This Is My Holy Grail War [164]

The frost-white sunlight spilled over Nameless, making his head swim with dizziness. His vision blurred as red-stained liquid seeped into his eyes, shrouding everything in a haze of crimson.

His mind felt sluggish, as if even his thoughts were being smothered. Pain surged through his skull, sharp and relentless, yet he couldn't summon the strength to resist. He stood there, unmoving, without even the energy to shift his footing.

So… this is what it feels like to be on the brink of death?

His knees wobbled, threatening to give out at any moment. The unbearable pain crashed over him, suffocating, overwhelming. He wanted to scream, but even opening his mouth was beyond him.

Pain.

He forced the last of his strength into his right hand, pressing it against the wound—only to be met with a thick, sticky sensation. It was viscous… almost like a paste, reminiscent of overcooked rice porridge turned to glue.

He could no longer smell the iron tang of blood. The air he inhaled had lost its scent entirely. His head buzzed, leaving nothing but the sheer agony of his injuries.

He wanted to heal himself.

But he couldn’t.

His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, barely even kicking up a speck of dust.

"A healer cannot heal themselves."

At this moment, Nameless deeply understood the weight of those words. His wounds were not beyond saving—if he could just stop the bleeding, if he could just use magecraft—bandages—his thoughts fragmented, drifting further from coherence.

Those kids…

He tried to lift his head, wanting to take one last look forward.

Instead, a cascade of blue filled his dimming vision—Naskia’s azure hair, blotting out the sky above him.

“What… about them…?”

He reached out a hand, but he couldn’t even muster the strength to uncurl his fingers.

“You’re seriously still worrying about other people at a time like this?!”

Naskia’s lips twitched in irritation. Then, she scoffed and muttered a single word, dripping with disdain.

"Saint."

At the same time, she carefully plucked a hairpin from her locks.

It was a butterfly—its color so similar to her hair that it almost blended in. A beautiful, sapphire-hued ornament, crafted with exquisite detail. Nameless could even make out the intricate carvings on its wings, its delicate features almost… alive?

A hallucination, surely.

He figured it was just the blood loss playing tricks on his eyes. But just as he was about to ask why she had removed the pin, he noticed something—the butterfly’s wings were moving.

He wasn’t particularly startled. He had seen plenty of magi carrying familiars before.

“Don’t act like some self-sacrificing saint. Help when you can, but don’t throw yourself away for strangers.”

As she spoke, Naskia let the butterfly land on his wound.

"You go to the Clock Tower like this, and you won’t last seven days. No—"

She paused mid-incantation, then held up a single finger.

"Not even one."

“Why?”

Lying on the cold ground, Nameless could feel his wound slowly mending. His severed right arm, though far from whole, had begun healing under the effects of her magecraft. The sensation was strange—neither an itch nor a sting, just an unnatural tightness. The bleeding stopped, and layer upon layer of silk-like threads wove over his wound, forming a cocoon-like covering.

“Because…”

Naskia hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully.

“Because there’s a fire burning there.”

“A fire?” Nameless didn’t understand.

“A flame that you, little moth, will happily throw yourself into—only to be completely devoured without leaving so much as your bones behind!”

Her voice was sharp, almost scolding.

"My grandfather always said that this world is full of filth. To purge the darkness, one must wield—"

“The Holy Grail.”

Nameless cut in before she could finish.

"Mm-hmm, correct."

Naskia gave him a scrutinizing look, her gaze sweeping over his battered form.

"You've got a brain. So why don’t you use it?"

She seemed genuinely perplexed, resting her chin in thought.

"I can’t stand by and watch life slip away before my eyes. They’re safe now… ugh—!"

Nameless tried to push himself up, but pain instantly forced him back down.

"Your arm is likely beyond saving. You should consider replacing it. I can only keep you from dying—that’s the best I can do."

Lifting his gaze, Nameless found himself staring into Naskia’s face.

With her butterfly hairpin removed, a few strands of her hair had fallen over him, close enough that he could catch a faint trace of her scent—light, warm, and subtly fragrant.

On his shoulder, the butterfly continued spinning its silk. Despite its small size, the familiar worked tirelessly, its endless threads wrapping around his wound.

Naskia took the silk and, with a bit of clumsy fumbling, began bandaging him.

She tried to hide it, but Nameless saw the sweat on her brow.

She was afraid of not wrapping it tightly enough.

Afraid of causing him more pain.

Careful, hesitant—she looked like a rookie nurse, her delicate features framed like a guardian angel in white.

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed a magus would throw away their life to save people.”

Naskia’s voice was filled with genuine surprise.

"They usually just stand by and watch."

“Say whatever you want.” Nameless exhaled. “I’ve never been to the Clock Tower, but every magus I’ve met had their own story.”

"You should buy a lottery ticket instead of wandering aimlessly."

What seemed rare to her was all too familiar to him.

"Here, all done."

Naskia handed him the butterfly.

"Zoya."

“What?”

“The butterfly’s name. It’ll keep tending to your wounds.”

Naskia let out a breath, then asked, half-annoyed, half-exhausted:

"So? What now? The hypnosis will wear off eventually, and the firefighters are already here. Our job is done."

"Find the local overseer," Nameless answered without hesitation.

"Get in contact with the Holy Church as fast as possible."

His tone carried the weight of experience—he had handled post-disaster cleanups far too many times before.

"Of course, we should avoid direct contact with the Church. Best to use a familiar or relay messages through other means. Otherwise, they might attack on sight."

Naskia tilted her head, watching him ramble on.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"This."

She gestured at his injured half.

Though his arm was now cocooned in layers of white silk, his black down coat was still stained with blood.

Crimson and ebony blended together, forming a strange, deep shade of maroon. Whether it was because the blood was too thick, or the coat too dark, the fabric looked unnervingly eerie under the morning light.

Nameless shook his head.

"I knew what saving them meant. I understood the price. But I can’t—"

His hand traced over the stump of his arm. The slightest movement sent a searing pain through his nerves.

He knew Naskia was right. Healing it would take a long time.

With both hands, he could skillfully numb a body with magecraft, perform quick emergency procedures. Whether it was breaking curses or treating physical wounds, he had always been capable.

But with only one hand?

Some operations would become impossible. Especially surgeries requiring precision instruments—one slip, and the consequences would be fatal.

Was it really worth it… giving up so much just to save two people?

Even he found himself questioning it.

“The cost was steep. I should’ve saved more.”

His voice was distant, almost numb.

"That’s not what I meant," Naskia cut in.

"Have you ever once… thought about yourself?"

She stared at him.

"It’s like… you’re only living for others."

Nameless didn’t respond. Instead, he carefully weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

If he hadn’t saved those two children, he would have been able to rescue far more people in the future. But now, with his right arm lost, there would undoubtedly be more lives he wouldn’t be able to save.

“Does this mean… I killed someone?”

The words slipped from his mouth in a daze.

Across from him, Naskia immediately scoffed.

“I take back what I said earlier. You’re not just reckless—you’re completely unhinged.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples.

“You’re just like my grandfather. Look perfectly fine on the outside, but always muttering weird nonsense.”

“Maybe.”

Nameless slowly stood up, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

And then—

A black shadow burst through the rubble of the collapsed building!

Chunks of concrete and twisted steel beams shot outward. Nameless barely managed to shield his head with his remaining arm, nearly toppling over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark figure sprinting towards the northern riverbank.

“It’s him!”

He and Naskia locked eyes, both reaching the same realization—the person behind this fire had just fled.

“I’m going to kill that bastard!”

Naskia spat in fury, wiping the dust from her face.

“Let’s go, Berserker!”

As soon as the words left her lips, she vanished, disappearing into the maze of steel and concrete.

“Wait, there might be—”

Nameless never got the chance to finish his warning.

—danger.

The shadow was too fast, and Naskia was too reckless.

And now, Nameless was the only one left.

Alone, sitting amidst the ruins.

His wounds, his condition—none of it made it safe for him to interact with outsiders. Despite the lingering threat, he remained where he was, silent and still. He would rest until his strength returned, then set off once more—back to wandering.

The heat in the air was suffocating. Sweat dripped from his body, but the thick bandages around his wounds made it impossible to remove his coat for relief. He could only endure.

Worse still, the air was thick with dust. Every breath he took made him want to cough.

Nothing’s going right today.

He had no idea how long it would take before he could catch his breath.

“Greetings, lost traveler.”

Nameless’s head snapped up.

Hovering nearby, a dragonfly watched him intently.

It was a familiar, much like Zoya—but its master was not Naskia.

“Who are you?” Nameless asked warily.

“Calm yourself,” came a voice from the dragonfly. It was laced with sorrow, carrying an eerie, desolate undertone—like an old man speaking to the empty air.

That alone wasn’t enough to lower Nameless’s guard.

Then the voice spoke again.

“You got along well with my granddaughter, didn’t you?”

“…She’s a good person,” Nameless answered cautiously.

“Of course she is. My granddaughter is the most adorable little princess in the world.”

There was no mistaking the affection in that statement.

“What do you want from me?”

Nameless got straight to the point.

“I have nothing of value—not even a Magic Crest.”

“You don’t have one now. But the future is another story.”

The dragonfly slowly drifted closer, stopping a meter away from Nameless.

The voice rang out clearly.

“You’ve been saving lives, haven’t you?”

He had been watching.

“…Yes.”

“Then tell me—have you ever considered this?”

The voice turned serious.

“There are limits to what one man can accomplish. Even after sacrificing your right arm, you only saved two people. And you already know—it will severely decrease your ability to save others.”

Nameless’s expression darkened.

“Your granddaughter told me you plan to use the Holy Grail to purge the world of its filth.”

The dragonfly’s master chuckled.

“Oh, that little girl… she meets someone new, and suddenly she forgets all about her dear grandfather…”

He was complaining, but his voice was filled with warmth.

“Indeed. That’s my goal.”

There was no hesitation.

“This city will soon host a grand ritual—the battle for a wish-granting device. I want you to assist my little princess.”

“Why not enter yourself?” Nameless asked.

“I’d love to! But let’s be honest, this old bag of bones can barely walk without falling apart.”

The dragonfly seemed to sag, its wings slowing.

“You alone can’t save everyone. But the Grail can.”

“I never intended to save everyone. I only do what I can…”

Nameless knew it all too well—a single person’s strength is limited.

“But the Holy Grail’s power is limitless!”

The voice was insistent now.

“Join us. Help bring salvation to all of humanity.”

Nameless hesitated.

“…Even if you say that, old man, I can’t participate. I haven’t prepared for the Holy Grail War.”

“That’s not a problem.”

The dragonfly’s voice was brimming with certainty.

“You just need a little help—say, an incantation for summoning, or perhaps a Relic.”

Nameless frowned.

“Would I even be chosen?”

Only seven Masters could be selected for the war.

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.”

The voice sounded almost amused.

“This time, few magi even want to participate. The mortality rate is too high, and no one has ever actually won. The Great Grail System is probably just selecting candidates at random now.”

Nameless’s heart sank.

No more excuses.

The old man had backed him into a corner.

In the end…

He had no choice but to accept.

With Zolgen’s support, he now had the right to participate in the Holy Grail War.

And if he claimed the Grail—

Then perhaps… he could save everyone.

He had never dared to hope for something so grand.

But now…

Now that the opportunity had presented itself—

He had to try.

“…Fine.”

He nodded.

“Good, good.”

The dragonfly’s voice was pleased.

“First, the Relic.”

From the shadows, a writhing mass of insects emerged, carrying something forward.

A bamboo slip.

“This was meant for my granddaughter.”

The dragonfly’s tone was almost indulgent.

“But you can have it. A little token of goodwill.”

“And the incantation…”

Nameless felt an uneasy chill creep down his spine.

The dragonfly laughed.

It was an unnatural sound—sharp, high-pitched.

Like the shriek of something inhuman.

His skin prickled.

It was the kind of sound one would hear in a horror film, just before the nightmare truly began.

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T/N: the parallels anyway a bamboo slip... so an eastern servant...

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!