Sitting across from Fiore in the dimly lit war room was a tall, refined man with long, dark hair and an aura of quiet wisdom. This was Archer of Black. His True Name was Chiron, the legendary centaur who had tutored the greatest heroes of ancient Greece.
"Can you identify the enemy attacking Lord Gordes?" Fiore asked, her hands gripping the armrests of her wheelchair.
"I cannot be certain," Chiron replied gently, his eyes focused on the magical projection hovering above the table. "However, the probability is high that it is a Servant of the Red Faction."
In a Holy Grail War, it was the most logical conclusion. Chiron had no reason to suspect a third party.
"So Uncle Gordes stumbled right into the Servant they sent to assassinate Ruler?" Fiore asked, her brow furrowing.
"It seems likely."
Fiore took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. She was a talented magus, but the reality of a death game was still difficult to digest. "What about Uncle Gordes? Is he...?"
She couldn't bring herself to finish the question. If Gordes had been killed, the Black Faction would lose a vital Master on the very first night.
"Do not despair, Master," Chiron said reassuringly. "While the attacker is fighting Saber to a standstill, Lord Gordes is nowhere to be seen in the familiar's visual feed. Given Saber's defensive capabilities, we can assume he successfully covered his Master's retreat. Lord Gordes is likely hiding in a safe location."
It was a perfectly sound, tactical deduction. Chiron had no way of knowing that Gordes was currently lying in the grass, paralyzed by fear, with a mechanical clone holding a knife to his throat.
"I see. That's a relief," Fiore sighed. "But Saber is still fighting alone."
"We have already dispatched reinforcements to assist him," Chiron noted.
"I want to go too," Fiore declared, her voice firming up.
Chiron looked at her, his expression softening with a mix of pride and concern. Fiore's magical circuits were top-tier, but the very magic that gave her strength had paralyzed her legs. She was confined to her wheelchair.
Fiore saw the hesitation in her Servant's eyes. She smiled confidently.
"Do not worry about me, Archer. I am quite strong."
As she spoke, the heavy, metallic appendages attached to her back, her Mystic Code, the Bronze Link Manipulators, whirred to life, flexing like the limbs of a mechanical spider. It was a potent weapon that more than made up for her lack of mobility.
Seeing the fire in his Master's eyes, Chiron smiled warmly and bowed his head.
"As you wish, Master."
….
Miles away, on the steps of the Sighişoara church, Shirou Kotomine stared up at the night sky.
"Is Lancer's mission being hindered?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the clouds.
"Indeed," Semiramis replied, walking up beside him. "The familiars just transmitted this."
With a wave of her elegant, jewel-adorned hand, the Wise Queen of Assyria projected a shimmering, magical viewing screen into the air.
Shirou's calm smile faltered.
The screen showed a chaotic battlefield. A figure shrouded in a black cloak, tiny and fragile-looking, was darting through a massive hurricane, trading blows with Karna, the Son of the Sun God.
It defied all logic. How could a creature of that size clash with a demigod and push him back? More importantly, the figure lacked the distinct ethereal signature of a Heroic Spirit. It was a living, breathing human.
"A black cloak concealing the entire body. A petite stature. And the raw power to fight a top-tier Servant head-on," Semiramis mused, her golden eyes narrowing as she analyzed the footage. "It aligns perfectly with the description the necromancer gave us. This must be the mage who crippled his Saber last night."
She glanced sideways at the priest. "What are your thoughts?"
"I am inclined to agree," Shirou muttered, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.
He was genuinely stressed. The existence of a human magus capable of fighting Servants was incredibly rare. To find one here, actively interfering with the war, meant a major variable had entered the board.
Why would a magus of that caliber care about this provincial Grail War? Was it just a twisted hobby? Or did they have a specific goal?
Seeing the tension in her Master's shoulders, Semiramis let out a soft, amused chuckle.
"Do not panic just yet," she said, her voice dripping with royal confidence. "Review these two reports before you despair."
She waved her hand again. Two new magical screens appeared beside the first one.
Shirou's eyes widened. The tension in his chest eased slightly, replaced by profound confusion.
One screen showed Ruler, the holy maiden, engaged in combat on a cracked highway.
The other screen showed Siegfried, the Dragon Slayer of the Black Faction, fighting desperately in an open field.
And in both screens, their opponent was the exact same figure. A petite girl, shrouded entirely in a black cloak, wielding a massive, dark purple greatsword.
"Three of them..." Shirou whispered.
"It seems their hostility is not directed solely at our Red Faction," Semiramis observed. "Furthermore, it is clear that this is not a single, isolated monster. It is an organization."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, arriving at a perfectly logical, yet entirely incorrect, conclusion.
"They are a group of mercenaries or cultists," she declared. "They use uniform disguise magic to hide their identities, making them all appear as identical, cloaked children. A clever tactic to sow confusion."
"Yes," Shirou agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. The idea of an army of specialized mages was daunting, but it was far less terrifying than the idea of a single, omnipresent god playing games with them. "And if they are attacking everyone, their goal is obvious. They want the Holy Grail."
His friendly, priestly facade dropped, revealing the cold, calculating strategist beneath.
"The board has changed, Assassin. This war has officially spiraled out of our control."
Sitting across from Fiore in the dimly lit war room was a tall, refined man with long, dark hair and an aura of quiet wisdom. This was Archer of Black. His True Name was Chiron, the legendary centaur who had tutored the greatest heroes of ancient Greece.
"Can you identify the enemy attacking Lord Gordes?" Fiore asked, her hands gripping the armrests of her wheelchair.
"I cannot be certain," Chiron replied gently, his eyes focused on the magical projection hovering above the table. "However, the probability is high that it is a Servant of the Red Faction."
….
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