Fate: But This Is Not Solomon I Know!

Fuyuki – Outskirts of Miyama Town, Matou Residence.

The sun had just peeked over the trees, casting a soft golden light over the old, worn-down roof of the house. Birds chirped. Wind rustled through the leaves. It was a scene right out of a painting.

But inside – within the dimly lit living room – a storm was quietly brewing.

Seated imposingly on a worn sofa at the center of the room, Zoth rested his armored arms on the armrests. His helmet's cold, red compound eyes pierced through all pretense. He didn't move – simply stared at the two people sitting across from him.

Behind him stood a knight clad entirely in black armor, silent and unmoving like a statue. Yet the low, guttural growl emanating from beneath the helmet made it clear – he was far from pleased.

No one spoke for several seconds – the tension tight like a drawn bowstring.

Until Byakuya finally broke the heavy silence:

"Ruler… are you really going through with this?"

His voice trembled with unease – a tone he hadn't shown in years, not even before the Tohsaka head or the Einzbern family.

Zoth tilted his head slightly, armored fingers lazily tapping the air, as if he were lounging rather than discussing matters of life and death.

"Yeah. The Great Fire in Fuyuki – it's the death point of this world. Can't be avoided. The only way…"

"…is to destroy the Holy Grail War entirely."

The moment he finished, Kariya – seated beside Byakuya – clenched his hands together tightly, eyes filled with inner turmoil as he stared at Zoth.

"But you said… you'd change the outcome! Don't tell me you were just toying with us…"

Zoth let out a soft, mocking laugh and shrugged, as if tossing aside a burden too tedious to carry.

"Oh~, that? Not so simple. Changing the outcome? You'd have to break the world's entire trajectory. That means pulling a thousand threads… I don't have time to tear reality apart just for fun."

He gave a casual shrug, like turning down an invitation to a boring meeting.

"So… there's really no other way?" Kariya muttered, digging his nails into his palms.

Zoth watched them for a moment, then slowly nodded. Just then, the crimson light in his eyes seemed to soften slightly.

"Listen to me, Kariya. Byakuya…"

He stood and pointed toward the window, where the faint sunlight slipped through the blinds.

"Take Sakura away. Get her out of Fuyuki. Anywhere else – just not here. Best case? Send her to the Clock Tower. At least… they'll teach her how to survive."

It was no longer a suggestion – it was an order.

Byakuya hesitated for a moment, then asked:

"Then… what about Shinji? The boy—"

"He'll be fine," Zoth cut him off, his voice firm and confident.

"I value that kid. His magic might not be much… but his potential as a swordsman is solid. I plan to take him in as my disciple. With that in mind… how could I possibly let him be in danger?"

Zoth rested his chin on one hand. His crimson eyes narrowed gently, and a faint smile formed – no longer mad or twisted, but carrying a very human warmth.

Byakuya was silent for a few seconds, then bowed deeply.

"Thank you… for valuing my son, Ruler."

Zoth waved a hand, brushing off the formality.

"No need for thanks. Now, go get your things. Sakura leaves tonight. As for Shinji – leave him to me."

His voice remained calm… but beneath it, a quiet killing intent steadily rose, like the low beat of war drums echoing from afar.

The war had begun.

Zoth was no longer a bystander.

---

Fuyuki – Miyama Town.

Noon. Sunlight poured down onto the small town, gilding each roof tile in a shimmer of gold. A gentle breeze carried specks of dust and the faint scent of flowers. The streets were eerily quiet.

In the middle of the town square, walking calmly down the stone-paved road, a figure in gleaming white-and-gold armor stood out starkly among the townsfolk. A tattered cloak fluttered behind him like a remnant from some distant battlefield.

Zoth.

His pace was relaxed, almost leisurely, as he hummed a nameless OST to himself. The tune echoed oddly through his helmet – low, melodic… and disturbingly sinister.

His glowing amber eyes swept across the town – the people, the shops, the streets. A smirk crept up beneath the helm, as though he was… enjoying something deeply at odds with his nature.

But as he turned onto the third corner, his gaze sharpened.

There, in front of a Chinese restaurant, stood a familiar figure.

Black hair. Cold aura. Clad in formal Church robes. The man stared at the restaurant signboard, as if pondering some grave theological dilemma.

Zoth nearly tripped.

Kotomine Kirei.

Warning bells blared in Zoth's mind. Worst-case scenario: suspicion – interrogation – annoying questions. He was about to slip away unnoticed—

—but then his eyes gleamed with a sudden idea. A twisted smile bloomed beneath the helm.

Why dodge… when you can mess around?

Without warning, Zoth shot forward like a gust of wind and slammed a hand onto Kirei's shoulder. His other arm casually wrapped around the priest's back like an old drinking buddy, his voice dripping with mockery:

"Heyyy, Father~ What's with the sneaky creeper stance in front of a restaurant, huh?"

Kirei flinched – not from pain, but pure surprise. He turned, recognizing the armor and the burning red eyes in an instant.

"You… Ruler? What are you doing here?"

Zoth shrugged nonchalantly.

"Yep, that's me. Fate sure loves throwing us together~ How about this – I'll treat you to lunch today, sound good?"

Kirei remained silent for a moment. His eyes were wary. But in broad daylight, in public, Zoth wouldn't dare try anything too outrageous – in theory.

"…Very well."

He nodded, complying naturally.

The moment they stepped through the restaurant doors, Zoth dispelled his armor and took a seat directly across from Kirei. That devilish grin never left his face.

Elbow on the table, eyes half-lidded, Zoth stared at Kirei like a cat toying with a trapped mouse.

A chill ran down Kirei's spine.

The air grew heavier. But he remained still, as composed as ever – a calm honed through years of blood and battle.

After a short pause, Zoth called the waiter – quickly, decisively. But before the server could walk away, he leaned in and whispered something under his breath.

The young waiter's face went pale with confusion.

"Um… sir, are you sure you want it that spicy? That level could seriously—"

"Relax~ Won't kill me." Zoth grinned, giving a confident thumbs-up, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"…Alright then…"

Back in the kitchen, the Chinese chef's brow furrowed hard, his expression nearly twisting into a rope as he read the odd ticket.

"What the hell? Every dish needs at least two ghost peppers? And for the Mapo Tofu… ten?"

"That's what the table ordered," the waiter confirmed, deadpan.

"…Tch. Well, the customer is king…"

Immediately, the chef donned a mask, smoke goggles, and even partial eye protection – you don't joke around with ghost peppers.

Minutes later, the dishes were brought out, one by one – each exuding a violent, nose-scorching heat.

Spicy fish soup.

Lazi chicken.

Braised beef tofu.

Steamed bone-in ribs.

Stir-fried chili pork.

And finally – the centerpiece – the Mapo Tofu, custom-made, placed directly in front of Kirei.

Strangely… that dish alone radiated a strangely alluring aroma, as if deliberately enticing its prey toward a point of no return.

Zoth rested his chin on his hand, lips curled in a crooked grin. His eyes narrowed with devilish glee.

"Go on, Kirei.

Let's see how long you last…"

Kirei lifted his spoon, slowly scooping up a portion of the specially made Mapo Tofu—blazing red like blood, bubbling like hell itself, each wisp of steam carrying the demonic scent of ghost pepper straight into his nostrils.

He brought the spoon to his lips.

In that very instant—his pupils twitched, then dilated.

A torrent of fire surged through his throat, the spice so violent it felt like his brain had been skewered.

And yet… a strange sensation crept in.

The confusion within Kirei—vanished.

All emptiness, all doubt, all contradiction—incinerated by the inferno.

Zoth, who had been grinning wickedly at first, froze in place after only a few seconds.

Before him—Kirei's hands didn't stop, his spoon didn't stop, devouring the dish before him like a storm.

With every bite, his eyes shone brighter, deeper, more… fulfilled.

"Wh-what…? Impossible?!"

Zoth nearly jumped from his seat, eyes wide at the scene before him, utterly incomprehensible.

Kirei, completely immersed in ecstasy.

The spicier it got, the more he ate.

The more it hurt, the more he smiled.

His mouth scorched red, sweat pouring like rain—yet his face was serene, as if he had found meaning in life.

Zoth didn't believe it. He suspected the chef had given him the wrong plate.

He grabbed a slice of plain boiled meat, threw it in his mouth.

And then—BOOM!

His throat exploded.

His entire body ignited.

Eyes bloodshot. Ears ringing. Heart pounding.

It felt like dragons were spewing fire from his gut up through his throat.

"G-GHH—!!"

Zoth grabbed the bucket of ice water nearby and dunked his entire face into it, gasping like a man crossing the desert.

While Zoth was still reeling, body in turmoil—

Kirei had already wiped every last trace of the spicy dishes clean.

Not even a stray piece of green onion remained.

And it wasn't that he ate.

He consumed. Crushed.

Swallowed the pain like it was sustenance.

Each bite seemed to unburden another weight from his heart.

Zoth… was left gaping.

Truly questioning the nature of reality.

Finally, Kirei wiped his mouth, placed one hand on his chest, and gave a solemn nod:

"Thank you… for the meal."

Zoth nodded dryly, lips twitching, forcing a smile:

"…You're… welcome… I guess…"

"Say, Kirei… have you ever thought about ditching the priesthood—

—and becoming a chef?"

"Open a spicy Chinese diner, maybe call it something like 'Enlightenment Through Pain'?"

Kirei tilted his head, eyes thoughtful.

He leaned on his chin, seemingly genuinely pondering Zoth's suggestion.

Seeing this, Zoth smiled like a snake catching the scent of blood.

He leaned in closer, voice dropping, every word dripping with honeyed poison:

"Must've been that shiny gold bastard Gilgamesh that threw you off balance, huh~…"

Zoth leaned in further, his grin cutting like a bloody blade:

"No matter… I'll get you back on track."

Kirei furrowed his brows, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

He couldn't tell if Zoth was serious, joking… or plotting something deeper.

Zoth saw the doubt—and grew even more delighted.

He straightened up, clasped his hands before him, his tone still gentle, but now laced with a subtle hypnotic pull:

"Just think about it… instead of obediently listening to that damn Pika's endless lectures…"

"Why not take the path I lay before you?"

Zoth rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer, eyes narrowing like a demon whispering into your soul:

"Instead of playing 'Father' to a bunch of deranged Magi and that rotting Holy Grail…"

"…why not open a spicy diner?"

Zoth chuckled, a low, smoky laugh laced with chili, soot, and gunpowder.

"Each day, cooking the dishes you love…"

"Watching your customers writhe from Mapo Tofu, their tongues scorched, tears streaming…"

"And when they beg for mercy…"

Zoth leaned in and whispered into Kirei's ear, voice like molten steel:

"…BOOM—you hand them a glass of ice water."

"More feeling. More despair. More… pleasure."

He leaned back into his chair, arms spread wide, painting a canvas of culinary hell:

"Day after day… watching them struggle between pain and false hope…"

"Isn't that far more entertaining than listening to Magi rant about ideals?"

Kirei didn't respond.

But in those cold, distant eyes… a flicker.

Something had stirred.

An idea—never before conceived—took root.

Zoth clapped Kirei's shoulder with a hearty smack, both comradely and domineering.

Then turned, morphing back into Kamen Rider Solomon—white-and-gold armor gleaming in the evening light, crimson cape fluttering like a torn flag in the wind.

He spread his arms as if to embrace the world, calling back over his shoulder—half jest, half threat, soaked in the scent of smoke:

"Oh, and by the way, Father…"

"Send my regards to your old man—Risei, yeah?"

Zoth stopped, turned his head slightly, the eyes behind his helm glowing like blades:

"Tonight is the final night of the Holy Grail War."

"I… will end it."

He grinned wide, then flicked his hand in a theatrical flourish—like an unseen king issuing his final decree:

"Let your friends know to fire the signal flares, eh?"

"Tell those Masters to brace for the finale~!"

And with that, his figure dissolved into a swirl of blood-red mist, vanishing as if he had never existed.

Kotomine Kirei remained standing in the empty street, alone before the now-quiet restaurant.

The golden sunlight stretched his shadow long and twisted across the stone pavement.

He did not move.

Did not sigh.

Did not speak.

Only… in those indifferent eyes, something had shifted.

A breeze passed through.

Behind him, the restaurant's doors creaked shut.

And Zoth…

Was gone—

A harbinger of blood, about to tear the night apart.

---

Fuyuki, Miyama Town – An old, weathered mansion.

Outside, golden sunlight streamed through a dusty window frame, the rustling of leaves echoed in the quiet breeze. But within the narrow alley leading to the mansion, a faint green protective magic circle glowed — where Irisviel lay exhausted upon a magical crystal frame, her body fragile as if it might vanish into smoke at any moment.

She barely opened her eyes, intending to call out for Artoria… but standing before her was Zoth — white-and-gold armor glinting in the sunlight, twin red compound eyes filled with contempt.

"Hmph… Homunculus."

"Struggling, aren't you? I don't understand what Kiritsugu saw in this artificial being… Heretics."

Zoth crouched down, seized Irisviel, bound her hands tightly behind her back, then hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of rice. With one step, he kicked open the wooden door with a loud crash.

Clang–!

A flash of light — an invisible sword slashed straight at Zoth. He raised Caladbolg, blocking the strike with ease.

"We meet again, Saber~"

He sneered, then casually tossed Artoria aside and slashed Caladbolg, sending a red arc of sword energy crackling like lightning toward her.

Artoria raised Excalibur, blocking the attack, its steel flashing in the dim room. Her face was tight with fury.

"Ruler! Release Irisviel immediately!"

Zoth shrugged, tossing Irisviel into a corner of the room, then tilted his chin up, eyes mocking:

"Release her? Not a chance. Want to fight? I'm all in."

Without hesitation, Artoria disengaged Invisible Air, Excalibur now glowing azure, surging with divine power:

"Strike Air!"

Boom!!

A torrent of blue mana crashed forth like a storm. Zoth merely chuckled, pulling his tattered red cloak up across his chest as a flimsy shield — yet it held firm against the tempest.

"What the—"

Zoth smirked, voice dripping with mockery:

"They say to defeat King Arthur… one must strike back using his own weapon."

"Well then, I hope you'll cooperate."

"W-What do you mean, Ruler?"

Zoth didn't answer. He raised his hand — a blue Wonder Ride Book floated into his palm. He flipped open its cover. A booming, theatrical voice rang out:

[King of Arthur!]

[The sacred sword strike that purifies supreme evil — unleashed by the Legendary Knight King!]

Zoth snapped the book shut — not to insert it into a Driver, but to inject a stream of golden energy directly into it. A blue sword materialized from the book, gleaming in sunlight, radiating divine aura so intense the air itself trembled.

Artoria stepped back, eyes wide in disbelief:

"T-That's… How… how do you—"

Zoth laughed wickedly, pointing the newly forged blade directly at her.

"Surprised~? Looks familiar, doesn't it? Because… it is Excalibur!"

Clenching her own Excalibur, Artoria grit her teeth, gaze unflinching:

"How… how can you possibly—"

Before she could finish, Zoth lunged. Blade clashed against blade — steel against steel.

"Shut up! I didn't come to show off. I came to claim the Holy Grail's vessel."

Artoria's eyes narrowed, shifting to a defensive stance. Zoth struck first:gripping Excalibur, he pulled and swung at her. She braced herself, deflecting with her sword, then responded with a sharp kick to his side.

Zoth caught her leg mid-air, rotated his hip and hurled her across the storage room.

Crash!

The impact scattered dust and cracked the bricks. Irisviel let out a soft moan as her protective magic waned.

Zoth stepped forward, peering down at the fallen Artoria, his red eyes burning with cruelty.

He raised Caladbolg — a crimson wave of sword energy gathered behind him.

And thus — the brutal duel between King and Knight began again.

Beneath the blood-drenched twilight, Artoria gritted her teeth, muscles coiling like a drawn bow.

Whsshh!

She shot forward like an arrow. Excalibur lifted high, its holy light blazing with righteous fury — a strike of royal resolve, pure and unstoppable.

Clang!!

Zoth remained composed. With a smooth motion, he parried the blow with Caladbolg. Then, as if waiting for this moment, he gripped his own version of Excalibur, slicing horizontally in a devastating arc.

Vwoosh!!

Artoria instinctively leaned back — narrowly dodging. Her magical boots scraped against the floor, kicking up clouds of dust.

But in an instant — Zoth vanished from view.

Startled, Artoria tightened her grip on Excalibur, eyes scanning — left, right, forward, behind… nothing.

Then—

"Hey, Saber!!

How about you taste what it's like to be cut down by your own Excalibur!?"

The voice thundered from above, chilling and feral.

Artoria looked up—

Zoth was descending from the sky, sunlight glinting off his armor like a fallen angel.

"Damn it—!"

She raised Excalibur, but Caladbolg slammed it aside.

Slash—!!

Zoth's blade — his Excalibur — carved across her shoulder. Blood sprayed like blossoming petals. Artoria was sent flying, spinning midair before crashing to the ground like a sack of bricks.

But Zoth wasn't finished.

He teleported, cutting off her descent, then threw a Rider Punch straight into her stomach — dark-golden energy coating his fist.

BOOM—!!

Artoria screamed — pain seared through every nerve. The impact was like a freight train, blasting her into the floor, carving out a crater beneath her.

"AAAGGHH–!!"

Her eyes rolled back, body convulsing, trembling fingers stretching toward the unconscious Irisviel in the corner.

"I… Irisviel…"

Her voice faded into silence.

Artoria Pendragon — King of Knights — had fallen.

Zoth stood above the crater, looking down at her like a hunter who'd finally brought down his stubborn prey. He said nothing, simply tossed both Caladbolg and Excalibur into the air. They dissolved into golden particles, scattering like stardust.

He turned away, walked to where Irisviel lay, and lifted her effortlessly onto his shoulder. Surveying the destruction around him, Zoth smirked with wicked satisfaction.

A chilling "swish" — he vanished into a mist of blood, leaving behind a ruined mansion, a fallen Saber, and a dying sun casting everything into shadow.

Tonight… will be the final night of the Fourth Holy Grail War.