Marvel's master of cosmic magic-Chapter 609

Seven contenders were meant to stand in this war.

Six had already revealed themselves.

One remained.

George closed the last of the spellbooks hovering around him, the pages dissolving into motes of pale light. His room fell quiet again, lit only by a single desk lamp and the thin glow of sigils fading from the air.

"Not that it matters," he muttered. "Even if all seven show up, a slot can always be... reclaimed."

Based on the call Rin Tohsaka had received earlier, five Masters had already completed their summons. Rin herself became the sixth. Only the Saber-class servant remained unaccounted for.

If George had to bet, the final Master could only be one person.

Shirou Emiya.

Records from the previous Grail War listed a man named Kiritsugu Emiya as the Saber Master. Shirou was his adopted son.

More importantly, Shirou carried something inside his body. A relic shaped like a sword’s sheath. A powerful catalyst.

Perfect for summoning Saber.

Which meant George had two clean paths into the war.

First, he could use the relic within Shirou to perform a Saber summoning himself and become the seventh Master.

The ritual circle wasn’t complicated. The Matou family’s archives contained full schematics. George had already memorized them.

Give him five minutes and he could execute it flawlessly.

Second option.

Kill an existing Master.

Then bind their Servant to himself using a contract override spell.

That was not a loophole. It was baked into the system.

A faction only truly fell when both Master and Servant were destroyed.

If either survived, they could re-enter the war.

The Matou family specialized in summoning theory. Their library was filled with contract-binding spells, emergency transfers, and forced-pact techniques.

They’d even once loaned a Servant to a non-mage and temporarily turned him into a Master.

Which made the war less like a tournament.

And more like a blood-soaked marketplace.

George leaned back in his chair.

"Let’s see which path opens first."

Footsteps.

Unsteady. Dragging.

George’s eyes flicked toward the hallway.

Shirou had returned home.

And he looked wrong.

Pale skin. Glassy eyes. A dark stain spreading across his shirt.

Yet when George focused, he saw no actual wound.

The fabric was torn at the chest and back, but the flesh beneath was intact.

A pierced heart... then healed.

"Someone skewered him," George thought. "Then patched him up."

Before he could move, a presence tore through the night sky.

Fast.

Violent.

A young man in blue combat gear landed lightly on the roof outside.

He carried a crimson spear.

The aura rolling off him was unmistakable.

A Servant.

Lancer-class.

George’s lips curled.

"So I wasn’t wrong about the war starting in this neighborhood."

The Servant dropped through the roof without hesitation, spear aimed straight down.

Shirou barely rolled aside in time.

Plaster exploded.

Shirou grabbed a rolled magazine from the floor, poured crude reinforcement into it, and swung.

It was brave.

It was also useless.

One exchange.

That was all it took.

Lancer drove a kick into Shirou’s torso and sent him crashing through the wall into the yard.

He did not follow up with a killing thrust.

Not yet.

"Why are you trying to kill me?" Shirou shouted, forcing himself upright.

Earlier that evening, he’d been cleaning the archery dojo at school.

Two strange figures appeared.

They fought like monsters.

Then pain.

Then darkness.

Someone had pulled him back from the brink. A girl, maybe.

He woke up alone.

Now the same nightmare stood in front of him again.

Lancer twirled his spear with exaggerated flair.

"Nothing personal. You saw something you weren’t supposed to."

He shrugged.

"Witnesses don’t get to live."

George frowned.

"So he’s not chasing him because he’s a Master."

Just collateral damage.

George considered letting it play out.

Shirou meant nothing to him.

If the boy died, George could extract the relic from his body later.

Clean and simple.

Then something flared.

A faint mark began forming on Shirou’s left hand.

Three lines.

Incomplete.

But unmistakable.

At the same time, the storage shed beside the yard lit up with a forming magic circle.

A summoning circle.

George’s smile widened.

"There you are."

The seventh Master.

Decision made.

Lancer took a step forward.

"Quit struggling. I’ll make it quick."

Before he could thrust, a branch snapped around his ankle.

Then another.

Then five more.

The branches yanked him backward, hoisted him upside-down, and smashed him into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

The earth cratered with each impact.

Shirou froze mid-step.

Behind him, the dead maple tree his father had planted years ago now stood towering and lush, its branches writhing like living limbs.

The tree was beating Lancer like a discarded ragdoll.

"Th-The tree... is alive?"

Blood sprayed from Lancer’s mouth.

He snarled, flooding his spear with crimson energy.

A single sweep severed the branches.

He flipped upright and skidded across the yard, spear leveled, eyes scanning the darkness.

"This isn’t natural," he growled. "Show yourself."

The maple tree rippled.

Bark flowed like liquid.

Wood reshaped into flesh.

A young man stepped out of the trunk as though emerging from water.

George dusted imaginary dirt from his sleeve.

"Lancer," he said casually, eyes drifting to the crimson spear. "Running into me means your luck just got worse."

His gaze lingered on the weapon.

"That thing’s interesting."

Those branches hadn’t been ordinary wood.

They were denser than steel.

Lancer had sliced through them anyway.

Which meant the spear wasn’t just sharp.

It was special.

George smiled.

This night just became profitable.