Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 97

Chapter 97: Wait and Hope

Ritsuka raised a hand, his fingers curling slightly as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. “…Wait a moment.”

Avenger stopped. A sharp crease formed between his brows. The shadows of the cell seemed to deepen around him, reflecting the flash of impatience in his dark, burning eyes. For a fleeting second, genuine surprise crossed the Servant’s features—why would the Master hesitate now?

Then, the tension broke. A sharp, mocking smile carved its way across Avenger’s face. He let out a low scoff. “Oh? Are you afraid to move forward with me? Do you truly possess no awareness at all that you are walking the correct path?”

He took a slow step forward, the chains on his dark coat clinking softly. “Fine. Let me answer your doubts with a single sentence.”

The damp stone walls fractured. A blinding white light swallowed the darkness, and when it faded, the sterile, pure white ceiling of Chaldea materialized overhead. The biting cold of the dungeon was replaced by the climate-controlled warmth of Ritsuka’s personal quarters.

Mash stood by the edge of his bed. She cradled a thick, leather-bound book against her chest, her lilac eyes focused and calm. “The Château d’If… is it?”

She opened the heavy tome, her gloved fingers brushing delicately over the yellowed illustrations. “It is the Prison Tower located in the anchorage of Marseille, France. Originally, it was a fortress built in the sixteenth century.” Her voice took on that familiar, earnest cadence she always used during briefings. “Records indicate it was primarily used to imprison political dissidents and prisoners of conscience.”

She turned a page, the dry parchment rustling in the quiet room. “However, the prison was officially closed at the end of the nineteenth century. Today, it stands merely as a historical site open to tourists.”

Closing the book with a soft thud, Mash looked up, meeting his gaze. “The reason it became world-famous, Senpai, is likely due to Alexandre Dumas’s novel—”

Ritsuka leaned in, his hand reaching out to touch the worn cover of the book.

Before his fingertips could make contact, the world shattered. Another flash of blinding light tore through his vision. The sterile warmth vanished, instantly replaced by the suffocating stench of mildew, damp earth, and stagnant air. The biting chill of rough stone pressed hard against his back.

He was back in the dark cell.

“—Did you hear that, Master?” Avenger’s voice cut through the gloom, sharp and grounding. The Servant stood in the exact same spot, arms crossed, looking entirely unsurprised by the sudden lapse in reality.

Ritsuka pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, trying to steady the vertigo spinning in his skull. “…I was just in Chaldea.”

A low, raspy chuckle slipped from Avenger’s throat. “You should properly recognize reality. Listen well. You are still in Chaldea right now.”

The Servant closed the distance between them, his tall frame casting a long, jagged shadow over the stone floor. “After all, your physical body remains over there, safely tucked in your bed. This sensory overlap is perfectly normal. Haven’t you noticed yet?” The amusement bled out of his voice, leaving only cold, hard truth. “The only thing imprisoned in this tower is your soul. I have already told you this, have I not?”

Avenger closed his eyes, his posture relaxed despite the oppressive atmosphere. “Though, I suppose it must be difficult for a living human to fully grasp. The flow of time and the very concept of space in that facility are completely disconnected from this place.”

He opened one eye, gleaming gold in the dark. “A full seven days trapped in here might only equate to a single, fleeting day back in Chaldea.”

Ritsuka let out a long breath, dropping his hand from his face. “It would be a lot worse if it were the other way around.” If a week passed in the real world for every day he spent rotting in this cell, the situation outside would be unsalvageable.

“Hmph. There is not much difference in the end.” Avenger scoffed, dismissing the technicalities with a wave of his gloved hand. “Do you wish to stop this forced separation of your body and soul? The method is simple. You merely need to survive the remaining six Halls of Judgment.”

Ritsuka’s chest tightened. He glanced at the heavy iron door leading out of the cell. “…Do I have to start over from the first day again?”

“The concept of space is different here. Ah, I have already said that too, haven’t I?” Avenger sighed, though the edge of a smirk remained. “The starting point is always this exact cell, but the destinations will vary.”

He turned toward the corridor. “Come. The Second Judgment is waiting for you.”

He took a few steps before pausing. Tilting his head back, he let out a theatrical sigh, as if suddenly remembering a trivial detail. “…Ah, right, right. I suppose you could also choose to simply lie down on that miserable cot.”

Avenger gestured vaguely toward the rotting bed in the corner. “You could wait for a hand of salvation to reach out from the void. You could open your beak like a helpless fledgling, praying for a miracle to descend from the heavens.” His voice dropped, the mocking lilt vanishing into absolute, deadly seriousness. “That is the simplest ending. If you choose that, everything will proceed automatically toward your demise.”

Ritsuka did not even look at the bed. He squared his shoulders, his blue eyes hardening in the dim light. “…No. I won’t do that.”

The vicious, jagged smile returned to Avenger’s face, deeper and far more satisfied than before. “…Hmph. Then let us go.”

They moved out into the damp prison corridor. Their footsteps echoed dully against the cold stone, a rhythmic, lonely sound in the suffocating silence of the fortress.

Then, a draft of freezing wind swept through the hall, carrying something else with it.

“…Is anyone… there…”

It was a faint, trembling voice. A woman’s voice, broken by quiet sobs.

“Is anyone there… Ah… Is there no one at all…”

Avenger stopped dead. A look of deep disgust twisted his features, his jaw clenching at the sudden intrusion. “Ugh—”

Ritsuka immediately went on high alert. He planted his feet, tilting his head to track the faint echoes bouncing off the stone walls. “I think I heard something.”

Avenger glanced back at him, a dark, playful amusement curling his lips. “Is this what you call a sense of justice? Hahaha, you are quite composed!” His harsh laughter bounced down the empty corridor, dripping with cynicism. “Or is it just that you truly do not comprehend the gravity of your current situation? But whatever. If you wish to play the hero and rescue the owner of that voice, by all means…”

His laughter died abruptly. The golden fire in his eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. “But do not let your guard down. Be careful, Master. Or you will die.”

Ritsuka gave a curt nod. Without wasting another second, he broke into a sprint, chasing the fading echoes down the winding, pitch-black halls. Avenger followed at a measured, unhurried pace, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the floor.

They rounded a sharp bend, the shadows thickening near the base of the wall.

“—Found it. That is the one, right?” Avenger murmured from behind, his tone entirely devoid of empathy.

Ritsuka skidded to a halt.

Huddled in the darkest corner of the corridor was a woman. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest. Soft, light pink hair spilled over her shoulders in disarray, framing a pale face. When she looked up, her rose-red eyes were brimming with unshed tears. She wore a stark red military-style uniform, the bright fabric standing out violently against the grime of the dungeon. Right now, she was trembling, her entire frame shaking like a leaf caught in a winter storm.