This Is My Holy Grail War [210]

Salel awoke from his slumber. The sky outside had already dipped into twilight.

He stretched out his legs sluggishly, trying to shake off the heavy fatigue weighing on his body. Though he had slept straight through to the next night, drowsiness still clung to him. Time passed too quickly—blink, and the whole day was gone. His chest felt heavier with each breath. His magical energy was draining, faster and faster. His body felt weightless, insubstantial. When he stepped onto the floor, his legs nearly forgot how to walk. He staggered, nearly collapsing.

Death is getting closer, he thought. His brow furrowed.

The blinds were tightly shut, blocking the last traces of daylight. As he stepped out of the living room, he spotted his old friend Alfonso.

The kind-hearted priest who had taken him in now lay draped across the sofa like a corpse, completely out of it. It was as if his soul had fled.

“Alfonso?” Salel called out, puzzled. His friend looked even worse off than he did.

He crept over carefully, concerned. “What’s wrong with you?”

He glanced at the door and windows—yes, there was still a faint glow of sunlight seeping in. It was late in the day, but technically still daytime. Salel was a Dead Apostle—he was supposed to be listless during daylight hours. Alfonso, on the other hand, was human. He shouldn’t be this drained just lying on the floor.

“Just a bit… no, very tired,” Alfonso groaned, flopping onto his back like a beached fish. He nearly fell off the couch. “The Holy Grail War… it’s started. They’ve begun fighting.”

“The Servants?” Salel scratched his bald head, trying to puzzle out the connection. “So what if they’ve started fighting? What’s that got to do with you, as an executer? Give it a week, they’ll all die off without mana anyway.”
Just like me, he added silently.

“Yeah, well, I’m also the overseer.” Alfonso sighed. “You can’t expect old Father Ramon to handle field work anymore, can you? All the dirty and exhausting jobs fall to us younger ones.”

“Dirty and exhausting?” Salel asked, blinking. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Hiding the supernatural. You know—same old work.” Alfonso’s reply clicked into place for Salel. But then he realized something wasn’t right.

“The Holy Grail War’s a battle between mages and their summoned Servants, fighting over a wish-granting relic. Since it’s a mage-only affair, keeping it secret from the public should be their top priority. Why are you the one breaking your back over this?”

“Because they’re not following the rules,” Alfonso said, anger bubbling under his words. He suddenly sat up and grabbed the remote. “Here—look at this crap.”

He turned on the TV.

It was the nightly news—Salel’s usual program. The anchor was a soft-spoken intellectual type. And there, right in the footage, was Alfonso himself.

But what really caught Salel’s attention wasn’t the reporter—or even his old friend. It was the hellscape behind them.

That was Saint Luga Street, in the South District. Salel had sipped coffee there countless times at night to stay alert. If he hadn’t been so broke, he probably would’ve gone there again instead of crashing here. It was familiar, and now… it was rubble.

Then came the spin.

Blame was swiftly offloaded onto the local gas company—an old, overused but effective trick. Nothing new, but reliable.

“I’ve always been curious—do you people have it out for gas companies or something?” Salel asked.

“They’re a Church front,” Alfonso said flatly.

Salel stared at the footage. The devastation left behind… he rubbed his eyes. The screen made his brain foggy. It could be explained as a gas explosion—if you didn’t look too closely. The scale was extreme, but not impossible.

“What the hell happened there?” he asked, frowning. “Honestly, it looks like a terror attack. No way a mage would be dumb enough to cause that kind of mess, right?”

He could tell Alfonso had burned an entire day covering this up. Cleaning up after a war wasn’t easy.

“Two Servants clashed there,” Alfonso replied. “Didn’t hold anything back. Destroyed the entire street. There wasn’t a single intact patch of land left when I got there. And in order to make it look like an explosion… I’ve been working nonstop since last night.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Rough?!” Alfonso suddenly snapped. “Try brainwashing every eyewitness one by one! I nearly didn’t make it back!”

He actually cried.

This was a man who didn’t blink when facing Servants, didn’t back down from mages, didn’t flinch in battle with Dead Apostles—but this, this ridiculous cover-up, broke him. His voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes.

“…Need my help?” Salel asked awkwardly. “I don’t know hypnosis, but I do know how to throw a punch. If they’re breaking the rules, I could knock some sense into them for you.”

“No, too dangerous,” Alfonso said, shaking his head.

“How dangerous could it be? Against a regular Servant, I can hold my own.” Salel grinned confidently, giving a thumbs-up in the dim room. “Unless it’s Archer or Lancer, anyway.”

“…It was Archer,” Alfonso muttered.

“Who was the other one?” Salel’s grin froze. He wasn’t stupid. If Archer and Lancer were involved, he wasn’t touching that mess.

“Assassin.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” Salel relaxed. He ran a quick mental simulation: Assassin ambushing Archer in the rain, then Archer counterattacking, leading to the destruction. “I could probably help with that,” he said, reassured that it wasn’t one of the frontline combat classes.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“I saw it with my own eyes. She went toe to toe with Archer. Out in the open. Fought all night. And Archer retreated.”

“She took him head-on?!” Salel’s voice cracked. He knew how terrifying Archer was. There was still a crater in the next town over.

“Looked like she even had the upper hand.”

“…Forget what I said. Haha.” Salel laughed nervously, flashing a grin full of teeth to hide his sudden dread.

“It’s getting late,” Alfonso said. “I’m not in the mood to keep chatting. I need to catch some sleep—might have to work overtime tonight.”

He looked ethereal, like a man floating out of his body.

“I’ve been up for two days straight.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Salel waited patiently until the sun fully vanished beyond the horizon. Then he stepped out into the streets.

He blinked at the puddle-filled road, unsure of where to go. He couldn’t rest again—he’d already slept more than twenty hours. Though exhaustion gripped him, not a trace of sleepiness came.

He wandered across the rain-slicked city, the town now lit in vibrant neon. As he passed a familiar coffee shop, a scent reached him.

A familiar scent.

“Well, well. My foolish little brother. We meet again.”

The voice was smooth. Its owner smiled—a man of stunning beauty. Sharp jawline, perfectly sculpted features, dazzling blue eyes like precious gemstones. He looked like something out of a movie—a dream prince, the kind every woman envisioned.

But he had one flaw: his skin was too pale. A sickly, bloodless white.

“Byron.” Salel’s brow furrowed. “Why are you here?”

His voice was tight. “Don’t tell me… you’re after the Grail?”

He glanced around, scanning the area. No other Apostles nearby. Just Byron.

“You’re bald,” Byron said bluntly. “What happened to that handsome black hair of yours?”

Salel said nothing.

Byron continued, undeterred. “Your body’s falling apart, isn’t it?”
His elegant face twisted into something savage. “You haven’t fed at all, have you?”

“No,” Salel said firmly.

“Why not?” Byron asked, confused. “It’s just blood. Let go of that morality garbage—it’s meaningless baggage.”

“Then what’s the difference between us and beasts?” Salel countered.

“Who cares? What’s wrong with living?” Byron snapped. “If you won’t feed or fight, then let me do it for you!”

He shouted, but no one inside the café reacted.

Salel understood. A bounded field. Byron had been waiting. Likely since last night.

“No.”

“Yes!” Byron stomped his foot. “I don’t care what you think or what you want—you have to stay alive!”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m your brother! That’s why!”

“I’ve never fed. Not before, not now. Not ever.”

Salel refused again. He was terrified of what would happen if he tasted blood. He feared the bloodlust. Like a drug, once taken, it would consume him. He’d crave more. And more. And in the end… become a butcher.

If that was the future, he’d rather die right now.

“Stubborn fool,” Byron muttered. “I’m not asking you to kill anyone. I’ll do it. I’ll get the blood. All you have to do is wait. Let me feed you—okay?!”

His eyes were desperate—on the verge of begging. Salel’s heart softened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

Byron Karn was his blood brother. They’d fallen into darkness together. But where Salel resisted feeding, Byron embraced it. Their paths had diverged.

Now, reunited—faced with a brother’s concern—Salel felt warmth. But also… helplessness.

“I don’t want to become a monster who slaughters innocents,” Salel said, voice trembling. “I’m barely holding on. If I taste blood, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“You’ve repressed yourself too much,” Byron sighed. He touched the heart-shaped pendant on his chest, drawing Salel’s gaze.

“What’s that?”

“A gift from the one I love. There’s a family photo inside.”
He opened it.

Inside was a photo of himself, a refined woman, and a little girl with golden hair. She looked no older than eight.

“My family. My wife and daughter. Beautiful, aren’t they?” he said, eyes filled with gentle pride.

“You married a human?” Salel was stunned. A union between a Dead Apostle and a human… who knew what would be born? It could be an abomination—or something like Merlin.

“Yes. Life is precious. Love even more so. This power... is a gift.” Byron smiled. “They’re my family. Just like you.”

But then his face turned serious.

“I skipped my daughter’s birthday to find you. This—this is her present.”

He carefully took it out.

An old-fashioned music box. Enchanted, no doubt. Salel could sense the magic within—delicately crafted. Likely inscribed with a calming spell.

“That’s why I don’t feed,” Salel said quietly. “Every drop of blood comes from someone with a life. A job. A family. I can’t—won’t—sink my fangs into them. Even if it kills me, I’ll never become a butcher.”

Those bitten didn’t just bleed. They changed. Turned into ghouls.

He’d considered buying blood. But it wasn’t practical. Normal blood didn’t sustain Apostles. It had to be high-quality—either from magi, or latent talents yet untapped.

And besides, he didn’t even have the money.

“I just want to live without shame. Even if it means dying. What happens to others’ families? Doesn’t that matter?”

Byron said flatly, “I walk my own path. Whether others live or die has nothing to do with me. If you weren’t my brother, I wouldn’t care either. I’d be off on vacation, enjoying life with my wife and daughter. But no—here I am. In America. For you.”

He sighed.

“Don’t worry. My targets are magi. They’re all in this war anyway. And none of them are innocent. Feeding on them isn’t a sin—God will forgive you.”

Byron’s voice softened.

“Their blood’s full of mana. Enough to keep you going for a long time. We could even hunt magi exclusively. I’ll help you.”

“…I’ll think about it.”

Salel’s heart was in turmoil. But when his brother had come this far—how could he say no?

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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!