As if in response, arrows came flying at him once more. Yet for Rider, intercepting projectiles was child's play as long as his vision remained unobstructed. With merely a raise of his spear, he effortlessly deflected two rapid consecutive shots.
"Where are you? Black Archer!"
"—Much closer than you'd imagine."
The moment he turned, Black Archer—concealed behind a golem while cleverly hiding everything except his bow and arrows—released another shot. This one, infused with magical energy, flew far faster than the previous volleys!
"Tch...?"
The archery was on par with his elder sister's mastery. Whenever Achilles blocked, Black Archer would exploit his blind spots, reposition, and launch another attack.
"Damn it...!" Though easily deflectable, the enemy archer seemed to take perverse pleasure in this relentless assault, refusing to change tactics.
He's baiting me.
Achilles easily deciphered the battlefield's language. The golem serving as cover was gradually retreating from the center of the fray, moving toward the forest lining the roadside.
For an archer, forests were ideal terrain—plenty of shadows to hide in while raining arrows upon foes. Conversely, for Achilles, fighting in such an environment would be disastrous, as his chariot—his greatest asset—would be rendered useless.
But that limitation only applied to ordinary Riders. For the Red Rider, Achilles, such logic held no weight.
Admittedly, if his goal were simply to slaughter enemies and secure victory, he shouldn't take the archer's bait. Slicing through the golem restraining his steeds and continuing to crush the enemy's frontline would be the rational choice.
Yet this logical approach had one flaw: he was a hero. If he chose to flee now, could he still call himself a true hero?
"Don't underestimate me!"
Without hesitation, he abandoned his chariot. With a single leap, his unparalleled agility carried him past the golem's blockade, streaking toward the forest like an emerald comet.
"By the names of my father, my mother, and my comrades—how could I ever choose to run?!"
It wasn't the divine steeds or the chariot gifted by the sea god that made this Rider formidable. The man named "Achilles" was, himself, a peerless hero!
With Sakatsuki's "Nine-Headed Hydra Slayer" feat setting the standard, how could Achilles not claim the head of an enemy Servant to prove his own unrivaled valor?
———
While Achilles abandoned the frontlines to duel his former mentor, Sakatsuki—who had landed alongside him—found himself obstructed by another enemy Servant.
"You?"
The black-cloaked Assassin smirked at the pink-haired, handsome paladin before him. With a clap of his fists, the resulting gust sent Astolfo's robes billowing, forcing the homunculus behind him to stagger back.
Watching Astolfo standing pigeon-toed, clutching his golden lance with both hands, his face filled with panic, and the vast Black Faction army behind him, Sakatsuki couldn't help but darken his expression, fury building within him.
Is this the Black Faction's attitude? Pushing a second-rate Servant onto me, hoping my previous interactions with him would make me hold back?
You dare... treat me with such disrespect, Yggdmillennia?!
Sakatsuki's pride as a warrior ignited an unprecedented rage within him.
"Where is Vlad III? Where is Siegfried? Where is the Black Faction's Assassin?!"
His rainbow-blue eyes pierced the enemy ranks like blades as he coldly demanded, charging into the fray without hesitation, fists swinging in fury:
"You think you're worthy of facing me?!"
A sonic boom erupted within the army, as if an invisible shell had detonated at its core. Amid the deafening thunderous roar, homunculus blood mixed with golem fragments soared into the sky. Centered around the black-robed young man, a hundred-meter radius was crushed inward like clay under his savage fists, warping beyond recognition.
As an Assassin-class Servant, Sakatsuki possessed not only his lethally dangerous "Mystic Eyes of Death Perception" and ever-changing magecraft but also the Chinese martial art Bajiquan, integrated into his combat style—the sharpest fangs of this beast.
"My Bajiquan needs no second strike!"
Without mercy or negotiation, Sakatsuki advanced step by step toward the scrambling Astolfo.
"Let me crush your skull before I hunt my next prey!"
"Eek—! This is bad, really bad!" Astolfo whimpered under Sakatsuki's palpable killing intent, feeling a blood-red "DANGER" looming over his head. "Why did Caster have to assign me to deal with him?!"
There was no time for complaints—the black-robed assassin closed the distance, his fists wreathed in raging demonic flames.
"Die!"
BOOM!
Dust surged like a tidal wave, rising hundreds of meters high. Amid an explosion rivaling a bomb blast, white-clad soldiers and black golems alike were torn apart. Only the pink-haired knight fled in panic, screaming undignifiedly.
"I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die—! Caster, help meee—!!"
————
From afar, the thunderous roar reached the Caster coordinating the rear. He tilted his head slightly, observing the carnage with puzzlement.
"Rider... why hasn't he unleashed his Noble Phantasm?"
The reason he had assigned Astolfo to face Sakatsuki was precisely because of one of his Noble Phantasms—the symbol of his Rider class: Hippogriff.
This was the hippogriff Astolfo had obtained during his adventures—a creature with the upper body of a griffin and the lower body of a horse. Though inferior to the divine beasts of the Age of Gods, its charge delivered crushing force equivalent to an A-rank physical attack, capable of flying at 400 kilometers per hour.
Based on current intelligence analysis, this Assassin does not possess the ability to remain airborne for extended periods. Therefore, Astolfo, who holds air superiority, can gain spatial advantage in combat. Moreover, after releasing Hippogriff's True Name, this phantom beast gains the hidden ability of "Dimensional Leap," capable of evading all attacks.
It could be said that among the Black Faction, the most skilled in evasion and containment is the paladin Astolfo.
So far, the Red Faction has deployed three Servants: Rider, Assassin, and Lancer. In response, the Black Faction's Archer Chiron has engaged Rider Achilles, while Saber Siegfried has been dispatched to battle Karna once more—their previous encounter having ended in a stalemate. Meanwhile, Black Lancer Vlad III's Noble Phantasm has been proven ineffective against Sakatsuki, disqualifying him from direct confrontation.
Black Assassin Artoria is conserving her strength for the imminent arrival of Red Saber Mordred. Caster Avicebron is coordinating the battlefield, controlling the timing of Red Berserker Spartacus's release. Black Berserker Frankenstein must compensate for the combat disparity caused by Atalanta's report on the frontlines. Thus, the only remaining deployable force is Rider Astolfo.
However, the current situation is far from optimistic. With Astolfo hesitating to summon Hippogriff and Sakatsuki showing no mercy, the battle is overwhelmingly one-sided.
"Should we send the golems to assist... No, the golems can't withstand the leader's punches." Avicebron glanced at Artoria, but the latter shook her head slightly, indicating she wouldn't intervene.
Sakatsuki had already declared he wouldn't hold back, and when he's consumed by bloodlust, even she prefers not to provoke him—especially since she's still waiting for Mordred to appear.
"...No choice then." Having been instructed by Reika to remain loyal to the Black Faction until exposed, Avicebron played his final card. "Release Red Berserker. Even a brief delay will have to suffice."
Thus, the muscular giant carried onto the battlefield by several golems—Red Berserker Spartacus—opened his crazed yet pure eyes from within his shackles.
"Berserker, I am your Master. Understand?"
"Ah, I know. It seems I cannot exist without your power. A truly unforgivable master-servant relationship."
"...Then, will you kill me?"
"But I cannot kill you. Because I must remain in this world as long as possible to fulfill my mission. Because I must overthrow the oppressors and grasp that sliver of hope within the abyss of despair. In the end, I must slaughter all the greedy power-seekers gathered for the Holy Grail."
"I see. But first, you must eliminate our enemies. Go forth, Berserker. Your opponents are the invaders, the lapdogs of power, the brute who strikes a noble knight. That should be motivation enough, no?"
With a snap of fingers, the gladiator's seals finally began to crumble. As if impatient, Spartacus struggled desperately, ultimately tearing free from the golem's restraints.
The moment he gained freedom, he turned to Avicebron with a serene smile, calm as the tranquil sea. Yet the puppet maker gave no reaction—his mask concealed any trace of fear, if there was any at all.
"...Hmm."
Spartacus seemed to lose interest in the magi, turning his face toward the battlefield instead. Breathing deeply with apparent delight, he strode forward, gripping a blade too large to be called a short sword.
Watching his retreating figure, Avicebron sighed helplessly. If he had carelessly adopted a condescending attitude, the berserker might have immediately revoked his earlier words and slain him on the spot.
Meanwhile, Sakatsuki—having cleared away the lesser foes, flexing his slightly heated fists as he leisurely approached Astolfo—found his path blocked by a former ally… no, a Servant destined to become his enemy.
A demon of deathly blue-white skin, his body a mass of muscle, sworn to bring chaos to the battlefield and reduce all to nothingness.
"Ohh, come! Let my love crush the oppressors!"
————
The battlefield was like a gamble—no one knew which way the scales would tip next. Yet the two desperate gamblers had no choice but to keep raising their stakes until one side lost everything, stripped bare.
Every skirmish meant the scales of victory were erected, teetering on the delicate balance between life and death. In the unbearable tension, all the Red and Black factions could do was watch the scales intently, scrambling to raise their bets before they tipped in the enemy's favor.
Just as in Sakatsuki's battlefield, only the combined efforts of Black Rider Astolfo and Red Berserker Spartacus could barely suppress the opposing Assassin, preventing him from claiming an easy victory.
But this was not the only gamble unfolding. As both factions continued to deploy their Servants, the vanguard of dragon-tooth warriors, homunculi, and golems was swiftly exhausted. In their place surged battle auras and spiritual energy, sword clashes and gunfire echoing across the sky, lingering over forests and plains alike.
Beyond the battlefield of Achilles and Siegfried, the Red faction's strongest warrior—Lancer Karna—had also found his target.
White hair like frost, a demonic sword like twilight, the dragon-slaying hero with the crest of Fafnir spreading across his chest stood at the battlefield's edge, silently awaiting his promised foe.
A swordsman as solemn as a statue, standing emotionless amidst scattered corpses and bone fragments, untouched by blood—even as he bore the unseen curse of the Rhine.
"You've come?" Only before the golden-armored lancer did Siegfried lift his gaze, ripples stirring in his eyes.
"Yes, I have." Karna nodded with equal solemnity, raising his unbreakable spear. "Let us continue our battle."
Killing intent mingled with mirth, battle aura clashing with demonic energy in an instant, unleashing an invisible storm. In the near-frozen space, silver and gold blurs collided, wreathed in overwhelming magical power.
The demonic sword Balmung slashed toward the Sun Prince's neck, while the divine spear Vasavi Shakti unhesitatingly pierced toward the Prince of the Netherlands' heart.
The clash was crisp—not just between the crossing spear and sword, but also between their resilient and unyielding souls resonating in combat, reveling in the joy of battle. As true ether scattered and fiery mana was unleashed, the twilight sky ignited with scorching flames. The mere leakage of their auras split the night asunder, washing away the black pigment from the curtain of darkness, replacing it with a brilliant and exhilarating spectacle saturated in blazing orange-red!
Top-tier Servants clashed here!
Not far from where Siegfried and Karna fiercely battled, the thick hue of blood reclaimed the night once more. Darkened stakes concealed themselves within the darkness, densely packed, pursuing the agile huntress darting freely through the forest.
Two cold gleams, like polar stars, arrived in an instant. Yet the stakes, like the most loyal guards, appeared beside their "king," swiftly intercepting the attacks.
"Tch."
Her lion-like ears twitched, capturing the sound of breaking wind from all directions. Atalanta abruptly accelerated, evading the stakes' piercing assault with the grace of a woodland spirit.
Though she appeared composed, she knew she was gradually being cornered—Black Faction's Lancer, Vlad III, was relentlessly constricting her space to maneuver with his countless stakes.
Even with her prideful speed and the experience of a wilderness huntress, a lion trapped in a cage was nothing more than a beast at the mercy of its captor.
She had to find a breakthrough.
Suppressing her inner agitation, Atalanta drew upon her bow, shaping the very air into arrows and firing them toward Vlad III. Yet even these formless, intangible attacks were nullified by the swarming stakes.
The feeling of falling from hunter to prey left "Tama Cat" deeply unsettled.
"Have you run out of tricks, Red Faction's Archer?"
Though Sakatsuki had repeatedly humiliated him, Vlad III remained the composed and dignified voivode before other Servants—the undisputed King of the Night.
"Well? Will you surrender to me?"
"Spare me this drivel that's neither jest nor sincerity, Black Lancer. Since we both harbor wishes entrusted to the Holy Grail, surrender is absolutely impossible. And—"
Atalanta's words were cut short as Vlad III lost patience. Raising his right hand, the ground around them surged with murderous intent. Iron stakes erupted one after another like bamboo shoots after rain, eyeing the huntress' every move. Simultaneously, something far more terrifying seemed to stir—her hunter's instincts screamed unease.
Recalling how Sakatsuki had shielded her from an ambush only to immediately wound himself without hesitation, Atalanta finally cast aside hesitation. Nocking two new arrows onto her bowstring, she fired them toward the starry sky:
"To the twin gods... Phoebus Catastrophe!"
Thus, the rain of falling stars descended once more. Yet the Voivode of Wallachia showed no fear, meeting the countless arrows head-on with stakes of his own. But Atalanta had already achieved her goal—while Vlad III was preoccupied with her Noble Phantasm, she unleashed her peerless speed once more, swiftly breaking free from his encirclement.
"Cunning lioness, if not for Sakatsuki cutting down too many of the stakes..." Vlad III's expression darkened as he watched the fleeing huntress, immediately giving chase without hesitation.
"Yet even so, how could my territory be a place you may enter and leave as you please!"