This Is My Holy Grail War [143]

Through the indistinct ripples of her visions, Jeanne d’Arc discerned a shadow cloaked in black. It was a revelation from the Lord, a divine image guiding her forward.

This vision directed Jeanne to her destination before the Red and Black factions launched their offensive. Yet, the revelation’s true purpose remained elusive to her.

And so, Jeanne wandered aimlessly for what felt like an eternity. Despite her Servant’s resilient constitution, she felt the weariness creeping into her body. Raising her head, she saw the fortress falling from the sky.

The entire [Hanging Gardens of Babylon] burned in a fiery crimson glow. Even though the sun had long set, the night sky was as bright as day. The burning city had replaced the sun, its searing heat palpable even from afar.

The Holy Grail War. At the mere thought of it, Jeanne couldn’t help but frown. Summoned by the Grail as a Ruler, carrying the Lord’s revelations, she understood that a proper Holy Grail War did not require an arbiter. Thus, Jeanne knew there was something amiss with this Grail War.

But what, exactly? That was the question that haunted her.

The image in her mind reappeared—the shadowy figure she had been chasing. Yet something was different this time.

The surroundings were ablaze, with scorching flames and rivers of molten lava erupting everywhere.

Jeanne recognized those flames. She glanced up again. The fires engulfing the Hanging Gardens were the very same as those in her vision.

She confirmed the location of the shadowy figure but found that the vision persisted. It was constant, unyielding, and obscure. The scene shifted, and Jeanne saw another figure—a Servant.

She couldn’t discern their true name, but the overwhelming magical energy emanating from them was unmistakable. This was a powerful Servant, radiating brilliant golden light, crowned and wielding a prismatic sword.

This Servant stood close to the black-cloaked shadow she had been seeking. She longed to see the shadow turn and reveal themselves, but instead, it was the golden Servant who turned.

It was... Saber of Black?!

Jeanne’s heart sank. The one she had been pursuing belonged to the Red Faction—that much she had managed to piece together. Yet, why was this individual with a Servant of the Black Faction?

She had encountered Saber of Black once before—a remarkable warrior. Though their true name was hidden, Jeanne’s sharp memory would not fail her. Golden hair, radiant eyes—those features were unforgettable.

This uncertainty only steeled Jeanne’s resolve. She quickened her pace, moving forward, ever forward. Yet, even as she ran, she couldn’t match the speed of the falling fortress.

The [Hanging Gardens of Babylon] blazed one final streak of fire before crashing into the earth with cataclysmic force.

The resulting explosion was as if divine wrath had descended, with shockwaves so violent they felt like an earthquake.

Columns of fire and smoke blackened the sky, painting it like a canvas soaked in thick, oily paint. Holding onto a shred of hope, Jeanne pressed on. Perhaps even in the ruins, there would be a clue.

Her persistence seemed to move the heavens, as another vision came to her—another revelation from the Lord.

This time, she saw the Red Assassin clashing with the Red Saber. But why? Why would Servants of the same faction fight each other?

Jeanne’s confusion deepened as she pushed her body harder, wishing she had eight legs to move faster.

The falling embers from the shattered sky fortress streaked past her as she ran. Burning fragments, late arrivals from the descending city, crashed to the ground like a fiery meteor shower.

The forest below began to ignite. Unquenchable wildfires reduced everything in their path to ash and rubble. The acrid scent of burning wood filled Jeanne’s nostrils, and her brows furrowed.

What a terrible battle. The Holy Grail... is it truly a sacred relic worth pursuing at such a cost? A quiet voice of doubt echoed in Jeanne’s heart.

Fear gripped her, unease gnawing at her soul. She feared the flames would spread unchecked, consuming the land and its people. This war had already far exceeded her expectations. Compared to this, the battles between England and France seemed like mere child’s play.

“—Father!”

The thunderous cry shook the earth, startling Jeanne into halting. She froze for a moment before pushing through the wall of fire. Breaking through the warped flames, she saw the Red Saber surrounded by a storm of crimson lightning.

Red Saber—Mordred.

Jeanne’s ability to perceive true names had activated, and she now knew the identity of the Servant who had called out so fervently. The rebellious knight of the Round Table, the one who brought about King Arthur’s fall—Mordred.

Seeing Mordred, Jeanne’s thoughts immediately turned to Saber of Black. The two looked almost identical, as if cast from the same mold. Their features were strikingly similar, yet Jeanne couldn’t help but feel that Mordred was slightly taller. The way Mordred addressed Saber of Black as “Father” felt deeply odd.

“Step aside, Assassin!”

Red Assassin—Semiramis.

Jeanne watched the scene between the two Servants unfold. They were supposed to be allies, yet the situation was anything but harmonious. The [Hanging Gardens of Babylon] had fallen, leaving Assassin severely weakened.

Facing a Saber known for their high [Magic Resistance] at such a moment was a grave disadvantage.

“Oh my, such a feisty little girl,” Semiramis said with a sly smile. “It’s true she’s a Knight of the Round Table, but since when did any of them earn the title ‘Father’?” She scrutinized the Saber with interest, piecing together the facts. “Only one fits the description. You’re Mordred, aren’t you?”

“Hmph, I’m not one to hide my name. I am Mordred, rightful heir to Pendragon and the true successor to King Arthur!” Mordred declared with pride, her chest puffed out as if daring anyone to challenge her claim. Revealing her identity seemed to amplify her self-satisfaction.

“King Arthur couldn’t possibly be a woman,” Semiramis countered, her words sharp and dismissive.

“She is!” Mordred snapped, her voice tinged with childish defiance, as though she’d just been insulted.

“But the Saber of Black explicitly said she wasn’t King Arthur,” Semiramis replied with feigned curiosity. “You must have mistaken her for someone else.”

“That’s nonsense! How could I be mistaken?!” Mordred roared, undeterred. “The scabbard, her appearance—I could never misidentify them. She’s my father, without a doubt! Everyone in Britain would recognize her. I’d bet everything on it!”

“Pardon me, but aren’t you two supposed to be allies?” Jeanne asked, her voice cautious, her question cutting through the escalating tension. Her inquiry earned her a sharp glare from Semiramis.

“Yes, and why does an outsider think they can meddle in our affairs?” Semiramis hissed, turning her attention to Jeanne. It was clear she hadn’t noticed Jeanne earlier.

“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Jeanne waved her hands hastily, trying to defuse the situation. “I’m looking for someone. Have either of you seen them?” She fumbled to describe the shadowed figure from her visions, but no matter how she tried, the explanation remained vague.

Jeanne’s awkward attempts only deepened the hostility in Semiramis’s gaze. Panic started to set in, and Jeanne was at a loss for what to do.

Then it happened—the revelation returned.

Ripples of clarity spread through her mind, guiding Jeanne’s attention to the east.

She started to move, intent on following the vision’s direction. But her path was abruptly blocked by black chains. The way forward had been sealed off by Semiramis, whose chains Jeanne had encountered once before.

During her search for answers at the church, Jeanne had been ambushed by these same chains. If her suspicions were correct, Semiramis knew something about the Grail’s irregularities. Her actions now all but confirmed it.

This was no time for talk. Jeanne had to act.

Following the Lord’s guidance, Jeanne surged forward. Her A-Rank [Magic Resistance] allowed her to shatter the chains with brute force, her body breaking through as if they were paper. With a powerful swing of her banner, she cleared the rubble blocking her path, unveiling the figure Mordred had called her “Father.”

It was the Saber of Black.

Jeanne came to an abrupt halt, frowning as she registered the new presence. From behind her came the sound of shifting armor. Mordred had followed her, and upon seeing the Black Saber, her demeanor shifted drastically. A suffocating pressure filled the air, even making Jeanne, the impartial Ruler, struggle to breathe.

“Father, do you remember me?” Mordred asked, her voice heavy with emotion.

The air grew still, as though the battlefield itself were holding its breath. Jeanne could feel the tension, like a spark waiting to ignite. She could sense the figure from her visions but hesitated to push past the Black Saber out of respect.

Conflict was inevitable, but Jeanne sought to avoid unnecessary violence. She needed these Servants to face one another on fair terms.

“I am not Artoria,” the Black Saber stated flatly, speaking a name that made Mordred’s conviction only stronger.

“No, you are!” Mordred insisted, her voice rising.

“I may resemble her, but I…” The Black Saber paused, her tone uncertain. “I don’t even remember my own name.”

The unexpected admission caught Jeanne off guard. Before she could react, she interjected:

“All summoned Servants are recorded by the world. It would be impossible for the Holy Grail to summon someone without a name.” Jeanne paused, her tone softening. “Perhaps a curse caused you to forget your true identity, but the legacy you carry cannot be wrong.”

“Exactly! That’s proof you’re my father!” Mordred declared, charging toward the Black Saber. Jeanne braced herself for a clash but was stunned by what happened instead.

Red Saber dashed into the Black Saber’s embrace, and the latter did not show the slightest hostility in return.

Two Sabers from opposing factions, coexisting peacefully?

Jeanne was left speechless. However, Servants summoned by the Holy Grail were Heroic Spirits, each with their own choices. Meeting an acquaintance and exchanging words was not unheard of. It wasn’t her place to intervene.

“I keep telling you, I’m not Artoria…” Black Saber protested, growing visibly flustered. But Mordred was unrelenting, clutching onto her arguments about the scabbard and appearance. Nothing anyone said could dissuade her. “How can you not recognize your own father? Artoria and I are nothing alike!” she exclaimed, her determination unwavering.

“In what way?” Mordred shot back.

“She… she…”

“She’s not as pure as you,” Mordred interrupted with absolute certainty. “If it were truly Father, she wouldn’t say something like that.”

“Well, there you go,” Black Saber sighed in exasperation. “I’m not your father.” She gently nudged Mordred away.

The gesture, however, sent Mordred into a sulk. She sat down on the ground, arms crossed, her lips forming a childish pout. “I don’t care! You’re my father, no matter what you say!” she declared stubbornly, turning her head in a display of defiance.

Jeanne silently observed. Mordred’s parentage was clearly tied to King Arthur. Yet, she couldn’t discern Black Saber’s true name, as it was obscured by a mysterious fog. Perhaps it was some kind of curse?

“I truly don’t remember my past,” Black Saber muttered, her attempts at denial growing weaker. Social interactions clearly weren’t her strength.

“Father, you’ve lost your memory?!” Mordred cried out, her tone shifting from defiance to alarm. Tears welled up in her eyes, and, to Jeanne’s astonishment, the proud knight of the Round Table began sobbing openly.

Jeanne was thoroughly stunned. Mordred, the infamous rebellious knight, was reduced to tears like a heartbroken child. Meanwhile, the diminutive Black Saber, whose sanctified aura belied her youthful appearance, reached out and gently placed a hand on Mordred’s head.

“But… this version of you is nice,” Mordred sniffled, wiping her tears and cracking a smile. The fiery knight, whose temperament resembled that of a Berserker, was suddenly calm and content, basking in the Black Saber’s quiet attention.

“Father, you might’ve forgotten, but let me remind you. I’m an elegant, loyal, humble, courteous, and incredibly powerful knight,” Mordred said with a wide grin, piling on self-praise shamelessly. “A prince with aspirations, always noble and grounded. I’ll make a great king someday, don’t you think?”

“Really?” Black Saber replied, doubt evident in her tone. Her uncertain gaze darted around nervously, as if still unconvinced of her role.

“Really, truly! Truer than gold!” Mordred nodded fervently, the gentleness of Black Saber’s touch rendering her as docile as a child. Her smile radiated an innocent happiness that warmed Jeanne’s heart.

Jeanne couldn’t help but think: This… child? She might actually hold herself to those words someday.

Though the moment was touching, Jeanne had no time to linger. She still had her own mission to complete. She stepped past the two Sabers and pressed on toward the ruins.

In the depths of the rubble, Jeanne finally sensed the presence she had been pursuing.
Ruler, Amakusa Shirou Tokisada.

She hadn’t yet laid eyes on him, but his name alone sent a chill down her spine.

Another Ruler? Her thoughts raced. Is this tied to the irregularity that caused my summoning? If the previous Holy Grail War’s Ruler still existed in this world, it was a direct violation of the War’s very rules.

“Why are you so desperate to claim the Grail?” Jeanne asked, her voice firm yet measured. “The Greater Grail is not something we are meant to pursue. What are you truly seeking?”

Amakusa’s voice rang out, calm yet resolute:
“What I seek… is salvation.”

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T/N: welll mordred IS 4 years old or somethingg

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!