"...We need to reconsider our strategy. Saber's opponent isn't merely divine—it's a god-king," Amakusa Shirou Tokisada said gravely, seated upon the confessional bench within the mountain church.
As a unique survivor of the Third Holy Grail War held in Fuyuki during the 1930s, Amakusa was no ordinary human—he was a Heroic Spirit himself.
In that Third War, the Einzbern family had resorted to two forms of blatant cheating: one was summoning an Avenger-class Servant—theoretically the most destructive class possible; the other was invoking a Ruler-class Servant, the referee of the Grail War.
In this timeline, they chose the latter—summoning Ruler Amakusa Shirou Tokisada.
Although he hadn't been powerful as a Servant, surviving largely through his Ruler-class skills—Revelation, True Name Discernment, and the foresight of twin conceptual Noble Phantasms—he had nevertheless endured through cunning and divine insight.
When the Einzbern Master fell during that war, Amakusa, before the Greater Grail was stolen, made contact with it—achieving full incarnation into the modern world. Thus he remained, preparing for the Grail's reappearance over the next sixty years.
All for his ultimate wish—the salvation of all humankind.
"God-king?!"
Semiramis' usually calm demeanor faltered. "Impossible... The Holy Grail usually summons only demi-gods or heroic spirits with lingering regrets. For a god-king to descend through a Servant-class summoning... that's almost unheard of!"
"Then, Master," she continued cautiously, "should we recall Rider, Archer, and the Lancer we sent ahead? I'm the only Servant guarding you now. If the fortress is attacked, we could suffer heavy losses—perhaps even total annihilation."
She didn't mention the 'Red' Caster, of course. That one was hopeless. Utterly useless in combat.
The Red Caster—William Shakespeare himself. Yes, the Shakespeare—Britain's greatest playwright, a literary titan beyond compare... but this was the Holy Grail War, not a poetry contest. His "support" was limited to eloquent speeches and unnecessary dramatics. No amount of inspiration could parry a sword.
Amakusa fell silent for a long moment, exhaling deeply. "No... let's wait. Berserker—Spartacus—still has his uses. Even if his madness makes him uncontrollable, he can still serve a purpose... at least one last time."
He turned to Semiramis with calm resolve. "Order Rider and Archer to escort Berserker Spartacus to the Yggdmillennia fortress. Once they deliver him, they are to return immediately."
After a short pause, he added, "If they encounter two or more Black Servants en route, they are not to engage. Their survival takes priority. Withdraw immediately if the situation turns dire."
He folded his hands in prayer, eyes closed. "Spartacus' nature and Noble Phantasm make him most effective when surrounded. He thrives under oppression—rebellion is his creed."
Having studied Spartacus' behavior, Amakusa knew his tendencies well. The gladiator would never strike the weak—only the oppressors.
And the Black Faction... clearly represented the oppressors. They commanded homunculi as tools, ruled Trifas with an iron hand, and treated all under them as lesser beings.
"Romania's former prince—Vlad III, the Voivode of Wallachia—and a mysterious god-king," Amakusa murmured, his voice laced with irony. "Yes... both are the epitome of tyrants. Perfect targets for him."
"As for Lancer," he continued, his tone sharpening, "no recall. His objective remains the same—eliminate the Ruler heading for Trifas. Whether she's a saint or an arbiter, Jeanne d'Arc will be our greatest obstacle."
As the former Ruler of the Third Holy Grail War in Fuyuki, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada understood better than anyone the unpredictable influence of the Ruler class' unique authority and its innate skills.
"I understand."
He rose, pushing open the church's heavy doors, and gazed out toward the distant fortress of Millennia beneath the moonlight. In the distance, faint roars—those of beasts or worse—echoed through the night.
"Let's hope that monster causes the Black Faction some trouble," he murmured.
Though an unshakable sense of foreboding gnawed at his chest, Amakusa could do little more. Without a divine artifact like the Complete Book of the World to guide him, his foresight was limited. His Noble Phantasm provided a form of precognition, yes—but at a mere D-rank, and only a counterfeit version at that, its insights were faint and fleeting.
Meanwhile, Vlad III—the Voivode of Wallachia—was already leading his strike force into motion.
...
Elsewhere, beneath an old cemetery—
"Saber!"
"Stay back!"
Seeing the battered, bloodstained figure of Mordred, Kairi Sisigou instinctively moved to help her, but the knight raised a hand to stop him. Bracing herself on Clarent, she rose unsteadily to her feet.
Then—crackle!—scarlet lightning sparked weakly around her body, purging the violet-red corruption spreading across her spirit form. "Cough... Master... thanks... cough... I almost didn't make it back."
Kairi quickly approached, concern written across his face. "Those purple-red marks—what the hell were they? And what in the world happened to you?"
"How should I know?" Mordred snapped, her tone somewhere between irritation and fatigue. "Whatever it was, it wasn't good. After that woman hit me, the stuff started eating away at my spirit core and mana... tch, damn annoying. If I couldn't use Mana Burst, I'd have been done for."
Once she'd purged the malignant energy residue from her body, Mordred sighed heavily and staggered toward her Master. The moment she reached him, she collapsed beside him, deactivating her armor and sword.
Her heavy armor dissolved, replaced by her casual clothes. Gasping for breath, she muttered, "Master... we need a plan. I hate to admit it, but that woman... I can't beat her head-on."
There was no pride or shame in her words—just clear, hard-learned pragmatism. Battle had already taught Mordred this simple truth: if you lose, you learn—and then you come back stronger.
"Saber," Kairi said quietly, his voice calm but weary as he glanced at the Command Seal now missing one sigil. "Can you tell what Class she belongs to?"
"Uh..." Mordred froze. Truthfully, she hadn't even thought about it. She'd been too busy getting beaten half to death.
Kairi's eye twitched. "Don't tell me—you caused all that chaos, and you still don't know what Class your opponent was?!"
"Hey! How should I know?!" Mordred barked back defensively. "She didn't even use a weapon! Just her fists! Who fights barehanded like that?!"
Her tone trailed off as she realized how ridiculous it sounded. Her face flushed red. "Master, what's with that look?!"
Ordinarily, determining a Servant's class was simple—identify their weapon. A sword meant Saber, a lance meant Lancer, a bow meant Archer... and so on.
Kairi sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind. We'll need to think carefully from here on out."
He looked at her gently, though his tone was firm. "For now, Saber, our best option is to lay low. Let our allies handle reconnaissance on the Black Faction's Servants."
Mordred frowned, pouting slightly before crossing her arms. "Tch... fine. You're the Master here, after all."
...
Fortress of Millennia—
"Your Majesty!"
A female homunculus, clad in sleek armor and wielding a slender poleaxe, knelt before Selene the moment she appeared. Her crimson eyes shone faintly beneath her silver hair as she reported in a calm, emotionless tone:
"Your Majesty, Lord Darnic requests an audience in the central hall—he has urgent matters to report."
In the grand hall, all the Masters of the Black Faction were assembled under layers of protection from the golden-armored Royal Guards. Only Avicebron, the Caster of Black, remained behind; the rest of the Servants had departed under Vlad III's command to launch a surprise assault on the Red Faction's mountain church.
"Darnic, I am already aware of Vlad's plan," Selene said as she stepped into the hall, her ensemble gleaming faintly under the ethereal light. "Do you have any new intelligence?"
Darnic bowed respectfully, standing beneath the empty throne. "Your Majesty, Lord Vlad has already departed. According to the latest readings from the Complete Book of the World, the Red Masters recently dispatched their remaining Lancer—Karna—from their church as well."
"So," Selene murmured, her voice cool and even, "this could very well decide the war."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Darnic said quickly. "At present, the only Servants protecting the Red Masters are Assassin and Caster. With the Prince's ambush, we will surely gain the upper hand. Even if the Red Masters use Command Spells to recall their Servants and minimize losses... their Command Spells will be spent. The advantage will be ours."
Selene studied the floating projection of the Complete Book of the World before turning her crimson gaze back to Darnic. "Hmm... And tell me, did you summon me here to join the strike force, or to confront the three Red Servants who have already reached the forest perimeter?"
"No, Your Majesty," Darnic replied, shaking his head. His eyes gleamed with calculation. "I suspect the Red Faction's true objective lies elsewhere. The three Servants advancing into the woods are meant to draw our attention. In truth..." He pointed toward the holographic projection showing Lancer of Red's movements. "After sending those three ahead, the Red Masters dispatched Lancer in the opposite direction. If my suspicions are correct, their true target is the arbiter of this Grail War—the Ruler."
Darnic spoke with conviction. "The Ruler is already en route to Trifas. The Red Faction may be attempting to recruit her. Whatever the case, we must not allow them to succeed."
Selene's lips curved faintly, amused. Half right, she thought. The former Ruler, Amakusa Shirou, didn't seek alliance—he sought execution.
"If possible, Your Majesty," Darnic ventured carefully, "I would ask that you personally intervene—foil the Red Faction's scheme, and if the opportunity arises, try to win the Ruler to our side."
Selene shook her head, her expression cold. "Unnecessary. The Ruler is the arbiter—she must remain impartial. Should she take sides, she forfeits her right to exist. If she strays from neutrality, I will erase her myself."
She rested a hand on Darnic's shoulder. "And more importantly, Darnic—how do you know the Red Faction intends to recruit the Ruler rather than eliminate her? Let them tear at each other. The three Servants in the forest are the only prey worth our time."
Understanding that Selene's will was absolute, Darnic immediately bowed. "...As you command, Your Majesty."
"There's no need for such stiffness," Selene said lightly. "If you still doubt, just wait and see which path the Lancer of Red takes. As for me—Avicebron, come. The hunt begins."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
...
Meanwhile, at Sighișoara—
As Vlad's forces drew closer to the mountain church, tension filled the air.
"Oh-ho! O glorious Queen of Assyria! My dear Master! What heavy shadows darken your brows?"
A flamboyant man in olive-green Elizabethan garb strode into the nave, arms spread wide, his every motion theatrical. Both Assassin and her Master turned to him in exasperation as he shouted to the vaulted ceiling.
"Please," Semiramis sighed, folding her arms in frustration. "Caster, must you always be this loud? My Master and I are discussing strategy."
"Ah, but you wound me, fair queen!" William Shakespeare declared dramatically. "For one such as I, inspiration is life itself! Without it, I must wander and muse, lest my quill grow dull!"
"Wait, Shakespeare!" Amakusa's voice cut sharply through the chamber—the rare use of a Servant's True Name freezing the bard in place. The calm mask on the priest's face had vanished entirely.
A suffocating pressure filled the church. The ominous foresight from his Noble Phantasm—his Right Hand - Evil Eater (Mind's Eye)—had spiked violently. That could mean only one thing.
"Assassin! We must evacuate—now!"
"Attack—annihilate them!"
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG—!
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
Gunfire erupted in a deafening storm. Windows shattered, pews splintered, and even the statues of saints exploded into fragments under the hail of bullets.
"Kazıklı Bey!"
SHNK! SHNK! SHNK!