This Is My Holy Grail War [168]

Anya Lazmosen Grigor lifted the curtain of the carriage with curiosity, catching the salty scent of the sea. It was more familiar to her than any other smell, bringing her a small sense of comfort. She took a deep breath and gripped the window frame, gazing outside.

Rider’s carriage was traveling close to the coastline, following the straight path along the banks of the River Kennet. A glance to the right revealed the stone railing that lined the riverside.

The first light of dawn was crisp and clear—such a transparent sunrise was a rare sight in Blanche.

The wheels clattered along the path, the sound of wood against the ground somewhat noisy, yet the carriage itself remained remarkably steady as the horses pulled it forward.

She wasn’t tall enough to reach the window on her own, so she had to stand on the seat to see outside. The sky had yet to fully brighten, but the sun had already peeked over the horizon, casting a soft, blue glow across half the sky—like the surface of the sea.

The city had not yet been bathed in sunlight. Anya could clearly see the golden light pushing its way toward the city center, illuminating the streets inch by inch as the sleeping metropolis slowly awoke.

"Rider, where are we going?" Anya leaned out of the window, calling to the Servant guiding the carriage.

"The hospital." Rider gestured with his whip toward the thick smoke rising into the sky, then added a warning. "Master, don’t stick your head out. It’s dangerous. This carriage… isn’t particularly lucky," he said with concern.

"I know." Anya playfully stuck out her tongue before pulling her head back inside. Rider had been patrolling the city since last night. She still remembered when he first summoned this carriage—he had mentioned that it was cursed with misfortune.

The carriage moved at a steady pace, not too fast. If they sped up, it wouldn’t just result in a ticket; it might risk exposing the existence of the supernatural.

"What are we going to the hospital for?" Anya climbed down from her seat and lifted the curtain at the door, peering at Rider as he drove.

She had never seen a carriage quite like this one, but she could tell it was old. Every part of it was made of wood. While not particularly luxurious, it wasn’t shabby either. The four black stallions pulling it were strong and sturdy, and the interior was decorated with a surprising amount of care.

"To find someone." Rider answered simply, reaching out to pat Anya’s small head.

Though only nine years old, Anya had experienced far more than most children. Growing up surrounded by magecraft, she had matured far beyond her years. She was still innocent, but she understood Rider’s meaning.

"Can we… not go?" she asked hesitantly.

Snowflakes drifted from the sky, and the air carried a biting chill. Anya’s delicate face was flushed red from the cold. She was afraid—not just of battle, but of the conflict itself.

Finding another Servant meant fighting. And she was terrified of that.

"No, we must. We need the Holy Grail," Rider stated bluntly. "The fate of the world rests on us. My little Master is destined to be a great hero, after all."

His words of encouragement only deepened Anya’s unease. But the years of mistreatment from her uncle and aunt had taught her how to read people. She could tell that Rider had high hopes for her. And so, she swallowed her fear.

"I understand."

Her heart pounded as the carriage wheels creaked beneath her.

They were heading north… to battle.

The thought made her mind flood with crimson.

Her lips turned pale in an instant, and her bright eyes darted about anxiously.

"Hey, Rider." She carefully reached out a small finger and poked his back. Trying to distract herself, she forced a question to her lips. "Are you… a general?" Her voice was so soft that it was barely audible.

"No." Rider continued to steer the carriage forward without turning around.

Unknowingly, the horses had begun to pick up speed. Anya could feel it. The wind against them grew harsher, and the air turned colder.

"Then why do you carry a sword?" No matter how nervous she was, Anya’s curiosity refused to be suppressed. She leaned forward, fascinated.

"Because I am a soldier," Rider said simply. He glanced at her briefly before continuing, "A warrior must carry a sword."

"But… aren’t you a cavalryman?" Anya tilted her head in confusion. "Cavalry should use lances. Why do you carry a sword?"

"Because some call me a king," Rider replied patiently, as if indulging a child’s curiosity without the slightest hint of annoyance. "And a king must bear a sword."

"A king?!" Anya gasped in surprise.

Her thoughts drifted back to the scene of Rider beheading her uncle.

She clenched the curtain tightly. That deep, blood-red hue refused to fade from her mind.

"If you’re a king, why is your sword made of bronze?" she asked, puzzled.

"Because a bronze sword is better than an iron one," Rider answered with a statement that defied common knowledge.

At first, Anya didn’t believe him.

But when she caught a glimpse of the sword at his waist, she began to reconsider.

The weapon was long and slender, at least a meter in length—almost as tall as she was. The straight-edged blade was encased in a finely crafted scabbard.

And under the clear morning sunlight, Rider’s sword shimmered like a gemstone, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly radiance.

A magical artifact, then. That had to be the reason it was stronger than an ordinary iron blade.

Anya thought to herself and no longer questioned it.

She was a magus. She had been raised around mysteries and the unnatural. Even if she resented the title, she had no choice—it had been decided for her at birth.

The four black stallions continued their steady pace.

Before she realized it, they had reached the suspension bridge on the southern bank of the River Kennet.

Anya was surprised to find that Rider had not gone to the hospital.

"Aren’t we supposed to be going to the hospital?" she asked.

"But they’ve already left," Rider answered plainly. "We’re heading to the north bank now."

"For what?"

"To break up a fight."

Rider gave a smile, one laced with deeper meaning. "Last night, someone set fire to the hospital. He wanted to pit the other Servants against each other, but…" His smile faded, replaced by a chilling killing intent. "Anyone who drags innocent civilians into this war deserves to die," he said through clenched teeth.

Anya knew how this river had come to be. Her family’s records detailed how it was shaped by a Servant’s Noble Phantasm during a past Holy Grail War.

That war was a painful memory for the family—one they rarely spoke of.

Due to loopholes in the Grail’s rules, every war had escalated beyond its predicted scale. Every sixty years, Blanche faced destruction and rebirth. Even the straight, unbroken coastline had been carved out by a Servant’s blade.

Rider had warned that this carriage was cursed with misfortune, and as they neared the north bank, Anya’s unease only grew.

She was about to meet her enemies—the terrifying monsters of this Holy Grail War.

"You said this carriage was unlucky. So why are we still riding in it?" The more anxious she felt, the more she spoke. She was painfully aware of her own nervousness.

"This keeps my future in perspective," Rider replied.

Then, without warning, he dropped the reins and spun around, speaking to Anya with sudden urgency.

"Listen carefully, Master. You inherited the last remaining [Command Seal]. Do not use it recklessly!" His voice was stern. "This land grants me a boost in recognition, but even with a [Command Seal], you can only force one order upon me. That last Seal gives you absolute control over me."

Her uncle had once used a [Command Seal] to order Rider—but Rider had turned the tables, using his own ability to drain an extra Seal from his Master, nullifying the command.

One gained, one lost. And in the end, Rider had severed her uncle’s head.

Now, Anya had only one [Command Seal] left.

"What are you talking about?" She frowned, confused. She already knew this—Rider had explained it long ago. Why was he bringing it up again?

"If I ever reach the Grail, use the [Command Seal] to stop me—or order me to take my own life."

The words struck Anya like a blade.

Why was he saying something so horrible?

"No." She shook her head immediately. She didn’t want to see Rider die.

"If I see the Grail, I will lose control!"

Rider grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip tight, almost desperate. Anya winced at the pressure.

"I know myself. I understand my own weakness. I won’t be able to resist it!" His voice was hoarse, almost trembling.

The temptation of the Grail…

Anya didn’t understand.

Wasn’t their wish to ensure peace and safety for all?

"But… I can’t do it."

She clutched the mark of her final [Command Seal], her small fingers digging into the tender skin of her palm.

"If I had never known light, I could have endured the darkness. But I have seen it—the memories of my future. And those moments… they were unbearable."

Rider’s voice softened.

"But even so, I know that is my fate. No matter how unreal it feels, everything that has happened is real."

His tense expression eased into a gentle smile.

"Promise me, Master. If I reach for the light—if I touch the Holy Grail—hold me back. Don’t let me fall into the abyss. Please."

His words carried a weight she couldn’t fully grasp, but Anya could hear the bitterness behind them.

"Okay."

She extended her pinky.

"Let’s make a pinky promise."

Her small, pale finger hooked around Rider’s large, calloused one. His hands were rough, worn—nothing like those of a king. They felt more like the hands of a farmer.

"To have a Master like you… I am truly fortunate."

Rider exhaled, finally at ease. His warm smile was no longer forced.

"Hold on tight. We’re about to speed up! Let’s go meet our enemies!"

The sight of Rider’s carriage naturally drew attention as they traveled through the city. But in the far east, the lingering customs of Tsarist Russia had not fully faded.

There were still noble carriages that occasionally passed through the streets.

Though this one didn’t quite match the city’s aesthetic, no one gave it a second thought. The mystery of the war would remain hidden.

Once Rider left the bustling streets behind, he no longer held back.

The four black stallions, urged forward by the crack of the whip, broke into a gallop.

The wild rush of wind stung Anya’s face, forcing her eyes shut. But she didn’t hide inside the carriage.

She was afraid—but she knew she had to face them.

Saber was waiting ahead.

If there was one Servant in this war who truly terrified Anya, it was the swordswoman who had slaughtered countless mercenaries the night before.

That golden-haired girl—petite and beautiful—had mercilessly cut down every last man in her path.

Just thinking of Saber filled Anya’s mind with crimson.

It was coming.

The sound of steel clashing rang through the air—the sharp, violent echoes of metal striking metal.

Terrified, Anya instinctively hid behind Rider’s broad frame.

Behind his towering form, she felt safe.

The northern bank of Blanche’s newly developed district was nearly deserted.

Here, on this barren and frozen land, Anya could feel the presence of war.

It was the same as the disasters her parents had once endured—an unforgettable nightmare replaying before her eyes.

She lifted her gaze, staring at Rider’s strong, straight back.

For a moment, she thought of her father.

She remembered how he would smile and reassure her, shielding her from the wind and rain.

"Rider," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

She reached out and clutched the hem of his coat.

Last night, they had been enemies.

But now, Assassin and Saber stood together, united against two other Servants.

Rider brought the carriage to a stop.

This abandoned construction site…

A perfect battlefield.

No civilians to witness the fight.

No reason to hold back.

The war was about to begin. And Anya had made her choice.

"Master, will you stay here, or come with me?" Rider asked. "This carriage isn’t exactly sturdy. It might be safer to wait here."

"No."

Anya shook her head without hesitation.

"I’m going with you."

Her voice was firm.

"A brave little one," Rider chuckled, giving her a thumbs-up.

But despite his praise, Anya felt guilty.

The truth was, following him was her way of dealing with fear.

Rider’s presence gave her courage.

If she were left alone, she’d only feel more terrified.

What if someone else found her while Rider was gone?

That was the real reason she chose to go with him.

Even if it meant facing the other Servants—she had made up her mind.

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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!