The spear tore through the air with a thunderous roar.
The sword rent the winds with a piercing shriek.
The fierce battle raged like a fading life. Sparks scattered as two immense forces clashed in perfect equilibrium.
In terms of range, the spearman naturally held the advantage—after all, the crimson Lancer's spear boasted a blade over a meter long.
But maintaining distance inevitably slowed the speed of his attacks. Each thrust required a slight delay to withdraw the spear, creating a momentary opening.
Of course, the crimson Lancer's spearmanship lived up to the legendary hero Karna's name. To Gordes, a mere Master, Lancer's movements were likely nothing more than a blur—this much was undeniable.
Yet, facing this relentless, fortress-like barrage of spear strikes was the Netherlands' own 'Dragon-Slayer Siegfried.' His swordsmanship had long transcended human limits, and he exploited those fleeting openings to steadily close the distance.
Still, the Saber could not simply rely on his skill to perfectly deflect every thrust. No amount of technique could fully withstand the divine onslaught of the spear.
Nevertheless, the black Saber calmly narrowed the gap. It was such a reckless act that even Ruler, who knew his legend well, nearly cried out to stop him.
"Sacrifice leads to victory"—spoken so easily, yet in practice, it demanded immense hardship. Most would only sink deeper into the quagmire of death.
The black Saber took another step forward. With minimal movement, he wielded his greatsword, deflecting the spear's relentless strikes in the nick of time. But advancing meant he could no longer match the spear's speed. Multiple thrusts struck vital points—his arteries severed, his brow pierced—or so they should have.
"...!?"
Witnessing this bizarre spectacle, the crimson Lancer immediately retreated. Putting distance between them, he cast a freezing glare at the black Saber.
"Your wounds… are shallow."
Not just one or two—seventy-eight spear strikes had landed on the black Saber. Every single one had struck true, aimed at lethal points. Yet, the Saber stood unfazed, calmly raising his stance once more.
He was not unharmed. But the wounds were absurdly shallow. With Karna's spear, limbs should have shattered, eyes gouged out—yet Gordes' healing magic sealed the black Saber's injuries almost instantly. This fact alone proved that Siegfried's wounds were so minor they could be regenerated on the spot.
Impossible. If he had somehow deflected every strike, it would still be unbelievable, but theoretically conceivable. Yet, taking direct hits and suffering only this much damage? Unthinkable.
This was an impossibility—yet it had undeniably occurred. Thus, there had to be a reason. Either he was blessed by the gods, like their own Rider, or he had endured unimaginable trials—or perhaps—
"—Ah, I see. Now I understand."
A long-lost exhilaration surged in Lancer's chest. This black Saber truly bore a striking resemblance to 'him.'
...Undoubtedly, black Saber was equally astonished. His irregular ability, "Armor of Fafnir," recreated the legend of the dragon-blooded hero Siegfried, rendering all attacks below B-rank utterly ineffective.
In other words, without fully deploying a Noble Phantasm, merely wielding a spear as a conventional weapon would never harm Saber.
Yet, all seventy-eight consecutive strikes unleashed by Lancer had wounded him—albeit lightly, to the extent that his Master's healing magecraft could instantly restore him. But this fact alone was enough to send a chill down the spine of the heroic spirit Siegfried.
This meant that the Red Lancer's spear possessed physical attack power equivalent to an A-rank. Needless to say, the spear itself must have been an extraordinary treasure. But that alone couldn't have delivered a blow capable of piercing the dragon's armor. Such destructive force could only be achieved through astonishing physical strength and peerless skill.
How magnificent.
Though Saber's expression remained impassive, joy stirred within him. In life, he had never once crossed blades with such a formidable warrior. Since slaying the evil dragon that had ravaged thousands of villages, his invincible body had forged countless legends—yet the sensation of teetering on the brink of death, as if his very soul were being eroded, had long since faded.
No attack could touch him; Siegfried had merely slaughtered his enemies with ease—it was less a battle and more akin to labor.
But this fight rekindled a passion Siegfried had not felt in ages.
Even as they thought, their battle raged on, their feats intertwining like spirals, fleeting as sparks. The two, standing at the pinnacle of sword and spear techniques, vied for supremacy.
In terms of sheer skill, the red Lancer held a slight edge. In resilience of body, the Black Saber surpassed him. Yet overall, their strength was nearly equal—a single moment of carelessness would mean a pierced heart or a severed head.
The demonic sword Balmung ceaselessly pursued the white-haired spearman, while the divine spear Vasavi Shakti shattered Siegfried's blood armor again and again. They clashed across the plains, their flames and demonic energy reducing the land to a cratered wasteland; they battled amidst the mountains, their bodies and weapons colliding, reducing countless peaks to dust in their wake.
Sparks illuminated their cold, focused gazes as the dawn sun breached the horizon. Bathed in the morning light, their two small figures cast shadows that engulfed the earth, and the very world trembled at the ferocity of their duel.
Darkness scattered as the pale-skinned, golden-armored Karna was kicked high into the sky. Gazing at the approaching sword of the supreme dragon-slayer, he slightly parted his lips—as if in awe, or perhaps drawing a deep breath.
The next instant, crimson solar flames descended from the heavens!
It was the ultimate heat and radiance, the fury and authority of the sun itself! A torrent of light rained down like a waterfall, and Siegfried barely had time to raise his sword before being struck down onto the plain, engulfed in the cataclysmic explosion that followed.
The earth trembled, ravaged by destruction no less than an earthquake, yet the Dragon Slayer of the Netherlands stood firm, the ground beneath his feet sinking a full inch. Viewed from above, Lancer Karna's strike had left a sun-shaped scar spanning a hundred meters across the wilderness!
Such a terrifying Son of the Sun, such an indomitable Dragon Slayer!
The Red Lancer who had unleashed this attack landed lightly, his crimson cloak burning like an inextinguishable flame.
Blocking his path was the Black Saber, with silver hair and silver armor, wreathed in azure magical energy.
"A demonic spear capable of piercing my Dragon's Armor... your skill, your legend, your suffering..."
The exhilaration of battle made Siegfried forget his Master's prohibition. Wiping the blood from his face, he spoke in a voice as steady as his appearance.
"I deeply respect them all."
Amid the undying flames, the man with red markings at the corners of his eyes lifted his gaze, letting out a sharp, almost amused scoff.
"Hmm..."
Gordes ground his teeth as he watched the deadly battle between Black Saber and Red Lancer. He found no opportunity to cast magecraft. Come to think of it, the enemy Master didn't seem to be present either.
But what frustrated him most was Black Saber's inability to secure victory. Siegfried, the Dragon-Slaying Hero, was undoubtedly the strongest Saber—a great hero who feared no attack below B-rank.
Yet even such a Saber couldn't fully defend against Red Lancer's assaults. Indeed, it seemed they had no choice but to accept her assistance now.
"Please, help us! That Karna is your enemy as well, isn't he?"
"Ah..." The Ruler, who had been gazing somewhere beyond the battlefield, snapped out of her brief daze and regained her solemn demeanor.
"As I said earlier, I cannot interfere in their battle."
With his request rejected again, Gordes grew increasingly frantic. He knew that not only the few present here, but Darnic and the others must also be watching this spectacle.
While the two Servants fought, he had neither issued commands nor provided magical support—to others, did this make Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia seem like a completely incompetent Master?
What infuriated him more was that he couldn't even locate the Red Master, meaning he couldn't even prove himself!
The feeling of being sidelined rekindled long-buried shame and humiliation in Gordes' heart, driving him toward an uncertain path.
—I must do something.
—I must obtain the power to do something.
—Yes, that power... is right here in my hand.
Gordes looked at the back of his right hand. There, indeed, lay the proof of his status as a Master. The bond between Master and Servant, carved with immense magical energy... the Command Spell.
That's right. By using this Command Spell, he could easily bring that Servant under his control. That Black Saber wasn't a hero—just a puppet at the end of the day. He must never forget that.
And so, seizing the brief moment when Karna and Siegfried exchanged words, Gordes gritted his teeth and raised his Command Spell.
Now is the time—to seize the brief moment when the enemy Lancer lowers his guard, unleash Saber's Noble Phantasm, crush him in one strike, and claim our first victory—
"Wait, Lord Gordes! You mustn't do that!"
A sharp cry exploded in his ears. Gordes shuddered, snapping out of his trance as he staggered backward several steps, breaking out in a cold sweat.
"My lord, are you alright?"
Beside him, Reika Rikudou, who had rushed over, cast him a concerned glance. This time, however, Gordes did not respond to her. Instead, he clutched his chest, rationality finally returning to him.
Just a little more... just a little more, and he would have wasted a Command Spell here!
Siegfried's Noble Phantasm had no armor-piercing effect. In other words, if Karna focused on defense, even an instantaneous Noble Phantasm release would be futile!
"Thank you for the warning."
"Don't mention it. But I think it's time we retreated."
Reika shifted her gaze, watching as two black-robed figures shot up from the forest and came crashing down toward them. She gave a slight nod.
"After all... dawn is nearly here."
Indeed, several hours had already passed since the battle began—not only had the combatants lost themselves in the fight, but even the spectators had forgotten the passage of time.
The morning light had already spread across the sky. The night of conflict was coming to an end.
Yet what drew the curtain on this battle was not Karna and Siegfried, who had already ceased fighting, but the two 'Assassins' who fell like meteors and clashed once more!