I clutched Illyasviel tightly against me, my feet pounding against the earth as I raced toward the Einzbern Castle. Behind us, I could sense Medea following in flight, her presence a faint ripple in the ether.
"Can you not go any faster, Berserker?" Illyasviel's voice was taut with a growing dread.
"This is the limit of my stride, Master," I replied, my voice grim. I shook my head, regretting that I could not provide the speed she craved. There was no other way.
Unlike the Emiya Estate, situated in the northwestern reaches of Miyamacho, the Einzbern Castle lay hidden deep within the forests of the southeast—diametrically opposed. Even with the violent propulsion of Prana Burst, I could not traverse such a distance in a mere heartbeat. Nevertheless, I pushed my vessel to its breaking point.
How long did we race through the shadows of the trees? As we finally breached the outskirts of the woods, I felt a sharp pang in my senses—the Great Bounded Field protecting the castle had been shattered. Illya felt it too; her small frame stiffened in my arms, her expression turning to stone. I redoubled my pace, hurtling toward the fortress.
When we finally crossed the threshold and stepped into the inner halls, a scene of wretched carnage met our eyes.
"—Leysritt... Sella...!"
"..."
Illya's voice trembled as she whispered their names. There they lay—the two who had served her with unwavering devotion—their bodies cooling upon the stone floor, impaled by a forest of nameless blades. My brow furrowed in a dark scowl. These women had lived solely for Illya's sake, and now...
"—Master, look out!"
"Eek?!"
A sudden instinct screamed in my mind. I lunged backward, sweeping Illya into my arms just as the air itself seemed to fracture. A thunderous roar shook the hall.
A rain of swords buried themselves into the floor where she had stood but a second before. We both turned our gazes toward the source of the trajectory, looking up into the shadows of the balcony.
There stood the blue-haired youth I had encountered at the academy, and beside him, a golden man I had never seen before.
My lips curled in distaste as I looked at the blue-haired boy. Damn it. I should have ended his life when I had the chance.
Sensing the sheer pressure of my killing intent, the coward scrambled behind the golden man, looking utterly pathetic. At that moment, the golden figure deigned to speak.
"—You are late, mongrel. By what means do you intend to atone for the sin of making Us wait?"
"...I hardly think a trespasser and a murderer is in a position to lecture me on manners," I spat back, my hand tightening around my hilt.
Even as I spoke, every instinct I possessed screamed in warning. This man... of all the foes I had faced since my summoning, he was the apex. A monster among heroes. I shifted my stance, gripping my blade with absolute resolve.
"Do you truly believe anything in this world has the right to bar Our path? As for their deaths, the reason is simple—"
The golden man smiled, a cruel, cold expression. "We heard the sound of withering flowers, and wondered if the Vessel of the Grail would come scuttling out."
He turned his gaze toward Illyasviel, his crimson eyes gleaming with a twisted curiosity. "Ho... so you are the doll containing the Vessel. For a creature fashioned from both homunculus and human stock, you are a curious little thing indeed."
"You... you did this to them..."
Illya's eyes burned with a conflagration of hatred and raw fury. She pointed a trembling finger at the golden King.
"—Kill him... Kill him this instant, Berserker!"
"So the command is given. Come then, Great Hero. Perhaps against one such as you, even Our royal boredom might find some reprieve."
As he spoke, the air behind him began to undulate. Golden ripples, like the surface of a disturbed pond, manifested in the void, and from those apertures emerged the hilts and points of legendary armaments.
"Now—"
"Let us reenact the battles of myth upon this stage!"
In the same heartbeat, the launched blades collided with my own steel in a deafening cascade of sparks.
***
Clang!
"We meet again, Saber."
"—Lancer...!"
Artoria, who had pursued Elius and Illyasviel as they rushed toward the castle, was forced to bring her sword up to parry a sudden, vicious thrust from a crimson spear. She looked toward the assailant and recognized the blue-clad spearman who had greeted her upon her very first night in this war.
"Why do you bar my path, Cu Chulainn?"
"Ah, my apologies for that. My employer is a demanding sort—used a Command Spell to order me to stop you. It is what it is."
"Is that so? Then I shall have no choice but to cut my way through you."
"Wait, Saber."
As Artoria leveled her blade at Lancer, she felt a firm hand rest upon her shoulder. She turned to find Rin's Servant standing behind her. Her eyes widened in confusion.
"Archer?"
"I will deal with the Lancer. You must go to Berserker's side."
The Wrought Iron Hero stepped forward, positioning himself between Artoria and the spearman. Artoria hesitated for a moment, then gave a solemn nod.
"—I thank you, Archer."
"Think nothing of it. Consider it repayment for protecting my Master the other day."
"Then... I wish you fortune in battle."
Archer gave a curt nod. With a final glance of gratitude, Artoria sprinted past them, vanishing into the treeline. Lancer made a move to pursue her, but Archer's presence was a wall of iron in his path.
"—Ho... so you intend to stop me yourself?"
"Precisely. I believe we had a contest to finish, Lancer."
"Ah, you mean that time at the school."
Cu Chulainn scratched his head, remembering their skirmish at the academy. "Hmph. I'm sorry about that time; I was holding back. 'Do not defeat your opponent, simply survive and return'... those were the nonsensical orders from my Master's Command Spell."
He lowered his center of gravity, his aura shifting into something predatory. "But those restrictions are gone now. This time... I'm coming at you with everything I've got. No holding back."
"...Guh!"
In a blur of speed that defied the eyes, Lancer was suddenly behind Archer, his spear whistling toward the back of Archer's head. Archer barely reacted in time, arching his back to let the tip graze past. But the opening was fatal—Lancer's follow-up kick connected squarely with Archer's ribs, sending him hurtling through the air.
Despite the impact, Archer did not falter. He used the momentum of the blow to spin in mid-air, righting himself as he plummeted back toward the earth.
Tung! Tung! Tung!
Clang! Clang!
Boom!
While airborne, Archer projected his black bow and loosed a volley of arrows at his foe. Lancer parried them with a casual flick of his spear, the projectiles exploding harmlessly against the ground. Archer landed, dismissing his bow and taking a defensive stance. Lancer looked at him, his brow quirked in genuine puzzlement.
"Hmph. Something's bothering me."
"—And what would that be, Lancer?"
Lancer leveled his spear at Archer's heart. "I felt it the first time we fought, but it's clearer now. Your sword... it lacks even a shred of pride. Why would someone like you, someone who soils the name of 'Hero,' let Saber go ahead while you take the brunt of the risk?"
"—Hmph. It was merely a debt I owed, Spearman. And as it happens, I have no pride to speak of."
Archer let out a short, hollow laugh.
"But what of it? Soiling the name of a Hero? Ha! Do not make me laugh, Lancer. Any 'filth' can be washed away with results. That useless vanity you call pride... you might as well throw it to the nearest dog."
"...Did you just call me a dog, Archer?"
Lancer's expression darkened with a terrifying wrath. Archer simply curled his lip into a mocking sneer.
"It is the truth, Cu Chulainn. If you harbor such a thing as 'Heroic Pride,' then by all means, feed it to a hound this instant. Oh—"
"I believe there is one right in front of me."
"...You've spoken well, Archer! In that case, you can be the first to depart for the afterlife!"
Furious at the taunt, Lancer leapt back, planting his feet and readying a stance that radiated an overwhelming prana. "You've heard of my spear's ability, haven't you?"
"Indeed. A cheap trick that reverses causality. It is terrifying, certainly, but it is merely a sharp point unless you can close the distance."
"Is that what you think? Well, a spear can be used like this as well... brace yourself—"
"Accept this strike as the flower upon your grave!"
"[Gae Bolg: The Soaring Spear of Piercing Death]!"
As the crimson demonic spear left Lancer's hand, Archer let out a faint, knowing chuckle.
"...I see. That strike. I knew it. Gae Bolg... the anti-army variant intended for throwing. They say it never misses its mark..."
Archer extended his right arm toward the incoming streak of red light. In that instant, his Magic Circuits roared to life, burning with a searing intensity.
As the activation peaked, Archer shouted into the howling wind:
"Then I shall meet that blow head-on! I am the bone of my sword!"
He invoked his specialty: Projection Thaumaturgy. He appraised the idea of the creation. He hypothesized the basic structure. He replicated the material properties. He mimicked the skill of the crafting.
He empathized with the experience of its growth and reproduced the accumulated years of its existence. Surpassing every stage of the process... he manifested a phantasm in this reality!
A shield in the shape of a seven-petaled flower, the very same that once halted the spear of a Great Hero, appeared before him. Archer screamed its True Name.
"[Rho Aias: The Seven Rings that Cover the Fiery Heavens]!"
As the seven translucent barriers unfurled, the crimson spear struck the center of the shield with the force of a falling star.
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