathed in shadows.
The police officers and Orlando found themselves immobilized, unable to move or speak, as they watched the carriage pass through their bodies and gradually vanish into the distance.
When the darkness lifted, the illusion dissolved, and evryone came back to their senses, they realized François was gone.
She had been sent to the Underworld, where she should have gone a long time ago.
Before she went, not a single scream or word could escape her lips.
