As she approached the fortress, Jeanne found herself increasingly overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of that floating Noble Phantasm.
It wasn't just a structure.
It was a presence.
The pillars supporting the castle seemed to vanish into the night mist, as if defying the very laws of gravity.
She already knew the name of this floating fortress: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Only two Heroic Spirits in all of the Throne could possibly claim ownership of such a domain—Nebuchadnezzar II, the great king of Babylon, or Semiramis, the poison queen of Assyria.
But the greatest concern was not the owner's identity, but their intent. Whoever commanded this floating dominion radiated a malice directed squarely at her.
Jeanne had wandered in circles for too long, torn between advancing or retreating, but the questions she needed to ask the Red Faction had grown too many. Questions that could no longer be ignored.
It was then that Arthur, walking at her side, broke the silence with his calm voice:
"Come to think of it, Jeanne… you still don't know the true name of the Red Assassin, do you?"
The question startled her.
As a Ruler, Jeanne had the privilege of perceiving Servants' true names. And yet, the Red Assassin remained shrouded in mystery.
She shook her head.
Arthur did not hesitate.
"It is Semiramis."
Jeanne's eyes widened.
"The queen of Assyria…?"
"Exactly," Arthur confirmed.
Meanwhile, within the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, a battle was reaching its climax.
---
"As expected," Karna spoke quietly, advancing with calm composure as he gradually cornered Vlad III.
"Ugh…!"
Vlad was at a crushing disadvantage. He could feel it deep within his soul: his power had been severed at the root.
Iron stakes erupted around him, firing toward Karna in a deadly storm. But their speed and sharpness were pale shadows of what they had been when conjured on Romanian soil.
Karna deflected them all effortlessly, with nothing but the tip of his spear and the steadiness of his armor. He didn't even need to summon his flames.
"This territory belongs to our Assassin, not you," Karna said, his tone as steady as if stating a simple fact. "As long as you remain here, you will not receive the reinforcement you once had in Romania."
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon was more than a castle. It was a fortified Noble Phantasm that extended its mistress's dominion.
Here, Vlad III was not the revered hero of Romania. Here, his fame was nothing.
True, Karna's own legend held no sway here either. But there was an essential difference: Karna's fundamental power stood on an entirely different plane. Even far from his homeland, as long as the world remembered his name, he would remain an incomparable hero.
Vlad, outside Romania, was nothing but a cursed vampire.
A monster forced to bear the stigma of a distorted legend.
Summoned under his heroic aspect, Vlad could not wield that title for strength—on the contrary, the infamy of it weighed him down, sapping his abilities.
He still held his spear aloft against Karna, but his grace, his ferocity, his noble splendor… all had faded away.
What kept him standing was nothing but his dignity as a hero.
And dignity alone could not sever Karna's head. Even the slightest falter would mean the end. Both men knew it.
The Black Faction could have retreated. They could have fled, turned their backs, and lived to fight another day.
But a Heroic Spirit who retreats before his enemy ceases to be a hero.
Am I to die here…? Vlad thought, the shadow of defeat looming over him.
It was then that a voice cut across the battlefield.
"No. Victory is not impossible… rise, King of Romania."
Every Servant froze for an instant.
The voice belonged to Darnic, Vlad's Master and the head of the Yggdmillennia family. Standing atop a stone pillar, he watched as a cruel judge, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation.
"Surely you don't want to perish in a place like this, do you?" Darnic asked.
"You were summoned here for a reason. Don't you have a wish to make upon the Holy Grail?" he pressed.
"Darnic, it's you? What are you doing here?" Vlad demanded.
"We must do whatever it takes to claim the Greater Grail. By doing so, I will bring victory to the Yggdmillennia family," Darnic replied.
"And for that to happen, you must win this battle, do you understand?" he continued.
"Even without the advantage of your own land, there is still a chance for victory… if you are willing to unleash your Noble Phantasm, Lancer."
His words struck Vlad like poison.
After parrying an attack from Karna, Vlad stepped back, glaring up at his Master.
"Darnic, you bastard… what did you just say?"
His tone dripped with murderous intent.
But Darnic did not flinch. Instead, he held Vlad's gaze, his voice calm and merciless.
"I am telling you to unleash your Noble Phantasm. It is our only chance of victory."
"I already told you I would never use that Noble Phantasm! Have you forgotten!?" Vlad roared, his fury spilling over.
"You're the one who seems to have forgotten our goal here!!" Darnic shouted back.
He raised his hand. Three Command Spells flared crimson upon his skin.
"I will not allow anything to stop us from obtaining the Holy Grail. If we fail, my dream will die—and I will not allow that. You have no choice, Lancer!" Darnic declared.
"Don't you dare…!" Vlad bellowed.
"With this Command Spell, I order you: unleash your Noble Phantasm—The Legend of Dracula."
"Darnic, damn you!!!"
The king's voice rang with despair, but the incantation was already etched in fate.
Vlad staggered, his eyes brimming with rage and fear as his body began to warp.
His form grew ever more grotesque, ever more monstrous.
"I am not a vampire… I am not… I AM NOT!!"
Those trembling murmurs were the last thread of his sanity.
And Darnic severed it without hesitation.
"No. You are not just any vampire—you are Count Dracula himself!! With this second Command Spell, I order—"
"Things will not go as you desire…" Vlad surged forward, striking before Darnic could finish.
Darnic only smiled. His chest was pierced clean through, his body collapsing backward as blood sprayed.
Vlad's face was spattered red.
But it was Darnic who laughed.
"I order you to continue fighting until you claim the Greater Grail!" he completed.
Vlad's eyes shook as he sank his fangs into Darnic's throat.
"Hahahaha!! Yes, that's it, Lancer! Drink my blood—drink it like the true vampire you are!!" Darnic howled with laughter.
"You need no wish. Live only for mine! With my third Command Spell, I order you: engrave my existence into your soul, that we may become one!!"
The fate of Vlad III was sealed.
All who watched were struck dumb by the sight.
Never mind that Vlad had just impaled his own Master—the true shock was Darnic's final command, spoken with a cruel smile and branded by the last of his Command Spells.
The Servants knew well that a hero could consume human souls and transform them into magical power. It was a natural privilege of those who had transcended humanity's limits. Heroic Spirits were not bound by mortal laws.
But humans… humans had no such right.
And yet, that mage had broken the rule.
Darnic had developed a cursed technique, a dark sorcery that allowed him to devour the souls of others and turn them into fuel to extend his own existence. A feat that could only be described as blasphemy.
It wasn't merely a matter of ethics—it was an act that wounded the very order of the world.
Darnic would rip the life from a newborn if it meant surviving for one more day. Such was the depth of his depravity.
And still, even that sorcery was far from safe. It was unstable, treacherous. The slightest mistake could collapse both body and soul.
In sixty years, Darnic had dared the ritual only three times. Three times in six decades.
Even under the most perfect conditions, compatibility between body and soul never exceeded 60%.
Darnic knew. He could feel it in his flesh: there was a force beyond himself, slow and inexorable, usurping his identity.
Even if he performed the next ritual flawlessly, the odds were high that the being who awakened would not be Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia at all, but something else entirely.
It would have his memories, his voice, even his gestures… but it would not be him.
In other words, to devour the soul of Vlad III—a Servant—without preparation, without ritual, was not merely reckless. It was outright suicide.
For this was no ordinary human soul.
It was the soul of a Heroic Spirit, something utterly impossible to contain within the fragile vessel of a man.
---
(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."
Vlad III -