Chapter 14
Gold and Lions I
Several Hours Earlier
Main Street, near Snowfield Central Hospital
The sight was like a fantasy.
Not, however, in the sense of a delightful paradise. It was fantastical in the sense of a battle between gods or a vision of Hell.
Berserker, Jack the Ripper, had transformed into more than two hundred demons.
Their overwhelming domination, which had slaughtered the three-headed demon dog that had belonged to the "true" Archer, who called himself Alkeides, and had seemed poised to overwhelm the Heroic Spirit as well... when that power to become a demon—the Spirit Origin called a Noble Phantasm—had been completely stolen by Alkeides' Noble Phantasm "Reincarnation Pandora: Usurper of Heavenly Winds."
A Noble Phantasm that stole Noble Phantasms.
Its power defied reason. With it, Alkeides had acquired grotesque strength.
He kicked Jack aside and raised his weapon to slaughter the police officers who stood in his way.
But just then, the other Archer—the first of all heroes, clad in golden armor—appeared.
The further arrival of Saber, his red-streaked blond hair fluttering, and his party sent the situation spiraling into even greater confusion.
"Well, this is a surprise. Can these 'Servants' even be fiends of the pit?" Saber—Richard I, "the Lionheart"—asked the dark-haired young man behind him. The situation was obviously abnormal and filled with countless sudden deaths if he took even one false step, but Saber was unfazed, as if to say that this was where he belonged.
The dark-haired young man—Sigma, the self-proclaimed Master of "Lancer Chaplin"—who was oblivious to the prevailing mood in a different sense from Saber, replied matter-of-factly.
"I've been told that Anti-Heroes may have appeared in the Fuyuki Holy Grail War as well. According to my employer, beings like that are sometimes summoned when the conditions are right."
"I see. Well, it is capable of summoning fairies, after all. If a banshee or something had turned up, I'd have liked to take a look at it for old times' sake, but it appears this isn't an opponent I can afford to sit back and watch."
Saber surveyed the Heroic Spirit who had taken on a demonic appearance, and then glanced upward.
"The same goes for the gaudy one up there."
Above them stood a man clad in golden armor who exuded a powerful aura.
"Know your place, mongrel," the Heroic Spirit looking down from atop the church's belfry addressed Saber with an air of displeasure. "Who granted you permission to look up at me?"
Arrogance.
If one were to put a word to his manner of speech, that would be the natural choice.
Saber, however, immediately realized that it was not hubris. He was able to understanding that the man was saying that he was nevertheless worthy of being granted permission.
The golden Heroic Spirit stood above him.
The demonic bowman standing stood in front of him.
That flashy fellow is an archer too?
I see. Two archers certainly does mean that this Grail War isn't normal.
It appeared that, just as the Lancer he had met in the forest had warned him, this Holy Grail War was far from ordinary.
In spite of which, the knowledge he had received from the Grail pertained to a "proper" Holy Grail War. That probably meant something.
But Richard didn't have time to consider difficult questions at the moment.
The golden Heroic Spirit probably far outclassed him. The strength of his Spirit Origin rivaled that of the beautiful Lancer Richard had met in the forest. He could tell at a glance that he had no chance of winning if they fought head-on.
And then there was the grotesque bowman with demon's horns sprouting from his head, with whom he had conversed earlier. He could tell that this Heroic Spirit was likewise so powerful that he had no hope.
Richard's Spirit Origin tensed and insistently warned him of danger. The alarm came from the fragments who were not quite Heroic Spirits and who accompanied Richard due to his Noble Phantasm.
"Do you want to die for nothing? Retreat before it's too late," Locksley the assassin, Pierre the bowman, and the other fragments of Spirit Origins continued to cool-headedly sound the alarm.
He could also sense the Spirit Origins of an indifferent-seeming swordsman and a mage who merely smiled faintly, but Saber himself was focused on the overwhelmingly mighty opponents standing before him, his eyes shining.
"My heart gave me permission. I doubt I could ever look down on you, but I take you for a storied Heroic Spirit worth looking up at. A king, judging by your manner. It's not every day I meet someone who merits respect just by standing there. I know my place, and so I give thanks that I was able to be here today."
"Mongrel. Do you intend to appraise me with such eyes? I have no need of thanks—I have not permitted you anything."
The golden-armored Heroic Spirit spoke dispassionately, without changing his expression.
"Be gone at once."
At that, the space behind the Heroic Spirit distorted and countless weapons emerged from holes in the air. When they moved, it was with the intent to kill Saber, who opened his eyes wide in astonishment.
Like arrows loosed from drawn bows, numerous weapons shrouded in magical energy on par with Noble Phantasms fired at the spot where Saber stood.
Sigma must have sensed the danger in advance, because he had already retreated to an alleyway by the church.
Saber, left to stand alone, hesitated for a moment, but then spoke as if he had made sense of the situation.
"When you said, 'be gone,' you meant from this world!"
He drew his own sword with a cheerful grin.
"Ha ha! What droll fellow!"
It was a dull-bladed ornamental sword that had adorned the walls of the mansion in the wetlands that Sigma had made his base of operations. But as far as Saber was concerned, having a grip was enough to make it a fine weapon.
The sword flashed for an instant and began swatting the weapons launched from behind the golden Heroic Spirit out of the air.
Even so, it was only able to strike down a few of them—a drop in the bucket compared to the dozens of Noble Phantasm raining down.
The golden Heroic Spirit was apparently convinced that that would suffice and had already turned his attention back to the monstrous Archer. That demonic-looking Archer, however, turned to look at Richard. His expression was indiscernible behind the strange cloth that covered his face.
Richard's instincts as a Heroic Spirit immediately alerted him that he was being evaluated for some unclear purpose, but he had no time to consider the point. In less than a second, the countless weapons were nearly upon him.
Richard leapt, swinging his sword once again, and danced into the tiny gap left by the several weapons he had knocked aside. He had dodged the onslaught by a hair's breadth, but the weapons struck the ground around him, smashing the asphalt. The torn-up earth became a new threat to Richard, pouring down on the spot where he stood.
Richard, however, was no longer there.
"I see, I see! So, blades as fine as these cause disasters just by sticking in the ground!" Richard called out, moving with incredible swiftness and seizing one of the Noble Phantasms lodged in the ground—a weapon in the shape of a long sword. "What magnificent workmanship! Just holding it makes me feel as if I had an army at my back! I don't just mean the quantity of magical energy it contains; I mean this craftsmanship, this construction, this composition! It's plain to see that even its least decoration is both simple and complete! If each of these arms is the work of the planet, they form both the headwaters and the fertile plains! Hey! Listen! This is marvelous! Are all these other weapons as fine?! And you toss them down like they were nothing! Where are you maharaja of? Oh, I tell you frankly and with respect: You are magnificent and I envy you!"
Despite having just evaded an attack that, had it struck him, would certainly have proved fatal, Richard's eyes sparkled like a child's. His sudden outburst drew bewildered stares from the police officers, who were doing their best to keep their distance and regroup.
The next words out of Richard's mouth would have seemed like nothing short of suicide to anyone who knew the golden Heroic Spirit.
"Say! Since you have so many... would you mind giving me a few?"
Originally Posted by SirGauoftheSquareTable
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A wise and beautiful woman who exudes an aura of grace. She is a sly, cunning, manipulative person who always gets what she wants, whether through trickery or ruthlessness. Her own fighting abilities are low, but she should not be trifled with. What does she ride? Men, of course!
