Golden brilliance illuminated the night, becoming yet another spectacular sight.
The darkness was torn apart as countless dazzling arcs of electricity filled every inch of the air. With a deafening crack, towering bolts of lightning erupted.
It forced falling meteors to recoil, made the turbid currents of the world reverse—within the burning fury of thunder, only those permitted could enter!
Stakes were destroyed in massive swathes. Vlad III raised his eyes, glaring fixedly at the young man standing in the forest with arms outstretched, his throat emitting a hoarse growl:
"Saka...tsuki!!!"
The searing glow of surging lightning reappeared. With the aid of the Electric Orb, the young man felt a long-lost exhilaration. The ambient mana in the atmosphere was completely converted into thunder, and there was even enough energy left to undergo Sakatsuki's forging—imbuing the formless mana with an iron-like substance. When it clashed with the lightning, it erupted into fine iron sand.
Beneath the dark clouds, countless bees seemed to buzz, but it was not the sound of living creatures. Instead, it was the destructive power unleashed by the high-frequency vibrations of iron sand under electromagnetic control!
That overwhelming black iron sand was no different from an ultra-high-speed electric chainsaw!
Creak, creak.
As if infested by insects, the sturdy stakes visibly melted away under the iron sand's assault. Vlad III had no choice but to summon more stakes to protect himself, his expression darkening.
"This... is the power of a Berserker..."
As a leader, how could he not recognize the aura of this power?
It was the very ability wielded by the Berserker who had mastered the science of electromagnetism!
Yet now, this power no longer belonged to the Black Faction—instead, it had fallen into the hands of the Red Faction's Assassin, who now bared its sharp fangs at them!
"Aaaaaah! Hippogriff—!"
Howls and cries rang out together. Amid the storm of iron sand, a Rider wobbled in the sky, delicate cheeks marred by countless scratches. Even the majestic Hippogriff beneath them had lost its former glory, its feathers scattered and body wracked with pain from the iron sand's assault.
Stakes swiftly gathered, encasing Astolfo and the Hippogriff like a cage—yet they also firmly withstood the iron sand's frenzied onslaught, safely returning them to the ground.
"Use your book and brain, Rider. Can you not even endure such a minor attack?"
Vlad III haughtily lowered his hand—but in that instant, his hair stood on end.
"You still have the energy to spare for saving others, Your Excellency the Voivode?"
The young man's cold laughter came from afar. With his words, the sea of iron sand was stirred by an invisible pillar, churning into turbulent waves. As the "clouds" swirled like raging tides, a massive vortex emerged.
Then, amidst the bursting lightning, countless dazzling and blinding bolts erupted from within. They converged, condensing into a sharp and merciless edge—before plunging toward the earth below!
"Hmph?!"
Faced with such a devastating ultimate move, Vlad III's heartbeat nearly stopped in an instant. Desperately waving his hand, black stakes layered upon each other like scales, forming a shield before him—only to be pierced through by the lightning spear layer after layer, closing in on his head until he was pinned upon the chaotic battlefield!
How is this possible? How could a Berserker's power reach such a level?!
This question arose not only in the mind of the Grand Duke, who had barely dodged but still had his arm impaled, nor solely in Astolfo, who had withdrawn his Hippogriff with a cut across his cheek, but also in the hearts of the Black Faction's Masters and countless others observing the battlefield.
Frankenstein, a modern-era Heroic Spirit, was an artificial human created through science supplemented by a touch of miracle—her foundation naturally paled in comparison to the great heroes of the Age of Gods.
Even the renowned Vlad III could barely keep up with Karna's pace only under the advantage of his homeland's fame, let alone the tragic Frankenstein.
Precisely because she couldn't withstand the pressure of Heroic Spirit combat, the Black Faction unanimously decided to deploy her on a non-Heroic Spirit battlefield to deplete the enemy's forces.
But now—the overwhelming lightning, the storm akin to a plague of locusts, had firmly trapped two of the Black Faction's Servants!
No one cared anymore how Sakatsuki had obtained Frankenstein's power. What they truly wondered was how he had pushed that girl's abilities to such an extraordinary, rule-breaking extent!
As if he had become the master of heaven and earth, the lightning danced at his command.
Meticulously extracting every strand of power, gathering it around him, merging and circulating the currents until it formed an output that unified all matter, all magical energy, and all force!
Even surpassing that...
"Of course, it's because knowledge is power."
Golden sparks outlined the smiling profile of the young man as he slowly raised his arm toward the immobilized Vlad III.
Projection activated, forged in metallic light.
A silver coin appeared at the tip of his thumb, poised over his clenched fist.
"Have you heard of the Railgun?"
Exhaling the sentiment of a traveler from another world, Sakatsuki's eyes flickered with fine arcs of electricity. In his vision, an electromagnetic field took shape, with the distant Servant as its endpoint.
Variables calculated, trajectory adjusted, target locked.
Now, the might of ten thousand bolts of lightning converged upon his single arm!
Ting.
The coin flipped into the air, golden electricity tethering it to his lightning-wreathed arm, guiding it into the destined firing position.
Vlad III's pupils constricted—he sensed the lethal threat almost instantly.
How could this be? The Voivode of Wallachia could hardly believe it.
That seemingly ordinary coin, circulating in every household, could actually make him feel as though facing a dire enemy?!
What kind of joke is this?!
Though his mind refused to accept it, Vlad III acted honestly, summoning stakes to encase himself in layers upon layers like a tortoise shell.
And the next moment, the coin returned to the young man's fingertip—upon contact, it transformed into a dazzling star.
"Farewell."
With those words, the concentrated bolt of destruction shot forth!
Target—Astolfo!
Indeed, it was not the impregnably defended Vlad III, but the severely wounded and defenseless Astolfo lying on the ground.
Better to cut off one finger than to wound all ten!
The assassin, guided by ruthless logic, would never pass up an opportunity to eliminate any enemy.
Such an urgent situation was unforeseen not only by the Voivode but even by Astolfo himself.
This was not an attack that could be blocked by a grimoire, for its true form was a coin—a construct of iron.
As the searing lightning grew larger in his vision, Astolfo's mind went completely blank.
'Am I... going to die?'
Yet, in his final moments, no flashback of his life played in his mind. Instead, only one figure surfaced—
A silver-haired, crimson-eyed homunculus, childlike in appearance—his Master, Sieg.
'I'm sorry... It seems we won't meet again...'
Closing his eyes peacefully, at the very last moment, Astolfo heard a distant, breathless shout.
"By my Command Spell—!"
"Dodge this attack, Rider!"