The Clock Tower’s Secretary Room was never silent.

  Even in times of peace, it was filled with the distant hum of bounded fields, the faint ticking of spiritual instruments, and the constant pressure of accumulated mysteries stacked upon one another like invisible weight. But today, the silence felt different.

  It felt… wrong.

  A ripple passed through the air.

  No incantation. No magical formula. No summoning circle.

  Just existence rewriting itself.

  Kevin Sai stood in the center of the room, his body reconstructing from spiritual particles as if death itself had simply given up on holding him. His eyes were cold, sharp, carrying the kind of fatigue that could only come from witnessing the end of civilizations.

  Without bothering to announce himself, he walked straight toward the inner chambers.

  Toward her.

  Luviagelita Edelfelt’s Office

  Golden sunlight poured through the stained glass windows, reflecting off jewel-encrusted magical artifacts lining the walls. The room was immaculate—too immaculate. Everything from the antique sofas to the tea set radiated aristocratic elegance.

  Luviagelita Edelfelt sat with perfect posture, legs crossed, one hand delicately holding a porcelain teacup.

  She didn’t even look up at first.

  “I am Luviagelita Edelfelt,” she said gracefully, voice carrying natural authority. “But I will permit you to call me Luvia. Now then—what business do you have with me, Kevin Sai?”

  Kevin didn’t sit.

  He didn’t smile.

  He didn’t waste time.

  “Luvia,” he said flatly. “Us mages… are already ruined.”

  The words hit the air like a gunshot.

  Luvia blinked.

  “…What?”

  She slowly lowered her teacup.

  “You mean that metaphorically, I assume? The Clock Tower has survived civil wars, Holy Grail disasters, and even interference from the Moon Cell. ‘Ruined’ is a rather dramatic choice of words, even for—”

  “The magical world is collapsing,” Kevin interrupted. “Not politically. Not financially. Existentially.”

  Luvia froze.

  “…The entire magical world?” she repeated quietly.

  “I never thought I would hear such a sentence in my lifetime.”

  Kevin’s eyes darkened.

  “There is a Dead Apostle currently active. A true one. Not a modern mutation.”

  “How many victims?” she asked cautiously.

  “Roughly nine hundred million.”

  The silence shattered.

  “900 million?!”

  “O-ho-ho-ho—!” Luvia burst into dramatic laughter, instinctively covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Kevin Sai, that’s not even a plausible number! That’s nearly an entire continent’s worth of—”

  Her laughter died.

  She looked at his face.

  He wasn’t joking.

  Her smile slowly collapsed.

  “…Wait.”

  She stood up so fast her chair slid back.

  “Kevin. That number isn’t even possible unless—”

  He grabbed her shoulders.

  “Zombie-like vampires,” he said.

  “Mass conversion. Slow mental degradation. Loss of individuality. And worst of all—global exposure to the Mythic World.”

  Her breath caught.

  “…The general population… knows about us?”

  “They’re learning. Through blood, chaos, and fear.”

  Luvia felt something cold crawl up her spine.

  This wasn’t a scandal.

  This wasn’t a disaster.

  This was the end of Mystery itself.

  Kevin continued.

  “The Church has officially blamed the Clock Tower.”

  Luvia’s eyes widened.

  “…Excuse me?”

  “They declared that magecraft negligence caused the outbreak. That we failed to contain the Dead Apostles.”

  Her hands clenched.

  “And the public believed them?”

  “More than believed.”

  Kevin’s voice dropped.

  “Sixty percent of registered mages have already been killed. Lynched. Executed on sight. Burned in public spaces.”

  The teacup shattered in her hand.

  “…They’re hunting us?”

  “Yes. To the world, mages are now the villains. The architects of the apocalypse.”

  Luvia trembled.

  Not from fear.

  From rage.

  “This is… intolerable.”

  Her aristocratic composure cracked.

  “The Clock Tower is incompetent, yes—but to let the entire human world turn against us? To sacrifice our kind to preserve their political standing?!”

  She slammed her fist on the desk.

  “This is no longer politics. This is war.”

  She looked up at Kevin, eyes burning with determination.

  “Tell me everything. No detail is too small. If humanity is collapsing, I will not allow the Edelfelt name to die with it.”

  Then she smiled.

  A dangerous, confident smile.

  “And if we’re forming a task force… I already know who I want.”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow.

  “…Who?”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Luvia adjusted her sleeve dramatically.

  “Shirou Emiya.”

  There was a slight pause.

  A very small blush.

  “…Purely for practical reasons, of course! His combat adaptability against supernatural threats is acceptable, and his idiotic hero complex makes him easy to manipulate—”

  She coughed.

  “A-anyway! More importantly—”

  Her tone shifted.

  “We need to know which Dead Apostle Ancestor is responsible. No ordinary vampire could achieve something on this scale.”

  Kevin’s gaze turned grave.

  “…We already know.”

  Luvia stiffened.

  “Name.”

  “Roanoke.”

  The room felt colder.

  “…Roanoke?” she whispered.

  “The one sealed during the Age of Gods?”

  Kevin nodded.

  “Ten thousand years old. True Dead Apostle Ancestor. His existence predates the modern World Order.”

  Luvia’s breath stopped.

  “That’s impossible… even Divine Spirits couldn’t kill him.”

  “They tried,” Kevin said.

  “All of them.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “The combined power of Greek and Egyptian pantheons was required just to seal him the first time.”

  “And that seal lasted 2,500 years.”

  Kevin looked directly at her.

  “He’s free now.”

  The implication hit like a falling star.

  “…So this isn’t a crisis,” Luvia whispered.

  “This is a second Age of Gods-level extinction event.”

  Kevin hesitated.

  “There’s… something else.”

  Luvia frowned.

  “What now? Another Ancient Beast? A Reality Marble eating continents?”

  “…Do you remember a mage named Raphael Arzenon?”

  Her expression instantly soured.

  “That talentless one with an Od level of ten?”

  She crossed her arms.

  “He asked me out on a date ten months ago. I refused. Obviously. I do not associate with weaklings.”

  Kevin nodded.

  “Ten weeks ago, a Moon Cell fragment went missing.”

  Luvia’s eyes sharpened.

  “…Don’t tell me.”

  “It fused with him.”

  Silence.

  “…With who?”

  “Raphael Arzenon.”

  The words didn’t register at first.

  Then—

  “…You’re joking.”

  “He’s now stronger than seventy percent of the Clock Tower.”

  Luvia’s pupils shrank.

  “…Equal to the Lords?”

  “Yes.”

  Her mind short-circuited.

  “That… that incompetent nobody?!”

  Kevin continued.

  “He’s now a strategic asset. The Church wants him. The Remaining Lords want him. Even the Dead Apostle factions are monitoring him.”

  “…Because he’s a Moon Cell hybrid,” Luvia whispered.

  “A living superweapon.”

  “And yet,” Kevin added, “he refuses to take any side.”

  Luvia narrowed her eyes.

  “Neutral?”

  “Yes. He doesn’t want to be involved.”

  She stared into space.

  Then laughed softly.

  “…Of course he doesn’t.”

  Her lips curled into a calculating smile.

  “He’s powerful now—but he’s still the same coward inside.”

  She turned to Kevin.

  “That makes him perfect.”

  Kevin frowned.

  “What do you mean?”

  Luvia leaned forward, eyes gleaming with aristocratic cunning.

  “We don’t force him.”

  “We scare him.”

  She raised a finger.

  “We let him understand that the Church will hunt him, that the Dead Apostles will devour him, and that neutrality is an illusion.”

  Her smile widened.

  “When the world corners him… we offer the only safe place left.”

  “The Edelfelt faction.”

  Kevin slowly realized.

  “You’re going to make him choose you.”

  “Exactly.”

  Luvia laughed softly.

  “O-ho-ho-ho… the weakling who once begged for my attention will soon be the key to humanity’s survival.”

  Her eyes hardened.

  “And whether he likes it or not—Raphael Arzenon is about to become the centerpiece of a war between gods, vampires… and the end of the world itself.”

  meanwhile, during these events The world folded.

  Space itself screamed as invisible lines were severed and reconnected.

  Raphael Arzenon emerged from nothingness.

  Not through a circle. Not through a ritual.

  But by Spatial Transference via Leyline Severance—a method so violent it treated planetary leylines like threads to be cut and re-stitched.

  He materialized in midair.

  And immediately coughed blood.

  “—Kh!”

  Scarlet splattered onto the cracked asphalt below as his body stumbled forward, barely maintaining form. The air was thick with smoke, ash, and the smell of burned flesh.

  All around him, a city in the United States was burning.

  Skyscrapers half-collapsed. Streets split open. Emergency sirens long dead. The sky glowed orange, not from sunset—but from firestorms consuming entire districts.

  Raphael dropped to one knee, clutching his chest.

  Every breath felt like his lungs were being crushed from the inside.

  Cielux’s voice echoed calmly within his soul.

  > “Teleportation drained approximately 45% of your total mana reserves. However, due to your current Spiritron Reflection Body, neural pain feedback has been reduced by 63.4%.”

  Raphael grimaced.

  “...So this is the reduced version?”

  > “Correct. Without Spiritron Reflection, your heart would have collapsed.”

  He laughed weakly.

  “Good to know I’d be dead without you.”

  But he didn’t stop.

  Even as blood stained his lips, Raphael forced himself upright.

  The screams reached him.

  Not explosions.

  Not monsters.

  Human screams.

  His eyes widened.

  “Cielux… there are people still alive.”

  > “Confirmed.”

  Raphael started running.

  Not walking.

  Not hesitating.

  He ran straight into the inferno.

  As he crossed into the city center, Raphael activated it.

  Not outward.

  Inward.

  > Absolute Appraisal — Self / Environment Scan.

  The world exploded into data.

  Buildings became wireframes. Heat became numeric values. Souls became light signatures scattered across a ruined map.

  And then the numbers appeared.

  > Population Scan Result:

  Total detected life signatures: 100

  Total deceased: 50,689

  Raphael stopped.

  His legs locked.

  “…What?”

  The color drained from his face.

  Fifty thousand.

  Dead.

  Not evacuated.

  Not missing.

  Dead.

  Burned, drained, converted, erased.

  This wasn’t a battlefield.

  This was a slaughterhouse.

  His hands trembled.

  His mind whispered.

  What can a weakling like me even do here?

  I came alone. I used half my power just to arrive.

  I’m signing my own death warrant.

  For a moment—just a moment—Raphael wanted to turn back.

  Then—

  He saw her.

  A little girl.

  Five years old at most.

  Pinned beneath shattered concrete, her small hands reaching toward the sky. Next to her lay the body of her mother—eyes empty, skin gray, throat torn open.

  And around her…

  Thirty figures.

  Flaming, twisted, humanoid shapes.

  Vampires.

  But wrong.

  Their bodies burned from the inside, veins glowing like magma, mouths dripping black fire.

  Flame Zombie Dead Apostles.

  The girl cried.

  “Mama… mama please wake up…”

  The vampires moved.

  In that instant—

  Time slowed.

  Rain froze midair.

  Ash hovered like snow.

  Even the fire seemed to hesitate.

  At the center of it all stood Raphael Arzenon.

  Moments ago: terrified.

  Now: silent.

  His eyes no longer shook.

  They burned.

  Not with panic.

  With something far colder.

  Something heavier.

  Determination.

  And quiet, restrained rage.

  “…No.”

  Something activated.

  Not a spell.

  Not a chant.

  A concept.

  > Through Acceleration — First Activation.

  The world shattered into stillness.

  And Raphael moved.

  He crossed fifty meters in less than a heartbeat.

  Not by speed.

  By rewriting distance.

  The first vampire turned.

  Too late.

  Raphael raised his hand.

  Not forming a magic circle.

  Not channeling prana.

  He simply thought.

  > Codecast: Elemental Construct — Fire.

  Reality responded.

  Flames formed—not from mana, but from protocol execution. Pure informational fire, born from logic rather than energy.

  The vampire exploded.

  Not burned.

  Deleted.

  The second one lunged.

  Raphael sidestepped, instinctively firing again.

  Another erased.

  And then—

  Something happened.

  The world reacted.

  The air trembled.

  The planet itself seemed to pause.

  A pressure descended.

  Not hostile.

  Not violent.

  But vast.

  Ancient.

  Watching.

  Raphael felt it.

  “…What the hell was that?”

  For a split second, Gaia—the planetary will—had noticed him.

  Not as a threat.

  But as a contradiction.

  A foreign system operating inside native reality.

  But then—

  Nothing.

  The pressure vanished.

  As if the world itself had looked at him… and accepted him.

  Raphael froze mid-run.

  “Cielux… did the planet just—”

  > “Yes.”

  “…It noticed me?”

  > “Momentarily.”

  “…Why didn’t it reject me?”

  Cielux answered softly.

  > “Because I localized every Moon Cell function into your Origin.”

  “All Codecast protocols were translated into native Spiritron logic.”

  “From reality’s perspective, no foreign system exists.”

  Raphael’s eyes widened.

  > “Every effect originates from a valid soul anchor.”

  “Codecast is not an intrusion.”

  “It is you.”

  Raphael stood there, stunned.

  “…So I’m not borrowing power anymore.”

  > “Correct.”

  “You are the system.”

  The remaining vampires screamed.

  Raphael turned.

  And smiled.

  A flame zombie lunged.

  Its body ignited.

  The moment it touched Raphael, the air detonated.

  The temperature spiked instantly.

  > Surface Temperature: 15,000,000°C

  (Fifteen million degrees Celsius — over 100x hotter than the sun’s core)

  Raphael screamed.

  His skin vaporized.

  His nerves burned.

  His vision went white.

  > “Through Acceleration engaged.”

  Time compressed.

  > Absolute Appraisal — 0.001 seconds.

  Cielux scanned the vampire.

  Every cell.

  Every flame particle.

  Every regeneration loop.

  > “Threat identified.”

  “Modifying Spiritron Reflection Body.”

  Raphael’s existence rewrote itself.

  Not adaptation.

  Not defense.

  Reconstruction.

  His soul structure gained a new parameter:

  > Fire Resistance: 15,000,000°C

  The flames vanished.

  Raphael collapsed to one knee—but only slightly burned.

  > Damage sustained: 10%

  He looked at his arm.

  Still intact.

  Still real.

  “…You just edited my soul, didn’t you?”

  > “Yes.”

  The vampire regenerated instantly.

  Its body reformed from fire.

  Raphael stared at it.

  Then smirked.

  “…So that’s how you want to play.”

  The vampire screamed again.

  Raphael raised his hand.

  > “Using analyzed data…”

  Cielux froze.

  > “Master… are you—?”

  Raphael smiled wider.

  > “Copying it.”

  The code executed.

  His Spiritron structure gained a new function:

  > Regeneration Protocol — Dead Apostle Variant

  Cielux paused.

  Then—

  > “Master, I did not expect you to copy the vampire regeneration.”

  Raphael laughed.

  “Didn’t you say you can see the future?”

  > “…”

  “I thought you’d know.”

  Cielux’s voice shifted.

  Just slightly.

  > “…I deliberately do not view your future.”

  Raphael blinked.

  “Huh?”

  > “I want to grow with you.”

  “Observing your predetermined choices would be inefficient.”

  “You are the only variable I refuse to calculate.”

  Silence.

  “…That’s kind of sweet,” Raphael said.

  > “Shut up, master.”

  For the first time—

  Inside the inner world—

  Cielux’s avatar turned red.

  After the Battle

  The remaining ten vampires were easy.

  Too easy.

  They fell in seconds.

  Raphael stood alone in the rain of ash.

  The children stared at him.

  Silent.

  Terrified.

  He walked toward them slowly.

  Kneeling.

  Lowering himself to their level.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly.

  “…You’re safe now.”

  The little girl looked up.

  Her face reminded him of Skia.

  Too much.

  His chest hurt.

  Not from wounds.

  From memory.

  From being an orphan.

  From knowing what it meant to stand alone in a ruined world.

  He forced a smile.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

  He activated teleportation.

  Cielux screamed.

  > “MASTER NO— YOU HAVE NO MANA LEFT—”

  Too late.

  Light consumed them.

  Atlas — Emergency Wing

  They reappeared inside Atlas.

  The children collapsed safely onto the floor.

  Raphael didn’t.

  He fell forward.

  Unconscious.

  His body finally giving up.

  Cielux manifested faintly above him.

  Sighing.

  Arms crossed.

  > “…It seems I need to take care of you again.”

  She looked down at him.

  Annoyed.

  Fond.

  > “You idiot master of mine.”

  But her voice was gentle.

  For the first time, Raphael Arzenon had chosen to fight.

  Not because he was forced.

  Not because someone ordered him.

  But because, in a world burning alive—

  He refused to remain a spectator.

  But during all this Chaos back at The Tohsaka Estate — Western Wing

  The room was white.

  White walls.

  White curtains.

  White flowers lining the mirrors.

  And at the center of it all—

  Akane Tohsaka stood silently in a wedding dress.

  Silk and lace wrapped around her slender figure, the gown flawless in design, tailored perfectly to her body. The maids had spent hours adjusting every detail—every ribbon, every fold—until she looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.

  But her face told a different story.

  Her eyes were red.

  Tears clung to her lashes, refusing to fall, as if even her body didn’t know whether it was allowed to cry.

  She stared at her own reflection in the mirror.

  A beautiful bride.

  With an empty expression.

  The door behind her opened.

  Soft footsteps echoed across the marble floor.

  Akane didn’t turn.

  She already knew who it was.

  Roy Tohsaka walked in, hands clasped behind his back, a satisfied smile on his face as he observed the room.

  “My dear daughter…”

  His voice was warm. Gentle. Proud.

  “I am so grateful you finally let go of your feelings for that trash—Raphael Arzenon.”

  Akane’s fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of her dress.

  Roy continued, completely unaware.

  “And that you will finally get married to your fiancé in Two Weeks from now.”

  Behind her, the maids clasped their hands together.

  “So romantic~!”

  “You look perfect, Lady Akane!”

  “A wedding in five days, how exciting!”

  They smiled.

  They laughed.

  They celebrated.

  But Akane said nothing.

  Her reflection blurred as the tears finally overflowed.

  One drop slid down her cheek.

  Then another.

  Her lips trembled—but no sound came out.

  Inside her chest, something was breaking.

  Not loudly.

  Not dramatically.

  Just quietly.

  Like glass cracking under invisible pressure.

  She looked back at the mirror.

  Not at the dress.

  Not at the future bride.

  But at the girl she used to be.

  The girl who once believed she could choose her own path.

  And in the reflection—

  For just a moment—

  She thought she saw Raphael’s face.

  Smiling.

  Unaware.

  Far away.

  “…I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  But no one heard her.

  The maids kept cheering.

  Her father kept smiling.

  And the wedding countdown had already begun.

  Two Weeks remained.

  End of Chapter 13.