Fortress of Millennia.
A violet-red fireball rose from the earth, swelling until it became a blazing 'sun.' In an instant, it illuminated the entire sky above Trifas—its radiance visible even from tens of kilometers away in Sighișoara.
Gradually, the dazzling light expanded to its limit—then, within a blink, it extinguished completely. The night once more reclaimed the world.
Only the scorched earth and towering columns of smoke remained as witnesses to the descent of that 'sun,' a sight that filled the Masters of the Yggdmillennia clan with both joy and unease.
Joy—because in this Romanian Holy Grail War, Yggdmillennia had achieved total victory. With the Greater Grail in hand, they would reach the Root. Even if they could not yet surpass London's Clock Tower, they would at least stand as equals—dividing the world of mystery between them.
The Clock Tower had been the absolute leader of the magical world for centuries, harboring countless ancient beings who had long withdrawn from mundane affairs. To think that Yggdmillennia could surpass such a force overnight was delusional—and Darnic was no fool.
But unease—because the veil of secrecy over the supernatural had now been torn wide open. A phenomenon as abnormal as a violet 'sun'? Only an idiot would fail to suspect the truth once the initial panic faded.
It could be suppressed, perhaps—but the cost in manpower, resources, and gold would make even the Yggdmillennia family wince.
No doubt the magi sent by the Mage's Association to conceal the Holy Grail War's existence were now suffering unbearable headaches.
"I only hope Her Majesty's display doesn't draw too much attention... and that the war ends quickly."
Never in his life had Darnic imagined that he would one day wish for a Servant's Noble Phantasm to be less powerful.
Truly... the irony of fate.
Back during the Third Holy Grail War in Fuyuki, which he had personally taken part in, the battles between Servants had never caused such apocalyptic destruction. They fought discreetly at night, and the damage could always be brushed off as gas explosions or structural failures.
"Haah..."
Pressing his index and middle fingers to his forehead, Darnic activated a spell to link with the Complete Book of the World, observing the chaotic, terrified citizens of Trifas through the magic screen. A weary sigh escaped his lips.
"Uncle, Berserker—Frankenstein—has been withdrawn to the castle. Lord Vlad III, after his defeat, was escorted back by Her Majesty's Astartes soldiers. He's currently receiving treatment from Caster—Avicebron."
Rolling her wheelchair closer, Fiore spoke hesitantly.
"I know," Darnic replied quietly. "After all, his opponent was the son of the sun god, Karna. The prince did all he could."
His expression remained unreadable as he gazed toward the distant battlefield. Whether he truly felt nothing—or simply hid it well—was impossible to tell.
"Clan Head, Her Majesty has returned. The Red Faction's most formidable Lancer—Karna—won't escape this time. With Archer—Chiron—and Saber—Siegfried—still at full strength, shall we..."
Standing beside Darnic, the blond middle-aged man Gordes spoke eagerly, his gaze shifting skyward toward the Hanging Gardens.
The implication was obvious.
"No." Darnic shook his head immediately, rejecting the suggestion without hesitation.
"We're ordinary men. The war between Heroic Spirits is beyond our understanding. Our eyes can be deceived, our judgments flawed. Interfering would only cause mistakes. Let Archer and Saber choose their own tactics."
Having served as an SS officer in his youth, Darnic was all too familiar with the consequences of reckless commands from above.
Orders from distant authority had once turned victory into disaster. ('Move the machine gun nest one meter forward!' — 'Brilliant, my Führer!')
"Besides," Darnic added, "Her Majesty has already returned. There's no need for us to worry any further."
"Indeed," said Gordes, nodding in agreement. "The clan head is right. All we can do now is await Rider Her Majesty's triumph."
Selene's Master, the elegant yet unsettlingly composed woman known as Celenike, crossed her arms and spoke with a faint, almost deranged smile curling on her lips. "I... understand."
Gordes nodded stiffly in response, his tone turning grave. "Understood."
Watching this exchange, Darnic's expression remained unreadable, but within his heart, a dangerous thought began to stir—an ambition to seize the position of Rider of Black's Master for himself.
Perhaps... it was time to use his contingency plan. If he didn't act soon, once the Red Faction was completely destroyed, the Greater Grail would activate—and then it would no longer be the Red versus Black, but an internal conflict among the Yggdmillennia.
After all, the Greater Grail could only grant one wish. With Vlad III defeated and weakened, there would be no one left among the Black Faction's Servants strong enough to oppose Celenike from claiming it.
"..."
The balcony fell into a tense silence. The Masters of the Yggdmillennia clan stood quietly, the weight of their unspoken thoughts thick in the air.
Until—
"Where's Roche?" Darnic asked suddenly, glancing around. The Caster of Black's Master was nowhere to be seen—not on the balcony, nor within the castle hall.
"Roche? He said he was going to Caster's workshop," Caules replied, adjusting his glasses thoughtfully. "He's been pestering Avicebron to let him see the completion of his ultimate creation."
At that, Darnic frowned deeply. At such a critical stage of the war, the Red Faction might attempt anything desperate. Roche wandering off alone could easily invite disaster.
"Caules, you—no, forget it. I'll go myself."
He had considered sending Caules to retrieve him, but quickly dismissed the thought. Caules was, after all, only a third-rate magus. If the enemy had infiltrated, sending him alone would be the same as sending him to his death.
Assassin of Red—Semiramis—was still alive. Though her class affinity leaned toward countering Casters, she was an Assassin nonetheless, and with that divine temple of hers supporting her, no one could afford to be careless.
For magi like them—mere mortals—no level of caution was excessive.
Darnic knew all too well the overwhelming difference in power between a Servant and a modern magus. He had witnessed it firsthand when he ordered Vlad III to annihilate fifty magi sent by the Mage's Association—they had been erased effortlessly.
...
Elsewhere within the fortress—
"Homunculi—three per squad. Five teams in total. Two stationary patrols, three mobile."
"Armored giant soldiers—two units. One at the entrance, one guarding the intersection corridor."
A figure cloaked in black priest robes, draped with a crimson shroud and wielding a Black Key dagger, moved stealthily through the castle halls. It was Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, hidden under the effects of divine concealment.
Each time he encountered a patrol of homunculi, he relied on the concealment magic Semiramis had amplified through the Hanging Gardens—ancient sorcery from the Age of Gods—to slip past unseen.
When confronted with the towering golden-armored sentinels, he kept his distance, circling wide to avoid detection. It was tedious, dangerous work—but Amakusa couldn't afford to gamble. This was his last chance.
Thankfully, Semiramis' spellwork held strong. Thus far, no one had detected him.
After an acrobatic series of evasions that would have made even an Olympic gymnast sweat, Amakusa finally reached the inner courtyard of the Fortress of Millennia.
"The explosion just now... that must have been Rider of Black's return," he murmured under his breath, crouched low behind a garden wall.
"What a terrifying Servant... that destructive power, that overwhelming output. And that ability to observe the entire battlefield through a Noble Phantasm—"
He had seen it himself. During a brief reconnaissance earlier, Amakusa had spied into the grand hall of the castle and witnessed the magical projections displaying every corner of the war.
Now he understood why the Red Faction had been exposed the moment they approached the Hanging Gardens.
"That book... it's a Noble Phantasm," he muttered darkly. "They've been monitoring every Servant since the war began—maybe even mine."
The realization twisted his expression into a grimace. His face darkened further, shadowed with fury and cold dread.
But in the next second, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada shook his head, his face hardening once more with resolve. The concealment spell granted by Assassin had a time limit—he had to move quickly.
No matter the outcome, even if it meant flying into the flame like a moth, he had to try.
Moving silently, Amakusa crouched beside the lake—the Greater Grail's energy pulsing faintly beneath the water's surface.
As the failed Master of the Third Holy Grail War in Fuyuki, he had touched the Greater Grail only at the moment of his spirit's dissolution, achieving incarnation through that contact. That was the sole reason he had survived for over sixty years.
"Darnic..." he whispered his old rival's name softly before drawing a Japanese katana nearly three feet long. Gripping the hilt in his right hand, he ran the index finger of his left along the blade.
Crimson blood welled forth, flowing down the fuller of the blade. Spinning it in a tight flourish, he drove the blade deep into the grass beside the lake. The faint blue glow of his magic circuits illuminated the back of his hand.
"I should thank Rider of Black, actually. That massive mana surge from her attack disrupted many of the castle's detection wards."
Seizing the opportunity, Amakusa released a pulse of magical energy to probe the lake's depths.
Within moments, his senses brushed against something massive—a colossal golem hidden beneath the water's surface.
"A golem...? So that's Caster of Black's hidden trump card," he muttered. "And deeper still... another vast chamber. The Greater Grail must be there. Wait—what's this? Another workshop? And within it..."
"Perhaps I can..."
...
Outside the fortress, the plains had been utterly transformed. The spot where Selene had fallen was now a barren crater—hundreds of meters wide. In time, it would likely fill with rainwater and become a small lake.
Step... step...
Silver-white boots struck the scorched ground, molten from the blast. Brushing away the shimmering waves of heat that distorted her vision, Selene arched a brow. "Huh? No impact feedback... so he used a Command Spell?"
"No matter. Now then... it's your turn." She lifted her gaze toward the massive floating garden looming overhead.
At that moment—
"Ahahahaha—! I smell it! The scent of the oppressor! The most glorious oppression I've ever known!"
"Spartacus?"
Several hundred meters away, in the midst of the crater, the heavily mutilated Berserker—Spartacus—opened his remaining eye, bulging grotesquely as he fixed his maddened gaze on Selene. His voice rasped out a delirious roar.
Unlike their encounter in the forest, when Selene had suppressed her aura, this time she let it flow freely—radiant, commanding, divine.
The overwhelming aura of a ruler—a God-Empress—washed over the battlefield, awakening the wounded rebel through sheer presence.
"You're still alive? The wounded beast roars again... such tenacity from a defiant slave."
In mere seconds, under Selene's gaze, Spartacus' torn limbs began to regenerate violently. His body swelled grotesquely, mutating into a mound of pulsating flesh.
He grew tenfold in size, shedding all traces of humanity. Below the neck, his body ballooned into a monstrous tumor of quivering muscle. Countless eyes sprouted across his skin, and thin, tendril-like limbs wriggled out—more like tentacles than arms.
"Ugh..." Selene grimaced, her composure unbroken but her disgust clear. "My sanity points are plummeting just looking at you. I've no interest in fighting this thing myself."
"Budo, he's yours. Take him far away."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Violet-red mana surged in a flash as Budo's towering form materialized once more—completely unscathed. He stepped between Selene and the abomination.
"Wahahaha—! You too are an oppressor! Die!"
Cackling madly, Spartacus—his Crying Warmonger now amplified to its peak after absorbing the shock of God's Wrath—lurched forward. His grotesque head, crushed by muscle, strained outward as he howled.
"I will strike you down! Endure a little longer, and I shall grasp the hope at the edge of despair! I will drag you tyrants—spawned by the Greater Grail—into oblivion! For all oppressors, I bring death!"
"Hmph. A born rebel, are you?" Budo growled, electricity sparking across his armor. "I care not who you are or what you've suffered. But—"
"If you dare challenge the authority of My Empress, it is my duty... to erase you!"
Raising both fists, Budo's expression hardened. The powered armor across his arms crackled with blinding light, arcs of blue-white energy surging like molten plasma. He became a living embodiment of thunder.
"Advent of Thunder Emperor!"
As the lightning reached its peak, streaks of gold intertwined within the current.
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion shook the earth. The monstrous mass of flesh was hurled backward, sent flying hundreds of meters by a single electrified impact.
"The battlefield is clear," Budo said solemnly. "Only we remain."
Selene turned her gaze skyward, her crimson eyes glinting as she spread her arms wide toward the heavens.
"A big toy, is it? Hmph... I have one too."
"Descend—Glory of the Empire!"