Chapter 419: [419] Clash of the Immortals

—Unrivaled, swift as the wind.

This was how enemies, filled with fear and awe, described Red Rider during his lifetime.

No matter the predicament, Red Rider could overcome it; no matter the challenge, Red Rider would face it with a smile.

But this time, he found himself in an unprecedented predicament.

The silver-haired Saber, the hammer-wielding Berserker... neither of these two could pressure Achilles. Yet, that black-robed woman who appeared as an Assassin repeatedly pushed him to the brink.

"Uwaaaaah!"

The pure white girl shouted as she charged forward, while the silent but immensely powerful swordsman brought his blade down with tremendous force. Faced with their coordinated assault, Red Rider responded with a cold laugh, twisting his body and leaping up, effortlessly blocking both attacks with just a single slender spear.

"Too naive!"

After deflecting the attacks, Achilles immediately followed up with a kick. His fighting style was clearly not based on chivalric etiquette but rather on battle-hardened martial techniques honed on the battlefield.

Black Saber nimbly dodged, but Black Berserker took the kick to the abdomen, sent flying uncontrollably before landing in someone’s soft embrace.

"Ugh..." The homunculus girl let out a pained, confused sound as she looked up. Hidden beneath the black robe, only a small portion of her delicate face was visible, along with a stubborn golden ahoge peeking out from under the hood.

"Are you alright?" Black Assassin asked with concern as she helped Black Berserker up, gently setting her down on an empty spot nearby. "This fight is still too much for you. Let me take over. Remember to protect yourself."

Sensing the pure concern in Black Assassin’s words, Black Berserker calmed down, like a soothed little beast, and gave a quiet response. Black Assassin—Artoria—nodded in acknowledgment before gripping her holy spear and standing up.

"Then, I’ll go now."

As she said this, the ahoge girl rubbed her chest uncomfortably.

Though there was some extra padding due to certain reasons, being hit by Fran’s head still left her feeling a bit winded.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, after kicking Black Berserker away, Achilles didn’t stop moving. He immediately engaged in combat with Saber Siegfried.

After several rapid exchanges, spotting an opening in the silver-haired swordsman’s stance, Achilles didn’t hesitate to thrust his spear. Yet, the swordsman adjusted his grip in that instant, smoothly countering with an upward slash that arrived first despite being launched later.

It was a trap—Achilles, a veteran of countless battles, had known this all along. The only reason he recklessly walked into it was...

Clang!

That was the sound of the demonic sword Balmung striking Red Rider’s neck.

Thud!

That was the sound of Achilles’ short spear piercing Black Saber’s chest.

Without a doubt, these were not the sounds of flesh and steel clashing. Sensing something amiss, the two combatants retreated, eyeing each other with heightened wariness.

Inspecting his undamaged short spear, the Rider of Red bared his fangs in a savage grin:

"The blade can’t pierce through. This hardness suggests an invulnerability or immortality—something along those lines, right?"

His next words caused Siegfried’s expression to shift slightly.

"As I thought, you’re the same as me."

The same?

Siegfried’s face remained impassive, but inwardly, he felt a weight settle in his chest.

His body, bathed in dragon’s blood, rendered him impervious to attacks below B-rank. However, if the Rider of Red were to unleash his Noble Phantasm, there existed the possibility of breaching his defenses.

But—

Siegfried raised his sword, recalling the sensation of his earlier strike.

Against the Rider of Red, his attacks had felt utterly ineffective.

Yet, true immortality did not exist. Just as he had a weakness on his back, legends spoke of heroes who lost all power when their long hair was cut, and of the dragon Vritra, who made a pact with the god of war—immune to weapons of wood, stone, iron, or anything dry or wet, and invulnerable to attacks by day or night.

In the end, the god of war struck Vritra down at twilight—neither day nor night—using a pillar forged from sea foam.

The Rider of Red was likely of this type, possessing an invulnerability that could only be bypassed under specific conditions.

Meanwhile, Artoria, standing nearby, knew full well the nature of the hero whose true name was ’Achilles.’

Andreias Amarantos—ranked B, the same as Armor of Fafnir.

Achilles possessed the blessing of immortality granted by his mother, the goddess Thetis, nullifying all attacks.

However, this effect could be negated by those with a ’Divinity’ skill of a certain rank or higher.

Divinity, huh... With this thought, Artoria discreetly stowed away the Red Spear Sakatsuki had given her and drew her own Noble Phantasm, concealing its form with Invisible Air.

[What are you doing, Saber?! He hasn’t taken a single wound! Use your Noble Phantasm, quickly!]

Though it was her Master’s command, she had no choice but to ignore it. The Rider of Red hadn’t even begun to fight seriously, and the mystery of his unscathed state remained unsolved.

Did he simply possess defensive capabilities equal to her Noble Phantasm? Or something even greater? Or perhaps there was a specific condition required to harm him?

Revealing her Noble Phantasm here would mean exposing her true name, inevitably putting her at a disadvantage in future battles. Even so, if she could eliminate the Rider now, it would grant her an overwhelming advantage... But what if he survived?

Needless to say, she would become a fool who had carelessly revealed her true name for nothing. Even if the "Black" Saber was willing to be called reckless, she absolutely refused to be labeled a fool. Thus, she had no choice but to disregard her Master’s order. I hope you understand, she thought. Under normal circumstances, Saber would have argued tirelessly to persuade him, but unfortunately, there was no time for that now.

"...It seems we’re at an impasse."

The Red Rider, of course, was unaware of Siegfried’s inner thoughts. He simply laughed and spoke in such a manner. Siegfried, abiding by his pact with his Master, had no intention of responding. Seeing no reaction from him, Achilles’ expression darkened slightly with displeasure.

"What a cold, unpleasant fellow. Those who refuse to smile on the battlefield may forget how to laugh even in paradise, you know? This world is already rotting with gloom. So at the very least, one should die with joy in their heart—don’t you think?"

No, he did not think so. Laughter on the battlefield could sometimes be taken as an insult to the enemy. Or at the very least, it carried the risk of being perceived as such.

The Black Saber remained silent, but a clear, noble woman’s voice answered the Red Rider’s provocation.

"To acknowledge each other’s strength as comrades and share laughter—that is the refreshing wind that sweeps across the battlefield. But to laugh before corpses is nothing more than mockery."

The air shifted. Achilles turned his gaze toward the Black Faction’s Assassin. Though her hands were empty, his instincts as a warrior screamed warnings at him.

"You are—"

"Just a nameless one. Now, face me!"

With no desire for idle chatter, Artoria quietly switched her weapon back to the Holy Lance with the aid of the Invisible Air. Pushing her parameters to their peak, she charged at Achilles.

Twang!

The sound of a bowstring being drawn echoed through the forest—but the arrow that flew faster than the sound itself struck directly at Artoria’s chest.

A long-range attack, devoid of magical energy, relying purely on physical force—in other words, an Archer!

The enemy had timed their ambush well. However, thanks to Sakatsuki’s warning, Artoria had long known that the Red Archer lay in wait.

"That won’t work!"

The girl—no, the golden-haired Holy King—flashed a sharp gaze. At the last possible moment, she thrust out the Holy Lance. The Invisible Air shrouding the weapon clashed with the arrow, which boasted destructive power on the level of Rank A. A tempest of azure wind instantly engulfed the entire forest. By the time the gale subsided, the black-cloaked Artoria had already broken through the arrow’s restraint and closed in on Achilles!

"Come!" The great hero of Greece laughed fearlessly, thrusting out his short spear without dodging or retreating.

A clash between B+ and A-rank Strength caused the earth to collapse beneath them, dust scattering in the wake of the storm. With the propulsion of Invisible Air, Artoria clearly held the upper hand. The blood of the Red Dragon surged within her as she let out a fierce cry, pushing back against Achilles and charging straight toward the Red Archer—Atalanta!

Could it be—was she trying to force both the enemy’s Rider and Archer into the same space?!

Siegfried instantly grasped Artoria’s battle strategy and drew his sword without hesitation, rushing to follow. Even Frankenstein, who had only just recovered briefly, refused to fall behind, forcing herself to stand and move to reinforce the next battlefield.

But before she could—a single small flower appeared before her.

A pure white wildflower, the kind one might find anywhere by the roadside.

The one who offered it was a white-haired Assassin clad in black robes, his handsome features exposed.

"A flower for you, Fran."

He smiled at the artificial human dressed in a pure white bridal gown.

Yet that smile was as cold as a greeting at a grave.