Ever since three Servants had descended into the Shadow Realm, the castle in the demonic realm had been in ceaseless turmoil.
In particular, the psychological warfare between the women competing for Kay’s affections remained taut from the breakfast table all the way to bedtime.
Late at night.
The sky over the demonic realm was a perpetual ashen gray, and the air within the castle lay cold and still.
In Scáthach’s enormous bedroom, Kay lay fast asleep.
Between the day spent preparing the feast and the mental exhaustion of being caught in the crossfire of the women's power plays, he had passed out the instant his head hit the pillow.
"Heh heh heh... Seizing his momentary lapse in attention, this Tamamo shall occupy the position first."
At the end of the dark corridor, a fox tail swayed playfully.
Using Kiyohime’s silent stalking technique, Tamamo approached Scáthach’s tightly shut bedroom door without making a single sound.
With a flick of her finger, she cast a talisman into the air, and the locked door slid open soundlessly.
Oh my, our Master... Even his gentle, slumbering form is just so cute.
On the bed, Kay lay spread-eagle, the covers kicked aside. Scáthach was nowhere to be seen.
Seeing this as a heaven-sent opportunity, Tamamo licked her lips and quietly climbed onto the bed.
"Master~ the night is so cold. Let me use my soft, warm tails as a blanket to cover you..."
Just as Tamamo loosened her kimono sash and began to snuggle into Kay’s embrace...
A red flash flared in the darkness, and the icy tip of a spear stopped exactly one millimeter from Tamamo’s throat.
The murderous intent radiating from the spear’s tip made Tamamo’s golden fox ears stand on end.
"…A beast that slinks into a lord’s empty bedchamber without invitation merits having its neck cut and hung at the castle gate, according to Ulster’s customs."
From the deep shadows in the corner, Scáthach emerged, her red eyes gleaming.
Though she was clad in pajamas, the Gáe Bolg in her hand looked ready to draw blood at any instant. She had only stepped away for a moment to patrol the boundaries of the demonic realm.
"Oh my, you nearly scared me! I was just about to offer my body to warm Master through the night since he might shiver in the cold. But with the lawful wife absent from the bed, isn’t it the concubine’s duty to fill the void?"
Even with the spear’s tip at her throat, Tamamo didn’t flinch, responding with a sly, provocative smile—the trademark taunt of a fox.
"Your excuse is pitifully thin. Your pitch-black intentions are practically leaking out of your tail."
"Black, you say? Do not slander my pure, pink-hued dark longing for my Master. And..."
Tamamo’s eyes slit foxishly, and blue talismans fanned out between her fingers like shuriken.
"You’re the one who dropped your guard and left your husband’s side. Yobai is a common method of winning love in the East."
In the end, Scáthach and Tamamo erupted into a literal catfight, settling their dispute not with sheer force, but with a supernatural duel of rune magic.
Even amid that deafening racket and the resulting tremors, Kay merely furrowed his brow and pulled the covers over his head—yet not once did he wake. It was a rock-solid sleep technique honed in the chaos of living with eight sisters.
Ultimately, that night’s yobai uproar ended anticlimactically when Jeanne d’Arc Alter, driven mad by the noise, burst into the room waving her banner and berating them for the racket.
The next morning.
At the outdoor training grounds.
The three Servants sat side by side in the shade atop the castle wall, observing Kay’s training.
"Do you want to die?! Your reaction is too slow! How many times must I tell you to relax your strength before it sinks in?!"
Wham! Crack!
Scáthach’s ruthless kick slammed into Kay’s midsection.
Kay spat blood and was sent sprawling dozens of meters away, clad only in his bare body with no armor. The sound of his ribs screaming in agony echoed clearly all the way up to the wall.
"…Is that woman seriously insane? Is she actually trying to kill him?"
Jeanne d’Arc Alter muttered with a pale expression. Though she’d never formally learned how to fight, in her era, they never resorted to such savage training methods.
"Even if he can recover, that’s just too extreme... I can heal his body, but I can't heal the scars on his heart."
Tamamo bristled her tails and paced anxiously, her feet tapping in distress.
Medusa folded her arms and silently stared at the dust swirling around the training field.
At the edge of her gaze, Kay, blood-soaked and scraping at the dirt, forced himself to stagger upright.
"…Heroes can be found anywhere."
The light in Kay’s eyes had not extinguished.
He readjusted his stance. Lacking sufficient mana, he had to drive his body to its absolute limits; lacking innate talent, his only recourse was to roll in the dirt until the movements were carved into his instincts.
"You idiot. If you tense up, you lose speed. Again!"
Scáthach lunged again.
But this time, Kay’s reaction was slightly different.
Instead of forcing out a punch, the moment the tip of Scáthach’s spear closed in, he subtly twisted his torso to let the attack slip past.
The spear’s blade grazed Kay’s cheek, shearing away strands of hair, yet he avoided a mortal wound.
"Hmm. That wasn’t bad."
Scáthach offered a curt compliment as she withdrew her spear.
"…Haah, damn. If you’re going to praise me, do it before you beat the hell out of me."
Kay panted heavily, then collapsed, sprawling out face-up on the ground.
As the three Servants observed that harrowing display from the wall above, an odd ripple stirred within each of them.
Jeanne d’Arc Alter bit her lip.
That ordinary, magic-less man had not faltered even in the face of overwhelming violence. Not driven by hatred or a desire for vengeance, but solely by the will to protect someone, he struggled on with every ounce of his being.
…Hmph. What a fool. To go that far when he has no talent.
Jeanne d’Arc Alter’s cheeks warmed slightly.
Rough and unpolished though it was, Kay’s sweat-drenched back, rising again and again without surrender, looked strangely... admirable.
Tamamo clasped her hands together, tears of admiration welling in her eyes.
"Ah... how wonderful, Master! That indomitable spirit that refuses to break even while covered in wounds! That noble radiance of the soul! My eyes did not deceive me. This Tamamo shall be the devoted wife who licks... I mean, tends to Master's wounds for the rest of her life!"
Medusa also stared at Kay through her blindfold, an unusual heat in her gaze.
"…His aptitude falls short compared to Cadmus or Perseus. However, that resolve and tenacity are on par with those called heroes. Indeed, because his purpose is so clear, he might even prove stronger than them."
Medusa saw in Kay a reflection of her past self—standing alone against monsters to protect her sisters.
He carried a familiar scent: a man so foolishly kind that he took devotion and sacrifice for granted. She silently prayed he would not walk the same tragic path she had.
After training finished, Scáthach departed to hunt down a divine-grade evil spirit reported near the castle, while Tamamo brought a towel to tend to Kay.
"Master, no matter how high Britain’s standards may be, must you really push yourself this far?"
"Huh?"
Sitting beside him, Tamamo asked why he was pushing himself to such extremes.
"Scáthach is the monster; it is not that you are weak, Master. From what I see, you are a warrior on par with the Genji of my era. I’m certain you’d be considered a formidable force in Britain as well. Isn’t this enough?"
"…That may be true. But listen, Tamamo. If I become satisfied and stop here, I can’t get any stronger. In Britain, power is justice and power is the law. Before arbitrary might, I cannot protect the people I hold dear."
He wanted to protect those who meant the most to him.
He wanted to be someone who could support his siblings and serve as a pillar for the children.
Without strength, without anything to hold onto, one cannot safeguard the ones they cherish.
That was the law of the world, and he had been forced to learn it at far too young an age.
It was a tale from long ago.
It concerned Kay’s mother, a woman the Artorias had never met.
Sepin was an ordinary woman by any measure, a devoted wife and a loving mother.
While Ector was away on campaign, she was ambushed and slain by the forces of Vortigern during his war against Uther.
The young Kay had survived only because she had hidden him in the cellar, but he was still forced to face his mother’s lifeless body.
After that incident, Ector retired, choosing to live quietly with his only surviving son and dedicate himself to his family.
Perhaps it was because of his reputation as the Undying Black Knight, but that was the ultimate reward for his service and loyalty to King Uther.
The young Kay could do nothing. He could only tremble in the cellar, listening to the sounds of his mother's death.
Powerlessness.
As a mere child with no power, Kay had been utterly helpless.
He was not a naturally special being like Heracles, who could slay the serpents sent by Hera to protect his siblings.
He had been nothing more than an ordinary boy.
And in Britain, such tragedies were all too common.
"Until now, I thought I’d done my best with what I had. Yet, compared to my siblings, my strength was still pitiful. Coming here and enduring this grueling training, I can feel myself growing. If I get stronger, at least I won’t be a burden to my siblings. I can be a brother the children can truly rely on. That’s why I won’t stop."
"…I see. Truly a foolish man. Even if that effort... even if that hope goes unrewarded?"
"I’ve never sought a reward. No, for me, the reward is simply seeing those children live happily. Isn’t that success enough?"
"You might be betrayed by those you trust, you know?"
At Jeanne d’Arc Alter’s comment from beside him, Kay let out a short laugh.
"Betrayal, huh... Even if I am betrayed, I won’t regret it. I just need to become someone I can be satisfied with, someone I can acknowledge in the mirror. Men are meant to live and die by their convictions, even without reward, aren’t they? That’s what being the head of a household is. You don’t raise children just to get paid back, do you?"
"Honestly, why are knights always such idiots?"
"I’m not a knight, I’m a warrior."
"Same difference!"
"Heh heh. Thanks for your concern."
They wondered.
Would this man’s efforts, his devotion, ever be reciprocated?
Or would he meet the same fate as they had?
Even if he never receives his due, they vowed they would not let him reach the same tragic end as they did.
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