Rybakov was on the Whitehall road and was walking towards Trafalgar Square. Arrived in the square he settled on a bench, took out his notebook and began to compose a short poem, he was anxious to make the most of his inspiration and so he wrote:
We live an empty life
guided by murderous instincts.We fight and kill them
and ourselves.
We are little more than slaves
chained to a horrible fate,
we are arrogant and sick,
infected by the plague called:
Ambition!
At the end of it all, what awaits us?
At the end of it all, what do we deserve?
At the end of it all, what will we get?
A slow death or a brief victory?
Rybakov stopped writing as soon as he noticed the presence of Clovis Wolff. The man was walking towards him with a rancorous look and with strong dark circles, his fists were firmly closed and his forehead was wet. Rybakov immediately realized that something bad was going to happen shortly but he didn't get upset because only a fool would start a fight in a square full of civilians and Clovis wasn't crazy, he put away the notebook and sat on the bench as if to wait Clovis who stopped a few steps away from him.
« You will not win the Holy Grail War. » Clovis grumbled.
« Are you here to stop me from winning? » Rybakov asked.
« Exactly. »« Doesn't it seem a bit exaggerated to start a fight in the middle of the morning in a square full of civilians? »
« Do you think it's a problem for me? »
Rybakov immediately noticed that Clovis didn't have the Command Seal on his hand and then asked, doubtfully:
« You no longer have the Servant. Caster is dead, then? »
« Exactly, so what? I can still win this war without him. »
« I don't think you can do that, мой друг, you are literally in the worst possible scenario: you don't have a Servant and you're in front of me. What are you going to do? If you attack me you will risk attracting police attention. Is that what you want? I would think about it if I were you. »
« Do you think I don't have the courage to take risks? »
« Risking is madness, especially in your situation. »« You don't scare me, Russian. »
« I noticed this, but it's not about fear but of cunning. Be smart and forget it. You've already lost the war, going all the way could cost you a lot. »
« I prefer not, thanks. »
Clovis opened his hand and pointed it at a civilian who happened to be passing by, fired a magic bullet from the palm that pierced the victim's chest and killed her on the spot. The cruel murder began a chain of shouts, thrusts and crazy runs. People emptied the square in less than a few minutes but misfortune would have it that some police officers were present in Trafalgar Square and when they saw the scene they took out their guns and approached Clovis Wolff with caution. One of the policemen shouted:
« Put your hands up! »
Clovis ignored the order and fired six magic bullets from one hand at a time that killed the various policemen. Rybakov did nothing to prevent this from happening, he sat, motionless, with a calm and at times bored expression. Clovis turned to Rybakov and asserted with an evil grin:
« As you can see, I don't give a fuck about the rest of the world. May these barbarians burn! I am a magus and my priorities win over everything! »« You're completely mad. »
« Be quiet! »
Clovis was on the point of firing another shot but Rybakov intercepted it, hit the man with a knee straight to his stomach and then, grabbing his arm, made a quick move that overturned him. Clovis fell to the ground but got up almost immediately and commented, surprised:
« You're not just a poet, are you? There is something that does not come back to me. »
« Прости меня. I am not one who loves to talk about himself. I like to call myself a poet because I like writing poetry, but first I was something else. »« Who taught you magic? »
« The Order of the Blessed, have you heard of it? »
« You mean the order founded by Tsar Alexander I of Russia after he retired to private life. If I am not mistaken it is the order of magi who have accepted to remain poor to respect their religious principles. »
« Quite right. It's the same one who ordered magus to accompany Soviet soldiers to Orlov when your organization attacked. »
« I knew it. I knew you weren't just a ridiculous poet. I had guessed it. »
« Magic is the poetry of battle. »
« Fine words, too bad you will die. »
Clovis tried to hit Rybakov again but at that moment an arrow pierced his left hand. The man collapsed on the ground screaming in pain and Rybakov, surprised, turned to find the culprit and located with his eyes Archer who was on the roof of the National Gallery.
« But look at that pleasant surprise. » Rybakov muttered.
Along with Archer there was also Fukano Harumi, who descended in his arms. The girl reached Rybakov and said to him:
« I want to win this war and to do it I'll have to eliminate you. »
« Last time it didn't go well. »« Things have changed since then. I'm ready now. »
« Perfect. Then … »
Assassin appeared behind Rybakov and immediately threw three knives at Archer, who dodged them with incredible agility. The two Servants began to clash.
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