Although the red faction could not escape the indiscriminate cleansing of Spartacus, they could retreat to the floating fortress, moving to a realm untouched by the Berserker.
As for the Dragon Tooth Warriors, they were merely fodder to them; their lives were of no concern.
The problem lay with the black faction. This must have been an unexpected situation for them as well. Who could have predicted that the "Crying Warmonger" would turn out to be such a terrible Noble Phantasm?
The immense magical energy accumulated, along with the corrupted body that had undergone transformation during the accumulation process, had likely long since broken free from the constraints of the contract. For Spartacus, the rebellious hero, even in his normal state, it would take two Command Spells to compel him to obey. Given the current circumstances, even exhausting all Command Spells would not suffice.
Indeed, this meant that the gladiator would not stop. If he unleashed his next strike with full force, the area of destruction would likely encompass the entire battlefield, and even the Fortress of Millennia, situated between the city and the battlefield, might not escape unscathed.
So, what should be done? In her distress, Jeanne d'Arc received a revelation, one that felt like a 'divine inspiration,' resonating within her.
"What is this?!"
The girl looked up in astonishment, her gaze catching sight of a figure in the distance—a stunning woman with golden hair.
Her skin was soft and snow-white, adorned with flowing golden locks and emerald-green eyes, her beauty requiring no embellishment.
If her emerald eyes were to be changed to violet, the description could equally apply to herself.
There was no denying it; their appearances were strikingly similar. For a moment, Jeanne even thought she was looking at a long-lost sister.
"You, are you...?"
"No need for unnecessary words."
The girl, radiating a serene and holy aura, stepped forward, first casting a deep glance at the wide-eyed Jeanne's chest before raising her gaze to the increasingly perilous 'giant bomb.'
"It seems Sakatsuki's calculations were not wrong, and it was worth my leaving other matters behind to come here."
Calculations? Other matters? ...Sakatsuki?
Elemental perception!
"Wait, did you say Sakatsuki?"
Even in the face of crisis, Jeanne felt a surge of joy. She clasped her hands together, her violet-like eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"May I ask, where is he now? Is he doing well? Has he been hurt in battle? Ah, and... are you here to help me on his behalf?"
"..." Artoria gazed blankly at the hopeful yet anxious maiden, feeling an inexplicable sense of déjà vu.
It seemed she often had similar thoughts... though she had never voiced them so openly.
No matter which form Sakatsuki took, he was undeniably charming.
With a resigned sigh, Artoria replied emotionlessly, "He is well, unharmed, yes."
"Ah... that's good." Jeanne patted her ample chest, her cheeks flushing. "Ah, um, that wasn't what I meant! I was just asking out of my role as the Ruler, not out of curiosity or concern..."
How adorable; I find myself liking her a bit.
Looking at the girl who resembled her so closely, Artoria's expression softened. She patted Jeanne's shoulder and then stood before her.
"Leave the rest to me. As the adjudicator, it is not your duty to protect the black faction; that is my responsibility."
With the knight king's declarative words, the blue-gold sword sheath materialized.
————
Nine years—spent living together during the most sentimental years of youth.
He was both a father and a teacher; both a brother and a friend. For the son of a hero, blessed by the gods of Olympus, who garnered the awe and admiration of soldiers at such a young age, there were pitifully few who could be called friends or teachers.
And Chiron was undoubtedly one of them. He was the most trustworthy figure, comparable to his good friend Patroclus.
However, that hero now stood before him, blocking his path in pursuit of the Holy Grail.
As the black faction's Archer, as an enemy, as a foe with whom he would clash—
"I'm going in, teacher."
"That is unnecessary, Red Rider."
Receiving a stern response, the slightly deflated Achilles quickly regained his composure and thrust his spear forward. The two began to fight within a distance where they could converse, meaning this was the scene of the approaching archer and the attacking cavalry.
Despite harboring a twinge of guilt, the spear tip was still aimed sharply at the opponent's heart. Yet, the sage of the forest, with fearless bravery, stepped forward into the path of the spear.
Achilles' spear technique, renowned for its swiftness, was at a level that would have sufficed even if summoned as a Lancer. Generally speaking, any archer would be easily pierced through the heart.
However, Achilles had forgotten the most critical point.
The spear tip did not pierce the heart but instead grazed past Chiron.
"What?!"
"Have you forgotten, Rider? Who was it that gifted you this spear and taught you the fundamentals of spear technique?"
Chiron's words struck Achilles with immense shock. Indeed, as he said, his spear skills were not honed by his own means but learned from his master, Chiron. Moreover, this spear was originally a gift from Chiron to his father, Peleus, to celebrate his marriage, so Achilles was well aware of its range.
The Archer then displayed astonishing skill. As he stepped forward, he had already nocked an arrow onto the bowstring. It could only be described as a rapid-fire shot, an unavoidable strike from point-blank range.
"You will die, Rider."
Chiron aimed for the crown of Achilles' head and shot the arrow without hesitation. Achilles reflexively bent backward to evade. With incredible speed, he barely escaped this life-threatening crisis.
A pain surged through his chest as he faced the enemy's kick, losing his balance and being sent flying, crashing hard against a tree. In the moment of distance being created, a pursuing arrow followed closely behind.
A part of Achilles' mind switched gears. Gritting his teeth, he glared resolutely at the 'enemy' and charged forward toward the incoming arrow. As he leaned forward to dodge the arrow, he quickly raised his spear to execute a sweeping attack—only to miss.
A wave of inexplicable joy surged within him. He roared and continued to thrust his spear. Chiron evaded the barrage of thrusts that came like bullets, skillfully adjusting the distance while nocking another arrow.
An archer could not engage in close combat; once within the spear's range, victory was assured—his previous shallow thinking had been utterly foolish. His opponent was Chiron. Not only himself, but even heroes like Heracles, Jason, Castor, Asclepius, and many others had received his teachings; he was a true sage.
Only under close conditions could they barely achieve a stalemate. Given that premise, if he did not unleash all his strength to attack, defeat was inevitable!
The agile spearman unleashed a fierce assault with thrusts, sweeps, and feints against the sage. Meanwhile, the archer dodged, blocked with his bow, and even employed a combination of punches and kicks, drawing and shooting whenever an opportunity arose.
Faced with point-blank sniping, even if Achilles tried his best to evade, he could not escape injury. Even with the blessings of the gods, his body was defenseless against attacks that also possessed "divinity."
Every one of his attacks was seen through by his opponent because his entire foundation stemmed from Chiron's teachings. This included his stance, timing for thrusts, sweeps, and other techniques.
—Do not be deceived by him.
The fundamentals were indeed taught by Chiron. However, since he had immersed himself in battle from his youth, he had not relied solely on those fundamentals to achieve victory. He had various applied skills and had found ways to survive in dire situations. He had fought against numerous heroes and continuously honed his techniques.
In various battles and crises, how had he found his way out? For instance, back then—
Achilles' movements changed. He no longer forced his way through with foundational skills paired with overwhelming speed; instead, he began to incorporate various marvelous variations into his techniques.
Just as he suddenly released his spear, in the next moment, the cavalry kicked the fallen spear toward Chiron's face.
He kicked up the spear, leaped into the air to catch it, and simultaneously thrust it toward his target. The spear tip grazed Chiron's neck, and blood gushed forth.
"Ugh!!"
Chiron could not help but retreat. As if to say 'how about that,' Achilles, regaining his feeling, casually twirled his spear.
Their gazes crossed, and they both revealed fearless smiles.
"—Hmm, you truly possess the strength to become a Heroic Spirit."
"Of course. Unlike you, who merely teaches others, I have experienced countless battlefields."
Having crossed blades with numerous heroes and engaged in mutual slaughter, even having shared a soul connection, he had indeed learned the fundamentals from Chiron. However, the countless corpses accumulated in battle were an undeniable fact for Achilles.
"Ah, how wonderful. After all, it's quite uncomfortable to kill my own student unilaterally."
The Archer said this with a smile, and Rider returned a fierce grin.
He had completely cast aside his hesitation about fighting his mentor; all that remained was the joy of battling a strong opponent.
Achilles was hesitating—should he close the distance or create space? While it seemed reasonable to close in for an assault, perhaps it was time to abandon such conventional thinking.
Originally, the spear he wielded was primarily a throwing weapon, designed to break through all defenses and pierce the hearts of heroes. Chiron knew better than anyone the terrifying nature of this spear, as he was the one who gifted it.
So, what should he do?
Their gazes crossed. Red Rider and Black Archer—each observing the other's every move, contemplating their next actions.
Achilles smiled, and Chiron smiled back. There was indeed a bond between them. Mentor and disciple, friends who trusted each other from the bottom of their hearts—after setting aside that bond, they still felt a strong "joy" overflowing within them.
Unfortunately, fate did not wish for them to determine a victor so soon, along with life and death.
"Sorry, Rider, for interrupting you at a critical moment."
"Archer, I apologize, but you must return."
The voices of both masters echoed simultaneously.
"Spartacus is about to self-destruct; Assassin will teleport you back to the courtyard before that happens."
"The red Berserker is accumulating a tremendous amount of power, Chiron. I hope you can return to the fortress immediately."
As the communication ended, Achilles and Chiron exchanged glances and both smiled wryly.
"It seems this time will end here. Well done, Achilles."
"You too, teacher Chiron. Next time, I will pierce you with the spear you gifted me before you hit me!"
Leaving behind the blessings of warriors and mentor and disciple, the teleportation circle surrounded Achilles, while Chiron quickened his pace toward the Fortress of Millennia.
————
Karna was deep in thought.
In all the battles he had experienced, praised in myth—he could assert without exaggeration that he had given his all in every fight. He had never held back his strength nor underestimated any opponent.
...However, that had always been within the limits of his full power.
—Just as he had once promised his mother not to fight anyone other than Arjuna among the Pandava brothers.
He felt that his past battles had always been constrained by multiple invisible chains.
The curse of the gods, the blessings of the gods, the way of the warrior, or perhaps the bonds between people.
Of course, that was survival; it was the fate of a warrior to fight.
Sometimes it transformed into strength, and sometimes it became a burden.
But regardless, it was undoubtedly something superfluous... Yes, the battles of the past had clear purposes: to secure victory for the king he served and to bring defeat to the Pandavas.
...No, more importantly, to defeat Arjuna.
To contend with his brother, who shared the same bloodline—and then to win.
That too was a heavy fate that could be called a shackle.
Yet now, there was none.
As a servant summoned to the present world, the only expectation placed upon him was pure strength; it was merely a simple agreement between warriors.
Battle.
To vie for supremacy, seeking victory through pure strength. This was an incredibly simple yet beautiful way of fighting.
Of course, he did not deny the fact that battles existed because of fate. Every life has stories that necessitate various battles.
However, completely unrelated to such things—pure and untainted mutual slaughter unexpectedly brought him a sense of exhilaration and comfort.
Could it be that his instincts as a hungry wolf were being stimulated?
The divine spear he wielded now possessed the precision to pierce a pinhole, and the brilliant flames scattered around were roasting the air to an unbearable heat.
If this was not full power, then what could be considered full power?
...Indeed, facing his full power, the warrior named Siegfried stood firm like a rock.
That was undoubtedly an astonishing feat; his skill was undoubtedly on par with the divine realm.
More importantly—
The roaring fantasy sword wielded by Siegfried was a weapon forged by the little people of Nibelungen, possessing magical craftsmanship. The holy sword, infinitely close to a magic sword, emanated a twilight-colored sword aura from the jewel it was sealed within, containing a powerful magical energy that even Karna had to be cautious of.
Not only that, but Siegfried's movements were incredibly fierce, as if he possessed boundless stamina.
Bathed in dragon's blood, the essence of the dragon slayer had been transformed, granting him the might of a dragon while his soul still shone with human brilliance.
The so-called dragon slayer was one who conquered dragons with human will, governing their existence.
If Karna's spear was aimed at the sun, then the sword in Siegfried's hand was the twilight that made all life tremble.
With a ferocious momentum that disregarded his own life, the twilight tightly bit down on the blazing sun in the sky—!!
In the moment of distance being created, the jewel of the sword shone brightly, and Karna suddenly felt a tremor akin to joy sweep across his back.
"Take this, Lancer!"
Facing the twilight-colored magical light rushing toward him, Karna immediately cleaved it with his divine spear. The atmosphere wailed, and the space trembled; it was an overwhelming clash of magical power that could almost induce nausea.
Even against the powerful and physically terrifying dragon slayer, Karna remained confident, for in factors outside of battle, he held overwhelming victory.
That was—unfettered autonomy!
"Brahmastra!"
"Ugh!"
Flames erupted from the enemy's eyes, roaring fiercely, scorching the surrounding air, even leaving a dazzling trail. Sensing the crisis, Siegfried hurriedly raised his sword, but it was too late. The crimson beam pierced straight through his left abdomen!
The dragon blood armor had been breached!
The flesh of his left abdomen was torn, a bizarre burning pain coursing through him. Siegfried felt no pain; he merely gazed at the golden sun floating in mid-air, unabashed admiration evident in his eyes.
The emotions that had been worn down through countless victories were being gradually awakened in this life-and-death struggle.
Thus, once again defying the constraints of his master, the dragon slayer of Nibelungen revealed a fearless smile and spoke.
"Are you deciding to unleash your Noble Phantasm, Red Lancer?"
"Indeed, but this wound is still quite troublesome—looks like this indestructible blade alone won't suffice to take you down."
Karna looked at the wound, which was merely a hole, and calmly concluded:
"My Noble Phantasm and your fantasy sword are evenly matched; even if I can barely break through, a strike that nearly cancels each other out lacks the power to defeat you."
Karna's assertion was entirely correct. If it were a clash between Noble Phantasms, the power would essentially be evenly divided. Under this premise, the two were indeed compatible in every sense.
However, proud as he was, Karna sought to completely erase that possibility.
"Therefore, I must use a strike that will not be evenly matched or canceled out, one with absolute destructive power."
"—Is that so?"
The son of Surya, the bestowed hero, nodded affirmatively. It was a straightforward acknowledgment of fact, devoid of any embellishment. Just as he was about to elaborate further on his Noble Phantasm, like the Archer and Rider in another location, this Saber and Lancer also received communication from their masters.
"...I see."
"Though it's regrettable, I look forward to the third round."
In response to Karna's candid expression, Siegfried sheathed his great sword, realizing that his palm had become damp with sweat.
Did this esteemed enemy also share the same small lapse in composure?
Thinking this, a smile unconsciously appeared on his face.
"Well, I await your arrival at any time."
The cavalry and archer, sword and spear, along with the already-returned Duke and Astolfo, brought a temporary halt to the conflict between the black and red factions. Facing the last soul of Berserker Spartacus, the final rebellion, no one dared to look away.
And the two sister adjudicators standing at the forefront of the crisis were both gazing up at the sky.
"That is—!"
What was released before Jeanne was something unique: the sheath of the holy sword.
Crafted from the highest-grade mystic fabric, it was a Noble Phantasm capable of deflecting all harm.
Not merely a defense, but a barrier.
Isolating filth, isolating this world, isolating the world of Avalon.
Those protected within would be cut off from all laws of this world.
Its true name was—
"Avalon!!!"