Fate/D&D, Ch 56-65

Chapter 56 - Favored by the Goddess of Victory

“We have to stop Rhodes' scheme. Otherwise… something truly horrific will happen.”

The words were spoken inside the private chamber of Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillennia, acting head of Yggdmillennia.

Calling it a boudoir was inaccurate. This was a magic workshop—a magus's battlefield and domain.

Fiore sat calmly in a wheelchair guided by mana, savoring an expensive cup of black tea.

“Ceylon?” she said lightly. “Such a strange flavor. Tea from the eastern continent is far better—assuming the English idiots don’t pollute it with nonsense spices.”

"That's unfortunate," Chiron replied with a soft chuckle. "The luxury trade routes from England to Romania have been completely sealed by the magi of the Clock Tower. Returning to our earlier topic, I believe we should prevent Rhodes' scheme, even if we don't yet know what he intends to do."

“That’s enough, Mr. Chiron.” Fiore interrupted him evenly. “We can’t be certain this is Lord Rhodes' scheme. And besides—”

She lifted her gaze, composed and sharp.

“You are not a member of Yggdmillennia. Discussing one of our own like this is inappropriate.”

Chiron paused, then smiled bitterly. “My apologies, Master. Still, Lord Rhodes is a cunning figure on par with Sisyphus himself. If we don’t remain vigilant, the consequences could be catastrophic—enough to overturn the Yggdmillennia lineage entirely.”

“I see.” Fiore raised her teacup, unconcerned. “Then that has nothing to do with you, does it? Rather than speculating about Lord Rhodes' intentions, you’d be better served gathering intelligence on the enemy Heroic Spirits and their Masters.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m tired. You may withdraw.”

Her teacup touched the saucer with a crisp sound. Chiron shook his head with a helpless smile, his body dissolving into motes of light that vanished from the classically adorned workshop.

“Haa…” Fiore exhaled softly. Her tightly pressed legs gradually lost their strength.

“Interesting, isn’t it, Miss Fiore?”

A teasing voice drifted from her side. A pitch-black shadow rippled across the crimson carpet, and Rhodes emerged alongside a battered cloth doll.

The doll was Marianne—modified by Rhodes to house shadow-manipulating Magic Circuits, allowing it to roam Yggdmillennia’s castle as a spy.

“Ah—!” Fiore cried out sharply. Her body slackened, collapsing into the wheelchair. Her eyes went unfocused, a glimmer of saliva slipping from the corner of her lips.

“Tch. Looks like you’re not suited to the ‘assisted mobility Mystic Code.’ What a shame.” Rhodes chuckled as she slowly regained awareness.

“Huff… huff… The mana surge was just too intense.” She gripped the armrests and—astonishingly—stood up.

Bands of deep-blue magical sigils flickered along her legs. They were Rhodes' handiwork: a Mystic Code engraved directly onto her body.

Magic Circuits replaced nerves and muscle, obeying Fiore’s will and forcing her rigid, lifeless legs into motion. For the first time in her life, she stood upon the ground.

Yet all the circuits ultimately converged at her lower abdomen. The constant tingling sensation flooding from that point pushed her to the brink of losing control.

“This feeling… what is it?” Fiore demanded through clenched teeth. “You didn’t do anything unnecessary, did you?”

“Tch. If you don’t like it, give it back.” Rhodes smiled indifferently. “I don’t mind.”

Her expression flickered with reluctance.

She took slow steps, savoring the sensation of solid ground beneath her feet, even as tremors pulsed through her abdomen.

Her wish had been simple: legs that could walk, and the power befitting a magus. With Rhodes' help, she had achieved both. The flaw was… tolerable.

And once she grew used to it, it even felt good.

“Mm—ah…” A sudden surge made her cry out like a startled animal. She fell backward, only to be caught in warm arms.

“Careful now,” Rhodes said lightly, utterly lacking any guilt as the culprit.

His hand traced her pale, delicate skin, lingering at her abdomen.

“Does it hurt here? Or here? Maybe here?”

As an Arcanist, Rhodes possessed flawless control of Arcane Magic. Techniques like the so-called golden fingers came effortlessly to him.

With a light flick of his finger, Fiore’s breathing grew ragged. Her cheeks flushed, ripe and alluring like a mature fruit.

“That’s enough.” Rhodes stopped abruptly. Fiore wore a clearly dissatisfied expression as he carried her back to the wheelchair.

“Hmph…” She puffed out her cheeks in protest.

Rhodes ignored it entirely, lifting the fragrant teacup and savoring it with care.

“Ceylon. Still a strange taste.” He chuckled. “Fiore, now that I’ve fulfilled your wish, shouldn’t you provide my payment?”

He smiled like a heartless scoundrel.

“I want your brother Caules’s Servant—Frankenstein. I trust you won’t disappoint me.”

“Tch. Seriously…” Fiore shot him an annoyed look. “You’re with me, and you’re still talking about other girls?”

“Of course. I’m very inclusive.” Rhodes teased. “What, Fiore? Do you want to be part of my ‘luxury harem package’ too?”

She snorted dismissively.

“Not a chance. Who’d bother with trash like you?”

She guided her wheelchair toward the exit of the workshop.

“Trash, huh? A familiar title.” Rhodes laughed softly, gazing through the clear floor-to-ceiling window at the emerald forest beyond.

He shook his head.

“Unfortunately, often only those who are sufficiently shameless can earn the favor of the Goddess of Victory.”

Chapter 57 - Even If There’s a Bit of Green on My Head

At the Yggdmillennia family stronghold, in the central courtyard of the castle.

A snow-white figure crouched among the flowerbeds, tugging blossoms free like a mischievous child and cradling them carefully in her hands.

She felt the unique vitality of the plants, and a radiant smile bloomed across her face.

Her name was Frankenstein.

She was a created being, not truly human—an amalgam stitched together into a monster.

Even so, she longed for companionship. She yearned for someone of her own kind who could accept her. That wish had died along with Doctor Frankenstein, becoming nothing more than a distant memory.

Then the Holy Grail War began.

Summoned as a Berserker, Frankenstein was brought into the world once more, bound to a young Master named Caules Forvedge Yggdmillennia.

He was a foolish magus by most standards, but to Frankenstein, perhaps someone who could understand her heart was enough to be called kin.

The thought softened her expression.

A mocking voice suddenly rang out in front of her.

“Trampling flowers already? Civilization depends on everyone caring for the environment, you know.”

The teasing tone carried malice. Frankenstein frowned at once, lifting her head to glare at the figure before her.

An eighteen-year-old youth stood there in a pristine white suit, a flamboyant crimson cape draped over his shoulders. Dark red hair fluttered in the breeze, and his presence was as ostentatious as a peacock spreading its feathers.

Frankenstein hated him on sight.

She drove him away without restraint.

“Uu—uuaah! Uuuhh—uuah! (Leave! Don’t appear in front of me!)”

“Oh?” The flashy young man in white scoffed. “This is Yggdmillennia territory. You want me gone? On what authority?”

Archwizard Mr. Rhodes smiled like a villain straight out of a cheap play.

“Uu! Uuuaah—uuuhh! (Get lost! Or I’ll kill you!)”

Rhodes remained relaxed.

“Kill me? With your strength, you’re welcome to try. Weakling.”

From a chance encounter, their exchange descended into something painfully familiar.

What are you staring at? Staring at you. Try staring again. I will. Who’s afraid of who?

If they had been two burly street toughs, it might have looked natural. As it was, the scene felt strangely off.

On one side stood a well-dressed young man with refined bearing. On the other, a delicate girl in a white dress.

Both possessed power enough to raze cities, yet they bickered like common rabble, stripped of any elegance.

“Ha… how amusing.” Rhodes laughed softly. The tension evaporated as he smoothly redirected the conversation. “My name is Rhodes, a member of Yggdmillennia. A pleasure to meet you, Berserker.”

“Uuuh! Uuuaah—uuuhh! (Bastard! Who’d want to talk to someone like you!)”

Frankenstein’s anger only grew. Silver arcs of electricity danced around her, scorching the ground black beneath her feet.

“Don’t you find it strange?” Rhodes said lightly. “That I can understand you.”

He knelt before her, smiling with infuriating calm.

“Uh? Uuh? (Huh? Why?)”

Her eyes widened.

She had walked straight into his trap. The anger drained from her expression.

"It's simple. Call it fate—a destined connection," Rhodes said shamelessly. "Or maybe I'm just level 10 in decoding grunts."

A seasoned manipulator, Rhodes had mastered every trick in the book. Dealing with a naive Servant was effortless.

Smack.

A bouquet smashed into his face.

Frankenstein stared at him with open contempt. She had seen through him.

“So I’m still hated.” Rhodes sighed, shaking his head. “Well then, goodbye, Miss Frankenstein.”

He stood and walked away without a hint of regret.

With his back to her, he tossed out one last line.

“Oh, and if you ever want a companion who can stay with you in this world—even after the Holy Grail War—someone to fly away together with, feel free to look me up.”

“Uu—uuuhh! (Wait!)”

She called out urgently.

Rhodes turned.

Frankenstein held out a tiny flower. It was small, almost insignificant, yet in her slender hand it looked dazzling.

“Oh? A maiden’s offering?” Rhodes murmured. “Didn’t my routine fail just now?”

He stepped closer.

Smack.

He brushed the flower from her hand.

Frankenstein froze, shock flashing across her face. Beneath her hair, anger welled up, killing intent stirring in her mismatched eyes.

Then warm arms enveloped her.

Rhodes held the fragile artificial girl close, his voice gentle beyond expectation.

“Honestly. With you standing in front of me, who would want a plain little flower like that? Aren’t you far more beautiful?”

Her cheeks flushed red.

For reasons she couldn’t name, Frankenstein didn’t resist.

And so, in the flower-filled courtyard, the two embraced, bound together by emotions that made no sense at all.

The longest road I’ve ever walked was the one paved by your schemes.

◇◇◇

From a distant floor-to-ceiling window, Caules watched in silence.

His fist clenched. His nails bit into his palm until blood seeped out.

“Why… does this hurt?” he whispered.

It felt as though a vivid green hat had been slammed onto his head, pressing down until he could barely breathe.

“She’s just a Servant. Just a Berserker.”

Muttering to himself, the boy turned away, unable to watch any longer.

The green hat settled firmly into place.

As long as he obtained the Holy Grail, even if there was a bit of green on his head—

So what?

◇◇◇

Chapter 58 - The Famished Kazikli Bey

“Confirmed. A massive source of mana is moving toward the castle.”

“It’s the enemy Berserker. Looks like a nasty one.”

“Hmph. One against seven? How foolish. No surprise from a mindless brute.”

“Then crush him. Destroy him. Grind him into dust.”

“……”

The voices of arguing magi echoed through the opulent hall. Darnic sat at the head beside Vlad III, while the other six Masters and Heroic Spirits stood in order of their classes along the sides.

Among them, only Rhodes—the magus with "no lineage"—stood brazenly at Darnic's side, his presence overwhelming even that of the voivode himself, his hands very much occupied.

Literally occupied.

He held the voluptuous Tamamo-no-Mae in his arms, fingers roaming over her pale, delicate skin. Arcane String flowed from him into her body, steadily charging her Noble Phantasm.

Unlike true Heroic Spirits, Tamamo-no-Mae’s Noble Phantasm could not be released lightly.

Her body, constructed as a Heroic Golem, possessed physical strength rivaling a Saber. With Dakini Tenhou reinforcing her shell, she could even overpower a Berserker through sheer physique. Yet as a refined lady who favored a straightforward kick to the groin, Tamamo-no-Mae considered herself poor at close combat.

Well—perhaps she was merely bad at formal combat. A brutal groin kick was a guaranteed critical hit, regardless of gender.

Even so, no advantage could fully make up for the shortcomings of a Heroic Golem.

A Heroic Golem was a weapon of war, built upon “precious materials,” powered by a “mana furnace,” and elevated by the “epics of Heroic Spirits.” But having lost the transcendence of a true Heroic Spirit, it could not form what was known as the crystallization of human history—a complete Noble Phantasm.

Tamamo-no-Mae had not entirely lost her Noble Phantasm, but lacking the necessary components to sustain it, she could not wield its power for long. She could only summon it at critical moments. Prolonged use would severely damage her mana furnace.

To allow her to perform a True Name Release of Eightfold Blessing of Amaterasu, and then deploy Land of Eternal Bane, Rhodes had to supply the mana in advance.

The method was simple—Arcane String.

At Rhodes' current level as an Arcanist, he could obtain roughly one Arcane String every two days. Each strand represented his manipulation of the world’s laws, and the Arcane Magic it enabled was terrifyingly potent.

To fully charge a Noble Phantasm required at least sixteen Arcane Strings. Even for Rhodes, that meant a full month of preparation, slowly filling Tamamo-no-Mae’s body.

—Still, filling things with something white and turbid would have been much simpler.

“Um… Lord Rhodes.” Watching him openly fondle a Heroic Spirit during the meeting, Darnic couldn’t help but speak up. “This is a council session. Could you perhaps—”

“No. Can’t. Won’t. What, are you going to hit me?” Rhodes rattled off the trifecta, leaving Darnic completely dumbfounded. “What I do here is my business. Anyone unhappy—come at me.”

Silence swallowed the hall.

The lesser magi of Yggdmillennia didn’t truly understand Rhodes, but the rumors alone had robbed them of any desire to court death.

Blowing up the Clock Tower. Crushing Barthomeloi. Erasing the Musik faction under Gordes. Any one of these was beyond their imagination.

Even the voluptuous girl moaning softly in his arms was a Heroic Spirit.

Darnic had to play the obedient servant before Vlad III, yet Rhodes was already manhandling a Heroic Spirit. The comparison was brutal. Even Darnic felt a stab of envy.

Man against man was deadly enough. Watching Tamamo-no-Mae pliantly accepting Mana Transfer in Rhodes' arms, while Vlad III lorded over Darnic, the accumulated prestige Darnic had built over years collapsed in an instant.

“Fine…” Darnic sighed. Continuing to argue with Rhodes would only let the enemy reach their doorstep.

“The enemy is a Heroic Spirit controlled by a Master from the Clock Tower—of the Black faction. There is only one. A Berserker who has lost his reason. We will subjugate him.”

“And convert him into our strength.”

The declaration rang with authority, yet the Yggdmillennia magi no longer responded with unified fervor.

Rhodes, openly performing Mana Transfer with Tamamo-no-Mae, had thoroughly shattered the atmosphere.

“Tch…” Darnic shook his head. He dared not provoke this lunatic and instead issued orders.

“Saber and Berserker will intercept enemy reinforcements. Caster, the King, and I will capture that foolish Black Berserker. Any objections?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Bowing slightly, he addressed Vlad III with humility.

“My King, please lend us your might. Let us ensnare that fool completely.”

“Assume the posture of a Master and issue your command,” Vlad III replied coldly.

Darnic placed a hand over his heart and nodded.

“March with me and annihilate the enemy—Lancer!”

“Excellent. My great iron stakes have been starving for blood.”

Thus, the dark coalition completed its preparations.

Rhodes continued to kiss Tamamo-no-Mae’s soft lips, savoring their faint fragrance as his mana flowed with bodily fluids, filling her further.

The first true clash between Red and Black began here.

◇◇◇

“This really is troublesome…” Achilles muttered as he chased the rampaging mountain of muscle ahead. “That bastard doesn’t follow any logic. Should we just use him as a decoy?”

“You’re free to try stopping him,” came the reply behind him. “But don’t drag me into it if he turns on you.”

Behind Achilles, a cat-eared huntress sprinted effortlessly. With Crossing Arcadia and her pursuit-based skill amplifying her speed, she easily kept pace with the muscular giant known as Spartacus.

Emerald hair streamed through the air. Her slender body darted between trees, cat ears and tail swaying lightly. She embodied the beauty of nature itself, enough to leave onlookers entranced.

“Truly… beautiful.”

Achilles breathed the words as he chased her silhouette, a distance he could never quite close.

Between heart and heart lay an eternal divide.

Some gaps were never meant to be crossed.

Chapter 59 – Laughing with Heroic Spirits

Trifas, on the outskirts of the city. Deep within the dense forest claimed by the Yggdmillennia family.

A massive figure thundered through the woods at full speed. Everything in his path was smashed to pieces. Beneath the weight of his heavy short sword, even solid rock shattered without resistance. Nothing could stop him. No one dared stand in his way. All obstacles were fragile. All resistance meaningless.

But behind him, two companions in pursuit were intercepted.

“……”

A silent swordsman stood upon the green grass, silver armor gleaming. Cold pressure radiated from his body as he casually swung the silver greatsword in his hand, trampling flowers and leaves beneath his feet.

He was a hero. The instant anyone laid eyes on him, a chill sank into their bones. The greatsword had yet to taste blood, yet its presence alone crushed the will of those before him, forcing fear onto their faces.

Unfortunately for him, his opponents were no ordinary foes.

“Honestly… looks like we’ve run into someone interesting this time.”

The speaker sounded lazy, almost amused. A flamboyant youth holding a divine spear leapt down from a towering ancient tree. Farther back in the forest, a cat-eared huntress raised her bow, arrow trained on the silver figure.

Moments later, Black Berserker emerged from the woods as well. Frankenstein advanced slowly, long-handled war hammer resting on her shoulder. Her slender, fragile frame radiated naked killing intent, making the already oppressive battlefield even heavier.

This was war.

Only four stood on the field, yet each possessed power enough to raze cities and shatter nations. They were Heroic Spirits—crystallizations of all human history, legends sung and retold across countless eras.

At this moment, those epics walked the earth once more.

“Hey—what are you all doing? If you’re going to fight, hurry it up already! The shop next door has half-price chips, and I’m in a rush!”

The shameless shout rang out from the forest.

Every Heroic Spirit flinched, turning toward the shade of the trees in disbelief.

A young man in a pristine white suit strolled out casually, one arm wrapped around a voluptuous fox-eared woman. He walked toward the battlefield as if this were a leisurely afternoon stroll.

“Ugh! Waa—mmph mmmph! (Scum! Who is she supposed to be?!)”

Seeing Tamamo-no-Mae nestled affectionately in Rhodes' arms, the Heroic Spirit named Frankenstein finally lost her composure.

She had just thought she’d found someone worth entrusting her life to—only to discover he was an unprecedented piece of human trash. At that moment, Frankenstein had a whole vocabulary of curses threatening to spill out.

"Oh? Is this the dramatic betrayal scene?" Rhodes clicked his tongue, utterly unconcerned. "Should I say, 'It's not what it looks like'?"

He waved a hand lazily. "This is a war, you know. Could you all start fighting already? You're not getting paid to stand around."

The Heroic Spirits stared blankly.

The Holy Grail granted modern knowledge, but it certainly didn’t fill their minds with this kind of nonsense.

Aside from Rhodes, who continued running his mouth, everyone else stood there at a loss, utterly unsure how to deal with this bizarre magus.

“……”

Only the dragon-slaying swordsman remained unmoved. Ignoring Rhodes' interruptions, Siegfried swung his dragon-slaying blade and charged straight toward Achilles.

A crude, headlong assault.

In Rhodes' eyes, Siegfried differed little from a wild boar—equally stupid, equally brainless.

“Hmph! You choose me as your opponent?” Achilles roared, fury flashing across his face.

He brandished Diatrekhon Aster Lonkhe, his entire body turning into a raging gale as he surged toward Siegfried. With the Noble Phantasm Dromeus Kometes activated, he was without question the fastest Heroic Spirit in this Holy Grail War.

“Ha—!”

The spear struck like a falling star, thrusting head-on. Siegfried, relying on Armor of Fafnir, didn’t dodge at all, choosing to trade injury for injury.

Both misjudged their opponent.

With a heavy crash, the two were thrown backward, forced apart by the impact.

Achilles stood unscathed.

Siegfried looked worse. A shallow wound had been carved into the skin of his chest.

The exchange seemed to favor Achilles, but such a minor injury meant little to Siegfried.

Both raised their Noble Phantasms once more, roaring challenges at each other.

“Come! Unknown hero!”

Achilles tensed, every muscle coiling tight. Dromeus Kometes was pushed to its limit as Diatrekhon Aster Lonkhe leveled at Siegfried, radiating bone-chilling menace. “You are worthy to fight me!”

“Ha—!”

Siegfried answered with a low shout and charged again, paying no heed to the wound before him.

The enemy had pierced his Armor of Fafnir—and so what? The battle was far from over. This was where victory would be decided.

At the same time, Black Berserker refused to stand aside. Frankenstein raised her war hammer high and rushed toward the enemy.

Then—

“Boom! Crash!”

Two figures were hurled through the air.

Neither Siegfried’s mountain-splitting slash nor Frankenstein’s full-force hammer blow had injured their foe. Instead, both were smashed back by the meteor spear.

Perhaps because of the guilt tied to the Amazon queen Penthesilea in his legend, Achilles focused most of his attacks on Siegfried. Blood covered the dragon slayer’s body, a dark bruise blooming over his chest.

Had Achilles not been fighting two opponents at once, Siegfried would have suffered far worse. Death might have been unlikely—but losing all combat ability was not.

“What a fun show. Emmy-worthy cinematography, truly.”

Rhodes chuckled as he watched the Heroic Spirits clash. At his subtle nod, Tamamo-no-Mae stepped forward, adopting a simple fighting stance and openly provoking Achilles.

“Oh?”

Achilles glared at her. “You’re not even a Heroic Spirit, yet you dare challenge me?”

His voice thundered with rage. “To sully the honor of a Heroic Spirit—this insult will be washed away with your filthy blood!”

He roared, and with Dromeus Kometes accelerating him, he crossed the distance in an instant. The divine spear stabbed viciously toward Tamamo-no-Mae.

“Foolish…”

She laughed softly, her sweet voice edged with frost.

A clear mirror manifested between them, Noble Phantasm energy pouring from its surface without restraint.

Clang!

The mirror blocked the spear. Sparks scattered at the point of impact. The meteor spear didn’t pierce through—it was deflected off course.

Tamamo-no-Mae didn’t hesitate. She leapt forward, closing the distance even further.

The cruel, cunning fox finally bared her sharp fangs at Achilles.

Chapter 60 – Tentacles with Outstanding Results

Deep within the forest, Tamamo-no-Mae and Achilles were locked in a fight to the death.

Achilles used his speed to close the distance in an instant. Tamamo-no-Mae answered by angling the mirror surface of Weight Stone of Tamamo, knocking his divine spear aside.

Her cunning nature showed clearly. She stepped in again, stealing even more ground, her raised pink fist lining up perfectly with his handsome face and smashing forward.

“Curse: Fiery Heaven!”

Her pink fist was wreathed in flames, aimed at Achilles's abdomen. He reacted without thinking, catching her fist with his free hand.

Bang!

Fist met palm. Empowered by the massive strength granted by the body of a Heroic Golem, Achilles possessed strength well above rank B—yet that single casual punch sent him reeling, his balance shattered by the seemingly delicate Tamamo-no-Mae.

“Faithless desire—obliteration—”

Another meaningless roar. Or perhaps the meaning was to force the enemy to think, to hesitate, to lose focus—just long enough to be struck down.

“Damn it!” Achilles bellowed.

He couldn’t accept being crushed by a woman. Muscles tightened as he clenched his meteor spear, twisting his body mid-fall and sweeping the weapon brutally toward her waist.

“Hah! Alias: Polygamist Castration Fist—”

Her mana ignited.

Through the unique formula of Dakini Tenhou, Tamamo-no-Mae’s physical strength surged dramatically.

Then came a kick capable of shattering titanium alloy.

She roared as her leg snapped upward. Thick layers of mana reinforced her calf and wooden sandal. The kick landed squarely.

Achilles howled and went flying.

“Ah! Despicable! You—”

Agony exploded through him. He smashed through a massive ancient tree, disappearing into the dense green canopy, his miserable screams the only proof he was still alive.

“Tsk. Tamamo, look over there.”

Rhodes spoke with mock concern. “A divine son just cried out and burst into tears.”

Despite the joke, even he felt a flicker of unease watching Achilles twitch helplessly in the foliage.

“Hah… Master really does have refined tastes.”

Tamamo-no-Mae turned, her gaze sharp and dangerous as it locked onto Black Berserker, Frankenstein. “Shall I demonstrate how to snap the necks of those wandering tomcats for you?”

“Let’s pass.”

Rhodes chuckled lightly. “I still want to experience Miss Frankenstein’s delicate body.”

The fox scoffed and turned away, clearly unwilling to deal with him any further.

Then a piercing shriek cut through the air.

Whoosh—

A silver arrow tore through the atmosphere, reaching Rhodes in a blink and punching straight through his heart.

Rip! Boom!

The arrow carried him backward, slamming his body into a thick ancient tree. He looked no better than Achilles moments earlier.

“Master—! Don’t scare me like that!”

Tamamo-no-Mae screamed, hysteria breaking through. Dark energy rolled off her body as her garments fluttered violently, oppressive black miasma rising around her.

The crystal-clear Weight Stone of Tamamo appeared in her hand. With a twisted expression, she caressed the mirror’s surface, preparing to unleash Land of Eternal Bane and wipe out every Heroic Spirit in sight.

Rhodes' weary voice interrupted her.

“Hey, don’t waste my Arcane String. Do you know how exhausting Mana Transfer is every time?”

High above, he stood calmly in midair.

Layer upon layer of Arcane Magic barriers surrounded him, shielding his body completely.

Among them, Mage Armor, Protection from Arrows, Wall of Force, and Reflect Arrows glowed faintly, exposing his true nature—cowardly, cautious, and utterly shameless.

“Tsk. A Stand-in Golem, just as I thought…”

Hidden in the forest, Atalanta curled her lip in disdain. “A despicable magus would never put his real body in danger.”

Before arriving, she had already learned of Rhodes' habits from Amakusa Shirou. This man never entered battle personally. He relied on endless Stand-in Golem constructs, tricking and burying enemy after enemy.

To someone as forthright as Atalanta, it was revolting.

“Forget it… I’ll let him go for now.”

She eyed his dense defensive magic. Even a Noble Phantasm fired point-blank probably wouldn’t break through. Frustrated, she shifted her bow toward another target.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try?”

A playful voice whispered behind her. “That might just be a fake projection, you know~~”

Atalanta reacted like a startled wildcat, dropping instantly from the tree to escape the ambush zone.

But escape was never an option.

This was a scheme Rhodes had prepared for a long time.

Splash—

Countless cold, slimy tentacles burst forth, wrapping around Atalanta’s slender body and suspending her between branches and ground, robbing her of any leverage to evade.

Disgusting fluid dripped down. The tentacles radiated Negative Energy, rapidly draining her strength and mana, leaving her utterly incapable of breaking free.

“Oh dear, oh dear. What a pitiful sight, Miss Hunter.”

Like a villain straight out of a bad story, Rhodes stood atop a branch, looking down at Atalanta, her body forced into a helpless, humiliating spread. He grinned mockingly.

“Well? Care to have a friendly exchange with these adorable tentacles?”

He laughed softly. "An exchange that transcends reproductive barriers…"

Behind him, spell glyphs rotated into place, shining brilliantly.

“Kyristan's Malevolent Tentacles.”

As the incantation flowed, he guided the writhing limbs beneath her clothes. Through their senses, he experienced the flawless softness of her pale skin—and a figure that looked slim but was far more substantial than expected.

Sixth-Circle Necromancy Arcane Magic — Kyristan's Malevolent Tentacles

Atalanta clenched her teeth. The nauseating, sticky sensation drew tears of humiliation into her eyes.

“A wild little cat with quite the figure… but—”

Rhodes' taunting words cut off.

Whoosh!

Another arrow screamed through the air. Flesh tore. The arrow punched through Rhodes' heart, pinning him to a nearby tree.

“Guh…”

Blood spilled from his lips as he smiled grotesquely.

“Well done. Truly impressive.”

His voice was hoarse. “Traitor… I underestimated you this time.”

His eyes closed.

His body went cold, becoming nothing more than a lifeless corpse.

Atalanta collapsed onto the ground, drenched in foul slime. Her eyes were vacant as she stared up at the clear sky, looking utterly broken.

Perhaps this was the first time she had ever become prey.

Chapter 61 – Known as the Battlefield Shit-Stirrer

“Why?”

Fiore’s voice was edged with frost as she sat in her wheelchair, staring straight at the Heroic Spirit before her.

“Why did you attack Mr. Rhodes?”

Chiron held his short bow, bitterness flickering across his expression.

“That man cannot be allowed to live. The instant I faced him, I understood how terrifying he truly is.”

“He wields schemes as weapons, grips human hearts in his palm, and treats mortal lives as pieces on a board. He has never once faced the misery he creates.”

“Cruel, cold, vicious, poisonous—every negative word fits him. Beneath that elegant exterior hides the filthiest of hearts.”

“What’s worse is that he possesses the power to overturn everything. He has the bearing of a tyrant, even the strength to become a ruler. If he isn’t killed, the entire world may be destroyed because of him.”

Chiron spoke with relentless certainty, unaware that every word he uttered would one day become a grim reality.

“So I chose to eliminate him. For the stability of this world. Do you understand, Master?”

“No. I don’t.”

Fiore snapped back, anger burning in her eyes. “And I won’t allow this to happen again. Someone being a potential threat to the world is not a reason to erase them. Do you think you’re the planet’s restraining force?”

“……”

An odd silence fell. A faint, inscrutable smile touched Chiron’s face, and there was even a trace of approval in the way he looked at Fiore.

Alaya embodied the unconscious will of humanity. Yet there also existed another restraining force—Gaia, the will of the planet itself, which used gods as its hounds. Chiron was, after all, the child of a god.

Fiore didn’t dwell on that. She couldn’t grasp the connection between Rhodes and the restraining forces at all. She simply raised her arm decisively and issued her command in fury.

“By my Command Spell, I order you—Black Archer, Chiron! You are forbidden from causing any further harm to Rhodes!”

Crimson light surged as the Command Spell engraved itself upon Chiron’s body.

“So that’s how it is.”

Chiron smiled thoughtfully. “Then that rabbit with a hundred burrows is still alive. When it comes to cowardice, he really is a rare powerhouse… or perhaps the ultimate craven?”

A sharp glint crossed his deep eyes as he spoke calmly.

“And my Master—you’re already under his control, aren’t you?”

“Why…?”

Fiore froze, caught off guard by the sudden chill in Chiron’s tone.

“It seems my decision to kill that bastard wasn’t a mistake after all.”

Killing intent simmered beneath his words. To Chiron, his duty went beyond being Gaia’s hound. He was a guardian of the planet’s ecosystem itself.

Unlike Alaya’s guardians, his role was to ensure the world endured—so that the gods of myth could continue to exist.

“What… are you?”

Fiore clenched her hand tightly, unsettled by this unfamiliar Chiron. Yet she couldn’t invoke another Command Spell.

She knew too well that Command Spells were almost meaningless against him.

“Hmph.”

With a cold snort, Chiron’s body shattered into countless motes of light, vanishing from the lavishly decorated room.

◇◇◇

Outside the Yggdmillennia stronghold, the forest war raged on.

“Oppressors! Tyrants! Rulers!”

Red Berserker Spartacus thundered uphill, his massive frame surging forward. At the top stood Astolfo, clad in ornate feminine attire, calmly awaiting his charge.

No matter how unreliable he usually seemed, Astolfo was one of Charlemagne’s Twelve Paladins. Even with his reason burned away, his skill and arsenal of Noble Phantasms remained formidable.

He was a true hero, sung in epic tales and forged into human history—not some mere cross-dressing lunatic.

—He was a cross-dressing legend.

Spartacus barreled ahead, muscles rippling. Astolfo, delicate in appearance, held the high ground, raising his white-and-platinum holy lance.

His eyes narrowed. Power surged from him as he leveled the lance, its tip aimed squarely at the oppressive figure rushing toward him.

“So, you want to challenge me?”

Astolfo’s voice rang out. “You want to fight me, you so-called hero… you fool.”

He charged.

“Ha—!”

“Araaaah!”

They collided. The lance pierced Spartacus’s flesh, while the shockwave from his short sword hurled Astolfo far back.

The moment the lance struck, everything below Spartacus’s knees was forcibly spiritualized. The absurdly named Noble Phantasm—Trap of Argalia—sent him crashing unwillingly to the ground.

“Hah. Now you’re at my mercy—”

Astolfo smiled, but his expression twisted mid-sentence.

Spartacus grinned grotesquely. Propping himself up with his arms and short sword, he crawled forward with terrifying speed.

That all-or-nothing resolve startled even Astolfo, whose sanity was long gone. What drove Spartacus wasn’t mere stupidity, but pure defiance.

It was a will of absolute nobility.

Spartacus didn’t seek to save the weak. He sought to deny the strong.

—to drag the mighty down to the level of the powerless, to erase hierarchy, nobility, and privilege alike, until the world became truly equal.

It was an impossible dream.

Yet it was that very dream that drove him forward.

Astolfo felt his blood stir. Inspired, he lifted his head once more, raised the ornate white lance high, and launched himself into a final, resolute charge.

High above the battlefield, a translucent figure stood silently, watching the carnage unfold.

“Honestly, Spartacus…”

Rhodes' voice drifted down. “I can’t agree with you, but I understand your ambition.”

“Unfortunately, you’re called a dreamer for a reason. Your ideals can never be realized.”

“So I grant you a death worthy of honor.”

Clad in a snow-white suit with a crimson cloak billowing behind him, Rhodes' elegant figure appeared once more.

The title of battlefield shit-stirrer suited him perfectly.

Chapter 62 – The Heavy Machine Gun Spitting Blue Fire

The battlefield was choked with smoke.

A giant forged of muscle roared, while the slender knight screamed back in defiance.

“Ahhhhh—!”

“Hah!”

Two figures collided again and again. Steel shrieked as dagger met lance, the clash echoing in every ear as sparks tore through the haze.

Outside the battlefield, Rhodes strolled forward at his leisure. In front of him stood dozens of golems and mixed squads of homunculus soldiers, tense as prey before a predator.

Avicebron had already given his orders. Anyone approaching the battlefield was to be driven away. He had likely guessed Rhodes would intervene, perhaps even steal his prize.

Yet standing before the red-haired young man, those emotionless constructs felt something new tightening in their chests.

He wore an immaculate white suit. A crimson cloak snapped behind him in the wind. His steps were unhurried, almost carefree, as though he walked a garden path rather than a killing field.

Each step, however, made the homunculus soldiers’ hearts clench tighter. Fear crept in. For the first time, they tasted dread.

And it would be the last.

“All sequences aligned. Bombardment matrix deployed.”

Rhodes spoke calmly, his voice heavy with settled intent.

“You’re not worth wasting precious Arcane String on. So die screaming beneath artillery fire.”

In the next instant, what filled the homunculi’s vision was a sky of gun barrels.

Heavy autocannons. Semi-automatic grenade launchers. Even linked, large-caliber cannons.

Dozens of pitch-black muzzles unfolded in midair, hovering above the ground. Endless runes were etched along the barrels, glowing with a faint, eerie light.

These were Mystic Codes. Their power could not rival true Arcane Magic, but for trampling the weak, they were exquisite tools.

“Wail. Sob. Curse in despair. And then—die.”

Rhodes spread his arms, as though embracing the world itself. Behind him, dozens of cannons locked onto the homunculus formations and the golems.

“Move in! Close the distance!” a female homunculus shouted sharply from within the ranks.

She understood all too well. Large-caliber artillery had a vast kill zone. At close range, Rhodes wouldn’t be able to deploy it freely.

“Charge!”

From over a hundred meters away, dozens of homunculus squads rushed forward under the cover of Peerless Golems. Behind them, other units willingly became fodder, drawing bows and firing to cover the advance.

Homunculi had no emotions. Victory was all that mattered. Questions of life and death were abstractions they never bothered to consider.

“Oh?” Rhodes laughed softly. “Sacrifice? You think far too little of me.”

His left hand snapped downward.

“Fire.”

“Boom—boom! Bang!”

Smoke erupted behind him as shells screamed forward at the speed of sound, detonating directly within the homunculus and golem lines.

Instant annihilation.

Fireballs bloomed in the advancing formations. Charred bodies were hurled skyward. Blackened limbs scattered across the field. The nauseating stench of roasted flesh mixed with acrid gun smoke, rolling across the battlefield.

The field became a pitiless hell.

Yet even after losing half their comrades and every Peerless Golem, several dozen homunculus soldiers wielding long weapons forced their way to within twenty meters of Rhodes.

Their faces remained blank, but a trace of triumph gleamed in their eyes. They believed victory was in hand.

Unfortunately for them, they faced the most cunning and vicious Arcanist of all.

Armed with modern weaponry, Rhodes was nothing like the fools who lost all combat ability once an enemy closed in.

With a flick of his left hand, several M60E3 heavy machine guns materialized around him, polished muzzles aimed squarely at the survivors.

The outcome was decided.

“Fire.”

They were not Gatlings spitting blue flame, but the M60’s performance needed no embellishment. In an instant, limbs flew. The last remaining homunculus soldiers were torn apart, reduced to shattered corpses.

“How dull.” Rhodes clicked his tongue. With a casual wave, the spell of Greater Invisibility reasserted itself over the floating cannons and machine guns, concealing them once more in the air.

They lacked the blinding spectacle of Gilgamesh’s Gate of Babylon, but their firepower was no less lethal. Against lesser foes, they were nothing short of battlefield harvesters.

“Roar—!”

A piercing bellow echoed from afar. The towering muscle-bound giant once more sent Astolfo flying and charged toward Darnic and Vlad III on the hillside. Under Avicebron’s control, massive Peerless Golems closed in, attempting to restrain Spartacus by sheer weight and numbers.

The leader of the Black faction, Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia, intended to refashion Spartacus into a disposable asset.

To Rhodes, that plan was both an insult and a waste. An insult to the Heroic Spirit Spartacus, and a waste of such a body. It was sheer folly.

“So please, RyuZU,” he said softly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “Kill Spartacus. Grant this true rebel against tyranny an honorable death.”

“As you command. Your will is my everything.”

The sudden voice sounded behind him. Draped in pure white gauze, RyuZU appeared and bowed deeply.

In the next instant, she vanished again, clearly accelerating toward Spartacus’s battlefield using her time-manipulating magical core.

“Really… war is a cruel thing.” Rhodes surveyed the scattered limbs across the field. The once fair-faced homunculus soldiers had all become unrecyclable waste.

“Wait. That is—”

Among the ruined corpses, something stirred.

Like withered grass struggling upright on a frozen plain, a single figure swayed faintly, bringing a fragile hint of life to the slaughtered field.

Chapter 63 – Spartacus Smiled

“What a cruel battlefield…”

Rhodes let out a soft chuckle as he surveyed the scattered limbs and shattered remains.

“Isn’t it? That homunculus over there—how much longer do you intend to hide?”

“So you noticed after all?” From among the corpses, a frail girl pushed herself upright. “If you plan to kill me, do it however you like…”

She looked about twenty. Her features were refined and dignified, yet carried a sharp chill—and emotions no ordinary homunculus should possess.

She was the “Commander,” the control terminal of this homunculus unit. Far stronger than her peers, with limited mastery over magecraft.

“Your name, Miss,” Rhodes said lightly. The icy detachment from moments ago had vanished.

“…Huh?” The white-haired homunculus froze. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Hah. You don’t seriously think killing people is something I do casually, do you?” Rhodes curled his lip in contempt. “I only bother crushing idiots who block my path. I don’t have a taste for slaughter. Compared to that, I prefer extracting value from humans.”

“Dead people don’t generate profit, after all.”

“What a capitalist expression.” Her voice remained calm, laced with mockery. “Then should I thank you for sparing my life, and allow myself to be exploited?”

“No, not quite.” Rhodes smiled, amusement flickering across his handsome face. “I’ll make you willingly lick my shoes. What—don’t believe me?”

“If that’s the case, then please kill me.” Her tone was icy. “Dying on the battlefield gives more meaning to my three-month lifespan than being humiliated and discarded.”

“That’s exactly why you’re interesting. Worth keeping.” Rhodes studied her like a finely crafted ornament. “What if I told you I could give you a longer life? No—if I wanted, I could let you exist for a very long time.”

“….”

She fell silent. Her shoulders trembled as she struggled to suppress the emotions surging within.

“If you truly can…”

“Then… please allow me to lick your shoes.”

She spoke words of humiliation without hesitation. Only a being with such a fleeting lifespan could cherish time this deeply.

“I knew you were sensible.” Rhodes extended his hand. “Rhodes. A member of Yggdmillennia—Rhodes Frain Yggdmillennia. Merely an Archwizard. I look forward to working with you.”

"Toole." Her voice quivered despite herself. "Just call me Toole."

Joy shimmered beneath her restraint.

Thus, the homunculus girl who should have died in the original story stepped into a new life.

A life as a maid, endlessly stepping onto battlefields—if bedsheets could be called battlefields.

◇◇◇

“Roar!!”

The pitch-black giant of muscle howled. Spartacus charged uphill with everything he had.

Everything below his knees was gone—injuries inflicted by Astolfo’s Noble Phantasm, Trap of Argalia. For now, his legs were useless.

Massive golems weighing several tons advanced, slamming down upon him and pinning his climbing body beneath their bulk.

One. Two. Ten.

Steel mixed with stone, earth, even timber. Peerless Golems crashed onto Spartacus, smashing the rebel flat.

“Oppressors! Rulers! Tyrants! Destroy! Crush! Slaughter!”

Spartacus screamed, hysteria tearing from his throat. Power erupted from his Heroic Spirit body, and in an instant the massive golems were flung aside.

He surged forward again toward Vlad III and the others. Even without legs, he still had his arms. He would never stop. He had no reason to stop.

An idealist who lived only for “equality.” If the weak could not be made strong, then all the strong must be slain.

Crude. Violent. Yet it was justice as he understood it.

“If you seek the ruler of this land,” Vlad III said coldly from the hillside, disgust etched into his gaze, “then I am your target.”

“You are nothing but a fool. Overthrow the ruling class? You lack the worth.”

“Roar! Tyrant! Destroy! Pulverize! Crush—”

Spartacus charged, that grotesque smile still carved across his face.

“Pitiful.” Vlad III spoke calmly, invoking the true name of his Noble Phantasm—the legend etched into history.

“Kazikli Bey—”

Black iron stakes erupted from the earth, spearing into Spartacus’s massive body. They tore flesh and pierced bone.

His Spirit Core and head were spared, but the agony was unbearable. Still, the twisted smile remained.

“Yes! Yes! Oppressor! Let me kill you—!”

He snapped the stakes embedded in his body, ripping through his own flesh, drenched in blood as he lunged forward.

More stakes impaled him. Behind him, Peerless Golems surged in, crashing down again and sealing his movement.

“Avicebron, if you would,” Darnic said with a thin smile. At his side, Avicebron inclined his golden-masked head.

“Transform…”

At the low chant, the golems melted, reshaping into a prison of steel and stone that sealed Spartacus completely.

Darnic sneered.

“Excellent. From now on, you are our companion. Become my slave, Spartacus!”

Triumph gleamed on his face—

“Whoosh!”

A slender figure appeared abruptly before Spartacus.

A pure-white girl. Two black scythes swayed behind her. Her gauze dress fluttered in the wind.

“Confirmed. Prey—”

“No!” Darnic shouted in panic.

RyuZU did not hesitate. Her slender arm plunged into Spartacus’s chest and tore out the radiant Spirit Core.

“In the name of Rhodes Frain Yggdmillennia, I grant you an honorable death.”

Spartacus dissolved into azure light. As he faded, that ugly, muscle-packed face curved once more into a strange smile.

Perhaps dying while trampling oppressors was, for him, satisfaction enough.

Chapter 64 – Instant Explosion, Kill Secured

“This…”

Darnic stood frozen, staring at the scene before him as he sensed Spartacus’s complete annihilation. His face was blank, mind utterly stalled.

Without question, even after half a century as head of Yggdmillennia, this absurd development was still beyond his comprehension.

—His ally had stolen the kill.

In the days to come, whenever he recalled this moment, humiliation would surge uncontrollably through him.

The plan had been flawless. The enemy had already been reduced to meat on the chopping block. Victory was in hand, spoils practically being divided—

And then a teammate stepped in and slaughtered the helpless target outright.

This was the Holy Grail War! Stealing a kill achieved nothing! Even if you pulled off a five-kill streak, no one was handing out free internet time!

Silent rage thundered through Darnic’s mind as he fixed a frigid stare on the white-dressed girl before him.

“Kill her, Grand Duke.”

“Of course.”

Though displeased with his Master’s tone, Vlad III was already burning with fury. With a casual wave of his hand, pitch-black iron stakes burst from the ground.

Dozens of stakes lunged toward RyuZU, stabbing viciously at her slender body. The girl merely lifted her skirt and performed a flawless curtsey.

“Shrrk—”

Her figure vanished.

The iron stakes lost their target, stretching uselessly into empty space.

“Oh?” Vlad III scanned his surroundings in surprise.

RyuZU had reappeared at a distance, her delicate hand clenched around Spartacus’s Spirit Core. Her face was expressionless, yet her gem-clear eyes carried naked disdain.

Contempt. Mockery. A blatant trampling of a Heroic Spirit’s dignity.

Vlad III’s anger boiled over.

He no longer cared that she was a construct created by Rhodes.

“Detestable gnat!” he roared. “How long do you think you can keep dodging?”

With his shout, iron stakes erupted once more, shredding the hardened earth as they lunged toward her.

Within dozens of meters, spikes pierced upward in every direction, sealing off all routes of escape.

“Foolish,” the girl said calmly.

The ability known as Imaginary Time unfolded again, and she vanished without warning.

To her, Vlad III’s fury was merely proof of ignorance. No matter how enraged he became, he could not touch her. At best, this would devolve into a stalemate.

She reappeared several dozen meters away—

And Vlad III sneered.

“You’ve fallen into it, little rat.”

“Kazikli Bey—”

With his roar, the Noble Phantasm, Kazikli Bey, was fully unleashed. Tens of thousands of black iron stakes erupted from the ground. The coverage of a B-rank anti-army Noble Phantasm erased every blind spot.

“This—”

For the first time, shock crossed RyuZU’s face.

Within hundreds of meters, the earth bristled with iron stakes. Even with Imaginary Time active, there was no path through the dense forest of spikes.

Then—

“This is a bit excessive, Grand Duke Vlad.”

A voice dripping with amusement sounded from above. A figure appeared in the sky, and with a light tap of his finger, invisible magic gathered, forming an intricate arcane construct.

“Mass Fly.”

In the next instant, wings woven of magic unfurled behind RyuZU. With a gentle push, she shot upward, soaring into the clear blue heavens in the blink of an eye.

Mass Fly

High above, the Archwizard Rhodes surveyed the iron-stake sea blanketing the ground and chuckled.

“How crude. Your Noble Phantasm is truly low-grade. So this is Kazikli Bey? Worthless scrap metal.”

“Would you like to test its power yourself, Rhodes?” Vlad III bellowed. “Answer me! Why did you kill Spartacus? If I recall correctly, the plan agreed upon earlier was to capture him!”

“Oh? That little thing?” Rhodes laughed, utterly unconcerned. “He was just a Red Berserker. Even if converted to the Black Faction, he’d still be nothing more than a consumable.”

“And now even that consumable is gone!” Vlad III roared. “You traitor—what are you planning to do?!”

“Tsk. Ignorant mortal.” Rhodes looked down on him. “What value does a mere expendable have? Hand over Spartacus’s Spirit Core, and I’ll bring you a new Heroic Spirit. How about it?”

“What did you say—”

Vlad III was stunned.

“You can bring a new Heroic Spirit? Impossible!”

“Fool,” Rhodes sneered. “You so-called great men who know nothing of Arcane Magic—how could you ever comprehend my power? I can forge the very vessels that allow Heroic Spirits to exist in this world. Compared to that, a little ‘illegal summoning’ is trivial.”

“Illegal summoning…” Darnic’s eyes widened as realization struck. “You’re certain you can perform a true illegal summoning? If it strengthens Yggdmillennia, I believe the Grand Duke can overlook this offense.”

“Overlook?” Rhodes scoffed. “Do I need his permission for anything I do?” His gaze sharpened. “What I need is the support of the entire family—materials, manpower, resources. Can you provide that, Head of the House Darnic?”

Darnic’s expression twisted.

He understood perfectly now.

Before stealing Spartacus’s Spirit Core, Rhodes had already planned an illegal summoning. And naturally, this bastard had no intention of paying the cost himself.

He wanted Darnic to foot the bill.

Yet faced with Rhodes pressing the advantage, the head of Yggdmillennia had no room to refuse. He could only swallow the economic burden in silence.

Refusing would render the entire hunt for Spartacus meaningless.

In the end, Darnic nodded with bitter humiliation.

“Very well. I accept your terms. Yggdmillennia will provide full support.”

And so, the conflict dissolved.

Once again, Yggdmillennia was thoroughly exploited by Rhodes, and a brand-new Heroic Spirit was about to descend into the world—joining the forces of darkness.

Chapter 65 – Even the Big Shot Lost His Nerve

On the outskirts of Bucharest, the capital of Romania.

A garden from the Assyrian era had been perfectly recreated here, yet it was closed to all visitors. A vast Repulsion Bounded Field smothered the surrounding area, barring any ordinary human from approaching—sealing off this miracle born of magecraft.

Its name was the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

This was the Noble Phantasm of Servant Assassin, Semiramis, and the treasure she took the greatest pride in. The garden drifted across the heavens, a fortress in the sky that could annihilate any stronghold below with absolute superiority.

In Semiramis’s eyes, the castle of the Yggdmillennia family was laughably fragile. One coordinated volley from the black obelisks encircling the garden would be enough to erase it entirely.

Holding that thought, she stood within the grand hall at the core of the floating garden, manipulating the colossal structure through her unique magecraft.

“Look, Amakusa! Our victory is already assured!”

A deep rumble echoed as the immense garden slowly ascended. From within the hall, Semiramis raised her voice in triumph.

“This is a miracle born of the Age of Gods. Let the modern magi witness power that stands far beyond reason!”

“May I pour a little cold water on that, Semiramis?”

Amakusa Shirou smiled wryly. Semiramis paused, momentarily stunned. She had been ready to boast, but the priest showed no intention of indulging her.

A real tough guy—suddenly hesitant, and talking far too much.

“What are you trying to say?” Semiramis snapped, irritation flashing across her face. “If you can’t give me a convincing reason, even as my Master, you’ll pay dearly for it.”

“Ah… just take a look at this,” Amakusa said, sighing. “I don’t think the floating garden is the only relic of the Age of Gods in the sky.”

He handed her a document.

Displayed upon it was a vast blue sky, pierced by countless shadows.

Warships—floating warships.

Seventy or eighty of them at least. Each was no larger than a fishing vessel, yet every one bristled with firepower. Twin-mounted cannons, heavy naval guns—every deck along their sides was lined with weapons.

“This is…” Semiramis froze, her expression blank.

Amakusa clicked his tongue helplessly.

“The Yggdmillennia family’s airborne fleet. I don’t know why they were anchored over the Black Sea, but they’re advancing on Trifas as we speak.”

“Hmph. Just a pile of weak trash.” Semiramis lifted her chin. “A swarm of armed fishing boats—do you really think they pose a threat to my Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Her words were proud, but a trace of unease crept into her voice.

The Hanging Gardens were undeniably powerful, yet they possessed a fatal flaw. As a weapon of war suspended in the sky, their defensive capabilities were nowhere near commensurate with their offensive might.

With magical reinforcement, the entire garden was as solid as forged steel. Still, if surrounded and harassed by a fleet of that scale, worn down like prey by ants, it would likely lose its combat effectiveness. At the very least, it would be unable to support the Holy Grail War in Trifas anytime soon.

“That’s right. They’re trash.”

Amakusa spoke sharply, his tone suddenly firm.

“So don’t be afraid. We don’t have the luxury of fear. Mobilize everything and strike toward Trifas. We’ll arrive before that fleet—and then we’ll wipe out the Yggdmillennia family to the last!”

“……”

Semiramis stared at him in silence. Moments ago, he had looked pessimistic, yet now he burned with fervor. She truly couldn’t fathom this strange, incomprehensible man.

“We despise the enemy strategically, but respect them tactically,” Amakusa said with a light laugh. “I just learned that from a little red book.”

He smiled, clearly enjoying his own audacity.

“So go ahead—look down on them. And then crush them completely.”

◇◇◇

“Yaaawn… meow…”

Above a forest in Romania, a massive silver behemoth tore through the air.

The girl named Yuudachi rested her face in her hands, sitting vacant-eyed in the commander’s seat. Around her, beautiful, perfectly proportioned automaton maids hurried back and forth across the bridge.

She yawned lazily, curling up like a defeated stray. Though she knew how to operate an airborne warship herself, she had no intention of doing so.

That would demean the value of her automaton maids—and worse, it would be the greatest insult she could offer them.

Of course, that was Yuudachi’s own opinion. One might also call it an excuse for slacking off.

“Seriously… why did the Admiral use those ‘ragtag cannon-fodder fleets’ as bait?” she muttered. “They’re just disposable junk—purely for show, Poi…”

She pondered Rhodes' cunning strategy, yet completely failed to grasp the real scheme behind it.

Compared to her own Yuudachi-class destroyer, those airborne fleets converted from modern warships were worthless.

The Yuudachi-class destroyer possessed overwhelming Mystery and fame-based reinforcement. Combined with its onboard shipgirl, it could unleash terrifying power. Add fighter jets converted from F-15s, and the enemy would get a truly unforgettable taste of pain.

Modern warfare didn’t always favor group operations. Sometimes, a single decisive breakthrough mattered far more.

Yuudachi had no interest in thinking about any of that.

She curled up tighter, letting out a small, pitiful whine.

“Ah… ah… ah… without the Admiral chatting with me, this is so boring, Poi~~”

◇◇◇

Within the Yggdmillennia family’s castle, inside a magecraft workshop belonging solely to Rhodes.

Dozens of homunculus soldiers stood guard with unwavering loyalty. They carried all manner of heavy firearms—large-caliber rifles, grenade launchers, even individual rocket launchers. Plastic explosives were wrapped around their waists in thick coils. Combined with the Yggdmillennia family’s white uniforms, they looked like a grim Middle Eastern special package.

Their loyalty was not implanted through mental conditioning.

Compared to the Yggdmillennia magi who exploited them, Rhodes—who was willing to save them, and grant the most outstanding among them new automaton bodies—was nothing short of godlike. They protected this benevolent powerhouse with absolute devotion, guarding the future that existed only because of him.

Inside the workshop, Rhodes adjusted the slender body before him.

It was a blonde girl, petite in stature, tragically flat-chested. Even lying motionless on the slab like a corpse, she radiated an indescribable presence—one that scorched the mind, leaving a faint ache behind.

“Excellent…”

Rhodes chuckled softly, his voice steeped in cold depth.

“You’ll do nicely. After all, your activities made it impossible for me to move freely. Damn it…”