"!"
While leaping backward, Frankenstein deflected the Black Keys with her weapon, Bridal Chest. The moment the blades were knocked aside, Amakusa snapped his fingers.
"Declare."
Her reflexive circuits reacted instantly—Frankenstein spun her body and weapon 360 degrees. The Black Keys she had just deflected came flying back toward her, their hilts evidently pre-enchanted with tracking magecraft.
"Nnnngh—!!"
The attack solidified her resolve. If she couldn't discern whether it was a trap, then she would simply abandon caution. Prolonged, complex thinking was never her forte—only pure, relentless forward momentum!
"Very well. Then, Caster, I shall proceed now."
As she charged ahead, Amakusa finally conceded that Black Keys were ineffective against Servants and raised his hand. In an instant, a blade materialized amid a surge of mana. Frankenstein's eyes locked onto the longsword mid-charge—and she froze in shock, just as the Red Faction Servants had before her.
It was unbelievable. That sword, brimming with immense magical energy—it was unmistakably a Noble Phantasm!
A flash of cold light. Frankenstein twisted her head aside, blood spraying from her delicate cheek. Enraged, she roared at the retreating priest and swung her war hammer, pursuing him with furious stomps!
"Yes, yes! Please, by all means, use it! Like a storm wreathed in flames! Like a tempest laced with lightning! The eternal tale begins now!"
The fact that his self-enhanced weapon had wounded a Servant sent Shakespeare into raptures. He flailed excitedly, like an audience member in the front row of a play, marveling at Amakusa's graceful, lethal movements—one hand wielding the sword, the other flicking out Black Keys—as though he himself were in the thick of battle.
"Let the curtain rise, and let the applause ring out! This is the path of the saint, a battlefield brimming with marvels and calamity!"
Unlike the exhilarated Shakespeare, Caules, watching the battle through familiars from his room, had gone deathly pale, overwhelmed by sheer absurdity.
"This is insane! A human, going toe-to-toe with a Servant—and a Berserker, no less! Just... what the hell is he?!"
Had Caules known that Sakatsuki—a human summoned as an Assassin, stripped of his Dragon Heart and severely weakened—had still achieved such feats, his worldview might have shattered entirely.
But regardless, the play had begun, carrying shock in its wake. Amakusa, a mere human, clashed with Frankenstein. And beyond the battlefield, the golden-haired Ruler raced from the Black Faction's side, charging toward the direction revealed by her Revelation.
At the same time, from the direction of the Red Faction, an American sports car—a Chevrolet Corvette—raced forth like a beast from the realm of technology. Just as the Red Rider Achilles plunged headlong into the forest, smashing through skeletal warriors and homunculi puppets, it charged straight toward the heart of the battlefield!
"Uh, you do have the Riding skill, right?"
"Of course! There isn't a steed I cannot tame. Do not underestimate a Knight of the Round Table, Master!"
"But you're practically defying the laws of physics here!"
"Quiet! Just focus on holding on!"
The shouts of a man and a woman echoed from within the car. Though an overwhelming sense of unreliability radiated from them, the scarlet lightning-wrapped Corvette broke through all obstacles and finally stormed into the center of the battlefield.
As if sensing something, the black-cloaked maiden guarding the Black Faction's fortress opened her eyes, gripped her holy lance, and wordlessly rose to her feet.
"Has she arrived? The Red Saber?" Black Caster Avicebron spoke, and Artoria nodded, raising her hand without hesitation.
"Come forth, Dun Stallion!"
A pure white light shimmered into existence as a majestic silver-armored steed emerged from the realm of fantasy, its hooves lightly tapping the ground before affectionately nuzzling its master.
"Oh, this is—"
"My beloved horse, Lord Avicebron."
Grasping her holy lance, her form now fully unleashed, Artoria's aura grew even more regal and untouchable. Even with her cloak still draped over her, nothing could conceal her kingly presence.
"Well? How does it compare to your steed of bronze and iron?"
"..." Avicebron unconsciously adopted a respectful tone. "Naturally, your mount is peerless in its majesty."
Acknowledged, the King of Knights beneath the black cloak allowed a faint smile to grace her lips—a fleeting moment of radiance unseen by any.
"Thank you for the praise. Let us not disappoint their expectations, Dun Stallion!"
The intelligent steed reared with a spirited neigh. As silver light cascaded around them, rider and horse soared over the fortress walls, landing upon the war-torn earth below. The thunder of hooves echoed as the wind swept up the smoke of battle, billowing her cloak—and thus, the nocturnal battlefield was illuminated by the glow of the Ever-Victorious King.
"My lance is the shimmer of the stars, the radiance of the horizon. None shall stand in my way—"
Her saintly blue eyes reflected the speeding Chevrolet. Artoria—no, the Lion King astride her silver steed—wore a solemn expression, yet deep within her gaze flickered dazzling sparks of light.
"Prepare yourself—I am coming, Mordred!"
————
Within the forest, a fierce chase unfolded. Having accepted the taunt of the Black Archer, the Red Rider Achilles abandoned his prized chariot and charged alone into this banquet of slaughter.
To ensure he wouldn't miss the sound of a bowstring's release, Achilles focused all his senses on detecting the presence of his enemy. The moment his foot snapped a dry branch beneath him—in the deathly silence of the woods, the faintest rustle was all it took—the arrow was loosed.
I've already seen through this move.
In an instant, he deflected the arrow with the shaft of his spear. As one of the greatest warriors of Greek myth, Achilles had already deciphered his foe's archery patterns in their brief exchange.
"Don't think the same trick will work a second or third time, Archer!" Achilles' half-lidded eyes snapped open as he transformed into a gust of wind, charging toward the source of the arrows.
"This time, I'll be the one attacking!"
Leaping into the air, he casually deflected several arrows and used nearby tree trunks as springboards for rapid movement. Though such feats weren't impossible for Servants, his speed was extraordinary—almost akin to teleportation, as if obstacles meant nothing to him as he raced toward the archer's position.
Even a first-rate bowman could only manage a few hasty shots under such relentless pressure. The poorly aimed arrows were effortlessly batted aside, and as the rider landed lightly, a gleaming arrow shot toward his forehead. Yet this time, Achilles didn't even bother with his spear—he caught the arrow bare-handed, its speed rivaling a bullet.
"Got you."
At such close range, the arrow's velocity made it deadlier, yet its trajectory became easier to predict.
Black Archer should have been shocked. No—he had to be shocked, for he'd been completely cornered, stripped of the distance advantage crucial to any archer.
Yet despite this, the man perched on the tree branch remained unnervingly composed. Though his features were indistinct, he even seemed to smile as Achilles closed in.
So confident? But overconfidence is nothing but arrogance!
"Your head is mine!"
With a single push of his foot, the silver-armored, red-scarfed Achilles ascended to the treetop in an instant, sweeping his spear toward the archer's form.
But when starlight illuminated Black Archer's face, Achilles' expression twisted involuntarily, the strength draining from his grip on his spear.
—Wait.
—This man... he'd seen him before.
—No, he'd spoken with him, learned from him, shared meals and quarters with him...
"You... you're...!"
Almost reflexively, Achilles tried to rein in his wild expression, like a delinquent student caught by his homeroom teacher. Instinctively, he straightened his posture, attempting to appear composed—even in the midst of a life-or-death battle.
"Indeed. And that is your weakness."
Black Archer—Chiron, the wise centaur—spoke calmly before driving his foot into Achilles' solar plexus, sending him flying. The warrior crashed to the ground, winded by the powerful blow, while the archer landed gracefully, already nocking and loosing arrows with fluid precision.
"...!!"
The moment Achilles realized the arrows were aimed at his weak point, every nerve in his body tensed. He twisted his body to its limits, barely managing to alter the arrows' paths.
—Dodged.
The arrows missed their mark, instead embedding themselves in his side. Though excruciating pain shot through him, Achilles paid it no mind. The true problem was the man now standing over him.
All the mysteries surrounding the Black Archer had been unraveled—why he could wound himself, why he possessed such masterful archery skills—after all, he was the teacher of countless Greek heroes, including himself.
Achilles pulled the arrow embedded in his side and tossed it aside before rising to his feet. Chiron remained motionless, bow in hand, as if waiting for his student to speak.
One stood solemnly upright, the other half-kneeling on the ground. Across the turning of ages, their reunion mirrored the first time they had forged their master-disciple bond.
"—Why... you..."
His voice, sharp as a spear's tip, fractured. In its place emerged a tone of reverence and disbelief toward his revered teacher.
"Isn't it obvious? In this Holy Grail War, I have manifested as the Black faction's Archer. And you, as the Red faction's Rider. Each of us has our own wishes, our own attachments. That is why we stand here now—both you and I."
There was no gentle smile. Standing on both legs, his face unchanged from memory, his teacher faced Achilles and delivered a cold, factual declaration.
"In other words, we are enemies now, Achilles."
————
Someone was chasing them.
The steel beast roared forward, its headlights cutting through the ink-black darkness ahead. Yet even the H4 high beams couldn't overshadow the silver glow closing in from behind.
"Master, something's coming after us!"
"I see it. Must be a Black faction Servant. Could it be their Rider?"
"Tch, who cares who it is!"
As she spoke, Mordred felt her blood ignite. An inexplicable surge of excitement made her grip the steering wheel tighter and slam the accelerator to the floor.
"If they want a race, let them try!"
Mana flooded recklessly into the vehicle, making countless components groan in protest. The price of drastically shortening the car's lifespan was rewarded with increasingly savage speed.
The intense G-force pinned them back. Windows shattered instantly, and the howling wind invaded the cabin, sending unsecured objects flying. A car manual flapped wildly before being torn apart by the airflow, its white pages scattering into the night.
Gulp! Kairi Sisigou swallowed a body-enhancing drug. As the effects spread, the buzzing in his skull finally quieted, though his limbs remained locked in the passenger seat, immobile.
"Hey, don't you think this is enough? You're a Saber, not a Rider. Why not just get out and fight them?"
"Are you joking, Master? First and foremost, I'm a Knight of the Round Table—only then am I a Saber in this Holy Grail War! Admitting my steed is inferior and letting them catch us? That's an insult to any knight!"
Mordred's voice was nearly a shout. Squinting through his sunglasses, Kairi caught sight of her wildly grinning lips and those blazing, lion-like eyes burning with fighting spirit.
She could never ignore a challenge—moreover, struggle was this knight's very destiny.
He understood that once Mordred displayed such an attitude, it meant no one could stop her will; he also understood that such a girl was truly captivating, so much so that it reminded him of someone from the past, making him lose the desire to hinder her.
Thus, amidst the howling winds and the roar of the engine, Lord El-Melloi II also shouted loudly, channeling all his magical energy to his Servant.
"If that's the case, then go fight and bring me victory, Saber!"
"Ho! As expected of my Master!"
Feeling her Master's support, Mordred's spirit grew even more exhilarated. Her body unconsciously manifested her battle armor, and the dragon's blood surged through her veins. Through the propulsion of Mana Burst, she infused the full power of the dragon into her steed!
With a "Bang!" the already speeding vehicle shot forward like a bullet fired from a gun. The thunderous bass sound instantly escalated to a piercing high pitch, as if flames and lightning were burning across the car's body. The dirt staining the vehicle was swept away by the burst of magical energy, and red-and-white patterns covered the Chevrolet's frame. The phantom particles constructed its skeleton, transforming this steel beast into something even more ferocious and savage.
The roar of the engine tore through the night sky, echoing to the heavens. The intense acceleration, unlike anything before, turned the people inside the car and the vehicle itself into a bullet. The surrounding nightscape streaked past like meteors, leaving the silver light far behind.
Yet Mordred's intuition told her this battle was far from over. This unspoken contest, reserved only for knights, had just begun.
"You're listening, aren't you, unknown enemy Servant! If you want to defeat me, the Knight of Treachery, Mordred, then catch up to me!"
Hearing the distant taunt, the silver steed let out a high-pitched neigh, its body tensing as it prepared to unleash its full speed in pursuit. But then, a soothing touch came upon its head—its master, the Lion King, was stroking its mane.
"It's alright, Dun Stallion. I believe in you, and in our strength."
Watching the sports car, now a crimson bolt of lightning piercing through the battlefield like a sword, Artoria closed her eyes and chanted the magecraft Merlin had taught her in the beautiful language of the fairies.
"O wind."
After all, Dun Stallion was a living creature and couldn't be treated as roughly as a car. Yet even so, she still had a means to counter Mana Burst—the Wind King's Barrier, which Merlin had enhanced to Rank B before her departure!
A wild gale rushed forth, stirring the dormant air into a frenzy, gathering at a single point in the sky.
Wind is the flow of air—gentle breezes from afar, barely noticeable, gradually accelerating like a flowing stream, until finally transforming into a raging torrent, as if the great roc of the clouds were soaring through the heavens, breaking through the layers and churning the waves.
Thus, under the astonished gazes of countless onlookers, a typhoon began to take shape at the center of the battlefield, spanning thousands of meters. Cloaked in black robes, wielding the anchor of storms and the spear of the end, the Lion King rode her beloved steed across the land of Romania. The tempest, like an army of thousands, surged behind her, lifting the monarch as she advanced amidst the wind's cries and roars!
As the British legend foretold, on the eve of catastrophe, the eternal king would return from Avalon to save all living beings.
But before embracing her noble duty, she chased after that crimson lightning shadow, as if striving to reclaim all the companionship owed from a thousand years ago, racing forward!
"Gallop forth, my radiance lies ahead!"
And just as the Lion King had proclaimed, the red-and-white sports car drew closer and closer to her—
With the sound of wind splitting and metal tearing, the typhoon conjured by the Wind King's barrier finally reached the tail of the Chevrolet!