Chapter 80: Where Are My Servants? Where Are My Animated Servants?
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
“…Tang Yao, did you release that short film?”
At that very moment, inside Avalon Studio, Tang Yao had just uploaded the promotional video to the website and barely started working again when Kang Ming suddenly called out to her.
Raising her head, Tang Yao glanced toward Kang Ming, puzzled. “Yeah, what’s up?”
Kang Ming explained, “The website’s traffic spiked massively in just a short time…”
“Huh?” Tang Yao froze for a second. “The readers are that fast? Wait, is something wrong?”
This was a first for everyone in the studio, and she couldn’t help but worry about potential issues.
“Should be fine,” Kang Ming replied instinctively. “We specifically prepared—”
“Holy crap! The server’s about to overload! What kind of comic is this? How many people are rushing in?!” Before Kang Ming could finish, Sun Gong, who’d been monitoring the backend, suddenly shouted in a mix of shock and panic.
Every head in the studio turned toward him.
“...What?!” Kang Ming bolted upright, and in an instant, the entire studio descended into chaos.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Su Deqiang muttered, “Holy…”
After watching the short film seven or eight times, he finally opened the website. It lagged a bit at first, slightly dampening the experience, but it soon smoothed out. The moment the site loaded, he was stunned. A logo—resembling both a small boat and a sword sheath—appeared during the loading screen.
Then, the page fully rendered. Clad in battle armor, Saber’s half-body portrait materialized at the center. Her emerald-green eyes stared straight into the camera, as if piercing through the screen to meet the readers’ gaze, before she seemed to recall something, her eyelids drooping as she looked away. It was astonishingly lifelike.
So dynamic! Su Deqiang gaped at the animated 2D character, his face alight with amazement.
In this world, where mobile gacha games had yet to take off, applications for animating 2D characters were scarce. The software Tang Yao used was still in its early stages, mostly confined to niche romance visual novels. Its scope was limited, and most companies’ attempts were subpar since the technology was still being refined.
But Tang Yao, armed with her past-life experience and sheer stubbornness, had manually keyframed the animation to a level that matched fully matured future techniques. Here, character animation typically relied on 3D modeling or traditional animation, so Su Deqiang had never encountered anything like this. Seeing the exquisite artwork come to life was like stumbling upon a new continent.
Just the fact that the character moved was mind-blowing. He even thought it surpassed traditional animation.
“Who the hell is this third-rate artist? This has to be headed for an anime adaptation, right?!” Su Deqiang mused, growing more enchanted with the homepage’s animated Saber. He even tried figuring out how to extract the animation—unsuccessfully, of course.
Still, his excitement was undeterred. The website’s polish made him sense something big was on the horizon. With that thought, he eagerly explored the site.
The entire website oozed aesthetic appeal. Beyond the breathtaking animated portrait, the UI clearly reflected meticulous effort—clean, simple, and gorgeous.
“Settings? World? Characters?” Su Deqiang scanned the site and quickly spotted four sections. The first was the comic itself, which he knew would be serialized there. But the other three…
After a brief pause, he clicked on “Settings.” It was a treasure trove of Fate series lore: the Holy Grail War, Servants, classes, inherent skills, Noble Phantasms, Command Seals, mages and magecraft, mage families, the Church… The list was endless.
For fans of Fate’s intricate foundations, this could keep them hooked all day. Beyond text, there were stunning illustrations—like unique Command Seals, each paired with its own image. It felt like an entire world unfurling before his eyes.
Su Deqiang skimmed through it, awestruck, then moved to the “World” section. Focused on the Holy Grail War timeline, it was the sparsest to avoid spoilers.
Next, he clicked “Characters”—and was dumbfounded. It showcased every character introduced in Fate/Zero so far: Kiritsugu Emiya, Irisviel von Einzbern, Tokiomi Tohsaka, Kirei Kotomine, Waver Velvet… Even minor figures like the child versions of Rin Tohsaka, Illya, and Sakura Matou were included.
To avoid spoilers, their bios were brief, but their portraits? All animated! Though less detailed than Saber’s homepage image, they were still remarkable.
“Holy shit… This has to be for an anime, right? It has to be!” Su Deqiang scrolled through the portraits, speechless. It was extravagant—almost unreal.
But then he noticed something off. There were Masters, even kids, but no Servants. Not a single animated Servant portrait in the section.
“Wait, where are my Servants? Where are my animated Servants?” He scrolled up and down, incredulous, and hit refresh.
Then… the site crashed.
“...?” He refreshed a few more times, but it stayed down. His eyes widened. “I didn’t even get to read the comic… How many people are flooding this thing?!”
In truth, the influx far exceeded Su Deqiang’s wildest guesses. Part of it was Sun Gong’s lack of preparation—he didn’t read comics and hadn’t anticipated the surge. But the real culprit was the jaw-dropping promotional video and website. Fate/Zero was already a stellar comic, and Tang Yao’s stunt wasn’t just additive—it was a game-changer. What other comic got this kind of treatment?
Soon, news spread like wildfire: Fate/Zero had its own site with mind-blowing animated portraits. Even non-anime fans stumbled across the animated Fate/Zero characters on social media, marveling at how 2D figures could move so vividly.
The nation’s biggest anime forum was inundated with posts—nearly forcing moderators to create a new section.
“Is this really not 3D???”
“This is stunning! Who is this third-rate artist? What’s with this comic? It’s not even in magazines, but the resources are insane!”
“Did you see the Fate/Zero short? It’s so badass!!!”
“This indie artist is unreal! The comic’s great, and they even built a website!”
“I know about movable 2D characters, but this good? Is it really 2D?”
“Is Fate/Zero getting an anime?! Is it?!”
“I haven’t read it, but the art is incredible—so lifelike!!”
“Bad news! The Fate/Zero site crashed!”
“…”
The forum buzzed with such threads all day. Ironically, the website Tang Yao made for the game ended up boosting the comic first. With so many readers talking about it, word spread about this free comic that shunned magazine serialization. Free! Online! And perfectly timed with magazines pushing digital comics. Tang Yao’s careful preparation had stacked every advantage.
By afternoon, when the site stabilized, a wave of new readers arrived. Many came for the portraits but stayed for the comic. Wenxin Pavilion had labored for months with awards and promotions for a tepid online platform, while Avalon caught up in a day—with just one comic!
As time passed, Fate/Zero’s popularity detonated. The comic, its website, the short film, and the animated 2D tech became inescapable in the anime community. Yet no one grasped what this truly signified—or the terrifying potential it was poised to unleash.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 81: Do I Need to Ask You?
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
“Impressive…”
Li Xue sat at her desk, gazing at the lifelike Saber on the website, and couldn’t help but sigh in awe. She’d seen it at Tang Yao’s place before, but seeing it live on the site still floored her.
However…
Opening the anime forum, she saw endless talk of anime adaptations and chuckled wryly. Something felt off—nobody was mentioning a game. Readers were all guessing some big investor had spotted the comic and was pushing for an anime.
If Tang Yao were here, she’d likely reassure Li Xue that since mobile gacha games hadn’t emerged in this world, it was natural for readers not to think that way. They’d catch on eventually—no need to fret.
But Tang Yao wasn’t there. So Li Xue scrolled through the forum, growing anxious. The comic’s hype was soaring, but none of it was about the game.
She wasn’t worried about the money anymore. The longer she spent with Tang Yao, the less that investment mattered. Compared to Tang Yao’s achievements in such a short time, it was trivial.
What gnawed at her was the fear that Tang Yao’s immense effort might go unrecognized, potentially breaking her spirit. Li Xue knew firsthand how much Tang Yao had poured into this game. If that dedication yielded no reward, it could drive anyone to despair. That’s why she kept telling Tang Yao not to stress about the money—if the game flopped, it was fine. She could return to comics, and Li Xue would support her however she could.
Yet now, while things were progressing well, the readers’ expectations were veering off course.
After a moment’s hesitation, Li Xue reached for her phone to call Tang Yao. But before she could, it rang. Thinking it was Tang Yao, she smiled—only to see “Lin Shuang,” her cousin, on the caller ID. Her smile vanished.
“…”
Li Xue frowned at the name. Though reluctant, she answered out of politeness. “Hello?”
“Hey, cousin. How’ve you been?” Lin Shuang’s voice was neutral—neither warm nor chilly.
“I’m fine. You?” Li Xue replied evenly.
“I’m good too. By the way, I just saw something interesting,” Lin Shuang said, cutting to the point. “A comic called Fate/Zero. I don’t usually read comics, but I remembered the name from meeting your little friend. I looked it up on a whim and saw it’s pretty popular. This is the comic tied to her game, right?”
“Yes.”
“Your little friend’s quite something,” Lin Shuang said, a faint smirk in her tone. “She built a website this polished in such a short time.”
“Mm-hmm,” Li Xue murmured, glancing at the site on her screen, her response half-hearted.
Lin Shuang pressed on. “But… a website like that must’ve cost a fortune, no? I’m no tech expert, but I couldn’t find any game sites this slick. She couldn’t have done it alone.”
“Of course not,” Li Xue said.
“So, do you know where she got the funding?” Lin Shuang asked.
“…” Li Xue paused, narrowing her eyes as she sensed the direction this was heading. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve seen her project plan,” Lin Shuang replied, her tone steady but tinged with disdain. “I’d bet most investors wouldn’t touch a game with such naive monetization. Even an independent angel investor would hesitate before backing her.”
“But we only met recently, and in that short time, she’s got a website up and probably hired a dozen people. I’m just curious—who’s bold enough to invest in her?”
“…”
Li Xue finally pieced it together. Some people, after succeeding in their field, grow overconfident—arrogant, even—dishing out unsolicited advice like self-appointed mentors.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I don’t know the details.”
“Really?” Lin Shuang’s voice dripped with doubt.
Tired of the game, Li Xue cut in. “What’s your point, cousin? Just say it.”
“Do you remember what I said last time we met?” Lin Shuang chuckled. “I said I didn’t know you were such a soft touch.”
“I remember.”
“So… did you invest in her?”
“…” After a brief silence, Li Xue answered, “Yes.”
“I thought so,” Lin Shuang said, a faint rustle suggesting she’d shifted in her seat. “You ignored my warning. You’re so smitten with your ‘friend’ that you’re dragging yourself down. Take my advice: pull your money out now. Salvage what you can before it’s too late. You’ve worked hard for that cash.”
“…Got it,” Li Xue said flatly, resisting the urge to hang up. “Thanks for your concern, cousin.”
“You’re not listening, are you?” Lin Shuang’s tone stayed light, but an edge crept in. “I’m the professional here. Don’t be fooled. Your friend might be pretty, but she’s clueless—”
“Cousin,” Li Xue snapped, cutting her off.
“Yes?”
Leaning back in her chair, Li Xue crossed one stockinged leg over the other, phone in hand, exuding command. “Do I need to ask you how to spend my own money?”
“…”
A long silence followed before Lin Shuang spoke, her voice colder. “I overstepped.”
Li Xue didn’t miss a beat. “It’s fine. Thanks for your concern. Anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.”
“Nothing else. I’ve got work to do. Let’s catch up another time.”
“Sure.” As Li Xue moved to end the call, she caught a faint scoff and the muttered word “foolish” from Lin Shuang. Her expression unchanged, she hung up.
Meanwhile, at Avalon Studio, Tang Yao was also on a call, just as exasperated.
“No, no, thank you… I don’t know how you got my number, but Fate/Zero isn’t planning an anime adaptation right now… Generous licensing fees? Talk to the third-rate artist. Thanks.”
She declined politely and set the phone down, drained.
Yes, the comic’s soaring popularity had drawn producers eyeing an anime adaptation. While Lin Shuang, the “expert,” dismissed the game’s potential—underestimating otaku spending power—anime producers saw value. They were just probing, not committing, but it was still a chore to handle.
Still, Tang Yao’s fatigue faded quickly. She perked up, gazing at the website on her screen with a spark of excitement.
Who’d have thought? Just a test run, and it yielded unexpected rewards! The comic’s popularity skyrocketed, sparking a frenzy in the anime community. She knew exactly what this meant.
(End of Chapter)
Translation Notes
Names: Transliterated using Pinyin (e.g., Tang Yao, Li Xue, Lin Shuang) for consistency with the Mandarin original.
Technical Terms: “Fate/Zero” and “Avalon” are retained as proper nouns, while “2D character animation” reflects the story’s focus on emerging tech.
Cultural Nuances: The website’s impact and the animated portraits’ novelty are emphasized to convey their significance to English readers.
Tone: Character dynamics—like Li Xue’s protectiveness and Lin Shuang’s condescension—are preserved through dialogue and pacing.
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