Fate: But This Is Not Solomon I Know!

(Ah… Sorry everyone, I forgot to post the next chapter. I've been grinding the Summer Event in F/GO 😁)

Fuyuki – Shinto, Shopping District

The morning bustle of Shinto was in full swing—car horns blaring, footsteps echoing on the pavement, street vendors yelling over one another. It was that typical suffocating kind of chaos only a prosperous city could offer.

Zoth—the lazy freak masquerading as a human—wandered aimlessly through the crowd, casually tossing a sleek, fairly new leather wallet in one hand.

He was whistling and smirking like someone who just struck gold.

How did he get that wallet?

Well…

While squeezed like a sardine on the morning subway, Zoth had fished around in his pockets for money to buy food—only to realize:

"Damn… flat broke?!"

His expression collapsed like someone who just got hit with a three-month salary cut.

Right at that moment, a rookie pickpocket made the fatal mistake of targeting him of all people. Zoth felt an odd friction against his back. Two seconds later—he spun around, grabbed the guy by the collar, and switched wallets with him.

"First come, first served. Taking from a thief still counts as justice. Item-for-item, equivalent exchange," Zoth muttered, not an ounce of guilt on his face.

After getting off the train, he dropped by a nearby bakery, bought a massive dorayaki, plopped down by the sidewalk, and munched away.

Mouth full of pastry, his eyes suddenly lit up with a mad glint—like he'd just unlocked divine inspiration.

"Today… I make history."

Next stop: the electronics store.

Dragging behind him a trolley cart, Zoth began stacking it with:

High-capacity HDDs

Latest-gen CPUs

Monster-class GPUs

Next-gen RAM

Heavy-duty PSU

Optical Drives

RGB liquid cooling systems glowing like a goddamn disco ball

To the average passerby, it looked like he was about to open a cybercafé. But no—Zoth had a different goal:

He was building himself a custom-made console—Zoth Edition.

Did he even know how to build a PC?

Hell no. He was a tech caveman.

But he had something better than a top-tier technician:

[Omni Force] – The False Tome of All-Knowing.

"With an all-purpose AI, even dumbasses become geniuses."

"This is the age of speedrun knowledge, baby."

With that, Zoth squatted right on the sidewalk, cracked open the component boxes, and started sketching out a blueprint right on the wall. His eyes glowed with data streams like he was streaming straight from some cosmic intranet.

"Tonight… my custom console will rise.

And I'm playing Monster Hunter—240 FPS, 4K HDR, no compromises!"

Zoth cackled like a man who just discovered electricity.

People veered three meters away, assuming he was a mental patient selling robot organs out of his backpack.

Problem was… in 1994, Monster Hunter didn't even exist.

Except for Zoth.

He created it from scratch using Omni Force's assistance.

But the old junk console at home couldn't run the beast he built.

So—naturally—he had to craft a machine worthy of his masterpiece.

After dragging the loaded cart into a shadowy alley, Zoth activated [Book Gates], instantly teleporting all the gear back to the Matou house. As soon as he arrived, he cracked his knuckles, eyes glowing with excitement, and got to work.

He pulled out the Omni Force, returning it to its physical book form. Pages of silver-etched runes unfurled before him. He placed the tome in front of him, his eyes scanning every instruction like an obsessed scholar.

As if he'd done it for years, Zoth began assembling the rig component by component under Omni Force's real-time guidance.

Left hand twisting screws, right hand wiring boards, his brow furrowed in deep focus.

It was hard—insanely hard.

But he didn't stop.

Zoth murmured under his breath, sometimes squinting, sometimes scowling.

Then, he froze.

His gaze darkened as a red warning message blinked on the page:

"Current technology insufficient for full assembly."

A knife through his dreams.

But—solution?

He smirked.

Of course: magic.

Without hesitation, Zoth resumed the build. For every component that couldn't be recreated using 1994 tech, he embedded runic gemstones carved with glowing magical scripts. Each one pulsed faintly as it slotted in, like a sacred offering.

The room flickered with mystical light mixed with solder sparks.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his hands didn't stop.

Zoth wasn't just building a console—

he was building a bridge between magic and machinery.

He worked through the afternoon into early evening.

And finally—after hours of labor, sweat, and borderline insanity—the console stood complete.

Zoth lifted it with both hands, eyes brimming with pride and just a hint of exhaustion. Without a second thought, he sprinted to the living room, yanked the old junk console out of its socket, and unceremoniously flung it into the corner like yesterday's trash.

In its place, the new console—the one forged with sweat, blood, and sorcery—was installed front and center.

Ting–!

A mechanical chime rang out, followed by RGB lights flashing from the console's chassis.

Zoth held his breath as the monitor lit up.

…Success.

"Ahahaha!! Finally! I freaking did it!!"

He threw his hands into the air, cackling like a lunatic in front of the glowing screen.

Without another word, he launched the download sequence for Monster Hunter—his self-made, fully restored version.

A soft ding confirmed completion. The interface snapped to the game's iconic loading screen. Familiar OSTs echoed from the speakers—nostalgic melodies from a future that shouldn't exist yet.

"It's alive," the screen seemed to whisper.

"Hahahaha! Finally!!" Zoth roared again—this time, the laugh of a madman who had conquered time itself.

He collapsed onto the couch, controller gripped tight, eyes locked on the screen. Every fiber of his being sunk into the world he had dragged back from the future—by hand.

---

Fuyuki, nightfall.

The iconic background music of Monster Hunter echoed softly through the room, blending with the roars of digital beasts. Zoth lay sprawled out on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen, fingers dancing across the controller with practiced ease—occasionally grunting, occasionally bursting into smug laughter. The immersion was so vivid, he could practically smell Rathalos' blood, feel the scorching heat of Diablos' charge.

Then—

Krrrk–!

A crack tore through the air, like reality itself had just been pierced by something divine. The TV flickered violently—then went dark. A shaft of magical light beamed down from the ceiling—without any summoning circle. The atmosphere instantly thickened, pressure flooding the room as though a god had stepped into the mortal plane.

Before Zoth could react, a voice cut through the silence—arrogant, cold, and sharp as gilded steel:

"Enough lazing around, mongrel. Get up. You've been summoned to my banquet."

Gilgamesh.

He stood tall and imposing in the middle of the living room, golden armor gleaming like a star gone mad, disdain burning in his eyes as he glanced at Zoth like one would a street performer begging for change. A goblet of golden wine shimmered in his hand. Behind him, a swirling golden gate pulsed in the air—like a wound torn between the real and unreal.

Zoth raised an eyebrow, barely sitting up before—

Clink—

Chains of golden light shot out from the Gate of Babylon, wrapping around his limbs like serpents on a mission.

"Wait—HEY! At least let me save first—!" Zoth shouted.

Nobody cared.

BOOM!

Both vanished in a burst of blinding magical light. The newly-built console gave one last, weak "ting,"

and the TV screen flickered to a single word:

Disconnected.

---

Fuyuki – Einzbern Castle.

Inside the quiet white castle, golden candlelight glowed softly over two figures seated in the grand hall—like two flowers blooming in a garden of snow.

On one side sat a red-haired man, broad and tall, holding a massive golden goblet, his face bright and cheerful like the summer sun. His laughter echoed boldly through the chamber.

Opposite him sat a blonde-haired woman, slim and regal in her silver armor, her expression solemn yet noble, lifting her goblet with a grace that exuded dignity.

Suddenly—KRRRRK!

A radiant golden gate tore open in midair, swirling like a wound carved between reality and legend.

BOOM!

A figure was flung out from the portal, slamming face-first onto the cold stone floor. He groaned, sitting up while rubbing his nose, eyes full of bitter grievance as he looked toward the blindingly golden figure that followed him out.

"Oi! What the hell was that?! Who gave you permission to drag me here?! I never agreed to attend this stupid royal banquet!" Zoth shouted angrily, summoning his golden Caladbolg in a flash and pointing it straight at… Iskandar.

The King of Conquerors burst out laughing, arms wide open like he was greeting a long-lost brother:

"Ruler! I already told you, whether you agreed or not, you will attend this kingly banquet!"

Gilgamesh scoffed coldly. He stepped forward, arms crossed, gaze full of contempt, his voice low and threatening:

"Mongrel. You dare reject a king's invitation? Such insolence deserves execution. By law, you should lose your head here and now… but I'm in a generous mood tonight."

Zoth raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a mocking smirk:

"Talk big once you've got the power to back it up, Pika. You couldn't even beat me last time, remember?"

"You…!" Gil's eyes flared crimson, and behind him, the Gate of Babylon began to shimmer with killing intent.

Thankfully, Iskandar jumped in between them with his booming voice:

"Now now, this is a royal banquet, not a battlefield! Cool your heads, both of you! Ruler, come—sit! No fighting tonight."

Zoth scoffed, dismissed his Caladbolg, and casually walked over to sit between Iskandar and Artoria. He leaned on one elbow, eyeing everyone in silence.

Iskandar returned to his seat, raising his goblet with cheer:

"Now where were we?... Ah right, Ruler doesn't have a drink yet! Archer, get him one!"

Gilgamesh clicked his tongue in annoyance but still summoned a golden goblet from Babylon—and threw it at Zoth.

Zoth caught it effortlessly with one hand, flashing a smug half-grin:

"Thanks, Pika…"

A vein bulged on Gil's temple, his gaze murderous—but he restrained himself.

At that moment, Artoria lifted a golden bottle and offered it with solemn respect:

"Ruler, this is Archer's wine. Please accept it."

Zoth gave a small nod, took the bottle, poured himself a full cup, and took a sip. The strong, burning taste slid down his throat and made him arch a brow—but he said nothing. He had to admit: the wine was good.

Iskandar beamed with satisfaction, waving a hand passionately:

"Alright! Back to the main topic. The Holy Grail War isn't just about battles—it's where kings decide who truly deserves their wish!"

He paused, scanning the room, and spoke clearly:

"Then I want to hear everyone's wish! Archer, you first."

Gilgamesh closed his eyes, voice calm and proud:

"I have no need for wishes. I'm merely here to reclaim my lost treasures. Every treasure in the world belongs to me. Those who touch them… are thieves."

"Hmph. Rich boy flexing his wealth again?" Zoth snorted, frowning in disdain, pointing directly at Gil.

"MONGREL! YOU DARE INSULT A KING?!" Gil roared. Dozens of Gates of Babylon opened behind him, all aiming sacred weapons straight at Zoth.

But Zoth didn't flinch. His dark brown eyes glowed with fiery orange light, locking onto Gil's with no fear:

"Calm down, Pika… All I did was poke a little fun and you're already frothing like a stray mutt?"

Iskandar had to jump in again, waving both hands:

"Come now! Both of you, cool it! Tonight is for drinking, not dueling!"

Gil growled but closed his portals.

Zoth clicked his tongue, shooting Gil a death glare as he leaned back.

Iskandar raised his goblet once more, voice booming:

"Next up is me! My wish—to be reincarnated into this world once more!"

Artoria and Gil froze.

"Wait—wasn't your wish world domination?!" Waver shouted, appearing from the side.

Iskandar brushed him aside like swatting a bug:

"Reincarnation—so I can continue my conquest! New campaigns! New lands! This king hasn't had his fill yet!"

He turned to Artoria:

"Saber, what about you?"

Artoria was silent. Zoth took another sip, then spoke on her behalf:

"She wants to save Britain. To find someone worthy to pull Calibur from the stone and succeed her."

The room fell quiet. Gil sneered. Iskandar set his cup down, tone grave:

"So you want to erase your own existence from history. Arthur would vanish forever."

Artoria stood, voice firm:

"Your ideals of kingship are nothing but glorified conquest. A real king sacrifices themselves for the good of the realm."

Iskandar closed his eyes, voice like granite:

"No. A true king must be greedy, must embody both virtue and vice—to inspire envy and awe. You saved your country once, and you will be the one to end it too."

Artoria's fist clenched. Pain flickered across her face. Gil laughed. Zoth finally spoke again, gaze fixed on her:

"Don't listen to anyone. Everyone has their own path. Saber, you walk yours. Rider walks his. No one's the same."

He set his cup down, eyes sharpening:

"Heroes are chosen by circumstance. Once it's happened, there's no turning back. You don't need to mimic anyone—not even Rider. Just live true to yourself."

Gil chuckled dryly, narrowing his eyes:

"And who are you to judge kings? Know your place, mongrel."

Zoth grinned, crushed the goblet in his hand, stood up, and leaned in close to Gil with scornful eyes:

"To me, a king is just another person—only worthy if people respect and follow them. And you? Always shouting 'mongrel' this, 'mongrel' that… Ever looked in a mirror?"

"INSOLENCE!!" Gil bellowed. Hundreds of Babylon Gates flared open across the castle.

Zoth smirked, pulling out the Wonder Ride Book: Omni Force, slotting it into his Driver.

"Henshin."

[Kamen Rider… Solomon!]

[Fear Is Coming… Soon!]

Light surged—his armor shimmered white-gold, energy swirling around him. He pointed Caladbolg directly at Gil, voice like frozen steel:

"Go ahead. Use Ea. Let's see… if your fancy red stick can beat this Caladbolg."

As the two murderous auras were about to clash, with both Zoth and Gilgamesh already in battle stance—

Rustle...

The air suddenly grew heavy. The entire main hall of Einzbern Castle trembled slightly as if pressed down by an invisible force.

Assassins.

A familiar figure silently emerged at the center of the hall—but not just one. Dozens of black-cloaked figures began to step out from the shadows, surrounding the space like specters of death.

Waver panicked, immediately running to Iskandar and crouching behind the war chariot. Artoria instantly drew her sword and rushed to stand in front of Irisviel, her eyes sharp, her body locked in combat readiness.

"Ah? This many? Assassin? Well now... that's a surprise." Iskandar scratched his head, a glint of excitement in his eye.

"Tch… Damn that Tokiomi…" Gilgamesh frowned, clearly irritated.

But Iskandar laughed boisterously, as though completely unfazed by the looming threat:

"Well then! Since you're already here, sit down and have a drink!" he said, holding the wine bottle up toward the approaching Assassins.

But before anything else could happen—

[Omnimus Loading…]

[Solomon Break!!]

A mechanical voice echoed like a war bell through the hall, cold and triumphant. Zoth raised Caladbolg—his sword flaring with a dazzling gold-and-black light, energy spiraling around the blade like divine judgment.

Above—the sky turned red.

Zoth swung the sword down. A slash tore through the clouds, and from it—

Meteors.

Massive burning stones rained down from the heavens like a firestorm. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!—The Einzbern Castle shook violently.

The Assassins screamed in panic, trying to flee, but command seals bound them in place. Powerless to resist, their bodies were crushed, incinerated, and wiped from existence.

Nothing remained but ashes and smoldering rubble.

Zoth lowered his sword, dusted the blade, and raised a hand to touch his helmet's forehead like a casual salute.

"All done. Anyway… I'm heading out. Thanks for the hospitality~"

He turned, stepped into a blood-red mist, and vanished—like he was never there.

Gilgamesh watched him go, smirked faintly, then turned to Artoria and said something she did not answer. Then he, too, left without another word.

Iskandar shook his head slightly, a hint of regret in his eyes. He climbed onto his chariot, picking Waver up like luggage. Before departing, he looked back, his voice low and weighty:

"The way you rule… I do not agree with it, Saber."

The chariot rolled off, tearing through the wind.

Now, only Artoria remained—silent.

The flickering light from the smoldering ruins lit up her face. She looked down at her clenched hand, eyes trembling slightly. A whisper escaped her lips:

"…Then what did I fight for?"

"Was my ideal… nothing but a dream?"