Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 72

Chapter 72: The Demon Bathed in Silver Moonlight

The Chaldea combat simulator’s dome projected an inky, star-strewn sky. Cold silver moonlight washed over the synthetic terrain of the training ground, illuminating the chaotic melee below. Fujimaru Ritsuka stood at the rear command console, his gaze tracking the rapid movements of his Servants.

Atalanta Alter, Achilles, the Queen of Sheba, and Geronimo clashed against a surging tide of virtual beasts. A simulated gale swept across the battlefield, whipping Atalanta Alter’s silver-gray hair into a wild halo. Her beast ears twitched, locking onto the faintest rustle of claws against dirt. The heavy, suffocating anxiety that usually clouded her yellow-green eyes during the day had vanished, replaced by a searing, unyielding fighting spirit.

“Achilles! I’ll leave the support to you!” Atalanta Alter kicked off the ground, her boots shattering the digital earth. She blurred into a streak of silver lightning, carving a path toward the enemy’s exposed flank. Her voice cut through the howling wind, crisp and ringing with absolute conviction.

Achilles, mid-swing with his spear to bat away a lunging demonic hound, blinked. He snapped his head toward the silver blur. The huntress moved with the silent, lethal grace of a night owl diving for prey. There was no hesitation in her footwork, no lingering doubt in her strikes. For a split second, the Rider of Red simply stared. This fierce, decisive warrior felt entirely disconnected from the lost, conflicted girl who had been stumbling through Chaldea’s halls just hours prior.

Geronimo caught the shift as well. The wooden Totem Pole in the Native American Caster’s grip swayed as he adjusted his stance. A flicker of surprise crossed his stoic features, quickly melting into a warm, gratified smile.

Atalanta Alter exhaled a sharp breath. She snapped her wrist back, the bowstring singing a deadly note. An arrow tore through the air like a falling star, burying itself perfectly into the articulated joint of a towering virtual beast.

Her body felt weightless. The crushing guilt and tangled ethics that constantly chained her heart had evaporated. She remembered the gentle crash of the waves from their daytime stroll. She remembered her Master’s soft voice saying he was happy, his unwavering gaze as he accepted her flaws, her mistakes, and her self-proclaimed evil without a single ounce of judgment.

She had reliable comrades here. Achilles guarded her blind spots, and Geronimo anchored their formation. They stood shoulder to shoulder against the endless horde. A fierce, predatory light ignited in her yellow-green pupils. She absolutely refused to fall behind.

“Good,” Ritsuka’s voice crackled through the comms, steady and brimming with absolute faith.

That single syllable washed over her like a ray of dawn sunlight, melting away the last remnants of the cold.

“Kick ’em up here!” Achilles roared. He spun his long spear in a devastating arc, smashing a cluster of beasts backward and tearing open a massive gap in the enemy line. The perfect hunting ground for the feral archer.

“Queen!” Geronimo called out, stepping into the opening. Magical energy pulsed down the length of his Totem Pole, laying the groundwork for the Queen of Sheba’s assault.

Sheba’s lips curved into a dazzling, mercantile smile. Her gold and crimson silks traced elegant arcs as she twirled. “Understood. Spirit Demons, time to work.” Before her melodic voice even faded, a shimmering tide of phantom spirits erupted from her shadow, swarming the staggered beasts.

The virtual monsters shrieked, forced back step by agonizing step under the relentless barrage. Seizing the momentum, Geronimo hoisted his Totem Pole toward the artificial heavens. His voice dropped into a solemn, resonant chant.

“Noble Phantasm, release. Spirits and the Sun, please lend me your strength for a moment! Tsago Degi!”

A blinding luminescence swallowed the arena. The simulated earth groaned as if awakening from a deep slumber. Massive, glowing vines erupted from the soil, violently snapping around the remaining enemies and locking them in an unbreakable snare.

The huntress took flight. Spreading from her back were not wings of flesh and bone, but jagged pinions forged from pure, condensed magical energy. They glinted with a cold, lethal beauty under the artificial moon.

She no longer moved like a mortal creature. She was a living weapon, a bullet fired from a divine chamber. With thunderous, devastating momentum, she plummeted straight into the heart of the bound enemy cluster.

Claws shredded the air. Arrows detonated against armored hides. Lost in a near-frenzied trance of pure combat, she danced through the slaughter, reducing the digital foes to scattered pixels and shredded data.

As the final beast dissolved into golden motes, Achilles slammed the butt of his spear into the ground. “That was incredible! Big sis is terrifyingly strong when she actually gets her head on straight!”

The Queen of Sheba sauntered over to the Rider, a playful, dangerous glint in her eyes. “Oh? Should I pass along your glowing review to Miss Atalanta?”

Achilles stiffened. He threw his hands up in a frantic, defensive gesture. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare.” His panicked backpedaling earned a musical chuckle from the Caster.

“Regardless, it is always a blessing when a warrior’s actions are no longer chained by doubt,” Geronimo said, lowering his Totem Pole with a serene smile. He watched Atalanta Alter’s distant figure. “As the old saying goes—if you want a horse to run fast, you do not rely on the whip or the feed bag. You simply need to believe in the horse.”

Fifth Holy Grail War timeline, Emiya Residence.

Inside the warm, brightly lit living room, Emiya Shirou leaned over the low table, his eyes glued to the glowing light screen suspended in the air. At Geronimo’s deep statement, his brow furrowed into a knot of genuine concern.

“Wait, what?” Shirou muttered. “Is just believing really enough? Won’t the horse starve to death if you don’t feed it?”

Sitting right beside him, Artoria Pendragon nodded with vehement, absolute agreement. Her deep emerald-green eyes locked onto the screen. Her tone brooked no argument. “Exactly, Shirou! A warrior cannot possibly fight on an empty stomach!” The King of Knights clearly harbored a deep, fundamental offense at the very concept of skipping meals.

On the broadcast screen, the banter in Chaldea continued.

Achilles scratched the back of his neck, eyeing the Native American Caster with newfound respect. “Is that some kind of ancient maxim? Sounds pretty deep.”

Geronimo rubbed his chin. A sheepish, entirely uncharacteristic smile broke across his stoic face. “Ah. I just made it up.”

Achilles froze. The admiration drained from his face, leaving behind a deadpan stare. “…So it wasn’t a maxim at all.”

“I am ashamed to admit it was merely a joke,” Geronimo chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.

“Ah, look up. She’s coming down,” Sheba hummed, tilting her head toward the simulated sky.

The group looked up just as Atalanta Alter folded her radiant wings. She touched down with the silent grace of a falling leaf, the impact kicking up a gentle gust of wind. Without sparing a glance at her teammates, she spun on her heel and faced the command platform.

Her yellow-green eyes sparkled with undisguised anticipation. “So… how was my fighting, Master?”

“Excellent,” Ritsuka answered instantly.

The praise hit her like a physical force. Atalanta Alter’s eyes widened, and a brilliant, unrestrained smile broke across her face. She shot Ritsuka a playful, entirely out-of-character wink, puffing her chest out with a sliver of pride. “Mhm. It seems I did quite well.”

She bounced on her heels, the adrenaline still thrumming through her veins. “By the way, Master, where to next? The mountains? The beach? A fortress?” Her pupils dilated with eager, shimmering light. “Are the targets demonic beasts? The Undead? Demonic Beings?”

She closed the distance, taking a deliberate step toward the console. Her gaze locked onto Ritsuka, burning with a fierce, unmatched mixture of absolute determination and raw tenderness.

“No matter what we face… as long as I am with you, I can keep fighting exactly like this.”

The artificial moonlight cascaded from the dome, bathing the girl’s petite, fairy-like silhouette in a halo of silver. This feral Demon, a creature once entirely consumed by darkness and rage, now wore the innocent, radiant smile of a maiden. The warmth in her eyes outshone the simulated stars above.

Even if their fundamental paths might one day diverge, Atalanta Alter looked at the boy before her and offered a silent, desperate prayer to the heavens. She prayed that these fleeting moments could stretch just a little longer. That they could continue to stand side by side, laughing under the moonlight.

Atalanta Alter’s Interlude, “The Squirming Beast’s Heart and the Sealed Ethics,” ends here.