This Is My Holy Grail War

The crimson spear slashed through the air, tracing a fiery arc like a shooting star. A flash of red—Assassin saw only that blinding gleam as the deadly point bore down upon her.

She anticipated it, knew how to respond, yet the overwhelming pressure forced her to push her limits to deflect the attack.

Clang!

The sound of spear and sword clashing ripped through the night, a metallic wail that reverberated in the air. Though [Gáe Dearg] hadn't pierced Assassin's guard, it left a deep gouge in her blade.

"So, you haven't even brought a weapon that represents your glory to this battlefield?" Lancer remarked with a faint sigh. "It seems I've been more fortunate in this ritual than I thought."

"Not by choice!" Assassin snapped, her voice strained. Her hand trembled against the sword hilt, the vibrations running through her weapon and her body as if in unison.

The magical energy coating her blade had been stripped away by the crimson spear's curse. Now, a decision loomed before her.

If she continued to channel mana into the damaged sword, it wouldn't stop [Gáe Dearg]. But it could still fend off Lancer's second weapon—[Gáe Buidhe], the cursed yellow spear whose wounds could never heal.

Yet [Gáe Dearg] was by far the greater threat. Against its strikes, even a moment's hesitation or misstep would spell her end. But how could she ignore the more insidious danger of [Gáe Buidhe]'s relentless counterattacks?

Assassin grimly funneled the last vestiges of mana into her sword, reinforcing it as best she could. No matter how much power she poured into it, however, the blade would never return to its original form.

The Command Spell's compulsion weighed heavily upon her, forcing her to press the attack despite her disadvantage. Even with her blade cracked and her spirit drained, Assassin charged at Lancer once more.

Clang!

With a sharp metallic ring, [Gáe Buidhe] fell to the ground. Lancer now gripped [Gáe Dearg] with both hands, prepared to fully exploit its curse-breaking properties against Assassin's desperate offensive.

"Though it may seem unfair, I will take your head," Lancer declared with cold determination. He had already identified Assassin's fatal weakness and was intent on using [Gáe Dearg] to its fullest effect.

The second clash came with lightning speed. As spear met sword once more, sparks erupted, and shards of metal flew in all directions. The ordinary longsword, unable to withstand the impact, shattered completely.

"Hah..." Assassin stood with nothing left in her grasp but the hilt and a jagged remnant of the blade. The fight was far from over.

Her steps grew heavy as she turned to face Lancer again. The strain of consuming her limited mana reserves left her body sluggish and her movements lethargic.

As a Servant, physical exhaustion was impossible. Only when her internal supply of magical energy was utterly depleted would she begin to falter. This, perhaps, was why Lancer had yet to show a single opening despite her countless attempts.

Kirei Kotomine! If you want to win, give me everything you have! she raged inwardly, furious at her Master's miserly provision of mana.

The Command Spell's demand for relentless aggression clashed against her dwindling strength, forcing Assassin into a reckless spiral of desperation. With her sword broken, she resolved to fight with what remained.

If the blade was gone, she would use the crossguard. If the crossguard broke, she would wield the hilt. If need be, she would pick up any piece of debris from the ground to use as a weapon. She didn't care what it was; all she needed was something sharp enough to pierce Lancer's heart.

Weapon in hand—or what was left of it—Assassin seemed to have reached her limit. Facing Lancer's next strike, she lowered her arms, a faint smile curling at the corner of her lips.

Would she simply accept death?

No. She saw it—a sudden surge of mana gathering like a violent wind.

"I will never allow my knight to die before my eyes!"

Saber's voice rang out like a clarion call, her words brimming with determination.

With a roar of magical energy, the violent wind cleaved the space between Lancer and Assassin, forcing them apart.

A moment later, Saber stepped forward, her sword gleaming as she placed herself protectively in front of Assassin. Her piercing gaze locked onto Lancer, resolute and unwavering.

This turn of events was hardly surprising to Lancer. After all, a king willing to sacrifice everything for her people wouldn't stand idly by as a loyal knight fell in battle.

"My apologies, Lancer," Saber said, her tone brooking no argument. "This ends here. I cannot simply watch as Assassin is eliminated."

"So it seems," Lancer replied, unfazed. "I had been wondering when you would intervene. After all, 'Lancelot' fighting me is overwhelmingly disadvantageous."

Outnumbered two to one, Lancer knew he couldn't hold his ground against two Servants. As he began calculating his retreat, yet another presence made itself known on the battlefield.

From the city's most desolate corner, a dark figure emerged, drawn to the radiant energy of Saber's [Excalibur].

It was Berserker.

The instant Berserker felt the mana radiating from Saber's Noble Phantasm, he descended into a frenzy. Without hesitation, he charged toward the battlefield.

But the moment Berserker arrived, he froze.

In his eyes, reflected in perfect clarity, stood two identical Artoria Pendragons. Two Kings of Knights, indistinguishable from one another.

For a fleeting moment, Berserker hesitated, his mind reeling. His Master, however, had no such reservations.

"You lapdog of Tohsaka Tokiomi! Die! DIE!!!" Matou Kariya's voice rang out, his rage unchecked. To him, anyone allied with Tohsaka deserved death.

"This is all Tokiomi's fault! Berserker—kill Assassin! Kill her now!" The Command Spell on Kariya's hand glowed a furious crimson.

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