Someone was pursuing this unchained brute. Leaping from branch to branch, a girl clad in verdant green called out to Berserker again and again. Her cold, sharp eyes contained a beastly glint. Her hair stretched out long and unkempt, utterly devoid of the silkiness that one would find amongst those of noble birth; however, it befitted someone which such an feral appearance. Yes... she may well be a beautiful beast in human form.
Berserker chortled and answered her words without ever breaking stride.
"Ha ha ha! I cannot respond to that order, Archer. I must bring myself to that castle, to where the oppressors are."
Archer shouted in exasperation.
"You gull! We merely wait until the time is ripe! Why do you not understand?"
However, Berserker did not stop. He continued to walk, one powerful step after another. He had been walking for two days already, and spotted by passers-by more than a few times. Archer could only pray that that shady priest had things under control.
"To me, the word 'wait' does not exist."
This is it - Archer decided to give up on him. More accurately, seeing as she could not persuade him, she chose to focus on supporting him instead, as ordered.
"Only a madman, in the end... this task is beyond me."
She sighed as she muttered to herself - but she was answered by another.
"I guess so... not for nothing is he a Berserker."
Archer looked up towards the source of the voice; standing on one of the branches was a man with a carefree smile on his face. He was pleasing to the eyes - but not in the way of knights of old whom softened the hearts of noble ladies with their courteousness. His eyes were those of raptors, he was of a strong and firm build, and yet he was free from any appearance of crudeness. He looked the image of a great hero - one adored and admired by any man and woman, young and old, who looked upon him.
He was the Rider of the Red - the man who, according to Assassin's Master, could match the invincible Karna.
"Rider... do you suggest we forsake him?'
He shrugged and replied.
"Do we have a choice? The only thing he can think about is fighting. You're the strange one here, trying to talk him out of it."
"I was rather skilled in the restraining of wild beasts. I did fancy putting a shaft through his knee and being done with it, but..."
If she had done so, Berserker would undoubtedly have changed his course and rounded on her instead.
"Well, I'm glad you decided not to."
"So, why did you come?"
Rider grinned affably, as though he had been waiting for her to ask.
"Why else? I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"Indeed."
Archer showed no embarrassment, surprise or even anger. She simply did not react to his words at all - even though said words, coming from someone of Rider's demeanor, should have flustered even a virtuous wife.
But to Archer, who had lived in the wild alongside beasts, words of courtship hold no meaning. Rider scratched his head awkwardly as she shrugged off his sure-fire advance with ease. He coughed and returned to his original mission.
"Anyway... we were given the role of the rearguard: support Berserker if reasonable, and gather as much information as possible."
"The enemy is already close at hand. I dare say he will reach the fort in the small hours. No doubt he will be checked before then."
"Huh... well, in any case, here's hoping some of the Melas will grace us with their presence."
Both Archer and Rider are superb hunters and warriors. They hold no illusions about winning a battle against seven entrenched Servants with barely half that number.
"Stopping such a Berserker calls for two Servants at the very least - if they do not send their entire force."
Yes - stopping that man would require such an exceptional effort.
"Yet... he truly has leapt from our given understanding of what a Berserker is."
"I'll agree with that. You'd think his Mad Enhancement was low, seeing as we could talk to him..."
However, the Mad Enhancement of the Berserker of the Red is an irregularity. It is possible to talk to him, but it is impossible to communicate fully. He does not disobey commands as much as he simply does not understand them. Even an order given with a Command Spell will do nothing more than weigh him down; two Command Spells are required to stop him.
"The Thracian gladiator and symbol of rebellion, Spartacus... what an obdurate man."
Spartacus was a Roman slave and gladiator who escaped with seventy-eight of his comrades. He later repulsed an assault force of nearly three thousand, becoming a hero and inspiring armed uprisings by slaves in many places. In the end, he was betrayed by the pirates whom he depended on, and cut down by the Roman legions - but until then, he had not lost a single battle. He remained a shining beacon of hope to the undertrodden slaves.
He hated all oppressors, his will to fight set aflame by those with power. This mad warrior fought the masters to protect the weak - care for them, heal them - but moreso than anything else, to stand in defiance. That is the Berserker of the Red.
"Where is your mount, Rider?"
"Well, we're here to gather information... no need to give them any in return. I'm keeping them out of this."
"Hmm... I suppose that will not prove to trouble you. What of your weapon - is it a sword, or a spear?"
"A spear, of course."
Rider and Archer continued to pursue the loosed Berserker; there was no way they could lose track of his slow, unwavering stride.
"By the way, Archer, there's one thing I want to ask..."
"Ask, then."
"Have you seen your Master's face?"
"I have not... I have only met the mediator for my Master... that priest."
As soon as she was summoned, Archer noticed that the man standing before her was not her own Master. After all, what was clearly a Servant was standing by his side and, more importantly, she felt no connection to him at all.
"I haven't, either. Then again, I suppose that's only to be expected for a bunch of magi..."
"Yet... it is still peculiar. But, considering what awaits all of us at the end, perhaps it cannot be helped..."
In this Great Holy Grail War, the biggest issue is not defeat, but victory - and what follows. Whichever camp survives, it is unlikely that all seven Servants will remain accounted for - but it is also highly unlikely for only one to remain. In the end, the Holy Grail will only grant the wishes of one Master and one Servant. As soon as victory becomes clear, the division will begin.
Who among the magi does not aim to reach the Swirl of the Origin that sits outside this world, where all futures and all pasts are recorded? With such a possibility contained within the Holy Grail before them, even the closest of comrades would gladly slaughter one another. Servants are certainly not exceptions; the only way to have their own wishes granted is to terminate the allies they stood shoulder to shoulder with. Therefore, any alliances will most likely last only until the winning side is decided.
"...hence their refusal to appear before us."
"I don't think so. They should at least show up... I just can't help suspecting that priest and his Servant."
"You refer to Assassin... Semiramis, was it?"
Both Archer and Rider became speechless when, meeting them, Assassin grandly revealed her true name.
'I am Assassin, after all... an unstable existence to begin with. Let my true name be proof of my willingness to stand together in battle.'
So she declared, with some wryness, but neither Rider nor Archer believed her. The air of decay that wrapped around her invited only irritation and mistrust from these true-hearted warriors.
"That's right, Semiramis... the queen of Assyria. Why does putting on a crown always turns you into a pompous git? Kings or queens, it doesn't matter - I can't stand them."
"Such is what becomes of one whom is served by others. It is to be expected for someone of their position... nothing you need to take to heart."
Three hours had passed. The sun had already set, the forest becoming enveloped by darkness. Berserker's steady march came to a pause.
"Is it the enemy?"
"It is... but they are not Servants."
As Archer pointed out, what stood before Berserker was the Yggdmillennia vanguard: combat homunculi and massive bronze golems that towered over Berserker. There were over a hundred.
"Should we help him?"
Rider suggested, sounding rather deflated. They were not facing Servants, after all; what was there to help with? Instead, the two Servants chose to observe.
Archer and Rider exchanged glances, their disquiet characteristic of those whom have just witnessed something highly unpleasant. It was only natural that Berserker had fought and won; they did not find the misery he had sown dismaying or impressive. However, the way that Berserker had beamed from start to finish sent a chill down their spines.
"Well... a Heroic Spirit like that certainly couldn't be anything but Berserker."
If he had at least shown some anger, Archer and Rider might have believed him to possess a measure of reason. But he did not; he fought, he killed, and he crushed, all the while wearing an entranced smile.
"Never the less, he has shown his true strength; without a mighty Noble Phantasm, one of his measure cannot be stopped."
"Huh... By your reckoning, do you think he can take down at least one Servant?"
"We shall see. It would not be unthinkable as long as his Noble Phantasm can act freely..."
"That's the biggest problem, isn't it? Letting him 'act freely' with his Noble Phantasm..."
Although they were allies, the Servants of the Red camp did not fully know of each other's Noble Phantasms - except for Berserker's, which was explained by his Master.
This was because his Noble Phantasm - the Crying Warmonger Howl of the Wounded Beast - possessed such an abnormal function that, in a normal Holy Grail War, would absolutely rule out his survival.
"...but, if the Servants of the Black were to assault him continuously without thought, this may prove intriguing yet."
Yes, with that Noble Phantasm - allowing him to become more powerful the more damage he receives - it may even be possible for this Great War to be settled in a single night.
"Hm..."
Archer's nose twitched in discomfort; the smell of metal and machine oil was an unbearable stench to the girl whom was more animal than human.
"What is it?"
"We are perceived. Servants of the Black are approaching."
Archer's senses were far beyond those of Rider's. If she were correct, they would be meeting the enemy very soon.
"Prepare yourself..."
"Got it."
The two Servants summoned their respective weapons.
The spear that Rider summoned was greatly different from Lancer's weapon. Lancer's massive length of iron utilized its sharp tip and immense weight to bring about destruction. However, Rider's spear was one of simple, sturdy workmanship, well designed for close combat. From the way he held it lightly in one hand, it could be thrown as well.
Rider intended to challenge the enemy at close range without using his rightful weapon, the 'mount'; while truly reckless of him, the air of composure he exuded proved just how much he stood out alongside other heroes.
On the other hand, Archer naturally called forth a bow - a jet black Western-style weapon, bigger than she is tall. It is a celestial bow said to be granted to her by Artemis, the goddess of the hunt; its name is Tauropolos, one of the titles of Artemis, the boar-killer. It was a rare gem befitting such an archer. There is nothing it cannot pierce.
"I will withdraw and aid you and Berserker from the rear."
Archer immediately retreated into the shadows of the forest. Although Rider watched her go and could sense her, he no longer knew where exactly she was; for such a peerless huntress, becoming one with the forest was an effortless task.
"All right, then... time to go a few rounds."
Finally, even Rider's eyes could clearly see two shadowy figures slowly advancing from the depths of the forest. He sensed that they were both Servants. Apparently, their enemy thought a mere two Servants were enough to bring him down.
"You underestimate me, Servants of the Black... or do you think you have any chance of victory against me without sending out your entire force?"
Rider sneered, overflowing with confidence. Despite not using his primary weapon, he surged with an enormous, electric will to fight.
"Aaaa...."
"..."
The two Servants appeared. One was the Berserker of the Black - a girl wielding a giant battle mace - and the other was Saber, who was embroiled in a fierce duel with Lancer last night that lasted till nearly dawn.
"Hey, there - Saber and Berserker, I take it?"
Saber nodded wordlessly and Berserker made a noise of affirmation.
"I'm the Rider of the Red. Oh, you don't need to worry - I didn't already lose my steed before the war has even started. It's just such a waste to bring it out against just two opponents. I'd much rather ride out against all seven at once."
Rider said mischievously. In other words...
None of you are worth my time. Come at me with your full strength if you want to see what I'm capable of.
However, the ones who faced him were also proud Heroic Spirits. Berserker's moans became harsh; Saber arched his eyebrows, looking angered. The murderous air alone would crush the heart of a mere commoner - but Rider coolly received their deadly gaze. Faced with beastly ferociousness on one side and the forceful presence of a true hero on the other, Rider continued to smirk.
Killing intent and hateful animosity - the man was far too accustomed to both being directed at him. To the hero for whom one true friend and the women who loved him had meant all the world, this was but a slight breeze.
Nothing had changed - only the time in which they existed and the weapons that they wielded. It would always be the same... and he would always cut them all down like they were nothing.
That was how the Rider of the Red had striven to live his life.
"Come... I'll let you feel what a true warrior is."
He readied his spear - and his thirst for blood crushed the air. Saber stood his ground bravely, and Berserker's artificial mind allowed her to take it in stride, but any normal humans would have their spirits utterly crumbled.
Three - so the countdown began.
The thick forest was unsuited to the swinging of swords and spears.
Two - and the air froze in an all-too-familiar way.
But, in this place, the spear was superior to any other weapon in one aspect: the thrust. With his hero-slaying spear, able to pierce hearts and penetrate skulls with every strike, Rider felt no disadvantage at all.
One - and time itself seemed to stop before the eruption.
And most of all, with one of the world's most famous archers at his back, nothing would shake his nerve.
Zero.
All things crude and impure were blown away, swept aside, as they stepped forward and leapt, swinging sword and mace and spear.
The Rider of the Red laughed mockingly at the fierce assault of Saber and Berserker. The two Servants released their attacks in the same breath, aiming both high and low.
Rider curled his body and leapt. With his single, short spear he deflected both attacks splendidly.
"Weak!"
At nearly the same time, he launched a kick. He fought not with the formality of a knight, but martial skill honed utterly on the field of battle.
Berserker was blown away but managed to right herself. She moaned with displeasure, and a strange grinding noise filled the air. However, Rider did not seem to pay her much attention as he clashed with Saber once again.
There was not a single wound on either of them, and both of their attacks were being nullified. With his blood armor, Siegfried cannot be hurt by attacks not B-rank or above - which allowed him to keep the fight balanced for the time being. But if this Rider's Noble Phantasm is capable of piercing dragon-blood...
'What are you doing, Saber?! There's not a scratch on him! Use your Noble Phantasm! Use it!'
He had no choice but to ignore his Master's urgings. Rider was not fighting seriously yet, and the riddle of his invulnerability had yet to be solved. Perhaps he had a Noble Phantasm with the same power as him - or perhaps he possessed something even stronger. It could even be that he could not receive damage without certain conditions.
If Saber were to reveal his Noble Phantasm now, it would mean giving away his identity, and that will unmistakably become a hindrance in the battles to come. Eliminating Rider now would certainly prove to be an overwhelming advantage - but what if he did not fall?
It hardly needs to be said. Saber would be the fool who used his Noble Phantasm purely to advertise his own name. Not to mention that, if Rider managed to escape the battle before Saber finished him off, Saber's identity would be completely compromised among the Red camp. After that, they would all know to aim at his weak point: his back.
Saber did not mind being brazen, but he did not want to be foolish. He could only let the command go by, unheeded. He wanted his Master to understand. While under normal circumstances, he would use words to explain to the fullest, he had no chance to do so right now.
Rider jumped backwards, apparently wishing to start anew.
"This isn't going anywhere, huh."
"..."
As promised, Saber did not open his month. Rider looked rather irritated by his lack of response.
"You're a surly bastard, aren't you? Men who don't laugh on the field of battle, may forget how to by the time they reach Elysium. This world is enough of a gloomy, festering pus as it is - you should at least try to get a laugh in..."
He disagreed. Sometimes, laughter in the face of an opponent becomes nothing more than condescension. A cheery briskness in the duel due to mutual acceptance of one another's strength is a different matter entirely from mocking the corpse of the fallen.
Against Saber's wordless display of rejection, Rider chuckled.
"...before you die. You know?"
In the blink of an eye, an unseen arrow, flying faster than the speed of sound, impacted directly on Saber's chest.
Saber flew backwards, head over heels, and crashed into several trees.
"Uu...?!"
Berserker could not make a sound. However, she immediately understood what had happened; the attack just now came from a Servant emplaced far behind Rider. Her thoughts were dispassionate and swift. An attack from long range, containing not thaumaturgy but pure physical energy... in other words, the work of an Archer!
It was likely that the hidden Servant had been watching the fight between them and Rider carefully, realized that a regular shot would not hurt Saber, and drew their bow to its limit to perform a physical attack of an even higher rank. The shot just now clearly exceeded A-rank, and thus penetrated Saber's defensive ability.
The problem, however, was that the attack came from so far away that neither Servants detected it. And they were hardly standing in the middle of a clear, open field; night had fallen and the trees surrounding them were dense and thick. From such a distance - even if said watcher could see in the dark - Saber must have been nothing more than a moving dot.
But the shot found its mark. That was the most terrifying truth. An extreme range attack with A-rank destructive power; the eyesight required to take aim in near zero visibility; and the supreme precision to thread such a needle of an attack... certainly, there existed bowmen who could accomplish every single one of these. But just how many would be capable of all of the above simultaneously...?
Rider suddenly made a sour face as he looked past Berserker into the woods behind her, and clicked his tongue.
"Looks like it's over for our Berserker. But you're still here, pretty girl... and it's only fair for us to go an eye for an eye. Don't you think?"
The Rider of the Red, with a cheery yet cruel smile, tightened his grip on the spear. Even the fearless girl felt something primal and base in his expression.
She fully understood from their fight earlier that her attacks were not 'enough'. She could not harm him in any way.
"How long do you think it'll take the Melas over there to recover? Ten seconds? Twenty? Well... it can't be faster than my spear."
Escape, oppose, surrender... all her options were being denied.
Berserker gritted her teeth, having no choice but to submit to her current predicament. Or... if she had to die here regardless, perhaps she could release her Noble Phantasm completely.
Having been forced to a decision, Berserker growled as she steeled herself. She will use every last ounce of strength to bring down Rider...
But, as soon as the thought entered her mind, the situation was reversed entirely. She sensed a great surge of prana coming from behind her and turned around reflexively. It was Saber, brandishing his greatsword in anguish.
"...Saber! I order you with a Command Spell...! Use your Noble Phantasm to defeat Rider!"
Gordes' words reached his Servant clearly. Even if Saber were on the opposite side of the world, words delivered by the power of the Command Spell would carve themselves directly onto his soul.
"...?!"
Naturally, Saber was shocked. He whipped around and stared at the castle - but, of course, he could not see Gordes. He brandished his greatsword, releasing the power it contained. The green jewel set in the hilt shone, as the blade began to give off an orange brilliance that split apart the night.
"Ugh...!"
No... he must not use his Noble Phantasm here. The instant he shouted its true name, his identity would almost certainly become known; after all, only one Heroic Spirit in the world wields the phantasmal greatsword Balmung. His identity perceived, his fatal weak point would also become known. He would instantly lose every advantage he held.
If there was a chance that he could defeat Rider, then perhaps he would not reject the use of his Noble Phantasm. However, Rider was effectively immortal, and Saber could not imagine that his Noble Phantasm would work against him.
Rider's protection is not something that can be pierced by raw power. Something more is needed. It could be that one needed to use fire or lightning against him. It could be based on certain conditions; perhaps Rider was nigh invulnerable within a forest, or at night.
There are innumerable Heroic Spirits with such legends. For example - though this is not an anecdote about a Heroic Spirit - the God of War Indra once swore to the dragon Vritra not to hurt it with any weapon made of wood, stone or metal, dry or wet, nor attack it during the day or at night. Indra proceeded to defeat Vritra at twilight using, not wood or stone or metal, dry or wet, but a column of the ocean's foam.
Complete deathlessness does not exist.
They may be Heroic Spirits, but they can never go beyond the bounds of a human being. One who is capable of such things - an existence outside of common sense - cannot be summoned as a Servant in a Holy Grail War to begin with. It is the same for Saber; aside from attacks that exceed B-rank, there is also the weak point at his back where the dragon's blood did not touch him. Even the weakest of Servants can kill him by aiming there.
What kind of immortality did Rider possess? Master or no... relying on brute strength to force the issue without first solving this riddle was the act of an imbecile.
Saber resisted with all his might. However, an order given with a Command Spell is absolute. Prana filled his sword and he began to raise it slowly.
"What...? Saber...?!"
Rider noticed him. Even he appeared somewhat surprised as Saber held his sword high and began to release his Noble Phantasm. However, a smile appeared on his face, as though in mockery.
Saber no longer had a say in the issue of whether he ought to unleash his weapon. Judging from Rider's smirk, it would seem his worst fear was realized and his bitterness deepened. However, he could not stop his own arms. He must decide - and Saber, through gritted teeth, poured all his strength into this one attack.
" Felling... Bal... "
"Come on, then... Saber...!"
The surge of prana converged. For one brief moment, the night that swallowed the forest became dusk, lit by the light of the Nibelungs - the holy sword that felled the dragon.
However, Rider grinned confidently, contemptuously. Hateful as it was to admit, Saber knew this one strike would have no effect on him.
" ...of the Sky... ...mun... "
He could only pray that this attack would at least provide some hints as to Rider's mystery...
'I order you with a Command Spell! Do not use your Noble Phantasm!'
Just as the last syllable was about to leave his mouth, his Master expended another Command Spell. There is only one way to stop an order given with a Command Spell, and that is to use another Command Spell to overwrite it.
Saber dropped on one knee, unable to remain standing. Perhaps it was due to the intensity of the Command Spell acting on him. Rider shrugged in exasperation.
"What's this, then? Not going to use it? Well, I suppose you saved some prana this way, but it cost you regardless. You were ordered with a Command Spell, weren't you?"
Rider glared spitefully in the direction of the Master behind Saber.
"Ha! What a moron! So he ordered you to activate your Noble Phantasm with a Command Spell, then used another one to stop it? Does he not understand that expending Command Spells is the most dangerous act in a Holy Grail War?"
Saber had no retort. Rider was totally in the right. Even so, as long as the bond between Master and Servant remained strong, the situation could be salvaged - but Saber had yet to feel such a connection between his Master and himself.
"Well, I can't criticize, not when my own Master is skulking around in some hole somewhere. Sigh... you could have at least said the entire name..."
Rider broke off as both he and Saber stared at each other at a loss for words. Blood flowed - but it was not from Saber.
The man had ignored every slash and blow, his body stopping even Noble Phantasms. However, Rider's shoulder was clearly bleeding.
"Guh...!"
In an instant, as though in sync with the arrow, Berserker ran forth - not towards Rider, but the unseen Archer of the Red.
On the other hand, Rider pulled out the arrow that had embedded itself in him. Holding his punctured shoulder as though to maintain his hold on reality, Rider asked in a low voice.
The Rider of the Red shook - not from shame, but from joy. He was truly thankful that in this Great Holy Grail War, he found someone capable of harming him. The Archer of the Black possessed such immense skill with the bow; it was embarrassing to have thought that no one could surpass the Archer on his side.
The enemy Archer fired again. Judging from the ripples in the air and slight whisper of wind, it was five arrows released in quick succession. It would be simple enough to avoid it by leaping backwards - but the last two times he tried that, his actions had been seen through and he had been pierced by more arrows.
Could the Archer of the Red read his mind? Did he or his Noble Phantasm possess some form of prediction skill? Either way, Rider could not even move a single step, much less pursue the Berserker of the Black.
But most importantly, Archer's arrows were piercing Rider's protection - meaning that Archer was the same kind of existence as him. Rider was convinced that the Archer of the Black - armed with both pedigree and skill - would be his greatest enemy in this war.
Against this third attack, Rider fearlessly stepped forward - but his intents were correctly gauged again. Before he realized it, another arrow was sticking out of his knee. The vivid pain that it brought him - something he had not felt in a very long time - made it impossible for Rider to contain his swelling passion.
"Haha... hahahahaha! Yes, this! This is splendid, Archer! So you can harm me! You can kill me! Then it must be fated that we face one another! O Gods of Olympus, may you bring glory and honor to this battle!"
However, it would be too regrettable for them to vie for supremacy here when Rider was not even properly mounted. It would be such a shame to settle their duel in this lonely forest, with no allies to witness their splendor.
With their team's Berserker having already been defeated, and Archer in retreat, there was little reason for him to remain and carry on by himself. Rider put his fingers in his mouth and whistled; a chariot drawn by three splendid horses promptly appeared from the sky and came to a rest besides him.
Leaping onto the driver's position, Rider exclaimed.
"We will settle this at another time, Archer of the Black! Next time - I will see who you really are!"
With a crack of the whip, the horses raised their head and neighed, dashing off majestically into the sky with great force. It was clear that Rider was not escaping; he was postponing the war for another time.
After returning from his battle with Saber of Black, Lancer unusually whispered with some slight emotion, “I’d like to fight with him again.” Shirou had decided to respect his wish. In the first place, the only ones who could fight more than an even match against a formidable enemy like Saber were Lancer or Rider.
However, Rider seemed to be obsessed with facing Archer of Black.
But then, Saber of Black probably wasn’t alive anymore, and even if he were alive, he would be unable to fight while on the verge of death like this, but—
“Please don’t tell Lancer about Saber of Black. It’d be troubling if he went searching for Saber on the battlefield.”
When they arrived at the throne room, Rider and Archer were relaxing as they pleased. Rider was lying down and looking up at the ceiling, while Archer was sitting on the floor and roasting an animal she seemed to have killed herself, eating the meat on a skewer.
“Oh my, I apologize for making you both wait.”
Assassin shrugged and sighed in exasperation at Shirou’s apology.
“What are you saying, Master? By the look of things, they were just self-indulgently passing time.”
Rider and Archer turned their faces away with a “humph” at nearly the same time. It seemed the two of them had no intention of paying respect to Assassin, Queen Semiramis.
“Well, it’s fine.”
Nodding generously, she sat down on the throne. Shirou nestled up beside her as if he were her attendant.
“Where are Lancer and Caster?”
Rider responded to the question while still lying down.
“Ah… Lancer was vacantly gazing outside earlier. Caster is secluding himself in his workshop.”
“Shall I go call them?”
“Hahaha, Master. If you go to summon them, won’t it be like you’re going around running errands? I’ll call them using telepathic communication.”
She lightly waved two fingers, and soon after the throne room’s heavy doors opened.
“Lancer, I apologize for calling you here.”
In response to those words, Lancer slowly shook his head. His face was white and deadpan like always. His expression didn’t waver even a little, as if it were frozen in place.
“…I don’t mind. Did you need something?”
“I’m sorry, I’ll explain after one more person arrives.”
——————Five minutes later, the last person made his entrance, while receiving irritated looks from everyone in the room. Throwing open the door, he entered with his arms spread exaggeratedly wide and shouted loudly.
“Oh, [For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright]! [Who art as black as hell, as dark as night]!”
Assassin sighed and asked a question.
“Is that how you think of me?”
The man she asked that—Caster of Red, the monster of literature Shakespeare nodded.
“Who else could I be describing, Queen of Assyria! …No, no, sorry about that. I was in high spirits and it just came to me. I had the pleasure of writing for the first time in a while, you see. Ah, by the way, Father Shirou. Though it’s a bit sudden, there’s something I want.”
“Huh?”
“According to the knowledge I’ve been given, there is a device that lets one type letters with just the strike of a key, is there not?”
Shirou pondered for a short while, and then struck his fist against his hand in realization.
“…Ah, you mean a computer.”
“Yes. Could you lend me the money to buy one?”
“Hmm, I don’t mind. I’ll lend you the money the day after tomorrow.”
Shakespeare nodded in satisfaction. Assassin and the others could only watch this in utter amazement.
“Caster… you haven’t forgotten about the Great Holy Grail War, right?”
“Of course not, my dear queen. There can only be one reason for us to be called and gathered like this. For war, correct? Heroes will vie for supremacy and start to kill each other to the extremes of savagery, correct? I, Caster, shall do my best—to watch it all attentively!”
“You’re not going to fight?”
“That’s right. The truth is that I’m extraordinarily inept at fighting and magecraft. [But you, gods, will give us some faults to make us men].”
Both Rider and Archer wanted to point out, “You’re Caster, right?”, but managed to control themselves. In truth, he was right; Shakespeare was a Heroic Spirit that did not commit acts of ‘battle’. His role was to record the Holy Grail War and spin the story of the hardships, despair, hope and violence of the Masters (protagonists) to accompany the tale. The narrator does not come to the front, but merely supports those who stand at the front.
…If he had been summoned in a normal Holy Grail War, as long as his Master wasn’t naturally gifted at close combat, he would have probably been destined to be defeated very early on in the war.
But fortunately for him, in a situation like the Great Holy Grail War, there was plenty of opportunity for him to play an active role. Thanks to the very unique [skill] he possessed.
“—In any case, everyone has gathered. Now that Saber of Black has fallen and our preparations are complete, the time for us to attack has come. A war with merely repeated skirmishes is not interesting, correct?”
In response to Assassin’s words, Rider and Archer grudgingly nodded. Certainly, it was just as she said. They tired of mere skirmishes.
“This war is a rare occasion. It should be conducted flashily, should it not?”
Assassin smiled sweetly as she said that.
“—No, well, that’s true. But aren’t you the one who made the preparations to expressly make this castle and barricade ourselves within it?”
Rider said that with an amazed expression, but Assassin chuckled and replied.
“Barricade ourselves? Rider, the premise of your assumption is mistaken. My Noble Phantasm Hanging Gardens of Babylon: Aerial Gardens of Vanity doesn’t exist in order to defend. It’s a Noble Phantasm for attacking.”
Rider and Archer both tilted their heads. Caster, who knew the details of this Noble Phantasm, smirked at their reactions, and Lancer remained unperturbed as always. Shirou, the only Master present here, smiled bitterly and chided Assassin.
“Assassin, please show it to us directly without that superior air of yours.”
“Very well… Master, you are also comparatively excited about this, it seems.”
“I am a man, after all.”
“I see,” Semiramis said in understanding, and then laid her hand on the huge jewel imbedded in the armrest of her throne. Instantly, the ground started shaking slightly.
The other Servants exchanged glances, wondering if it was an earthquake. The trembling gradually increased in in intensity… and then suddenly stopped.
“Fufu, go look outside.”
Following her words, everyone except her left the throne room and rushed outside. The earthquake just now had clearly been intentionally caused by Assassin. But what on earth was the reason—
“Wha—!?”
Both Rider and Archer became speechless. Caster made an overly moved expression of delight and Shirou, who normally kept his expression calm as much as possible, also had unusually shining eyes of excitement. Even Lancer widened his eyes a little as he gazed down.
They were standing on a floor of stone that served as a balcony—and beneath it, there was just a wide expanse of empty air.
In other words, they were floating. Just as its name implied, this garden of vanity was hanging in midair…!
“You’re all surprised, correct? …Well, its speed is nothing to praise, though.”
There was a faint tone of pride in Assassin’s words.
The Queen of Assyria, Semiramis. Her Noble Phantasm Hanging Gardens of Babylon was a flying fortress. However, it was impossible to manifest it through prana. First, materials consisting of stone and wood from a specific region must be gathered.
Once having gathered everything she needed, a long ritual needed to be held by Assassin herself, and then it would finally be complete as a Noble Phantasm… This process stemmed from the fact that, historically, Queen Semiramis did not create the Hanging Gardens in the first place.
In reality, she had never once seen the Hanging Gardens in her lifetime. However, she knew and instinctively sensed that it had been inscribed as part of her legend. This mystery was added to her legend after her death, but people’s mental image of the Hanging Gardens being built by the world’s most ancient assassin, the legendary queen, was very strong.
The Hanging Gardens first required materials. Materials that came from this world in the present day. Wood, stone, minerals, plants and water—all from the land she once lived in.
After gathering and assembling everything together, the ritual she conducted turned the mere ‘illusion’ into reality. It was a counterfeit turned real, a Noble Phantasm that normally should be absolutely impossible to exist.
Therefore, it possessed the word [vanity] in its title. People who knew the truth could only feel a kind of scorn for it. Semiramis didn’t build the Hanging Gardens, they would say. However, vanity was not a fragile thing. No, since the materials had been gathered and the Noble Phantasm had managed to be successfully constructed, at the very least, this vanity had been turned into the truth in this day and age.
And this former illusionary garden—was far more absurd and ridiculous than the real one.
“Then, let us prepare for battle, everyone. At this speed, we have about an hour until we’re close enough that the ones barricaded in the Fortress of Millennia see us coming.”
Everyone was silent. Of course, it wasn’t that they were nervous. Due to having been given the concrete number of one hour till battle, a drunkenly high fighting spirit had simply gushed forth within them.
“Caster. Are you finished with my sword I gave you earlier?”
“Yes, it’s right here.”
Caster materialized the object from an astral state and respectfully presented it.
“…Hey, Shirou?”
“What are you going to use that sword for? I don’t want to think so, but—”
Rider and Archer both wore suspicious expressions. Smiling, Shirou took the sword and pulled the blade from its scabbard. Though the basic shape was the same as a Japanese sword, it bore various aspects due to the soul of the swordsmith. If there were beautiful and lovely blades that possessed a shine worthy of being called works of art, there were also broadminded and deadly blades like the one Shirou held that specialized in cutting something.
Even from the perspective of Servants who were knowledgeable about every kind of weapon from every time and place, that blade was a great sword worthy of being called first-rate.
“I will fight in Caster’s place. Don’t worry, I’m quite knowledgeable when it comes to battle.”
But it was far too simplistic to say that he could fight equally in this battle of Servants just because he had that weapon.
“No, no, no, no, no. I won’t say anything bad, but wouldn’t it be better for you to remain holed up here like a Master should?”
“Rider is right, you know. It seems you have accumulated quite a bit of training, but you are still limited to the level of humans. If you come across an enemy Servant, it will be the end for you.”
Rider and Archer frantically tried to stop him. That was only natural; a normal Master should never head out to the front lines. Servants did not merely aim for other Servants. If the enemy Masters were a rational person, they would have their Servants kill a Master who nonchalantly came onto the battlefield. If the Master died, the countdown to their Servant’s death would begin. At the very least, it would be virtually impossible for them to fight at full power without their Master.
Moreover, this next battle would definitely be a great decisive battle in the war. It would be a large battle where not only Servants would clash against Servants, but their own pawn pieces, Dragon Tooth Warriors, would be mobilized as well.
For a mere human like him to endure in a situation like that—. At that point, Caster came between Rider and Archer as if to hold their words back and spoke to them.
“You two. I once wrote this in the past. [The better part of valor is discretion]. And I have never seen anyone with as much discretion as Father Shirou here. Furthermore!”
Acting as if in a play, he gathered everyone’s attention on the blade Shirou held.
“I have bestowed an enchantment of some note onto this blade. To be blunt, it is now equal to a C rank Noble Phantasm.”
Including Assassin, everyone besides Shirou stiffened at that proclamation. He had definitely said ‘Noble Phantasm’. A certain-kill holy relic inscribed in legend, which each Servant possessed—that was what a Noble Phantasm should be.
“—Huh?”
“…In other words, what? You created a Noble Phantasm?”
“Your special skill… is [Enchant], correct? Is it perhaps due to that skill’s ability?”
Caster answered “Precisely!” to Assassin’s question and puffed up his chest proudly.
Strictly speaking, what Caster of Red—Shakespeare—used was not formal magecraft. No matter what kind of Reinforcement magecraft was used, it shouldn’t be possible to strengthen something to the level of a Noble Phantasm.
In the first place, he hadn’t actually enchanted the blade with magecraft. While gazing at the blade he’d been given, he had merely written down how the blade was magnificently sharp and how much blood it was stained in.
But if that writing was done by this world-famous literary master, it was a different story.
In this world, there existed Conceptual Armaments—weapons that did not possess a physical power, but rather manifested an effect through a concept possessed by the item in question. Shakespeare’s texts, which he poured his soul into, were sufficient to imbue a certain-kill concept into even a pebble on the roadside.
“…Can I ask one thing? Why don’t you fight using that?”
Lancer, who had remained silent until now, asked that to Caster. His question was only natural. If he could turn an ordinary sword into a Noble Phantasm, he should be able to fight with it.
“—I can’t write about myself. That would just be an essay. Right now, I only have the ability to spin other people’s tales and cannot write anything besides that.”
Caster replied with a resolute tone. Lancer understood his words and spoke with a frown.
“So in other words, you find it troublesome.”
“Well, pretty much.”
Lancer nodded in understanding.
“…Then it can’t be helped. Your goal is to depict the stories of others instead of yourself. Regardless of whether the end of the story is ruin or tragedy, you must write it to the very end. Therefore, your goal is to survive till the very end. Fighting on the front lines is out of the question.”
Hearing those chillingly cold words—Caster smiled happily at being understood.
“Yes, that’s precisely right! I want to witness the ending of this Great Holy Grail War! I must witness it! Whether it ends in fortune or misfortune, or even a despairing truth, watching everyone’s story right till the end as a spectator is the duty that I have been charged with!”
Those were words that were impossible for a Servant summoned in a Holy Grail War. He had declared that he would watch as a spectator right till the end.
Archer and Rider didn’t know whether to be amazed or angry.
“Either way, I basically have no battle power. So I wish to entrust the role of fighting to Father Shirou here, the one who possesses the greatest fighting power among our Masters.”
“I don’t mind… With this blade, I won’t fall behind on the battlefield.”
It was just as Shirou said. At the very least, with a blade that equaled a C rank Noble Phantasm, he would have no trouble with the likes of homunculi or golems.
“No, no. My own power is trivial. It’s just that your blade was an incredibly famous sword. If not, I would not have been able to make it a Noble Phantasm as high as C rank.”
“…It’s because it was once the favored blade of a certain master swordsman.”
Shirou muttered that. His expression loosened slightly, showing a mischievous smile.
“—It can’t be helped. Master, I must control the flight of this garden, so I cannot directly go to the battlefield. I’ll support you as much as possible, but don’t get too deeply involved, okay?”
“I understand. I also understand my own abilities very well.”
Even though he said that, Shirou had no intention of slacking at all in this war. He would fight using all his power and take the Greater Grail for himself using all his power. For the sake of that, he was willing to risk his life, and even if he had to commit deeds that were far from just and good, he would do so without any hesitation.
“Now then. Though we may have our generals gathered, it’s sloppy to have zero troops. Even if the enemy has gathered only a mish-mash of homunculi and golems, they will be somewhat troublesome for us.”
It was just as Assassin said, they had no troops. Even if their Masters mobilized all their familiars, it would amount to less than ten of them. However, they had the Assyrian Queen Semiramis on their side. She could produce an inexhaustible supply of expendable pawns.
“You may use my Dragon Tooth Warriors at your own discretion. Would three thousand be enough?”
Created using dragon teeth, Dragon Tooth Warriors were disposable rank-and-file troops… However, no matter how disposable they were, three thousand was just plain abnormal.
“Well, there’s no such thing as having too much in quantity, but… even so, Assassin, isn’t making that many impossible?”
“Normally, it would be impossible. But as long as I’m within these Hanging Gardens, nothing is impossible for me.”
Assassin smiled in clear confidence at Rider’s words. Yes, even if these Hanging Gardens traveled to another country, they were always treated as her personal field. All her stats were enhanced, and it even became possible for her to use magecraft that stepped into the realms of sorcery.
Of course, it came with a price. After all, this Noble Phantasm was almost foul play. Assassin of Red was rendered nearly powerless should she leave these gardens. But these gardens were a moving stronghold. It was unlikely that she would ever choose to leave these gardens in the first place.
“Then who shall cut through the enemy vanguard?”
At Shirou’s question, Archer, Rider and Lancer exchanged glances. Caster, who had no intention of participating, acted as if it had nothing to do with him.
Lancer silently shook his head. It seemed he was saying, ‘You can go first’. Thus, Archer and Rider started glaring at each other. It seemed it couldn’t be helped that they both wanted to cut through the vanguard. Assassin shrugged as if amazed at their behavior, and Caster said, “I’ll dedicate a poem to the one who cuts through the vanguard”, pouring fuel on the fire.
“…Could you both please discuss it peacefully?”
Though it probably wasn’t because they obeyed those words, in the end, the two of them agreed to a compromise.
“I’ll cut through the vanguard.”
It seemed they decided that Rider would be their vanguard. However, Archer summoned her own weapon, a bow, and hoisted it in the air.
“But I’ll shoot the pre-emptive strike. I intended to use my Noble Phantasm from the beginning, after all.”
“Understood. Then let’s do that.”
“So this is the first time you two will be working together as a group. Shall I write a love poem, then?”
Rider’s eyes sparkled with joy at Caster’s suggestion and he responded in agreement.
“—With this, the opening move is over. Time to switch, Rider.”
“Yeah!”
Rider struck his knees and ran out with an extremely happy expression, jumping off from the Hanging Gardens. He whistled, and a chariot with three steeds appeared tearing through the sky and scooped up the falling Rider.
He grasped the reins in the driver’s stand and whipped them once. The neighs of the strong-muscled horses roared through the sky above the battlefield.
“Now then, the battle is starting! I, Rider of Red, shall cut through the enemy vanguard!”
Saying so, Rider descended his chariot towards the ground below. Homunculi and golems stood in his path. But both the battle-specialized homunculi and the over one-ton golems pulverized in the path of the immortal divine horses gifted to him by the sea god Poseidon.
The huge chariot was as fast as a bullet and scraped off the ground where it passed. Rider of Red’s chariot trampled the battlefield just by riding it.
“Come out, Archer of Black! Show us your power! If you think you can stop this chariot of mine, just try it!”
The ones who answered his provocations weren’t any Servants, but golems.
Three golems stepped in front of the fiercely galloping chariot. Clicking his tongue, Rider of Red chose to run them over as if it were natural.
“Out of my way, small fry!”
At those words, Caster of Black, who was watching the battlefield from afar, muttered.
“—Now then. I wonder how that will go, Rider of Red.”
The instant Rider’s chariot crashed into them, the three golems split apart. Ignoring the surprised Rider, the golems each entwined themselves with the legs of the chariot’s horses and then instantly hardened themselves.
“Guh…!!”
Although it continued its mad charge, Rider of Red’s chariot finally came to a stop. Seeing that, the homunculi swung the halberds in their hands and jumped at him all at once.
“You impudent little—!”
Removing his hands from the reins, Rider of Red took out his sword from the scabbard at his waist with one hand and swung his hero-slaying spear with the other as he jumped out from the driver’s stand.
The confrontation last a single instant. In that moment, Rider took away the lives of every single one of the attacking homunculi. Blood gushed out from them and poured down on the ground like rain.
There’s an opening.
There was a single Servant who saw that moment as an opening. Rider’s body reacted to the killing intent being directed at him then. But the blood of the homunculi was blocking his vision. Passing through a gap between the corpses, an arrow was shot at the nape of Rider’s neck.
“…Kuh!!”
Though his reaction was an instant delayed, Rider of Red’s quick-wittedness and agility allowed him to strike down the arrow with his sword. However, he couldn’t completely knock it away and even with its trajectory change the arrow still grazed his neck.
Vivid red blood dripped down his neck. His surprise at being wounded was turned into joy instead of humiliation for Rider.
That’s right, there was a Servant who could wound him among the Black camp—Archer!
Standing back on the driver’s stand, Rider loudly shouted with a majestic and imposing attitude.
“Where is Archer of Black!? I’ve come to resume our earlier match! Let’s fight and kill each other to our heart’s content this evening!”
In place of an answer, another arrow was fired at him. But it was an easy matter for Rider to strike down an arrow as long as his vision was not blocked.
“Where are you, Archer of Black!?”
“—I’m closer than you think.”
The instant Rider turned around, Archer, who had been hidden behind a golem, fired another arrow while concealing everything but his bow and arrow from sight. Due to having additional prana loaded into it, this arrow was far faster than the ones he shot earlier—!
“Guh…!?”
The arrow was aimed at his face—to be more precise, at his right eye. Rider raised his sword and used its blade to knock away the arrow. But due to that, his vision was momentarily blocked. Taking advantage of that opening, Archer ran and jumped behind a different golem, and then fired another arrow.
“You bastard…!”
Archer never showed himself, and fired arrows one after another at Rider while running around and hiding himself behind golems.
—Archer was baiting him.
Little by little, the golems moved away from the middle of the battlefield. I see, Rider thought in understanding. If Rider of Red and his chariot remained on the battlefield, it would turn into a difficult battle for the Black camp.
Naturally, he could just ignore Rider. The interior of a forest was the ideal field for a bowman. He could hide around everywhere and fire arrows. Conversely, fighting in a forest was a fatal situation for Rider. After all, he wouldn’t be able to use his crucial chariot within it.
…But that was limited to normal Servants of the Rider class. At the very least, doing this was an obvious mistake when it came to Rider of Red.
Certainly, Rider boasted of extraordinary power when he rode his chariot. It was very difficult to stop his chariot, which was firm and rode like lightning. One of his three steeds was simply a fine and famous horse, but the other two were divine horses bestowed upon him by the sea god Poseidon.
Therefore, if his goal was to defeat the enemy on the battlefield and win, the correct decision would be to ignore Archer’s provocations, cut down the golems entangling his chariot, and continue to trample over the enemy battle line.
But that logical plan had a single flaw. Was it right for anyone who called themselves a hero for even an instant to choose the option of running away here?
No, absolutely not. For the sake of the honor of his father who was a great hero, of his mother who was a goddess, and of his eternal friend with whom he shared many joys and sorrows in life, he absolutely could not run away.
While shouting “Wait!”, Rider left the battle following Archer. He returned his chariot to its astralized state and headed into the forest on his own two feet. Rider knew that Archer of Black must be laughing at him. After all, Rider let himself be lured into a terrain advantageous to the enemy and negated his own advantages.
…Yes, even now, Rider did not know who Archer was. That is, he thought he didn’t know Archer. Perhaps he should have been even a little more attentive and considered even the most meager of possibilities.
But it was pointless. There would have been barely any difference whether he wavered before or after it happened.
Rider didn’t fail to hear the sound of a bowstring being drawn back in preparation to fire an arrow, and searched his surrounding with complete concentration. He could definitely feel the presence of a Servant. But he couldn’t pinpoint their exact location. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was in Archer’s attack range.
Rider swore to himself that he wouldn’t experience the same humiliation as last time. While walking about, he suddenly stepped on a dead branch. The instant the sound of it breaking resounded through the far too quiet forest—an arrow was fired.
—I already foresaw something like that.
He struck down the arrow with the butt end of his spear. Rider was already capable of reading through the trajectory of Archer’s arrows. This was the result of calmly repeating the previous battle in his head and thinking over how to match it with his movements.
“Don’t think you can hit me a second or third time, bowman! This time, I’ll be the one… heading to you!”
It only took him an instant. He jumped and advanced forward by kicking off the branches of nearby trees. His physical prowess was abnormal, but it wasn’t an impossible feat for a Servant. But, even taking into account the fact that he was a Servant, his speed still greatly stood out.
With speed equivalent to instant movement and not worrying about any obstacles in his way, Rider raced towards where the arrow was fired from.
There was suddenly a faint noise. It seemed the enemy had moved as well. As usual, Archer hid amongst the trees, preventing Rider from seeing about him or her anything besides a faint outline. If Archer of Red was in his place, she could use the enemy’s scent as one means to track them, but Rider’s sense of smell wasn’t that strong.
Arrows were fired at him one after another… Their trajectories were far too easy to read and were merely aimed haphazardly. Rider laughed scornfully and repelled them with his spear. It was far too easy for him to parry and dodge them. Rider could really feel that he was cornering him.
The next arrow. Immediately after the next arrow was fired, Rider would corner him—or her.
—Shoot, shoot, shoot, hurry up and shoot!
Rider’s wish was granted. He grabbed the next arrow immediately as it was fired and, with a laugh, brought his face close to Archer.
“I got you.”
Archer of Black should have been surprised. No, he had to have been surprised. Archer was completely cornered, had any possible attack sealed, and finally had allowed himself to be approached at a fatal distance for a bowman.
And yet, that man was so calm that it made Rider somewhat uneasy. He even smiled at Rider despite how close he was.
—————No, wait.
—————I’ve seen this man before.
—————No, I’ve talked with him, learned from him, and shared bed and food with him…
“Y—————ou.”
“Yes, that is your weak point.”
Archer of Black said that in a quiet voice and kicked the man in front of him in the solar plexus. Rider’s body went flying back through the air at the strong blow. Landing on the ground, Archer nocked an arrow on his bow with a fluid movement—and fired it.
“…Kuh!!”
Rider understood that the arrow’s target was his ‘vital point’, and immediately he frayed the nerves throughout his entire body. He screwed his body and bent his joints to the limit, trying to at least get it away from the arrow’s trajectory.
—He succeeded.
Instead of his vital point, the arrow pierced through his flank. Vivid pain ran through Rider’s entire body, but he paid it no heed. The man standing below him was a bigger problem.
All the mysteries surrounding Archer of Black had been cleared up. It was only natural that his skill with the bow was equal to that of Archer of Red—Atalanta. After all, he was a teacher to many heroes including Rider himself.
Rider pulled out the arrow from his flank and tossed it away as he stood up. Archer didn’t move even slightly as he held his bow, as if waiting for Rider to speak.
“—Why are you here?”
“What a foolish question. I was summoned as Archer of Black in this Great Holy Grail War. And you were summoned as Rider of Red. We each have wishes and regrets that bind us. That’s why we are here. Both me and you.”
“…”
Rider cast his eyes down and remained silent. Archer sighed and chided him.
“You’re truly soft. Has that part of you alone not been cured from your previous life? You’re stern to the end towards those you’ve acknowledged as enemies, but you’re always soft when faced with people who you’ve already acknowledged as ‘good people’ when they temporarily cease to be your allies. That may be a lovable trait as a hero. But this is the Great Holy Grail War—there is no room for feeling anything like mercy or compassion. Even someone who is called a hero like you understands that, right?”
—You understand that, right, Achilles?
Archer spoke Rider of Red’s true name. The young man known as Achilles nodded once with a grave attitude, like a pupil receiving a lesson.
Achilles. A great hero who rivaled the legendary Greek hero Heracles in terms of fame. There were probably less than ten heroes, including him, whose names were known on a global scale. However, the number of people decreased when it came to those who knew the story of the rushed and short life of this great sprinter.
Born from the sea goddess Thetis and the hero Peleus, Achilles was blessed by the gods from birth. His mother Thetis, having greatly loved her son, had warmed him within holy flames in order to try and make him immortal. But her husband Peleus had opposed it, saying “Then that would destroy Achilles as a human”, and in the end Achilles grew up while only a certain part of him remained human.
Eventually, when war broke out between Troia and Achaea, Achilles was asked the following by his mother Thetis.
—Do you wish to live a long and peaceful life without having your name recognized by the masses? Or do you wish to live the short life of a hero with brilliant achievements in battle?
Achilles’ choice went without saying. At the same time as his mother felt pride in his decision, she also felt heartbreakingly sad. Because his fate had been predetermined since he was born. If he lived as a hero, he would have a short life, as if sprinting through it at full speed.
After having grown up, he participated in the Trojan War as part of the Achaean army and continued achieving many great feats. His body, blessed by all the gods, never received any wounds, and the spear that his father had given to him pierced through all other heroes. With his chariot led by three steeds, consisting of two divine horses given to him as a gift from the sea god and a famous horse he stole while assaulting a certain city, no one could chase after him from behind.
But during the one-on-one fight between Achilles and the greatest hero in the Trojan War, Hector, who was equal in strength and skill with Achilles, his weak point was exposed. Even if Hector was the killer of Achilles’ close friend Patroclus, the way Achilles insulted him by dragging his corpse around with his chariot was a foolish and intolerable act.
As a result, he incurred the displeasure of the sun god Apollo, but despite being repeatedly warned to restrain himself, Achilles continued slaughtering the Trojan army. So the enraged Apollo aided the Trojan army’s bow expert Paris, and guided him to shoot Achilles’ only weak point—that is, his heel.
Having his heart pierced by arrows one after another afterwards, Achilles sensed his own death, but continued fiercely fighting and using all his strength to kill the soldiers of the Trojan army around him. Just as predicted, he had a short life, but his legend as a hero was carved into the world.
A human who was exceedingly close to the level of the gods, a fast-sprinting hero with an invincible body. But his heel alone—was this hero’s vital weak point.
And Archer of Black, Chiron, served as Achilles’ teacher. When Achilles was a young child, his mother Thetis returned to her home at the bottom of the sea due to discord with his father Peleus. Chiron, who had raised many heroes, was an old friend of Peleus, and happily accepted the role of training Achilles.
…Yes. It was only natural that Achilles had wavered for an instant. Chiron had been an absolute figure and symbol to his younger self. His gentleness, seriousness and words had been engraved like magic into the young Achilles.
For nine years—Chiron was a father, teacher, older brother and close friend whom he spent his childhood with, when he was at his most sensitive. For Achilles, who was the son of a hero, had received the blessings of the Olympian gods and had been given looks of awe, respect and admiration from many young warriors, there were few people he could truly call his friends or teachers.
Chiron was, beyond a doubt, one of those few people. He was someone Achilles could trust just as much as his close friend Patroclus.
That hero was now blocking his way in search for the Holy Grail.
As Archer of Black, as an enemy, and as an opponent to be killed—
“—Here I come, sensei.”
“Such words are unnecessary, Rider of Red.”
Though he withered slightly at being spurned by those harsh words, Rider of Red fiercely swung his spear. The two of them began fighting while keeping sufficient distance between them to talk with each other. In other words, the bowman was allowing the attacking, lightly-armored warrior to get up close to him.
Even while Rider was gripped by a little regret, his spear tip didn’t dull and aimed at the enemy’s heart. However, with reckless courage like that of a mad warrior who knew no fear, Archer of Black took a step forward at the same time as the spear was thrust.
The skill of the famous sprinter Achilles with the spear was so great that he would have no trouble being summoned as a Lancer. Normally speaking, he would have had easily gouged out Archer’s heart.
But Rider had fatally forgotten one point.
Instead of gouging his enemy’s heart, his spear tip ended up passing by Archer’s flank.
“Wha…!!”
“Did you forget, Rider? Who gave you this spear and taught you the basics of using it?”
Rider received a shock from Archer’s words. Just as he said, Rider hadn’t refined his spear skills with self-taught training. In the beginning, he was taught the basics by his teacher Chiron. Therefore, it was only natural that Archer would see through all his body’s movements and habits. Furthermore, this spear was originally given to his father Peleus as a wedding gift for him and his wife, so he could also completely grasp its distance and reach.
And Archer had displayed an even more shocking technique than that. At the same time as he stepped forward, he had nocked an arrow on his bow. Truly a quick draw. He had set up an unavoidable shot from zero-distance.
“—You’re going to die, you know, Rider?”
Fixing his aim on Rider’s skull, Archer fired the arrow without hesitation. Rider bent backwards right away to dodge it. With movements capable of unbelievable quickness and readiness, he managed to just barely avoid it so it only grazed his skin.
But then Archer shot a kick at him at that moment. With his stance destroyed, Rider was blown away and impacted against a tree. The instant the distance between them had widened, Archer nocked and fired another arrow.
Within Rider, some kind of switch was thrown. Gritting his teeth, he glared at Archer with determined eyes. He ran straight towards the arrow Archer fired at him. Dodging the arrow by bending forward, he swung his spear in a sweeping slash—but Archer dodged it.
A feeling of joy ran down his spine. Howling fiercely, he thrust his spear again and again. Archer dodged the continuous bullet-like spear attacks and nocked more arrows while skillfully controlling the distance between them.
It was impossible for a bowman to fight at close range, and if Rider could get him within the range of his spear, he would win. Rider was furious at his own shallowness for thinking that. His opponent was Chiron, the great sage who had taught not only Rider himself, but other heroes that were like shining stars, such as Heracles, Jason, Castor and Asclepius.
Getting close up only made them equal. From this point on, if Rider didn’t muster everything he had into his attacks even further, his defeat would be inevitable…!
Rider attacked Archer while thrusting, slashing and cleverly using feints with his spear. Archer avoided the attacks and occasionally defended with his bow, and furthermore, added in his own kicks and punches while shooting arrows whenever there was an opening.
Rider’s body was greatly wounded by Archer’s point-blank shots. Even with his body blessed by the gods, he was defenceless against the attacks of Archer who possessed the same [Divinity] as himself.
All of Rider’s attacks were read, while on the other hand he couldn’t read his opponent’s attacks well. He somehow managed to maintain a balance in the fight with his natural sturdiness, but at this rate he would end up being driven into a corner.
Rider detached his thoughts from the battle before him for a moment. The reason his techniques were being read was because he had learned the basics from the very Archer in front of him. Everything from setting his stance to timing his thrusts to making sweeping slashes with his spear.
—Don’t be deceived.
It was true that Archer had taught him the basics. But Rider hadn’t managed to keep winning since the time he threw himself into battle at a young age with just the basics. He had learned how to apply those techniques in a fight and how to survive in the midst of desperate battles. He had fought many heroes and sharpened his skills in the process.
How had he found a way to survive in every battle and critical situation? Yes, like that time he—
Rider’s movements changed. He stopped using basic techniques and trying to overwhelm his opponent with his overwhelming speed, and instead started changing his attacks with tricky moves.
Just when he seemed to let go of his spear, he kicked Archer and sent him flying using his own fatal weak point, his heel.
He then kicked up his spear as it fell and grabbed it once more in the air, and then fixed his aim and thrusted with it. The spear grazed against Archer’s neck, causing blood to spout out.
“Kuh…!!”
Finding himself deeply cornered, Archer widened the distance between them. Rider waved his spear as if to say, “How’s that?”
As their eyes met, they both gave fearless smiles.
“—Hmm. So you really did earn your place as a Heroic Spirit.”
“Of course. Unlike you who simply taught others, I ran through numerous battlefields, after all.”
He had crossed blades, fought to the death, and exchanged friendships of the soul with many heroes. It was true that he had learned the basics from Chiron. But the corpses that Rider had piled up in battle—were also another truth for him.
“No, I’m really glad. It would have left a bad aftertaste in my mouth if I one-sidedly slaughtered a student of mine.”
Archer smiled, and Rider smiled in return.
Rider had already thrown away his hesitation over fighting against his teacher. All that was left was the joy of a death match against a strong opponent.
Rider wavered over whether or not he should close the distance between them. It was standard tactics for him to charge at his enemy, but this might be a good time to throw away those standard tactics.
The main purpose of the spear he held was originally for throwing. It was a weapon that destroyed all defenses and pierced the chests of heroes. Chiron understood the fearsomeness of that spear better than anyone else. After all, he was the one who had given it away as a gift.
—Now then, what to do?
Their gazes met. Both Rider of Red and Archer of Black planned their next moves while watching each other’s every action.
Rider smiled, and Archer smiled in return. There was definitely a bond between them. Teacher and student, friend and friend who trusted each other from the bottom of their hearts. Even if they trampled on those feelings, vast ‘joy’ over facing each other that surpassed their other feelings definitely existed in their hearts.
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Volume 1 Chapter 4.1
Someone was pursuing this unchained brute. Leaping from branch to branch, a girl clad in verdant green called out to Berserker again and again. Her cold, sharp eyes contained a beastly glint. Her hair stretched out long and unkempt, utterly devoid of the silkiness that one would find amongst those of noble birth; however, it befitted someone which such an feral appearance. Yes... she may well be a beautiful beast in human form.
Berserker chortled and answered her words without ever breaking stride.
"Ha ha ha! I cannot respond to that order, Archer. I must bring myself to that castle, to where the oppressors are."
Archer shouted in exasperation.
"You gull! We merely wait until the time is ripe! Why do you not understand?"
However, Berserker did not stop. He continued to walk, one powerful step after another. He had been walking for two days already, and spotted by passers-by more than a few times. Archer could only pray that that shady priest had things under control.
"To me, the word 'wait' does not exist."
This is it - Archer decided to give up on him. More accurately, seeing as she could not persuade him, she chose to focus on supporting him instead, as ordered.
"Only a madman, in the end... this task is beyond me."
She sighed as she muttered to herself - but she was answered by another.
"I guess so... not for nothing is he a Berserker."
Archer looked up towards the source of the voice; standing on one of the branches was a man with a carefree smile on his face. He was pleasing to the eyes - but not in the way of knights of old whom softened the hearts of noble ladies with their courteousness. His eyes were those of raptors, he was of a strong and firm build, and yet he was free from any appearance of crudeness. He looked the image of a great hero - one adored and admired by any man and woman, young and old, who looked upon him.
He was the Rider of the Red - the man who, according to Assassin's Master, could match the invincible Karna.
"Rider... do you suggest we forsake him?'
He shrugged and replied.
"Do we have a choice? The only thing he can think about is fighting. You're the strange one here, trying to talk him out of it."
"I was rather skilled in the restraining of wild beasts. I did fancy putting a shaft through his knee and being done with it, but..."
If she had done so, Berserker would undoubtedly have changed his course and rounded on her instead.
"Well, I'm glad you decided not to."
"So, why did you come?"
Rider grinned affably, as though he had been waiting for her to ask.
"Why else? I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"Indeed."
Archer showed no embarrassment, surprise or even anger. She simply did not react to his words at all - even though said words, coming from someone of Rider's demeanor, should have flustered even a virtuous wife.
But to Archer, who had lived in the wild alongside beasts, words of courtship hold no meaning. Rider scratched his head awkwardly as she shrugged off his sure-fire advance with ease. He coughed and returned to his original mission.
"Anyway... we were given the role of the rearguard: support Berserker if reasonable, and gather as much information as possible."
"The enemy is already close at hand. I dare say he will reach the fort in the small hours. No doubt he will be checked before then."
"Huh... well, in any case, here's hoping some of the Melas will grace us with their presence."
Both Archer and Rider are superb hunters and warriors. They hold no illusions about winning a battle against seven entrenched Servants with barely half that number.
"Stopping such a Berserker calls for two Servants at the very least - if they do not send their entire force."
Yes - stopping that man would require such an exceptional effort.
"Yet... he truly has leapt from our given understanding of what a Berserker is."
"I'll agree with that. You'd think his Mad Enhancement was low, seeing as we could talk to him..."
However, the Mad Enhancement of the Berserker of the Red is an irregularity. It is possible to talk to him, but it is impossible to communicate fully. He does not disobey commands as much as he simply does not understand them. Even an order given with a Command Spell will do nothing more than weigh him down; two Command Spells are required to stop him.
"The Thracian gladiator and symbol of rebellion, Spartacus... what an obdurate man."
Spartacus was a Roman slave and gladiator who escaped with seventy-eight of his comrades. He later repulsed an assault force of nearly three thousand, becoming a hero and inspiring armed uprisings by slaves in many places. In the end, he was betrayed by the pirates whom he depended on, and cut down by the Roman legions - but until then, he had not lost a single battle. He remained a shining beacon of hope to the undertrodden slaves.
He hated all oppressors, his will to fight set aflame by those with power. This mad warrior fought the masters to protect the weak - care for them, heal them - but moreso than anything else, to stand in defiance. That is the Berserker of the Red.
"Where is your mount, Rider?"
"Well, we're here to gather information... no need to give them any in return. I'm keeping them out of this."
"Hmm... I suppose that will not prove to trouble you. What of your weapon - is it a sword, or a spear?"
"A spear, of course."
Rider and Archer continued to pursue the loosed Berserker; there was no way they could lose track of his slow, unwavering stride.
"By the way, Archer, there's one thing I want to ask..."
"Ask, then."
"Have you seen your Master's face?"
"I have not... I have only met the mediator for my Master... that priest."
Volume 1 Chapter 4.2
"I haven't, either. Then again, I suppose that's only to be expected for a bunch of magi..."
"Yet... it is still peculiar. But, considering what awaits all of us at the end, perhaps it cannot be helped..."
In this Great Holy Grail War, the biggest issue is not defeat, but victory - and what follows. Whichever camp survives, it is unlikely that all seven Servants will remain accounted for - but it is also highly unlikely for only one to remain. In the end, the Holy Grail will only grant the wishes of one Master and one Servant. As soon as victory becomes clear, the division will begin.
Who among the magi does not aim to reach the Swirl of the Origin that sits outside this world, where all futures and all pasts are recorded? With such a possibility contained within the Holy Grail before them, even the closest of comrades would gladly slaughter one another. Servants are certainly not exceptions; the only way to have their own wishes granted is to terminate the allies they stood shoulder to shoulder with. Therefore, any alliances will most likely last only until the winning side is decided.
"...hence their refusal to appear before us."
"I don't think so. They should at least show up... I just can't help suspecting that priest and his Servant."
"You refer to Assassin... Semiramis, was it?"
Both Archer and Rider became speechless when, meeting them, Assassin grandly revealed her true name.
'I am Assassin, after all... an unstable existence to begin with. Let my true name be proof of my willingness to stand together in battle.'
So she declared, with some wryness, but neither Rider nor Archer believed her. The air of decay that wrapped around her invited only irritation and mistrust from these true-hearted warriors.
"That's right, Semiramis... the queen of Assyria. Why does putting on a crown always turns you into a pompous git? Kings or queens, it doesn't matter - I can't stand them."
"Such is what becomes of one whom is served by others. It is to be expected for someone of their position... nothing you need to take to heart."
Three hours had passed. The sun had already set, the forest becoming enveloped by darkness. Berserker's steady march came to a pause.
"Is it the enemy?"
"It is... but they are not Servants."
As Archer pointed out, what stood before Berserker was the Yggdmillennia vanguard: combat homunculi and massive bronze golems that towered over Berserker. There were over a hundred.
"Should we help him?"
Rider suggested, sounding rather deflated. They were not facing Servants, after all; what was there to help with? Instead, the two Servants chose to observe.
Volume 1 Chapter 4.2 continued
"Yeah..."
Archer and Rider exchanged glances, their disquiet characteristic of those whom have just witnessed something highly unpleasant. It was only natural that Berserker had fought and won; they did not find the misery he had sown dismaying or impressive. However, the way that Berserker had beamed from start to finish sent a chill down their spines.
"Well... a Heroic Spirit like that certainly couldn't be anything but Berserker."
If he had at least shown some anger, Archer and Rider might have believed him to possess a measure of reason. But he did not; he fought, he killed, and he crushed, all the while wearing an entranced smile.
"Never the less, he has shown his true strength; without a mighty Noble Phantasm, one of his measure cannot be stopped."
"Huh... By your reckoning, do you think he can take down at least one Servant?"
"We shall see. It would not be unthinkable as long as his Noble Phantasm can act freely..."
"That's the biggest problem, isn't it? Letting him 'act freely' with his Noble Phantasm..."
Although they were allies, the Servants of the Red camp did not fully know of each other's Noble Phantasms - except for Berserker's, which was explained by his Master.
This was because his Noble Phantasm - the
Crying Warmonger
Howl of the Wounded Beast
- possessed such an abnormal function that, in a normal Holy Grail War, would absolutely rule out his survival.
"...but, if the Servants of the Black were to assault him continuously without thought, this may prove intriguing yet."
Yes, with that Noble Phantasm - allowing him to become more powerful the more damage he receives - it may even be possible for this Great War to be settled in a single night.
"Hm..."
Archer's nose twitched in discomfort; the smell of metal and machine oil was an unbearable stench to the girl whom was more animal than human.
"What is it?"
"We are perceived. Servants of the Black are approaching."
Archer's senses were far beyond those of Rider's. If she were correct, they would be meeting the enemy very soon.
"Prepare yourself..."
"Got it."
The two Servants summoned their respective weapons.
The spear that Rider summoned was greatly different from Lancer's weapon. Lancer's massive length of iron utilized its sharp tip and immense weight to bring about destruction. However, Rider's spear was one of simple, sturdy workmanship, well designed for close combat. From the way he held it lightly in one hand, it could be thrown as well.
Rider intended to challenge the enemy at close range without using his rightful weapon, the 'mount'; while truly reckless of him, the air of composure he exuded proved just how much he stood out alongside other heroes.
On the other hand, Archer naturally called forth a bow - a jet black Western-style weapon, bigger than she is tall. It is a celestial bow said to be granted to her by Artemis, the goddess of the hunt; its name is Tauropolos, one of the titles of Artemis, the boar-killer. It was a rare gem befitting such an archer. There is nothing it cannot pierce.
"I will withdraw and aid you and Berserker from the rear."
Archer immediately retreated into the shadows of the forest. Although Rider watched her go and could sense her, he no longer knew where exactly she was; for such a peerless huntress, becoming one with the forest was an effortless task.
"All right, then... time to go a few rounds."
Finally, even Rider's eyes could clearly see two shadowy figures slowly advancing from the depths of the forest. He sensed that they were both Servants. Apparently, their enemy thought a mere two Servants were enough to bring him down.
"You underestimate me, Servants of the Black... or do you think you have any chance of victory against me without sending out your entire force?"
Rider sneered, overflowing with confidence. Despite not using his primary weapon, he surged with an enormous, electric will to fight.
"Aaaa...."
"..."
The two Servants appeared. One was the Berserker of the Black - a girl wielding a giant battle mace - and the other was Saber, who was embroiled in a fierce duel with Lancer last night that lasted till nearly dawn.
"Hey, there - Saber and Berserker, I take it?"
Saber nodded wordlessly and Berserker made a noise of affirmation.
"I'm the Rider of the Red. Oh, you don't need to worry - I didn't already lose my steed before the war has even started. It's just such a waste to bring it out against just two opponents. I'd much rather ride out against all seven at once."
Rider said mischievously. In other words...
None of you are worth my time. Come at me with your full strength if you want to see what I'm capable of.
However, the ones who faced him were also proud Heroic Spirits. Berserker's moans became harsh; Saber arched his eyebrows, looking angered. The murderous air alone would crush the heart of a mere commoner - but Rider coolly received their deadly gaze. Faced with beastly ferociousness on one side and the forceful presence of a true hero on the other, Rider continued to smirk.
Killing intent and hateful animosity - the man was far too accustomed to both being directed at him. To the hero for whom one true friend and the women who loved him had meant all the world, this was but a slight breeze.
Nothing had changed - only the time in which they existed and the weapons that they wielded. It would always be the same... and he would always cut them all down like they were nothing.
That was how the Rider of the Red had striven to live his life.
"Come... I'll let you feel what a true warrior is."
He readied his spear - and his thirst for blood crushed the air. Saber stood his ground bravely, and Berserker's artificial mind allowed her to take it in stride, but any normal humans would have their spirits utterly crumbled.
Three - so the countdown began.
The thick forest was unsuited to the swinging of swords and spears.
Two - and the air froze in an all-too-familiar way.
But, in this place, the spear was superior to any other weapon in one aspect: the thrust. With his hero-slaying spear, able to pierce hearts and penetrate skulls with every strike, Rider felt no disadvantage at all.
One - and time itself seemed to stop before the eruption.
And most of all, with one of the world's most famous archers at his back, nothing would shake his nerve.
Zero.
All things crude and impure were blown away, swept aside, as they stepped forward and leapt, swinging sword and mace and spear.
Volume 1 Chapter 4.3
The Rider of the Red laughed mockingly at the fierce assault of Saber and Berserker. The two Servants released their attacks in the same breath, aiming both high and low.
Rider curled his body and leapt. With his single, short spear he deflected both attacks splendidly.
"Weak!"
At nearly the same time, he launched a kick. He fought not with the formality of a knight, but martial skill honed utterly on the field of battle.
Berserker was blown away but managed to right herself. She moaned with displeasure, and a strange grinding noise filled the air. However, Rider did not seem to pay her much attention as he clashed with Saber once again.
There was not a single wound on either of them, and both of their attacks were being nullified. With his blood armor, Siegfried cannot be hurt by attacks not B-rank or above - which allowed him to keep the fight balanced for the time being. But if this Rider's Noble Phantasm is capable of piercing dragon-blood...
'What are you doing, Saber?! There's not a scratch on him! Use your Noble Phantasm! Use it!'
He had no choice but to ignore his Master's urgings. Rider was not fighting seriously yet, and the riddle of his invulnerability had yet to be solved. Perhaps he had a Noble Phantasm with the same power as him - or perhaps he possessed something even stronger. It could even be that he could not receive damage without certain conditions.
If Saber were to reveal his Noble Phantasm now, it would mean giving away his identity, and that will unmistakably become a hindrance in the battles to come. Eliminating Rider now would certainly prove to be an overwhelming advantage - but what if he did not fall?
It hardly needs to be said. Saber would be the fool who used his Noble Phantasm purely to advertise his own name. Not to mention that, if Rider managed to escape the battle before Saber finished him off, Saber's identity would be completely compromised among the Red camp. After that, they would all know to aim at his weak point: his back.
Saber did not mind being brazen, but he did not want to be foolish. He could only let the command go by, unheeded. He wanted his Master to understand. While under normal circumstances, he would use words to explain to the fullest, he had no chance to do so right now.
Rider jumped backwards, apparently wishing to start anew.
"This isn't going anywhere, huh."
"..."
As promised, Saber did not open his month. Rider looked rather irritated by his lack of response.
"You're a surly bastard, aren't you? Men who don't laugh on the field of battle, may forget how to by the time they reach Elysium. This world is enough of a gloomy, festering pus as it is - you should at least try to get a laugh in..."
He disagreed. Sometimes, laughter in the face of an opponent becomes nothing more than condescension. A cheery briskness in the duel due to mutual acceptance of one another's strength is a different matter entirely from mocking the corpse of the fallen.
Against Saber's wordless display of rejection, Rider chuckled.
"...before you die. You know?"
In the blink of an eye, an unseen arrow, flying faster than the speed of sound, impacted directly on Saber's chest.
Volume 1 Chapter 4.4
"Uu...?!"
Berserker could not make a sound. However, she immediately understood what had happened; the attack just now came from a Servant emplaced far behind Rider. Her thoughts were dispassionate and swift. An attack from long range, containing not thaumaturgy but pure physical energy... in other words, the work of an Archer!
It was likely that the hidden Servant had been watching the fight between them and Rider carefully, realized that a regular shot would not hurt Saber, and drew their bow to its limit to perform a physical attack of an even higher rank. The shot just now clearly exceeded A-rank, and thus penetrated Saber's defensive ability.
The problem, however, was that the attack came from so far away that neither Servants detected it. And they were hardly standing in the middle of a clear, open field; night had fallen and the trees surrounding them were dense and thick. From such a distance - even if said watcher could see in the dark - Saber must have been nothing more than a moving dot.
But the shot found its mark. That was the most terrifying truth. An extreme range attack with A-rank destructive power; the eyesight required to take aim in near zero visibility; and the supreme precision to thread such a needle of an attack... certainly, there existed bowmen who could accomplish every single one of these. But just how many would be capable of all of the above simultaneously...?
Rider suddenly made a sour face as he looked past Berserker into the woods behind her, and clicked his tongue.
"Looks like it's over for our Berserker. But you're still here, pretty girl... and it's only fair for us to go an eye for an eye. Don't you think?"
The Rider of the Red, with a cheery yet cruel smile, tightened his grip on the spear. Even the fearless girl felt something primal and base in his expression.
She fully understood from their fight earlier that her attacks were not 'enough'. She could not harm him in any way.
"How long do you think it'll take the Melas over there to recover? Ten seconds? Twenty? Well... it can't be faster than my spear."
Escape, oppose, surrender... all her options were being denied.
Berserker gritted her teeth, having no choice but to submit to her current predicament. Or... if she had to die here regardless, perhaps she could release her Noble Phantasm completely.
Having been forced to a decision, Berserker growled as she steeled herself. She will use every last ounce of strength to bring down Rider...
But, as soon as the thought entered her mind, the situation was reversed entirely. She sensed a great surge of prana coming from behind her and turned around reflexively. It was Saber, brandishing his greatsword in anguish.
Volume 1 Chapter 4.4 continued
Gordes' words reached his Servant clearly. Even if Saber were on the opposite side of the world, words delivered by the power of the Command Spell would carve themselves directly onto his soul.
"...?!"
Naturally, Saber was shocked. He whipped around and stared at the castle - but, of course, he could not see Gordes. He brandished his greatsword, releasing the power it contained. The green jewel set in the hilt shone, as the blade began to give off an orange brilliance that split apart the night.
"Ugh...!"
No... he must not use his Noble Phantasm here. The instant he shouted its true name, his identity would almost certainly become known; after all, only one Heroic Spirit in the world wields the phantasmal greatsword Balmung. His identity perceived, his fatal weak point would also become known. He would instantly lose every advantage he held.
If there was a chance that he could defeat Rider, then perhaps he would not reject the use of his Noble Phantasm. However, Rider was effectively immortal, and Saber could not imagine that his Noble Phantasm would work against him.
Rider's protection is not something that can be pierced by raw power. Something more is needed. It could be that one needed to use fire or lightning against him. It could be based on certain conditions; perhaps Rider was nigh invulnerable within a forest, or at night.
There are innumerable Heroic Spirits with such legends. For example - though this is not an anecdote about a Heroic Spirit - the God of War Indra once swore to the dragon Vritra not to hurt it with any weapon made of wood, stone or metal, dry or wet, nor attack it during the day or at night. Indra proceeded to defeat Vritra at twilight using, not wood or stone or metal, dry or wet, but a column of the ocean's foam.
Complete deathlessness does not exist.
They may be Heroic Spirits, but they can never go beyond the bounds of a human being. One who is capable of such things - an existence outside of common sense - cannot be summoned as a Servant in a Holy Grail War to begin with. It is the same for Saber; aside from attacks that exceed B-rank, there is also the weak point at his back where the dragon's blood did not touch him. Even the weakest of Servants can kill him by aiming there.
What kind of immortality did Rider possess? Master or no... relying on brute strength to force the issue without first solving this riddle was the act of an imbecile.
Saber resisted with all his might. However, an order given with a Command Spell is absolute. Prana filled his sword and he began to raise it slowly.
"What...? Saber...?!"
Rider noticed him. Even he appeared somewhat surprised as Saber held his sword high and began to release his Noble Phantasm. However, a smile appeared on his face, as though in mockery.
Saber no longer had a say in the issue of whether he ought to unleash his weapon. Judging from Rider's smirk, it would seem his worst fear was realized and his bitterness deepened. However, he could not stop his own arms. He must decide - and Saber, through gritted teeth, poured all his strength into this one attack.
"
Felling...
Bal...
"
"Come on, then... Saber...!"
The surge of prana converged. For one brief moment, the night that swallowed the forest became dusk, lit by the light of the Nibelungs - the holy sword that felled the dragon.
However, Rider grinned confidently, contemptuously. Hateful as it was to admit, Saber knew this one strike would have no effect on him.
"
...of the Sky...
...mun...
"
He could only pray that this attack would at least provide some hints as to Rider's mystery...
'I order you with a Command Spell! Do not use your Noble Phantasm!'
Just as the last syllable was about to leave his mouth, his Master expended another Command Spell. There is only one way to stop an order given with a Command Spell, and that is to use another Command Spell to overwrite it.
Saber dropped on one knee, unable to remain standing. Perhaps it was due to the intensity of the Command Spell acting on him. Rider shrugged in exasperation.
"What's this, then? Not going to use it? Well, I suppose you saved some prana this way, but it cost you regardless. You were ordered with a Command Spell, weren't you?"
Rider glared spitefully in the direction of the Master behind Saber.
"Ha! What a moron! So he ordered you to activate your Noble Phantasm with a Command Spell, then used another one to stop it? Does he not understand that expending Command Spells is the most dangerous act in a Holy Grail War?"
Saber had no retort. Rider was totally in the right. Even so, as long as the bond between Master and Servant remained strong, the situation could be salvaged - but Saber had yet to feel such a connection between his Master and himself.
"Well, I can't criticize, not when my own Master is skulking around in some hole somewhere. Sigh... you could have at least said the entire name..."
Rider broke off as both he and Saber stared at each other at a loss for words. Blood flowed - but it was not from Saber.
The man had ignored every slash and blow, his body stopping even Noble Phantasms. However, Rider's shoulder was clearly bleeding.
"Guh...!"
In an instant, as though in sync with the arrow, Berserker ran forth - not towards Rider, but the unseen Archer of the Red.
On the other hand, Rider pulled out the arrow that had embedded itself in him. Holding his punctured shoulder as though to maintain his hold on reality, Rider asked in a low voice.
"Who's there...?"
He no longer had eyes for Saber or Berserker.
Volume 1 Chapter 4.5
The Rider of the Red shook - not from shame, but from joy. He was truly thankful that in this Great Holy Grail War, he found someone capable of harming him. The Archer of the Black possessed such immense skill with the bow; it was embarrassing to have thought that no one could surpass the Archer on his side.
The enemy Archer fired again. Judging from the ripples in the air and slight whisper of wind, it was five arrows released in quick succession. It would be simple enough to avoid it by leaping backwards - but the last two times he tried that, his actions had been seen through and he had been pierced by more arrows.
Could the Archer of the Red read his mind? Did he or his Noble Phantasm possess some form of prediction skill? Either way, Rider could not even move a single step, much less pursue the Berserker of the Black.
But most importantly, Archer's arrows were piercing Rider's protection - meaning that Archer was the same kind of existence as him. Rider was convinced that the Archer of the Black - armed with both pedigree and skill - would be his greatest enemy in this war.
Against this third attack, Rider fearlessly stepped forward - but his intents were correctly gauged again. Before he realized it, another arrow was sticking out of his knee. The vivid pain that it brought him - something he had not felt in a very long time - made it impossible for Rider to contain his swelling passion.
"Haha... hahahahaha! Yes, this! This is splendid, Archer! So you can harm me! You can kill me! Then it must be fated that we face one another! O Gods of Olympus, may you bring glory and honor to this battle!"
However, it would be too regrettable for them to vie for supremacy here when Rider was not even properly mounted. It would be such a shame to settle their duel in this lonely forest, with no allies to witness their splendor.
With their team's Berserker having already been defeated, and Archer in retreat, there was little reason for him to remain and carry on by himself. Rider put his fingers in his mouth and whistled; a chariot drawn by three splendid horses promptly appeared from the sky and came to a rest besides him.
Leaping onto the driver's position, Rider exclaimed.
"We will settle this at another time, Archer of the Black! Next time - I will see who you really are!"
With a crack of the whip, the horses raised their head and neighed, dashing off majestically into the sky with great force. It was clear that Rider was not escaping; he was postponing the war for another time.
Volume 2 Chapter 2.10
However, Rider seemed to be obsessed with facing Archer of Black.
But then, Saber of Black probably wasn’t alive anymore, and even if he were alive, he would be unable to fight while on the verge of death like this, but—
“Please don’t tell Lancer about Saber of Black. It’d be troubling if he went searching for Saber on the battlefield.”
When they arrived at the throne room, Rider and Archer were relaxing as they pleased. Rider was lying down and looking up at the ceiling, while Archer was sitting on the floor and roasting an animal she seemed to have killed herself, eating the meat on a skewer.
“Oh my, I apologize for making you both wait.”
Assassin shrugged and sighed in exasperation at Shirou’s apology.
“What are you saying, Master? By the look of things, they were just self-indulgently passing time.”
Rider and Archer turned their faces away with a “humph” at nearly the same time. It seemed the two of them had no intention of paying respect to Assassin, Queen Semiramis.
“Well, it’s fine.”
Nodding generously, she sat down on the throne. Shirou nestled up beside her as if he were her attendant.
“Where are Lancer and Caster?”
Rider responded to the question while still lying down.
“Ah… Lancer was vacantly gazing outside earlier. Caster is secluding himself in his workshop.”
“Shall I go call them?”
“Hahaha, Master. If you go to summon them, won’t it be like you’re going around running errands? I’ll call them using telepathic communication.”
She lightly waved two fingers, and soon after the throne room’s heavy doors opened.
“Lancer, I apologize for calling you here.”
In response to those words, Lancer slowly shook his head. His face was white and deadpan like always. His expression didn’t waver even a little, as if it were frozen in place.
“…I don’t mind. Did you need something?”
“I’m sorry, I’ll explain after one more person arrives.”
——————Five minutes later, the last person made his entrance, while receiving irritated looks from everyone in the room. Throwing open the door, he entered with his arms spread exaggeratedly wide and shouted loudly.
“Oh, [For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright]! [Who art as black as hell, as dark as night]!”
Assassin sighed and asked a question.
“Is that how you think of me?”
The man she asked that—Caster of Red, the monster of literature Shakespeare nodded.
“Who else could I be describing, Queen of Assyria! …No, no, sorry about that. I was in high spirits and it just came to me. I had the pleasure of writing for the first time in a while, you see. Ah, by the way, Father Shirou. Though it’s a bit sudden, there’s something I want.”
“Huh?”
“According to the knowledge I’ve been given, there is a device that lets one type letters with just the strike of a key, is there not?”
Shirou pondered for a short while, and then struck his fist against his hand in realization.
“…Ah, you mean a computer.”
“Yes. Could you lend me the money to buy one?”
“Hmm, I don’t mind. I’ll lend you the money the day after tomorrow.”
Shakespeare nodded in satisfaction. Assassin and the others could only watch this in utter amazement.
“Caster… you haven’t forgotten about the Great Holy Grail War, right?”
“Of course not, my dear queen. There can only be one reason for us to be called and gathered like this. For war, correct? Heroes will vie for supremacy and start to kill each other to the extremes of savagery, correct? I, Caster, shall do my best—to watch it all attentively!”
“You’re not going to fight?”
“That’s right. The truth is that I’m extraordinarily inept at fighting and magecraft. [But you, gods, will give us some faults to make us men].”
Both Rider and Archer wanted to point out, “You’re Caster, right?”, but managed to control themselves. In truth, he was right; Shakespeare was a Heroic Spirit that did not commit acts of ‘battle’. His role was to record the Holy Grail War and spin the story of the hardships, despair, hope and violence of the Masters (protagonists) to accompany the tale. The narrator does not come to the front, but merely supports those who stand at the front.
…If he had been summoned in a normal Holy Grail War, as long as his Master wasn’t naturally gifted at close combat, he would have probably been destined to be defeated very early on in the war.
But fortunately for him, in a situation like the Great Holy Grail War, there was plenty of opportunity for him to play an active role. Thanks to the very unique [skill] he possessed.
“—In any case, everyone has gathered. Now that Saber of Black has fallen and our preparations are complete, the time for us to attack has come. A war with merely repeated skirmishes is not interesting, correct?”
In response to Assassin’s words, Rider and Archer grudgingly nodded. Certainly, it was just as she said. They tired of mere skirmishes.
“This war is a rare occasion. It should be conducted flashily, should it not?”
Assassin smiled sweetly as she said that.
“—No, well, that’s true. But aren’t you the one who made the preparations to expressly make this castle and barricade ourselves within it?”
Rider said that with an amazed expression, but Assassin chuckled and replied.
“Barricade ourselves? Rider, the premise of your assumption is mistaken. My Noble Phantasm Hanging Gardens of Babylon: Aerial Gardens of Vanity doesn’t exist in order to defend. It’s a Noble Phantasm for attacking.”
Rider and Archer both tilted their heads. Caster, who knew the details of this Noble Phantasm, smirked at their reactions, and Lancer remained unperturbed as always. Shirou, the only Master present here, smiled bitterly and chided Assassin.
“Assassin, please show it to us directly without that superior air of yours.”
“Very well… Master, you are also comparatively excited about this, it seems.”
“I am a man, after all.”
“I see,” Semiramis said in understanding, and then laid her hand on the huge jewel imbedded in the armrest of her throne. Instantly, the ground started shaking slightly.
The other Servants exchanged glances, wondering if it was an earthquake. The trembling gradually increased in in intensity… and then suddenly stopped.
“Fufu, go look outside.”
Following her words, everyone except her left the throne room and rushed outside. The earthquake just now had clearly been intentionally caused by Assassin. But what on earth was the reason—
“Wha—!?”
Both Rider and Archer became speechless. Caster made an overly moved expression of delight and Shirou, who normally kept his expression calm as much as possible, also had unusually shining eyes of excitement. Even Lancer widened his eyes a little as he gazed down.
They were standing on a floor of stone that served as a balcony—and beneath it, there was just a wide expanse of empty air.
In other words, they were floating. Just as its name implied, this garden of vanity was hanging in midair…!
“You’re all surprised, correct? …Well, its speed is nothing to praise, though.”
There was a faint tone of pride in Assassin’s words.
The Queen of Assyria, Semiramis. Her Noble Phantasm Hanging Gardens of Babylon was a flying fortress. However, it was impossible to manifest it through prana. First, materials consisting of stone and wood from a specific region must be gathered.
Once having gathered everything she needed, a long ritual needed to be held by Assassin herself, and then it would finally be complete as a Noble Phantasm… This process stemmed from the fact that, historically, Queen Semiramis did not create the Hanging Gardens in the first place.
In reality, she had never once seen the Hanging Gardens in her lifetime. However, she knew and instinctively sensed that it had been inscribed as part of her legend. This mystery was added to her legend after her death, but people’s mental image of the Hanging Gardens being built by the world’s most ancient assassin, the legendary queen, was very strong.
The Hanging Gardens first required materials. Materials that came from this world in the present day. Wood, stone, minerals, plants and water—all from the land she once lived in.
After gathering and assembling everything together, the ritual she conducted turned the mere ‘illusion’ into reality. It was a counterfeit turned real, a Noble Phantasm that normally should be absolutely impossible to exist.
Therefore, it possessed the word [vanity] in its title. People who knew the truth could only feel a kind of scorn for it. Semiramis didn’t build the Hanging Gardens, they would say. However, vanity was not a fragile thing. No, since the materials had been gathered and the Noble Phantasm had managed to be successfully constructed, at the very least, this vanity had been turned into the truth in this day and age.
And this former illusionary garden—was far more absurd and ridiculous than the real one.
“Then, let us prepare for battle, everyone. At this speed, we have about an hour until we’re close enough that the ones barricaded in the Fortress of Millennia see us coming.”
Everyone was silent. Of course, it wasn’t that they were nervous. Due to having been given the concrete number of one hour till battle, a drunkenly high fighting spirit had simply gushed forth within them.
“Caster. Are you finished with my sword I gave you earlier?”
“Yes, it’s right here.”
Caster materialized the object from an astral state and respectfully presented it.
“…Hey, Shirou?”
“What are you going to use that sword for? I don’t want to think so, but—”
Rider and Archer both wore suspicious expressions. Smiling, Shirou took the sword and pulled the blade from its scabbard. Though the basic shape was the same as a Japanese sword, it bore various aspects due to the soul of the swordsmith. If there were beautiful and lovely blades that possessed a shine worthy of being called works of art, there were also broadminded and deadly blades like the one Shirou held that specialized in cutting something.
Even from the perspective of Servants who were knowledgeable about every kind of weapon from every time and place, that blade was a great sword worthy of being called first-rate.
“I will fight in Caster’s place. Don’t worry, I’m quite knowledgeable when it comes to battle.”
But it was far too simplistic to say that he could fight equally in this battle of Servants just because he had that weapon.
“No, no, no, no, no. I won’t say anything bad, but wouldn’t it be better for you to remain holed up here like a Master should?”
“Rider is right, you know. It seems you have accumulated quite a bit of training, but you are still limited to the level of humans. If you come across an enemy Servant, it will be the end for you.”
Rider and Archer frantically tried to stop him. That was only natural; a normal Master should never head out to the front lines. Servants did not merely aim for other Servants. If the enemy Masters were a rational person, they would have their Servants kill a Master who nonchalantly came onto the battlefield. If the Master died, the countdown to their Servant’s death would begin. At the very least, it would be virtually impossible for them to fight at full power without their Master.
Moreover, this next battle would definitely be a great decisive battle in the war. It would be a large battle where not only Servants would clash against Servants, but their own pawn pieces, Dragon Tooth Warriors, would be mobilized as well.
For a mere human like him to endure in a situation like that—. At that point, Caster came between Rider and Archer as if to hold their words back and spoke to them.
Volume 2 Chapter 2.10 continued
Acting as if in a play, he gathered everyone’s attention on the blade Shirou held.
“I have bestowed an enchantment of some note onto this blade. To be blunt, it is now equal to a C rank Noble Phantasm.”
Including Assassin, everyone besides Shirou stiffened at that proclamation. He had definitely said ‘Noble Phantasm’. A certain-kill holy relic inscribed in legend, which each Servant possessed—that was what a Noble Phantasm should be.
“—Huh?”
“…In other words, what? You created a Noble Phantasm?”
“Your special skill… is [Enchant], correct? Is it perhaps due to that skill’s ability?”
Caster answered “Precisely!” to Assassin’s question and puffed up his chest proudly.
Strictly speaking, what Caster of Red—Shakespeare—used was not formal magecraft. No matter what kind of Reinforcement magecraft was used, it shouldn’t be possible to strengthen something to the level of a Noble Phantasm.
In the first place, he hadn’t actually enchanted the blade with magecraft. While gazing at the blade he’d been given, he had merely written down how the blade was magnificently sharp and how much blood it was stained in.
But if that writing was done by this world-famous literary master, it was a different story.
In this world, there existed Conceptual Armaments—weapons that did not possess a physical power, but rather manifested an effect through a concept possessed by the item in question. Shakespeare’s texts, which he poured his soul into, were sufficient to imbue a certain-kill concept into even a pebble on the roadside.
“…Can I ask one thing? Why don’t you fight using that?”
Lancer, who had remained silent until now, asked that to Caster. His question was only natural. If he could turn an ordinary sword into a Noble Phantasm, he should be able to fight with it.
“—I can’t write about myself. That would just be an essay. Right now, I only have the ability to spin other people’s tales and cannot write anything besides that.”
Caster replied with a resolute tone. Lancer understood his words and spoke with a frown.
“So in other words, you find it troublesome.”
“Well, pretty much.”
Lancer nodded in understanding.
“…Then it can’t be helped. Your goal is to depict the stories of others instead of yourself. Regardless of whether the end of the story is ruin or tragedy, you must write it to the very end. Therefore, your goal is to survive till the very end. Fighting on the front lines is out of the question.”
Hearing those chillingly cold words—Caster smiled happily at being understood.
“Yes, that’s precisely right! I want to witness the ending of this Great Holy Grail War! I must witness it! Whether it ends in fortune or misfortune, or even a despairing truth, watching everyone’s story right till the end as a spectator is the duty that I have been charged with!”
Those were words that were impossible for a Servant summoned in a Holy Grail War. He had declared that he would watch as a spectator right till the end.
Archer and Rider didn’t know whether to be amazed or angry.
“Either way, I basically have no battle power. So I wish to entrust the role of fighting to Father Shirou here, the one who possesses the greatest fighting power among our Masters.”
“I don’t mind… With this blade, I won’t fall behind on the battlefield.”
It was just as Shirou said. At the very least, with a blade that equaled a C rank Noble Phantasm, he would have no trouble with the likes of homunculi or golems.
“No, no. My own power is trivial. It’s just that your blade was an incredibly famous sword. If not, I would not have been able to make it a Noble Phantasm as high as C rank.”
“…It’s because it was once the favored blade of a certain master swordsman.”
Shirou muttered that. His expression loosened slightly, showing a mischievous smile.
“—It can’t be helped. Master, I must control the flight of this garden, so I cannot directly go to the battlefield. I’ll support you as much as possible, but don’t get too deeply involved, okay?”
“I understand. I also understand my own abilities very well.”
Even though he said that, Shirou had no intention of slacking at all in this war. He would fight using all his power and take the Greater Grail for himself using all his power. For the sake of that, he was willing to risk his life, and even if he had to commit deeds that were far from just and good, he would do so without any hesitation.
“Now then. Though we may have our generals gathered, it’s sloppy to have zero troops. Even if the enemy has gathered only a mish-mash of homunculi and golems, they will be somewhat troublesome for us.”
It was just as Assassin said, they had no troops. Even if their Masters mobilized all their familiars, it would amount to less than ten of them. However, they had the Assyrian Queen Semiramis on their side. She could produce an inexhaustible supply of expendable pawns.
“You may use my Dragon Tooth Warriors at your own discretion. Would three thousand be enough?”
Created using dragon teeth, Dragon Tooth Warriors were disposable rank-and-file troops… However, no matter how disposable they were, three thousand was just plain abnormal.
“Well, there’s no such thing as having too much in quantity, but… even so, Assassin, isn’t making that many impossible?”
“Normally, it would be impossible. But as long as I’m within these Hanging Gardens, nothing is impossible for me.”
Assassin smiled in clear confidence at Rider’s words. Yes, even if these Hanging Gardens traveled to another country, they were always treated as her personal field. All her stats were enhanced, and it even became possible for her to use magecraft that stepped into the realms of sorcery.
Of course, it came with a price. After all, this Noble Phantasm was almost foul play. Assassin of Red was rendered nearly powerless should she leave these gardens. But these gardens were a moving stronghold. It was unlikely that she would ever choose to leave these gardens in the first place.
“Then who shall cut through the enemy vanguard?”
At Shirou’s question, Archer, Rider and Lancer exchanged glances. Caster, who had no intention of participating, acted as if it had nothing to do with him.
Lancer silently shook his head. It seemed he was saying, ‘You can go first’. Thus, Archer and Rider started glaring at each other. It seemed it couldn’t be helped that they both wanted to cut through the vanguard. Assassin shrugged as if amazed at their behavior, and Caster said, “I’ll dedicate a poem to the one who cuts through the vanguard”, pouring fuel on the fire.
“…Could you both please discuss it peacefully?”
Though it probably wasn’t because they obeyed those words, in the end, the two of them agreed to a compromise.
“I’ll cut through the vanguard.”
It seemed they decided that Rider would be their vanguard. However, Archer summoned her own weapon, a bow, and hoisted it in the air.
“But I’ll shoot the pre-emptive strike. I intended to use my Noble Phantasm from the beginning, after all.”
“Understood. Then let’s do that.”
“So this is the first time you two will be working together as a group. Shall I write a love poem, then?”
Rider’s eyes sparkled with joy at Caster’s suggestion and he responded in agreement.
“Yeah, please do.”
And Archer scowled unpleasantly.
“No, I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
Volume 2 Chapter 2.12
“Yeah!”
Rider struck his knees and ran out with an extremely happy expression, jumping off from the Hanging Gardens. He whistled, and a chariot with three steeds appeared tearing through the sky and scooped up the falling Rider.
He grasped the reins in the driver’s stand and whipped them once. The neighs of the strong-muscled horses roared through the sky above the battlefield.
“Now then, the battle is starting! I, Rider of Red, shall cut through the enemy vanguard!”
Saying so, Rider descended his chariot towards the ground below. Homunculi and golems stood in his path. But both the battle-specialized homunculi and the over one-ton golems pulverized in the path of the immortal divine horses gifted to him by the sea god Poseidon.
The huge chariot was as fast as a bullet and scraped off the ground where it passed. Rider of Red’s chariot trampled the battlefield just by riding it.
“Come out, Archer of Black! Show us your power! If you think you can stop this chariot of mine, just try it!”
The ones who answered his provocations weren’t any Servants, but golems.
Three golems stepped in front of the fiercely galloping chariot. Clicking his tongue, Rider of Red chose to run them over as if it were natural.
“Out of my way, small fry!”
At those words, Caster of Black, who was watching the battlefield from afar, muttered.
“—Now then. I wonder how that will go, Rider of Red.”
The instant Rider’s chariot crashed into them, the three golems split apart. Ignoring the surprised Rider, the golems each entwined themselves with the legs of the chariot’s horses and then instantly hardened themselves.
“Guh…!!”
Although it continued its mad charge, Rider of Red’s chariot finally came to a stop. Seeing that, the homunculi swung the halberds in their hands and jumped at him all at once.
“You impudent little—!”
Removing his hands from the reins, Rider of Red took out his sword from the scabbard at his waist with one hand and swung his hero-slaying spear with the other as he jumped out from the driver’s stand.
The confrontation last a single instant. In that moment, Rider took away the lives of every single one of the attacking homunculi. Blood gushed out from them and poured down on the ground like rain.
There’s an opening.
There was a single Servant who saw that moment as an opening. Rider’s body reacted to the killing intent being directed at him then. But the blood of the homunculi was blocking his vision.
Passing through a gap between the corpses, an arrow was shot at the nape of Rider’s neck.
“…Kuh!!”
Though his reaction was an instant delayed, Rider of Red’s quick-wittedness and agility allowed him to strike down the arrow with his sword. However, he couldn’t completely knock it away and even with its trajectory change the arrow still grazed his neck.
Vivid red blood dripped down his neck. His surprise at being wounded was turned into joy instead of humiliation for Rider.
That’s right, there was a Servant who could wound him among the Black camp—Archer!
Standing back on the driver’s stand, Rider loudly shouted with a majestic and imposing attitude.
“Where is Archer of Black!? I’ve come to resume our earlier match! Let’s fight and kill each other to our heart’s content this evening!”
In place of an answer, another arrow was fired at him. But it was an easy matter for Rider to strike down an arrow as long as his vision was not blocked.
“Where are you, Archer of Black!?”
“—I’m closer than you think.”
The instant Rider turned around, Archer, who had been hidden behind a golem, fired another arrow while concealing everything but his bow and arrow from sight. Due to having additional prana loaded into it, this arrow was far faster than the ones he shot earlier—!
“Guh…!?”
The arrow was aimed at his face—to be more precise, at his right eye. Rider raised his sword and used its blade to knock away the arrow. But due to that, his vision was momentarily blocked. Taking advantage of that opening, Archer ran and jumped behind a different golem, and then fired another arrow.
“You bastard…!”
Archer never showed himself, and fired arrows one after another at Rider while running around and hiding himself behind golems.
—Archer was baiting him.
Little by little, the golems moved away from the middle of the battlefield. I see, Rider thought in understanding. If Rider of Red and his chariot remained on the battlefield, it would turn into a difficult battle for the Black camp.
Naturally, he could just ignore Rider. The interior of a forest was the ideal field for a bowman. He could hide around everywhere and fire arrows. Conversely, fighting in a forest was a fatal situation for Rider. After all, he wouldn’t be able to use his crucial chariot within it.
…But that was limited to normal Servants of the Rider class. At the very least, doing this was an obvious mistake when it came to Rider of Red.
Certainly, Rider boasted of extraordinary power when he rode his chariot. It was very difficult to stop his chariot, which was firm and rode like lightning. One of his three steeds was simply a fine and famous horse, but the other two were divine horses bestowed upon him by the sea god Poseidon.
Therefore, if his goal was to defeat the enemy on the battlefield and win, the correct decision would be to ignore Archer’s provocations, cut down the golems entangling his chariot, and continue to trample over the enemy battle line.
But that logical plan had a single flaw. Was it right for anyone who called themselves a hero for even an instant to choose the option of running away here?
No, absolutely not. For the sake of the honor of his father who was a great hero, of his mother who was a goddess, and of his eternal friend with whom he shared many joys and sorrows in life, he absolutely could not run away.
While shouting “Wait!”, Rider left the battle following Archer. He returned his chariot to its astralized state and headed into the forest on his own two feet. Rider knew that Archer of Black must be laughing at him. After all, Rider let himself be lured into a terrain advantageous to the enemy and negated his own advantages.
…Yes, even now, Rider did not know who Archer was. That is, he thought he didn’t know Archer. Perhaps he should have been even a little more attentive and considered even the most meager of possibilities.
But it was pointless. There would have been barely any difference whether he wavered before or after it happened.
Rider didn’t fail to hear the sound of a bowstring being drawn back in preparation to fire an arrow, and searched his surrounding with complete concentration. He could definitely feel the presence of a Servant. But he couldn’t pinpoint their exact location. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was in Archer’s attack range.
Rider swore to himself that he wouldn’t experience the same humiliation as last time. While walking about, he suddenly stepped on a dead branch. The instant the sound of it breaking resounded through the far too quiet forest—an arrow was fired.
—I already foresaw something like that.
He struck down the arrow with the butt end of his spear. Rider was already capable of reading through the trajectory of Archer’s arrows. This was the result of calmly repeating the previous battle in his head and thinking over how to match it with his movements.
“Don’t think you can hit me a second or third time, bowman! This time, I’ll be the one… heading to you!”
It only took him an instant. He jumped and advanced forward by kicking off the branches of nearby trees. His physical prowess was abnormal, but it wasn’t an impossible feat for a Servant. But, even taking into account the fact that he was a Servant, his speed still greatly stood out.
With speed equivalent to instant movement and not worrying about any obstacles in his way, Rider raced towards where the arrow was fired from.
There was suddenly a faint noise. It seemed the enemy had moved as well. As usual, Archer hid amongst the trees, preventing Rider from seeing about him or her anything besides a faint outline. If Archer of Red was in his place, she could use the enemy’s scent as one means to track them, but Rider’s sense of smell wasn’t that strong.
Arrows were fired at him one after another… Their trajectories were far too easy to read and were merely aimed haphazardly. Rider laughed scornfully and repelled them with his spear. It was far too easy for him to parry and dodge them. Rider could really feel that he was cornering him.
The next arrow. Immediately after the next arrow was fired, Rider would corner him—or her.
—Shoot, shoot, shoot, hurry up and shoot!
Rider’s wish was granted. He grabbed the next arrow immediately as it was fired and, with a laugh, brought his face close to Archer.
“I got you.”
Archer of Black should have been surprised. No, he had to have been surprised. Archer was completely cornered, had any possible attack sealed, and finally had allowed himself to be approached at a fatal distance for a bowman.
And yet, that man was so calm that it made Rider somewhat uneasy. He even smiled at Rider despite how close he was.
—————No, wait.
—————I’ve seen this man before.
—————No, I’ve talked with him, learned from him, and shared bed and food with him…
“Y—————ou.”
“Yes, that is your weak point.”
Archer of Black said that in a quiet voice and kicked the man in front of him in the solar plexus. Rider’s body went flying back through the air at the strong blow. Landing on the ground, Archer nocked an arrow on his bow with a fluid movement—and fired it.
“…Kuh!!”
Rider understood that the arrow’s target was his ‘vital point’, and immediately he frayed the nerves throughout his entire body. He screwed his body and bent his joints to the limit, trying to at least get it away from the arrow’s trajectory.
—He succeeded.
Instead of his vital point, the arrow pierced through his flank. Vivid pain ran through Rider’s entire body, but he paid it no heed. The man standing below him was a bigger problem.
All the mysteries surrounding Archer of Black had been cleared up. It was only natural that his skill with the bow was equal to that of Archer of Red—Atalanta. After all, he was a teacher to many heroes including Rider himself.
Rider pulled out the arrow from his flank and tossed it away as he stood up. Archer didn’t move even slightly as he held his bow, as if waiting for Rider to speak.
“—Why are you here?”
“What a foolish question. I was summoned as Archer of Black in this Great Holy Grail War. And you were summoned as Rider of Red. We each have wishes and regrets that bind us. That’s why we are here. Both me and you.”
“…”
Rider cast his eyes down and remained silent. Archer sighed and chided him.
“You’re truly soft. Has that part of you alone not been cured from your previous life? You’re stern to the end towards those you’ve acknowledged as enemies, but you’re always soft when faced with people who you’ve already acknowledged as ‘good people’ when they temporarily cease to be your allies. That may be a lovable trait as a hero. But this is the Great Holy Grail War—there is no room for feeling anything like mercy or compassion. Even someone who is called a hero like you understands that, right?”
—You understand that, right, Achilles?
Archer spoke Rider of Red’s true name. The young man known as Achilles nodded once with a grave attitude, like a pupil receiving a lesson.
Volume 2 Chapter 2.18
Born from the sea goddess Thetis and the hero Peleus, Achilles was blessed by the gods from birth. His mother Thetis, having greatly loved her son, had warmed him within holy flames in order to try and make him immortal. But her husband Peleus had opposed it, saying “Then that would destroy Achilles as a human”, and in the end Achilles grew up while only a certain part of him remained human.
Eventually, when war broke out between Troia and Achaea, Achilles was asked the following by his mother Thetis.
—Do you wish to live a long and peaceful life without having your name recognized by the masses? Or do you wish to live the short life of a hero with brilliant achievements in battle?
Achilles’ choice went without saying. At the same time as his mother felt pride in his decision, she also felt heartbreakingly sad. Because his fate had been predetermined since he was born. If he lived as a hero, he would have a short life, as if sprinting through it at full speed.
After having grown up, he participated in the Trojan War as part of the Achaean army and continued achieving many great feats. His body, blessed by all the gods, never received any wounds, and the spear that his father had given to him pierced through all other heroes. With his chariot led by three steeds, consisting of two divine horses given to him as a gift from the sea god and a famous horse he stole while assaulting a certain city, no one could chase after him from behind.
But during the one-on-one fight between Achilles and the greatest hero in the Trojan War, Hector, who was equal in strength and skill with Achilles, his weak point was exposed. Even if Hector was the killer of Achilles’ close friend Patroclus, the way Achilles insulted him by dragging his corpse around with his chariot was a foolish and intolerable act.
As a result, he incurred the displeasure of the sun god Apollo, but despite being repeatedly warned to restrain himself, Achilles continued slaughtering the Trojan army. So the enraged Apollo aided the Trojan army’s bow expert Paris, and guided him to shoot Achilles’ only weak point—that is, his heel.
Having his heart pierced by arrows one after another afterwards, Achilles sensed his own death, but continued fiercely fighting and using all his strength to kill the soldiers of the Trojan army around him. Just as predicted, he had a short life, but his legend as a hero was carved into the world.
A human who was exceedingly close to the level of the gods, a fast-sprinting hero with an invincible body. But his heel alone—was this hero’s vital weak point.
And Archer of Black, Chiron, served as Achilles’ teacher. When Achilles was a young child, his mother Thetis returned to her home at the bottom of the sea due to discord with his father Peleus. Chiron, who had raised many heroes, was an old friend of Peleus, and happily accepted the role of training Achilles.
…Yes. It was only natural that Achilles had wavered for an instant. Chiron had been an absolute figure and symbol to his younger self. His gentleness, seriousness and words had been engraved like magic into the young Achilles.
For nine years—Chiron was a father, teacher, older brother and close friend whom he spent his childhood with, when he was at his most sensitive. For Achilles, who was the son of a hero, had received the blessings of the Olympian gods and had been given looks of awe, respect and admiration from many young warriors, there were few people he could truly call his friends or teachers.
Chiron was, beyond a doubt, one of those few people. He was someone Achilles could trust just as much as his close friend Patroclus.
That hero was now blocking his way in search for the Holy Grail.
As Archer of Black, as an enemy, and as an opponent to be killed—
“—Here I come, sensei.”
“Such words are unnecessary, Rider of Red.”
Though he withered slightly at being spurned by those harsh words, Rider of Red fiercely swung his spear. The two of them began fighting while keeping sufficient distance between them to talk with each other. In other words, the bowman was allowing the attacking, lightly-armored warrior to get up close to him.
Even while Rider was gripped by a little regret, his spear tip didn’t dull and aimed at the enemy’s heart. However, with reckless courage like that of a mad warrior who knew no fear, Archer of Black took a step forward at the same time as the spear was thrust.
The skill of the famous sprinter Achilles with the spear was so great that he would have no trouble being summoned as a Lancer. Normally speaking, he would have had easily gouged out Archer’s heart.
But Rider had fatally forgotten one point.
Instead of gouging his enemy’s heart, his spear tip ended up passing by Archer’s flank.
“Wha…!!”
“Did you forget, Rider? Who gave you this spear and taught you the basics of using it?”
Rider received a shock from Archer’s words. Just as he said, Rider hadn’t refined his spear skills with self-taught training. In the beginning, he was taught the basics by his teacher Chiron. Therefore, it was only natural that Archer would see through all his body’s movements and habits. Furthermore, this spear was originally given to his father Peleus as a wedding gift for him and his wife, so he could also completely grasp its distance and reach.
And Archer had displayed an even more shocking technique than that. At the same time as he stepped forward, he had nocked an arrow on his bow. Truly a quick draw. He had set up an unavoidable shot from zero-distance.
“—You’re going to die, you know, Rider?”
Fixing his aim on Rider’s skull, Archer fired the arrow without hesitation. Rider bent backwards right away to dodge it. With movements capable of unbelievable quickness and readiness, he managed to just barely avoid it so it only grazed his skin.
But then Archer shot a kick at him at that moment. With his stance destroyed, Rider was blown away and impacted against a tree. The instant the distance between them had widened, Archer nocked and fired another arrow.
Within Rider, some kind of switch was thrown. Gritting his teeth, he glared at Archer with determined eyes. He ran straight towards the arrow Archer fired at him. Dodging the arrow by bending forward, he swung his spear in a sweeping slash—but Archer dodged it.
A feeling of joy ran down his spine. Howling fiercely, he thrust his spear again and again. Archer dodged the continuous bullet-like spear attacks and nocked more arrows while skillfully controlling the distance between them.
It was impossible for a bowman to fight at close range, and if Rider could get him within the range of his spear, he would win. Rider was furious at his own shallowness for thinking that. His opponent was Chiron, the great sage who had taught not only Rider himself, but other heroes that were like shining stars, such as Heracles, Jason, Castor and Asclepius.
Getting close up only made them equal. From this point on, if Rider didn’t muster everything he had into his attacks even further, his defeat would be inevitable…!
Rider attacked Archer while thrusting, slashing and cleverly using feints with his spear. Archer avoided the attacks and occasionally defended with his bow, and furthermore, added in his own kicks and punches while shooting arrows whenever there was an opening.
Rider’s body was greatly wounded by Archer’s point-blank shots. Even with his body blessed by the gods, he was defenceless against the attacks of Archer who possessed the same [Divinity] as himself.
All of Rider’s attacks were read, while on the other hand he couldn’t read his opponent’s attacks well. He somehow managed to maintain a balance in the fight with his natural sturdiness, but at this rate he would end up being driven into a corner.
Rider detached his thoughts from the battle before him for a moment. The reason his techniques were being read was because he had learned the basics from the very Archer in front of him. Everything from setting his stance to timing his thrusts to making sweeping slashes with his spear.
—Don’t be deceived.
It was true that Archer had taught him the basics. But Rider hadn’t managed to keep winning since the time he threw himself into battle at a young age with just the basics. He had learned how to apply those techniques in a fight and how to survive in the midst of desperate battles. He had fought many heroes and sharpened his skills in the process.
How had he found a way to survive in every battle and critical situation? Yes, like that time he—
Rider’s movements changed. He stopped using basic techniques and trying to overwhelm his opponent with his overwhelming speed, and instead started changing his attacks with tricky moves.
Just when he seemed to let go of his spear, he kicked Archer and sent him flying using his own fatal weak point, his heel.
He then kicked up his spear as it fell and grabbed it once more in the air, and then fixed his aim and thrusted with it. The spear grazed against Archer’s neck, causing blood to spout out.
“Kuh…!!”
Finding himself deeply cornered, Archer widened the distance between them. Rider waved his spear as if to say, “How’s that?”
As their eyes met, they both gave fearless smiles.
“—Hmm. So you really did earn your place as a Heroic Spirit.”
“Of course. Unlike you who simply taught others, I ran through numerous battlefields, after all.”
He had crossed blades, fought to the death, and exchanged friendships of the soul with many heroes. It was true that he had learned the basics from Chiron. But the corpses that Rider had piled up in battle—were also another truth for him.
“No, I’m really glad. It would have left a bad aftertaste in my mouth if I one-sidedly slaughtered a student of mine.”
Archer smiled, and Rider smiled in return.
Rider had already thrown away his hesitation over fighting against his teacher. All that was left was the joy of a death match against a strong opponent.
Rider wavered over whether or not he should close the distance between them. It was standard tactics for him to charge at his enemy, but this might be a good time to throw away those standard tactics.
The main purpose of the spear he held was originally for throwing. It was a weapon that destroyed all defenses and pierced the chests of heroes. Chiron understood the fearsomeness of that spear better than anyone else. After all, he was the one who had given it away as a gift.
—Now then, what to do?
Their gazes met. Both Rider of Red and Archer of Black planned their next moves while watching each other’s every action.
Rider smiled, and Archer smiled in return. There was definitely a bond between them. Teacher and student, friend and friend who trusted each other from the bottom of their hearts. Even if they trampled on those feelings, vast ‘joy’ over facing each other that surpassed their other feelings definitely existed in their hearts.