This Is My Holy Grail War [177]

Naskia looked up at the sky—the sun had yet to set.

The school grounds had fallen into silence, and Berserker had finally regained clarity after his frenzied roars. Letting out a breath of relief, she steadied herself, slowly recovering from the shock.

Scanning the area, Naskia saw that Berserker’s familiars had already flooded the streets. Curious onlookers cast wary glances their way—the gleaming blades of the death-bound soldiers were intimidating. However, likely due to the [Command Spell], these undead warriors had regained their composure.

But it wouldn’t last. The [Command Spell]’s magical energy was finite. Naskia could have Berserker leave right now, yet the growing attention from bystanders had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

The streets and alleys were filled with spectators, sweat dampening Naskia’s back.

“Is this some kind of martial arts drama?! Damn, this is cool!”

A grizzled old man with a bushy beard, holding an oil painting brush, suddenly poked his head out from behind his easel. His thick eyebrows furrowed in astonishment as he stared at Berserker in wide-eyed awe.

He waved his hands excitedly, shouting in exhilaration. His overly enthusiastic voice only aggravated Naskia’s irritation.

The next moment, the loudmouthed old man abruptly fell silent. Under the stunned gaze of the crowd, he collapsed stiffly to the ground, unconscious.

Naskia had traced a pentagram in the air with her fingertips, the azure glow of magical energy dissipating into nothingness. The repelling barrier had taken effect. Then, with a sharp whistle—

Like a shepherd calling its flock, an uncountable number of insects began to take flight, their buzzing filling the air.

At first, a strange mosquito emerged from the fallen old man’s body. Then, one by one, moths took to the streets, swarming the passersby.

Like stalks of wheat felled by a scythe, the people crumpled in waves. But even as they lay sprawled on the ground, faint sounds of snoring could be heard. Naskia had merely put them to sleep—these ordinary, defenseless humans stood no chance against a magus.

Dusk approached. Under the orange-red glow of the setting sun, the streets were now littered with unconscious bodies. The land of Branche was cold; even through her shoes, Naskia could feel the chill of the earth. Whether these people caught a cold was no longer her concern. She had subdued them decisively, preventing the situation from spiraling further out of control.

“Ugh, I’ll have to contact the Church again. This is giving me a headache.” Naskia ran a hand through her long hair, feeling her scalp tingle.

It was broad daylight—there was no way she could cover this up.

Right now, the Church was probably still struggling to contain the hospital incident. The southern fires had been extinguished, yet a lone pillar of smoke still pierced the sky.

Screw it. I’ll just trust the Church to handle it. They were capable and responsible for concealing the Holy Grail War. Convincing herself of this, Naskia nodded firmly, suddenly filled with confidence in the Church.

Besides, could Berserker’s actions even be considered trouble? No one had died, after all. Berserker was notoriously difficult to control—some level of chaos was inevitable. Naskia reassured herself with this thought, then carefreely sent a familiar to notify the Church.

“All done. Berserker, let’s go!”

A butterfly flitted from her palm as Naskia clapped her hands, looking pleased with herself.

She was ready to leave—this was no time to lecture Berserker. His presence alone exuded unrestrained bloodlust, his violent magical energy polluting the air.

Such an aura would only attract enemies. She had already decided to retreat immediately.

Yet just as she turned around—before her head had even fully turned—her instincts flared.

A new presence.

And it was terrifying.

This magical energy was different from any Servant she had encountered before.

A stranger approached from the west, riding a chariot through the city streets. Soldiers under his command guided their steeds, their towering master basking in the fractured sunlight. His imposing figure radiated an undeniable presence.

“Who are you?” Naskia couldn’t help but ask.

Dark ceremonial robes. A solemn crown. Eyes filled with unshakable dominance… Was he a Lancer? An Archer?

She saw no spear, no bow.

This Servant wasn’t concealing his presence—he was issuing a challenge.

Naskia bit her lip. Berserker wasn’t in the best condition. The [Command Spell] was still restricting him, preventing him from unleashing his full strength.

But at least it was still daylight. As long as the sun hadn’t completely set, a fight should be avoidable.

That was what she thought—until she suddenly realized—

The streets are empty.

The people had all collapsed. And she was the one who had knocked them out.

Unintentionally or not, she had turned this street into a battlefield.

The only issue was the unconscious civilians scattered across the ground. If a fight broke out now, blood would flow like a river.

“…Archer.”

The black-clad Servant’s reply was short and direct.

“What are you doing here? Looking for a fight?” Naskia masked her unease with sharp words. She couldn’t afford to let Archer see Berserker’s weakened state. At the very least, she needed to stall for time.

“No.”

“Then what are you here for?!” Her voice carried hostility as she scrutinized the Archer. Beneath his black crown, his brows were furrowed, his gaze sharp as a blade.

His piercing eyes seemed to see straight through her. A chill ran down her spine as her hairs stood on end. She swallowed nervously.

“To meet the so-called heroes.”

His voice was as cold as steel, his expression unreadable.

“They’re not quite what I expected.”

“I’ll give you that,” Naskia admitted. “I, for one, could never go from trying to kill someone to drinking with them the next moment.” She shrugged, then asked, “What about you?”

“Your Majesty!”

Archer did not answer. Instead, Berserker suddenly cried out.

The moment Archer had appeared, Berserker’s entire being had ignited with fervor. He howled, his voice shaking with emotion.

“This presence… There’s no mistake! You are my Emperor! You are my everything! Your Majesty! Hahahaha!”

His gaunt, withered face twisted into a manic grin, his laughter dripping with madness.

Berserker, in that moment, looked every bit the lunatic.

Who is he?

Naskia tried communicating with Berserker through thought transmission, but the only response coming through the contract was a stream of worshipful cries— My Emperor! Your Majesty! Long live the King!

Your Majesty…? He’s an emperor?!

That was not a good sign. If the opposing Servant was someone her own Berserker revered, things could only get worse from here. And whoever this so-called emperor was, he was bound to be well-known.

Today just kept going downhill.

First, she had spent half the morning dealing with that mess at the hospital. Then, after exhausting a significant amount of magical energy, she still hadn't managed to defeat Assassin. As if that weren’t bad enough, Berserker had gone berserk halfway through, and she’d been forced to burn through two [Command Spells] just to rein him in.

And now?

Now, just when she thought she could catch her breath, another Servant had appeared out of nowhere.

At this point, all she wanted to do was run.

But with Berserker in this state, that was impossible. Naskia had already witnessed firsthand how uncontrollable a Berserker could be. The entire class was a trap for Masters, and she regretted summoning him more than ever.

She couldn’t just abandon him and retreat—she only had one [Command Spell] left. If she used it now, she would have no way to restrain him afterward.

So all she could do was wait, watch, and see what Archer intended to do. Worst case scenario, it was do-or-die.

She wasn’t about to let fear get the best of her.

Faced with Berserker’s frenzied devotion, all she could do was go along with it. Three [Command Spells] are nowhere near enough…

“Berserker,” Archer finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. “If your Master were not here to stop you, what would you do to these people?”

“I’d kill them all!” Berserker roared without hesitation. The [Command Spell] had allowed him to retain some semblance of rationality, but the deep-seated resentment in his soul still controlled him. His eyes burned with a venomous red light.

“And why is that?”

“They spout nothing but empty talk about righteousness and virtue, wasting their breath on lofty ideals while doing nothing of real value! They have no understanding of labor, no knowledge of the land! Hypocrites, all of them! They say one thing and do another—useless leeches feeding off the state’s resources!”

Berserker stamped his foot in frustration, yet his posture was low, deferential. His words spilled out between ragged breaths, snot and tears streaming down his face.

Like a stray dog abandoned by its master, licking its wounds in the dirt.

“Books should be burned. Scholars should dedicate themselves to studying—not indulging in fantastical nonsense and idle theories.”

Archer nodded in agreement. “Indeed.”

Berserker’s head snapped up, eyes gleaming with fanaticism.

“Yes! Those false scholars deserve to die! They must die!” He gritted his teeth, seething.

“Then tell me—can you distinguish between the true scholars, those who serve the nation, and the hypocrites?”

Berserker faltered. “…No.”

His head lowered in shame—only for his eyes to flash with renewed fervor. “But if I kill them all, the problem is solved!”

That answer earned him a sharp reprimand.

“You are guilty.”

“I will atone for my crimes!” Berserker declared at once, accepting the blame without even asking what crime he had committed.

Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he gasped.

“Your Majesty, I know of a traitor—one who seeks to claim the throne for herself!”

He spoke with urgency, eager to prove his worth. “She is a woman! A woman! How dare she dream of ruling as emperor?!”

With a sharp ptoo! he spat in disgust before cursing, “That wretch knows nothing of propriety! She must be executed—must be executed! Allow me to take her head, Your Majesty! Just wait here for a moment—just a moment!”

Archer had remained silent all this time, merely observing.

Now, he watched as Berserker’s rage found a new target—Saber.

“Her lair is just ahead. If we go now, we’ll find her. Right away—right away—”

Berserker’s already tenuous grip on reason crumbled completely. Like an old war dog baring its fangs, he was desperate to prove his value to his emperor.

Archer’s gaze remained fixed on the distance, silent and unreadable. Only after a long pause did he murmur Berserker’s name.

Then, slowly, his eyes turned toward Naskia.

She stood there, utterly speechless.

Her Servant had just run off.

And she only had one [Command Spell] left.

Now what?!

If she used it to recall Berserker, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t just bolt again. And once it was gone, she’d have no means of controlling him.

As she racked her brain for a solution, she realized something odd—Archer wasn’t looking at her.

He wasn’t looking at Berserker, either.

Why?

Following his gaze, Naskia turned eastward—toward the other end of the street.

There, another Servant stood.

Draped in black, though his attire was of a purer shade than Archer’s.

Caster.

Naskia exhaled in relief. Right… Unnamed didn’t stray too far.

He must have been drawn here by Berserker’s rampant magical energy.

The newly arrived Caster stepped from the shadows, his voice filled with curiosity.

“He calls you his king and swears fealty. Are you a monarch?”

“I am the sovereign!”

“If that is so, then allow me to ask: should you claim the world, how would you govern?”

There was an amused glint in Caster’s eyes. He seemed intrigued by Archer.

Naskia could feel the overwhelming power radiating from Archer—but Caster did not judge by strength alone.

Assassin had been formidable, yet Caster had never regarded him with such interest.

Only Servants who bore the air of a king drew Caster’s attention.

Archer answered without hesitation.

“With law.”

“And what is law?”

“I decree it.”

“If the sovereign himself is corrupt, what then?”

In Naskia’s eyes, Caster had always been the defensive type. But today, he was uncharacteristically aggressive. He showed no fear of the so-called emperor, his demeanor shifting with a boldness she had never seen before.

Archer lifted his chin, his voice ringing with absolute authority.

“I surpass the Three Sovereigns and reign above the Five Emperors! The world knows my name. Corrupt? You dare suggest such a thing?!”

Yet before he could lash out, Caster’s next words halted him.

“And when Your Majesty meets the end of his reign—then what?”

Caster had accepted Archer’s claim, but he now posed a far sharper question.

“I have come to seek the path to eternal life.”

“And what is that path?”

“The Holy Grail.”

“You pursue this alone?”

“Indeed. If I am immortal, why would the world ever falter? Why would my people ever fear unrest?”

“I do not believe it.” Caster shook his head.

“I don’t either.” Naskia seized the moment to redirect the conversation. “There have been plenty of foolish kings, even more tyrants.”

She smirked. “And the Grail isn’t yours alone.”

“All men are equal under the heavens,” Caster declared. “The Grail should be shared with all people.”

Archer frowned but did not lash out.

“If all were granted eternal life, order would collapse.”

He did not waver. “The Grail’s power is finite. To divide it among all is to waste its magic. It would be far better used to build an empire—a great and enduring Qin.”

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T/N: fucking piss off gil is better, also... they currently have a boost since this is their land... like what was said in earlier chapters russian heroes were banned but... this land wasn't always russian

This is a fan translation of 这是我的圣杯之战 by 向希望祈祷. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!