"Detected spiritron reactions from Bargast, Nocknare, and Koyanskaya. Looks like they've all fallen to the bottom of the Holy City ruins!"
"I'm trying to reestablish contact with them, but judging by their readings, nothing seems wrong. Spiritron values are stable!"
Before long, Romani relayed new updates about the team. At times like these, Chaldea's communication and monitoring systems truly proved invaluable:
"Detected Bavanzi's signal—she's in another direction, engaged in combat with Tristan!"
"Detected Melusine's signal as well—she's in a firefight with the enemy!"
"As for the opposing signatures… they seem to be multiple enhanced Purification Knights with special Spirit Origins. And among them, one stands out—it should be Agravain. But this reading…? Such an extreme level of Mad Enhancement—it's rare even for Berserkers!"
"Hmph… So Agravain chose to throw himself into Mad Enhancement. A mistake, really. Instead of chasing down Melusine, he'd have been better off staying back to command the overall battlefield."
Guinevere cut down a Purification Knight with one clean strike, speaking coolly.
"Eh? Guinevere-senpai, you're not even worried about Melusine?" Ritsuka asked behind him. "She's fallen into a trap!"
"No. There's nothing to worry about. Even if she dies here, it won't affect her in reality…"
"Huh? The real Melusine?" Ritsuka blinked.
"…Forget I said that. Point is, if she falls here, it won't harm her back in Fairy Britain." Realizing he had said too much, Guinevere quickly corrected himself.
"What I do worry about is if she snaps under pressure, abandons her granted name, and reveals her true form… That would be disastrous."
If it came to that, Guinevere dared not imagine how the singularity would unravel.
"In short, there's no need to panic. In fact, the situation is finally becoming clear."
"What do you mean?" Ritsuka frowned. "Isn't the situation supposed to be critical right now?"
"Quite the opposite. If Agravain hadn't shown his hand, that's when we'd be in real danger."
Guinevere scanned the surroundings, watching the Purification Knights close in from all sides.
"An enemy in the shadows, using methods you can't anticipate, is the most troublesome. After all, we're the attackers—we must storm the enemy's stronghold. They've had ample time and supplies to prepare defenses and traps. We're diving in with limited information, putting us at a disadvantage."
As he said this, his gaze sharpened. In a blur, he shifted half a step aside and snatched an incoming arrow out of the air—one aimed straight at Ritsuka. The close call made her jump in fright.
"Our advantage lies in superior combat strength. Once we've broken into the city and are fighting them directly, unless they can neutralize our Servants to even the scales—or tilt them in their favor—they're at a disadvantage."
With a flick of his wrist, Guinevere sent the captured arrow flying back at blinding speed. It pierced the knight's visor slit perfectly, killing him instantly.
Only then did Guinevere continue:
"And now Agravain has revealed his trump card. By throwing himself into the fight, he shows that his hand is nearly spent. Yet he still hasn't struck a decisive blow against our strength. Even if he defeats Melusine, the balance of power still tilts toward us."
"A shame. Agravain planned meticulously, pulling clever tricks that even impressed me at times. But he overthought everything, to the point of losing sight of the essentials. He clearly wanted to prove himself against me. But the more he obsessed, the more mistakes he made."
"The greatest strategies are often the simplest. He thought too much. In reality, the best plan is plain and direct."
Guinevere sighed softly.
"If he'd simply kept Mordred alive at the start, then used that teleportation array to send us one by one into his base camp, he could have crushed us in an instant. Better to cut off a single finger than bruise ten at once."
"Ah… I think I kind of get it," Ritsuka muttered. Artoria and Mordred, listening nearby, also caught on.
"So you're saying the situation is actually in our favor now?" Artoria asked.
"Not confirmed yet." Guinevere shook his head. "We still need them to hand us another opening."
Just then, Romani's voice came urgently through comms:
"Bad news! Mash and Gareth have come under attack—by Lancelot and Gawain!"
"What? Lancelot and Gawain?!" Ritsuka nearly leapt up. "We need to help them immediately!"
But Guinevere only chuckled.
"No need. They'll be fine. Against Lancelot and Gawain, their matchups may be surprisingly favorable. In fact, our enemies have just handed us another opportunity."
He raised a finger, smiling faintly.
"All we need now is to wait. Wait for the moment their entire battle plan collapses."
At that instant, Romani exclaimed in shock:
"Wait… Tristan's signal just vanished—Tristan is dead!"
"Excellent!" Guinevere clenched his fist. "Our chance is here!"
"The hour has struck! It's time for our counterattack!"
Now, backtrack a few minutes earlier.
As the Holy City crumbled apart, in a secluded chapel within its ruins, two red silhouettes clashed fiercely.
Blades of blood sliced through the air toward the red-haired knight ahead—but they were suddenly cleaved apart by an invisible edge of compressed air, which then hurtled onward straight at Bavanzi.
This time, however, she wasn't flustered. With only a half-step retreat and a sidestep, the blade of wind grazed her cheek, severing a few strands of hair but leaving her unharmed.
At the same time, she thrust a finger at Tristan. The severed blood-blades she'd formed hadn't fallen away; instead, they recombined midair into two crimson arrows and shot forward once more.
Caught off guard, Tristan rolled aside, narrowly dodging the blood-forged arrows.
"Oh? I don't recall you using that before. A new trick?" He smiled, fingers returning to the string of Failnaught.
Bavanzi offered no reply, her jaw tight, eyes locked as she loosed another barrage.
"Good. Your fighting style has sharpened, your strikes are fiercer. Clearly you've trained hard… But unfortunately, the gap between us isn't something a few days of training can close."
Grinning, Tristan drew his bowstring once more.
In an instant, his attack speed surged. Where Bavanzi had barely been managing before, she was now swiftly overwhelmed. Though she dodged many air blades with refined movements, it wasn't enough. Tristan's mastery of archery and his innate genius dwarfed her. Soon, his blades began cutting into her again and again. Only her blood-forged regeneration kept her staggering onward.
But time wasn't on her side. Each strike, though small, accumulated. She couldn't last long.
Despair gnawed at her.
She'd never believed a few days of training would let her surpass Tristan in a duel of bows. Her real aim in drawing him into such an exchange was to create an opening—to activate the new curse she'd learned.
The condition was simple: wound him. Draw his blood. That alone would suffice. But at this rate, she might die without ever scratching him.
"How pitiful. It seems you'll die here, powerless."
While suppressing her relentlessly, Tristan shook his head with a sigh, his voice light.
"I can see it in your eyes—in your gaze, the anger, the desire to avenge the people. But alas, you're far too weak."
"Truly tragic. You and I are both executioners. Yet you were lured here by worthless commoners, only to die worthlessly in turn. Ah, how sad. So very sad…"
"So remember this: the weak have no right to vengeance."
Smiling faintly, Tristan reached for his cursed bowstring, ready to whittle her away completely.
But then—a low voice rose behind him:
"Who told you… she came alone for revenge?"
At that instant, a crimson arm lunged from the shadows at Tristan's back, grasping for him. At the same time, a figure appeared before him—Hundred Faces, pouncing at him head-on.
"…Heh."
Yet Tristan's expression showed no surprise.
"I was just wondering how long you two intended to hide. If you've finally lost patience, then your time is up as well."
"Lamentation Concerto—Failnaught!"