Chapter 329: The Minimum Cost

Chapter 329: Chapter 329: The Minimum Cost

Irisviel was a bit dazed; this was completely different from what she knew.

Waver’s mouth twitched, thinking to himself, "Why does this Caster’s way of thinking sound just like those insufferable instructors at the Clock Tower..."

"But..."

Irisviel hesitated. "If the Holy Grail really can grant the victor’s wish, even if it’s not omnipotent, then surely..."

"There isn’t a wish I have that requires it to be fulfilled."

Herta interrupted her, her tone flat. "The things I want, I will research myself, build myself, or acquire through equivalent exchange. Why place my hopes on a cup of unknown origin and suspicious mechanism?"

She tilted her head slightly, casting a glance at Irisviel with those purple eyes, her gaze lingering for a fleeting moment on her body—especially near her chest.

That look made Irisviel feel an inexplicable, slight shiver, as if her deepest secret had been seen through.

Herta seemed to have indeed noticed something, but she quickly withdrew her gaze, looking back at the light screen, her tone still devoid of ripples. "Forget it."

She didn’t continue.

She didn’t comment on the stupidity of this design.

After all, in her view, while the magic system of this world was interesting, it was riddled with inefficiency and inexplicable stubbornness in many places.

Irisviel fell silent, her red eyes lowering slightly.

She knew that this Caster had likely already noticed the abnormality in her body.

But the fact that the other party chose not to point it out made her feel conflicted.

Waver didn’t understand the meaningful confrontation between the two women at all; he just looked around blankly, feeling that the atmosphere had become even stranger.

Just then, Herta suddenly raised her hand without warning, making a "wait a moment" gesture, her gaze sharply focused on a corner of the light screen—the edge of the footage from Rider’s path, where she seemed to have caught a flash of light.

However, before she could analyze it further, another surprise arrived first.

Golden particles of light gathered in the air nearby without warning.

First appeared those crimson, arrogant eyes, followed by luxurious golden armor and that flamboyant golden hair.

Archer, Gilgamesh, descended slowly while stepping on invisible stairs with his arms crossed, his scarlet pupils sweeping over the three people at the door before finally fixing on Herta.

A subtly excited expression hung on his handsome face.

"Hmph, as expected, you are still here, Caster."

The King of Heroes’ tone carried his usual condescension. "What, are you waiting for your master, that durable mongrel, to clean up the filth below so you can reap the rewards?"

Waver shrank back in fear, and Irisviel also clenched her hands nervously.

Archer’s appearance was definitely not out of goodwill, especially at this critical juncture.

Herta, however, only glanced at him indifferently, not even bothering to shift her gaze completely away from the light screen.

"What are you here for? Do you also want to go down and clean up?"

Her tone had no fluctuations, as if she were shooing away an annoying automatic salesman.

"Clean up? Is that kind of dirty work something I, the King, should be doing?"

Archer sneered, his scarlet eyes fixed on Herta, the intent to pick a fight and provoke her was obvious. "I have come to see what gave you the guts to ignore me, the King, again and again..."

He didn’t finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear: he was here to save face and assert his presence.

Herta didn’t even bother to turn her head this time. While quickly scanning a larger energy reaction point newly marked in the perspective of Jack on the light screen, she said in a calm tone, "Oh. Then you’ve seen me, you can leave. Or do you want to experience firsthand what it feels like to be an incubator? There should still be space left down there."

"You—!"

Archer’s anger level rose visibly, and golden ripples began to fluctuate behind him.

But Herta’s next sentence made him pause.

"Besides, your temper seems exceptionally high today, and your judgment has dropped significantly."

Herta finally turned her head, looking at Archer with calm eyes. Her gaze didn’t look like she was looking at a powerful Heroic Spirit, but rather like she was observing an abnormal experimental subject. "Although you are usually arrogant and conceited, you at least know how to weigh the situation and observe. Now, you’re just like a puppet controlled by clumsy strings, knowing only how to bare your fangs at the most conspicuous target."

Archer’s pupils contracted slightly, and a cold, icy rage flashed in the depths of his crimson eyes at being called out.

Herta ignored him further and looked back at the screen, as if she had just stated a fact.

(As expected, his mind has been influenced. A very subtle technique, the work of Phantylia.)

She remained outside not only to monitor the progress underground and provide necessary remote support, but also to guard against exactly this—to prevent "unexpected factors" secretly influenced by Phantylia from running over to interfere with the main task.

Archer’s appearance perfectly confirmed her prediction.

The problem now is how to dismiss this King of Heroes, who has been inflicted with an "irritable provocation" debuff, with the minimum cost, while not letting him actually cause trouble.

Her fingers tapped unconsciously on the edge of the light screen, her mind rapidly cycling through plans.

Meanwhile, deep underground.

Artoria, the king of knights of Britain, class Saber, was tightly gripping the hilt of her invisible sword with one hand, while the other hand... was tightly covering her mouth and nose.

Her emerald eyes were filled with unprecedented shock and a trace of... despair.

This passage was wider than she had anticipated, but the environment was even worse.

Underfoot was slippery and sticky secretions of unknown composition, and the walls were covered with dark liquids and translucent egg-like objects constantly oozing out.

The air was stagnant, mixed with some kind of pungent acid and...

An indescribable, terrifying stench that felt like a mixture of rotten fish and shrimp fermented for eight hundred years, combined with the ultimate aura of a sewer!

Moreover, the further she went in, the more intense the smell became, almost taking on a physical form, like countless smelly fists taking turns pounding on her olfactory nerves!

(Is this... is this the smell of the Worm Cave? How... how filthy!)

Saber considered herself to have an iron will and never backed down in the face of strong enemies or desperate situations, but this stench, which struck directly at her physiological instincts and challenged the limits of her endurance, was truly the ultimate test of her knightly demeanor.

She felt she was about to lose her poker face; her brows were knitted tightly, her breathing was extremely shallow, and she wished she could even close her pores.

(Caster’s master... that Ms. Jack, how on earth is she moving forward so calmly in this environment? Is her sense of smell... malfunctioning?)

With this feeling of admiration and confusion, Saber finally arrived at a relatively open fork in the passage.

This place seemed like an abandoned small underground cavern, with more insect shells and unidentified bones scattered on the ground.

Then, she saw Jack standing not far away, seemingly waiting for her.

Gray hair, golden eyes lacking highlights, a flat expression, her clothes stained with some mucus and dust, but overall she looked... unusually calm.

She was even holding something in her hand.

Saber felt a surge in her heart; suppressing her discomfort, she quickened her pace to go forward and regroup.

However, as the distance closed, the stench that had been tormenting her suddenly soared to a peak that made her soul tremble!

"Ugh—!"

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