—That man was pure muscle.
No matter how you looked at it, that was the only way to describe him. Though he was a towering figure over two meters tall, anyone who saw him would first have their gaze stolen by his outrageously exaggerated muscles. Then, when they looked up to gauge his height, they would only feel further despair.
The countless scars carved into his bluish-white muscles made it easy to imagine the terrifying training and battles he had endured. Yet, it was equally obvious that none of those wounds had ever reached his core.
Using a knife to scratch a massive iron sphere would never inflict a fatal wound. Indeed, his muscles were just like that—solid blocks of steel. A sharp blade might cut his skin and draw a little blood, but that would be the extent of it.
His arms were like the torsos of crocodiles, his pectoral muscles so thick they might as well have been armor despite being bare. His legs, moving with ease, were as powerful as the hind limbs of a mammoth.
Though leather straps tightly bound his entire body, including his face, the man showed no sign of pain. Instead, he even wore a cheerful smile. His attire was minimal—just strips of leather covering his waist and groin, which clearly offered no real protection.
But that was enough. His muscles could not be contained by armor—no, they didn't need it. They were already that overwhelmingly dense.
At dusk, this unkempt man strode through the vast Ideal Forest east of Trifas.
Compared to him, a giant octopus walking down the road would have seemed more realistic. He was that out of place in this nature-filled forest.
The man was the Red Faction's Servant—Berserker.
"Stop right there, Berserker!"
A figure leaped through the branches, chasing after him like a beast unleashed.
It was a girl clad in emerald-green attire. Her eyes held the cold, sharp glint of a predator, and her hair, though wild and unkempt, flowed with the freshness and smoothness of the forest itself—perfectly matching her feral, breathtaking beauty.
Yes, she was slender, dangerous, and utterly beautiful—a humanoid beast.
Berserker laughed, refusing to halt his steps as he boomed in response:
"Hahahaha! Archer, I must decline that order! I must reach that fortress and stand before the tyrant!"
"You fool! I told you to wait for the right moment—why can't you understand?!"
But Berserker did not stop. He continued forward, each step powerful and unrelenting. He had been walking nonstop for two days and nights now, and sightings of him by passersby were no longer rare. Archer could only pray that the suspicious priest would handle the situation properly.
"My dictionary has no word for 'waiting.'"
So this was how it would end.
The Red Archer had completely given up on him. To be more precise, following the orders conveyed by the dove, she chose to focus on providing support if persuasion proved ineffective.
"After all, he is a Berserker. Communication of thoughts is impossible, it seems..."
To her murmured words accompanied by a sigh, a voice responded:
"Ah, I thought it would come to this. His Berserker class isn't just for show."
Hearing this voice from above, Archer looked up toward the tree branches.
A young man stood there with a beaming smile. He was quite the handsome man, but his beauty was not the elegant charm of a chivalrous knight. His eyes were as sharp as those of a bird of prey, and his agile physique was refined yet unpretentious. It was the heroic demeanor that men, women, the elderly, and children alike would admire and yearn for.
The Red Rider... As Father Amakusa Shirou would say, he was a man who could rival the undying great hero Karna.
It was worth noting that the eras in which Rider and Archer left their legends were remarkably close.
"Why have you followed me here?"
The young man, appearing delighted by the question, flashed a knowing smile: "Because I was worried about you, of course. Isn't that obvious?"
"Hmph, is that so."
The Red Archer neither blushed, nor showed surprise, nor even anger—she was utterly unresponsive. For an ordinary woman, no matter how virtuous or married, such words would undoubtedly have made her flush with bashfulness.
But to this Archer, who had lived alongside wild beasts, sweet talk held no meaning. With his honeyed words falling flat, Rider scratched his head in embarrassment. Then, clearing his throat, he returned to the original mission.
"...In any case, our assigned task is rear support—to assist Berserker within our means while gathering as much information as possible."
"We'll soon face the enemy. If things go smoothly, he'll likely reach the fortress by midnight tonight. But before that, we should expect some resistance."
The hero's characteristic flirtatiousness faded, replaced by a thirst for battle as Rider brandished his spear with a ferocious grin:
"Hah... Well, I'd really like to see the Black faction's lot first."
Whether intentional or not, both of them ignored the increasingly dense traps and the small magical puppets floating in midair, patrolling the surroundings.
The pale yellow single eye emitted an inorganic magical glow, transmitting images to the distant fortress.
———
At the hour of twilight, the seven pairs of Masters and Servants gathered once more in the Fortress of Millennia.
Caster, Avicebron, set up a seven-branched candelabrum, and through the golem's projection, a crude and disheveled half-naked giant was seen marching through the forest—a sight truly beyond description.
Even through the image, his horrifyingly twisted grin and the ceaseless laughter that had lasted two days and nights were deeply imprinted in the minds of both Masters and Servants alike.
Amid the oppressive silence, Darnic was the first to speak:
"Everyone, according to Caster's report, this Servant is charging straight through the forest day and night, heading directly for this Fortress of Millennia."
At these words, everyone present fell silent. Since this was a war, it was only natural for the enemy to launch an attack. Whether through surprise assaults or open charges, having multiple Servants attack together was the proper way of war.
Yet the giant charging toward them had no subordinates in sight—in other words, this Servant intended to take on the enemy alone. It was an utterly foolish act.
And among the seven classes, only one could carry out such idiocy without hesitation.
"I believe this must be the Red Berserker. Most likely, his Madness Enhancement is so high that he's lost himself in a frenzy, craving enemies."
No sooner had Darnic spoken than the pale-skinned Berserker swung his sword, shattering the familiar observing him.
Suppressing her discomfort, Fiore turned to Darnic.
"What do you intend to do, Uncle?"
"Of course, we cannot let this opportunity slip. If all goes well, we may even turn this Berserker into our pawn."
Darnic's words stirred murmurs among the group. Once silence returned, the black-clad Lancer seated on the throne slowly rose.
"Darnic, let me hear your strategy."
His calm expression faded as Vlad III smiled—a smile brimming with cruelty.
"A glorious battle is about to unfold."
———
Evening, Trifas Church.
"Let's eat!"
After finishing her prayers, the golden-haired girl, whose hunger had reached its limit, brandished her fork and knife, cutting into the steaming sarmale (Romanian cabbage rolls) before stuffing a bite into her mouth.
"How is it?" The nun of the church watched the girl who called herself "Jeanne" with an amused smile.
"...Delicious."
Seizing a brief moment to reply, Ruler immediately buried herself in her meal again. With each bite, her shrunken stomach expanded—yet the more she ate, the stronger her hunger grew, an endless torment.
As Ruler, the overseer of this Holy Grail War, Jeanne d'Arc had arrived in Trifas on foot after dealing with the aftermath of the Servants' fierce battle. By the time she reached her destination, dawn had long passed, only for her to immediately face an unexpected hardship.
Just as the old man who had given her a ride had said, Trifas had no notable tourist attractions. Perhaps because of this, the town had only three inns—and whether by Yggdmillennia's design or not, all were fully occupied by their magi.
"...This is troublesome."
Jeanne's distress was understandable. Due to the nature of her summoning, she could not dematerialize and required food and rest. Of course, Servants wouldn't starve to death like humans, but without sustenance, her body would weaken from hunger, leaving her in dire straits.
Just as she was at a loss, the inn's receptionist offered the lovely girl a solution.
"Why not try the church?"
Thus, when Jeanne d'Arc knocked on the door of the small chapel and requested lodging for a few days, the nun readily agreed. Though she could only stay in the attic room, it was still better than sleeping rough.
The nun introduced herself as Alma Petresia. Her demeanor was remarkably poised—a woman who had grown up in this simple town, seemingly desiring nothing but divine grace.
As Ruler blissfully savored the flavors of dinner, Alma, who had prepared the meal, couldn't help but smile warmly. Later, Jeanne borrowed the bath to wash away the dust and exhaustion from head to toe.
Late at night, while Alma was fast asleep, Ruler left the attic and stepped outside.
All the lights had gone out—a common sight in Jeanne's time, but according to the knowledge granted by the Holy Grail, Trifas, with its great invention of the "light bulb," shouldn't be shrouded in "deathly" silence.
Yet, the eerie wind drifting through the air, the stench of corpses and magical energy—these were undeniable proof that a Holy Grail War was unfolding in this city.
Ruler soaked her right hand in holy water drawn from the church and flicked it into the air. The droplets faintly shimmered, moving fluidly as they began to sketch a three-dimensional map of the city. This was one of the privileges granted to the Ruler: the ability to detect Servants.
The results of the search—only one Red Servant was confirmed to be in Trifas.
"...Hmm."
She tilted her head in puzzlement and expanded the search area. The Fortress of Millennia—there, seven Servants were gathered, their color black.
"...Six Red Servants missing? So, this lone Red Servant is a scout?"
Realizing that Trifas was entirely under the enemy's Red faction, it seemed they had distanced themselves from the city. Their base was likely the neighboring town of Sighișoara.
Strictly speaking, the Holy Grail War was supposed to take place within a single city. Stationing themselves in Sighișoara could be considered a violation of the rules.
"Still, given the circumstances, this strategy is understandable."
After all, Trifas was under the management of Yggdmillennia. Unlike Fuyuki, where the Three Families maintained a certain degree of fairness, Trifas was an absolute monarchy belonging solely to Yggdmillennia.
No matter how securely they held the Greater Grail, this was far too unbalanced. Stationing themselves in a city other than Trifas was a leniency that should be allowed.
Just as Jeanne was convincing herself, the seven Servants within the Fortress of Millennia all moved at once—but not toward Trifas. Instead, they headed outward—
"Toward the forest?"
She adjusted the search range, shifting it to the vast Hanging Gardens of Babylon that stretched east of Trifas. The presence of Red Servants was confirmed—three, no... four!
A shiver ran down her spine like an electric current. Jeanne knew this was her "Revelation" at work.
In other words, was that mysterious "Sakatsuki" among the four Red Servants?
With a mix of anticipation and unease, Jeanne gauged the distance between herself and the forest, stretched her stiff limbs, and sprinted toward it.
From morning until afternoon, she had been busy non-stop, only stopping for dinner, with barely any rest—the holy maiden was unaware that her disregard for basic human needs would soon lead to dire consequences.