Marvel's Master of Heavenly Magic - Chapter 619 - 619 – How About a Bet? (Part One)

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“Victory!”

The tense Emiya Shirou and Tohsaka Rin leapt to their feet in excitement.

Across from them, George cast a glance at Illya and caught the sneer curling on her lips—mocking, utterly devoid of concern.

He knew at once that the Berserker she commanded would not fall so easily.

After all, it made perfect sense. Illya’s Berserker had fought using only his immense physical strength so far, never once revealing a Noble Phantasm. It was impossible for him to be defeated that simply.

Every Heroic Spirit possessed a Noble Phantasm. The fact that he hadn’t used it yet only meant the battle hadn’t forced him to.

“He dodged, but he’s seriously hurt! We’ve won for sure!”

Before Shirou and Rin could finish celebrating, their eyes widened in disbelief.

“What—how is that possible?!”

At the very last instant, Heracles twisted his body midair, barely avoiding a fatal slash to the neck. Instead, the blade tore across his chest, carving a wound so deep the bone was visible.

Such an injury would have long since killed any ordinary man—and even for a Heroic Spirit, it should have crippled him.

Yet as Saber stood with steady breath, certain of victory—as were her two allies—the impossible happened.

Heracles rose again as if nothing had happened, the gaping wound closing before their very eyes.

“My Berserker is immortal,” Illya said coolly, setting down her teacup. “Even if all of you attack him together, the result will be the same—you’ll die.”

Her expression was calm, detached, as though she were speaking of the weather. The killing intent behind her gaze had faded, but the arrogance remained.

“Since that’s the case,” George said with a faint smile, “how about we make a bet?”

Illya’s brows lifted slightly.

“A bet? On what?”

“On who wins in the end,” George replied. “If Artoria triumphs, you’ll willingly transfer your Command Spells to me—making Berserker my Servant as well.”

As he spoke, the teapot on the table lifted of its own accord, pouring fresh tea into Illya’s cup.

But this time, she didn’t pick it up. Her crimson eyes locked onto George’s face instead.

“You want my Berserker? You already have a Saber—don’t you think that’s a bit greedy?

And besides, no Master has ever controlled two Servants at once.”

“That may be true for others,” George said lightly, “but I have my own ways.

Not only do I want your Berserker, I intend to claim the Servants of all five other Masters as well.

Still, I prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. If possible, I’d rather reach my goal through a fair exchange—peacefully.

That way, none of you need to die for the sake of the Holy Grail. In the end, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

He raised his cup of green tea, taking a slow sip.

The calmness of his words sent ripples of shock through everyone present—not only Illya, but Rin and Shirou as well.

They had never imagined George would speak so casually of claiming every Servant for himself… and winning the Holy Grail War that way.

“You certainly know how to talk big,” Illya scoffed. “Fine. And what if you lose?”

Her tone was mocking—but the next moment, she shot to her feet, eyes wide in disbelief.

Because George’s answer was completely unexpected.

“If I lose,” he said, “then when the Holy Grail is removed from your body, I’ll ensure you survive—and restore you to a normal human life.”

Illya froze.

She was the vessel of the Grail. When the war ended, so would her life.

Even if she somehow managed to survive the separation, George could tell from the state of her reconstructed body—it wouldn’t last more than a year.

In short, Illya’s death was inevitable.

But to him, such a problem was trivial.

Extracting her soul and crafting her a new body—he could do that with a wave of his hand.

“What did you say? How do you know that? Are you telling the truth?!”

Several strands of Illya’s silver hair detached, morphing into white storks midair—then shifting again into countless blades of light, each one aimed at George’s forehead.

“You’d better tell the truth,” she hissed. “Or I’ll kill you right here!”

“No need to doubt me,” George said softly. “I only speak the truth.

If I’m not mistaken, this time, the Holy Grail is your heart.”

He pointed toward her chest. The moment he activated his Qi Flow and Devouring Magic, every sword of light disintegrated, reverting to silver hair that drifted harmlessly to the ground.

“Also,” he added with a smile, “your magic doesn’t work on me.”

Illya’s pupils contracted. Her most powerful spell—neutralized as easily as that?

She had come here prepared to capture or kill Saber’s Master if Heracles failed.

Yet now, it seemed she had walked into a trap instead.

Still, if this man truly knew that her heart was the Grail, then perhaps—just perhaps—he really did have a way to save her.

After a long silence, Illya sat back down.

“Fine,” she said finally. “I’ll take your bet.”

Her consciousness reached out to her Servant.

“Berserker—go berserk completely!”

Heracles roared in response. His magic surged, turning blood-red as he descended into absolute madness.

In that instant, both his strength and speed skyrocketed.

Artoria’s situation turned dire.

“In that case,” she whispered, drawing a deep breath, “I’ll end this completely!”

Her armor shattered under Heracles’ blows, a gash splitting across her waist—but she managed to dodge the next lethal strike and retreat just far enough.

There was only one move left.

“Excalibur—Sword of Promised Victory!”

The golden blade in her hands flared to life, its brilliance flooding the world.

She swung down, and a colossal sword of light—stretching for dozens of kilometers—descended from the heavens.

The night sky turned white as day.

At her peak strength, and knowing this mirror world would not affect reality, Artoria unleashed everything she had.

Heracles tried to dodge, but there was nowhere to run—the radiant blade consumed everything within several kilometers.

Boom!

The explosion split the air.

Heracles vanished, reduced to dust. Half of Fuyuki City itself seemed cleaved in two.

“What power,” George murmured, a trace of approval in his tone.

He nodded slightly. To be honest, if his current strength hadn’t been so great—or if the mirror space hadn’t been reinforced—Artoria’s attack might have shattered it entirely.

(End of Chapter)

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