From atop the fortress walls, Arthur observed the unfolding battle with a clinical gaze. Siegfried and Frankenstein had already clashed with Achilles, while the other Servants moved to engage Berserker.
Chiron stood at his side, ready to provide support if necessary.
It was exactly as Arthur had planned.
Satisfied, he rose upon the ramparts, the night wind sweeping through his golden hair.
"I'm going, Chiron," Arthur said, and with quiet confidence, he leapt. The fall would have been fatal for any human, but he landed softly, as though the very world had bent to receive him.
"Take care, King Gilgamesh," Chiron replied.
After one last glance back, Arthur advanced into the forest. His steps were slow, deliberate, and steady, carrying him toward the prey he had chosen.
Atalanta.
---
Perched on the branch of a tree not far from the main clash, the huntress watched with razor-sharp eyes. Her breathing was calm, almost feline, as she tracked Achilles' movements.
"So those are the Saber and the Black Berserker?" she murmured, analyzing the rhythm of the fight.
She knew enough not to underestimate Saber. The sheer pressure radiating from him was undeniable. But her instincts told her Achilles—blessed by the gods, invulnerable to nearly all mortal weapons—would not fall here. It was only a matter of time before the Greek hero triumphed.
Even so, Atalanta felt no rush. Her bow rested firmly in her hands as she waited for the right moment to strike. The work of a hunter was to watch, to wait, and to strike when the prey was most vulnerable.
Then, suddenly, a chill ran down her spine.
Someone was watching her.
"Who's there?!" she snapped, raising her bow with feline swiftness.
Her eyes swept across the darkness of the forest. Every branch, every shadow, every whisper of wind was scrutinized. Nothing escaped her sharp vision—yet she saw no one.
Atalanta frowned, easing the tension on her bowstring.
"What was that…?"
The answer came laced with irony and confidence:
"You have sharp instincts, Red Archer."
The voice echoed through the trees, calm and mocking.
"…!"
Her pupils narrowed. With immediate reflex, she fired three arrows in rapid succession toward the sound. The speed was absurd—each shaft tore through the air like lightning.
But instead of the crisp sound of impact, there was only a snap.
Two fingers. Three projectiles. Silence.
"Seems I've got another wild cat in my hands~," the voice chuckled, dripping with provocation.
Atalanta's eyes widened as she witnessed the impossible: the man held her three arrows as though they were nothing but discarded toys.
"A… Servant?" she muttered tensely, ignoring the insult.
The stranger stepped into view. From the shadows emerged a blond man in casual garb. His crimson eyes gleamed, and his smile carried the dangerous blend of contempt and regality.
"Exactly. I am the Servant of the Avenger class, belonging to the Black faction."
Atalanta narrowed her gaze. Every instinct screamed to loose another arrow, but something in his presence made her hesitate.
The man spread his arms with a smile.
"It is a great pleasure to finally meet you, Atalanta."
The sound of her true name struck her like a weight. She stepped back half a pace, muscles tense, heart racing.
"…!"
Her pupils constricted like a cornered feline's. Only a being of immense power could know her true identity without her revealing it. That meant only one thing: this was no ordinary opponent.
Arthur's smile widened—serene, yet cruel.
"Who are you!?"
Atalanta's voice cut through the forest, sharp and unwavering, though laced with caution. Her feral eyes locked onto the blond figure. The bowstring was drawn to its limit, ready to unleash a shot capable of piercing steel.
"I just told you," Arthur replied calmly, almost disdainfully. Then, without warning, he lunged toward her like a bolt of lightning through the forest shadows.
Atalanta retreated instantly. Her movements were those of a wild beast—light, fluid, precise—as though the forest itself acknowledged her as its rightful mistress. Branches and roots posed no hindrance; they were part of her hunting ground. Yet each time she gained ground, golden portals of the Gate of Babylon opened in her path, forcing her into evasive spins, leaps, and desperate dives.
Arthur's smile never faltered.
"I admit… this game of cat and mouse is rather fun," he said, suddenly halting.
Atalanta slid back, bow still raised.
"…He stopped?" she muttered, frowning.
A fleeting relief washed over her chest. But she knew better: her opponent was adapting to this terrain far too quickly. If the chase continued, it was only a matter of time before she was cornered.
"Damn it… I can't waste more time here," she cursed under her breath. Her instinct urged her to withdraw. Rider could handle himself. With that thought, she turned, ready to vanish into the woods.
But then—the metallic clinking of chains split the night. A sound alien to the forest, resonant with something older, divine.
Arthur raised his hand.
"I'll admit—it was fun hunting you, Atalanta. But… let's bring this to an end."
From the void above, the Chains of Heaven: Enkidu, descended like golden serpents, streaking toward her with merciless speed.
"Damn it!" Atalanta growled, eyes widening.
The instinct of survival roared within her. With a steady heart, she invoked the blessing and curse she bore: her Noble Phantasm.
"With my bow and my arrows, I call upon the protection of Lord Apollo… and Lady Artemis!"
Her voice rang like a sacred prayer.
"I offer you this calamity!"
Her bow shone. The arrows, infused with divine wrath, were drawn.
"Phoebus Catastrophe!"
She loosed. The arrows tore skyward, slicing through the clouds, leaving radiant trails in their wake. Then the heavens themselves split open. A downpour began—yet not of rain, but of countless arrows cascading like a divine flood. A calamity given form, the gods' curse unleashed.
Arthur gazed upward at the sight—and smiled.
"…Beautiful."
He spread his arms, summoning hundreds of golden portals around him, each unleashing swords, spears, and axes against the storm of arrows. The sound of the clash thundered like ceaseless storms, lighting the forest with flashes of gold and silver.
Seconds later—to Atalanta's utter horror—the sky was clear. Her Noble Phantasm had been… neutralized.
Terror seized her as the chains suddenly coiled around her arms and legs. Enkidu tightened, restricting every movement. The cold metal bit into her flesh, carrying a suffocating, pulsing pain.
"No…" she snarled, struggling in vain.
Arthur approached, his eyes gleaming like a predator savoring its fallen prey.
"Looks like the little cat got caught in the trap," he mocked, tilting his head.
"Let me go, you bastard!!" Atalanta roared, fury lacing her voice, but the sacred chains held firm.
Arthur leaned closer. With one hand, he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"As much as I'd like to…"—his tone dropped, heavy with dangerous dominance—"…we are in the middle of a war. And you… are my prized quarry."
Atalanta's fierce glare burned, but rather than intimidate him, it only stoked his hunger for victory… and dominance.
He raised his hand, ready to end it, to drive a blade through her chest.
But before he could strike, a sound thundered through the forest.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!
The pounding of hooves split the air, followed by a mighty cry:
"Akhilleus Kosmos!!"
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."