Fallen leaves carried the news—
the scent of war.
In the dark forest, strange sounds rippled through the trees.
They were…
the hiss of footsteps through brush, ragged breathing, the whistle of steel cutting air—
and screams.
"Ha… ha… ha…"
"What the hell is going on?! How did we run into something that terrifying?!"
Near Fuyuki City's seaside park, several black silhouettes were fleeing in panic. They split in different directions as they ran, gasping like prey marked by a nightmare predator.
"AAAH—!"
A shriek tore through the heavy breathing.
Another one died.
Hearing it, the remaining shadows—driven by raw fear—forced themselves faster.
Damn it… that monster is still on me!
The thought surged in all of them at once.
And the truth was cruelly simple:
They couldn't get away. They couldn't.
The pursuer behind them was absurdly relentless. Even with their numbers, they couldn't shake the chase.
They were fast. They were skilled at concealment. They could even split into multiple bodies.
None of it mattered.
The hunter was too close, too quick—so fast it bordered on the unreal. Before they could widen the gap, he would close in again at short range, and then a yellow spear and a crimson demonic blade would carve a body apart on the spot—clean, fatal, instantaneous.
But what they couldn't understand—what made the fear rot into disbelief—was…
Why?
Why did Presence Concealment at Rank A and high Agility mean nothing in front of him?
What kind of monster was this?
The doubt flickered—briefly—then drowned beneath a far greater thing:
terror.
When the one talent Assassin prized above all else—concealment—was broken by an unknown method, the fear that rose from the deepest part of the soul turned their limbs icy. And after a long chase, after constant losses, these black-clad Assassins had already lost the cool precision they'd once possessed.
If one looked closely, they were strange.
Their genders differed. Their heights and builds differed.
But they shared the same uniform: a night-black skintight suit meant to melt into darkness—
and a pale skull mask fashioned from bone, marked with a signature emblem.
It declared their origin.
Assassin—Hassan-i Sabbah.
Those who wore the skull mask were Hassan.
And Hassan—the very root of "assassin," the ancient order of killers—had only ever truly fit one class in a Holy Grail War:
Assassin.
Fragments of history suggested the order had been founded by some unknown, dreadful existence. It endured across generations, and in every generation, the finest and strongest leader bore the title "Hassan."
Each Hassan leader possessed intelligence and abilities beyond common understanding.
And the fleeing shadows tonight proved it.
They were not a hundred people.
They were one.
Every figure here was a divided self—split from the current Hassan leader's own existence.
One—
and also a hundred.
A hundred personalities, a hundred avatars.
Some specialized in assassination. Some in poison. Others in countless different fields—an entire spectrum of skill and temperament. Perhaps this generation lacked the raw brute force of other Hassans, but in exchange, she was frighteningly complete.
In life, Hundred-Faced Hassan had sought to claim the name "Hassan" from a peerless genius—someone who had mastered the skills of every previous Hassan.
To do it, she forged her own secret art.
To execute missions. To grow stronger. To ensure success in any situation.
She split herself.
A hundred minds, each sharpened for a different battlefield.
And after death, when she became Assassin, that legend was preserved and elevated into her very nature—each personality becoming an independent body, a true "hundred," a one-person army.
Originally, according to the script, she should have sent one body to infiltrate the Tohsaka estate tonight—then be slain by Archer in front of the other competitors, creating the illusion that Assassin had already been eliminated.
Her Master, meanwhile, would ally with Archer's Master in secret, forming a visible-and-hidden partnership that would dominate the war.
But—
On the way, she ran into a Lancer who seemed to know their plan in advance.
He discovered her with ease and, without hesitation, killed her first avatar.
The plan collapsed before it could even begin.
Losing a body for nothing left Hundred-Faced Hassan displeased—but the incident was sudden, unpredictable. With no alternative, she continued to obey her Master's orders, dutifully participating in the war.
Then came the part she never could have imagined.
Not long ago, she had received new instructions: leave the Fuyuki Church, find a safe hiding place, and lie low—avoid letting that hunter trace them back to their true base.
Yet even that seemed anticipated.
When she passed through the park, the man who had killed her first avatar appeared again—like he had been waiting.
For an instant, she genuinely wondered if there was a spy among them.
Otherwise, how could every move be predicted?
She couldn't resist. He was too fast. Too strong.
Worse—she didn't even know who he was.
She was being harvested in the dark without understanding why.
So now she had only one wish left:
Run.
Run—now.
She couldn't keep losing bodies like this.
She was already at a disadvantage. If this continued, she would be the first Servant to fall.
But it was a wish too luxurious to grant.
Shhk—!
A crimson blade dropped from behind and speared through another avatar, shattering its Spirit Core. The body died without the slightest chance to fight back.
"This makes four."
Unlike the panicked Assassin, Diarmuid felt better than he ever had.
Over his eyes sat a jeweled prosthetic device prepared by Kayneth—an artificial eye that provided thermal vision and detection.
To him, these "rats" hiding in the night were not hidden at all.
He checked the fallen body, delivered a final finishing strike to be certain the avatar was truly gone—then surged forward again.
With Agility at A+, he resumed the deathly pursuit.
Hundred-Faced Hassan—cornered, bewildered—still couldn't understand.
Why didn't her abilities work?
Why couldn't she escape him?
"AAAH—!"
In the space of a breath, another avatar was caught and erased. A shriek—then spirit particles scattering into the night.
"Three left."
In the darkness, the knight hailed as the strongest, Diarmuid, locked his gaze on the remaining prey. His jewel-bright eyes shone with unwavering resolve.
He revered his Master's wisdom.
He admired his Master's strategy.
At this point, he was nearly certain—
His Master had to be the reincarnation of his lord from a distant past.
Otherwise, this feeling made no sense.
As a knight, he didn't need to think. He only needed to obey.
His lord would foresee everything. All Diarmuid had to do was trust.
He had felt this advantage once before, fighting alongside Lord Fionn—like cheating fate itself.
And now, Kayneth felt the same.
Diarmuid even suspected Kayneth had eaten the skin of the Salmon of Wisdom. How else could his plans reach this level?
Assassin was being read like an open book, driven into a corner.
And that familiar face—those golden tones of hair—
Different, yes, but Diarmuid still saw Fionn's shadow.
It had to be heaven's will—granting him this chance to atone for past mistakes.
Kayneth is Lord Fionn reborn.
The more he fought, the more he believed it.
Diarmuid's heart burned.
To meet his lord again across time, to stand beside him once more—what could be more joyous?
Even if Fionn had been reborn without memory, it was still salvation.
This time, Diarmuid would repay everything. He would correct his sins and carve a road to victory with his own hands.
With a partnership renewed over a thousand years, how could mere Assassin—those skulking cowards—ever withstand them?
Tonight, he would offer his greatest harvest as a gift to his lord.
His battle spirit rose higher and higher.
His speed—already terrifying—kept increasing.
With the jeweled eye locking and tracking, Hundred-Faced Hassan couldn't shake him.
It was a closed game.
The only ending was being chased to death.
Realizing that, Hundred-Faced Hassan—understanding she would die if she continued—communicated rapidly between her remaining personalities and made a decision.
Two avatars abruptly stopped, spun around, and rushed Diarmuid head-on, weapons drawn—intent on buying time for the final avatar to escape.
For assassins, once exposed, once the mission failed, the ending was always the same:
Death.
An ancient, unchanging law.
In the Hassan order, no one was irreplaceable.
No one was above sacrifice.
Life existed for assassination—only for completing the task.
As the leader, Hundred-Faced Hassan understood that law better than anyone.
Sacrifice two. Save one.
No matter what, the information had to get out.
Agility: A+.
A knight of an age near the gods. Skilled with spear and sword. Class unclear.
Possesses a means of detecting assassins. Extremely dangerous.
Those were vital facts—facts that could decide the war.
They had to be delivered.
"Only one left."
Diarmuid's voice was calm.
In the blink of an eye, two more bodies fell beside him, spirit light dissolving into darkness. Death arrived as swiftly as breath.
Even though Hundred-Faced Hassan's decision was correct—her will impeccable—it could not bridge the gulf between them.
The two who stayed to cover died instantly.
Their sacrifice bought a sliver of time—only enough for the last avatar to run a few hundred meters farther.
But they had done all they could.
Diarmuid's frontal power was monstrous—top-tier even among legends.
And with Kayneth's adjustments, he had descended into this war almost in a perfect state.
Spear and sword preserved.
Lancer's speed and parameters—plus access to a Saber-grade weapon.
How could such a knight be stopped by an Assassin?
Caw. Caw—!
In the trees, a crow cried like a funeral bell, declaring death's approach.
Diarmuid launched forward again—an arrow tearing through the night—straight at the last remaining Hassan.
Hearing the shriek of air behind her, feeling that figure closing in at impossible speed, the final avatar saw, in her mind's eye, a skull mask burning with blue flame.
The First…
The origin of all Hassans—
and the end.
Death-wind pressed closer and closer.
And even as death pursued her, even as one foot stepped into the abyss—
She still had no answer.
She had done everything possible.
If she stopped, she died.
So she could only run—
and pray for fortune.
Run. Faster.
The lights were visible now—street neon at the forest's edge.
To her, it was salvation, a fire that might keep her alive.
Seeing hope, she forced her legs harder.
She reached out as if she could touch that light.
Servant battles must remain hidden. They could not be exposed.
If she could reach the city, if she could reach the crowds—
Then maybe—
"Dong—"
At the instant she was about to touch the light, a solemn chime seemed to echo in her ears, like a bell ringing through a canyon.
The prelude sounded like the final moment of her mortal life.
"Sorry," a rough, booming voice said. "This place is already full."
At the forest's edge, as if he had been stationed there for ages, a red giant of a man appeared with his chariot—an absolute wall of despair blocking her path.
BOOM—!!
With a roar like thunder, two azure divine bulls—at Iskandar's command—spewed a blinding storm of lightning.
There was no suspense.
The final avatar was annihilated in a single strike.
Under the assault, the last body shattered.
And Diarmuid—who had been less than two breaths away from catching her—halted as he sensed a new presence.
Ahead stood a massive man in a crimson war mantle, red hair blazing, waving at him in greeting.
"So you're the ally my little Master told me about?"
Diarmuid wasn't surprised at all.
Before coming, Kayneth had told him there was a pre-arranged ally: the Conqueror King. Easy to recognize.
One glance at the chariot and divine bulls was enough.
And in the corner of the chariot—
a slender black-haired boy.
That had to be the "student" his lord mentioned.
Everything matched.
But before Diarmuid could answer, Iskandar leaned forward with a second question, eyes fixed on Diarmuid's weapons.
"By the way—are you Saber or Lancer? Why are you holding a spear in one hand and a sword in the other?"
"Idiot! We haven't even confirmed he's really the ally Teacher promised!" the boy snapped. "Don't drop your guard!"
Iskandar flicked the boy's forehead with a thick finger.
"Ah!"
The boy—Waver—tumbled backward into the chariot, clutching his brow.
Iskandar simply grinned and looked back to Diarmuid.
"Am I right?"
"You are," Diarmuid replied, bowing with flawless courtesy. "I am the ally of you and the student at your side."
"And from the chariot, the divine bulls, and the thunderous aura you displayed, you are indeed the famed Conqueror King—Iskandar."
"Oh?" Iskandar stroked his chin. "Good eye. I was about to introduce myself, but it's only natural you recognized me."
"That kid said the relic used to summon me was provided by your lord, too. And I never planned to hide—my chariot can't be concealed no matter what."
He pointed his thumb at himself, laughing. Then his gaze sharpened.
"If we're allies, we should exchange information, yes?"
"I'm Rider—the Conqueror King, Iskandar."
"And you?"
"Are you Saber or Lancer?"
Diarmuid nodded, composed.
"Your reasoning is sound. As allies, I should provide my information as well. However…"
His eyes shifted abruptly to a nearby thicket. His voice turned hard as steel.
"Come out. Hiding in the shadows is not the conduct of a hero."
"Oh?" A coarse, arrogant male voice answered from within the brush. "So you noticed me?"
A tall young man stepped out without any caution at all—blue hair, a wolfish tail of hair behind him, draped in a mage's robe. His grin was careless, almost playful.
"Works for me," he said, strolling forward with loud, unbothered steps. "I just sensed people fighting over here and came to take a look."
With his appearance, Iskandar immediately understood why Diarmuid had hesitated to reveal anything.
The Conqueror King's attention shifted fully to the newcomer.
"And who are you?"
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 90)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 95)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 80)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter70)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter70)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter50)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter60)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 20
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 20
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