Shinji Matou at Your Service

What does a nouveau riche fear the most?

Being left with nothing? No, because their wealth was acquired swiftly, they don't value it as much. Otherwise, we wouldn't see so many nouveau riche throwing their money around.

What they fear the most is that their efforts and accomplishments won't be recognized. The lower their previous status, the more they crave to become the center of attention after getting rich, and the more they long for acknowledgment.

Thus, what Medea shattered wasn't just Atrum's trump card and confidence. She destroyed his entire life, his entire career as a magus, and all the effort he put in since his youth to defeat his competitors and ascend to the head of his family. To put it simply, Medea denied the very person that Atrum was—denied the entire Galliasta family.

This filled Atrum with rage, uncontrollable rage. After the rage came fear—fear based on the vast difference in power between the two of them. All that effort, all the time spent preparing, all the money spent—only for her to accomplish it with a simple wave of her hand.

The absolute disparity inflicted an unprecedented blow to his fragile self-esteem and confidence—it was worse than when he was humiliated by the students of the El-Melloi Classroom, worse than when Touko Aozaki ignored him, worse than the cold reception he received at the Clock Tower!

But that powerful witch remained oblivious to his feelings, still speaking in her calm tone.

"Although I've done something excessive, I must ask you to stop using this workshop. Abusing lives is a poor choice. As a magus, you cannot ignore an imbalance in resources."

Each word she spoke was another strike against Atrum, fueling his anger and fear. The gap between them was so vast that no matter what he tried, he couldn't bridge it.

Indeed, they had formed a Master-Servant contract, but no matter how binding a contract is, it must be built on power. The gap between the Master and Servant was so great that it was impossible to guarantee the Servant wouldn't develop undesirable thoughts.

Especially since his Servant was Medea, a witch notorious for betrayal and ruthlessness. She had betrayed her family twice and killed her brother, her husband's father, and even her children. One more betrayal, one more murder wouldn't matter—after all, her Noble Phantasm as a Heroic Spirit was forged from these very deeds.

At this point, Atrum no longer felt proud of summoning Medea. Instead, he regretted it. Of all the possible summons, why had he insisted on a dragon and ended up with such a terrifying witch? If she were to betray him—wait, he still had Command Spells, the power of absolute orders. As long as he used one, no matter how terrifying the witch, she would have to obey.

Under the dual pressure of fear and rage, Atrum made a decision. He smiled but quietly channeled magic into his hand.

"No, it's me who truly doesn't understand Servants. By my Command Spell, I order you: You are forbidden from using your Noble Phantasm against me."

When he saw the shocked expression on Medea's face, Atrum felt immense satisfaction.

"If the witch who betrayed me were to ambush me, I wouldn't stand a chance."

But that wasn't enough to soothe his anger. He punched Medea in the face, just as he had done to weaker opponents in the past.

Medea fell to the ground in silence, without any resistance, like a lifeless doll.

Yes, this was how it should be. I am the Master, and you are the Servant. The roles must be clear, and potential threats must be eliminated.

Of course, he knew that by doing this, he had completely torn any trust between him and his Servant. Only two Command Spells remained, which wasn't enough to suppress such a terrifying witch. If she found a loophole, the consequences would be unimaginable—Medea wasn't the type to repay kindness with kindness.

Just recently, he had boasted to his associates about how Medea had burned down her rival's castle with the Witch's Fire. If that fire were turned on him—no, this woman couldn't be allowed to live. Even if it meant losing his Servant from the start, he couldn't leave such a threat alive. Winning wasn't as important as his own life.

Atrum quickly began thinking like a magus and a businessman, searching for a way to eliminate the threat while securing the maximum benefit. And soon, he found it—by using his greatest competitor, another Master sent by the Clock Tower.

He had been wary of the other Master, and surely the other Master was wary of him too. If he could use this opportunity to eliminate his biggest rival, the other side would surely be happy to help, perhaps even willing to pay a price if he showed enough sincerity, like through a binding contract.

Although he didn't know the identity of the other participant, Atrum had already figured out how to find them—through the Church. The priest there was responsible for overseeing the Holy Grail War, and any magus from the Clock Tower would have to register there.

Speaking of which, he still hadn't registered after summoning Medea. It was time to take care of that.

Having made up his mind, Atrum acted quickly. Because of the drama with Medea, the long night had come to an end. Daytime was a default safe period, so Atrum didn't worry about his safety as he headed alone to the Church to register.

Although the overseer seemed like a novice, which made Atram a bit uneasy, the negotiations went smoothly, and the other side promised to deliver the message soon. Atrum's mood improved considerably.

Finally, finally, I can rid myself of that terrifying woman. Now I just need to see if I can acquire another Servant.

However, when he returned, he found that his base was gone. His loyal subordinates were scattered across the ground, and his proud workshop was engulfed in flames.

The pale blue fire—the woman who set the fire was calmly standing in the heart of the workshop, watching him.

"What's going on?"

Atrum demanded furiously.

"I took the liberty of dismantling the workshop," Medea replied calmly.

"As for your stronghold, I can take you to a more suitable location."

"Dismantled? What about the remaining sacrifices? There should have been about 50 left."

"They were unnecessary, so I released them."

Atrum let out an odd chuckle.

"So, where is this more suitable location?"

"The center of the ritual, where the Great Grail slumbers. It's a natural fortress that's difficult for Servants to approach."

While Atrum was out, Medea hadn't been idle.

"From now on, if you follow my orders, I'll take you there, Master!"

Follow your orders? You expect me to follow the commands of my Servant?

"That's not happening."

Atrum's long-suppressed rage finally erupted. At that moment, he made his decision. He no longer cared about maximizing benefits or considering other options—he would eliminate this threat first. He raised his right hand and channeled magic into it, just as he had done before.

"This is the end for us, Medea. By my Command Spell, I order you: Commit suicide, Caster!"

According to his expectations, this hateful witch should now be forced to end her life, whether through magic or by a blade. But nothing happened. Medea remained standing, a mocking smile on her face.

"What's going on?"

Atrum panicked.

"One Command Spell wasn't enough? By my Command Spell, I order you again: Commit suicide, Caster!"

The last of his Command Spells vanished, but the outcome remained unchanged. Medea still didn't move, and instead, her laughter grew louder. It was the first time since her summoning that she had laughed so heartily, her laughter dripping with mockery.

"You foolish Master. Have you forgotten what my Noble Phantasm is?"

"Rule Breaker!"

Atrum suddenly recalled the information that had surfaced during the summoning ritual. Rule Breaker was Medea's Noble Phantasm, a manifestation of her life, capable of breaking all contracts. It was the very thing he feared the most.

"But it should have been restricted by the Command Spell!"

"Yes, it cannot be used against you. So, I used it on myself to sever our contract."

Upon hearing this, Atrum's face turned pale.

It was only then that Atrum noticed the bloodstain on Medea's chest, likely the mark left by the Noble Phantasm when it pierced her body. The reason he hadn't noticed earlier was probably because Medea had used some kind of spell to conceal it. With her abilities, hiding something from him was all too easy.

"No, it can't be. To a Servant, this is the same as suicide! Without a contract, you won't even be able to maintain your physical form!"

Atrum's words were filled with despair, but Medea remained calm, seemingly indifferent to the fate of her second life.

"Yes, but so what? It has nothing to do with you, who will soon die here."

As she finished speaking, the scenery around them shifted. The burning workshop transformed into a dark labyrinth, its walls adorned with Greek-style murals—images of women holding bloodstained blades, creating an ominous atmosphere.

Atrum ran frantically, shouting in panic.

"I can't end like this! I can't die here! The Holy Grail War hasn't even started, and I haven't even fought yet—"

He was terrified, resentful, and furious! But no matter what he did, there was no escaping his fate. Exhausted and broken, he could do nothing but flee.

Finally, Medea's voice rang out, delivering the final judgment.

"Yes, for someone like you, who had already decided the outcome from the very start, this is the most fitting end."

"You treacherous... witch!"

Atrum's last words were full of despair and curses. Then, he saw flames engulf his body—true witch's fire, the same flames that had turned many before him to ash. And now, there was one more added to their number—Atrum Galliasta.

"Witch... always a witch... everyone calls me a witch."

Medea muttered under her breath as she walked. She walked through the sea of flames, past the corpses, out of the building, and into the night.

She didn't know where she was going, nor how long she could last. She simply followed her instincts, walking forward until her magical energy was nearly exhausted, and she collapsed onto the ground.

"Hahaha... in the end, it's the same. Cast out, used, scorned as a traitor. All I wanted was..."

It was now a dark, moonlit night. She reached out her hand toward the sky, as if trying to grasp something.

"...to return to my hometown."

Her consciousness slowly faded. This body, now without support, seemed to have reached its limit. It was about to disappear—after just one night in this world, she was already leaving. It was so frustrating.

Just before her eyes closed, she heard a faint sigh.