Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, Far Side, Sakura Labyrinth - 2030 AD
The announcement of Rani's elimination still lingers, its echo swallowed by the broken forums and shattered colonnades of the buffer floor, yet Rani herself remains.
The last motes of light are starting to fade where Lu Bu stood, dissolving into the fractured air of the city.
She stands where she was, posture straight, expression unchanged, as if erasure had merely brushed past her instead of closing its hand around her throat.
Hermes hums faintly at her core, a barely perceptible resonance that I can feel more than hear.
Rani's eyes lower for a moment, unfocused, calculations running faster than speech, and at the same time, she gathers the last remaining bit of Lu Bu's motes before they completely fade away and carefully stores them within a cube-like Mystic Code.
The cube itself is no larger than her palm, its surface translucent and faintly luminous from within. Thin geometric lines pulse across its faces, shifting with quiet complexity as the last fragments of Lu Bu's spiritual residue settle inside. For a brief moment, the light flickers violently, as if resisting containment, before stabilising into a slow, steady glow.
Rani watches it with a level of focus that borders on reverent fascination as she keeps analysing the object in her hands.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the Mystic Code, just enough for me to notice.
Lu Bu had been her Servant, a weapon, a shield, a calculation, a partner, and yet, the way she ensures not a single mote is wasted feels deliberate.
Hermes hums again, stronger this time, synchronising with the cube. The resonance ripples outward, faint but measurable. Even without actively scanning, I can feel the density of prana condense, compressed into something that should not persist after elimination.
Nero shifts beside me as she murmurs, more intrigued than alarmed, "I wonder what she plans to do with that. Maybe she wants to summon him again... But I don't think it is possible."
Rani does not look at her; she keeps her gaze on the Mystic Code cube and mutters, "Partial preservation of spiritual data successful. Incomplete, but sufficient for study."
There's no tremor in her voice. No regret. But there is intent. A will that was absent before and that already makes her more human now than she was before.
Then she finally speaks, her voice is calm, precise, untouched by triumph or fear as she says, "My previous models were correct. It is possible to supersede the Moon Cell's authority and avoid erasure."
Nero exhales slowly beside me, tension easing from her shoulders, though her hand never fully leaves the hilt of her sword.
Meanwhile, Rani continues, unfazed, "However, the process is highly resource-intensive. Without either overwhelming power or a unique structural advantage comparable to my own, the success rate is negligible. Optimisation sufficient for an ordinary Master would require extensive time. It may not be achievable at all. Maybe only some lesser form of it through the use of sheer will may be possible..."
She lifts her gaze to meet mine. There is no pride in it or challenge, but only information.
I step closer, the broken stones crunching beneath my boots as I ask her, "Then what will you do now?"
For the first time since the battle ended, Rani pauses, not to calculate, but to choose her words, and after a few moments she says, "First. I acknowledge your victory. Your strategy and execution were optimal. You perfectly struck and exploited all the weak points in our strategy."
Nero's lips curve upward, pleased while Rani continues, "Second, although I am no longer a participant in the Holy Grail War, my directives remain in effect, with necessary adjustments that is."
She raises one finger and declares, "I will continue to assess whether the Moon Cell constitutes a threat to human existence. If it does, I will attempt to destroy it as I've been ordered."
A second finger rises up as she continues, "I will analyse the current Holy Grail War. In its present configuration, it is inefficient and unstable. I have therefore discarded it as a system worthy of preservation."
Then, after the briefest hesitation, a third finger rises up as she concludes, "And finally... I will try to fulfil my personal objective. To understand human emotion. To do so, I intend to fight alongside someone I consider a friend."
Silence follows her words, though it is not an empty silence.
It feels like a contract being drafted in the air between us.
Rani does not ask for permission. She does not request protection. She simply states her intentions as if presenting research findings to a panel of peers.
Destroy the Moon Cell if necessary.
Discard the current Holy Grail War as inefficient.
Fight alongside someone she considers a friend.
The third objective lingers.
Nero studies her openly, crimson eyes sharp with appraisal, before she repeats, tasting the words, "A friend. You speak of it as though it were a hypothesis."
Rani replies without hesitation, "It is. I lack sufficient experiential data."
Nero laughs softly and states, "Then you have chosen an interesting laboratory."
Rani does not react to the teasing, but her gaze shifts again to me. Steady. Evaluating.
I realise then that this is not sentiment, but it is a commitment expressed in the only language she truly understands.
Her gaze does not waver as it rests on me, and I look back at her to see if there are any traces of deception in her gaze.
For a moment, the ruined city around us feels strangely distant.
Then, seeing everything I needed to see, I nod once and warmly say, "Then you're welcome to stay."
Nero turns toward Rani with a broad, confident smile, "Indeed. Any ally of the Praetor is an ally of Rome."
In response, Rani inclines her head, "Acknowledged."
With that, the tension fully dissolves, and I bring up my interface and restore the buffer floor, rewinding collapsed structures and sealing fractures in the stone.
The reconstruction unfolds in reverse catastrophe.
Stone fragments lift from the ground as if gravity has momentarily forgotten its duty. Cracks seal with faint lines of light tracing their edges before vanishing entirely. Broken pillars reassemble from dust and memory, each piece sliding precisely back into place with mechanical inevitability.
Statues rise from rubble in stages, first torsos, then limbs, then faces. Marble eyes regain their blank serenity as if they had never witnessed violence.
The sound is subtle. Not the roar of construction, but the whisper of correction.
Reality aligning itself again.
Rani observes the process with quiet intensity, her eyes tracking the spatial recalibration. Nero, on the other hand, folds her arms and smiles approvingly before she comments, "Efficient. Rome would have use for such capable architects. So many magnificent creations..."
I reply absently, "It is not architecture. It is a system authority. Basically restoring everything to its previous state. Quite simple if you know what to do."
The difference matters.
I can feel the Moon Cell resisting slightly, not enough to interfere, but enough to remind me that this privilege is conditional on the current state.
That alone confirms something is wrong with this revised War.
The city rebuilds itself in silence, marble reassembling, statues reclaiming their broken limbs as if the battle had never taken place.
After that, we begin the ascent back toward the Sanctuary Floor, but then, halfway up the staircase, the mechanical voice resounds again.
[Elimination confirmed. Master Christopher Jones has been eliminated.]
We stop.
Nero loudly clicks her tongue and comments, "That makes four."
Rani tilts her head slightly, "Elapsed time since the reconfiguration: one hour and twelve minutes. Remaining active Masters: thirteen."
Hearing that, I frown and comment, "That's too fast."
The weight of the announcement does not fade as quickly as Rani's did.
Christopher Jones.
The name means little to me personally; it belongs to another minor Master, but the pattern does.
One hour and twelve minutes.
Four Masters gone.
The staircase beneath us suddenly feels less like a passage and more like a funnel.
Nero rests her hand fully on her sword now, no longer casual about it as she says quietly, "This pace is inelegant. Wars are meant to unfold. This feels… rushed."
Rani's gaze lowers slightly, not fully disengaging from her surroundings, but clearly reviewing the data again, then she says after a moment, "The sample size remains insufficient. However, deviation from projected elimination curves is significant."
She doesn't speculate beyond that, and neither do I, because speculation would mean choosing a shape for something that is still formless.
At this point, Rani asks, "Do you believe this rate of elimination is intentional?"
I think about it for a few moments, then admit, "I don't know. But it feels like we're being unknowingly led toward something."
No one disagrees with that affirmation.
Then, we resume our ascension in silence as we get closer and closer to our destination.
When we reach the Sanctuary Floor, Rani visibly slows, her eyes taking in the architecture. The broad marble staircases. The open sky above the temple. The balance between austerity and reverence.
In the end, she says after a moment of genuine appreciation, "This structure is exceptional. It demonstrates symbolic coherence as well as defensive optimisation."
Nero lifts her chin proudly, "Naturally."
Back inside the Athena Temple, I reconnect to the Funnels I left hidden near the forest staircase and issue new commands.
At the same time, I bring out the interface and quickly create a big screen that connects to the Funnels, allowing Nero and Rani to watch without the need for a connection with me. This is mostly to not exclude Rani.
The feeds bloom to life across a wide projection, visible to all three of us. Naturally, there are multiple smaller scenes, each one showing different angles of the same scene as they come from different Funnels.
The first set advances through the staircase leading to the next set of floors.
The forest of the previous set of floors is abruptly replaced by steel and stone.
The next floor opens into a factory of staggering scale, its ceiling lost in shadow and its breadth stretching far beyond the reach of the eye.
This is not an assembly line meant for volume, but a space built for precision and purpose.
Along the walls, casting arrays are engraved directly into metal and stone; each one is the exact same copy, layered with the exact same symbols that suggest extremely efficient mass production.
Massive moulds dominate the central floor, some standing taller than buildings.
Many are split open, frozen mid-process, as if whatever they were shaping was abandoned in the instant before completion.
Hardened residue clings to their interiors, its texture uneven, as though the material resisted being given form.
Conveyor mechanisms snake through the chamber, twisted and ruptured.
Some are fused to the floor by intense heat, others torn apart entirely, their shattered segments scattered like the remains of a battlefield.
Scorch marks cut across every surface, overlapping in chaotic patterns.
These are not simple burn marks, but prana scars, etched deep into metal and stone alike, evidence of repeated magical stress and violent interruption.
Even though the feed the air itself feels heavy. Through the sensors, I notice that it carries the faint metallic tang of alchemical byproducts and the lingering pressure of spent mana, enough to make the skin prickle and the breath feel thick.
Even now, the factory hums faintly, not with sound but with intent, as if the systems here were never truly shut down, only wounded.
One of the Funnels drifts lower, its lens adjusting to scan a half-finished construct abandoned near a cracked mould.
The shape is humanoid but incomplete, torso solidified while one arm remains a rough extrusion of hardened clay and metal. Its head is featureless, a smooth oval without indentation.
Yet prana lingers inside it. Dormant. Waiting.
A faint network of channels runs through its core, not crude conduits, but carefully engineered pathways designed to circulate magical energy efficiently. Whoever designed this system was not improvising.
They have refined their craft to the limit.
Another Funnel pans toward a collapsed section of the ceiling where a beam has punched downward through three layers of reinforced stone. The impact radius suggests high-output Noble Phantasm discharge.
The fight here was not a skirmish, but it was annihilation contained within walls strong enough to survive it.
Looking at the feed in front of us, I can't help but think, 'Whatever this floor was built to create, it was not meant to be ordinary. And whatever happened here, it ended in conflict strong enough to scar the very structure of the labyrinth itself to such a degree.'
While I'm thinking that, Rani says immediately and without any hesitation, "This is a golem foundry."
Shortly after, Nero adds, "And a big one at that..."
More importantly, I notice something more relevant, it is devastated, thus I say, "The Master of the forest floors invaded this place. Considering the marks... Quite recently at that."
I order the Funnels to continue advancing, then shift my attention to the second set of feed, the Funnels descending beyond the mountain floors.
Rani watches with quiet interest, "Those floors belonged to me. Their defences should be..."
Soon, the Funnels cross the descending staircase, and the image of the new floor resolves.
It takes me a moment to recognise what I'm looking at, the Atlas Institute, or at least a replica of its internal structure.
White stone corridors stretch into deliberate confusion, branching endlessly, tunnels folding back on themselves. Autonomous familiars remain frozen in place, inert statues of mechanisms that will never activate again.
Seeing that, Rani exhales softly and comments, "Confirmed. All defensive systems are inactive."
Nero whistles, "A shame. That labyrinth would've been a nightmare for any careless Master."
In response to that, Rani replies, "It was designed to be. A shelter that discourages escape and slowly whittles down anyone who dares to intrude."
I continue to study the feeds, the factory above and Rani's labyrinth below while thinking, 'As expected, every Master I've seen until now designed their set of floors to gain as much advantage as possible in their home ground. The forest is basically a complex hunting ground full of traps, perfect for both hunting down intruders and retreat if needed. The mountain range was perfectly designed for the ambush and hit-and-run tactics of an Assassin-class Servant. Rani's is basically a very complex labyrinth full of deadly defence systems like the Atlas Institute. I'm sure that only Rani herself can navigate through those corridors without getting lost. And for the factory... Well, that is clearly designed to create an army of Golems and overwhelm the enemy with sheer numbers.'
Then I realise. 'The pattern is obvious once seen. Not because the Moon Cell assigned these environments. Because it didn't. Every Master was given empty floors. Blank territory. Total freedom. And this is what they chose to build.
The forest Master created a hunting ground. A domain of traps, ambush paths, and layered retreat routes. A place where patience becomes a weapon. The Yan Qing's Master shaped elevation and narrow passes into assassination corridors. Terrain that rewards precision and timing over brute force. Rani constructed a labyrinth modelled after the Atlas Institute.
Controlled, calculated, designed to exhaust intruders mentally before they ever reach the core. And that other Master built factories. Not walls. Not mazes. Not defensive strongholds. Production facilities.
They industrialised. Given a blank canvas, each Master externalised their philosophy of conflict. Some prioritise territory. Some prioritise control. Some prioritise numbers. Freedom reveals more than restriction ever could. If whoever is running this Holy Grail War wants to find something concrete about us... It will find it in the choices we make.'
Then I glance briefly at Rani, wondering if she has reached the same conclusion, but if she has, she keeps it to herself.
While thinking that, I once again focus my attention on the Funnels advancing through the half-destroyed factory floor and see that they have found the set of stairs leading to the next floor, which are located in the middle of the factory, quite a peculiar choice.
Without any hesitation, I order the Funnels to keep scouting ahead, and soon they start ascending the staircase.
Before long, the Funnels cross the staircase and reach the next floor.
Through the feed, we instantly notice that this floor is the exact same copy of the previous one.
This floor is also scarred, showing traces of intense battle everywhere, and these seem to be very fresh, which means that the battle took place not too long ago.
The only difference is that the casting arrays are engraved directly into metal and stone, and the walls are different.
Each one is unique, layered with sigils that suggest careful experimentation rather than mass production.
If the previous floor is specialised in mass production, this one is clearly focused on full prioritize customization and production of highly specialised Golems.
Suddenly, I notice some movement in the distance through the feed and immediately command the Funnels to hide and focus their cameras toward a specific area of the factory floor.
As the Funnels zoom in, the image of two distinct figures surrounded by all kinds of Golem becomes clear.
One of them is a skinny young man with straight black hair that falls just over his forehead, usually a little out of place no matter how often he smooths it back. His eyes are a clear, steady blue that stand out sharply against his dark hair. Behind thin-framed glasses, his gaze looks thoughtful, almost reserved, as if he's always thinking a step ahead.
He wears the traditional black gakuran uniform of the Tsukumihara Academy, fitted neatly to his frame.
The high-collared coat fastens up to his throat, lined with polished gold buttons that catch the light when he moves. The fabric is crisp and structured, giving him a disciplined, formal appearance. The sleeves fall cleanly to his wrists, and the coat sits square on his shoulders.
His black trousers are pressed and straight, matching the coat perfectly. They fall to a pair of well-kept brown shoes, simple and practical, their leather slightly worn at the edges from daily use.
Altogether, he carries himself with quiet composure. The uniform gives him an air of tradition and order, but there's something softer in his expression that makes him seem approachable despite the formal cut of his clothes.
Without any question, he is the Master in control of this set of floors, as he is focused on the interface, likely working on fixing the damage.
The young man adjusts his glasses with a small, habitual motion as streams of data flicker across his interface. His fingers move quickly but without panic, correcting structural weaknesses in the casting arrays and rerouting energy flow to damaged sections of the foundry.
There is no arrogance in his posture.
Beside him, several damaged Golems reposition themselves subtly, forming a loose perimeter around the pair. Their movements are stiff but synchronised, like pieces on a board responding to a silent command.
The Master does not look over his shoulder once.
He trusts the Golems completely, and that trust alone shows that they are dangerous.
The other figure is naturally the Servant.
His figure is clad in a form-fitting bodysuit with vertical stripes of black and deep blue. The mid-section of the bodysuit features a geometric pattern in black and blue. Over the bodysuit, it wears armour-like pieces on the shoulders and arms, crafted in gold.
A flowing cape drapes from the shoulders, with an outer layer of black and an inner lining of deep blue and white. The cape has sharp, pointed ends. It's accessorised with gold rings attached to the cape and ankles.
But without any doubt, the most distinctive trait is the featureless golden mask without openings for eyes or a mouth, with blonde, short, and wavy hair peeking out from underneath it.
Such a unique figure is quite easy to recognise, to the point that I point out, "I know who that Servant is. He is Avicebron, also known as Solomon ibn Gabirol, an eleventh-century poet and philosopher and a Caster class Servant who specialises in the creation and use of Golems."
(Image Here - Avicebron)
He was born in Malaga, Spain, and although he did not have the glory of a knight or king or the recognition of having produced works of art that would prosper for thousands of years, he coined the name of an entire thaumaturgical system, Kabbalah, and was one of the starting points of the process leading up to the European Renaissance through bringing Greco-Arabic and Jewish lore and enlightenment to the cultural circles of Europe.
He is recognised as a "hero" who heavily influenced both the history of the world and thaumaturgy.
Hearing that, Rani nods and says, "The Extraordinary Practitioner of Kabbalah, I see... Considering the battle traces we have seen in these floors and the announcement we heard a while ago, it is logical to conclude that the Christopher Jones who has been eliminated was the Master who invaded these floors. The Master of the forest set of floors."
This is followed by Nero, who snorts and comments, "Hmpf. Carelessly attacking a Caster class Servant in his own domain... How utterly foolish can one be? That's where the Caster are the most dangerous."
I agree with them both before I add, "It is clear that the Master of Avicebron decided to take full advantage of his Servant's characteristics. Not only did he use the set of floors assigned to him to create the most advantageous territory for him, but he also takes full advantage of the nature of these floors to give his Servant all the material he needs to unleash his full potential."
Rani nods and after a brief calculation, she analyses, "Un. With these conditions, Avicebron can theoretically produce an infinite number of Golems. The only real constraint is the time he needs to mint them. But with three floors of fully functioning factories, it is likely that he can produce more than 30 Golems in about an hour. If left undisturbed, they may very well accumulate a literal horde of them and overwhelm all opposition with sheer quantity."
Thirty per hour.
If sustained for the next five hours, that becomes one hundred fifty.
If each possesses E-rank Servant capability, that translates into overwhelming battlefield saturation.
They would not need a strategy. They would just need endurance.
A tide of artificial warriors crashes repeatedly against a position until something breaks.
And in a war where Masters are being eliminated at accelerated rates, a force that does not tire, does not hesitate, and does not fear could tip the balance decisively in a regular confrontation between Masters.
Still.
Quantity has limits when confronted with qualitative superiority.
It seems that Nero feels the same as she steps forward and declares in her usual confident tone, "All quantity is pointless in front of the glory of Rome and of the might of his Praetor."
Hearing that, I can't help but smile and silently admit that it is true, 'No matter how many Golem Avicebron and his Master produce. Nor the fact that each Golem have the same level of power as an E Rank Servant. Nero and I can easily deal with them. And the same is likely true for the other Champions among the remaining Masters.'
At the same time, I reach the conclusion that Avicebron and his Master are no threat that needs to be removed and that there is no need to continue to scout the factory floors.
So, I command the Funnels to retreat to the forest floors and only signal me if something passes through the staircase.
Noticing the movement, Rani asks, "Why are those constructs retreating?"
In response, I calmly explain, "I have all the information I need about the closest threats. At this point, leaving the Funnels there will only run the risk of being exposed, and I don't want to gather too much attention on us yet."
After that, I continue to follow the initial plan and wait here with Nero and Rani for another Master to invade while gathering as much information as possible.
Almost two hours have passed since the start of this revised version of the Holy Grail War, and already 4 Masters have been eliminated. I don't have any idea of how many will survive the next five hours, nor what other surprise the one behind these changes has in store for us.
The Athena temple remains quiet. Too quiet.
Outside, the artificial sky above the Sanctuary Floor glows with steady, indifferent light. No wind moves through the colonnades. No distant tremor hints at approaching conflict.
For now, we are alone. Safe.
Nero leans against one of the pillars, eyes half-closed but senses sharp. She would never admit it, but the waiting irritates her more than battle ever could.
Rani stands near the projection screen, reviewing stored footage again at increased speed, isolating patterns invisible to the naked eye.
As for me, I extend my awareness through the remaining Funnels stationed across the Sakura Labyrinth.
The forest remains still. Rani's floor remains inert. The staircases remain empty, but beneath the silence, I can feel it, the pressure, the kind that builds before something fractures.
Four Masters gone in under two hours. Eight more, and it is likely that only the Champions will remain among them.
Whoever engineered this revision is not subtle. They want convergence. They want escalation.
And if that is the case, then remaining passive may soon become the greater risk.
I let out a slow breath. Five hours remain.
More than enough time for this Holy Grail War to descend into chaos.