Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

It didn't take long to locate her. In fact, they didn't even need Artoria to guide the way.

Once they learned that the dreamscape incarnation of Frankenstein—known here as the captain of the palace guard, "Ella"—was currently stationed at the London Police Department, Will, a native of this land, immediately took over as guide and led the group straight to Scotland Yard.

Strangely, even though "London" had been renamed to "Iti" in this dream world, most of the other place names had been retained. Scotland Yard was no exception.

Of course, despite the name, Scotland Yard was neither located in Scotland nor responsible for Scottish policing—it was simply a nickname for the London Metropolitan Police. The moniker had originated in 1829, when the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police was situated on the grounds of the old Scottish royal palace.

That said, Scotland Yard had been relocated twice since its inception. By the time Will and his group arrived, they were at the original site—before its first move—during the 19th century.

In short, when Will pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into Scotland Yard, what greeted him was a scene of bustling chaos.

"Large quantities of monster remains discovered on Oxford Street. Cause appears unrelated to an active monster attack. Shall we send officers to investigate?"

"Do it. Send Sergeant Sean and five fully-equipped officers. Have them try to salvage usable monster materials. His Highness can use them to craft more weapons for fighting these creatures!"

"Werewolves spotted again on Baker Street. There's a chance of home invasions. We need to evacuate civilians!"

"Denied. We don't have the manpower. Werewolves are excellent trackers. Our officers could be killed. Wait until Captain Ella or Prince Tyre returns."

"Reports of monster remains and blood splatter near the Royal Palace and Lake District. Seems like someone—or something—moved from the city center, leaving a trail behind. Possibly a Nightmare Incarnation."

"A Nightmare Incarnation?! Notify all officers of the bloodied zones and order them to stay away. Only Prince Tyre can handle something like that!"

"Kensington-Chelsea district…"

Officers rushed about the building in every direction, voices barking orders and relaying reports in a ceaseless stream. It was clear that the entire station had been thrown into a frenzy.

"What... what's going on?" Ritsuka Fujimaru looked around in astonishment. "Didn't the intel we gathered say that Scotland Yard was crippled by the magic fog? Why are there still so many officers here?"

"You're talking about the real-world Scotland Yard," Artoria replied with a nod. "It's true—reality's Scotland Yard is down. But the dream version is still operating... probably thanks to Ella—that is, the dream form of Frankenstein—and another Servant helping keep order."

Hearing this, Will gave a thoughtful nod.

"Makes sense. Normal humans alone can't handle the singularity's abnormalities. But if two Servants are assisting, that's another story entirely."

"Actually," Artoria added, glancing at the bustling officers, "they're not the only ones fighting these anomalies. The officers themselves are participating in the battles."

"Huh? But from what we've seen of those monsters, regular humans wouldn't stand a chance against them!" Mash exclaimed.

"Obviously," Ritsuka chimed in, pointing at the officers' strange equipment. "But that's where their gear comes in. Mash, you've only read about this period's police tech in textbooks. I'm telling you—whatever they're using now definitely isn't from this era. It's way too advanced. Total black tech."

As she said, the officers at Scotland Yard were decked out in bizarre contraptions strapped over their uniforms—odd devices clearly cobbled together from mechanical doll parts or salvaged chaos automatons.

Most of the gear fell into three categories: powered exoskeletons made from puppet frameworks; protective armor fashioned from chaos automaton plating; and salvaged weapons—mostly chainsaws and machine guns—ripped straight from the enemy.

Though the automatons and chaos machines differed in style and power source—typically a blend of magical and mechanical energy—whoever had built this gear clearly had knowledge in both fields and had managed to create some surprisingly effective equipment from literal junk.

Will spotted a few unused pieces on a nearby table and casually picked up an exoskeletal arm brace. The gear seemed idiot-proof; once strapped on, it activated automatically.

He picked up a small chainsaw from a nearby rack and gave the corner of a desk a light swing. The blade cut through the wood like tofu, clean and effortless.

"Oh?"

Will raised a brow. That swing had used almost no strength. The exosuit had handled nearly all of it—and it worked impressively well.

"Interesting," he muttered as he set the gear back down. "The design philosophy behind this equipment…"

He nodded in appreciation.

"With a full set of this stuff, even a normal human could fight a D-rank monster head-on."

His demonstration didn't go unnoticed. Several officers looked over, but upon recognizing Artoria standing beside him, quickly relaxed and returned to their duties.

Only one officer approached, his eyes lighting up with surprise and joy.

"Prince Tyre! You're finally back! We've been looking for you everywhere! What happened? You just disappeared and we were all worried sick—"

"I went to investigate that lightning strike earlier. Didn't Ella tell you?" Artoria asked, slightly confused.

"Ah—she left for another district to check on something. Said she'd report in once done. She hasn't returned yet, but should be soon."

The officer's eyes then drifted to the group behind Artoria.

"And these people?"

"They're friends—and new allies. No need for suspicion; they're on our side," she said coolly.

"Understood!" The officer saluted them with newfound respect, then swiftly departed.

"Prince Tyre?" Will echoed once the officer had gone.

"Oh, that's what they call me here," Artoria replied, shaking her head. "No idea why, but everyone seems to mistake me for this 'Prince Tyre' of Iti. I don't even know who that is—just that he's supposed to be the son of Queen Kasiruda or something."

She paused, then added, "Ah, right—this 'Tyre' is also apparently the lover of Captain Ella—your Frankenstein. I don't even know her, but she's been clinging to me like glue ever since we met. But I swear there's nothing between us."

Her hasty explanation went ignored—Will was focused on something else.

"Artoria," he asked quietly, "who's the other 'prince' in this station?"

"Huh?" She blinked. "How'd you know there was another one?"

"Simple. Those officers said they were collecting monster materials to give to 'his highness' for weapon-making. That's not you—you can't craft this stuff. So it must be someone else."

"Wait—what makes you so sure it's not me? I can make things too, you know!" she scowled.

"Because you're the kind of inventor who uses random junk to produce wildly unpredictable magical trinkets. Nothing stable or reproducible. This gear, on the other hand, was made with a consistent design philosophy, fusing magic and technology into a system. It's stable, replicable. Not your style."

"Fine," she sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you're right. All this equipment was made by the other 'his highness' here—Prince Adonis."

Bingo.

Will's heart stirred.

He didn't know everything about this dream world yet, but he'd already picked up on a pattern. Each Servant present here seemed to have taken on a new dream-identity: Artoria as "Prince Tyre," Frankenstein as "Captain Ella," and Bavanzi as "Princess Camilla." Even Mephistopheles, though unnamed, was called a "follower of the undead realm" and labeled a failed actor in this grand performance.

That meant this "Prince Adonis" was almost certainly another Servant.

And in the Fourth Singularity, only one Servant had this kind of mechanical prowess—fusing steam tech and magecraft to mass-produce deadly contraptions.

Charles Babbage. One of the three masterminds behind the London singularity. The "B" in P.B.M.

If "Prince Adonis" was him, then he was a crucial lead for unraveling the singularity's mysteries.

"So," Will asked, "just to confirm, is this Prince Adonis a towering iron giant who excels at building machine soldiers?"

"Huh?" Artoria blinked.

"Ha ha! What a vivid imagination for one so young!"

A hearty, booming laugh came from behind them.

Startled, Will turned—and saw a stately English gentleman in an elegant formal suit standing behind him, smiling warmly.

"Greetings. A pleasure to meet you. I am Prince Adonis."