Chapter 61: The Battle of Ideals
The tower was the last one standing.
A jagged silhouette against a sea of collapsed steel and ash, it loomed like the final monument of a war long lost.
Once an office building, its windows were shattered and its skeletal frame groaned with every breeze.
Fire had licked its base.
Explosions had torn through its neighbors.
But still, this one remained.
Upright.
Defiant.
Waiting.
On its highest floor, beneath a fractured sky and amidst the rubble of forgotten desks and broken glass, four figures stood still.
To the left stood Julius Harwey, coat swaying in the breeze, eyes cold as winter stone.
Beside him, a silhouette of calm deadliness—Li Shuwen, one hand with a spear, and the other was empty, but death curled in his fist.
Julius exuded a still, brutal intensity; the kind that didn't raise its voice because it didn't have to.
Across from them stood Richard the Lionheart, armor lightly dusted with ash, face lit by a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
And next to him, shifting his weight with the energy of someone trying not to bounce on his toes, was Riya.
Suddenly.
From deep within his chest—within his soul—a pulse answered.
A presence.
Familiar.
Heavy.
Electric.
His muscles tensed as if responding to a phantom weight.
The Saint Graph within him surged, and like a switch thrown in a storm, Frankenstein's essence flooded his body.
Veins lit beneath his skin—pale blue lines arcing from his neck to his fingertips.
His breath hitched.
Lightning crackled across his arms.
Static danced around his boots, lashing out against the broken tiles beneath him.
His warhammer—Bridal Chest—materialized in his hand with a metallic shriek, arcs of energy crawling along its jagged head.
It buzzed like a live wire, matching the rhythm of his own pulse.
A shrill hum began to build in his ears.
Galvanism surged through him—energy and magic merging, converting, rewriting his form.
He could feel his muscles harden, his skin prickle, his heartbeat syncing with the storm now living inside him.
His jacket hung open, exposing the threads of Galvanism dancing beneath his skin, the hum of power vibrating around him like a storm waiting to scream.
No words yet.
Only the slow, deliberate sound of shifting rubble and the faint whirrr of the ruined city below.
Julius took a step forward.
"My brother will win the Holy Grail," he said, voice level.
Julius's voice was cold, detached. "You're just another variable in my brother's path."
"I'll eliminate you like the rest."
Riya blinked, then tilted his head.
"Your brother?"
"Great, now I'm getting death threats from the extended family too."
He swung the warhammer onto his shoulder with a lazy smirk, sparks trailing from its head.
"Seriously, man. At least buy me dinner before making it this personal."
Another step.
"I will remove every obstacle."
"Efficiently."
"Permanently."
Li Shuwen didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
His eyes had already dissected them—one a warrior of ancient kings, the other a boy crackling with chaotic energy.
Richard exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as if listening to something only he could hear.
The shadows behind him stirred—faint outlines of forgotten knights, old comrades whispering through the veil of death.
Then he opened his eyes and spoke.
"Riya, take the master."
"I'll handle the servant."
Riya's grin sharpened. "Let's dance, old guy."
Julius responded by raising a hand—and the ground between them exploded into motion.
Li Shuwen struck first.
He moved without warning, a blur of destruction that slipped through Richard's guard like wind through armor.
His palm grazed the knight's chest—and Richard staggered, coughing blood.
Riya flinched. "Whoa. Guy hits like a truck."
But Richard's hand rose before he could intervene. "I've fought worse."
His body glowed.
From behind him, a sword formed—not just a sword, Excalibur, forged not by stone but by will.
He grabbed it mid-flare, and his stance shifted from reactive to ready.
Li Shuwen came again—faster, harder.
But this time Richard met him with light.
Steel clashed with skin.
Holy power against honed technique.
For a moment, it was unclear who had the edge.
Riya didn't wait.
He turned toward Julius, sparks crawling across his arms, Galvanism warming his limbs like a second heartbeat.
"So," he said, electricity flickering in his grin, "what's it like being the world's dumbest brother ever?"
Julius pulled a knife from his coat, its edge laced with runes. "You speak too much."
"You murder too much," Riya shot back.
"But hey, different hobbies."
The ground crackled as Riya launched himself forward, lightning flashing across his body.
Julius met him head-on, slashing with cold precision, each move designed to kill in a single motion.
Riya dodged, barely, the heat of his Galvanism turning Julius's magecraft into static before it could bite.
The air between them screamed with light and steel.
Elsewhere.
Richard met Li Shuwen head-on.
His sword clashed against fists reinforced by ancient technique, each impact ringing like iron bells struck in war.
A step forward—Li Shuwen's elbow narrowly missed Richard's throat.
A sidestep—Richard's sword grazed the side of Li coat.
They danced in destruction, one an unrelenting knight, the other a storm of precise death.
"Your footwork," Richard muttered mid-parry, "reminds me of an old sparring partner."
"He kicked me through a wall once."
Li Shuwen's heel lashed out, swift as a coiled serpent.
Richard deflected it with the flat of his sword, boots sliding back from the force.
"You speak too much," Li said evenly, tone almost instructional.
"In battle, clarity lies in silence."
His eyes gleamed—not with serenity, but judgment.
"Words are the luxury of those who haven't yet chosen to die."
Richard's grip tightened. "And you've already made your choice?"
Li lowered his stance again, the air shifting with weight.
"I've trained all my life to kill those who believe their resolve alone makes them righteous."
"I see," the Lionheart breathed.
He steadied his stance—
—and Li struck again, his spear flashing like silver lightning.
It darted for Richard's throat, but the King twisted, catching the shaft with the flat of his blade and driving it aside.
Sparks flared between steel and iron.
Richard stepped in, sword snapping forward with controlled fury—one strike, two, three—forcing Li back.
The Assassin's eyes narrowed as he shifted into a counter stance, aiming a low thrust at Richard's leg.
From the shadows behind Richard, a blur lashed out—an invisible arrow, swift and silent.
Li barely twisted in time, the arrow grazing his cheek before vanishing into the ether.
"The shadows," he muttered, a flicker of realization dawning.
Richard grinned, not slowing his advance.
"My Round Table doesn't rest."
He feinted low, then reversed the angle—his blade arcing in a perfect crescent.
Li blocked—but the force sent him staggering back, blood blooming from a deep gash across his side.
His grip on the spear faltered.
Richard didn't press the kill.
He raised his blade, stance regal yet ready.
"This fight's already over, Assassin."
"You just haven't realized it yet."
The time for testing had passed.
The wind changed.
Richard raised his blade.
"This sword represents my resolve!" he roared.
"The miracle I pursued in search of glory—"
"Excalibur!"
Light surged like a sun in human form.
Li Shuwen lunged.
But he was too late.
The explosion of light tore through the upper floor of the tower.
Glass turned to dust.
Air screamed.
When the brilliance faded, Richard stood alone—arm scorched, breathing hard—but upright.
Li Shuwen was no more.
Riya felt the shift.
He leapt back, eyes flicking to Richard—then to Julius, whose expression didn't change.
But his stance shifted slightly.
More cautious.
More desperate.
"Your assassin's down," Riya said, panting, the scent of ozone heavy around him.
"Still feeling cocky?"
"I never needed him to kill you."
Riya's grin faded.
The joke was gone.
Now it was just thunder.
He raised the Bridal Chest, the warhammer of Frankenstein, now humming with power too wild for the air to contain.
Sparks shot from its edges as the Skewered Plasma Blade coiled into shape, a lance of concentrated agony.
"You talk a lot of game, but I've had enough."
Julius lunged—too fast, too silent.
But Riya had already moved.
With a scream of air and power, he twisted, launched himself into the sky—and came crashing down with enough force to shatter the tower beneath them.
"Skewered Plasma Blade!"
"Leo... I'm sorry."
"Even now, I couldn't reach the ideal you saw."
"A perfect world… forged from calculation…"
"Shattered by raw, irrational will."
"How pitiful."
The blade struck like a divine bolt.
Julius did not scream.
He simply… stopped.
The floor ruptured.
Everything shook.
And Julius didn't get up.
The floor beneath Riya hissed with steam.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs beneath his feet, and the static of spent energy still hung thick in the air.
His breaths came ragged, chest heaving, sparks fizzling from his fingertips.
The warhammer in his grip—Bridal Chest—glowed dimly, the last of its fury draining away.
Julius Harwey lay motionless.
Smoke curled from the blackened gash that ran through his chest.
His eyes were half-lidded, not in fear or peace—just… still.
He hadn't even screamed.
Even in death, he kept that damn cold expression.
Riya let the weapon fall from his hands.
It clanged once against the floor and then went quiet.
"…Idiot," he muttered, wiping blood from his lip.
"He never stood a chance."
Behind him, Richard staggered forward, his cape torn, Excalibur vanishing in a shimmer of golden light.
"You alright?"
Riya turned to him, grinning despite the scorch marks on his shirt and the limp in his step.
"Yep though I'm Kinda fried inside."
"But yeah, nothing Fran's leftover juice can't patch up."
"I see." Richard said.
"Rin should be here soon," he murmured.
As if summoned by name, a distant clang echoed through the air—metal on metal.
Then again, louder.
A door, a lift, maybe something new breaking through the upper levels.
Riya turned toward the sound—and then he felt it.
Then she appeared.
Rin Tohsaka.
Stepping out from a breach in the wall, her boots crunching against glass, coat fluttering in the dusty wind.
She looked tired—but her eyes were sharp as ever.
A single glance was enough to scan the field, the corpse, the scorched stone.
"You made it," she said simply, stopping beside them.
"You're late," Riya replied, voice light.
But his smile was genuine.
Rin raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry. Had to take the long way."
"That damn machine girl Rani just wouldn't go down.
"You should've seen what we did to this place," Richard added with a dry chuckle.
Cú followed in after her, whistling low as he glanced around the ruined rooftop.
"Looks like we missed the fun."
Rin didn't smile, but her eyes softened as she stepped closer to Riya.
Riya blinked, looking past them.
His smile faltered.
"…Where's Robin?"
There was a pause.
The air felt heavier.
Rin's gaze dropped for a moment.
"He… didn't make it."
"He sacrificed himself," Cú added quietly.
"Made sure Rin got out of there alive."
Riya looked down, jaw tightening.
A sharp breath escaped him, but he said nothing for a long moment.
Finally, he nodded slowly.
"He was a bastard sometimes," he muttered.
"But… he was still a friend."
Then, he looked up, meeting Rin's eyes again.
A weak smile touched his lips.
"But as long as you're still here…" he stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her cheek, "it's okay."
Rin leaned into the touch, closing her eyes just for a moment.
"You okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "…yeah. But I will be okay."
She reached out, brushing a thumb across a cut on his cheek, inspecting it.
"That one's gonna scar."
"Adds character."
"You have enough character."
There was a flicker of silence—soft, charged.
The air between them pulsed not with magic, but memory.
"I kept my promise," Rin whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant hum of the capsule.
Her hand lingered on his cheek, warm and trembling slightly.
"I told you I'd make it back to you."
His gaze met hers, searching—for what, he didn't know.
Maybe for the echo of that promise.
Maybe for the part of himself that had waited for her, even if he hadn't admitted it.
"You did," he said, quieter now.
She leaned in, forehead brushing his.
And then she kissed him—tentative at first, almost testing the waters.
Riya didn't hesitate.
His arms moved around her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.
Lips pressed, lingered, parted—and returned with more force.
The world blurred, the battle and the bloodshed forgotten for a moment suspended between heartbeats.
Rin's fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently.
Riya's hands found the curve of her hips.
The kiss grew slower, hotter.
Their breathing tangled.
A quiet noise escaped her throat—half sigh, half something else.
Her body pressed into his, no longer seeking comfort—seeking contact.
Closeness.
Hunger.
Neither pulled away.
And then—a loud metallic clang echoed through the room.
The capsule hit the top of the tower with a deep, resonant thud, the sound of machinery settling into place.
Both of them froze.
Rin blinked, lips still parted, breath still caught in her throat.
Slowly, they turned toward the source of the noise.
Cú stood by the edge of the platform, arms crossed, his spear slung lazily across his shoulder, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly touched his hairline.
Richard was beside him, his expression unreadable—half knightly dignity, half poorly hidden amusement.
"Oh," Rin breathed, color draining from her face—then rushing back in with a vengeance.
"W-we weren't—! I mean it's not—! Shut up!"
She spun away from Riya so fast her hair slapped him in the face, fists clenched, cheeks burning so brightly they could've powered a B-rank NP.
Cú chuckled. "Well, at least I know why we were waitin' so long."
"Should've brought a camera."
Riya, on the other hand, didn't bother pretending to be embarrassed.
He adjusted his collar, nodded approvingly at Rin's flustered back, and grinned like he'd just pulled the winning hand in a high-stakes poker game.
"She's the cutest when she's like this," he muttered, clearly pleased.
Richard let out a soft sigh, shaking his head with a wry smile.
"You two are impossible."
None of them moved immediately.
Not because of fear—but because of what they were leaving behind.
A battlefield that had once been just another floor of this twisted tower—now a grave for ambition, pride, and desperation.
Finally, Richard stepped forward and placed a hand on the capsule's panel.
It hissed open, revealing its interior—enough for many.
He glanced back. "Ready?"
Rin nodded. "As we'll ever be."
Riya stared at the sky—what little of it he could see through the cracked ceiling.
Somewhere above, Floor Six waited.
Another challenge.
Another trial.
Another layer of this madness Zelretch had thrown him into.
He clenched his fists. "Let's get this over with."
The four stepped inside.
The capsule sealed with a whisper.
And then, slowly, it began to rise.
Upward.
Toward the sixth floor of the Moon Cell.