"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!"
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The Red Rider attacked the Black Archer with a godlike thrust of his spear — so fast it could not even be visually perceived. Calling it a flash of lightning would not be an exaggeration. Even Archer's dynamic vision struggled to track the trajectory of that spear.
Among all heroes, Rider boasted the very greatest speed. And he excelled not only in swift footwork, but also in spear techniques rooted entirely in overwhelming velocity.
"Speed" becomes "power".
Against any ordinary opponent, the battle would have been decided the moment they clashed.
And yet, the Black Archer — a bowman — managed to hold his ground against Rider's spear techniques.
Time passed since the battle began.
The balance of power remained unchanged — Rider held the advantage.
Archer could barely counterattack, relying on his twin swords to parry and endure Rider's relentless spearwork. But that meant one thing:
He was enduring.
The spear that had been drilled into him by the great sage Chiron, refined through countless battles, was being withstood — by a mere bowman who had stepped into his ideal range.
"My speed, my strength — I'm overwhelmingly superior, no question.
So why…
…why can't I break through?"
Their clashing blades exceeded a thousand exchanges, showers of brilliant sparks illuminating the night forest. Rider remained uninjured, while Archer gradually accumulated damage.
If Rider continued pressing forward, he believed he could win.
Yet at the same time, a strange suspicion took root —
Could this continue endlessly?
That was how unyielding Archer's guard was.
More accurately—
his way of defending was incredibly skillful.
Rider disengaged, retreating to reset the distance.
Against a bowman, retreating would normally be a mistake — a fatal one.
But even with that disadvantage, Rider judged this the perfect time to reset everything and search for a new angle of attack.
In the blink of an eye, Rider widened the distance by about thirty meters.
He glared sharply at Archer.
"…Maybe I should try throwing one — a big one."
Rider spun his spear and shifted to a reverse grip.
Holding and swinging a spear was not the only way to use it.
In ancient war, alongside bows, spears were among the primary long-range weapons. Weapons born at the dawn of human civilization — instruments created to harm enemies, prey, anything in reach.
Ancient Greece, where Rider lived, was no exception.
He had defeated countless renowned warriors with his proud throwing-spear.
He contracted his entire body's muscles and raised the spear overhead.
The trees that once cluttered the battlefield had been obliterated by their clashes, leaving behind an open plain. Nothing obstructed the throw.
Archer sensed it.
The blistering, stormlike pressure of Rider's earlier thrusts — pulling away after gaining such advantage could only mean one thing:
Rider was preparing a decisive attack.
From spear range to bow range —
to abandon the distance he had painstakingly closed was a sign of absolute confidence.
Either that, or —
this distance was required for a new kind of attack.
Most likely the latter.
The magical energy swelling within Rider was too small for a Noble Phantasm's release.
It was a technique, a skill honed in life — a throw born from pure training.
"Tch…"
Even so — a mere throw from—
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—was not "mere" in any sense.
Even if it was not a Noble Phantasm, its power would be equal to one.
Archer knew with certainty:
If Rider had been summoned as a Lancer, this throw would definitely be a Noble Phantasm — a fatal strike imbued with divine mystery.
Neither a bow shot nor a projected Noble Phantasm would make it in time.
So — dodge?
No. Avoiding a throw from the fastest hero, at this distance, was madness.
Then only one option remained:
A sure method —
prepare the strongest defensive armament in hand.
Rider had already raised his spear.
Whether Archer could finish in time was a pure fifty-fifty gamble.
He activated all magical circuits.
He surpassed his limits.
He conjured the image within his mind directly into reality — manifesting petals upon the earth.
Rider pulled back his spear.
Archer raised his right hand.
"Diatrekon Aster Lonkhe!
Fly — the Spearhead That Pierces the Stars!"
Rider shouted the name of his spear and hurled it.
Its trajectory was a gentle arc — yet the spear flew as swiftly as a meteor.
Its point gouged through the air, and before one could blink, it struck Archer's torso, detonating a storm of magical energy.
Dust billowed violently.
The earth split and rose in waves.
Who could possibly believe this was not a Noble Phantasm?
A technique that had pierced the armor of Greece's brilliant heroes and shattered their skulls.
Even Rider himself felt confident this was a killing blow.
"…W-…what…?"
Rider's eyes widened.
His throat trembled.
He froze — as if witnessing something impossible.
Archer was alive.
…That was fine.
The spear had been blocked.
…In a Holy Grail War, such things happen.
But the blooming crimson petals emerging from the cloud of magical energy and dust — that was the one thing that should not have existed here.
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"The Seven Rings That Cover the Heavens—!"
The one who had blocked the godlike throw head-on was —
A colossal flower so large it almost swallowed Archer's entire silhouette.
In the Trojan War, it had deflected even the mighty Hector's greatest throw.
A conceptual armament possessing absolute invulnerability against thrown weapons and projectiles — the hardest defensive Noble Phantasm in Archer's arsenal.
There could be no better defense against Rider's overwhelming throw.
"You—…!"
Rider's face twisted, fury and killing intent burning in his eyes.
He roared —
And vanished.
Rebounding off the shield that deflected his spear, Rider used his superhuman speed to retrieve it and charged Archer.
Archer re-readied his twin swords and fired anti-god Noble Phantasms to keep Rider in check.
"Why the hell are you—
WHY THE HELL ARE YOU HOLDING HIS SHIELD—?!"
He roared.
He ran.
The shield Archer deployed was unmistakably Ajax's shield.
There could be no mistake.
Its true owner, Great Ajax, was a mighty Achaean warrior second only to Achilles — and his cousin.
Seeing his friend's Noble Phantasm wielded by someone else obliterated Rider's composure.
He tore through Archer's swirling swords, closing in.
Their clash should have occurred in less than one second.
It should have.
If not for the overwhelming flash that erupted on another battlefield — an explosion so massive it reached even here.
□
The Red Berserker was a weapon that could think.
Though nothing more than a creature of overwhelming force, his targets followed a precise hierarchy.
Once he locked onto someone, he would not stop until they were killed — pulverized — destroyed.
His obsession was monstrous.
His body had already ceased to resemble a human.
There was nothing left to even hint at the figure he once had.
He had become a malformed beast, like a failed creature composed of parts from spiders, dragons, birds, and lions — reminiscent of the chimeras of myth.
But unlike the chimera that choked to death on molten lead, this monster was nothing so gentle.
A miracle-level healing capability sustained him — not through immortality, but through an absurd Endurance skill, and his Noble Phantasm—
Crying Warmonger
The Roar of the Wounded Beast
—which converted the damage he suffered into magical energy to store within his flesh.
This resulted in absurd healing.
And the constant over-feeding of magical energy caused his body to mutate further and further.
Even Ruler found him hopelessly overwhelming.
She slipped past Berserker's whip-like arm, but shards of earth pulverized by his strike flew like bullets, scraping her armor.
Shockingly — even the rocks he shattered became contaminated with his magical energy, turning into projectiles capable of harming Servants.
"Aah, seriously — when the hell is this thing gonna die?!"
The Red Saber slashed off Berserker's arm in irritation.
But immediately, from the severed stump, a lion's jaw sprouted and snapped toward her.
"Tch— annoying!"
Saber cut the lion's head off and leapt back.
"Lapdog of authority — you cannot defeat me."
Berserker seemed to smile— if such a hideously mutated face could be said to smile.
Half of his face was already buried beneath layers of warped flesh.
He likely wasn't even aware of how much his body had changed.
"This bastard— keeps saying the same crap…"
"This Berserker is locked into a mindset that always chooses the most difficult path. He isn't capable of holding a proper conversation."
"So he's just a Berserker after all.
A crazed beast like you shouldn't be standing in front of me — a rightful king!"
Saber charged again, ready to kill anything in her way.
True, historically Berserker lived earlier.
But as a hero, Saber was on an entirely different level.
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—had rebelled against ancient Rome, only to die without achieving anything.
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—had mortally wounded King Arthur, ending a legend of glory.
Their difference in accomplishments and mythic weight was immense.
Of course, Berserker's uprising had given hope to countless Roman slaves — a monumental historical achievement.
But even so, compared to the one who brought the Arthurian legend to its end, he was lacking.
More than anything, Saber's pride as a hero would not allow her to fall behind a mindless beast.
That was her only reason to fight this monster.
Berserker's true target was Ruler —
so Saber could have abandoned everything and fled.
But such conduct was not befitting a king.
This fight belonged to Saber and Berserker.
She would not allow Ruler to steal it.
Ironically, this allowed Berserker to fully unleash his Noble Phantasm.
Berserker's body, torn apart by Saber's furious onslaught, healed instantly — and grew.
As his flesh expanded, one would expect him to slow — but instead, he grew sharper, faster, more aggressive.
Saber's attacks only made him stronger.
Saber felt true danger for the first time.
Small wounds meant nothing.
Vital points meant nothing.
Only total annihilation — dust to ashes — could kill this thing.
Ruler glanced toward the floating fortress.
Originally, Ruler's destination had been that fortress.
She had not planned to fight a Berserker under the Black faction's control.
If the Servant were Red, she could condemn them confidently.
But Berserker had gone rampant, defining allies and enemies on his own.
He possessed no wish for the Grail, no allegiance.
Thus, she could not punish either faction based on him.
"—!"
She ducked.
Berserker's massive arm swung overhead.
A strike that would pulverize even her high-endurance body in one blow.
They had to deal with him.
Ironically, the situation was exactly what the Red Master hiding in the fortress desired:
Berserker was restraining Ruler.
His chaotic aggression, combined with Ruler's limited direct offensive capability, made this the worst possible matchup.
Berserker-class Servants always carried the risk of going out of control.
And Servants with high‐rank Mad Enhancement could sometimes resist even Command Seals.
A Servant with A-rank Magic Resistance could resist one seal.
But a Servant with extremely high Mad Enhancement resisted Seals based on the rank of Mad Enhancement itself.
This Berserker was the worst possible case.
His Mad Enhancement was unbounded.
His body had mutated beyond human form.
Even in his normal state, suppressing him required multiple Command Seals.
In his current state?
Not even three would suffice.
Ruler had only two Berserker-specialized Command Seals.
They were meaningless now.
She could not escape.
Her privilege as Ruler was useless — her attacks only fueled his growth.
What do I do—?!
She gritted her teeth.
At that moment — a violent vortex of magical energy erupted beside her and Berserker.
The source —
the Red Saber.
She had removed her helmet and raised her wicked demonic sword as red winds whipped around her hair.
She was about to release her Noble Phantasm.
For the first time, Ruler learned Saber's True Name — and was stunned that it did not match her apparent gender.
But more than that —
something about this was catastrophically wrong.
This is bad.
That Noble Phantasm could indeed obliterate Berserker.
It was almost certainly an anti-army Noble Phantasm.
Even a ten-meter monstrosity would be reduced to nothing by a direct hit.
Objectively, victory should be assured.
Yet — Ruler felt a paradoxical dread.
Saber would kill Berserker.
But at the same time—
Saber, Ruler, and every being present on this battlefield would suffer a disaster beyond anything yet seen.
"Saber! You must not use your Noble Phantasm here—!"
"Outta my way, Ruler — I'll blow you up too if you get close!"
"Please listen— if you do this, something terrible will—!"
"Stop whining! This is the only way!"
"—!"
Ruler bit her lip.
Her danger-sense rivaled future sight.
Saber's Intuition was not as strong, but still sensitive.
Saber surely felt the danger too.
And yet — she chose to release her Noble Phantasm anyway.
She weighed the benefits against the costs — and decided the benefits outweighed the danger.
Unless Ruler showed a better option, she couldn't stop her.
Ruler pretended to block Berserker's strike with her flag, using the impact to fling herself backward and widen the distance.
Berserker, unable to comprehend the feint, grinned.
His top priority target was still Ruler.
But with Ruler gone, his attention finally turned fully toward Saber.
And by then — Saber's Noble Phantasm was only seconds away.
Her wicked sword crackled with red lightning, a violent wind scattering everything around her.
"Ooooh—!"
Berserker's reaction was not fear —
—but exultation.
A wall to overcome — he felt it viscerally.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—
I SHALL OVERRUN IT!
LAPDOG OF POWER!
I SHALL SURPASS THAT WICKED LIGHT!"
The giant hurled himself at Saber.
Like a massive stone launched from a trebuchet.
Tearing apart the air, spreading out his limbs to crush her with sheer mass.
Simple tactics.
Enlarge surface area — crush with impact.
"Hah — what a huge target."
Saber sneered.
She understood everything — Berserker's bizarre Noble Phantasms, his ability to convert damage into strength.
His strategy was correct.
He made his body into a target and bulldozed through.
But Berserker did not understand Saber.
In her hands was the supreme holy sword — the sword of kings — now twisted into a demonic blade embodying her hatred.
A +-rank anti-army Noble Phantasm.
To compare it with earlier trivial sword blows was a fatal mistake.
All Saber needed was—
—to convert her surging magical power into destruction—
—and release her True Name.
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"My Beautiful Father — I Rebel Against You!"
A scorching light fell.
Berserker's vision turned instantly into a hellish red.
His body was struck by waves of raging lightning, broken apart, burned, melted — even his monstrous regeneration failing to keep up.
This was the light of rebellion.
The malice and fervor of a traitor.
A power of pure destruction.
For the first time, Berserker felt respect — and because of that, he howled to overcome it.
But it was futile.
His charge could withstand Saber's blow only for the briefest instant before the torrent shredded him like a blender made of lightning, pulverizing him into dust and carrying him away.
When the blinding flash faded, night returned.
Nothing remained.
The red blast had erased everything in its path.
Burning grass, gouged earth — a single melted line scorched into the battlefield.
Berserker's massive body was nowhere to be seen — only steaming ground.
"…Did… we win?"
Ruler whispered involuntarily.
It was an incredible blow — one of the highest-ranked destructive Noble Phantasms.
Against something like that, few Servants could survive.
And the fear she had held dissolved — or so she thought.
Saber laughed triumphantly, swinging her sword.
But then — from the scorched earth — a mass of magical energy appeared.
A heart.
A pulsating heart, releasing vast magical energy with every beat.
"…Wha…?"
Saber's eyes widened, and she raised her sword again.
To survive a direct hit from an anti-army Noble Phantasm — reduced to a heart and still alive — was beyond abnormal.
And it grew.
Muscle wrapped around the heart.
It sank into layers of red flesh.
Eyes appeared and vanished.
Arms like tentacles sprouted.
Bones jutted out.
Organs turned to muscle.
With no skin at all, a pure mass of meat — Berserker still clung stubbornly to life.
"This thing—!"
Saber trembled with fury.
Her father-killing sword — the blade that mortally wounded Arthur — could not kill this abomination.
It was unforgivable.
She stepped forward—
—and her Intuition screamed.
If she stayed, she would face true disaster.
Ruler screamed, "Saber—!"
Suppressing her fury, Saber leapt back.
She forced herself to accept the stupidity of pouring emotion into a lump of regenerating flesh.
Meanwhile, Berserker swelled further — magic swirling violently within.
Ruler understood instantly.
"He intends to destroy EVERYTHING here—!!"
Berserker had become a magical bomb.
Far surpassing even anti-army Noble Phantasms, all his remaining power would explode outward.
"Leave now, Saber!"
"You—"
"I can endure this. Do not worry."
"…Fine. Later."
Saber vanished into spirit form, unwilling to die such a pathetic death.
Ruler raised her flag.
Berserker's transformation exceeded all limits.
He would burst within seconds — unleashing every ounce of his remaining power in all directions.
He no longer possessed thought — only the function of a weapon made to explode.
There was no stopping it.
Ruler could not turn incorporeal like Saber.
Running was useless.
And then —
Berserker exploded.
A light and heat reminiscent of a nuclear detonation swept across the battlefield.
As Ruler had foreseen, it would obliterate everything — and she, closest of all, would be its first victim.
Facing the hammer of rebellion and destruction, Ruler swung her flag—
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"My God—!"
She cried the True Name.
Ruler's white, holy flag — no sword, not a weapon —
but a symbol of purity that had inspired countless soldiers and stood at the forefront of battle, always protecting her.
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"—is here!"
Released as a Noble Phantasm, the holy flag transformed Ruler's overwhelming Magic Resistance into absolute defense — physical, magical, conceptual, everything.
Against the ultimate destruction falling like a star, Ruler stood — a tiny, fragile girl — dust in the storm.
Yet she did not fall.
Her arms trembled.
Her face twisted with pain.
But she stood firm — embodying the life of Jeanne d'Arc.
What kind of hero — what kind of saint — would she be if she could not endure this?
Berserker's final strike annihilated nearly all homunculi, golems, and dragon-tooth warriors on the battlefield, and half-destroyed Millennia Fortress.
And yet—
Ruler stood.
Unbroken.
She sliced through the sea of light, gasping at the devastated landscape — and silently thanked God, knowing without her holy flag she would have been erased without a trace.