Chapter 472: [472] Hey You Damned Brat, Stop Right There!

"Master, how exactly do I use these Command Spells you mentioned?"

"Summoning, reinforcement, protection, disengagement... These three Command Spells are your miniature wish-granting devices. Of course, when combined with a Pokémon trainer’s—ahem—I mean, a Master’s revitalizing shouts and displays of backbone, the effects become even better."

"Ohh, I understand now! Thank you, teacher!"

The memory of Sieg seeking knowledge from him remained vivid. At this moment, Sakatsuki watched the holy knight who had evaded his railgun’s targeting like a streak of light, now charging at him with a golden lance, and the homunculus girl who fearlessly entered the forest, standing atop a distant mound with her arm raised high, calling her Servant’s name. His eyes reflected both helplessness and warmth.

"Is this Holy Grail War trending some kind of father-son or master-disciple dynamic now?"

Having fully recovered his strength, he possessed at least three methods to evade Astolfo’s assault. Yet the young man simply spread his arms and allowed the lance to pierce his shoulder. As Astolfo shouted with desperate resolve, Sakatsuki was dragged forward violently—shattering countless branches, tearing through shadows and stray lightning bolts—until they burst out of the forest together.

With a thunderous crash, the lance embedded deep into the mountainside. Amidst the swirling dust, blood trickled down the length of the "Touch and Fall" lance, staining Astolfo’s hand. Yet when the wounded Assassin lifted his head, his eyes remained bright, shimmering with dangerous rainbow-blue light.

"Ma... Master!"

Sieg panted as she ran over, her face full of guilt. Sakatsuki glanced at the back of her hand and curled his lips into a faint smile.

"Well done," he said.

Still smiling, the young man’s figure gradually faded, vanishing into the night, the battlefield, the corpses, and the howling wind.

He could have easily dodged Astolfo’s attack. Even if he couldn’t kill him or Vlad III, he could have made them suffer immensely.

But what would that accomplish? The effects of the Electirizer had been tested, his battle lust satiated—why cling to this fight?

Moreover—

"The shadow of destruction draws near."

Darting swiftly under the cover of darkness, Sakatsuki’s only injury was the gradually healing puncture wound on his shoulder. His legs remained unaffected by the causality-altering properties of "Touch and Fall," as agile as ever.

With his "Double Summon" skill, even if his Servant form were dispersed, Sakatsuki would retain his Master’s physical body, immune to Astolfo’s lance effects.

As for why he so readily let the Black Faction go—it wasn’t just out of consideration for his dear disciple. The plan had already progressed to its next phase.

This was also an operation kept secret from Reika and Artoria.

"Your turn next, little Jack," Sakatsuki murmured softly. A girl’s voice whispered in response from his left arm.

"Mm, got it, Mama. This is our secret—I won’t tell Artoria Mama or Reika Mama."

"Good girl... Though I wish you’d call me Papa instead..."

"Hehe, but you’re Mama to me~~"

The golden Electirizer on his chest flickered as the Assassin withdrew from the battlefield.

————

While Sieg had found the holy knight she longed for and was fighting alongside him, where had Jeanne d’Arc, the saint who set out with her, now traveled to?

"What...!?"

Even as a Ruler who had gained knowledge of all Servants upon being summoned, she was momentarily left speechless at the sight before her.

"Hmm? You there, could you be a Servant of the Black faction... No, I suppose not. Ah, the Ruler, perhaps?"

The voice was refreshing like a cool breeze, and her nimble movements brought to mind leaves swaying in the wind.

Twirling through the air, a verdant-haired girl landed beside Jeanne. In her hands was an enormous bow that seemed ill-suited to her petite frame.

"Archer of the Red faction."

Jeanne immediately grew wary. Having already been attacked by the Red faction before, this was only natural.

But the Red Archer—Atalanta, who had left Sakatsuki’s battlefield and was now acting under Amakusa’s command—looked at the golden-haired maiden with puzzlement.

"What’s this? You’re the Ruler, aren’t you? Can you not even discern who you should be wary of right now?"

"...No, of course I understand."

Sensing no killing intent in Atalanta’s words, Jeanne relaxed slightly and raised her head to gaze upon the towering, mountain-like figure of a giant.

Indeed, he was the one who demanded the most caution now.

"The Black faction’s second Berserker... Spartacus."

A Servant captured by the Black faction and forcibly reassigned a Master—meaning that though he was originally Red Berserker, he now stood as an enemy to the Red faction.

This alone wouldn’t have been unusual. In the Holy Grail War, it wasn’t impossible for allied Servants to turn against their own side.

But—

"OOOOOOOHHHH!!"

Could this truly be considered a natural phenomenon? At first, Jeanne had mistaken him for a small hill. Then, the thought crossed her mind that it might be a pile of corpses. Finally, she had no choice but to dismiss these notions and accept the truth.

"Spartacus... is it."

"Hmph, I never imagined it would escalate to this extent. The more we attack him, the more he grows, until he’s completely shed his human form. Truly befitting a Berserker—I never thought madness could reach such heights."

Atalanta sighed with exasperation, as though personally inconvenienced by the situation.

Having realized that Sakatsuki’s battlefield was not for her, Atalanta had been tasked by Amakusa with restraining the rampaging Berserker—Spartacus—and had led him all the way to Jeanne.

This was a Servant who resembled a monster. If his size alone were the issue, Jeanne wouldn’t have been left speechless.

What rendered her utterly stunned was Spartacus’ current state. He had eight arms in total, three of which lacked bones at the joints. They resembled octopus tentacles, but a single swing would likely smash enemies to pieces like a whip.

His legs, thick as ancient tree trunks, had sprouted countless insect-like appendages. Presumably, two legs alone couldn’t support his massive frame, so he had compensated by distributing his weight this way.

His head was almost completely sunken into his neck, while his shoulders protruded outward like the upper and lower jaws of a dinosaur.

Crying Warmonger.

That was less of a Noble Phantasm and more of a cursed tool, Jeanne d’Arc thought.

He was still alive. He was still moving. And most importantly... he was still seeking battlefields and victories everywhere.

Converting a portion of the damage he received into magical energy, continuously accumulating it to enhance his own abilities—it likely even included healing capabilities. Suffering damage, converting it into energy to strengthen himself while simultaneously healing. There was no room for a Master to intervene in this process.

The problem lay in the speed of this cycle—it was far too fast. Due to the runaway healing, his body had deviated from normal human limits. Yet, his physical abilities only grew stronger with each injury, gradually transforming his form into something monstrous.

The simplest measure of a human’s strength was height and weight. Even among those called Heroic Spirits, most still retained a humanoid form.

But this rebellious gladiator had completely abandoned such notions. Eight arms were stronger than two; if his weight increased beyond what his legs could support, he simply grew more legs.

The more he suffered, the closer he came to victory—for a Berserker who held such a belief, this level of transformation was likely nothing more than child’s play.

"There you are!!"

The five eyes on his shoulders, neck, and abdomen all locked onto Atalanta and Jeanne d’Arc simultaneously. Sensing the danger, the two women reflexively split apart to either side like startled prey. Spartacus paid no heed, unleashing a full-powered strike straight ahead.

The shattered earth erupted like shrapnel, hurtling toward the two girls.

"Guh!"

"Ugh..."

Stones and debris tore at their skin, with Jeanne even suffering damage to part of her armor. Normally, a Servant would never be injured by mere physical attacks—unless they were infused with magical energy. But Spartacus’ fists overflowed with such power that even the rocks he shattered became tainted by it.

It was the same principle as a Servant throwing a dagger. Of course, for Jeanne, witnessing stones imbued with magical energy from mere strikes was an entirely new experience.

"Hmm, it seems I’ve dragged you into this as well. My apologies, Ruler."

At Atalanta’s apology, Jeanne slowly shook her head.

"No, such things happen often enough... Though, given my position, I cannot oppose him directly. After all, this battle is confined to this battlefield alone."

"Mmm, well, on that point, I have no objections either. But—"

The emerald-haired girl cast a bitter look at the Ruler. A sudden chill ran down Jeanne’s spine, causing her expression to stiffen.

"Due to my Master’s orders, I must withdraw soon."

"Wait, you don’t mean—"

Atalanta sighed, then patted the saint’s shoulder in a consoling manner.

"My deepest apologies. I leave the rest to you."

"Wait—"

The Red Faction’s Archer, Atalanta—one of the heroes renowned for her agility in Greek mythology. Her speed in running was such that even Jeanne d’Arc could hardly hope to match it.

"Ah!"

Watching the girl’s retreating figure, Jeanne withdrew the hand she had instinctively stretched out in vain, feeling utterly helpless.

Damn it, stop right there!

The tremors shaking the earth forced Jeanne to avert her gaze. She looked up with a pout, only to see a monstrous hero—no, a beast. And worse, his gaze was already locked onto her.

Indeed, Spartacus was a warrior who rebelled against all authority. In that sense, even if his opponent was a Ruler, it made no difference.

At this moment, Jeanne once again recalled the fear of being dominated by a giant (not really).

"...I’ve been tricked."

Atalanta bore no hostility. However, her Master seemed to have a different perspective.

The "person" she needed to meet had already arrived at the aerial fortress. How could she catch up to him... If only she had wings to fly.

But staying here meant she would have to fight the monster before her. Should she invoke her privilege?

No. Unless she commanded him to die, he would never stop. Yet, as a Ruler, she could never arbitrarily decide the life or death of an innocent Servant. Should she retreat, then? That hardly seemed like the right choice either. She had a premonition that once she left this battlefield, something inevitable would occur.

In that case, there was only one option left.

"Stalling for time... huh."

Having lost both the options of retreat and confrontation, the only course of action left to Jeanne was defense. If she held out long enough, perhaps a Servant from either the Black or Red Faction would come to drive him away.

That was nothing more than wishful thinking. The worst-case scenario would be if neither side came to her aid, simply watching from the sidelines as spectators.

It felt as though everyone had become an enemy. Faced with a situation that would likely send chills down the spine of any ordinary person, Jeanne instead felt an odd sense of nostalgia.

Mockery, hatred, ridicule—despite enduring all of this alone, her faith remained unshaken. For her, who had no Master to fight alongside, loneliness was a familiar companion.

"...No, perhaps it wasn’t quite loneliness."

Though there was no basis for it, Jeanne inexplicably believed that if she called out that man’s name, the young man would surely come from afar, extending his hand to her—just the thought of it was enough to make her want to keep fighting.

The Red Berserker roared—he was coming. Jeanne raised her holy flag, ready to meet the attack.

A split second before the massive fist descended, the maiden’s flag deflected it. Two enormous whip-like arms followed, only to be blocked and parried as well. Yet another arm lay hidden behind them!

"Ugh—!!"

The direct hit sent her body flying instantly, tumbling several times across the ground. Fortunately, the Dragon Tooth Warriors ordered to kill her instead became cushions to soften the impact. The price for absorbing the shock was three consecutive Dragon Tooth Warriors being shattered. Without those buffers, she would likely have been sent flying to the edge of the battlefield. That was a technique made possible only through unbelievably powerful force and continuously accumulated magical energy.

No... could that even be called a technique?

Jeanne d’Arc wiped the blood from her lips as she stood back up. Even with her extensive combat experience, such monstrous aberrations had never appeared during the Hundred Years’ War between England and France. Had she taken that strike completely unprepared, death would have been nearly certain.

As if sensing her hesitation, countless beams of light suddenly poured down from the sky.

"What!?"

Those rainbow-colored beams—beautiful enough to admire were this not a battlefield—weren’t aimed at her.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?"

A howl mixing agony and ecstasy erupted as the monster immediately began healing its lacerated flesh. Yet even the rebellious hero Spartacus must have been nearing his limit.

...No, in truth, he’d already surpassed his limit long ago—enduring endlessly, bearing all suffering and pain, needing only to release it now.

In an instant, Jeanne understood both the Red faction’s intent behind the heavenly beams and Spartacus’s own objective.

With an earth-shaking roar, his target became clear: the oppressors and their subordinates. Which meant—

"Is he trying to annihilate everything on this battlefield!!!"