"What an honor this is for us... what a privilege..."
With the authority granted to him by Selene, Darnic stood in the grand hall of the fortress, manipulating the Complete Book of the World as it floated midair. His tone was exaggerated, fervent, and slightly theatrical.
That mix of sincerity and artifice was unmistakable. Part of it was an act—but part of it was genuine awe. After all, the stronger the Servant, the higher his own chances of winning the Holy Grail War.
Standing on the steps at the center of the vast hall, before the vacant throne, Darnic glanced subtly toward Celenike, who stood guarded on both sides by two golden-armored Royal Guards.
"That illusion... you saw it too, didn't you, Celenike?"
Normally, when a Master summons a Servant—an existence of the Heroic Spirit class—there's a period afterward where the Master experiences faint visions: fragments of the hero's greatest moments from legend.
However, when Celenike summoned the Rider-class Servant, Selene, her magical energy had been insufficient. In his urgency, Darnic intervened to provide her with mana support, unintentionally linking their circuits for a brief moment.
Through that fleeting connection, Darnic had glimpsed something he was never meant to see: fragments of the God-Empress' life.
Recalling the scenes that invaded his dreams the night before, a chill ran down Darnic's spine.
Behind the merciful face of the Divine Majesty lay unending death, war, slaughter, and ruin.
He saw execution grounds soaked in blood—rebels of the Empire hanged, impaled on thorns, or beheaded like livestock awaiting slaughter.
He saw dense jungles consumed by fire and explosions, ancient civilizations erased from existence beneath roaring infernos.
He saw fortress-cities the size of mountains burning in violet-red beams that connected heaven and earth—colossal lances of light obliterating everything, flesh and stone alike.
...
He saw storms of endless lightning, a monstrous tempest where thunder roared without pause. Within it, creatures of impossible scale—serpentine titans like the mythical Jörmungandr—devoured the land itself.
And those were merely fragments—a mere shadow of the vast ocean of corpses, demons, pallid beasts, and abominations born from the twisted recesses of human genes.
In that vision, countless nations fell beneath the God-Empress' insatiable hunger for conquest and dominion. The glory of civilization turned to ash under her cold, merciless expansion.
Even though the imagery had been incomplete and indistinct, it was enough to make Darnic realize the true horror of divinity fused with imperial will. It also deepened his obsession with understanding Selene—and her Master, Celenike.
As for Lancer Vlad III, once his trump card—he now dismissed the man entirely.
Third-rate Servant. Trash.
Human nature was fickle, and Darnic's own was especially so.
In the holographic projection of the Complete Book of the World, everyone present could see the battle between the 'Red' Saber—Mordred—and the stone golems, homunculi, and Astartes warriors of Selene's Second Legion.
Unlike Avicebron's stone golems, whose recordings were grainy and delayed, the Book's projections were flawless—real-time and vividly clear, complete with sound. The realism was overwhelming.
The gathered Masters and Servants watched, silent and tense, as the city before their eyes was torn apart in a maelstrom of crimson lightning and collapsing masonry.
Aside from Darnic and Selene's Master, Celenike, the others were visibly shaken by the 'Red' Saber's ferocity.
"That Saber of the enemy faction... she's the rebellious knight Mordred from Arthurian legend, right? Her Noble Phantasm's rank must be higher than B... she's incredibly strong," Caules muttered, eyes wide as he watched the devastation unfold.
He'd thought his own Servant—Berserker Frankenstein's—B-rank Noble Phantasm was powerful enough when unleashed earlier that morning. But compared to the destruction Mordred unleashed with casual ease, it felt utterly insignificant.
"Indeed," Vlad III said calmly, standing beside Darnic instead of on his throne. "It is no coincidence that Saber-class Servants are the most balanced of all. No weakness, no excess."
Selene's Astartes warriors, though powerful in raw attributes, were essentially melee specialists. Against Servants—heroes armed with Noble Phantasms and unique abilities—the disparity was immense. Especially against Saber-class foes.
"Yes, my king," Darnic replied, maintaining his role as a loyal vassal with feigned reverence.
"According to the data revealed by Her Majesty's Complete Book of the World, the enemy Saber—Mordred, the Knight of Rebellion—has the following parameters: Strength B+, Endurance A, Agility B, Mana B, Luck D, and Noble Phantasm rank A. Other than Luck, none of her stats fall below C. Truly fitting for a Heroic Spirit of the sword."
"Impressive indeed... but still within expected parameters. Her Majesty will take care of her soon enough."
As Selene personally entered the fray and the battle shifted into a one-sided domination, Vlad III lost interest in watching. His mind was already moving to the next stage of his plan.
"Darnic," he said, "aside from that fleeing man, have any other Masters of the Red Faction revealed themselves?"
"Not yet," Darnic replied. "Aside from the man known as Kairi Sisigou, the Complete Book of the World shows that the remaining six Masters of the Red Faction have gathered together—they're hiding in a mountain church near Sighișoara."
"Uncle," said Fiore from her wheelchair, curiosity gleaming in her eyes, "do you know who this Kairi Sisigou is? He doesn't look like a traditional magus."
Darnic nodded. "You're right. He's not a formal magus. According to information sent by our kin within the Clock Tower, Kairi Sisigou is a necromancer—a freelance mercenary who takes any commission, from anyone, so long as the price is right."
"Tch. Filthy man," Gordes scoffed in disdain.
To him, magecraft was a pursuit of art and intellect, never a means of profit. The other Masters seemed to share similar sentiments—their expressions showed either contempt or disbelief.
After all, necromancy was a craft born from death, reliant upon corpses as materials. And with that practice came an inevitable stench—decay clinging to their very souls.
"Don't underestimate him," Darnic cautioned. "Other than myself and Fiore, none of your magic can compare to his. And remember—the rest of the Red Masters are top-class magi, handpicked by the Mage's Association. Don't let arrogance blind you. We must make full use of our advantages."
Among the Yggdmillennia, only Darnic and Fiore possessed the magical prowess to compete head-on with such opponents. But they did have one unique advantage: mana supply.
Though they held Command Spells as Masters, they had rerouted their mana transfer systems elsewhere, preventing their Servants from draining them excessively. This structure allowed them to sustain longer, more stable mana outputs—partially compensating for their lack of sheer firepower.
"So, the Red Masters are all gathered together? Excellent," Vlad said with a smirk. "That means only three Servants remain to guard them. The enemy Berserker, Rider, and Archer are already advancing toward our fortress..."
"And their Saber is still struggling under Her Majesty's assault..." He turned his gaze toward the image of Selene sending Mordred flying, and a predatory smile spread across his face. "This... is our opportunity."
"Your Majesty... you mean a strike?" Darnic's eyes gleamed with realization. He could already see the glimmer of victory.
Morality meant nothing in war. There was no fairness, only victory. Why face the enemy head-on when one could strike at their heart?
"Precisely," Vlad declared. "We shall take advantage of this. The Red Faction has no idea we've already uncovered their positions. The Caster and the other Masters will remain here to guard the fortress—with the Astartes Legion watching over them, security is not an issue. Her Majesty will soon finish her battle regardless."
"As for me... I'll depart immediately with Saber—Siegfried, Archer—Chiron, and Berserker—Frankenstein, along with a detachment of Astartes warriors. Our objective: to eliminate the enemy Masters."
...
BZZZ!
"Damn it... if this keeps up, I really might die here!"
From the pile of shattered rubble, scarlet lightning burst forth. Bloodied and battered, Mordred forced herself free from the debris, her armor cracked and scorched, her mana flaring wildly as she entered a full-blown overdrive state.
With a growl, she pushed herself upright, but instead of charging toward Selene again, she leapt in the opposite direction.
Yes—Mordred had chosen to retreat.
-She wasn't stupid. If her base stats were inferior, and her Mana Burst couldn't match her opponent's, what point was there in continuing? Trade Noble Phantasms head-on? Not a chance. It was only the first day—risking her life now was absurd. Save the desperation for the final act of the Holy Grail War.
For now... tactical retreat. Nothing shameful about that.
BOOM!
Just as Mordred leapt from the rubble, a silver streak wreathed in violet-red particles crashed down into the ruins like a meteor.
The resulting explosion unleashed such power that the already-ruined buildings were leveled outright, debris and shrapnel bursting outward like a storm of bullets.
Whizz—whizz—whizz!!
The fragments tore through the air, smashing into everything around them. Thick stone walls shattered instantly, scattering splinters and shards in every direction. The ricocheting rubble even pelted Mordred as she fled.
"Damn it! How does someone who looks that elegant and ladylike fight with more rage than I do?!"
Catching a glimpse of the chaos behind her, Mordred's body flared brighter with crimson lightning. Her speed doubled—tripled—as she bolted away.
Rising from the massive crater, Selene gazed calmly in the direction of her fleeing opponent. "Oh? You're running already? What a pity... I was just getting warmed up. Very well—let me send you off properly."
Raising her hand, Selene released her magic. Violet-red energy coalesced into the shape of a long spear.
If not for Darnic's People-Clearing Field and the earlier evacuation of Trifas' twenty-thousand citizens, she might have restrained herself—but with the city mostly empty, she had no such need.
BOOM!
The ground beneath her feet sank as immense magical pressure radiated outward, the earth fracturing under the strain.
Gripping the midsection of the glowing spear, Selene gauged Mordred's trajectory, pulled back, and hurled it.
The spear tore through the air like lightning, streaking toward the horizon. At the point where it locked onto Mordred's last position, a massive orb of energy erupted—swelling, pulsing, growing brighter by the second.
"It's over..." Selene murmured, turning away even before impact—not out of fear of the explosion's reach, but rather because, as she mused with amusement... "A real woman never looks back at explosions."
The colossal orb of violet-red light expanded, then abruptly contracted into a single blinding point.
BOOOOOOM!!
The explosion lit up the night sky like a second sun. A thunderous roar followed, so loud it drowned out the world itself. The shockwave rippled outward with tangible force, toppling entire buildings and shattering the earth.
In the blink of an eye, the medieval cityscape that had weathered centuries of storms was reduced to ruin. Ancient stone walls crumbled, their debris hurled skyward like paper caught in a gale, colliding midair and disintegrating into dust.
RUMBLE—!!
At last, the light began to fade. The destruction subsided. Only devastation remained—a wasteland of shattered stone and silence.
"Whether you survive or not depends on you," Selene mused softly. "But... hmm, the blast radius was significantly weakened. Only about seventy or eighty meters across. Maybe... possibly... it could pass as a gas explosion."
...
Meanwhile, at the mountain church in Sighișoara—
"Master, it seems our Saber has met her match..."
Semiramis.jpg
The decadent beauty, clad in an elegant black gown and exuding a faint, intoxicating fragrance, smiled languidly. Resting a slender finger on the shoulder of the white-haired, tan-skinned priest beside her, she spoke sweetly.
"No, Assassin," replied the young priest, his voice calm yet grave. "This isn't just her battle—it's ours. I never imagined a mere Holy Grail could summon down a god... even a degraded one."
The speaker—Amakusa Shirou Tokisada—lifted his youthful, serene face, his expression shadowed by quiet concern.
"A deity, and one capable of summoning an entire legion... this war has escalated beyond mortal scale."
Semiramis raised a delicate hand, her fingers marred only by the faint scars of her art. Her beauty was ethereal, far too captivating for someone called an Assassin.
"Semiramis," said Amakusa suddenly, using her true name—a sign of solemn resolve. "I'll need you to prepare the Hanging Gardens of Babylon at once. I can sense it... this war will be far harsher than we imagined."
She inclined her head gracefully. "Understood. Two days at most, and it will be ready. But... Master, has Saber been defeated?"
Her familiars, sent to observe Mordred's battle, had been destroyed by the golden-armored giants. Though she couldn't see the full exchange, the overwhelming surge of magical energy told her enough.
Their 'Red' Saber was no match—and perhaps already eliminated.
"No," Amakusa replied quietly. "Not yet. I used a Command Spell to save her life. For now, she's escaped. But we must begin preparing our countermeasure... immediately."