This Is My Holy Grail War [158]

The walls of a hospital hear more prayers than the altars of any church—prayers more desperate, more sincere.

But today, this empty room held no trace of prayer. The girl’s tears had long dried, leaving her unable to cry any longer.

Above, painted angels spread their white wings, gathering clouds that drifted beneath the golden sun. Below the mural, bright flowers bloomed over lush green grass, a small river winding through the verdant field, reaching toward the sky.

A beautiful scene.

And yet, beneath this picturesque artwork lay a single, stark page—a death certificate.

On the pristine white tablecloth, a crumpled gray sheet of paper rested. Dark ink covered it, line after suffocating line of text pressing in like a cold weight upon the heart.

The acrid scent of disinfectant filled the room. An empty hospital bed stood silently, its sheets smoothed over but devoid of warmth. Its owner was gone. The toys scattered around it had lost their playmate, becoming nothing more than abandoned relics of a childhood cut short.

These toys, now mere remnants of a past life, were keys to memory.

The girl picked up a teddy bear with delicate hands. As she held it, the echoes of summer returned to her—the chirping of birds, the radiant sun, the laughter of a boy clutching his toys, his voice bright and full of life.

Blanche’s summers were always brief.

And these cherished moments, no matter how fleeting, were the most precious memories she had.

Slowly, she wound open an old music box. A sorrowful melody filled the air, and she was pulled deeper into her grief.

Victoria’s little brother was dead.

It didn’t matter that she had dabbled in magecraft. Life and death were absolute. No one could escape them. Magic was not omnipotent.

Her entire family was cursed.

Her brother had not died directly from the curse, but it had weakened their bodies, making them frail. Illness crept in through the cracks, and one by one, they succumbed.

Every branch of the family bore the same incurable affliction. Anyone connected by blood would inevitably wither away.

Only one thing told Victoria she still had a chance—the crimson [Command Spells] etched onto her hand.

Ever since her brother was born, she had sworn to herself: I won’t be the kind of sister who just cries helplessly.

She was not a crybaby.

She would be a strong, dependable sister.

She didn’t know where this curse had come from. Victoria had suffered from it since childhood, but she had held on. Yet, as time passed, her family members had fallen, one after another.

Only she remained, clinging to life.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the faint, sluggish beat of her heart. Her life force was weaker than ever, as though her body could fail at any moment.

Maybe this is where my family finally fades into oblivion…

Every time this thought surfaced, she shook her head bitterly and forced it away.

Yet deep down, she knew—there was no stopping what had already begun.

Her gaze shifted to the dark window. Slowly, she stood up.

There was no clock here. She did not wear a watch. But the internal rhythm etched into her very being told her—it was midnight.

As mana flowed into the [Command Spells] on her hand, they glowed faintly in the dim room. This was the moment her magical energy was at its peak.

Victoria hesitated, running her fingers over the red mark of sanctity on her hand.

A crystallization of grand magecraft—any magus would see it as a priceless treasure.

And yet, holding this power in her hands, she felt nothing but unease.

Is this… really a good thing?

No one in her family spoke of the curse’s origin, but one memory had etched itself deeply into her mind—

Her family had lived in Blanche, the city of miracles. A place where, according to legend, the Holy Grail could grant any wish.

But her elders had always treated this subject with fear. They had erased records, burned every last scrap of information about it. If not for their physical frailty making relocation impossible, they would have left this city long ago.

From what Victoria could recall, this cursed force that haunted her family was somehow intertwined with the Holy Grail.

Yet now, she had no other choice.

Only by seizing this omnipotent wish-granting artifact could she change her fate.

She would bring her brother back.

She would bring him back.

Victoria slowly raised her marked hand. Her lips parted as if to say something—but no words came out.

She knew nothing of the Holy Grail War.

She didn’t know what preparations were required.

She didn’t even know the summoning incantation.

Her family had burned all records of this war. The only remaining traces of information were scattered within the Clock Tower—the heart of magecraft. But she couldn’t go there herself. She could only have someone send her a book.

A frail body like hers wouldn’t survive a trip to London.

Even stepping outside for too long could leave her bedridden.

She feared the cold air, feared that she would die on the road, never returning home.

Her knowledge was too little.

Her preparations were too lacking.

And yet—the Greater Grail had chosen her.

The [Command Spells] had carved themselves into her hand.

Something felt wrong.

By all logic, she had never contacted the Overseer of the Holy Grail War. She was an outsider. A mere magus on the sidelines.

And yet, it was as if the Grail had sought her out deliberately.

Victoria had never been a lucky person.

She had never once been blessed with fortune.

In this city, there were hundreds—if not thousands—of eligible magi.

So why her?

And then, there was another undeniable fact—

Her ancestors had participated in past Holy Grail Wars.

Every sixty years, their family had been chosen.

Was this truly just coincidence?

Or was there another reason?

Lost in thought, she had no answers. Once again, her focus drifted back to the [Command Spells].

The hospital was the perfect place for this.

Silent. Isolated. Free from interruptions.

No magus would dare attack her here, not even during the day. The sheer number of people nearby made secrecy paramount—one misstep, and the Mystery would be exposed beyond repair.

She had no real combat ability. Her family’s magecraft crest was something others would covet.

That was why she had chosen this place.

Even though staying here meant risking exposure herself.

The hospital remained silent.

If she did not speak, the world around her would be swallowed in stillness.

It made it easier to think.

“…Summoning an ancient hero for battle. But… how am I even supposed to fight?”

Victoria pressed a finger against her chin, utterly lost.

The thin booklet in her hands was her only source of knowledge on the Holy Grail War.

But rather than an informative document, it read more like a promotional pamphlet.

It merely stated that the Holy Grail was a machine that could grant any wish. That those chosen would participate in the war.

And that the mark of selection was the [Command Spells].

Victoria had been chosen.

But what came next?

Victoria racked her brain for a solution, but she simply didn’t know how.

She wasn’t a formally trained magus. Her frail body couldn’t withstand a journey to London, and her magecraft knowledge was limited to what her parents had taught her before their passing and what little she had managed to learn on her own.

With no other choice, she attempted to channel mana into the [Command Spells] on her hand.

The result?

Like lighting a candle, the marks glowed faintly—and nothing more.

Victoria’s anxiety mounted. It was already past midnight.

Her peak mana reserves would soon begin to decline, and the rejection from her body’s natural circuits would only intensify.

I have to save my brother. Please… please, come forth!

Just as she pleaded in her heart, the crimson light of the Command Spells flared violently, flooding the entire hospital room with blinding radiance.

A powerful presence descended.

“Servant, Assassin—summoned in response to your call.”

Victoria stood frozen, eyes wide.

Before her stood a figure clad in a deep emerald robe, their features androgynous yet carrying a distinct, almost overwhelming sense of sorrow. Their expression was not fierce, but steeped in regret, as though weighed down by endless guilt.

Yet despite their melancholic aura, the sheer pressure they exuded was immense.

The weight of their magical energy was like the brightest full moon in a starless night sky.

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if it was due to mana depletion or the suffocating presence of the Servant before her.

“…Are you my Master?”

Their voice was soft, almost delicate. If not for their broad shoulders and defined musculature, one might have mistaken it for a woman’s voice.

Victoria’s gaze dropped to the sword in their hand—a blade with no sheath.

Even under the hospital’s dim fluorescent lights, it gleamed so brilliantly that she instinctively averted her eyes. The sheer sharpness of the weapon sent a chill down her spine.

“…Yes. I am your Master.”

Her heart pounded wildly. Already frail, she felt lightheaded, but she forced herself to stay composed.

“Are you… the hero I summoned?” she asked cautiously.

Victoria was no Clock Tower-trained magus.

She was a self-taught, unlicensed witch.

She was sentimental—she wouldn’t treat her Servant as a mere familiar.

“…Hero?”

Assassin blinked, then frowned slightly.

“I am not a hero.”

His voice was firm. He shook his head as he spoke, as though outright rejecting the idea.

Not a hero?

Then how were you summoned by the Grail?

Victoria glanced down at the Holy Grail War pamphlet in her hands, her confusion deepening.

“…But you wield a sword. Why aren’t you a Saber?”

Everyone knew Saber-class Servants were the strongest.

To carry a sword yet not be a Saber—it didn’t seem possible without resentment.

“I am not a swordsman. If anything, I am merely a butcher.”

Assassin’s response was humble, almost indifferent.

Yet Victoria found it hard to believe.

His features weren’t cruel or brutish.

There was no trace of a man accustomed to slaughtering livestock.

“…You would have been much better off as a Saber,” she murmured with a sigh.

Then, shaking off her disappointment, she asked, “How did you get here?”

Realizing her phrasing was off, she fumbled to correct herself. “I mean… how were you summoned?”

“You want to know why I responded to the Holy Grail’s call, correct?”

The moment Assassin finished speaking, Victoria nodded rapidly.

“…Then before I answer, Master—will you be honest with me about your wish?”

It was clear he did not yet trust her.

He wanted to know her true desire before revealing anything about himself.

A typical magus might have found this demand offensive.

But Victoria?

She found it perfectly reasonable.

“I want to save my brother.”

“…I want to save my sister.”

Their wishes hung between them—exchanged, yet unfulfilled.

Victoria hesitated for a moment before asking, “How do you plan to fight?”

She was no warrior. She had no grasp of battle tactics.

Her Magic Circuits were of high quality, but she had never undergone systematic training. She was a half-baked magus at best, and completely unfit for the battlefield.

Perhaps it was Assassin’s self-proclaimed title of ‘butcher’ that unnerved her, but she couldn’t shake a lingering worry—

What if he doesn’t have a strategy?

How would they fight when the time came?

“First, we find the enemy.”

“…And then?”

“Raise my sword—and cut them down.”

A sudden wave of killing intent crashed into Victoria.

She froze.

The room was warm, but she felt cold.

“Break down the enemy’s door—cut them down.”

“Identify the target—cut them down.”

“If they flee—hunt them down, and cut them down.”

“…That’s it?”

Victoria had braced herself for an elaborate battle strategy.

She had been prepared to let her Servant make all the combat decisions.

She had expected something complex—something she wouldn’t understand.

But she did understand.

“…That’s all there is to it.”

Assassin’s gaze suddenly sharpened.

His eyes gleamed with an eerie light as he turned his attention toward the distant harbor.

“…Someone has issued a challenge.”

His voice was steady, certain.

“Master, remain here. I’ll return shortly.”

“Wait—you haven’t even told me your true na—”

Before she could finish, Assassin had already vanished.

In an instant, he dissolved into spirit form and disappeared into the night.

Victoria twitched slightly.

The crimson glow of her [Command Spells] flickered on the back of her hand.

But in the end, she chose to let him go.

She respected his choices as an Assassin—

…Even though this wasn’t assassination at all.

She could have wasted a [Command Spell] to call him back, but she decided to hold onto it.

Better to save it for when he’s actually in danger.

Who knows? He might just win on his own.

Her summoning of Assassin had been entirely unconventional.

By normal standards, one only needed to recite the ritual incantation, and a Hassan would answer the call.

But Victoria had not used any ritual.

She had not prepared a relic.

She had summoned a Servant purely through affinity.

And the one who had answered… was an odd Assassin.

An Assassin who, upon sensing an enemy’s presence, had immediately charged headfirst into battle.

…He didn’t seem like a killer lurking in the shadows.

If anything, he felt more like a knight.

Or perhaps… a warrior.

Victoria wasn’t sure what to think of her new Servant.

One thing, however, was certain—

The booklet in her hands had lied to her.

“…Who the hell wrote this thing? What kind of nonsense is this?!”

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T/N: idk okida's lore

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!