At first glance, splitting a city in half looked impressive.
But raw destruction was only the most superficial layer of Excalibur's true nature.
Rowan could feel it.
The golden beam carried intense light-aligned energy, making it especially lethal to creatures tied to darkness or corruption. More importantly, buried within the attack was a faint but unmistakable concept of absolute execution.
A strike meant to end things.
Some powers weren't measured by how much they blew apart.
A nuclear weapon could level a metropolis and still fail to kill certain beings.
A properly targeted curse, however, could erase a soul outright.
Different tools.
Different purposes.
Excalibur belonged firmly to the latter category.
Rin and Shirou were still cheering when the impossible happened.
Heracles reappeared.
Whole.
Unbroken.
Not a fragment missing.
Illya smiled sweetly at Rowan.
"I told you. My Berserker can't die."
She tilted her head.
"And your Saber just spent almost everything on that attack."
"So… looks like I win the bet."
A figure stepped out behind Rin.
Archer.
"That ability is called Twelve Labors," he said. "A Noble Phantasm that turns the body into an invincible fortress. Attacks below a certain threshold are meaningless."
"And every time he's killed, he resurrects."
"Twelve times in total."
He looked toward the giant.
"If I'm right, his true identity is the demigod Heracles."
Rin's eye twitched.
"Twelve revives? That's ridiculous."
Shirou could only nod.
Rowan, meanwhile, looked delighted.
"Resurrection-based Noble Phantasm," he said. "Interesting."
He could revive others using necromantic techniques.
But this was different.
This was automatic.
Self-contained.
If he could understand the principle behind it, then even total bodily destruction wouldn't be a permanent problem anymore.
"Artoria," Rowan said calmly. "Don't worry about mana. Keep firing."
He snapped his fingers.
A surge of power flooded through the bond between Master and Servant.
Artoria's depleted reserves refilled instantly.
Her eyes widened.
"…It's full."
"Excalibur."
Golden light roared.
Heracles vanished again.
Illya snorted.
"Let's see how many times you can refill her."
Rowan didn't respond.
Heracles regenerated.
Snap.
Artoria's mana refilled.
"Excalibur."
Gone.
Again.
Snap.
Refill.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each resurrection was followed by another golden judgment.
After the eleventh annihilation, Rowan turned to Illya.
"One life left."
"Still want to continue?"
Illya clenched her fists.
"You have… that much mana?"
She looked away, then sighed.
"Come back, Heracles."
The giant halted.
For Illya, Heracles wasn't just a Servant.
He was a guardian.
A constant presence.
She would never allow him to be erased completely.
Losing eleven lives was recoverable.
Losing all twelve was not.
She had lost the bet.
And she knew it.
"You win," Illya said quietly. "I'll transfer Berserker's Command Seals to you."
"Please treat him well."
Shirou stepped forward.
"Rowan… you said you'd grant me a wish."
Rowan looked at him.
"Go on."
"Please save Illya."
Silence followed.
Rowan nodded.
"Accepted."
For him, it was trivial.
...
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