The city of Thiers had devolved into a festering, rotting stronghold of demonic corruption, but Jeanne's strike force tore through its defenses with overwhelming, unrelenting synergy. Surprisingly, there was no enemy Servant stationed to protect the city a stark contrast to the grueling duel the vanguard had faced in Marseille. Whether it was a tactical oversight or a deliberate sacrifice, the Dragon Witch had left the territory entirely unguarded by heroic spirits, relying instead on an endless, suffocating swarm of corrupted Wyverns.
Unlike the vanguard at Marseille, however, this team was stacked with heavy hitters, and their absolute offensive superiority was on full display. The endless draconian horde didn't slow them down; it simply gave them a larger target.
At the tip of the spear was Georgios. Riding atop his phantom warhorse, Bayard: Phantom War Horse (Anti-Unit C), the legendary Dragonslayer became an unstoppable, armored battering ram. He drew the absolute worst of the enemy's aggro, letting swarms of corrupted wyverns and grotesque familiars crash against his shield, only to be effortlessly rebuffed by his Interfectum Dracones: Dragon Slayer (Anti-Unit C).
"O cursed beasts, yield before the holy light!" Georgios's voice thundered over the chaos. His blade ignited with a blinding, severing radiance. "Ascalon: Blessed Sword by Which Force Is Slain (Anti-Unit B)!" With a single, devastating sweep, the Blessed Sword cleaved through a dozen monstrous familiars, carving a scorched but safe path through the main thoroughfare.
High above the carnage, perched on the crumbling remains of a clock tower, Archer provided absolute, lethal overwatch. His crimson cloak snapped sharply in the toxic wind. With his Hawkeye (B+ Rank) skill pushing his vision to superhuman limits, he didn't waste a single movement. He drew back the string of his matte-black bow, releasing a volley of magically charged arrows that tore through the sky like guided missiles.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Each shot possessed mathematical precision, striking the exact weak points of the diving wyverns. The arrows detonated with concentrated kinetic force, raining shattered, blackened scales down onto the streets below.
"Keep moving forward!" Archer's voice crackled sharply over the magical comms. "I have the skies locked down. Do not stop until you reach the center!"
Down in the chaotic streets, Elizabeth Báthory ruthlessly thrust her partisan lance through the chest of a lunging demon, kicking its dissolving carcass away with a dramatic, disgusted huff.
"Ugh! This stage is absolutely revolting!" Elizabeth complained, furiously wiping a speck of demonic ash from her idol outfit. But despite her complaints, her draconian mana flared with terrifying intensity. "But a true idol shines even in the filthiest venues! Listen to my song, you ugly lizards!"
Taking a massive breath, she unleashed Kilenc Sárkány: Dragon Cry Thundering Voice (Anti-Unit D). The supersonic burst of dragon breath, amplified by her destructive, high-pitched vocal cords, created a devastating localized shockwave. The sheer sonic pressure shattered the remaining stained-glass windows and violently ruptured the eardrums of the approaching horde, causing their heads to quite literally burst from the agonizing trauma.
Safely positioned behind the vanguard, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart orchestrated the absolute carnage. His fingers blurred in the empty air, conducting a frantic, dissonant symphony of magical energy.
"Ah, the tempo is dreadful! But what a magnificent crescendo of violence!" Mozart laughed, a thin line of blood dripping from his nose from the sheer magical strain. He wove his Noble Phantasm, Requiem for Death: A Funeral March For the Grim Reaper (Anti-Army B), creating a suffocating net of complex debuffs and spatial distortions that crippled the enemy forces. "Fortissimo, my friends! Break their spirits!"
Anchoring the absolute center of their formation was Jeanne d'Arc. She didn't just fight; she inspired. Her silver armor deflected the stray curses that slipped past Georgios, and the holy aura of her flag constantly purged the poisonous, acidic miasma from the air, allowing her team to breathe freely.
Together, they carved a bloody, relentless path straight into the town square, where the true nightmare awaited. Looming over the ruined plaza was Demon God Morax.
It was a towering, avian abomination constructed of rotting flesh and blackened, molting feathers. Countless screaming, weeping beaks protruded randomly from its convulsing anatomy, spewing cursed black flames that melted the cobblestones beneath their feet.
"Focus your fire on its base!" Archer yelled. Leaping from his collapsing tower, he fired a blinding, spiraling Broken Phantasm that blew a massive, weeping crater directly into the Pillar's right flank.
"Right behind you!" Elizabeth soared into the air on her draconian wings, driving her lance deep into the monster's newly exposed flesh.
Simultaneously, Georgios charged the root system. Plunging his sword into the corrupted earth, he invoked Abyssus Draconis: Thou Shalt a Serpent Become (Anti-Army C). The curse forcibly transfigured the Demon God's anatomy, forcefully overwriting its nature with draconian attributes to completely paralyze its rapid, demonic regeneration.
Under the synchronized, apocalyptic assault of the five Servants, Morax shrieked in absolute agony. Its healing was crippled, and the corrupted leylines beneath Thiers were finally bleeding dry.
"Leave them to me!" Jeanne declared, stepping to the absolute back. She planted her holy flag firmly into the scorched earth. Her spiritual core ignited, gathering the absolute maximum output of her mana to lock Demon God from moving.
Miles above the French countryside, Fujimaru's vision blurred as atmospheric friction threatened to incinerate his coat. He pushed his magical circuits vastly beyond their safety limits, his veins glowing a highly visible, radioactive blue through his skin.
Faster. He could feel the massive, blinding spike in holy mana erupting from the coordinates of Thiers. Jeanne was about to win. She was about to pull the trigger on a city-sized technomagic fail-safe that would instantly vaporize her, Archer, Elizabeth, Mozart, and Georgios from existence.
Faster!
In the ruined square of Thiers, Morax shrieked a sound of pure, desperate terror as Jeanne's golden light entirely overwhelmed its dark aura. She gripped her lance, aiming directly at the Demon God's exposed, pulsating core.
BOOOOOOM!
A supersonic shockwave struck the plaza with the force of a meteor impact, instantly interrupting the execution.
"Kyaa! What was that?!" Elizabeth shrieked as the massive kinetic shockwave threw her backward.
"My strings!" Mozart gasped, dropping to his knees as the sudden atmospheric pressure shattered his musical constructs.
Archer was violently blown off course mid-air. He barely managed to twist his body, canceling his Noble Phantasm and landing heavily on his feet, his twin swords instantly materializing in his hands.
Even Jeanne's golden dome wavered, the sheer force of the impact forcing her to take a step back.
As the heavy smoke rapidly cleared, the five Servants stared in absolute shock.
Hovering just inches above the shattered earth, positioned directly between Jeanne's lance and the exposed core of the dying Demon God, was Fujimaru.
His coat was practically smoking from the brutal atmospheric reentry, his boots cracking the stone beneath him as he killed his momentum. He didn't even glance back at Jeanne or the others. His cold, predatory gaze was locked entirely onto the shrieking Demon God Pillar looming above him.
"Master?!" Jeanne gasped, her sapphire eyes wide with disbelief. "What are you doing?! We had it!"
"If you kill it, you all die," Fujimaru stated. His voice was a chilling, absolute command that completely froze the battlefield in its tracks. He reached his right hand into the empty space before him, the air visibly rippling as he prepared to draw. "Stand down. I am taking over the execution."
The air visibly rippled as Fujimaru plunged his hand into the void. From the distortion, he drew The Pentagram. The half-meter cutlass, adorned with elegant gold and radiating a piercing, sky-blue light, instantly pushed back the suffocating miasma clinging to the plaza.
Jeanne lowered her holy flag, her breath catching in her throat as the horrifying realization set in. Demon God Morax, sensing the shift, unhinged its countless weeping beaks to unleash one final, desperate torrent of black fire. Fujimaru didn't let it.
His figure blurred, moving with a speed that defied human anatomy, leaving a trail of searing azure light in his wake. He bypassed the descending flames entirely, appearing directly at the base of the massive, rotting avian structure.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five lightning-fast, mathematically perfect slashes carved through the rotting flesh. Brilliant blue light erupted from the wounds, connecting to form a massive, glowing five-pointed star across the Demon God's colossal anatomy.
Triggering the unique ability of the Legacy Tier weapon, the absolute curse took hold: Instant Death.
Morax didn't even have the chance to scream. The colossal abomination froze, its immense, terrifying life force extinguished in a microscopic fraction of a second. The rotting feathers, the shifting eyes, the weeping flesh all of it instantly crumbled into a rain of black ash that was swept away by the toxic wind. It was systematically erased from reality.
"I have the coordinates! Brace yourselves!" Fujimaru commanded, his magical circuits flaring dangerously bright as he established a forced, multi-target connection through their Servant contracts.
The heavy, oppressive silence fell over the square.
Then, the sky above Thiers violently bleached to a sickly, pale white. A massive rift tore open in the heavens, and a colossal, dark-red magic circle materialized, covering the entire diameter of the city. The ancient runes pulsed like the final, agonizing heartbeat of the world.
"What in the world is that monstrosity?!" Mozart gasped, dropping his baton as the sheer, apocalyptic pressure of the magic array threatened to crush his spirit.
"Absolute anarchy," Fujimaru replied coldly. "Teleportation!"
The first second, the wind completely stopped.
The second second, the ground began to melt like wax under the heat of an artificial sun.
The third second, the air itself caught fire. Flames erupted from the sky and the earth simultaneously.
The fourth second, the sky split wide open, and the piercing screech of an unknown entity echoed from somewhere beyond the boundaries of reality.
The fifth second—
BOOOOOOM!!!
Right as the sky split open to unleash the apocalyptic black-and-red flames, space warped violently around the six figures. They were forcefully yanked from the plaza, their bodies dissolving into streaks of light a mere millisecond before the inferno descended.
BOOOOOOM!!!
They materialized heavily on a forested cliffside miles away from the city. Elizabeth stumbled, catching herself on her partisan lance, while Georgios immediately placed himself between the group and the distant city, his shield raised.
But there was nothing to defend against. They could only watch in absolute, paralyzed horror as the horizon was consumed.
The city of Thiers was completely vaporized. The blast was not a mere explosion; it was an erasure event. The blinding dome of black and red energy expanded for miles, flattening the landscape, vaporizing the rivers, and sending a deafening, supersonic shockwave tearing past the cliffside that nearly knocked them off their feet.
When the cataclysmic light finally faded, nothing remained but a smooth, miles-wide crater of glowing, glassed earth.
"Mon Dieu..." Jeanne whispered, her sapphire eyes trembling as she stared at the absolute desolation. If Fujimaru had been even a minute later, they would have been standing at the exact epicenter of that blast.
Elizabeth gripped her lance tightly, her usual theatrical bravado completely gone. "We... we were right there. It would have wiped us out completely."
Fujimaru slowly sheathed The Pentagram, the blue light fading as he dismissed it into the void. His coat was singed, and his breathing was heavy from the immense strain of consecutive teleportations and high-speed interception.
"A Fail safe. It activates the moment a Demon God is destroyed." Fujimaru explained, turning to face the group. His expression was grim, devoid of any relief.
Archer dispersed his bow, his silver hair blowing in the ash-filled wind. "To rig an entire territory to self-destruct just to ensure our annihilation... The Dragon Witch isn't just trying to win. She's actively trying to exterminate us at any cost."
"Wait," Georgios stepped forward, his expression darkening as he processed the tactical implications. "Master. If this fail-safe triggers upon the death of a Demon God... what about the other strike teams? What about Mash's vanguard in Marseille?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Fujimaru closed his eyes for a brief, agonizing moment. When he opened them, the cold, predatory steel had returned, but it was heavily shadowed by profound loss.
"Marseille has been eradicated," Fujimaru stated quietly, the weight of the words anchoring them to the scorched earth. "Mash, Siegfried, Kiyohime, and Cú Chulainn survived. They are currently retreating to Vaucouleurs."
Jeanne's hands gripped her flag until her knuckles turned white. "And... the others?"
"Rider, Marie Antoinette... were lost in the siege," Fujimaru answered, his voice steady but carrying the absolute, bitter burden of a commander. "She sacrificed herself to ensure the Demon God Raid undisturb."
A heavy, mournful silence fell over the cliffside. Mozart removed his hat, bowing his head in solemn respect. Jeanne covered her mouth, her eyes tearing up, while Georgios closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer for the fallen.
"There is no time to mourn. Not yet," Fujimaru said, cutting through the grief with a sharp, grounding authority. "We have lost two Servants, but we are still breathing. We return to Vaucouleurs, consolidate our remaining forces, and rewrite our entire strategy. We are going to end this."
The wind howling across the cliffside was thick with the scent of ozone and pulverized stone. Far below, the glassed crater of Thiers glowed with a sickly, fading heat a brutal testament to the trap they had just narrowly escaped.
Fujimaru turned his back to the crater, the glowing blue runic circuits on his skin slowly dimming as he managed his breathing. He extended his hand toward the remaining members of the strike force.
"Link your magical energy to mine," Fujimaru commanded, his voice steady despite the immense exhaustion weighing on his spiritual core. "I cannot maintain a localized portal for long. We are returning to Vaucouleurs. Now."
Jeanne gripped her holy flag, her sapphire eyes lingering on the devastated horizon for one final, mourning second before she nodded. "Understood, Master. Everyone, gather around him!"
Georgios guided his phantom steed closer, while Archer pragmatically placed a hand on Fujimaru's shoulder. Elizabeth, unusually quiet, huddled near Mozart, who was staring blankly at the ground.
"Gate!"
With a flare of azure light, the forced spatial displacement swallowed them. The ruined landscape of the cliffside vanished, replaced by the disorienting, weightless tunnel of a leyline jump.
Orleans — The Palace of the Dragon Witch
A heavy, jewel-encrusted goblet shattered violently against the obsidian walls of the throne room, spilling dark wine across the floor like fresh blood.
"Damn it! We've lost even more Servants!"
Jeanne Alter's voice echoed through the massive, corrupted hall, vibrating with absolute, draconic fury. She paced in front of her twisted throne, her black armor clanking sharply with every step. The dark flames surrounding her flared wildly, reacting to her violent temperament.
"Lancelot, Sanson, Phantom... all of them, useless! And those so-called immortal bastards from the Demon God Pillars?" She snarled, turning her burning, golden eyes toward the shadows of the hall. "Eradicated in their very first encounters! Sliced to pieces and turned to ash! Gilles!"
From the suffocating darkness behind the pillars, Caster, Gilles de Rais, slowly stepped forward. He clutched his grotesque, human-skin grimoire tightly to his chest, his bulging eyes wide with a fanatic, twisted adoration for the furious woman before him.
"Cease this pointless, humiliating alliance with those fleshy abominations at once!" Jeanne Alter commanded, pointing a heavily gauntleted finger at him. "They are doing nothing but giving the enemy free victories! We will handle this ourselves. Start the summoning ritual again!"
Gilles did not flinch at her rage. Instead, a deeply unsettling, manic smile stretched across his pale face. He offered a dramatic, sweeping bow.
"Please, do not let this vex your heart, my beautiful, tragic maiden," Gilles purred, his voice slick and incredibly calm. "It is indeed a grave disappointment that the Demon Gods fell so easily to that anomaly. However... there is a divine silver lining to this massacre."
Jalter narrowed her eyes, her hand resting dangerously on the hilt of her cursed sword. "Speak plainly, Gilles."
"Because of their humiliating defeats, the remaining Pillars have finally stopped looking down on this world," Gilles explained, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "They assumed this Singularity would be a simple incineration. Now? They realize their existence is truly threatened. They are taking this seriously."
He stepped closer to the throne, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the spilled wine.
"They will no longer rely on crude, brute-force sieges. They are preparing something entirely different... something far more absolute," Gilles whispered. "We merely need to buy them the time to complete it. As you command, my holy maiden, I shall prepare the Holy Grail."
Gilles opened his horrific spellbook, the dark, chaotic mana already beginning to violently warp the air around him.
"We will drown this broken country in madness. We shall summon as many Servants as the leylines can bear... and bury Chaldea under a mountain of heroic corpses."
"Furthermore, my Queen," Gilles continued, his tone turning sharp and deeply calculating as he closed his grotesque grimoire with a dull, meaty thud. "We must assume they are now fully aware of the fail-safes. It is highly probable they will abandon their divided siege tactics entirely. They will focus their combined remaining strike force on a direct assault against Orleans."
Jalter's expression darkened, the dark flames around her flickering dangerously, but she remained silent, allowing her tactician to speak.
"As for the remaining occupied cities," Gilles mused, pacing slowly across the blood-red carpet, his bulging eyes gleaming with twisted logic. "They will likely leave them to the Ruler to handle on his own. Considering his absurd strength, he is more than capable of purging those lesser territories while the that faker and her heavy hitters march straight for our capital."
He turned back to Jalter, spreading his arms wide in a grand, theatrical gesture that cast a massive, distorted shadow across the throne room.
"Therefore, we have no need to needlessly divide our newly summoned Servants to defend those worthless outer territories any longer," Gilles declared, a manic, anticipatory smile stretching across his face. "Let them have the ashes of the countryside. We shall recall all our pawns, focus every last ounce of our magical energy and military might right here within these palace walls, and prepare the ultimate stage for the grand finale."
Jeanne Alter slowly sat back down on her twisted obsidian throne. She rested her chin on her armored hand, a cruel, predatory smirk finally replacing her absolute fury.
"Fine," the Dragon Witch hissed, her golden eyes burning with the promise of absolute annihilation. "Let them come to Orleans. Let them bring all their remaining hope to my doorstep. We will crush it all at once, and I will personally mount that Master's head on a pike before I burn his precious world to cinders."
Vaucouleurs
They materialized in the central courtyard of Vaucouleurs. The sudden shift in air pressure kicked up a cloud of dust, causing the stationed French militia to jump to attention.
The atmosphere in the stronghold was completely different from when they had left. The bustling, hopeful energy of the morning had been replaced by a heavy, suffocating gloom.
"Senpai!"
Mash broke from the command tent, her heavy shield strapped to her back. She ran across the courtyard, coming to a halt just a few feet away from him. Her eyes frantically scanned his soot-stained coat and exhausted expression, looking for any lethal injuries.
Behind her, Siegfried and Cú Chulainn emerged from the tent, their armor scorched and their expressions grim.
"I promised I would return safely, Mash," Fujimaru said, offering her a faint, reassuring nod. He released the spatial magecraft, the remaining azure light fading completely from his skin.
Jeanne stepped forward, her silver armor clanking softly in the quiet courtyard. She looked at Mash, then at Siegfried and Cú Chulainn. She searched the shadows behind them, waiting for the familiar, radiant laugh of the French Queen or the fiery devotion of the draconian Berserker.
But there was only silence.
"Mash..." Jeanne started, her voice trembling slightly. "Marie, she is really gone?"
Mash lowered her gaze to the dirt, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides. "She... She held the line against Charles-henri Sanson. She sacrificed themselves so that we could escape the city's fail-safe. She are gone."
The words hit the courtyard like a physical blow.
Georgios closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his heavy breastplate and bowing his head in a silent, deeply respectful prayer. Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, letting out a quiet, frustrated sob.
Mozart took a slow, unsteady step backward. The eccentric, manic energy that constantly surrounded the legendary composer entirely evaporated. He slowly removed his mask, revealing eyes filled with a profound, quiet devastation.
"I see," Mozart whispered, his voice devoid of its usual theatrical flair. "The brightest, most beautiful star of France... has been violently snuffed out once again. What a cruel, dissonant tragedy this world writes."
Jeanne gripped the pole of her flag until the wood groaned. She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Marie Antoinette had not just been an ally; she had been a fellow daughter of France, a woman who loved her country and its people to the very end, despite how they had treated her.
"They did not die in vain," Cú Chulainn said, his voice a low, angry growl as he leaned against his wooden staff. "They bought us the time we needed. If we sit around crying about it, we're spitting on the very chance they gave us."
"Caster is right," Siegfried added, his golden eyes filled with solemn resolve. "Mourning is a luxury for those who have already won the war. Right now, the enemy is still breathing."
Fujimaru stepped into the center of the group. The quiet empathy in his eyes hardened, replaced once again by the cold, unyielding steel of a commander who refused to lose.
"The Dragon Witch's strategy is clear. She is entirely willing to sacrifice her Demon God Pillars and wipe her own territories off the map just to reduce our numbers," Fujimaru stated, his voice ringing with absolute authority. He looked around the circle of surviving Servants.
"We are bleeding, but we are not broken. We have successfully severed two of the major leylines feeding her power. Her territory is shrinking, and her options are running out."
He turned toward the command tent, his coat snapping sharply in the wind.
"We are going to find the epicenter of this Singularity, and we are going to tear it down," Fujimaru declared, his voice hard as iron. "We need to revise the plan."
Hours bled into the night as the tactical war council deliberated inside the stronghold. Maps were drawn and redrawn, absolute strike teams were paired, and the final battle doctrine was rigidly established. By the time the pale, ash-choked light of dawn broke over the horizon, the strategy was locked in place.
In the sprawling central courtyard of Vaucouleurs, the surviving remnants of the French militia stood in perfect, tense formation. They were mortal men battered, exhausted, and scarred by weeks of fighting demonic hordes yet as they gripped their spears and muskets, their eyes burned with an unyielding, desperate resolve.
Standing at the absolute vanguard of the mortal army were the Chaldean Servants, already grouped into their designated two-man tactical cells, weapons drawn and spiritual cores humming with anticipation.
Jeanne d'Arc stepped to the forefront of the gathered army.
Her silver armor gleamed under the bleak morning sky. She drove the base of her holy flag into the cobblestones with a resounding thud. The tattered fabric caught the wind, and a warm, radiant golden aura washed over the courtyard, instantly banishing the lingering chill of fear from the soldiers' hearts.
"Soldiers of France! Hear me!"
Jeanne's voice rang out, clear, resonant, and overflowing with absolute conviction. It was the voice of the Holy Maiden who had once guided them to impossible victories.
"Today, we finally march upon Orleans! We launch our full, unrelenting assault alongside our invaluable allies from Chaldea! The Dragon Witch has burned our homes, tainted our lands, and sought to drown our future in absolute despair. But look around you we stand here today, unbowed and unbroken!"
She raised her flag high, the golden light catching the edge of her sapphire eyes.
"This is our final battle. The ultimate clash for the very soul of France! Do not falter! Do not yield to the darkness! We march to reclaim our capital, and we shall not stop until the false dragon falls! God is with us!"
The courtyard erupted.
A deafening, earth-shaking battle cry tore from the throats of the French soldiers, their morale surging to its absolute peak. Spears were raised, and shields were bashed together in a thundering rhythm of impending war.
Watching from the side, Fujimaru adjusted his coat, the azure runic circuits faintly pulsing beneath his skin. He looked at Mash, who offered a resolute nod from behind her massive shield. The final march to Orleans had begun.