"Are you truly going?"
Hohenheim asked in his usual calm voice.
"Yes. This is my duty."
The girl before him, golden-haired and blue-eyed, nodded with dignity—
the opposite in appearance to the white-haired, red-eyed Hohenheim.
A Ruler-class Servant.
Her true name: Jeanne d'Arc.
One of the most revered saints in all the world, the hero who brought hope to France.
Her fame was nearly maxed out everywhere—especially in the West, where not a single person would fail to recognize her name.
"Homu-kun, please remain here."
"Mmph… frustrating, but I suppose it cannot be helped.
I am in no condition to assist you."
The healing spell placed upon the dagger had halted his bodily degradation,
but compared to an ordinary homunculus, that improvement was minor—
nowhere near enough to survive a battlefield where Servants clashed.
To step in carelessly would mean certain death.
"I will remain here and await your return."
The moment he said "await your return," Ruler's heartbeat jumped slightly, and she scratched her cheek.
"That's… well, somehow it feels reversed."
" … "
"A-ah, no, don't mind me. Forget I said anything."
Trying to cover her reaction, Ruler summoned her armaments and donned her armor.
"By the way—do you have any message you wish for me to deliver?"
At her question, Hohenheim fell silent for a moment.
It was surely for the people who had saved him.
"You may encounter some of them on the battlefield.
At least let me pass along your words."
"… Very well.
Tell them that I received a name and that I am living well in the city.
And… that I am grateful."
In the end, he had never been able to thank them.
That weighed on his heart.
"I understand,"
Ruler nodded firmly.
"… Then, I shall be on my way."
With that alone, she began to run.
Once she touched the air of the battlefield, her heart would switch into its proper state.
Though her time with Hohenheim and Arma had been brief, it was peaceful and healing.
But she was Ruler.
She must carry out her duty to the very end.
The Great Holy Grail War had been abnormal from the start.
Originally, a Holy Grail War was a battle royale between seven Servants at most.
Never before had there been a division into Red and Black factions—
a literal war between two armies of Servants.
Fourteen Servants total.
Twice that of Fuyuki.
And those summoned were no mere ghosts—
but historic and mythical heroes who had slain dragons, hunted giants, eradicated demons, and carved their legends into humanity's memory.
A single Servant could match an entire army.
Fourteen of them fighting at once would create disastrous repercussions.
But even that was not the true issue.
Ruler felt a cold wind of foreboding pushing her toward the battlefield.
Her very summoning was a sign that something had gone wrong.
But the cause was unclear.
Her role was to supervise the war and prevent deviation.
She sensed the presence of all fourteen Servants.
All fighting across the fields and forests.
Something was deeply off.
Her own summoning had been irregular—
she had possessed the body of a French girl.
That alone was strange.
Yet her conviction solidified when she first arrived in Romania—
and was immediately assaulted by the Red Lancer.
For some reason, the Red faction was attempting to eliminate her.
For a supposedly neutral Ruler to be deliberately attacked meant:
the Red faction was hiding something.
That was what drove her.
Her goal: the Red Masters.
Only by confronting them could she judge fairly.
"Mm…"
Before her stood countless Dragon-Tooth Warriors.
Ignoring the Black Caster's golems, they moved to attack Ruler.
"As I thought—!"
Ruler swept her holy banner, mowing them down.
So openly hostile—it made the situation clearer.
No matter how many of these mass-produced soldiers appeared,
they could not slow her.
To stop a Servant, you needed a Servant.
Ruler, though irregular, possessed combat abilities equal to any standard Servant.
And she possessed privileges allowing her to face even top-tier Servants without disadvantage.
For the Red faction to attack her despite knowing she was neutral—
they must be hiding something significant.
Fortunately, she already knew their base.
The upside-down floating sky garden.
Such a colossal airborne Noble Phantasm was not something one saw often.
Whoever controlled it must be a mage of the divine era, from a time when physics had not yet stabilized.
"—!"
Ruler swung her flag on instinct.
An overwhelming shock slammed into her.
A blinding light swallowed her sight.
A spell from the airborne garden—of A-rank.
What incredible magical power—dense enough to rival true sorcery.
Yet despite taking the full blast, Ruler was unharmed.
Her Magic Resistance negated it completely.
A Caster-rank attack was meaningless to her.
Thus—no mage could defeat Ruler.
"Kh…"
Knowing that, still the bombardment did not stop.
Lightning, explosions, magical artillery—
a rain of spells that turned the land to scorched wasteland,
leaving only the spot where Ruler stood intact.
Golems and Dragon-Tooth Warriors alike were annihilated.
Ruler's Magic Resistance did not erase spells—it scattered them.
She remained unharmed, but everything around her burned under the diverted magical blasts.
Good thing no civilians were nearby.
Analyzing the situation:
The hordes of Dragon-Tooth Warriors were gone.
But the magical bombardment only intensified.
It wasn't a tantrum.
There was intention:
not to defeat her, but to stall her.
Which meant—
the key to the Grail War lay somewhere ahead.
Then she would force her way through.
"Haa!"
Sweeping her holy flag, she tore apart the incoming magic and dashed across the flattened plain.
Only the pillars of light from the sky hindered her—and they meant little.
To stop her, a physical wall would be needed.
Such a thing would not suddenly appear—
Except it did.
A most convenient shield marched straight toward her.
"—!!"
Ruler killed her momentum and leapt back.
Her body moved before sight registered—
Her danger sense was exceptional.
And the magical presence approaching her was unmistakably monstrous.
It was enormous.
So enormous she could hardly comprehend it at first.
A gigantic beast.
Over ten meters tall.
Its thin, wax-colored flesh throbbed in places.
Had it retained a human shape, it might have been tolerable.
But it had not.
"No way—The Red Berserker!?"
A shocking sight indeed.
His true name: Spartacus.
A real historical rebel of ancient Rome.
Not a child of the gods, not from the divine age—
a mortal hero.
Yet his body had warped into something monstrous.
Four arms.
A swollen, turtle-like back.
Neck buried in flesh.
Eyes and fangs sprouting from his shoulders.
Extra legs added to support the bulk.
A hulking, four-legged abomination.
Noble Phantasms could manifest powers not possessed in life—
but this…
"A transformation-type Noble Phantasm…"
A body that rejects humanity, becoming pure power.
Suited indeed for Berserker—
yet far too extreme to be his natural strength.
Likely a side effect of excessive self-enhancement.
As Ruler stepped back, another Servant dropped from the sky—
the Red Saber, clad head-to-toe in armor.
He landed, wary of Berserker, but stared at Ruler.
"You—Servant?"
"You must be the Red Saber. I am the Ruler-class Servant."
"Ruler, huh? Yeah, I remember hearing about that."
He had been informed about the irregular Ruler class.
"But what's a supposedly neutral Ruler doing dead center in a battlefield?"
Jumping over Berserker's whip-like arm, Saber questioned her.
"I must gather information in order to make correct judgments as referee."
"Hah, rough job.
So lemme ask—
can you stay neutral with that thing around?"
"Eh?"
Berserker's bulging eyes locked onto Ruler.
"To this lunatic—do you look like friend or foe?"
Saber sliced Berserker's neck.
Blood spurted, then instantly stopped—
the wound swelling and mutating further.
"…!"
Berserker might no longer understand allies and enemies.
Worse—his core principle was rebellion against authority.
And what was Ruler but the greatest authority present?
There was no reason he wouldn't attack.
"RULER—!!"
"Kh—!"
Roaring like a beast, Berserker lunged at her gleefully—
Exposing his back to Saber, who immediately severed both Achilles tendons.
The monster toppled, raising a cloud of dust.
"Saber… were you trying to push him onto me?"
"If I dumped him on you, it'd look like I was runnin' from him."
Saber leapt onto Berserker's back and drove his sword into the spine.
A loud crack echoed.
"Damn—he heals anyway."
Saber retreated as Berserker rose again,
injuries already restored,
spreading grotesquely insect-like arms toward them.
"Oppressors…
Perish beneath my arms…"
That alone drove him.
Such was Berserker.
He doubted nothing.
Questioned nothing.
He believed utterly in his righteousness.
Ruler knew this type well—
those who sacrificed themselves for their beliefs,
justifying any cruelty committed along the way,
without ever realizing they were cruel.
Fanatics.
Spartacus was the embodiment of martyrdom to rebellion.
"Ruler, what now?
Looks like he's got his eyes on you."
"… I have no choice.
But do not mistake this—I am not siding with you."
She must remain neutral—
but she could not simply stand still while attacked.
Defending herself was permitted.
"Fine by me," Saber grinned,
circling to Berserker's flank.
Though Berserker was not overwhelming as a Servant,
his abilities were extremely troublesome.
Even two first-rate Servants—Saber and Ruler—
would struggle.
The Black Lancer and Red Archer were fighting in complete opposites styles.
Lancer had deployed his Noble Phantasm—
Kazikli Bey: The Executioner's Stakes—
turning the area around him into a forest of stakes.
They rose endlessly as long as he had mana.
Individually weak—but emerging from the ground and in overwhelming numbers made them formidable.
Lancer remained atop his horse, never taking a step,
assaulting Archer from within his fortress of stakes.
Meanwhile, Archer raced through gaps with superhuman agility,
firing arrows as she wove through the wooden forest.
As a hunter, stealth and sniping were more natural to her than frontal combat—
but she had no choice.
The countless stakes were truly a threat—
but not a single one had hit her.
Her agility surpassed even that of the Red Rider—
one of the fastest heroes of Greek myth.
Her archery and speed together made her a top-class Archer.
She could maintain this equilibrium thanks also to her skill "Beauty of the Hunted"—
allowing her to act after confirming an opponent's first move.
Since Lancer always struck first from below,
she always reacted in the optimal rhythm.
But—
"Still troublesome," Archer muttered, scaling a stake.
She shot.
The arrow shattered a stake guarding Lancer—
but did not reach him.
Repeating endlessly.
"Hmph… I do not know which hero you are, Red Archer,
but your bowsmanship is impressive,"
Lancer smiled.
Unlike her, he had no limits on mana or Noble Phantasms.
Though the fight looked evenly matched,
he was gradually cornering her.
She could be praised for her courage—
but courage alone could not topple walls.
Archer was not facing a mere general.
She faced someone who embodied a kingdom.
"A beautiful barbarian huntress…
I had no such warriors in my reign.
Truly—this Great Holy Grail War is full of wonders."
In his era, female warriors were nearly nonexistent.
He knew of Jeanne d'Arc, who had been executed in the year of his birth—
so he did not deny the possibility.
But it was rare nonetheless.
"Underestimate me because I'm a woman and you'll regret it, Lancer."
"I underestimate you? Impossible.
A woman who became a hero—
that alone merits caution."
Despite his calm voice, he never looked away from her.
Both hunted for each other's weaknesses.
"Be as swift as you like…
How long will it last?"
Lancer remained confident.
Overflowing mana.
Maximum fame boost.
No other Servant fought under such ideal conditions.
Whatever the Red Archer's true identity,
she could not match such advantages.
Battle began long before blades crossed—
and Lancer's Master had spent half a century preparing.
Of course Lancer would be the strongest Servant summoned.
Of course Archer would be disadvantaged.
Mana raged.
Blood scented the wind.
Golems lay shattered.
Homunculi reduced to meat.
Not a single Servant had fallen—
only their disposable soldiers.
Their existence now felt meaningless.
They could not intervene in Servant combat.
And with Dragon-Tooth Warriors and Golems clashing,
they simply died in vain.
Yet they continued.
Golems obeyed their creator, the Black Caster.
Homunculi—incapable of fear or hesitation—
followed orders to the end.
Then suddenly—
A thick fog blanketed the battlefield.
"So many tasty meals…"
A childish voice echoed.
Instantly, eyes, throats, lungs—
all burned in agony.
Breathing meant searing pain.
Tears overflowed.
The homunculi dropped their weapons, scattered in panic,
or collapsed where they stood.
They understood—
They were prey.
"So many choices…
I really can't decide."
An unseen enemy devoured them one by one.
Shirou, facing the Black Berserker, sensed the presence instantly.
Even he clicked his tongue.
"Caster. We must retreat.
She noticed far faster than expected."
"A true Ruler—summoned for her impartial judgment.
Yes… she may indeed be that type."
The Red Caster, in spirit form, continued observing without assisting him.
"Hurry. If she indicts me here, the story collapses.
A cancellation—an author's worst nightmare."
"As a writer, yes, that would be undesirable.
Very well—let Master's first battle end here."
Shirou threw black keys at Berserker and fled at full speed.
Despite being merely human, his running speed approached sixty kilometers per hour—
impossible for any normal man.
But members of the Church could reach the limits of the human body.
Indeed, his speed far exceeded ordinary humans—
but his pursuer was no human.
The Berserker he faced was a Servant—
and though she appeared like a cute girl,
she was Frankenstein.
A mechanical Servant.
A human could never outrun a machine.
"NAOOOOOOOOOOO—!!"
Berserker pursued him relentlessly.
Black keys in her path delayed her only briefly.
Shirou ran through the dark forest.
Berserker followed without fail.
"She's still following."
"Indeed. The mechanical young lady is quite fast."
"Yes. But I did not die fighting her earlier.
That means I was right.
If I survive this as well—
then our victory is assured."
He had no need to enter the battlefield.
But he had intentionally come to test fate itself.
If he survived in this world drenched with death,
then his plan had been approved—by God.
"—!"
Trees exploded beside him.
Golems burst through.
"So the Black Caster joins as well…
At a time like this."
Individually weak—
but dangerous when surrounding him.
"We'll remove you, then."
He sliced through a golem's shoulder, then its head.
Not a master swordsman,
but skilled enough to handle them.
He avoided unnecessary strikes,
used minimal movement to disable them,
and escaped.
Yet more came.
And Berserker too.
At last—Shirou was surrounded.
"Well then, Caster. Thoughts?"
"Hm. I suppose I alone could escape.
I am, after all, a man of letters."
"Then I must struggle on myself."
Caster was no combatant.
He could not save Shirou.
Shirou dodged punches, slicing legs, climbing one golem, jumping to another, cutting its head.
Much harder than vampires—
and far more numerous.
He was running out of stamina—
and Berserker made everything worse.
"But still—
I cannot stop."
He muttered as he swung his blade desperately.
The Japanese katana, converted into a Noble Phantasm by Caster,
could cut golems cleanly—
but had no special effect against large groups.
His advantage dwindled quickly.
"What are you doing, Master!?"
The Red Assassin scolded him through telepathy.
Then—
A thunderous roar.
Lightning rained down around Shirou,
obliterating the golems instantly.
"My thanks, Assassin."
"Hmph, no need.
If you fall, I cannot remain incarnated.
… You have been located by that girl. Hurry."
"Yes."
Shirou sprinted across the scorched earth left by Assassin.
Trees burned.
Golems shattered.
The airborne garden continued firing its impossible bombardments—
obliterating all on the ground.
Even Servants were not exempt.
Berserker, wounded by Assassin's strike,
still tried to pursue Shirou.
She had been spared a direct hit by distance and the golem wall.
But then—
a final bolt of lightning fell from above.