This Is My Holy Grail War [201] ~4.5k

“Teacher, what exactly are Dead Apostles?”

In a quiet study within a London academy, a teacher sat reading while a student fidgeted opposite, unable to suppress the question any longer—like a restless seeker before a silent sage, starving for truth.

“You mean those immortal vampires?”

Waver Velvet—no, he should now be called Lord El-Melloi II—lit a cigarette, fingers brushing his chin as he fell into a long, heavy silence. Smoke curled slowly from his lips. He didn’t speak until the student, impatient, pressed again.

“What’s with the sudden interest?”

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you, Professor?”

The blond boy leaned forward, eager, eyes locked onto him with unhidden hope and curiosity written across his face.

“I have.”

The cigarette was almost gone in just those two brief exchanges. El-Melloi II exhaled, brow furrowing. A quiet tension gripped him, as if even talking about it violated something sacred.

In the Clock Tower, Dead Apostles were taboo. Their hatred toward mankind had festered for generations. The Church loathed them; the Association had its own share of bitter enemies among their kind.

Even as a Lord, he had no interest in entangling with that hatred—it was ancient, bottomless, and it would never end.

“Could you explain them a bit, though? Please, Professor?”

“When did you start caring about Dead Apostles?”

He exhaled another dense stream of smoke, dodging the question again, asking for the boy’s motive.

People who grew curious about the Apostles were often obsessed with immortality.
To date, such obsessions had brought only ruin.

“I dunno. The rumors next door are going crazy.”

The student gestured toward the hallway. “They’re saying there’s a Dead Apostle riot. A lot of people died. Something about ancient cities, no one knows why.”

He tapped his finger against his chin, wearing that I-can’t-keep-this-to-myself grin only a brat could pull off.

So that’s what stirred his curiosity, thought El-Melloi II. He considered the hopeful look in the boy’s eyes, then finally responded.

“…They’re demons.”

That answer seemed to drain something out of him. He didn’t address the riots—only answered the boy’s initial question.

Because the reason for the riot… was far more difficult to speak aloud.
He wouldn’t drag his student into that mire.

Ancient cities and ruins… relics? Holy relics?

The warm lamplight painted the study in soft gold, hiding the unease flickering behind his eyes.

At the very least, El-Melloi II didn’t let it show in front of the boy.

“Demons, huh? But why would demons chase after the Holy Grail? That sounds kind of exciting, doesn’t it?”

The blond boy clearly knew more than he let on. That last line was more than speculation—it was a confession of the nervousness he’d been hiding.

“Flat… that’s not something you should be thinking about.”

El-Melloi II spoke his student’s name like a warning. “It’s dangerous. You’re still young.”
The weight in his words was anything but casual.

“But the Dead Apostles are after the Grail, aren’t they?”

Flat jumped to his feet like a child who’d found a new toy, eyes shining.

“Just imagine it—evil demons with heartfelt wishes, praying to the sacred Grail like believers at a shrine. And the Grail answers. Doesn’t that excite you? Light versus darkness, it’s—come on, that’s thrilling!”

“Not interested.”

El-Melloi II’s reply came fast and flat. But it was a lie.

If the Mage’s Association had a top Grail-obsessed family, it was the Einzberns.
But the second most curious was undeniably El-Melloi II.

He didn’t care about the Grail itself. What captivated him…
was the Servant it summoned.

Iskandar, King of Conquerors.

The Grail could grant miracles—but not all wishes required it.

El-Melloi II’s wish required his participation in the war, not necessarily his victory.

“Then why call them demons?”

Flat didn’t drop it. The cold water hadn’t doused him—he just shifted tactics.

“No matter who they were ‘in life’—good or righteous—
once they become Dead Apostles, they’re demons.”

He stubbed his cigarette into a glass ashtray. That was the final answer he gave.

This wasn’t just a classroom; it was El-Melloi II’s home.

Too much work to leave. Too many documents. He’d built a life within these walls.

His teacher, Kayneth, had burned himself out paving this path for him before dying.

All debts had been paid… but the name, the legacy, and the duty of a student had shackled him in return.

“Becoming a Dead Apostle doesn’t automatically make you evil, right?”

Flat looked unconvinced.

“Isn’t that a bit… narrow-minded, Professor?

They can think. Talk. They’ve got desires. Some of them are even magi—or were to begin with.”
He counted each point on his fingers, earnest and annoyingly interested.

“Demons think too.”

El-Melloi II rose from the sofa, leaving the empty cigarette carton on the table.

“Well. That’s the last one.”

He made a move to escape, but—

“Wait, Professor!”

The boy called out again, relentless.

“If they’re really evil demons…then why are they chasing the Grail? That thing’s supposed to be—”

“It’s just as cursed.”

He cut him off.

“Someone else will deal with the Grail. You don’t need to worry about it.”

The Grail sounded holy, but to someone who’d lived through it… it wasn’t.

He turned to leave.

But then, ringing.

Shrill and incessant.

A phone vibrating on the desk.

He didn’t remember scheduling anything.

That unease returned.

“…Hello?”

He lifted the receiver.

His brow creased.

The voice was sweet. Syrupy. Playful, even.

But what it stirred in him was bone-deep dread.

“Oya… Good morning, my dear big brother.”

"Ran into trouble, have you?"

When did it start, exactly? Every time he got a call from his adopted sister, Reines, he’d feel it—that cold chill, as though some eerie gaze had settled on his back.

Reines never contacted him over trivial matters. If she was reaching out, it meant something urgent had happened.

Don’t rush.

With that thought, he slowly sat down on the study’s sofa. He reached for a cigarette, only to find his pockets empty. The vacant pack on the table reminded him—he was out.

“Nothing too troublesome, I suppose,” Reines said playfully. “But I might need your help~”

“Just a moment…”

It wasn’t something so big it needed panic, but it wasn’t small either.
He had no intention of dragging his student into it. The less he knew, the safer.

“No need. The whole Tower will know about it by tomorrow. No point hiding it.”

Reines cut through his caution like a blade through silk, casually speaking the very thought he'd tried to bury.

“Big brother’s still so responsible, I see.”

“…Right.”

He calmed himself and listened.

“A Holy Relic’s been stolen.”

Stolen? What kind of relic would warrant contacting him—unless...

“Which relic?!”

His pupils contracted. He nearly shouted.

Thud-thud-thud—

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Lord El-Melloi II, the ever-composed, was shaken.

“The red cloak. The one locked in the basement.”

Reines spoke leisurely, unfazed.

“You said it was important, so I figured I should let you know~”

“What did you say?!”

He jolted upright and slapped his thigh, jaw clenched so tightly the veins on his temple bulged.

“The relic you brought back from the Holy Grail War—
it’s been taken,” Reines repeated.

“Impossible!”

His world tilted. For a split second, he thought it might be some twisted joke.
But his sister, however warped, never lied about this.

“That cloak…”

“The one stored in the supposedly impenetrable main estate, right?”

Reines sounded amused, almost dismissive.

“Funny thing about paying off debt—with your help, the debts got settled, sure. But the estate’s defenses were thinned out years ago. And this guy—he broke in like a rabid dog, hellbent on reaching the relic.”

“Who would dare?”

El-Melloi II truly couldn’t think of anyone.

The El-Melloi name might have declined, but a Lord was still a Lord.

Within the Clock Tower’s aristocratic jungle, ties ran deep. Enemies didn’t strike lightly.

The El-Mellois were pure-blood nobility in the Clock Tower’s eyes.

He had power, connections, and most of the noble factions were allies.

People might sneer behind his back, call him unworthy of the title—
but no one dared oppose him openly.

Thanks to Kayneth’s legacy, Waver Velvet had inherited the name without resistance.

He wasn’t a powerful Magus, but he was an exemplary teacher, and even those who mocked his rise as that of a nouveau riche had no choice but to acknowledge it—his path had been legitimate, formal, witnessed.

A parvenu who earned his envy.

“Do you remember how you once described that relic?”

Reines' voice pulled him back.

He fell silent, reflecting, remembering.

A relic of certain victory. That cloak was more than a memento. It was confidence incarnate—one of his most treasured possessions.

But when it came to victory in the Holy Grail War… there was someone else.
No—a whole clan of lunatics even more obsessed.

The Einzberns.

A relic capable of summoning an invincible Servant?

If that claim came from a former Master who survived the War?

It would drive those homunculi insane.

Worse yet—it came from a Lord of the Clock Tower. A name with weight.

“FUCK!!!”

He shouted the curse before he could stop it.

“The main house got raided. If El-Melloi doesn’t respond, the entire Clock Tower will take it as a sign of weakness.”

Reines' voice was still smiling.

But to his ears, there was venom beneath.

Or maybe it was the static on the line making it sound that way.

“This is a direct insult to your honor. A disgrace to the family name. Surely, Lord El-Melloi won’t stand by and let it go, hmm? As a Lord, we must repay this humiliation—in blood!”

“What about the rest? Were they after the relic only?”

No cigarettes. No peace. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed even once.

“Aww~ your poor little sister nearly got caught up in the attack, and all you care about is the relic?”

Her tone was pure mock-hurt.

Hurt? Please.

He was certain she’d found the whole thing amusing.

Terrified? Heartbroken? Not likely.

If she’d gone all-out, the Einzberns never would’ve broken through.

They didn’t have the combat strength for that kind of direct assault—alchemy-based families rarely did.

The estate’s defenses alone should’ve buried them.

“Then what do you plan to do?” he asked.

“We strike back!”

Reines’ voice flared with energy.
“They trampled on our honor, broke into our home. That debt will be paid in blood.”

“So this is about the Einzbern family, then…”

He was still mulling over the implications, but Reines was already there.

“The Holy Grail War.”

Her voice shifted. Gone was the playful lilt—
now it cut like steel drawn under moonlight.

“The Einzberns created the Holy Grail War. Their whole family exists to win it. And you know this better than anyone. So take it from them. Take their precious Grail.”

“They’ll be in the next War. No doubt. So let them rot in a hell of pain and hatred. Let their despair wash away our disgrace!”

The voice on the other end had become monstrous, contorted with fury.

He went momentarily blank.

And in that pause, her tone shifted once again—sweet as syrup.

“Big brother? Still listening?”

“I’m here. I’m here.”

He exhaled, eyes wide.

“You want me to enter the Grail War again?!”

Excitement surged up, unwanted but undeniable.

He couldn’t help it.

In his mind, Rider—Iskandar—
came crashing back.

A shadow burned into memory.

Ripples of that presence stirring up the waters of his soul.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Reines added, as if just remembering. That cloak? It got torn in the scuffle. Half of it was taken by the Einzberns… but I managed to save the rest.”

His face darkened instantly.

She’d been there. He was sure of it.

There was no way Reines of all people would fail to protect the main estate—unless she chose not to.

Or unless the Einzberns… had outside help.

Stolen? No.

That was daylight robbery.

“With that relic, you’re guaranteed to win the Grail War, right?”

Her voice was innocent—too innocent.

But he couldn't shake the feeling this was just another performance.

"When the hell did I ever mention that relic?"

He genuinely couldn’t remember saying anything about it. Why did she keep bringing it up? That cloak could summon a guaranteed-victory Servant?

Sure, he’d thought that before—deeply thought it—but he’d buried it so far down not even he could dig it up without bleeding. He hadn’t told a soul. Just quietly held onto the idea, kept it as a goal.

Strictly speaking, that relic didn’t belong to the King of Conquerors alone.

It was stained with another Servant’s blood.

Assassin.

An unknown killer who dared to draw their blade against Iskandar’s thousand-man army— the last Servant to fall in that war.

Rider’s blood soaked into the cloak.
And Assassin’s blood had soaked in alongside it.

“You know… the day we made that bet.”

He was still wracking his brain, but Reines had already answered. She didn’t need to finish her sentence.

He knew exactly what day she meant.

“That was drunken talk! Gods, that bottle was strong…”

He’d watched her sip it like it was water, thought it must’ve been light—
only to take one swig himself and nearly black out on the spot.

To this day, he couldn’t understand how Reines, with that tiny little body, could hide that kind of tolerance.

He’d passed out hard, dumped into bed like dead weight.

What happened after? He really had no idea.

So that’s when he spilled the truth, huh?

They say drunks speak their heart.

Guess it’s true.

That whole party had been semi-public, some kind of gala.

Had she planned that drink to watch him make a fool of himself?

“Oh, and… the Einzberns seem to have hired a maniac.”

Reines’ voice snapped him back.

“A maniac?”

“One who kidnapped the head of the Kiritsuki family.”

“Kiritsuki?”

The name didn’t ring any particular bell.

He frowned. “I’ve… maybe heard of them in passing.”

“A family established during the French Revolution. Their estate’s in Le Havre, on the northern coast of Normandy. They use ‘Brumaire’ as their house name—from the Republican Calendar. It’s the month that covers late October to November, the approach of winter.”

Le Havre. A knotted, messy city.

Populated and strategic—the frontline between the Holy Church and the Clock Tower.

Perched across the white cliffs, the two factions stared each other down like eternal enemies.

Between them, the distance was a metaphorical English Channel.

Only a few cunning seabirds could fly freely from one shore to the other. And the wind carried the scent of salt, decay, and the metallic stench of old bones.

“They named their house after the mists before winter?”

The French Republican Calendar had a way of cutting through metaphor.

No saints, no holy days—every day was named after a plant, an animal, a stone. And months, named for seasons: Snow Month. Rain Month. Flower Month. Heat Month.

“Brumaire is a family obsessed with eternity,” Reines said lightly, as if reading from a dossier.

“They research death as a path to reach the Root.”

It was almost eerie how well-informed she sounded—like everything related to the Einzberns, she’d already investigated.

“Their previous generation all died pursuing the truth of death. Only a single girl survived to inherit the crest. So tragic, right? Just like me.”

He didn’t hear a drop of sympathy in her voice.

“To seek eternity, they turned to death. Her father must’ve been a spectacularly irresponsible bastard.”

“And?”

He kept his voice level.

“What do we know about the kidnapper?”

He couldn’t help it. His mind flicked to Emiya Kiritsugu.

Winter. The season when everything dies.

Brumaire, then, was the haze before that end.

Did it symbolize a Dead Apostle that lingered forever before death?

Or a prophecy of death to come?

“Marco Lesson. A Sealing Designation Executor.”

Reines’ tone was casual, as if discussing the weather.

“Hired by the Brumaire family to maintain the heir’s Magic Crest. Then he kidnapped her. Took the Crest, too.”

“Why?”

If he just wanted the Crest, why not just take it?

Why abduct the heir along with it?

The Brumaire Crest wasn’t especially valuable.

Their lineage barely scraped out of the ‘new blood’ category.

And Marco was a Crest Technician—he could’ve just stolen the damn thing.

So why take the girl?

“Beats me,” Reines said, bored. “I see no benefit in it. Like I said, he’s a lunatic. An absolutely unhinged magus with zero rationality.”

No discernible motive.

That disturbed Lord El-Melloi II more than anything.

Maguses, by their very nature, were supposed to be rational.
Even if it meant eating each other alive to reach the Root.

“There’s more.”

Reines’ tone sharpened again.
“Marco isn’t even a combat-type magus. But somehow, he’s developed insane battle capacity. No matter who we send, he either escapes or fights back.”

“I need specifics.”

He was done with generalities.

“Well, it happened about two years ago. Marco used to be a refined nobleman. Then, suddenly—he fell. Hehehe. Don’t you want to know why?”

She was laughing.

His eye twitched.

“I even met him once at a gala. Didn’t think much of him, but at least he looked the part.
Elegant. Polished. Typical old-money magus.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

His voice flattened.

“He’s the enemy now. He attacked a Lord. There’s a price for that.”

This honor—this crushing weight—handed down to him by Kayneth…

It came with responsibility.

Some days, it threatened to choke him.

“Rumor says that after the ‘Red Calamity’ in Fuyuki, a new Grail system was built on the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico.”

“That’s hardly a secret. Seems it’s time to visit the Americas. Put an end to this little Grail farce.”

A smile curled on his lips.

He’d been waiting for this.

“No can do, Onii-chan~”

Her voice turned teasing again.

“The Association already filled both slots for the next Grail War. You’re not eligible.”

He already knew that was coming.

And he already had an answer.

“If we have a justifiable reason, we can invoke priority participation.”

His confidence was ironclad.

“If we act as honored hounds, they won’t just allow it—they’ll roll out the carpet. And if we don’t go, they’ll brand us as cowards.”

“Nope~” she sang.

“I seem to remember you made a promise, didn’t you?”
Her voice turned sly.

“Something our dear brother swore again and again.”

“…Of course.”

He wasn’t a fighter. And the Grail War was a meat grinder.

Kayneth, on his deathbed, had begged him—begged him—to stay safe, to complete the research within his lifetime.

He’d said that in front of Reines, thinking she was just a sweet little angel.

A voice inside him whispered to go.

But he forced it down.

“The Association’s slots are filled, yes. But if there’s sufficient cause, they can’t deny my claim.”

“Still no good, Big Brother~”

Her voice turned poison-sweet.
“When Kayneth handed you the title of Lord, he said it publicly. You were not to enter the Grail War.”

Silence.

The phone in his hand weighed a thousand pounds.

And yet he couldn’t put it down.

He understood.
Kayneth had done it for him.
To keep him alive.

But if he couldn’t see his king again—
couldn’t fight for his king’s glory—

Then what was the point of surviving at all?

An enemy.

Gilgamesh’s face rose in Lord El-Melloi II’s mind like a specter.

He had lived by Rider’s words.

And the King of Heroes had honored Rider’s vow and let him go.

He’d survived because of his king.

And the enemy had spared him—also because of his king.

King… O my king…

He closed his eyes, dazed for a long, quiet moment.

“But it doesn’t matter.”

The voice from the phone was giddy with amusement.

“You can’t go, sure. But that doesn’t mean someone else can’t.”

A ripple of laughter followed—low, teasing, confident.

“Your student seems eager. Don’t you think?”

Not a question.

Not even a suggestion.

It was a declaration. A knife slid between the ribs.

“…You did this, didn’t you?”

He knew.

There was no way Flat would’ve started asking about Dead Apostles out of the blue.
Not unless someone had whispered the secrets in his ear.

The Apostles were chasing relics.
And now his student knew about it.
No way this was coincidence.

Kayneth had known he harbored ambition toward the Holy Grail. That’s why—that’s why he’d forbidden him from participating. And now, his sister was pushing his student toward the fire.

“Don’t be ridiculous~ How could you doubt your sweet, innocent little sister?”

Reines giggled.

That laugh—it sent a fresh chill down his spine.

“They came. I didn’t do anything. What did you expect? That a delicate girl like me could stop a powerful magus?”

“I get it…”

He pressed a hand to his forehead.

There was no choice.

If Dead Apostles were demons, then the one on the phone was something worse.

No other options.

“This kind of choice is delicious, isn’t it?”

A good teacher, forced to throw his student into the fire—

That kind of corruption,

That kind of contrast,

That was the pleasure Reines always chased.

But El-Melloi II wasn’t like her.

He slammed the receiver down, cutting off the laughter mid-breath.

Did it have to be him?

The moment the call ended, his eyes landed on Flat.

The boy lit up, eyes gleaming.

“Wait, wait, wait! Does this mean—am I going to the Holy Grail War?!”

Only three people in the room:

Flat, himself, and a silent girl sitting quietly in the corner.

El-Melloi II fell into silence. Thinking.

He wanted to go to the Holy Grail War.

More than anything.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to send his student.

The Grail was dangerous—too dangerous.

But what was he supposed to do?

The thrill of seeing Rider again fluttered up in his chest—
but just as quickly, it died.

A teacher doesn’t send his students into hell. No matter how much his own heart longs for battle.

He made his decision.

“You didn’t hear any of that. Got it?”

At last, he spoke.

“…Why?”

“Because—”

“Because it’s dangerous?”

Flat cut him off.

Those grey eyes locked onto his.

The student’s gaze made him uncomfortable—too sharp. Too aware.

“…Yes.”

He admitted it.

“This is for El-Melloi’s honor, isn’t it?!”

Flat’s voice cracked—not from weakness, but from passion. Clearly, he knew more than El-Melloi II had expected.

Only now did he understand.

The boy hadn’t asked about Dead Apostles out of morbid curiosity.

He’d known.

He’d known they might be involved in the Grail War.

“What are you saying?”

His voice steeled.

He would not let a student fight that war.

Even if it meant never seeing Rider again.

Even if the student fought for his honor.

“El-Melloi.”
Flat paused.

“I don’t think you understand, Professor.”

“This honor… doesn’t belong to you alone!”

He stepped forward, the sound sharp, deliberate.

He was young. His voice still had that boyish edge.

But those grey eyes—they blazed like fire.

So fierce that El-Melloi II took a step back. Instinctively.

“I’m your student. I’ve inherited your teaching. El-Melloi’s honor is our honor. Anyone who dares trample that— is our enemy. And we fight to the end!”

He gritted his teeth, trembling with intensity.

He said ‘we.’

Not ‘I.’

We.

He meant all the students.
The whole class.

Flat, who refused to leave the classroom even after the bell rang.

Who treated every person in that room like family.

He wasn’t defending Waver Velvet’s honor.

Not even the title of Lord.

He was defending what El-Melloi stood for.

“Flat… be careful.”

At last, he relented.

Flat smiled—wide and bright.

Tears shimmered at the corners of his eyes.

“Listen to me.”

El-Melloi II’s voice dropped low.

“The Holy Grail War is not a game.”

“I know. I know. It’s war. And in war, you have to be ready to die.”

Flat’s voice rang like steel on steel.

“Death doesn’t scare me. It’s just a sleep you don’t wake up from. But living on after losing your honor— that’s the worst death of all. That’s the greatest insult a knight could ever endure!”

“…What about your parents…”

“Don’t worry, Professor.”

Flat’s usual carefree façade fell away like a discarded mask.

“Our family has been knights for generations. If my father and mother knew, they’d be proud of what I’ve chosen.”

For the first time, El-Melloi II saw him stand straight.

Not like a student, not like a boy— but like a soldier defending his homeland.

“For the glory of El-Melloi!”

His spine was rigid, posture impeccable.

El-Melloi II wouldn’t have been surprised if he snapped off a salute.

“I’ll write them a letter.”

He gave a slow nod, unsure of what else to say.

His mind—blank.

Knights…

Magus doctrine and knightly virtue were like oil and water.

In the world of magi, sacrifice didn’t exist—not really.

But there were exceptions.

Some families were hounds of honor.

El-Melloi, now, among them.

“Please do.”

Flat didn’t flinch at the idea of death.

“If I die, I ask that you return my ashes home.”

“Don’t say such ominous things.”

El-Melloi II’s voice sharpened—half warning, half command.

“Whatever happens, wherever you are, never break contact with me. Don’t pity anyone. Anyone could be your enemy. Especially the Dead Apostles. Remember—show no mercy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flat smiled.

El-Melloi II sank back into his seat, rubbing his temple.

Exhaustion seeped through his bones.

A young girl stepped forward and placed a cup of tea in front of him.

They were indoors, in the quiet of the study—
yet she still wore her thick hood.

The black cloak draped over her small frame did little to hide her eyes—
green as cut emeralds, glowing like precious stones in shadow.

“Professor… are you all right?”

Her voice was soft.

So quiet it might disappear if she stood just a step farther.

“I’m fine. It’s just… troublesome.”

He frowned, looking at her—
and without meaning to, his thoughts drifted back.

To the last Holy Grail War.

She didn’t know about it.

Not yet.

That relic…

It would summon two Servants.

The king will appear.

And if he does—
she might appear too.

The uncertainty of the summoning—
that had always been the question he longed to solve.

He turned, wanting to say something to Flat.

But all he saw was the boy’s silhouette, walking away—
alone.

He didn’t call out.

Didn’t stop him.

Just watched him leave in silence.

I’ll contact him later, he thought.

And in that moment,

Lord El-Melloi II suddenly wondered—

Have I made a mistake?

---

T/N: is this Strange Fake ooooh

This is a fan translation of 这是我的圣杯之战 by 向希望祈祷. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!