Chapter 382: [382] Voivode of Wallachia, Vlad III

Sakatsuki’s reason for choosing the Mage’s Association was simple—as the sole Servant and Master currently in the ’Blue’ faction, he needed an organization to back him.

Just as the ’Red’ faction had Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, a saint who had prepared for sixty years and possessed the ’True Name Discernment’ as a Ruler, and the ’Black’ faction had the Yggdmillennia family, who possessed the Holy Grail and had been planning since World War II under their leader Darnic, each faction had its own foundation.

In contrast, the abruptly appearing Sakatsuki and his ’Blue’ faction, despite having foresight unmatched by anyone else, clearly lacked the ability to handle unexpected situations. If anything happened to Sakatsuki, it would mean the collapse of the ’Blue’ faction.

Especially since Sakatsuki lacked the qualifications to speak as equals with the leaders of these two factions—such a disadvantage could be fatal in a three-way battle.

Strength was the foundation for equal dialogue, and influence was part of that strength. Even if it was just borrowing authority, it was enough for Sakatsuki.

He had no intention of dragging the Mage’s Association, such a colossal entity, into the conflict.

"It’s just about waving a banner to intimidate others. Right now, the Greater Grail hasn’t even activated its preliminary system, and the appearance of the ’Blue’ faction, completely deviating from the original plot, is already absurd enough. If the Mage’s Association gets involved, the situation will spiral out of control beyond my expectations."

Sakatsuki had no intention of giving up the advantage of foresight.

"—Pardon me."

A deep male voice spoke up. Hearing this, Sakatsuki raised his arm, and behind him, over fifty magi halted, expressionless, awaiting orders.

These were the Cleanup Team—magi specialized in combat, dispatched by the Mage’s Association.

After Sakatsuki reached an agreement with the higher-ups of the Mage’s Association, he gained command over fifty first-rate magi. Following the original plan, at dawn the next day, Sakatsuki led the Cleanup Team into Romania—the territory of Yggdmillennia.

"What is it?"

Still concealing his appearance with the Cloak of Hades, Sakatsuki turned to his second-in-command, the team’s former leader.

"Abnormalities in the leyline," reported the captain, a lean-faced man in a suit, holding a spiritual energy detector. "There’s likely an ambush ahead in the forest."

"Oh? And we’ve only just crossed into Yggdmillennia’s territory." Sakatsuki smirked with interest. "It seems Yggdmillennia holds you in high regard."

Neither of them mentioned the issue of leaked intelligence—the Clock Tower’s overly lax structure was inevitably riddled with spies from various factions.

"What should we do, Captain?"

"Nothing special to note. You’re all battle-hardened magi—just perform as planned." Sakatsuki replied casually. "Handle any obstacles before the Servants arrive on your own. I’ll complete my mission. Once the Servants appear..."

"Yeah, yeah, run as far as we can and set up a leyline-sealing magic circle, right?"

A red-haired magus interjected impatiently. He had been the team’s original deputy leader but was demoted to a regular member after Sakatsuki’s sudden appointment.

"..." Sakatsuki couldn’t be bothered to argue. He merely gave the red-haired magus a meaningful glance before leaving with a final remark.

"Operation begins."

The command was issued. Regardless of the thoughts harbored by the team members, their exceptional professionalism drove them into action. With body-enhancing magecraft applied, fifty magi charged into the dense forest ahead at speeds far surpassing world sprinting records, swift as a gale.

In response to the vanguard’s arrowhead-like advance, the Yggdmillennia faction reacted—as the soil churned, bizarre shapes emerged from the ground before the "Cleaning Crew."

These entities varied in form—some vaguely humanoid, others utterly alien—but shared one commonality: each bore weapons and radiated magical energy comparable to second-rate magi.

The Yggdmillennia’s interference didn’t alter the magi’s expressions. While such creatures might terrify ignorant civilians, they were beneath the notice of these professionals. These were mere golems—commonplace guardians in the magical world—and intelligence indicated the rebel Yggdmillennia clan employed a skilled golemancer.

After Sakatsuki’s departure, the reinstated team leader struck first. With an ethereal roar, the golems within a fan-shaped area before him were crushed flat as if steamrolled.

The magi behind him unleashed their arts simultaneously. In an instant, multicolored mystic lights illuminated the night forest, annihilating the obstructing golems.

"Pathetic," snorted the red-haired magus, his serpentine flames effortlessly consuming any daring attackers. "These golems and defensive barriers are worthless. Did this rabble truly believe they could rebel?"

For this loyal Mage’s Association member, the true mystery wasn’t Yggdmillennia’s foolishness, but their superiors’ lack of faith.

"Why assign some enigmatic figure to oversee us? Couldn’t we handle these scraps ourselves?"

An odd silence fell over the group.

Assuming consensus, the redhead opened his mouth to continue when tremendous force yanked him aside.

"Captain—"

"Silence!"

The gaunt leader never glanced at him, instead fixing wide-eyed on something ahead, breathing rapidly. The other magi stood battle-ready, cold sweat trickling down their faces.

Unnoticed until now, a man had entered their line of sight.

Clad in aristocratic black garments that seemed to dissolve into the night, his unnaturally pale face contrasted starkly against loose, silk-white hair.

His mere presence electrified the forest’s atmosphere. Standing before him felt crushing; meeting his gaze triggered uncontrollable trembling.

This wasn’t due to brutishness—the man exuded refined elegance. But his frigid eyes forced observers to confront their own fragility.

"Insolent curs. By whose leave do you presume to stand upon this ground?"

His bass voice carried irresistible authority, yet the Cleaning Team’s resolve held firm.

Earlier, that black-robed man calling himself Sakatsuki had warned them about this.

["When you see someone who looks like a medieval noble, run. Run immediately, or no one can save you."]

Without hesitation, the magi activated their pre-prepared escape spells and dashed toward the forest’s edge.

"...Fools." The man, who carried himself like a sovereign of the dark night, uttered his disdain coldly. Even amidst the battlefield, his attire remained immaculate.

"Do you even know what land you tread upon?"

Looking down upon the fleeing magi, he slowly raised his naturally lowered left hand, pointing from left to right.

"Here."

"Here."

"And here."

"Even there—"

"Everywhere your eyes can see is my domain!"

As he clenched his fist, a surge of magical energy—greater than the combined power of all fifty magi—erupted from him.

In the next moment, the areas swept by his mana sprouted dense forests of black stakes.

These stakes were so tightly packed that the mages had no place to step.

These stakes were so sharp that even magi renowned for their physical resilience, capable of withstanding gunfire, could not endure them.

And these stakes grew so swiftly that the magi’s high-speed movements seemed sluggish in comparison.

"AAAAARGH—!" A scream pierced the sky. The red-haired magus at the rear of the group felt a sudden chill before a piercing sensation shot through his lower body. His shrieks quickly turned hoarse, like a worn-out record player.

For the stakes of Romania had seized his limbs, climbing upward like bloody plants from hell—piercing through his intestines, stomach, throat, and finally bursting from his mouth in a spray of blood and flesh.

Not just the red-haired magus at the back—one after another, the magi at the tail of the cleanup squad let out agonized cries. Regardless of gender or strength, they were skewered from below like lambs to the slaughter, becoming nourishment for an epic reborn.

Crimson blood dripped from the black stakes onto the earth, as if reenacting an ancient legend of this land.

It was said that during the Middle Ages, when the mighty Ottoman Empire sent armies to invade Transylvania—then part of Wallachia—the reigning Voivode led the resistance. During the war, he impaled every captured or slain Turkish soldier on wooden stakes, lining them across Wallachia’s lands. The total number of impaled reached over twenty thousand.

"Offer your blood. Offer your lives."

Unfazed by the carnage before him, the man—whom his terrified enemies called "The Impaler"—extended his hand and slowly clenched it.

"By the stakes of despair, I grant you impalement... I am the one who drinks lamentations!!"

He was the most renowned hero of Transylvania—no, of all Romania—Vlad III!

***

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