At that same moment, a streak of comet-like brilliance shot forth from the Floating Garden, diving headlong into the army of homunculi and golems below.
"Are the Servants of Black all spineless cowards?"
Achilles, reins held casually in one hand, rode atop a lavish chariot drawn by three splendid horses, his other hand gripping a cross-shaped spear. He barreled through the enemy ranks like a bulldozer, effortlessly tearing their lines apart.
"Tch!"
Every Servant had their own designated battlefield, yet here he was—one renowned for unparalleled speed and strength—left without a proper opponent.
He didn't intend to interfere in Karna's fight. It wasn't due to any personal animosity; rather, Achilles knew well enough not to disturb Karna. After all, if he were in Karna's shoes, facing multiple foes alone, he wouldn't want anyone interrupting either.
As his chariot charged onward, he caught sight of Emiya Shirou amidst the chaos, armored and standing in the middle of the battlefield.
Perfect timing—now he could repay that bastard for poisoning Missy.
The demigod hero of Greek legend let out a roaring battle cry as he drove his chariot downward, streaking like a comet toward Shirou Emiya, who stood holding a wounded homunculus in his arms.
Had Shirou Emiya chosen to withdraw from Trifas, Achilles wouldn't have pursued him. After all, according to the rules of the Holy Grail War, Masters who lost their Servants could safely withdraw under the protection of the Holy Church. Achilles wasn't so dishonorable as to chase down an opponent who had already exited the war.
But since Emiya Shirou remained on the battlefield, it meant only one thing: he had chosen to continue fighting.
As for what would happen to the homunculus Shirou was carrying—well, that wasn't Achilles' concern. These homunculi were his enemies, after all. Who knew how many he'd already crushed beneath his chariot wheels?
"Come and fight me!"
Achilles grinned widely, his chariot plunging downward like lightning, radiating thunderous fury, directly toward Shirou Emiya, who was still busy aiding others on the battlefield.
This wasn't an ordinary chariot.
Of the three horses pulling it, two were immortal steeds gifted by the sea god Poseidon himself, and the third was a prized warhorse he had seized from another warrior.
When these three horses began their charge, Achilles' chariot instantly accelerated to the speed of sound, transforming into a devastating force that trampled enemies with exponential ferocity as it gained momentum.
At its peak velocity, the chariot became a meteor hurtling across the battlefield, unstoppable by any mortal force.
Once, Achilles had driven this same chariot across the battlefields of Troy, dragging the corpse of his sworn enemy behind him, eventually provoking the anger of the gods themselves.
Thus, when his formidable chariot descended from the heavens, those watching below saw only a comet streaking from the sky.
An A-rank Anti-Army Noble Phantasm—
"[Troias Tragōidia, Tempestuous Immortal Chariot]!"
On the battlefield, showing mercy to an enemy was cruelty to oneself. Achilles wouldn't hold back against Emiya Shirou just because he was helping others.
Amidst Achilles' fierce roar, the comet fell, trailing a terrifying storm of violent winds like a bolt of lightning.
So engrossed was Achilles in his own overwhelming momentum that he didn't even notice—
—a single arrow, silent and swift as silver lightning, pierced the darkness, hurtling directly toward him.
"!"
By the time Achilles spotted the arrow, it was already right before his eyes.
"What—!?"
A warrior's instincts kicked in, and Achilles' body tensed instantly, jerking his head violently to the side.
With a soft, ripping sound, the arrow streaked past, disappearing into the night.
He'd evaded the arrow by a hair's breadth—but a thin line of blood trickled from the cut on his cheek.
"It's that Archer from yesterday!"
Achilles' expression changed drastically.
He'd thought himself invincible in this Holy Grail War, yet not only could their own Lancer pierce his legendary defenses with ease, even Arthur Pendragon—despite lacking divinity—had managed to harm him effortlessly with his sword.
And now, this Archer from Black had easily penetrated his supposedly immortal body as well.
"This Holy Grail War just keeps getting more interesting!"
Achilles laughed wildly. A battle without opponents capable of harming him would be terribly dull indeed!
Compared to a Master he could kill at any time, this unseen Archer, who could pierce his divine defenses, was far more intriguing.
His entire chariot turned into a streak of blazing light as he charged toward the depths of the forest, where arrows continually shot forth, aimed precisely at his vitals.
Arrows rained down upon him like machine-gun fire, but who was Achilles? The fastest hero in Greek myth—mere arrows like these couldn't possibly—
But before he could fully dismiss the arrows with contempt—
A burst of blood erupted from his chest, pierced by an arrow he hadn't even seen coming.
"Guh—!"
Blood sprayed from Achilles' lips.
That arrow had been fired exactly at the spot he had instinctively dodged toward—as if his movements had been read in advance.
But how could anyone see through him like this? No Servant should be able to predict his moves so precisely, at least none outside of Greek mythology.
Who in the world was this Archer?
A strong intuition surged through Achilles: this Archer was someone he definitely knew.
Then, a familiar voice echoed clearly into his ears:
"Spacing out on the battlefield isn't something a proper warrior does, you fool!"
By wording alone, it might have sounded like an insult.
But that voice, coupled with that stern tone—it wasn't mocking; rather, it felt like the reprimand of a teacher scolding his pupil.
Achilles froze, feeling as though he'd been struck by lightning.
When he was still a young boy, Achilles had grown up with the owner of this voice and learned everything he knew of battle from him.
Even after leaving his side, Achilles never forgot the lessons that voice imparted.
"Teach…er…?"
Moonlight filtered through layers of trees, illuminating the figure standing before him: a man with flowing brown hair, gripping a longbow, his gaze warm yet hostile.
Everything about this scene was painfully familiar.
Back then, Achilles had stood exactly like this, listening attentively to his teacher's instructions.
The Archer of Black was none other than Chiron, the greatest centaur sage of Greek mythology—mentor of legendary heroes like Heracles and Achilles himself.
This was the second battlefield of the Holy Grail War.
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