The winter night wind swept through the garden, floral scents adding several degrees of heat to the air.
After several ladles of wine, the banquet atmosphere among heroes from different eras warmed considerably. Iskandar's domineering yet familiar opening, Diarmuid's humor and wit, Illyasviel's teasing jokes—each displayed their considerable social abilities.
Though they'd previously fought to the death, being heroes didn't make them stiff, boring antiques. On the contrary, their emotional intelligence was quite high.
Especially Iskandar as the moderator, whether opening topics to let everyone speak freely or ensuring no Servant felt left out, his grasp of people's hearts and atmosphere was evident.
Next was the mischievous Illyasviel, who could playfully tease both Servants and homunculi magi like Irisviel and Kenneth to make everyone laugh.
Finally came Diarmuid, who quietly listened and occasionally chimed in. Though he didn't speak much, he appropriately supported others' conversations.
Chatting along, everyone understood each other's wishes. Not exactly broad in vision, but undoubtedly recognized in their hearts.
Except for a certain knight girl who seemed unable to fit in, apparently naturally inferior in emotional intelligence...
"Desiring to fight alongside one's lord to the very end, desiring a happy and beautiful life, desiring a body to freely operate in the present world."
"With all due respect, these wishes are not the path of heroes."
Taking the wine ladle and downing it in one gulp, the knight girl—the only one still maintaining battle readiness in full armor—wiped her mouth and frowned, scanning the three cheerfully conversing Servants.
She preferred speaking directly. Even though Illyasviel was her ally, she didn't exclude her, because she genuinely found their wishes strange.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the strongest knight under Fionn in Celtic mythology.
Didn't he regret being killed by a demonic boar in life because he misjudged the enemy and didn't carry the demon-breaking Red Rose? Didn't he want to return to the past and change that tragedy?
King of Conquerors Iskandar, world-famous king who swept half of Europe.
After learning his kingdom's fate, didn't he feel anything about that ending? Despite establishing the world's most territorially expansive nation at just thirty-three, his final outcome was dying so young—didn't he simply accept such a ridiculous ending?
Illyasviel von Einzbern, possibly a modern legend who would achieve great deeds in the future.
Given that modern Mystery had receded considerably, for her to become a celebrated Servant in the future, she must have accomplished feats equal to any present hero—perhaps even touched legendary "Magic." Yet such a legend yearned for happiness like an ordinary person? Was becoming a Servant somehow unfortunate for her?
As a fellow hero, the knight girl found their wishes incomprehensible. Their perspectives seemed entirely self-focused.
"I told you, Big Sister, I never considered myself a hero. My perspective is naturally much smaller than yours~"
The red-faced Miss Illya smiled mischievously while hugging Irisviel's arm:
"I lived poorly in life. Now that I'm summoned with a chance to live better, why wouldn't I fight for it? Of course, I know no one succeeds smoothly, so I respect others' ideas and choices. I don't think I'd do better in their position. So with what conviction does King of Knights Big Sister deny others? Or do you consider yourself more noble than everyone else?"
Regardless of wish size, she wouldn't judge. Even the Matou family's worm magus's prayer—she maintained respectful courtesy toward it.
Because as she'd said from the start, everyone was the same. Ultimately, everyone had firm obsessions about something. What that wish was didn't matter. What mattered was not forgetting why you wanted to realize that wish, taking action, and bearing the corresponding cost.
"Little kitten, aren't you afraid that after defeating the second dragon, a third will appear?"
"At least before that dragon is born, she's still harmless."
The conversation between them—simultaneously vague and clear—left the knight girl thoroughly confused.
Weren't they discussing the lancer's lack of food as a joke?
How did it suddenly jump to choosing sides, Diarmuid being a second dragon, and a third dragon appearing?
Taking a pastry and putting it in her mouth, the knight girl watched the two with their strange attitudes and frowned slightly. Regardless, Illyasviel should still be an ally, so if battle broke out next, she would join her against Diarmuid...
Actually, she felt it unnecessary. With four Command Seals, she believed she wouldn't lose to Diarmuid. If possible, she'd prefer a one-on-one knight's duel with Diarmuid rather than ganging up with others...
"Hahaha! As it should be! So Lancer, your wish is to fight freely to the very end alongside the lord you serve?"
Having heard their exchange, Iskandar laughed heartily and scooped another ladle of wine, glimpsing that absolute sincerity in the lancer's resolute and desireless will—the satisfaction of a fulfilled wish.
"You could say that. I seek nothing from the Grail. My only desire is to offer everything to my lord, regardless of the final outcome."
Diarmuid openly admitted his wish. Precisely because of this, he would never hand over the omnipotent wish-granter unless his lord commanded him to surrender. Otherwise, this life existed solely for Lord Kenneth.
The blonde man standing in one garden corner couldn't help but snort.
Just pretty words. Though as his Servant, at least this mindset didn't disgrace him as a Clock Tower Lord.
After all, the so-called Holy Grail was just a boring magical ritual from the Far East countryside. Such things—he could have as many as he wanted.
Ultimately just an accumulation of magical energy, a large mana block. Given time, he could even hand-craft one. Risking life and death for such a thing just showed the caliber of magi in this backwater.
Since becoming a Clock Tower Lord, he'd heard of or witnessed at least eight or ten Holy Grail magical rituals. Less valuable than a mana furnace—worthless products. Bluntly speaking, Fuyuki's Grail claiming to be an omnipotent wish-granter was purely laughable. Those in the Clock Tower who knew of it treated it as a joke. Otherwise, he wouldn't have initially dismissed this ritual as mere academic credential-building.
"An omnipotent wish-granter—absurd! If I wished to reach the Root, could a mere Grail accomplish it?"
"If I wished to become a Magician, what would this so-called omnipotent wish-granter do?"
"There's no such thing as an omnipotent Holy Grail—just countryside magi's self-delusion. If I wanted, with just some time, I could construct a Holy Grail War system at the Clock Tower, even spend years creating a Grail myself. But even then, I wouldn't dare call my creation an omnipotent wish-granter. Some ridiculous magi are truly arrogant."
Kenneth crossed his arms and sneered toward a certain direction—a gaze from the distant shadows, undoubtedly Kiritsugu Emiya.
Honestly, while angry at Kiritsugu's dishonorable tactics, he felt more mockery toward these countryside magi. The Einzbern family was once a great house, yet now they'd fallen to hiring a Magus Killer for support.
Truly, mixing too long with countryside magi made them forget even their original ideals.
However, he didn't notice that after his words, Irisviel's complexion imperceptibly paled.
"Disdaining the omnipotent wish-granter yet wanting victory—truly an arrogant Master-Servant pair~"
Iskandar sighed somewhat, then smiled helplessly with understanding, tossing the wine-filled ladle toward Miss Illya, who was savoring her third dessert pudding and seemed unconcerned.
He grabbed another plate of cookies, crunch crunch, tossing them in his mouth:
"So what about you, Caster? Still yearning for happiness, wanting to use the Grail to realize a happy life? If that's still your wish, you could really join my army—making subjects happy is a king's duty."
"?"
"?"
"?"
Diarmuid, the knight girl, and Irisviel all turned to look.
The knight girl and Diarmuid were surprised Miss Illya had such an ordinary wish, and even more surprised Iskandar knew it—apparently these two had private negotiations others didn't know about.
Irisviel, however, completely froze, staring blankly at Illyasviel, eyes flashing with regret, sadness, and overwhelming guilt.
"Why's everyone looking at me? We're all the same—everyone has desires and regrets from life they want to fulfill in the Grail War, right?"
Catching the tossed ladle, Miss Illya was unconcerned about revealing her lifelong wish.
She wanted happiness. Survival was the process, and to survive meant killing all visible enemies—because these Servants also wanted to kill her to activate the omnipotent wish-granter. Everyone had been mortal enemies from the start.
"Conqueror Uncle wants a human body to freely operate in the present world, to challenge heaven and earth with his own flesh, pursuing his conquest and hegemonic way. That wish is equally ordinary and common—following his heart based on his era and life. My life wasn't very pleasant, so wanting happiness through the Grail War is perfectly normal."
"Ill...Caster..."
Irisviel listened with heartache to Miss Illya's indifferent, flat explanation.
She didn't dare imagine what hardships she'd suffered in life to cling to such a simple wish even in death. Servants answered summons not just through catalysts and compatibility, but primarily because the Servant was willing to respond and had a wish to fulfill.
This was the same principle as the Greater Grail selecting War Masters—those without strong obsessions weren't chosen. Servants were the same.
In other words, Illyasviel's desire for happiness had become a deep-rooted obsession, causing her to accept the Grail system's summons.
"Irisviel Big Sister, please leave me alone. You're really too familiar and really annoying—just like your husband, that Magus Killer."
Miss Illya frowned slightly, using a finger to dip into the high-proof alcohol and taste it.
Spicy. She really couldn't understand why these heroes liked drinking, especially without proper drinking snacks. Drinking hard liquor with just small pastries seemed impossible.
"I'm sorry, Caster. I meant that you're still young and shouldn't drink this kind of alcohol..."
"Can you shut up? Who do you think you are? Are you treating my apparent age as my actual age? We're allies in an equal relationship. It's not your place to control me, Irisviel Big Sister."
Glug, glug, glug.
Before Irisviel finished, Miss Illya defiantly downed the ladle's liquor. With atmosphere built to this point, how could she not drink?
Just alcohol. A Servant's body was composed of magical energy and spirit origin—she could drink a thousand or ten thousand cups without issue. How could she refuse here like a child?
"You've chosen whether I'm enemy or friend. Kiritsugu Emiya and I are the same, aren't we?"
Ignoring the internally shattered, dazed Irisviel, Miss Illya calmly wiped her mouth and tossed the ladle back to the seemingly puzzled yet interested Iskandar.
Her face suddenly felt hot. While consciousness and thought remained clear, her body inexplicably developed a burning sensation.
"Caster, you're going too far."
"Iri heard you like sweets, so she bought several boxes of snacks and desserts stacked in the castle, waiting for you to taste them."
The knight girl also frowned slightly, experiencing déjà vu from when Mordred defied her—that rebellious feeling. Only now she was the conflict's observer.
"Am I too much, King of Knights Big Sister? Aren't the people who manage everything more excessive? We're equal allies, not me being so scared I've sold myself out. I can't accept this mid-war concern—to me, it's just self-comforting excuses."
Toward the knight girl, Miss Illya's attitude remained decent—after all, she still had plenty of utility value. Irisviel had little remaining value.
She curved her lips into a kind smile, formally and politely apologizing to Irisviel, though the apology looked perfunctory.
But given their alliance and her status, the knight girl could only take a deep breath.
She consoled herself that at least compared to Mordred, Illyasviel would acknowledge mistakes rather than stubbornly fighting her parents to the bitter end.
"Seems the Age of Gods girl has quite a complicated relationship with that Einzbern lady? Could you have lived from the Age of Gods until the Einzbern family was established, then been assassinated by them, making you hostile toward that lady?"
Iskandar stroked his chin curiously.
He was increasingly curious about her true name—she seemed like an unfortunate witch from the Age of Gods yet had a strange, neither-good-nor-bad connection to the Einzbern family.
Miss Illya blinked, tilting her head, a teasing beautiful smile on her flushed face: "Actually, Irisviel Big Sister is my very, very best mother. A child being rebellious and dissatisfied with their parent is quite reasonable, right~"
Iskandar paused, realizing she was joking: "Hahaha! Age of Gods girl, did one cup get you drunk? You're telling cold jokes that disgrace your honor."
"A little bit—I rarely drank in life. This alcohol content is somewhat beyond my tolerance."
The red-faced Miss Illya laughed cheerfully, realizing her statement was problematic and might escalate conflicts.
So she playfully walked to the dazed Irisviel, leaned down with hands behind her back, and grinned.
"Come on, just joking. Don't take it seriously—crying would ruin your pretty face."
Miss Illya shook Irisviel's arm like coaxing a child, standing on tiptoes to touch her cold forehead.
"We're the best allies. How could I dislike you, right?"
"Be good, pretty Big Sister. I promise, after tonight, I'll never tease you again. I swear on Caster's name—I like you, I like you so, so much, Big Sister~"
The winter night wind swept through the garden, floral scents adding warmth to the air.
After several ladles of wine, the banquet atmosphere among heroes from different eras warmed considerably. Iskandar's domineering familiarity, Diarmuid's humor and wit, Illyasviel's teasing jokes—each displayed considerable social abilities.
Though they'd fought to the death before, being heroes didn't make them stiff, boring relics. Their emotional intelligence was quite high.
Especially Iskandar as moderator—whether opening topics or ensuring no Servant felt left out, his grasp of hearts and atmosphere was evident.
Next was the mischievous Illyasviel, playfully teasing both Servants and homunculi magi like Irisviel and Kenneth to everyone's amusement.
Finally came Diarmuid, quietly listening and occasionally chiming in supportively.
Chatting along, everyone understood each other's wishes. Not exactly broad in vision, but undoubtedly recognized.
Except for a certain knight girl who seemed unable to fit in, apparently naturally inferior in emotional intelligence...
"Desiring to fight alongside one's lord to the end, desiring a happy and beautiful life, desiring a body to freely operate in the present world."
"With all due respect, these wishes are not the path of heroes."
Taking the wine ladle and downing it, the knight girl—the only one still in full armor—wiped her mouth and frowned, scanning the three cheerful Servants.
She preferred directness. Even though Illyasviel was her ally, she didn't exclude her—she genuinely found their wishes strange.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, strongest knight under Fionn in Celtic mythology.
Didn't he regret being killed by a demonic boar because he misjudged the enemy and lacked the demon-breaking Red Rose? Didn't he want to return and change that tragedy?
King of Conquerors Iskandar, world-famous king who swept half of Europe.
After learning his kingdom's fate, didn't he feel anything? Despite establishing the world's most territorially expansive nation at just thirty-three, dying so young—didn't he question such a ridiculous ending?
Illyasviel von Einzbern, possibly a future legendary figure.
Given modern Mystery's recession, becoming a celebrated future Servant meant accomplishing feats equal to any present hero—perhaps even touching legendary "Magic." Yet such a legend yearned for ordinary happiness? Was becoming a Servant unfortunate for her?
As a fellow hero, the knight girl found their wishes incomprehensible. Their perspectives seemed entirely self-focused.
"I told you, Big Sister—I never considered myself a hero. My perspective is naturally much smaller than yours~"
The red-faced Miss Illya smiled mischievously while hugging Irisviel's arm:
"I lived poorly in life. Now summoned with a chance to live better, why wouldn't I fight for it? Of course, I know no one succeeds smoothly, so I respect others' ideas. I don't think I'd do better in their position. So with what conviction does King of Knights Big Sister deny others? Or do you consider yourself more noble?"
Regardless of wish size, she wouldn't judge. Even the Matou family's worm magus's prayer—she maintained respectful courtesy.
Because as she'd said, everyone was the same. Ultimately, everyone had firm obsessions. What that wish was didn't matter—what mattered was not forgetting why, taking action, and bearing the cost.
"Hahaha! Though the Age of Gods girl is too modest, she's right. If you think my kingly wish is wrong, Saber, why not share your wish? Let this king witness how lofty and grand the famous King of Knights' perspective is."
Iskandar enthusiastically slapped his thigh, taking the knight girl's emptied ladle with hearty laughter, openly admitting his wish's limited scope.
As a king, wishing to use the Grail to conquer the world suited his reputation better.
But he enjoyed not the result of world conquest, but the process of conquering.
Like when he told that Age of Gods magus whether results or process mattered more—for him, if he couldn't personally walk the path of conquest, even holding the world would bore him.
"My wish is to save my homeland—to save the countless innocent people left homeless and dying in war after Britain's fall."
"?"
"?"
Diarmuid and Iskandar both froze. Seeing the knight girl's serious, earnest expression, their drunkenness instantly diminished.
What?
You want to use the Grail to save the British Empire?
Are you serious?
They'd expected some shocking, noble prayer, and it was certainly shocking—no, absolutely explosive. Your country's been gone for how many years, and you want to play undead empire, restoring Britain's glory?
"Saving...Big Sister's wish is saving those who died early in history? That's certainly impressive—a very kind king."
Miss Illya showed little reaction to this wish, but noticing the others' off expressions, she thought briefly and offered the knight girl an out.
But with the knight girl's emotional intelligence, she obviously wouldn't take it.
"No! If the Grail truly is an omnipotent wish-granter, it can definitely change Britain's outcome. I want to return to the day I drew the sword and change everything. Britain fell under my rule—I cannot forgive myself. As king, I have responsibility and duty to make amends!"
"If—if Britain's king weren't me, if a more excellent king had been selected, they could surely have led Britain to new prosperity and glory, could have saved the kingdom that fell in my hands, saved countless people who shouldn't have died!"
SLAM!
But before the increasingly agitated knight girl—imagining some scene—could finish, Iskandar's wine-filled ladle crashed to the ground!
"Girl, you mean to overturn history?"
The King of Conquerors dropped his jovial smile, expressionlessly regarding this knight girl who seemed like a sore loser blaming herself for her kingdom's fall, his eyes no longer viewing her as an equal king.
From this moment, the knight girl completely separated herself ideologically from the other heroes—no longer someone eating at the same table.
"Yes, I don't see anything wrong with..."
The knight girl frowned, trying to say something.
"Well, Saber, I respect your wish and admire your concern for your homeland, but as the Conqueror said, doesn't your wish equal overturning the history you personally wrote?"
But she couldn't finish. Even the handsome lancer who'd viewed her favorably shook his head regretfully. He'd always considered her a qualified knight—never imagining she was only a qualified knight.
No, not even a qualified knight—just someone's imagined, fantasized perfect knight who didn't understand anything beyond chivalric rules.
As a fellow Servant, he had some regrets about his life.
But he'd never feel regret, much less deny his legendary deeds.
Because that not only denied his past, but denied the world, his lord, his companions—marking everyone's efforts as mistaken.
The Conqueror's dissatisfaction stemmed from her not seeming like a king. The lancer sighed that she seemed oblivious to others' thoughts, stubbornly insistent.
"What surprises you? What disappoints you? As a king, as a hero, one should naturally stand forth in the nation's crisis, seeking the realm's prosperity. The homeland that granted me the sword and to which I devoted myself was destroyed—of course I feel pain and want to rewrite that outcome!"
The knight girl stood, hand on chest, speaking passionately. Noticing neither man approved her wish, she looked toward Illyasviel, with whom she'd gotten along well, apparently seeking some validation.
"Caster, for instance—you lived unhappily in life and now seek happiness. Isn't that also regretting your past? You should understand me..."
"That's true, but King of Knights Big Sister, I personally prefer looking forward."
"?"
"The past is established fact. I want happiness because I'm moving forward, not trying to change history by going back in time to rewrite unpleasant events into what I want to see."
Because it already happened—her tears, her loneliness.
Going back, what would that accomplish? Those memories wouldn't vanish. Why not look forward?
Ultimately, desiring happiness meant hoping for a better future. It was all built on the future, not simply regretting and fearing to face the past.
The most direct logic: she wanted to kill her two irresponsible parents. If she changed the past, would her hatred still matter?
Would she still have this drive, this obsession?
No. Because rewriting the past, overturning her own history, was self-denial. Even denying her own actions, thoughts, everything—what bizarre existence would she herself become?
"It's not the king sacrificing for the nation, but the nation and people sacrificing for the king."
Iskandar's view differed from the others—he focused on the knight girl's foolishness regarding kingship.
"Nonsense! That's tyrannical rule! Like that bastard king at the harbor battle—a tyrant spurned by the people, utterly vile!"
"Indeed, tyrannical rule. But if a king questions her own rule, regrets her kingdom's fall, she's just an incompetent fool—worse than even a tyrant."
"Ha! Iskandar, your kingdom also broke its line of succession. Your empire was ultimately divided into three. Don't you regret that outcome?"
But Iskandar just shook his head again, expression unchanged:
"No. This was my decision, the outcome earned through lifelong struggle by my followers. If the kingdom fell, so what? I'll mourn and weep, but I won't regret that outcome, much less try to overturn and rewrite it. Such foolish behavior insults everyone who built that era with me, denying everyone's efforts and achievements!"
"Correct governance, correct administration, protecting the weak—that's a king's true meaning. A king should sacrifice for the kingdom. The moment one becomes king and rules a kingdom, the king should separate from ordinary people's ideals and desires!"
So, why hadn't she noticed before—King of Knights Big Sister, you're actually this high and mighty?
Miss Illya blinked. She respected everyone's wishes and choices, but the knight girl didn't understand people's hearts. Admittedly, her ideal was very noble—in ancient times, she'd happily become her subject.
But her thinking was too idealistic. This wish revealed her heart lacked worldly desires. Bluntly put, she was detached from the masses.
If the knight girl were just a hero, fine. But she was a king. As a nation's ruler, this was somewhat problematic.
This existence running counter to ordinary desires, a veritable little saint.
Unsuited for kingship but suited for wandering heroism. After all, a nation's operation fundamentally depended on people.
And people have desires. As king, if you have no desires yourself, how can you understand others, control their hearts, be considered qualified?
"Conqueror, you who pursue the Grail merely for a body cannot possibly understand. You who became a tyrant satisfying endless desires cannot possibly comprehend. The people and subjects need a king free of desire, dutiful, bringing them smiles—absolutely not your so-called tyrant!"
The knight girl swept her hand, eyes full of disgust and earnestness. She wanted to see her subjects and people smile happily, not panic in chaos.
"Hahaha! A king without desire is worse than a flowerpot! Then tell me—you want to satisfy everyone, but how would you handle corrupt officials you don't understand? People's hearts change. How does a king without desire handle malicious individuals!"
Iskandar sneered coldly. He really didn't want to continue conversing with this girl.
Because she was an idealistic fool. A king cannot satisfy everyone.
Can you guarantee hearts won't change in one year, two years—even five or ten?
Controlling hearts through imperial strategy is a king's foundation. Why are enlightened rulers called enlightened? Because they're more wicked than the wicked—only knowing all evils lets you outplay those with changed hearts!
Tyrants are certainly despised and reviled. But foolish rulers are more useless than tyrants. The knight girl shouldn't be Britain's king—she should be king in some dumpling-making, happy-ending drama. After all, her ideas could only work in a fantasy land. Reality has no answer satisfying everyone!
"As the king embodying knightly spirit, the justice and ideals you championed perhaps indeed saved nation and people. But what ultimately happened to those you merely saved? You should know better than I."
"What are you talking about..."
A desolate battlefield littered with corpses. Not one follower survived. The weary, lonely king stood atop a mountain of bodies.
The knight girl's mind seemed to return to that moment, her eyes revealing a hint of confusion.
"You've been 'saving' subjects, not 'guiding' them. You never displayed 'kingly desires,' ignoring confused subjects."
"You merely maintained a lofty attitude alone, indulging in beautiful ideals."
"Therefore you're not a king who can lead a nation—just a little knight girl bound by an idol named 'king' existing only for others."
I... I'm not...
I understand them, I understand my subjects, I...
Like a deflowered maiden on bedsheets, the knight girl clutched her head in confusion and stepped back. Iskandar's words pierced her heart, making her realize she might never have understood her own subjects.
Mordred, Lancelot, Gawain, and other Round Table knights—she'd apparently never known their thoughts. She didn't even understand why Mordred rebelled.
This wasn't just about kingship anymore—it was about her inability to do or understand anything.
Why did Mordred rebel originally? Simply to seize power?
Or had the Round Table knights' hearts changed? Had she done something wrong again?
The knight girl bowed her head, mind flashing through her past. So what was she denying—her own mistakes, or that entire era, everyone, all her knights?
But it was all her fault. Why make them bear it? If only she were sacrificed...
"Alright, Conqueror Uncle, stop teasing King of Knights Sister. Everyone's from different eras. Applying your standards to other periods is sophistry."
Her armored arm was gently embraced by small hands. A gentle girl's voice sounded in her ear.
The knight girl looked up slightly. Miss Illya was hugging her arm with a teasing expression, ending this topic and easing the banquet's tension.
"Well, I wasn't bullying that knight girl. Age of Gods magus, you're too biased."
The Conqueror obviously recognized this as a graceful exit.
Having a decent impression of Miss Illya, he gave her face and went along.
"I naturally have to favor allies a bit, right?"
Somewhat tipsy, Miss Illya curved her lips elegantly, blooming like a snowflake:
"Don't be unhappy, King of Knights Big Sister. You know your biggest problem? You're too easily swayed by others' words. That's why Conqueror Uncle and Weapon Rack Big Brother don't quite approve of you. As Britain's king, how can you be shaken by a few sentences?"
"...Thank you for comforting me, Caster."
The knight girl forced a smile, expressing gratitude for the support.
Even someone as slow as her could realize everyone here had higher emotional intelligence than her.
"It's not comfort. Just like you said my wish is strange and I didn't mind, people's thoughts are always varied. Maintaining respect and self-confidence is much easier than caring about others' views."
Standing on tiptoes, she offered a small cake to the knight girl's lips.
Miss Illya acted like an attentive cotton-padded jacket. After all, the next phase was the decisive battle with the lancer, who clearly had confidence to fight three at once—a broken, overpowered monster.
If their side's carry, the knight girl, had mental issues and got killed quickly, she didn't dare imagine how she and the Conqueror could hold out against the lancer until Tokiomi Tohsaka dealt with Kenneth and Kiritsugu Emiya.
"Really... thank you. I feel better..."
The knight girl ate the small cake, exhaled, and gazed with complex eyes at the adorable, polite, understanding white-haired girl before her.
If Mordred were half as considerate, she'd probably die without regrets.
Unfortunately, other people's children are always other people's.
"Caster..."
"Mm, I'm here."
"Do you think, if you were my daughter, I'd be a good father?"
Wait, I help you say a few words and you want to be my father? Isn't that pushing your luck?
I throw you a bone and you're climbing all over me?
Miss Illya blinked in confusion, not quite understanding why the knight girl would ask such a question. But she quickly realized the girl just hoped someone could put themselves in her shoes and help analyze things—like how modern people, when discussing troubles, ask close friends "if you were so-and-so, what would you do?" Essentially just seeking psychological comfort.
The knight girl was too idealistic—unsuited for kingship but suited for sainthood. Asking this question meant she wanted to adopt an ordinary person's perspective, similar to wanting to know if she'd truly become detached from the masses.
She didn't understand people's hearts, much less fatherhood. She lacked worldly desires and familial affection.
She didn't understand why Mordred rebelled, didn't comprehend what Lancelot, Gawain, and the other Round Table knights were thinking in Britain's later period. But she understood admitting and correcting mistakes, and was willing to change based on others' views.
In other words, if others said she was wrong, she'd accept it—but she still wanted to recognize her mistakes through others' thoughts rather than her own cognition.
How to put it? The knight girl was the ideal king from fictional works.
She listened to whatever subjects or people said, like an AI without personal emotions—others said she was right, she was right; they said she was wrong, she was wrong.
Her convictions swayed too easily. Others said she didn't understand hearts, so now she wanted to adopt a father's role to understand them. Overall, she was like a knight anyone could bully.
"But King of Knights Big Sister, when you say that, you've already proven you don't love your child at all. No matter how I answer, it's meaningless."
"...But I want to try understanding Mordred. I understand what you're saying is right. Though I still don't acknowledge his legitimacy, if I truly had a son like him, I want to know whether others see me as capable of being a good father like ordinary people."
The knight girl hesitantly bowed her head. If she didn't understand hearts, then she'd work hard to understand them.
Wrong was wrong. She wasn't some cruel tyrant who couldn't distinguish good from bad.
Learning from mistakes and progressing toward a perfect wise king—that was her ideal, the duty Merlin told her about. Perhaps from that final battle, her psyche had already fractured. Now she was just suppressing herself. Even she didn't know what unfamiliar form she'd take if her ideals changed.
"I already said it, King of Knights Big Sister—I never thought you were wrong."
Miss Illya chuckled behind her hand, pulling out another small cake and shaking her head:
"That you became a king is already amazing. As someone who's never led a nation or organization, what capital do I have to judge you?"
"Different eras, different thoughts, different encounters and environments. Judging predecessors or successors from different era perspectives seems very strange to me. Conqueror Uncle is right, but King of Knights Big Sister, you're also right."
"From start to finish, what I've said is that you're too easily influenced by others. Like how you're still seeking my validation now. If I say you're good, you'll be happy; if I say you're not good, you'll feel sad and reflect. This personality of living behind the mask of others' evaluations and opinions—that's what Weapon Rack Big Brother and Conqueror Uncle really dislike about you."
Don't judge others without walking in their shoes. She'd never been the King of Conquerors or King of Knights.
Using modern perspectives to judge whether a king from that era was right or wrong was just armchair criticism. Like how Emperor Qin Shi Huang building the Great Wall exhausted the people, yet later generations highly praised that emperor, calling him far-sighted.
But to the people of that time, this was a tyrant's measure, causing tens of thousands to die in that construction. In that era, ordinary people just suffered.
So Miss Illya wouldn't excessively evaluate these things. To her, they were all amazing—whether tyrant or foolish ruler, she'd give these kings remembered by history personal respect.
At least they were truly remembered by history, while she'd probably struggle her whole life without causing the slightest ripple in history.
"So you also think that if you were my daughter, I wouldn't be a good father..."
Hearing this, the knight girl forced a smile, feeling the snow spirit beside her was avoiding the question because the truth would make her sad.
Just like Irisviel, they both cared for others and wouldn't belittle anyone.
"King of Knights Big Sister won't be my father, and I won't be King of Knights Big Sister's daughter. But I think King of Knights Big Sister is truly an amazing king, a wonderful hero. If hypothetically I were your daughter, I'd definitely feel honored and some pressure."
"Honored and pressure?"
"Yes! Having such an amazing father, as a child I'd naturally feel proud and aspire to that. But also because you're a king, if I couldn't gain my father's approval, the pressure would be enormous. Of course, this is just my personal view. At least from my personal perspective, I really like you, King of Knights Big Sister."
After all, if I lived in that era with the King of Knights as my old man...
I can't even imagine how wild I'd be. I'd probably dare to straight-up monopolize a dessert shop and live it up every day.
Who wouldn't love a father with power and a whole bunch of Round Table knight followers? That's instant super blessed easy mode—under the Round Table Knights and King Arthur, above everyone else!
Of course, this was just fantasy, because ancient food couldn't compare to modern processing. Illya figured even modern instant noodles would be considered national banquet-level delicacy in ancient times.
"Really?"
"I swear on Caster's name."
Seeing the cute girl blink earnestly, some of the gloom left the knight girl's face. Personality wasn't something easily changed.
She still cared about others' evaluations, especially non-enemies' evaluations.
Not that she couldn't maintain her own thoughts, but she could never forget her original intent when drawing the sword that year.
Seeing people's happy smiles genuinely made her happy—that was her reason for being king.
Not for power or profit, just pure ideals. If she forgot her original heart as king, she'd have lost her roots. Like people who wanted to make money to realize ideals, but their ideal ultimately became just making money.
She didn't understand hearts or people's desires, but if she understood, her heart would change too.
"It wasn't the Sword in the Stone that chose King of Knights Big Sister—it's that you were the most suitable king for that era. No one was more suited to be king than you."
"After all, if I remember correctly, that era caught some incredible last train. Even if someone else had done it, they wouldn't have done better than you, Big Sister."
So.
Big Sister, could you maybe give me the Grail?
You won't have any use for it anyway—Britain's destined to fall regardless.
Why not just give me the Grail? Your wish would just be a waste anyway.
Miss Illya hugged the knight girl's armored arm, gently persuading. Since the knight girl's thoughts were so unsteady, maybe she could talk her into giving up the Grail?
"Mm, I understand, Caster. My wish should be for Britain to endure in new history, not to deny the fact that Britain fell in my hands."
"?"
"My perspective was too narrow. If the Grail is truly omnipotent, then rewriting Britain's time of demise isn't impossible—creating a miracle of entirely new human history could appear. How could I dwell on the small matter of whether I'm suited to be king!"
"???"
The knight girl raised her head, face clear of displeasure, just like Tokiomi Tohsaka and Kariya Matou.
Her perspective truly had been too narrow. Britain's fall was the general trend. Changing kings just changed who was responsible. So why not just wish for Britain to endure forever?
Create new human history!
Use the omnipotent wish-granter to create entirely new miracles!
This was a king's responsibility to her nation—not denying others' efforts!
But continuing others' efforts, extending Britain's history forever!
"Thank you, Caster. I've finally found my direction. This time I won't hesitate or retreat. Tyrant or fool, what I want is only Britain's eternal existence, to see people and subjects smile again. This will be my only lifelong struggle in this Grail War—my true struggle!"
"Britain is the greatest kingdom! Britain's history must never be severed!"
No.
Your perspective didn't broaden.
You've fucking lost it.
The knight girl didn't notice Miss Illya's increasingly strange look, instead growing more excited as she spoke, clenching her fist with fervor in her eyes.
Ever since the harbor battle that day, her emotions would inexplicably become somewhat extreme at times. Maybe that uncultured Golden King had irritated her, but she didn't feel this state was problematic.
Instead, she felt her thoughts were clearer, more self-aware, something in her heart continuously amplifying.
Right—why did she care about others' views? Since learning Illyasviel's true identity, she'd still chosen to fight. Didn't her actions already show her choice?
Kill, kill, kill!
Even knowing the final victor might not be her, she'd fight to the end for her heart's desire!
She truly was wrong—ridiculously wrong. Her mistake was her perspective being too narrow!
Britain's king was her—only she was most suitable. Britain's fall was the general trend, so what she should change wasn't the king's identity but the so-called historical trend, erasing the outcome of Britain falling in her hands!
Chivalry? Yes, she should follow chivalry, because she was King Arthur, the King of Knights.
But didn't she know that tonight Diarmuid might face siege by multiple Servants?
Didn't she know last night Kiritsugu Emiya bombing the Hyatt hotel was utterly unchivalrous?
But what was she doing? Nothing—she'd tacitly accepted tonight's siege of Diarmuid, tacitly accepted Kiritsugu Emiya's actions!
From the moment she stopped following chivalry, she should have understood—what she wanted more was only Grail War victory, to make up for Britain's fall. This regret made her unscrupulous, her heart nearly maddened!
"Nonsense! Saber, even now you're still denying the history you and your subjects created!"
SLAM!
Iskandar couldn't take it anymore. Unlike Miss Illya, who wasn't a kingly Servant, he directly smashed the wine barrel's lid with a palm and rose angrily, laughing bitterly at the knight girl's still-deluded, nearly insane words!
She kept attributing all responsibility for the kingdom's fall to herself—how benevolent and foolish! Didn't she wonder why people historically almost unanimously evaluated her as not understanding hearts?!
"Heh, King of Conquerors, I'm not denying history. I just want to create new history. I don't deny the efforts of other Round Table knights and myself!"
"But I refuse to accept it! Why, when we tried so desperately hard, did we end up with nothing? Including me, except becoming Heroic Spirits, we left only brief mentions in world history books. This isn't fair or reasonable. I want to rewrite new historical trajectory precisely for myself and my subjects!"
The knight girl smiled coldly. So what if the Conqueror was right? But Illyasviel also said she was right. Since they were both right, why should she be inferior?
Different eras—what the hell was he talking about? Her way of kingship in her era was her choice; the Conqueror's hegemony in his era was his choice.
Illyasviel's argument was so correct—people from different eras judging each other was essentially armchair strategizing without meaning.
The Conqueror was king, she was also king. As long as they both pursued their ways of kingship and firm choices, that was enough.
"Listen, Iskandar! You look toward the future, and I look toward Britain's future. If you dare say my wish is flawed, you're denying my Kingdom of Britain. In the name of the King of Knights, I, Artoria Pendragon, declare war on your conquest. In Britain's king's name, I'll take your head!"
Wild winds howled! The invisible sword manifested in her hand!
The king girl named Artoria Pendragon's eyes no longer held confusion or hesitation.
Only a king's arrogance, hegemonic like the previous Golden King.
And seeing this scene, Miss Illya's heart sank again. She subtly retreated behind Irisviel, peeking out with just her small head observing.
So many days had passed since the harbor battle—hadn't she digested the blood yet?
She seemed fairly normal just now. How did she suddenly go crazy again?
Honestly, her blood did have some issues—namely causing partial corruption of others' thoughts. But logically, after this much time, at most there should be...
"Seems Saber has gone from one extreme to another."
The handsome man in an expensive suit also stepped back several paces, both vigilant and somewhat helpless as he spread his hands:
"If I'm not mistaken, Saber was summoned from Britain's fall or near-fall period, so her heart has been complicated from the start. One moment's carelessness leads to this polarized tendency."
"...Meaning she never let go, always trapped in Britain's fall."
Miss Illya, retreating behind Irisviel, quickly understood.
Heroic Spirits depended on their period. Each period's Servant had different specialties and personalities. If the knight girl was from Britain's late fall period...
Then learning the kingdom's fate in the modern era, getting somewhat obsessed wasn't abnormal.
Just that the knight girl previously seemed too normal. Except for her quality dropping at the high-pressure harbor battle when facing overwhelming force, hurling insults, she was otherwise gentle. So most assumed she was the middle or early period's gentle King Arthur, not the late-period Ruined Kingdom's King.
"Lady of the Einzbern family, you should leave first."
"If I'm not mistaken, this banquet has reached its end. What follows is no place for you to linger—a post-drinking battlefield."
The lancer crossed his arms and smiled with kind reminder. His lord had already left first to catch Kiritsugu Emiya hiding somewhere in the castle.
Now this banquet reeked of gunpowder. Within minutes, Servant battle would erupt.
Ordinary people or even magi continuing to stay here—even a Grand Magus couldn't escape unscathed. After all, the Servants surviving to this stage all had tricks up their sleeves, or they themselves wouldn't believe it.
"I..."
Irisviel hesitated several seconds.
"Pretty Big Sister, Weapon Rack Big Brother is right. You'd better leave. If multiple Servants' melee begins, that King of Knights Big Sister alone can't protect you."
Through familiars deployed outside, ready for carpet bombing at any moment...
Miss Illya sensed Kirei Kotomine approaching. She also tugged Irisviel's sleeve, wearing an attentive caring smile with kind reminder.
She didn't know if the Lesser Grail would shatter, but to ensure safety, better send Irisviel to Kirei Kotomine for slaughter. After all, if she died here, even Illya would struggle to recover her corpse, dig out the Lesser Grail and escape.
"I understand. But be careful, Caster..."
"Don't worry, pretty Big Sister. I'll take good care of King of Knights Big Sister. After all, we promised to have a fair, just final duel."
"I mean you be careful. Saber's current state, I feel somewhat off..."
"Got it, got it. Pretty Big Sister, hurry up and go, or I'll start disliking you."
Tossing the last few small cakes from her body to the white-haired girl, Miss Illya pushed her toward the garden exit, then waved with feigned annoyance.
Seeing Miss Illya say this, Irisviel could only reluctantly glance at her one more time before finally walking into the dark corridor at the exit.
She didn't know who the final victor would be, but she unconditionally trusted Miss Illya and the knight girl.
They would win...
They definitely would...
"I say, little kitten, you care so much for that lady—she's not really your mother, is she? Are you actually a modern or future Einzbern family ascended Heroic Spirit?"
The distant lancer's suit gradually vanished as he curved his lips teasingly.
Powerful magical energy surged. Tight, beautiful muscle curves were wrapped in bodysuit. One red, one yellow magic spear gleamed menacingly, like a coiled fierce beast. But more noteworthy was the shroud at his waist—a previously unseen object whose shape couldn't be discerned, wrapped in spell-covered shroud. One could only vaguely see it was a rather long weapon.
What weapon was that? No one knew, but clearly it was precious.
It carried an ancient, ancient aura—an antique beyond monetary value.
Probably only a Clock Tower Lord had the qualifications or connections to obtain such a priceless treasure. Strangely, Miss Illya sensed no magical activity from it. Perhaps some restriction or it had lost vitality.
"I'd love to have such a gentle, lively, wealthy mother. Unfortunately, the Age of Gods was very cruel. My real mother lacked the ability or capital to survive from the Age of Gods till now."
Miss Illya glanced at the lancer's shrouded waist. The spell isolation prevented her from seeing its truth, but likely that was his new trump card.
Even possibly just one trump card. He'd now become broken beyond her imagination.
Damn it!
Having a wealthy, connected Master was so nice. Why was the gap between Masters bigger than the gap between Servants?!
Thinking of the lancer's first-night strength versus current strength, Miss Illya felt somewhat tragic. This Grail War really was a daily version update. Surviving extra days with a resourceful Master meant eating version update benefits.
"Weapon Rack Big Brother, what's that thing wrapped tight at your waist? Can I take a look?"
"Though I'd love to show little kitten, unfortunately, my lord already owes some debts borrowing this antique. Unless absolutely necessary, I'm afraid of it getting damaged~"
"Mystic Code?"
"Well, you could say that. Just someone's collected relic~
Apart from Waver Velvet, no other magi existed in the chilly garden.
Wild battle intent accompanied by drunkenness ravaged in all directions. The sword-wielding girl in the center and Iskandar were as incompatible as fire and water—as the saying goes, one mountain cannot accommodate two tigers, one land cannot hold two kings.
This was a clash between the ideals of rulers from different eras. Neither believed themselves to be wrong, especially the sword-wielding girl who, after her enlightenment, became frenzied as if she'd taken stimulants. Her wish had directly changed from not letting the Kingdom of Britain meet a tragic end in her hands to using the Holy Grail to alter Britain's history, letting the old history that should have perished override the new human history.
This made the conflict between the two kings even more intense. What could have been considered a kingly debate moments ago had now become a complete battle between two extremely self-centered tyrants—or rather, not even tyrants, as the sword-wielding girl's ideas were even more extreme than those of any tyrant.
Miss Illya didn't know what would happen if the sword-wielding girl truly wished for Britain's eternal existence, as this involved deep questions of temporal paradox. No one knew whether that so-called omnipotent wish-granting device could truly achieve such a miracle that essentially reversed the timeline.
But she understood clearly that the conflict between Iskandar and the sword-wielding girl was now no less severe than with the Lancer.
What had originally been a likely three-on-one group beating might now become two-on-two.
She was caught between the sword-wielding girl and Iskandar—helping her ostensible ally wasn't right, nor was helping her hidden ally. This completely disrupted the original arrangement.
Truly, no one knows which comes first—tomorrow or the unexpected. Who would have thought that sharing a meal could produce such explosive tension?
"Saber, and also Lancer and Caster, this is my final question for this banquet."
"I ask you: Must a king necessarily stand alone?"
A magical gale swept through, and a red cloak replaced the burly man's modern shirt and jeans. The aura of the Conqueror covered most of the garden.
Facing the King of Knights who had drawn her sword at close range, he laughed boldly and spread his arms, asking his final question. Though outwardly angry at the King of Knights' way of kingship, seeing that she remained unmoved by others' words and displayed the firm resolve a king should have, he gradually acknowledged that she could barely be called a ruler.
Because at least she walked her path with determination—this alone qualified her for everyone's serious recognition.
Just as that mage from the Age of Gods had said, what he detested most was the King of Knights acting like a naive young girl, unable to even maintain her convictions. Being swayed by others' words without her own judgment—how could such a person be called a king?
Determination, believing in one's own path, taking responsibility whether successful or failed!
This is a king, this is a qualified leader, this is not merely someone who doesn't understand people's hearts wearing the empty shell of an idol saint!
"Since I am a king, I have no choice but to stand alone. A king is not an ordinary person but one who marches toward great ideals. I walk this path at the forefront with the Knights of the Round Table following close behind, and I need no one to understand what lies ahead of me or beside me!"
Facing the magical gale, the sword-wielding girl calmly swung her invisible sword to dispel the wind.
At this distance, if she ambushed the Conqueror, she could undoubtedly severely wound him. And in her heart, after Irisviel's guidance, she understood that beyond so-called chivalry, what she truly cared about was only the oath she made when pulling the Sword of Selection from the stone.
Chivalry couldn't save Britain, but she who abandoned chivalry would be more likely to succeed.
Unfortunately, she couldn't strike. Her radical thinking didn't mean her brain had problems.
Even without using her Instinct, she could sense through pure magical perception that the Lancer had far surpassed all the Heroic Spirit Servants present.
Perhaps his pure magical power couldn't compare to Irisviel's, but his comprehensive attribute threat level was far more terrifying than mere sufficient magical power. To achieve victory, everyone needed to cooperate and eliminate the Lancer first. Otherwise, after she eliminated the Conqueror, the next one eliminated would be herself or Irisviel.
So she couldn't fight, no matter how displeased she was. Although she knew Iskandar was already the weakest Heroic Spirit Servant on the field, having one more ally was better than one less. Right now, the only great enemy was Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.
"I've never been a king, so I'm not qualified to judge. Such figures who leave their names in history are too distant for me."
"By the way, Conqueror, aren't you going to let your Master leave here? If a battle breaks out, a mage would be a burden to you."
Wearing a beautiful princess dress, Miss Illya spread her small hands, her gaze fixed on the already armed Diarmuid. What she needed to do now was stall for time.
As long as she could stall until Tohsaka Tokiomi arrived with the homunculus Servant and killed all the other Masters, victory would be hers.
Two tubes of blood, magical energy close to two Command Seals worth—she'd been drained to the point of anemia and dizziness. If Tohsaka Tokiomi couldn't handle a few small-fry Masters with this, she'd have to mercifully activate the munitions deployed outside and kill everyone here.
"During my life, I failed my lord, so I'm also unqualified to judge this question."
A trace of melancholy passed through Diarmuid's eyes. Even though that incident wasn't his fault—as a retainer, he had no right to refuse that queen's command.
Even though his lord had ultimately forgiven him, personally fetching water for him as he lay dying from the magic boar's wounds, one thing was one thing. From beginning to end, he felt he'd failed Fionn mac Cumhaill, and even after death, he couldn't atone for his sins.
However, that melancholy quickly vanished, because perhaps initially he had fought loyally for Lord Kayneth out of such psychology, but now it was completely different. He truly admired from the bottom of his heart this new lord who had vision, ability, and perspective. Regarding Fionn, he felt some guilt and sadness in certain aspects.
But regarding Lord Kayneth—damn it, he felt that even performing slightly below par or bringing the slightest shame to him would be failing him. This mage lord who had summoned him was even more of an ideal than the ideal in his heart.
Even if ordered to commit suicide, he'd probably ask without hesitation what position would be most appropriate.
"Hahahaha! No good, you simply don't understand. For those of you who don't understand, I must immediately demonstrate here the true demeanor of a king!"
Regarding Miss Illya's suggestion to have Waver Velvet leave his side—
Iskandar only patted the shoulder of the frail young man beside him without responding, because he knew very well that in this Holy Grail War, his Master belonged to the weakest category. If acting alone and encountering Kayneth would be one thing.
But encountering Emiya Kiritsugu, that mysterious Master from the Age of Gods whose arrival was uncertain, or even the homunculus Irisviel—all would be equivalent to pronouncing a death sentence on Waver Velvet.
If so, it was better to keep him by his side, following him into battle.
"Conqueror King, you go too far! Bringing your Master into battle—are you looking down on everyone present..."
"King of Knights, this is why you truly don't understand. Subjects are never burdens following behind the king, but beings who fight alongside and follow the king in battle!"
As the domineering words fell, Instinct activated. The sword-wielding girl's heart rang with alarm bells, her ahoge standing on end!
Miss Illya also sensed something wrong, withdrawing her vigilant gaze from Diarmuid and preparing to bolt, because the magical reaction from the Conqueror was intensifying!
Some technique seemingly rivaling top-tier Grand Magecraft, or even surpassing top-tier Grand Magecraft, was being constructed in an instant, distorting the surrounding space and world!
Was this spatial magecraft? Or temporal magecraft? What was happening? How could a Rider possibly use magecraft?
"Stop!"
The sword-wielding girl didn't even have time to think. The moment the gale howled, she instantly drew her sword. The current Conqueror gave her a very bad feeling!
He even faintly, in certain aspects, exceeded the pressure Diarmuid gave her, entering the ranks of version T0!
Unfortunately, it was too late.
Just like Miss Illya's Noble Phantasm had no skill casting time and was completed instantly—
Certain special magecraft and Noble Phantasms that reached a certain level also required no chanting.
Brilliant white light flashed, enveloping everyone present. The cold night became scorching, the blazing sun overhead and flying hot sand stimulated every Heroic Spirit Servant's senses, leaving everyone including Miss Illya stunned.
"This... this place is..." Waver Velvet lay dazed on the ground looking at the surrounding plains and the three Heroic Spirit Servants at least several hundred meters away from himself and the king before him.
Desert.
A barren desert, an endless desert at a glance, a plain desert that absolutely shouldn't exist in Fuyuki City.
Everyone's positions had changed, short distances stretched long in this desert.
The sword-wielding girl and the Lancer were first startled, then immediately solemnly gripped their spears and invisible sword, because they both understood what the current situation meant—the strength rankings of Heroic Spirit Servants in this Holy Grail War had shifted yet again.
"Reality Marble, the materialization of one's inner world, the legendary pinnacle of magi closest to True Magic. Conqueror, you've truly given me quite a surprise..."
Miss Illya, also recovering, suppressed her shock. This time she truly found it hard to believe—a Rider could actually use a Reality Marble?
Iskandar had no legends of contact with magecraft during his life. How on earth did this thing upgrade based on what legend?
No wonder he'd dared to boldly reveal his True Name at the dock battle back then. A Rider, a king renowned for conquest—who the hell would think this guy had such a magical Noble Phantasm?
"This is the land my great army once galloped across, the scenery eternally preserved in the hearts of warriors who shared joy and hardship with me. This world, this landscape can take form because it is the inner world of myself and all my subjects!"
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
Iskandar laughed boldly and spread his arms. Countless shadows and legion formations emerged from the yellow sand behind him, shaking the earth—thousands upon thousands of Heroic Spirit Servants. The Conqueror King's true trump card Noble Phantasm, his ultimate ace, continuously summoning his former subordinates as independent Heroic Spirit Servants in battle through this Reality Marble—a super anti-army legion numbering in the tens of thousands!
"Behold, my peerless army! Though their bodies were destroyed, their souls were still gathered by the 'World' as Heroic Spirit Servants, yet they still serve me loyally—these legendary warriors!"
"My bond with them is my treasure, my way of conquest—this is my strongest Noble Phantasm: Ionioi Hetairoi!"
They were all genuine Heroic Spirit Servants. Though limited by Iskandar's individual ability, all personnel in the legion lacked their own Noble Phantasms.
And because they were summoned by a Servant's ability rather than distributed Class Containers according to the Holy Grail War's rules, none of them had Classes or Class-related skills.
"Indeed! Indeed! Indeed!"
The Conqueror King laughed heartily, while the endlessly emerging army roared and cheered.
But even without Classes, Noble Phantasms, or skills, a few scattered Heroic Spirit Servants among them gave the sword-wielding girl and Miss Illya an even more terrifying feeling than Iskandar himself. After all, while Iskandar's achievements were immense, his personal martial prowess was definitely not the most outstanding in the legion.
"It's been a while, friend." He stroked the black war horse that had run to his side a few times.
Then Iskandar mounted the horse, facing the army of tens of thousands of Heroic Spirit Servants:
"A king is one who lives most brilliantly, captivating all!"
"Indeed! Indeed! Indeed!"
The assault legion wielding spears several meters long and shields responded with rousing affirmation.
"Gathering the admiration of all warriors, guiding the people forward—this is what makes a king. Therefore, a king is not a isolation, for his great ambition is the accumulation of all his subjects' ambitions!"
"Indeed! Indeed! Indeed!"
Drawing the cavalry sword at his waist, the army composed of countless Heroic Spirit Servants roared their acknowledgment, shaking earth and sky. Iskandar turned to face the three heroes who, compared to this formation of tens of thousands, seemed like chickens and dogs—yet he showed no carelessness or contempt, only bold seriousness!
Waver Velvet, hearing this earth-shaking sound, trembled uncontrollably. He seemed to finally understand what he'd truly been lacking!
It was this sharp spirit, this domineering presence, this confident bearing that could make everyone acknowledge and recognize him!
"...Initial estimate of over twenty thousand Heroic Spirit Servants, with several among them belonging to first-rate Heroic Spirit Servants. Their close combat attribute levels don't fall below the three Knight Classes, while the remaining army is well-trained with seamless coordination. A hundred-man formation could likely contend with second-rate Heroic Spirit Servants; a thousand-man formation's capabilities are currently incalculable."
Looking at the endless Heroic Spirit legion, Miss Illya sighed and pulled out nearly a hundred strands of her silver hair. She had to admit the Conqueror had grounds for confidence. Just this Reality Marble alone—she could hardly imagine how to break it.
Because that legion wasn't like her familiar army, pure magical construct trash.
Those were genuine Heroic Spirit Servants, just without Noble Phantasms and skills.
Drawing out ten or so of such beings could constitute a decent faction in a Holy Grail War, and now there were tens of thousands of such elites.
This was no longer a question of how others should win, but of how to die a bit later.
"Caster, can you create tens of thousands of familiars?"
"I can, but I can't control them. Even set to automatic attack mode, I can't control them. My precise, detailed control only extends to about a hundred. Beyond that number, the familiars basically just drift with the flow. My maximum is just over a thousand."
"..."
"Besides, familiars and Heroic Spirit Servants—there's no comparison. Even if I pulled out all my hair, I couldn't clash with this quantity of Heroic Spirit army."
Teammate, could you not overestimate me? I can fight group battles, but that doesn't mean I can fight high-quality group battles, especially in my current injured state.
Throwing down nearly ten thousand familiars—I don't know if the enemy would die, but I know I'd definitely burn myself to death with such an operation.
"Rather than me, King of Knights, you're also a king, right? Don't you have a similar Reality Marble trump card?"
Miss Illya blinked, quite expectant. This situation was like an originally fair five-versus-five tower pushing game—
The opponent spawned tens of thousands of heroes without skills. Even if you smashed your keyboard, you'd still be drowned in the human wave.
"If I had such a Noble Phantasm, the Holy Grail War would've ended on the first night."
The sword-wielding girl was speechless. She'd hoped Irisviel could pull off something big to break the current situation, but Irisviel seemed to also be hoping she'd pull something off.
Well then, since the two of them had both run out of tricks, they could only turn their gazes to the former version-strongest, currently squeezed out of position by Iskandar's Reality Marble, the Lancer who definitely still had other trump cards.
"Weapon rack big brother, quick, use your invincible Master to think of something!"
"...My lord said this Noble Phantasm is a bit exaggerated. Without the old fossils from the Clock Tower taking action, the entire Clock Tower bundled together wouldn't be enough for this army of tens of thousands of Heroic Spirits to devastate. He told me to hold out and stall for now, waiting until he finishes dealing with Emiya Kiritsugu and your Master, little kitten, then he'll find a way to extract me."
"You can't win either?"
"Little kitten, I should ask you the same! Quick, use your invincible spirit descent technique to plan a ritual and pull down a hero who can break through the Reality Marble!"
Diarmuid returned Miss Illya's teasing in kind. Actually, each of them knew what to do in this situation; they were just hiding their cards and unwilling to make the first move.
After all, moving first meant revealing trump cards. If someone accidentally revealed a method capable of opposing the tens of thousands of Heroic Spirit army, whose blade would fall on whom next—no one could guarantee that.
Ultimately, the three of them hadn't started fighting each other yet only because Iskandar had shown himself sufficiently powerful. It was the old routine of the weak huddling together for warmth against the strong.
And when a new powerhouse appeared, the other three heroes would huddle together for warmth instead.
"If I could spirit-summon such a hero, the Holy Grail War would've ended on the first night."
Miss Illya's forehead filled with black lines. Her Noble Phantasm was rank B+—summoning even a first-rate Heroic Spirit Servant was troublesome, let alone pulling out a hero capable of breaking Reality Marble. Was Diarmuid going to supplement the missing Noble Phantasm rank with his own Spirit Origin?
These people, so many schemes. Everyone had been so innocent on the first night.
Now facing a powerful enemy, everyone was hiding and holding back, completely lacking the grace of knights and heroic legends.
You're all not moving, right? Then I won't move either. Anyway, the first one the Conqueror will target definitely isn't me. We're unshakeable allies!
"Well then, let us begin. The King of Knights of Britain, the pinnacle mage of the Age of Gods, the radiant knight of Celtic mythology—as you can see, our materialized battlefield is a plain. Unfortunately for you, we have the advantage of numbers and terrain."
Iskandar ordered several stronger soldiers to escort the eager-to-follow Waver Velvet to the rear, then raised his cavalry sword like a war marshal and swung it, pointing directly at the three heroes in the distance who hadn't retreated a single step:
"The enemy consists of heroes renowned throughout the world—don't be careless, give it your all!"
"Declare to them, prove to them—from beginning to end, they are the challengers challenging this king!"
The earth shook, scorching dust filled the sky!
Tens of thousands of Heroic Spirit Servants charged fearlessly under their king's declaration of war!
Without a targeted Noble Phantasm, no one could survive being trampled by this war torrent!
These were all Heroic Spirits, all living legends, all extraordinary beings remembered by history and humanity—and not just one or two, but tens of thousands in well-trained military formation. Facing such an army, even the mightiest heroes were but drops of water falling into an ocean, unable to make a ripple!
War!
War!
War!
Tonight was undoubtedly the final battle, and the Conqueror King had opened the curtain on this epic reenactment!
"Hmph! So what if it's a Reality Marble? You may not be able to kill us all before your magical energy runs out..."
The sword-wielding girl gripped her invisible sword cautiously. Everyone present knew the optimal solution for opposing the Conqueror—stall until his magical energy was exhausted.
Reality Marble was magecraft closest to True Magic; its magical consumption was incalculable.
The Conqueror was indeed powerful, but his Master was not. The magical supply was a fatal flaw.
"By the power of a Command Seal, Rider, conquer and defeat your challengers to claim the Holy Grail!"
"By the power of a Command Seal, Rider, achieve final victory—failure is not permitted, continue your conquest!"
"?"
"?"
"?"
Waver Velvet, is your brain damaged?!
The next moment—
The Conqueror King Iskandar and his army of tens of thousands surged to an even higher level.
Now it was Emiya Kiritsugu's, Kayneth's, and Miss Illya's turn to lose their composure.
Because now the Conqueror truly could kill them all before his magical energy ran out.
Gather, my compatriots! Tonight, we shall brand our heroic forms upon the battlefield of mythical epic!"
"The enemy consists of heroes capable of standing against ten thousand—worthy of our full strength!"
"Warriors, show these legends remembered by human history our dominance!"
The Heroic Spirit army of tens of thousands surged to an even higher level. Among them, several scattered Heroic Spirit Servants' imposing presence had already nearly equaled or even surpassed the three Knight Classes. Even without skills or Noble Phantasms, those terrifying numerical values absolutely reached the Knight Class tier.
They've gone mad! Waver Velvet had gone mad! Everyone had anticipated he might use Command Seals!
But no one expected him to unhesitatingly use two entire Command Seals at once. One must know he'd already used one Command Seal in the dock battle, and the two he just used were his only remaining trump card. This meant he no longer possessed any effective contract to restrain his Heroic Spirit Servant—even obtaining the omnipotent wish-granter would depend on Iskandar's mood!
According to records from previous Holy Grail Wars, while cases of Servants betraying Masters weren't particularly common, they undoubtedly existed. If not even a Command Seal remained, even achieving final victory would leave the Master's fate in the Heroic Spirit Servant's hands!
What was he thinking? Did he even want victory? What was his purpose in participating?
This question flashed through the minds of various Masters observing this scene.
Especially Kayneth, as his teacher, became increasingly unable to understand his student's bizarre thought process.
Forget about magi—even ordinary people would feel fear and wariness having someone nearby who could kill them at any moment. As the saying goes, you can know a person's face but not their heart. You could give up the Holy Grail, but you couldn't lose your means of self-preservation, handing all initiative to a Servant you'd known for only a few days.
"Foolish! Ignorant! Trusting others too easily! Having a student like you simply stains my Kenneth's perfect career record! You can't threaten me in academia, but you'll undoubtedly ruin my perfect lecturer reputation at the Clock Tower in education!"
Currently in the castle tracking down a hint of Emiya Kiritsugu's movements, Kayneth couldn't hold back anymore. Not leaving even a means to restrain one's Heroic Spirit Servant—
This naive, ignorant behavior—even his worthless adopted sister Reines from a branch family, not yet five years old, couldn't do something this stupid.
But he had to admit, Waver Velvet's move directly bankrupted the original delaying tactics. How long the Conqueror's Reality Marble could last with two Command Seals' worth of power, they couldn't calculate, but the magical reinforcement alone could guarantee beating the three Heroic Spirit Servants to death in a group beating.
He naturally trusted Diarmuid Ua Duibhne could stall, but who could guarantee the other two, seeing the situation unfavorable, wouldn't go for mutual destruction and drag Diarmuid down with them—the sinister, vicious move of "if I can't win, I won't let you win either."
That Age of Gods mage might not pull such a thing, but Emiya Kiritsugu's Servant could absolutely do it—because that one was the disgusting mage killer.
"What do we do? Caster, the current situation isn't good."
"Every man for himself. King of Knights, I'm currently a critically wounded person."
"Dozens upon hundreds of Stork Knights wove and soared through the sky. Miss Illya frowned and retreated behind the two Knight Class daddies. Two overpowered monsters asking her, an outclassed Age of Gods mage—this was somewhat mocking."
From the sky, hundreds and thousands of streaking lights swept down—military-grade spears thrown by the legion.
Piercing through the sky, cutting through scorching sand and air. Though incomparable to the Gate of Babylon's bombardment, they could undoubtedly pierce Heroic Spirit Servant flesh.
"Capture the king first to capture the army. I'll try to eliminate the magical supply source. The frontal battle is entrusted to weapon rack big brother and King of Knights big sister—after all, I'm not very good at this one-versus-army thing."
Miss Illya assumed a self-sacrificing posture and guaranteed.
"Hahaha, little kitten, do you think you can escape unscathed in this desert without cover?"
Hearing Diarmuid's cheerful laughter, Miss Illya only quickly retreated. Whether she could escape unscathed she didn't know, but she knew that as long as the Conqueror wasn't an idiot, he'd understand that eliminating her, the weakest, had far lower priority than eliminating the King of Knights and the Lancer.
This was the advantage of being weak—after all, rather than waste forces eliminating a fast-running, hard-to-kill critically wounded person, better to first eliminate the strongest.
"Since neither of you is willing to make the first move, out of knightly etiquette and gentlemanly manner, let me clear the obstacles ahead for you both."
The sky full of spears closed in. Diarmuid laughed as terrifying magical power nearly matching Miss Illya's surged from his body. Crouching slightly, he wrapped the red spear in wild magical energy, then violently hurled it upward to meet that dazzling bombardment!
BOOM! The red magic spear broke the sound barrier, like a meteor bursting with light from bottom to top, forcibly tearing a wide gap large enough for several people through the dense spears!
This small-scale group attack capability never shown before raised the sword-wielding girl's vigilance a few notches, but she also knew now wasn't the time to worry about such things.
The sword-bearing guard army was less than thirty meters away—a distance that could be covered in just seconds. But the sword-wielding girl obviously wouldn't let the enemy army seize the initiative.
"By the power of a Command Seal, Saber, overcome the predicament before you and show them your true peak state!"
Emiya Kiritsugu's Command Seal arrived. The invisible sword's gale no longer held back.
Mana Burst skill fully activated, the sword-wielding girl reverse-gripped the hurricane sword and closed her eyes.
"Naturally, Emiya Kiritsugu, hear this clearly: Standing here is the Arthur King who will definitely restore Britain's glory and revive the Kingdom of Britain!"
The next instant, the sword-wielding girl laughed wildly and arrogantly. The earth beneath her feet suddenly exploded, the sand and dust beneath her like being hit by artillery, shattering and roaring!
The sword of raging wind, like an awakened lion charging into a flock of sheep, transformed into a speed completely invisible to the naked eye, breaking through everything. The Wind King's Iron Hammer descended—with slashing strikes nearly exceeding the speed of sound, she instantly fell upon the foremost military formation. Dozens of Heroic Spirits, even raising shields in time, were immediately shredded into magical light particles. Nearly a hundred Heroic Spirits were blown into the sky by this incoming hurricane. The first wave of the military formation was forcibly scattered by this Lion King with great ambitions!
She envied how the Conqueror had such an army's support, but with her enlightened thoughts, she believed she was no worse than him. Seeing this scene, she suddenly remembered—
A knight once left the words "King Arthur doesn't understand people's hearts" and departed from Camelot. This was a sentiment all Knights of the Round Table gathered at the Round Table deeply buried in their hearts. Now she finally understood the true meaning of these words.
Yes, she fundamentally didn't understand people's hearts...
And she couldn't change this rigid personality of hers...
But why did she need others to understand her? The king's actions are the only truth!
The king's will is authority! Where her sword pointed should be where people's hearts pointed!
She didn't need to understand people's hearts because she would become the synonym for people's hearts. Never forget your original intention and conviction. Her previous mistake was accepting Britain's inevitable destruction. If she truly loved the people and wanted to see their smiles, she should deny that history of ruin!
She didn't need the human history of Britain's destruction. She didn't know whether her Knights of the Round Table or sister Morgan would approve of such an extreme idea.
But she knew this way of thinking... would neither betray her original intention nor make her less human.
CLANG!
"Heaven never seals all exits—as long as I want to walk, the path I forge lies beneath my feet!"
The invisible sword collided with a blade that suddenly thrust from the splattered sand—the deadly edge of an elite scout with Agility attribute reaching A-rank!
Ionioi Hetairoi, rated EX-rank—an unmeasurable, undefinable rank anti-army Noble Phantasm.
People are the treasure; the achievements built with peerless warriors are proof of kingship. This was Iskandar's elite guard legion led during his lifetime. Most ordinary soldiers possessed strength not inferior to average third-rate Heroic Spirit Servants.
Among them, individual elite unit leaders' certain attributes even reached A-rank. Combined with Iskandar's preserved skill Military Tactics B and Waver Velvet's two Command Seals providing magical supply, these elites gained further formidable enhancement.
BOOM!
One strike missed; the scout tried to retreat, but overwhelming Mana Burst like a tremendous weight attached to the invisible sword. Violent hurricane bloomed into over ten meters of magical torrent. One sword strike devastatingly shattered several soldiers unable to dodge in time!
Tens of meters of desert earth were blasted into a deep trench. Another ten-plus people perished in this strike, but the remaining Heroic Spirits showed no fear whatsoever—rather seeming to fight more courageously. Similar elite scouts numbered in the double digits, forcibly breaking through the invisible sword's residual scorching magical waves through numerical and attribute advantage!
"Roar roar roar! Ooh ahhhhhh!"
"Hahahaha, can't let you steal all the spotlight, King of Knights of Britain! As a knight, you can't hide behind others!"
A cold gleam arrived first, then the spear shot out like a dragon—the red magic spear became a swimming dragon!
Speed exceeding Agility A+ burst forth rampaging. Accompanied by Diarmuid's cheerful laughter, another ten-plus Heroic Spirit army members were pierced through and turned into magical light particles!
Thrust, thrust, thrust again—twin spears danced stained with blood, shields, swords, and spears colliding violently!
Sand and dust blown away, the Radiant Knight charging alone into the formation laughed heartily, finally revealing a glimpse of his peak martial arts and resilient resolve. He was proud, he was joyful, he advanced through the army of ten thousand!
Heroes never fear challenges. Even knowing they might fail and die, even knowing the enemies slain were but a drop in the bucket, countless brave souls dared swing their blades at invincible calamities!
Hero versus hero.
Knight versus king.
On this exhilarating epic battlefield without schemes—what reason did he have to retreat?
"Big brothers, stop chasing me! I'm just a critically wounded Age of Gods mage. Even if you successfully kill me, it's not something glorious. Besides, I'm good friends with the Conqueror—we drank together, had heart-to-heart talks, that kind! We're on the same side! ?·°(??﹏??)°·?!"
Of course, there are always exceptions. Our Miss Illya clearly lacked the passion of the sword-wielding girl and the Lancer. Riding atop Stork Knights, she ran extremely fast.
Leaving the scouts behind her, each with at least B-rank Agility, utterly confused.
Having followed the Conqueror in campaigns throughout their lives, they'd seen such young enemies before, but truly never seen an enemy this cowardly who ran this fast, clearly stronger than them and could easily counterattack and kill them, yet fled toward the army's rear?
And wasn't she running the wrong way? Wasn't she taking a detour trying to reach the army's rear?
"One hundred sixty familiars, killed down to just over ten remaining. My judgment was correct—rather than killing me first, the Conqueror prioritizes the King of Knights and weapon rack big brother higher..."
Her ruby eyes glanced at the scouts following closely below. Miss Illya calmly analyzed the situation.
Touching the several gems hidden in her white dress, she naturally had ways to deal with these pursuers without using Class Cards.
But she dared guarantee that if she dared kill the Conqueror's soldiers, the next second pursuing her wouldn't just be these few scouts.
Moreover, her current fleeing perfectly fit expectations—after all, besides the familiar army, her remaining methods against an army numbering in the tens of thousands were truly just scratching an itch.
The current situation also suited her perfectly. Let the Conqueror and the other two Knight Class daddies slowly fight. Once these people exhausted their trump cards, that would be her opportunity.
"Forward! Don't worry about Caster—I'll assist you!"
"?"
Just as Miss Illya was enjoying her slacking time, a yellow streak of light crossed the sky!
Directly piercing through the Stork Knight she'd used for a double-jump, standing high in the sky, knocking her down from her uninvolved perch onto the sand below, coming face to face with the several pursuing scouts.
Thud.
Also falling to the ground was a yellow short spear—precisely Diarmuid's possessed Gáe Buidhe.
Familiar tone, familiar magic spear. Even racking her brain, Miss Illya couldn't imagine that at this decisive battle stage, Diarmuid would dare lend her his magic spear.
Though she couldn't destroy this Noble Phantasm, everyone in a decisive battle knew she couldn't possibly return it. Lending out a Noble Phantasm meant borrowing without return!
Miss Illya stared blankly, pulling out the magic spear, looking at Diarmuid in the distance giving her a reassuring look, then at the several scouts before her poised to strike, then at the surrounding encircling spearmen of the guard—couldn't discard it, couldn't not discard it either.
"Uh... this... well..."
Sensing her unfavorable predicament, Illya silently gripped the spear with both hands trying to snap it, then declare loyalty to Iskandar before all the soldiers.
However, a B+ rank Noble Phantasm obviously wasn't something her E-rank Strength could mess with.
Beads of cold sweat formed on her forehead, her smooth white back began sweating profusely.
"Hahaha, worthy of the Age of Gods mage recognized by the king! Daring to single-handedly attempt breaking into the enemy's rear to bring victory's hope to your companions—as commander of the king's guard, I deeply admire your valor."
The encircling Heroic Spirit army parted, and a shield-and-spear-bearing, cheerful, white-short-haired, valiant warrior shouldering a spear slowly emerged from the formation.
This was a nearly 1.9-meter-tall warrior who seemed quite easy to get along with and trustworthy—a straightforward warrior. Even without Class Container or Noble Phantasm enhancement, just from that pure attribute presence and martial pressure, one could see this was an existence no less formidable than the three Knight Classes.
He laughed heartily, spear pointing directly at the snow-elf girl sweating profusely on the surface yet seemingly completely unconcerned, issuing a challenge signal with high battle spirit.
"Though engaging a mage in close combat isn't glorious, I dedicate this battle to that brat Iskandar. My conquest cannot be constrained by trivialities—that would show I look down on you, this Age of Gods hero."
"Actually, there might be a small misunderstanding between us. The Conqueror and I aren't..."
"I am Ptolemy, whom people in human history call the Savior."
"?"
Ptolemy. Founder of the Ptolemaic dynasty, ancestor of Cleopatra, builder of one of the Seven Wonders of the World—the Lighthouse of Alexandria—and the most renowned library, the Library of Alexandria.
In his early years, he campaigned across the world with Conqueror King Iskandar. In later years, after Alexander died of illness, Ptolemy ruled Egypt as Pharaoh.
If summoned and manifested through the Holy Grail War system, he would undoubtedly be a being surpassing first-rate Heroic Spirit Servants. Now summoned and manifested in Ionioi Hetairoi, relying solely on martial arts, knowledge, attributes, and insight, he was also indisputably a top-tier monster at the first-rate level.
"Then it seems my luck is quite poor, encountering a former Pharaoh King."
Miss Illya politely spread her small hands with a faint smile, inwardly wanting to beat up that Evil of This World's observation skill. What garbage luck was this?
Out of an army of tens of thousands, fewer than twenty first-rate Heroic Spirits total, and she happened to encounter one.
And a world-renowned Pharaoh King at that—Ptolemy I, among the strongest.
Her fighting Ptolemy I? Would she win? Dead for sure. Logically speaking, why could this Heroic Spirit Servant even be summoned by Ionioi Hetairoi? In terms of mystery level and raw strength, this guy was even more terrifying than the Noble Phantasm's user, Iskandar.
"State your name, Age of Gods mage! Such valiant spirit deserves to have my comrades and compatriots remember your true name."
"Well, could you go a bit easier then, big brother?"
"For the sake of that brat Iskandar... being my king, I'll consider it situationally."
"Caster, Medea during her time as Hecate's disciple."
Sensing the surrounding army's battle intent and Ptolemy's coiled spear ready to strike, knowing a battle was unavoidable, Miss Illya quite dashingly spun the spear. Her right hand touched the magic spear to the ground while magical power gathered at her left fingertip, slowly revealing a shattered card imprinted with an elderly mage's image.
Precisely the Class Card previously pierced through its Spirit Origin and shattered by a single Noble Phantasm strike from Lancelot, nearly unusable—the Heroic Spirit EMIYA's card.
"—Dream Summon, Caster!"
After the quiet whisper, the card transformed into magical light particles, instantly completing the mystic garment armament replacement.
Blood-dried black-red bandages wrapped around Miss Illya's cheeks, leaving only a pair of beautiful ruby eyes exposed. She skillfully drew the only remaining military dagger from her waist, heavily mobilizing magical power to use the Noble Phantasm causing her slight pain.
Theoretically, the Caster card that suffered fatal wounds was basically scrapped.
However, just like the Assassin card, as long as it hadn't completely shattered into fragments, it could still be used—just not for long, not many times, and certain aspects would malfunction.
For instance, due to her own severe injuries plus the first use of the Mage card consuming even its Spirit Origin as a revival charm, though EMIYA's card could still be used now, it could probably only be used this one last time, couldn't last half an hour, couldn't use the card's inherent Noble Phantasm, and attributes would sharply decline due to the user's injuries.
Overall, originally in Miss Illya's hands, EMIYA could be played as a powerful first-rate Heroic Spirit Servant. Now at most he was a second-rate level without Noble Phantasms—aside from Agility attributes, hardly any capabilities were worth mentioning.
But as long as Agility remained A-rank, that was enough. She had Diarmuid's gifted Gáe Buidhe.
This could indirectly compensate for EMIYA's card shattering to the point even Noble Phantasms couldn't be released.
How to describe it? Could only say Lancelot's single sword normal attack was more outrageous than many Heroic Spirit Servants' ultimate moves. If EMIYA had star ratings, Lancelot's normal attack had forcibly knocked off an entire star from her card.
"Oh my, the goddess's disciple, an Age of Gods priestess? No wonder my king took notice of you. Your outer garment transformation is the legendary Age of Gods spirit descent technique, correct?"
Ptolemy slightly narrowed his eyes curiously, obviously having heard of the Witch of Betrayal's legends.
"Merely trivial tricks. I dare not show off before the legendary Egyptian Pharaoh King, big brother. But why did Ptolemy big brother choose me?"
"Well, I quite dislike harming women, but the other two were already picked by Seleucus, Antigonus, and the others. I was slow to choose, couldn't help it."
"Then it seems I'm quite disliked."
"That's incorrect."
"?"
"Precisely because flowers are too beautiful that people find it hard to bring themselves to trample and ravage them."