"What… is that thing…!?"
Even Atalanta, who had hunted countless Magical Beasts in the Age of Myths and had even slain the goddess's monster Calydon, could not help holding her breath at the sight of that horrifying form.
"You've come, Archer."
Karna, the great hero whose entire body was wreathed in powerful divine aura, faced the enemy while glancing at the reinforcements behind him.
Atalanta's brow furrowed deeply. "Hey, Lancer, what in the world is going on? What happened?
That… that thing is Berserker?"
Spartacus, the Berserker of "Red."
During the battle two days earlier, he had been captured by Vlad III, the Lancer of "Black," and forcibly made to change Masters.
Now, although he still belonged to the "Red" faction, he stood as an enemy to Karna and Atalanta.
But that was not what shocked the Greek huntress.
"Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!"
Was such a thing even possible?
For an instant, Atalanta mistook it for a small mountain. Then the thought crossed her mind that it might be a mountain of corpses piled together. Only afterward did she realize that it was Spartacus.
If Berserker had merely swelled to more than ten times his size, Archer would not have been left so speechless. The real problem was his current state.
He had eight arms, three of which could hardly be said to have joints. They did not even seem to have bones, looking instead like the tentacles of a giant sea monster, powerful enough to blow away an entire grove with a single swing.
Several insect-like legs had grown from his thick, log-like legs, likely because his original two legs could no longer bear the weight, forcing his body to grow more limbs to spread the burden.
Berserker's head had almost sunk into his neck, but dinosaur-like upper and lower jaws had sprouted from his shoulders. Five basketball-sized eyeballs had grown from his shoulders, neck, and abdomen.
This was the Noble Phantasm Spartacus possessed when summoned as the Berserker Class, "Crying Warmonger : Howl of the Wounded Beast."
A constantly active Noble Phantasm elevated from legend, it converted a portion of the damage received from enemies into Mana and stored it inside his body.
The efficiency of that Mana conversion increased as Spartacus's stamina decreased. The Mana stored in this way could then be used to enhance Spartacus's abilities.
As the accumulated Mana increased, his body began to grow larger, and the injured parts bulged out like tumors.
Once he reached his maximum size, he transformed completely into an aberrant form. In that state, even three Command Spells would be completely unable to control Spartacus.
This Noble Phantasm symbolized the rebellious gladiator Spartacus's obsession with victory.
For victory, he could abandon the appearance of a human. Eight arms were certainly stronger than two, and if his body weight exceeded what he could support, then he only needed to increase the number of legs holding him up.
To Berserker, who firmly believed that the more wounded he became, the closer he was to victory, a state like this was probably nothing at all.
With a mocking expression, Atalanta said, "Even the son of the Sun God from Indian mythology finds him troublesome?"
In truth, she found it a little strange. Berserker had become terrifying, but he should not have been an enemy Lancer could not handle.
At that moment, Spartacus launched an attack on the two of them.
The earth was scooped up like pudding and hurled over like a cannonball.
Archer and Lancer nimbly dodged the blow.
"I have an idea. I need to borrow your speed."
Karna stated his plan expressionlessly.
Atalanta would lure Spartacus near the castle of the Yggdmillennia clan, then detonate him there and blow away the enemy stronghold along with him.
When Spartacus died after storing Mana to its limit, he would trigger a self-destruction powerful enough to destroy everything around him.
"Crying Warmonger" was not only an "Anti-Unit" Noble Phantasm, but also "Anti-Army," and could even become an "Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm."
Although he had manifested as the Berserker Class, Spartacus had been a hero in life, charismatic and gifted in military command.
But the greater reason he was loved was that he was a hero who "could always overturn the odds and win." To the soldiers of the rebel army, the more desperate the battlefield became, the more certain the victory ahead felt.
While keeping him in check, Karna had thought of using that ability.
The power of Spartacus's self-destruction was so enormous that even Karna, who possessed golden armor capable of reducing damage to one-tenth, did not dare receive it carelessly.
Deliver a fatal blow to Berserker, then escape at high speed. The only ones who could do that were Rider and Archer.
Unfortunately, Rider was currently locked in fierce battle with the enemy Archer and completely ignoring orders.
Atalanta leapt away from a large tree that Berserker had easily blown apart, then looked back and asked,
"But… won't the Holy Grail be destroyed too?"
"According to Assassin's investigation, the Greater Grail seems to be hidden underground beneath that castle.
Besides, the Holy Grail is not something that would be damaged simply by being buried under rubble. As long as it does not take a direct hit from Spartacus, it should be fine."
"Understood. Let's try it your way."
Atalanta drew a great bow that seemed mismatched with her slender frame and fired an arrow at Spartacus's forehead.
"Ooooooooooooooooooh!"
Berserker roared and charged toward her.
This thing is beyond even Calydon now… Atalanta thought as she broke into a run.
...
...
"…Heave-ho."
Shirou rested the silver magic sword on his shoulder.
On the plain where he stood, the rampaging crimson lightning had left an enormous brand across the earth, looking like the claw marks of a Great Dragon.
Mordred stared at the sight before her, shoulders trembling, unable to speak.
The magic sword released through Father's Mana, "Indulgence for My Unworthy Son (Clarent Blood Mordred)."
Its power surpassed even hers, the original wielder.
But that was not because Shirou's own parameters were higher. There was another reason.
"Indulgence" had surpassed "rebellion." That was probably the best explanation.
"Is your anger… spent now?"
"Yeah, thanks to you."
Shirou looked toward his opponent.
The Lancer of "Black" was leaning on his spear, barely keeping his shattered body from collapsing.
The grace and cruelty of a king had long since vanished. What supported him now was only the pride of a hero.
That alone had kept him from being vaporized outright by the torrent of the magic sword, allowing him to survive by barely blocking most of the damage with his stakes.
But that amount of strength was far too distant from victory.
The outcome was already obvious.
The current Lancer no longer had any means to oppose the "Black" Saber.
Am I… going to die?
That sudden, almost certain thought welled up in the heart of the Lancer of "Black."
If he lost, then of course it would mean the total collapse of the "Black" faction.
But there was nothing to be done. He had believed too deeply in his own power and relied too much on the faith granted by his territory.
More importantly, this opponent was simply too terrible a match.
Vlad III, a devout believer, knew better than anyone how powerful the King who had lifted the Holy Grail, the Heroic Spirit revered by the Church as the "Savior," truly was.
If anything had surprised him.
It was that a Holy King who had already reached the "end" would still be interested in an imitation Holy Grail.
"Why are you here? Should the legendary First King of Britannia not already possess the true Holy Grail?"
Hearing Vlad III's question, Shirou was inwardly puzzled. After thinking for a moment, he answered,
"No, I'm not interested in a wish-granting machine made by Magi. My Master…
Haha, she's a strange kid. It seems she has a different understanding of the Holy Grail."
"If you have no interest in the Holy Grail, then why…"
Shirou glanced toward the Hanging Gardens in the distance.
"It looks like there's a conspiracy hidden in this Great Holy Grail War that neither you nor I know about.
Maybe that's exactly why I was summoned here."
"I see…"
Vlad III quietly closed his eyes.
In the end, he could not even be counted as one of the main players of the Great Holy Grail War. He was being forced off the stage at the very beginning, with no knowledge of anything.
The humiliation of defeat, despair, and regret disturbed his thoughts like an overflowing river.
Just as he accepted defeat and steeled himself.
The Master who had formed a contract with Lancer suddenly appeared behind him as if by Magecraft, whispering like a demon.
"It is still too early to give up."
Shirou, Vlad III, and the familiar hidden nearby all turned toward that voice.
The patriarch of Yggdmillennia, Prestone Yggdmillennia.
"We have not yet failed completely. My king, so long as you activate that Noble Phantasm."
...
...
Over the course of his hundred-year life, Darnic had been driven into hopeless situations many times.
The most dangerous of them had been the Third Holy Grail War sixty years ago. Even now, he found it nothing short of miraculous that he had survived that brutal battle.
By sheer luck, he discovered a path to the Greater Grail from a collapsed cavern. Through clever rhetoric, he won over the Third Reich, and at the Führer's order, an army of absurd scale was dispatched to an allied nation, where they forcibly seized the Greater Grail.
Then, while transporting the Greater Grail to Germany, he deliberately passed through Trifas and, on his own territory, slaughtered every Magus and soldier who had fought alongside him.
From that day on, Darnic's life became one of research and political maneuvering.
When facing the Association, he kept his posture extremely low, even accepting the role of making Yggdmillennia look like a family that specialized in taking in failed Magi.
Over the next sixty years, Darnic continuously modified the Greater Grail so it would adapt to the land of Trifas. In the process, it became capable not only of summoning Heroic Spirits, but even of summoning "entities that merely possessed the aspect of a Heroic Spirit," an unexpected byproduct.
What exactly lay at the root of that obsession?
"To reach The Root."
That ultimate goal of all Magi was certainly a major factor, but it was not the whole of it.
It had happened eighty years ago.
A certain Magus had warned him that the Yggdmillennia bloodline was impure and would likely fail to last beyond five generations, after which it would only wither away.
Foolish. Five generations is still far in the future. Surely there are plenty of countermeasures one could devise by then.
But apparently, Darnic was the only one who thought so.
To Magi who disliked risk and challenge, Yggdmillennia was an unstable factor to be kept as far away as possible.
Darnic's engagement was broken off.
The fiancée who had once shyly confessed her love to him, the brother-in-law who had sworn to stand by him through hardship, all of them stopped acknowledging him.
It took Darnic a long time to accept the reality of having fallen to the bottom. Yet just as he prepared to rise again.
He discovered that his career as a Magus had already reached its end.
The Yggdmillennia clan would never become nobility. Even if they survived the decline awaiting them after five generations, once the label had been placed on them, they would never be able to clear their name.
Darnic himself did not care, but the futures of the other Magi in the family had been arbitrarily stripped away.
In that instant, Darnic understood that reaching The Root through proper means…
Dedicating himself to research as a Magus, climbing as high as possible in the Association, becoming nobility… that path was an impossible dream, and he abandoned it.
Thus, he sought a way to prevent his clan from withering. Only after that could he search for a way to reach The Root.
Remaining in the Mage's Association was a humiliation.
Yet Darnic never forgot that humiliation for a single second. He carved it into his heart, and it became the driving force behind his struggle.
It was then that Darnic happened to hear of a magical ritual in the Far East.
He drew in the Third Reich, which was interested in "Theosophy," and through his silver tongue, gained the trust and support of the military, ultimately joining the war as a Master.
In the end, Darnic became the true hidden victor of the Third Holy Grail War, taking the Greater Grail for himself.
Darnic did not hate the family of the fiancée who had abandoned him. Looking at the present, he perhaps ought to have thanked them.
Of course, that entire family had long since died out, without even leaving a name in history.
Darnic had not personally wiped them out. He had simply completed his revenge through more hidden means.
For eighty years, Darnic's life had been a process of kicking others down and climbing higher. Now, what he had to remove was the Mage's Association, and the Yggdmillennia clan who called him "Uncle."
Naturally, Darnic felt no hesitation.
To realize his ideals, he would commit any atrocity without a second thought.
For example, turning his homeland of Romania into hell in a single night.
That, too, would not stir much feeling in the Magus named Darnic.
...
...
"…Darnic, how are you here?"
The Magus who usually bowed and scraped before him, always presenting himself as a loyal subject, now stood atop something resembling a temple pillar, looking down over the entire battlefield.
That lofty posture displeased Vlad III somewhat.
More than that, he had just spoken the forbidden words.
The Lancer of "Black" possessed another Noble Phantasm aside from "Kazikli Bey."
"Legend of Dracula."
As the name suggested, this was a Noble Phantasm born from the vampire legend, another aspect of Vlad III separate from his identity as a king.
Once activated, the Lancer of "Black" would transform into the vampire that existed only in legend.
He would no longer be a Heroic Spirit. He would become, in the literal sense, the king of monsters.
Before the war began, when Master and Servant had discussed this subject, Vlad III had sternly warned his Master.
"Using that Noble Phantasm is the same as spitting on me. I will never activate it, even if I die in battle.
And if you force me to do so with a Command Spell, I trust I need not explain what will happen afterward."
He had already warned him. No, he had ordered him. And yet Darnic had brought it up again at a moment like this.
Vlad III felt his fury boil over.
Though he was already at the end of his strength, he remained a solitary king.
Intense killing intent covered the battlefield, yet the Magus remained calm and continued speaking with arrogance.
"Lancer, I said you are to activate the Noble Phantasm. Other than that, we have no chance of victory."
"What nonsense are you spouting? Have you forgotten that I said I would never use that Noble Phantasm? I will die here! I will die with regret! I will vanish!
But that is the path a defeated man must walk! Darnic! I have never once intended to activate that and become such a wretched existence! Never, absolutely never!"
"You are the one who has forgotten. We must win the Holy Grail War no matter what!
Whether to repay the Mage's Association for what they did, or to reach The Root, we have no choice but to activate the Noble Phantasm."
After saying that, Darnic raised his arm. The three Command Spells on the back of his hand were radiating crimson light.
"Master, can I ask you for something?"
Sensing that something was wrong, Shirou called out to his own Master.
Darnic was wary of Shirou and had kept a long, safe distance from him.
At this range, even if Shirou used "Mana Burst," he could not close the gap in an instant.
The only way to stop Darnic was to use a Command Spell in the same way, to achieve instantaneous movement.
"No…!!"
"Manaka?"
It was the first time Shirou had heard Manaka speak in such an intense tone.
Manaka Sajyou, usually as elegant as a princess from a fairy tale, responded when Shirou suggested using a Command Spell.
"Absolutely… not."
The telepathic Magecraft carried the girl's sobbing voice.
"I don't want to use a Command Spell. I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
"I understand… Manaka, you don't need to apologize at all."
It seemed there was some reason she could not speak of. He would listen to her explanation after they returned.
"I'm sorry…"
The girl apologized in broken words, and Shirou sighed.
On the other side.
"Darnic, you…!"
The Magus smiled at the stunned Lancer of "Black" and declared in a cold voice,
"By Command Spell, Heroic Spirit Vlad III, activate your Noble Phantasm, 'Legend of Dracula.'"
"You bastard, aaaaaah!"
Even that scream, filled with all his hatred and despair, failed to move Darnic.
"I am not… a vampire… I am not… ah…!"
That trembling whisper was the last shred of reason left in the Heroic Spirit Vlad III, but it lasted only an instant before being completely crushed by the compulsion of the Command Spell.
"No, you are a vampire.
Vampire Dracula, a pitiful monster forced to bear the stigma of a fabricated tale.
By my second Command Spell, I order you. 'You must survive until the Greater Grail is obtained.'"
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
Vlad III roared like a madman.
The two Command Spells caused the dying Lancer to erupt with power far beyond what he had shown before.
He lunged at Darnic and thrust his arm through the Magus's chest.
It was a fatal blow.
And yet Darnic burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha! My apologies, my Servant! As compensation, go ahead and drink my blood dry!
You truly are a Vampire, the ruler of the night!
Your wish is unnecessary. Leave my dream, my wish, and my existence upon your Spirit Origin!
By my third Command Spell, I order you. Lancer, engrave my existence upon your soul!"
That final order left everyone who witnessed it speechless.
Servants could devour human souls and convert them into Mana.
Because they were spiritual bodies, that was something only spiritual bodies could accomplish.
Darnic, however, was an exception. He had turned his attention to the soul, which the field of Magecraft considered impossible to transform and useful only as meaningless nourishment.
Darnic had created Magecraft that allowed him to use the souls of others as his own sustenance.
It was a spell bordering on taboo, utterly immoral.
For the sake of his own life, he would even crush an infant's skull without hesitation.
This Magecraft was far too dangerous. The slightest error in any step would be enough to kill him.
In sixty years, Darnic had only devoured another person's soul three times.
All three times, he had performed the ritual under conditions he considered perfect, yet even then, the compatibility between soul and body had only reached sixty percent.
But now, Darnic was attempting to devour a Servant's soul without performing any ritual.
After all, this was the soul of a Heroic Spirit, a soul of the highest quality and immense scale, one that could activate the Greater Grail if seven of them were gathered. An ordinary human could never withstand it.
The result.
The Lancer of "Black" showed a triumphant smile.
It was true that humans could not devour the souls of Heroic Spirits. However…
If it was only a matter of branding Darnic's nearly hundred years of obsession onto it, then there was indeed an infinitesimal chance.
From the start, both Darnic and Vlad III had been proud, overconfident men. On a mental and spiritual level, they were extremely similar.
With the coercive power of the Command Spells added in, and perhaps some tiny effect beyond that.
Darnic's abnormal obsession allowed him to accomplish this impossible miracle.
"Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop…!"
The Lancer of "Black" roared with a resentful expression.
"I am the King of Wallachia, son of Vlad II. Do not enter my body, aaaaaah!"
His features were gradually being replaced by a vague face that looked both like Darnic and like Vlad III, making him resemble a formless monster.
"There. Now you are me, and I am you!
King… no, Vampire! Your power shall become ours together!
All of it is for the Holy Grail! My dream and my hope will take root within you and live on forever!"
The Magus's existence now clung parasitically to the soul of the Heroic Spirit Vlad III with the invasive force of cancer cells.
There was no reversing it. A brand-new monster had been born.
"That uncle is so cruel…"
Manaka Sajyou gradually calmed down under Shirou's comfort.
She watched the situation unfold and spoke, her tone carrying both sympathy and curiosity for what would happen next.
"But, Saber, the flesh and spirit of Master and Servant becoming one, never to be separated…"
"Hehe. Don't you think that's very, very, very romantic?"
"..."
An inexplicable chill ran down Shirou's spine.