Just as the assault teams were about to be finalized, the heavy wooden doors of the meeting room creaked open. A breathless messenger stepped inside, bowing deeply.
"Holy Maiden Jeanne. The expedition team... they have returned," he announced.
"They have arrived at the perfect time," Jeanne replied, a subtle wave of relief washing over her face. "Please, show them in immediately."
Fujimaru turned toward her. "Is this the expedition team you mentioned earlier?"
"Yes," Jeanne nodded. "They were tasked with scouting the outer perimeters and rescuing any remaining survivors from the fallen cities."
Before she could elaborate further, the doors swung wide open. A young woman with flowing, platinum-white hair suddenly burst into the room. Moving with surprising speed, she practically tackled Jeanne in a tight, overwhelmingly affectionate embrace.
"Jeanne! It's been so long! I missed you so, so much!" the girl squealed. Her vibrant, brilliant red gown screamed of royal luxury, and the grand, elegant fascinator resting on her head only amplified her majestic yet delightfully joyful presence.
"M-Marie! Please, not right now!" Jeanne stammered, her cheeks flushing as she became utterly overwhelmed, awkwardly trying to peel the beaming girl off her armor.
"Jeanne is absolutely right! Cease this undignified behavior at once, Marie, especially in front of our esteemed guests!" a male voice dramatically scolded.
The speaker stepped into the flickering torchlight. He was draped in an elegant, deep-purple coat accented with rich gold and vibrant green. His long, wavy blonde hair and subtly pointed ears gave him an air of artistic eccentricity. His handsome face radiated supreme confidence, masking a deeply mysterious and theatrical soul.
"Oh my!" The girl blinked, finally releasing Jeanne and turning her attention to Fujimaru, Mash, and the others. "We have guests! I am so sorry, I completely missed you! Jeanne, why didn't you introduce me?"
Clearing her throat to regain her saintly composure, Jeanne gestured to the newly arrived group. "Ahem... Everyone, please allow me to introduce the members of our expedition team."
Name: Marie Antoinette
Class: Rider
Attribute: Man
Gender: Female
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class Skills:
Magic Resistance (C Rank): Grants protection against magical effects. If it is simple Magecraft, Marie can effortlessly and gracefully nullify it.
Riding (A+ Rank): She can freely and flawlessly handle all vehicles and beasts, starting from the magnificent white horse that symbolizes the French royal family. However, creatures of the Dragon Kind cannot be mounted.
Personal Skills:
Timbre of Regality (B+ Rank): A captivating skill possessed by those with a beautiful natural tone, it serves as an absolute declaration of royal power. It acts as a charm-based magecraft toward the opposite sex, though it can be evaded via Magic Resistance or abated by sheer, stubborn willpower. For Marie, who has materialized as a symbolic existence, she can weaponize this regal charm, inflicting magical damage upon the enemies of the Crown with just a single, piercingly beautiful note.
Grace of God (B Rank): A skill that denotes the absolute beauty of royalty. Marie was born to be a beautiful monarch, naturally endowed with the greatest body and good looks.
Beautiful Princess (A Rank): A skill representing one's charismatic nature geared not toward leadership, but the innate ability to charm the people around oneself. For Marie, who possesses an A Rank in this Skill, a knightly individual whose nature is to protect is gravitationally pulled towards her simply by her existing in their presence.
Stats:
Strength D | Endurance D | Agility B | Mana B | Luck B+ | NP A+
Noble Phantasm:
Guillotine Breaker: Glory to the Crown of Lilies (Anti-Army A+)
Form of a magnificent, beautiful horse made entirely of glass and imprinted with lilies, the royal symbol of the Crown. By unleashing its True Name, Marie can call forth this steed, dashing through the battlefield while sending radiant particles of light swirling all about, dealing damage to enemies of the Crown. At the same time, it beautifully cancels out negative statuses on her allies and recovers their health and mana.
Crystal Palace: Beloved Radiance for All Eternity (Barrier B+)
A Bounded Field Noble Phantasm that manifests a great and beautiful palace, demonstrating the grand power of the French monarchy. Deploying it ranks up the stats of Marie and her allies. Even if she has lost her royalty, Marie has absolute faith that the country and people she loved will always remain, so she calls forth the Crystal Palace as a symbol of progress and a radiant new era.
"This is Rider, Marie Antoinette," Jeanne introduced. The young Queen offered a flawless, radiant curtsy. Despite the grim reality of the war, her presence alone seemed to brighten the dim, stone room, her warm smile offering a beacon of hope and genuine affection to everyone present.
Name: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Class: Caster
Attribute: Star
Gender: Male
Alignment: Neutral Good
Class Skills:
Territory Creation (B Rank): The ability to build a special terrain that is advantageous to oneself as a magus. In Mozart's case, the territory he creates specifically possesses the shape of a grand "concert stage."
Personal Skills:
Protection of the Music God (Fake) (EX Rank): The absolute capacity to recognize and identify any and all sorts of sound, making it possible to execute a prodigious, flawless musical performance. In addition, it grants a positive correction on the usage of musical magic. Despite the "Fake" designation, Amadeus is able to display this Skill and its effects entirely through his own innate abilities by means of his absolute pitch, natural talent, and lifelong effort.
Melody of Angels (A Rank): Represents a profound comprehension and eye for works and objects of art. Should he lay eyes upon a Noble Phantasm that possesses an artistic anecdote or musical history, there is a very high chance he will instantly figure out its True Name.
Eine kleine Nachtmusik (EX Rank): A unique Skill based upon one of his most famous and beloved compositions. Through its elegant and uplifting performance, it instantly generates a massive amount of critical stars to turn the tide of battle.
Stats:
Strength D | Endurance E | Agility B | Mana B+ | Luck D | NP B
Noble Phantasm:
Requiem for Death: A Funeral March For the Grim Reaper (Anti-Army B)
A demonic tune based on the legendary tale of Mozart being tasked with the composition of a funeral march for Death itself just before his own passing. Rather than calling out for it as normally believed, it is a hauntingly beautiful tune that genuinely sympathizes with Death. Any person who hears this melody must immediately make a Mana and Luck Check.
If they fail, all physical parameters are forcibly reduced by two ranks, and additionally, they start receiving a severe persistent damage that ignores any armor or defensive magic and abilities. If they pass, the parameters reduction becomes of only one rank, and the persistent damage is reduced in half.
"Beside her is Caster, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart," Jeanne continued, gesturing to the flamboyant man. The legendary composer offered a highly theatrical, exaggerated bow. His sharp, perceptive eyes scanned the room, silently analyzing the atmosphere like a maestro reading a complex musical score.
Name: Kiyohime
Class: Berserker
Attribute: Earth
Gender: Female
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class Skills:
Mad Enhancement (EX Rank): Her sanity remains intact, but she unconditionally views her Master as her reincarnated lover. If the Master lies to her, she will instantly realize it and automatically consume one Command Spell as punishment.
Personal Skills:
Shapeshift (Fire Dragon) (C+ Rank): Driven by sheer obsession, she can manipulate her form into a lesser Eastern dragon. She will run with all her might, and slither while breathing fire once her legs disappear.
Super Positive Stalking (A+ Rank): A terrifyingly wild instinct that combines all five senses and mana tracking to flawlessly hunt down her beloved wherever they may hide.
Flame-Colored Kiss (A Rank): If her lips lock with her Master's, she will unleash her full power to obliterate any obstacle. The only price is the Master's future, forever claimed as her groom.
Stats:
Strength E | Endurance E | Agility C | Mana E | Luck E | NP EX
Noble Phantasm:
Samadhi Through Transforming Flames (Anti-Unit Self EX)
Kiyohime metamorphoses into a colossal, fire-breathing serpent. In this form, she can unleash devastating wide-area dragon breath attacks or a lethal, single-target constriction attack.
"This is Berserker, Kiyohime," Jeanne said, her tone growing a fraction more careful. A uniquely feminine Berserker stepped forward. She possessed long, flowing mint-green hair and delicate white horns adorned with golden ornaments. She wore a dark, beautifully elegant teal kimono. In her hands, she gently fluttered a red folding fan that sparked with faint, real embers of fire. She offered a polite, demure bow, though the intense, unblinking focus in her golden eyes hinted at a terrifying, obsessive fire lying just beneath her graceful surface.
Name: Georgios
Class: Rider
Attribute: Man
Gender: Male
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class Skills:
Magic Resistance (A Rank): Cancels all A-Rank magic and below. Modern magi are entirely incapable of harming him, rendering him virtually a "magus killer."
Riding (B Rank): Capable of operating most vehicles and mounts flawlessly, though he cannot ride Phantasmal Beasts. His exceptional mobility is largely thanks to his magical steed, Bayard.
Personal Skills:
Guardian Knight (A+ Rank): Driven by a genuine sense of duty, his defensive power temporarily skyrockets when actively protecting others.
Soul of a Martyr (B+ Rank): Completely negates mental interference, born from his unwavering faith that endured endless torture in life.
Battle Continuation (A Rank): The fortitude to keep fighting even on the verge of death, surviving any wound that isn't instantly fatal.
Instinct (C Rank): A sixth sense that dictates the optimal course of action in battle, though it only activates when he is defending someone.
Divinity (C Rank): Revered globally as a saint, with his conceptual origins tracing back to the ancient Middle Eastern god of harvest, Ba'al.
Stats:
Strength D | Endurance A+ | Agility C++ | Mana D | Luck A+ | NP C
Noble Phantasm:
Ascalon: Blessed Sword by Which Force Is Slain (Anti-Unit B)
A holy sword that grants absolute defense from harm and malice. By reversing its protective power, it becomes a blade that pierces through any armor.
Abyssus Draconis: Thou Shalt a Serpent Become (Anti-Army C)
Initiated through his unshakable faith, this ability judges a target's alignment and temporarily transfigures them into a draconian being.
Interfectum Dracones: Dragon Slayer (Anti-Unit C)
A conceptual attack that deals massive damage to dragons. It manifests as a close-range slash or can be fired as a long-range javelin of light.
Bayard: Phantom War Horse (Anti-Unit C)
His magical white steed. The rider is impervious to harm, and the horse is capable of completely nullifying a lethal attack for its master exactly once.
"And finally, Rider, Georgios," Jeanne concluded. A tall, immensely dependable man in his late twenties stepped forward. He was clad in striking, bronze-and-orange knight's armor. Resting firmly in his grasp was the legendary double-edged holy sword, Ascalon. His warm brown eyes swept across the room, radiating the absolute, unwavering resolve of a legendary protector who had slain dragons and defended the innocent.
With the arrival of these four distinct and powerful Servants, the heavy, suffocating atmosphere in the strategy room finally began to lift. The forces of humanity had just received the crucial reinforcements they needed to strike back at the darkness.
Jeanne turned her attention back to Marie and the rest of the newly arrived expedition team. Gesturing gracefully toward her allies, she began the introductions.
"Allow me to introduce them. This is Fujimaru, a Master. And these are Mash, Cú Chulainn, and Archer," Jeanne said, gesturing to each of them in turn so Marie and the newly arrived Servants could properly acquaint themselves.
Jeanne then looked at her comrades with a soft, reassuring smile. "My personal skill, At the End of the Pure and Clear Prayers, assures me that they are completely trustworthy. We can rely on them one hundred percent."
Marie clasped her hands together, smiling brightly without a single shred of doubt. "If you believe in them, Jeanne, then I believe in them too!"
Mozart rested one hand on the table, staring at the map with an analytical gaze. "A very beautiful sentiment. But practically speaking... how exactly do we compose a requiem for this Dragon Witch?"
"Allow me to make a suggestion," Fujimaru interjected. His voice was calm, yet it immediately commanded the room's attention. "First, to bypass Vlad III's immortality, we need to divide into teams and destroy the cities they have taken over."
He lifted his head, meeting the eyes of his comrades one by one with a serious expression.
"I will attack the city of Lyon by myself."
The room fell dead silent for a split second before absolute panic broke out.
"Senpai?! By yourself?!" Mash instinctively stepped forward, her voice rising in distress. "That's too dangerous! Eventhough you are strong, you can't just walk into an enemy fortress without a Servant guarding you—!"
Fujimaru didn't ignore her. He turned to Mash, raising a single hand to gently pacify the room. He offered a faint, yet remarkably confident smile.
"I have no intention of dying a foolish death, Mash," Fujimaru answered, his tone incredibly stable, grounding their soaring anxieties. "I have my own ways of handling a single city. Our time is extremely short, and your sheer combat power as Servants is desperately needed at the more heavily fortified enemy strongholds. Please... trust me."
Seeing the unwavering resolve in Fujimaru's eyes and perhaps recalling the terrifying aura of his Demon Eye katana from earlier Mash finally bit her lip and gave a reluctant, but trusting nod.
Ensuring the situation was under control, Fujimaru continued outlining the strategy. "Jeanne d'Arc, Archer, Elizabeth Báthory, and Georgios will attack the city of Thiers. Marie Antoinette, Siegfried, Mash, Cú Chulainn, and Kiyohime will attack the city of Marseille. As for Lyon, Bordeaux, Montluçon, and Rouen, our approach will be determined after we successfully eradicate these first few cities."
Archer crossed his arms over his chest, shooting Fujimaru a piercing, analytical glare. "Sending all your heavy hitters away and taking a target completely by yourself. You're either a suicidal madman, or you're hiding a terrifyingly large trump card, Master."
Fujimaru merely met the red-clad knight's gaze with a subtle smirk. "Maybe a little bit of both, Archer."
Without wasting another moment, Fujimaru pulled a small scroll from his coat and unrolled it onto the center of the table. It revealed a highly complex, meticulous schematic of defensive barriers.
"As for Vaucouleurs... don't worry," Fujimaru stated. "I will set up trap lines, runic triggers, and magical seals around the city's perimeter."
Hearing the word 'runic,' Cú Chulainn scoffed softly, twirling his wooden staff. A smirk that was equal parts mocking and intrigued crossed his face. "Runic triggers? You're playing in my territory now, Master. Are you sure your little booby traps are strong enough to hold off a Wyvern swarm without a Servant standing guard?"
Fujimaru turned to the Cú Chulainn. "If you doubt them, you are more than welcome to inspect the formations before you head off to Marseille. But I guarantee... if the enemy tries to attack while we are gone, they will be kept plenty busy playing with my traps until I return."
Fujimaru looked around the room one last time, ensuring that absolutely no hesitation remained in anyone's eyes. His index finger tapped the map on the table.
"Seven cities. One by one," he declared firmly. "And when all of them are gone... we storm Orléans."
For a moment, the room was silent as they processed the plan. Then, Jeanne stepped forward, taking charge of the council.
"If there are no objections, we follow this strategy," Jeanne said, her voice clear and practical. "Strike Teams, gather your equipment. We meet at the main gates in exactly one hour. We need to move out before the enemy realizes we've split our forces."
The Servants nodded in agreement, and the meeting adjourned.
While the strike teams prepared for the upcoming battles, Fujimaru went to work. He spent the next hour walking the perimeter of Vaucouleurs, quietly setting up his runic traps and bounded fields. Cú Chulainn briefly watched him carve the formulas into the stone, gave a short nod of approval, and left to join his team.
As the sky began to lighten, the groups assembled at the city gates. Jeanne sat atop her horse at the front of the vanguard, overseeing the departure.
Nearby, Mash looked at Fujimaru, her grip tightening on her shield. "Stay safe, Senpai. We'll clear Marseille as fast as we can."
"I'll be fine. Focus on your own mission, Mash," Fujimaru replied calmly. "Stick with Siegfried and Cú Chulainn, and don't push yourself too hard."
Satisfied that everyone was ready, Jeanne turned toward the gates.
"Open the gates," she ordered.
The heavy wooden doors groaned as they were pulled apart, revealing the foggy wasteland outside.
"Gilles, i trust city on your hand." Jeanne said.
"At your command." Gilles reply in military rule.
"Move out." Jeanne steering her horse forward.
The three teams split off, heading out toward their respective targets. Left alone at the crossroads outside the city, Fujimaru checked his gear one last time. Without another word, he turned began toward Lyon.
The rushing wind tore at his coat as Fujimaru propelled himself across the dead skies with 'Fly', blurring past miles of devastated French countryside. When he finally descended, his boots touching down softly on the ash-choked streets of Lyon, the abrupt absence of sound hit him like a physical blow.
The city was dead. Not merely abandoned, but suspended in a suffocating, claustrophobic stillness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was no wind to rattle the broken windowpanes, distant shrieks of wyverns, not even the desperate scuttling of rats in the gutters.
The air felt thick, humid, and heavy, coating the back of his throat with the metallic taste of copper and spoiled meat. It was a macabre, unnatural silence as if Death itself had peered into these festering streets, felt a profound, shivering disgust at the absolute filth taking root there, and deliberately turned its back on the town.
Fujimaru stepped forward. The cobblestones beneath his boots weren't just damp; they were slick with a thin, translucent film of biological residue.
As he neared the town square, a low, wet sound began to vibrate through the soles of his shoes. Thump-squelch. Thump-squelch. Then, looming over the shattered rooftops, the source of the nightmare revealed itself.
He stood amidst the skeletal remains of collapsed buildings and fractured cobblestones, gazing into the heart of what had once been a magnificent, vibrant city.
"It's a shame to see it like this..." Fujimaru murmured, his voice barely carrying over the oppressive, heavy silence. "I always hoped to see it with my own eyes someday. Not just through pictures on the internet."
He took a short, shallow breath of the foul, copper-tinged air, forcing the lingering nostalgia from his mind. When he exhaled, his gaze hardened into cold, predatory steel.
"Enough sentimentality."
There, towering in the center of the ruined town square, was the source of the rot. It was a colossal monolith of raw, flayed red meat. It wasn't a building it was a living anatomy. The towering pillar glistened with a sickening, bloody sheen in the gloom, its surface composed of twisting, weeping muscle fibers.
It pulsed with a slow, agonizing rhythm, expanding and contracting like the massive, exposed heart of a butchered leviathan. Thick, blackened veins the size of tree trunks slithered out from its base, burrowing deep into the ruined streets like parasitic roots draining the very marrow of the earth. Its twisted, fleshy architecture vaguely mocked the geometric shape of the Demon God Pillar Flauros, but this was something far more abhorrent.
The tissue was horribly distorted, bulging and shifting blindly under its own skin, suggesting things trying to push their way out from the inside. It was a malignant tumor on the fabric of the world an entity dragged from a lightless, unfathomable abyss, so fundamentally alien and inherently wrong that the surrounding reality seemed to physically warp and recoil from its mere existence.
Standing at the base of the abhorrent monolith were two figures, bathed in the sickly, blood-red luminescence radiating from the pulsing meat.
The first was Lancelot. The Mad Knight stood perfectly motionless, a jagged silhouette of pure, suppressed violence. His pitch-black armor seemed to drink in the surrounding darkness, catching only faint, wet gleams from the crimson light above. Plumes of dark, erratic mana bled from the gaps in his visor, radiating a suffocating aura of madness like a rabid beast waiting for its chain to snap.
Name: Phantom of the Opera
Class: Assassin
Attribute: Earth
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Class Skills:
Presence Concealment (A Rank): Completely masks his presence, making him nearly impossible to detect in the shadows. However, this absolute concealment drops drastically the moment he prepares to strike.
Personal Skills:
The Masque of the Red Death (A+ Rank): A deeply distorted mentality that automatically shuts out all mental interference magic. It is entirely impossible to reason or communicate with him unless one possesses an equally fractured and polluted mind.
Call from the Garnier (B+ Rank): A hypnotic, captivating voice that acts as fascination magecraft against women. He converses in a sweeping, theatrical singing voice, forever trapped performing on his own phantom stage.
Innocent Monster (D Rank): His physical form has been mutated by the fictionalized legends of his life. His face is a grotesque horror, and beneath his elegant black gloves lie monstrous, elongated hands with claws sharper than butcher knives.
Stats: Strength B | Endurance C | Agility A | Mana D | Luck D | NP B+
Noble Phantasm:
Christine Christine: My Love Song Shall Resound Even Through Hell (Anti-Army B+)
A macabre, towering pipe organ constructed entirely from the fused corpses of his former victims. When played in unison with his distorted, grotesque vocal cords, it unleashes a devastating, invisible wave of magical destruction over a wide area, shattering both bodies and minds.
Beside him lurked the Phantom of the Opera. Clad in an impeccably sharp, formal tailcoat that felt sickeningly out of place in this slaughterhouse, his face was obscured by a ghastly, bone-white half mask. He stood with a theatrical, almost disjointed posture. Down by his sides, his elongated fingers twitched with a restless, rhythmic energy each digit ending in wicked, gleaming blades sharp as surgical scalpels, ready to conduct a symphony of vivisection in the dead air.
"I am Phantom of the Opera," he proclaimed, his voice a deep, elegant baritone that felt sickeningly smooth against the backdrop of rot and ruin. "By the decree of the Dragon Witch, this city falls under my jurisdiction. It is now a grand stage of absolute suffering. And so I ask you, my new leading actor?"
Fujimaru didn't answer with words. Reaching his hands into the empty air, he drew his twin Demon Eye blades from the void. The first was pure white, its blade curving viciously inward. The second was pitch black, sporting a wicked, scythe-like spine.
The Phantom took a theatrical step forward. The ruined cobblestones split apart, and from the bleeding fissures in the earth, a towering, macabre pipe organ rose into the gloom. Fused from corpses and pulsating with unnatural life, the grotesque instrument began to play a maddening, dissonant melody.
"Christine Christine: My Love Song Shall Resound Even Through Hell (Anti-Army B+)"
Deafening, violent chords exploded through the air as an invisible shockwave of magical destruction. The screeching, high-pitched wail pierced directly into the nerves; the surrounding skeletal buildings trembled violently, and reality itself seemed to warp and vibrate under the sheer auditory pressure.
Fujimaru staggered back a half-step beneath the crushing weight of the sound, but his cold expression never wavered.
Tightening his grip on the Demon Eye, he lunged. He tore through the auditory distortion, weaving seamlessly past the heaviest concussive waves of sound. Closing the distance in the blink of an eye, Fujimaru descended upon the Assassin, carving into the Phantom's flesh with five blindingly fast, merciless slashes from five different angles.
The Phantom was violently thrown backward by the flurry of strikes, his iconic bone-white mask fracturing down the middle. He coughed up a splatter of dark blood, yet a low, eerie chuckle rattled in his throat.
"Such... a beautiful rhythm," he gasped, thoroughly entertained by the violence.
Before Fujimaru could finish him, a suffocating wave of killing intent flared from his right. Lancelot materialized from the shadows like a demon unleashed. In his armored hands, a rusted iron beam instantly blackened with chaotic red mana, warping into a heavy, devastating battleaxe.
Knight of Owner: A Knight Does Not Die with Empty Hands (Anti-Unit A+)
Fujimaru crossed his katana to parry the brutal overhead swing, but the impact was like trying to block a falling meteor. The sheer, monstrous physical strength of the Berserker was overwhelming, sending Fujimaru skidding violently backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the ruined cobblestones.
Lancelot didn't give him a single second to breathe. The Mad Knight pressed the assault in a relentless, mechanical frenzy. Everything in the surrounding wasteland became a lethal weapon; jagged chunks of rubble, heavy stones, even a shattered lamppost the moment they touched Lancelot's gauntlets, they were instantly corrupted by his Noble Phantasm and swung with terrifying, lethal precision.
During the first encounter of Mad Knight,Demon Eye katana, the cursed weapons passive aura had struck him with a primal, paralyzing terror. Even his maddened, broken mind had instinctively recoiled from the pure, abyssal dread they radiated. But madness adapts. In this second encounter, the Berserker had built a terrifying resistance.
He no longer felt fear only a hollow, mechanical rage aimed directly at the human holding them. Forced entirely onto the defensive, Fujimaru's blades became a blur as he desperately deflected the crushing onslaught, slowly losing ground against the unyielding machine of war. He gritted his teeth, his muscles burning from the strain as he deflected another corrupted beam.
"You're not just loud..." Fujimaru muttered, his eyes locked onto the glowing red slits of Lancelot's visor. "...you're insanely stubborn."
His pitch-black armor was severely fractured, dark blood weeping from the jagged rents in the metal, yet the Mad Knight refused to halt. Instead, he discarded his makeshift weapons and reached into the deepest abyss of his own madness.
The air itself seemed to scream as he drew his true weapon. The corrupted, peerless holy sword of the lake. The moment the Noble Phantasm was unsealed, Lancelot's chaotic mana skyrocketed to terrifying, monstrous heights, radiating a dark, suffocating pressure that cracked the very earth beneath his feet.
"Arondight: The Unfading Light of the Lake (Anti-Unit A++)"
It was no longer a human voice, but a beast's roar of absolute agony and rage. He swung the corrupted blade with all his remaining strength, unleashing the devastating power of the Noble Phantasm. An apocalyptic torrent of blackened holy light erupted, tearing a massive, jagged trench through the city and swallowing Fujimaru completely in a cataclysmic explosion of dark energy.
The sheer force of the blast leveled the surrounding ruins, leaving nothing but swirling ash. But as the heavy smoke slowly cleared, a silhouette remained standing in the epicenter of the crater. Fujimaru was completely unharmed, anchored behind multiple, intensely burning layers of runic barriers that had absorbed the brunt of the legendary sword's wrath.
"Your turn is over."
With Lancelot's immense mana fully expended on that single, ultimate strike, Fujimaru moved like a phantom. It was one single, perfectly calculated thrust. Slipping past the heavy guard of the black sword, he drove his blade deep into a microscopic gap in the Berserker's ruined armor striking directly at his spiritual core.
The metal groaned, glowing a searing, overheated red as the blade pierced through. Lancelot's massive frame suddenly froze. The chaotic red light in his visor flickered, dimmed, and finally went completely dark. His heavy body collapsed to the scorched earth, his physical form already beginning to break apart and dissolve into fading particles of golden light.
Fujimaru lowered his weapon, his cold, predatory gaze softening just a fraction as he watched the corrupted Knight of the Lake finally find peace.
"Rest," he said quietly. "You've fought well enough."
The Phantom of the Opera struggled to his feet, his shattered mask clinging to his face. Coughing up dark blood, he desperately forced out the final, agonizing notes of his Noble Phantasm, Christine Christine. A concentrated, lethal wave of sound tore through the air, aimed squarely at Fujimaru's head.
Fujimaru didn't even slow down. With a single, precise flick of his wrist, his blade cleaved through the air, physically shattering the magic's resonance and scattering the soundwave into a harmless breeze.
"This isn't your concert," Fujimaru stated coldly.
With one clean, horizontal slash across the torso, the Assassin fell silent. The Phantom collapsed without another sound, his body slowly fading away into glowing golden dust.