This Is My Holy Grail War [153]

The Command Spell's magical energy surged within Saber. She saw Jeanne being intercepted by Caster, and then, unexpectedly, a strange man appeared. His attire was unmistakably medieval, bearing a strong resemblance to the Caster from the Fourth Holy Grail War—except for his large eyes and distinct clothing.

Jeanne acknowledged Saber's words; she had indeed acted out of personal desire.

"This is the Holy Grail War—the miracle that grants wishes," Saber gritted her teeth. "I must win." She raised her sword and charged forward, Durandal's blade flashing with a cold gleam.

Gilles de Rais announced his name—he was the very same Caster from the Fourth War! However, this time, he had been summoned in an unusual, classless form. Yet Saber did not sense immense magical energy from him, not even the threat level of a golem.

Jeanne's war banner stood firm before Gilles, and shockingly, the Noble Phantasm worked in his favor. Saber's Durandal could not pierce the barrier the flag had erected; she could only watch helplessly as Jeanne gathered energy for her Noble Phantasm!

The Ruler continued her chant, an overwhelming pressure bearing down upon Saber. Her instincts flared, warning her—an inferno, vast and all-consuming, was about to descend!

What should she do?! She had to stop her!

But neither Saber, Amakusa, nor Caster could do anything—they were powerless against the barrier’s defense.

Saber roared in frustration, raising her sword like a club and slamming it down upon the transparent barrier, over and over. But the barrier was unyielding, unbreakable. All she could do was create faint ripples upon its semi-transparent surface.

The Black Knight lacked overwhelming destructive power, and the barrier nullified all possible attacks. Durandal, an A-rank sword, should have been devastatingly sharp—Saber vividly remembered it slicing through a three-thousand-meter-high marble column.

Then why—why was the Durandal in her hands now completely ineffective? Indestructible, yes, but beyond that, it seemed like an ordinary blade.

"I’ll ask just once… You are my Master, aren’t you?" Though she posed the question, her gaze remained locked forward.

"Yes," Amakusa revealed his Command Spell. "Why ask?"

"Just confirming. That’s all I need." Saber exhaled sharply. "I don’t care what your wish is. I don’t care what you want to do. I want you to win!"

With that, Saber's sword sheath disappeared, retreating into her body. She gripped Durandal’s hilt tightly with both hands.

Durandal could not pierce Jeanne’s defense. Though it was indestructible, it lacked the necessary power to deal a fatal blow. But Saber remembered the initial hint—because she was not a saint, she could not unleash the sword’s full potential.

She struggled to understand the sword's true power, and even its rank had been affected.

"I recall… you are a saint, aren’t you?" Saber asked for confirmation.

"Why do you ask?" Jeanne responded with a hint of confusion.

"A simple yes is enough."

Saber suddenly looked up—something had changed.

This time, she was not acting out of pride. She abandoned the flawless defense that Artoria’s form had granted her, trading her shield for a sword.

The image of the "Undefeated King" was the guise that Saber felt safest in—her powerful Instinct, Mana Burst, and Avalon’s support made her defense virtually impenetrable. But to break through Jeanne’s protection, she had to make a choice.

"Two Jeannes?!"

Gilles gasped in astonishment as another Saint of Orléans appeared.

[The one who wields this sword is a saint. The angels shall grant you eternal blessings.]

[A- → A+]

[O Saint, have you comprehended the mercy of our Lord? Bring the gospel of Heaven to the world, so that sinners may find salvation and be freed from suffering.]

Durandal could not shatter the heavens like other holy swords, nor could it protect its wielder. But it had taken two concepts to their absolute limits—eternal indestructibility and peerless sharpness.

Though Saber had previously taken on the appearance of King Arthur, the devout Christian King of Britain, Arthur had never been recognized as a saint. Thus, Durandal had remained just an unbreakable sword.

But now, Saber had taken on the form of the Vatican-recognized saint—Jeanne d’Arc. And so, the sword, meant only for a saint, at last unleashed its true power.

Durandal was one of the prototypes for the legendary "Sword of the Stars," one of the most famous swords in history. By general Noble Phantasm standards, its fame was undoubtedly top-tier.

However, in terms of sheer effectiveness, Durandal fell far short of other legendary holy swords.

Now, as Saber became Jeanne, she finally sensed Durandal’s true strength. The holy sword rejoiced, exulted. For the first time, it shone with resplendent light—its silver radiance dazzling.

If its true name was invoked, Durandal would unfailingly sever one thing—any single entity. Be it a boulder, a fortress wall, a shield, or even a mountain!

"[The Immaculate Durandal]!!" 'Jeanne' cried out.

Clang!

A banner blessed by the Lord clashed against a sword blessed by the Lord.

The barrier and the flag shattered on impact. The once-unbreakable war banner split into two under Durandal’s strike!

Saber tore through Gilles’ defenses, ready to charge at the chanting Jeanne—only to be abruptly restrained.

Gilles de Rais clung desperately to her legs, his noble dignity abandoned, his manner like that of a madman.

As a summoned "personality" created by Caster’s Noble Phantasm, he was not a Servant, nor did he possess strength. Like a beggar, he could only use his body to hold Saber back.

"No one can stop me!" Saber declared mercilessly, slicing through Gilles’ body with a single stroke.

Bathed in his blood, she lunged at Jeanne with the fury of a demon.

"Durandal… the sword blessed by our Lord?!" Ruler gasped in disbelief.

Saber’s blade pierced through Jeanne’s body.

Jeanne ceased her chant—but in that final moment, she spoke once more.

"[O' Lord, I entrust this body to you— La Pucelle]!"

Even impaled by Durandal, Jeanne did not die immediately. With the last of her strength, she unleashed her Noble Phantasm.

The first to be consumed by the flames was Ruler Jeanne. Then, Saber's transformed Jeanne followed.

At this impossibly close range, Saber faced the inferno head-on. Desperate to survive, she reverted to Artoria’s form.

But the flames were too close, too intense.

The instant she shifted forms, the fire engulfed her completely. She had no time to summon Avalon!

Jeanne's soul-fueled flames burned hot and merciless. In an instant, they devoured Saber—inside and out, even igniting her spirit core!

"Agh—!"

It felt as though her heart was being ripped apart by unseen hands. The searing pain robbed her of words.

Her vision blurred, veiled by a thick red mist.

Jeanne had shattered Jeanne’s banner. Jeanne had impaled Jeanne with the holy sword. And Jeanne’s flames had consumed Jeanne.

To an outsider, it looked as though Jeanne had slain herself.

Saber staggered to her feet. The fire had burned away all the blood—her own, Gilles’, Jeanne’s—cleansing everything with holy flame.

The flames stripped away her flesh, while Avalon struggled to repair her body.

It hurts… it hurts so much.

The agony did not last for just a moment; it was relentless, drawn out by the flames.

Saber felt herself being incinerated, lost in the fire’s embrace. She wished for the pain to end—but she refused to surrender.

Just as the fire finally began to die out, she heard a voice.

Faint, yet familiar.

At that moment, Saber had triumphed over Jeanne. But she was utterly spent, and could only look toward the others—hoping Amakusa would claim victory.

But just as she turned, she saw someone.

Mordred?!

Saber watched as Mordred limped toward her, a strange cigarette clutched in her hand. Clarent was nowhere to be seen, and her body was riddled with arrows.

Blood soaked her entire frame. Mordred forced herself to speak the moment she saw Saber.

"Father…"

Her presence flickered between existence and nothingness—Saber could tell that Mordred was already dead.

What remained now was nothing but sheer will.

Her spirit core had been shattered, her existence reduced to a hazy, fragile layer of magical energy. Saber realized—Mordred was no longer alive. This was only her lingering resolve.

"Father… Father…"

Mordred stumbled forward, her expression vacant. No—rather, the Red Saber had lost the ability to think. She was nothing more than a messenger, an empty shell.

She had one final message to deliver.

"Father, I won. I did not disappoint you. I… I am not a traitorous knight."

With those words, her body began to fade.

Yet her smile—sweet as honey—was so sincere it was almost heartbreaking.

A strange emotion welled up inside Saber.

She had only said a single sentence before. She had never imagined Mordred would take it so seriously—so seriously that she was willing to give up her life for it.

Her most precious thing, her very existence—abandoned, all because of Saber's words.

Saber felt a complicated mix of emotions.

"You did well, Mordred."

She reached out, gently ruffling her child's hair.

"Ah…"

Mordred’s tears fell in an instant, spilling freely as she choked on her sobs.

But in the end, she left this world with a heart full of joy.

The cigarette slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground. Saber picked it up—it was unlit, merely held in Mordred’s grasp.

Mordred had said, "This thing… it helps people calm down."

Before her voice could fully fade, her form dissolved into golden dust, vanishing from the world.

The cigarette fell, and Saber caught it.

Saber had done everything in her power to encourage the Red Saber. But truthfully, her own condition was no better than Mordred’s.

If Mordred had been driven by the desire to see her father one last time, then Saber had merely clung to the Holy Grail out of her own obsession.

So… does this mean I won?

With that final thought, Saber, too, left the battlefield.

Mordred’s discarded cigarette left Saber at a loss.

She could only vaguely recall the words Mordred had spoken. "This thing helps people calm down."

---

Saber’s soul drifted far from Romania, yet the echoes of forgotten correction resounded in her mind, as persistent and grating as a crow’s cry.

[You were killed by Jeanne. This hatred shall be engraved in your heart until your vengeance is complete.]

[You have avenged yourself against Jeanne. Your soul has found rest, but your resentment has not ended. The grudge against Gilgamesh still lingers within you, refusing to be forgotten.]

[Very well. You have defeated three Servants. You have earned a place in the next Holy Grail War. Now, take part in another—a special one. Though, in truth, each of them is special in its own way. No one follows the rules.]

[Now, draw a skill or Noble Phantasm. Let’s see if fortune favors you. Perhaps you’ll gain an unexpected treasure.]

Strength: B
Endurance: C
Agility: A
Mana: D
Luck: D
Noble Phantasm: A
Skills: A

[You have acquired the skill: Pure Eyes.]

Suddenly, even within the void of darkness, his vision sharpened.

Brilliant, magic-infused blue light flooded his eyes, completely enveloping his sight. The sheer concentration of power in this space was overwhelming—dominating everything.

[The eyes engraved upon your soul have been activated. Your vision has transcended.]

[You have been summoned as a Saber by William Kuhn. You have gained A-rank Magic Resistance and B-rank Riding. Due to your class, your Endurance has increased by one rank. Your Master’s aptitude is average and does not grant you any additional benefits.]

[Endurance: C → B]

[Due to Avalon, your Endurance has been significantly enhanced.]

[B → B+++]

[And so, the Holy Grail War shall continue. You must win. You must claim the Grail.]

Had he still not won?

He and Jeanne had perished together—was it the Black Faction or the Red Faction that had ultimately claimed victory?

Too few Servants had died; the Greater Holy Grail had not yet activated.

Or… did one have to endure until the very end to be considered the victor?

Countless questions flooded his mind, but one truth became clear—he had to see the Greater Grail manifest with his own eyes.

I must survive until the final moment of victory.

Only then would he truly understand what "victory" meant.

---

T/N: and thats the end of apocrypha!!! hmm is pure eyes a thing? arceuied has it right?

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!