To sympathise, pity, yet never understand. That is the mind of a Magus. Take the sweetest specimen and you'll find that they're the same. Magecraft itself, after all, is an inherently selfish phenomenon. When multiple users degrade the efficiency of a given form of thaumatology, it's only natural for said users to limit those with access to it as much as possible. Though they may claim to be working together on occasion, one need only look to the number of failed collaborations to see just how mentally isolated a Magus could be.

What, then, if you were to have them collaborate on a competition? Would it not make sense that under the guise of geniality, each would be making their moves to secure victory? As soon as the bare minimum was prepared, each action had to be scrutinized to ensure that the least assistance was provided to their fellow participants. Whether it was a brutal battle or a trivial pursuit mattered not. So long as there was something to be gained, who cared if there was something for someone else to lose? The Inheritance Grail War was no exception.

Benedict knew that all too well. Truthfully, he didn't have much opportunity to ignore it. Ignorance is rather difficult when you have what feels like every family member breathing down your neck to make sure you tip the scales in your favour. Hell, considering that the instructions they gave him were already biased towards his magical signature, he never stood a chance of playing fair in the first place. He'd have to thank Lord Greyerl for pointing that out sometime. Loathsome as it was, it was better to have a trusted family friend point that out instead of someone willing to take your life.

Thus, as he gazed upon the embers of his flesh that were supposed to be his Command Seals, Benedict could only assume that this was some sort of cosmic retribution for his sins. At least, that would explain why it had happened to all of them instead of just himself. If the others hadn't messed with their portions of the Inheritance Grail War, Benedict would eat his hat. Screw it, he'd eat all thirty!

Actually, hang on a second…

"Command Seals… where are my Command Seals?" despite his pain, Benedict couldn't help but reach to cover his ears. That Phillip was capable of so piercing a shriek really shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, but that did little to dull the ache. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Perhaps what did dull the pain was the fact that any trace of sophistication had decidedly fled Phillip's body, the man's mad flailing of his wrist as if that would somehow bring forth his Command Seals threatening to dislocate something. Admittedly, it was rather hard for Benedict to blame him though. Maybe it would've been alright had Phillip been from an extraneous family. For someone who was ostensibly the head of the whole operation though? Nothing could be more embarrassing. Besides, so long as he did get the Command Seals, anyone who witnessed his faffs would eventually be killed…

…was probably what ran through Phillip's head, Benedict assumed.

Well, there went that theory. If he was going to have to go through the pain as punishment, there was no way Phillip was going to get off scot-free.

"I seem to have been excluded as well." Fortunately, Lord Abades was far better at maintaining his composure, his own irritation reduced to an annoyed glare at bare skin. What little his face revealed, however, was more than made up for in the vitriol of his voice. "Let us cut to the chase. Kade Igeta, need we blame you or the Handy Family for this mistake?"

"…This good enough for you?" came a bitter reply, barely managing to force itself through gritted teeth. As soon as Kade raised his own blemish-free fist, the reason became obvious. "Treat those bigwigs however you want. I don't give a damn. Screwing themselves over, though? That doesn't seem like their thing. You ask me, I'd question that fancy little light show before."

"…Impossible. Engravings as intricate as this aren't so easily meddled with. The fact that it has worked at all should be proof enough that the Magic Circuit has not been compromised." Lady Law soon retorted, a fire that evaded her before now bursting forth.

In the several seconds it took Lady Law to formulate a response, a whole myriad of expressions passed across her face. Honestly, that she was capable of such a range of emotions came as a surprise to Benedict. Throughout the turmoil and tension that was their previous interactions, it seemed as if Lady Law was permanently stuck in one of two states - anger or annoyance. This was quite possibly the first time Benedict had seen anything akin to weakness in the Thule Society representative.

You know what? it wasn't too bad. Emotions suited her.

Didn't mean her words couldn't be absolute bull though. If anyone knew how to mess with engravings, it was going to be the Thule Society. Benedict wasn't going to deny the heart in Lady Law's words, but that didn't mean she couldn't be a victim of the same pressures he was. At least he had someone willing to point out what his parents did to the Lesser Grail behind his back. It wasn't as if any of the other participants in the Inheritance Grail War would know anything about the Magic Circuit; making minor adjustments to throw off the balance without any traces would be practically child's play for the Thule Society.

Having said that, Benedict had no reason to place too much pressure on Lady Law's shoulders. With the complexity of the formulae she was working with, anyone smart enough to try and copy it was also smart enough to understand the consequences of failure. While she or her associates might have gotten away with a little meddling, something on the scale of completely ruining the Command Seal system necessary for the ritual to be complete was off the table. No, the Magic Circuit couldn't be blamed for their current situation. Not by itself, at any rate.

"But what about if it was made wi-?"

"Mr Igeta, If I hear you blame the materials for even a moment, I will be more than happy to tear that tongue out." Lady Woodcock did not hesitate to spit. Paired with the pride in her posture, it made for a fierce image, only partially hindered by the cute cradling of her injured hand. "I mean, it's not as if we had – oh, I don't know – every single person here witness the materials as they were coming in. It's one thing to be ignorant, but please try not to display it so proudly."

With no end in sight to the growing chaos and condescension, Benedict's sigh went unnoticed. Oh, how he wished he could have the same nonchalance as Lady Beauchêne, more preoccupied with a yawn than the arguments and aggravation. Then again, it wasn't as if there was much for her to add anyway. Having been invited purely for the sake of bolstering the roster, the majority treated her like a non-entity. Anything she could say would be treated like empty air. Besides, considering her body seemed less than a second from falling asleep there and then, it wasn't as if she looked particularly upset with the current status quo.

So, having Lady Beauchêne help was no use. A shame. In that case, there was only one option.

"…Are we really going to play the blame game here?" the words were weak, yet every eye in the vicinity glued themselves to Benedict in an instant. "There's no point in antagonising each other right now. We only have four Masters of seven; the Inheritance Grail War can't continue at this rate. Shouldn't we be focusing on how to fix this instead of just laying the blame on somebody else?"

"No, that's incorrect."

… Damn it.

In hindsight, Benedict really should have expected that. Was it too much to ask for some genuine unity for a second? That Lady Law was the one to contradict him was just kicking him while he was down. Was all that prior praise for nought?

"We have researched the prior Holy Grail Wars extensively. According to our calculations, a similar level of mana has been extracted from the Earth." She remarked, to silence.

What were they to say? Having felt the energy permeating the air as the ritual was conducted, it was hardly an impossibility. Any acknowledgement of that, however, would also mean that they had to face the implications of such a statement. As several seconds passed by without a response, it was soon clear how attractive that was. With so many mouths seemingly sewn shut, it would take a roll of Lady Woodcock's eyes before an answer could be heard.

"So, you're saying that there are potentially unaffiliated Magi beginning their preparations to move against us?" she soon snarked. "Then there is no time to waste. Phillip. Lord Abades. Mr Igeta. I have no idea what you plan to do from here on, but I hope you won't make things difficult and return to your prior obligations. I would suggest you act as supervisors, but we already have the Greyerls. Well, that and I really can't see Phillip doing anything to help in this mess."

"Han-hey! Hang on a minute!" was the boisterous reply, Phillip's face dyed a hideous crimson. Benedict couldn't help but think that was partially due to exhaustion, having thrown his hand so wildly about. "You can't just… tell us not to participate! Who do you think yo-!"

Fortunately, whatever bluster he was about to vomit out was quickly choked by dense smoke, only distance and a swift spell saving Benedict from a similar fate. Surrounded by an acrid scent and a cacophony of coughs, Benedict almost began to question who was responsible. The train of thought didn't last long though – not when the pile of dust that sat where Lady Beauchêne's feet once were couldn't have made the answer more obvious.

For a moment, Benedict had no clue how to respond. After all, what little he knew of the Beauchêne family's magecraft didn't exactly explain the billowing smoke. Mimicry, after all, was rather far removed from that. A smoke bomb then? But what on Earth was a Magus family doing gathering smoke bombs? To use them in the Inheritance Grail War? Impossible; as soon as news was spread of such an act, they'd never be able to raise their heads in the Mage's Association again. Just look at that so-called 'Magus Killer'.

Okay. Maybe not the best example. But regardless!

A quick slap to the side of his own face shook those thoughts out of Benedict's mind. If there was time for those kinds of musings, Lady Beauchêne wouldn't have resorted to… this in the first place. She knew exactly what that malice dripping from Phillip and Kade spelt for the rest of them; they'd all done their research, heard the stories about how Command Seals could technically be 'stolen'. Seeing as they were already fully prepared to take their lives during the Inheritance Grail War, taking a limb or two beforehand was hardly off the table. Completely against everything that the Tancreds had preached during their recruitment campaign, for sure, but hardly off the table. Anyone who didn't run was simply inviting themselves to be targeted. Hell, delaying any longer meant even running might not make much of a difference.

Consequently, given her example and ample opportunity, Benedict would have been a fool not to follow in her footsteps. Quite literally at that – with their meeting location encased in dense woodlands, there were only so many routes back to civilisation. If he didn't take advantage of Lady Beauchêne's distraction, it would soon become a game of speed. One glance down at Benedict's gut was all that he needed to know how dangerous that would be. Without a moment's thought, he found himself chasing after Lady Beauchêne's shadow, a small chunk of his mind trying to process how she ran so fast.

Throwing one foot before the other, Benedict knew not how long the journey took him. It hadn't been a particularly arduous effort to reach their meeting location – mostly because of the complaints that would have been heard otherwise – but trying to keep track of time when so much brainpower was focused on running was rather troublesome. No matter how long it actually took, Benedict was certain that the intense pain coming from his legs could be from nothing more than arduous hours. That there was still the strength to pull open the door of his rented room was practically a miracle.

All strength fleeing his body, Benedict couldn't be bothered to stop himself from meeting the floor. Much as he derided the poor aesthetics of the hotel he had booked, it mattered little when the cheap rug made for such a comforting presence. If only he could have stayed there, idle for the rest of the month he had rented. Alas, being so close to the floorboards only reminded Benedict of the effort he had expended carving them, and the risks that would come in leaving them dormant. If he wanted any form of relaxation in the future, there was no time to rest.

Exhausted, Benedict couldn't help but be thankful that the work necessary for the summoning process had been far simpler than the rest of his tasks for the war. Such was the beauty of Leston's Belmont House, rated… well, it wasn't last on the list.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Though the crappy walls may not have been the best protection, the frighteningly low bill meant that pulling up the carpet to carve his summoning circle had been effortless. After all, the damn thing was already halfway off the floor as it was. For anyone else, it would've been a nightmare. For someone who needed a lot of inconspicuous blank space to carve on? It couldn't have been better. Benedict didn't even need to worry about the noise his carving caused; who would care when the place was already filled with plenty of questionable sounds? By those factors combined, Belmont House had made for an excellent environment for Benedict's preparations.

Besides, one should never underestimate the pride of a noble. Such a shabby abode would unquestionably deter many, and they knew that full well. What reason did they have, then, to attack the hotel when they just know that nobody of importance would reside within? Naturally, Benedict would be amongst the first to point out just how ridiculous that kind of logic was. What else, though, could you expect of those raised in a society that flaunted common sense on the regular? Much as he hated to admit it, Benedict would have been much the same had it not been for Lord Greyerl's early education.

Thanks to that, the hotel was better protection than one might expect. When interruptions during the summoning process could mean the difference between life and death, being able to hide his summoning circle in so inconspicuous a space was a special opportunity. Having received his Command Seals under such unfortunate circumstances, that opportunity became more crucial than ever.

However, depending on the environment could only take Benedict so far. Left without alternative, weak fingers had no choice but to claw at the carpet. Despite his exhaustion though, the trembling that came over Benedict as he pulled the fabric back could not be restrained. For such a thing to persist, even through the adrenaline of his current situation, it brought out a scoff. Faced with a sign as that, the truth really couldn't be denied. As much as he dreaded the upcoming combat, the fire in his blood hadn't dampened at all.

How could it, when it bore the trace of William McCarty Jr.?

The Juvenile Rascal King, an icon of the American Wild West and all the freedom it represented. From the moment he defended his mother at the cost of another man's life, Billy the Kid was a man who paved his own path with a smile on his face. A friendly figure who never hesitated when trouble came his way – it was no wonder that tales of Billy the Kid had persisted to this day. With both charisma to spare and a quick draw that couldn't be defeated, one could only wonder how the era of outlaws would've developed had Pat Garett been less cowardly in his pursuit. Such was the strength of Billy the Kid's legend and ability.

The moment that their research proved their blood connection, The York Family's elders had been delighted. A little dismissive of a gunman, certainly, but far from disgusted. A dexterity defeated only by instant death; in a conflict like the Inheritance Grail War, it was an advantage that couldn't be ignored. After all, what need was there for power when a single shot could end the fight before it even began? Plus, a projectile-based fighting style synthesised so wonderfully with their wind manipulation magecraft. No wonder so reticent a family had been ecstatic when pushing for Benedict to participate. If the enemy were killed in the blink of an eye, what was there to fear of the other families?

Such violent means, however, were of no interest to Benedict. Even so, if merely by a margin, the idea of calling upon Billy the Kid had made the Inheritance Grail War just that little bit more tolerable. Don't get him wrong, it was still an utterly horrifying deathmatch that could see him crushed like an insect, but that information alone had seeded the event with an undeniable allure.

Why? Because if nothing else, the confidence of the greatest known outlaw was a boon of incredible value. Truthfully, the combat capabilities of Billy the Kid were just the icing on the cake in Benedict's eyes. The speed to strike before your opponent means little if you cannot face them at all. Considering how the charisma oozing off his brother was the reason why Benedict was a part of the Inheritance Grail War in the first place instead of him, Benedict augmenting his intelligence with that confidence could flip the state of his family on its head. That potential alone was enough to spur him onward.

That's right Benedict. Steel your heart. Though your courage is frail, it cannot be nought.

So long as those thoughts remained in his mind, Benedict could finally conjure the strength to go through with the summoning process. Fortunately, beyond the actual engraving, very little was required of the summoner to complete the summoning process. So long as he poured his od into the magical circuits he engraved, then the rest was for the Heavens to decide. Thus, the small amount of hesitance in Benedict's movements mattered little as he placed his hand to the wood, words long practised flowing from his mouth.

"Let blood and bone be the essence. Let my body and the Archduke of Contracts be the foundation. Let gold be the colour I pay tribute to.

Let rise a wall against the winds that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked path we tread through time rotate.

Thus, I declare! Your flesh shall meld with me. Our entwined fates shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Should you submit to this will, this reason, then answer!

Now, an oath shall be sworn! Together, we shall attain the virtues of all of Heaven, so we may denounce the evils of all of Hell.

From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Pro-!"

"Nice poem kid. Maybe give writing a shot in the next life."

It didn't matter that the blood flowing from his throat smothered Benedict's dying words. They wouldn't have been heard over the gunshot anyway.

FACT/EXTRA: COMMAND SEALS

Three claims of absolute obedience, Command Seals are holy marks signifying a Magi's status as a 'Master'. Under normal circumstances, Command Seals bind a Servant to a Master by allowing for their subjugation. While Command Seals will not regenerate, already present Command Seals may be stolen from or granted by other Masters upon their forfeiture from the Holy Grail war.

Typically, Command Seals appear as od-based projections, each order given resulting in one disappearing from a Master's body. However, the Inheritance Grail War's Command Seals have been seared onto the Masters for some unknown reason. How this affects their usage has yet to be determined.