Chapter 31: I’m Just a Passing, Ordinary Demon Sorcerer

Fuyuki City.

It was a rainy day.

Inside a corner manga shop. An old television was broadcasting the news, reporting on a "gas explosion" that occurred near the wharf last night. Fortunately, aside from financial losses, there were no reported casualties.

"Honestly, a disaster of that scale and they can't find the cause? I don't know what those officials are being paid for!" The shop owner switched off the TV, grumbling in annoyance.

He glanced at the two customers sitting by the transparent glass window.

The one flipping through a manga appeared tall and burly, easily two meters in height, wearing a dark green suit with the collar pulled extremely low, boldly revealing a portion of his bronze pectoral muscles. He had squeezed his massive frame into the seat, looking completely enthralled by the shonen battle manga in his hands.

The other man appeared even more unusual. Seen from behind, his long black hair cascaded down like a waterfall. Despite being in the modern era, he wore a set of ancient Chinese Taoist robes, and every movement he made carried an air of refined nobility. At this moment, the man was looking slightly to the side, his gaze lost in the falling rain.

The two had arrived together and seemed to be on good terms.

Television actors, probably, the owner guessed. Both men possessed an aura far too extraordinary to be common folk struggling to make ends meet.

Zoran withdrew his gaze from the rain and looked at Shendu across from him. This fellow hadn't even bothered to take on a spirit form to hide himself. Instead, he had followed Zoran's example and crafted a human body.

Truth be told, he looked a bit like a fitness star from a 1980s television program. If memory served, after the battle ended last night, Shendu had asked if there was any way to recover the wisdom ground away by the Netherworld over the eons. As the Fire Demon, he had once been a powerful Demon Sorcerer in his own right.

Zoran's answer had been simple: Read. As vessels of knowledge, books were the most direct source. With a demon's capabilities, comprehending simple magical texts would be trivial. Zoran had been prepared to turn the prominent magus families upside down to secure some ancient grimoires for Shendu to study.

But Shendu completely defied expectations.

Not long ago, they had passed this corner manga shop. He had glanced at the packed bookshelves inside and insisted on coming in to have a look. Though Zoran knew these things lacked any real intellectual "nutrition," he let him be.

The result was what he saw now: the fire had been lit, and there was no putting it out.

A handsome, wildly built fitness enthusiast nearly two meters tall, hunched over in a chair reading a manga book that wasn't even the size of his palm. The scene was indescribably bizarre, it felt like seeing Hulk threading a needle.

Zoran tapped his knuckles lightly on the table, reminding him, "Shendu, we have already wasted three hours."

Shendu looked up, puzzled. "Have we?"

Zoran could bet that when this fellow "transformed," he had definitely used Valmont as a reference. He had the same medium-length white hair, a sharp, chiseled face, and even the same taste for dark green suits. Just moments ago, two young girls holding umbrellas had stopped outside the glass wall, staring intently at his exposed chest, debating whether to come in and ask for his contact information.

"My brother, tell me..." Shendu suddenly turned the shonen manga around, pointing at a panel where the protagonist was facing off against a boss. "What is this 'bond' they speak of?"

Zoran took a glance. It was the usual cliché: the protagonist's party is beaten half to death before suddenly shouting "This is our bond!" and triggering a power-up to win.

He shook his head and spread his hands. "A certain... link between people?"

Shendu nodded to himself and lowered his head back into the pages. This fellow really wasn't getting tired of it. Relying on his elder brother's presence, he had completely relaxed.

Fine, Zoran thought, a hint of helplessness flashing across his face.

This brother had been sealed for nearly a thousand years, either trapped in the Netherworld or turned into a stone statue where he couldn't even move, only talk. He was either being sealed or was on his way to being sealed. When it came to knowledge of modern life, he likely didn't have as much experience as Zoran had gained in his twenty-plus years in his previous life. It was only natural for him to be interested in new things now.

Yet, inexplicably, Zoran felt he had changed slightly. The Demons were ancient fossils who had lived for tens of thousands of years. But the way they were interacting now felt remarkably like ordinary brothers.

Does he really trust me this much?

The crisp chime of the door's bell rang out, followed by the click-clack of leather shoes on the wooden floor. Zoran didn't turn around; he knew who it was. He raised a finger, and a chair suddenly moved on its own, as if lifted by an invisible hand, and settled firmly beside the table.

"Please, have a seat," he said, his voice tinged with a subtle irony. "Mr. Tokiomi Tohsaka."

"Th-thank you."

A weary, weathered Tokiomi Tohsaka took his seat, his gaze cautious and wary as he looked at Zoran. This was the Master of Caster, a man who made one feel as though resistance was utterly futile. He ran a hand through his messy hair and said dejectedly, "You knew it was me."

"Naturally. Your familiars were practically glued to me all day." Zoran chuckled, eyeing him.

The man was a mess. His once-immaculate suit was stained with water and wrinkled; his tie was frayed, and his face was covered in stubble. He looked as though he had aged ten years overnight.

Zoran leaned back comfortably and said calmly, "You came looking for me? Are you not afraid I might kill you?"

Tokiomi suddenly choked, falling into a fit of coughing. "H-how could that be... Archer is dead. I am already out of the race. This struggle no longer has anything to do with me."

"Then what is the reason you've labored so hard through this heavy rain to find me?"

Tokiomi pressed his lips together, the muscles in his face twitching with tension. He looked up from the table and met Zoran's indifferent eyes. They were like a deep, lightless lake that threatened to swallow his gaze. He bit his lip, his words squeezing out from between his teeth:

"I must ask! Have you... have you reached the Root?"

As the words left his mouth, he seemed to lose all his strength, slumping back into his chair. As the head of the Tohsaka family, Tokiomi was well-informed. As a magus, his desire for the Root was almost entirely undisguised. After all, his sole purpose for entering the Holy Grail War was to use the Grail to reach it.

Now, a magus who had likely surpassed everyone else stood before him. Even though Archer was gone, he had to risk angering this man to ask. This was his, a magus's, lifelong wish.

"The Root." Zoran tapped his knuckles on the table and smiled. "What is that?"

Tokiomi froze instantly, his pupils trembling. "No... impossible. How could that be!" he stammered in disbelief.

"Tokiomi Tohsaka, I think you've mistaken me for something else." Zoran spread his hands and teased, "I'm just a passing, ordinary Demon Sorcerer."