Several days had passed since Black Archer fought Red Saber.
One night, a summons was issued to all Masters and Servants inside the fortress.
Between the night Archer clashed with the enemy Saber and this very day, the opposing faction had taken no further action—and the Yggdmillennia faction had likewise refrained from advancing. Thus, the war had entered a temporary lull.
But tonight, movement had finally occurred on the enemy side.
Gordes and Black Saber were absent from the meeting precisely for that reason.
"So this is the second battle of the Great Holy Grail War, then."
"It seems the enemy is Lancer."
All eyes turned to the projected image conjured by Caster's golem.
The battle between Black Saber and Red Lancer had begun deep in the night, and several hours had already passed.
In the darkness, two brilliantly shining Servants clashed in a fierce duel—
their ceaseless exchange of sword and spear resembling an elegant dance far more than a mere killing bout.
Of course, no ordinary human would ever be able to visually follow such a dance.
Their blows rang violently, scattering sparks and blood-tinged wind.
Black Saber was Siegfried, the world-famous dragonslayer, the epitome of immortal swordsmen, bearer of a nigh-indestructible steel body. His Spirit Rank was nothing short of the highest class.
Armor of Fafnir – Blood-Armor of the Evil Dragon.
His Noble Phantasm nullified all attacks belowA-rank, and even for attacks above that threshold, it reduced the damage by their rank value.
To injure Saber, one needed attacks of A-rank or higher—
meaning only elite Heroic Spirits could harm him.
A truly unfair defense Noble Phantasm.
And yet, Red Lancer's spear carved wounds into Saber with every strike.
Superficial cuts closed instantly with healing magecraft—but the implication was unmistakable:
Even without a True Name Release, that spear reached A-rank.
Furthermore, Lancer's radiant golden armor withstood the blows of Balmung – Phantasmal Greatsword, Demon-Slayer of the Sun.
Both possessed defensive power high enough that neither could deal a fatal blow.
Their skill was nearly equal.
The result:
the battle between Black Saber and Red Lancer remained in perfect stalemate, raging throughout the entire night.
"Ruler, is it."
Archer spoke while looking at the girl appearing on the projected screen.
A young woman with braided golden hair down to her waist.
Aside from her inhuman beauty, she looked entirely like a modern civilian—her clothing unmistakably contemporary.
She was the Servant who could be called the root cause of this entire conflict—
an irregular class summoned only when a Holy Grail War verged on collapse.
Archer knew of her existence from the knowledge granted by the Grail…
but he never expected her to actually appear.
"It would've been ideal if she could've been coaxed to our side, but that seems unlikely."
"At the very least, it seems she's committed to neutrality. That alone is a relief."
Archer and Fiore whispered quietly.
"Still… for some reason, the enemy seemed intent on killing Ruler."
"Yes. That part is strange. Why would they do such a thing?"
"Who knows. Perhaps they've committed violations severe enough that Ruler may invoke her authority. They might be trying to silence her preemptively."
Ruler possessed unilateral authority to supervise the Holy Grail War.
Anyone would want such a powerful figure on their side.
But attacking her outright made little sense.
It could be fear that Ruler would use her privileges against them and a desire to eliminate the possibility early—but the timing was far too hasty.
According to Gordes, they showed no hesitation—no discussion—only immediate intent to kill.
Perhaps the Red faction had something extremely compromising to hide.
Outside, in the vision of the golem, the first light of dawn washed away the night.
The two Servants simultaneously withdrew, sheathing their weapons without a word.
Inside the sealed room, no sunlight reached them, making it difficult to sense time—but the imagery made the arrival of morning clear.
"Another all-nighter, Master."
"Yes… truly. I suppose this is normal for magi, but… I do worry my skin will suffer."
As always, Archer pushed Fiore's wheelchair.
Since his summoning, it had always been Archer's duty.
Their partnership was exceptionally harmonious, even compared to the other Master-Servant pairs.
They approached the war as equals—true partners.
Different Masters grappled with how to interact with their Servants:
some, like Darnic, tried to maintain harmony through deference;
others, like Gordes, rejected all communication.
Fiore, however, had reached mutual trust with her Servant almost immediately—
a fortunate outcome born from the compatibility of their personalities.
Back in her room, Fiore asked Archer to prepare her medicine.
"This should be the correct one, yes?"
"Yes—thank you."
After confirming the prepared medicinal broth and powdered medication, Fiore drank them in one gulp.
"For the pain in your legs, correct?"
"Yes."
She nodded.
Her legs could not move since birth—not due to illness, but due to degenerated magic circuits.
Medical treatment could not repair them; to walk normally, the circuits would have to be removed entirely.
But abandoning magecraft was not an option.
Thus Fiore entrusted her wish to the Holy Grail:
to heal her legs without sacrificing her magic circuits.
To reclaim her full physical abilities while still aiming for the pinnacle of magecraft—
that was Fiore's dream.
"Archer."
Fiore called him.
Her open arms signaled for him to carry her.
Understanding her intention, Archer gently lifted her and carried her to the bed.
For her, moving from wheelchair to bed was exhausting; normally she used a golem or familiar— but now she had a reliable attendant.
And for Archer, being relied upon did not feel unpleasant.
"The medicine is taking effect. I'll rest a bit. Please do as you like."
"Understood. Then I'll accept your leave."
Careful not to disturb her sleep, Archer quietly exited the room.
□
Leaving Fiore's chambers, Archer returned straight to his own.
Opening the door—
"Rider. As expected, you're here."
The youthful knight—almost girlish in appearance—was waiting.
"Oh, Archer. Don't scare me like that."
"You sensed me approaching long before I entered."
"Well, yeah."
Rider stuck out his tongue playfully.
Archer walked to the bedside.
The silver-haired homunculus boy lay there.
He blinked faintly, noticing Archer.
"It's barely dawn. You're awake?"
The boy nodded slowly.
At present, within this entire fortress, the only ones who could be considered his allies were Rider and Archer.
Without their protection—hidden here in Archer's private room—he would not survive the day.
He was that fragile.
"They say homunculi are born fully developed, but that must only apply to knowledge. Physically, you are still untrained."
A combat-type homunculus would be different, but he had no such enhancements—
only slightly adjusted for increased mana capacity.
A body not designed to live outside a tank was naturally as frail as an infant.
How would he survive his short lifespan—at most three years?
He, like a Servant, would have to fight his fate.
"First, you must gain enough strength to at least escape on your own."
"Walking practice, right? I'll help out whenever I can."
Rider cut in cheerfully.
Archer gave a wry smile.
"As you heard, Rider will help you. If you have trouble, ask him. He seems… surprisingly responsible."
"Hey—just handing this all to me?"
"You picked him up."
"Well, yeah. But I'm kinda missing some screws, you know? I'm not really reliable."
Rider shrugged lightly.
He behaved like a carefree, irresponsible pup—
but once he decided to do something, he would stake his life on it.
His complete disregard for consequences brought disaster often enough—
but every disaster stemmed from his desire to do good.
He never once considered that he might be doing something wrong.
Such thought patterns did not exist in him.
That, too, was the nature of a hero.
And because Rider ignored every obstacle to help others—
this homunculus had been saved.
"Rider. To him, you are a hero of justice. Therefore, you must carry that through."
"Hero of justice, huh? I like that. Okay—time to start! Come on, stand up!"
Rider energetically tugged the boy out of bed.
Archer, instead of rescuing the poor child, remarked:
"Indeed, at this early hour, the Masters and Caster's surveillance will be lax. A fine time for practice."
He offered no escape at all.
■
So far, Servant-against-Servant clashes had occurred twice.
First: Black Caster and Black Archer versus Red Saber.
Second: Black Saber versus Red Lancer.
Both battles had been worthy of the title "heroic."
Far away, the Yggdmillennia fortress stood as the stronghold of the Black faction.
Opposing them was the Red faction—and among them, the only Master openly standing before the Servants was Shirou Kotomine, the overseer from the Church.
He was the Master of Assassin—
the figure standing between the Association's dispatched magi and the Red Servants, issuing orders from dawn to dusk.
The Red Servants, except Saber, had never once seen their own Masters.
An abnormal situation.
Shirou sat calmly, reading compiled reports of the two skirmishes.
His Assassin used pigeons as familiars, their surveillance network spanning all Romania.
They couldn't enter wards or bounded fields, but both clashes occurred in open areas visible to the pigeons.
Black Caster hadn't shown himself, but the nature of his golem magecraft narrowed possible identities.
Black Saber had been a monstrous swordsman, his durability comparable to the golden armor wielded by Red Lancer—the demigod hero Karna.
"As expected of Siegfried."
Shirou reviewed the memory of that battle.
A body so absurdly durable it bordered on insanity—
but for Siegfried, it was fitting.
The Black faction had summoned both Vlad III and Siegfried—
two extremely well-known heroes.
But aside from Saber and Lancer, the others were mediocre at best.
Pitiful, considering they had half a century to prepare.
Meanwhile, the Association had secured stronger Servants despite acting on short notice.
"As expected of our Master. Already uncovered Saber's True Name."
Assassin materialized beside him, radiating dark feminine allure.
"Siegfried, is it. A troublesome foe."
"Yes. But that is all. With Saber confirmed as Siegfried, we now know that neither of Black's top two Servants can defeat our Rider."
Red's two great heroes were:
—Karna, son of the Sun God, a hero of unparalleled fame across India.
—and another great hero equal to him, still held in reserve.
"And the Archer? Do we know his name?"
"…"
Shirou smiled faintly at Assassin's question.
The situation itself was absurd.
Black Saber was forbidden from speaking at all by his Master's order—
so guessing his True Name from physical traits was possible, but not guaranteed.
Yet Shirou had named him immediately, and Assassin accepted it unquestioningly.
Now, Assassin assumed he knew Black Archer's True Name as well.
"What? Does he, like Saber, possess a True Name-concealing Skill?"
"No. Nothing like that. It is simply… an irregular case."
Assassin, once a queen, had excellent intuition for lies.
Though not on Lancer's level, she could read people well enough.
Thus she knew Shirou was not lying—
and urged him to continue.
"His True Name is visible to me.
But… I have no knowledge of the hero associated with that name."
"What?"
Assassin's expression tightened.
Seeing a True Name at a glance was already bizarre—but not knowing the heroic origin behind it was even more impossible.
All Servants were individuals whose legends survived through history or myth.
If they were known, they became Heroic Spirits; if not, they did not.
For a Master involved in a Holy Grail War to not know the name was unthinkable—
especially this Master.
"So—Black Archer's True Name is…?"
"He appears to be called Emiya Shirou.
Ah—surname first."
"Emiya Shirou… A name I know not. The Grail's knowledge lists no such Heroic Spirit. And yet…"
Assassin eyed Shirou silently.
"Master shares the same name. Fufufu… compatriots, perhaps?"
"Coincidence, I'm sure. Most likely a Japanese Servant."
Black Archer—
even with a revealed True Name—remained unknowable.
His low stats, combined with his inexplicably anomalous nature, made him all the more unsettling.