He Tore Through The Holy Grail War, And You Still Call Him A Dragon?

Fingel suddenly remembered that strange world he had stumbled into when he inexplicably found himself inside a Maserati.

…Could it be the same one?

"…For now, we can't be sure. Let's hold judgment," Angers replied.

He had already heard Fingel's story, but to be honest, it wasn't of much use.

If that Nibelungen had truly collapsed beneath the waves and quakes, then merging with reality would not simply create black fog and monsters—it would cause something even more horrific.

"Fingel, you've got three minutes to finish that pig shank. Then head straight to the basement. Your mentor is waiting there."

Fingel blinked. "The Vice Principal? He's here in person?"

"Why wouldn't he be? From your account, plus an old friend's report, I can tell this situation is grave. We need every ounce of strength prepared."

Fingel wiped the grease from his mouth. "And how exactly are we supposed to increase our strength?"

Angers flicked his wrist, tossing two guardless blades his way. "Your weapons. I had them shipped from Shenzhou."

"Whoa!" Fingel's eyes lit up as his hands wrapped around the cool steel.

These were his own creations. Though often seen as a joker, hacker, or runner relying on brute physique, he was still the pupil of Vice Principal Flamel, and a capable alchemist in his own right.

The twin divine blades, Murasame, were the very ones he had once lent to Chu Tianjiao.

"As expected of the Headmaster—always meticulous. Truly the most seasoned dragonslayer alive…" Fingel's flattery spilled like a broken faucet.

"Enough. You've been complaining that your Servant can't unleash full power, right? That's why the Vice Principal is here—to solve it."

Angers grinned slyly. "And not just him. Some unexpected allies too."

"Eh? Who?"

"A bunch of mecha-obsessed nerds."

——

"Behold this masterpiece of giant humanoid weaponry! A fusion of magi-mechanics and alchemy dynamics! Over four hundred inscribed alchemical circuits in its frame! Our ultimate vision of violent aesthetics—the Archangel Michael!

'The Morning Star fell, and Michael descended to battle the dragon and its servants. Victory upon victory!'

'Holy! Holy! Holy! Hallelujah!'"

When Fingel entered the basement, he found a crowd of white-coated eccentrics circling a massive, bloated hunk of iron painted white. They embraced it, chanting and dancing like cultists around a sacred fire.

"…The lunatics from the Equipment Division!?"

He couldn't help blurting it out.

Every head turned to stare.

"Er—sorry! Please continue!" Fingel ducked his head, scanning the room until his eyes found an old man drinking gloomily in the corner.

Hunching low, he crept over like a rat. "Vice Principal! What the hell are they doing?"

The Night Watcher lifted his gaze.

"Oh, that. The base design for their circuits came from my old 'Nibelungen Project.' Originally, the matrix was to lock dragon blood for internal circulation. Now they've adapted it to lock external elements for external circulation."

He took a swig of beer. "The ideal would be internal circulation, so you could sustain your Servant without cost. But we don't have that luxury. No time for new research."

"…What are you even mixing together here?" Fingel groaned. What did any of this have to do with that dumb-looking mech?

"Did I not explain? Anyway, I refined the circuit design. Applying it practically is up to the Equipment Division."

"…So?" Fingel eyed the so-called Michael with dread.

"So that mech solves your problem. Wear it, and the circuits will channel external energy into your body, easing your Servant's burden."

"You mean I have to wear that oversized tin can on the frontlines?!"

Fingel wanted to cry. He'd been looking forward to showing off with his "Murder Flame Blades," not hiding his handsome face in some hulking clunker!

"Shouldn't you be happy? Director Arcadura said mecha is the ultimate male fantasy of your generation."

"Vice Principal… mecha comes in all shapes and sizes. That thing…" Fingel lowered his voice, "with its stubby limbs and round cockpit—it's literally a 'fat nerd mecha.' Wearing that in Japan is social suicide!"

——

Meanwhile, Shirou was airborne—standing atop Ugly Gozen's armored shoulders.

More precisely, he rode the hovering pauldrons of her massive Ō-yoroi.

The thought had crossed his mind: maybe he should get one of these suits himself. Melusine could shape her outer hide into something similar, but that was more monstrous skin than true mecha.

Still, these floating shoulder plates? Too tempting to resist hitching a ride.

Sadly, it wasn't his.

"My Master, focus. Enemies ahead," Ugly Gozen rumbled.

Shirou snapped to attention. Heavy footsteps thundered closer. A massive red oni crashed through the streets, smashing houses, trampling people like ants.

So that was the tremor earlier.

"…What is that?"

"An Aka-oni. A fierce demon breed." Ugly Gozen raised Dōjigiri Yasutsuna, lightning dancing along its blade. With a single swing, a torrent of violet thunder surged forth!

Boom! The strike pierced its skull, felling the giant.

But even as it fell, another roar rose. A towering Ao-oni emerged from the mist, its shoulder charred by the lingering lightning, but otherwise unscathed.

"…?" Shirou frowned.

"Strange. They're tougher than expected. Some sort of barrier protects them. My blade cannot chain through."

Shirou narrowed his eyes. Sure enough, a shroud clung to their bodies—similar to the divine defenses of pseudo-gods like the Yamata no Orochi.

"It's high-grade mystery," he muttered.

That level of mystery nullified modern magecraft and weaker powers.

Then, to his shock, a small figure leapt from the Ao-oni's shoulder.

Ibaraki Dōji!?

(End of Chapter)

[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]

[Thank You For Your Support!]