[Mass Update: 2/8]
"What's the current battlefield situation?"
After resolving the contract, Roland turned to Medea with that question. She had already dispatched her familiars to observe and record the movements across the battlefield.
That said, Roland wasn't particularly worried about any major developments. On the first day of the Holy Grail War, most Masters usually limited themselves to scouting or probing engagements. Very few would reveal their trump cards so early.
And this time… the quality of both the Servants and Masters was unusually high. One could almost call it a clash of gods.
"The battle between Saber and Rider was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the Hero King. Though..." Medea narrowed her eyes, "He didn't come out of it unscathed either. The dark Berserker locked onto him and started chasing him like a rabid dog."
"Hah. So four Servants have already made an appearance. Besides the Assassins and Casters who usually lie low, most of the main combatants have shown themselves."
"Exactly. That's why the battlefield is in a state of chaos right now. Any rational Master would be cautious not to act too rashly."
Medea offered her analysis from a Mage's perspective.
Letting others exhaust themselves while staying above the fray, that was the ideal scenario for any Master. There were few remaining unknowns, and fewer threats that might disrupt the balance.
"Unless," she added pointedly, "someone out there doesn't care about the Grail at all... and is simply chasing glory."
Back on the battlefield, Roland's gaze shifted toward a certain golden-haired figure clenching his fists in the distance, a wry smile playing across his lips.
---
The land itself bore the scars of divine battle. Where once thunderbolts from chariots had torn the sky asunder and storms born of holy swords had ravaged the terrain, now came a new wave of destruction.
Dozens of golden ripples shimmered into existence before the King of Heroes. From each ripple, a radiant treasure emerged, gleaming with mythic light.
Gilgamesh's crimson gaze burned with fury, the unmistakable wrath of a king who had been insulted.
"Filthy mutt. Even if I deigned to grant you the honor of kneeling before me... you still cannot comprehend who your true enemy is? Very well. For your blasphemy, I'll end your miserable existence."
The barrage that followed was like a god's wrath legendary weapons rained down in a relentless storm, the force of each strike enough to pulverize mountains.
But none of it worked.
The Berserker advanced.
His movements weren't human. They were beyond human, fueled by a monstrous technique and a cursed Noble Phantasm that defied logic. Even the treasures Gilgamesh cast like spears, once intended to kill lesser Servants in a single blow, were turned against him.
The mad warrior simply pressed forward, through steel, through fire, through myths of the incoming Noble phantasms themselves, closing the distance with terrifying momentum.
Gilgamesh's expression darkened even further. More ripples bloomed around him. Winged golden arcs extended from his sides, unleashing even more divine armaments: cursed blades, spiral lances, arcane artifacts that once belonged only to the legends among humanity.
This was the terrifying truth of the King's Treasury, each weapon was a Noble Phantasm in its own right.
Despite his arrogance, his strength was undeniable.
"That golden bastard... he's no joke."
Rider stood atop his chariot, watching intently. His tone, unusually serious, matched the grim expression on his face.
Nearby, Saber stood beside Irisviel, both observing the clash between Archer and Berserker with keen, guarded eyes.
He hadn't yet exchanged blows with them, but even the fallout from their battle made it clear, this Holy Grail War was not to be taken lightly. These were not ordinary Servants.
"Master, what are your orders?"
Saber turned to Irisviel. Contrary to popular belief, this version of King Arthur, male and bearing the weight of the sword of promised victory, was markedly different in temperament from his female counterpart.
His sense of justice was unshakable, but he was no idealist. If you must say, the character setting of a certain archer who signed a contract to work for Alaya in later generations was largely derived from him.
His kindness to the innocent and mercilessness toward the wicked were as stark and absolute as a blade's edge.
So perfect were his values that some considered them a flaw. He was at once a gallant knight… and a king who failed to understand the hearts of men.
"But…"
Irisviel hesitated. Her connection with Saber was forged on mutual respect, and she knew better than anyone: his justice was not mere idealism. Still, the cold decisiveness behind his words often reminded her that he was, first and foremost, a King.
"When confronting evil, blind chivalry has no place. If we aim to win, rational sacrifice is inevitable."
It was as if Saber had read her thoughts. He raised his sword slightly.
"Besides," he added with quiet steel, "even if we don't strike first, it's clear the enemy has no such reservations."
And he was right.
The malicious pressure radiating from Gilgamesh was intensifying. What began as a joke, two treasures fired simultaneously, had escalated into a deluge. The golden ripples now blanketed the sky, unleashing a torrent of Noble Phantasms like divine wrath.
Though Saber and Irisviel had withdrawn from the main conflict zone, some stray projectiles were beginning to drift dangerously close.
Although Berserker refused to fall after the barrage, Gilgamesh had finally gained some breathing room, but he wasn't done. His sneer curled upward, dripping disdain.
"Tch. A mongrel dares bare his fangs at me...?" His red eyes shifted toward Saber and Rider. "And what about you two? Clowns who dare to call themselves king infrontof me... do you wish to share his fate?"
His provocations were immediate, as if gaining the upper hand wasn't enough, he had to belittle all who bore royal blood.
Irisviel maintained her composure, but others were not so tolerant.
"The nerve....."
Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald's expression turned icy. To him, Servants were nothing more than high-level familiars, powerful tools, yes, but tools nonetheless. And that made this show of arrogance from a mere servant completely unacceptable.
Especially in front of someone like him, the most skilled Master of this generation.
"Rider, join Berserker. Eliminate Archer."
His voice was low and dangerous.
"I refuse."
The King of Conquerors responded without hesitation.
"That might break the stalemate, yes. But it would also set off a chain reaction that spirals out of control. With so many unknown variables in play, a reckless move like that could doom us all." He gestured toward the battlefield. "And besides... that golden one hasn't shown his full hand yet. From a tactical standpoint, it's suicide."
Kenneth's expression twisted in disbelief.
How could this fool not see it? That Archer had barely survived Berserker's onslaught. He was vulnerable now, ripe for the taking!
But no matter how Kenneth commanded, Rider stood firm.
The Master's irritation began to boil over. Behind Rider, Waver noticed his teacher removing his gloves.
The moment he saw that, his heart froze.
"Professor! No, please wait! If you use it now, it'll be wasted, we'll lose our chance in the long run!"
He clung desperately to Kenneth's arm.
"Silence, Waver!" Kenneth snapped. "Exactly because Archer is strong, we must strike now!"
His eyes narrowed.
"A Master's power isn't just for maintaining contracts. If I want to discard a Servant, I can do it anytime!"
The fury in his voice caused even Rider to glance their way, distracted from the duel.
And then Kenneth raised his bare hand. On the back of it, his Command Seal blazed bright red.
"I command you, by the power of the Command Seal, Rider, cooperate with Berserker and eliminate Archer!"