Compared to the overjoyed Black Faction, the atmosphere in the Red Faction's garden was grim.
Especially for their leader, Amakusa. Though his expression remained calm, the Empress could sense the frustration radiating from his clenched fists.
Releasing the Red Berserker's power on this battlefield, forcing the Black Faction to reap what they had sown—this plan had been carefully devised by Amakusa himself. He had meticulously analyzed the Black Faction's lineup, their Servants and Noble Phantasms, ensuring there were no oversights before choosing this seemingly risky course of action.
And his decision had nearly been a resounding success—Spartacus couldn't reach the floating garden, left to rage impotently on the battlefield, restrained by multiple Servants, his life steadily draining away. After the Empress added the final spark, he had no choice but to self-destruct, and his explosion would deal unimaginable damage to the Black Faction's defenses. The Red Faction could then push into their stronghold and seize the Greater Grail, the symbol of victory…
But all of that had been overturned by the Black Faction's Assassin.
Even if, like Sakatsuki, he couldn't discern the true name of the Black Assassin, how could Amakusa possibly fail to recognize the Noble Phantasm she had unleashed?
"Avalon… King Arthur…"
The replicated cloak Sakatsuki had projected was torn away by the shockwave, revealing Artoria's breathtakingly beautiful face reflected in the image. While the Red Faction Servants marveled at the King of Knights' identity and gender, their gazes inevitably drifted toward another figure present—a girl whose true name had already been exposed in Sighișoara.
Red Saber—Mordred.
The rebellious knight, the one who had brought ruin to Britain.
So… how did King Arthur, such a stunning beauty, end up with a son—no, a daughter? Was Guinevere actually a man? But if that were the case, then what about Lancelot…?
Wow, this was getting strangely exciting.
Everyone loved a good piece of gossip, especially when it involved the widely known legends of King Arthur. Even Karna slightly raised his eyes, curious about just how messy the British nobility's relationships could be compared to his own tangled family affairs.
"Saber…"
Kairi Sisigou called out softly. Having been caught in the battlefield as well, he had been indiscriminately teleported here by the Empress. However, he felt no sense of security—the Empress occasionally glanced at him like he was a piece of bread, her intentions clearly malicious.
Not to mention that Spartacus, the walking bomb, was still closing in on them.
Mordred didn't respond to her Master's call. She silently stared at the familiar face of her father on the screen, lost in thought.
The Holy Lance, the Holy Sword, and now even the sheath had been brought along?
If Artoria had still possessed Avalon back then, Mordred would never have dared to rebel—there was a limit to how far one could push their luck.
So… in this Holy Grail War, she was destined never to defeat her father.
For a brief moment, the girl's posture slumped, but she quickly straightened her back, her lion-like emerald eyes burning with unyielding fire as she fixed her gaze on Artoria's determined face.
When the holy sword pressed against her throat, she was as good as dead—death was nothing to fear! What she truly wanted to know was why Artoria had spared her!
Her instincts seemed to respond, vague yet inexplicably invigorating, as if her father-king's mercy held some priceless answer within.
She had to see her father-king again and demand an explanation!
Ahem, "I don't think now is the time for idle chatter." The Empress was exasperated by these fearless heroes—typical of the reckless who took their advantages for granted. Relying on their ability to evade attacks through spiritualization, they treated Spartacus's self-destruction as nothing more than a trivial matter.
She had worked day and night to construct this massive fortress. If it were destroyed on the very day of completion, she might as well jump off the courtyard right now!
"At any rate, can anyone block Spartacus's attack?"
As the leader of the Red Faction, she still had to maintain some dignity. The Red Faction's heroes exchanged glances and finally deigned to respond.
"Hopeless." —By Shakespeare.
"Beyond saving." —By Atalanta.
"Just wait for death." —By Mordred.
"Hey, you lot!"
This trio of blunt responses nearly gave the Empress an aneurysm. She glared at them fiercely, while Shakespeare, Atalanta, and Mordred returned her gaze with innocent expressions.
What, did she expect a writer with no combat ability / an archer who only knew how to tattle / a swordsman whose Noble Phantasm was stolen from her father-king's treasury to have any defensive measures?
Might as well believe Artoria ate three meals a day!
Before Semiramis could be driven to fury, Amakusa finally composed himself and turned to the other three Servants: "What about you? Any ideas?"
Sakatsuki shook his head decisively. Achilles hesitated briefly before also admitting helplessness: "I do have a shield… but while it's enough to protect myself, defending an entire courtyard of this size is beyond me."
Heroes disdained lies, so the group crossed Sakatsuki and Achilles off the list. Their last hope rested on the Hero of Charity, the Red Faction's strongest combatant—Karna.
Karna-Doraemon, save us!
And the Little Sun did not disappoint. After a moment of contemplation, he made his decision.
"If we can neutralize Spartacus's attack, we wouldn't need to defend against it, correct?"
"You mean—" Of course, Amakusa understood Karna's implication. His voice grew solemn. "Have you made up your mind?"
"If we want to protect this place, this is the only way."
Though the others couldn't decipher the riddle between the two, they understood Karna had taken on the challenge. Relieved, they dispersed under Amakusa's orders to make preparations.
Only Semiramis and Shakespeare remained in the throne room.
"Caster, since it's just the two of us now, I'd like to ask you one question first."
"Ah, I too have something I wish to clarify. Then please, Empress, ask away."
"What exactly are you scheming?"
The Empress maintained her bewitching smile, but her eyes exuded a cold, predatory glint as she fixed them on Shakespeare—like a serpent locking onto its prey.
Then, the Caster who didn't break a sweat under such a gaze and merely responded with a puzzled expression also possessed extraordinary courage. Despite having no weapons or even magecraft at his disposal, he still relied on his silver tongue.
"It's nothing much. As I said before, I merely wish to witness my Master—Shirou Kotomine's illusory yet grand dream."
To obtain the Holy Grail and save the world.
The greatest writer in history fixed his gaze, sharper than any blade, upon the saint who sought to shoulder the evils of this world.
"Hmph, you truly are that kind of person, storyteller. His dream is indeed as fragile as glasswork and distant at that. Countless hardships and obstacles lie along the path, and whether he can overcome them remains unknown. But—suppose our Master overcomes all hardships and ultimately reaches his goal..."
That could only be called a miracle. The dream Amakusa spoke of was something most would dismiss as absurd, a topic only the abnormal would seriously discuss.
"The role you play in this world will cease to exist."
"That applies not just to me, but to you—no, to all Heroic Spirits!"
Yet, the Empress shook her head, refuting Shakespeare's words.
"I'm different. I have my own role. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to his plan."
"I see, so that's how it is! Mmm, indeed, once the Master's dream is realized, there will be no more need for stories in this world. But—the process leading to that outcome is a masterpiece in itself. A peerless, unprecedented magnum opus that even countless monkeys with countless typewriters could never replicate! If I could write such a work, I would have no regrets."
"...That does sound plausible."
Perhaps due to Shakespeare's overwhelming expressiveness, Semiramis furrowed her delicate brows, though her expression remained doubtful. In truth, her suspicion stemmed from Shakespeare having let Berserker—Spartacus—escape.
If Amakusa's plan proceeded smoothly, this man might deliberately create hardships... No, perhaps he had already begun preparations.
"Assassin, what of those Masters?"
The Master's telepathic message traveled along the threads of causality, and Semiramis immediately responded: "Barring unforeseen circumstances, we should regain control over them by tonight."
Though for some unknown reason, a Master had suddenly broken free from the poison's effects, Semiramis was, after all, the Empress. In just over a day, she had regained control of the situation—from the moment the anomaly occurred until now, the Red Faction's Servants had remained completely unaware.
But was everything truly as the Empress believed?
The writhing shadows... At least some presence lurking within the Throne Room, within the Empress's absolute domain, thought otherwise. After Semiramis gave her reply, she too seemed to receive an instruction, drifting off toward a certain direction.
"You're there, aren't you, Sakatsuki? I can sense your presence."
The Empress suddenly spoke. After a brief silence in the vast Throne Room, the shifting light and shadows in the corner revealed the Assassin, who had removed the Cloak of Hades, standing openly to meet Semiramis' gaze from her elevated throne.
"What is it?"
"I know you harbor many secrets, but the current situation leaves no room for pretense." The Empress tapped the armrest of her chair, her tone laden with meaning. "Once Spartacus' rampage is over, I need you to do something…"
While Sakatsuki and the Empress conspired in the Throne Room, Karna had already reached the forefront of the garden—as if approaching the sun itself. The scorching heat of destruction evaporated the garden's streams, and the flowers withered at a visible rate.
His Kavacha and Kundala negated most of the impact, yet the force still stirred his white hair. His gaze remained calm as he watched the grotesque mass of flesh inching toward them, on the verge of eruption. There was neither sorrow nor joy in his eyes.
Even the great hero Karna had not always wielded a spear.
Originally, he rode a chariot and drew his bow—earning admiration as a warrior embodying both Archer and Rider traits. Of course, this did not mean he was unskilled with a spear or sword.
So why, then, had Karna been summoned as a Lancer?
…Just before his final battle with the Pandavas—specifically, with Arjuna—a Brahmin monk visited Karna, who had by then become the supreme commander of the Kaurava army.
The monk then demanded Karna's golden armor.
The monk had no need for such armor. Yet, while bathing, Karna had already vowed to give the monk whatever he asked for.
Knowing full well of this oath, the great god Indra, disguised as the Brahmin monk, demanded the golden armor. After all, the Pandavas were essentially his sons. Indra, acutely aware of Karna's might, could not bear the thought of Arjuna dying at his hands.
In the end, Karna—who had also foreseen this—immediately stripped the golden armor fused to his body and gave it to Indra.
Witnessing such nobility, Indra was overcome with shame for his own actions and presented Karna with a spear.
In exchange for his golden armor, Karna received the mightiest spear of legend—one said to even slay gods.
It was precisely because of this spear that Karna was recognized as the strongest Lancer in this war.
And now, that spear was finally about to reveal its true form.
"What…!?"
Achilles, who had been watching out of curiosity, shuddered. Nearby, Atalanta and Mordred likewise felt their hairs stand on end as they looked up in disbelief.
Under the stunned gazes of all, the Brahmastra Kundala vanished. At the same time, Karna's invincible body—the golden, sun-like armor—began peeling away from his emaciated frame.
Blood seeped from within, and a faint trace of pain flickered across Karna's expression. Yet what drew everyone's attention more than that was the spear in his hand, now utterly transformed.
Its sacred and resplendent appearance made his previous top-tier Noble Phantasm, the Brahmastra Kundala, seem like a mere toy in comparison.
Only the forging with roaring thunder and the tempering with the might of countless deities could possibly create such a divine artifact—the mere sight of that spear would naturally evoke such awe in anyone.
"A god-slaying spear obtained at the cost of golden armor..." Sakatsuki had appeared beside Atalanta at some point, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Karna, who wielded the divine spear, his voice brimming with undisguised envy and battle lust. "This is the reason Karna stands at the pinnacle—his most powerful weapon."
Flames dancing like crimson lotus blossoms lit up Sakatsuki's eyes as he watched Karna, wreathed in fire and resembling a deity. He couldn't help but lick his dry lips, the golden orb in his chest crackling with electricity in defiance.
As a warrior, who wouldn't desire to face Karna, the wielder of the strongest spear?
But as an Assassin, he was first and foremost a strategist who would stop at nothing for victory—only then was he a warrior who revered battle.
So—though it pained him—he would have to ask Karna to unleash this meaningless strike.
To sacrifice himself for the greater good of the Blue Faction, to discard his immortality for Sakatsuki's victory.
If fate granted them another chance in the future, he would cast aside everything to experience that supreme strike to his heart's content—
Under Sakatsuki's watchful gaze, the son of Surya, the Hero of Charity, finally took a step forward, uttering the true name of his Noble Phantasm:
"Witness the compassion of the King of Gods."
"Annihilation lies in this single thrust."
"Behold, O Indra."
The supreme Noble Phantasm, surpassing all limits, erupted in dazzling brilliance upon this land!
"Burn utterly—O Sun, submit to death—Vasavi Shakti!"
As Karna thrust forward with his divine spear, two immense energies collided, stirring the space into a frenzied storm. Even from a distance, the overwhelming advantage Karna held over the Red Berserker's desperate strike was palpable. Though it was a gladiator's lifelong defiance, its radiance still could not reach the noble Red Lancer.
Did it feel unfair? But this was the rightful privilege of heroes. They lived desperately, carving their names into history with all their might. Whether their power was granted by heaven or earned through training, their paths were ones no one could imitate—nor surpass.
Thus, at the cost of Karna discarding his golden armor, the Red Faction's crisis was averted!
"Which means... it's my turn now, right?"
Sakatsuki muttered, recalling the conversation between the Empress and himself. He stepped forward as well, passing Karna to gaze at the distant stronghold of the Black Faction.
The Romanian fortress loomed like a slumbering beast, warily eyeing the black-robed figure hovering above the courtyard.
And Sakatsuki, under the puzzled gazes of the others, closed his eyes.
The electric orb in his chest absorbed the residual mana from the clash, converting it into his own power. The Assassin shut his eyes, recalling the long-lost records obtained through his connection with his original self.
Then, a cluster of light, flickering like pixels, appeared in his hand—the projection unfolded.
Forging began!