The unexpected addition of a Saber to the ranks of the Red Faction had shifted the balance of carefully laid plans, yet Shirou Kotomine showed no sign of doubt. His voice was firm, imbued with authority, as he addressed the gathered Servants.
"The presence of our new Saber has slightly altered the strategy, but it will not be dismissed for now. Lancer," Shirou fixed his gaze on the divine warrior before him, "the black Saber, Siegfried, will be under your responsibility."
Karna lightly twirled his blazing spear, his serene expression reflecting not arrogance, but absolute conviction.
"Rest assured. I will bring victory."
He needed no long speeches. Every word he spoke carried the weight of someone who fully understood the gravity of the mission. Siegfried was one of the pillars of the Black Faction, and defeating him would destabilize the entire balance of the war.
"Excellent." Shirou crossed his arms. "Your Master will support you tirelessly, no matter the cost."
Displaying absolute confidence, Shirou shifted his gaze toward the horizon. The Milenia fortress gradually rose, emerging from the darkness like a slumbering monster awakening. The sight quickened his heartbeat. In that structure of stone and magic, he could feel the call of what he most desired.
The Greater Grail.
"Even someone like you cannot hide your excitement, Master," Semiramis commented, her eyes lined with the venom of irony.
Shirou gave her a reproachful look but did not respond immediately.
"Suppressing joy is sufficient," she sighed. "But remember: if you die, I die as well. And if I die, all our plans collapse. You understand this, don't you?"
"Yes. I understand."
Her calm and indifferent response irritated the poisoned queen.
"And yet you insist on stepping onto the battlefield. I truly do not understand. Masters should not expose themselves like this. Why risk your life when so many can fight in your stead?"
She did not speak merely as a Servant, but as someone who saw in his recklessness an unacceptable risk. Homunculi and golems would not pose a problem, she knew. But against a Servant, nothing was certain. Luck and fate reigned supreme in such confrontations.
Shirou remained silent for a few moments, then answered with an almost unnerving calmness:
"If my plan defies God's will, I will be killed on this battlefield. I accept that wholeheartedly. But if I survive… it will mean that He has approved my path, and that it is the right one."
Semiramis narrowed her eyes, struck by a strange mix of frustration and fascination. It was not that he had done anything extraordinary, but there was an unrelenting aura about him. His smile was serene, his eyes clear, free of malice or anger. To look at him was like gazing upon the calm surface of a lake.
For him, battle was not survival—it was confirmation. A way to test whether his purpose truly bore the blessing of the divine.
"Haa… honestly, I cannot understand you, Master," Semiramis murmured, resigned.
"I suppose not," he replied with a light, almost ironic smile.
She knew she could never dissuade him. That obsession was something beyond logic, beyond fear. For Shirou, entering the battlefield was not recklessness, but a necessary ritual to purge all hesitation.
"If you believe this is the only way to move forward, then go." Semiramis' voice was grave, laced with venom and commitment. "Fight as much as you wish… and survive."
"Thank you." Shirou bowed his head in gratitude.
At that moment, the Hanging Garden ceased its slow motion. The Milenia fortress stood before them, rising as an inevitable challenge. Between the two titans of stone and magic stretched the battlefield: dark forests on either side and, in the center, a vast pasture illuminated by the moon.
The Red Faction Servants gathered at the prow of the Hanging Garden. The silence around them was broken by the exuberant voice of a man seemingly oblivious to the tension of war.
"Ah, what a magnificent sight!" Shakespeare spread his arms as if embracing the night itself. "The stage is set, my friends! The fortress of tyranny and the garden of illusions, under the immortal gaze of the moon! What a splendid tragedy about to unfold!"
Atalanta, practical and serious, narrowed her eyes. Her clairvoyance allowed her to see beyond the darkness.
"They have not moved yet. The Black Faction Servants remain in the fortress. Our sudden appearance has thrown them into disorder."
"Natural, natural!" Shakespeare raised his quill like a sword, laughing. "Which heroes resist when fate robs them of preparation time? Ah, but tragedy… tragedy blossoms precisely in improvisation!"
Atalanta did not reply, merely nodding briefly, accustomed to the dramatist's verbose flair.
Semiramis, for her part, raised a hand in an authoritative gesture. Beneath the Hanging Garden, a colossal opening formed, and yellowed bones rained down like a macabre shower. Striking the ground, they embedded themselves like cursed seeds, sprouting skeletal soldiers with reptilian skulls.
"These things seem fragile," Atalanta reflected, looking down.
"True. These Dragon Fang Soldiers are indeed very fragile. But there are many, and it goes without saying that they are not enough to fight Servants, yet they should suffice against Homunculi."
"If the opponent's Caster is like ours, we might defeat him quite easily," Atalanta said.
"Hahaha!" Shakespeare placed a hand on his chest as if struck. "What an affront! To suggest that the enemy Caster could rival me… me, the architect of the sublime! No, no, in this world there is no other William Shakespeare!"
At that moment, Semiramis narrowed her eyes, watching the darkness ahead.
"They are coming. The Black Faction Servants are finally moving."
---
Milenia Fortress
Arthur calmly studied the war board before him, mentally reviewing each strategy he had prepared. Beside him, Mordred drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, visibly impatient. The room was steeped in silence, only the distant sounds of the fortress echoing off the stone walls.
Suddenly, Darnic's voice came abruptly through the magical communicator, breaking the calm:
"King, this is urgent! The Red Faction army is approaching!"
Arthur raised his eyes, an unshakable serenity etched across his face.
"I am coming," he replied calmly, a stark contrast to Darnic's anxiety.
He disconnected the communicator and rose slowly, stretching with the ease of someone unhurried, as if war were merely another inevitable routine.
"Is it finally starting?" Mordred leaped to her feet, a wild smile lighting her face. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, almost like a child on the verge of a promised fight.
"Yes. Let's go." Arthur replied with a smile, walking out of the room. Mordred followed, adjusting her armor.
---
Atop the Walls
Yggdmilenia had anticipated the Red Faction's attack route and prepared defenses. Yet what unfolded before the defenders exceeded expectations.
Chiron, calm as ever, observed the night sky split by the colossal shadow of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the pride of the Red Assassin. The fortress loomed like an omen, casting an imposing shadow over the grasslands.
"The enemy is attacking us from their own territory… This is truly unexpected," the centaur remarked, almost admiringly.
Fiore, at his side, maintained a steady posture despite the slight tremor in her voice.
"Archer… how will you proceed?"
Chiron smiled reassuringly.
"They have halted their advance. I believe they intend to use the plains as the battlefield."
"So… a direct confrontation?" Fiore asked softly.
"Yes. Master, please withdraw to a safe location. The battle now belongs to us."
---
Meanwhile, Darnic climbed the walls, his expression tense.
"They are releasing Dragon Fang Soldiers… presumably to deal with our homunculi and golems."
On the other side, Vlad III lifted his chin, his expression filled with disdain as he watched the skeletal soldiers spread like a plague.
"How dare they desecrate my territory with those filthy things?" His icy voice carried a weight of authority. "Let them feel the fury of what they dared to awaken."
Mordred snorted, leaning over the wall with arms crossed.
"Tch. They think a bunch of skulls will make a difference? Let them come! I'll crush every one of them until nothing remains!"
Arthur glanced at her from the corner of his eye with a smile.
"Can you feel it, Mordred? The whole field is already trembling under the tension."
"Hah!" She laughed loudly, pounding her fist against her armored chest. "Music to my ears! I just need an enemy in front of me to crush."
Arthur smiled at her fervor but did not reply.
At that moment, a voice echoed from atop the Hanging Gardens. It was female, clear, yet commanding.
"Although we are rulers of different eras, I admire your achievements. Let us see now which of us is most worthy to be called king."
Mordred laughed scornfully, spitting to the ground.
"Oh, seriously!? That one wants to compete for the title of king now? Hah! Bet she can't even take the first hit I give. Leave it to me, Master, I'll tear that speech from her mouth by force!"
Before Arthur could respond, Vlad raised his voice, firm as steel.
"Men, let the Red Faction Servants see the strength of the Black Faction! Show them the bravery that sustains us! Annihilate all who dared invade this land!"
Mordred drew Clarent as excitement on her face bordered on frenzy.
"Let's give these bastards a show they will never forget!" She roared.
And thus, the prelude had ended. The performance was about to begin.
(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."