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Reborn in Type-Moon: Starting by Adopting Sakura - Chapter 43
🕑 Added 2025-08-10 03:25:44 +0000 UTCSerenity stood motionless at the center of the circle, as still as a weathered monument left forgotten in some desert wasteland.
Dead again.
She'd poisoned another one—before she'd even learned his name properly.
Her nails, her muscles, every fluid in her body. The woman who bore the title of Hassan was a walking contradiction—a girl in appearance, but poison in every molecule of her being.
She was like those "Poison Maidens" from ancient Indian legends, except the myths had gotten it backwards. She wasn't a weapon crafted by others—she was an assassin who had become the weapon itself. Her scent carried death like expensive perfume. Her breath was toxic. Her delicate-looking skin would kill with the lightest contact. Her flesh was a trap disguised as beauty.
And her saliva, her tears—those were the most lethal of all. No amount of magical protection could save a person from direct contact. Even other Heroic Spirits would succumb after two kisses from her lips.
She was, quite literally, death wearing the face of a young woman.
"......"
Serenity looked down at what had been her Master just moments before. Now he was nothing more than an empty shell, another casualty of her cursed existence. She exhaled slowly—a sound heavy with exhaustion and old, familiar grief.
She mourned his death. She mourned her own poisonous nature. Most of all, she mourned the dream that would always remain just out of reach.
Kneeling beside Ryunosuke's still form, she spoke in a whisper so quiet it barely disturbed the air: "...It wasn't you."
But reality had its own cruel logic. A Servant's existence depended entirely on magical energy supplied by their Master. Without that connection, without that anchor to the living world, they would simply fade away like morning mist.
The yellowed moon slipped behind a bank of clouds, casting the city in deeper shadow. From her position in the grimy apartment, the tall buildings of Fuyuki looked like tombstones rising from dark earth.
Serenity left the cramped space and began walking through the city's empty streets, wandering without direction or purpose. She was simply waiting now—waiting for the inevitable end.
What was the point of any of this?
She'd killed again. She'd done exactly what she always did, despite telling herself that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.
How pathetically naive. She killed everyone who came close to her—it was as natural as breathing, and just as inescapable.
Her only wish as a creature made entirely of poison was absurdly simple: to meet someone who could touch her, smile at her, and survive the encounter.
Had she been too eager? Too hopeful?
No one could touch her and live. She'd proven that over and over again, even with magical creatures who should have been more resilient. Her poison was stronger now than it had ever been during her mortal life. It was her Noble Phantasm—her very existence elevated and refined as a Heroic Spirit into something even more lethal.
So her wish was impossible by design.
She'd killed her Master. She couldn't claim the Grail now even if she wanted to.
All that remained was to walk these empty streets until her spiritual form finally dissolved into nothing.
This version of Hassan would become nothing more than dispersing mist, carrying only futile regrets back to the Throne of Heroes.
Without the skill Independent Action, once a Master died and stopped providing magical energy, a Servant simply couldn't maintain their physical form in the world. The spiritual foundation would collapse, and they would vanish like smoke on the wind.
But she didn't want to die.
She didn't want to disappear into nothing.
Her wish still hadn't been fulfilled. Even if it was naive, even if it was nothing more than a tiny, secret hope buried deep in her poisoned heart—she wanted to keep trying.
But her form was already losing substance. Her fingers looked less solid when she held them up to the streetlight, and each breath felt like it took more effort than the last. She drifted through Fuyuki's empty streets, her footsteps growing softer and softer against the asphalt until they barely made any sound at all.
Time was running out.
...
"There's a Servant nearby." Artoria said from the back seat, her emerald eyes scanning the darkness beyond the car windows.
When two Servants came within a certain range of each other, they could sense that otherworldly presence—something that resonated in the spiritual foundation they shared. But the detection was limited. They couldn't determine class, identity, or intentions. Just that another piece on the board was close.
Yuu brought the car to a complete stop, his expression becoming serious. "Already? We haven't even reached the city proper yet. Can you tell what class they are?"
"No."
"What should we do, Yuu?" Irisviel’s voice carried a note of anxiety. They’d barely entered Fuyuki’s outer limits, and already the war was making itself known. She glanced between the two of them, her hands unconsciously gripping his sleeve tighter.
To reach Ryuudou Temple, they had two options: drive through the city center where they'd be exposed, or abandon the car and hike across the mountain trails on foot.
"You two get out here," Yuu said, pulling the car over to the roadside. "I'll go check this out."
"Absolutely not!" Irisviel's voice shot up an octave. "That's way too dangerous. A magus going up against a Servant alone? You might as well paint a target on your back."
He shook his head, already reaching for the door handle. "Think about it logically, Iri. If I stay with you, I'm just dead weight that'll slow Artoria down. Most Masters won't bother attacking civilians unless they're completely crazy."
"He's right," Artoria said from the back seat. "If we move as a group, Yuu's identity as a Master becomes obvious to anyone watching. Better to split up." Without waiting for further debate, she opened her door and stepped out, then walked around to open Irisviel's side.
Irisviel turned to look at him, her expression caught between worry and frustration. "I still don't like this."
"I know you don't," he said, his voice gentler now. "But this is the smart play. I'll scout ahead and stay in contact. You two can follow from above and keep an eye on things."
"Understood." Artoria didn't waste time on further discussion. Before Irisviel could voice another objection, the knight had scooped her up in a princess carry and launched herself onto the nearest rooftop. The force of her leap left spider-web cracks in the asphalt where she'd been standing.
Alone in the car, Yuu took a moment to prepare. He touched the small charm hanging from his neck, then pulled out a cloth doll that looked remarkably like him and placed it carefully on the small altar he had set up on the dashboard. Finally, he slipped into his Mystic Code.
Night Veil settled around his shoulders like liquid shadow—a long black coat woven through with defensive enchantments that had taken months to properly calibrate. The protection it offered was no joke, it actually surpassed the standard battle gear that most Clock Tower graduates relied on. If Touko had been wearing something like this during her battle with Aoko, that whole mess might have ended very differently.
Yuu restarted the engine and pulled back onto the road, following the general direction where Artoria had sensed the other Servant. Somewhere above him, he knew Artoria was bounding across rooftops with Irisviel, keeping pace while staying out of sight.
Time to see what they were dealing with.
