Chapter 21: …Maybe I overdid it a little.

Light and sound swallowed the world.
The only ones able to react in time were Lancer and Bazett. Lancer scooped up Shirou and Illya under each arm, while Bazett carried Rin on her back. Already in combat mode and having pushed their bodies to the limit, the two immediately chose to retreat with everything they had—one leap carrying them a hundred meters back.

Fortunately, the torrent of light was centered at the base of the stone steps leading to Ryuudou Temple. The distance gave them enough of a buffer to deal only with the oncoming aftershocks. Not that those aftershocks were anything to scoff at—upheaved earth rose into towering walls, turning into a landslide that came crashing down, accompanied by a ferocious shockwave and a localized earthquake for good measure.

“Ha! What a goddamn mess!”

Landing, Lancer let go of Shirou and traced glowing runes in the air with his free hand—the secret arts gifted to him by Scáthach, Queen of the Land of Shadows. A mere landslide without an ounce of mystery could never be a true obstacle to him. A burst of magical energy forced Shirou and the others to shield their eyes, and in the next instant, the massive wave of dirt and stone that should have swallowed them was blasted apart.

Shirou and the rest, having assumed Lancer’s only specialty was the spear, could only stare in stunned silence. Lancer wasted no time, grabbing Shirou again and charging forward through the path he had opened himself.

It seemed that Lancer’s magic had somehow triggered a reaction—the light abruptly ceased. They had a decent idea of what had been happening in that place: most likely, the other two factions had ignored them and started fighting among themselves. But now, one side had retreated. There was no way Caster would abandon her stronghold so easily, which meant the ones who fled were probably the Matou faction.

Either way, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. No matter how invincible their defenses might seem, after a clash between two major factions, both sides would have to be at least somewhat worn down.

If they were going to strike, it had to be now—

“Move it, you lot!!”

They had Illya as a deterrent. There was no way the enemy would recklessly unleash another explosion of light.

The battle would be decided in an instant. Shirou and Bazett’s job was to keep any interference at bay during that instant.

Lancer released Shirou and placed Illya in his arms. No words were needed—only a glance was enough to communicate. The plan was already set; there was no point in wasting time talking.

“Illya, can you run?”
“I’m fine, Shirou. I won’t slow you down.”

Still running, Shirou set Illya down and began preparing his projection. Rin’s presence caught up from behind, and everyone took their positions.

They reached the stone steps. Looking up, the first thing they saw was Archer’s Servant, clad as always in crimson, twin swords Kanshou and Bakuya in hand.

Then their eyes were drawn to the two Heroic Spirits floating above.

“S—Saber…?”

Shirou’s voice wavered. One of them was indeed wearing Saber’s familiar blue dress and silver armor. But her golden hair, once like strands of sunlight, was now jet black, and from her back sprouted pure white wings.

Even for Shirou and the others, long accustomed to the unnatural realities of magic and Heroic Spirits, that sight seemed unreal.

“…Direct from Scáthach, huh.”

The confusion was his as well. But whether it was someone he knew suddenly changing hair color, or a person flying with wings, none of that left even a heartbeat’s room for hesitation. He had survived and won on battlefields far stranger than this.

His crimson eyes didn’t target the transformed Saber, but the one who had likely caused it—Caster’s Servant. He raised his magic spear toward her.

“Pierce—!”

Originally the name of a throwing technique, it was the ultimate secret of a goddess who had mastered both magic and arms. Cú Chulainn had modified it into a form usable even in close combat. But its true potential was unleashed only as a thrown attack—and Lancer had prepared it for the greatest possible speed and force.

The runes engraved on his spear and upon his own body meant one thing: an unavoidable assault.

“—Gae Bolg!”

Normally, one would steady their stance, grip the spear, gather magical energy, leap, release the true name, and throw. Lancer discarded all but the last two steps—true name release and the throw itself. The loss in power from skipping the process was compensated for with rune magic.

It wasn’t that Lancer didn’t trust the others—he simply didn’t see the need to rely on them. Bazett could handle Saber, even if she really was the true King Arthur at her peak. Shirou and Rin, with Illya’s presence, could hold Archer in place.

But all of that was only in case Lancer failed to settle things in a single strike.

Don’t underestimate me.

No way would the greatest hero of Celtic myth lose to some mere magus.

Once unleashed, his spear would not stop until it pierced the enemy’s heart. The moment it was fired, the enemy’s death was already decided; the “Gae Bolg” would simply rewrite reality afterward to make it so. Even a magus from the Age of Gods could not resist a god’s own power—

“—Rho Aias!”

True, Caster had no way to block Lancer’s spear. But she was not alone—and she still had two “strongest” Servants at her side.

“Archer!?” Rin shouted. Was her shock at him aiding the witch, at the Noble Phantasm he had just activated—or at both?

“You mean to pit your bow against my Gae Bolg, Archer!?”

Archer gave no reply—he couldn’t spare the focus. The shield of seven flower-petal layers he had deployed was the legendary barrier Noble Phantasm that could block any thrown weapon: the shield of Ajax, said to have been the only thing to withstand the throws of the greatest hero of the Trojan War.

Ordinarily, any thrown spear would fail to even scratch it—yet two petals were blasted away in the first impact.

“…Tch—!”

The pained grunt was Archer’s. Even deflected, the magic spear did not forget its aim; the next strike shattered three petals, and a third blow followed instantly.

In the blink of an eye, three consecutive strikes had reduced the petals to just one. Archer poured every drop of magical energy Caster supplied into it, buying exactly one second.

And in that one second, a path to survival opened.

“Ex—”

Caster was already primed to activate her teleportation spell. Even so, the spear would chase her to the ends of the earth—but if the spear itself could be erased—

“—calibur!”

Excalibur’s light roared forth. At the same time, Caster completed her teleportation and vanished. Archer’s form disappeared as well—apparently she had transported him too.

No matter how mighty the hero’s strike, if the weapon itself was destroyed, it was meaningless. The light slash swept across the field.

Blocking Gae Bolg meant losing the chance to recover Saber and Archer.

Shirou’s shoulders nearly sagged in frustration—until Bazett’s voice rang in his ears.

“—The one who comes from behind, and cuts down first.”

She turned, a sphere hovering above her fist, her gaze locked straight onto Saber.

Her intent was obvious. If this strike was blocked, Caster would never again put herself within range of Lancer’s Noble Phantasm.

Letting her escape now would mean losing the only chance to defeat Caster—and if Excalibur struck head-on, not even the Noble Phantasm of a great hero would emerge unscathed.

The one thing they had to avoid at all costs was losing both Caster and Lancer’s Noble Phantasm—their sole trump card.

The only way, here and now, to kill Caster and keep Lancer’s spear from being destroyed was—

“—Carve and tear—”

Bazett spoke the true name of the miracle floating in her hand, directing it toward the golden light unleashed before her.

It was Fragarach, the Sword of Reversal—Bazett Fraga McRemitz’s ultimate secret, a relic of the Age of Gods and an “Unbreaking Counterattack Armament.” A divine blade protected by curses and concepts.

As its second name “The One Who Comes After, Cuts First” implied, Fragarach warped causality, rewriting its strike so that it had been delivered before the enemy’s trump card could activate. No matter how powerful a Noble Phantasm, the dead cannot wield it—those struck down first have no chance to counter.

Fragarach was a magical armament that magnified that fact into reality—a god’s trick that nullified mutual defeat by twisting fate itself. However great the hero, they could not escape the bounds of a distorted destiny.

“—of the War God.”

But that only applied if she could activate it. No matter how strong a Noble Phantasm, the dead cannot wield it—and that was just as true for Bazett.

“No. No, no. I won’t let you kill that girl.”

A chill ran down her spine. Caster’s teleportation wasn’t mere flight—it was a step toward turning a desperate situation into victory.

The witch drove a jagged dagger into the Fragarach, striking at the moment before it could activate.

“Rule Breaker.”

Caster’s Noble Phantasm, which severed all magical contracts, forced Bazett’s armament to betray its wielder.

The sphere of Fragarach, robbed of its activation, fell from her hand—and in that instant, Excalibur swept down, obliterating Gae Bolg along with the earth beneath it.

The searing light and blast wind were so fierce that Shirou and the others couldn’t keep their eyes open.

At the very moment Shirou’s group and Caster’s faction had begun to clash, the old man was already moving.

Though he could have simply continued to watch from the sidelines, he had chosen to act. The reason—

“They’re… working together?”

Altria addressed Zouken’s familiar perched on her shoulder. The old man’s rasp came back in affirmation through the creature.

“Caster stopped Lancer’s Master from activating her Noble Phantasm without killing her. If the result would’ve been the same either way, she should’ve just killed the Master.”

“Not necessarily… That woman is a skilled warrior. Even with her heart destroyed, she might have managed to activate it. Caster must have considered the risk.”

“Then she should’ve destroyed her brain. That witch could have done it. Destroy the brain, and at that instant, a person loses all function—no chance of activating anything. Unlike the heart, there’s no delay.”

“…I see.”

There was only one possible reason for not killing Bazett—Caster must be planning to form an alliance with them. For Zouken, that was the worst possible outcome.

He had to prevent the enemy from swelling in strength.

“…I have no intention of losing, but it’s best to nip such seeds in the bud.”

“Understood, Master. Then, I’ll get to work.”

Altria set her sights on Mount Enzou, raising her holy sword. Her thoughts drifted to the bowman she had crossed blades with earlier.

“…A strange man. Possessed of fine swordsmanship, yet he calls himself talentless…”

No—that was probably true. His swordsmanship wasn’t born of natural talent, but the result of a man with no foundation at all clawing his way up through sheer effort, refining himself through relentless training until his technique was perfectly honed.

And yet… could a “talentless” man really achieve sword skills approaching those of the King of Knights, a title she herself bore?

“…It was as if he had trained solely for the purpose of fighting me.”

It was unsettling—his style meshed perfectly with hers. That was why she had praised his sword.

To adapt so flawlessly to a stranger’s blade upon first meeting—few could manage such a feat. She had thought it the mark of innate genius.

Her interest was piqued. An uncontainable curiosity, almost like desire, swelled within her. She wanted to cross swords with him again. But her duty was to claim the Holy Grail—allowing her personal interest to take priority and losing the Grail was unthinkable.

“…If possible, survive, Archer. And cross blades with me once more.”

Her expression was as delicate as that of a maiden in love. Yet the killing intent she exuded and the magic surging into her raised sword were steeped in darkness.

“Now—show me you can meet my expectations, Archer! And you as well, my mirror image!!”

The dark magic shook the very air as it surged outward.

“Ex—”

The wave of power it unleashed couldn’t even be compared to Saber’s own.
This was the genuine, true blow of King Arthur herself. There was no one who could withstand it—

“—calibur!!”

When they came to, Shirou and the others found themselves in a strange place.
Inside a dome of soft light, they glanced at one another, bewildered by the simple fact they were still alive.

They quickly grasped the situation they were in and shifted into battle readiness.

And there, standing before them—

“…Caster.”

The witch stood openly in front of them, defenseless.
Her gaze sharpened in response to theirs, and she spoke.

“…Just stand still for a moment.”

With that one line, none of them could move. Even Lancer was shocked to find his body completely frozen.

“Don’t bother struggling. Even the Three Knight Classes can’t move once the space itself has been fixed in place. Relax—I’ve no intention of harming you. I only…”

Caster’s eyes narrowed.

“…want you to stay out of the way while I deal with that.”

She pointed behind them. Without their consent, their heads turned, and they saw it.

A surge of black magic rising skyward, shaking the air, making the ground rumble.
And far away—though it should have been impossible to see—stood a figure: the undefeated, ever-pure King of Knights.
In her hands, the crystallized prayers of countless warriors, raised high.

That sword was truly the ultimate blade, one that brought “victory” to its wielder.

“—By the power of my Command Seal, I order you…”

There was no resisting it. Once unleashed, that blow would carve the fact of defeat into her enemy.

And yet, there was no hesitation in Caster’s eyes.
She was a Heroic Spirit of the magus kind—one who had overcome every form of adversity with cunning and strategy. In her gaze burned the will to sever the future where she was defeated.

“Archer! Forge your own ‘strongest’!”

One of her Command Seals vanished, and Archer leapt out before them, chanting a familiar verse.

“…I am the bone of my sword.”

And then, eyes widened in unison.
What had appeared in his hand was none other than the “strongest legend” their enemy in the distance now held aloft.

“No way…”

Whose voice was that? No one could say.
But Archer now bore King Arthur’s sword—Excalibur.

“Saber!!”

Descending from above came Saber, her hair now dyed jet-black, the same sword in her grasp.

In that instant, there existed not one, not two, but three of the same Noble Phantasm—a phenomenon beyond all reason.

While the others reeled from this impossibility, the peerless witch raised her remaining Command Seals high.

“By my Command Seals, I order my two knights—unleash Excalibur at maximum power!!”

At the same time, Caster began layering her Age of Gods magecraft upon the two knights standing side by side—Saber and Archer.

The pair raised their holy swords in unison.
At that moment, the enemy far ahead moved as well—an oncoming strike from Excalibur, steeped in darkness.

Saber and Archer brought their own blades down to meet it.

“Excalibur!”
“Excalibur Image!”

Two light-slashes from two True Name Releases surged forth to meet the dark blade.

One was wielded by a false wielder.
The other by both a false wielder and a false blade.

On their own, neither could hope to match the real thing.
But combined—and with the aid of a witch from the Age of Gods—they surpassed the original.

White light clashed against black darkness. The collision, like the end of the world, cracked the ground, split the clouds above, turned farmlands into barren wastes, and sent dirt and stone raining down like meteors. Roofs blew away, and windows shattered under the shockwave.

And in the end, the victor was the white light.
The combined power of Saber, Archer, and Caster erased the Excalibur unleashed by Artoria and bared its fangs at the King herself.

Even with its power greatly diminished, the oncoming slash still held more than enough force. And yet, the smile that crossed Artoria’s face was one of delight.

“…Magnificent. I look forward to our next meeting.”

Swallowed by the light, she whispered her parting words.

The radiance consumed her and kept going—lighting up the Fuyuki sky, shaving off the mountain peak, and vanishing beyond the horizon.

Caster watched the scene in deadpan and murmured:

“…Perhaps I overdid it a little.”