Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Defeating Alexander

The perspective shifted back to the glowing light screen.

Alexander’s eyes curved into cheerful crescents, the tension bleeding out of his stance. A sly, vibrant smile played on his lips. He raised a single finger to his mouth in a playful shushing gesture, his tone light and tinged with a mysterious playfulness. “I’m sorry, but that’s a secret!”

He tilted his head. The bright, unblemished light of youth danced in his gaze. His voice carried a proud, boastful lilt, rising eagerly at the end as if he were showing off a prized treasure. “Because the current me is an excellent younger brother who super loves his live-in big sister!”

Mash jolted. Her eyes widened a fraction before her gaze dropped to the floor. Her long eyelashes pressed tightly together. Her fingers quietly tightened around the heavy edges of the shield planted before her. Her breathing slowed to a near halt, leaving behind a heavy, awkward silence. Her face was completely stiff with bewilderment.

Da Vinci froze. Her previously sharp, inquisitive gaze stopped dead. Her raised finger hovered awkwardly in mid-air, and the confident smile on her lips turned to stone. She fell into a bizarre speechlessness, a rapid flash of sheer astonishment and utter confusion sweeping across her features.

Back in Chaldea, Dr. Roman scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing into a knot of complete helplessness. He stared at the feed with wide eyes. “Huh? Excuse me… what did you just say?”

Alexander’s hearty laughter rang out, brimming with unbridled vitality. He planted one hand on his hip and waved the other dismissively. The pride in his eyes practically overflowed. “Hehehe, how romantic!”

He raised a hand to scratch his temple. The tips of his ears flushed with a quiet, faint pink. His earlier bravado faded, replaced by an awkward, bashful tone. “To be honest, I don’t really understand this setting either, but it truly is a very girlish wish.”

He suddenly looked up. A fierce fighting spirit ignited in his gaze. He leaned forward, his center of gravity dropping into an agile, ready stance. The tail end of his sentence drew out into a teasing, almost coquettish lilt as he playfully crooked a finger toward the red-clad archer. “Come on, big brother. The war begins now!”

Emiya’s gaze darkened. He studied Alexander’s tall, youthful frame. His relaxed shoulders tensed. He gave a slow, measured nod. His voice carried a heavy sigh, yet underneath it lay an absolute certainty. “This spirit, these words… No matter if you are a Counterfeit, you were indeed destined to become the King of Conquerors.”

He raised his hands. Magical energy surged into the physical realm. The twin swords Kanshou and Bakuya materialized from light and shadow, their hilts snapping firmly into his palms. The blades hummed, radiating a sharp, cold glint. An intense, biting aura of combat coalesced around the Archer. “Very well. Prepare to intercept, Master!”

Fujimaru Ritsuka’s eyes sharpened. The atmosphere around the young Master grew heavy and focused. He raised his right hand, his Command Spells glowing faintly, and planted his feet firmly against the earth. His back straightened. “Understood!”

The ringing crack of clashing metal tore through the silence. Brilliant bursts of light erupted from colliding spells, their dazzling radiance flashing across the battlefield.

A fierce wind whipped up the loose earth, churning dust in every direction. The ground trembled beneath the sheer kinetic force of blades meeting flesh and magic. Gravel flew outward, scattered by the concussive shockwaves. Cold light flowed along the dark and white edges of Kanshou and Bakuya. Emiya moved like a phantom, his sword shadows crisscrossing in a deadly dance as they fiercely met Alexander’s relentless onslaught. The blinding radiance of Noble Phantasms and the sharp gleam of steel intertwined into a chaotic, blinding curtain of destruction.

The dust slowly settled. The brilliant light of magical energy gradually faded into the air. Alexander staggered backward, his boots dragging through the dirt before his knee hit the ground with a heavy thud. He braced a palm against the earth to keep from collapsing entirely, his chest heaving with violent, ragged breaths. Golden spiritrons continuously leaked from his deep wounds. He had reached his absolute limit.

Using his weapon for support, the young rider barely managed to lift his upper body. Spiritrons drifted from a massive gash on his shoulder, floating up like fireflies. He let out a low grunt, which quickly morphed into a hearty, exhausted laugh. His voice was hoarse, yet his eyes still burned with an unwilling, defiant brightness. “Mmm… Is this the end? Ahahaha, ha… Trying to win was indeed a bit difficult.”

He casually wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. His fingers curled inward. He stared down at his trembling palm. A touch of melancholy entered his tone, the bright light in his eyes dimming just a fraction. “One step short, just a little short… Is this the sorrow of being a Counterfeit?”

Emiya withdrew the surging magical energy from his circuits. The twin swords in his hands shattered into fragments of blue light, dissipating into the wind. The biting combat aura around him vanished completely. He stepped forward with a steady, measured pace, looking down at the defeated youth. His tone was perfectly calm, betraying no ripple of emotion, yet it carried a uniquely clear certainty. “Nothing of the sort. In a fight between Servants, you lost. That is all.”

Alexander looked up. A flash of surprise swept through his eyes before melting into a relieved, bitter smile. He slowly pushed himself up from the ruined ground. His form wavered unsteadily, but his back remained perfectly straight. His voice held a note of chagrin, mixed with an unconcealable respect. “Truly remarkable. A genuine Heroic Spirit is truly vexing.”

Emiya’s eyes flickered. He pressed his lips together, offering no immediate reply. A faint stillness settled over him. His hands hung naturally at his sides, the last traces of residual prana fading from his fingertips. He simply watched Alexander. It was unclear if his gaze held pity or pure, pragmatic indifference.

An unusually fervent light suddenly ignited in Da Vinci’s eyes, entirely sweeping away her previous stupefaction. She quickly took two steps forward, clasping her hands tightly against her chest. Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous intensity. Her voice brimmed with unconcealable excitement, trembling with eagerness. “Ooh… Enjoyable… Simply too enjoyable… The perfectly toned, pinkish arms of a youth in the midst of growth… Absolutely splendid…”

Mash let out a long breath. Her eyelashes drooped, her face filled with a deeply ingrained resignation. Her tone carried a sense of helpless, exhausted amusement. “Da Vinci-chan is completely hopeless…”

Emiya’s gaze swept indifferently past the completely unhinged Da Vinci before returning to Alexander. His tone remained flat and even, yet his words struck with clear, forceful intent, hiding a subtle layer of consolation. “You see, even the so-called genuine article acts like that. So, do not worry about your origins. Comparisons are utterly foolish.”

Alexander blinked in surprise. Then, he broke into a loud, relieved laugh. He waved a hand, the lingering melancholy in his voice vanishing completely, replaced by his usual forthright air. “I am undeserving of such praise. As a token of gratitude, let me share some information with you.”

He paused, lightly tapping his chin with his index finger. His expression lost a fraction of its casual warmth, settling into a more serious demeanor. “Although, all I can tell you is the next destination.”