Fate: How About a New Savior?

The next day, Shiomi and his group set out for the Clock Tower.

Just as they had predicted, the Clock Tower had been completely annihilated. The Magi must have put up a desperate fight before being wiped out along with the structure itself.

Even just standing on the ruins, Shiomi could sense lingering traces of all kinds of magical energy—remnants left behind by the defeated Magi.

"Not a single thing left, huh..." Mordred muttered, kicking over a crumbling pillar as she searched for any possible entrance.

"If this era's Clock Tower is built exactly like it was in ours, then there's no way in," Sakura said with a helpless shake of her head. "The attackers clearly knew the Clock Tower inside and out. They made sure to erase everything."

"What now, Master?" Artoria asked, turning to Shiomi.

Pulled from his thoughts, Shiomi replied, "We came to confirm the damage. It's obvious the Magi here fought to the end. They went down with the surface—but only the surface."

The real value of the Clock Tower lay underground.

To put it simply, the entire structure was built atop the Spiritual Tomb of Albion. The surface was just the terminal of a much larger production system.

That's why most of the important assets of the Mage's Association were hidden below ground—including the data Shiomi was after.

For example, the books in the surface-level library were mostly copies or relatively unimportant.

"Is there something specific you're concerned about?" Artoria asked again.

"Not exactly. I'm just thinking... for the place to fall this easily, what's the Wizard Marshal even doing? Does he not think it's worth intervening?"

Shiomi was referring to the second Magician.

In their original timeline, that Magician had already stepped down from the Wizard Marshal position in 2015, handing it over to the head of the Lorelei family. But in this era, he still held that post.

"Maybe he never intended to step in," Morgan's voice chimed in. "After all, Chaldea already has a Magus like my husband."

"Maybe the old man really did get taken out," Shiomi muttered, though he didn't seriously believe it.

He waved to Sakura and Mordred, signaling for them to move on. Their next destination was another secret entrance to the Clock Tower—this one hidden beneath the British Museum.

...

On the way there, Shiomi noticed Sakura yawning and asked, "What's wrong? Didn't sleep well last night?"

"No, um... it's nothing," Sakura quickly shook her head, her face a little red, like she'd witnessed something she wasn't supposed to.

"If you're too tired, take Mordred back to the base. Artoria and I can handle the rest of the investigation," Shiomi offered.

"No need, really..." Sakura waved her hand to brush off the concern.

Mordred barged in from the side and jabbed Shiomi with her armored elbow. "You've got some nerve saying that! You and my father and mother were making such a racket last night, even an Assassin wouldn't have missed it!"

"Uh..." Shiomi froze in place.

"So what the hell were you doing? Some kind of love triangle?" Mordred growled, clearly irritated.

Shiomi sighed in exasperation. "If anything, it's Artoria's fault—"

"What about my father?" Mordred glared at him, looking ready to throw down if he dared say a single bad word.

Shiomi thought to himself, Wait, weren't your relationships strained? Weren't you at each other's throats?

Could being summoned as a Servant actually help resolve emotional baggage?

"No, forget it. My bad." Shiomi waved his hand, eager to end the conversation.

Getting into a fight over this would just be a waste—completely unnecessary.

"You know, for someone who usually acts pretty steady, why do you keep doing the kind of crap only pretty boys get away with?" Mordred grumbled, clearly annoyed by Shiomi's flirtatious tendencies.

As far as she could tell, he was messing around with both her mother and her father.

To outsiders, it might seem like no big deal. But for Mordred, it hit a nerve.

In the blink of an eye, it made her relationship with Shiomi—and with Sakura—way more complicated. If she spent even two more minutes thinking about it, her brain and her Magic Circuits would probably go up in flames together.

"Who's doing anything like that?!" Shiomi raised his voice and smacked his chest. "I've got a clear conscience, alright?!"

Maybe he used too much force—after the second hit, he suddenly choked and coughed a few times.

Mordred immediately gave him a look of pity and let out a disgusted "ugh."

At that moment, a black steed with a white mane appeared beside Shiomi, materializing into form.

"You're not looking well. Hop on, Master. Llamrei can carry two."

Artoria, already mounted on the horse, reached out a hand to him like a prince on a white steed—though in this case, it was more like a black one.

"Lancer! Could you stop making things even more complicated?!" Shiomi shouted, giving Llamrei a sharp smack on the hindquarters in an attempt to shoo both Artoria and the horse away.

But Llamrei, as one of King Arthur's treasured mounts, didn't flinch in the slightest.

Seeing his attempt fail, Shiomi gave a defeated wave to hide his embarrassment and quickly changed the subject.

"Anyway... doesn't it feel even more deserted out here than yesterday?"

"Based on the scanner readings, the Mana concentration in the air has grown even thicker than before. If an ordinary person breathes it in, they'd probably fall unconscious. Prolonged exposure would be like breathing pure oxygen too long—the body can't handle it and eventually dies."

This time, it was Romani speaking, taking over the comms to relay Chaldea's analysis.

"Real deal magic fog, huh..."

For Magi like them, the effects were negligible. But for anyone without magical aptitude, it was lethal.

And from the time they left for the Clock Tower up until now, neither Paracelsus nor the mechanical Servant—or anyone else—had shown themselves.

Just as Shiomi was trying to guess the enemy's next move, Artoria, who was riding slightly ahead, suddenly came to a halt.

Llamrei snorted sharply in warning.

Shiomi looked up.

Blocking their path on the way to the museum was a formation of mechanical soldiers.

They were just one street away from their destination. Shiomi was certain now—the enemy had predicted their route and was here to intercept.

"It's you again. If you're going to block the road, then state your name," Artoria said, leveling her Holy Spear from horseback toward the mechanical Servant.

"This is our king's command. We have no choice."

A voice, unfamiliar and male, rang out. A pale-skinned man with wavy blue hair stepped into view. At his side appeared Paracelsus, still speaking in his trademark melancholy tone:

"Our plans have been completely disrupted. Now we have no choice but to make amends."