Fiore immediately accepted Archer's request to withdraw.
At that moment, Fiore's own battle had fallen into a stalemate.
The Red Saber's Master—Shishigou Kairi—was a renowned hunter. Compared to Fiore, who was essentially a researcher, the number of battlefields he had survived was worlds apart.
As magi, they were about equal in overall technical skill.
Fiore undeniably surpassed him in pedigree and innate talent.
But such things meant little in the extremity of combat. Battles were not decided by magecraft alone.
A true fight required manipulating one's magecraft alongside terrain, tools, and improvisation—strategic application, not scholarly technique. Research and combat were ultimately two different dimensions of magecraft.
Fiore knew this—or thought she did. But Shishigou was still one step ahead as a tactician.
Had Caules not intervened, Fiore's head would already have been blown apart by a shotgun.
It was not quite a blunder on her part—but every magus of the Red camp was either of power comparable to Darnic, or brutal hunters who had slain such opponents. Shishigou even treated modern firearms—objects magi despised—as proper Mystic Codes.
He stood at the polar opposite of Fiore, who had studied magecraft solely for scholarly refinement.
And there was always the chance the enemy still had a hidden trump card.
Now that Shishigou had glimpsed the weaknesses of her Mystic Codes, advancing further would be reckless. Caules could not be counted as real combat strength. The wisest choice was to retreat while his bluff still held weight.
"Well then, Lord Shishigou—if you will excuse me."
"Running away?"
A provocative jab. Fiore ignored it.
"Our next meeting shall be in Trifas—at our fortress."
And she departed.
Pursue her? …No.
Shishigou discarded the thought immediately.
As long as Caules—a completely unpredictable factor—remained, chasing her was too risky.
He should at least regroup with his Servant before attempting pursuit. And by then, the enemy would already be far back in their territory.
If Saber killed Archer, that would be ideal.
But the Noble Phantasm that lit up the sky earlier told him Saber had used hers as well.
And since she had not triumphantly returned, it was safest to assume she had failed.
Of course, Saber being defeated was impossible. Command Seals would have alerted him immediately.
It seemed both Servants had fought to a draw—
or perhaps the enemy decided to disengage first, prompting Fiore's retreat.
Either way, today's battle was done.
Shishigou flopped heavily onto the ground, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and lit it.
He inhaled, then exhaled in disappointment.
It was expensive, as expected—but still terrible.
High-end or not, a cigarette that didn't suit his taste only left him with an indescribable sense of futility.
■
"So the Red Saber's true identity is Mordred… Archer, you are certain?"
Fiore and Archer, now returned to Millennia's Fortress, stood before Darnic to report the details of their contact with Assassin—and the ensuing clashes involving Red Saber and Shishigou Kairi.
"It is certain, Lancer."
Archer nodded to the hero seated upon the throne.
"The Red Saber used a Noble Phantasm to intercept my arrow. At that moment, its concealment effect was nullified. I can still clearly visualize the sword's design. Not that it was necessary—once she used that Noble Phantasm, her identity was already obvious."
"I see. And the rank of that Noble Phantasm?"
"Rank A+. An anti-army Noble Phantasm—equivalent to our own Saber's."
"Oh…? In that case, we can prepare accordingly. Excellent work, Archer."
"I am honored, Lancer."
Archer bowed with impeccable courtesy.
The value of the information he had acquired was immense.
A+ rank—among the highest for any Noble Phantasm.
Most Servants held Noble Phantasms of approximately B rank.
Anything above A rank was the domain of myth-level heroes.
Mordred the rebellious knight—infamous as she was—possessed tremendous capability as a Saber.
Her parameters exceeded A rank in every category except Luck.
Her legend supported those numbers—she defeated Sir Gawain and dealt King Arthur a mortal wound.
A homunculus created by the witch Morgan from Arthur's blood, later wielding the sacred sword that the King had called "the sword of the king within the sword."
If summoned as Saber, she would naturally be a formidable enemy.
Among the Red Servants, only Saber and Rider had confirmed True Names.
Lancer was known to be a match for Black Saber.
Archer was confirmed female, though her exact identity was unknown.
Berserker had been captured and made into Caster's surrogate Master.
The Red Servants still unseen were Assassin and Caster—but that was normal.
Those two classes rarely appeared openly on the front lines. Whether they lurked in their base or stalked from the shadows, their invisibility made them all the more ominous.
After Fiore and Archer departed, Darnic—standing beside Lancer—began mapping strategy in his mind.
Servant quality favored the enemy—he acknowledged that.
But his own forces were not lacking:
Vlad III and Siegfried were both legendary heroes.
Archer could serve as a wild card.
And with the enemy Berserker seized, they now held superior numbers.
Since the Great Grail was in their possession, the enemy had to attack the Millennia Fortress.
They didn't even need to move—
the enemy would come to them.
The fortress had taken fifty years to prepare.
Layers of magecraft protected it—enough to endure even Noble Phantasms.
Even an Assassin would not easily infiltrate.
Everything was in their favor.
Servant count, terrain, mana supply—
critical factors for victory—all leaned toward them.
Even if their Servants were slightly inferior in raw quality—
in the greater picture, they held the upper hand.
There was nothing to fear.
At that moment, a faint spark passed through Darnic's body—like an electric tingle.
"Darnic."
"Yes, Lord—
It seems… they have come."
■
Shirou exhaled slowly, calming his mind.
With his senses sharpened, he could clearly hear insects chirping and the whispering wind.
This foreign land bore no resemblance to his birthplace.
The scenery was unfamiliar—
yet with eyes closed, those differences felt trivial.
A different sky did not mean a different world.
Even now, this world remained trapped in its cycle of suffering and lamentation—
—and yet love still undeniably existed.
If so—why were there so many left without salvation?
God's hands should have been broad enough to lift all humanity.
Shirou slowly opened his eyes.
A sky full of stars greeted him—
clear, vivid, brilliant in the rural darkness.
"Well, my Master—have you finished your meditation?"
"Assassin. How long have you been there?"
"About an hour. I wondered when you'd notice."
Assassin let out a quiet, throaty laugh.
"You're cruel, Assassin. I never sensed you at all."
"Naturally. I am Assassin."
Her Presence Concealment could deceive even Servants.
So long as she did not initiate an attack, she could approach any target unnoticed.
Even a man of the Church like Shirou had no chance of detecting her when she chose to hide.
"Be careful, Master. Had I been the enemy Assassin, your head would already be rolling."
"Yes, you're right. Thank you."
Shirou answered with a serene smile, unfazed.
"And I doubt we need to worry too much. The Black Assassin is acting independently of the Black faction."
Reports had confirmed that Red Saber had clashed with Black Assassin and Black Archer.
Archer had even attacked Assassin.
Combined with the fact that Assassin was devouring souls, it was clear she was acting on her own.
"So the Black dogs have been bitten by their own hound."
"That seems to be the case."
Or perhaps her Master had been replaced entirely.
A likely possibility.
"She may try to infiltrate us—"
"If that happens, there's no choice. I'll rely on you."
"…"
Assassin fell silent.
Shirou was her Master. Protecting him was natural.
But being trusted so openly—being told so directly that he relied on her—left her oddly disarmed.
It was… uncomfortable.
To Assassin, men were contemptible creatures—
beasts easily manipulated through lust.
Yet this boy held no such filth.
He moved only by conviction, his purpose utterly devoid of personal greed.
"Boring, Master. With the Grail before your eyes, you have no interest in power, money, or women."
"That's the sort of person I am. Besides—
if I were a Master who lusted after such things, wouldn't you have killed me immediately?"
"Ku ku… You understand well."
He was a category of man Assassin did not recognize.
A male without disgust.
Strange, but not unpleasant.
"Assassin… if you're here, then—"
"It is ready. Everything is set."
She smiled seductively, proudly.
When they entered the throne hall, two Servants were already present—
though "waiting" was the wrong word.
They were merely doing as they pleased, and happened to be here.
Archer roasted meat on a spit—game he had hunted himself.
Rider lay on his back staring at the ceiling.
Shirou offered no complaint and simply asked where Lancer and Caster were.
"Ah—Lancer's outside, starin' into space. Caster's in his workshop."
"Thank you."
Shirou began to go summon the remaining two—
"Wait. There's no need for that, Master. I can call them by telepathy."
Assassin was an assassin, yes—
but also a high-level magus.
Her unique skill, Double Summon, allowed her to possess two classes' worth of skills.
Thus she had Caster-class abilities as well.
She was a sorceress even in legend—summoning her as Caster would have made perfect sense.
Lancer arrived first.
A tall, youthful man clad in golden armor, his expression sharp and stoic.
Reserved, silent—hard to read.
"Sorry to summon you."
"No matter. Has something happened?"
"I'll explain once the last one arrives."
Five minutes later—
Caster wandered in, unhurried, late without shame.
"Hahaha, apologies. Inspiration overtook me."
"Is your writing going well?"
"Oh, splendidly, Master. This Great Holy Grail War—such inspiration! 'Indeed, imagination overflows—madmen, poets, and those in love are all alike.'"
William Shakespeare—the Caster—spoke with delighted fervor.
Likely the most famous among all summoned this war.
The legendary playwright known across the entire world.
"By the way, Master—this era has a device, does it not? One where pressing keys produces letters?"
"A computer?"
"Yes! That. Might you obtain one for me?"
"Of course. I'll make arrangements within two days."
Caster nodded with satisfaction.
"Caster. Do not forget the Holy Grail War."
Assassin sighed at him.
"But of course, Empress of Assyria. I have not forgotten my duties."
"You had better not."
"I merely leave the fighting to the combatants—I, meanwhile, record their glorious deeds."
"You're a Caster—aren't you supposed to fight too?" Rider muttered in exasperation.
Caster—one of the weakest Servants ever summoned, famous though he was.
No combat ability whatsoever.
A Caster with no magecraft-related legends—utterly unprecedented.
"Well—'the gods give us flaws so we may remain human.' My flaws are simply magecraft—and combat."
"The most necessary things," Assassin groaned, rubbing her forehead.
Men were fools, yes—but this man was something else entirely.
Perhaps it was that outrageous peculiarity that made him immortal in history.
Assassin finally turned to the others.
"Well, enough of that. It is time. Our preparations are complete. The enemy will not leave their fortress. They are likely bored of skirmishes. So we shall attack first."
At her words, Rider and Archer's eyes sharpened.
Both were true heroes—neither satisfied by mere skirmishes.
Only by unleashing their full might and slaying worthy foes could they feel fulfilled.
Their enemies were worthy indeed.
Rider in particular was eager to defeat Black Archer, the one capable of wounding him.
No objections.
"Ahh—finally! I have waited for this moment! 'Expectation is the root of all heartache!' These past days have been agony—I could hardly endure waiting for the grand drama of blood and valor!"
Caster crowed with joy.
Rider, Archer, and even Lancer tensed in anticipation.
"But Empress—how exactly do you intend to attack? The enemy remains locked inside their fortress. 'The plan must be proper and well-set before execution'—
So, what is the plan?"
"For once, Caster speaks sense," Rider said, eyeing Assassin.
"So? From the looks of it, we're holed up in a fortress just as much as they are."
The Red camp's base was the massive castle Assassin had created.
They all knew it was her Noble Phantasm—
but not its true nature.
Only Caster, who knew the legend, nodded in excitement.
Assassin grinned.
"You misunderstand, Rider. We are not hiding.
This Noble Phantasm was created to attack."
Rider blinked, baffled.
He could not imagine such a giant structure moving.
To him, the idea of a moving building meant the Trojan Horse—
long after his own lifetime.
"Assassin, don't keep us in suspense. Let us experience it."
"Very well, Master. You are eager."
"I am a man, after all."
Assassin smirked, then placed her hand over a gemstone embedded in the throne's armrest.
The ground rumbled.
A massive quake shook the castle for ten long seconds—then abruptly stopped.
"Go look outside."
Everyone except Assassin rushed out.
They immediately understood the cause.
"What—"
Even Rider was speechless.
Nothing was beneath them.
An enormous empty expanse lay below—
and the clouds were unnaturally close.
The fortress was floating.
Hanging Gardens of Babylon — The Vanity of the Sky-Borne Garden.
"My Noble Phantasm is a flying fortress, just as you see."
The legendary Hanging Gardens—one of the Seven Wonders.
Historically, the terraced gardens built by Nebuchadnezzar II around 600 BCE.
Not originally Assassin's Noble Phantasm.
But two thousand years of legend had woven it into her—
the collective thoughts of mankind manifested it when she was summoned.
Hence "Vanity"—
a reflection of legend's distortion.
Yet vanity or not, she had created this garden in reality, in this world.
A structure built to soothe a queen—
reborn as a monstrous aerial fortress in Assassin's hands.
The Red camp's inactivity had been for this.
Her Noble Phantasm was too massive to manifest instantly—
she needed time to collect trees, soil, stone, and water from the land,
then perform the great ritual to assemble it.
Once activated, it could no longer be stopped.
Even anti-fortress Noble Phantasms might not be enough.
The immense fortress drifted forward through the sky.
"Well then—prepare yourselves. At this speed, we will reach Millennia Fortress in one hour."
Shirou's words cut through the rising excitement.
A hush fell—but beneath it, unmistakable heat simmered.
Now that they had a concrete timeline, their hearts shifted toward the battlefield.
Until now, these had been mere skirmishes—probing, measuring, holding back.
But what awaited them now was different.
A true war.
Old and new heroes clashing in a grand melee—a furious slaughter.
None among them felt fear.
The enemy surely felt the same.
Heroes did not shrink from battle.
A slow, rising heat pulsed between the silent Servants.