The clone holding the knife against Gordes' neck did not spare the trembling mage a single glance. Its glowing golden eyes remained locked on the chaotic battle raging twenty meters away.
To an ordinary human, the swirling cloud of dust and debris kicked up by the shockwaves would have obscured the fight entirely.
But to the clone's optical sensors, the dust was irrelevant. The heat signatures and mana flows painted a perfectly clear picture.
Within the haze, a white-haired swordsman and a black-cloaked shadow clashed continuously.
Siegfried, Saber of Black, swung his silver greatsword with masterful precision. Every strike was a hurricane, kicking up gale-force winds that tore at the grass.
His opponent, a petite girl wielding a massive, jagged purple broadsword, Pseudo-Endo: Sandalphon, matched him blow for blow.
Despite her small frame, every swing of the purple blade carried the weight of a falling meteor.
Siegfried, recognizing the sheer kinetic force behind her attacks, was forced to evade the heaviest strikes, choosing instead to parry and counter during the brief moments after her swings.
But every time he struck back, the girl contorted her body with unnatural agility, bringing the flat of her blade up to execute a flawless, mathematically perfect block.
It was a mesmerizing dance of two completely different combat styles. The legendary, refined technique of a mythical hero versus the raw, calculated brutality of a machine.
From the outside, they appeared evenly matched. Neither could land a decisive blow.
But that was merely an illusion.
Because the girl fighting Siegfried was not the real Stell. And the girl holding a knife to Gordes' throat was not the real Stell either.
They were both clones. Remote terminals acting on specific directives.
As for the Main Unit, the true Stell, she was nowhere near this battlefield. Her exact location remained a mystery, but she was watching the data stream from both clones simultaneously, pulling the strings from the shadows.
…
Gordes watched the battle with a mix of awe and terror. He didn't know the girl behind him was a clone, just as he didn't know the girl fighting his Servant was one too.
To him, they were monsters.
She's matching Saber blow for blow, Gordes thought, sweat stinging his eyes. A massive sword, incredible stats... is she Saber of Red?
It was a logical conclusion for a mage in the Holy Grail War. The Saber class was widely considered the strongest.
But in the center of the clash, Siegfried was beginning to notice something deeply unsettling.
As he ducked under another heavy, horizontal swing from the purple greatsword, he analyzed his opponent's rhythm. The strikes were fast. They were powerful. They were lethal.
Yet, there was no killing intent.
Siegfried had fought dragons, armies, and curses. He knew what a killer looked like. But the girl in the black cloak felt like a perfectly calm, still lake. There was no anger, no desperation, no desire to win.
She isn't using her full strength, Siegfried realized, parrying a downward strike that made his arms vibrate. She's holding back.
It felt less like a battle to the death and more like a sparring match. She was testing his limits, pushing him just enough to force a reaction, but never committing to a fatal blow.
It was deeply unnerving.
Still, Siegfried did not let his confusion slow his blade. Regardless of her intentions, her strength was genuine. He couldn't afford to lower his guard.
Clang!
Another heavy impact sent them sliding apart. The dust settled briefly under the bright moonlight, illuminating the torn earth.
They were very close to the Yggdmillennia fortress in Millennia. The clan's familiars and bounded fields likely covered this area.
If I drag this out, reinforcements will arrive,Siegfried reasoned. He wasn't trying to finish the fight quickly; he was fighting a holding action. He was buying time.
I just hope Master took the opportunity to run back to the castle, he thought, keeping his eyes locked on the clone. He hadn't been able to check on Gordes since the initial clash.
Strangely, his Master hadn't given him any new orders or telepathic updates. Had he already fled to safety?
Just as he pondered this, the familiar voice of his Master echoed in his mind through their magical link.
[Saber...]
Siegfried felt a wave of relief. His Master was alive. But as the mental transmission continued, he noticed the tone. Gordes' voice was trembling violently, laced with a thick, undeniable terror.
He must be in shock from the ambush, Siegfried assumed, misinterpreting the fear. He just needs to calm down.
But Gordes' next words shattered the Dragon Slayer's calm.
[Use your Noble Phantasm.]
"…!"
…
The cold night wind whipped through the open bed of the pickup truck, tossing the thick, golden braid of the young woman sitting in the back.
Jeanne d'Arc, manifested in this era through the body of a French girl named Leticya, stared thoughtfully at the starry Romanian sky.
As the Ruler-class Servant, she had been summoned by the Holy Grail itself to act as the impartial referee for this unprecedented war.
She was currently hitchhiking her way toward the battlefield, relying on the kindness of strangers.
Suddenly, the peaceful quiet of the countryside was shattered.
A brilliant, golden streak tore across the distant sky, descending like a falling star before crashing into the earth miles ahead.
Even from this distance, Jeanne could feel the faint tremor in the truck's chassis and the heavy, suffocating wave of mana that washed over the landscape.
Her blue eyes widened. That was no natural phenomenon. That was a clash of monsters.
She immediately stood up, leaning over the side of the truck bed to tap on the driver's window.
"Excuse me! Please stop the vehicle!"
The driver, a middle-aged local man, glanced in his rearview mirror and hit the brakes, bringing the truck to a halt on the shoulder of the empty highway.
He rolled down his window, looking at the young, blonde woman with deep concern.
"Miss, it's dangerous to do that," he scolded gently. "Please sit down in the back."
"I need to get out here," Jeanne said, her voice firm but polite.
The driver frowned, looking out at the pitch-black, desolate woods surrounding the highway. "I can't do that. It's the middle of nowhere. If I leave a young lady like you out here, and something bad happens... I'd never forgive myself."
It was a perfectly reasonable, kind-hearted response. Under normal circumstances, Jeanne would have been touched. But duty called, and time was of the essence.
"I appreciate your concern," she said softly.
A faint, mesmerizing light glowed in her amethyst eyes. She laced her voice with a subtle hint of magical suggestion, just enough to bypass his protective instincts without causing him any harm.
"But I will be perfectly fine. Please, let me out here."
The driver blinked, his expression going slightly slack. "Ah... well, if you're sure you'll be fine..."
Jeanne grabbed her duffel bag, hopped gracefully over the tailgate, and bowed her head in thanks. "Thank you for the ride. Have a safe journey."
The driver nodded numbly, put the truck back in gear, and drove away, his taillights quickly fading into the dark.
Jeanne watched him go, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. She turned her attention toward the direction of the golden blast, ready to shift into her Spirit Form and sprint toward the disturbance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The crisp, rhythmic sound of footsteps on the asphalt stopped her.
Jeanne's hand drifted instinctively toward where her flag would manifest. She took a slow breath and turned around, expecting to see a fully armed Servant stepping out of the shadows.
Instead, a young girl walked into the moonlight.
"Query: Are you the Ruler?"
…
Jeanne stared at the newcomer.
It wasn't just the girl's petite stature or her strikingly beautiful, violet-blue hair that surprised her. It was her clothes. She wore a simple, modern outfit, a casual hoodie and skirt that looked completely normal for a teenager in this era. There was no heavy cloak, no armor, no mystic codes visible.
Yet, this seemingly ordinary child had walked up to her in the dead of night and correctly identified her Class.
Jeanne's eyes narrowed slightly. In the world of magecraft, appearances were notoriously deceptive. A child-like exterior could easily house the soul of a five-hundred-year-old magus who had long since discarded their humanity. She would not lower her guard.
Still, as the designated referee, she had no reason to lie.
"Yes, I am," Jeanne replied smoothly, her posture relaxed but ready. "May I ask who is looking for me, little miss?"
"..."
Stell tilted her head to the side, her golden eyes blinking slowly.
Analysis: Target admitted her identity immediately, with zero obfuscation. Is my disguise that effective? Or is she simply overly confident?
Stell was currently utilizing Pseudo-Haniel to perfectly mimic a human biology. To Jeanne's senses, Stell registered as a normal, albeit slightly unusual, human girl.
"Is something wrong?" Jeanne asked, puzzled by the girl's silent, unblinking stare.
"Reminder: A Master of the Red Faction has dispatched a Servant to assassinate you."
The blunt, robotic delivery of the information hit Jeanne like a physical blow.
Assassinate me?
Her mind raced. The Ruler class existed to ensure the rules of the Holy Grail War were upheld. To target the referee before the war had even fully escalated... it meant the Red Faction, or at least one of their Masters, had already decided to corrupt the ritual for their own ends.
Jeanne's expression hardened. The gentle traveler vanished, replaced by the Holy Maiden of Orleans.
"Who are you?" Jeanne asked, her voice carrying an edge of authority. "Why have you come to seek me out, and what is your purpose in sharing this information?"
Stell ignored the rapid-fire questions, continuing her report exactly as she had planned.
"Addendum: Simultaneously, the Black Faction has dispatched a Servant. Their objective is to repel the Red Servant, thereby earning your gratitude and securing your alliance for their faction."
"This..."
Jeanne's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. She hadn't even reached the battlefield, and both factions were already using her as a pawn in their political games. One side wanted to eliminate the rules; the other wanted to weaponize the referee.
But what shocked her more than the factions' schemes was the messenger.
"How do you know this?" Jeanne demanded, stepping forward. "Information of this level... you cannot be an ordinary bystander."
If this girl knew the deployment orders of both the Red and Black factions in real-time, she had an intelligence network that rivaled the Holy Grail itself.
"Answer," Stell said, her golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Because 'we' have already intercepted them both."
"What...?!"
….
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