C493

In the Fortress of Millennia,

Sitting on his throne, Lancer, Vlad III, gazed down at the three Servants who knelt before him, a smile playing on his lips.

There was Rider, the dashing Astolfo, one of the legendary Twelve Paladins of Charlemagne.

Caster, none other than the philosopher, poet, and the mastermind behind the magical system known as "Kabbalah," Avicelbron.

And Archer, the valiant hero of the Indian epic Mahabharata, the son of the thunder god Indra, Arjuna.

"In this Holy Grail War, victory will be mine," Vlad III declared with a smile.

"Roarrrr!!!"

Berserker, the mighty hero of Greek mythology who conquered the Twelve Labours, Heracles, bellowed with earth-shaking roar.

It sounded like the trumpet of an impending victory.

At that moment, Saber, who stood by the window, turned to look outside.

Vlad III, taking notice of this, asked, "What's bothering you, Saber?"

"Just... I don't know..." Saber paused briefly.

Vlad III laughed lightly. "Come now, you're a mighty king. No need for formalities here."

"You jest. I'm just a king who doesn't quite understand the hearts of the people. 'Mighty' doesn't suit me. But I can't help but sense... I might be detecting two Saint Graphs that are identical to mine."

"Identical?" Vlad III mused, rubbing his chin, a puzzled look in his eyes.

Saber simply nodded in agreement.

"Regardless of our opponents, you won't hold back, right?" Vlad III asked.

Saber nodded and replied sternly, "I must obtain the Holy Grail!"

With a grin, Vlad III responded, "Then I can't wait for our eventual victory."

Taking a moment, he then addressed the other Servants, "I expect the same drive from each of you."

Arjuna, lifting his gaze, met Vlad III's eyes, "I have a request."

"Speak, Archer," Vlad III prompted.

Arjuna began, "Given my presence here, there's a likelihood that my archenemy might be part of this Holy Grail War too. If so, I want the chance to face him in a one-on-one duel."

Vlad III gave a light laugh, responding, "You worry about the smallest things. Every warrior's honor should remain pristine. If your enemy is here, you have my blessing to confront him. But remember, a warrior's honor is also a tribute to the art of battle. You might want to run this by your Master though."

Arjuna's eyes then settled on his Master, Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia—a rather obese and greasy middle-aged man dressed in a white uniform.

Gordes spoke up, "Arjuna, I'll respect your wish. But remember, Yggdmillennia's grand plan mustn't be compromised!"

Arjuna simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Meanwhile, at the Church...

"We have nearly everyone here," noted the priest, his dark skin contrasting sharply with his white hair. He scanned the quiet interior of the church, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"The only one left should be Saber, who hasn't arrived yet," a mysterious woman remarked, seemingly appearing behind the priest out of thin air. Dressed in ornate black, she held a tall glass with grace, its contents swirling gently – a wine so deep red it could be mistaken for blood.

She offered it with a mischievous grin, "Care for a sip, Master?"

"It'd be an honor," the priest responded with a smile, "But I'll save that for after the Holy Grail War."

A young man with vibrant green hair, a scarf draped casually around his neck, chuckled from his spot against a pillar. "If you took a sip, Father, you'd drop dead on the spot. And trust me, it'd be a ghastly way to go," he said, seemingly unfazed by the icy glare the woman shot his way.

Then, with a casual flick of his head towards the female hunter next to him, he quipped, "Isn't that so, big sis?"

She huffed, "For the last time, I'm not your 'big sis'!" Her cat ears twitched in evident irritation.

Laughing at her reaction, the green-haired guy then shifted his gaze to the corridor, calling out, "Lancer, what's your take on this?"

"I know what you're doing. You're just trying to bait me into a fight," the young man clad in golden armor, white hair flowing, answered coolly, "Save your breath. My Master is controlled by that poison woman, so I won't be crossing swords with you."

The green-haired guy gave an exasperated scratch to the back of his head.

The woman's face tightened, her voice edged with irritation, "You guys... Why don't we settle this right now?"

The white-haired youth remained calm and said, "Face it, Assassin, in a straight-up fight, you wouldn't stand a chance against any of us here."

The woman reeled back, her eyes widened as she shot a glare at the white-haired youth, looking like she might lash out at any second.

"Easy there, Assassin. We're on the same side, remember?" The priest gently reached out, steadying the wine glass that looked like it might tumble from Assassin's hand any second.

With a dismissive "Hmph," she vanished into her spiritual form.

Scratching the back of his head again, the green-haired guy said to the white-haired youth, "You sure know how to rile people up, Lancer."

"Rile up? Why do you say that? I just stated the truths," the white-haired youth replied, his expression one of genuine puzzlement.

"Man, you're so clueless sometimes, Lancer," the green-haired guy chuckled. Swinging a playful glance towards the female hunter, "Wouldn't you agree, big sis?"

"Achilles! For the umpteenth time, I'm NOT your big sis!" Atalanta responded, her cheeks flushed. She was forever perplexed as to why Achilles found so much joy in attaching that label to her.

From the shadows of the church, a rhythmic thudding sound began to resonate.

The priest, looking resigned, mumbled, "And there goes Berserker again..."

He took a deep breath, his demeanor shifting to a more serious tone. "Before anything else, you should know that Ruler, the overseer of this Holy Grail War's regulations, has made her entrance."

Achilles rolled his eyes, "And why should we care?"

The priest rubbed his temples. "Taking out Ruler is crucial. If she shows any inclination toward the Holy Grail, it could jeopardize our cause. Bear in mind, she obtains two Command Spells for every Servant summoned in a Holy Grail War. That's not a force to be underestimated."

Achilles raised an eyebrow, "Aren't Rulers supposed to be Heroic Spirits who've shed their worldly desires?"

"Ruler might have been a Heroic Spirit, but she was human before that. Humans are unpredictable," the priest mused, "So, we can't dismiss the chance that she might suddenly want the Holy Grail for herself."

Lancer raised an eyebrow, "You seem awfully sure of yourself."

"Well, in a Holy Grail War, it's better to be safe than sorry, right?" the priest answered with a slight chuckle.

Lancer just responded by closing his eyes in deep thought.

The priest then addressed the group, "Given this new development with Ruler, who among you is up for a visit?" He scanned the room, looking at each Heroic Spirit.

Atalanta made a scoffing sound before vanishing, signaling her disinterest. Meanwhile, Achilles seemed entirely unfazed, lounging back with his hands behind his head, whistling a carefree tune.

It was clear: neither had any intention of pursuing Ruler.

The priest let out a resigned sigh and shifted his gaze towards Lancer, "It seems it falls to you then, Lancer."

"Your only choice has always been me from the beginning," Lancer said calmly.

After a brief pause, he continued, "But there's something you should know first."

"And what might that be?"

Lancer's voice was filled with certainty. "I can feel him here. My arch-nemesis is in this battle too. When I face him, promise you'll stay out of it."

"The renowned hero..." The priest paused, then acknowledged with a forced smile, "I understand. But this... is troubling news indeed."

Lancer's silhouette began to blur, soon to vanish completely.

He was clearly on a mission to eliminate the Ruler the priest had mentioned.

"I hope this won't cause any unexpected problems," the priest sighed.

Thud, thud, thud...

Within the church, the heavy, echoing bangs persisted—it was the sound of Berserker pounding on something.

...

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