IBHJ 1166

The Darnic who had schemed throughout the Holy Grail War years ago had been just another self-serving magus. Now he had grown into someone his clan could truly look up to.

And it all started with that Holy Grail War.

But Darnic wasn't the only one transformed by it.

Vlad III, who'd dreamed of ruling the world again, came to accept the sunset of his reign. A blank homunculus found the courage of heroes, giving up everything to become the primordial giant. Demonic Bodhisattva who only followed her desires, the Saint who yearned for world peace, the Priest who ended up unleashing the very demon that would destroy the world. Even those feuding brothers, in their final battle, let their old hatred melt away with a laugh...

She too had changed.

She who had never known what it meant to be young, now started enjoying the life she had never experienced when alive through Laeticia's body.

But this happiness, this life—it all came from Demonic Bodhisattva, from taking over Leticia's body.

The feelings of joy and guilt twisted together in her heart, neither one able to win over the other.

Everyone had been transformed, their lives forever changed by that Holy Grail War. But in the end, it had all been part of a bigger plan—just another move in the Council's game, another piece for the Emperor to play.

Now everything was out in the open: the End crawling forward from the endless Past, while the Emperor reached for absolute control, trying to freeze the Present into a moment that would last forever.

But what about the Future?

The memory of Shirou standing tall as he struck down Demonic Bodhisattva with his glowing lance surfaced in her mind, and she couldn't help but tighten her fingers around the Black Barrel, the last gift Lord Barthomeloi had left in her care.

…

The ritual began.

Zelretch stood at the heart of the leyline, his voice rising with the summoning incantation. The ancient words rolled naturally from his tongue, each one making the air shiver around him. Mana flowed through his body as he spoke, strong enough to lift his white hair in the wind. With each word, the power around him grew stronger, the gentle breeze turning fierce and wild. By the time he reached the middle verse, the mana had turned into a storm, tearing at his clothes and howling through the ritual grounds.

Thousands of magi formed a circle around him at the leyline nodes, their chants joining his in perfect harmony even as their robes rippled like dark waves in the growing storm.

The massive leylines blazed like molten starlight, pulsing with raw energy that flowed through the Earth's veins. The ground trembled and cracked, releasing waves of heat that distorted the air. Streams of pure light shot into the sky, painting the darkness with ribbons of light that stretched beyond sight.

The light cast strange shadows that danced and twisted across the landscape, while the air itself seemed to vibrate with the building mana. Static electricity crackled between the magi, making their hair stand on end and sending sparks dancing across their outstretched hands.

It was breathtaking.

"Dear God..."

On the surface, countless people stared in awe. The Earth's leylines had transformed into an enormous summoning circle, their light reaching toward the heavens as if trying to touch the Throne of Heroes itself.

The call was made.

"BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM—"

The sky erupted in waves of aurora, its colors dancing across the night. One by one, people looked up, struck speechless by the sight before them.

The clear sky filled with countless streaks of light, like falling stars. One by one, they descended—the heroes of human history, the mighty figures who once commanded nature itself, answering the summons from their eternal thrones.

What Zelretch and the thousands of magi had done was beyond imagination, a ritual so vast that even Gaia herself had loosened the planet's rules, using Earth's leylines as anchors to summon every single Heroic Spirit.

This was more than magecraft, it had crossed into the realm of miracles. Perhaps this was the salvation that the Night of Wallachia had desperately sought but never found.

Light poured down from the heavens in endless streams, and from each beam emerged a Heroic Spirit with their heavy presence.

Cu Chulainn, Diarmuid, Boudica, Medb, Medusa, Euryale, Jason, Heracles, Atalanta, Perseus, Odysseus, Gilgamesh, Charlemagne, Napoleon, Jack, Charles...

They came from every corner of legend—Celtic myths, Ancient Greece, France, England, Ancient Rome, Japan, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Congo... Every Heroic Spirit that could be summoned was here now, regardless of their origin or domain.

A thousand? No... Ten thousand?

The summoning circles stretched endlessly, packed with figures beyond counting. But these weren't just ordinary people—they were humanity's greatest heroes, legends who had carved their names into history. Some were even demigods, and among them...gods themselves!

Jeanne's eyes went wide with disbelief.

How could she not? Who could stand before this sea of Heroic Spirits and remain unmoved? This made the clash of twelve Servants in a Holy Grail War look like a mere skirmish.

This was humanity's last stand—their final wall of defense. The mightiest army ever assembled, ready to face the Emperor and his Eternal Empire with its hundred million years of history.

But what stood before them was more than just a gathering of Heroic Spirits.

This was the weight of history itself.

Their history!

…

"That's...!"

Among the vast sea of Heroic Spirits, Darnic saw one familiar face after another.

From the Red Faction - Shirou Amakusa, Atalanta, Karna, Achilles, Spartacus, and Semiramis. And from the Black Faction - Artoria Pendragon, Arjuna, Astolfo, Avicebron, Heracles, and...

The Black Lancer, his king—

Vlad III!

Darnic's usually calm heart stirred at the sight of that tall figure—his country's guardian, a hero whose name history had tarnished.

He gathered himself and approached Vlad III. "It's been a long time, my king."

Vlad III turned, his eyes searching. "You seem familiar to me. Who might you be?"

The words struck Darnic silent for a moment. Of course—to a Heroic Spirit, their time as a Servant was nothing more than a passing dream.

A gentle smile crossed his face as he extended his hand. "I am Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia, head of the Romanian magical family—the Yggdmillennia clan. It's an honor to meet you, great lord of Romania."

"A great lord?"

Vlad fell quiet for a moment before reaching out to take Darnic's hand. "You too carry yourself like a leader. A pleasure to meet you—I am Vlad III, though you may call me Dracula."

He spoke the name Dracula with an easy smile, showing no trace of his old bitterness.

Darnic realized that even if Vlad III couldn't remember the Holy Grail War, some part of it still lived in his soul.

"May fortune favor you in battle," Darnic said softly.

Vlad paused, then smiled. "And may your family prosper."

Darnic returned the smile and turned away.

He knew this was probably the last time he'd see his king, but that's how life worked. Nothing - not love, not hate - lasts forever. Like footprints on a path you can't walk twice, memories fade away, and what's gone never truly comes back. Yet somehow, their traces linger, waiting to be found again by those who seek them.

While the lost may stay lost, those meant to meet will always find their way back to each other. And for Darnic, that was enough.

"Who was that, Vlad?"

"Ah, Spartacus?" Vlad paused thoughtfully. "That man... though I can't quite place him, something tells me he must be a friend of mine - of Dracula's," he said with a gentle smile.

…

In the halls of the Empire...

"Impossible... even Galahad has fallen!" Agravain's voice trembled as he absorbed the devastating news from the front lines.

"There's worse. Bedivere has made his choice - he's abandoned us. We can no longer count him among our allies."

"That traitor!" he snarled. "He betrayed His Majesty's trust the moment he walked out of the palace. His Majesty's faith in him was utterly wasted!"

"What's our next move then?"

"This strange power they possess - the ability to kill Apostles, and now driving back even Galahad..." his brow furrowed. "Together, Chaldea and the Council are proving to be a dangerous force. For now, maintain the siege on Tír na nÓg while I report to His Majesty."

"Understood." Morgan hesitated before continuing. "But given the circumstances... why does His Majesty still refuse to lead the battle personally? Surely with His Majesty's power, Tír na nÓg could be crushed with a mere thought?"

"Mind your words!" his voice turned cold. "If His Majesty must intervene for every minor setback, what purpose do we Apostles serve?"

"You're right... but we must deal with these Pan-Human History rebels swiftly. Since Ector's fall, every foreigner across the continent has noticed the Emperor's Hand growing weaker," she pressed.

"The other Apostles will take care of it," he dismissed.

"I understand," she nodded, then carefully added, "What about Princess Guinevere? King Leodegrance keeps demanding her return."

"She's just a girl without His Majesty's eternal blessing. Nothing remarkable about her. Haven't you released her yet?"

"We were about to, but then Sir Galahad arrived. Without clear orders on the matter, we thought it best to stay quiet and await permission," she explained.

"Then send her back to Camlann," he said flatly.

"As you wish."

"That's all. I must report these developments to His Majesty."

She nodded, and the connection went dark.