This Is My Holy Grail War [157]

Saber sheathed [Durandal], its blade still slick with blood. Around her, lifeless bodies lay in silent testament to the carnage.

But this was only the beginning. These mercenaries, though not from distinguished magus families, were still denizens of the world’s hidden side. That meant magic. That meant spoils.

The pitch-black Servant cast a crimson gaze toward the end of the distant concrete path. From the shadows, several [Dragon Tooth Warriors] emerged. As they materialized, a thick purple mist began seeping into the air, swirling around their feet—just high enough to reach their knees.

The violet haze spread outward, swiftly consuming the majority of the corpses. For bodies lying too far away, the [Dragon Tooth Warriors] simply dragged them into the mist.

Saber had thoroughly cleansed the battlefield. If not for having witnessed the slaughter firsthand, no one would believe that this place had once been littered with corpses.

Yet, the scent of blood remained. Traces of magical energy lingered, ensuring that anyone familiar with the supernatural would notice the disturbance. However, Saber couldn’t afford to waste mana needlessly. Every bit had to be conserved.

Initially, she had been troubled by the lack of materials for her workshop. That was no longer a concern. Her mana reserves were replenished—at least for the time being—and she had acquired a fair amount of magical materials and spare weapons.

These mercenaries were affiliated with the Mage’s Association. While they practiced magecraft, they were not traditional magi. Many of them carried modern firearms—though none wielded heavy weaponry like RPGs.

Without warning, Saber whipped out a revolver, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes.

In a single fluid motion—Bang! Bang!

Two gunshots rang out. Muzzle flashes flared with an eerie blue glow as the familiars that had been watching from above plummeted lifelessly to the ground.

One was an obsidian-black bird, its species indiscernible. The other was a deep blue crystal pigeon—oddly translucent yet utterly devoid of reflection.

The streetlights flickered. Other than the occasional crackle of electrical arcs, the silence was absolute. One could hear a pin drop.

The act of killing had been loud—inevitably so. Saber was no assassin lurking in the shadows. He was a warrior who charged headlong into battle. This meant one thing—more Servants would soon be drawn to this place.

Saber still had no idea how long the Holy Grail War had been going on, nor where he ranked among the Servants summoned. His Master had no intelligence to offer. In such a situation, he had to prepare for anything.

His keen eyes swept the surroundings. Once certain that no further surveillance remained, he swiftly shifted into spirit form and retreated into the warehouse. There, he handed a pair of gloves to William.

“Master, put these on.” The gloves were spoils of war, taken from one of the fallen mercenaries. “Cover your Command Spells and leave through the back.”

“O-okay.” William’s nose twitched slightly, as though he had already caught the scent of blood.

“No matter what happens, do not turn back. Do not interfere. Leave slowly—calmly—as if nothing has happened. If you draw attention, you will die.” Saber’s warning was sharp, unwavering. He couldn’t keep eliminating prying eyes forever. His Master needed to leave. Now.

“I understand.” William nodded.

Saber had eliminated the mercenaries with speed and efficiency, as well as the familiars that had been watching. But it wouldn’t be long before new ones took their place. This made him uneasy. His duty was not just to protect his Master but to ensure his Master’s identity remained concealed.

His Master was not a magus. Worse still, he was blind—completely incapable of defending himself. Exposure was not an option.

With no established workshop and no ability to be in multiple places at once, Saber made a decision.

A frigid aura radiated from his form, seeping outward into the city like a creeping frost. He was laying a trap—creating a battleground to draw attention, allowing his Master to slip away unnoticed. If necessary, he could always retreat using a Command Spell.

Saber no longer shied away from battle. He was calculating, measuring his own capabilities with care. His prowess in close combat was undeniable, but ancient magecraft was no weakness of his either. He needed to capture the attention of other Servants, and at the same time, make it abundantly clear that he was a swordsman. This way, his opponents might lower their guard in certain areas.

Under the night sky, the dark-clad Servant stood in silent vigilance. This was no bustling district—few people wandered into an isolated warehouse zone in the dead of night. The terrain was straightforward, making it an ideal place for a swordsman to wield his blade.

In other words, if an enemy did arrive, Saber would hold the advantage.

More importantly—Assassin was still lurking in the shadows.

No one would willingly risk fighting me while an Assassin prowls nearby…

Saber had accounted for every possibility, his mind running through countless scenarios. Yet in the very next moment, all of his calculations were shattered by a single unexpected declaration.

“Servant, Assassin—here to challenge you!”

Saber froze. If not for his Noble Phantasm remaining sealed, his expression might have betrayed his shock. He had never expected an Assassin to reveal himself so brazenly.

At the pitch-dark end of the alley, a man in a deep green robe emerged. His steps were unhurried, yet each one carried a solemn, palpable killing intent.

His features were androgynous, his aura oppressive. His expression was not cruel, but strangely soft—almost gentle. Not quite feminine, but tinged with a delicate, eerie stillness. Yet Saber could sense it—this man was drenched in the weight of countless deaths.

“What is your class?” Assassin’s voice was cool and impassive. “You carry a sword, so you must be Saber, correct?”

You’re holding a sword too, Saber thought. Instead, he replied, “Not necessarily. Would any Servant challenge an Assassin before they’ve been exposed? Sounds more like something a Berserker would do.”

Assassin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re too calm—deliberately misleading me. There’s no way you’re a Berserker.”

With that, he wasted no further words. Without hesitation, Assassin struck.

A flash of silver—lightning-fast!

Even under the dim glow of the streetlights, Assassin’s blade gleamed with a brilliance sharp enough to sting the eyes.

The moment his opponent raised his weapon, Saber instinctively shifted into his truest form.

For the first time on this distant land, King Arthur revealed her face.

She did not unsheathe [Durandal]. Instead, she held it horizontally, scabbard and all, as a barrier between them.

CLANG—!

A surge of blue magical energy burst into glittering dust, crackling with violent sparks as it scattered in all directions.

Saber retreated a step. Then—click.

With a soft metallic snap, she released the spring mechanism within the scabbard. Gripping both sword and sheath, she lunged forward once more.

A silver flash burst forth from the flat edge of the scabbard’s opening, its radiance cutting straight toward the heavens.

Fast. Fast. Faster!

The vicious arc of Saber’s blade slashed upward, aiming for Assassin’s throat. With one clean strike, she intended to sever his head.

“Hm?”

Such a fierce counterattack—any other Servant Saber had encountered would have instinctively retreated. But Assassin? He merely furrowed his brow slightly. It was as if he could see the trajectory of the blade before it even arrived. With a swift motion, he withdrew his slender sword and casually deflected Durandal’s edge with the hilt.

This wasn’t the work of a predictive skill—this was pure swordsmanship.

And then, with almost mechanical precision, he retaliated. No, rather, he attacked.

Assassin wielded his sword like a hammer, bringing it down over and over again, each strike as steady and relentless as a blacksmith hammering steel upon an anvil.

Pressure. Overwhelming pressure.

This Servant’s swordsmanship was extraordinary—not the kind honed on the battlefield for slaughter, but true mastery of the blade.

Saber barely managed to parry while swiftly raising her scabbard and pointing it toward Assassin. A flicker of magical light surged to the surface, forcing her opponent to retreat.

The spell wasn’t fired—Saber was conserving mana. But had Assassin refused to step back, she wouldn’t have hesitated to let him taste a blast of pure energy.

“Are you sure you’re an Assassin?” Saber frowned. “You seem more like a swordsman.”

“I am.” Assassin nodded. “And you? You use magecraft.”

“Perhaps I’m actually a Caster.” Saber continued her misinformation campaign, deliberately distorting intelligence on the Holy Grail War. She understood one truth well—Servant battles were Noble Phantasm battles. If one knew their opponent’s True Name, victory was already half-won.

“Deception.”

With that single word, Assassin fell silent. Or rather, his sword spoke in his place.

Assassin’s voice was cold, his demeanor as emotionless as a weapon itself. When he attacked, there were no unnecessary words, no wasted expressions—only his piercing, unyielding gaze.

Saber was no stranger to the Holy Grail War; she had fought in multiple iterations of it. She understood the difference between a warrior and a swordsman.

Take Artoria Pendragon—she crushed her foes with overwhelming strength. In contrast, Sasaki Kojirō relied purely on technique.

Clang—!

Blade met blade, the clash echoing through the night. Saber had the advantage in raw power, amplified further by her mana bursts. Yet Assassin’s skill in deflection was impeccable—he absorbed and redirected each impact with effortless composure, his mind as calm as still water.

Within twenty exchanges, Saber had already recalled Sasaki Kojirō.

This man’s swordsmanship could undoubtedly rival his.

The only thing she didn’t know was—did this Assassin possess a secret, deadly technique akin to Kojirō’s [Tsubame Gaeshi]? She had to tread carefully.

Saber hesitated to judge his swordsmanship outright. After all, she had encountered few true swordmasters in her lifetime. She had, however, seen many great warriors.

Strike met strike—blade clashed against blade.

Saber deflected Assassin’s attack and immediately countered, but he nimbly sidestepped the gleaming arc of her sword.

The air crackled with magical energy. The cement ground beneath them seemed as smooth as still water, but the instant Saber’s sword struck, debris scattered like droplets breaking the surface of a lake.

This exchange was only the beginning.

The battle had ignited something within them both.

The thrill of combat surged in Saber’s veins, and though Assassin remained composed, Saber caught it—the faint upward curve of his lips.

It took the combined power of [Instinct] and [Mind’s Eye (Fake)]—both top-tier combat skills—for Saber to hold her ground against this one-handed swordsman. She could sense it.

This man… he may be close to the legendary title of ‘Sword Saint.’

She contemplated whether or not to unleash [Tsubame Gaeshi]. She didn’t know his True Name. She had no idea if he possessed a defensive Noble Phantasm. Taking unnecessary risks at this stage was unwise.

Similarly, though Assassin exuded an oppressive killing intent, Saber could tell—he was just as cautious.

Neither of them had any intel on the other. Every attack was still a probe.

“With swordsmanship this refined, why not attack from the shadows?” Saber voiced her greatest doubt.

“I do not assassinate.” Assassin’s response was curt, final.

“Then how were you summoned under the Assassin class?”

“If killing everyone qualifies as assassination,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion, “then I am an assassin.”

His words sent a chill down Saber’s spine.

A killer—one who eliminated everything.

Saber instinctively took a step back, shifting her stance. She positioned her sword like a spear, her scabbard as a shield—defensive posture.

She had always been a cautious fighter. The Holy Grail War had only just begun; there was no need to gamble her life against another Servant. Retreat, establish a workshop—that was the priority.

Above them, the once-misty moonlight was now obscured by heavy clouds. Snowflakes began to drift lazily from the sky.

A frigid wind howled from the north. Though a mere chill meant nothing to a Servant, Saber still felt an eerie cold creeping over her.

Her Master had already left this area—she could feel it. By now, he should have reached the city’s bustling districts.

With no need to shield her Master anymore, Saber resolved to switch to full defense—conserving mana while gathering as much intel on Assassin as possible.

She just needed an opening.

Snowflakes twirled in the air.

In the blink of an eye, Assassin vanished.

A streak of emerald shot forward—his sword whipped downward like a serpent baring its fangs.

Pure speed.

Saber barely managed to react, her mind racing. Assassin’s agility had to be at least A+.

Servants couldn’t directly perceive an opponent’s stats—that was a function granted only to Masters via the Holy Grail’s interface.

Her [Instinct] skill screamed warnings in her mind. She adjusted her footwork, every step becoming sharper, more fluid.

A silver arc slashed through the air.

Blade met blade—a fleeting moment of brilliance under the stage lights of battle.

The sparks of clashing steel and the ringing impact of metal against metal formed the symphony of their opening act.

Servant against Servant. Step after step, they wove a deadly waltz.

In the shadows, unseen magi watched in awe.

Some were exhilarated. Some were speechless.

Mere words on paper could never match the visceral spectacle before them.

The dance of flashing swords was blinding.

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T/N: is this Okada?

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!