As Amakusa surveyed the scene, he saw Rider Achilles and Archer Atalanta each resting in their own carefree manner—one lying on his back gazing at the ceiling, the other seated on the floor eating what appeared to be skewers of at from animals she had hunted herself.
Lancer Karna leaned against the wall, sunlight illuminating his pale skin. His face resembled a white Noh mask, frozen in an expression of unwavering calm.
anwhile, the still-mysterious Assassin—the young man who called himself Sakatsuki—was maintaining his weapons. Even disassembled, those pistol-fists emitted an intimidating cold gleam.
"My apologies for keeping you all waiting."
"What are you talking about, Master? They’re just killing ti," Semiramis remarked.
Both "Heel" and "Cat-chan" simultaneously snorted and turned their faces away. It seed these two held no respect whatsoever for the Empress Semiramis.
Sakatsuki remained engrossed in weapon maintenance, as if seeking so new power from these pistol-fists, completely ignoring the back-and-forth between Amakusa and the Empress.
The Empress paid no mind to the Servants’ rudeness. With regal bearing, she nodded and took her seat on the throne, while Amakusa stood beside her like a trusted advisor.
"Where’s Caster?"
"Don’t you know him by now?" Achilles responded without getting up from his reclined position. "Probably holed up in his workshop."
"Shall I fetch him?"
"Wait, Master. You’re not so errand boy. Allow to summon him via telepathy."
The Empress lightly waved two fingers—five minutes later, the final mber made a dramatic entrance, brazenly facing the impatience radiating from everyone present. Throwing open the doors, he spread his arms wide and proclaid:
"Ohhh, you who are black as hell and dark as night! I find you exquisitely beautiful, positively radiant!"
Semiramis sighed. "Are you referring to ?"
The man in question—Red Caster Shakespeare—nodded enthusiastically.
"Who else could it be? Empress of Assyria!... No, no, my apologies. I got carried away. It’s been so long since I felt the urge to write..."
Shakespeare suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his gaze sweeping across the Assyrian empress, the swift-footed hero, the Arcadian huntress, the solar child of an ancient land, and the assassin lurking in indigo. His excitent visibly intensified.
"What stage in this world could host such an assembly of heroes? What epic tales might unfold between them? What tragedies and joys—only the Holy Grail War, only the Holy Grail War can provide this humble scribe with such supre delight!"
"So you haven’t forgotten about the Holy Grail War, Caster."
"Of course, Empress. Since you’ve gathered us all here, there’s only one reason—war, isn’t it? Heroes competing for supremacy, engaging in the most savage mutual slaughter, correct? I, Shakespeare, will naturally enjoy—watching this to my heart’s content!"
"You don’t intend to fight?"
"Well, truth be told, I’m quite unfamiliar with war and magecraft. ’Yet the gods have given us appropriate flaws to make us human.’"
You’re clearly a magus—the Servants barely restrained themselves from pointing this out.
Indeed, as Shakespeare claid, he was fundantally a Heroic Spirit unrelated to the act of "war." His role was rely to record the Holy Grail War and weave tales of the ensuing protagonist’s (Master’s) suffering and despair, hope and violence.
Storytellers never take the stage themselves; they only support those who do. If they were to personally intervene, that would truly be astonishing.
Had he been summoned to a typical Holy Grail War, he would undoubtedly have been swiftly defeated.
But fortunately, given the circumstances of this particular Holy Grail War, he still had ample opportunities to shine. For Servants who ascended to the Throne of Heroes under the na of "author" all possessed peculiar "skills" to so degree.
This was why the Red Faction tolerated his antics and why Sakatsuki had invited him from the very beginning.
"—In any case, everyone is assembled. Though Berserker has been captured, the delay has allowed us to complete our preparations. Now is the ti to launch our assault. There’s little point in repeating small-scale skirmishes, no?"
At the Empress’s words, Achilles and Atalanta nodded in agreent. Indeed, as she said, re minor battles were far too dull.
When Sakatsuki returned, he was even t with complaints from the Greek faction—why hadn’t he brought them along? They were growing rusty from inactivity, and so on.
"A rare war like this deserves to be fought with grandeur, don’t you agree?" The Empress smiled bewitchingly.
"—Well, that may be so, but didn’t you specifically build this fortress to prepare for a defensive stand? Why say such things now?"
Faced with Achilles’s exasperation, Semiramis chuckled.
"A defensive stand? Rider, you’ve mistaken the premise. My Noble Phantasm, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, was never ant for defense. It is an offensive Noble Phantasm."
As she spoke, Semiramis placed her hand on the gem embedded in the armrest of her throne. Instantly, the ground began to tremble faintly.
An earthquake? Aside from Sakatsuki, who had anticipated this, the Servants exchanged glances. But the tremors intensified of their own accord before abruptly ceasing.
"Fufu, look outside."
At the Empress’s words, everyone except her rushed out of the throne room. The earlier quake was clearly a phenonon she had intentionally caused—but for what reason?
"What—?!"
Two people were left montarily speechless—Achilles and Atalanta. Shakespeare, moved, wore an expression of delight, while Amakusa, who usually maintained an air of detachnt, had a rare glimr in his eyes. Even Karna widened his gaze slightly as he looked downward.
The stone-paved floor they stood upon had nothing but vast, open space beneath it.
In other words, they were floating midair—this Hanging Garden of Babylon was, true to its na, suspended in the sky...!!!
"Surprised? Of course, in terms of speed, it can hardly be called fast," the Empress remarked with a hint of pride, though her tone carried a trace of dissatisfaction as she glanced at Sakatsuki.
"And yet, you dare to look completely unfazed."
"Assyria’s Empress, the most ancient poisoner—your legends are many, and the False Hanging Gardens are naturally among them," Sakatsuki replied with a shrug, unbothered by her challenge. "Though I’m hardly pleased about it, there’s nothing to be done. I’ve long been prepared for this."
As he spoke, Sakatsuki narrowed his eyes at the scenery of the garden, at the starry night sky. Though his words were indifferent, his gaze still flashed with a brilliance that seed to pierce the soul.
Vanity did not necessarily an fragility. No—at the mont this Noble Phantasm was completed through the gathering of materials, vanity had transford into reality, at least for this era.
An EX-ranked Noble Phantasm. While the Black Faction idly held their fortress, the Red Faction had poured everything into making the impossible possible.
Every effort had borne fruit, and now, it was the Black Faction’s turn to pay the price.
"Then, everyone, prepare for battle. At this speed, it will take roughly seven hours before the Black Faction, holed up in their fortress, can see us with their own eyes."
Silence fell over them. Of course, it wasn’t out of fear. Rather, hearing the Empress specify "seven hours" ignited a blazing fighting spirit within their hearts.
And so, the Red Faction’s pre-battle mobilization ca to an end. The Servants returned to their rooms, each lost in their own thoughts, while Sakatsuki imdiately contacted Reika Rikudou of the Black Faction to relay the Red Faction’s intelligence and prepare for the coming actions.
Reviews
All reviews (0)