There's really no point describing what happened next. If Rider's earlier milk-feeding was considered face-punching, then what he did now was stepping on their faces with spiked boots.
Rider and his bros charged straight in.
The Assassins GG'd.
Victory belonged to Rider.
But strangely, the person most interested in the battle wasn't mesmerized by Iskandar's epic Noble Phantasm. Dracula had lived for countless years, seen battlefields drenched in blood and glory. He'd fought against armies many times more terrifying than this one.
(Though admittedly… he was usually on the receiving end.)
What truly caught Dracula's attention was the Master who had, until recently, seemed like the most cowardly of the bunch—Waver Velvet, if he remembered correctly.
When everyone's eyes were drawn to the grandeur of Rider's summoned army, only Waver was intently focused on Gilgamesh.
Though observing the enemy is a tactician's job, Dracula could tell Zhuge Liang hadn't taken control. This was Waver himself, instinctively taking on the role of strategist—analyzing Gilgamesh's expressions and reactions to Rider's trump card.
After Rider sent the Assassins back to the Throne of Heroes, the banquet came to an awkward end. Gilgamesh's wine had mysteriously disappeared—courtesy of Nero, who had sneakily shared it around while no one was watching.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu were the first to leave. Dracula's group departed next through a spatial gate. Finally, Rider and Waver rode off on their thunder-chariot, bulls drawing their way through the night sky above Fuyuki.
For a long while, neither spoke.
But as they left the Einzbern estate behind, Iskandar finally broke the silence.
"So, tell me—what's the verdict, strategist?"
Waver's eyes turned sharp again—it was no longer him, but Zhuge Liang, who had somehow already donned his signature black-rimmed glasses. Adjusting them with his middle finger, he replied:
"There's one bad news. And… two good ones. Which would you like first?"
"Ha! A king must never hesitate!" Rider laughed boisterously. "Give me the bad one!"
"Very well. The bad news is—your greatest enemy, Gilgamesh, holds a trump card that directly counters your own."
Kongming said calmly, "When you activated your trump card—Ionioi Hetairoi—I had Waver observe her reaction carefully. She looked… pleased. Even impressed. But still calm. Still confident. It was the look of someone with a plan."
"There are two explanations for that. One: her Noble Phantasm is a higher rank than yours. But yours is already EX-rank, the highest possible for an anti-army weapon. So that leaves only one possibility…"
"…She also holds an EX-rank Noble Phantasm," Rider said, his expression growing grave. "One that specifically counters my Army of the King, am I right?"
"Yes." Kongming nodded.
"And the good news?" Iskandar asked eagerly.
"The first piece of good news is… we have a very capable Master." Kongming pushed up his glasses with a smile. "You might not believe this, but when you unleashed your Ionioi Hetairoi, the very first person to instinctively observe Gilgamesh's reaction wasn't me—it was our Master. I never warned him in advance, yet he reacted on pure instinct…"
"Hahahaha! I knew I wasn't wrong about that lad!" The King of Conquerors let out a hearty laugh. "He'll make a fine retainer. And the second?"
"The second piece of good news," Zhuge Liang continued, "is that my earlier plan actually worked. You remember I proposed using a rule-breaking method to summon a Servant in advance and push out the others? Well, we hit the jackpot. The one we summoned isn't an Assassin-class like the Hassans, but rather someone whose abilities specifically counter the oldest of kings."
Zhuge Liang smiled confidently and turned toward a figure. "Isn't that right, Mr. Connor?"
At his words, a man clad in a white hooded outfit—nothing like the attire of an assassin—materialized out of spirit form. He was standing perfectly still atop the fast-moving divine chariot, balanced casually on the back of the driver's seat without wobbling in the slightest.
---
Meanwhile, the portal opened once more. Dracula, along with Jeanne, Nero, and Mordred, stepped into the grand hall of Castlevania.
As always, the first to greet Dracula was Miss Kagarino Kirie. But just as she smiled and stepped forward—
"Dracula!" A whirlwind of silver hair zipped down the stairs.
Nyarlothotep dashed forward like a gust of wind, grabbed Dracula by the collar, and yelled, "I trusted you! And you betrayed me!"
Just behind her, Kuko tried to cling to her leg, only to be kicked away by an annoyed Nyarlothotep.
"Before you start blaming me," Dracula said, calmly prying her fingers off his shirt, "maybe consider what you did? Like telling Mordred a whole bunch of nonsense… and leaving that old crest of yours behind."
"Cough, cough…" Nyarlathotep let go and immediately switched tones, brushing down Dracula's clothes and putting on a syrupy voice that made his skin crawl. "Oh my~ Don't be mad~ I was just teasing you a little… Welcome home, my lord~"
"Cut the crap!" Dracula shoved her aside. "Next time I catch you pulling this kind of stunt again, I'll tie you up and toss you into Kuko's bed!"
"Yes please! Slurp!" came the eager, saliva-dripping response of a certain red twin-tailed girl.
Nyarlthotep shivered violently and immediately backed down.
Kirie finally approached and greeted them warmly. "Dracula, Nero, Jeanne, Mordred—welcome home."
"Yeah, we're back, Kirie." Dracula nodded, then turned to the girls behind him. "Alright, you've all had a long day. Get some rest tonight… Mordred, come with me for a bit. I need to talk to you."
Dracula led Mordred upstairs to her room. He opened the door and stepped inside, with the sulking knight following silently behind.
He patted her on the head and spoke like coaxing a child. "You've had it rough today, haven't you? Get a good night's sleep. When you wake up, you'll forget all the bad stuff."
"…Dracula," Mordred finally broke the silence, "Why won't my father acknowledge me? Am I really that worthless… just like he said?"
"That's nonsense. You're a good kid," Dracula said firmly. "If your father won't see that, it's her lack of vision. She's got her own struggles, sure, but she's been going about things the wrong way."
"But you scolded her so harshly…"
"I was standing up for you," Dracula said as he ruffled her hair. "Forget about her. You've got a new family now—us. If you ever want a father, Nero's always an option… and if it comes to that, I wouldn't mind either."
"Eh? You'd really be my father?" Mordred looked up at him with sparkling, innocent eyes—an expression so pure that Dracula couldn't find it in himself to refuse.
"…Yeah."
"Yay!" Mordred lit up with joy. Then she paused. "But… do I have to call you 'Father Dearest' from now on?"
"Call me whatever you want. Just get some rest for now. I'll take you out for a fun day tomorrow." He gently closed the door behind her.
Bam!
Dracula teleported straight to his own room and immediately summoned the one companion he hadn't spoken to in a while.
[System, hey System—you there?]
[Yes, Host? What do you need?]
[You got any books on parenting? Asking for… very urgent reasons.]
[...]
A moment of silence.
[…You went and adopted another kid, didn't you?]