This is what a melee looks like—especially when the other two combatants seem more intent on enjoying the thrill of fighting than on seizing victory immediately.
Without teammates, there's no possibility of triumph.
They are all enemies. Just fight to your heart's content.
Spears thrown in unison rained down like a storm.
Arthur had no choice but to abandon the chase. He helplessly commanded the shadows, which surged like a rolling tide to swallow the incoming barrage.
But this was a problem for Lucius as well.
Iskandar attacked Arthur, but he had no intention of sparing Lucius either. This indiscriminate assault enraged Lucius, who turned and lashed out with his sword, striking like a whip in relentless succession.
Sadly, it was nothing.
"Hahaha! Whether King Arthur or the Roman Sword Emperor, both are heroes capable of standing alone. But! To fight my army with only your strength—how arrogant! Prepare to be trampled beneath my host!" Iskandar ignored the scarlet lightning and continued leading his men in the charge.
Arthur's sweeping beams of starlight and Lucius's red thunder annihilated soldiers in droves.
If this were another city or fortress, none of it could have withstood such attacks.
Anywhere else, even an army of countless men would have been useless against such overwhelming force.
But this battlefield was born from Iskandar's vision, shared by his countless soldiers—an inherent domain perfectly suited to the King's army. Here, Arthur's beams and Lucius's lightning could kill soldiers, but only temporarily. They could never break the legion.
"Tch! A worthless little insect, yet I can't discern his identity. What a troublesome man." Lucius scowled, shouting his frustration.
He wanted only to fight Arthur.
At first, he had been almost grateful to Iskandar for providing such a battlefield. But now, reduced to nothing more than an obstacle, the Conqueror King was infuriating.
This wasn't a Berserker—such distractions were meaningless to him.
"[Demon Sword Restriction Removed (LIBERATIO ANGELUS)]! Die!" Raising his demon blade high, Lucius unleashed his Noble Phantasm.
Repeatedly releasing a Noble Phantasm should have been impossible.
Even the finest of Masters—even the strongest Master of this Grail War, Irisviel—could not endure such strain.
Had Arthur not seized the initiative and nearly driven Zouken Matou into death's grasp already?
And Lucius's Master was nothing more than useless trash—whether judged by the standards of magi or even ordinary people.
Thus, though he forcibly drained prana from the inherent barrier itself, this would be Lucius's final release.
The furious lightning he summoned evoked images of gods of myth who wielded thunder.
Only the heavens and earth could bear such might.
Yet for Iskandar, it was commonplace.
"It is a power worthy of the gods. But I will become the Overlord who conquers the world—not through divinity, but by challenging it, and triumphing over every hardship!" With no trace of fear, he waved his hand. Shield-bearing soldiers surged forward, raising walls of bronze.
They fought for their king without fear of life or death.
Yes—many would be obliterated by the thunder.
One, two—thousands, tens of thousands. Yet the King of Conquerors' host did not falter. Instead, they pressed on more fiercely, bringing only despair to the enemy.
Thus the two forces clashed.
Arthur, on the other hand, would not remain idle. He had already gathered the Star Sword's full radiance, locking onto both Iskandar and Lucius. In but a moment, when they aligned, he would strike without hesitation and teach these fools a lesson.
Starlight pierced the clouds.
The victor would be decided in the next breath.
At least one of Lucius or Iskandar would fall.
And when one fell, the other likely would not last long.
But there was another Servant with a reason to halt this battle.
"Rider. Caster. Berserker. Cease at once."
A voice that should have been lost amid the chaos instead silenced the entire battlefield with its overwhelming authority.
Iskandar, Lucius, and Arthur all froze, magic surging at their sides as they turned toward the gathered Masters. A faint glow radiated from Irisviel's body, drawing a faint frown from Arthur.
The scabbard within her had stirred.
Without it, the silver-haired woman would already be dead.
The most flustered of all was Iskandar. The giant scratched his head sheepishly, raising a hand to signal his soldiers to stop.
His gaze fell on Waver, trembling where he stood, a submachine gun pressed to his skull by Assassin.
After a long pause, Iskandar finally said, "Ahaha… forgive me, boy. I may be confident in my strength, but in this moment, even I cannot save you."
"How do you know if you don't try? Don't give up, you idiot!" Waver's voice cracked, tears almost forming.
Just moments earlier, three Servants had torn through the battlefield with titanic force—leaving Waver, Irisviel, and the others entranced.
Had this battle been fought in the Age of Heroes, the word "epic" itself would need to be redefined.
To modern eyes, the advent of hot weapons had multiplied war's cruelty. In comparison, ancient wars seemed almost merciful.
Yet the scene before them was the opposite.
Modern war—even at its most horrific—could not rival a fraction of this carnage, this blood-soaked spectacle.
With Gilgamesh as the first to treat the carnage as a show, several Masters soon followed, settling into their roles as mere spectators, abandoning thought before the overwhelming clash.
Then, suddenly, an Assassin appeared, rushing forward and opening fire on Irisviel with a submachine gun.
Waver had nearly fainted in terror.
Heroes of legend, wielding machine guns? They were supposed to be figures of antiquity, yet here they were, gunning down their enemies with modern weapons. It was absurd!
Even more shocking, however, was Irisviel's response.
Faced with such an unorthodox enemy, she stood frozen only for an instant—before a golden light flared across her body. She gazed coldly at the gunfire, unharmed, as though mocking Assassin's effort.
That alone would have been enough.
Her opponent was strong, but Waver had no intention of dying on the battlefield. His duty was simply to devise strategies, to wait until his Rider achieved inevitable victory.
As a weakling, he understood his place.
Yet this Assassin seemed fixated on Irisviel, striking at her twice in succession.
He wouldn't come after me… right?
Then, in the very next moment, the machine gun turned toward Waver's head.
Waver: "…"
-End Chapter-
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