The moment the golden Servant appeared, the Chaldean group looked upon him with wary eyes—and with a touch of nostalgia.
"Senpai, that's…!"
"Yes. That stance, that tone—it can only be him, the one from Uruk…"
Their telepathic exchange drew no attention from those outside. For now, all eyes were fixed on Satsuki and the mysterious golden Servant.
Facing the insolent words of the radiant hero, Satsuki showed no reaction. Her Tenseigan rotated calmly as she spoke: "Mongrel? Is that how your kingdom greets strangers? I must admit, for one two-thirds god and one-third man, you suit well a land that would crown such a king."
The atmosphere dropped by several degrees in an instant. A vast wave of magical energy welled up behind the golden hero.
Through her eyes, Satsuki had already discerned his identity. Appearing in the class of Archer, this was none other than the legendary King of Heroes—Gilgamesh. The half-god, half-man king who once ruled ancient Mesopotamia. As a ruler, he bore the dual legacy of tyrant and wise sovereign. His might was great, but so too was his temper.
"Hehehehe… hahahahahaha—!"
The golden hero's arrogant laughter rang out. Saber, Rider, and the Chaldeans all felt it: the ocean-deep terror of the mana swirling in the air.
"Woman. To know this king's name, yet still dare speak so—among heaven and earth, you are the first."
"Then there are only two explanations: either all those you meet are mute, or you yourself are deaf."
Satsuki's voice was cold, ignoring the bloody killing intent flashing from his eyes. "And given the judgment of history, and how easily you were provoked into revealing yourself, perhaps killing you here would not be such a bad choice."
But Rider was less concerned with her words, and more with the golden Servant's attitude. Looking upon that high, disdainful gaze that saw all other Heroic Spirits as beneath him, Rider felt instinctive revulsion.
"This new Servant's origin is clearly extraordinary… but the way that mysterious one speaks is beyond arrogant."
His instincts as a king told him this golden figure was his antithesis.
"Kill me? Hahahaha…"
The golden hero's laughter dripped with scorn. "Woman, that was a fine jest. But can bluster preserve your life?"
"Bluster? Is that what the most ancient of kings calls it? Saber, Rider, and you yourself—I imagine you have all been gathering intelligence these past days. But none of you have stopped to ask one question."
"Why is it that I know all your true names and origins, while you know nothing of mine? How has such a vast gulf in intelligence come to be?"
"You could soothe yourselves by claiming it is some Noble Phantasm of mine." Satsuki released a deliberate smokescreen. "But… what if it isn't?"
What!
Her words rippled through the gathered crowd like a thunderclap. Only now did they realize a crucial fact.
This mysterious Servant—who was her Master?
Even the Chaldeans, even El-Melloi, had no answer.
At that instant, Saber's face changed first. She dared not take the words at face value, yet she could not ignore them. With just a few sentences, Satsuki had turned her unseen Master into the sharpest blade of all—unrevealed, yet most dangerous.
Without a word, Saber dashed to Irisviel's side. Having experienced firsthand what it meant to serve a Master like Kiritsugu Emiya—one who abandoned all scruples—she could not assume her enemy's Master was any less ruthless.
Strictly speaking, her own Master was the one bereft of knightly honor. Could she, as a Servant, truly condemn another?
Indeed, they had been led astray from the beginning. Always assuming this was some Noble Phantasm or skill of Satsuki's, never considering other possibilities.
Among the many possibilities, none could judge truth from falsehood. Thus, strategy demanded considering the worst case.
That worst case—that this entire battle had unfolded exactly according to the opponent's design. The Servants appearing, the effects of their Noble Phantasms, even the identities of their Masters—all might already lie within her knowledge.
Once such a possibility was raised, it gnawed at every heart present, infecting Servant and Master alike with fear. It meant that from the very start of this Grail War, all others had been at an absolute disadvantage.
And yet—
The Hero King Archer showed no sign of wavering. Of course he would not believe her words. For he possessed something of his own—an existence that rendered such boasts meaningless.
The EX-ranked Noble Phantasm, Gate of Babylon, the Star of All-Knowing, All-Powerful.
Thus, he dismissed Satsuki's claims with scorn.
"Hmph. If you think a few hollow words can make this king fear your schemes…" The golden Servant's tone dripped with bloodlust. "Mongrel, you overrate yourself. Allow me to tell you the world's greatest truth—only power has meaning!"
With a shimmer of golden light, behind him appeared twenty armaments—each clearly of Noble Phantasm grade—emerging from rippling portals. Every blade, spear, hook, sword, and halberd gleamed with killing intent, all aimed at the black-garbed Satsuki.
From afar, Irisviel gasped. As one far surpassing ordinary magi in perception, she could instantly sense the sheer density of magic, the flawless craftsmanship of weapons formed not of crude constructs but pure mana. Each one radiated the dignity of a hero's treasured armament.
Waver trembled in fear.
Maiya, watching from her distant perch, tensed instinctively.
Even Saber and Rider's eyes turned sharp and solemn.
At last, radiant beams of gold erupted!
Polished swords streaked forth like meteors, surging with massive magical energy. Noble Phantasms, proof of heroism itself—but here, flung carelessly like arrows loosed from a bow.
"Satsuki-senpai!"
"Hero King, please stop!"
Ritsuka Fujimaru and Mash cried out in alarm. Seeing Satsuki unmoving as the storm of Noble Phantasms hurtled toward her, their faces went pale. Mash readied her shield to intercept the barrage, while Ritsuka tried desperately to shout words of reason.
Rider's gaze grew grim. Saber's expression twisted in torment—her will to aid this mysterious Servant clashed with her uncertainty about her allegiance.
Too late!
The trajectory of those treasures was beyond tracing, streaking through the air in dazzling arcs to strike Satsuki.
And yet—
She did not flinch. Did not raise her sword. Did not move at all. She simply stood there, as though the storm of Noble Phantasms mattered nothing.
Then, in the very instant when the golden Servant's lips curled in bloodthirsty triumph, those countless shining weapons—vanished.
Yes. Without sound or sign, they were gone. The storm of treasures that could have shaken the entire coast, the deluge of Noble Phantasms that forced even other Heroic Spirits to avert their gaze—all disappeared at the threshold of the black Servant.
Silence.
A deathly silence.
Even those who had feared most for her safety—Fujimaru, Mash, Saber, Rider—could only stare in disbelief. What power was this? A skill? A Noble Phantasm? To erase a rain of treasures without a ripple—what could it be?
Satsuki ignored their shock, her cold eyes fixed on the King of Heroes above.
"This is your vaunted strength? Flinging treasures like a child scatters sand into the air? Tell me—between us, who is bluffing now?"
She paused, then enunciated each word with chilling clarity: "Mongrel."
The golden king's arrogant smile froze. In his crimson eyes, flames of rage rose higher than ever before. This was no ordinary fury—it was the wrath of a monarch from an age of gods, a fury before which even deities had once dared not raise their gaze.
And now—before him stood one who dared meet it without fear.
The wrath of the oldest king was hardly rare. Known as a tyrant, he was never famed for his temperance.
But to be called "mongrel" by one he deemed beneath him—only to be humiliated in return—now all present witnessed the true source of his pride.
Overwhelming.
Truly overwhelming.
Behind the golden Servant, rippling portals spread endlessly with his fury, a flood of mana like a boundless golden river stretching to the horizon.
Treasures. An endless tide of treasures. No longer dozens, nor hundreds, nor thousands—simply, uncountable.
No ordinary Heroic Spirit could ever wield such a number. And yet, he hurled them out carelessly, using each weapon of legend as if it were nothing but ammunition.
But every ripple of gold bore a Noble Phantasm—renowned, storied, celebrated throughout history.
Durandal, the holy sword of The Song of Roland.
Dáinsleif, the cursed blade of the Volsunga Saga.
Caladbolg, the rainbow spiral blade of the Táin Bó Cúailnge.
…
Each weapon carried devastating might. No matter how crudely wielded, their destructive power was unquestionable.
"Irisviel, leave. This is no longer a place we can remain."
Saber dismissed her sword into particles, then lifted the trembling Irisviel in her arms. In her embrace, Irisviel stared blankly at the golden storm filling the heavens.
"This… this scale of mana—how could it exist within the Holy Grail War?"
Meanwhile, the battle only escalated.
"You think some trinket to counter me justifies your arrogance?" The King of Heroes' voice, cold as ice, rang through his fury. "No. I will not merely tear you apart. I will erase your corpse, shackle your soul within hell itself, until my rage is sated. Mongrel!"
As if pronouncing divine judgment, countless spears, swords, axes, halberds—every legend shaped by mankind's history, dream, or fantasy—blazed into the sky and hurtled toward Satsuki.
Without gesture, without effort, only with his eyes and will, he loosed them like ballistic missiles. This was Archer—the divine marksman who existed only in myth.
Without arrogance, but in full fury, Gilgamesh revealed the power that set him above gods, that made him sovereign even among the shining halls of Heroic Spirits.
"An omen of heaven's wrath, shifting stars and constellations?" Satsuki's gaze pierced the golden rain, her eyes reflecting infinity itself. "Then let us see if you are fit to be my opponents."
The treasures fell like rain, a bombardment that could obliterate not just Fuyuki, but the entire peninsula.
At the same time, a golden sword rose into the sky, splitting heaven itself, carving a luminous boundary across the firmament, stirring storms and overturning heaven and earth.
The world roared! The world wept! The world trembled! Even the heavens recoiled before this godlike might.
Gods—would marvel to behold it.
Buddhas—would weep to hear it.
The deluge of treasures crumbled beneath the backlash of that power, bursting apart into scattered particles.
In Gilgamesh's astonished gaze, he realized he could not move beneath this force. That blasphemous figure had already risen into the heavens, sword raised high in one hand—
Just like the gods he despised most!
And in that instant, two figures suddenly appeared before him.
One was a short-haired, pink-haired female Servant—so weak he had once dismissed her without notice.
The other was the Chaldean Master, Ritsuka Fujimaru, standing defiantly at her side.
Even faced with the King of Heroes' nature, they could not let go of the memories they once held from the singularities. And so, when he stood at the brink of death, they chose to stand at his side.
"Please stop, Senpai. You've already won."
Mash's plea rang out toward the heavens, toward Satsuki, whose form had already taken on a different aspect entirely. But there was no answer.
This was a battle of myth, a struggle to the death. No words could bring it to an end.
"Mash, we have no choice."
Ritsuka Fujimaru infused magical energy into the Command Spell upon his hand. Power surged through Mash, filling her body. For a moment she hesitated, but soon her eyes hardened with resolve. She raised her massive cross shield, and a cloak of mana unfurled behind her as she began to chant:
"True name, release. I shall stand at the seat of calamity. This land that heals all wounds, all grievances—our homeland. Appear before us!"
High above, Satsuki's gaze was filled with nothing but indifference. In her hand she gripped a blade that had once severed stars and sundered worlds. It was without doubt an anti-world weapon, its name echoing across the land, its presence enough to make all beings tremble.
—Golden Wheel Reincarnation Explosion.
—'Lord Camelot!'
The golden sword split the heavens, rending the void. Its blade traced a scar across the sky itself, as though carving into the fabric of heaven and earth.
The King of Heroes, locked in place by a power that made even gods recoil, could only watch as the colossal sword fell upon him from beyond time and space.
Around Mash, the white walls of the holy city of Camelot rose in a dream, manifesting into reality. The greatest shield of humanity enveloped Fuyuki, its light standing against annihilation.
Sword and city.
For the first time across time and space, they clashed here.
BOOOOOOM—
The golden sword fell upon Camelot's barrier. With a deafening roar, a massive magical circle spread across the sky, holding firm against the descending strike.
But before Ritsuka could even allow himself relief, cracks spread like spiderwebs across the shield. They widened, raced outward, until they covered the circle completely. Even the dream walls of Camelot began to shatter beneath the golden blade's force.
"No—impossible!"
Horror twisted Ritsuka's face. Even Mash, with her Noble Phantasm unleashed, could not withstand the strike.
The sword split the holy city, reducing it to dissolving mana, then fell once more, its force carrying to tear apart heaven and earth as it descended toward Mash and the others.
"Absurd! Absurd! Absurd!" Gilgamesh's crimson eyes burned with disbelief. "Since when has this king needed saving by mongrels? Since when has this king been driven so far?!"
Yet despite his defiance, his body was bound by that same mysterious power. He could not move.
And so tonight, he would be forced to bear not one, but many debts.
Before the golden sword's path, another figure appeared—Saber.
The King of Knights: Artoria Pendragon.
She had no time to ask why that foreign Servant wielded a blade once borne by one of her knights. What mattered now was halting the sword that could destroy all.
Before the Golden Wheel Reincarnation Explosion, her own Noble Phantasm flared to life.
"Hm?"
Even Satsuki's voice held surprise at what was about to manifest.
The scattered golden light gathered—the one and only sheath of the sacred sword.
A defense that negated all interference. An "absolute protection" that ignored all magic and all physical force, that could even return attacks upon the aggressor. The strongest defensive Noble Phantasm.
When its protection was complete, no one could harm the one it shielded.
None could wound the king who rested in Avalon.
And with a voice both resolute and serene, Saber declared its name:
—Avalon, The Everdistant Utopia!
In blinding light, destruction met defense, as the golden sword and the sacred sheath clashed in the heavens.