"Emiya-san!" Jeanne called. "Care to join me for a workout? Let's start with boxing forms!"
"…Since becoming a Heroic Spirit, my list of ambitions keeps growing," Emiya sighed. "I thought we didn't grow…"
He unleashed his treasures.
Simultaneously, staggered, planted, precise, sometimes reckless.
He unleashed his treasures.
Swords, arrows, spears, axes, halberds, beams, bullets.
He unleashed his treasures.
At wings, chest, body, neck, claws, arms.
He unleashed his treasures.
Encircling, from the front, the rear, above, below.
He unleashed his treasures.
Each one, a dragon-slaying strike.
Prototypes of fantasies heroes would wield in distant futures.
He unleashed his treasures.
All of them—slammed into Fafnir—!
"Ngh!" the Dragon Witch cried. "Do it, Fafnir! Sweep them away!"
A massive arm swung.
Not on my watch. A hammer smashed it down, matching its arc.
The tail lashed out, aiming to crush.
Pointless. A whip cracked, knocking it aside.
Wings beat, attempting flight.
You're not escaping. A spear pierced its wings.
Every move Fafnir attempted, he countered preemptively—!
"Impressive resilience," Gilgamesh said. "Dragon-slaying alone isn't enough—only dragon-slaying armaments can truly wound it. Even I'm at a disadvantage here."
He deployed more Noble Phantasms, opening additional gates.
"No matter how many I fire, it's trivial without a decisive blow," he said. "Fine. More treasures, then. A service. Tremble at my generosity."
Add fifty gates. Treasures surrounded Fafnir, raining down.
A relentless carpet bombing pummeled the dragon. It wouldn't reach its core, but it could weaken it.
"No way…!" Jeanne gasped. "Your treasures are bottomless?!"
"They are," Gilgamesh replied, arms crossed. "The bottom exists—when humanity exhausts its potential and halts its evolution. That's when my vault's depths are revealed."
"The judgment of mankind," he added. "But that's far off."
"What… what?!" Jeanne snarled, teeth grinding. "Don't mock me!"
"Why?!" she screamed. "Why?! Gilles said I was invincible! That I could act as I pleased! Why—?!"
"Your ineptitude is the sole reason," Gilgamesh said. "Dragons are meant to assault armies or cities, or guard treasures. Their size and vitality are their threat."
He seized a sword, hurling it at Jeanne.
"A dragon, baffled by crushing a mere speck? I was impressed a country girl knew strategy," he taunted. "But my eyes were clouded. You're just flaunting a toy you begged for. Laughable."
"—!"
Jeanne deflected the sword with her flag, her face flushed with rage or shame—or both.
I still don't grasp good or evil. I lack the means to understand.
Yet—the heart to mourn lost lives, the will to honor them, remained.
That's enough for now. Knowing that is enough.
To feel for souls bound by regret, stolen by despair—that's enough for now.
Learn, Dragon Witch, even a fraction of their worth.
"No matter how you boast, you're just a country girl," Gilgamesh said.
The dignity you stole—
"There's an unbridgeable gap between you and I, the Gorgeous King!" he roared. "Relying on a dragon? A mongrel—no, the ultimate fool for failing to wield it! Ishtar, are you watching? She'd get along with you, whining in defeat! HAHAHAHAHA!"
The value of those you took—!
"King of Heroes—!" Jeanne screamed, drawing her sword.
"I'll kill you! Kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you, KILL YOU!"
"Hahaha, try!" Gilgamesh laughed. "That's why you're gnashing your teeth, muscle-brain!"
"You're nothing without your treasures!" Jeanne spat. "Just their accessory!"
"The tired excuse of treasureless losers," Gilgamesh said. "I have the right to wield treasures, the wisdom to judge their worth, the foundation to create them."
That's Gilgamesh's power. His privilege.
Only what's worthy becomes treasure. Never swayed by fakes, guided by insight and wisdom. Judging creators justly.
That perspective is his true strength!
"That's why I'm the King of Heroes," he declared. "Here's your spotlight. Use your feeble mind to entertain me. One-sided slaughter bores the audience."
He eased his assault, loading a Noble Phantasm to counter her next move.
"Fafnir!" Jeanne roared. "Unleash your breath—burn him to ash!"
Flames erupted from Fafnir's maw, heat swelling.
"Finally showing your true power?" Gilgamesh said. "A clumsy master makes for a suffering lizard. You'd get along with the Bull of Heaven."
"Fire—!"
A cataclysmic blaze erupted, a peerless breath that could incinerate souls.
It won't get through. I'm prepared.
Snap.
A massive wall, adorned with intricate, opulent patterns, rose, blocking the breath completely.
"—Impossible!" Jeanne gasped. "Fafnir's breath—?!"
"This is a divine relic dedicated to the primordial mother," Gilgamesh said. "A Noble Phantasm mimicking her nature, split between heaven and earth. Breaking it requires a weapon that sunders worlds."
The wall held, then retracted.
"A breeze like that can't touch me," he said. "You got lucky, country girl."
A counterattack—a Noble Phantasm lodged in Fafnir's throat.
"If I weren't buying time, you'd have lost your dragon already."
"—Impossible, this—impossible!"
Jeanne was speechless.
It's hard, seeing her—Jeanne's face, Jeanne's voice—in such shock.
But the Dragon Witch's ordeal wasn't over.
"—Been a while, Fafnir," a voice boomed.
"—!"
"No way—!" Jeanne gasped.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Gil!" Rikka called.
"Good," Gilgamesh said. "You're forgiven. Found the treasure? Not a mimic, I hope."
The dragon-slayer declared his name.
"Hear me, azure skies! I am Siegfried!" he roared. "The one who felled the resurrected evil dragon—!"
Here, Martha's prayer took form.
"Punch out angels, split seas with fists—that's our goal!" Jeanne exclaimed.
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