This Is My Holy Grail War [167]

Deep within the construction site, along a deserted path, an eerie violet mist slowly unfurled, saturating the air with an unsettling aura. Saber’s figure flickered in and out of sight as she strode through the haze, advancing toward the distant clash of blades.

The knight's gallant face was obscured by the mist, revealing only a vague outline—the delicate yet resolute features of the King of Knights, Artoria.

Once a noble and valiant king, now she carried an air of mystery, even eeriness. Beneath the veil of violet mist, she seemed less like Artoria and more like Morgan le Fay.

The northern wind began to howl, its icy breath sweeping in from the nearby oak grove, yet it failed to disperse the strange mist. Saber moved forward with the biting wind at her back as white snowflakes began to descend from the sky.

Blanche, this far-eastern city, was often blanketed in snowfall. Even on a clear day, stray flakes might still drift down from above.

The magical mist coiled around Saber, swirling into delicate, fluttering petals under her command. Unlike Medea’s butterflies, these were lilac blossoms—countless violet petals that danced alongside the falling snow, their soft hues accentuating Saber’s graceful form.

Amidst the white snowfall, she walked through the violet haze. Waiting for her ahead was a Servant clad in striking black. A flat-bladed sword was fastened at his side—a weapon broader than most, darker than most, yet thin, almost unnaturally so, and lacking a scabbard. It simply hung at his waist.

His attire was plain, unadorned, and almost entirely black.

Black robes, black hat, black cloak.
Black beard, black hair, black skin.
As though he had been dipped in ink, every inch of him was steeped in darkness.

"Servant, Caster. I mean no offense." He stepped forward, and Saber noticed—he was barefoot. Servants had no fear of the cold, so bare feet were hardly unusual.

Yet, the fact that he appeared like this from the moment he arrived meant that he had likely gone barefoot even in life.

Saber had no time to assist Assassin; Caster had already placed himself in her path. He had seen through her workshop—this temple she had barely begun to establish had already been compromised before it could even take effect.

"A magus?" Saber’s lips curled into a knowing, almost mischievous smile—one befitting a sorceress. Without realizing it, her confidence in magic had grown. If she ignored her [Instincts] and purely compared skill, her proficiency in magecraft now surpassed her swordsmanship. With [High-Speed Divine Words] and the techniques Medea had left behind, she had essentially become a second Medea.

"I am but a humble commoner," Caster replied with a faint smile. His thick brows and broad eyes lent him a somewhat simple, honest air—but Saber remained on guard. "Perhaps, as you say, I know a little about the arcane arts."

To perceive a temple hidden within a construction site…
To intercept Saber before she could act…
And he claimed to know only "a little"? Who would believe that?

"What is your purpose here?" Saber’s workshop was still in its infancy, but even in this incomplete state, it was an advantage. As long as she remained here, she had the upper hand. If she could secure more magical energy, she would fear no Servant.

"Our only target is Assassin. Entering your domain was purely incidental," Caster said calmly. "We seek peaceful coexistence. Once we have executed the vile criminal Assassin, we will leave." He then asked, "What do you say?"

Vile criminal?

Saber caught an odd phrase. Caster seemed to harbor deep resentment toward Assassin, as if he had committed some heinous atrocity. But weren’t they the ones hunting Assassin down?

What had happened earlier was nothing short of madness—destroying a hospital without evacuating the civilians first. Saber estimated that at least a hundred lives had been lost.

To mercilessly drag innocents into the Holy Grail War for the sake of eliminating Assassin…
And yet, they called him the criminal?

A choice lay before Saber.

Should she allow Caster and Berserker to kill Assassin and simply wait for them to leave?

No. Only a fool would make such a decision. If Assassin fell, she would be forced to face two Servants alone. Rather than risk that, it was better to start this fight as a two-on-two.

No matter what, this was the best course of action. Saber would never trust another Servant. She had yet to find a sense of security, and her workshop was not yet complete.

"I refuse."

The mist around Saber slowly dissipated, as if parting to clear a path, unveiling her form in full. She tested the edge of [Durandal] with a light touch, then grasped the hilt with both hands, shifting into an aggressive stance.

"How about we simply act as though nothing happened?" Caster’s posture remained unthreatening, even as Saber bared her fangs. He made no move to attack.

Saber remained silent, listening intently. In the distant workshop, she could hear the ringing clash of blades. Assassin was already engaged with Berserker, and the stench of a curse filled the air.

The scent of blood was overwhelming. Saber detested it. She knew this was the aura of a curse.

A Servant’s Noble Phantasm was often tied to their fame—whether good or evil, renown was renown. If ordinary Servants’ Noble Phantasms were revered tales of heroism, then this was an infamous legend of infamy.

Assassin called himself a nameless butcher, meaning he was not well-known. But Berserker… His name carried weight. Yet he was no hero. The world had never acknowledged Berserker as one.

"You have found me," Saber said coldly. "So I cannot simply pretend this never happened."

She did not trust this Caster she had just met. Even if he was a man of his word, what of his Master?

Modern magi were all the same—vile, cold-blooded vermin. Saber despised them. Arrogant and devoid of honor, they meddled where they had no place. Servants were legends, heroes of renown. What right did mere mortals have to interfere in their battles?

"So, we must fight, then?"

Caster adjusted his black hat, revealing his thick, straight eyebrows.

"Ah… Had I known it would come to this, why bother with all this pretense?" He sighed. "If neither of us spoke a word, we could have passed as strangers. Alas, alas…"

He lamented, though Saber sensed no real regret. Instead, she felt only resignation. After all, as a participant in this war, she had to get involved.

"Why not sit down and talk?" Caster stroked his beard. "I’m no good with blades and bloodshed."

Saber ignored him.

Still, the ink-clad Servant continued, undeterred. "Did you hear? Someone destroyed a hospital."

That much was obvious—anyone with eyes could see the thick, black smoke rising from the south bank.

Saber raised her sword and charged, unwilling to waste words.

She wasn’t in a hurry—she knew Assassin’s strength. He was undoubtedly a swordsman of the highest caliber. In a one-on-one fight, she trusted him to hold his own against any opponent.

Her goal now was to stall Caster. Magi were poor in direct combat but excelled at support.

Yet a sliver of hesitation lingered in her mind. In terms of raw power, Berserker was undoubtedly stronger than Assassin. A berserker against an assassin… The advantage was clear.

Saber leapt across the gap between herself and Caster. A whirlwind of force surged forward, scattering the violet mist. [Durandal]’s edge cut through the freezing air, a deadly arc aimed directly at Caster’s heart.

The Spirit Core—Saber knew that a Servant’s most fatal weakness lay in their heart.

Zzzzt—!

The spark of magical energy ignited in an instant. Though Caster claimed he was no swordsman, he deftly deflected Saber’s strike with his flat-bladed sword, redirecting the force of her attack.

Saber reversed her grip and swung with her scabbard, wielding [Avalon] like a makeshift club. With her [Instincts] and [Mind's Eye (Fake)], she no longer needed to think—her body moved on instinct alone.

[Avalon’s] original sheath had been broad and substantial, but after adapting to [Durandal]’s blade, it had become slender and elongated. Held firmly in Saber’s grasp, it now served as a temporary weapon.

A heavy impact followed—yet instead of a solid hit, the scabbard struck something thick and formless. Saber's strike had failed once more; Avalon had slammed into a mass of dense, black ink.

Brute force alone could not break through this magical defense. Caster had conjured a formidable shield through magecraft.

A viscous sensation spread from the scabbard—[Avalon] felt as though it had stuck fast, refusing to be pulled free.

"[Explode]."

With a whisper, her lips barely parting, the black ink detonated in a violent burst. Saber had forcibly triggered the destruction of Caster’s defensive spell using divine magic. Yet, by the time the explosion cleared, Caster had already widened the distance between them.

Chaotic magical energy filled the air, clashing violently between the two Servants as black and violet mist repelled each other. Though Saber could break Caster’s spells with her [High-Speed Divine Words], when it came to sheer mastery of magecraft, she was far inferior.

Raising her sword, she refused to let him catch his breath.

Saber had made up her mind—she would tear through his defenses with [Durandal]’s blade. Once she had committed to the attack, there would be no retreat. If she wished to win, she could not afford to stop.

Her longsword traced a sharp arc through the air, slashing toward Caster with unstoppable force. Yet, Caster remained composed—far too composed for a magus who was supposedly helpless against a swordsman’s assault.

If he refused to retreat, then Saber would show no mercy.

She lunged forward with a thrust, only for Caster to parry it with his own sword. Saber responded instantly, following up with a strike from her scabbard, then another with her sword.

She pressed her attack without pause. A relentless storm of swordplay filled the air with sharp flashes of steel.

Blades scraped the earth, shattering the ground beneath them. Swords clashed toward the heavens, scattering the falling snow. Everywhere Saber passed, devastation followed—her onslaught was as fierce as a berserker’s.

Yet Caster’s movements were disturbingly fluid, his footwork impeccable, his swordsmanship without flaw. Though he remained on the defensive, retreating as he fought, his small, flat-bladed sword guarded his entire body with ease.

He had not launched a single attack—only defended—yet Saber could find no opening.

How could she describe it?

It’s as if he has both [Instinct] and [Mind's Eye]…

After multiple unsuccessful strikes, Saber finally ceased her assault, unwilling to waste more of her magical energy. If attacking bore no results, then she would shift to a stalemate instead.

"Caster, and here you said you weren’t skilled with a sword." She pointed her scabbard at him. "Your technique is impressive."

"It’s a mere parlor trick, hardly worth mentioning."

A magus who could wield a sword, and one who possessed extraordinary insight at that.

For some reason, Caster showed no intention of counterattacking. His only goal seemed to be stalling her. Did he have absolute faith in Berserker?

Saber thought otherwise.

This battlefield—the construction site—was her temple. She had eyes everywhere. Even while clashing with Caster, she had the ability to observe the other battle.

Assassin had the upper hand.

At the very least, Berserker’s familiars posed no threat to him.

"Berserker is going to lose. Aren’t you going to help him?" Saber asked with amusement. "His familiars are vicious, but completely useless against Assassin. At this rate, he’ll fall."

Caster was silent for a moment, seemingly acknowledging her words. Slowly, he shifted his blade to a horizontal stance and began retreating.

Assassin was too strong—even in direct combat, he had surpassed Berserker. With no way to break the deadlock, Saber had now gained control of the fight. She no longer needed to attack; all she had to do was stall Caster.

A violet mist enveloped Caster, and in the next instant, the path leading to the other battlefield was flooded with [Dragon Tooth Warriors]. Though mere disposable minions, they were more than sufficient to delay him.

Caster intercepted me first—perhaps he, too, was misled by Assassin's class.

Even Saber had not expected Berserker to struggle against Assassin.

"Since you're here, why not stay a little longer?" Saber said lightly. "No need to be in such a hurry."

She didn’t charge forward but instead used her exceptional agility to weave around Caster, engaging him in a dance of evasion and harassment.

She was not fighting at full strength.

Slowly, deliberately…

Saber had no intention of pushing a Servant into desperation. She was waiting.

Waiting for one side to lose patience.

At the very least, she did not want to be the first target of an enemy’s revealed Noble Phantasm.

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T/N: bah these must be og servants or I'm stupid

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!