Fate/Apocrypha Vol. 4 + 5 (no spoilers)

[castor212]

Volume 5, Act 1, page 20

Shirou had already calculated the necessary time needed for the Greater Grail's current status to be able to grant his wish.

"It would most likely happen within one hour. Beyond that would mean that the Greater Grail had rejected my wish and designated me as a foreign element to be eliminated."

It was quite hard to precisely gauge how much time had exactly passed for Caster of Red by using only his pocket watch, an item of the first half of the 17^th century. The clock had no second hand, and the movement of the minute hand was rough at best. But it was enough to gauge roughly whether or not one hour had passed, so he did not really care much of it.

To sum it up, the struggles within this one hour would be the last confrontations that decides it all.

Once the Servants of Black boarded the

Hanging Gardens of Babylon

Aerial Gardens of Vanity

, the final battle would finally truly begin.

Utilizing a magic tool of far sight that the empress had granted unto him, Caster of Red witnessed the figures of Servants in combat.

The Servants of Black currently fighting aboard the airplane. The hippogriff soaring through the air ridden by Rider of Black, Astolfo.

"Yes, yes. Each and every one of the actors upon this stage… their struggles! Truly, we too, have no choice but to answer them with everything that we have!"

[AAM1232]

Castor, which Volume are these parts from?

[Cyborg]

Bless your soul for translating this, even if it's just a bit.

[castor212]

Volume 5

- - - Updated - - -

Volume 5, Act 1, page 21

Especially Ruler. No matter how much the Archer of Red, Atalanta, had transformed herself, there is no denying the fact that a fight against Ruler would be at disadvantage. Amongst the Black side, it was highly probable that she'd be the first to reach the Greater Grail within the hour.

This was the story of Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, as well as the story of Jeanne d'Arc. The rest of the casts were all but supporting ones. Be it the black-haired poisoner empress, or the once homunculus boy, or the knight of rebellion wishing for love, or even Caster of Red himself; all of those who had managed to survive until this very moment were, without exception, all but supporting casts.

That being said, the scope of this particular story was vast… foolishly so! A story that would turn the whole world upside down, indeed.

The fate of the entirety of humanity might very well depend on what would happen within this garden, yet most of them simply indulged themselves in indolence as of now. Yet it was inevitable; all of this was simply beyond them. They could not hope to match the saint who had dedicated a whole sixty years of pursuing nothing but his one wish.

The saint would save them. With all the power he had.

Should they wish not to be saved, he had no choice but to defeat them with power even beyond that. And the only one dued for that was Ruler.

Two saints who, more than anyone else, wish for the salvation of others. Yet the path that they had chosen for themselves could not have been more different.

Still, Shirou rued what had happened with Ruler. He regretted it. Shirou did not want to fight her; she was his greatest enemy, the only Servant capable of defeating him.

—Thus, I shall leave her to you, and your Noble Phantasm.

[castor212]

Productive night.

Volume 5, Act 1, Page 22-24

Those were Shirou's last words towards Caster of Red before he had departed from this world. While Shakespeare's degree of fame far surpasses that of Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, and perhaps equal to that of Jeanne d'Arc, strictly speaking he is no Caster.

Caster of Red, Shakespeare, is a weaver of words.

In that regard, there is simply no comparing his prowess against that of a saint. …By all rights, his is a power completely worthless in a Holy Grail War.

Even tens of thousands of words would be incomparable against one single stroke of a Saber's sword.

And yet. He is a Heroic Spirit that overcomes even that logic. Those very tens of thousands of words, when wielded by yours truly court jester, can bring about victory.

Such is the role of Shakespeare, the peerless playwright with no equal throughout history.

"Well then! Let us pray that the words I wield can turn this around. Should they prove unable to incinerate the holy woman, than it might as well snuff out my own life! Sink or swim, all or nothing, as they say. I shall use up all of my luck as a Servant down to it last drop! For Shirou Kotomine to be relying on someone like me… Alas, it left me with no other choice! It shall take anything and everything that I have to greet the holy woman. Will I meet my heroic end before even uttering a single word, or will my prose rise to the occasion towards victory?"

As he continued to sharpen the edge of his

sword

words

, Caster of Red awaited for the arrival of the holy woman.

※※※※※

—He remembered of the days they ate and slept together.

—He remembered of the sleepless night where he would tell him stories.

—He remembered of him brushing his head, even when his own body was covered with wounds.

Those beautiful and warm memories, held with care.

Those memories, as if forgotten already, as they both glared at each other.

From the ten airplanes, only four were left. Amongst which was one Ruler was currently fighting on. Only three were now currently usable. And yet—

"So, Archer of Black. Your Master—where are they now?"

They lost their nerve or something? Such was what Rider of Red seemed to imply. It would be embarrassing, but considering the circumstances, perhaps also inevitable.

After all, they are currently 7500 meters above the air. The worst kind hell with the best kind of view, where no magecraft really matters much. Any normal Master, any normal magus would fall off quite easily.

There's nothing to be done about it. There's nothing… but Rider of Red was concerned about whether or not the distance between the two would weaken Archer of Black's prowess the further it was.

That very concern was immediately cut down by Archer of Black's sharp glare.

"Do not take my Master lightly, Rider of Red. She is with me. Right here, right now. Your concern is futile; wield your spear unburdened by such meaningless things."

With that said, Archer of Black nocked an arrow on his bow.

Without apologizing for his impolite words, Rider of Red silently take a stance with his spear. No apologies would mean anything at this point, his teacher eyes seemed to imply.

Thus, they would simply fight. Right here, right now, with everything they have.

On the buoyant skies, with the winds roaring like mystical beasts all around them.

"Here I come!"

"Have at you!"

The once teacher against the once pupil.

The greatest of sages against the strongest of warriors.

Father against son.

The clash between Chiron and Achilleus finally began.

※※※※※

[castor212]

Volume 5, Act 1, Page 26-29

The moon was absent in the sky.

There is a legend that spoke of when Astolfo, Rider of Black, had found his sense of reason on the moon.

Had it been the real, actual moon? Who knows. What is important is the very legend itself.

To put it another way; if his sense of reason are on the moon, then Astolfo on Earth has none. Thus, should there be no moon in the sky…

"Here I goooo, Master—!"

The hippogriff neighed as loudly as the roaring wind surrounding them, reverberating shrilly.

It smashed its hoof on the steel roof of the airplane, ran forward, and—soared high into the sky.

"Astolfo of the Twelve Paladins of Charlemagne, entering the fray!"

Rider of Black loudly and proudly announced himself; such that any who were there even for an instant would've been aware of him.
The laughable knight who, legendary as he is, had been attested to be "weak."

Yet even so. His proclamation was that of a true Heroic Spirit, through and through.

He soared higher. Higher. Faster. Faster.

The hippogriff, an impossible mystical beast born of the legendary griffon and a mare, soared 7500 meters up high on the sky, caring not of the roaring wind around it.

With great vigor, it began to invade the enemy's stronghold, the Aerial Gardens of Vanity(Hanging Gardens of Babylon), and—!

Naturally, Assassin of Red would not let such a thing happen so easily.

The interception spell,

Tiamtum Uumuu

Eleven Black Coffins()

. Titanic, dark sarcophagi created in the likeness of eleven beasts that were said to have been born of the legendary beast Tiamat.

Assassin of Red's masterpiece that would eliminate her enemies utilizing light cannons easily surpassing A rank.

She observed the yelling about Rider of Black coldly.

Indeed. The opponent lacked none in terms of vigor. He would continue standing back up and fighting even after a defeat; the hallmark of Heroic Spirits.

Yet a defeat it would be. And it did not seem that he had any countermeasures in plan to overcome it. It was inevitable.

"Think you able to evade this one, perhaps? Fool. That arrogance shall be your last regret."

The Eleven Black Coffins began to stir. Their target: Rider of Black.

As if laughing, all the light cannons simultaneously fired, thus ending him—

"…What?"

Or rather, they should have.

※※※※※

The moon was absent in the sky. His madness abated. His trembling, on the other hand, subsisted.

And still, he was the white knight who never gives up. Sieg was holding on to Rider's back, clinging on him. No need for any words; all he could do right now was to believe in Rider.

Whether or not the Rider of Black had his sense of reason with him, always he would be a gallant knight. Always he would be—without a doubt—a Heroic Spirit.

"Alrighty, it's showtime! My heart may shiver in fear where no moonlight shines, yet still forward I shall go! Unbind—

Casseur de Logistille

Destruction Declaration()

!"

Rider then pulled out a book, which pages then began to tear themselves in pieces. They rode the wind, the pieces of paper falling as if in a dance.

The light cannons loomed ahead of them, faster than the speed of sound. Yet Rider of Black continued charging ahead without a care. Even Rider, who possessed A-ranked Magic Resistance skill, would be mowed down back to the ground by the anti-army class light cannons—yet the first to strike failed to reach him.

With a sound of steel breaking, the light cannon dissipated. Of course, there were more than one incoming; the meteor shower aiming at Rider began to rain down upon him.

But once the grimoire's True Name had been spoken—once Casseur de Logistille had been unbound, any and every forms of magecraft would be rendered useless.

"Ahahahaha! Maaan, this feels gooood! Master, hold on tight, yeah!? I'm gonna ram up the speed even faster!!"

"Yeah, got it!"

The homunculus—Master of Rider, Sieg, undauntedly replied Rider of Black. The book's pages swirled about around them, while the light cannons continued to bombard them uselessly.

"S-Still, this is quite amazing!"

To that, Rider of Black yelled in reply.

"My book is!?"

"No! You! You're amazing!"

The one whom Queen Logistilla had entrusted this book to. The one who, up until just now, did not even remember its true name yet bravely soared through the sky.

"Heheh! Not the time to be surprised yet, Master! Alrighty, let's chaaaarge!"

Lightly clapping on the excited hippogriff's head, Rider accelerated even further. So was the amount of the light cannons. The Black Coffins, defensive mechanisms that they were, aimed 6 out of 11 amongst their numbers towards Rider.

"Simultaneous fire? …Fine, try me, then!"

They were light itself, compressed. Pure mayhem that simply overpowered everything in their path. And still, they failed to break through.

Rider of Black was unbowed, unbroken. He simply pushed forward, and forward, and forward…!

"We are aiming at them big, black cannons! Without those, Rulers and the others would be able to board the garden no problem!"

"Can you destroy them!?"

Rider immediately replied to Sieg's question.

"Dunno! But I'm doing it!!"

"…Alright, go for it!"

They should probably slow down instead… but Rider was correct. Removing these cannons would make reaching the garden become far, far easier.

The problem is Assassin—that is, how would Semiramis respond. There was no way she would simply laugh off and overlook them. It was likely they only had one way to go about this.

※※※※※

[Rafflesiac]

"No! You! You're amazing!"

He knows how it be.

[Laserman]

Nice to you have you back, castor.

[castor212]

Now, where was I...?

[castor212]

Volume 5, Act 1, page 30-44

"I see... they still have a trump card in their hands, it seems."

The Assassin of Red was agitated, but only for a moment—she immediately regained her composure the next second. However, her frustration was still evident from how she was impatiently tapping on the armrest of her throne.

"However... As powerful as that defense mechanism is, it's still something specialized only against magecraft."

She knew that among Noble Phantasms, there are defensive ones that manifested as a form of protection.

A legendary shield, for one, or Rider of Red's own very body, becoming a Noble Phantasm of its own right—

But Rider of Black had no such legend associated with him—there are no stories concerning him with a shield, nor of any legends in regards to his physical form. He was written in his stories as someone weak, to begin with.

So... what manner of things are those scraps of papers?

If she were to guess... it was the grimoire entrusted to Rider by Queen Logistilla. Assassin glared at it—according to legend, the grimoire was capable of nuillifying any and all forms of magecraft.

So what made this time different from previously was that...

"He had unleashed its true name, then?"

Before, he did not do so, or perhaps he was simply not able to... but regardless, magecraft were now useless against the current Rider.

"...Perhaps it is time for us to make use of our trump card as well, then?"

With a sneer on her face, Assassin sent out a telepathic message.

"Lancer. We have enemies approaching. Bring them down."

"...Understood."

With a voice seemingly lacking of any emotion, the Red faction's strongest weapon entered the fray. Nothing can stop the Lancer of Red—Karna—once he began his assault. And even if such a thing were to happen, Assassin of Red had already made preparations for it.

"Those imbeciles might be under the impression that they had completely broken through my magecraft... I shall need to remediate this situation promptly."

That was the only thing Assassin of Red could not stomach—and so the only thing to do now was to shoot them down.

And now, Lancer of Red had joined the battle as well.

The great hero Karna, hailing from Indian oldest myth of Mahabharata. More than enough as an equal to even Achilles himself, Lancer of Red was unmistakably the strongest individual in this battle.

※※※※※

A shiver ran through Rider of Black's spine, and he yelled out loud.

"Hang on tight!"

He was, quite obviously, saying that to Sieg. A fighting spirit that was so strong that even Sieg could feel it was directed their way.
It felt like fire that lights his heart up—a far cry from the coldness of ill will. And as he guessed, Assassin of Red had sent out the "strongest spear" against them...!

"Lancer of Red...!"

Upon seeing him, Rider of Black reflexively muttered so. The incarnation of the sun itself, standing on top of one of the black coffins—the hero of charity, Karna!

"—My apologies... but I shall need to bring you down."

He then whirled his divine spear in one hand, and leapt off the black coffin. It bewildered Sieg and Rider of Black for a moment, until Lancer of Red calmly propelled himself with fire by means of his Prana Burst, approaching them faster than even the light cannons!

"...Unbelievable."

"Totally! All right, we gotta get serious too! Let's go, hippogriff—it's your turn now!"

The hippogriff screeched furiously. But Lancer of Red merely rushed the phantasmal beast without even changing his expression, slashing both it and Rider of Black in two...!

"...?!"

Lancer of Red's body stiffened, as his cold, all-seeing eyes widened in amazement.

He didn't feel any feedback of cutting something in two—because his targets had disappeared altogether. Had they managed to slip away? No, Lancer of Red was sure he had grasped them in his sight.

They had literally disappeared.

Lancer of Red then realized what had happened the next second.

"Dimensional leap...!"

"That's right! Right now, we're not even here!"

The hippogriff then "appeared" behind Lancer of Red, screeching as if in response.

For his part, Lancer of Red's expression did not change—he simply turned around and pursued after the hippogriff once again. And once again as well did the figures of the hippogriff, Rider of Black, and his Master obscured themselves.

Rider of Black's steed, the

Hippogriff

Otherworldly Phantasmal Horse

, was literally otherworldly. A being that did not truly exist in this world.

It was an "impossible existence" at its core—an offspring between a griffon and a mare, its supposed prey.

Thus, the very existence of this phantasmal beast was ambiguous.

Was it alive? Dead? Was it even here to begin with?

And the moment its true name was unleashed, the stronger its ambiguity became.

Such that it could even erase its own existence from this dimension.

However, the ones who were currently riding its back was an existing Servant and his Master. Even if they are a ghost liner, a Servant was still something summoned and existing upon this world. Doubly so for Sieg—he might be able to transform into a Servant temporarily, but he was fundamentally still flesh and blood.

They could disappear temporarily, but both riders would be pulled back to reality again afterward.

But through this cycle of appearance and disappearance, they were able to slip away from any forms of observation, albeit only for an instant.

Thus, even something like a godslaying blow from Lancer of Red would fail to truly strike this otherworldly creature.

It's like a miracle, Sieg thought.

His mind thought that he was dead for a moment, and in the next moment everything was far away—the sound of the jet planes flying, the roar of the wind, and even the terrifying blasts of the light cannons.

And then he saw it.

The reverse side of the world, where countless phantasmal beasts had made their home.

And then that moment ceased, and all the sounds returned as they appeared back into reality once again.

Then a strange thing happened. Behind them was Lancer of Red in mid-swing, and in place of where they were once was their afterimage.

"Okay, we're doing well—but I wonder if this would be enough to get away from him..."

"What is it?"

"No, I just... got a bit of a bad feeling."

And Sieg agreed. Lancer of Red couldn't possibly be this easy of an enemy. In which case, they only have one course of action left. Sieg rubbed his aching Command Spells.

※※※※※

—Far, far, far away.

—Her heart torned to pieces, her mind currently dissolving into nothing.

—She was nothing but a small, miserable thing.

"AAAAaaaaaARRRGHhhhhHhHHHH!"

Her roar was the proof of her hatred.

Ruler and Archer of Red was currently facing off against each other on top of one of the airplanes. The wind at 7500 kilometers above ground was beyond violent—a haunt that absolutely denied any sorts of living beings.

Behind Archer of Red was the golden birdcage—the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. And Ruler would need to defeat Archer of Red in order to be able to enter it.

"I'll—kill you."

"I'm afraid that there isn't a chance of that happening."

A dark and wretched emotion was oozing out of Archer of Red in this battle, and she was aware that it's her desire for revenge—for slaughter.

Ruler, for her part, did not recognize it as such—only that it was some manner of unique ability of her opponent. And so, she warily kept her guard up. Her eyes focused on her, for the moment she would nock an arrow on her bow.

Ruler was a Servant specialized in defense and close combat. And of course, her opponent was specialized in long range sniping, being an Archer.

To retreat when approached, and continue raining down arrows relentlessly—such was how a warrior of the bow should fight.
However, to Ruler's surprise—Archer of Red had opted for a close combat.

So close...! She thought in a surprise, as Archer sprinted toward her with a speed that makes one think she was as fast as even Achilles.

Was Archer blinded by her hatred towards Ruler...? Ruler shutted down that possibility fast. Archer of Red was not such a fool that mere hatred would be enough to make her opted for close combat.

At the very least, she must had "something" for the purpose of close combat. And it was most likely not a weapon—being summoned as an Archer equaled being relegated for long distance combat. Even if she was in possession of such a weapon, it did not mean that she would be able to bring it into the fight this late—to say nothing of her legend mentioning no sorts of famed sword or holy lance.
In which case—

"RaaaAAaAAaaaAAAAAAAARGH!!!"

She unleashed three arrow at once the moment she landed. Fortunately, Assassin of Red's light cannons were all currently targeting Rider of Black. Not that that was a reason to be relieved, but right now she needed to concentrate her full attention against Archer of Red.

Ruler struck down all three arrows with a single swipe of her holy flag. But at that point, Archer of Red was already right next to her. Her right arm had been completely painted black—It was clear that she had been corroded by some kind of vengeful spirit.

Vengeful spirits were one of the lowest kinds of spirits there were. A Servant should've been able to sublimate one simply by rejecting it—but clearly, Archer of Red had not opted to do so for some reason.

The path that she had chosen for herself couldn't possible more different than Ruler's. Thus, there was no reason to exchange any words. They slightly exchanged glance, and there were nothing but hatred on Archer of Red's countenance.

Before unleashing her "trump card", Archer of Red just kept on attacking and attacking and attacking non-stop.

Ruler, for her part, struck back with her flag without any hesitation. However, her opponent was still an Archer—when it came to speed, she still held the advantage. And that wasn't even taking account how Atalanta's legend was very particular about her swiftness.

Archer avoided her blows with almost bestial flexibility, while shooting arrows the instant a chance presented itself at her. However, having sacrificed power for speed, Ruler was able to parry the arrows with just her gauntlet.

"...Don't tell me that close combat has been your forte all along?"

Archer had been evading her thrutsts and slashes almost effortlessly using her speed, and it only took her in instant to nock an arrow and fire it—almost like a gun.

And at last, one of the arrows managed to pierce her side.

But it was not enough to put her out of breath, as it were—finding it bothersome to even pull it out, she opted to ignore the lodged arrow. It seems that close combat has indeed been her forte all along, Ruler thought. But that was the wrong choice, Archer.

Ruler took a step backward and proceeded to slashed widely with her flag—a hit from the steel grip would undeniably do damage.

Having absolute confidence in her speed, Archer of Red simply rushed in and evaded the slash by leaping.

However, Ruler proceeded to stop her slash midway without any hesitation. She dropped her flag, then struck Archer of Red's solar plexus with the pommel of her sword.

"Ugh...!"

She then kicked the flag upward towards her grasp once again, entangled it with Archer of Red's leg, and relentlessly knocked her down.

Among the roaring wind, on top of the airplane, a drip of blood began running through Archer of Red's lips.

Of course, Ruler didn't think that she had truly brought her down—but she believed Archer of Red had been driven to a corner now.

I need to finish this as fast as possible, Ruler thought. And it was not because she was eeling the pressure of the battle to come, or out of worry for Sieg.

It was due to a simple reason.

She simply understood that the more time she spent fighting Archer of Red, the more lethal the situation would become.

Archer of Red was Atalanta. The legendary hunter of Greek mythology. She was a prominent monster slayer, and one of the legendary Argonauts.

Ruler did not think that she would kindly stop at just fighting her bow and arrows.

Archer of Red's breathing was looking rough, and Ruler could see blood dripping from her downward face. The blow must've damaged her inside quite effectively.

And yet, Archer of Red was laughing.

"Ha. Hahahahaha... It hurts... I bet those children were hurting as well... They died regardless whether they are good or evil—they were not even able to be anything...! Oh, how much they have despaired...!"

"...Are you referring to Jack the Ripper?"

"Silence, you child killer. Do not call them that—they are no rippers!"

"...Indeed, I suppose I am a child killer. And I am to kill you all the same now."

"Good. There's nothing else to do—come what may, I will kill you... I will kill you...!"

Archer of Red pulled out a black piece of clothing, and when Ruler saw that, her mind froze on the spot.

"Come what may... even if I were to be the devil itself!"

"Archer, that's...!"

No—it was no piece of clothing. Upon closer inspection, it has crooked and bent furry surface. Not a piece of clothing—it was a hide. And it was rampant with prana. That hide was unmistakable a—!

"The Calydonian beast's...!"

"Even if I were to become that kind of abhorrent being... I WILL KILL YOU! I swear it upon this right arm of mine! If I can't kill someone who abandoned a child like you... then there is no justice—no hero in this world!"

"What foolishness...! Cease this, Archer of Red—!"

Completely ignoring Ruler's warning, Archer of Red then put the hide on herself.

..The Calydonian boar. When the Calydonian king Oeneus had failed to include the goddess of the hunt Artemis during his sacrificial rites to the Olympian gods—one theory claimed that it was because the king himself was chosen as the sacrifice—she had been angered and sent out the giant phantasmal beast.

The beast's frame had been far too large to simply be called that of a boar. Its smell had been atrociously rotten, and it began to contaminate the land. Crops had withered just by being in its vicinity—truly a natural disaster manifested as a lifeform.

Naturally, a group had then been formed to exterminate the beast.

Several heroes had risen up to the occasion, and one among them had been none other than Atalanta. Each of those heroes had been unable to pierce the beast's hide with their arrows, ending up as the beast's feed instead—each of them but Atalanta, being the first to wound it with an arrow.

Eventually, the remaining heroes had been able to bring down the beast. It had been Meleager, son of Oeneus, who had landed the final blow by decapitating the beast with his spear and skinned its hide.

And yet, Meleager had handed over the hide and head to Atalanta instead.

"She was the first to draw blood against the beast. Thus, these spoils of the battle belong to her."

Had it been mere affection, or a simple sense of justice on his part? In either case, the remaining heroes had been severely against his decision.

Like if Meleager had no need for the hide, then he should gave it to them instead. Or that Atalanta's arrow had not actually wounded the beast, and Meleager should reward the hide to someone else—

For Atalanta, who had grown up in the wilds, things such as fame or honor were meaningless.

What had truly vexed her was the claim that she had not actually wounded the beast with her arrow.

And thus, meaningless battles to the death began. Those who had loved her, those who had detested her, and those who had wished her harm—all died in misery.

The hide, having been dyed with hatred and greedy delusion, had become hers in the end. One can think of it as revelation brought forth by Artemis herself.

The hide was not a thing of love or affection—merely of hatred itself.

Atalanta had never thought to make use of it.

And yet, here it was. The hide of the phantasmal beast, as her Noble Phantasm.

A pointless Noble Phantasm, one that had manifested here together with her into the modern world—one that she had had no way to make use of.

Until now.

Now, she knew how to make use of it. Now that she had embraced hatred, for the first time ever, she were able to use this Noble Phantasm.

It mattered not what would become of herself, as long as she could slaughter the enemy in front of her—and so this Noble Phantasm was like a gift from the heaven itself.

Yes. It matters not. Come what may, I care not. I hate her. I despise this saintess—no, this child killer. I can never, ever forgive her————!

"Archer, no...!!"

"Activate Noble Phantasm—

Agrius Metamorphosis

Boar of Divine Punishment

!!"

The servant of the moon goddess Artemis, the symbol of divine punishment... and a lump of hatred and greed.

With it, a boar would become a great phantasmal beast able to devastate entire country, a man would became a monster beyond their fellow men, and a hero... would be reduced to nothing more than a phantasmal being.

Her green clothes turned black. Her red irises became like that of a snake as they glared at Ruler.

And then, a black mist began surrounding Archer of Red almost protectively—

She began gasping almost happily, embracing herself with both arms.

"It hurts... Oh, their pain hurts so much... I will use this pain as an endless chain, Ruler, to bring you down you with it!"

Ruler had no words.

Neither provocation nor mockery would have any effect on Ruler. However, she could not waste any more time—and if she were to fall into the Black Sea 7500 meters below them, she would never be able to reach the Hanging Gardens.

Ruler had few precious time left. She grasped onto her holy flag tightly—as of now, Atalanta was an Archer and yet not an Archer anymore.

All of her status had been completely rendered unknown—only her true name remained as it was. She had become a completely different existent.

Ruler took a step back to give some distance between her enemy and her flag.

"...Eh?"

And in that instant, Archer of Red had—moved. ...No, it was too fast to simply be called "moving".

Ruler was not even able to see her moving. In an instant, Archer of Red was already in front of her.

Nor was she able to response to Archer of Red's strike afterward. It was as if her mind was lagging in comparison to Archer of Red's speed.

Which resulted in Archer of Red biting off her shoulder.

※※※※※

[Paulie25]

Thanks for continuing Castor.

btw Protoform’s been waiting on your profiles for the Black faction so he can put them in the PDF for Volume 3, you said you had them done already right?

[fate/starnight]

I'm so glad translation has restarted for this! If you don't mind my asking, how long is Vol 5 and how far into it are you Castor? Thanks for this!

[castor212]

its like 500 pages

im on page 50

so we're looking at more than a year :P

[リムル]

its like 500 pages

im on page 50

so we're looking at more than a year :P

the journey of struggling carries on!

[adam181888]

does anyone know where to get the raws from? or is there only physical copies?

[You]

does anyone know where to get the raws from? or is there only physical copies?

https://www.amazon.co.jp/-/en/dp/B07...877533&sr=8-12

There is a kindle version and I'm sure bookwalker has a digital version too.

[castor212]

Volume 5, Act 1, page 45-70

Oh, such joy a battle to the death was.

Nothing beat the sensation of a spearhead striking an enemy. Resignation to one's death had no place here.

If only this moment could last forever—yet also come to an end even one second sooner.

Even fear only served to spice up the sensation. Both spear and arrow struck almost simultaneously—a terrifying moment if there ever was one.

His bow stood firm even against the strike of his spear.

How many years—decades, even—had that bow served him? It bore no sign, but was by no means an inferior weapon.

Then he noticed something—the handle of his spear had been made of ashen wood. Most likely one of the same quality as that bow.

The spear and bow that Archer of Black had created. They were equal—neither was superior in terms of quality.

However—

"...Ugh!"

When push came to shove, Archer of Black's bow was terrifyingly precise. With zero wasted movement, he'd be able to strike anywhere he had aimed for with it or make it a preparation for the very next attack.

It was undeniable that his bowmanship was truly at the peak of mastery.

And while one could not say decisively who was superior between him and Archer of Red... Putting aside group combat, an individual combat between the two would have Archer of Red come short a single step.

It was a fleeting thought—one that he did away with immediately.

Right now, he was truly fighting for his life. And yet fight he must. No matter how many times he must stand his ground or get back up, no matter his situation.

For this was the fight he had staked everything in.

Life. Honor. Pride. With everything in his back, he continued his fight.

And he was in joy—so much so that it felt like his mind was melting away.

He howled. Howled his heart out, again and again, as he thrusted his spear.

Such terror.

His bow was unmistakably trying to kill him.

Such joy.

His spear was undoubtedly trying to kill him. A failure of a human being, he was—and a warrior through and through.

Yet still it was not enough.

No matter how much he had simulated this fight in his mind, Rider of Red could not win against Archer of Black.

And even if he could, it would take far too long.

He wanted to conclude this battle in a short, titillating instant.

And so—he had to use it.

His Noble Phantasm. His pride. The hero slaying spear—a pointless Noble Phantasm that he never thought he'd ever use.

Rider of Red then took some distance, leaping to the tail end of the airplane in a single breath.

Archer of Black pondered inquisitively at that, as he nocked an arrow on his bow. Even Archer himself had not thought of it as a viable choice for Rider of Red to take.

There was simply no benefit for Rider of Red to keep a distance. Which meant—

"...A Noble Phantasm."

"Indeed, Archer of Black—!"

Rider of Red's voice echoed clearly across the dark night.

What a daredevil he is, Archer of Black thought. He couldn't help but smile faintly, all the while bracing himself. Rider of Red's spear, made of ashen wood and bronze, was made by none other than Archer of Black himself.

However, the hero Achilles had established numerous legends of his own using that spear.

He had defeated many, many other heroes with it, starting with the great hero Hector himself.

A throw of that spear with Achilles' entire might would not have any problem of snuffing Archer of Black's life out.

Were it to hit, that is—Archer of Black was confident he'd be able to avoid his spear, should that very scenario were to happen.

Chiron, who had manifested here as an Archer, could not be defeated by "throwing" or "shooting" attacks.

He'd be able to grasp the nature of such attacks with very little effort, down to his enemy's breath, nerves, line of sight, and muscle movement. All the more so when everything was within his field of vision like this.

...Granted, there were exceptions—attacks which very nature bend the law of causality itself and strike before he'd be able to perceive it would be one, for example.

But Archer of Black knew all there was to know of Achilles—and he could definitively say that he had no such method of attack.

There had been no evidence that Rider of Red possessed such a Noble Phantasm when he was alive, nor were there any hearsay or legends of him possessing such an ability.

But then, Archer thought further.

Why would he distance himself away? There were no benefits in him doing so.

It was Rider of Red himself who ended up providing the answer.

"Let me show you what my spear can do—something that not even you have knowledge of."

Rider of Red then took a throwing stance, and Archer of Black braced in response. But he was perplexed upon grasping where Rider would be throwing that spear based on his stance.

"Go! My spear, my conviction—

Diatrecon Aster Logche

Speartip of the Star Traversing the Skies

!!"

The spear flew towards the sky before thrusting downward, piercing the center of the airplane's frame.

Rider of Red never aimed Archer of Black to begin with—his throw had not even a trace of bloodthirst as well.

"What is going—"

Then his sentence cut off. Archer of Black, who never stopped maintaining his composure and wariness on the battlefield, had currently been struck in admiration.

It was only for a moment—but had a third party been there, that one moment of weakness would have been all they need to bring him down.

But it was no wonder—be they a Servant or a magus, anyone would be surprised at what Rider of Red's Noble Phantasm just did. Or rather, what Rider of Red's great magecraft just did.

The world it had created was one exceedingly simple yet robust in nature.

It was as if both of them had been isolated from the outside world—not by walls, but space itself. Archer of Black could feel the separation, but he was also still supplied with prana from his Master. Meaning, this was not a completely isolated space.

The wind still roared strongly. Nothing had visibly changed, per se. But this sensation... they were unmistakably in a different dimension as of right now.

And right in the middle of it was Rider of Red's spear, planted downward deeply, as if it was acting as an "axis".

Their footing was no longer the slippery surface of steel—but it was no less hard. Striking it would fracture bones and snap nerves, at the very least.

This space was, without a doubt, brought forth by that spear—by Rider of Red.

Unlike one that the giant of genesis, Adam, had manifested and written over reality itself—that is to say, a Reality Marble—this one was a bit different in nature. Having mastered magecraft as well, Archer of Black was able to infer such. This one had simply manifested on top of the real world.

The world beyond this enclosure was most likely as it had been before.

Still, this was a great magecraft nonetheless—one that no middling magus would be able to bring forth.

"To think that you are able of even magecraft as well..."

Archer of Black couldn't help but let out words of admiration. Rider of Red, for his part, merely smiled daringly and shook his head.

"Eh, who cares what this is? It's just a something I ended up creating in order to settle things with Hector."

There were several reasons why, during the Trojan War, the Achaean force were unable to truly assault the city of Troy proper for multiple years despite having heroes like Achilles or Aias on their side.

The greed and haughtiness of their leader, Agamemnon, had antagonized Achilles so that he had ended up abandoning the entire war altogether once.

And even after he returned, the internal strife within their ranks were so much that even with superior war prowess, they kept falling behind the Trojan force.

On top of that, the city of Troy was constructed with an unprecedented level of sturdiness, and was under the protection of the sun god Apollo himself.

However, all of those were trifling reasons—even taking all of them into account, the Achaean force should've been able to sack the city of Troy, albeit with some difficulties.

The main reason they were not able to do so had been a single man—the Trojan prince and great hero Hector.

Hector had been many things. A warrior. A general. A strategist. A politician. And he had been the very reason why the Trojan force were united in high morale.

When Achilles had withdrawn from the battle due to his conflict with Agamemnon, the Achaean force had been driven to a corner, almost necessitating them to retreat completely.

Achilles had returned to the war only for the sake of his friend, which resulted in him defeating Hector. And even with the war resulting in Troy's lost, it was a fact that Hector alone had been the reason of the Achaean's force many torment.

"Bastard said that he'd get a divine punishment if he were to fight someone blessed by a goddess like me, and just kept on running away. So I come up with something that will allow a fair, one-to-one combat."

"And this is—"

Archer of Black had no further words.

He had suspected at first that this space was supposed to give Rider of Red some kind of overwhelming advantage—like an increase to Rider's parameter while decreasing his own. That was the general function of such a magecraft of this level.

But.

This man created this space purely for the sake of a truly impartial battle—one that removes anything that did not serve that purpose.
Rider of Red then smashed his fist together while grinning.

"Stuffs like divinity count for jack inside this space. We bleed and break equally here. Nothing and no one can interfere with our battle—not even luck. Even time has come to a stand still. And the winner of this battle within this space is the winner in the real world as well. Simple, eh?"

Archer of Black couldn't help but smile, despite his astonishment.

"I see. I take it Hector accepted your challenge with this, then?"

"Yeah. Bastard said he might just have a chance to win inside this space. Though I still managed to beat his ass in the end."

Archer of Black cracked his neck.

He stepped on the ground firmly, as if testing it.

"So, master. Will you accept my challenge?"

Archer of Black pondered for a moment, then spoke as if he just thought of something.

"Then, once our battle concludes, I have a wish I'd like to ask of you."

"A wish...?"

"Indeed. That is—"

Archer of Black then spoke his wish outloud, and then Rider of Red tilted his head in surprise. Archer, for his part, couldn't help but feel a bit amused over that.

"...Then, I accept this duel. Now—do you think you have a chance of winning?"

Rider of Red nodded. As a matter of fact, he never even thought of anything but winning to begin with—he'd be doing this duel a discourtesy otherwise.

He readied his spear, and once again both Archer of Black and Rider of Red began squaring off against each other. The composed sage against the warrior dyed in crimson fury.

"I sure do. I can't use my spear here, but you also can't use your bow. This is a one-to-one combat, fist against fist. The one who knocks his opponent the most will be the winner."

"Does the possibility that I may use my own Noble Phantasm never occur to you?"

"Doesn't matter, really. Your Noble Phantasm's something bow related, right? Go ahead and try using it inside this duel field, if you can."

Archer of Black's words did not shake Rider of Red in the slightest. And Rider was not bluffing—he had complete confidence not only in this space he had created, but also that Archer of Black simply won't use his Noble Phantasm.

And he'd be right. Archer could not use his Noble Phantasm in this situation—nor was he ever planning to.

He'd only use it once this battle had concluded. Therefore, it was irrelevant as of now.

"I see. It is well that you seem to have utmost confidence in your hand-to-hand combat ability, Rider of Red."

"Hah! Said the man who had complete mastery of all kinds of martial arts."

"I suppose I can't deny that. I believe I'm good enough to triumph over even Saber of Red in that regard."

"Heh. You gotta be that good for this to be worth it."

"You took the words out of my mouth."

They were both grinning fiercely. And despite everything, both of them still observed one last manner as they touched their fists with each other.

Just for this single moment, the Great Holy Grail War or being a Servant no longer matter. They were both warriors facing each other—that was all there was to it.

Three—

"I am Rider of Red. My true name is Achilles, son of the hero Peleus."

Two—

"I am Archer of Black. My true name is Chiron, son of the god Kronos."

One—

""Have—""

Zero.

""—at thee!""

Achilles launched a straight punch with impeccable timing, while Chiron's own smashed into his liver side.

They howled and glared, wielding their fists with great joy against each other.

By all rights, both of their blows just now would've brought a normal fight to its conclusion. Achilles' straight punch would've pulverized an ordinary person's head, while Chiron's liver blow would've reduced their innards to a pulp.

And while neither of them were anything ordinary, a normal Servant would've been reeling from either of their blows.

Even first-class Servants certainly would not be able to laugh those off.

For theirs were fists tempered through a maddening level of training and discipline.

"OHHHHH—!"

"HAAAAAAAAAA!!"

They howled and swung their fists against each other, as if to smash through this very world.

However, putting aside the respective strength of their fists, they were different in their target.

Achilles' was straightforward, aiming towards Chiron's head—his approach was the embodiment of killing in a single strike.

Chiron's, on the other hand, relied on everchanging combinations that aimed towards multiple weak points while leading Achilles around through the nose—his was a technique made to kill the enemy without a chance of failure.

As expected, Chiron thought.

Achilles' fists indeed boasted might beyond comparison. But it was also simple in nature—perhaps due to his confidence in his overwhelming strength.

After all, this man had never been able to experience a truly equal bout.

And that was a chink in his armor that Chiron planned to fully make use of. He would overwhelm Achilles with moves beyond his imagination and obtain victory that way. It was something that no one but Chiron, who had trained many heroes, could do—a strategy specifically crafted to defeat fellow heroes.

One that was not an option for Achilles.

After all, for a hero as superior as Achilles, such methods were simply out of—

"Wha—?!"

Chiron's eyes opened wide—for right after Achilles deflected his fist, he lunged towards Chiron's chest.

Chiron responded reflexively with a right knee strike that could blow away even a bear, which Achilles attempted to catch with both hands. Chiron's knee strike was faster by a heartbeat, however, and landed square on Achilles' face.

However, Achilles still managed to grab onto Chiron's knees, and proceeded to threw him backward.

Chiron felt less like floating in the air and more like a toy being thrown around—before smashing face first into the ground hard.

They both now had taken more or less the same amount of damage. But the same couldn't be said with their stances—the one who had thrown Chiron, Achilles, wasted no time before attempting to grab his ankle and move to a leg lock. Chiron quickly turned around in response, but Achilles immediately twisted his ankle in order to to break his knee.

Chiron then turned his body in the same direction to defend against Achilles. There was a way to break free of the leg lock by kicking with his free leg, but instead of doing that, Chiron slapped both hands on the floor—and simply powered through against the lock.

"What...?!"

What Chiron had just done, however, paled in comparison with what he did next—of all things, Chiron proceeded to lift Achilles using nothing but his leg strength. Achilles clicked his tounge and immediately let go of Chiron and distanced himself.

"My, my... Now that certainly took me by surprise."

Chiron muttered calmly as a line of blood drippid from his lips—perhaps from a small cut after all that tussle. His knee did not seem to be broken yet, but it most likely had taken some damage.

Of course, Achilles could not let his guard down just yet. As far as he was concerned, that was not enough to bring him closer to victory even a little bit.

This was but the starting line—he fully believed that it'd take nothing short of everything of him to eke out a win.

Chiron was currently trying to hold back a smile.

He had truly underestimated his opponent—a mistake he was contemplating on.

Chiron himself had yet to bring out his best. He moved his arms and legs, his thought cold and composed, before he kicked the floor and lunged forward.

He floated but a moment before unleashing a kick aimed at Achilles' head.

Having already taken off his shoes, Chiron's barefoot smashed into Achilles, who had reflexively crossed arms in an effort to protect his head.

The heavy and powerful blow sent a wave of intense pain all across his body—it was almost a miracle his arms did not break.

Nevertheless, he had withstood the blow. Achilles then immediately attempt to strike back with his elbow against the midlair Chiron—who intercepted it with his own roundhouse kick before even landing properly.

It landed squarely on the side of Achilles' head.

However, Achilles' own elbow strike had also struck Chiron's solar plexus dead on.

Having taken the blow, Achilles was completely dumbfounded. Both of his arms felt like they had been pulverized—the strength of Chiron's legs was truly preposterous. Although... being a centaur, perhaps it was just a matter of course.

Damn, that's shrewd of him, he thought. The blow against Achilles' head had truly rattled his brain and shaken his consciousness.

But that was about it. Even if his skull were to break open, as long as his heart stayed beating, Achilles would not go down—!

As Chiron landed on the ground while covering his solar plexus, Achilles launched a kick aimed towards Chiron's head despite the throbbing pain on his.

Chiron managed to block the kick with his arms, but was blown away backward as a result. At this point, both of them had practically forgotten that they were fighting on the top of an airplane flying 7500 meters above the sea.

Chiron then tried to recover his form, but Achilles pursued him forward with what could only be described as a truly divine speed.

Dromeus Cometes

Comet Form

--a running speed akin to that of a swift gale, the fastest ever in all of human history.

Knowing about it and actually grasping it in action were two very different things.

Achilles howled as he launched a series of strikes. Once, twice—thrice in total.

For right before his fourth, Chiron hand moved as if about to catch his fist.

Achilles' entire body began to sweat, as if warning him of what was to come.

After all, while grasping Achilles' speed was practically impossible, predicting it was not. After only several seconds of three consecutive blows, Chiron was able to see where the fourth would land. However—Achilles proceeded to betray that very prediction.

He accelerated—only for a fraction of a second, but he accelerated faster than Chiron's prediction. On top of that, he changed his fist into a spearhand instead as well. Much like how Chiron was able to predict his fourth attack, Achilles had predicted that his master would be able to do exactly that.

Achilles' spearheand struck truly into Chiron's throat, momentarily interrupting his breathing. And Achilles couldn't help but let out snicker upon seeing Chiron's awestruck expression—for but a moment before Chiron grabbed onto his arm with both hands.

Achilles reflexively tried to pull his arm back, but Chiron had already made his next move—he leapt and entangled his legs around Achilles' neck, using the force of his leap to break his left arm.

A loud snap reverberated across his body. Immedately right after Chiron had leapt, Achilles immediately wrote off his left arm as a lost cause. He then slammed his fist into Chiron's solar plexus once again. As far as he was concerned, it was worth sacrificing his left arm for that.

His left arm was no good any longer. But he still had both legs and his right fist. That was more than enough to keep fighting.

Chiron spun to the right and launched a powerful quick. Not without feints, however—Achilles was barely able to dodge by the skin of his teeth. Chiron's leg passed through right in front of his eyes, and his back was now facing Achilles.

A golden chance. Achilles moved to stomp on Chiron's back—however.

"?!"

His back froze. Chiron showing his back like that must meant that he was planning something.

This is bad, I need to...!

Chiron then bent his upper body, as if he was bowing. And the moment he landed, he once again launched his right leg upward.

A thrust kick—Achilles was barely able to cross his arms together to defend himself against it. He then swing his fist against Chiron's tendon in retaliation.

"Kuh...!!"

The resulting pain felt like it's rupturing Chiron's tendon, resulting in his stance breaking. Believing that Chiron could not rely in footwork in this situation, Achilles attempted to grapple and throw him—and was made to leave himself open in doing so. Like a magic trick, their position suddenly reversed, as Achilles ended up the one being thrown.

It was a throw hard enough smash his head open—exactly what Achilles originally planned to do against Chiron. Chiron then moved to mount him, while Achilles desperately tried to defend himself, using his leg against Chiron's shoulder to push him away.

When one outsmarted the other, then other will outsmart one back. When one had outmoved the other, then the other would use that very move against one back.

There was no exchanging of words—it was all they could do to get their own rough breathing back to order. They both were racking their brain to choose what the optimal move next was.

And the very next moment, they both concluded that they didn't need to even think about it.

One uses a weapon when one faces an enemy that cannot be beaten with fists alone. But in this space of fair duel, only one's fists and feet could bring one to victory.

Feeling strangely exhilarated, Chiron formed a fist—

And leaped, as if riding the roaring wind itself. He put every ounce of the strength in his body into this single punch.

Achilles took the punch, relying on his natural toughness to forward himself.

Such dauntless courage—Chiron simply had to accept that Achilles had long since become a hero beyond his prediction.

Achilles had gone to a place beyond him. Chiron knew not if Achilles' had reached his peak, or was simply halfway through. But Chiron knew that he wanted to stand there as well.

Would Chiron be able to do that, were he to defeat Achilles, here and now?

Could he be standing where Achilles stood now, were he to beat him?

He'd like to.

He wanted to defeat him.

He wanted to stand there instead.

...He wanted to win. That was all there was to it.

Slowly but surely, such a desire began to fill his heart.

The suppressed emotion began to surge like a billowing wave within him.

He screamed out.

He knew not what was it that he screamed out loud, nor did he want to know.

Straigths, jabs, uppercuts—Chiron's fist lunged forward, again and again, swift and countless in numbers.

Meanwhile, Achilles parried, ducked, and swayed to dodge them and push forward.

It was unlikely that a single hit would decide this battle—not when they both were nearly equal to each other. At the very least, that was what Chiron thought.

However, Achilles thought differently.

That fist was filled with conviction. With honor. With pride. With love.

And he endured them. Again, and again, and again.

He waited for the golden opportunity to come.

—He had galloped through his life as swift and fast as a gale of wind.

—He had been blessed by many. By his friends, his mother, his father, and his master.

—It had been a short life. But he had no regrets.

—Which was why he would smash through all of it.

He was drenching in blood. His skin had been torned all around. His bones were broken. His nerves were completely frayed.

Ten seconds of grueling despair—

The price he paid to create a paper thin opening.

He did not waste time thinking if this was yet another trap. If it were—it just meant that Chiron was simply that much better than him.
He was sure that it was not, however. His instinct—the one thing that Chiron did not thought him, but something he naturally honed through endless battles as a warrior instead—was telling him so.

...In fact, Achilles would be fine even if it were a trap from Chiron.

If his teacher, his master was that much of a transcendent warrior... then that in itself was a great thing, indeed.

A modicum of hesitation. But one that has nothing to do with the speed by which Achilles swung his fist.

He aimed it towards Chiron's heart—his spirit core. No feints—it was a straight punch, through and through.

"Here I go, Chiron!

This is my fist, my sword, my spear, my strike, my everything...!!

It was the fastest, strongest, and most powerful of blows.

"——————————"

The moment Chiron received that strike, he understood everything.

Of how much training and effort went behind it. Of how much enemy Achilles had defeated with it. And whether or not he could withstand it.

Chiron understood.

That this right strike was Achilles' everything, indeed. Under this circumstances, he would've been able to defeat and bring down any famed hero with it.

And Chiron was no exception—Achilles right strike had well and truly defeated him.

His entire body was numb. That one strike was powerful enough to smash through even his spiritual core.

And yet, he couldn't help but marvel at how magnificent that strike had been. No half-hearted warrior could ever deliver such a blow. It was a fist belonging to one who had lived as a hero and continuously trained to reach his peak.

It was a dazzling fist, surpassing even the height of a Noble Phantasm.

And that was why the only thing Chiron has to say about it was—

"...Splendid."

"...Thank you."

Chiron then fell down after expressing his admiration. He no longer stood—his body had been reduced to such a state where he could no longer afford to.

Still, he remained alert. Achilles, for his part, retreated while enduring the pain assaulting his entire body. He then pulled his spear out of the center of the space.

The duel area around them returned to what it had been before. Slowly but surely, the flow of time began to return to normal.

But not everything reverted as such. Achilles' wounds remained, and Chiron's destroyed spirit core as well.

And there was no healing that. The moment the gauntlet was thrown, he had thrown away all manners of insurance. Not even a restorative Noble Phantasm or Skill could do anything.

For losing in that duel meant "death".

"I thank you, master."

Achilles said. Chiron—Archer of Black, for his part, simply shook his head.

"I should be the one to thank you, Achilles—Rider of Red. You were strong... the strongest among them all."

"My strength, my skill... I owe it all to you, master. To your teachings."

Archer of Black simply smiled.

Blood began flowing out of his mouth. He no longer even had the strength to stand up, and so he simply lied on his back and gazed at the dark sky above him.

To care for one's master in their deathbed... He was never able to do that during his live, but still it must be a painful thing to go through.

"You can stop... calling me master. I'm no longer in a position to be called such. You should simply call me Archer of Black."

Rider of Red was about to protest against that, but Archer of Black stopped him before the words were out.

"Though, I still draw breath even now. ..And as long as I do so, we remain enemies. We are not here as Chiron or Achilles. I am Archer of Black. You are Rider of Red. Thus... you must deliver the final blow."

"...I can't."

Archer of Black opened his tightly clenched fist. The manic light had disappeared from his eyes, leaving only his usual refreshing and intellectual rexpression.

"There was a reason why I did not use my Noble Phantasm against you this whole time, Rider of Red."

Archer of Black muttered so all of a sudden.

He pushed his hand against his crushed heart—he only had a little bit of time left. His second life would soon be over, and his second death would soon embrace him. Yet he continued speaking regardless.

"...A reason?"

Upon hearing that, Rider of Red felt a chill all of a sudden.

The words of the dying warrior of the bow made him unconsciously flinched backward.

"Among what I have at my disposal, this Noble Phantasm of mine is the greatest in terms of power and precision. But it had a decisively unique element to it."

At some point, Rider of Red had been lost into Archer of Black's words. The chill he'd been feeling was not stopping, yet he couldn't stop listening to Archer of Black.

"It is, of course, an offensive Noble Phantasm. Thus, I need to nock an arrow upon a bow to use it. Such are Noble Phantasms—be it a sword or a spear, one needs to have it ready at hand to be able to activate it."

Of course, there were many ways to have Noble Phantasm at the "ready". There were Noble Phantasms with curse as its main concept. There were Noble Phantasms delivered through a sword as an intermediary. There were Noble Phantasms in the form of technique that surpassed weapons and arms.

"However, mine is quite unique in that regard. As the very constellation upon the sky is my very self... thus I always have my bow and arrow at the ready."

"...!!"

Upon hearing those words, Rider of Red understood everything. He immediately jumped backward—however, with a fearless smile on his face, Archer of Black declared loudly.

"I have already activated my Noble Phantasm. And its target has already been decided. I need not to amass any prana for it either—nor do I need to speak of its true name. It had already been fired."

By the time Rider of Red had realized it, it had been too late.

The Sagittarius constellation had already nocked an arrow and drawn its bow to its limit—Archer of Black activating his Noble Phantasm only served the purpose of deciding its target. He need not to even speak of the Noble Phantasm's true name.

Yes... The Noble Phantasm's true name—

Antares Snipe

Scorpion Shot

.

The absolute sniping, allowed only to the constellation who always had its bow and arrow aimed at the scorpion.

Bows are weapons with a fatal weakness—its time lag. And Archer of Black's was a Noble Phantasm that had precisely no such weakness.

It flew through the river of stars, piercing straight through Rider of Red's heel.

"—Gah, AHHHHHHH.....?!"

A vivid painful sensation assaulted him—one that brough forth a certain memory.

He had tasted this pain before, in his previous life. A pain so vivid he felt like vomiting his guts, like he had been skinned alive—the pain of having his heel shot through.

"DAMN YOU, ARCHE--!"

Archer of Black, for his part, merely sighed in relief.

"I see that my constellation had shot through where it needed to. I am glad I managed to fulfill my duty as a Servant in the end."

Rider of Red then ceased his howling—he understood that there was no point in that anymore. He can see that life had slipped away out from the eyes of the bow warrior. That falling star... that one shot had been the last drop of energy Archer of Black had squeezed out of himself.

Suddenly, the floor swayed—it seemed like the airplane was falling downward. Of the three airplanes left, only one was left flying.

[Reverse_side98]

Thanks for the tl

[Cyborg]

Thanks for the translation, castor, as usual!

[Paulie25]

Thanks Castor!