Sixty-six hues converged in perfect harmony.

From Kurama’s perspective, the expression Diarmuid wore when he uttered that line was really rather…flirtatious. Perhaps that wasn’t the Lancer’s intention, but the beauty mark at the corner of his eye, which endowed him with an almost innate charm, also ensured that even when he didn’t mean to, every glance he cast was laced with suggestive allure. As a result, no matter how proper Diarmuid tried to appear, it always seemed as though he was wielding some overpowered charm spell.

Just like now—though the Lancer was issuing a most solemn challenge to his opponent, the seductive aura he exuded unconsciously made it seem as though he were attempting to sway Saber’s resolve through enchantment. This caused the two women across from him to furrow their brows in unison.

Kurama, watching the scene unfold from the distant rooftop, couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement. Like Director Ken, the fox spirit had chosen to conceal himself, observing and occasionally directing this first true Servant battle from the shadows.

Of course, Ken’s motives might have been rooted in mistrust of Diarmuid or other considerations, but Kurama’s reason was simple—he had no desire to reveal himself. In this already warped Holy Grail War, his presence was the greatest variable, and now was certainly not the time to play his trump card.

So the fox spirit and Mokona, cloaked in the illusion of magical plants, leisurely set up a small table and soft chairs atop the building, happily enjoying a midnight snack while keeping a close eye on the unfolding battle.

The clash between Lancer and Saber was fierce and spectacular. To ordinary eyes, their power and the destruction they wrought were unimaginable. Every thrust of Lancer’s spear, every swing of Saber’s sword, sent visible ripples slicing through the air. The shriek of weapons and the clash of steel echoed as the warehouse district was torn apart at an astonishing pace.

This was a battle only heroes could wage—no human eye could follow the lightning-fast movements of the two combatants. But such limitations meant nothing to the keen-eyed, battle-hardened fox spirit.

“In terms of pure martial skill, neither of them is all that impressive,” Kurama remarked after watching several exchanges, blinking with a trace of disappointment.

Mokona, at his side, turned to him. “Mokona thinks they’re already amazing.”

Though Mokona was well-traveled, most of his experience was with magicians like Clow and Yuuko; he didn’t truly understand the nuances or standards of close-quarters combat.

Kurama ruffled Mokona’s ears with a gentle smile. “Well, perhaps it’s just that my fighting style is different from theirs.”

In the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, martial arts had reached its zenith. Successive Dark Tournament championships had produced a bevy of skilled fighters and diverse fighting styles, nearly every kind imaginable. After experiencing such brutal, life-or-death combat, the display between these Servants, though impressive and dramatic, failed to spark the fox spirit’s awe.

Mokona nodded, half-understanding. “So your friends are even stronger, right?”

Kurama pinched him with a smile. “Kuwabara aside, if this is their level… Yusuke and Hiei could probably win easily.”

Of course, that was assuming the Servants didn’t unleash their Noble Phantasms. After all, these were different worlds, and their relative power was only roughly comparable; Kurama would make no absolute claims. He never considered Yu Yu Hakusho’s world the strongest, but in terms of the depth of martial arts, it was certainly among the most advanced.

“But Servant battles aren’t the same as the Dark Tournament. They aren’t just about fighting skill—there’s the Servant’s innate abilities, class bonuses, the rank of their Noble Phantasms, and…”

And the Master’s abilities. It wasn’t just magical skill or mana reserves, but also the cunning and strategy of the Master themselves.

“So, in summary, the course of battle in the Holy Grail War is far more complex and convoluted than the direct and straightforward Dark Tournament.”

With his explanation finished, Kurama sipped his tea. For a moment, his hand paused, then the corners of his mouth curved into a subtle, amused smile.

“It seems…our first guest has arrived.”

Not far away, in a perfect blind spot, a black-clad figure in a bizarre skull mask slowly appeared, as if conjured by Kurama’s words.

Assassin.

This Heroic Spirit, a master of stealth and concealment, had no idea every move was being watched. Beneath the white skull mask, a satisfied smile formed; the black-clad Servant who should have perished at Archer’s hands during the Tohsaka manor battle now lurked in the shadows, quietly carrying out the Master’s orders.

Kurama calmly set down his teacup and looked back toward the battlefield. There, the fight between Saber and Lancer had reached its fevered peak. Unable to discern which spear was Lancer’s true Noble Phantasm and pressured by his dual-wielding technique, Saber couldn’t seize the advantage. Lancer, for his part, though seemingly at ease, had long since realized that Saber’s sword, veiled by the Wind King’s Barrier, prevented him from gauging its length to optimize his attack and defense.

Both were locked in a difficult stalemate for their own reasons, but despite their struggles, both faces bore excited smiles—after all, to cross time and space and fight legendary heroes at full strength was both exhilarating and deeply honorable for Heroic Spirits.

Especially for Saber and Lancer, both famed knights of history and legend. To face an evenly matched opponent in open combat, even without exchanging names beforehand, was already satisfaction enough.

As the stalemate set in, the two, in the heat of battle, found the leisure to exchange barbed words.

Kurama, listening in via his network of dandelions, couldn’t help but smile in exasperation.

Diarmuid, it seemed, couldn’t help but be a gentleman, even as he sparred. This was no fault of his, merely the natural result of being a knight, a man, and having such a personality; as a Master, Kurama found it acceptable.

So he made no move to admonish Diarmuid to stop “playing around,” because, compared to that…

Something far more interesting was unfolding before his eyes.

At last, Saber’s true Master, Kiritsugu Emiya, arrived at the scene with his assistant Maiya Hisau, just after Assassin. The pair moved in perfect synchronicity through the night, likely aiming to locate Lancer’s Master and eliminate them while the Servants were occupied. But unexpectedly, in a spot chosen for ambush, they discovered the very Assassin who should have been killed by Archer.

This outcome, surprising yet somehow expected, caused Kiritsugu to halt and think rapidly.

Kurama, for his part, paid Kiritsugu’s deliberation no mind. The fox spirit simply knew that things were about to get lively. For the first time that night, his spirits rose as he focused intently on the unfolding drama.

At that moment, the battle had reached its most spectacular stage. Though Kurama had not judged Saber and Lancer’s technique as perfect, their competent swordplay, combined with the unique effects of their attacks and defenses, made for a dazzling spectacle.

The two exchanged blows in a seemingly endless stalemate, each strike sending sharp gusts whistling through the air.

But when Lancer, using his discarded yellow spear, pierced Saber’s left hand—her defenses lowered after realizing the red spear’s anti-magic properties and shedding her magical armor—the tide turned sharply.

Lancer’s wounds healed before their eyes. As he quietly thanked his Master, Saber, requesting healing from Irisviel, found her own wound intractable.

Only now did both sides recognize each other’s true identities—Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Radiant-Faced Hero…and King Arthur.

In truth, Kurama had always found it absurd that in the Fate series, King Arthur was depicted as a woman. Historically, Arthur’s affairs with women were numerous; though much of it was legend, there was no doubt he was male.

Yet now, watching the golden-haired girl on the battlefield, blood streaming from her left hand, her features growing only more resolute and valiant, Kurama stroked his chin and sighed, choosing not to comment further.

Meanwhile, on the field, with her true identity exposed and her wound refusing to heal, Saber was on the verge of crisis, when suddenly a thunderous roar erupted from the southeastern sky—a magnificent chariot drawn by two powerful bulls raced across the heavens, crashing down between Saber and Lancer.

Descending from the chariot, his feet crackling with lightning, stood a burly red-haired giant.

“Both of you, lower your weapons before the King!” he bellowed, his piercing eyes alight with mirth as he regarded the pair.

“My name is Iskandar, summoned in this Holy Grail War as Rider,” he declared in a booming voice as Saber and Lancer looked on in silence.

…The abrupt self-introduction sent shockwaves through all present.

Behind him, his frail young Master, nearly ignored, clung to his cloak in exasperation, shouting insults, but was wholly disregarded by his Servant.

“Saber, Lancer, your courage and strength are worthy of praise,” proclaimed the King of Conquerors, in a tone difficult to define.

“I ask only this—will you follow me, offer the Grail to me, and share in the glory of this world?”

…Well.

For the second time that night, both Heroic Spirits were left dumbfounded by the same man. The request was so outrageous that they simply couldn’t respond.

But soon, regaining their senses, both refused his offer.

The King of Conquerors was unfazed, bursting into hearty laughter before sucking in a deep breath and shouting to the skies:

“Heroic Spirits summoned by the Holy Grail War, gather here and now! Cowards who fear even to show themselves, spare yourselves the shame of being scorned by Iskandar, King of Conquerors—brace yourselves!”

As everyone stared in stunned silence at this audacious proclamation, Kurama smiled within his barrier.

For in that instant, amid the dark night, a golden light suddenly blossomed in the air. As the golden spark condensed and gathered, atop a streetlamp ten meters above the ground, a dazzling figure slowly appeared.

“To think there are now two who call themselves ‘King’ without a care for me or any sense of propriety…how presumptuous.”

With a resplendent voice, the golden Heroic Spirit materialized fully, looking down with a contemptuous, mocking smile.