"...hence their refusal to appear before us."
"I don't think so. They should at least show up... I just can't help suspecting that priest and his Servant."
"You refer to Assassin... Semiramis, was it?"
Both Archer and Rider became speechless when, meeting them, Assassin grandly revealed her true name.
'I am Assassin, after all... an unstable existence to begin with. Let my true name be proof of my willingness to stand together in battle.'
So she declared, with some wryness, but neither Rider nor Archer believed her. The air of decay that wrapped around her invited only irritation and mistrust from these true-hearted warriors.
"That's right, Semiramis... the queen of Assyria. Why does putting on a crown always turns you into a pompous git? Kings or queens, it doesn't matter - I can't stand them."
"Such is what becomes of one whom is served by others. It is to be expected for someone of their position... nothing you need to take to heart."
Three hours had passed. The sun had already set, the forest becoming enveloped by darkness. Berserker's steady march came to a pause.
"Is it the enemy?"
"It is... but they are not Servants."
As Archer pointed out, what stood before Berserker was the Yggdmillennia vanguard: combat homunculi and massive bronze golems that towered over Berserker. There were over a hundred.
"Should we help him?"
Rider suggested, sounding rather deflated. They were not facing Servants, after all; what was there to help with? Instead, the two Servants chose to observe.
The battle between the vanguard of the Black and the Berserker of the Red was completely one-sided.
The halberds of the homunculi bit into his shoulders. The fists of the golems buried themselves in his face, impacting directly with enough force to shatter steel. However, these attacks did not make the smile disappear from Berserker's face. If anything, his grin widened.
Berserker made no attempt to avoid their attacks in the first place. In fact, he seemingly took pains to leap into their paths.
He took their beatings again and again, simply taking it all. Regardless of pain and injury, his expression was always one of ecstasy. Soon, even his attackers - tireless homunculi and golems - hesitated and stopped. That was when Berserker moved.
"Wretched puppets of the oppressor - may you at least find peace by my blade, and my fist."
Berserker grabbed the face of one of the golems with his hand, effortlessly tossing aside the three-meter-tall construct and crushing the homunculi who had the misfortune to be standing where it landed.
"Yes, you too!"
Saying this, he swung his sword in a wide arc - and the homunculi nearby were relieved of their top halves. He threw a punch at a struggling golem, pulverizing its reinforced bronze head.
Berserker was unrelenting in his barbarity. Spreading both arms wide, he boldly advanced. Embracing five golems at once, he bent backwards and flipped the several tons of bronze to the ground, destroying their skulls.
The man was a walking disaster. Every slash and punch produced more corpses and debris. But what was truly nightmarish was the unwavering smile on his face as he swung his sword and his fists. Even the homunculi, with their diluted emotions, became infected by his madness and fled the battle.
Ripping the final golem apart limb by limb, Berserker looked around at the traces of destruction and carnage he had wrought, nodded in satisfaction, and began to walk again.
"He was smiling..."
"Yeah..."
Archer and Rider exchanged glances, their disquiet characteristic of those whom have just witnessed something highly unpleasant. It was only natural that Berserker had fought and won; they did not find the misery he had sown dismaying or impressive. However, the way that Berserker had beamed from start to finish sent a chill down their spines.
"Well... a Heroic Spirit like that certainly couldn't be anything but Berserker."
If he had at least shown some anger, Archer and Rider might have believed him to possess a measure of reason. But he did not; he fought, he killed, and he crushed, all the while wearing an entranced smile.
"Never the less, he has shown his true strength; without a mighty Noble Phantasm, one of his measure cannot be stopped."
"Huh... By your reckoning, do you think he can take down at least one Servant?"
"We shall see. It would not be unthinkable as long as his Noble Phantasm can act freely..."
"That's the biggest problem, isn't it? Letting him 'act freely' with his Noble Phantasm..."
Although they were allies, the Servants of the Red camp did not fully know of each other's Noble Phantasms - except for Berserker's, which was explained by his Master.
This was because his Noble Phantasm - the Howl of the Wounded BeastCrying Warmonger - possessed such an abnormal function that, in a normal Holy Grail War, would absolutely rule out his survival.
"...but, if the Servants of the Black were to assault him continuously without thought, this may prove intriguing yet."
Yes, with that Noble Phantasm - allowing him to become more powerful the more damage he receives - it may even be possible for this Great War to be settled in a single night.
"Hm..."
Archer's nose twitched in discomfort; the smell of metal and machine oil was an unbearable stench to the girl whom was more animal than human.
"What is it?"
"We are perceived. Servants of the Black are approaching."
Archer's senses were far beyond those of Rider's. If she were correct, they would be meeting the enemy very soon.
"Prepare yourself..."
"Got it."
The two Servants summoned their respective weapons.
The spear that Rider summoned was greatly different from Lancer's weapon. Lancer's massive length of iron utilized its sharp tip and immense weight to bring about destruction. However, Rider's spear was one of simple, sturdy workmanship, well designed for close combat. From the way he held it lightly in one hand, it could be thrown as well.
Rider intended to challenge the enemy at close range without using his rightful weapon, the 'mount'; while truly reckless of him, the air of composure he exuded proved just how much he stood out alongside other heroes.
On the other hand, Archer naturally called forth a bow - a jet black Western-style weapon, bigger than she is tall. It is a celestial bow said to be granted to her by Artemis, the goddess of the hunt; its name is Tauropolos, one of the titles of Artemis, the boar-killer. It was a rare gem befitting such an archer. There is nothing it cannot pierce.
"I will withdraw and aid you and Berserker from the rear."
Archer immediately retreated into the shadows of the forest. Although Rider watched her go and could sense her, he no longer knew where exactly she was; for such a peerless huntress, becoming one with the forest was an effortless task.
"All right, then... time to go a few rounds."
Finally, even Rider's eyes could clearly see two shadowy figures slowly advancing from the depths of the forest. He sensed that they were both Servants. Apparently, their enemy thought a mere two Servants were enough to bring him down.
"You underestimate me, Servants of the Black... or do you think you have any chance of victory against me without sending out your entire force?"
Rider sneered, overflowing with confidence. Despite not using his primary weapon, he surged with an enormous, electric will to fight.
"Aaaa...."
"..."
The two Servants appeared. One was the Berserker of the Black - a girl wielding a giant battle mace - and the other was Saber, who was embroiled in a fierce duel with Lancer last night that lasted till nearly dawn.
"Hey, there - Saber and Berserker, I take it?"
Saber nodded wordlessly and Berserker made a noise of affirmation.
"I'm the Rider of the Red. Oh, you don't need to worry - I didn't already lose my steed before the war has even started. It's just such a waste to bring i
t out against just two opponents. I'd much rather ride out against all seven at once."
Rider said mischievously. In other words...
None of you are worth my time. Come at me with your full strength if you want to see what I'm capable of.
However, the ones who faced him were also proud Heroic Spirits. Berserker's moans became harsh; Saber arched his eyebrows, looking angered. The murderous air alone would crush the heart of a mere commoner - but Rider coolly received their deadly gaze. Faced with beastly ferociousness on one side and the forceful presence of a true hero on the other, Rider continued to smirk.
Killing intent and hateful animosity - the man was far too accustomed to both being directed at him. To the hero for whom one true friend and the women who loved him had meant all the world, this was but a slight breeze.
Nothing had changed - only the time in which they existed and the weapons that they wielded. It would always be the same... and he would always cut them all down like they were nothing.
That was how the Rider of the Red had striven to live his life.
"Come... I'll let you feel what a true warrior is."
He readied his spear - and his thirst for blood crushed the air. Saber stood his ground bravely, and Berserker's artificial mind allowed her to take it in stride, but any normal humans would have their spirits utterly crumbled.
Three - so the countdown began.
The thick forest was unsuited to the swinging of swords and spears.
Two - and the air froze in an all-too-familiar way.
But, in this place, the spear was superior to any other weapon in one aspect: the thrust. With his hero-slaying spear, able to pierce hearts and penetrate skulls with every strike, Rider felt no disadvantage at all.
One - and time itself seemed to stop before the eruption.
And most of all, with one of the world's most famous archers at his back, nothing would shake his nerve.
Zero.
All things crude and impure were blown away, swept aside, as they stepped forward and leapt, swinging sword and mace and spear.
---
Chapter 4-3
---
The vanguard of homunculi and golems was meaningless before the Berserker of the Red, readily turned back in a single strike. However, the Servants of the Black were not perturbed. After all, that was how a Heroic Spirit ought to be in battle. There were no surprises.
"Well... a slaughter like that is pretty abnormal, if you ask me..."
"What a dreadful sight. That Heroic Spirit does not fight with skill, but fiendishly butchers the enemy with the power he takes such pride in. No need for technique, or judgment - it is as though he was born to fight and kill. Perhaps the class of Berserker did not enhance him at all... perhaps he was not fit for any other class to begin with."
Archer agreed with the murmurs of Rider.
Surrounding the two was a force of golems incomparable to the vanguard sent earlier. In fact, over half of the golems created as the fighting force for the Yggdmillennia had been mobilized for this operation.
"I wonder if he'd kill me and you like that, too."
"It certainly is possible with such absurd strength. Do not let him strike you directly."
"Yeah, all right... I'll do what I can."
There was no fight in Rider's voice. Against this obvious display of disinterest, Archer softly whispered into his ear.
"I understand you are distracted, but if the unthinkable were to occur, and you fell here... he cannot be saved. Do you understand?"
"I-I know that!"
Rider straightened himself, firing himself up again thanks to Archer's reproval. He raised his splendidly ornate golden lance, as though daring Berserker to come at him.
"In a way, it is you who must realize the most dangerous task, Rider. Remember - stay on your guard."
The bowman turned into Spirit Form, returning to the top of the fortress wall where he ought to be. Left alone, Rider sighed and muttered to himself.
"Geez... I really wish I wouldn't get jobs like this... facing danger head-on? You can't be serious... well, I guess I don't have a choice!"
Rider said, boundlessly bright - and a tremor came from the depths of the woods to answer his call, coming closer and closer. However, the source of the noise was still sunken in the darkness of the night, imperceivable.
Is he here...?
An unexpected silence descended upon them. The noise stopped, and only a rushing wind came upon them. However, a Berserker cannot conceal his presence; even if he is not yet visible, it is fully clear that he is there.
Certain that his enemy is close at hand, Rider stepped forward.
"O oppressors, your time is nigh! Your pride shall be vanquished, your conceits of superiority routed!"
It was then that Berserker appeared, blowing aside branch and tree.
"Ugh..."
For the briefest of moments, Rider wanted to leave this place behind.
He was not afraid of giants; he had once fought the many-armed Caligorante, and paraded him around the streets. He did not fear hard-faced men or rampaging beasts. But the soft smile on the face of this colossus was... unnerving.
Yes, the fact that he was smiling was the most frightening thing. To smile in the midst of the enemy meant he was either greatly confident in himself, or so insane that he no longer cared who had the upper hand.
The giant was over two meters in height and wielded a gladius. From the previous encounter, it was evident that his fists themselves contained quite some power. On top of that, his toughness was exceptional. Most likely, even if Rider could injure him, he would not be able to finish him off.
In other words, Rider cannot hope to hurt him. Nevertheless, he understood that the tip of the spear had been entrusted to him - he must lead the advance.
"But, well... that's why I've been summoned, right? There's no helping it, then. Let's go!"
With a wide, daring grin on his face to match Berserker's, Rider brandished his golden lance.
"Let those afar hear my voice! Draw near and witness my splendor! For I am Astolfo, one of the Twelve Peers of Charlamagne... prepare yourself!"
It was a phrase that he had wanted but did not have the chance to say for quite some time, and he shouted it as loudly as he could. In the end, he even revealed his secret without much thought but, luckily, his opponent did not have the mental capacity to form strategies based on his true name.
"Hahahaha! Good. What splendid arrogance. I shall crush it beneath my heel!"
Berserker laughed as he charged, unexpectedly nimble despite his size, raging like a great wild boar.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
He swung his sword high and brought it crushing down. It was a fierce blow that likely could have squashed the diminutive Rider, whom avoided it cleanly.
"Guh...?!"
However, it was one of those attacks for which evasion meant nothing. Berserker's strike gouged the earth, blowing back Rider with the force of the attack alone.
"Owww... what a horrible attack."
Rider grimaced and got on his feet, rubbing his back where he was hit. There was still no fear in his eyes.
He was facing an enemy that could blow him away with a single touch, overcome him with raw strength, proofed against any of his techniques. However, Astolfo was a Heroic Spirit... a valiant paladin of Charlamagne, whose reason was said to evaporate, and an adventurer who flew to all over the world, creating many legends. Through his journeys, he had won numerous Mystic Codes - his flute, his grimoire, his Hippogriff, and his shining golden lance.
"Come, then... let's show them what you can do, Argalia!"
Rider dashed forward. Even without his mount, his charge became a bolt of lightning.
However, to the Berserker who was deprived of almost all emotions, Rider's attack was a thing of joy, and most certainly not of fear. For surely, the more intense his strike - the deeper he despaired - the more pleasurable Berserker's counter-strike would beco
me. Even if the lance were to run him through, Berserker would deliver his riposte without fail.
Certain of himself, Berserker raised his sword again, compressing his abdominal muscles until they became stiff as steel.
"Down with a Touch!"Trap of Argalia!
Yet, killing is not the primary intent of Rider's lance.
A spear is a spear, of course. If stabbed into the enemy, it will draw blood. If pierced in the heart, it will kill. But it is nothing more than a cavalry lance; its force has not been strengthened by thaumaturgy, and it did not possess any special property to penetrate all defenses. It was not fated to pierce its enemy's heart in any way. Despite all of the above, the power of this lance is deadly in battle.
Fate/Apocrypha - Volume 1 Page 21