The battle between the Red Saber and the Black Assassin had settled into a single repeating pattern:
Assassin hurled her feints—Saber batted them aside.
Saber swung with lethal force—Assassin leapt back, keeping distance.
Assassin understood perfectly well that she could not win a close-quarters fight.
More than that, none of her attacks could pierce Saber's heavy armor. Even beneath the armor—Saber's body itself possessed extraordinary durability. Her reckless, charging approach was, in fact, frighteningly rational.
Assassin hurled knife after knife to try to create an opening, but none inflicted even the equivalent of a mosquito bite.
What allowed her to keep fighting was one thing alone:
She always positioned herself so that Saber was forced to keep Shishigou behind her.
If Saber dodged incorrectly, the knives would reach Shishigou.
Thus Saber could never simply blitz in and cut Assassin down. She had to always adjust her footwork to protect her Master.
If Assassin had been a proper Heroic Spirit, this tactic would have been unthinkable. A Hero's pride would forbid it.
But Assassin had no such thing as pride. She was a pure killer—every opening to exploit, every weak point to strike, every filthy method was fair game if it produced victory. Even Saber's own heroic pride became a tool for her.
"You move really well in our fog. Amazing."
"Shut it, Assassin."
If Assassin was a spider, then this fog was her web—her territory, where her power reached its peak.
Within the fog, her form could not be seen. Her voice echoed, masking her direction. Shishigou would eventually succumb to the poison.
On top of that, the fog amplified her Presence Concealment—normally the skill weakens the moment she attacks, but here she was veiled constantly.
Saber's armor clanged in irritation.
"Oh… I see. You're a woman."
A voice came from nowhere. Saber ground her teeth.
"And what of it?"
"Well—"
The sensation that raced down Saber's spine was beyond "chill."
It was the feeling of a slug crawling up her back, a primal warning.
Her Instinct screamed:
Misjudge this moment even once, and you die.
A Noble Phantasm. Assassin's words revealed that much.
"Hah. Don't you dare underestimate me, killer."
Saber did not waver.
So what if it was fatal?
She'd faced death countless times in life. She had cut down Gawain, clashed nearly to mutual death with King Arthur, and brought an end to Britain's glory. She would never fall to a childlike murderer.
"—Red Lightning."
A torrent of blood-red lightning burst from her entire body. Fog was an obstacle?
Then she would blow it away.
The yellowed smog evaporated in an instant—scattered by the crimson explosion.
All that remained was Assassin, sitting plopped on the ground before Saber.
"It's over, Assassin."
"Nooo. I'm still hungry."
Pouting like a child, Assassin raised a meat cleaver. Saber snorted and leveled her sword.
With the fog gone, the suffocating dread had vanished as well.
Saber was back to full capacity—she could kill in a single blow.
Shishigou retreated behind cover and deployed a powerful bounded field to repel onlookers. They now stood on an empty main street of a major city—perfect for an all-out clash if one ignored property damage.
"Right then—this ends, steak-girl."
Saber lunged.
Assassin knew escape was no longer permitted.
She had to carve out a window—any window—to withdraw. She could not defeat Saber, but she could survive if she broke Saber's rhythm.
Her target: the only unarmored weak point—the neck, slipping a blade between helm and cuirass.
She had the skill.
She dashed in, quick enough to outrun human world-record sprinters, diving beneath Saber's guard.
For human eyes, it would be a single instant.
For them, it was a battlefield's eternity—reading distance, timing, power, openings.
Saber saw all variables—calculated—and confirmed victory.
Less than a second to sever the killer's head.
—but in that same moment, Saber also felt her own death.
Not from Assassin.
Someone else.
A distant attack—either a thrown weapon or a sniper's strike.
Either Lancer or Archer.
Saber abandoned Assassin and twisted her body.
Mana Burst detonated beneath her feet, violently altering her trajectory.
The strain made her entire core scream, but she forced it into submission.
Assassin was blown back by the shockwave.
And then—
In the exact spot where Saber and Assassin would have collided, a sword struck the ground and exploded.
■
The arrow-sword landed exactly where intended.
"How was it?"
"A failure. As expected of Saber—she sensed it. She evaded at the last moment."
"And Assassin?"
"Also escaped. Saber's Mana Burst blasted her away."
Archer and Fiore watched the fight from above—from the spire of Sighișoara's famed clock tower, sixty-four meters high.
Fiore did not scold Archer. She had never expected a single strike to kill a Servant.
If it dealt a wound, that alone was fortunate.
The wind was fierce at this height. A normal person would lose their balance and fall. Archer, being a Servant, had no issue.
Fiore, however—
She could not walk. No wheelchair could reach this spire.
But this was not the usual Fiore.
This was Fiore the combat magus. She had left her wheelchair on a lower floor.
In its place were:
Bronze-Link Manipulators — Connected Reinforcement Mystic Code,
a four-armed mechanical apparatus like the limbs of a metal spider—her legs and arms for battle.
"Assassin has chosen to retreat. What now?"
"Then we follow the original plan. I will challenge Shishigou. You will face Saber."
"Understood, Master."
Archer nocked a twisted blade as an arrow.
As an Archer, his eyesight surpassed all others—he could clearly see Saber's face from here.
For some reason, Saber had removed her helmet.
Her exposed face was seething with fury; red lightning bled from her body.
"…"
Fiore sensed the faint ripple in Archer's composure.
"What is it?"
"No—nothing."
"I see…"
He was hiding something again. Fiore felt a small sting of irritation.
But this was not the time. She would ask later. For now, they had to focus on the battle.
"May fortune be with you, Archer."
"And with you."
Fiore departed the tower, circling around to approach Shishigou.
Once she was gone, Archer glared toward Saber.
Saber, in turn, looked ready to fight.
"To think I would cross blades with you again…"
His words vanished into the wind.
On Archer's face: hesitation, sorrow.
He knew Red Saber's True Name.
One impossible to forget—a memory from a battlefield long past, yet never dulled.
Her style, her attitude—her past actions.
She was not the same person, but her face belonged to one he knew all too well.
Her True Name Concealment could hide her identity from observers—
but not from Archer's memories.
Revealing her face had been a mistake.
■
Red Saber was visibly, aggressively furious.
She glared up at the clock tower.
"Oi, Master! It's that damn Archer again!"
"Yeah. Didn't think they were here too… what now?"
"Kill him, obviously! Nobody messes with my food and lives!"
"You wouldn't listen even if I said no. Fine—go all out."
"Hell yeah!"
She slammed the ground and charged toward Archer.
Challenging an Archer head-on was insane—and she had been burned by that very Archer before. But she charged anyway.
Shishigou also sensed killing intent. Archer's Master would be approaching—trying to kill him while Saber distracted Archer.
That left only one likely candidate among the Black faction:
Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia.
Darnic was almost certainly Lancer's Master.
Gordes was Saber's.
Roche must be Caster's.
That left Fiore as the only Black Master likely to step onto the front line.
"Damn… kids these days."
A magus must cast aside emotion in battle. Even so, he disliked fighting a young girl.
Red Saber, too, knew how dangerous Archer was.
Her first opponent had been Archer.
His twin-sword style had produced defense like a fortress, and his arrow—no, sword-arrows—had rivaled anti-army Noble Phantasms.
He had toyed with her from start to finish.
Even now, it made her seethe.
Arrows cut through the night.
These were normal arrows, unlike the exploding sword-arrows—
but the appearance was deceptive.
They pierced steel with ease and tore trenches through the earth.
Against her armor, though, such arrows were meaningless.
If they struck a thinner part, they could penetrate; if they hit her heavy plating, they would bounce off.
The arrows traveled above sonic speed, five shots per second, deadly accurate—
—but that was it.
"If you wanna kill me, you need to be better than Tristan, Archer!"
She snorted and wove through the barrage, angling her body, swiping aside the ones she couldn't evade.
Any lesser Servant would be a pincushion already. Not Saber.
She did not underestimate Archer—she knew he was a monster on par with the greatest bowmen she had encountered.
But these arrows lacked killing intent.
"You mocking me, Archer…?"
Then, suddenly—the arrows stopped.
And a heartbeat later—
Her vision was filled with blades.
"What the—?!"
Countless swords dropped from the sky, all pointed downward.
His power had been reserved for this.
A rain of swords—
the jaws of a steel dragon.
"…Tch. This is bad."
Each sword was heavier than an arrow.
Weight meant penetration.
And they exploded.
Saber tried to move back, but buildings blocked her escape.
She had one instant.
"OOOORAAAH!"
She gripped her greatsword with both hands and swung.
Scarlet lightning flared outward, becoming a storm that met the falling blades.
An explosion lit up the night sky.
Dozens, hundreds of swords detonated in chain reactions—a storm of raw magical power.
But it wasn't enough to kill Red Saber.
She stepped out of the inferno entirely unharmed—and then she charged.
Archer had spent much of his mana on that attack. This was her chance.
The moment his output dipped, she burst into maximum acceleration—red lightning scattering like sparks behind her.
She had removed her helmet, redirecting all its mana use into speed.
In a flash, she reached the base of the tower.
Sixty-four meters left.
Using the stairs? Laughable.
She needed twelve strides.
She sprinted straight up the tower's outer wall—like a missile streaking upward.
And Archer—
…smiled.
It went exactly as he expected.
Saber never saw that smile.
Because a massive wall blocked her path.
"What—?!"
A huge round shield appeared before her—large enough to cover a person entirely.
Blood-red and translucent—a defensive Noble Phantasm.
"Guh—!"
She slammed into it.
Not even she could break a full-fledged shield-type Noble Phantasm by body-checking it.
Her momentum shattered, she fell backward—plummeting toward the ground.
Rho Aias — The Seven Rings that Cover the Fiery Heavens.
The strongest defensive Noble Phantasm Archer possessed.
He had manifested only four layers, not seven.
A complete version taxed him too much to use alongside other Noble Phantasms.
He had expected her to charge the tower.
He had seen something like this before.
And with her personality, charging headfirst was inevitable.
Archer nocked a spiraled sword.
The shield dissolved and Saber's vision returned—
—and what she saw froze her blood.
That sword-arrow was on another level.
Awe-inspiring power.
Her whole body screamed DODGE NOW.
She had no foothold—
so her only option was Mana Burst.
"Farewell, Mordred."
"…!"
Saber heard it. Her superhuman senses caught Archer's muttered farewell.
And that moment of shock—the single thought:
Why does he know my True Name?
—cost her the time she needed to evade.
She swallowed her anger, focused only on survival, and unleashed her last resort.
Her greatsword warped with a cracking sound—as if bones broke.
In an instant, the radiant holy blade twisted into a cursed demon sword.
Their killing intent peaked—
and then—
Caladbolg II — Fake Spiral Sword
Archer fired.
Clarent Blood Arthur — Rebellion Against My Beautiful Father
Saber released her Noble Phantasm.
The collision was catastrophic.
Archer broke into a cold sweat.
Even after cornering her this far, her released Noble Phantasm had almost vaporized him.
The clock tower collapsed.
Dust and debris rained as Archer stepped onto the rubble, facing Saber.
"Saber…"
Her fury was justified.
She had been forced—forced—to use the Noble Phantasm she hated most, the one tied to the father she revered and despised.
Archer himself didn't expect her to use it mid-air.
At the instant before release, he succeeded in analyzing her sword.
Her Secret of Pedigree—the helmet's name-concealment—had been interrupted when she released an anti-army Noble Phantasm.
Thus Archer identified it immediately.
And if he hadn't exploded his Fake Spiral Sword to redirect Clarent Blood Arthur, he would have died on the spot.
Even so, his hand burned.
A direct hit would have killed him without question.
Saber knelt, propping herself on her sword.
Archer backed away.
Now she was a wounded lion—
and furious for being baited into wasting her Noble Phantasm.
He, too, was injured, and this was open ground—her terrain.
He knew her True Name.
He had nothing to gain by continuing.
So Archer informed Fiore:
He would withdraw.