Fate/Max Level Returner Chapter 75 75: [MAX] 75: Bunch of Rabble

Jeanne Alter's stronghold.

Several Servant silhouettes slowly materialized in front of the base—the ones Jeanne Alter had summoned earlier.

They had finally set out toward the target city she had designated, only for her to contact them just as they neared it. She claid there was a troubleso opponent inside, then imdiately flew off on Fafnir without another word.

What else could they do? Their own Master had retreated, so they had no choice but to turn around and march back.

All that effort to get there, wasted.

It was exactly like a client who made you rewrite an entire proposal only to scrap it and start over.

The other Servants kept quiet, but Carmilla—who had been lugging around her heavy Iron Maiden the whole way—had plenty to say.

Carmilla was nobility, but unlike Vlad III, she wasn't the battlefield-conquering type. She was the pampered, high-society kind, and she absolutely loathed trudging around on foot like this.

The mont they reached their destination, she dropped onto the nearest flat surface, kicked off her shoes, and revealed her pale, delicate feet. The long walk had left her soles flushed pink and faintly scented with a sweet, milky fragrance.

Carmilla rubbed her aching arches, seething at the pointless trek.

"I still don't get it—what kind of 'troubleso' opponent could possibly send our Master running back like a kicked dog?"

"And then she makes us walk all the way back on foot!"

"If she won't let us ride her precious dragon, at least summon so wyverns for us. She's the Dragon Witch, isn't she? She should be able to command them."

Vlad III shot a glance at Carmilla for badmouthing their Master. Among all the Servants Jeanne Alter had summoned, Vlad was arguably the most loyal.

Relatively speaking, anyway. Don't ask why it's only "relatively."

"Mind your own business. Just follow her orders."

Carmilla curled her lip in disdain and grumbled again.

"Her brain probably just never thought of it."

Chevalier d'Eon glanced at Carmilla, then at the stronghold right in front of them. Jeanne Alter was probably inside. At this distance, could she have heard them talking?

"I'd suggest you stop criticizing the Master while we're this close. She might overhear…"

Carmilla scoffed again, completely unbothered.

"Tch~"

"So what if she hears?"

"Even if she does, I'll just repeat every word right to her face!"

Atalanta, hearing the commotion, glanced over once before losing interest.

No fight breaking out? Whatever, then.

Carmilla kept venting.

"Even if she were standing right in front of , I'd point at her nose and say—"

Creak~ (sound of the stronghold gate opening)

Just as Carmilla was about to continue, the heavy doors swung open. Jeanne Alter herself stepped out.

The instant Carmilla saw her, she clamped her mouth shut, shot to her feet from her lazy sprawl, and snapped into the perfect picture of a loyal subordinate.

Jeanne Alter looked over the gathered Servants, recalling the voices she had heard from upstairs.

"I think I just heard… soone saying sothing about ?"

Chevalier d'Eon's full attention was on Jeanne Alter; she hadn't noticed Carmilla standing at rigid attention behind her. Naturally, the knight felt it was her duty as Carmilla's colleague to "help" her out.

"Oh, that's right, Master. Carmilla seems to have sothing she wants to tell you."

Carmilla: "..."

Carmilla slowly turned her head with a blank, chanical expression and stared daggers at d'Eon.

Jeanne Alter raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Did you find a new enemy or sothing?"

Carmilla quickly shook her head and answered in the calst tone she could manage.

"It's nothing, Master. The Saber simply misheard."

Chevalier d'Eon blinked in confusion.

"Huh? But earlier you said—mmph!"

Carmilla lunged forward and clapped a hand over the knight's mouth before she could finish.

Jeanne Alter frowned, sensing sothing was being hidden from her.

"What exactly was said?"

"Carmilla, were you talking about behind my back? Got a problem with or sothing?"

Carmilla kept her hand firmly over d'Eon's mouth. Her face stayed expressionless, but her voice turned almost sweet.

"Of course not, Master."

"If I was talking about you, it was definitely about how wise and brilliant you are, and how incredibly clever."

"I would never have any complaints about you."

Jeanne Alter stared hard at Carmilla's poker face, trying to read her.

She couldn't detect a single tell.

Besides, Jeanne Alter was in a decent mood right now, so she didn't press the issue. She simply gave a warning.

"Good. If you ever do have a problem with , I'll burn you to ash and summon a replacent."

Carmilla pressed her lips together, a flicker of unease crossing her face.

She still didn't want to die just yet. She wanted her Holy Virgin to taste plenty more virgin blood first.

And there was one even more important reason.

Carmilla had heard rumors about two possible Servants appearing in a certain city.

One was a girl in green who could supposedly breathe fire. She hadn't paid much attention to that one.

The other rumor, however, had her full interest.

A slender figure, pink hair, blue eyes, wearing an elegant black-and-white gothic dress that radiated nobility.

But what really caught Carmilla's attention was the additional detail: this Servant was said to be a Demon Child who loved singing in crowded places. Her voice was… indescribable. And loud.

Supposedly, many people who listened to her songs had their eardrums burst, suffered splitting headaches, and passed out.

Carmilla knew exactly who that was the mont she heard it.

Which ant she absolutely could not retire from the battlefield yet—at least not before she settled her old grudge with that particular black history.

Luckily, Jeanne Alter didn't seem to notice anything strange.

Carmilla silently vowed to keep her complaints to herself from now on. Better to mutter them where no one could hear.

Atalanta, watching from the side, raised an eyebrow at the rare sight of Jeanne Alter coming out to et them.

"Well, this is unusual. You actually ca out to greet us?"

Jeanne Alter instantly put on her signature French sneer.

"Hmph~" ╭(╯^╰)╮

"Greet you? Don't make laugh. You just happened to be walking in the sa direction I was heading."

Vlad III perked up at that.

"We seem to have heard you ntion a 'direction.' Does that an you have new orders?"

Jeanne Alter planted her long spear with a proud snort, clearly waiting to be praised.

"Of course. I just summoned two more Servants."

"Counting all of you, I now command seven Servants."

"With , Fafnir, and Gilles, that makes a full ten fighting forces."

"No matter how tough that guy from before was, we can crush them with sheer numbers."

"Hmph Hmph Hmph~"

Jeanne Alter couldn't help chuckling smugly. She could already picture her victory—champagne popping at halfti.

Chevalier d'Eon and Atalanta stayed silent.

Logically, gaining more allies should have been good news.

But the truth was, none of them wanted their side to grow any stronger.

Everything Jeanne Alter ordered them to do after summoning them went against their very principles.

Destroying France…

Atalanta was a Greek hero. Asking a hero to raze a city? Seriously?

And Chevalier d'Eon, a French knight herself, was being forced to commit such acts while wearing a maid outfit of justice.

If not for the Mad Enhancent binding them to their Master's will, the mont they learned Jeanne Alter's goal, they would have rebelled instantly.

Jeanne Alter decided to introduce her newest Servants to the group that had just returned.

"Co on, let show you."

She stepped aside, revealing the two figures behind her.

Assassin: Charles-Henri Sanson.

Berserker: Lancelot.

Sanson stood quietly. Lancelot kept letting out occasional roars.

"AR!!! SEA!!!!"

Jeanne Alter scratched her ear, irritated by the noise.

"Quiet down, Berserker! You've been yelling nonstop since the second you were summoned—my eardrums are about to burst!"

"Is the person you're screaming about really that important to you?"

She glared at Lancelot. She couldn't make out the words, but she could tell it was soone's na—and the obsession ran deep.

"Who the hell are you even calling? Why so much resentnt?"

The mont Lancelot had been summoned and caught sight of Jeanne Alter's face, he had started mumbling incoherently, sword raised, ready to cut her down.

If she hadn't been able to issue direct commands, she would have been attacked by her own Servant.

Even stranger, after staring at her for a while, Lancelot's rage had suddenly cald, as if he had mistaken her for soone else and then realized his error.

Chevalier d'Eon, anwhile, kept staring at Sanson's face beside Lancelot. Sothing about it felt incredibly familiar.

Then it hit her like lightning.

"Wait… aren't you… Charles-Henri Sanson?!"

Jeanne Alter glanced curiously at the Saber for recognizing the Assassin.

"Oh, right…"

"Saber, you and the Assassin are from the sa country and era, aren't you?"

"Almost forgot about that."

"What, did you two have so connection in life?"

Chevalier d'Eon stared at Sanson for a long mont before answering quietly.

"No. I never t him while we were alive."

"But I have heard of his reputation as an executioner."

"Fourth-generation heir of the Sanson executioner family. He carried out countless executions in his lifeti. The most famous were Louis XVI and Queen Marie."

"Queen Marie…"

The na made Jeanne Alter's mind flash back to the earlier clash with Adam.

In the enemy camp, there had been a noble-looking little girl who reeked of aristocracy. The creepy guy next to her had called her Marie.

If that really was Queen Marie… Jeanne Alter's gaze toward Sanson gained a spark of delight.

"I think I spotted the Queen Marie you ntioned… on the enemy side~"

Sanson, who had been standing motionless beside Lancelot—even after his identity was revealed—suddenly jolted. He whipped his head toward Jeanne Alter, eyes burning with urgent questions.

"Master, are you saying the Marie whose head I took is also here?"

Jeanne Alter's eyes darted as she recalled the standoff with Adam. But the more she tried to focus, the more her mind kept replaying the mont "she" had kissed him.

Her face flushed. She quickly shook her head, locking that mory away forever, and forced herself to rember only the part about Marie.

Sanson: "???"

He watched her blush with visible confusion.

Jeanne Alter cleared her throat loudly.

"Ahem Ahem"

"Assuming it's her, yes. There was also so creepy guy with a conductor's baton next to her."

Sanson froze for a second, then lit up with understanding.

"Creepy guy with a baton? That has to be Mozart. It really is Queen Marie."

A pleased smile spread across Sanson's face. He could hardly wait to ask her how it had felt when he took her head. Surely Queen Marie had found the experience… quite pleasurable.

"Queen Marie~ It seems fate has granted the chance to execute you once more."

Chevalier d'Eon: "..."

As a French knight, d'Eon stood in silence, listening to Sanson's words. Her chivalric code scread that she must protect Queen Marie, yet Mad Enhancent forced her to obey her Master.

The contradiction inside her grew heavier. The desire to clock out and go ho had never been stronger.

"Alright, enough chatting."

"Fafnir!"

At Jeanne Alter's call, the massive dragon that had been resting nearby flapped its wings and landed beside her.

She leaped onto its head, faced downward toward her Servants, and swept her hand across her chest in a dramatic gesture.

"Gather!"

The six Servants assembled at the base of the dragon, awaiting orders. Fragnts of Jeanne's mories prompted her to deliver a pre-battle speech.

"Among the enemies this ti, there's soone who looks exactly like ."

"Not that blond village-girl version of '.' The real one—sa eyes, sa hair color. But rember: she's the enemy."

"Take her down and the rest are just small fry. After she's dead, do whatever you want with the others. Just make sure they all end up dead."

Jeanne Alter's mind flashed to Adam. A hint of hesitation crossed her eyes, and she added one more instruction.

"Oh, and there's a man standing next to the one who looks like . Don't touch him. I still have plans for him."

She eyed the Mad-Enhanced Servants beneath her. Their sanity was cut in half; she couldn't be sure they would follow orders precisely. So she stressed it again.

"Rember! Do NOT touch him!!!"

"If even one hair on his head is missing, I'll hold every single one of you responsible."

The Servants below exchanged puzzled looks at the sudden, oddly specific command.

Why can't we touch that man?

Is he special or sothing?

Wait… is the Master… in love???

...

Then Jeanne Alter rembered Adam's earlier question: "Why don't you let your Servants ride Fafnir with you?"

Her face turned bright red. She let out a tiny embarrassed "Ugh~" before composing herself.

Clearing her throat twice, she addressed the Servants below.

"This ti I'll make an exception and let you ride Fafnir with . Be grateful."

Carmilla's face lit up with pure joy at the news that she wouldn't have to walk anymore. She was the first to climb aboard. Looking at Jeanne Alter now, she suddenly found her a lot more likable.

"You really are generous, Master. But… why didn't you let us ride with you before?"

"I… that's… none of your damn business!!!"

Jeanne Alter sputtered, then exploded in embarrassnt, roaring at Carmilla like an angry cat.

Carmilla wisely shut her mouth and never brought it up again.

Jeanne Alter pouted, stayed silent for a mont, then adjusted her mood.

The thought of finally getting her revenge made her blood sing with excitent. She planted her spear firmly on Fafnir's head.

The resulting image was striking: atop a dragon dozens of ters tall, Jeanne Alter and her six Servants stood with hair and cloaks whipping in the wind, looking utterly triumphant. Especially eye-catching was the banner on the tip of her spear.

Wait… sothing feels off.

Jeanne Alter suddenly realized the count was wrong. She turned around and carefully tallied everyone.

Saber: Chevalier d'Eon

Archer: Atalanta

Lancer: Vlad III

Caster: Carmilla

Assassin: Sanson

Berserker: Lancelot

Where was the Rider? Where was Martha?

With her eyes wide, she looked at the four who had been traveling with the Rider.

"Hey! Where the hell is the Rider?! She was with you, wasn't she?"

How did they manage to lose soone on the way back?!

Atalanta casually adjusted her bow and answered without much interest.

"The Rider? Well…"

"I saw her muttering sothing about 'avenging the Master'… then she summoned her mount and just took off."

Earlier, after Jeanne Alter had flown away on Fafnir, Atalanta had noticed Martha deep in thought, clearly plotting sothing.

Sure enough, a few minutes into the return march, the mont their Master was out of sight, Martha had shouted:

"No, I can't take it anymore! I'm going to avenge Master!"

Then she had called her mount and vanished in the na of revenge.

She had almost certainly gone straight after Adam's group (to deliver her own head on a platter).

Jeanne Alter stared, stunned.

"…What?!!!"

***

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