A/N: You know the worst thing about living near a major bridge in the city? Football season. I did not stay to check, but don't gamble.
Meryfcuckery: He didn't. These Spells were registered long ago, he just rediscovered it after the House fell. That's why I made a big deal out of him trading back the Crest. From Leo's perspective, he did 'invent' these Spells. He'd have to register with the Tower, which is usually the Second Owner's job, but there are other benefits to befriending Rin than just the Tohsaka library.
— — —
It has taken a full year, but Fuyuki finally seems to have finally regained her festive spirit.
There are countless places I could take her, yet none seem to really stand out.
What dining establishments could compare to the luxuries of royalty?
What kind of adventure could replicate the thrill of monster-hunting—something she has taken part in numerous times in her fables?
However, what I can offer her is a… Picture… one that I hope a former ruler will be able to appreciate much more than I could. "You have brought me out in the dead of night to climb a mountain?"
"It's not just any mountain!"
I reply eagerly.
While exploring in the evening, I stumbled upon a hill that piqued my interest.
Further investigation revealed a hillside restaurant located there, a rather secretive establishment that mostly cater to the needs of wealthy.
Fortunately, it's a slow week, thus my reputation allowed me to secure a reservation with ease.
Upon hearing that the 'Hero of Fuyuki' wished to visit their establishment, the owners welcomed us wholeheartedly on the condition that they could hang my portrait on their wall of fame. "We won't be climbing it. Someone will be here to greet us shortly." Informing her, I exit the taxi, adjust my cap that acts to coneal my identity, and stroll to the front of the vehicle.
While Japan has become more accessible, English speakers are still scarce, so Gil and I resort to English to maintain our privacy.
"Here's your payment, and a little extra for your trouble."
It's late at night, I am not in dire straits at the moment and he's a very enthusiastic driver.
Contrary to my expectations, he refuses the money, pushing the money away.
"Please, accept it on my behalf." I urge. "I would feel terrible if you refuse. Think of it as a compliment for a job well-done!"
Shoving the wad in his hands, I manually close his fingers around the cash. "But nightly rides already include additional charges!"
"For the love of—Just take the money!"
I don't remember it ever being this difficult to tip…
People are usually happy to receive.
At this point, it's not just a matter of being nice or polite.
I now have a vested interest in the matter.
In fact, the guy's not leaving until he accepts the money.
"It's for your good service!"
"But I just provided the usual service!" He replies, face pink with frustration.
After a while of back-n'-forth, the reason he refuse can basically be summed up in a few simple words: Against. Company's. Policies. I'm growing real tired of hearing that. "Look, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody's there to hear it, does it even make a sound?"
The correct answer is: Yes. Yes it still does, but whatever works in my favor, I'll use.
"It really isn't easy being a night driver, is it?"
I whisper—my words like the deadly, yet sweet venom of a snake.
"C'mon… Treat yourself to something. Let loose just this once." Flicking the money in his direction, I hold it out invitingly—the forbbiden fruit to his Adam. Eyes darting around like an evildoer about to commit some great sin, the driver reluctantly accepts the cash just as our ride arrives, driving off with a thankful nod. The cab parks next to us, its window rolling down to reveal a man in black suit. "Magnus-san, this is…?"
"My guardian, Gilgamesh." Throwing me this knowing, shit-eating grin, the guard smiles and nods approvingly at me. "Please get on, it is a short drive."
The drive is brief.
Before I know it, we've already passed through the gate. It's one of those fancy pairs with a guard to operate the electric gates and a built-in radio to boot.
Entering, we leave the parking lot and follow an attendant who's already waiting for us.
Our short walk ends at a grand mansion, with a steady stream of guests coming and going.
What's more eye-catching is how they're dressed—normal. I'm not talking about the inconspicuous 'fancy normal' with branded clothes, but genuine humble attire. I even spot some guys in old, faded blazers. Curious, I take a closer look with [Structural Grasp] and discover the blazer's around 20 years old with several patches.
Strange, because unless I'm hallucinating, the bracelet the man has on would cost a small fortune for the raw materials alone—12 bands, in fact, which is a lot of money for 1995. "Are the people here…?"
"Millionaires, all of them. They just prefer to keep a low profile," The attendant says, before turning to us. "Indoor or outdoor?"
"What's the difference?" I ask, discreetly glancing at the Queen of Heroes, who looks utterly bored out of her mind. "Indoor is more… discreet. There are even private rooms if any of you feel like resting after a meal." The woman replies.
Somehow, I get the feeling she's not talking about eating.
'Wait a minute… Is this like a love hotel or something?'
It doesn't look that way, though. Hell, it looks like a castle straight out of a Disney movie, with the white paint and blue tiles, and the cast-iron furniture set in an orderly manner.
Gil, having connected the dots, snorts out loud.
"Most of our clients visit with their 'business associates' to broker more favorable deals, though we do occasionally get the rare couples out for a romantic experience."
I can't help but detect the mocking tone in her voice, as if disgusted by the very idea. "The majority prefer a more private setting, but there are plenty who are more adventurous with their needs…"
"Which is where the outdoor option comes in, I take it?" My eyelids twitch.
No wonder they want my picture, these motherfuckers are trying to 'Diddler' me!
"Is there food, at least?"
"Of course," The attendant replies, smiling. "We're still a restaurant, after all."
More like a sex-cult resort, but okay… Whatever she says. "I have just the place for you two—the 'exploring introvert' treatment," She suggests, giggling as she skips towards the back of the mansion.
From this vantage point, we can see all of Fuyuki. It's a breathtaking sight…
While I do enjoy the atmosphere of a bustling café or a club where the music threatens to burst eardrums, this suits me much better—the breeze on my skin, the fresh air, the stunning scenery one can simply die for.
"Honestly, I don't have much of value."
Mainly because gold, jewelry and money are as valuable as a carriage of shit to her.
"I can't repay you the favor yet."
Not as inconsequential as I am.
"I can only give you this—this here is the sum of Humanity's accumulations."
Gilgamesh is correct.
We've grown weak and feeble as individuals, but as a species, we've reached an unprecedented height.
"Give us time, and we'll inherit the stars."
Next to me, the Golden Queen's gaze sweeps the landscape—her crimson eyes absorbing the sight of artificial lights, her ears drinking in the sighs of isolation and the cheers of joy… I turn to her, my eyes alight with happiness. "Do you not see it?"
"I see a jungle of man-made structures…"
"Look closer." I prompt.
To her credit, the attendant is aware enough not to disturb us.
The kind of establishment it is asides, that's a plus to customer service…
I'm still calling the cop, though.
"Ah…"
Gil gasps, having realized the prosperity all around us. Life has gotten better, not worse, and as a ruler, how can she not be happy to see her 'subjects' thrive? A tyrant she might've been, but a well-intentioned one regardless. "Advocating for Mankind… Trying to endear me to the modern era, are you?"
"Is it working?"
Chuckling, she tousles my hair as we follow the attendant to a minimalist box made out of glass and wood.
Not just any glass, but the kind which turns frosted at a flip of a switch.
Introducing us to our seats inside the box, the attendant retrieves the menu she's got tucked inside her skirt.
"Your orders?"
"Everything on the menu…"
[Hyper Metabolism] will end in approximately 12 minutes, I have a feeling I'm gonna need the extra calories.
"Are you sure you will be able to finish the whole thing?"
Casting her a sidelong glance, I smirk. "Got a rule against it or something?"
"Wasting food violates our policies. We may be monsters, but we're not that kind of monster, sir."
The attendant replies with a beaming smile.
"Fair enough… Give me half from every category."
Gil winks at her. "Fetch us the food, handmaiden. He can finish it."
"Alright," She shrugs. "But if there's more than a pound of leftovers, you'll have to pay a fine or risk getting banned from our establishment."
With a smile, I reply, "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Alrighty then!"
She scribbles something on the tiny notebook she carries. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Just," I pause, waving her over, "One question…"
Prompted, she kneels, ear to my mouth.
"You don't seem fazed by my age…"
The attendant's smile turns sharp, shark-like even. "What and who our clients are 'doing' is none of our business."
"Is it a common occurrence?"
"Some madams from influential families often send their sons here—build up their tolerance to beauty early on."
She admits, pursing her lips. "You're not the first, and certainly won't be the last."
"I see…" I drawl. "Are you also?"
Her eyes arch upwards. "Everyone here is, even some of the clients. I'm quite expensive to please though. Will that be a problem?"
Saying 'yes' could trigger a bloodbath…
Oh well, it's a nice place, and I do need more space.
The Church's getting quite crammed of late.
I should have the funds to purchase it from the government when it's auctioned off. "No… One more thing?"
"Yes, sir?"
"May we have a word with the owner?"
Fingers tapping against the table, I sport a radiant, unsuspecting grin.
"The owner is currently unavailable, but I assure you I'll be more than capable of addressing any and all concerns you may have."
Good enough for me. "[What's your role within the establishment?]"
Imbuing my voice and sight with a subtle magical energy, I activate [Hypnotization].
I may not be an expert, but implanting suggestions in the mind of a Non-Mage should be a breeze, unless their brain's damaged.
"I… I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."
She mumbles, her tongue darting out to moisten her parched lips as her brain struggles to resist my influence.
"[The customer is always right, remember? What is your position?!]" I press on, carefully checking her features while eyes slowly glaze over. "I- I'm one of the three managers of the Castle."
They even have a nickname for the place, how charming.
"[Alright, manager-san, if I may call you that? Yeah, I think that's what I'll call you from now on. So, here's what you're going to do—you're going to resume your work, get us our dinner, and tonight, when you're alone, you're going to develop a conscience.]"
Drooling slightly, she tilts her head in confusion. "I- I am?"
"[Yes.]"
I gently pat her shoulders, hoping to make her feel more at ease and thus more susceptible. "[Yes, you are. You're going to reflect on all the horrible things happening behind these walls, and then you're going to collect evidence and, with your newfound conscience, report this to the police or send the evidence to every news station in the country… Understand?]"
"B- But I'm getting paid loads—"
Oh, she's getting paid 'loads' alright.
"[It is irrelevant.]" I interrupt the manager, whispering in her ear. "[No amount of money will make the guilt go away… But the truth? It'll set you free.]"
Not exactly free, considering the high likelihood she'll end up in prison. "[Also, don't forget to use a highlighter in your written confession.]"
Getting the evidence to convict someone is no easy feat…
Oswald complains about this every chance he gets. 'Sorry, lil' homies. Meme asides, this is illegal.'
"[I'll snap my fingers now—you'll push this conversation to the recesses of your mind, but the guilt will gnaw at you, relentlessly until you have done what you need. Make sure to erase any trace I was ever here while you're at it.]"
Once I see the understanding in her eyes, I snap my fingers, watching the dazed attendant stumble away to fetch our order.
"What was that all about?"
The Queen inquires, her chin cradled on the back of her hands.
"Give me a moment." I pull out my phone and dial my financial advisor.
"—Magnus-san! I've been waiting on your call."
My advisor is a slick, silver-tongued, balding fellow who looks like the Japanese version of Saul Goodman. He's got a hand in some shady businesses, which was exactly why I hired him.
I need someone who can legitimize my ill-gains, he knows how to and doesn't ask a lot of questions.
It's a match made in Hell. "How much damage will it make to my wallet if I want to purchase, say… 100 square kilometers of land?"
"—Depends on the location, but you're looking at about a third of your total assets at least. Not the smartest move, trust me."
My heart bleeds at the price.
"What if the land's tied to heinous crimes?"
"—Depends on the nature of the crimes…"
"There are prostitution and children involved." I specify.
"—That simplifies my job. Which plot are we talking about?"
I lean back with a grin. "The one East of Fuyuki. Keep an eye on the news and let me know when the government puts it up for auction."
"—You talking about Castle? Heard rumors before. Nasty place. We can even spin it as a private conservation park, the money we use to grease the wheels will be worth it in tax breaks. But are you sure? The people behind this could be very powerful…"
"I'm sure." Even if the boss behind Castle gets away—and they will, of that I have no doubt—and decides to get involved, they'll go after the whistleblower first. What the Hell has it got to do with the 'Hero of Fuyuki'?
"—If they come at you, pretend we've…"
"Never met, I know. You don't have to remind me."
I blow off his concern with a roll of my eyes.
It's not that I don't understand where he's coming from, but worse comes to worst, I can just hypnotize them all. Problem solved! "—Is there anything else?"
"Nope. Let's cut it short here. I'll contact you and iron out the details later."
Pocketing my phone, I turn to the Queen who looks at me with an amused expression. "How devious… I'm starting to think you are more of a villain than a hero."
"Don't hate the player, hate the game."
I reason, grabbing a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
What?
It's fucking expensive to enter this place, alright!
Is it a sin to want to get my money's worth?
"I—"
The words catch in my parched throat as I double over, feeling my muscles twist and knot beneath my skin, like a swarm of restless parasites writhing just beneath the surface. Groaning, I grip the edge of the table, fighting to control my ragged breathing as my skin flushes an angry crimson once more.
"Is it kicking in already?"
In her seat, the Golden Queen stands to help me up.
I let out a guttural growl as my complexion turns a deathly pale; my flesh losing its supple elasticity; my hair greying in an instant.
Decades have been compressed into a single heartbeat, and I don't like it.
Although [Hyper Metabolism] does bring pangs of hunger initially, this is beyond anything I could have imagined.
I can practically feel my muscles melting away, my skin clinging tightly to the bare bones beneath.
In fact, I'm fairly certain I've achieved that legendary 3% body fat that so many gym-rats desperately chase…
Only problem's the muscles have gone away too.
Each inhalation burns like I'm inhaling glass shards, a strangely familiar yet unwelcome sensation for a former smoker.
My legs tremble, threatening to give out at any moment, while I struggle to remain upright. "The food isn't here yet… Here." Putting the bottle to my lips, she grins. "Buckle up, Boy-King. You're gonna become a real man."
The liquid tastes utterly repugnant, assaulting my senses with a noxious, rancid aftertaste.
It was the same with cigarettes, not that that had ever deterred me before.
Gripping the bottle with trembling hands, I let out a grunt as my lack of control causes the glass to shatter, spraying droplets that fall like scalding rain onto my parched, ashen lips.
The meager moisture offers only the most fleeting respite, for it feels as though no amount of sustenance could ever quell this all-consuming, primal hunger.
"Messy drinker you are."
The woman's voice cuts through the haze, and I cannot help but swallow my saliva hungrily, though not out of any carnal desire. Oh, how I wish that were the case.
Staring down at my own wasted, skeletal arm, I sink my teeth into the wrist, yet even my nerves have atrophied to the point that I can no longer feel the pain. This is not just 'unable to put food on the table' hunger, but a medieval-scale famine, gnawing at my very core.
*DING!
If our order does not arrive soon, I fear I may descend into a feral state. "Gi-e m- a sec-nd. I 'ave m-e in m—"
The blonde mumbles something incoherent, or perhaps it is I who has lost the capacity to comprehend…
'It does cost a great deal of energy to support the brain…' I recall in a desperate, yet arguably effective attempt to quell the raving appetite within.
More alcohol is forced down my throat, the calories breaking down the instant they hit the acidic, roiling pit of my stomach. But the meager sustenance offers little in the way of comfort or relief.
There may be calories in alcohol, but it's nowhere near enough to make a meaningful difference, and the fact that it all gets broken down so swiftly means I just end up absorbing a dangerously large amount of the alcoholic content.
The world careens and spins around me, up becoming left and down morphing into right. This is why I avoid drinking—I simply cannot stomach it.
Some have told me it takes the edge off, but not me.
Alcohol has only ever sharpened mine.
Unable to hold it in anymore, my teeth dig into her arm.
Thankfully I stop myself in time, barely breaking the skin as a metallic tang floods my mouth.
Briefly, I wonder if this is how all Apostles feel when they're caught in one of their Mana-craving tantrums. "Is this truly the extent of your will? Can you not even wait a few meager minutes? Are you unable to control yourself?"
Gilgamesh hisses angrily, her words dripping with disappointment, which instantly snaps me out of my ravenous daze. '[Charisma]?'
*DING!
No wonder no Master has ever come out the War unchanged.
Servants are veritable bundles of charismatic calamity packed into human form, even those lacking the Skill.
Yet before me sits someone whose [Charisma] is so potent it may as well be both a curse and a blessing—much like Diarmuid's [Love Spot], only far more… Commanding.
Licking the last of the spots on my lips, I call upon the [ToI].
Luckily, the detachment of the Soul from the Vessel allows me that much-needed clarity.
'Fuck…' Even at my hungriest, I have never lost control like that.
Though I suppose I have a new top record for hunger now. 'Are those—'
Staring at the two blinking Branches—one red; one golden—I muse. 'New Branches?'
While my [Temperence] is in the red; [Gluttony] shines a brilliant golden.
There's a sphere of light floating between them as well.
As a matter of course, I open the sphere first, 'Sale Refund?' The moment I think it, the orb shatters into motes which float back into my AP again, bringing it from 20 to 49.16.
> Sorry homie, I forgot! Teehee :P
'This bastard really gave me his unfinished project…'
Thankfully the Opening Perks do not seem to cause the [Heat Meter] to rise besides the Turtorial.
Swerving towards [Gluttony], I check on the Branch.
The first Perk in [Gluttony] is [All-Eater], though it seems to be a single Branch, like [Void] and [Mechanics].
> Inorganic objects? No problem! Rocks? Those are snacks to you! After all, isn't all everything just clumps of stardust?
> Effects:
>> You can now derive sustenance from everything. As long as you still live, even poisons and rocks can be digested after a certain amount of time.
>> Afflicted with permanent Debuff: [Bottomless Hunger].
I purchase it without any hesitation.
Why wouldn't I? It's free stuff.
The second Perk though, makes me salivate.
It's one of the few combative, semi-passive Perks I've come across—[They Know Not Hunger…]
> Effects:
>> Your enemy in battle will suffer from your worst hunger experience, with 30% of the symptoms you endured. The Curse can stack up to 3 times, and can only be dispelled when out of combat for 3 days, or removed by an entity much more powerful than you.
'12 AP?' That's chump change compared to the Perk.
It's a pittance, really, in exchange for such a windfall.
A crimson hue settles around me, but I can't be bothered to care, too intoxicated by the high coursing through my veins to notice anything else.
The unexpected gains aside, that refund feels incredible—almost euphoric, really.
The best way to describe it is stumbling upon a forgotten stash of your own cash in the back pocket. Sure, you know it's rightfully yours, but the delight of the discovery is no less joyful. Sparing my AP stash a casual glance, I smile. With this, my spearsmanship should be even more dangerous to my enemy.
Casting aside all considerations of [Gluttony] and [Temperance], my focus narrows solely onto [Spear]. Do I invest in an Upgrade, or do I instead purchase [Flurry Jab]?
>> There's a 25% chances your next jab will strike twice in a spread pattern. The 5th strike is guaranteed, then the Perk resets.
The answer is obvious.
My Build is positively dripping with on-hit synergies at the moment. The more strikes I can put out,
The more blows I can land, the swifter I can trigger [Tyche's Favor] and batter my enemies into submission. Hell, with any luck, they'll tear each other apart before they even lay a finger on me.
Most won't be able to sympathize, but for us seasoned Rebel Inc. Players, is there anything more agonizing than having a surplus of AP, yet be utterly powerless to acquire new Perks due to Inflation and Corruption?
Steeling myself for what is to come, I step out from the [ToI], once more assaulted by the ravaging pangs of hunger. Yet, the serenity Gilgamesh has instilled within me persists, as if my capacity to endure extreme deprivation has grown as a result.
"There's something different about you," The Golden Queen murmurs, her hand caressing your jaw with intrigue.
"I simply grew acclimated to—"
"No, not that."
The Queen grins widely, almost cat-like, as she slides across the table until she's nearly lying on it to get a better look.
"Something fundamental. Not changed, per se…" She pauses, tilting her head thoughtfully. "But added to, somehow."
For the briefest of instants, I glimpse it within her—that yearning to lay me bare, to dissect and scrutinize my very being.
While such an impulse is hardly unfamiliar to me—having seen it thrice now on the face of my 'missions', there's this unsettling quality to the manifestation of such a desire upon her face in particular.
It's the uncanny valley, I believe.
"You smell of expensive champagnes and roses… It's a nice scent."
I must be tipsy.
"Only nice?"
Why're there 2 Gils?
"That's the best you're gonna get out of me."
Who am I?
"Oh, I bet I can get a lot more out of you,"
She lets out a confident purr, her lips curling into a roguish smirk as the sound of approaching footsteps—dozens strong—reaches our secluded box. "Hmm, it seems our meal has arrived."
With a flourish, she drapes her coat over my head, her voice lowering to a smoky, raspy murmur.
"Best keep this on, Little Lion. Wouldn't want them seeing you in such a... State, now would we?" She's quite considerate—a far cry from my initial impressions.
"You gotta decide on one nickname, Gil."
Pouring herself a glass, she laughs. "Why can't it be both?"
"It's an unspoken rule, or it gets confusing."
"I make rules." So declares the Queen of Heroes.
"Guess I really hit the jackpot meeting you."
I blurt out, blinking rapidly to clear the hazy sheen from my eyes.
"Ah, fuck. Yup, I'm definitely plastered right now."
"It's alright. Consider this your initiation to manhood."
Hacking out the vile aftertaste, I run my tongue along my lips as the waitresses' deft hands sway and twirl before me, rhythmically placing dish after dish down. After a time, their limbs begin to blur together with the dish, bringing about thoughts that make my stomach churn in disgust.
Snapping myself out of that sickly reverie, I feel Gil's hand gently land atop mine, her touch a welcome distraction which I gratefully accept.
'I may have to reevaluate…'