Fate/Apocrypha Volume 1 Chapter 4.2

As soon as she was summoned, Archer noticed that the man standing before her was not her own Master. After all, what was clearly a Servant was standing by his side and, more importantly, she felt no connection to him at all.

"I haven't, either. Then again, I suppose that's only to be expected for a bunch of magi…"

"Yet… it is still peculiar. But, considering what awaits all of us at the end, perhaps it cannot be helped…"

In this Great Holy Grail War, the biggest issue is not defeat, but victory – and what follows. Whichever camp survives, it is unlikely that all seven Servants will remain accounted for – but it is also highly unlikely for only one to remain. In the end, the Holy Grail will only grant the wishes of one Master and one Servant. As soon as victory becomes clear, the division will begin.

Who among the magi does not aim to reach the Swirl of the Origin that sits outside this world, where all futures and all pasts are recorded? With such a possibility contained within the Holy Grail before them, even the closest of comrades would gladly slaughter one another. Servants are certainly not exceptions; the only way to have their own wishes granted is to terminate the allies they stood shoulder to shoulder with. Therefore, any alliances will most likely last only until the winning side is decided.

"…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

Crying Warmonger

Howl of the Wounded Beast

– 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 it 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.