"Hahaha... Let the commander come, then!"
Just as Saber of Red—Mordred—finished her taunting words, before she could even relish the reaction of these ironclad soldiers, suddenly—
"Hm?!"
Boom!
"Very well... I'll oblige you!" A surge of unrestrained power burst into Mordred's perception range.
A streak of light—like a meteor—cut through the air, its speed so immense that Mordred caught only a glimpse of its crimson tail flame in her peripheral vision.
Tensing every muscle in her body, she barely managed to turn in time to see her opponent—an armored giant, even taller and broader than the other iron soldiers around him.
The difference was clear: his armor was far more ornate and meticulously crafted... and he wasn't wearing a helmet!
You've got to be kidding me... The officer actually showed up. And judging by all that flashy gear, he's high-ranking too...
Barely finishing her internal complaint, Mordred's instincts screamed danger. She immediately surged her crimson lightning to its peak, pouring every ounce of mana she could muster into her sword—Clarent, the Brilliantly Shining Royal Sword.
With her full strength gathered, she swung backward.
BOOOOM—!
A deafening blast ripped through the battlefield, a mushroom cloud soaring high into the air. The shockwave scattered the lingering dust, while the already cratered and bomb-scarred earth gave way, collapsing into itself as the nearby plains were uprooted entirely.
In that instant, Mordred finally saw her opponent's weapon.
It wasn't a chainsword like the officers she had faced earlier—but a massive greatsword. The blade alone dwarfed her height, its double-edged surface gleaming like frost, with intricate cloudy patterns flowing along its length.
Its golden hilt flared outward like angelic wings, set with a blood-red gem the size of a child's fist. Violet-red mana pulsed around it like flames.
Great... the officer's a big deal, too.
Then—BOOM!
The giant's strength far surpassed hers. With a single swing, he smashed Mordred off her feet and sent her flying, her body spinning wildly through the air before crashing hard into the ground. Dirt and debris flew as she skidded to a stop, carving a long furrow in the earth.
Planting her sword into the ground to halt her momentum, Mordred dragged to a stop amid a cloud of smoke and gravel.
"So this is the strongest Servant class—Saber, huh?" Alex muttered, resting his gleaming golden-winged greatsword on the ground. "Hmph, this spiritualized body feels limiting... I can't even use half my full strength."
Stretching his arm with mild irritation, Alex watched as dust finally settled over the battlefield.
Meanwhile, Mordred—having been hurled a great distance—stabbed her left hand into the dirt and used her sword as leverage to spin herself back upright. As she steadied herself, the raining dust and debris pattered down like drizzle.
"Who are you? Saber of Black is Siegfried, right? No... Berserker? Doesn't fit... Then what, an irregular summoning?"
Brushing the dust off her armor, Mordred stood, glaring at the towering black-armored figure before her.
At that moment, she couldn't help but share Achilles' sentiment from before. Is my mouth cursed or something?
The Holy Grail War wasn't like any battle from her lifetime—every opponent here was a legendary hero. And yet, every time she opened her mouth to taunt one, she immediately got smashed for it.
Maybe I should stop trash-talking in battle... she thought grimly, gripping her sword tighter.
Smiling faintly, Alex rested both hands atop his greatsword. "No, I'm not a Servant. I am but a soldier—honored to have been summoned by Her Majesty."
"Summoned... by Her Majesty?"
Catching that phrasing, Mordred finally understood what Archer of Red—Atalanta—had meant by a 'massive army-summoning Noble Phantasm.'
It wasn't just summoning soldiers—Rider of Black's Noble Phantasm could summon commanders as well.
"...That's just cheating!"
"Well then, let's continue." Alex's faint smile vanished, replaced by a cold, solemn expression. Gripping the golden-winged greatsword—longer than Mordred was tall—he said firmly, "Come."
"Astartes Legion, First Legion—Legion Commander Alex. Saber of Red, let us duel."
With that, Alex bent his knees and exploded forward—BOOM!
In an instant, the dozens of meters between them vanished.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The two warriors met in a clash of blazing color—crimson lightning and violet-red fire intertwining in a deadly dance. Sparks flew as steel met steel, each strike ringing out in a relentless metallic symphony.
"Their physical strength... every one of these guys could rival a Berserker," Mordred muttered through clenched teeth. Each clash of blades felt like being struck by a hammer.
The sheer power channeled through Alex's muscles was monstrous.
Dodging beneath an upward slash, Mordred thrust her sword upward, aiming for the joint in Alex's waist armor.
Well... what choice did she have? The height difference was absurd. I have to jump just to reach his chest...
Clang!
Alex deflected the thrust with his thick armored forearm, but Mordred was no ordinary brawler—she was a duelist who fought by pure instinct, honed by the Pendragon line's innate battle intuition. The instant Alex's golden sword came down in a sweeping arc, Mordred twisted her wrist, released her grip with her right hand, ducked low, and caught the blade with her left—transforming her stab into a horizontal slash.
Alex's sword dropped, blocking the strike aimed at his knee joint. He turned his greatsword slightly, guiding her blade aside—then struck.
BAM!
His knee slammed straight into Mordred's helmeted head.
CRACK! Her visor shattered.
"Huh? So young?"
Though Selene had provided him with information beforehand, Alex hadn't expected the face beneath the helmet to look so youthful.
Not that it stopped him. Without hesitation, he swung his blade down once more.
Reeling from the blow, Mordred's vision blurred. Blood spattered from her lips, the world spinning as she barely managed to roll aside to avoid the descending sword.
But the size difference worked against her again. Just as she regained her footing, Alex followed with a brutal kick.
WHAM!
"Ugh—!"
She bent backward like a ragdoll, her breastplate cracking under the impact before she was hurled backward yet again.
Before she could recover, Alex pressed forward with another barrage.
Clang! Crackle! Clang!
Gritting her teeth, Mordred bit her tongue to stay conscious. Scarlet lightning erupted from her body as she swung Clarent to meet his assault.
But—CLANG!—the next blow nearly wrenched the sword from her grasp. Her arms shook violently, the weight of Alex's strike almost unbearable.
"No... I can't win like this," she thought, gasping. "Head-on, I'm at too much of a disadvantage. These iron monsters might lack Noble Phantasms or techniques, but their physical stats are ridiculous."
"I have to change tactics, or I'll be beaten to death... Wait—yes!"
"Master! Tell that old hag to give me mana—I'm unleashing my Noble Phantasm!"
...
In the throne hall of the airborne fortress—
"Ahem... Assassin, if you could assist with Saber's mana supply," said Kairi Sisigou awkwardly, averting his gaze.
"Ha... so much for her arrogance. To think she's getting beaten by one of Rider of Black's summoned constructs—not even a proper Servant," Semiramis muttered with a dry chuckle.
Still, seated on her throne, she granted the request with a flick of her finger. A violet magic circle flared beneath Kairi's feet, pouring torrents of mana through his circuits and into Mordred via their Command Spell link.
"That giant who used water dragons to block Archer's Noble Phantasm—and the one suppressing Saber in melee—they must both be Rider of Black's creations."
As Amakusa Shirou Tokisada rubbed his temples, a headache creeping in, he muttered, "No matter how you look at it, that Noble Phantasm's effect is pure cheating."
"Father," said Lancer of Red—Karna—arms crossed as he observed the ongoing battle on the screen, "according to my observations, those warriors summoned by Rider of Black's Noble Phantasm—whether soldiers or those commanders nearly equal to proper Servants—seem to be restricted."
"Oh? Please elaborate, Lancer." Amakusa looked up, while the other three in the throne hall turned their attention to him.
After a moment's thought, Karna said steadily, "That silver-haired commander who used the water dragon technique—that was not a Noble Phantasm release, merely mana burst. Likewise, the one suppressing Saber hasn't used any kind of Noble Phantasm attack either."
"And what does that suggest?"
A glint of realization flashed in Amakusa's eyes. "Meaning... their existence is limited."
"Exactly. That's our opening," Karna affirmed. "If my assumption is correct, those summoned warriors do not belong to the Greater Grail system. They are manifestations of one Heroic Spirit's Noble Phantasm—powerful, yes, but fundamentally restricted."
"They cannot unleash Noble Phantasms. At best, they possess a fraction of their original combat skill and mana-burst capabilities."
As Karna spoke, the divine light in his eyes flared faintly—the manifestation of his unique skill: Insight of the Poor.
A skill granting him the ability to perceive the essence of others—their nature, their limitations—beyond lies or deception. And his insight was precise.
Indeed, he had perfectly deduced the flaws of Selene's Honkai Dimension Noble Phantasm—specifically, its subordinate Legion Summoning function.
This was the limitation imposed by the Greater Grail—or more precisely, by the Counter Force—upon Selene's manifestation under a standard Saint Graph.
Her subordinate legion-summoning branch possessed no theoretical limit on numbers—so long as sufficient mana was available. In principle, she could summon endlessly.
But naturally, such power came with restrictions.
First, all mana consumed by the summoned warriors must be supplied by Selene's Master. Second, the summoned entities cannot release Noble Phantasms, retaining only base physical parameters, weapon skills, and mana burst capabilities.
The first condition alone crippled the system's full potential—after all, not every Master was from the Yggdmillennia family.
Consider the Fuyuki Holy Grail War: even the prodigy magus Illyasviel von Einzbern, with her immense mana reserves—could she possibly sustain Selene's astronomical mana expenditure?
Thus, the Counter Force was cunning indeed. It granted Selene a godlike Saint Graph template, but shackled her with near-impossible energy demands. Her full power could only be realized under rare, ideal conditions.
"Lancer, you've done us a great service," said Amakusa gratefully.
"It's nothing, Father... When may I deploy?" Karna asked, eyes blazing with purpose as he stared at the projected battlefield.
"Now."
On the display, the Servants of the Yggdmillennia clan had already gathered beneath the airborne fortress, led by Lancer of Black—Vlad III.
"Caster of Black hasn't shown himself yet, but that's fine," Amakusa said calmly. "Lancer, refrain from using your anti-divine strike for now—but otherwise, you have my full authorization. No limits. Unleash everything."
"Hold the Black Faction Servants at bay as long as possible... Caster can't last much longer."
Turning toward another display showing the city of Sighișoara, Amakusa frowned. "Soon, Rider of Black will arrive as well. One against five... I don't expect you to defeat them all."
"Just hold them off... Please, Lancer!"
With that, Amakusa bowed deeply, his voice heavy with earnest desperation.
Karna said nothing—he only nodded once, gripping his golden spear. Without hesitation, he turned and departed the throne hall of the Hanging Gardens.
"..."
"The outcome will be decided here and now."
Once Karna's figure vanished, Amakusa straightened and gazed resolutely toward the Fortress of Millennia, its lights gleaming under the dark Romanian night.
...
Sighișoara.
BOOM—crashhh!
Stones shattered, debris scattered, and dust billowed skyward.
Waving aside the dissipating smoke, Selene casually obliterated two flamboyantly dressed spiritual figures that looked more like stage actors than warriors.
"Romeo and Juliet?" she asked, curious.
"Oh, yes, indeed, Your Divine Majesty!" cried Shakespeare, clasping his hands in delight. "To think that even a god has graced my humble masterpiece! Ahh—what bliss! What honor!"
"..."