Red Berserker - Spartacus.
Once a Roman gladiator slave, he one day led seventy-eight comrades to escape. He was the hero who defeated a pursuing force of three thousand men, inspiring slave uprisings across the land. Though ultimately betrayed by pirates he had trusted and torn apart by the Roman army, until then he had known nothing but victory. To the weak and enslaved, he was truly a beacon of hope.
A Berserker who hated all tyrants, whose fighting spirit burned against the strong. Who fought to protect the weak, to comfort them, to heal them. And above all—who fought to rebel.
"By the way, Rider, where's your horse?"
"I came to gather information, not hand mine over to the enemy. I won't be using them this time."
"Hah... Coming from you, that's fine. So, will you fight with a sword or a spear?"
For third-rate heroes, mastering even one weapon was a struggle. But the Red Rider had no such concerns—he trusted his weapons more than his chariot.
"Spear, of course."
Rider and Archer continued their relentless pursuit of Berserker. His slow, straight path made losing him impossible.
"Say, big sis, have you ever seen your Master's face?"
"...My name is Atalanta. Don't call me 'big sis,' Achilles."
The emerald Archer, an incarnation of nature and wildness, effortlessly named the Red Rider.
"Hahaha, just a friendly nickname. Don't mind it."
Atalanta shot him an annoyed glance.
Having endured countless advances in life, she knew exactly what this "junior" was thinking.
Heroes in Greek myths were all like this.
"I haven't seen my Master. The only one I've met is the priest who's Assassin's Master." Setting aside her irritation, Atalanta replied coolly.
Hearing this, Achilles' smile faded as he spread his hands.
"The circuits are connected, and commands are being issued, yet they refuse to show themselves... That's already abnormal."
That the Red Masters had all been enchanted and turned into puppets by a single person—even the valiant Achilles and the swift Atalanta would find it hard to believe.
"Still, magi have their reasons for hiding." Atalanta spoke indifferently. She wasn't the type to care about her Master. Raised by the law of the jungle, even if her Master were killed, she'd simply conclude it was survival of the fittest.
"...Something feels off about that priest and his Servant," Achilles muttered, puzzled. "And yesterday, we got word that a mysterious Servant from the Mage's Association joined the Red faction. They say he nearly killed the Black Lancer and even activated the Holy Grail War's backup system."
At this point, Achilles' nature was stirred, and he grew restless with excitement: "If possible, I'd truly love to settle things with him in a duel."
Suddenly, Atalanta raised her head, looking into the distance of the forest, her drooping beast ears instantly perking up.
Achilles immediately stopped speaking: "What is it?"
Atalanta's emerald eyes flickered with a blue light as the 'Clairvoyance' unique to an Archer pierced through the forest's cover, revealing the approaching Servants clad in bizarre attire.
"They're coming."
As she uttered these words, the two Servants summoned their respective armaments.
The spear summoned by Rider Achilles was vastly different in appearance from that of the Red Lancer. Karna's divine spear was a massive weapon that relied on its sharp tip and immense weight to wreak destruction. In contrast, the spear wielded by Rider was a simple yet sturdy weapon designed purely for close combat.
Judging by its length and the ease with which it could be held in one hand, it was likely a spear meant for throwing.
Rider seemed intent on challenging them to close combat without resorting to 'Riding.' To be honest, this was sheer recklessness. Yet, his composed demeanor perfectly showcased the caliber of the hero whose true name was Achilles.
On the other hand, Archer summoned a bow that needed no introduction. A black-lacquered Western bow longer than her own height, it was said to be the Celestial Bow bestowed by the goddess of the hunt, Artemis. Its name was Tauropolos, an epithet of the goddess Artemis, also known as the Bull-Slayer. Truly, it was a masterpiece befitting an Archer. There was nothing it could not pierce.
"Then, Rider, I shall fall back and cover Berserker alongside you." With battle imminent, Atalanta also changed how she addressed her comrade. She immediately retreated, melting into the forest's darkness. As a top-tier huntress, becoming one with the forest was effortless for her.
"Alright, then. Let me give them a gentle massage."
Before long, two figures—clear enough even for Rider's eyes to discern—emerged slowly from the depths of the forest.
"Ah... Saber and Berserker, is it?" Judging the visitors by their aura and weapons, Achilles lifted his head high, his expression defiant. "Well, well, I must truly be underestimated if they think just two Servants are enough to deal with me..."
Suddenly, the warrior's ferocity and savagery overshadowed the handsome features of the Red Rider.
"There's a limit to how much disgrace I can tolerate!"
Though outnumbered two to one, for this great hero, such odds were far from enough to breach his arrogance.
The enemies' killing intent and hatred were nothing new to him. For a hero who found fulfillment in having the world's most unique friends and beloved women, this level of hostility was but a gentle breeze.
However, those standing against him were no ordinary foes—they were proud Heroic Spirits. Berserker's growls grew rougher, and Saber's eyes narrowed in displeasure, yet neither spoke. It wasn't just due to various constraints preventing them from speaking—it was also because Achilles was mistaken.
—This battle was not two against one.
Hidden within the forest, Atalanta's cat ears twitched slightly as the longbow she had trained on the Black Saber suddenly shifted, locking onto another figure emerging from the trees.
Cloaked in black robes that concealed her form, the Servant extended a slender, snow-white wrist from the fabric. Her delicate fingers curled as if gripping something, yet to the naked eye, her hand appeared empty—save for the distorted air around it, shimmering with an unusual energy.
"Black Assassin..."
The arrogance drained from Achilles' face as his brow furrowed. Gripping his spear tightly, he adopted a stance of utmost seriousness even before the battle began.
Though he couldn't see it, his warrior's instinct told him that the cloaked Servant held a spear in her grasp—and this mysterious weapon possessed the power to harm him!
"Now, it's two against three," came a clear, melodious voice from beneath the hood. The enigmatic Servant calmly stated the truth, revealing that even the Red Archer hidden in the forest had been detected.
"Mm..." From a distant treetop, a jade-green feline let out an irritated, almost bristling growl.
"Discovered, huh?" Atalanta gave a bitter smile. Their hidden trump card had been seen through—clearly, the enemy's preparations were superior.
Yet for a hero, hardship was nothing new before true desperation set in.
After a brief moment of frustration, the fiery passion of battle surged once more through the Red Rider's veins. Even facing three opponents on the frontlines, he brandished his beloved spear with a laugh, its cold gleam flashing as he declared:
"—Come, then! Let me carve the names of true heroes and warriors upon you!"
If anything, this summoning was merely a difference in era and armaments. In all other ways, it was no different from the past—so much so that a single word, "boring," would suffice to discard it all.
This was the way of life the Red Rider had always favored.
As a renowned great hero, all he needed was to swing his steel spear and charge headlong into the enemy ranks!
The next instant, everything in the vicinity was swept away, obliterated as impure existences. Someone stepped forward in a sudden advance, someone raised their weapon, someone leaped into the air, someone drew their bow, someone thrust forth their holy spear.
The fierce battle—had begun!