"Blood Armor of the Evil Dragon—!"
At Vlad III's command, Saber of Black—Siegfried raised his greatsword high, both hands gripping the hilt as his wrists twisted slightly.
Click!
Through the mana conduit linked to the artificial homunculi mana chamber beneath the Fortress of Millennia, an overwhelming surge of magical energy flowed into him. Under Siegfried's control, it condensed into the blue gem embedded in the sword's hilt.
Vrrrmmm—!
In an instant, a surge of immense power erupted from the blade. Countless motes of light-blue radiance danced outward as a pillar of azure light shot toward the heavens, unleashing a tangible wave of pressure that tore through the air.
Unlike the time when Gordes had forced him to unleash his Noble Phantasm, this time Siegfried acted of his own will—there was no hesitation, no resistance.
The moment he gripped the sword with intent, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada and Semiramis both felt it—the deadly premonition of annihilation.
"Damn it! Hurry up, you fools!" Semiramis snarled. Her eyes twisted with strain as torrents of magic erupted from her body, her focus split between offense and retreat.
By "you fools," she meant both the great serpent Bašmu, summoned through her Noble Phantasm Sikera Ušum, and the other Red Faction Servants her Master was desperately trying to recall.
The connection to Lancer—Karna had already established successfully, while Berserker—Spartacus was beyond reason and could not respond. But Archer—Atalanta and Rider—Achilles... where were they?!
She had already forced their Masters to use two Command Spells each for emergency recall!
Staring at the overwhelming surge of magical power building within Siegfried, Semiramis knew one thing with absolute certainty: without the protection of her Hanging Gardens, she could not withstand that strike.
If it hit—she would die.
The next moment—
"Balmung!"
The Noble Phantasm's True Name Release echoed like thunder.
The blade blazed with azure mana, flames of light swirling up its length. With no hesitation, Siegfried brought it down in a single, devastating arc.
BOOOOOM!!
At that exact moment, deep within the sea of poison that once belonged to Hydra, Bašmu's massive dark-green, spike-covered head had only just begun to surface.
It turned its countless eyes toward the enemy, maw opening to unleash its venom—
But before it could roar, a column of blue light tore through the sky, filling its gaze entirely.
What... I haven't even appeared yet... Who am I? Where am I? What was I...
BOOOOOOM!!
The azure light detonated, spiraling outward in a wave of raw magical force. A colossal semicircular shockwave illuminated the night, and the mountain-top church disintegrated instantly beneath the explosion.
Then—behind Semiramis and Amakusa Shirou Tokisada—a red magic circle ignited on the ground, golden motes of light rising from within.
"O Sun, become my armor—!"
A woman's anguished scream cut through the chaos.
"No! Don't! Achilles—run!!"
CRASH—CRACKLE—!! The sounds of collapsing masonry and burning wood filled the air.
When the light faded, a massive crater gaped where the church had stood. Bašmu, along with the entire poisonous sea, was gone—without even a trace of ash.
Yet, to the Black Faction's frustration, the full destructive effect of Siegfried's Noble Phantasm had been intercepted.
Before them, at the terminus of the sword's path, a golden Servant stood firm. His shoulders bore two radiant golden discs, which now gleamed like twin suns, shielding the Assassin and her Master behind him.
"Lancer of Red—Karna."
Vlad III's voice was cold and steady. "So, your Master did use a Command Spell to summon you back."
"Master, call Achilles back now—if you wait another second, he'll die!"
The voice from before rang out again. Behind Amakusa and Semiramis, the once-proud Archer of Red—Atalanta lay collapsed upon the floor.
Her once-silky green hair was half-burnt and matted, her verdant hunting garb charred and torn to shreds. The skin exposed beneath was marred—not beautiful, but horrifying—covered in dark violet lesions spreading across her fading spirit form.
The sharp, predatory eyes of the huntress had lost their gleam, bloodshot and dull. Her left arm was completely severed—its edge unnaturally smooth, as if vaporized by a beam of pure light.
From the moment Amakusa Shirou Tokisada realized that the Black Faction had insight into all their movements, he had already anticipated this outcome. Of the two teams of Servants he had dispatched, one was bound to meet disaster.
"Archer... you and Rider must have encountered the Black Faction's divine-class Servant, correct?"
As Lancer of Red—Karna reappeared, Amakusa exhaled in relief, kneeling beside Archer of Red—Atalanta. He pressed a glowing hand to her trembling form, channeling mana into her body to stabilize her fading spiritual core.
So... she's the Archer of Red—Atalanta. Judging by her condition, the Black Servants had no doubt in mind who she had faced. Led by Vlad III, the Black Faction silently reached the same conclusion—she must have encountered Her Majesty.
"Ah—! My second appearance! And this time, I shall be the protagonist!"
The familiar theatrical voice broke through the heavy silence. From the swirling motes of reconstituting mana, William Shakespeare materialized once more.
"Hmph. You really are a cheating nuisance," Semiramis muttered, glaring at him with open disdain.
Shakespeare's unique skill—Self-Preservation: B.
He possessed no combat ability whatsoever, yet as long as his Master survived, he could escape nearly any form of destruction.
"Ah, O Queen of Assyria, your words wound me deeply..."
The Black Servants, perhaps too dignified or too cautious, simply stood by, observing without interference.
Lancer of Black—Vlad III, confident in his might, seemed almost to welcome a fair battle. Archer of Black—Chiron, upon seeing the wounded Atalanta and hearing Achilles' name, had fallen silent in thought, lost in memories of his pupils. He would not strike at a weakened foe.
As for Saber of Black—Siegfried and Berserker of Black—Frankenstein, they were soldiers of obedience, awaiting orders. They would not move unless commanded.
"It seems your plan has failed," said Lancer of Red—Karna, his tone calm as he twirled his golden spear. "Since our Masters used Command Spells to recall us, the mission concerning the Ruler is now void. Our new priority is to repel the intruders."
Ignoring Shakespeare's antics, he strode forward, placing himself between the Red and Black factions, his back to Amakusa and Semiramis.
Amakusa let out a quiet, bitter laugh as he continued to heal Atalanta. "Indeed... a failure. Judging from the timing, you must have just crossed paths with the Ruler before being recalled."
...
A few minutes earlier—on the highway leading toward Trifas' city center.
It was deep into the night, and with Trifas being a small town of barely twenty thousand people, the roads were empty. The only sound beneath the sparse streetlights was the steady rumble of an engine.
A lone pickup truck sped down the highway, its presence a faint echo under the starlit sky—a traveler's silhouette etched against the dark horizon.
In the open cargo bed sat a young girl.
Her long golden hair was tied into a single braid, her sapphire-blue eyes calm and clear. She wore a black uniform jacket over a white shirt and black tie, paired with dark shorts and thigh-high stockings—her outfit resembling that of a student.
Cold wind howled through the night, yet the girl sat motionless in the open truck bed, seemingly unfazed by the biting chill. Only the faint furrow of her brow betrayed the weight of her thoughts.
"Laeticia... forgive me. I've borrowed your body for a time—and dragged you far from France into this unfamiliar land. I've even spent so much of your savings..."
Her voice was gentle, filled with remorse.
The girl was Jeanne d'Arc, the Ruler of this Holy Grail War.
Summoned by the Greater Grail itself, her manifestation had been unusual. For reasons unknown—perhaps as a safeguard—she could not fully materialize in her own body, forced instead to incarnate through possession.
The vessel she inhabited was Laeticia, a French student. Their fusion was less a dual personality and more a coexistence—a merging of souls. Jeanne retained her divine essence and knowledge bestowed by the Grail, while also inheriting Laeticia's memories and emotions.
And so, answering the Grail's call, Jeanne gathered her belongings and set out under the midnight sky, beginning her journey to Romania—the battlefield of this war.
Because of Jeanne's unique method of manifestation, she was unable to dematerialize into spirit form. Thus, in order to reach Romania—the battleground of the Holy Grail War—as swiftly as possible, she had turned to the most efficient modern means of travel: the airplane.
Of course... she paid for it herself—well, to be precise, she used Laeticia's money.
Unlike Selene or Gilgamesh, Jeanne had no Golden Rule to rely on. She had spent most of her previous life as a peasant girl in rural France. Robbing others was out of the question—she was broke!
After taking a night bus to the airport and purchasing a plane ticket to Romania, she endured a long, exhausting journey across Europe. Eventually, with the help of a kind old man who offered her a ride, she finally arrived in the vicinity of Trifas.
However, the moment she thought about money, Jeanne's face twisted into guilt. "Uuu... Laeticia, I'm so sorry... I think I've spent nearly all your savings..."
Laeticia, the student whose body Jeanne now inhabited, was no noblewoman. She came from a humble rural background—not destitute, but certainly not wealthy. Airline tickets in this era were expensive—especially those spanning half of Europe.
The realization that she had spent someone else's hard-earned savings left Jeanne's honest heart feeling heavy with remorse.
"If worst comes to worst..." she muttered helplessly, "maybe I can ask the Holy Church or the Mage's Association for reimbursement later..."
Truly, it was as the saying went—even heroes fall before the power of money.
Suddenly, Jeanne stiffened. Her senses sharpened as she lifted her head, gaze locking onto a signpost ahead beneath the night sky.
Realizing something, she rose from the truck bed and spoke seriously to the kind driver who had given her a lift. "Please, sir, this place is dangerous. You should turn back immediately."
"Huh? How could I? I can't just leave a young lady alone out here in the dark."
The man's tone was filled with concern. But after Jeanne subtly used her hypnosis ability, he reluctantly dropped her off and drove away.
Once the pickup had disappeared down the road, Jeanne tightened her grip on her suitcase and turned toward the signpost not far away.
A cold, commanding voice greeted her.
"So, you are the Servant—Ruler, the arbiter of this war?"
There, perched upon the road sign, was a man clad in radiant golden armor that gleamed even beneath the dim moonlight. His long white hair swayed gently in the wind, and the golden spear in his hand shimmered with divine light.
"Prepare yourself."
Without a trace of emotion, he leveled his golden spear. Then—
BOOM!!
With a burst of flame, the golden Servant—Lancer of Red, Karna—launched himself downward like a blazing comet. The air howled as he descended, spear-first, toward Jeanne.
BOOOOOOM!!
In that instant, the ground split and crumbled under the impact. Stone and dirt erupted skyward as the earth itself seemed to shatter.
If viewed from above, one would have seen three simultaneous explosions tearing through the night: one at the mountain church in Sighișoara, one in the forests outside Trifas, and another along the highway leading to Trifas—all detonating in unison.
...
Meanwhile—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Knowing full well the nature of Spartacus' "Crying Warmonger" skill, Selene had no intention of bombarding him with energy attacks.
"Mmm! Ah! Ah~! Ooooh~! O oppressor!"
Before her unfolded a spectacle straight out of a wrestling match—Spartacus, the towering gladiator, was being pinned to the ground by even larger golden-armored Royal Guards. His joints were locked, his massive frame held immobile.
At Avicebron's request, Selene had ordered her Royal Guard Legion to capture the Berserker of Red alive. Thus, they fought unarmed—no weapons, only strength.
Indeed, Selene could have subdued him far more efficiently herself—but after seeing Spartacus' ecstatic smile and hearing the unsettling pleasure in his groans, she decided against it.
She was not Esdeath—she had no taste for that sort of thing.
The moment Spartacus saw her, his face lit up in exhilaration. His struggling grew even more violent.
"Ah~! I can feel it! You! The aura of the oppressor! One who toys with the lives of man and beast alike! Watch closely! I, Spartacus, will deliver you a fatal blow!!"
"Shut up."
"Silence!"
Crack! Thud! Smash!
Instantly, his defiance earned him a brutal beating from the golden-armored guards. Within seconds, his limbs were dislocated, his head pummeled by dozens of heavy blows. The restraints snapped under the strain, and his consciousness faded as his eyes rolled back.
"Good. Capture successful. Caster, he's yours."
Selene exhaled, gesturing for the guards to bring the unconscious Berserker forward.
"Understood."
Fully cloaked in a striped robe, Avicebron stepped forth, preparing to perform the Master Transfer Procedure on the Berserker of Red.
Selene crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "You've been watching long enough. Come out—both of you, little rats."
"Whoa there! The beautiful lady's got sharp senses, doesn't she? To think you'd notice me so easily..." came a teasing voice, brimming with mockery.
"...'Beautiful lady'?"
Selene's expression froze for a second. Then, her smile widened—pleasant, sweet, and deadly.
BOOOOOOM—!!!
"Pff—!!"