Chapter 109: Servant Summoning  

In every nation, the royal palace is the symbol of its sovereign—its grandeur, its values, its pride.

Camelot, Arthur's citadel, was solemn and sacred. Pure white walls. A calm dignity befitting the once and future king.

Rome, by contrast, was unabashedly extravagant. The imperial palace shimmered with golden walls and was cluttered with treasures of every kind—priceless artifacts, crimson drapes, and ornaments meant to awe and intimidate.

And among these countless treasures, there was one that even the Sword Emperor, Lucius, guarded with absolute care.

—The Holy Grail.

Today, in the very heart of the great hall, dozens of Roman magi stood around the Grail, chanting in unison.

The vast magical array etched into the floor pulsed with light. Their voices, tones, magical wavelengths—even their states of mind—merged into a single harmony.

This was no ordinary ritual.

This was great magic.

And then—!

"...You are the last guardians of mystery. With the glory upon you, you protect the island and sever the mystery that shelters all mankind. Reveal yourselves here—Guardians of the Scales!"

The spell reached its peak.

A blinding radiance engulfed the palace.

Lucius' lips curled upward in satisfaction, his expression twisted into an arrogant smile.

"Your Majesty..." one minister spoke hesitantly. "Is this wise? Servants are a critical force for Rome. Yet you've ordered us to summon only British Heroic Spirits. If they rebel—if they side with Arthur instead—"

"How tedious." Lucius cut him off with a sneer. "Servants are simply elevated familiars. If I can't even control a few familiars, what's the point of keeping a pack of court magicians like you around?"

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

"I've already succeeded once. She didn't want to obey, of course. But she did. She follows my orders, even if it means destroying her beloved homeland. That alone makes this little game worth playing."

Indeed, Lucius was just as arrogant as the rumors claimed.

But so what?

He was the Emperor of Rome. Everything under heaven belonged to him. If he desired something, he would claim it. And anyone who dared oppose him—be they man, god, or Heroic Spirit—would be crushed.

To Lucius, an emperor was more than a ruler. An emperor was worth more than a nation, higher than the gods, exalted above all.

And he—Lucius—was the emperor among emperors. The only god of this era.

...Except for that one.

That troublesome existence on the island.

But even he would belong to Lucius eventually.

For now, he was just an amusing challenge.

"Still," the magician interjected again, sweating, "the summoned Servant is ultimately determined by the Heroic Spirit's response. We can shape the conditions, but not the result."

Lucius scoffed but said nothing. He understood. That didn't mean he accepted it.

Just then—petals began to fall.

From the center of the circle, a playful voice echoed:

"Oh my~ What a dangerous ritual you've got here. Let big sister join the fun~☆!"

At once, the ritual light twisted and dimmed—its brilliance turning unnatural.

Lucius reacted instantly.

He drew his magic sword and slashed toward the disturbance, unleashing a surge of magical light sharp enough to cleave the hall in two.

But he was a second too late.

"Your Majesty! The ritual has been tampered with!"

"This—this is impossible! The spell was already complete! Someone's overwritten it from the inside!"

Panic spread among the magi.

Lucius ignored them.

His eyes locked onto the figure forming at the heart of the distortion—a figure composed of petals and laughter.

The Flower Magician.

"Merlin," Lucius growled, lifting his blade. "So. You've given up on kidnapping people and come to offer yourself instead?"

"Wooo~ You caught me." The figure spun playfully. "That's why you're the Sword Emperor. Sharp as ever. But no, my work hasn't changed—I've just upgraded from kidnapping humans to kidnapping Servants~"

With a wink, the magician gave a twirl of her skirt.

"And if you must know," she added, "I prefer to be called Merry. That's right—the adorable, beautiful, flower-filled Merry. Not Merlin. Get it right~!"

Merry gave a smile brighter than the Grail's glow.

In her hands, she casually cradled two glowing orbs—Servant Cores. She had stolen them before the summoning ritual could bind them.

An unthinkable act.

A direct insult to the Roman emperor.

And a humiliation to the magicians who had prepared the ritual.

Still, she wasn't done.

"You know, your ritual was pretty well-designed. Even with my interference, you still managed to secure control over three Servants. That's impressive."

As if on cue, three figures materialized.

"SERVANT: ARCHER.

SERVANT: AVENGER.

SERVANT: ASSASSIN.

We have responded to the summoning."

Two of them immediately leapt into action—rushing toward Merry with flame and fury, unleashing a barrage of Noble Phantasms.

But their weapons met nothing.

No matter how sharp or fierce, their strikes simply passed through her like wind through blossoms.

This nightmare of a magician couldn't be harmed by such mundane attacks—even from Heroic Spirits.

Lucius clicked his tongue and swept his magic sword, erasing the flames and treasures in one stroke.

"Stand down," he snapped. "She's mine."

Then, with a single step, he closed the distance and struck—

—or rather, seemed to strike. The blow landed, but it caused no harm.

Superficial pressure. Nothing more.

"Aww, so mean~!" Merry pouted. "You shouldn't hit girls. Especially cute ones. Violence is bad! I'm very sensitive, you know?"

She stepped daintily forward, still standing on petals, and gave a cheeky grin.

"Ohhh, I get it now. You're upset because you wanted British Heroic Spirits and I just hijacked your whole ritual. Poor Emperor~ I stole your shiny new toys."

She brandished a glowing holy sword from nowhere and casually forced Lucius back with a flick of her wrist.

Yes—a holy sword. And not one of the lesser imitations.

Even the Roman mages could only stare in stunned silence.

Lucius, however, ignored the swordplay entirely.

He waved away the servants and narrowed his gaze.

His interest had shifted.

To the sword in Merry's hand.

"…So that guy Artorius lied to me."

He laughed.

"Last time we traded, he gave me twelve so-called 'national treasures.' Mass-produced holy swords, he said. But now I see—he was holding back."

The twelve C-rank holy swords had been the highlight of Britain's first trade with Rome. Presented as precious relics, they were well-crafted, but ultimately mundane.

After that, Britain ceased sending such weapons.

Now, Merry appeared, wielding something far superior—an A-rank holy sword.

Lucius' smile widened.

"Oh, Artorius. If you were hiding something like this, I can't wait to see what else you've got."

And behind that smile, a dangerous glint shone in his eyes.

This was no longer just politics or conquest.

This was personal.

-End Chapter-

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