Vol. 2 Chapter 48: Banquet of Death And Despair
Before dinner, Dracula and Mordred made their way back to Castlevania.
On the way home, Mordred was skipping ahead, humming a cheerful tune. Whether it was because Dracula had spent the whole day with her—giving her a rare taste of fatherly warmth—or because she'd been able to vent her aggression by pummeling a certain Mapo Tofu Priest during the soccer match, Dracula couldn't quite tell.
Speaking of that priest, it just went to show—you really can't judge a book by its cover. The man had looked so solemn and composed, yet both Dracula and Gilgamesh had been stunned to discover that under Mordred's onslaught, he had resorted to curling up in a ball and covering his head like some terrified schoolboy.
Despite that unpleasant little scuffle, Mordred was in exceptionally high spirits overall.
During dinner, she cheerfully recounted the day's events to the others between mouthfuls—something of a milestone, considering that up until today, she had always been the kind to focus entirely on devouring whatever food was in front of her.
Watching her animated expression, Dracula couldn't help but be reminded of another lively girl—a certain black-haired, twin-tailed noble heiress known for constantly cleaning up after her family's disasters. In this moment, Mordred was no knight—she was just a spirited girl sharing fun stories with her loved ones. If you shaved ten years off her appearance, she could've passed for a blonde version of Rin Tohsaka.
In stark contrast to Mordred's bubbly energy, however, Jeanne d'Arc seemed particularly downcast this evening. As Mordred chatted excitedly, Jeanne sat beside her in silence, her mood gloomy and her expression tight—making for a striking juxtaposition with the rowdy knight.
And moods, as they say, are contagious.
The moment Mordred noticed Jeanne's demeanor, she gradually fell quiet.
Everyone at the table knew what was troubling Jeanne.
The previous night, the Church's official observer for the Holy Grail War—Father Kotomine Risei—had issued a warrant for the Servant of the Caster class.
That Caster, along with his Master, had repeatedly targeted innocent civilians—mainly children—throughout the Grail War, killing them for sport. Their grotesque actions had drawn the attention of ordinary people, threatening to expose the secret war for what it truly was. In response, Father Kotomine had offered a reward: he would hand over the Command Spells left from previous Holy Grail Wars to any Master or Servant who could eliminate Caster.
Dracula and his crew had little interest in the Command Spells themselves—but what truly weighed heavily on Jeanne's heart was who that Caster was.
The child-killing Caster… had once been Jeanne's most loyal subordinate.
Marshal of France—Gilles de Rais.
The fact that her most devoted knight had fallen so far, now deriving twisted pleasure from murdering children, devastated Jeanne to her core.
And so, she had made up her mind.
She would be the one to end him.
She would be the one to send her fallen comrade to eternal rest—and purge this stain from her legacy with her own hands.
According to Dracula's precognitive abilities, that Caster was set to perform a massive ritual on the surface of the Mion River tonight—a suicidal summoning intended to unleash a super demon and make one final, catastrophic headline before he was wiped out.
Naturally, Jeanne would not stand by and allow such a tragedy.
And the other Servants—upon hearing the situation—also volunteered to help.
Dracula had originally assumed that between Jeanne and the other powerful Heroic Spirits, this would be a quick cleanup job that didn't need his involvement.
That was before he realized the volunteers included Nyarlathotep and Cthugha.
Which meant that if he didn't go along, those two elder abominations might just turn Caster's newsworthy tantrum into a city-wide apocalypse.
With a heavy heart—and a body that very much did not want to leave the couch—Dracula resigned himself to joining them.
After dinner, as Dracula dragged his feet with visible reluctance, Nyarlathotep took the initiative, opening a spatial gate that transported the entire Castlevania crew straight to the banks of the Mion River.
---
Meanwhile…
As Dracula and company were still eating at their usual slow pace, the other Servants had already rushed to the riverbank, driven by the promise of Command Spells.
The first to arrive was none other than the King of Knights, who possessed A-Rank Riding skills.
Thanks to a little borrowed indulgence from the ever-generous Irisviel von Einzbern, she took off in a Mercedes-Benz, covering what should've been a thirty-minute journey in just a few.
Now that was a true boss lady behind the wheel.
Kiritsugu, for reasons unknown, had removed the Avalon scabbard from Irisviel's body that evening, so she hadn't accompanied them—likely due to the toll it would've taken on her physical condition.
Now that her role as a vessel was public knowledge anyway, Kiritsugu had decided not to risk her any further.
Instead, Irisviel remained at Einzbern Castle, where Maiya Hisau was now personally watching over her.
Saber had no objections whatsoever. In fact, she was more than relieved to have Irisviel—her dear comrade and cherished friend—stay safely behind. According to her creed, to protect the lady is the solemn duty of a knight.
As for herself—Saber had never once regarded herself as a woman.
Upon arriving at the banks of the Mion River, Saber instantly spotted the figure of Caster, standing nonchalantly at the very center of the two-hundred-meter-wide river, as if walking on water.
With caution, she observed the enemy Servant's movements. Still without a Master in sight, Caster stood upon the currentless river without even an islet to support him, as though he truly tread upon the water's surface. Upon closer inspection, she could see that beneath his feet, the water teemed with grotesque, otherworldly shadows—the very same monsters they had fought in the forest days ago, now gathered to form a false shoal beneath him.
And from the grotesque surge of mana spilling from his surroundings, it was clear—Caster was in the midst of executing some vast, ritual-scale sorcery. The heavy fog rolling from the river's surface was likely the residual effect of that very magic.
What puzzled her, though, was how relaxed Caster appeared. He neither chanted incantations nor bore any signs of mental strain; he simply stood there, idly. The source of the overwhelming magic was the grimoire in his hand—the "Prelati's Spellbook," a cursed tome bound in human skin and inked with forbidden knowledge of the Elder Gods. Even left untouched, it could drive men to madness. Now wielded by a lunatic, it was a calamity incarnate.
"Welcome, O holy maiden. It is my utmost honor to see you again," Caster greeted her, his voice as courteous as ever.
Saber, however, responded with burning fury. "You depraved wretch… demon! What vile madness are you planning this time?!"
Caster only smiled—twisted, ecstatic. "Forgive me, Jeanne. But tonight, you are not the guest of honor."
With a theatrical bow, he turned toward the bridge far in the distance—where his equally deranged Master, Ryuunosuke Uryuu, stood waving manically with unrestrained joy.
After finishing his performance, Caster turned back with a wicked grin.
"Still, should you grace us with your presence, I would be most delighted. Gilles de Rais offers you a banquet of death and despair—please, indulge to your heart's content!"
He erupted into mad laughter, and at his feet, the river's surface began to churn and ripple.
From the waters at Caster's feet, **a swarm of monstrous tendrils erupted—**suddenly engulfing the cloaked caster in a writhing nest of darkness.
At first glance, it seemed as though the summoned familiars had turned on their master. But Caster only laughed louder, consumed yet euphoric, his insane cackles carrying the weight of blasphemy, tearing at the listener's sanity.
With eyes wide in rapture, Caster cried out:
"Now once more I raise the banner of salvation!
Come to me, ye forsaken! Gather, ye scorned and broken!
I shall lead you! I shall command you!
The fury of we who were cast aside shall thunder to the heavens!
O Lord above—behold as I redeem our sins in your name!"
The water exploded into a foaming frenzy. Countless tendrils twisted together, merging into a lump of seething flesh—and from this pulsating chaos was born an unholy behemoth—a monstrous sea-demon, colossal and mind-shattering.