"Ahahahahaha—!"
Before her stood a middle-aged man dressed in an elaborate green Renaissance outfit, laughing wildly as though the world itself were his stage.
Selene's expression twitched slightly. That self-absorbed posture... yes, this Caster of Red—Shakespeare—was truly insufferable.
William Shakespeare, the greatest playwright in the history of the British Isles—and one of the most renowned authors in Western literature.
A man who believed that story was supreme—who would lie, deceive, or distort truth itself if it meant creating a better tale. He embodied every quirk of a literary genius: his perspective, his words, and his behavior all departed from the bounds of normality.
A Servant who despised battle, he preferred to act as a spectator to the unfolding drama. Ever curious about the hearts of others, he even attempted to probe Selene's emotions—an act that tested her patience greatly.
But then again, perhaps genius and madness truly were separated by only the thinnest of lines. In that light, Shakespeare's eccentricity seemed... almost unsurprising.
"Your Majesty, please behold my next grand performance—"
Before he could finish, Shakespeare's body twisted grotesquely, limbs folding inward as his bones cracked audibly.
"Cough... Ah, but I shall return once more!"
Simulation: Repulsion.
You may be a genius—but I'm not in the mood to listen!
Not wanting to hear another word from the incessantly chattering playwright, Selene pressed a hand to her temple and clenched the other into a fist.
Crack—splatter!
Under Selene's A+-rank Mana Burst, Shakespeare's meager E-rank endurance offered no resistance whatsoever.
With a sickening pop, flesh burst apart—muscle and bone crushed into a grotesque bloom of scarlet before collapsing at Selene's feet.
Moments later, his mangled remains dissolved into a swirl of blue mana particles that slowly faded before her eyes.
But—
"Ahaha—! I have returned, most noble Rider of Black, Your Divine Majesty!"
From the dissipating azure light, Shakespeare's figure reformed—completely unharmed.
"This 'Self-Preservation' skill really does make you harder to kill than a cockroach," Selene muttered, shaking her head. She didn't even bother to attack again.
That had been his fourth 'resurrection.'
The first time Shakespeare appeared, Selene hadn't even let him finish speaking—her body reacted on instinct, unleashing a mana blast before she realized it.
But each time she destroyed him, he simply reconstituted himself, his skill Self-Preservation rendering death meaningless. Like an unshakable parasite, he clung to existence.
Even tearing out his Spirit Core changed nothing—he regenerated again, as long as his Master maintained the mana flow. Though he lacked any offensive magic, tools, or workshop, Shakespeare's A-rank Enchant skill allowed him to enhance his Master and their possessions, making him invaluable support.
Still, Caster of Red—Shakespeare—was without question the most resilient Servant in the entire Romanian Grail War—among both Red and Black alike.
"Cockroach? You refer to me? Ahh—such crude and wounding language! I am heartbroken, my Divine Majesty! Struck to the very core of my soul! Tremble before my righteous indignation!"
Grasping at his chest with theatrical anguish, Shakespeare lamented as though she had mortally insulted him.
"Your anger? That's the funniest joke I've heard all day," Selene said flatly, barely suppressing a laugh.
And truly—aside from some minor support skills, what else was he good for? A glorified historian, perhaps.
Yet even as her eyes gleamed with amused contempt, Shakespeare made no move to defend himself. Instead, his face took on an expression of profound mystery, as if savoring the divine attention of the goddess who stood before him.
Then, Shakespeare spread his arms wide, his grin brimming with pride. "Your Majesty, prepare yourself—witness the miracle of my art!"
He pressed a hand to his chest, then raised both arms dramatically. From nowhere, a book appeared in his grasp. "Now, it's the opening time!"
He declared loudly, as if standing center stage in the grand theater of London.
"Behold, O arrogant goddess—my Noble Phantasm—"
"The curtain rises upon thunderous applause—First Folio!"
"..."
"Eh?"
Shakespeare froze mid-pose, arms still outstretched. Several seconds passed before he blinked, staring at his own hands in disbelief.
Selene, meanwhile, looked on with an amused, almost pitying expression—her eyes saying, Go ahead, continue your performance, little clown. Even Shakespeare's thick skin couldn't mask his embarrassment.
"W–Why won't my Noble Phantasm activate?!" he cried.
"Fool. Because this is my domain!" Selene snapped, her patience finally exhausted.
Indeed, while Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm caused no physical damage, it could strike directly at the heart—forcing its victims to confront their deepest regrets and traumas. Selene, of course, had long since taken precautions. Even if she was confident in her willpower, she had no intention of allowing her mood to be spoiled by such nonsense.
After all, the stronger one's pride in body and self, the deeper they could be dragged into that illusion. And in that sense... the Noble Phantasm was made for her.
Better to eliminate the source entirely.
Her silver-white gauntleted fingers moved in a precise rhythm, tracing a sigil in the air. Instantly, Shakespeare felt an indescribable surge of energy—raw Honkai power—rising from beneath the ground.
A flood of violet-red light engulfed his vision.
"Rider of Black! Even if you kill me again, I shall always return!" he proclaimed proudly as the tangible tendrils of mana coiled around him, dragging his body downward into the glowing sea.
"Who said anything about killing you?" Selene replied coolly. "Your wish was to witness heroes clash in glorious, savage battle, was it not? Then I shall deny you that pleasure. I will imprison you until this Holy Grail War ends..."
She shook her head with mock regret. "What a pity... Another potential epic of human history, silenced by my hand. I almost feel guilty."
As she said this, she cast Shakespeare a deliberately casual glance, twisting the knife.
Truly—a strike to the heart.
"No—Rider of Black! How could you?! To imprison a man's creativity is to strangle art itself! You are stifling the very progress of literature!" For once, Shakespeare's theatrics gave way to genuine panic.
Even death or his Master's defeat wouldn't have fazed him. Even if the Red Faction lost the war entirely, he would have laughed it off. But this—this was different.
To have his dream of witnessing the grandest spectacle of war ripped away from him... it was unbearable.
"The masterpiece of an age—lost! I refuse! I will not accept this—!"
"Too late."
Selene flicked her wrist, and the violet tendrils wrapped around his head, silencing his cries. Shakespeare's body sank beneath the luminous surface, disappearing completely into the Honkai sea.
Turning away, Selene's crimson diamond-shaped pupils gleamed as she gazed toward Trifas.
"Lancer of Red—Karna... truly the pinnacle of the Romanian Grail War. A single Servant holding Vlad the Impaler and his allies at bay."
Midnight had come. It was time to end this.
Vrrrm—!
As she willed it, the violet-red energy around her roared to life, compressing into explosive rings of force. Shockwaves rippled through the air, birthing violent gusts that tore across the night.
Then—BOOM!
Breaking through the sound barrier, Selene became a streak of violet light, soaring into the heavens. Like a comet ripping through the atmosphere, she left behind a massive conical vapor trail, hurtling toward the airborne fortress hovering above the Fortress of Millennia.
...
At this moment, on the plains outside the Fortress of Millennia—
The clash of tremendous forces thundered across the battlefield. The dull thuds of wooden stakes piercing the earth, the crackling hiss of flames, the sharp whistle of arrows cutting through the air—all melded into a symphony of chaos.
A song of glory and lamentation, celebrating the savagery of humanity's greatest heroes locked in mortal combat.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Lancer of Black—Vlad III—gripped his horse's reins tightly in one hand, his silver lance flashing as he deflected the hail of arrows with effortless precision. Each impact rang out like an anti-materiel cannon's detonation. The sheer pressure of the duel seemed enough to crush his steed beneath him—but this was no ordinary horse.
Forged of bronze and iron by Caster of Black—Avicebron—through exquisite golemcraft, the armored steed was a masterpiece built specifically for the Impaler Prince himself.
"Wahahaha! Oppressor—die!"
Shing!
Under siege by Saber of Black—Siegfried, Archer of Black—Chiron, Berserker of Black—Frankenstein, and even the resurrected former Berserker of Red—Spartacus, Lancer of Red—Karna—still stood his ground. His composure was unshaken, his golden spear weaving circles of firelight as he met each opponent head-on.
Vlad knew instantly—this man was the Red Faction's final trump card.
"Berserker, fall back and recover!"
"Archer, cease fire on the Red Lancer—"
Clang! Using a rising stake as a shield against a volley of arrows from the airborne fortress, Vlad continued, "Archer, the Red Archer—Atalanta—is yours."
"Graaah!"
Frankenstein growled in frustration. Though eager to help her allies, she simply couldn't damage Lancer of Red. Instead, she had been repeatedly wounded by his strikes—had Siegfried not intervened in time, she might already have fallen.
Letting out a resentful roar, she turned and retreated toward the fortress to recover.
Chiron, nodding at Vlad's command, shifted his focus to the airborne garden above, where Atalanta's arrows rained down like a storm of meteors.
With those adjustments made, Vlad could finally fight freely. With Chiron and Frankenstein withdrawn, he no longer had to hold back his Noble Phantasm for fear of friendly fire.
Siegfried's Armor of Fafnir would shield him from minor collateral damage. As for Spartacus... well, losing him was of little concern.
Vlad's eyes gleamed crimson.
"Come, sinner who dares trespass upon my homeland!" he roared. "It is time for your execution!"
"Let mercy and wrath be forged into burning stakes that pierce your flesh! Behold the endless forest of impalement—despair, and drown your screams in your own blood!"
"Kazıklı Bey!"
Schlkt! Schlkt!
As Vlad invoked his Noble Phantasm, countless black stakes erupted from the ground, surging toward Lancer of Red—Karna.
Yet, amidst the carnage, none of the combatants wavered. Spartacus threw his head back and laughed maniacally even as the stakes impaled him. Siegfried, cloaked in his draconic blood armor, ignored the spears that grazed his body and swung his sword down in a powerful cleave toward Karna.
Clang—CRACK!
Karna's Mana Burst (Flames) flared to its limit, turning the battlefield into a blazing inferno. His movements blurred, his speed transcending comprehension. With graceful precision, he sidestepped Siegfried's sword and shattered every stake that came near with a sweep of his golden spear.
But soon, he realized the truth.
"Destroying them is meaningless...?"
The stakes themselves were not Vlad's true weapon. It was the concept of impalement infused into each one that made them lethal.
"So that's how it is... Then I'll destroy everything at once!"
Vrrrm—!
The night sky ignited. Karna's body blazed like a miniature sun, radiating waves of searing light and heat that bathed the entire battlefield in gold.
This time, with Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's full authorization to unleash his power—everything short of his divine-slaying spear—Karna was free to fight without restraint. The airborne fortress of Semiramis continuously supplied him with mana, and under those conditions, there was no longer any reason to hold back.
He knew the Red Faction was at a disadvantage. In this situation, hesitation was death.
The fiery aura surrounding him expanded rapidly, consuming everything within hundreds of meters in the blink of an eye. Even Siegfried, armored in dragon's blood, was forced to retreat from the overwhelming heat and pressure.
The countless stakes of execution burned away one after another. When the flames finally subsided, a sharp gust cut through the smoke—and there stood Karna once more, unscathed, golden armor gleaming.
Crackle... crunch...
His boots sank into the fractured ground. Lancer of Red narrowed his eyes, gripping the golden spear tightly, his body low and ready to strike.
"Lancer of Black," Karna called out solemnly, "let us finish the battle we began at the Church on the Hill."
"Then so be it! For the crime of invading my homeland, you shall be executed!" Vlad's voice thundered across the field. Raising his silver lance, his aura flared once more, blood-red mana surging violently.
"Excellent."
Karna lifted his head, his expression unwavering. Across from him stood the defender of Romania—Vlad III, Lancer of Black.
Both men had resolved to stake their lives on this duel.
Through magical communication, Amakusa had informed Karna that Rider of Black had captured their ally, Caster of Red—Shakespeare—and was now rapidly approaching the battlefield.
Karna had no time to waste.
BOOM!
His spear thrust forward. The very air screamed as it was torn apart by friction, a double explosion of flame and sound erupting in his wake. In an instant, Karna broke the sound barrier, his weapon streaking toward the oncoming Vlad like a burning comet.
CRASH!
The clash was immediate—life and death interwoven in a storm of power. Both men fought with absolute conviction, neither yielding even an inch.
Scarlet and gold light collided, merging into a vortex of crimson brilliance. The energy between them condensed into a massive dark-red ring, the air vibrating violently.
Crack—crack—crack!
The ground shattered, fissures racing outward before the earth itself caved in. The two warriors crossed paths in a blur of motion, then clashed again almost instantly.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
After several exchanges, the battlefield was unrecognizable—scorched earth, craters, and upturned soil stretching in every direction, as if bombarded by artillery.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Sparks showered as Vlad parried another strike, the impact forcing his golem steed's legs deep into the ground. The creature groaned beneath the strain, its metallic frame cracking.
Even Caster's craftsmanship could not withstand such divine ferocity.
Vlad made a split-second decision—he abandoned his mount.
"Hmm! Giving up the steed?"
The moment he leapt clear, Karna's spear descended from above, cleaving the armored horse cleanly in half. Dirt and fire exploded outward, gouging a crater more than a meter wide.
Before Karna could recover, Vlad counterattacked, sweeping his silver lance in a brutal arc. Karna reacted just in time, raising his spear's shaft to block.
BAM!
The blow sent Karna flying backward, his spear carving a deep furrow through the soil as he slid.
Landing in a crouch, he pivoted sharply—and instead of pressing the assault, he leapt backward into the air.
"It's time..."
Having destroyed Vlad's steed, Karna prepared to end it. The crimson flames around him roared to life as he channeled every ounce of his mana into the golden spear.
The air itself trembled. The sheer radiance and heat blazing from his weapon made the night sky glow.
"At least an A+ Noble Phantasm..." Vlad muttered under his breath, feeling an unfamiliar chill—the presence of death—creeping up his spine.
"Brahmastra Kundala!"
Vwooooom—SHRIEK!