Once again, Berserker met his death.
But afterward, the most shocked person wasn't Illya, but Saber, who had never expected such a thing.
"How could you possibly use that technique?!"
In Saber's eyes, it was one thing for Guinevere's swordsmanship to surpass her own, but how could she use a sword technique unique to Lancelot?
If so, there was only one possibility!
"You... Is Lancelot inside you?"
After the initial shock, Saber felt dazed. She vividly recalled the Fourth Holy Grail War, the moment she ran Lancelot through with her own hands, only for him to still demand punishment. Yet, in her heart, Saber knew the fault had been hers alone.
Over time, she had come to terms with it. The thought of Guinevere and Lancelot truly being together had even brought her a sense of relief, easing a long-held burden.
"Saber-chan, you really don't understand the human heart, do you?!"
After striking Berserker down and forcing him into another resurrection cycle, Guinevere had seen Saber's words and the flicker of emotions across her face.
They had been partners for decades in life. Though Saber and her Lia were merely parallel world counterparts, they still shared countless similarities—like knowing exactly what thoughts lay behind each expression.
"Illya, that's enough for today! I have no more time to play with you. If you keep this up, I'll kill you!"
It was only a threat; Guinevere had no real intention of killing her. But with a smile on her face and killing intent radiating from her, she looked utterly serious...
Illya was genuinely furious!
"Berserker!"
Another shout, but this time she expended a Command Spell. Instantly, the cracked Berserker began to regenerate at an accelerated rate, his fighting spirit soaring to a new level.
But the next moment, Guinevere truly appeared beside Illya and once again gripped her neck.
At that, Illya finally calmed down, realizing that as a Master, she should never have stepped onto the battlefield—especially without any means of self-defense.
"Let go. I lose this time."
Her long eyelashes trembled, and her breathing grew labored. Seeing Illya's predicament after being revived by the Command Spell, Berserker couldn't help but unleash a full-throated roar.
"Illya, you should thank me. If I hadn't covered your ears, you'd be deaf by now."
After Berserker's roar, the other Servants remained unaffected, but blood trickled from Shirou Emiya's ears. Everything he heard was a dull, ringing hum.
His eardrums hadn't ruptured, but they were close.
"Berserker, we're going back."
Guinevere still had her hand over Illya's ear, her body still bent close from whispering to the girl.
Only after Illya spoke did she pull free from Guinevere's grasp. With a complex expression, she glanced one last time at Shirou Emiya before departing without another word.
She had arrived brimming with confidence, yet she left in disgrace. Even now, however, she remained convinced that Berserker was the strongest—that she had been the one holding him back.
"Berserker... I'm sorry."
The Madness Enhancement of his Class had robbed Berserker of his ability to speak and simplified his thoughts. But precisely because of this, his desire to protect Illya was pure and instinctual.
Amidst the mist that had risen at some point, Berserker's figure seemed to slump, his shoulders heavy with guilt toward Illya, who had once again settled upon them.
Rage burned within him, and a murderous intent toward Guinevere and the other two Servants had already taken root.
"Lancelot, why did you let Berserker go?!"
Sakura remained unconscious. Rider stared at Saber as if she were a complete fool. Even Shirou Emiya felt that the Saber before him had become unhinged.
"Saber," Guinevere demanded, "do you really think I can kill Berserker eight more times? Or do you want me to actually go after Illya?"
Overwhelmed by the shocks, Saber had lost her composure and made a critical error in judgment. Believing Guinevere was actually Lancelot in disguise, she had begun to evaluate "Guinevere" by Lancelot's standards.
"Sir Lancelot," Saber replied instantly, "with your strength and Noble Phantasms, killing Berserker eight more times shouldn't be difficult, should it?"
Guinevere felt a flicker of relief. At least Saber hadn't completely lost her mind—she hadn't immediately suggested targeting the weaker opponent to secure a victory. Then again, the King of Knights would never show mercy to any enemy on the battlefield, no matter how weak.
"Sir Lancelot," Saber continued, her voice strained, "explain yourself! Why did you disguise yourself as Guinevere? Why did you mock me? This time... this time, the transformation is far too complete."
She spaced out, lost in memories of her own Lia, only to be snapped back to reality by Saber's brilliant deduction.
An explanation? Of course, I have to explain. But only after Guinevere has completely vented her fury.
She charged forward, attempting to disarm Saber with her bare hands. After just a dozen exchanges, Guinevere gained the upper hand. Another dozen exchanges later, she had snatched the Holy Sword from Saber's grasp.
This was the power of Guinevere's anti-Saber specialization. She was completely familiar with Saber's sword techniques—and even had decades of additional sparring experience against a perfected version of them.
Now, in Guinevere's eyes, Saber's swordplay was riddled with openings.
"Saber-chan, if I weren't trying to put on a show for you, I could have done this in three moves at most."
Through Shirou Emiya's eyes, he saw Guinevere draped over Saber's body, clinging to her as if boneless. She whispered into Saber's ear while her hands playfully tapped certain spots on Saber's back.
Guinevere found it astonishing. Even though they were alternate-world counterparts, both Artorias shared the exact same ticklish spots.
Giggling, Guinevere stood up just before Saber collapsed, but she didn't immediately return the Holy Sword.
Moreover, because Saber had just used Strike Air, the blade of the Holy Sword was still fully revealed.
Gripping the sword, Guinevere focused her senses on it. In that instant, she felt the Holy Sword acknowledge her.
"Is this even scientifically possible?"
Just as people have the same sensitive spots, the feel and handling of the sword were identical. Guinevere even instinctively knew she could unleash its true power, transforming it into the Holy Sword of the Planet.
There was just one difference: this Holy Sword didn't need her permission to be unleashed.
"Whew, at least it's not a perfect copy. And... it seems this actually is scientifically plausible."
After all, Servants were merely aspects or possibilities of their true selves from the Throne of Heroes. The Noble Phantasms they carried were essentially replicas granted by the Will of the Planet.
Otherwise, the Holy Sword wouldn't be in Saber's hands right now; it would have been returned to the Lake by Bedivere.
"Lancelot, you can wield Excalibur? Sir Lancelot, I want to go back to the moment before the Sword of Selection was drawn. This time, you should be the one to pull it out!"
Saber was sick—gravely so, psychologically. Ultimately, the root of her illness was self-doubt and a lack of confidence in herself.
Long, long ago, Guinevere had considered regretting the past a joke. Yet, she had always approved of Saber's path as a king: to be responsible for her people.
"The people are not mere weeds to be trampled. It's noble to cherish them and strive for a peaceful, prosperous era. But you've lost your confidence! Regret is one thing, but running away is another!
"Emiya, Rider—I'm taking Saber with me now. I really need to have a long talk with this fool of yours!"
Guinevere didn't just lead Saber away; she hoisted her over her shoulder. Saber resisted, of course, but Guinevere had plenty of ways to temporarily incapacitate her.
"Saber, listen carefully. I really am Gui-ne-vere!"