Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 100

Chapter 100: The Demon of Purgatory

“Because this is a truth that needs no explanation; it is the absolute law of survival.” The towering warrior scowled, his booming voice dripping with an unnatural, obsessive certainty. “You intend to steal my woman, right? I understand. Ah, yes, I understand perfectly. To actually think you could take her from my hands…”

He abruptly hoisted his massive, drill-like blade. The metal hummed, vibrating the stagnant air before letting out a deafening roar that threatened to rupture their eardrums. “Steal her! Taking my woman is an unforgivable sin!”

“If my blade exists between heaven and earth, my power shall churn the skies! Behold—Caladbolg!”

“He’s corrupted—” Fujimaru Ritsuka blurted out. He stared at the aggressive, maddened state of Fergus, his instincts screaming that the heroic spirit standing before them was fundamentally broken.

Avenger finally spoke. His words drifted through the heavy air with a slow, deliberate cadence, carrying a dark hint of amusement. “Oh, I see. It appears you are unfamiliar with the Vision of Tundale.”

He cast a meaningful, sidelong glance at Ritsuka, a sharp smile curving his lips. “What exactly do you think that is? That beast before you is not Fergus mac Róich, the proud warrior of Ulster.”

The mocking curve of his lips vanished, leaving a razor-sharp glare. He delivered the truth with methodical precision. “That is a nightmare witnessed by Tundale, a knight from the Middle Ages who once plummeted into the depths of another world and learned the true meaning of fear.”

Avenger closed his eyes. The temperature in the room seemed to drop alongside his freezing tone. “The Fourth Trial Ground of Purgatory, forged under the absolute authority of the Lord. The jailer who props open the maw of a giant beast like a burning hill…”

His golden eyes snapped open, a violent scarlet light flashing within the irises. His voice echoed with the crushing majesty of a final judgment. “In other words, the Demon of Purgatory!”

By the riverbank in the world of the Fifth Holy Grail War, Cu Chulainn listened to the broadcast. He let out a long, exaggerated breath, his tense shoulders dropping. “Phew. I knew it. Even if the old man loves women a bit too much, there is no way in hell he would turn into a monster like that.”

Within the light screen’s broadcast, the words ‘Purgatory’and’Demon’ struck Mercedes like a physical blow. Her frail body trembled violently. Confusion and raw terror swam in her eyes, yet beneath the panic, fragmented memories clawed at the edges of her mind.

“The legend of Purgatory passed down from medieval Europe,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper against the roaring of the corrupted warrior. “The eternal suffering of the soul… Why do I know this… Alas…”

“It is said that in the past, the Lord would capture those brave warriors who devoutly worshipped heathen gods…”

Avenger observed her crumbling state, a cold, cynical smirk curling his lips. “If this place is where it was once proven that the Lord saves no one!” He spread his arms wide, his theatrical voice echoing through the empty, oppressive chamber of judgment with a tragic, overwhelming power. “Then those who were not saved naturally gather here!”

The man crowned with the name Fergus had now completely surrendered to his madness. Bloodshot eyes bulged from his skull as he unleashed a beastly, guttural roar at Ritsuka and Avenger. “Hand over that woman!”

“Eek…!” Mercedes curled her knees to her chest, overwhelmed by the suffocating, horrifying aura radiating from the giant. She buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears any longer.

Avenger turned his head slightly toward Ritsuka. A dangerous mix of provocation and eager expectation danced in his golden eyes. “Come now, Master. How will you handle this? Will you simply hand over this strange woman to that heroic figure to save your own skin?”

His theatrics faded, replaced by a crushing, heavy seriousness. “Or will you draw your blade and fight for a woman who does not even know her own name?”

Ritsuka drew a deep, steadying breath. He glanced back at the weeping, terrified Mercedes, and the hesitation in his chest vanished. His jaw locked, his eyes hardening with absolute resolve. He looked up, his voice ringing out clear and deep over the monster’s roars.

“Avenger! Lend me your strength!”

A fanatical, blinding light ignited in Avenger’s eyes. He threw his head back and laughed maniacally toward the cavernous ceiling, his voice vibrating with an intoxicating, bloodthirsty fighting spirit. “Excellent! Let us see if the fangs of the Vengeful Tiger can tear through the flesh of Purgatory’s Beast Demon!”

But before the clash could begin, the world shattered into pitch black.

The roaring faded. The oppressive heat vanished.

“—Senpai? Senpai?”

Ritsuka laboriously forced his heavy eyelids open. The sterile, familiar ceiling of Chaldea’s personal quarters slowly came into focus—his own quiet corner of the world where he could, on rare occasions, set down the crushing weight of humanity’s survival.

Mash’s face hovered mere inches from his own. Strands of her cherry-colored hair slipped over her shoulder, brushing softly against his cheek. Her voice trembled with undisguised, frantic concern. “Are you feeling unwell somewhere? Your breathing has been erratic for a while now, and your complexion is terribly pale.”

She bit her lip, leaning in just a fraction closer, her tone growing more urgent. “Are you aware of what just happened? Do you remember what you were muttering in your sleep?”

Ritsuka swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He forced out a few hoarse words, his voice thick with the lethargy of waking, yet his mind was crystal clear. “About… Château d’If.”

Mash’s tense shoulders instantly slumped. A heavy sigh of relief escaped her lips, and a gentle, reassuring smile broke through her panic, though the lingering worry in her lilac eyes refused to fade completely. “Thank goodness. Your consciousness is still clear…”

The relief lasted only a few fleeting seconds. Her soft smile vanished, replaced by a tight, serious frown. “I will go call the doctor right away. Even though yesterday’s simple checkup showed no anomalies, I think a thorough physical examination is absolutely necessary. It must be the accumulated burden from the repeated Rayshifts. Senpai, you are always like this, quietly shouldering all the pressure by yourself.”

At that moment, the Chaldea version of Fergus appeared on the broadcast, and the light screen promptly scrolled a detailed introduction of the legendary warrior.

Fergus mac Róich, a legendary warrior of the Celtic Ulster Cycle. A premier member of the Knights of the Red Branch, wielding a peerless Demonic Sword. He is widely celebrated across history as the trusted friend and develop father of the Child of Light, Cu Chulainn. An extraordinarily energetic glutton, his personality is bold, open, and entirely unrestrained. Knowing neither jealousy nor fear, the name of Fergus, the upright and honorable warrior, has been passed down from the distant Age of Gods to the present day.

The golden text on the light screen continued to scroll, recounting the turbulent past of the great warrior. Once a vital pillar of the Knights of the Red Branch, he experienced immense, burning anger at the treachery of King Conchobar of Ulster. Disgusted by the betrayal, he resolutely abandoned the knightly order he had sworn to serve, severing all ties with his homeland in a single, decisive stroke.

When the largest, most devastating war in the Ulster legends erupted, he unreservedly joined the camp of his lover, Queen Medb of Connacht. He brandished his legendary sword, striking down enemies across the blood-soaked battlefield with an eye-catching, terrifying bravery. Yet, he always held back a fraction of his true strength. Cu Chulainn—the disciple he loved as his own flesh and blood—stood on the opposing side, defending Ulster. Even with his blade dulled by familial love, Fergus still managed to corner the treacherous Conchobar, driving the king into a near-fatal predicament.

During this fierce, tragic war, bound by a sacred oath—a Geas—he had sworn with Cu Chulainn, Fergus secured an almost unconditional victory when the two finally clashed again. However, this hollow triumph brought him no joy. Instead, it became an unspeakable, suffocating chain wrapped tightly around his heart.