Chapter 3
"This… is definitely not like riding a horse."
Jeanne d'Arc, Ruler of the Great Holy Grail War, shifted uncomfortably on the tractor's trailer. She reached behind her to shove a precariously balanced suitcase back into the pile of luggage. The vehicle, a rattling, diesel-chugging machine, bounced along a rural Romanian road, its headlights carving tunnels through the pre-dawn gloom.
"Old sir, how much longer to Trifas?"
"Twelve hours, maybe," the elderly driver grunted, humming a folk tune to himself. "Even this old girl needs a rest now and then."
"Ah, I see. Just like a horse." Jeanne nodded sagely. She wanted to reach the battleground quickly, but even the Lord would not warp space for her convenience. To pass the time, she pulled a book from her backpack.
The Grail granted Servants basic modern knowledge. It was a necessity, but its limits were stark. Jeanne stared at the page before her, a chaotic sea of numbers, Greek letters, and bewildering graphs. Calculus for the Inquiring Mind. In her time, a peasant girl like her had no access to formal education. Without the Grail's gift, she wouldn't even be able to read the title.
But this… this was another language entirely.
"Lord," she whispered, holding the book before her face with reverent solemnity. "Please… grant me the wisdom to understand differential equations."
Five minutes of silent prayer later, she conceded that divine intervention on this particular front was not forthcoming. With a sigh of resignation, she flipped back to the very first page and began to read from the introduction.
---
Several hours of mathematical brain-scouring later, a drowsy, formula-addled Jeanne jolted awake. Every hair on the back of her neck stood up. Instinct, sharper than any clairvoyance, screamed a warning. Something dangerous. Approaching fast. Unbelievably fast.
"Old sir! Do not stop! Keep driving straight ahead, no matter what!" Jeanne scrambled to her feet, grabbing her small pack. Her voice, usually so calm, held an edge of urgent command that brooked no argument. "This area is about to become a battlefield! Just keep going!"
Without waiting for a reply, she hopped over the side of the trailer, landing in a crouch on the grassy verge. The tractor, driven by a very confused but trusting old man, puttered onward into the darkness.
Jeanne stood, her simple clothes dissolving into motes of light, replaced by the familiar, comforting weight of her silver plate armor. Her banner, Luminosité Eternelle, materialized in her hand.
"This presence… Red Faction's Rider." Her eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. A sense of immense, focused power was streaking toward her like a comet.
BOOOOM-SKREEE!
The sound was less an arrival and more a localized sonic boom. Dust and torn grass exploded outward in a ring. When it settled, a figure stood there, leaning casually on a long, wicked-looking spear. Green hair, a reckless grin, eyes blazing with the thrill of the hunt. Achilles.
"So, you're the Ruler?" he said, brushing imaginary dirt from his shoulder. "Great. I'm here to kill you. Hope you're worth the trip."
"Rider of the Red Faction," Jeanne's voice was steady, her grip tightening on her banner. "Why obstruct me? I am an arbiter. I will not interfere in your war. The Command Spells are a contingency, nothing more."
She had no desire to fight him. Her Ruler privileges gave her a clear read on his parameters. They were monstrous. Unless she used that Noble Phantasm, victory was a distant prospect.
"Too bad. My Master really hates 'contingencies.' Me? I don't care. I just want a good fight," Achilles shrugged, hefting his spear onto his shoulder. "When Big Sis told me to come, I was hoping he'd be on this side. Guess not. Oh well."
"'This side'?" Jeanne's eyes narrowed.
"Enough talk! Show me what you've got!" Achilles' grin widened. He didn't charge; he blurred. One moment he was twenty yards away, the next, the point of his spear, Diatrekhōn Astēr Lonkhē, was a silver needle aimed at her throat in a storm of afterimages.
"Now!"
SHIIIING—CLANG!
A massive, silver greatsword, swung with impossible precision, intercepted the spear thrust not at the shaft, but at the base of the blade, deflecting it millimeters from Jeanne's gorget. The impact sounded like a cathedral bell being struck by a meteor.
"Oh-ho? You look pretty tough," Achilles chuckled, his eyes flicking to the newcomer who now stood between him and the Ruler.
A man with stark white hair and solemn red eyes. Saber. He said nothing. His expression, usually one of deep melancholy, was now focused, intense. He spun, using the momentum of his block to bring his sword around in a horizontal slash aimed at Achilles' waist.
Achilles flipped backwards, the tip of the greatsword parting the air where he'd been. He landed lightly, his grin never fading.
"Red Faction's Lancer!" a booming, pompous voice announced. Gordolf Musik, Master of Saber, strode up to stand beside Jeanne, puffing out his chest. "I, Gordolf, have witnessed your assault on the Arbiter of this War! This is a clear violation of the rules! Submit to judgment at once!"
"Hah? Since when is attacking the Ruler against the rules?" Achilles snorted, rolling his shoulders. "Whatever. If you two want to jump me together, that's fine. More fun for me."
"Ruler! Together, we can eliminate this rule-breaking Lancer!" Gordolf said, glancing at Jeanne with a mix of hope and bluster.
"He is a Rider," Jeanne corrected mildly. "And if you choose to fight, as the Ruler, I will merely observe. You have my word."
"..."
Gordolf's face went slack with disbelief. He looked like a man who'd been handed a shield only to watch it turn into a bouquet of flowers.
"Hey! You gonna fight or what? I wanna wrap this up and check out the other Ruler," Achilles tapped his spear impatiently on the asphalt, cracking it.
"Arrogant fool! Saber! Eliminate him!" Gordolf's pride, easily pricked, overrode his caution.
Saber—Siegfried—took a deep breath. He stepped forward, and for the first time, the perpetual shadow of sorrow on his face lifted, replaced by a focused, almost eager calm.
"That's the face I wanna see! I hate fighting mopers!" Achilles laughed and moved.
There was no wind-up. His spear became a line of deadly light, thrusting for Siegfried's neck with speed that defied the eye.
Fast!
But—!
Siegfried's eyes sharpened. He didn't try to block. He shifted his weight, letting the spear-tip graze past his shoulder, and in the same motion brought Balmung around in a horizontal sweep aimed at Achilles' own neck.
KA-CHOOOOOM!
The collision of their weapons wasn't a clang; it was a pressure wave. Gordolf was sent stumbling backwards, arms flailing. Jeanne, by contrast, stood firm in the gale, her banner barely fluttering.
"I take it back! You really are something!" Achilles' eyes widened. He wasn't holding back. Every strike was meant to kill. And his spear had… barely pierced the skin over Siegfried's collarbone. A pinprick.
Siegfried blinked. His sword had connected squarely with Achilles' neck. But there was no decapitation, not even a scratch. It was like striking a mountain forged of diamond.
"This… is going to be a hell of a fight!" Achilles roared with delight. "This trip was worth it! Come on, Black Faction's Saber! Give me everything you've got!"
He shouldn't be excited. This was a nightmare opponent. But Siegfried couldn't help it. Since bathing in the dragon's blood, combat had lost its edge. Every victory felt hollow, every fight a foregone conclusion. But this… this Rider had a body that might surpass his own! This was the thrill he'd been missing!
The battle that followed was not between heroes, but between forces of nature.
Each exchange tore gouges in the earth. Each swing of Balmung or Diatrekhōn created localized hurricanes of displaced air and shattered stone. They traded blows with earth-shaking force—spear against greatsword, inhuman strength against immortal resilience. Siegfried's Armor of Fafnir negated most of the damage, but Achilles' god-like speed and skill allowed him to land glancing blows that, over time, began to add up. Tiny cuts appeared on Siegfried's arms and face, each one a testament to the Rider's terrifying prowess.
Gordolf watched from a safe distance, wringing his hands. Siegfried was powerful, arguably among the strongest Sabers. His defensive Noble Phantasm was a cheat against most attacks. Yet he was being slowly, inexorably pressured. He couldn't hurt Achilles, but Achilles could, bit by bit, hurt him.
"Ruler! At least tell me his True Name!" Gordolf pleaded, turning to Jeanne once more.
"No," she said, her tone implacable.
"Damn it!" Gordolf stomped his foot. A Rider was matching his strongest Saber with just a spear! What would happen if he used his chariot? Knowing the True Name might offer a strategy, a weakness! Why was this saint so stubborn?!
The duel raged on, a magnificent, brutal symphony of violence. Both warriors were lost in it, the pure joy of a clash between equals. But the night was not infinite. The first grey fingers of dawn began to stretch across the sky, painting the wrecked road and fields in pale light.
By the unwritten rules of the Grail War, night was for battle; day was for retreat and regrouping. Gordolf began to calculate an exit. Surely the enemy Master would be thinking the same, especially with the Ruler as a witness.
"Excellent! Saber, you've made me happier than I've been in ages! To have you as my first opponent in this war is a gift!" Achilles shouted, finally breaking the stalemate with a mighty sweep of his spear that sent Siegfried skidding back. The fire in Achilles' eyes blazed into an inferno. A torrent of prana, visible as a swirling, emerald-green aura, erupted from his body. "For that honor… I'll give you my best shot! Come to me—Troias Tragōidia!"
A streak of light shot across the brightening sky. The sound of divine horses whinnying made Gordolf's blood run cold.
He's not backing down! He's bringing out the chariot!
"Rider of Red! The sun has risen! Cease hostilities at once!" Jeanne stepped forward, her voice ringing with authority. "You risk exposing the Holy Grail War to the mundane world! If you do not desist, I will be forced to intervene!"
"Who cares?!" Achilles leaped backwards, landing gracefully in the chariot that materialized beneath him—a magnificent, golden vehicle pulled by three immortal, breathing fire. "I am Achilles! Black Saber, you need not give your name! Your answering blow will be introduction enough!"
The chariot's arrival was as good as shouting his identity from the rooftops, but he didn't seem to care. This was the pride of the truly invincible.
Siegfried's gaze intensified. His thumb moved to the switch on Balmung's hilt, but he paused, looking to Gordolf for the final order.
"Do it, Saber! Answer him with your Noble Phantasm!" Gordolf made the call, his voice tight. If they didn't counter a Noble Phantasm with their own, they were dead. He had faith in Balmung.
A flicker of pure, unadulterated joy crossed Siegfried's face. "Master. I shall repay your trust with victory."
Silver light, dense and overwhelming, erupted from Balmung, a pillar of concentrated destruction that rivaled the rising sun. The air hummed with the promise of annihilating power.
"This is it! This is the fight I wanted!" Achilles crowed, his laughter echoing.
"I order you to stop!" Jeanne shouted, raising her hand. The twin Command Spells on her wrist glowed. "If you do not cease, I will use a Command Spell!"
"Here we go, Black Saber!" Achilles roared, gripping the reins. "Tempestuous—"
"By the power of my Command Spell!" Jeanne's voice cut through the building energy like a knife. "Rider of Red, return instantly to the place from which you came!"
The cataclysmic build-up of power around Achilles winked out. An expression of utter, furious disbelief twisted his face as his form dissolved into golden particles, forcibly yanked across the landscape by the absolute authority of the Command Spell.
Siegfried stood there, Balmung still held aloft, the silver pillar of light wavering uncertainly. He looked vaguely awkward, like a man caught mid-sentence.
Do not deactivate it. Hold the pose. Pretend you cannot stop. Gordolf's voice hissed in his mind through their link.
Confused but obedient, Siegfried maintained his stance, the mighty Balmung humming with pent-up energy.
"Oh no! Ruler! Saber's Noble Phantasm is primed! He cannot cancel it now!" Gordolf cried, turning to Jeanne with a mask of panic.
Jeanne sighed internally. Two Command Spells, gone in the first hour. She raised her hand again. "By the power of my Command Spell. Saber of Black, cease your Noble Phantasm."
Pfffft.
The magnificent pillar of silver light vanished as if someone had unplugged it. Siegfried dutifully clicked the switch on his hilt back to its resting position and walked over to stand silently behind Gordolf.
"..." Jeanne blinked. Compared to Achilles's furious resistance, Saber's compliance had been… suspiciously smooth. The deactivation looked less like a forced shutdown and more like he'd simply decided to turn it off.
"Ruler!" Gordolf said, seizing the moment, his voice oozing false camaraderie. "Given the Red Faction's blatant attempt on your life, perhaps you would care to accompany us to the Black Faction's stronghold? To… discuss countermeasures?"
His offer hung in the morning air, thin and desperate.
"No." Jeanne's reply was immediate, final, and left no room for negotiation. She had broken the olive branch over her knee before he'd even finished extending it.