MMMS 87

“How… how is this even possible…” Irisviel stared in disbelief at the bodies—men who had willingly thrown their lives away to shield Kirei.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

A voice from behind made her spin around.

Another man had appeared, tall and imposing, his smile twisted with something between madness and pride. He looked over the carnage with a glint in his eye. “I was a sinner from the start, a killer with no place in heaven or hell. If the King of Hell himself wants to judge me, then that’d be an honor.”

“…Tch.”

While he was talking, Ryuuto adjusted his hold on Irisviel, still cradling her in a princess carry. He gave her curvy backside a playful pat.

“…Nnh!”

“Time to get down, Iri.”

“Ah, r-right. Sorry… but, um, Lord Ryuuto, your hand—!”

Once back on the ground, her eyes immediately went to his injury. Blood was still trailing down his palm.

“I’m fine,” he said, as if brushing off a scratch. Then, with zero hesitation, he brought the cut to his mouth and licked it clean.

Irisviel froze.

This… was neither the time nor the place. But her brain had already short-circuited. There was something stupidly magnetic about that reckless gesture—blood, tongue, the smirk on his lips. It hit her somewhere deep and stupid. Her heart fluttered in protest… 'Ugh. Why is that so—why is that hot?!'

“What’s wrong, Iri?” Ryuuto asked, cocking his head with a smirk. “You’ve been staring.”

“N-no, it’s nothing!” she blurted, stepping back like a startled deer. Her cheeks were blazing. “A-anyway—what about Lancer and Caster?”

“They looked too cute while sleeping, so I let them be,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“R-right… I see.” Irisviel gave a nervous laugh and rubbed her cheek. “Oh, and Lord Ryuuto—please be careful. This Berserker… something’s not right about him.”

“Ah… I see.” Jack slowly drew a long knife from his belt. “Judging by that look on your face, I must’ve guessed right. You’re the king I’ve been waiting for.”

“Say one more word of that crap, and I’ll wipe you out completely.” Ryuuto’s voice dropped low. The glare he shot at Kirei’s Servant could’ve frozen fire.

He already knew everything about Jack the Ripper’s Noble Phantasm. From the start, he'd understood what this enemy was. A “group” born of rumor and blood, not a single killer but a swarm. Jack could create countless clones depending on how much mana his Master could pour into him. Each one was real. Each one could be the true body. And the last one standing would just become the original all over again.

It was a cheap trick. Not worthy of being called a trump card.

Last time, Ryuuto hadn’t had time to deal with him. Irisviel’s safety had come first. But now? There were no distractions.

He let his killing intent spill out like a pressure wave. It hit the air like a silent scream.

“Kid. You know my true identity… and you're still choosing to fight me?”

Jack didn’t flinch. His face—just another stolen mask—twisted into a grin. “If you’re really that noble, that terrifying… why do you look so weak to me right now?”

Ryuuto’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond.

“If this was the real you… someone like me wouldn’t even get the chance to talk. I’d be crushed under your presence alone. But now…” Jack tilted his head, smile widening as he stepped forward. “You’re trapped inside a human shell. What a shame. You’ve become weak.”

As the words left his mouth, the air began to ripple. Dozens of Jacks began splitting off from his body, growing at an unnatural speed.

Ryuuto didn’t blink.

But this time—he wasn’t going to let a single one walk away.

One became two.

Two became four.

“O King who judges mankind without bias…” Eight voices echoed through the castle, all bearing Jack’s twisted tone. “Is this pitiful form really what it means to fall from grace?”

Figures crept out from every direction, all wearing the same unsettling smile. “What could push someone like you to give up your divine form? I don’t get it…”

Sixteen Jacks now filled the halls, their voices overlapping into a mocking chant. “But I do understand one thing. No matter how terrifying you once were, right now—you’re exactly what you wanted to be.”

They grinned wider.

“A human.”

Their numbers doubled again.

Thirty-two identical killers lined the corridor.

“And since you’re just a fragile human now…” They raised their knives, slowly stepping forward. “Then eventually, something worse—something crueler—will come for you. A killer, like me.”

The tide surged, closing in from every direction. The sound of their synchronized steps echoed like a heartbeat growing louder by the second.

Then—

The castle hallway vanished.

Irisviel gasped, stumbling back. “Wait… This—this can’t be… Is this a Reality Marble?!”

The world around them twisted violently. Her beautiful castle was gone, devoured by a hellish domain.

The air was thick with fog, but not mist—something sickly and dense. The once-elegant walls were charred black, their cracks glowing with lava that hissed and spat noxious steam.

The furniture had morphed into jagged, obsidian-like ores, pulsing with an eerie purple glow. Bat-like creatures with distorted human faces flew overhead, leaving trails of impish fire in their wake.

Beyond the windows, a blood-red moon glared down on them, as if watching.

There was no doubt left in her mind.

Jack the Ripper had used a Reality Marble—his own personal Hell, made real.

Even as the grotesque world unfolded around them, Ryuuto simply shook his head.

“No… this isn’t a Reality Marble.”

Irisviel blinked, stunned. “It’s not?”

“What we’re seeing isn't Berserker’s inner world. This isn’t a personal domain shaped by his soul,” Ryuuto said quietly. “This is something else entirely—something born from the collective fear and twisted desires of mankind.”

He stepped forward. “This hellish place is the mental landscape of an entire era… a reflection of how people once saw Jack the Ripper. The monster that haunted the night. It’s an urban legend given form. A nightmare so widespread, it bled into reality.”

Irisviel clutched her arms tightly. “He’s strong…”

She wasn’t just scared. She was realizing. The aura pouring from this Berserker wasn’t just overwhelming—it felt old. Comparable to King Arthur or Gawain in sheer combat presence.

Ryuuto was powerful, yes. But so was this monster.

Maybe it really was time to call Lancer.

The creature now standing before them no longer resembled a man. His body had transformed—towering over two meters tall, part beast, part skeleton. Jagged horns twisted from his skull. Wings of shadowed bone unfurled behind his back. Claws like swords flexed in the air, soaked in dark mana.

Murderous intent bled from him like a living fog.

A true Berserker.

Then Jack's eyes flared—deep, violent red. The ground trembled with a low, pulsing hum.

In the next moment, beams of crimson light erupted toward Ryuuto.

But the boy was already gone.

A sharp crack split the air as he reappeared midair beside Jack, moving faster than the eye could follow.

Ryuuto’s body twisted in midair before plummeting like a meteor.

His punch hit home with a brutal thud.

Berserker didn’t just fall—he was driven into the earth, the ground beneath him splitting apart with a thunderous crash.

Ryuuto landed light on his feet, smoke and dust spiraling in slow circles around him. He rolled his shoulder once, then cracked his knuckles, eyes never leaving the crater.

“Even if I’ve gotten weaker,” he said quietly, “that doesn’t mean you’ve gotten stronger.”