"What the hell is going on?!"
"That silver-haired butler… is he even human?!"
The upheaval in the castle courtyard was no less violent than the battle outside.
Waver stared at the silver-haired attendant—the man who had nearly taken his head off with a single swing just moments ago—and felt his entire worldview collapse.
He'd thought the absurdity of the Servants was already the upper limit of this Holy Grail War.
But he had never, ever imagined that the Einzbern castle itself would be hiding something even more unreasonable—something that still wore human skin.
Was that man a mage?
A Servant?
Or something else entirely?
"No… that outfit doesn't look like a magus at all… but he doesn't feel like a Servant either…"
Waver muttered to himself, disbelief thick in his voice.
"So what is he supposed to be? Some secret weapon the Einzberns kept in reserve?"
In the end, even Waver could only push his imagination into the realm of the impossible—because the speed and strength he'd just witnessed were far beyond anything a human being should possess.
Power, technique—everything about it was wrong.
So wrong that Waver's first instinct had been to suspect the Einzberns were cheating: that they'd somehow summoned an extra Servant.
"No. He's flesh and blood," came a voice from behind him. "But…"
Iskandar stepped forward, stroking his chin as his gaze locked onto the man blocking the castle entrance. His tone had gained a weight it hadn't carried before.
"I can tell. That attendant is no ordinary man. The swordsmanship he showed just now isn't a level this era should be capable of producing."
When Iskandar had cleaved the Einzbern barrier and stormed in, he'd assumed that without Saber present, the path would be clear—straight through the castle, straight to the enemy Master's throat.
Instead, at the final step—right before they could fully break into the inner grounds—they were stopped cold by a single silver-haired young man in a butler's uniform.
His swordsmanship.
His martial skill.
The mana he radiated.
And above all—
that silver arm.
All of it left Iskandar unable to make sense of what he was seeing.
For an instant, even he had wondered whether the Einzberns had violated the rules and summoned another Servant.
But Bedivere's condition—his living warmth, the undeniable reality of muscle and blood—made it clear.
He was human.
And that only made the question worse.
How could a human of this era possess such power, such technique?
Iskandar couldn't reconcile it.
And that arm was even more alarming.
Even when it released only a faint glimmer, the pressure of its contained force was enough to make the Conqueror King wary.
He remembered it clearly: when he'd tried to force his way through, that silver arm had suddenly erupted with golden starlight—shattering the lightning bursting from Iskandar's blade and nearly wrecking the Gordius Wheel itself.
That kind of power was not something modern magecraft should be able to produce.
So who was he?
Iskandar stared at the "butler," thinking hard.
Meanwhile, Bedivere—having just unleashed the holy sword's power to block Iskandar once—was far from fine.
His body was already nearing its limit.
Forcing the holy sword's release again just to halt the Gordius Wheel had pushed him to the edge.
He could feel it clearly: the sword's power was tearing at his body from within. That pain—deep, absolute, penetrating—nearly made his knees buckle.
Each use of the holy sword was torture for this body that had long since been drained dry.
He was already falling apart.
One misstep and he would collapse.
But the thought of Irisviel hiding behind him inside the castle made Bedivere tighten his grip on the silver blade again. His silver arm shimmered faintly. He leveled the sword straight at the Conqueror King and answered coldly:
"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is this—so long as I'm standing here, I will not let you lay a finger on Lady Irisviel."
"Oh?" Iskandar's eyes narrowed, and he didn't look annoyed in the slightest. He simply rubbed his chin and studied Bedivere again, his gaze lingering on that silver arm.
"Then I was right—you're not the Master."
"That makes sense. If you were the Einzbern Master, you wouldn't need to hide. With your strength, you could stand in the open and fight alongside Saber. And you wouldn't need to be here blocking me to protect the castle."
He tilted his head slightly, voice turning casual—almost conversational.
"So the Master is that one called Irisviel, then."
"That has nothing to do with you."
Bedivere bared his teeth, eyes sharp as blades as he glared at Iskandar.
"A so-called Conqueror King, and yet you attack with a sneak strike while Arthur is absent. How despicable."
"Hm. I won't argue that this was an ambush," Iskandar said, admitting it without flinching. "It was."
"But I won't call it despicable. This is war. In any war, an ambush is simply another form of wisdom. Wouldn't you agree?"
Then his tone shifted. His gaze returned—again—to Bedivere's silver arm.
"I don't know what you are, or how a human can possess strength and skill like this."
"But I can see it. Most of what you're doing is coming from that arm, isn't it?"
Bedivere said nothing. He only clenched his fist harder, drawing on the holy sword's power again, preparing to fight to the death.
And those small movements didn't escape Iskandar's notice.
"You haven't given up. You haven't accepted your fate. You still resist."
"There's no doubt you're an excellent warrior. I admire that."
His voice sank heavier.
"But don't overreach. That arm is crushing you. In your current state… how many more times can you force that power out?"
"Your ending is already written. While I held you here, that lemon-head slipped into the castle under my cover to seize the person you're protecting."
"And I won't take long to break through you."
"Yield. It's your only way out."
He paused, and for a moment there was something almost regretful in his eyes.
"If it isn't necessary, I'd rather not destroy a warrior as outstanding as you."
As the last words fell, the atmosphere turned colder.
Mana surged.
Lightning snapped and danced around Iskandar's body.
Ahead of the war chariot, the two divine bulls seemed to answer their king's intent, releasing low, rumbling bellows. Sparks spilled from their bodies like molten thunder, pressing down on the courtyard until the air itself felt suffocating.
This was his final warning.
Iskandar might be a king who loved brave men, who respected worthy warriors.
But that respect only existed as long as they did not stand in his way when the outcome demanded a road be cleared.
A king's mercy had limits.
This was the last mercy he could offer.
If Bedivere persisted, Iskandar would offer him no further chances.
"I cannot."
Bedivere's answer came without hesitation.
He clenched the silver arm and did not move, even as thunder rolled toward him and the chariot loomed like an unstoppable execution.
He would not allow Iskandar to harm Irisviel.
Even if it meant death.
As a knight, he would fulfill the vow of protection.
"Very well, brave one," Iskandar said, a trace of regret flickering—followed by unmistakable admiration.
"Then I will grant you a magnificent death."
There was nothing left to debate.
"Gordius Wheel!"
In an instant, thunder exploded around him, and the war chariot beneath him flared with blinding radiance.
With Kayneth resolving Waver's lack of mana supply, the Gordius Wheel was no longer the half-hearted display of the previous night.
It was now what it was meant to be—
a chariot of war, fully unleashed, thundering across the battlefield, able to crush anything in its path.
Iskandar would honor this knight with the full force of that chariot.
It was his mercy.
And his respect.
"So that's… the Conqueror King's Noble Phantasm…"
Bedivere stared at the chariot in front of him, the power roaring at full output.
He tightened his fist, drew a slow breath, and his gaze hardened.
Then he glanced at his silver arm—like a man making a final decision.
As someone who once sought to conquer the world, the Conqueror King was monstrously powerful. Bedivere had always known that.
Even Arthur or the King of Heroes could not claim an easy victory against him.
Against such a being, Bedivere—someone so small—could never be a match.
If Iskandar went all out, even simply holding him off would be difficult.
But just moments earlier, Bedivere's weakness and helplessness had allowed a blond magus to slip inside, placing Irisviel at risk.
He could not—under any circumstances—let the Conqueror King enter as well.
If Iskandar broke into the castle, the battle would be over.
Irisviel would not survive.
So—
"I'm sorry, my king," Bedivere whispered. "This time… I may have to break my promise."
"And Merlin… I'm sorry. This time, I must violate our agreement and use the power you entrusted to me ahead of time."
He murmured those words, then reached up and tore away a ribbon tied to his silver arm.
Silver light rippled across his body.
Before the chariot could arrive, the butler's uniform dissolved away like mist—
and in its place, coldly gleaming silver armor formed piece by piece.
His true visage from a thousand years ago returned.
"What…?"
Waver and Iskandar both stared, their faces tightening with shock.
The knight in silver-white armor standing before them now radiated a presence that did not yield to any Servant.
Iskandar's expression grew solemn.
"I was right. You're no ordinary man—no man of this era."
He leveled his gaze, and with the gravity of one king to a worthy warrior, he asked:
"Then, brave soul who dares block the Conqueror King alone—state your name."
"Bedivere."
His voice was calm, but his spine was straight, his eyes unflinching.
"Standing before you is a knight of the Round Table—Arthur's attendant, Bedivere."
"I am here to uphold my vow of protection."
"No matter what, I will not allow you to pass, Conqueror King!"
His fist tightened further. The silver arm flared brighter.
Iskandar threw back his head and laughed—loud, delighted, genuinely exhilarated.
"Bedivere! A Knight of the Round Table! Excellent!"
"That name—I will remember it!"
"Then show me this: can your will to protect withstand the wheels of my conquest?!"
With the question answered and the last doubt erased, Iskandar's heart held no hesitation.
He drove the Gordius Wheel forward like a descending storm.
"Come!"
Bedivere's own resolve was already complete.
He gritted his teeth, raised the silver arm, and forced the holy sword's power to its maximum release—everything he could draw, everything his body could endure.
"Grant me strength… Holy Sword."
"And you as well—my king!"
A golden radiance brighter than the night itself erupted from his arm and collided head-on with the chariot's thunder.
Boom!!
A sound like the world splitting open shook the darkness. Massive mana and soaring flame-light surged upward, swallowing the castle's edge in an overwhelming blaze.
The battle of this night—
was not over yet.
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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