The battle between Artoria and Diarmuid had become increasingly intense, reaching a fever pitch.
The streetlights around them had collapsed, the walls nearby lay in ruins, and even a large section of asphalt had been torn from the ground. Cracks spiderwebbed across the battlefield, turning the entire area into a devastated wasteland.
Yet amid the destruction, the two warriors stood firmly, their eyes locked on each other. They remained still, closely observing their opponent's slightest movements, neither willing to be the first to falter.
Diarmuid, twirling the lance in his hand with ease, smiled lightly and said,
"Such an intense battle... And you're not even winded. For a woman, that's honestly impressive."
Artoria returned a faint smile, her stance still unwavering.
"Thank you for the compliment, Lancer."
Though they stood locked in battle, a mutual respect began to blossom between them.
"Though I don't know your name," Artoria continued, "I'm truly glad to have faced you in combat."
That sentiment was mutual. They both saw in the other a worthy opponent, a true warrior to test their strength against. And that mutual recognition only heightened their anticipation for the clash to come.
However, at that moment—
"Finish it quickly, Lancer!"
A voice, sharp and commanding, echoed through the air.
Artoria's expression tensed as she scanned the surroundings.
"That voice… is that your Master?"
Both she and Diarmuid searched for the hidden Master, but no matter where they looked, the presence remained concealed.
"Time is short. End it now, Lancer. You're permitted to use your Noble Phantasm."
Artoria's heart skipped a beat.
Was the enemy finally about to unleash his Heroic Spirit's trump card?
"Understood, my Master," Diarmuid said calmly.
What he did next made Artoria's eyes narrow in caution.
He tossed his short spear aside.
"So that long spear… is the Noble Phantasm?" she murmured.
Diarmuid unraveled the sealing charm wrapped around his longer lance. At last, its true form was revealed—a crimson spear radiating an ominous magical aura.
"Kill her."
Gripping the spear with both hands, Diarmuid's aura shifted. Artoria instantly raised her sword in anticipation.
A heavy silence fell between them. Neither warrior dared move recklessly, knowing that a single misstep could turn the tide.
Eventually, Diarmuid's patience gave way, and he lunged forward with a straightforward thrust.
Artoria easily deflected the attack. But then, something strange happened.
A gust of wind erupted from the point of contact between sword and spear.
"Not good!"
Sensing danger, Artoria leapt back immediately.
The wind wasn't unusual in itself—but it had originated from her sword. That shouldn't have been possible.
"So… I see your sword now."
Diarmuid's voice rang with satisfaction.
Watching from a distance, both Arthur and Irisviel gasped, finally realizing what had happened.
The crimson spear—Gáe Dearg, the Crimson Rose of Exorcism—was a Noble Phantasm that nullified magic. It had disrupted the Invisible Air, the magical barrier that concealed Excalibur's form.
"Your sword can no longer be hidden," Diarmuid said with a confident smirk.
With her secret revealed, Diarmuid pressed his assault. His strikes became fiercer, forcing Artoria onto the defensive. Her golden sword now gleamed in plain view, its divine aura laid bare.
The wind intensified as Artoria tried to regain her footing. Gust after gust surrounded her sword—Invisible Air was beginning to rupture under the strain.
At last, the barrier shattered, and golden light flooded the battlefield.
"That spear…"
Artoria stared at Gáe Dearg, knowing now that Diarmuid's power wasn't in overwhelming force, but in cutting through magic itself.
In the flurry of exchanged blows, Artoria spotted a small opening.
This strike… If I use my armor to absorb it, I can land a clean counter.
Without hesitation, she lunged forward, ignoring the crimson spear aiming at her abdomen.
But pain surged through her instantly, shocking her back to reality.
She gritted her teeth and immediately switched to defense, slashing at the approaching spear to push it away.
She was half a step too slow.
A splash of crimson sprayed into the air.
Artoria had been wounded.
Gasping, she took a step back and glanced down at her abdomen.
"Saber!"
From the sideline, Irisviel rushed forward in a panic, casting healing magic without a second thought.
"Thank you, Irisviel," Artoria murmured as the pain faded. "The wound's been healed…"
She turned her eyes back to her opponent, resolve hardening once more.
"It seems I won't be able to finish this as easily as I'd hoped…"
Diarmuid looked at Artoria with something close to joy. A real opponent at last—a warrior who could match his strength.
This woman is a true knight.
As Artoria's thoughts raced, she realized something shocking.
Her armor had vanished in that moment!
Of course. With Invisible Air destroyed, her armor—also woven through with magic—had been disrupted.
"This spear… can really nullify magic!"
Though its offensive power wasn't overwhelming, Gáe Dearg was terrifying in its effect. It ignored magical defenses entirely.
"In front of me," Diarmuid said with a smirk, "it's as if you're wearing nothing at all."
His words were suggestive, but Artoria remained composed.
"Don't get cocky."
Artoria took a deep breath. Now that she understood his weapon, she could formulate a plan.
Her armor faded, vanishing into motes of light as she dismissed it voluntarily.
"Since you're ignoring my defense, I won't defend. I'll just be faster than you."
Without the weight of armor, Artoria moved more freely. She could reallocate her magic to speed and precision.
If I must sacrifice to win, then so be it.
"Are you gambling it all?" Diarmuid asked.
Artoria didn't reply. Her mind was razor-focused.
Without armor, she could maneuver effortlessly, and conserve mana in the process—vital in a drawn-out battle.
"You're decisive. I admire that," Diarmuid said with a grin.
But Artoria didn't react to his provocations.
She studied his movements, calculating every step.
Suddenly, the air roared.
Strong winds spiraled around her as Invisible Air surged, this time not to conceal—but to propel.
Wind King's Strike—a blast of compressed wind pressure exploded behind her, acting like a jet engine.
Artoria shot forward like a beam of light.
She had surpassed the speed of sound.
But even in that moment, Diarmuid began to retreat, shifting toward the spot where his short spear had landed.
"No…"
Artoria's eyes widened.
I've made a mistake.
Diarmuid's expression said it all—he had been planning this from the start.
"I've won," his smile seemed to say.
He kicked up a cloud of dust—and from within it, a second spear shot forth.
The short spear—Gáe Buidhe, the Yellow Rose of Mortality—was no longer sealed. It flew straight toward Artoria like a lightning bolt.
Only now did she realize…
He wields two Noble Phantasms. He's a dual-lancer.
The golden spear was already upon her. It gleamed with killing intent—its curse ensured that any wound it inflicted would not heal by natural or magical means.
Death was approaching.
Artoria clenched her jaw. She had to go all out.
Her sword was already racing toward Diarmuid. This time, both of them would be struck.
A mutual wound.
"All this fighting and killing… isn't it exhausting?"
Suddenly, a figure appeared between the two warriors.
Artoria's sword halted instantly. She stared in surprise.
"You…!?"
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