Sighișoara, Church on the Hill.
The serene and holy atmosphere of the church was shattered by the violent roar of heavy-caliber gunfire.
Boom~! Boom! Boom! Boom... The dense volley of 0.75-inch standard explosive bolts screamed through the air.
The ignited storm of steel instantly tore apart the wooden pews where Amakusa Shirou Tokisada had been praying devoutly moments before.
Then came a succession of thunderous explosions.
Flames erupted outward!
A powerful shockwave shattered the colorful stained-glass windows!
The ancient church was being dismembered piece by piece!
Countless religious artifacts were caught in the blast of the explosive bolts' shockwaves, flung through the air like kites with broken strings, crashing violently into the walls.
Crash~! Crack! Crack! Crack...
Inside the church, the crucifix standing at the center of the small chapel was shattered along with several thick supporting pillars.
The stained-glass depiction of the Holy Son, Jesus, was now engulfed in a metallic storm, its multicolored fragments glittering under the moonlight shining through the dome.
Boom! Whizz—! Splatter!
A standard explosive bolt pierced straight through the church's thick walls and struck the jubilant Shakespeare—who had just been shouting something about "My inspiration has arrived!" and "Heroic clashes!" and "The grand scene I desired!"—directly in the abdomen.
With a splorch!, blood and flesh burst apart as the Caster of Red's upper and lower halves were instantly separated.
"Master! Be careful!" The ancient queen of Assyria and the oldest poisoner, Semiramis, looked grim, her usual composure gone entirely.
The moment the gunfire rang out, one of the explosive bolts had passed through the splintered doorway and struck Semiramis directly in the face—before detonating.
Fortunately, thanks to her EX-ranked Territory Creation skill, even though she had devoted most of her focus to constructing the "Hanging Gardens of Babylon," she had still established defensive magical barriers within their base—the church.
Otherwise, given the sight of the shattered and burning statue of the Virgin Mary, Semiramis knew full well that with her mere E- or D-ranked Strength and Endurance, she could never have survived such a hit.
Even if she wasn't instantly eliminated, she would have been severely wounded—perhaps as badly as that useless Caster.
Activating the magical defense array she had prepared, Semiramis glanced at the pool of blood where Shakespeare lay and muttered coldly, "That one's a lost cause... let him regenerate on his own."
Indeed, as the Assassin of Red, she wasn't weak by any means. Her stats and Noble Phantasms were formidable. However, the conditions required to unleash her full power were simply too restrictive.
Her trump card—The Hanging Gardens of Babylon—was an EX-ranked, Anti-World Noble Phantasm.
Since the historical construction of the Hanging Gardens hadn't been carried out by Semiramis herself, it was deemed "False" or "Vainglorious," hence its epithet: The Gardens of Vanity.
Its activation conditions were exceedingly harsh—it couldn't be manifested purely through magical energy. She first had to gather materials from her homeland—wood, stone, minerals, plants, and water—and perform an elaborate ritual to transform fantasy into reality. Even with perfect conditions, the ritual would take at least three full days.
Now, however, under this sudden assault, the Noble Phantasm was still incomplete. With no frontline allies nearby, this was her moment of greatest vulnerability.
"My misjudgment... this is my fault," she murmured bitterly. "I didn't expect the Black Faction to strike so directly at our position... and these weapons... what are they?"
Together, she and Amakusa Shirou Tokisada sustained the magical barrier as they retreated. Glancing at the suspended rounds frozen midair by their spell, Amakusa frowned deeply.
"These... are not ordinary bullets," he muttered. "They're constructed entirely from magical energy—and there's a strong surge within each projectile. These are... weapons forged by Heroic Spirits."
"Assassin, retreat to the inner chamber! We need to evacuate all Masters immediately!" Amakusa commanded, seizing Semiramis by the arm as they pulled back.
The next instant—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM...!
The suspended projectiles detonated midair.
The sculptures of saints that had once stood proudly in the chapel were reduced to fine white dust in an instant.
With the supporting pillars destroyed, the church's grand, painted dome collapsed in fragments. Combined with the shattered walls pounded by explosive bolts, the entire scene became one of utter devastation.
Then—BOOM!
"Advance—crush them all!!"
With a battle cry that seemed to shake heaven and earth, the church's front wall was smashed apart—no, half of the entire church had already collapsed.
Bang! Bang!
Bricks and stone shards flew everywhere. As Amakusa Shirou Tokisada and Semiramis froze momentarily in disbelief, heavily armored gray giants—some wielding massive firearms, others gripping enormous melee weapons—strode into the ruined church.
Leading them at the front was none other than Lancer of Black—Vlad III!
Before them stood not only the elite soldiers—clearly summoned through some kind of army-type Noble Phantasm—but also three additional Servants of the Black Faction besides Lancer himself!
"Assassin," Amakusa said grimly, "forget retreating. Immediately order the other Masters in the hidden chamber to use their Command Spells to recall their Servants. We've lost the first round."
"Don't worry about saving Command Spells—if one isn't enough, use two! If my guess is right, every move we've made has already been discovered by the Yggdmillennia Masters of the Black Faction..."
Using magical telepathy, Amakusa spoke with bitterness in his tone.
"Based on the analysis of the golden-armored giant that destroyed our familiars," he continued, "The Servant who fought our Saber in the city must have been that unknown deity. These giants are likely soldiers summoned through that god's army-type Noble Phantasm. Among the Servants present now, none match the divine-class energy signature detected earlier. Which means... that deity has gone to intercept the Servants we dispatched."
"Assassin—after you activate the Command Spells, can you both defend and maintain the summoning at the same time?"
"I can!" Semiramis replied firmly. Extending her arms, she released a surge of azure mana, forming a shimmering field of defensive light.
At that moment, a gray-armored Astartes officer with a tattered cloak strode toward the pile of shattered pews soaked in blood.
Lying there, the Caster of Red—Shakespeare—said nothing to reproach his allies for abandoning him. He understood—his end was inevitable.
Staring at his blood-covered hands and the severed half of his own body lying nearby, he sighed softly. So soon? What a pity... To depart this stage before the grand tale had even reached its peak—it was such a loss.
He thought of the legendary heroes locked in combat—the glorious battles of history, and even that pitiful Berserker Spartacus, whom he had personally goaded into seeking rebellion. If all of this were written into a play, it would surely become a masterpiece.
For William Shakespeare, the Caster of Red, the world itself was a story of thunderous grandeur. No—it must be a story of thunderous grandeur!
He loved extraordinary beings from the bottom of his heart and lived to record the tales they wove.
As the towering gray-armored warrior approached, Shakespeare found himself marveling. He had thought Spartacus was a giant—but clearly, his vision had been far too narrow. (Spartacus' height: 221 cm.)
"What a magnificent warrior..." he murmured sincerely.
"So... so unwilling! My perfect, flawless curtain call... I should not have been the first to leave!" he cried suddenly—in his mother tongue.
The Astartes officer froze for a moment, clearly perplexed by the dying man's strange words. What a bizarre fellow, he thought.
"Next time... I want to be the protagonist too..."
Ignoring the Caster of Red's final ramblings, the Astartes officer raised his massive power-armored boot high and brought it down with brutal precision.
THUD! SPLAT!!
Shakespeare's head burst open like a ripe watermelon, scattering red and white gore across the ruined floor.
Watching the precision and power of his Astartes warriors, Vlad III nodded in satisfaction. Their discipline was perfect—the way true soldiers ought to be.
"So, the other Masters of the Red Faction... you've stepped into my domain, yet dare not show yourselves? Only the Assassin and her Master possess the courage to face me?"
"Dragon Tooth Warriors!"
Having retreated to the entrance of the secret passage, Semiramis had no patience for Vlad's kingly display. With a graceful wave of her hand, countless skeletal Dragon Tooth Warriors filled the remains of the church.
At her command, the undead soldiers surged forward in an unending tide toward the Black Faction forces entering the shattered sanctuary.
"Hmph, so be it..." Vlad scoffed, but said no more. Every hero renowned in history had their pride, and the Queen of Assyria was no exception.
Then, extending one hand, Vlad's expression hardened. "Kazıklı Bey!"
With the Prince's voice, the entire church trembled faintly.
In an instant, the charging Dragon Tooth Warriors were impaled from below by countless slender, pitch-black stakes that erupted from the ground—piercing one after another in rapid succession.
Shhk! Shhk! Shhk!
Within moments, the church had transformed into a forest of death. The stakes, like blackened tree trunks, rose from the earth, while the Dragon Tooth Warriors' bodies formed grotesque branches and leaves.
A dark woodland had sprouted from the chapel floor, centered entirely around Vlad. Everything before him was pierced through and annihilated.
The defensive arrays Semiramis had painstakingly established throughout the church collapsed one after another under the relentless onslaught of impaling spikes.
The dark wooden thorns continued to surge forward, lunging toward the Assassin of Red and her Master.
"With the Command Spell granted by the Greater Grail, I order you—Assassin! Hold them off and recall our Servants!"
Rolling up his sleeve, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada's red Command Seal flared brilliantly.
"Sikera Ušum: Arrogant King's Alcohol!"
At once, a sweet and mellifluous voice rang out—Semiramis' voice. Her entire body dissolved into a mist of black-green vapor.
Everything touched by the toxic fog sizzled with corrosive squelches. Both the Dragon Tooth Warriors she had summoned and the execution stakes conjured by Vlad were swiftly devoured by the mist.
The closer one was to Semiramis, the faster the corrosion spread. Within seconds, the entire interior of the church—including the floor beneath her—had liquefied into bubbling pools of black-green sludge, flowing toward the Black Faction.
"This... poison?" Vlad muttered, watching his execution stakes melt away. For all his valor, he instinctively took a step back. Against poisoners, even kings exercised caution.
"This is... the poison of the Hydra?" said Chiron, his eyes narrowing. His voice was grim, edged with memory.
No one knew Hydra's venom better than he. It was that very poison which had driven him to abandon immortality—to surrender his divine nature after endless agony.
"Lancer! Saber—Siegfried! Berserker—Frankenstein! Be careful! That's the Hydra's venom!"
"Hm?" Vlad tensed instantly. If even Chiron warned them, the threat was real. "Truly worthy of her title—Semiramis, Queen of Assyria, the oldest poisoner in history!"
So, the Black Faction had knowledge of their enemies' identities... but how deeply? Clairvoyance? Prophetic insight? Likely that god's ability, Semiramis thought grimly. "Troublesome."
Meanwhile, Amakusa's furrowed brow finally eased. Through Semiramis' telepathic report, he learned that the other five Masters of the Red Faction had successfully used their Command Spells to recall their Servants. The cost had been immense—but worthwhile.
Then, with cold resolve in his gaze, Amakusa sent a mental order to Semiramis:
No restraint. No conservation. Go all out. While that god hasn't reacted yet—take down as many of them as possible!
"Understood. Bašmu—manifest!"
At her words, the black-green sea of poison that had flooded the nave began to bubble violently. With deep, guttural gurgles, the toxic ocean rose and twisted—
Wnd from it, a colossal dark-green serpent slowly emerged, its scales glistening with corrosive slime.
"Saber—use your Noble Phantasm!" Vlad commanded immediately.
Bašmu—one of the eleven monstrous creations born of the Babylonian mother goddess, Tiamat.
"Yes! Fantasmal Gr—"
But then—
BZZZZZ—!!
A voice screamed from the distance, laced with panic.
"No! Don't! Achilles—run!!"