Chapter 74: No Need for a Post-Game Analysis! (So Says Gilgamesh)
Ever since learning that Gilgamesh had been summoned as Archer, the Police Department had maintained a one-sided, grand objective: to make their side strong enough to defeat Gilgamesh. Because he was the strongest Heroic Spirit.
Humans are, by nature, dreaming creatures. Even if one called them mayflies trying to stop a chariot, nothing can begin without taking action. To do what one knows to be impossible is a trait inherent to primates.
However, that is a separate matter from failing to show off success... If there were even a one-in-ten-thousand chance that Clan Calatin successfully defeated the King of Heroes, every member would celebrate wildly. It would be a feat that many battle-loving Heroic Spirits aspire to but never reach—proof of the sublimation of human possibility.
Could the subjugation of the King of Heroes be dismissed in a single sentence? The Chief felt as if his worldview had been crushed by an unknown chaos.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. It was just a fluke."
"..."
Oh, just a fluke.
In the Chief's life experience, those who say "it was just a fluke" generally cannot be dismissed as having actual simple luck.
'He's playing dumb.'
If there exists a "fluke" capable of neutralizing an entire Treasury and stopping the activation of a nameless sword, then even if it is called luck, it is a component of true strength.
"Is that even possible?" John muttered.
The Chief spoke: "I believe in human possibility."
The red-haired young man showed a look of newfound respect because of the Chief's spirit. In reality, the Chief was merely doing a good job of masking the deep-seated sense of loss within him.
'If you've already killed him, what are we supposed to do?'
Even fighting him again from scratch now seemed utterly meaningless. The great achievement Clan Calatin yearned to accomplish had already been completed by someone else, yet it was merely a small fraction of that person's life.
An objective pursued for so long suddenly seemed petty.
After this thought surfaced, the Chief shook his head—he already knew there was new business to attend to, but he felt a fleeting melancholy for the conclusion of the old business. Gilgamesh was no longer important. This karmic bond was no longer needed.
That being said...
Sandwiched among the Clan Calatin, who had begun whispering incessantly like a massive stone dropped into water, the Chief couldn't help but ask a private question of intense interest:
"May I ask... how did you defeat him?"
This was still necessary to ask. A method to become stronger was something Clan Calatin desperately needed right now.
"It wasn't a fair win; I utilized a special Bounded Field. If you hadn't stopped them just now, Chief, you probably would have seen it."
The young man's gaze left the Chief, glancing sideways at a blank wall as if he could see a certain past not worth reminiscing over.
"...To my knowledge, in the Fourth Holy Grail War, the Bounded Field of the King of Conquerors, Iskandar, was supposedly torn apart by that nameless sword."
"Yes, no Bounded Field can block that sword. So, I had to cut off the part holding the weapon before he could release it."
Cut off "the part holding the weapon" before the move is made?
No, the Chief realized he really didn't understand what Shirou Emiya was talking about. Specifically, he couldn't visualize the scene. Could this stuff actually serve as a strategy guide for toppling the King of Heroes?
The Chief's stomach began to twitch.
"I didn't quite catch that, but... what must one do to be able to cut off the thing you mentioned?" someone from Clan Calatin asked.
"You can only hone your craft until your side as a warrior is stronger than that King of Heroes. On the other hand, you also need to assemble a way to stop his Treasury. But I apologize; my method in that regard is somewhat unique and lacks reference value."
Shirou gave a troubled smile, signaling the Chief with his eyes, pleading with him to stop them from asking and to change the subject.
But the Chief did not oblige him.
The Chief's brow furrowed as he suddenly realized a terrifying fact. In this world, the Fifth Holy Grail War was eight years ago. Everything the still-young Shirou Emiya was describing
happened eight years ago. Now, intervening in this fake Holy Grail War, he was only in his early twenties.
Shirou Emiya's actual age at the time should have been...
Wait, did he take down a King of Heroes when he was seventeen or eighteen, before he was even an adult!?
This is what his childhood looked like? Was he a Great Hero from a myth in his past life who could undergo Spirit Possession?
The Chief's stomach let out a gurgling wail of agony.
Among the Clan Calatin, the oldest, Fang, was thirty, and the youngest was twenty. As for the Chief himself, it was a secret. But no one involved in the war to protect Snowfield was younger than twenty.
The hot potato of "protecting the world" wasn't given to the Chief; it was given to a high school student, and he actually handled it... how ironic.
"Chief, let's change the subject."
"I understand."
The Chief complied. Though his thoughts were in turmoil, he understood one thing.
A supreme Mesopotamian god-king and demigod hacked to death by a male high school student? Quite interesting.
The Chief gave up on thinking.
The Chief's stomach went on a total strike.
.
.
.
Meanwhile
"All in."
The blonde man rested his face on his hand, speaking indifferently. He threw his cards down without a hint of hesitation or doubt. The gambler opposite him had a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, but he could only grit his teeth and place his cards on the table.
The cards were spread by the casino staff, displaying the final results of both sides.
"This gentleman has 22. Bust."
As if struck by a bullet, the scruffy gambler clutched his chest and gasped for air. He had no chips left; he was no different from a stray dog.
However, even this sight did not enter the blonde man's eyes. The blonde man simply ignored him. In a state of violent psychological collapse, the gambler's gaze toward the blonde man even began to carry a few hints of hatred, frightening Tine into quickly casting a Suggestion to drive him away.
"O King, your presence here so early in the morning is truly an honor for this place..."
"Tine." Gilgamesh looked at her sideways, the emotion in his eyes impossible to fathom.
"If you truly feel honored, you should find the hiding places of the bugs and moles as quickly as possible. Even if you gather these beneath-notice mosquitoes, ants, and beasts together, it would surely be nothing more than a matter of exterminating them all in one breath. At least that way, there will be no further annoyances during my leisure."
Whether this was a reproach or an urging, Tine—realizing this was proof of Gilgamesh's willingness to take action—immediately responded in her contradictory role as servant and Master: "This subject understands. I have already sent people to do so."
After perceiving that the King of Heroes was in a relatively good mood, Tine refocused her attention on the card table—in fact, she had been observing for a long time. The King had said, "All treasures in my garden will eventually circulate back to my hands," but after much observation, Tine still didn't understand the method by which this was achieved. The way he won the games was like a one-sided tide of luck, yet there were no traces of the magecraft Tine was familiar with.
As if seeing through Tine's thoughts, Gilgamesh let out a mocking chuckle. Losing interest with casual indifference, the King hooked the corner of his mouth and said:
"No need for a post-game analysis, Tine.
Victory is a matter of course, just as things existing in the garden can inevitably be retrieved. To question this is like asking why the sky is divided into sun and moon. Post-game analysis is a pursuit for the weak; the duty of the strong is not to emulate the weak, but to understand one's own position and simply observe the desperate struggles of the weak!"
Read ahead (60 chapters) by supporting me on buymeacoffee com/varietl or ko-fi edwriting