This Is My Holy Grail War [148]

Amakusa Shirou Tokisada had become the Master of five Servants. Aside from Kairi Shishigou and the homunculus vessels, the entire Red faction was effectively under his sole command.

This meant Amakusa held complete control over the Red faction’s power, turning it into a one-man regime. Consequently, Ruler Jeanne d’Arc now stood squarely in opposition to the Red faction.

Yet Saber was pleased with this arrangement. The simpler the situation, the easier his path to victory. If Amakusa succeeded, Saber wouldn’t have to face his own allies or endure yet another Holy Grail War. All that remained was to defeat the Black faction.

Saber wasn’t particularly familiar with the responsibilities of a Ruler. Wasn’t she supposed to be a neutral arbiter? Then why had she entered the battlefield herself? As a swordsman, Saber didn’t dwell on these complexities. He assumed Jeanne had her own goals and that she opposed Amakusa’s wish for her own reasons.

The Greater Grail, a miraculous wish-granting artifact, could fulfill any desire. While the Master’s intent shaped how the wish was realized, the Grail’s ability to perform miracles was undisputed.

If the Grail denied wishes deemed too extreme, wouldn’t that contradict its very nature as an omnipotent artifact? A Holy Grail incapable of granting wishes might as well render the war pointless.

Saber didn’t concern himself with Jeanne’s warnings about humanity losing its drive or purpose. Grand philosophies and moral debates held no sway over him. He cared only about the Grail and its promise to grant any wish.

So, even a Ruler is a participant in the Holy Grail War, Saber thought, his regard for Jeanne plummeting further. Violations of the Grail’s rules were nothing new.

Having defected from the Black faction, Saber shared his knowledge with his new allies. Yet in practice, it made little difference—both sides had the means to discern each Servant’s True Name.

Without hesitation or coordination, Saber joined Karna and Mordred as the Red faction’s vanguard. Together, they launched a direct assault on the Black faction’s fortress.

Karna led the charge, obliterating the Black faction’s defenses with his Noble Phantasm. It was as if the sky itself was falling. The surging magical energy formed a miniature sun, which then plummeted to the earth with unstoppable force.

Seizing the moment, Saber unleashed his own power. Azure energy, reminiscent of Artoria’s radiance, erupted as he charged into the fray.

Saber cut through the obstacles ahead, including the Berserker and mage guarding the Black faction’s castle. Alongside Mordred, he stormed the fortress.

The land seemed to weep. The very ley lines were in turmoil, the planet’s lifeblood tainted. Saber could sense the entangled magical energies—his own, Karna’s, Caster’s, and Vlad III’s.

The ground bore countless scars from the battle, and the air hung heavy with resentment. It was as though the earth itself cursed every Servant involved in this Holy Grail War.

I’m sorry, but I have no choice, Saber thought, offering a silent apology to the desecrated land.

To Karna, Saber left only a curt directive: “Cover me.” With that, he charged ahead, leaving the Caster and Berserker to his ally. It was a simple ploy to avoid directly confronting the enemy mage.

Mordred followed closely, her horned helmet concealing her expression. Saber had no insight into her thoughts; she felt like a stranger.

With Artoria’s face as his own, Saber had long grown accustomed to mistaken identities. Mordred naturally assumed he was the King of Knights, but this was hardly surprising. It wasn’t his first encounter with a Knight of the Round Table.

During the Fifth Holy Grail War, he had earned Artoria’s trust. That particular episode had been a deception that went unchallenged—a role he played until the bitter end, when he willingly embraced death.

Perhaps Artoria believed I was truly Lancelot until the very last moment, Saber mused. In that time, he had even received the approval of the Ever-Victorious King, gaining the right to bear her likeness. It was a mark of legitimacy, even if it was a ruse.

“Saber! I treated you well—why did you betray us?!”

Vlad III emerged from a dark stone building atop his warhorse. His grip on his lance was so tight it trembled, his teeth clenched in rage.

“Father would never bow to you!”

Mordred interrupted before Saber could respond, shouting without hesitation. Her tone carried a mocking edge, as if daring Vlad to challenge her.

Vlad closed his eyes briefly, his tense expression softening into a bitter smile. “I see… so that’s how it is.”

He opened his eyes, a glint of understanding flashing in them. “Father, you say? To think Black Saber is a king in her own right!”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, lost in a brief moment of reminiscence. “Looking back, your behavior was indeed peculiar. Unlike the others, you never bowed before me, never swore fealty. You stood tall, unyielding. A true king never lowers their head, for the crown would fall!”

The battlefield grew tense, the air heavy with unspoken conflict. Vlad’s voice turned steely as he continued, “But one land cannot sustain two kings. Either you die here, or I shall perish on this soil!”

A wave of spikes burst forth from the earth beneath Saber’s feet, sharp and crimson as blood. Saber instinctively flipped backward, narrowly avoiding the onslaught.

The spikes radiated a sinister aura, rusted and bloodied. Their very sight filled the heart with dread, an instinctual fear that gnawed at the soul.

Mounted on his gemstone steed, Vlad III advanced, summoning a tidal wave of crimson stakes. They surged like a blood-red tsunami, crashing toward Saber with overwhelming force.

Saber steadied his breath, gripping [Durandal] tightly. The pressure from Vlad’s relentless attacks was suffocating, even greater than the presence of Gilgamesh.

The stakes rained down from every direction, their assault unrelenting. Guided by instinct, Saber slashed through them in a whirlwind of steel. In the blink of an eye, dozens of stakes shattered under his blade.

But the stakes kept coming, an endless torrent summoned by Vlad III’s fury. The stakes formed a veritable sea of blood, threatening to engulf Saber completely.

“Father, let me—”

Before Mordred could finish, She was overtaken by the stakes. The rebellious Knight of the Round Table gritted her teeth, pushing herself to resist.

Even with her instincts aiding her, Mordred couldn’t match Saber’s precision. The sheer volume of Vlad’s attacks was overwhelming.

Empowered by his home ground, Vlad III was unstoppable. His magic was endless, his might peerless on this cursed battlefield.

Saber reached out to aid Mordred, but at that moment, a shadow darted through her vision. A single arrow streaked toward her heart—her Spirit Core.

Saber twisted at the last second, avoiding a fatal strike. But the arrow pierced her spine, sending searing pain through her body.

Her grip faltered. [Durandal], raised to fend off the stakes, hesitated for a moment too long. Rusted spikes drove into her chest, pinning her to the ground.

The pain wasn’t merely physical—it pierced her soul.

“[Crimson Lightning]!” Mordred unleashed a burst of magical energy, scattering the stakes in a desperate counterattack.

The reprieve was brief. Mordred’s limited mana reserves couldn’t sustain prolonged combat. Kairi’s supply couldn’t compare to Darnic’s, nor the resources of the Black faction’s homunculi army.

Vlad smirked, his voice dripping with confidence. “Impressive, but how long can you last?” He extended his hand, summoning another tide of crimson stakes.

In his homeland, Vlad III was invincible—a sovereign blessed by the land of Romania itself. His magical energy was endless.

“I’ll hold him off. You’re no match for him—go deal with the Black Archer,” Saber commanded, her voice sharp as she raised her sword to sever the Execution Stakes that had pierced her body. Blood-stained shards fell to the ground as she yanked the cursed metal free from her chest.

Karna wasn’t the greatest threat in this Holy Grail War, nor was Achilles a particularly difficult opponent for her. Saber’s real challenge lay with her so-called allies—Black Lancer, Vlad III, and Caster’s monstrous Adam.

Without a destructive Noble Phantasm capable of mass devastation, Saber posed little threat to either of them. Adam could be avoided, but Vlad III was her ultimate nemesis. The Execution Stakes were relentless, piercing body, soul, and even the mind.

“Father…”

“Go!!!” Saber’s shout echoed with authority.

“I… as you command!” Mordred’s voice cracked with reluctance. Her steps were heavy as she retreated, turning back repeatedly. Only when Archer’s supporting arrows began raining down did she finally charge toward the archer’s hiding place.

Mordred was gone, but the stakes remained.

The pain from Saber’s earlier wound still lingered. The gaping hole in her chest throbbed with a cursed ache that flared whenever she caught sight of Vlad III and his accursed Noble Phantasm.

So many… and the pain only deepens.

“It hurts.” The words escaped her lips unconsciously. Even when riddled by Gilgamesh’s [Gate of Babylon], Saber hadn’t cried out. But now, the agony overwhelmed her.

Her vision filled with countless crimson stakes, their rusted scent mingling with the sound of earth shattering beneath them.

What she saw, smelled, and heard—all of it—was a brutal assault on her senses.

Although [Avalon] had begun repairing her wounds, the pain persisted, as if seared into her mind. This was despair. The blood-red waves of stakes crashing toward her seemed devoid of any hope.

They’re coming! Saber braced herself, determined to endure the frozen despair of this crimson sea.

Thousands of stakes hurtled toward her, their trajectories overwhelming her mind with predictions from Instinct.

She held her ground, retreating only as she deflected each stake, using the force of their impact to leap backward. The further she distanced herself from Vlad III, the weaker his attacks would become.

But Vlad III, mounted on his warhorse, advanced far faster than Saber could escape. He closed the distance, and the stakes broke through her defense once more, piercing her collarbone.

Saber had no time to pull the stake out; she had to focus entirely on blocking Black Lancer’s relentless assault.

Yet the stakes seemed alive, responding to Vlad III’s will.

From the corner of her mind, Saber envisioned countless stakes sprouting from her body, originating from the single rusted spike embedded in her collarbone.

Without the ability to retract her sword, how could she remove it? Saber knew she would have to pay a price.

“RAAAAHHHHHH!” Her enraged scream echoed like that of a madwoman. With raw, desperate strength, she wrenched her body to the side, tearing the stake free.

Blood spattered across the ground, leaving her shoulder blade exposed, a gruesome wound gaping open.

“Endurance… increase,” she muttered through gritted teeth, her breath ragged as she clung to the hope of reinforcements.

[Endurance: C+++ → Endurance: B+++]

Her battle with Achilles had further enhanced her capabilities. With [Avalon]’s power and her own natural resilience, Saber’s endurance had reached remarkable levels.

“You’re waiting for the Red Lancer, aren’t you?” Vlad III sneered, tightening his grip on his lance. “It’s useless. Caster has already detained him!”

“No, I’m not waiting for Karna.” Saber’s lips curled into a faint smile as she sensed a familiar presence. Fresh air stirred the battlefield, carrying with it a force tied to the earth itself.

That presence… Enkidu.

Drawn by the chaos of war, Beserker of Red- Enkidu had arrived. The anger of the land called to him, and he moved toward the fortress.

“Red Berserker?” Vlad III muttered in surprise.

As he spoke, shining silver chains burst forth, weaving themselves into an intricate, radiant net. Enkidu, channeling the strength of the earth, blocked Vlad III’s assault.

Seizing the moment, Saber heard Amakusa Shirou Tokisada’s voice echo through her mind with an urgent command:

“The Greater Grail is just ahead. Seize it!”

In that instant, Saber realized Amakusa had established contact with the homunculus Heath through his machinations. His voice carried both authority and reassurance.

“I will join you!”

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T/N: that is... ouch

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!