The dry wood crackled as it was tossed into the fire, the flames flaring up slightly and casting a glow on Shiomi and Morgan's faces.
They were in the Einzbern Forest, only about four kilometers from the castle.
Both sat on fallen tree trunks, facing the campfire.
"Is this far enough?" he asked Morgan.
"It is. Back when we allied with the Einzberns and visited the castle, I'd already started preparing—planning for when the alliance ended and the Holy Grail War resumed." Morgan watched the flames flicker. "For Artoria, the Garden of Lost Will suits her perfectly."
"The Garden of Lost Will..." Shiomi nodded.
Strictly speaking, the Garden of Lost Will wasn't Magecraft in the traditional sense, but a Mystic Code.
It required no incantations—just Mana—and it would activate in accordance with the user's will. However, if the user lacked the strength to control it, they might be swallowed up along with it.
"But something like that wouldn't just affect Artoria," Morgan said. "If anyone else is in the castle, they'll get dragged in too. So it's best to stay away for now, my husband—unless you want to experience it for yourself."
Shiomi scrunched up his face like he'd just tasted fresh lemon juice. "I'll pass."
He didn't know exactly what would happen, but Morgan had already explained the mechanism of the Garden of Lost Will when they lit the fire earlier.
It strips away a visitor's heart until nothing remains, plunging them into self-inflicted pain and guilt. A cold garden that unveils the warmth and lies it conceals.
Endure it to the end, and you can leave—but not before your heart vanishes.
Shiomi's refusal wasn't out of fear of what he might see. He had other reasons.
"Do you think my Magecraft is too cruel?" Morgan asked calmly.
"The moment Magecraft became a tool for conflict, words like 'cruel' lost their meaning. The Holy Grail War is a life-or-death struggle. If anything—" Shiomi said, warming his hands by the fire, "you're too soft. We could've just razed the entire Saber camp and the castle together, wiped them out of this war completely. But you chose this roundabout method. That's not what 'subduing the enemy without fighting' is supposed to mean."
"But you didn't object, did you?" Morgan said with a faint smile.
"Just making an observation," Shiomi replied, lowering his gaze as he held his hands out to the fire again.
The firelight reflected in his eyes, creating a striking, almost unsettling look.
Cruelty or ruthlessness—he'd never describe her with those words.
She had meant it as a joke, but instead, it had sounded like self-deprecation, like some kind of masochistic confession. And that had upset him.
"Just sitting by the fire waiting for the outcome feels a bit dull," Morgan said.
"The Garden of Lost Will is your Magecraft. You should be able to see what's happening inside, right?" Shiomi raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not interested. Whether it's Artoria or anyone else, what they see in the Garden, whether they can walk out or not, has nothing to do with me." Morgan pressed her knees together and laid her hands flat on them, her posture completely relaxed. "This forest is so untouched... and now the dew is thick and the night's deep."
She gently patted the spot beside her. "Come sit here. It's warmer than the fire."
"No need. I'm not some ordinary person. If a Magus can't even handle the cold, then what's the point..."
He trailed off mid-sentence—Morgan had already put on that look that left no room for refusal.
"We're still in the middle of combat. I'm not listening," Shiomi muttered, turning his head to avoid looking at her.
If he did, just one glance would be enough. Even without Magecraft or Mana, he would end up yielding to her will.
"Since you won't come to me, then I'll come to you."
He had forgotten that they were only sitting across the bonfire from each other. There was no divide between them—just a few steps and they'd be side by side.
Morgan didn't do anything besides sitting next to him, yet he still felt an odd twinge of disappointment, like he had expected something more.
Pathetic.
"By the way, once the Garden of Lost Will is deployed, anyone approaching it besides the intended target will be dragged in too," Morgan said.
"Why bring that up now?" Shiomi asked, puzzled.
"I was worried my husband might get restless and charge off to deal with Artoria's group. If that happens, I'll have no choice but to cancel the Magecraft to protect you."
"...Do I really seem that violent?"
Just as he finished speaking, Shiomi suddenly looked up—he sensed other presences in the forest.
"There's more than one. Quite a few," Morgan said, closing her eyes and linking her mind to the barrier around the forest.
After analyzing the ward, she didn't dismantle it. Instead, she infused her own spell into it, hijacking the surveillance system and taking control of the entire Einzbern Forest.
Anyone trying to enter or leave would still be detected, even if they didn't trigger the forest's defensive Magecraft.
"A lot?" Shiomi's brow lifted slightly.
"One of them is human, heading straight toward the castle. They'll be there in two minutes, tops," Morgan reported calmly. "As for the rest—they're all Servants. But their presence is incredibly faint."
"A swarm of weak Servant signals... That's Assassin," Shiomi said, folding his arms. "So Assassin has some kind of duplication ability. It weakens their individual strength, but it's ideal for assassination and reconnaissance."
Morgan opened her eyes. "The number of Servants keeps increasing. Looks like they're throwing everything at us to keep us pinned here."
"But isn't the castle...?"
"Too clever for their own good."
Morgan couldn't help but think the timing was just a little too perfect...
...
The deafening rumble of an engine snapped him back to awareness.
Kiritsugu Emiya realized he was sitting in a beat-up pickup truck. Beside him, a girl sat calmly at the wheel, her hands relaxed as the steering wheel vibrated under her grip.
The vehicle had left the village and was now heading deeper into the jungle.
"Where... are we?"
"Awake now, Kerry?" the girl asked.
That long-forgotten name made Kiritsugu turn to her in shock, his eyes wide.
It was the horizon of a memory, bleached and distant.
The other side blurred by blood and gunpowder.
For a soul like Kiritsugu's—steeped in the scent of war—it was a memory of his origin, now hopelessly out of reach.
He cautiously looked into the small truck's rearview mirror. Through the weathered glass, Kiritsugu saw a face he could barely remember—yet unmistakably, it was his own from his younger days.