The "Black" Masters each watched the battle of their Servants from locations they deemed safe.
Some descended into the basement, while others shut themselves inside the protective barriers of their own rooms.
They did not gather in one place. If they were gathered together and the enemy managed to infiltrate, they risked being wiped out in one fell swoop. More importantly, one's own room was one's own workshop, and another's room was another's workshop. With a few exceptions, each held the conviction that their own workshop was the safest place for themselves.
The battle commenced in an instant, and a brutal, fierce slaughter began upon the grassland stage.
No one was foolish enough to try and go help their Servant. Within five seconds of the battle's start, every Master understood. Setting foot on this battlefield in the flesh was tantamount to forfeiting one's life.
Therefore, all they could do was watch, turtled up in their shelters.
One of the "Black" Masters, Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia, gazed at the battlefield displayed in his crystal with an exceedingly complex expression.
His face showed anxiety, resignation, and irritation.
On the back of Gordes's hand were three Command Spells. They also signified his spiritual connection with his Servant.
Gordes could not bring himself to fully trust Saber Siegfried, whom he had summoned with such confidence. This was because the end of the hero Siegfried was all too famous.
Whenever the necessity of concealing a Servant's True Name was discussed, Siegfried's end was almost always brought up as an example.
Even a great hero with an invincible body would be finished if his weak spot, his back, was targeted.
Because Servants were summons of peerless champions praised in historical fact, myth, and legend, they also carried their weaknesses with them. And the hero Siegfried was a prime example of a hero who died by having his weakness exploited.
That was precisely why Gordes had forbidden Saber from speaking and had been careful not to reveal his True Name within the "Black" camp to anyone besides Darnic and Lancer.
The result was a fatal lack of communication between Gordes and Saber.
To Gordes, Saber was his trump card, but at the same time, merely a familiar. As long as he possessed the Command Spells, Saber could not possibly defy him, in other words, the silent Saber was nothing more than Gordes's weapon, treated as if he had no personality.
And then, that Saber had defied Gordes.
Just to let a Homunculus escape, he had struck his Master and knocked him unconscious. Naturally, Gordes became the foolish Master who was disobeyed by his own Servant. This greatly wounded Gordes's pride.
Gordes was furious, raging at Saber.
How dare a mere puppet defy its master?
How dare you disgrace the name of the Musik family!
His face red, spitting with rage, Gordes berated Saber.
Even so, Saber did not talk back even once, solemnly continuing to listen to Gordes's words.
And then, Saber said to Gordes:
'I am a Servant who offers victory to my Master. I do not deny that. You summoned me for the sake of victory, did you not?'
Thinking back, that was the first proper conversation between Gordes and Saber.
'Therefore, I want you to believe in me just a little more.'
Believe in me.
That was all this great hero wished for.
Hearing that, Gordes could only fall silent.
Not trusting Saber meant denying his own ability, the confidence with which he had performed the summoning. Moreover, parameter-wise, Saber was on par with Lancer, and the Noble Phantasm he possessed was literally a sure-kill technique. Even accounting for his single weak spot on his back, the fact that he was a powerful Servant was unchangeable, and anyone denying that was nothing but a fool who couldn't see reality.
Then, show me.
Gordes looked down upon the battlefield.
"Black" Saber and "Red" Lancer, moving at speeds beyond metaphorical description, their blades clashing. Neither gave ground, sparks scattering without end.
In the end, all Gordes could do was desperately believe in Saber's victory. He gnashed his teeth at that reality.
A hurricane swirled, and dazzling sword flashes bloomed in the void.
The clashing blades had already moved past the feeling-out stage, escalating into a pure collision of strength and skill.
"Black" Saber once again admired "Red" Lancer's physical power and skill, gripping his sword hilt with respect. On the other hand, "Red" Lancer, savoring the joy of battle he hadn't tasted in so long, let it seep through his mask-like expressionless face as he thrust his magnificent spear.
The defensive Noble Phantasm Saber boasted, 『Armor of Fafnir』, was a cheat-level defense that nullified all attacks below B-rank. In his lifetime, no one had been able to wound Saber, and his end came only because he himself exposed his weakness. Yet, the Lancer before him pierced through Saber's iron-walled body with mere thrusts.
The wounds were shallow, only enough to be healed instantly with healing magecraft, but the fact that Lancer could wound Saber head-on meant he undoubtedly possessed close-combat ability among the strongest in this Great Holy Grail War.
It was a torrent of spear strikes. Through the golden blades leaving not a moment's gap, Saber advanced one step, then another.
He wasn't just relying on his sturdy body. In a battle against an equal, even a slight wound could affect the fight later on. The possibility of the battle being decided in the brief moment it took for a healing spell to work. It couldn't be said to be zero. Though his True Name was unknown, his opponent was unmistakably a great hero. He must have fought enemies equal to or greater than himself and overcome numerous hardships and sufferings in his lifetime.
Therefore, Saber confronted Lancer's ever-changing and magnificent spear techniques by utilizing both his own sturdy body and his accumulated martial skills.
It wasn't just sturdiness. While Saber Siegfried was famous for his steel-like body, he didn't become a hero through sturdiness alone. During his greatest feat in life, the slaying of the evil dragon, his body was not yet special. In other words, Saber did not rely solely on toughness; he possessed swordplay skillful enough to slay an evil dragon.
Saber entangled his sword with the spear aiming for his heart, deflecting it away, and took another step forward.
In general, advantage or disadvantage in battle was determined by reach.
Human warfare had always had an aspect of developing techniques for this very reason.
If one's reach was longer than the enemy's, one could unilaterally trample the enemy while remaining in a safe place.
The spear was considered the strongest weapon in close combat because it boasted the greatest reach among armaments usable in melee.
With a sword, one would have their head taken before they could land a cut. No matter how famous the blade, it was meaningless if the wielder was defeated before striking the enemy.
However, that didn't necessarily mean the spear was perfect. First, there was the inherent fate of polearms: poor handling. The longer it was, the greater the weight, and the slower the attack speed. While a spear had great power per strike, the opening left if it was dodged was also large. Moreover, for a giant spear whose tip alone exceeded one meter, the burden on the wielder was extraordinary.
Of course, it took a great hero to wield such a thing effortlessly. What Saber marveled at was precisely "Red" Lancer's fearsome spear technique, the physical strength that enabled it, and the spirit that polished these to the level of a supreme skill.
Saber closed the distance by exploiting the less than a fraction of a second when Lancer pulled back his spear to thrust.
He deflected the thrusting blade with his holy sword, and repelled the storm-like consecutive strikes with precise swordsmanship.
Truly, magnificent.
Saber praised Lancer in his heart.
The core of Lancer's attacks were thrusts. He unleashed god-speed consecutive strikes to keep Saber from getting close, creating a literal barrage.
However, in spear technique, thrusts were traditionally considered a poor move.
True, thrusts were fast. Probably the fastest strike in spear technique. But on the other hand, their power was minimal. Thrusts performed by a human hand lacked force and would be deflected by armor unless they hit an exposed vital spot like the neck. And naturally, polearms were weak to counterattacks from an enemy who had evaded the strike.
Therefore, the basic yet sure-kill technique of spearplay was a strike utilizing the weapon's length effectively, employing centrifugal force and even gravity.
Yet, this Lancer wounded Saber's body with mere thrusts.
Thrusts that couldn't be fully parried struck his forehead and chest.
He withstood the unbelievable impacts, planting his feet firmly on the ground, enduring, keeping his eyes wide open to read the spear's movements, and advanced.
The opposing "Red" Lancer also inwardly praised this "Black" Saber's unshakable spirit and sword skills. It was rare to encounter a hero who possessed sword skills to rival his own spear technique and a golden armor that even a god could not easily cut, one who had managed to slash through it multiple times.
In his lifetime, perhaps only Arjuna or Krishna. His life-or-death struggles with them had not been fully realized due to a curse. Thinking of that, although he had the anxiety of his Master's magical energy supply, he had to be grateful for the fortune of being able to cross blades with a worthy rival.
His full-power strikes still only gave shallow wounds, and in return, his armor was slashed by the returning sword.
The world exposed to the exchange of sword and spear was headed down a path of destruction. The kicked-up sand and dust were scattered by the magical energy storm, and the trampled ground was churned until it became finer gravel.
The battle only intensified, and their surroundings turned into a wilderness as if cut out in a perfect circle. Even so, the battle did not end.
There were no words to exchange; their gazes overflowed with fighting spirit. Their brandished blades shone with pride, clashing obstinately in pursuit of glory, scattering sparks.
The sword dance, whose end was unknown, would continue until one of them yielded their head. If no decision was reached, they would simply fight on forever.
This battle was a total war in the literal sense.
The sight of "Black" Saber and "Red" Lancer vying for supremacy was truly spectacular and evoked a breath-taking awe. However, the heroes gathered here totaled thirteen. The battle between "Black" Saber and "Red" Lancer was but one part of the whole, giving a glimpse of the massive scale of the Great Holy Grail War.
And the battles of the heroes were not limited to the ground alone.
In numerous legends from East and West, there were many warriors who fought in the skies.
He was one of them.
With pink hair flowing, astride his beloved steed, was "Black" Rider, Astolfo.
Undeterred by the battlefield's tumult, he leisurely cut through the night wind, bathed in moonlight. Looking up, the silvery blue canopy of heaven. The destination of his dream was peeking into view.
"Alright, let's go." Quietly, he urged his steed on. To reach that place, he first had to reach the Holy Grail. Rider murmured softly and accelerated, tracing an arc.
His target was the enemy's main stronghold, the 'Hanging Gardens of Babylon'.
If the enemy had taken to the skies, then he, who could ride through the skies, had to go.
He had a chance of success.
Rider's Noble Phantasm, 『Trap of Argalia』, just by possessing it, granted him A-rank Magic Resistance. Not to mention modern magi, even magi from the Age of Gods would find it difficult to harm him. They knew the owner of that fortress was either Caster or Assassin. If it was Caster, then as long as he had this Noble Phantasm, she was no enemy, and Assassin was not a class known for high direct combat ability. Therefore, he had decided he could manage without activating 『Hippogriff』.
Of course, summoning and using Hippogriff as he was doing now didn't consume too much magical energy and was possible. But, if he were to unleash its true power, the magical energy consumption would skyrocket, rivaling or even surpassing the full release of an A-rank Noble Phantasm. On top of that, while riding Hippogriff, the consumption was continuous, making it terribly inefficient.
That was precisely why Astolfo had sealed his Noble Phantasm. It wasn't out of consideration for his Master. He knew it was wishful thinking, but when he thought of the Homunculi used for magical energy supply, he couldn't bring himself to use it.
Spotting the Hippogriff ridden by "Black" Rider, "Red" Assassin formed a faint smile.
She was the only one remaining in the fortress because this was her battlefield.
"Oh? So the enemy Rider also possesses a steed that treads the heavens. Then, these ones shall not be wasted either." Assassin moved her fingers as if pulling strings. "Shall we indulge in a little game, 'Black' Rider?"
What appeared before Rider were monsters of indescribable features. "Harpies?"
It reminded him of the horde of monsters he had driven away in his lifetime.
But, while Harpies were also grotesque, these monsters were even worse. Their upper bodies were Dragon Tooth Warriors, their lower bodies were birds. Harpies, though cruel, were cowardly and couldn't be used as watchdogs. But, by mixing that nature with the Dragon Tooth Warriors that were Assassin's pawns, they transformed into anti-air watchdogs.
If he had to name them, perhaps Dragon Winged Soldiers? A flock of demonic birds covering the sky assailed the lone Rider.
The sight of them shredding the enemy with sharp claws and fangs, devouring them completely, would surely be a ghastly spectacle.
But this time, they had picked the wrong opponent.
Of all people, they were facing Astolfo, one of Charlemagne's Twelve Paladins. In legend, he was well-versed in dealing with this sort of foe.
"Okay, line up please,『Evil Dragon's Blood Armor La Black Luna』!" Along with his carefree words, the whistle hanging at his waist grew large enough to cover his body. "Scatter!"
Rider blew the magic whistle with all his might. The legend said the demonic birds fled upon hearing the sound, but this was not so gentle.
A shockwave that could hardly be called a sound instantly shattered the Dragon Winged Soldiers to pieces.
It was a low-rank Noble Phantasm release, true. But mere familiar-like creatures couldn't withstand it.
Mounted combat in the sky was Rider's specialty. The mount he rode was an impossible creature born from the union of the Griffon, a divine beast that preyed on horses, and a mare, the Hippogriff.
Due to its origin as a hybrid of predator and prey, this creature had been used since ancient times as a metaphor for the impossible. Eventually, as time passed, the creature was given the name Hippogriff, finally establishing its existence.
Though it couldn't match its parent, the Griffon, it was a creature existing on a higher plane, a Phantasmal Species. A half-hearted aerial battle could not challenge it.
Moreover, the spear Rider possessed would cause the opponent to fall or have their lower body turn spiritual if it so much as scratched them. If one was hit by this spear in the air, the only outcome was a fall.
In the air, there should be virtually no rider who could match Rider.
"Would be a different story if we were on the ground, huh." Rider muttered to himself upon seeing the enemy. For her, falling meant nothing; that was her ground.
Appearing on the fortress's terrace, clad in a black dress. Her sleek, long black hair exuded a bewitching charm.
"I take you for 'Red' Caster! Please, prepare yourself!" Based on her appearance and this situation, Rider judged her class.
"Wrong, lovely maiden. I am 'Red' Assassin... though, as you can see, I am also skilled in magecraft." Without even chanting a spell, Assassin processed vast magical energy into magecraft.
Four blue magic circles. They were precisely like gunports, all aimed at Rider.
"Wha...?" Rider was wide-eyed at the magical energy contained within them.
A Servant wielding magecraft of this level, and she's not a Caster but an Assassin? He thought it might be a bluff, but there was no reason to bluff in this situation. She was probably indeed an Assassin.
"Even so, all I need to do is defeat you!" The magecraft was activated via the fortress. Then, the master of this fortress was her, and her True Name was undoubtedly Semiramis. If he could just defeat "Red" Assassin, this fortress would cease functioning, dealing a heavy blow to the attacking "Red" faction.
It was just that the opponent had changed from the anticipated Caster to Assassin. And if she used magecraft, then the ability of his magic book would be demonstrated to its full extent.
"Fall, Rider." Assassin's bombardment was a pale blue flash of lightning.
"Not gonna be that easy!" In response, Rider, using his powerful Magic Resistance as a shield, accelerated the Hippogriff.
Sword and spear, magecraft and phantom steed, stakes and arrows. As if defiantly rejecting this ancient battlefield unseen in the modern era, a single car raced wildly.
The classic American sports car, Chevrolet Corvette, was dented and twisted all over, but its tires still spun desperately.
Given the archaic elegance of the battlefield, the sense of era felt warped, but originally, in this era's battlefields, there were neither swords nor spears. A sports car was also incongruous, but it was more era-appropriate than riding a horse.
In the driver's seat of the sports car speeding across the battlefield, "Red" Saber was dressed lightly: a leather jacket and tank top on top, and cut-off jeans below.
Her attire was as if she was headed for a picnic, but the car body was stained with blood and mud.
"Hey, Master. This American car's about to fall apart. Didn't you have something sturdier?"
"Don't be ridiculous. What idiot designs a car to drive around a battlefield!? Besides..."
"Whoa, dangerous!"
Saber yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. She swerved around a Golem controlled by "Black" Caster and sent Homunculi flying.
Saber's 'Riding' skill was B-rank, meaning the moment she sat in the driver's seat, she should be able to drive this car better than anyone in the world or so it should be, but Saber's driving wasn't just rough. Sudden stops and starts were the norm; she loved performing drifts like a spinning top to mow down Homunculi, using collapsed Golems as ramps to jump, driving as if in a Hollywood movie. It looked flashy, but no car body in reality could withstand such treatment.
"It's the second most expensive piece of equipment I have, this car!"
"Who cares? You stole it anyway, right? I've done it too; riding around on a stolen famous horse feels great!"
Screech screech screech, the wailing death cries of the venerable classic car, barely holding on at the last line.
Sorry, owner. Shishigou apologized sincerely from his heart to the car's owner, whom he'd never even seen. At this rate, it was headed straight for the scrapyard no matter what. Still, perhaps the small consolation was that a legendary knight had gotten to ride it.
"For something advertised as sturdy, it's more fragile than a horse, ain't it?"
"That's because the horses are the weird ones." Amid the spinning view, Shishigou retorted with a state of Nirvana-like calm. Incidentally, the most valuable item among all his possessions was the dagger made from a Hydra offspring.
Saber's runaway car knew no stopping, endlessly roaming the battlefield seeking enemies.
It was a total war of six versus seven, so there should be a Servant free somewhere.
While exchanging banter, Saber kept her nerves sharp, probing the battlefield's atmosphere.
As it turned out, that saved Saber's life.
For a moment, she thought it was a Golem. That's how massive he was, a giant you had to look up at.
Kicking aside trees, mowing down both Golems and Dragon Tooth Warriors indiscriminately in his path, a man with wax-white skin leaped out before the Chevrolet Corvette.
"Whoaaa!" Saber turned the wheel right, pulled the handbrake for a drift. Before the momentum died, she hit the accelerator, evading the small sword, Gladius, being swung down.
"That's... our Berserker, ain't it?" Shishigou, his face pale, groaned upon seeing "Red" Berserker.
He'd heard he was stolen by the enemy, but to run into him like this...
"Master, take the wheel."
"At this speed!? Are you stupid!?"
Saber grabbed Shishigou by the scruff of his neck and pulled him over. Shishigou hurriedly undid his seatbelt and took the wheel. Of course, the car kept moving during this.
"Don't get caught up in this, Master." Without waiting for Shishigou's reply, Saber kicked the door open and leaped out of the car. A red and white flash enveloped her, instantly transforming her into her heavily armored form.
Shishigou, with no time to complain, slowed down and backtracked along the path Saber had cleared, maintaining just enough speed to avoid being caught by the enemy.
At the very least, he needed to secure a place where he could support Saber while hiding from the enemy.
"Red" Saber faced "Red" Berserker, who had switched sides to the enemy.
The height difference was about 70 centimeters, the weight difference about 120 kilograms.
It was truly like an adult versus a child. Normally, it wouldn't even be a fight. Even so, Saber held her sword boldly.
"Berserker. Having a beast as the first fight of this party is pretty lame, but whatever. I just need to blow you away quickly."
Her priorities were, first, "Black" Archer, with whom she had a grudge, and second, "Black" Saber, her counterpart in class. She didn't even have Berserker in her sights.
Even so, if he stood in her way, she'd scatter him. Any enemy she could defeat, she would.
With explosive acceleration, Saber closed in on Berserker. The charge, reminiscent of a rocket, far exceeded Berserker's reaction speed, and the great sword plunged deep into his abdomen with the full force of her momentum.
Such was the impact that Berserker's massive frame lifted into the air and was pushed back several meters.
The great sword that had pierced Berserker's thick, steel-surpassing abs was dripping with his blood all the way to the hilt.
"Tch. That was pathetic." Saber spat out.
She hadn't expected much from a mere beast, but being skewered so easily was beyond disappointing.
Saber tried to pull the sword out, only to find it stuck fast, not moving.
"What the..."
"I will not fall from something like this." Berserker spoke in a slow, heavy voice...
"You bastard...!"
Among "Red" Berserker's parameters, the most notable were 'Endurance' and 'Mad Enhancement'. Their rank was EX, meaning beyond the scale of evaluation.
Even while impaled, Berserker had endured with his common-sense-defying endurance.
Saber shuddered from head to toe.
It was partly that Berserker was raising his small sword, but more than anything, the fact that he never stopped smiling even with his stomach pierced was simply too abnormal.
"Ooooooooooh!" Saber kicked Berserker's stomach, releasing magical energy like a jet blast to leap backward. She ended up rolling on the ground a few times, but it was better than taking a direct hit from the log-like arm's slash.
Quickly getting up, Saber's face, hidden beneath her helmet, was twisted in anger.
"You dare speak the human tongue, you beast? You crazy bastard." It seemed she found it utterly intolerable to be made a fool of by a Berserker who should have no reason.
Gripped by rage, Saber re-gripped her sword. "You've got the resolve to be minced, right... Berserker!"
"Hahahahaha, splendid! You who call me a beast are truly the lackey of a tyrant. Come, show me this trampling!"
Berserker's words, laughed out with a wide-open mouth, acted as a detonator. Saber let out a battle cry and charged in, slashing.
The petite Saber swinging her sword, and the rugged Berserker receiving the blade with his sturdy body.
Normally, it would look like a child charging at an adult, but here, both were Servants. In reality, one couldn't follow Saber's slashes with the eye, and trying to receive them with one's body was the height of folly. "Red" Berserker possessed neither a body sublimated into a defensive Noble Phantasm like "Black" Saber, nor armor protected by gods like "Red" Lancer; he was trying to receive the sword with pure, raw physical sturdiness.
In any case, as long as he followed the process of receiving the blow and then counterattacking, there was no way for him to emerge victorious.
That is if one did not take his Noble Phantasm into account.