Saber... is in danger?" he asked, hesitantly.
Medea nodded slightly.
"Yes. And not just in danger. She is being hunted."
The silence that followed was broken by Rider's decided voice.
"I can go there. If she's in trouble, I can reach her before it's too late."
"No," Medea replied, without turning her gaze from the sphere. "Even with your speed, you wouldn't arrive in time. The combat is already underway, and the distance is long."
She then turned to Sieg.
"Use a Command Spell. Bring Saber back immediately."
Assassin shifted his gaze from the horizon and spoke calmly:
"Are you sure? Those Seals sustain our connection to the master. With only three for seven Servants, each one is vital."
Lancer struck the butt of his spear on the ground, irritated.
"This is an emergency! If we lose Saber, it will be too heavy a blow!"
Rider retorted, staring at him:
"And if we use a Seal now, perhaps all of us will start to disappear. These Seals maintain our presence in this world. They should only be used as a last resort."
Medea huffed, crossing her arms.
"'Last resort'? Saber is about to be destroyed! What good is saving a Seal if she dies?"
The discussion intensified. Lancer and Rider raised their voices, Medea insisted, Assassin maintained absolute silence, and the air seemed to vibrate with the growing tension.
Sieg looked from one to the other, lost, not knowing what to decide. The glow of the Command Spells on his wrist pulsed slowly.
"What should I do...? What would Astolfo do...? What would Siegfried do...?" he murmured, almost to himself.
Then, a grave and calm voice cut through the tumult:
"What's the distance to Saber?"
Everyone fell silent and turned their gaze. Archer, who had remained apart until then, was walking to the edge of the hill. He climbed a high rock and observed the horizon, the wind stirring his coat and his distant gaze fixed on the sky.
…
The metallic sound echoed across the open field like successive thunderclaps. The weapons clashed with such force that the air vibrated. Sparks illuminated the ravaged ground with each impact.
Artoria breathed with difficulty—her chest heaving, her muscles on fire. The weight of the sword in her hands seemed to double with every second. Lancer advanced with inhuman precision, his movements calculated and merciless, each strike delivered as if seeking to tear through the very air.
On the other side, Siegfried moved with firmness, but there was hesitation in his gaze. He attacked because he had to, not because he wanted to. Still, his blade was devastating.
Gordes watched everything from a safe distance, but his heart pounded in panic within his chest. The wind gusts created by the blows made his robes sway violently, and he had to shield his face with his arm to avoid being hit by stone fragments.
"Impossible..." he thought, panting. "This is far beyond anything a human could face."
The scene before him was grandiose and terrifying. The sound of metal, the gleam of weapons, the speed... He felt that if he took just one wrong step, he would be torn apart by the mere impact of the attacks.
It was then that he noticed something: a thin line of blood trickling down Siegfried's face, a superficial cut, but deep enough to surprise him.
"She wounded him..." he thought, incredulous. "Even exhausted, even without enough prana to sustain her own body... she managed to strike him."
Gordes's gaze turned to Artoria, her blond hair stuck to her sweaty skin, her breath labored, her gaze fierce. He felt a chill run down his spine.
"If this woman were at full strength... how many of us would she take down before falling?"
A dark thought took shape, and his fingers closed around his staff.
"No. She needs to be eliminated now. While she's still weakened. If we let her recover... it will be the end."
But as he told himself this, he realized the obvious: there was nothing he could do. The level of the Servants' power was simply unattainable. He could only watch—an impotent spectator in a war waged by gods.
"Perhaps I should find her master... or the Lancer's..." he thought, scanning the field with his eyes. "They must be nearby. If I can eliminate the link, perhaps there's still a chance."
Meanwhile, the clash of swords and spears continued.
Siegfried, even while fighting alongside Gordes, felt the weight of the combat bitterly. Each time he crossed blades with Artoria, he saw in her the reflection of a true knight—the firmness, the dignity, the brilliance of someone who carried ideals.
"If it were under other circumstances..." he thought, deflecting a blow, "I would like to face her with all my strength. Knight to knight... not like this."
But he knew he couldn't question orders. Gordes was his master, and loyalty demanded he fulfill his will, even if it left him with the bitter taste of shame.
Lancer, meanwhile, watched his opponent between strikes. His expression remained cold, but there was respect in his eyes.
"A splendid warrior..." he thought, retreating just enough to reposition his spear. "Even exhausted, she fights as if she still carried an army behind her."
His fist clenched.
"I would like to face her under fair conditions, not in this miserable way. But... orders are orders."
The sound of weapons again dominated the field. Each impact opened new fissures in the ground, raising dust and shrapnel.
Artoria retreated, her breathing heavy, sweat streaming down her face. The air seemed to burn around her. She blocked another blow and spun her body to the side, trying to maintain distance, but Lancer was already advancing again.
And then, suddenly, something changed.
An intense light cut through the sky. The three Servors stopped at the same time, instinctively looking upward.
Artoria narrowed her eyes. Lancer remained immobile, spear raised. Siegfried took a step back, his expression tense.
Jeanne, watching from a distance, brought a hand to her mouth, surprised.
"...What is that...?" she murmured.
The wind blew stronger, and for an instant, everyone felt the air vibrate as if the world itself had held its breath.
…
Minutes before
The cold wind blew over the camp.
Atop one of the rocks, Archer remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the misty horizon. His voice, firm and contained, broke the silence:
"What's the distance to Saber?"
Caster, confused, arched an eyebrow and sketched a half-ironic smile.
"What?" she asked in an amused tone. "Why does that matter? It's not like you could hit an arrow from where we are."
Archer didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the void, his expression unshakable. The silence that followed was heavy enough for everyone to turn to him.
"It is indeed beyond the range of my sight…" he said, finally. "But not beyond my shooting range."
The words fell like stones.
Everyone stared at him, incredulous.
Lancer was the first to break the silence:
"Wait a minute…" he let out a sarcastic laugh. "Your plan to help Saber is to shoot an arrow from here?!"
Archer merely turned his head, his gaze sharp.
"Do I look like I'm joking, Lancer?"
Cú Chulainn frowned, clearly irritated, but Kojiro merely watched, the same half-smile always stuck to his face. Medusa crossed her arms, trying to rationalize the absurdity.
"It's not that we don't believe you, Archer…" she began, calmly, "but from this distance, even if the enemies were standing still, they'd see the projectile coming miles away. It would be useless."
Archer sketched a slight smile and looked at Caster.
"I don't need to hit any Servant to create a distraction."
Medea paused for an instant, and then seemed to understand. A malicious gleam crossed her face.
"I see…" she said, materializing beside him.
She looked at the horizon, then raised one hand, tracing a brief magical calculation in the air.
"Your target is fifty-seven thousand, one hundred twelve meters and three centimeters ahead, twenty-two centimeters to the left... and sixty-four and a half meters below."
"That's the route with the fewest obstacles," she completed with a satisfied smile.
Archer took a deep breath and extended his bow in the indicated direction. The air around him began to ripple as a bow materialized in his hands, a nameless weapon of black metal and a threatening gleam.
He thought about which weapon would be best to launch from that distance, while in his free hand, red energy condensed, slowly taking shape.
Everyone's gaze turned to him, curious, surprised, and even a little fearful.
Sieg watched from afar, mute. From the beginning, he felt useless. He had done nothing, said nothing. Still, all those Servants looked at him with expectation. They trusted him. They expected something from him.
And he... didn't want to disappoint them.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind.
"Master."
Sieg started and looked around, but no one seemed to be speaking to him.
"It's me," he recognized Archer's voice, who remained facing forward. "I'm communicating through our mental link. I guess no one explained it to you yet, but you can talk to us like this."
Sieg swallowed dryly.
"I-I understand…" he thought.
"I need you to find Saber and establish contact with her," Emiya said firmly. "Warn her that a distraction is on the way. She needs to seize the opportunity."
Mental silence followed for an instant.
"Can you do that, Master?"
Sieg hesitated. Then, he took a deep breath.
"I'll try."
Emiya smiled slightly, without turning his eyes from the horizon.
The energy in his hand pulsed, taking complete form: Gáe Bolg, a perfect replica of Cú Chulainn's cursed spear, adapted to be used as a projectile.
Behind him, Lancer's eyes widened, incredulous.
"Hey! You bastard! What the fuck is this?!"
Emiya smiled from the corner of his mouth.
"Sorry, Lancer. I couldn't think of anything more suitable."
The archer adjusted the bow, having to modify it by increasing its size to compensate for the arrow's length. The crimson spear was fitted into the string and drawn back; he needed almost his full wingspan to pull it to the limit, the metal vibrating with the accumulated magical energy.
"Master, all ready?" he asked, without turning.
"Yes," Sieg replied, determined.
Emiya took a deep breath.
"Gáe…"
Behind him, Lancer struggled furiously, restrained by Medusa, who merely sighed.
"...Bolg!"
The arrow was released.
The air exploded in a deafening roar, raising dust throughout the camp. The crimson projectile crossed the skies at supersonic speed, a luminous trail cutting across the horizon.
The roar of the initial explosion still echoed over the blue camp when, kilometers away, the sky split in a red streak.
…
On the battlefield, the wind stopped for a heavy, oppressive instant.
Suddenly, a different sound broke the air—something like the cry of distant thunder.
Artoria raised her head, her instinct warning her before reason, the wind changed and the ground trembled.
In her mind, a voice echoed:
"Saber! A distraction is coming. Seize the chance!"
It was Sieg.
Artoria had no time to respond, she only looked at the sky.
A crimson line cut through the clouds, coming toward her like a lightning bolt.
Lancer perceived it an instant later, narrowing his eyes.
"But what...?"
Jeanne turned, surprised, and even Gordes recoiled a step, not comprehending.
The spear's energy burned the air, a red falling star.
Siegfried was the first to understand. His gaze fixed not on Artoria, nor on Jeanne, but on Gordes.
"Master!" he roared.
Without hesitation, the Black Saber broke from the duel, the ground splitting under his feet. He shot like lightning, crossing the field and grabbing Gordes by the shoulders. Jeanne could barely follow the movement.
Artoria, meanwhile, saw the perfect opening.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated mana into her sword.
"Invisible Air!"
The air around her exploded toward the distracted Lancer, forming a violent torrent. Dust and debris rose like a thick veil, completely obscuring his vision.
Siegfried leaped, taking Gordes with him.
Lancer, with his vision still blurred, retreated in a jump.
Jeanne instinctively took a few steps back, protecting her face from the wind and light.
And then, the impact.
The Gáe Bolg hit the ground with a deafening sound, a crimson explosion swallowing the field. The ground split open, rocks shattered, and a shockwave swept the plain, dissipating the dust in a blinding flash.
When the light finally dissipated, the field was in ruins, the air smelling of iron and burned magic.
Jeanne coughed, wiping her eyes. She looked around, astonished; the area where they had been was empty.
Artoria had disappeared, taking advantage of the dust curtain. Lancer, covered in soot, kept his spear planted in the ground, his gaze furious.
Then, without warning, she herself also retreated.
And a little further ahead, Siegfried emerged from the rubble, carrying Gordes in his arms. The mage's body was covered in burns, and his breathing was weak, each inhalation sounding like cracking glass. Probably even his lungs were injured.
The homunculi accompanying them had unfortunately been caught in the explosion; now there was nothing that could be done for them.
Siegfried ran as fast as he could toward the Black Faction's base. He needed to get him treatment, and quickly. He couldn't stop there, not when there was the slightest chance of another attack.
Behind him, the Red Faction's lancer remained immobile, observing the remnants of the destruction. The dust still fell slowly over the devastated field. He looked around, searching for any sign of his opponents, but all had disappeared. No trace of magical energy, no sound. Ruler, Saber, and even the Black Saber were already far away.
He took a deep breath, brushing the dust from his golden attire, and spoke in thought:
"I apologize, Master. I failed."
A serene and confident voice echoed in his mind:
"Do not worry, Karna. From the beginning, this possibility was among our predictions. The battle was more than sufficient to determine what we needed. It's a pity the Blue Saber escaped, but you did an excellent job. You may return."
"Understood, Master," Karna replied in a low voice.
The warrior's body then began to fade into golden light until it disappeared completely, dematerializing under the sound of the returning wind.
…
A few kilometers ahead, Jeanne walked slowly through a small woods, as if searching for something. Her clothes and armor were scorched, though no serious wounds marked her body. Still, she knew that if she were still human, she would have suffered the same fate as the Black Saber's master.
That attack was devastating... and completely unexpected.
She wondered who could have launched it, but the context was clear enough. The target was Gordes, and the only group with a motive to attack him at that moment... were the allies of the Blue Saber.
Jeanne stopped suddenly.
Her eyes turned to a point to her right, where a slight distortion in the air betrayed someone's presence.
"You may reveal yourself," she said calmly. "Lancer and Saber have retreated. You are safe for the moment."
Before her, a woman's figure began to materialize.
It was Artoria, covered in cuts and scratches, breathing with difficulty. Her magical energy was visibly unstable; she could barely maintain her materialization.
"If what that mage said about the homunculus is true…" Jeanne thought, observing her with concern. "Then it's natural that Saber is running out of mana. No master could sustain seven Servants alone."
Jeanne approached slowly. Artoria looked up, tense, instinctively preparing to fight, but Jeanne raised a hand in a pacifying gesture.
"Don't worry," the Ruler said softly. "I have no intention of harming you."
She then knelt before the Saber and, without hesitation, made a small cut on her own wrist, just enough for blood to start flowing.
Artoria looked at her with distrust.
"I thank your intention, Ruler... but I must ask, why try to help me, if until now you remained neutral?"
Jeanne averted her gaze, her serene countenance turning into something more melancholic.
"Indeed, as Ruler, it is my duty to remain impartial in all confrontations between Servants," she replied. "However, above all, I am also a knight."
She raised her eyes, staring at Artoria with firmness.
"And as a knight, and also as a servant of God, it would be shameful for me to ignore someone wounded before me. Especially someone who risked their life to protect me."
Artoria fell silent for a moment. There was pride in her heart… but she recognized the sincerity in the Ruler's words.
Finally, she took a deep breath and approached, holding Jeanne's extended wrist. In any other situation, she would avoid such an act, but now, she had no choice.
She pressed her lips to the wound, and the Ruler's sacred blood flowed down her throat, warm and pure like divine fire.
Magical energy began to flow through her body, gradually restoring her spiritual core. It was only a fraction, but enough to stand again.
"I thank you, Ruler," Artoria said, rising with effort. "I am deeply grateful. But I need to return to my allies as soon as possible."
She turned to leave, but Jeanne held her by the hand.
"Actually…" the Ruler said, her gaze firm, "I need to speak with your master. And with your companions as well."
Artoria looked at her, surprised.
"Don't worry." Jeanne smiled slightly. "I just want to confirm a few things… and clarify others."
The two remained silent for a moment, exchanging firm looks, mutual respect evident in their gestures.
Jeanne then extended her hand, and with a slight smile declared:
"Jeanne d'Arc."
Artoria hesitated for an instant, but ended up reciprocating the gesture, shaking her hand firmly, and even though the Ruler already knew her name, she responded:
"Artoria Pendragon."
The wind blew between them, carrying the smell of burned earth and the distant echo of the explosion.