That night, within the throne room of Millennia Fortress, Masters and Servants had gathered.
The light of the seven-branched menorah Caster had lit cast its glow across the walls, turning them into screens that projected the images outside.
Within those images, a small, stout knight and countless golems clashed in a desperate struggle.
This was no film. It was unfolding at that very moment, in the southern district of the city beneath Millennia Fortress.
The golems created by "Black" Caster were powerful—each capable of slaughtering a seasoned magus with ease. But that was only when the opponent was human.
This time, their foe was "Red" Saber.
Encased entirely in armor, their face hidden by a helm—yet he moved freely across the battlefield, heavy equipment meaning nothing to him, charging like a living heavy assault tank.
In the projected image, "Red" Saber cut down golems one after another.
They were not even a contest.
Most of the golems sent out were shattered in a single exchange—two, at best.
The five Masters—save for Darnic—watched, overwhelmed by the sheer spectacle, involuntarily holding their breath.
When the final golem was cleaved apart after three clashes, the homunculus controlling it had already been slain by the enemy Master.
"Impressive, as expected of a Saber."
At Lancer of Black's words, Darnic nodded.
"Only fortune is marked as nonexistent. Truly, these are stats befitting the Heroic Spirit of the Sword."
Unmoving from his posture of courtly respect, Darnic spoke to Lancer.
Only Masters could perceive a Servant's parameters.
"Oh?"
Lancer let out a small sound of admiration at the enemy Saber's capabilities.
Darnic continued.
"In addition, it appears he possesses the ability to conceal portions of his stats. A swordsman of legend who hid his identity throughout his tales, most likely."
Saber likely possessed some skill—or Noble Phantasm—that blocked a Master's clairvoyance.
The effect was so powerful that even the ornamentation of the sword he had swung could not be recalled.
Lancer nodded, then turned his eyes toward his own Saber.
"Do you believe you can defeat him?"
Without speaking, Saber answered with a firm nod—his gaze alone declaring of course.
Saber remained silent even before Lancer, obedient to his Master's orders.
Lancer did not take offense; instead, he smiled, finding Saber's steadfast purity and loyalty all the more pleasing.
Lancer detested betrayal and deceit above all else.
For one so upright, Saber's demeanor was ideal.
"Even recalling the shape of his sword is difficult. Archer—what say you?"
Lancer looked to Fiore. Servants were gathered here as well.
Only Assassin—yet to return—and Archer, who had gone to visually confirm "Red" Saber, were absent.
Fiore shook her head on Archer's behalf.
Archer had analyzed the sword and correctly deduced Black Saber's true name.
The unexpected extent of Archer's insight had raised both Darnic's and Lancer's evaluations of him.
But even Archer could not parse an opponent whose stats were deliberately obscured.
"I see. Then it cannot be helped."
Swords were not exclusive to Saber alone.
Even Berserker might wield one; other Servants could carry swords as secondary armaments.
Not being able to identify Saber's true name was not necessarily a disadvantage.
And Lancer purposefully did not ask whether Archer could identify "Red" Saber—simply because Gordes was present.
Lancer turned back toward the projected image.
There, "Red" Saber was shown gazing upon the remains of the destroyed golems alongside his Master.
To prevent analysis by the enemy, the golems were configured to automatically incinerate after being destroyed.
There was no fear of leaving evidence behind.
This time, they had glimpsed a portion of Saber's true strength—no small achievement.
But as Lancer contemplated, he touched a hand to his chin.
"What if we were to test him with Archer?"
He murmured quietly—and Fiore instinctively turned toward him.
The assembled Servants also reacted, surprise on their faces.
"Fiore. Do you believe Archer can fight that Saber?"
Darnic, reading Lancer's intent, posed the question.
Fiore could not answer immediately.
Even with the trust built between them, Archer's parameters were undeniably low.
In contrast, the "Red" Saber before them was without question a top-tier Servant.
The difference in class was clear.
Feeling the collective gazes on her, Fiore opened her mouth.
Forgive me, Archer. This was supposed to be reconnaissance only… I never intended for this to happen.
Receiving the message via her familiar, Archer offered a wry smile—and accepted the request.
"Well, it cannot be helped. I should consider this a fortunate opportunity to demonstrate my strength."
Still—that Lancer? Archer quietly cursed.
At present, Archer stood atop a rooftop two kilometers away from "Red" Saber.
The enemy stood atop a rooftop of similar height—neither side possessing a significant elevation advantage.
Ideally, Archer would have preferred a higher vantage point, but one could not demand what was not available.
"For sniping, I should ideally coordinate with Caster…"
Distraction via Caster's golems, followed by Archer's long-range shot—
That would deliver damage to Saber while guaranteeing Archer's escape.
So why was he being ordered to duel Saber after the battle had ended?
"They must be exceedingly curious about my power."
Lancer likely intended to use this opportunity to gauge Archer's combat ability.
Archer disliked being used so conveniently—but if they insisted, he would repay them appropriately.
"I am the Bone of My Sword."
He spoke a spell that was no different from his own flesh and blood.
He envisioned his strongest self.
His enemy was not "Red" Saber.
His true enemy was always himself.
A western bow materialized in his left hand, and he nocked an arrow that could be mistaken for a sword.
Its malevolent aura alone would corrode a normal person's soul simply by proximity.
"Come, 'Red' Saber. Show me why you are counted among the strongest Servants."
Archer released the arrow.
It ripped through the barrier of air, streaking straight toward Saber.
"Red" Saber felt a chill race across his entire body the moment the last cleaved golem spontaneously ignited.
His Master, Shishigou Kairi, attempted to investigate—only to take a blast of heat to the face.
They were being targeted.
This was no golem—this was a clear killing intent.
"Master!"
"Gueh—!"
Saber shouted, seizing Shishigou and hurling him backward as they leaped ten meters in a single bound.
A thunderous crash struck the rooftop an instant later.
"Gah—cough—damn… you could've warned me, y'know…!"
Shishigou's breath was knocked out of him, but seeing the destroyed section of rooftop, he understood immediately.
The place where they had stood moments before had been gouged out completely.
Shishigou—an experienced mercenary—had not sensed the attack at all.
"Archer."
"A sniper… damn it."
The force behind the arrow was obvious.
Without Saber's intervention, Shishigou would be dead.
"That bastard… Archer!"
Saber readied his sword in irritation.
Shishigou saw nothing in the direction Saber glared at—
but as a Servant, Saber's superhuman senses allowed him to perceive the sniper hidden in the darkness of night.
"I'm gonna gut that—"
"Oi, Saber."
"What, Master—ah, shit!"
This time, Shishigou noticed it.
Saber, distracted by Archer, reacted a split second too late.
"Don't—fuck—with—me!"
He intercepted a crimson magical bullet flying toward them from behind.
Steel clashed against steel.
Sparks exploded, and Archer's arrow veered off, flying into the void of the night sky.
Normally, an arrow's trajectory could not be altered once released.
Not even a Servant could change that principle.
But exceptions existed.
For example, if the arrow itself were a Noble Phantasm—
If it possessed a homing function, it would chase its prey like a hunting dog.
Thus, its true name was—
Hrunting — The Hound of the Red Plains.
A demonic sword said to grow stronger by drinking blood—modified by Archer into the form of an arrow.
A red flash tore through the night over Romania, far surpassing the speed of sound.
Like a falling star, it raced straight toward Saber.
Their weapons collided again and again.
Each time sword and arrow met, shockwaves blasted the surroundings like detonating bombs.
Shishigou could do nothing but crouch under Saber's protection.
"Tch."
Saber clicked his tongue, enduring the tenth clash.
If Saber fought alone, he could easily escape. The problem was Shishigou.
With his Master so close, Archer might aim for him instead.
Even with Saber's extraordinary parameters, guarding his Master while defending would only wear him down.
"The same trick won't work forever!"
Saber slammed his magically boosted sword strike into the center of the magical projectile.
He had noticed the arrow losing precision and speed.
He drew it in close—then struck with maximum force.
As expected, the enemy Noble Phantasm had reached its limit.
The shattered arrow pierced the rooftop, exploded below, and sent debris upward.
"Let's go, Master!"
Saber grabbed Shishigou by the scruff of the neck, leapt from the crumbling building, and sprinted into an alley.
Once Shishigou recovered his breath, Saber asked how to proceed.
"We just blew up a building. Normally, yeah—we'd fall back."
Shishigou peeked out toward the main street.
Despite the destruction echoing through midnight Trifas, no civilians emerged.
"Hell of a bounded field… It's even concealing the collapse."
The bounded field not only detected intruders—it also hid any signs of urban combat.
This entire region was enemy territory, after all.
"So?"
"Yeah. That bastard's waiting. The moment we move, he'll take another shot."
Saber's intuition bordered on actual precognition.
Warriors' instinct was nothing to scoff at—but as a Servant, Saber possessed it as a literal skill.
Shishigou trusted that judgment.
Yet they couldn't simply remain here, locked down by Archer.
The previous magical bullet was destroyed… but Archer surely had more.
No one would expend their only Noble Phantasm in the opening round of the Holy Grail War.
Archer could blow up the entire building they hid behind if he wished.
Reinforcements might also arrive.
"We gotta take care of Archer."
"You have a plan?"
In response to Saber's question, Shishigou showed the Command Seals on his hand.
"I see."
A savage grin twisted Saber's face beneath the helm.
The Holy Grail War—whether the old format or this Great Grail War—was never something a Servant could win on strength alone.
Survival depended on a Master's decisions—specifically, how they used their three miracles, the Command Seals.
Using a Command Seal aligned with the Servant's will turned it into a booster—capable of manifesting literal miracles.
A simple movement could become a teleportation-like leap across space.
For the Black camp watching the duel, the sudden appearance of Saber before Archer was a total shock.
Archer had surpassed expectations, overwhelming the enemy Saber at first.
Lancer sat upon his throne, satisfied.
Fiore watched anxiously, mesmerized by the power of Archer's arrows.
Saber and his Master had retreated.
Archer's debut seemed complete—
Until—
"ARCHER!"
A savage roar.
From a twisted fold in space, the armored knight burst forth—
His movement transcended the concept of speed—a bullet of iron appearing instantly before Archer.
Only Darnic understood: a Command Seal had been used.
It was bad.
An Archer caught within a Saber's range was in mortal danger.
Fiore had not yet reached the thought of using a Command Seal to retreat.
Darnic considered shouting—but in that moment—
"Red" Saber's blade was already swinging.
Fiore let out a short scream.
Darnic grimaced.
He was certain of Archer's defeat.
But what scattered was not blood—
—it was sparks.
No spurt of crimson, no wound—only the hollow ring of metal.
Whose shock filled the room?
Not only Saber, who stumbled back, but all watching in the Black camp stared wide-eyed at Archer.
"Twin swords…?"
The blade meant as a finishing strike had been deflected—overwritten by the impossible sight before him.
In Archer's hands were no bow—
—but a matched pair of swords, one white and one black—Chinese-style blades.
His stance was perfectly calm, without openings.
This was no imitation dual style.
The instincts of a seasoned warrior declared it genuine.
"You—Saber?"
"Do I appear to be one to you?"
"Hell no. So a lowly Archer thinks he can take me in melee?"
Saber tightened his grip, observing Archer with renewed caution.
"Even an Archer may wield a sword. And what's more—I am hardly inferior to the average swordsman."
"Hah—! Big words. Fine, then—let's see you prove it, Archer!"
The ground behind Saber exploded—propelling him forward.
His Mana Burst skill—normally used to enhance physical ability—was here released like a rocket blast, adding ridiculous power to his strikes.
Scarlet lightning streaked around him as Saber became a bolt of living thunder, swinging downward with monstrous force.
"OOOOOOOOOOHH!"
He roared, striking again and again.
Each slash broke the sound barrier—leaving only arcs of reflected moonlight in ordinary eyes.
Silver traces split the night; the atmosphere itself screamed.
And still—Saber did not stop.
Like a raging ocean storm, the tempest of sword strikes intensified with each exchange.
Yet the very fact that the storm continued meant the target still lived.
Archer maneuvered both blades flawlessly—blocking, parrying, deflecting—his hawk-like eyes unclouded, expression cold as he read Saber's every move.
What IS this bastard!?
Saber was unquestionably on the offensive.
Saber was the strongest frontline class—flexible, powerful, always surviving to the end in all three Fuyuki Grail Wars.
Yet—
He could not overwhelm an Archer within sword range.
Impossible. Unforgivable.
He was the one meant to surpass Artoria Pendragon—the greatest knight.
"Red" Saber—Mordred—roared in frustration, pushing harder.
He wove technique with brute instinct—targeting neck, torso, arms, legs—yet never landing the decisive blow.
Archer was not unscathed—but no wound was deep.
His cultivated "Mind's Eye" guided him through every deadly strike.
His swings are getting wider…
Archer felt like a lone ship caught in a hurricane—fighting to survive with wit and skill.
And then—he finally saw openings.
The moment he seized the current of the battlefield.
"Sei!"
As Saber's downward slash tore into the ground, Archer stepped in—
Black blade Kanshou sliding into a gap in Saber's armor.
"You—!"
Saber snarled in anger.
His high endurance and thick armor nullified the wound—but the insult of being struck in melee by an Archer wounded his pride far more.
"DAMN YOUUUUU!"
Red lightning erupted.
Saber's Mana Burst spilled outward with physical force.
"Kh—!"
Archer stepped back, but the small retreat let Saber close instantly—
The upward strike knocked white blade Bakuya from Archer's grip.
Their physical strength was on different levels.
Archer had survived by redirecting blows, not by matching force—
and this time, he had taken the strike head-on.
"Got you!"
Dual-wielders had shorter reach than greatsword users—
but greatswords were slower.
One blade gone meant Archer's defense was halved.
Saber's sword slammed into Kanshou—
Archer's stance buckled.
I've won—
—but Saber's instincts screamed NO.
"—!?"
He twisted away, just barely avoiding the white blade he had knocked aside earlier—now flying back to Archer's hand.
"What!?"
Without answering, Archer pressed the attack—
Three rapid exchanges—and both stepped back.
Saber sought to analyze.
Archer wanted to avoid recklessness.
My stats and swordsmanship exceed his. There's no reason an Archer should push me. That trick—some weird magic—but stay calm and I'll cut off his head. My mana's full. All I need is one rush—
His durability and armor are high… my blows barely pierce. But that Mana Burst—if it hits me, it'll crush my bones. How do I break through?
Only seconds passed before the next clash.
Saber attacked. Archer defended.
The stalemate continued—
hundreds of strikes exchanged, neither yielding.
"Damn you… What Archer blocks me like this? I don't know a single one!"
"Who can say? Even I am unsure where I should truly belong."
"Bullshit!"
Saber knocked Kanshou aside—
but before he could follow up, Archer already held a replacement.
How many Noble Phantasms does he have!? And they're all the same!? A dividing sword?
The more they fought, the more Saber understood Archer's style.
This sword—
It was the opposite of Saber's own genius.
A blade born not from talent, but from relentless, brutal effort.
Saber respected that effort—
even as he continued striking without pause.
And as Saber thought of Archer's past—
Archer, too, thought of Saber.
He recognized the sword.
Wild instinct layered atop knightly technique—
a contradiction in perfect balance.
It reminded him of—
Her.
Artoria's sword.
When he was a child full of ideals—
On that fateful night he met her—
Her memory still shone unstained in his fading mind.
Called together by this irregular Holy Grail War—
Two Heroic Spirits who had studied under the same king.
One, a genius born of royalty.
One, a talentless child who reached upward forever.
Both had once sought—
to reach King Arthur.
Two who dreamed of the same ideal—now clashing across eras.
But such a dream could not last forever.
When dawn began to lighten the sky, they stepped back simultaneously.
"For an Archer, you're damn good."
"I said so earlier— I am not inferior to any swordsman."
Saber remained uninjured.
Archer was covered in cuts—but all shallow.
This was only a preliminary battle.
Archer had no need to force a conclusion.
But Saber wanted Archer's head—
especially after spending a Command Seal.
"We've come this far. You're seeing this through, Archer."
Saber's face was hidden under the helm, but his bloodlust grew stronger.
Archer did not oblige.
Fiore was already ordering him to retreat.
And staying any longer meant eventual defeat.
"Sorry, but I must decline. I'll withdraw here."
"Hah? Like hell—!"
Before Saber could finish, Archer hurled three projected daggers at his feet.
While Saber leapt back—
Archer spoke the incantation:
Broken Phantasm — "Broken Illusion."
A blinding flash swallowed the rooftop as the daggers exploded.
The already damaged floor collapsed instantly.
"Damn—! Archer, you bastard—!"
Saber fell with the debris.
Archer dematerialized and withdrew.
"ARCHERRRRRRRRR!!!"
Saber's scream echoed uselessly into the empty dawn.
Archer returned to Millennia Fortress, and the first to greet him was not Fiore, nor Lancer, nor even Darnic.
Instead—
A boy so adorable he could be mistaken for a girl, with soft pink-tinged hair tied back.
"Welcome back, Archer! To think you traded blows with that Saber at close range—that's amazing!"
Rider, ever brimming with curiosity, beamed at him.
"And that arrow—you fired a Noble Phantasm, right? What's its origin? Can you tell me?"
Archer asked Rider to let him report to his Master first, and slipped free of the eager questioning.
"Ah—right, right! I forgot. You should see her first. Sorry for holding you up!"
"Don't worry about it, Rider. We'll talk again later."
"Yeah! See you!"
With a bright smile, Rider waved and skipped off.
On his way to Fiore, Archer passed Saber.
"…A fine sword."
Saber spoke as they crossed paths.
Archer blinked in surprise, then smiled faintly.
"Yours is finer."
Saber shook his head.
"No—the skill. Straightforward, polished, without impurity. A splendid sword."
For Saber, swordsmanship was life itself—everything distilled into the blade.
What had he seen in Archer's sword?
But Saber said nothing more.
The loyal knight obeyed his Master's command of silence, nodded goodbye with his eyes alone, and departed.
"You're late."
Fiore greeted Archer with a pout.
But she immediately softened.
"…But I forgive you. Thank you for returning safely, Archer."
"I've returned, Fiore."
Fiore wheeled herself closer.
"Archer… first, I must apologize to you."
Looking troubled, she continued:
"I doubted your strength. I never imagined you possessed the skill to fight that Saber in close combat. Please forgive my ignorance."
Archer had boasted confidently from the start that he was a capable Servant—
yet Fiore, personality aside, had been unsure of his combat ability.
Today's battle proved her doubts utterly mistaken.
"That is all? There is no need for apology. The Great Holy Grail War is still in its opening stage. Most Servants have not yet fought, so their true combat ability can only be guessed by numbers. Your assessment of me was rational."
"But still…"
"I fought Saber. That result reflects a portion of my true strength. What matters now is how you interpret what you've seen."
In other words—judge by reality, not numbers.
Archer demonstrated he could hold even a top Saber to a draw in their specialty—
and that his own attacks rivaled anti-army Noble Phantasms.
He even forced the enemy Master to use a Command Seal.
A tactical victory.
Even Lancer now acknowledged Archer's worth.
Fiore absorbed his words deeply.
It wasn't about her recognizing Archer.
She needed to become someone Archer could acknowledge as his Master.
"Archer… do you think I'm suitable to be your Master?"
Fiore asked anxiously.
"Of course. You possess cool rationality and kindness toward your brother. Your character holds no faults I can see. More than enough to serve as my Master."
"I see… I'm glad."
Relieved, she smiled softly.
"Then… please continue to fight alongside me, Archer."
"Gladly. My bow and blades are yours. I trust in you, Fiore."
Archer clasped the hand she offered.
Thus, the two were—at last—truly Master and Servant.
The battle between Black Archer and Red Saber ended as a tactical victory for Archer—
Yet this was only the beginning.
No Servants had been eliminated.
Both factions steadily prepared for the true war ahead.
The Great Holy Grail War—
was only now truly beginning.