the war starts

The man was pure muscle however you think about it, that is the only word that can do him justice. Anyone who sees this giant of a man - over two meters tall - will find their eyes drawn to his extraordinary mass. The sense of hopelessness only increases as you tilt your head to try and guess at his height from the innumerable scars carved into his pale skin, one can easily imagine the immense amount of training and battle the man has overcome. However, it is obvious that not a single one of those wounds had truly pierced him.(except for the four painful wounds on his feet and are which he recived when he was crucified)after all, what could come of taking a paring knife to a ball of metal? The man's body is a steel mass in itself. A sharp blade may cut his skin - even draw some blood - but it stops there his arms alone are virtually the size of crocodiles. There is nothing covering his pectorals, but it is clear that the toughness of his body is practically armor as his legs trudge along with the force of mammoths.

Leather straps tightly coil around his entire body, including his face, but he does not appear to be suffering. In fact, the man is smiling, as though enjoying it - as though asking, is this all that constricts me? Certainly, the straps around his waist and between his legs cannot be considered protection at all.

That is fine; his flesh is not something meant to be contained within armor. If anything, it is unnecessary. That is the immensity of the man's mass the man crashed through the forests east of Trifas as evening set in. To the onlooker, a fish walking on land may be more believable; he stood out like a sore thumb against the abundance of nature that surrounded him.

He is the Berserker of the Red.

"Would you stop, Berserker?!"

Someone was pursuing this unchained brute. Leaping from branch to branch, a girl clad in verdant green called out to Berserker again and again. Her cold, sharp eyes contained a beastly glint. Her hair stretched out long and unkempt, utterly devoid of the silkiness that one would find amongst those of noble birth; however, it befitted someone which such an feral appearance. Yes... she may well be a beautiful beast in human form.

Berserker chortled and answered her words without ever breaking stride.

"Ha ha ha! I cannot respond to that order, Archer. I must bring myself to that castle, to where the oppressors are."

Archer shouted in exasperation.

"You gull! We merely wait until the time is ripe! Why do you not understand?"

However, Berserker did not stop. He continued to walk, one powerful step after another. He had been walking for two days already, and spotted by passers-by more than a few times. Archer could only pray that that shady priest had things under control.

"To me, the word 'wait' does not exist."

This is it - Archer decided to give up on him. More accurately, seeing as she could not persuade him, she chose to focus on supporting him instead, as ordered.

"Only a madman, in the end... this task is beyond me."

She sighed as she muttered to herself - but she was answered by another.

"I guess so... not for nothing is he a Berserker."

Archer looked up towards the source of the voice; standing on one of the branches was a man with a carefree smile on his face. He was pleasing to the eyes - but not in the way of knights of old whom softened the hearts of noble ladies with their courteousness. His eyes were those of raptors, he was of a strong and firm build, and yet he was free from any appearance of crudeness. He looked the image of a great hero - one adored and admired by any man and woman, young and old, who looked upon him.

He was the Rider of the Red - the man who, according to Assassin's Master, could match the invincible Karna.

"Rider... do you suggest we forsake him?'

He shrugged and replied.

"Do we have a choice? The only thing he can think about is fighting. You're the strange one here, trying to talk him out of it."

"I was rather skilled in the restraining of wild beasts. I did fancy putting a shaft through his knee and being done with it, but..."

If she had done so, Berserker would undoubtedly have changed his course and rounded on her instead.

"Well, I'm glad you decided not to."

"So, why did you come?"

Rider grinned affably, as though he had been waiting for her to ask.

"Why else? I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Indeed."

Archer showed no embarrassment, surprise or even anger. She simply did not react to his words at all - even though said words, coming from someone of Rider's demeanor, should have flustered even a virtuous wife but to Archer, who had lived in the wild alongside beasts, words of courtship hold no meaning. Rider scratched his head awkwardly as she shrugged off his sure-fire advance with ease. He coughed and returned to his original mission.

"Anyway... we were given the role of the rearguard: support Berserker if reasonable, and gather as much information as possible."

"The enemy is already close at hand. I dare say he will reach the fort in the small hours. No doubt he will be checked before then."

"Huh... well, in any case, here's hoping some of the Melas will grace us with their presence."

Both Archer and Rider are superb hunters and warriors. They hold no illusions about winning a battle against seven entrenched Servants with barely half that number.

"Stopping such a Berserker calls for two Servants at the very least - if they do not send their entire force."

Yes - stopping that man would require such an exceptional effort.

"Yet... he truly has leapt from our given understanding of what a Berserker is."

"I'll agree with that. You'd think his Mad Enhancement was low, seeing as we could talk to him..."

However, the Mad Enhancement of the Berserker of the Red is an irregularity. It is possible to talk to him, but it is impossible to communicate fully. He does not disobey commands as much as he simply does not understand them. Even an order given with a Command Spell will do nothing more than weigh him down; two Command Spells are required to stop him.

"The Thracian gladiator and symbol of rebellion, Spartacus... what an obdurate man."

Spartacus was a Roman slave and gladiator who escaped with seventy-eight of his comrades. He later repulsed an assault force of nearly three thousand, becoming a hero and inspiring armed uprisings by slaves in many places. In the end, he was betrayed by the pirates whom he depended on, and cut down by the Roman legions - but until then, he had not lost a single battle. He remained a shining beacon of hope to the undertrodden slaves.

He hated all oppressors, his will to fight set aflame by those with power. This mad warrior fought the masters to protect the weak - care for them, heal them - but moreso than anything else, to stand in defiance. That is the Berserker of the Red.

"Where is your mount, Rider?"

"Well, we're here to gather information... no need to give them any in return. I'm keeping them out of this."

"Hmm... I suppose that will not prove to trouble you. What of your weapon - is it a sword, or a spear?"

"A spear, of course."

Rider and Archer continued to pursue the loosed Berserker; there was no way they could lose track of his slow, unwavering stride.

"By the way, Archer, there's one thing I want to ask..."

"Ask, then."

"Have you seen your Master's face?"

"I have not... I have only met the mediator for my Master... that priest."

Misa slowly walked into a dim lit hall on each side of here stood rows homoculi contained in glass chambers she paused in front of the one that was broken

Bending down she picked up a shard the semi-transparent glass reflecting her face comepared to her previous life she hadn't changed much her hair was a little longer and her eyes were blood red but nothing else she slowly remembered his words again

" It doesn't matter even I can only live for three years even if there's only despair beyond this... At the very least I- I want to walk my own path! "

" I will walk my own path" she muttered her mind went back to her time in that city living your life playing with friends, eating icecream, playing games that even if it was for a few days would she really be ready to get that even if it means defying the purpose that she was created for ?

...to live my life like that it not a bad idea right

" Hey Misa ! " A voice interrupted her thoughts

" Lord Roche ! " She gave a light bow to the second youngest master who stopped near the borken glass and sighed " looks like we need to clean it again"

"Again you mean it has been broken before?"

" You really don't remember? You were the one who broke it first "

"..."

"Oh yeah by the way the things you asked for is there on the table "

Hey, Missy?"

"What, Rider?"

"I'm bored."

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you invited yourself on this mission. My mission, I might add."

Achilles sighed. You know, on paper, this whole Great Holy Grail War had seemed like a fantastic idea. He'd get to come back to life, see the modern world, fight a menagerie of worthy opponents, and maybe even achieve his dream of being a hero that he'd failed to be in life when he'd fallen into wrathful vengeance after Patroclus' death. What he'd done to the Prince of Troy afterward, desecrating his body as he had, was unforgivable. His only hope was that fate gave him a chance to earn redemption in this new life.

And at first, it seemed like everything was going smoothly. Sure, Caster was a tad grating, and he wasn't sure if Berserker knew how to get through ten minutes without raving about defeating 'the oppressor,' whoever or whatever he meant by that… but that was a complete nonfactor compared to his Archer teammate.

He got to work with Atalanta. The Atalanta! The Chaste Huntress herself! his father had raised him on stories of his adventures with the Argonauts, and there were none save maybe Hercules that Peleus spoke of in more glowing terms and the follow-up tale about their reunion during the hunt for the Calydonian Boar was even more incredible, with Atalanta being the first among dozens of mighty heroes to wound the nearly invincible beast, crucially wounding it before it was slain , back when he was a boy, before he'd been sent off to his teacher—and a few more times after that, if he was being honest—he'd played pretend that he was teaming up with his heroes, going on grand quests against monsters and saving innocents. Now, his dream was coming true in the best way possible he felt like a kid again.

All the more reason to rein himself in. He didn't want to agitate present company plus, Atalanta was ten times more beautiful than even his father's glorious descriptions. Maybe if he was lucky and persisted with his flirting, he could get a kiss from his hero before the war was over.

That being said, she was pretty high strung. And from what he knew about her relationship with men, as a collective, she was going to make that a positively herculean challenge.

Challenge accepted!

But there was also that problem. As soon as he was summoned, something was already not as it should have been. His Master, whoever he was, hadn't even been present when he'd appeared. Instead, all he got was a mental command that told him to take orders from Assassin of Red's Master, the priest, Shirou Kotomine. And that guy was just… off. He had no idea why he didn't trust the white-haired man—not yet—but the way he was holding him back from engaging the Black Faction wasn't winning him any , he was so bored that he'd nearly thanked the gods when Caster goaded Berserker into going on a rampage. Though Archer had been the one ordered to go after the maddened gladiator before he messed everything up, there was no way Achilles was going to miss an opportunity to both hang out with the lauded Huntress of Arcadia and maybe get to see some action while he was at it.

A loud creak proceeded by a booming crash could be heard from afar range in Misa's ears from the source of noise huge several kilometers away from where she's at.

Around her were the homoculi their expression grim ready to face any danger coming this way. More crashes resonated throughout the forest grounds, this time in succession while a maniacally booming laugh could be heard approaching quickly.

Misa involuntarily swallowed her anxiety (or maybe it was her thickened saliva) as he moved her body in a battle ready position, her ears listening all around as her as eyes focused on what is in front

Whit a pale blue light all of her 54 magic circuits flared to life

"HAHAHAHA – MUHAHA – HAHAHA," the series of laughs grew louder and louder as the sound of trees snapping and hitting the earth grew in intensity.

In less than three minutes, whatever this thing is, it had traveled from a place several kilometers

" GET BACK NOW !" she shouted just a moment before a broadsword came plummeting down in her direction reacting quickly she reinforced her legs and leaped back as the force of the blade came crashing into the ground, sending her flying several meters away before landing on the rich moist dirt.

Two homoculi were not so lucky both cleaved by the sword but the rest recieved the warning just in time to escape

Taking a good look at the gigantic and muscular man in front of him who is smiling maniacall Misa blasted him with a massive bolt of electricity

The giant flinched at the explosive contact before blinking his eyes a couple of time as if ridding the pain and confusion.

" Now !"

silent as a ghost the assassin of black struck her blades gleam in the moonlight in a single second the berseker of red was covered in scratch-markes leaking blood

In the next ten seconds there were too many slashes too count while blood leaked so much that it would see he was painted red

the giant' blinked to clear the blood as his temporary disorientation cleared, his crazed smile broadened in glee

"GREAT! MORE!" the giant roared

"Wha—?!" Misa made a voice of disbelief at the odd behavior of the Heroic Spirit. This man … wasn't a masochist by any chance, is he?

Then two wind spells blasted him in the face

Misa jumped back now the golems will close in and they can focus on a ranged assult

No golem arrived

...

"Where are the sloid rocks ? " She shouted

(Crickets chirping)

the giant then swung his arms around as all the trees that were in his way were subsequently plowed down by his blade as he continued to attack mindlessly

Assassin squeaked as she avoided his sword by mere inches

Looking at the giant with a calculated gaze, she ducked a blow at the last second before charging forward with all she had, reinforcing her legs to get to away from opponent and blasted him with another bolt of electricity

' Assassin!'

The vanguard of homunculi were meaningless before the Berserker of the Red, who could only keep their distance and fire a spell or two that bearly hurt him however, the Servants of the Black were not perturbed. After all, that was how a Heroic Spirit ought to be in battle. There were no surprises.

"Well... a slaughter like that is pretty abnormal, if you ask me..."

"What a dreadful sight. That Heroic Spirit does not fight with skill, but fiendishly butchers the enemy with the power he takes such pride in. No need for technique, or judgment - it is as though he was born to fight and kill. Perhaps the class of Berserker did not enhance him at all... perhaps he was not fit for any other class to begin with."

Archer agreed with the murmurs of Rider.

Surrounding the two was a force of golems incomparable to the vanguard sent earlier. In fact, over half of the golems created as the fighting force for the Yggdmillennia had been mobilized for this operation.

"I wonder if he'd kill me and you like that, too."

"It certainly is possible with such absurd strength. Do not let him strike you directly."

" By the way she actually holding herself pretty well "

Assassin of the black moved as graceful as a butterfly and stung like a bee but against as monster like Berseker of Red she was a little more than an annoying bug

' Jack hide ' her master's voice resonated in her head

The Berseker of red blinked as his opponent vanished then he turned to se Misa standing right in front of him her right arm outstretched as if she was holding something

(Claude's room)

" Wait isn't that " Claudes said as he looked at that familiar stance

HAHAHA – AHAHAHAHA – There you are you oppressor!" the Berserker rushed madly towards her as she flicked her finger

Suddenly, as if by nowhere, a loud resounding boom echoed sa the berseker of red fell on his back with a hole between his eyes

Yggdmillennia fortress

The masters of black (except Claudes) watched suprised as they processed that a homoculus just beat a servent

" Eehhhhh" Astolof eyes widened as he let his jaw drop imitating a owls with its beak open "what just happened ?"

"It seems our king didn't make her the chief commander of the homoculi for no reason "

(Church of the red fraction)

"Though she be but little, she is fierce." Shakespeare the caster of red declared

" As Demetrius learnt that Hermia is full of untapped strength"

"Thc some servent he is losing to a homoculus " assassin clicked her tounge in distaste

"Not so soon my queen for Berseker still has still–"

Misa stared at the fallen Berseker " did I kill him ? "

" HAAAA THIS T–" he got up with a balloon of flesh on his wound

and spikes impaled him before he could finish

"-unfortunately lost" Caster finished "..I must include that as a comic scene"

Unfortunately, Berserker of Red had quickly been overwhelmed by Assassin's master, Caster, and Lancer of Black. That last one especially. Vlad the Impaler certainly lived up to his name. Spartacus had barely had time to get up, much less attack once the King of Romania arrived and skewered him, with Caster sealing him in some sort of golem while Lancer had remained to guard Caster and three of the Black masters while they did something to Berserker. Mages… always making everything so complicated…

Personally, he wanted to charge in and rescue their comrade, but Archer had convinced him otherwise outnumbered as they were, engaging a foe as powerful as Lancer of Black was unjustifiably reckless. Sure, he would be fine unless the King of Romania figured out to aim for his heel, but Archer didn't share his protection. She was incredible in her own ways but engaging a group that strong on their home turf, especially when their most dangerous opponent got an intense boost in strength just for being there was a fool's errand. As a huntress, Atalanta knew how to gauge the strength of her mark, so if she called for a retreat, he'd trust her judgment.

Besides, it wasn't as if he wouldn't still get to deal with their pursuers.

He had branched off from Atalanta and waited for the Servants of Black to come after him, letting his partner get as much distance from them as possible. She was a perfectly capable combatant, but if they had to choose between their foes attacking her, with her rather negligible endurance, or him, with his slight advantage of being literally invincible, the choice was obvious.

Finding a small, but suitable clearing, he'd stopped running and leaned up against a tree, whistling absently. Now if only those enemy Servants weren't taking so damn long to reach him.

A scattering of blue sparks caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He smirked. What was that modern saying? Speak of the devil and he shall appear?

He turned towards his opponents, a tall knight in hulking gray armor and… some girl in a wedding dress with hubcaps sticking out of the sides of her head? Huh, that was a new one. But he was trained by a horse-man, so who was he to judge, really?

He twirled his spear at his side. "Hey there, you two! Let's see, a Saber and a Berserker, huh?" His fingers flexed against his weapon, a familiar sensation of bloodlust welling up inside him in anticipation of the imminent … "Well now, seems like I'm being underestimated. Did they really think two Servants would be enough?" a savage grin spread across his face. "I can't help but be a bit insulted!"

His opponents raised their weapons, a gigantic greatsword in the Saber's case and a strangely designed mace for the Berserker.

Achilles aimed his spear at them. "My class is Rider. But don't worry, I won't use a chariot. I hardly need it with only two of you here," he boasted. "Are you both prepared? I'll show you what it means to be a true warrior."

Saber of Black charged him then. He met the knight in the middle of the clearing. His spear darted towards the larger man, but he skillfully parried every stab. His strength was even sufficient to push Achilles back for a moment. Both of them were focused on attacking, to the point that their attacks weren't so much being blocked so much as they as they were crashing into each other. He found himself laughing with exhilaration; this Servant was truly worthy of being a member of the strongest class.

The Hero of Troy was thrilled. That just meant he had to hold back even less to make it an entertaining fight.

He dashed back in with more of his famous speed, mixing in some of teacher's Pankration with his bladework. Berserker of Black charged in to catch him flatfooted and swung her mace at Achilles' head. Very slowly. He had more than enough time to dish out a flurry of swift strikes as she approached, quickly overwhelming Saber of Black's defenses and pushing him back, though Achilles noted that his hits didn't seem to be doing any damage.

Truth be told, Berserker's attack wasn't actually particularly slow. She was still a Servant, meaning her strike was coming at him with enough speed to shatter a boulder. It was just that he was used to spotting attacks a whole lot faster. He dodged. Too quickly. From her perspective, it would have been almost as though he had dodged her attack before she even swung. If that was the best that bride could do, it wasn't even worth his time to drag out the fight. Was she even a Berserker? If this was her speed after having her stats boosted by Madness Enhancement, how in the world did she even qualify as a Heroic Spirit in the first place? It was as though this Berserker was only a Berserker because her stats wouldn't even qualify as a Servant's without the boost.

Still, toying with her would be an insult to them both. This was going to be difficult. Like, Teacher's twenty-four-hour arrow dodging course difficult. Now, how to make it look like he wasn't making fun of the poor girl?

She came in with another swing. He ducked under her attack, slowly, and kicked her aside, jetting in as though to finish off the mad Servant.

Saber of Black took issue with that. He rushed behind Rider, taking advantage of the Greek's blind spot to get close, and swung his sword in a heavy arc.

Unfortunately for him, his teacher's training had covered using all the senses, not just the eyes. Achilles felt the rush of the wind from Saber's charge brush across the back of his neck and he whirled around, catching the knight's wrist as he was winding up for another slash with his sword.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted. "You're nowhere near qualified to fight against me!"

With a victorious smirk, Achilles stabbed his spear into Saber's shoulder with all his strength.

And it did absolutely nothing.

The Rider took half a moment to be surprised, which had the unfortunate side effect of allowing Saber to break free, immediately taking a swipe at him once he did, forcing him to retreat a bit to reevaluate his opponent.

His attack hadn't been weakened, it just hadn't even scratched Saber's armor. Now that was impressive. A similar technique to his own invincibility no doubt, though likely not as powerful. Still, if he and the knight before him were anything alike, and their brief clash had made it quite clear that they were, then he would be praying to meet someone who could hurt him regardless.

After all, that's what he did every night. Shame they couldn't give each other the kind of thrill they were both seeking; the rush that came from knowing that your life could end at any moment—that the only things between you and the end were your skill, a thin layer of armor, and a bit of luck.

"I see you take pride in endurance as well," Achilles remarked. "Looks like we're in for a long fight."

'Rider, prevent Saber of Black from moving,' Atalanta ordered. 'He's immune to your strength. But there's nothing my arrows can't pierce.'

Achilles chuckled. Missy wanted to test the limits of Saber of Black's invincibility. Smart move. While his brute strength couldn't break through, her fully drawn arrows actually had more bite to them than he could manage to dish out on his own. It would be good to know if they would be sufficient or if they would need Lancer to break out that god killer of his for this guy.

He heard Berserker of Black before he saw her as she staggered back to her feet. She snarled at the Hero of Troy, though whether for her fall or for being disregarded afterward, he couldn't say.

Saber however, remained completely stone faced, not a hint of joy, anger, or any emotion playing across his body. He was an experienced warrior alright. Perhaps too experienced.

Achilles shrugged. If he was keeping the guy distracted, no reason why he couldn't offer some advice. "Those who don't laugh on the battlefield may forget how to when they reach Elysium," he warned. "So, try to laugh a little before you die."

Saber lowered his head for a moment, seeming to contemplate his suggestion. "Laughing on the battlefield could be seen as an insult to the opponent."

For the love of the gods, it was like Odysseus all over again. All grim and serious. You know, for the craftiest trickster Achilles ever met, that guy really should have had more fun maybe pranked someone now and again. It wasn't like anything really bad ever happened to the guy. Though now that he thought about it, he really did have to get around to looking up what happened to his old war buddies after he died but that was business for later. Right now, he needed to help Saber of Black. And then kill him, naturally.

"That's true," he conceded. "But it can also lead to salvation."

Something whistled past his ear in an explosion of turquoise light.

crashed into several trees.

"Uu...?!"

Berserker could not make a sound. However, she immediately understood what had happened; the attack just now came from a Servant emplaced far behind Rider. Her thoughts were dispassionate and swift. An attack from long range, containing not thaumaturgy but pure physical energy... in other words, the work of an Archer!

It was likely that the hidden Servant had been watching the fight between them and Rider carefully, realized that a regular shot would not hurt Saber, and drew their bow to its limit to perform a physical attack of an even higher rank. The shot just now clearly exceeded A-rank, and fortunately she had missed by a mere inch

The problem, however, was that the attack came from so far away that neither Servants detected it. And they were hardly standing in the middle of a clear, open field; night had fallen and the trees surrounding them were dense and thick. From such a distance - even if said watcher could see in the dark - Saber must have been nothing more than a moving dot ,an extreme range attack with A-rank destructive power; the eyesight required to take aim in near zero visibility; and the supreme precision to thread such a needle of an attack... certainly, there existed bowmen who could accomplish every single one of these. But just how many would be capable of all of the above simultaneously...?

Saber's steely eyes widened as the arrow drove glared his shoulder, and drew blood

Achilles smirked. The important thing though was that Saber was bleeding and had both an entry and an exit wound not so invulnerable after all. While he hadn't been torn in half like most would when struck by that kind of attack, he had still been wounded. That meant Achilles could take him easily, he'd just need to bust out his shield. Though it was too early in the war to use his strongest Noble Phantasm. While Saber of Black was certainly a worthy opponent to face the divine construct, if he used it so soon and revealed his true identity, every idiot in the entire war would know his weakness, to say nothing of how he'd be laughably easy prey for Vlad the Impaler.

"A focused attack from Missy huh ." Rider made a sour face as he looked past Berserker into the woods behind her, and clicked his tongue.

"Looks like it's over for our Berserker. But you're still here, pretty girl... and it's only fair for us to go an eye for an eye. Don't you think?"

The Rider of the Red, with a cheery yet cruel smile, tightened his grip on the spear. Even the fearless girl felt something primal and base in his expression.

She fully understood from their fight earlier that her attacks were not 'enough'. She could not harm him in any way.

"How long do you think it'll take the Melas over there to recover? Ten seconds? Twenty? Well... it can't be faster than my spear."

Escape, oppose, surrender... all her options were being denied.

Berserker gritted her teeth, having no choice but to submit to her current predicament. Or... if she had to die here regardless, perhaps she could release her Noble Phantasm completely.

Having been forced to a decision, Berserker growled as she steeled herself. She will use every last ounce of strength to bring down Rider...

But, as soon as the thought entered her mind, the situation was reversed entirely. She sensed a great surge of prana coming from behind her and turned around reflexively. It was Saber, brandishing his greatsword in anguish.

Gordes was losing his patience. Saber not only ignored his suggestions, but even let his guard down and was sent flying. It seemed that the Rider of the Red was incredibly resilient. As far as he could perceive through the senses of familiars, his parameters were quite excellent as well. With the enemy Berserker now in the fold, victory was most assured for the Yggdmillennia if they could defeat this Rider.

"Saber! Saber! Use your Noble Phantasm! Use it!"

There was no Servant there lending their ear to the shouting Gordes. He was alone, sealed within his room as he continued to give his directives.

A normal Master would not presume to give precise instructions in battle. That is because they have absolute faith in their Servants in the matters of combat. At the very least, a Servant possesses far greater actual experience and capability than a magus. A normal Master only speaks on matters of strategy aside from Saber and Gordes, the other Masters and Servants of the Black had been building on their relationships. Archer and Fiore had completely opened up to one another, acting more like a teacher and a familiar student. Lancer took no issue with Darnic as long as he served him faithfully. Celenike was at a loss with Rider's lack of inhibitions, but also had her heart stolen by his purity and innocence, and they were unlikely to break their pact outside of some grave circumstances. Caules' Berserker was loyal and, after some frank discussions between Master and Servant, she became a willing comrade in considered Misa as her mother (which was self-explanatory about their relationship) and of course, Roche admired Caster from the bottom of his heart yet Gordes had abandoned all attempts at communicating with his Servant soon after his summoning. He did not try to understand him, only fearing the exposure of his true name his heart was in the right place. However, his act proved to be the direst of mistakes... because Gordes hadn't the faintest idea what Saber was thinking.

How did he feel right now? Discontent? Rebellious? Murderous? Humiliated? Or was he not feeling anything at all?

They should have talked - about their views, goals and beliefs. Hearing each other talk was the least they should have done. But Gordes refused. He tried to treat his Servant as an accessory, a piece of armament.

Was it pride that led him to do this? Could he simply not rid himself of the notion that a Servant was nothing more than another familiar?

Whatever it was, it was what led to the foolish restlessness that took over him during the battle with Lancer, and now with Rider; they failed, and continue to fail, to grasp victory even as the situation turned unfavorable.

If he had simply chosen to observe at his Servant's back... or perhaps, if this had been a regular Holy Grail War, where every Master and every Servant were constantly watched by six others...he would never have attempted something as foolhardy as he was about to now however, Gordes was watching over the battle in a safe location. Even if Saber were to be destroyed, and his honor be sullied, he would not be in physical danger. These absurd thoughts, one after another, piled atop one another and pushed Gordes towards a single conclusion...

"...Saber! I order you with a Command Spell...! Use your Noble Phantasm to defeat Rider!"

Gordes' words reached his Servant clearly. Even if Saber were on the opposite side of the world, words delivered by the power of the Command Spell would carve themselves directly onto his soul.

"...?!"

Naturally, Saber was shocked. He whipped around and stared at the castle - but, of course, he could not see Gordes. He brandished his greatsword, releasing the power it contained. The green jewel set in the hilt shone, as the blade began to give off an orange brilliance that split apart the night.

"Ugh...!"

No... he must not use his Noble Phantasm here. The instant he shouted its true name, his identity would almost certainly become known; after all, only one Heroic Spirit in the world wields the phantasmal greatsword Balmung. His identity perceived, his fatal weak point would also become known. He would instantly lose every advantage he held.

If there was a chance that he could defeat Rider, then perhaps he would not reject the use of his Noble Phantasm. However, Rider was effectively immortal, and Saber could not imagine that his Noble Phantasm would work against 's protection is not something that can be pierced by raw power. Something more is needed. It could be that one needed to use fire or lightning against him. It could be based on certain conditions; perhaps Rider was nigh invulnerable within a forest, or at are innumerable Heroic Spirits with such legends. For example - though this is not an anecdote about a Heroic Spirit - the God of War Indra once swore to the dragon Vritra not to hurt it with any weapon made of wood, stone or metal, dry or wet, nor attack it during the day or at night. Indra proceeded to defeat Vritra at twilight using, not wood or stone or metal, dry or wet, but a column of the ocean's foam.

Complete deathlessness does not exist.

They may be Heroic Spirits, but they can never go beyond the bounds of a human being. One who is capable of such things - an existence outside of common sense - cannot be summoned as a Servant in a Holy Grail War to begin with. It is the same for Saber; aside from attacks that exceed B-rank, there is also the weak point at his back where the dragon's blood did not touch him. Even the weakest of Servants can kill him by aiming there.

What kind of immortality did Rider possess? Master or no... relying on brute strength to force the issue without first solving this riddle was the act of an imbecile.

Saber resisted with all his might. However, an order given with a Command Spell is absolute. Prana filled his sword and he began to raise it slowly.

"What...? Saber...?!"

Rider noticed him. Even he appeared somewhat surprised as Saber held his sword high and began to release his Noble Phantasm. However, a smile appeared on his face, as though in mockery Saber no longer had a say in the issue of whether he ought to unleash his weapon. Judging from Rider's smirk, it would seem his worst fear was realized and his bitterness deepened however, he could not stop his own arms. He must decide - and Saber, through gritted teeth, poured all his strength into this one attack.

"

Felling...

Bal...

"

"Come on, then... Saber...!"

The surge of prana converged. For one brief moment, the night that swallowed the forest became dusk, lit by the light of the Nibelungs - the holy sword that felled the dragon.

However, Rider grinned confidently, contemptuously. Hateful as it was to admit, Saber knew this one strike would have no effect on him.

"

...of the Sky...

...mun...

"

He could only pray that this attack would at least provide some hints as to Rider's mystery...

'I order you with a Command Spell! Do not use your Noble Phantasm!'

Just as the last syllable was about to leave his mouth, his Master expended another Command Spell there is only one way to stop an order given with a Command Spell, and that is to use another Command Spell to overwrite it.

Saber dropped on one knee, unable to remain standing. Perhaps it was due to the intensity of the Command Spell acting on him. Rider shrugged in exasperation.

"What's this, then? Not going to use it? Well, I suppose you saved some prana this way, but it cost you regardless. You were ordered with a Command Spell, weren't you?"

Rider glared spitefully in the direction of the Master behind Saber.

"Ha! What a moron! So he ordered you to activate your Noble Phantasm with a Command Spell, then used another one to stop it? Does he not understand that expending Command Spells is the most dangerous act in a Holy Grail War?"

Saber had no retort. Rider was totally in the right. Even so, as long as the bond between Master and Servant remained strong, the situation could be salvaged - but Saber had yet to feel such a connection between his Master and himself.

"Well, I can't criticize, not when my own Master is skulking around in some hole somewhere. Sigh... you could have at least said the entire name..."

Berserker of Black hefted her mace and snarled at him.

Achilles leveled his spear. "Since our side just lost its Berserker, seems only fair that you lose yours as well. Isn't that right?"

His comment was not taken lightly. Berserker of Black roared, the head of her mace opening up to reveal some form of mechanical chamber. A tempest of emerald electricity coalesced around the bride, sparking off her weapon in random bolts of lightning, each one powerful enough to horde of mortal men.

Achilles feigned interest.

Suddenly Saber stepped forward, forcing himself to move. He pulled himself away from the tree, the arrow tearing at his flesh with each step until it came free of the bark. His actions seemed strangely involuntary, but that was none of Rider's concern. Having freed himself, he raised his sword to the sky. A gem on the hilt glowed, and a tower of blazing pale blue energy erupted from the blade.

Achilles grinned. "Heh! Just try it. Show me your Noble Phantasm!"

This was a fortuitous turn of events. While Saber's strike would no doubt be powerful, his sword's inability to harm the Hero of Troy made it moot. All his attack would do would force him to reveal the name of his weapon, and by extension, his own True Name. Maybe the priest wouldn't get on their case too much for losing Berserker if they brought back such valuable intel on the enemy's second strongest Servant.

Saber's face contorted with effort, furious sweat dripping down his brow. He resisted every inch his sword rose. He must have already deduced that his weapon couldn't harm Rider of Red. His master was likely less observant and was forcing him to use his Noble Phantasm with a Command Seal, a theory which could be supported by his jerky, forced movement.

What a shame. Still, half of war was taking advantage of the enemy general's stupidity. In the end, every Servant was a foot soldier, for good or ill. A shadow of the dead to be commanded by the living.

Achilles sighed. "How disappointing," he remarked to Berserker of Black. "He may have been able to put a scratch on me with a godslaying Noble Phantasm like that."

Not realistically speaking, of course. But it was better they think he was just cocky instead of giving them a possible hint to his identity.

"Now, where were we?"

Berserker of Black snarled at him, her weapon at the ready. It was valiant. Even through her madness, she must have known she didn't have a chance, yet she was ready to continue fighting until she drew her last breath. Whatever she was, maybe it was that dauntless spirit rather than her skill as a warrior that marked her as worthy of the title of hero.

Pity. That wasn't nearly enough to actually give him a good fight. Granted, with his invincibility, what could?

An arrow streaked through the sky and smashed into his armor, penetrating all the way to his flesh.

And… into his flesh?

"What?"

Berserker of Black took advantage of his momentary distraction and charged past him, howling at the trees.

Achilles paid her no heed. The Berserker might have been wearing a wedding dress, but she was still a beast. Or put another way, whatever else she might have been, to Atalanta, she was little more than prey. She could handle a few lightning bolts and poorly aimed swipes from a ball on a stick. For now, he needed to focus all his attention on his new assailant.

A hail of arrows came plummeting down on him. He twirled his spear and deflected most of them, though a few still managed to scratch him. That proved that the last shot hadn't been a fluke. His opponent could bypass his invincibility. That meant that his bow or his arrows were divine constructs, much like Lancer of Red's armor and spear. Either that or the Archer himself had the blood of a god in his veins. And to fire his shots with such accuracy into a dense forest from so far away…

Achilles' heart soared. This was the kind of opponent he was looking for! He had no doubt that Archer of Black would make for a magnificent rival in this Great Holy Grail War.

Now if only he knew his name…

Chiron wasted no time loading another volley of arrows into his bow. His old student had grown a great deal since he last saw him, birthed a vast legend of his own, and he had not been weak in training. If he let up for even a moment, he had no doubt Achilles would rush back to his ally's defense and eliminate Berserker. He'd saved Frankenstein from one of the other Archer's assaults already, but for now, she would have to deal with the second Servant of Red on her own.

It had been quite fortunate he'd recognized the Hero of Troy when he did. Had he been even a moment slower, Saber would have revealed his identity to the enemy. He'd alerted Lord Darnic to the futility of Siegfried's Noble Phantasm just before it had activated, and the leader of the Masters of Black had been able to cow Lord Gordes into canceling the order. It had cost two strokes of his Command Seal, an undoubtedly heavy price, but it was better than the enemy learning Saber's identity and knowing exactly where to aim to bypass his Armor of Fafnir.

The dragonslayer had been recalled immediately and Chiron had stepped forward to provide cover for Berserker from the castle battlements. Being the son of the Titan King Kronos, he was, for all intents and purposes, a brother to the Olympians. He might not qualify as a divine spirit, but his inherent Divinity trait was more than enough to break through Achilles' invincibility. He pinned down his old student easily enough, he had taught him his evasive maneuvers after all. He had a few new dodges and rolls, but nothing the teacher couldn't figure out quickly enough.

Eventually, he learned from Caster's familiars that Archer of Red had retreated. Soon enough, he saw Achilles whistle and a shower of emerald lightning erupted next to the Hero of Troy. The boy's mighty chariot emerged from the glow, pulled by a trio of mighty stallions, two of which Chiron sensed were as divine as their master.

"Isn't this wonderful, Archer of Black?" Achilles cheered. "Fighting against one who could best me was destined! Oh, Gods of Olympus, may you grant the both of us glory and sacred honor in this battle!"

He hopped onto the chariot and jetted away into the sky. "Let us settle this challenge next time! Perhaps then I'll get to see your face!"

Chiron kept his aim up until he was sure the Servants of Red had truly fled He noted a silver streak heading into the forest but it disappeared into the trees before he could track it. He'd have to alert Caster later and have him send out some familiars to look for it.

At last, he sighed, his shoulders sagging in relief.

'Isn't it ironic, Achilles? Destiny will even bare its fangs at those like us, who are already dead.'

Atlanta the Archer of Black looked at her opponents two young girls

just two seconds ago a blast of lightning nearly fried her causing her to miss her shot

" Archer of red you're opponents are us "