Irisviel stared blankly at the battle unfolding before her. She never imagined that a clash of cold weapons could be this intense.
Sparks flew as steel met steel. The chilling gleam of blades flashed under the moonlight. Attack met counterattack, parry followed by riposte. It was a spectacle that modern times had long since forgotten.
Not only did the clash of weapons ring out through the air, but the mana surging from both combatants stirred up violent shockwaves, as if the magic itself resented being contained.
If the clash of blades was the melody, then the roars of displaced wind were the drums of war.
The ground was splintered and torn, chunks of stone blasted skyward. Nearby lampposts were sliced cleanly in two by the residual energy from the warriors' strikes.
Irisviel could no longer make out the positions of the fighters. Even the sound of weapons clashing had become indistinct. All that remained was a storm of flashing silver light.
Walls crumbled, signs were blown away. Irisviel had no way of understanding what exactly was happening—only that all of this destruction was collateral damage from a battle between heroes.
As the confrontation escalated, the entire street was reduced to chaos. With the way things were going, it was unlikely the street would survive their clash.
This is the war of Heroic Spirits...
The realization sent a tremor through Irisviel's heart.
This is mythology incarnate—lightning, thunder, wind, and devastation—brought to life.
"What a terrifying battle..." she muttered, unable to look away.
And she wasn't the only one shocked—Artoria, too, was surprised even as she fought.
Spears, in the modern world, were weapons that required two hands. But in the hands of the opposing Heroic Spirit—Diarmuid Ua Duibhne—this rule no longer applied. He wielded one long spear in one hand, used primarily for attack, and a shorter spear in the other for defense. The moment Artoria closed the distance, he would swap the two seamlessly, executing flawless offense and defense.
But... which spear was his real trump card?
Artoria's gaze sharpened. She could sense it—Diarmuid was a formidable opponent.
Most people would subconsciously favor the weapon they trusted most. That was usually the clue that separated the real from the decoy.
But...
Every one of Artoria's strikes was met with resistance. His mastery over his dual spears was incredibly refined, nearly flawless.
"Saber, are you going to give up?" Diarmuid called out mid-battle.
"Of course not."
Artoria's eyes narrowed. She was King Arthur—she would never surrender.
With a burst of speed, Diarmuid charged in, unleashing a relentless chain of coordinated strikes. His movements were elegant, almost divine—every blow flowing perfectly into the next, his rhythm impossible to disrupt. Artoria found herself forced onto the defensive.
What kind of person has this level of spearmanship?
"What a powerful Servant," Saber commented instinctively.
But Diarmuid, too, was starting to feel the strain. He had already used every technique he could think of, but the girl in front of him never wavered. None of his attacks had broken through.
She's terrifying... he admitted to himself.
Of course, Diarmuid didn't yet realize that Saber possessed the ability known as Instinct—a supernatural sense that let her detect and avoid danger almost before it occurred.
"Again!"
Diarmuid smiled bitterly. He couldn't see through her sword at all. Her physical attributes surpassed his, and her swordsmanship was flawless.
Just my luck—why did I have to fight someone like this?
From a nearby rooftop, a young man named Arthur—an observer, not a participant—was watching with great interest. He even had a bottle of Coke and popcorn in hand.
"How is it? Pretty strong, right?" he said to the girl standing beside him.
"She's another you. Of course she's strong," the girl replied dryly, her tone unreadable. Yet the glint in her eyes showed she was itching to jump into the fight herself.
"I wonder which is stronger—my swordsmanship, or his spearmanship?"
"Hey now, calm yourself," Arthur warned. "Don't mess things up too early. It's not our time to appear yet."
Seeing her excited expression, Arthur felt a chill. If this girl jumped into the fray now, all his carefully laid plans would fall apart!
"No need to nag me. I get it already! Geez... so annoying," the girl huffed. But Arthur knew her well. He wouldn't have abandoned Guinevere otherwise. That ship had sailed—and taken two beautiful women with it.
Still... keeping the power within the group wasn't such a bad idea. With a chuckle, Arthur turned back to the fight.
On the battlefield, Saber pressed forward. Thanks to Invisible Air, the wind-shrouded barrier that cloaked her sword, Diarmuid couldn't track her blade's trajectory. He was forced to rely purely on prediction.
But mere prediction could never match Artoria's overwhelming, storm-like onslaught.
"This Heroic Spirit... she's truly a strong opponent."
Diarmuid stared at her unwavering resolve and could only sigh internally. Looks like I'll have to go all out.
Far away, within the city, a different man was watching the same battle—through the eyes of his Servant.
Kirei Kotomine sat quietly, eyes closed. But he was far from resting. Using Assassin's presence, he observed the fight through shared vision.
Just yesterday, he and Tohsaka Tokiomi had staged a brilliant deception, using a clone of Assassin to trick the other Masters—everyone except Tokiomi.
"The battle has begun," Kirei reported into an odd device in front of him, something resembling a phonograph.
"Yes... they're both quite skilled," came the slightly muffled voice of Tokiomi Tohsaka from the other end.
This antique phonograph was something Tokiomi had specifically chosen over modern devices—his pride in magecraft preventing him from using technology like a regular telephone.
Ironically, Tokiomi's caution proved wise. No tech-savvy magus would ever suspect this magical device of eavesdropping.
"Both Servants are incredibly powerful, especially the female one," Kirei continued. "Almost all her stats are ranked A. Even those two Servants might not—"
"Don't speak carelessly, Kirei," Tokiomi interrupted. "Those two don't rely on physical stats alone. I haven't even seen their true strength yet."
"There's something else," Kirei said. "Another woman stands behind the female Servant."
"What? That doesn't add up. According to our intel, the one involved in this battle should be that magician's pawn... Kiritsugu Emiya."
"No, teacher. It's definitely a Western woman."
Silence followed on the other end. Then—
"Another homunculus, perhaps? It seems they don't trust outsiders completely."
"So... this woman is the Master?"
"Most likely."
A strange feeling stirred in Kirei's chest. He couldn't explain it—something was missing. But what?
"Keep watching, Kirei."
"Yes, teacher."
But Kirei's focus had already shifted. In his mind, only one name echoed—
Kiritsugu Emiya.
And the man himself?
Kiritsugu had already detected Assassin's presence. Still, he allowed Maiya Hisau to keep tabs on Assassin's movements. He remained where he was, continuing to monitor Lancer's performance with a cold, calculating gaze.
Saber... can you win against him with just your strength?
He exhaled quietly, not knowing the answer.
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