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Here's a fun fact that every veteran of the Holy Grail War eventually learns the hard way:
The Holy Grail War isn't about magic. It isn't about having the strongest Servant or the most powerful Noble Phantasm or even the most Command Spells.
It's about information.
The more you know about your opponent's capabilities, their loadout, their thinking patterns—the higher your win rate climbs. Knowledge is the ultimate force multiplier. Intel is survival.
And Viper? Viper had done his homework like his life depended on it.
He'd estimated that Maverick started this war with exactly three Origin Bullets—the infamous mage-killer rounds that could short-circuit Magic Circuits and disable Mystic Codes. Three shots. No more, no less. That was the standard loadout for an Emiya Kiritsugu build.
He'd seen Maverick and Daisy fleeing from the Edison betrayal earlier. He knew they were desperate, scattered, running on fumes. Based on standard tactical logic—the kind of resource allocation that every competent team would follow—they should have split the remaining ammo: one bullet for Maverick, one for Daisy, and maybe one spare held by whoever had the steadier aim.
Viper had already successfully baited out one shot earlier in the fight. He'd destroyed one of Maverick's backup guns. That left, by his calculations, exactly one bullet remaining in play.
And he assumed—logically, reasonably—that Daisy had it.
Why?
Because putting all your eggs in one basket, giving all the god-slaying ammunition to a single person, would be tactically stupid. If Maverick died first, Daisy would be completely defenseless. You always hedge your bets. You always split critical resources.
That was basic strategy. Common sense. Game Theory 101.
But Maverick was banking on Viper thinking that Maverick wasn't stupid enough to do something stupid.
This is the essence of high-stakes gambling, the core principle that separates amateurs from professionals: You only win the unwinnable hand if you do the one thing your opponent thinks you're too smart to do.
So the plan—the desperate, insane, beautiful plan—was elegantly simple:
Maverick draws aggro. Takes the hit. Plays dead or dying.
Daisy flanks from behind. Creates the opening.
Daisy pulls the trigger on an empty gun.
And Viper commits to the kill.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of an empty firing pin hitting an empty chamber echoed across the clearing like a death knell—except it was announcing the wrong person's death.
Daisy's eyes went wide with fake panic. "No—no no no—"
Viper's expression transformed from cautious wariness into pure, triumphant vindication. His grin spread across his face like sunrise.
"Out of ammo?" Viper laughed, the sound carrying genuine relief and satisfaction. "GG EZ, kid. You fought well."
He lunged forward without hesitation, the mercury reforming into a wickedly sharp blade, aiming directly for Daisy's exposed throat. Time to end this. Time to claim his second kill and move one step closer to honoring Drake's sacrifice.
BANG!
The shot echoed across the battlefield.
But it didn't come from Daisy's empty pistol.
It came from the bleeding, crumpled, supposedly-dying form of Maverick lying in a spreading pool of his own blood on the ground fifteen feet away.
The Thompson Contender. Still loaded. Still deadly.
The Origin Bullet tore through the thin defensive layer of mercury that Viper had left as a basic shield—punching through it like tissue paper—and buried itself directly into Viper's chest, right over his heart.
It wasn't a normal bullet. It couldn't be blocked by normal defenses.
It was an anti-magic round specifically designed to punish Mages by turning their own power against them. Upon contact with magical circuits, it inverted the flow, reversed the polarity, turned the victim's internal mana into a weapon aimed at their own body.
"Wh—" Viper's eyes went wide with realization, the pieces clicking together too late. He kept the last bullet. He kept it the whole time. He never fired it because—
BOOM!
Viper didn't just die.
He detonated.
His internal mana reserves flared completely out of control, the magical energy having nowhere to go, building pressure until his avatar literally exploded from the inside out—turning into a grotesque confetti cannon of gore, pixels, and dissolving light particles.
What remained of his body collapsed in a smoking heap.
[PLAYER ELIMINATED: VIPER]
Maverick and Daisy immediately slumped to the ground, their adrenaline crashing like a tidal wave going out. Their hands were shaking. Their breathing was ragged. The sustained tension that had been holding them together for the past five minutes released all at once.
Viper had been right about the count—three bullets total. He'd been right about his tactical analysis. He'd been right about everything except the distribution.
Maverick had kept the last bullet loaded in the Thompson Contender the entire fight. He hadn't fired earlier not because he couldn't, not because he was waiting for a better shot—but because he was waiting for Viper to believe the gun was empty. Waiting for that critical moment when Viper would commit fully to a killing blow, when his guard would drop just enough.
It wasn't that Viper had been careless or made a tactical error. He'd actually played it perfectly by his own logic.
It was just that Maverick had ice in his veins and was willing to bet his life on a bluff.
[Real World — Viper's Streaming Room]
Viper pulled off his VR headset with slightly trembling hands, blinking rapidly against the harsh LED lights of his streaming setup. The transition from the immersive fantasy battlefield to his cramped apartment bedroom was always jarring, but this time it felt especially disorienting.
He sat there for a long moment in his gaming chair, staring at his monitor, the defeat screen still displayed, feeling the bitter, metallic taste of loss in his mouth.
"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "I was so close. So fucking close."
He'd failed his promise to Drake. He'd lost the clutch moment. All that buildup, all that revenge, all that resolve—and he'd been outplayed by a simple bluff.
DING-DONG!
A massive notification graphic suddenly exploded across his stream overlay, the sound effect blaring through his speakers.
[System]: DragonSlayer99 gifted 100 Subs!
[System]: DragonSlayer99 gifted 100 Subs!
"Holy..." Viper's jaw literally dropped open. He blinked at the screen, trying to process the numbers. "Thank you for the hundred— wait, TWO hundred subs?! Oh my GOD. Thank you, boss! Thank you so much, fam! That's insane!"
His eyes flicked to his viewer stats, and his heart nearly stopped.
Current Viewers: 4,102,392
New Followers: +400,000
The depression and disappointment vanished instantly, evaporating like morning mist under direct sunlight.
Who the hell cares about a digital cup in a video game when you just made rent money for the next three years in a single night?
Viper grinned at his webcam, his eyes actually glistening slightly—whether from residual gaming emotions or the sheer relief of financial security, even he wasn't sure.
"Chat! CHAT! Look at that viewer count! We actually made it!" He pumped his fist. "We're going viral, baby!"
Down in his chat, the messages were scrolling so fast they were almost unreadable.
[WageSlave]: This is too goddamn real. My man went from "I want to die" to "I love life" the SECOND the money notification hit. Capitalism wins again.
[GG]: Viper tried his absolute hardest. Respect. But Maverick is just built different.
[Scripted]: RIGGED! This has to be scripted! Maverick definitely hired actors! How does he keep winning literally everything?!
[MaverickFan]: Maverick before every tournament: "I'm trash at this game, just here for fun." Maverick after: wins entire tournament
[Noob]: Viper, PLEASE make a beginner's guide! I tried playing this game and got spawn-camped at the airport terminal within two minutes!
[KiritsuguMain]: Seriously though, everyone bullies Emiya players. It's actual harassment. I wish I'd picked Tokiomi so I could just burn everyone with gems.
[Reality]: From "I have resolve" to "I have rent money" in 0.5 seconds flat.
Seeing the chat begging for content and guides, Viper cleared his throat and leaned toward his microphone, getting into proper streamer mode.
"Don't worry, guys. The comprehensive strategy guide is coming soon. I'll break down everything—Servant matchups, Mystic Code builds, optimal Master positioning." He nodded seriously. "Honestly, this particular war was fundamentally unbalanced because Lu Bu was basically a raid boss. Without him in the meta, the game is actually pretty fair and playable. Next time..." His expression became determined. "Next time, I'll lead Drake to victory. That's a promise."
The chat erupted with hype emotes and support messages.
[In-Game — The Ruins]
Back on the battlefield, the adrenaline had completely faded, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and the kind of weariness that comes from sustaining maximum tension for too long.
Maverick and Daisy lay sprawled on the scorched grass, looking up at the moon hanging fat and bright in the night sky.
Their bodies hurt. Their mana reserves were empty. They could barely move.
"Hey," Maverick wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Finish it. Kill me. End this."
"I literally can't," Daisy groaned without even attempting to move. "My arm hurts too much. You do it."
"I'm completely out of bullets."
They both lay there in silence for a moment.
Then simultaneously looked toward their Servants.
"Saber? Lancer?" Maverick called out weakly. "One of you... could you just... finish the job here?"
Nero and Elizabeth were currently sitting on a piece of broken concrete rubble about twenty feet away, apparently having a casual conversation and inspecting their nails like they were waiting for a bus.
They both turned to look at their Masters.
"No," Nero said flatly, her tone carrying the imperial authority of someone declaring a law. "Absolutely not. I am exhausted. My beautiful dress is completely ruined. My body hurts. I am officially going on strike."
"Yeah!" Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically, her dragon tail wagging lazily behind her. "My little piglets in the audience are tired too! You guys can figure this out yourselves. Rock-paper-scissors or something. We're done."
Down in the merged stream chats, the viewers were having completely different priorities.
[Cute]: Oh my god, Nero pouting like that is SO adorable. I want to pinch her cheeks!
[Flat]: Elizabeth is so small and cute! Perfection!
[Debate]: Oppai is truth! Bigger is objectively better!
[Justice]: FLAT IS JUSTICE! You uncultured philistines!
[Blood]: Wait, the Servants are on strike? I wanted bloodshed! I wanted a conclusion!
[Wrestling]: Are we about to watch two exhausted, injured players wrestle each other in the mud for the win? What kind of philosophical ending is this?
[Existential]: This is actually profound. War reduces everyone to their base state.
As the chat devolved into the eternal flat-versus-oppai debate, Maverick and Daisy just sighed in perfect unison.
They were physically and mentally done. They didn't have the energy to wrestle. They could barely lift their arms.
"Okay," Maverick said after a long pause. "Plan B."
"There's a Plan B?" Daisy asked, sounding mildly surprised.
"Yeah. We both text our roommates," Maverick explained, already pulling up his menu interface. "Tell them to physically pull the router plug on our internet connection. Whoever disconnects and gets booted from the server last... wins by default."
"That's..." Daisy processed this. "That's actually brilliant in a really stupid way. Deal."
It was possibly the dumbest way to end a Holy Grail War in the history of Holy Grail Wars, but it highlighted a genuine flaw in Max's game design philosophy: There was no "Log Out" button. You either died, or you won. There was no in-between, no emergency exit. What were you supposed to do if you had a legitimate bathroom emergency? Piss yourself?
"Okay, texting now," Maverick muttered, typing on the holographic keyboard that appeared in front of him. "Message sent. Waiting for the disconnect notification..."
"Same here," Daisy said. "Should hit any second now."
They lay there in the silence, staring at the moon, waiting for the inevitable "CONNECTION LOST" screen that would end this entire ordeal.
It was actually kind of peaceful. The moonlight was genuinely nice. The sounds of distant fires crackling. The war was finally, finally over.
But just as they were starting to relax, just as their breathing was beginning to even out—
Nero stood up with sudden energy.
Despite the gaping, bloody hole still visible in her chest—despite the fact that she should be completely incapacitated—she struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip.
"Umu!" Nero's eyes sparkled with dangerous enthusiasm. "The mood is absolutely perfect!"
"A wonderful atmosphere indeed, my dear rival!" Elizabeth jumped up energetically, grabbing a piece of twisted rebar from the rubble to use as an improvised microphone.
"Wait," Maverick whispered, horror dawning in his eyes. "No. Don't tell me..."
"Since we are all still assembled here together," Nero beamed with the radiant joy of someone about to commit a crime against humanity, "and the moonlight is so beautifully romantic... it is the perfect time for our Solo Concert Debut!"
"We shall present the most wonderful, magnificent music in the entire world to our beloved Masters!" Elizabeth cheered, striking her own idol pose.
"One!" Nero raised a finger.
"Two!" Elizabeth raised two.
"Three!" They shouted in unison.
"Hashire sori yo~" (Dashing through the snow~)
"Kaze no you ni~" (Like the wind~)
"NO!!!" Maverick and Daisy screamed in perfect unison, their voices cracking with genuine terror. "ANYTHING BUT THAT!"
"Tsukimihara wo~" (Across the moonlit fields~)
"PADORU PADORU!"
"SOMEONE PULL THE PLUG! HURRY! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DISCONNECT US!"
But the routers were still online.
And the concert had only just begun.
The chat exploded with a mixture of horror and delight as the two tone-deaf Servants launched into the most enthusiastic, most off-key, most painful rendition of Padoru Padoru that had ever been inflicted upon human ears.
[Ears]: MY EARS ARE BLEEDING
[Torture]: THIS IS A WAR CRIME
[Laugh]: I'M CRYING LAUGHING
[Perfect]: This is the only acceptable ending to this war
[Suffering]: The real Holy Grail War was the suffering we experienced along the way
The moonlight shone down on the battlefield. The ruins smoldered. And two idols sang their hearts out to an audience of two dying Masters who had finally found something worse than death.
PADORU PADORU!
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