This Is My Holy Grail War [173]

As the second day of the Holy Grail War drew to a close, the sun slowly descended beyond the horizon.

Throughout the entire day, Naskia had hidden in the shadows, using her clairvoyance to observe the battlefield. She had unexpectedly gained an additional ally, but rather than feeling pleased, she found herself increasingly frustrated.

Once again, she was stuck with that fool who could do nothing but healing magic. But that wasn’t the only reason for her sour mood.

Her Berserker—the Servant she had summoned under the Berserker class.

Sure, familiars were impressive, far superior to the constructs an ordinary magus could summon. But in a battle between Servants, they were nothing more than cannon fodder.

Naskia pressed her lips together, hardly able to believe her own eyes.

Berserker was losing to Assassin.

She had even cursed aloud, abandoning all pretense of composure.

A frontal assault was out of the question. Retreat was the only option.

She had considered using Berserker’s Noble Phantasm—she had even contemplated spending a [Command Spell].

Her fingers hovered over the back of her hand for what felt like an eternity. So far, not a single [Command Spell] had been used in this Holy Grail War. No Servant had revealed their Noble Phantasm. The intelligence she had gathered confirmed this.

Did she really want to be the first?

No. Not yet. Naskia decided to wait, to observe, to let the battlefield become clearer before revealing her hand.

Berserker’s Noble Phantasm wasn’t suited for wide-scale destruction, and she wasn’t sure if it would even be effective against Assassin. Instead, she planned to have Berserker target the enemy Master. Modern humans had little to no resistance against a Servant’s curse.

But reality had other plans.

Half an hour had passed. The battle between Berserker and Assassin had raged on, but despite it being a simple skirmish, Naskia could feel her magical energy draining at an alarming rate. The fight had gone on too long.

And yet, no enemy Master had appeared. Not a single sound, not even a shadow.

This was Saber’s workshop, so it wasn’t surprising that her Master remained hidden. But Assassin’s Master had also completely vanished, as if they had never existed at all.

Naskia’s carefully laid plans were unraveling, and she hated it. She was willing to take risks—but not foolish ones.

So, she chose patience.

She would wait for the perfect opportunity, for the enemy Master to finally reveal themselves.

But the sun had set, and still, no Master had shown themselves. Not a trace. Not a single strand of hair.

The last remnants of sunset cast a dim glow across the sky. Naskia’s mood darkened with the fading light.

She often spoke ill of her grandfather, but the truth was, he had doted on her since childhood, filling her head with noble ideals. Their bond was deep—so deep that she had once even plucked out his beard in a fit of mischief.

She genuinely wanted to help him claim the Holy Grail, to save the world as he wished.

From the moment he had summoned Caster without a catalyst, she had known it was deliberate. The so-called relic had surely been something her grandfather had prepared—carefully chosen, meticulously planned.

Otherwise, how could this Caster hail from the same land as her grandfather? How could he share such similar ideals?

But what puzzled Naskia the most was Saber.

This strange swordsman had accepted Rider’s proposal without hesitation.

One moment, she was fighting. The next, she simply stopped, sitting down as if nothing had happened, casually drinking wine.

Not only did she not find the situation strange—she accepted it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Unbelievable.

Naskia even suspected that Saber had rehearsed all of this beforehand. Why is she so damn practiced at this?!

The thought unsettled her.

She didn’t trust Saber.

Something was off about her.

So she hadn’t returned to the northern shore. Instead, she had positioned herself near the suspension bridge, a place with convenient access to transportation. It wasn’t too far north—still lively enough with human activity. Any further, and she would have been in the ghost town that lay beyond.

For some reason, she had taken it upon herself to monitor the north, standing guard like a sentry.

Even she wasn’t entirely sure why.

"Hey, Berserker—"

Night had fallen. The second night of the Holy Grail War was about to begin.

Naskia had intended to discuss their nighttime strategy, but the moment she saw the image through Berserker’s vision, she froze in shock.

Her Servant—her Berserker.

Though he always appeared calm and composed, his mind sharp, his words even sharper—no matter how clever he was, it did not change one fundamental truth.

He was still a Berserker.

A warrior consumed by madness.

"Well now, the sun has set."

Berserker’s voice was soft, gentle. His smile was warm—too warm.

"Tell me, are you a scholar?"

That smile sent a chill down Naskia’s spine.

Through Berserker’s eyes, she saw them.

A group of children.

If they had been ordinary civilians, she wouldn’t have been concerned. Berserker had always been surprisingly kind toward common folk, never displaying even a hint of hostility.

But this was different.

These children carried schoolbags.

They were young—elementary school students, innocent and naive.

Oh no—!

Naskia cursed under her breath and sprinted toward the scene at full speed.

Berserker had been patrolling the area, but Naskia—unfamiliar with the city—hadn’t realized there was a school nearby.

She despised schools. She despised attending school.

And right now, her hatred for schools had increased threefold.

Get back here!

She issued a direct command, but Berserker hesitated.

It wasn’t defiance—he simply wanted to hear the students’ response before obeying his Master’s order.

There were many children, but they all instinctively sensed something was wrong. They remained silent, watching Berserker warily.

Yet, Berserker did not falter.

Instead, he smiled again.

"Do not be afraid."

His voice carried an unnatural charm, a hypnotic pull.

In mere seconds, one of the girls fell into a trance.

His voice—low and raspy, yet impossibly cold—was like the whisper of Death itself.

Naskia knew.

The moment they spoke, they would be doomed.

"I… I am… we all are…"

The voice was irresistible. No mere human could defy it.

They answered in unison.

And Berserker’s eyes locked onto the girl before him.

Yes. We are all scholars.

Berserker's smile froze.

The thread of reason holding him together had snapped.

What had once been a crescent-moon grin stiffened, his upturned lips slowly beginning to fall. It remained a crescent, but now, the arc was reversed—curved downward in a frown.

“They are scholars. Can I kill them, Master?”

It was phrased as a question, but Naskia knew she had lost all control.

The moment those three words—scholars—were spoken, Berserker had gone mad. Any remaining shred of sanity had been obliterated.

No!

There was no reply. No acknowledgment.

Their connection as Master and Servant wavered. The sounds of Berserker’s surroundings became distorted. The clairvoyant image she had been watching blurred into obscurity.

She could barely make out a skeletal, withered hand reaching forward. There was no flesh—only bone, pale as death.

Naskia had no idea what was happening.

All she knew was that everything Berserker saw was now drenched in red.

Was this the result of his madness? Or was it simply blood spattering onto his body?

Berserker had succumbed to his frenzy. No commands would reach him now.

He would not return.

He would not stop.

Those children will die!

The realization hit her like a blade to the gut, draining all color from her lips.

What do I do?!

If she let Berserker continue, those innocent children—students simply walking home—would be slaughtered.

And that might not be the end of it.

God only knew what else a Berserker in full frenzy might do.

"Scholars… scholars must die. Ahahaha!"

Berserker had snapped completely.

The true face of the mad warrior was unveiled—his grin stretching grotesquely, fangs bared like a beast’s.

Before the eyes of horrified onlookers, he summoned his spectral soldiers—undead warriors bathed in blood.

They emerged from the shadows. As long as a shadow existed, they could infiltrate it.

In the blink of an eye, the entire street was locked down.

They didn’t begin with the slaughter.

No, first, they sealed off all escape routes.

This was planned.

This was an organized massacre.

First, they ensured no one could flee.

Then, and only then, would they give the order for indiscriminate killing.

Berserker's target was the students. He would not let a single one escape.

This is wrong—this is absolutely wrong!

Naskia’s vision swam with panic.

There was only one way to stop him.

A [Command Spell].

She hadn't used one during Berserker’s fight with Assassin.

She had treasured her three [Command Spells], knowing their immense value.

They’re just ordinary humans. It’s not worth wasting a [Command Spell]. These are crystallized miracles, the key to claiming the Holy Grail… I can’t… I shouldn’t…

Even though the image from Berserker’s vision had become hazy, even though the sounds were muffled, she could still see the crimson mist filling the air.

She could still hear the terrified screams.

Naskia’s hand trembled as she raised it.

Her lips parted, revealing her white teeth.

A bead of sweat traced down her delicate cheek.

Her heart pounded.

"By the power of my [Command Spell]—"

Her voice wavered. She felt like a fool.

Like an absolute idiot.

Even dumber than that nameless fool who could do nothing but healing magic.

But she did not issue the command immediately.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

Berserker was not personally carrying out the slaughter.

He had left that to his spectral warriors.

If she ordered him to regain his sanity, it might work.

But it would take time.

And in those few short minutes, countless lives would be lost.

The executioners would not wait.

They had minds of their own, however twisted and insane they might be.

"…Restrain Berserker’s every action."

One Command Spell vanished from the back of her hand.

A searing pain shot through her entire being.

It felt as though something had been ripped from her soul.

Her body felt like it was being crushed under an immense weight, as if a mountain had suddenly collapsed onto her.

If Berserker kills too many people, the existence of the supernatural will be exposed!

She told herself that was the reason.

That was the only reason she had used a [Command Spell].

It wasn’t because she cared about those pathetic civilians.

Just looking at them made her sick.

It had to be about keeping the supernatural hidden.

Yes. That’s it.

Naskia’s breathing was ragged. Her face was flushed.

She kept repeating it in her mind.

This had nothing to do with protecting innocent people.

It was only to maintain the secrecy of the supernatural world.

If Berserker goes on a rampage, the deaths won’t be easily covered up. Yes… that’s right. If the Church finds out, they’ll issue a manhunt for me. I’ll be completely trapped.

She kept piling on excuses.

Kept finding reasons.

The first [Command Spell] had bound Berserker—but his frenzy had not yet faded.

His spectral soldiers and summoned warriors remained immobilized, screaming in rage.

The [Command Spell] was like an iron chain, binding Berserker completely.

But restraining him required an immense amount of magical energy.

And [Command Spells] were nothing more than condensed masses of pure mana.

To suppress Berserker’s madness would demand an extraordinary amount of it.

Because this Servant was truly, deeply insane.

"Scholars… scholars… must die! Must die!"

He was still mad.

Trapped, unable to move, Berserker’s mouth snapped open and shut like a wild beast.

His jaws clamped repeatedly, as if he were trying to bite through the invisible force restraining him.

Had he been free, he would have sunk his teeth into every single scholar—regardless of age, morality, or gender.

His gnashing fangs made a sharp clicking sound, echoing ominously in the silence.

Berserker’s twisted smile remained on his face—half rage, half lunacy.

To an outsider, his body’s inability to move might have seemed comical.

But everyone knew—if that leash slipped for even a second, Berserker would slaughter every last one of them.

His summoned warriors stood frozen, clutching their bloodstained blades.

Their swords trembled.

The magic holding them at bay was straining—Naskia’s Command Spell had bound too many targets at once.

"By the power of my [Command Spell]—"

Her second order rang out.

"Berserker, regain your sanity!"

A second mark faded from her hand.

The once-glorious [Command Spells], shaped like a blooming flower, withered instantly.

Only the central core remained.

That single, fragile red mark—her final [Command Spell].

Berserker’s crimson eyes dimmed.

The murderous glint faded.

His ravenous expression softened.

Yet, his lips still moved, whispering the same words.

"Scholars… scholars…"

But the madness was gone.

His body still trembled from the restraint, his sanity slowly returning.

But it would take time.

The immobilized warriors and summoned beings still stood in the open street.

Naskia’s head throbbed violently.

She clutched her forehead, overwhelmed by the pain.

She had to clean up this mess.

But getting there would take time.

For the first time, regret flooded her mind.

She should never have used that damn relic to summon Berserker.

She would rather have had the weakest Caster…

Or even an Assassin, one doomed to hide in the shadows.

---

T/N: tsk Saber better kill that friggin Beserker

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!