Type-Moon, What Do You Mean You summoned Tiamat?! Chapter 20: Why Did He Come?

In that instant the flas of humiliation and hatred burning in No Na Assasin's heart were doused as if by ice water; her mind went completely blank.

She had never t this person directly, yet her instincts and the reverence carved into generations of assassins' blood scread one truth: He is death itself—the beginning and the end of the Hassan Order!

Deep within the Hassan Order's darkest secrets lay a terrifying legend of death. Should a leader stray from the path or should the order fall into corruption, the Old Man of the Mountain would descend from the underworld and personally sever that leader's head.

The ominous skull mask and beheading sword were the absolute symbols of the First Grand Master.

Hassan of the Hassans. King of Assassins… the Old Man of the Mountain.

"Ah… So you failed to trigger your own miracle, and under this Dead Apostle's influence your selfish desire and hatred corroded your killing intent, angering the Lord?"

No Na Assasin's lips trembled, yet her heart was strangely calm. If this was the outco… she was prepared to accept it. For her, dying by the sword of the source of her faith was the highest salvation—even if that salvation cost her life.

The girl quietly closed her eyes and abandoned all resistance.

In the silence, Jester forced his rigid facial muscles to move, trying to hide the instinctive trembling of madness.

"Hey… you really are an Assassin? You look like you're on a completely different level from this pitiful Servant."

He spread his arms theatrically, staring at the old man with sickly eyes. "Well… since you're also a Hassan, you should understand, right? This pitiful girl was never given the na 'Hassan.' She's just a defective product, a re imitator—an embarrassnt to your order. You get that, don't you?"

No Na Assasin unconsciously bit her lower lip but, unusually, offered no retort.

Then she caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye: Jester's right hand hidden behind his back. In that deathly pale palm, highly compressed blood-red light was gathering!

No Na Assasin's pupils contracted violently. "Watch out!"

Her warning ca too late.

"Fine, I've had enough of you, you old relic!"

Murderous light flashed in Jester's eyes. His hand instantly transford into a blood-red blade sharper than any Noble Phantasm and, at impossible speed, sliced through the air straight toward the old man's heart.

Yet the old man did not even raise an eyelid. He simply stood there in silence.

Clang!

In the next instant, a deep, distant sound—like an ancient bell tolling from the abyss of the underworld—echoed without warning across the entire night sky of Snowfield City.

It was not a physical sound wave; it was a death sentence that pierced the soul of every living being.

Almost simultaneously, the highest-ranking Heroic Spirits hidden throughout the city sensed the abnormal fluctuation.

In the police station interrogation room, Saber, who had been cooperating with a statent, suddenly stopped speaking and stared out the window with a shocked, uneasy expression.

On the terrace of a luxurious hotel, Gilgash, wine glass in hand, gazed down at the world. A displeased glint appeared in his eyes. He snorted coldly. "Tch… another gloomy fellow?"

In a remote gang hideout, the giant Alcides—baptized in black mud and fallen into an Avenger—let out a beast-like low growl while staring in the direction of the tolling bell.

Deep inside a hospital, a sleeping girl furrowed her brows slightly. Beside her, an existence that defied conventional definitions quietly stirred her heart.

anwhile, in a hotel room on the outskirts of Snowfield City…

The bell that transcended causality seed to have awakened the sleeping Mother Goddess.

"Ah…?"

Tiamat, now in her small loli form, opened her eyes drowsily and gazed blankly out the window. Then she grumbled in dissatisfaction, burrowed into the blankets like a kitten that had lost its sense of security, snuggled into Matou Yuu's warm embrace, found the most comfortable position, and fell back into deep sleep.

…

"…Hahaha…"

In the quiet night wind, heavy breathing sounded especially harsh.

Cold sweat poured down Jester's deathly pale face and dripped onto the concrete floor. He stood frozen, staring at his own right hand in terror. The fingers, re inches from the old man's breastplate, were convulsing uncontrollably.

He himself could not precisely explain what had happened in that brief instant. All he knew was that the mont his hand had tried to touch the black armor, his Dead Apostle body had suddenly sealed all his movents!

His instincts scread: If he had not forcibly withdrawn his hand, it would not have been only his body that vanished—the very concept of death itself would have been erased.

Unnerving blue flas looked down upon the dead apostle before them.

"Shadow of filth."

The old man's voice rang out like a funeral bell, rciless and absolute. "Your neck is too cheap for my blade. I have no right to grant you that. Your final toll will be rung by the successor of the Shadow himself."

Even so, the Old Man of the Mountain finally moved. He slowly drew his jet-black beheading sword.

Clang!

The heavy blade stirred a wind of death and swung rcilessly down toward No Na Assasin!

The girl closed her eyes tightly, raising her pale neck as though accepting her fate.

But the unbearable pain of decapitation she expected never ca.

Instead, a sharp sound—like an invisible chain snapping—rang out.

No Na Assasin opened her eyes in surprise and felt an unprecedented sense of relief flood her entire body.

It was the sign that the magical supply sustaining her in this world had been completely severed.

The abhorrent mana constantly emanating from Jester and the absolute master-servant contract the Dead Apostle had imposed upon her… had been cut by a single swing of the sword.

"You…" No Na Assasin looked up at the King of Assassins with an incredulous expression.

"Lost child."

Beneath the skull mask, the girl's startled face was reflected in a chilling gaze.

"Since you still cling to the na 'Hassan,' wash away the original sin of your na. In this Holy Grail War, exhaust the nineteenth miracle that only you possess."

This was not rely clency; it was the ultimate judgnt from the pinnacle of assassins.

"Ah—!"

The mont the old man finished speaking, Jester—whose ntal defenses had been completely shattered by the pressure of death—let out a strange cry and fled into the night.

The Old Man of the Mountain did not watch the Dead Apostle depart. He stood quietly at the edge of the rooftop, then suddenly turned his armored head and fixed his deep blue eyes precisely on a single point in the void.

…

"Snap!"

Inside a penthouse apartnt in Snowfield City, a floating magical fluorescent screen instantly cracked like a spiderweb and exploded with an ear-splitting roar.

Francesca, who had been hugging a cushion while watching TV, leapt off the sofa almost instantly; her small body would not stop trembling.

"Hey… you saw that, right?"

She swallowed hard, panic clear in her voice. "That monster broke through dozens of magical barriers and stared straight at us?"

Beside her stood the young François—his expression equally grave. The wine glass in his hand was cracked; deep-red wine trickled down his pale fingertips.

"Hassan among Hassans… the true king of the assassin order…"

"Why would such a monster appear in the Holy Grail War as an ordinary Servant?"

François's usually elegant voice was now terribly dry. He muttered to himself, "What on earth did he co here for?"

…