While the Servants at the seaside park were still locked in brutal exchanges—
On Mount Enzō, inside the workshop at Ryūdō Temple, Ritsuka stood shoulder to shoulder with Morgan, both of them watching everything through a magic mirror.
With the familiar's vision as a base and the powerful mystic code Morgan had crafted as amplification, Ritsuka didn't need to be there in person to feel it—the battlefield's violence was dense enough to tear the air itself apart.
Especially those two blond "supremes" over there.
They looked like they were about to erase half the forest from the map.
Proto Arthur versus Proto Gilgamesh.
Old grudges, old blood. Those two had been throwing hands since the Fragments of Sky Silver era—now they'd simply brought the same feud to Fuyuki and kept going.
But compared to the terrifying strength they were displaying, what bothered Ritsuka even more was something else entirely.
This is supposed to be the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki… so why does it suddenly look like I woke up in some Tokyo "Sky Silver" film set?
Ritsuka frowned, suspicion deepening.
He was starting to seriously wonder whether Kiritsugu Emiya and Tokiomi Tohsaka had cheated their summons too. How else did they manage to pull these two disasters?
Sure, they were "King Arthur" and "King of Heroes" either way—but Proto Arthur and this version of Gilgamesh were far more troublesome than Artoria and the usual smug, self-sabotaging Gilgamesh.
Take Proto Arthur first.
His overall configuration—and his raw parameters—were simply higher than Artoria's. And because he was male, he had a noticeable height advantage. In close-quarters combat, being taller by even a head was a brutal edge you could exploit repeatedly.
Even if both of their holy swords were fundamentally "Excalibur," only he could truly be called a wielder of the Star-forged Holy Sword—the one famed as the sword of absolute dominion.
There was no question: he was the real deal, a top-tier Servant.
And more than that, Proto Arthur's will was terrifyingly steady. He never doubted himself. He never wavered. In battle, there was no "hesitation window" to pry open—no crack to widen.
A Servant with no obvious weakness, in any direction.
In practical terms, far harder to handle than the standard King of Knights.
Then there was Proto Gilgamesh.
He was worse—much worse—than the usual "gleeful" Gilgamesh, and not just because of loadout differences. His personality alone was a nightmare.
Still arrogant, yes—but not the kind of arrogant idiot who would sandbag himself into defeat. Against enemies, Proto Gilgamesh fought seriously.
His favorite thing was to posture while crushing you so thoroughly you never even got to attempt a comeback.
If anyone had the right to testify to that, it was the holy sword wielder clashing with him right now.
The last time they fought, Proto Arthur took a brutal beating. Gilgamesh was technically an Archer while Arthur was a Saber—yet Gilgamesh displayed close-combat prowess that spat on the concept of Class.
He could pull two "End Swords" straight from his treasury and chase Arthur down like a rabid dog, hacking him to pieces at point-blank range.
And the moment he opened the Gate, Babylonian treasures became long-range suppression. That combo—pressure at distance, pressure up close—was enough to make even Proto Arthur pay in blood.
Worse still, that "bow" Gilgamesh possessed—formed from a pair of End Swords—was itself a civilization-level Noble Phantasm, not inferior to Ea in sheer threat profile.
Legend said that if he charged it for seven days, it could trigger a world-ending flood.
At that point, calling him "broken" didn't even begin to cover it. He belonged to the first echelon of heroic spirits—an apex predator among Servants.
If you asked Ritsuka who could realistically fight him and still have a chance, he could only name Proto Arthur. Everyone else? Ritsuka simply couldn't see a route to victory.
Even Morgan, sitting safe in the Ryūdō Temple workshop, would likely watch her entire setup get obliterated the moment those End Swords came down in earnest.
A frontal clash was suicide.
They'd have to plan. And plan carefully.
Compared to those two monsters, Diarmuid, Iskandar, and the Hundred-Faced Hassan hadn't changed much—
But the blue dog that came out of nowhere was what truly left Ritsuka at a loss.
Why was there an eighth Servant?
And why was it someone so familiar—Cú Chulainn, in caster guise?
Hadn't the Caster slot already been occupied by Morgan?
Did someone break the rules and force a summon?
Or—
Had something happened here that Ritsuka never predicted at all?
Silence tightened in his chest.
This was supposed to be the first night—testing, probing, posturing.
Instead, the chaos was enough to make every Master watching feel their heart sink.
That included Kenneth, and it included Ritsuka—despite both of them having "advance knowledge."
And among all the problems, what worried Ritsuka most right now was Gilles.
Waver's big mouth had mentioned Jeanne d'Arc, and that single name nearly made Gilles snap so hard he almost deleted Waver on the spot.
If Diarmuid hadn't intercepted that lance, Waver would've been the fastest exit in Holy Grail War history.
Ritsuka had spent time under Lord El-Melloi II's tutelage—so seeing Waver still breathing made him instinctively exhale in relief.
But that relief lasted less than a second.
Because another issue immediately stood out.
The port battle from the "original timeline" hadn't happened.
And Diarmuid had protected Waver.
That meant the two groups almost certainly recognized each other—and had likely made arrangements.
And now, thanks to that incident, Gilles de Rais had become the obvious target for both groups.
His situation was dangerous.
Yes, Cú Chulainn had stepped in and pulled one front away from him.
But against a divine-era top hero like Diarmuid, Gilles—who wasn't a pure martial monster by nature—was still on borrowed time.
The fact that he could trade blows at all, even push Diarmuid back, was largely due to Morgan's "Age of Gods" reinforcement layered onto him, plus Berserker-style amplification pushing his parameters higher.
It still wasn't sustainable.
If this continued, defeat was inevitable.
Ritsuka made his decision.
Rather than gamble here—risking an outright loss before the situation even clarified—he would withdraw for now and rethink everything.
Tonight alone had been enough to prove his earlier instincts correct: this was not "the Fourth Holy Grail War" as he remembered it.
It was far more likely a Singularity, or an abnormal branch worldline.
If he kept relying on old assumptions, he'd get himself killed.
He needed to throw away the script, rebuild the intel from scratch, and proceed with zero nostalgia.
"Something wrong, Ritsuka?"
A familiar voice rose beside him.
Ritsuka looked back. Morgan had moved close at some point, smiling faintly as her gaze landed on his tightly knit brows.
"You look troubled," she said softly. "If something's weighing on you… why not tell me?"
"…Yeah," Ritsuka admitted after a brief pause. "There's a lot. I'll talk to you in a bit, Morgan."
Then he turned back to the battlefield in the mirror.
He was about to order Gilles to retreat—if necessary, spending a Command Spell to force a clean escape—
When, on the field, Diarmuid—who had been steadily regaining the advantage through speed and technique—suddenly seemed to sense something.
He slipped an attack with nimble footwork, then snapped his head toward a direction in Fuyuki.
With a Servant's eyes, he could see it even from here: smoke and fire blooming in the distance.
"Master!"
Diarmuid didn't hesitate.
He broke away from the fight immediately.
Gilles, who had been running on rage and fraying reason, didn't pursue. Partly because he knew—if this continued, he would lose sooner or later.
But more importantly—
He had received Ritsuka's command.
To make sure Gilles could always return to sanity after a berserk episode, Ritsuka had even had Morgan extract a "Jeanne voice" from Gilles's memories.
If Gilles ever truly lost himself, they would use that voice to anchor him back.
It worked every time.
"Gilles, calm down," came the familiar, firm tone. "Or I'll poke your eyes out."
Gilles flinched—his eyes practically stinging at the phantom threat.
The storm in his mind immediately cleared.
He lowered his weapon, looked across at Diarmuid, and saw golden light starting to bloom around the knight's body.
A Command Spell summon.
Something had happened to Diarmuid's Master—something serious.
Gilles didn't block him.
He simply nodded, then spoke with calm sincerity.
"Strong hero… Diarmuid. Go protect your Master. We will fight again."
"…Understood. Thank you."
Diarmuid answered with equal seriousness.
To flee mid-bout was shameful—an insult to both oneself and one's opponent.
But his Master came first.
Elsewhere, after exchanging only a few casual moves and realizing neither side had shown their true hand, Cú Chulainn twirled his crude, self-made spear and stopped fighting altogether.
"Nope. Not doing this," he said lazily. "This kind of dancing around is boring. I'm out."
He waved at Iskandar—and dissolved into spirit particles, vanishing.
"Then we'll clash again," Iskandar called after him, eyes narrowed with recognition. "Light of Ireland."
Iskandar didn't chase. He could tell Cú Chulainn had been holding back too. That "fight" was barely more than a warm-up.
Now was not the time to reveal trump cards.
He looked toward where Cú Chulainn and Diarmuid disappeared and let out a long, heavy sigh.
Tonight had been confusing. Tonight had been ugly.
But it had also been glorious.
So many heroes—so many true greats—gathered in one place.
"Heroes really do swarm like fish in a river," Iskandar murmured. "If I could bring them all under my banner… then surely, this time, I could reach the Sea at the End."
"Hey—hey! Stop daydreaming!" Waver yelped, voice shaking. "Look! That guy's coming over again!"
Waver was pure panic.
Because Gilles de Rais—the same man who had nearly put a lance through his throat—was walking toward them again.
The fear came roaring back. Waver's legs started trembling uncontrollably, and his grip on Iskandar's cloak tightened until his knuckles went white.
"It's fine," Iskandar said, steady and low. "Don't be afraid. I'm here."
Then he raised his head and faced the approaching figure.
His voice turned cold.
"Berserker. Are you here to challenge me?"
"No," Gilles replied, shaking his head. "Conqueror King… I came to apologize."
Waver blinked, stunned.
Even Iskandar's grim expression eased by a fraction.
Gilles bowed slightly toward Waver, his tone deeply remorseful.
"Even in war, I must answer for losing myself—answer for abandoning honor. For that, I apologize."
Then he continued, eyes unwavering.
"To show my sincerity, I will give you my name."
"…Huh?"
Waver's surprise was genuine.
Gilles spoke slowly, clearly, as if engraving it into the air.
"My Class is Berserker. Once a comrade of Saint Jeanne d'Arc—Marshal of France. My true name is Gilles de Rais."
His gaze lowered slightly.
"Because of certain events in my past, I am… extremely sensitive to her name. I was overcome and attacked you. For that, I am sorry."
War permitted ugly methods—Gilles understood that.
But he despised betrayal and deceit.
Jeanne had died to betrayal—betrayal by the very people and country she protected.
So he could not accept his own lapse.
Not without shame.
"I… okay. O-okay…" Waver managed.
He could feel the honesty in it—enough to believe the earlier strike wasn't deliberate.
And to volunteer a true name as apology…
Even Waver couldn't dismiss that.
Iskandar, too, looked satisfied.
"Good!" he boomed. "You own what you did, you admit your fault—there's greatness in that! You really are a hero!"
Then, as if unable to stop himself, Iskandar did what he always did.
He invited.
"Gilles de Rais!" he declared, eyes bright with conviction. "I am Iskandar, the Conqueror King! Would you join me? Would you ride with me in this new era and carve out an expedition unlike anything in history?!"
It was wildly inappropriate.
It sounded ridiculous.
And yet the sincerity was unmistakable.
But the answer, in the end, was obvious.
"No."
Gilles refused without hesitation.
"My loyalty is sworn to one person only—Saint Jeanne d'Arc. Beyond her, I will never bend the knee to anyone."
"…I see." Iskandar's voice softened, regret plain on his face. "What a shame."
He wasn't angry.
If anything, his admiration only deepened—this unwavering loyalty, this unbreakable devotion.
Iskandar looked up at the horizon, where dawn was beginning to stir.
"Then we will be enemies someday," he said openly. "Gilles de Rais—I look forward to facing you head-on."
"And I as well," Gilles nodded.
"Come on, boy!" Iskandar snapped the reins.
The divine chariot surged forward, carrying Waver away.
"W-wait! Hey! Slow down, you idiot Rider—!" Waver's scream trailed behind them into the morning air.
"Conqueror King…"
Gilles watched them go, speaking almost to himself.
"A powerful king. He will be a formidable obstacle on my Master's road to victory."
Then he, too, dissolved into spirit particles and vanished.
As the others withdrew one by one, the forest was left with only two figures still fighting—two enemies who had battled from night into dawn, and still hadn't settled it.
By the looks of it, they wouldn't stop until the sky was bright enough to burn.
Meanwhile, in the Fuyuki Church—
A priest who had lost his hope sat slumped in a chair, eyes hollow.
Kirei Kotomine had only just returned, not even finished catching his breath, when two messages arrived.
—A series of explosions had struck the Fuyuki seaside park.
—Terrorists had appeared within the city.
Either one was headline-worthy.
Together, they hit like a hammer to the chest.
Kirei's hand trembled as he turned on the television.
The news was already saturated with coverage.
And the worst part—
Gilgamesh had gotten so absorbed in the fight that a tourist filming the Fuyuki night view had captured him on camera and uploaded the photo online.
Kirei could already see the mountain of cleanup work looming in front of him.
His question—what he truly wished for—
Would have to wait.
Illustration: "Flexing His Fortune!"
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? 30
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 30
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