They all spat poisoned pleasantries, curses without vulgarities. Were it not for the fact that their cooperation would decide the future of the York family, Benedict could almost find it laughable.
Honestly, if those men and women weren't so dedicated to locking themselves in their basements in search of the Root, they'd have made a killing on the stage by now. How they managed to keep their true emotions off their faces would forever remain a mystery to him. With such harsh hatred permeating the air, you'd think they were standing upon desecrated graves instead of grass.
Then again, Benedict had no idea why he had expected anything different. Born and raised in the world of magecraft, where even the strongest of alliances sat upon shaky foundations, it was a miracle that a group as hastily formed as theirs had yet to descend into chaos. That they had managed to conceive the ritual that lay beneath their feet without any major hiccoughs? Why, it practically deserved a page within the annuls of history. Given that any one of them could attain the power to alter humanity's path, restricting themselves to cutting comments was no mean feat.
"I must admit, I hardly expected the material delays to have been resolved so soundly." A haughty voice remarked, punctuated by a shaking head and shrug. In the face of such a statement, Benedict could only give a prayer to the speaker's shoulders – how they managed to bear the weight of such an enormous ego was beyond him. "Perhaps I underestimated the efficiency of the Abades family. If I knew you were so capable compared to the Woodcocks, I never would've made the suggestion."
Just where did that pride come from, to speak down so easily towards a member of the Atlas Academy? Sure, their Magic Circuits might not match those of the Clock Tower's inhabitants, but that was certainly no reason to belittle them. Not unless you wanted to face the combined might of an exponential number of minds thanks to their partition magecraft. Regardless of Alice Woodcock's low standing due to her poor compatibility with the technique, she wouldn't have been considered for a representative role if she lacked the intelligence needed to treat any one of them as a child.
Honestly, Benedict was left lost for words. That confidence of theirs certainly couldn't have been from their contribution. No, far from it; if the Tancred family selecting their own territory to hold a ritual in was worthy of such self-satisfaction, then the rest of them need not wish upon the Holy Grail.
Not even their magecraft offered them much in the way of prestige, not in the face of their current company. Far be it from Benedict to speak highly of his skills, but at least his wind manipulation had some form of combat capability. Sure, the Tancreds' conversation magecraft might have been able to brainwash a person under normal circumstances, but these were anything but. For such circumstances to still result in confidence rivalling the gods was nothing short of paradoxical.
"Oh, please. Spare me the speech, Phillip." Came a flippant reply, the girl responsible barely sparing the strength to turn in his direction. "Given our current situation, I hardly believe sowing discord now is necessary. At least let the formalities pass in an amicable manner. Besides, maybe if you gave us an appropriate timeframe to gather everything, you wouldn't have been so disappointed that we took a normal amount of time."
"Indeed, Lady Woodcock speaks the truth. I care not whether your compliments are sincere, Mr Tancred, but let it be known that my stance on this endeavour has not changed." Added another, alongside a disgruntled noise.
Was that the seventh, or the twelfth? With his mind numbed by the mundanity of their verbal conflict, Benedict had lost count. It seemed as if everything that passed those cracked lips had to be followed by some form of audible irritation. Given Phillip's taunts though, Benedict could hardly blame him.
In truth, Duarte Abades was to be envied. After all, who else wouldn't want the ability to send someone as vocal as Phillip into a flustered silence as he just did? Deep and drawn out under the influence of both age and alcohol, there was an undeniable weight to lord Abadess words. If the other members of the Prague Association were even somewhat similar, then perhaps Benedict would have to pay more attention to their movements.
"Though it may have been named the Inheritance Grail War, I intend to treat this as a civil competition. Let it be our strength which determines the victor, not our lack of morality."
The Inheritance Grail War. Simply hearing its name was enough to bring a sweat to Benedict's brow. A ritual where the catalyst is blood and body, a battle royale to achieve that which defied the rules of the world itself. When Benedict had first heard of it, the whole thing had seemed nothing less than ridiculous. Why wouldn't it? A similar event had already been held numerous times, every occasion resulting in nought but needless death. That the Tancred family persisted in creating their own version made them the joke of the magi community for no small length of time. It wasn't until they finally hammered out the details that any interest managed to accrue.
After all, while summoning Heroic Spirits to utilize their return to the Root as a path was certainly an inviting concept, summoning said Heroic Spirits directly into the bodies of the designated 'Masters' was an entirely different thing. Well, that was what the Tancreds had argued, at the very least.
What, they had asked, led the previous Grail Wars to failure? Servants targeting Masters over other Servants, unrestrained conflict which cared not for casualties. Summoning a Servant with their own thoughts and interests, they claimed, had far too great a detrimental effect to ignore. Conflicting goals and personalities meant even Command Seals could only force so much obedience, exacerbating the likelihood of no Master surviving thanks to reckless violence or disagreements. Not helping this was the fact that Masters were reluctant to even then utilise said Command Seals, in fear of losing their ultimate authority.
The Inheritance Grail War, however, would be different. By directly summoning the Heroic Spirit into the Master's body, there would be no need to demand obedience. With Masters fighting directly, reckless violence which may endanger more than necessary or potentially reveal the Grail War would be avoided out of a sense of self-preservation. There would be no rogues, no single character gathering the equivalent of an overpowered harem – simply pure competition, bereft of outside influence and excess.
In hindsight, it was a gimmick at best. However, who claimed that a gimmick couldn't be effective? While it may not have received a grandiose level of attention, more than a few families declared their curiosity. Many, they realised, already boasted about the strength of their heritage, regardless of their own ability. To have the chance to call upon it, no matter how long it was for, would be a huge boon to their research. Such was how Benedict found himself being forced to join the efforts to make the Inheritance Grail War a reality, what would be the vessel for the lesser part of the Grail formed by his hand.
It had been simple enough to ignore the war's existence beforehand, pretend that he was simply working on some other large-scale project alongside these people. The moment that he heard that name, however, the fact that they were about to kill each other for the sake of achieving the impossible became cemented into his mind. He could only imagine just how many plans to take his life must've been passing behind the glares of the other six.
"…Very well. I had hoped a little light banter might alleviate some tension, but it appears my hopes were misguided." Phillip eventually lamented, still a sickening sugar to his speech. A soul that knew no shame; if only Benedict could say it was rare amongst their peers. "Mr York, the Lesser Grail?"
"P-prepared and stored beneath the Leston Museum, as agreed!" Benedict called out, a silent curse passing his lips. So much time spent honing his sophisticated demeanour before the mirror, wasted in a single line! He could only thank the Lord that the others paid little attention to the growing red upon his cheeks. "The Greyerls have c-confirmed that all defences are in place. Bar the victor, none should be able, erm, approach without due reason."
Just the mention of the Greyerl name was more than enough to pacify those pointed eyes. The Yorks never would've gotten the contract to construct the Lesser Grail if it wasn't. Were it not for the infamy behind the Greyerls' neutrality, the Tancreds alone would never dare allow another to hold onto such a vital aspect of the Inheritance Grail War, let alone anyone else. Indeed, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the entire ritual hinged upon the existence of a family like the Greyerls – a particularly awkward acknowledgement when you then considered how their neutrality meant woefully few allies. That Benedict's father managed to earn their friendship was undoubtedly the reason why the Yorks were considered at all for participation.
No wonder Phillip's following line bore a clear sense of relief to it.
"Good. So long as they have prepared like every other occasion I've heard of, we need not fear either bias or bribe. Then, Lady Law?"
"The Magical Circuits show every sign of functioning as intended. You need not worry."
Lady Law spoke with mechanical confidence, even as she refused to stop her work. After the excessive emotion dripping from Phillip's speech, such a difference was like Heaven and Earth. Or maybe not, actually. That would involve comparing Phillip to Heaven, and Benedict's brain simply refused to insult Heaven in so cruel a manner.
Focus, Benedict. Focus.
Well, maybe that wasn't so good a decision. Watching as a delicate hand traced the invisible patterns upon the earth, Benedict could already feel his brain melt trying to comprehend the formulae that must've been imprinted there. To be expected of the Thule Society's candidate. If nothing else, they certainly knew how to plagiarise the work of others and claim it as their own.
After all, the Einzberns, was it? The amount of time and effort they must've expended to create the first version of the Holy Grail War must've been immeasurable. Connecting to the Throne of Heroes, a dimension above reincarnation and the laws of reality, required power and knowledge that would evade most of the greatest minds Benedict knew. None but those with the greatest drive and determination in the face of failure could achieve such a feat. While the Mage's Association certainly didn't lack drive, it was hard to say they could ever reach the same desperation the Einzberns needed to crack the code. Add that to how the Inheritance Grail War was already so similar to the previous occurrences, and it only made sense that they would copy the Magic Circuits instead of doing their own research.
"I never had any doubts. I beg your forgiveness once more for drawing the Thule Society away from their runecraft for this. Now… Excuse me, the Handy Family representative. I always seem to forget your name." Phillip replied, the spark to his eye that had been present before soon fading as he turned to the trees and the man slouched against one. "I'm sure you know how it is. You have several projects going on and suddenly, all the minor details seem to flee the mind."
The playful poison in Phillip's tone couldn't have been made clearer. For those who prided themselves on their family name, claiming that they were beneath remembering was no less than spitting at their feet. Admittedly though, the recipient couldn't have expected anything else with the state of his clothes. A shabby suit may have been suitable for a normal death battle, but one prepared by several significant families? It was practically begging to be mocked.
That Phillip's attitude was followed by a wave just as dismissive came as a pleasant surprise. Typically, anyone who was on the same level as the Handy Family shared their haughty nature, no matter their clothing. Anything close to geniality in their circle was a rarity indeed, particularly given the fact that the man chosen was going to put his life on the line. Pair that with his current fashion choices and they hardly screamed 'Handy Family Representative'.
"… Damn, you're actually serious. Huh, can't say I was expecting that."
Phillip couldn't be blamed for choking the moment that the man opened his mouth. For as lazy his posture may have been, the sheer malice dripping from those eyes was enough to disturb many, if not most. Benedict himself was but a moment away from collapsing to his knees; that Phillip managed to maintain himself under a direct assault from those eyes was one of the few things Benedict was willing to commend him on.
"Alright then. One more time. Don't blame me if I get a little irritated if you forget again though." The man said, rife with humour known only to himself. "The name's Igeta. Kade Igeta. The bigwigs of the Handy family had a whole damn speech about their work, but I'll keep it to the essentials. Those 'Command Seals' they've been working on should be just fine, long as they have the necessary power."
"O-of course. Apologies." From the forced authority in his voice, Benedict probably wasn't meant to notice Phillip's slight shuffle away from Kade's general area. That didn't stop him from mentally filing the moment for future use, though. "Then it seems as if all our affairs are in order. Let us delay no more. Tonight, we gather not as strangers, but as fellow Masters. Free of the machinations of our families, our factions, we shall dive into the pages of history; either to discover the secrets held in its depths or to drown in our ideals. Here, no external influence shall determine a victor; only the skill of our magecraft as we call those from our lineage into our bodies. To take hold of the past and use it to forge our futures: such is the Inheritance Grail War."
The grandiose nature of his declaration belied Phillip's clear discomfort. Whether that be due to a script or his own disposition, Benedict couldn't tell. Regardless, it was more than enough to sway his heart, a heavy beat matching each breath. The moment that his parents, their parents, everyone had been ranting and raving about – it had finally arrived. He would need a heart of stone not to feel anything now that the moment had finally approached.
"I'll admit, I had not expected this to be so rushed. As time thins our blood, however, we have no choice but to hold it now. If we enacted the ritual and all failed to summon a Heroic Spirit, it would be an injustice I could not bear. Better to accelerate our preparations, than lose that which shall bring our aspirations ever closer." Phillip continued. Only then, Benedict realised, did Lady Law finally pause in her actions. "Know that the Tancreds shall forever be in your favour for producing such excellent results in spite of our pressure. Whatever the results of this Inheritance Grail War may be, the bonds now forged between our families shall not be so easily extinguished. With that said, so long as no one objects, we shall begin the rites. Lady Law – if you would please."
"Understood."
Gone were the inexplicable patterns her hands traced prior, Lady Law instead settling for a solid palm upon the ground. That wasn't to say that it lacked any of the same splendour though – anything but. No, the glow which illuminated the night held an ethereality by itself which beggared belief, let alone the Magic Circle it unveiled. Stood as they were, barely even a fraction of its design was visible, yet what was revealed rivalled the renaissance's masterpieces.
For the Thule Society to have worked at the same intense precision on an area over fifty meters in diameter… Benedict would just have to hope that Lady law was dealt with quickly. Given enough time to set up her defences, they would be impenetrable.
Bitter thoughts like that couldn't last long though. Blotting out the whipping winds stirred by Lady Law's actions, Benedict allowed his eyes to close, basking in the sensation of mana saturating the air. With each passing second, more and more of the mystical energies began to wrap around his form, circling them and undoubtedly the rest of Leston as if pulled along by some astral breeze. For a third-rate Magus like himself, being able to utilise even a tenth of the mana flowing through the air should've been a miracle; Benedict was going to savour the moment for as long as possible.
Unfortunately, time for relaxation had long since expired. Feeling the gentle warmth surrounding him converge upon the back of his hand, it was clear that those around him could be treated as allies no more. Much as he'd like to do otherwise, Benedict had no choice but to reel himself back into reality. A reality where if he failed, then the very last bastions of hope for his branch of the York family would perish at his brother's hands.
"Oi, Phillip! What the hell?"
Startled, it would take several seconds before Benedict could understand the concern in Lady Woodcock's cry. In truth, he would've been much the same, were he not so preoccupied with stifling the scream that threatened to erupt from him. What had begun as a pleasant sensation had soon evolved into an excruciating heat, a trio of symbols seared upon his skin like a steak. Through the turbulent pain, a small part of Benedict couldn't help but moan; from the Tancreds' stories, the Command Seals imprinting themselves was more of a metaphorical thing. A little bit of warning would've been nice if the process was going to be so torturous. Then again, from the tremulous visage plastered across Phillip's face, he was hardly in a position to provide an answer.
Thus, Benedict was left both clueless and helpless as his vision was overcome by a phenomenon that would eventually be known as the 'White Night.'
FACT/EXTRA: INHERITANCE GRAIL WAR
A Subcategory Holy Grail War developed by the Tancred family. Instead of summoning Heroic Spirits into external Saint Graphs as 'Servants', they are summoned directly into the participating Masters to form 'Demi-Servants'. Eligible Heroic Spirits are restricted to those from the Master's lineage.
Originally intended to take place over fifty years, fears of diluted bloodlines prompted the Inheritance Grail War to begin significantly sooner than intended. In the face of such rushed preparations, it cannot be known how many corners were cut.