This Is My Holy Grail War [172]

Caster reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a small object—a wooden cube, about the size of a fist. It appeared unremarkable, with sharp edges and a perfectly square shape, nothing more than a well-crafted block of wood.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the cube into the air. Despite the minimal force he used, it arced high before landing squarely at the center of the plaza.

"The heavens have their own cycles of karma. The very fact that you stand here is proof of divine will."

Caster held a deep appreciation for Rider. The cavalryman’s words had resonated with him, striking a chord in his heart. However, as someone well-versed in the arcane arts, he also understood the true nature of the Holy Grail and the mechanism behind its so-called miracles.

"But have you ever considered how exactly you would use a miracle to save the world?"

He stepped forward, weaving through the ranks of silent assassins like a man walking through a field of statues. It seemed as though he intended to pick up the wooden block.

Lowering himself to a crouch, he did not reach for it. Instead, he sat down on the ground.

And then, as if imbued with magic, the wooden cube trembled.

A clicking sound echoed through the air.

Before the eyes of all present, the small wooden block began to shift, expanding and flattening, its components unfolding in a seamless mechanical transformation.

It no longer resembled an ancient artifact of craftsmanship but something more akin to a modern contraption. Within moments, it had reshaped itself into a long, flat wooden table.

It had no legs—just a solid, rectangular mass. Yet, as an impromptu drinking table, it was more than sufficient. Perhaps that was precisely why Caster had designed it this way—both as a container for storage and a table for conversation.

Seated beside it, Caster assumed the air of a host. "I have nothing to offer but a rather unrefined brew. But I can at least vouch for its taste—grain that I cultivated myself, wine that I brewed with my own hands."

With a deliberate motion, he removed his straw hat—a gesture of sincerity. The quality of the wine hardly mattered; what truly mattered was the custom, the formality of sharing a drink.

He gestured invitingly. "Please, take a seat. Let us speak freely."

The first to accept was Rider. The moment he dismounted, his Master immediately clung to his side, much like an attachment bound to his legs. The little girl dared not stray even a single step from him.

Berserker followed soon after. Under their Masters' command, the two cavalry Servants shared an unusual camaraderie. Though Caster was well aware of the instability that plagued Berserker’s mind, he also knew that in matters of true significance, the warrior still retained a sliver of reason.

Rider sat on the right side, shifting slightly under Caster’s keen gaze. "You asked me how I would use the Grail to help the people?" he asked, somewhat perplexed.

"Yes."

"But isn’t the Grail an omnipotent wish-granting device?" Rider’s confusion deepened. The knowledge instilled in him by the Grail had made one thing abundantly clear: the Grail could fulfill any miracle.

"Achieving a wish is a process." Caster explained patiently. "Let’s say you wish for all people to live in peace and prosperity. How would you accomplish that?"

"People need food, homes, freedom from illness, protection from natural disasters, and an end to war…" Rider began listing things off, even counting on his fingers as he spoke.

And as the list grew longer and longer, he suddenly realized just how much would be required for such a world to exist. Shaking his head abruptly, he dismissed the overwhelming thoughts.

"No, that’s unnecessary. The Grail is omnipotent. All I need to do is make a single wish—for all people to be eternally happy." Rider steadied himself, answering with newfound certainty.

But no sooner had he spoken than Caster immediately countered him.

"You would leave such a decision to the Grail?"

"I…" Rider faltered, momentarily lost for words.

Turning away, he rubbed his chin, finally giving serious thought to the problem of how to use the Holy Grail. True omnipotence did not mean boundless ability—every action had consequences, every power its limits.

Unable to find an answer, Rider looked to Caster for guidance. But the mage merely shook his head. "I have no perfect solution either."

"If only no one had to bleed anymore…" a timid voice piped up from behind Rider.

His young Master, speaking softly yet earnestly.

Rider ruffled her hair, a hint of regret in his expression. "I’m sorry, my little Master, but that’s not enough."

He did not explain further. A child could not possibly grasp the full weight of their conversation.

Even if bloodshed ceased, what about hunger? What about the wrath of nature? Without hardship, people might become reckless, even cruel, turning to violence simply because they could.

"Won't you join us?" Caster turned to Saber and Assassin with a faint smile, extending his invitation once more. "Have a taste. My grain wine is aged, but still worth a drink. There's no need for bloodshed—we should respect one another, embrace kindness and understanding. If you have a wish, speak it plainly. No conflict is beyond resolution."

Saber remained distant, showing little interest in the discussion.

The prospect of debating how to save humanity made Caster furrow his brow. He saw two individuals here who bore the makings of a ruler—one was Rider, the other was Saber.

Following Caster’s gaze, Rider turned to Saber and gave her a respectful nod. "I must thank you for extending a hand to Assassin. Without your intervention, we would have lost a noble warrior."

His gratitude did not move Saber, but it did convince Assassin to take a seat. The silent killer, though unreadable in expression, had evidently been touched by Rider’s gesture.

Rider smiled as he welcomed Saber to join them. The swordswoman merely inclined her head and spoke plainly:

"Saving humanity isn’t as complicated as you think. There’s one wish that can fulfill everything you’ve mentioned."

"Truly?" Caster’s eyes lit up with astonishment. "Then the heavens must have chosen you for this very reason!"

He had already recognized Rider’s potential as a ruler, but it was shallow—undeveloped, unrefined. Saber, on the other hand, exuded an undeniable presence.

To Caster, Rider was promising, but Saber was absolute.

Yet despite this, he found himself favoring Rider more. Saber’s killing intent was simply too strong. He feared she might be a ruthless tyrant, one whose rule would be steeped in cruelty.

To him, a king was not just one who wielded power, but one who bore responsibility.

"What must be done?" Caster asked, his curiosity genuine.

"The [Third Magic]." Saber answered without hesitation, as if she had spoken of it many times before.

Caster was convinced—she must have tried this before. Otherwise, she would not have spoken with such certainty.

"It is the magic of materializing the soul." The swordswoman explained. "If souls could be made physical, then people would no longer suffer hunger, pain, cold, or even the threat of death."

Rider could not hold back his question. "And what of war?"

"Where there is desire, there is conflict. And conflict breeds war."

Saber's lips curled into a faint smirk. "A certain saint once told me that if emotions were erased, people could live in perfect harmony. The [Third Magic], in the process of converting human souls, happens to make this possible."

"That would be a grave mistake." Caster shook his head lightly. "Without desire, people would lose the will to progress."

"Then what do you suggest?" Saber threw the question back at him, but Caster remained calm, countering with a question of his own.

"Tell me, Saber, do you believe in gods and spirits?"

As he spoke, he almost felt like he could hear Saber’s inner thoughts: More deception, and then more deception. But he continued regardless—until Saber abruptly cut him off.

"Lift your head, for the gods are watching. Every deed, every action is seen. If you wish to keep a secret from the divine, you must do nothing at all…"

"If you have to say that so often, doesn’t that mean you don’t believe it yourself?" Saber interrupted, her tone carrying an unmistakable edge. "It’s always the ones preaching about faith who believe the least."

"As long as others believe, that’s enough. Without the restraint of gods and spirits, the world would descend into chaos."

Caster’s explanation was honest—he had no reason to lie, and these heroes would have seen through any deception anyway.

"I have witnessed war turn the land into a wasteland, seen people forced from their homes, left to wander with nowhere to go. Those who lose their sense of reverence—when they flee to the mountains, they become bandits. When they stand by the roadside, they become marauders. Thieves, outlaws, despoilers of all that is good and just—they become no better than beasts."

Caster gritted his teeth, his thick brows furrowing deeply.

To him, the existence of gods and spirits was irrelevant. What mattered was belief. Just as people said good deeds are rewarded, evil deeds are punished, it wasn’t about whether the statement was true—it was about making people believe it. Only then would the wicked hesitate, only then would reverence prevent the loss of morality.

"Even if gods do not exist, they must exist." His words carried an almost tyrannical finality. "And if they do not, then we will create them."

To Caster, divine will and spiritual faith were nothing more than tools—a way to compensate for the flaws of human nature. He was not superstitious in the slightest. What he sought was a system of reverence, one that would ensure that all people believed in a god who rewarded virtue and punished vice. Only then could the world be free of chaos.

"That is an interesting idea—using mystery and power to bind people’s actions. But who would take on the role of this god?"

Saber spoke thoughtfully. "A god must possess overwhelming power. And to maintain their mystery, they would need to endure eternal solitude."

Caster did not move. His gaze remained fixed on Saber, unwavering.

"You."

"Me?!"

Saber was momentarily stunned, though she did not immediately refuse. This gave Caster hope.

"Or Rider. It is a responsibility." Caster pressed on. "Just like how a king must rule with authority, a god must do the same. They would serve as a guiding force for immortal humanity, leading them to the stars and beyond."

"Not me, not me." Rider waved his hands in panic. "I talk big, but if I were given true power, I’d probably be the first to fall. I wouldn’t be able to endure it—I thrive in the light, not in the shadows." He let out a sigh.

"Then that leaves only you." Caster’s gaze returned to Saber.

"A woman as emperor?!"

Berserker suddenly interjected, his voice filled with disbelief. "That’s absurd! It breaks every rule of the palace!"

"This is just an appearance." Saber shrugged. "I have no physical body, only a manifested form."

But Berserker clearly wasn’t convinced.

"Nonsense! You expect me to be fooled?" He scrutinized Saber carefully. No matter how he looked at her, she was clearly a woman.

"Fine, then why don’t you take the role instead?" Saber asked, unfazed.

He lacks the qualities of a king. He cannot bear the burden of such responsibility.

Caster had intended to say this, but Berserker was faster to respond.

"I could never be emperor!" Berserker quickly shook his head.

"And why not?" Saber asked, her curiosity genuine.

"Why…? There is no why. I just can’t. Hmph." Berserker turned his head away, refusing to continue the conversation.

"Alright then, Caster, why not you?" Saber redirected her question. "You could become this god you speak of—or a king, an emperor. A force to bind the people together."

"I am but a mere commoner, unfit to be a king, much less a god." Caster shook his head. "But you… you could be."

"Let me think about it."

Saber did not give a direct answer, but neither did she reject the idea outright. More than anything, she seemed indifferent—as if she could endure such solitude.

"But before that—can you all get the hell out of my house?"

Her tone was sharp, almost hostile. But Caster understood—it was a sign of hesitation, of inner turmoil.

"One after another, people keep barging in."

She had issued a clear dismissal. Caster, though momentarily disappointed, was not discouraged. Instead, he stood up immediately. Perhaps, in doing so, he might even leave a favorable impression.

"Then we shall take our leave. But I do hope you will consider this carefully."

By now, nearly every Servant in the Holy Grail War was present. With no objections raised, the matter of the Grail’s ownership no longer needed to be contested.

Caster believed that Saber could be a worthy king—rational, yet unwavering in strength. A powerful ruler was not necessarily a bad thing.

As he turned to leave, he caught sight of his ally, Berserker, stealing glances at Saber.

There was something strange in Berserker’s expression. He seemed strongly opposed to the idea of Saber becoming a ruler—yet at the same time, there was a trace of expectation in his eyes.

Berserker wanted a sovereign. Someone he could devote everything to.

How could such a loyal man be condemned to infamy, cursed for all eternity?

Even Caster found the weight of that curse daunting. But for now, he could only keep his thoughts to himself.

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T/N: heh i know a bunch of people who would worship saber

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!