Berserker's rampage, in Altair's view, was orchestrated by Amakusa Shirou. Just as the Black Faction used golems and homunculi to probe the Red Faction, the Red Faction needed intel on their enemies. Servants were unpredictable, some might be weak but wield devastating Noble Phantasms.
Case in point: Astolfo!
Sacrificing an uncontrollable Berserker to gain insight into the Black Faction was a smart trade. It also showcased the Red Faction's combat strength, a win-win.
To Amakusa, both factions were enemies, and he aimed to uncover everyone's secrets.
Amakusa had his plans, but Altair had his own. The Red Faction was too strong, and he needed to thin their ranks.
Altair decided to pick a Red Faction target, not randomly, as options were limited, but effectively chosen by circumstance.
Trailing Atalanta, Altair began plotting his move.
His target was Atalanta. Among the Red Faction's non-god-tier Servants, Caster-class Shakespeare was the weakest, his Noble Phantasm underwhelming. But Shakespeare stayed close to Amakusa, making him a tough mark. Atalanta, however, was vulnerable.
Achilles was another option, but killing him required divinity or god-slaying power. Altair had the latter, via his teeth, but biting Achilles wasn't appealing. Transforming into Nidhogg could do it, but that'd cause too much chaos, better saved for the final battle.
Sorry, Atalanta, you're the one.
"Berserker's been dealt with by the Black Faction. Looks like he was captured." Atalanta said, her Clairvoyance spotting the battle ahead, unaware of Altair eyeing her tail, briefly tempted to tug it.
"Lost already? Faster than I thought. Typical brainless Berserker." Achilles scoffed.
"Then it's our turn. The Black Faction should be coming." He added.
"They're here." Atalanta confirmed. "Four Servants, likely Saber, Berserker, Lancer, and Rider."
In the original plot, the Red Faction sent only two, so the Black Faction matched them. Now, with four Red Faction Servants, the Black Faction had deployed their full force.
"Sweet! Time for a real showdown!" Achilles whooped, charging ahead.
"Achilles, take their strongest, Lancer." Altair assigned, avoiding Vlad III himself. Those stakes, legendarily piercing from below and out the shoulder, were too gruesome to risk.
"Their commander? My kind of fight!" Achilles grinned.
"Leave the other three to me and Mordred. Atalanta, cover us from the rear." Altair said.
"Got it." Atalanta agreed. King Arthur, a seasoned leader, was ideal for strategy. She and Achilles, Greek heroes, excelled in personal combat, not tactics.
"Let's do this!" Achilles surged forward, targeting Vlad atop his horse.
"Well, well, the Red Faction's vanguard." Vlad said, staying put. As a king and commander, he wouldn't stoop to fighting a mere vanguard.
"Saber, can you handle him?" Vlad asked, glancing at Siegfried.
"No problem!" Siegfried replied confidently, drawing his dragon-slaying sword Balmung and charging.
A red blur shot from the side, slamming into Siegfried and sending them both tumbling.
Mordred had arrived, her Mana Burst blazing. Per Altair's orders, she targeted the Black Faction's Saber, thrilled to finally fight. She was determined to prove to her "Father" That she was the ultimate Saber.
"Saber!" Astolfo cried as Siegfried was knocked away.
"No worries. Saber's skills ensure victory." Vlad said, glancing at the duel before locking eyes with Achilles, who pointed his spear at him.
"Then I'll face you myself." Vlad declared.
"We've got numbers, three of us!" Astolfo cheered, waving his lance.
"Not quite." Altair said, leaping from a tree to land before Astolfo and Frankenstein's Monster.
"This is a duel between our commanders. You two deal with me."
"Another one? Ugh, I'm not big on fighting." Astolfo said, scratching his head and blinking cutely, trying to charm his way out.
"Rua!" Frankenstein's Monster, the Berserker, had no such qualms. She hefted her mace and charged.
Altair's right hand tightened, drawing a sleek, futuristic cleaver from his spatial pocket. With a spin, he channeled his waist's momentum, slashing a wide arc that sent Frankenstein staggering back.
"Berserker!" Astolfo gasped, eyeing Altair's sci-fi weapon with shock.
"Trouble. A power type, my worst matchup. But no choice, here goes! One touch, and you're done!" Astolfo declared, thrusting his lance.
As a Rider, Astolfo's stats were lackluster, barely third-rate. But his arsenal of Noble Phantasms was vast. His lance, a Noble Phantasm, could dematerialize anything below the knee on contact, crippling foes.
Useless against Altair, though, who wouldn't let it touch him.
Altair's left hand flicked, summoning a familiar dialogue board to block the lance.
"What's that?!" Astolfo yelped, stunned by the wooden barrier. Meanwhile, Altair's cleaver swung down, aiming for Astolfo's head.
***
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