75: The Unalterable Lucky E?

“Lancer…” Feeling the long-absent surge of power return to her left hand, Saber whispered the name with a complicated expression, uncertain what words or face she ought to wear at such a moment. At last, she withdrew the Invisible Air, allowing her legendary golden sword, shining with the promise of victory, to blaze forth in the night.

“I promise you, Lancer.” Bathed in the brilliant radiance of the sword raised high, the golden-haired knight-king declared solemnly, “With this sword, I shall deliver the victory that is due!”

Everyone was dazzled by the overwhelming brilliance; Irisviel’s face, in particular, was lit with a dreamlike yearning. Yet amidst the awe and admiration, the black-haired heroic spirit of the lance wore a proud, knowing smile.

“I am not entrusting victory to you or your sword, Saber.” With his right hand extended, the lance, as if forged from coagulated blood, began to dissolve into particles, vanishing into the air. As the knight-king stared wide-eyed in amazement, the handsome, dark-haired spirit curled his lips; between his hands, a plain, somewhat dull longsword slowly took shape…

“Though it is not a Noble Phantasm of the city,” he said, grasping the sword’s hilt in his palm. The unremarkable blade erupted from its tip with dazzling brilliance! And in light that rivaled the golden sword’s splendor, the knight of the lance laughed softly.

“But the nature of this sword means that, even as a Noble Phantasm meant for armies, it may still bring Caster to defeat.” With that, the radiant youth, whose glory threatened to outshine even legendary swords, turned and charged unhesitatingly toward the towering monster looming over the river…

“Moralltach!” With a thunderous cry, the name of the Noble Phantasm echoed. The multitude of massive tentacles covering the river began to dissolve utterly in the magnificent radiance released from Diarmuid’s sword. From the tentacles upward, the thick shell of the sea demon—which even Rider’s chariot and Gilgamesh’s barrage of Noble Phantasms could not fully break—melted swiftly in the path of the light.

Deep within the core of the sea demon, Caster, still grimacing and desperately wielding his Noble Phantasm to repair the damaged beast, had no time to react before his defenses were shattered. Bathed in moonlight, a face appeared before him—stern and alluring, breathtakingly beautiful…

“Your crimes are not worthy of the mercy of death.” The owner of that captivating visage gazed at him coldly, his voice deep yet carrying a clear resonance.

“Caster, you will never stand shoulder to shoulder with your so-called holy maiden. Your destination has never been the same as hers.” The red rose of the anti-magic lance flashed again in the lancer’s hand. In Caster’s bewildered disbelief, Diarmuid turned his hand and plunged the weapon without hesitation into Caster’s Noble Phantasm.

With a crisp sound, the blood-red spearhead cleanly split the evil artifact, its cover made from human skin, in two. In the storm of magical energy released upon the Noble Phantasm’s destruction, the lancer’s spear shook and struck again, piercing straight into the chest of the now vacant, deranged Caster.

“My name—Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.” Retracting his lance, standing calmly before the dissolving Caster, the black-haired lancer’s expression was tranquil and indifferent.

“Remember. This is the name of the heroic spirit who buries you in this Holy Grail War.” With those words, Diarmuid turned, leapt toward the riverbank in broad strides.

Behind him, Caster remained dazed, finally vanishing completely in a shower of light particles.

—Caster, executed.

As Diarmuid descended upon the embankment, the gathered onlookers watched with expressions of varied emotion. Ignoring Saber’s hesitance and his own other self’s confusion, the black-haired hero walked swiftly to a certain spot, then, disregarding everyone’s astonished gaze, lowered his head and knelt upon one knee.

“My lord.” As everyone’s eyes grew suspicious and uncertain, the air before Diarmuid suddenly rippled like disturbed water, and in that place—once empty—appeared the red-haired youth whose presence in the warehouse battle had left a deep impression on all.

“Diarmuid.” The youth’s handsome face, striking yet lacking the overwhelming, soul-stealing charisma of Diarmuid, still bore that gentle, reassuring smile seen before. Yet his tone carried a hint of helplessness and indulgence, hardly the excitement one might expect at a servant’s grand victory.

Indeed, Diarmuid’s victory was not part of Kurama’s expectation—or plan. They had anticipated and agreed beforehand about breaking the Yellow Rose. Kurama’s instructions were clear: if the lance must be broken, do so without hesitation or consultation.

Though the curse of the Yellow Rose was potent, its practical use was inferior to the Red Rose; breaking it would not significantly weaken Diarmuid’s strength as a Noble Phantasm. Of course, this was Kurama’s reasoning; the lancer believed his master’s words were out of consideration for his own knightly honor.

But beyond that, Kurama’s willingness to abandon the Yellow Rose was also tied to Diarmuid’s other Noble Phantasm used against Caster.

—Moralltach.

Also known as Great Fury, one of the twin swords wielded by the hero Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, reputed as his strongest weapon—“The Magnificent Wrath.”

Though one can never have too many Noble Phantasms, the fact remained: with the Great Fury, Kurama didn’t mind sacrificing the Yellow Rose. His original plan was to break the Yellow Rose to free Saber’s left hand, allowing Diarmuid to withdraw and leave the battle in Saber’s care.

This would reduce the perceived threat posed by the lancer to the other factions, and if Kurama refrained from claiming the victory, Kenneth—proud as he was—would not shamelessly ask Father Risei for the Command Spells, even if he desperately wanted them back.

If so, perhaps Father Risei wouldn’t be killed, and the stockpile of Command Spells wouldn’t end up in Kirei’s hands, strengthening a man already frighteningly formidable. Kurama was not acting out of compassion or a desire to save anyone; he simply didn’t want his next opponent to grow stronger.

Yet the fox spirit had no way of knowing he was doomed to disappointment—for Kenneth, stripped of his magical circuits, his pride as a mage, and even his freedom, was no longer the genius who prized honor above all else.

To prevent others from gaining new Command Spells, he could shoot an innocent Father Risei; what further depravity was beyond him?

Claiming the unassigned share of glory was nothing he’d hesitate over anymore.

Of course, how things would unfold was beyond Kurama’s foreknowledge; so regarding the lancer’s decision—not following the plan and letting Saber defeat Caster, but acting himself—the fox felt a mixture of helplessness and amusement at such “capriciousness.”

He knew that Diarmuid’s actions were not out of knightly principle. The servant, willing to reveal his new Noble Phantasm just to personally defeat Caster, was likely sulking—believing his master thought Saber’s power and Noble Phantasms superior, entrusting her with the crucial task.

On one hand, Kurama found Diarmuid’s behavior rather endearing; on the other, he suspected he’d spoiled his servant too much lately, veering off the path of proper discipline. So, after briefly nodding to the astonished Irisviel, Waver, Saber, and others, he ignored Diarmuid’s dejected look at his cold reception, hugged Mokona, and vanished once more…

—This overly long night finally… came to an end.

***

Father Risei still died.

That night, the King of Heroes brought news to Kurama’s hotel room.

“Kirei recited the scriptures with tears streaming down his expressionless face as he bid him farewell.”

The golden heroic spirit spoke inscrutably, his expression unreadable, making it impossible to discern his feelings about Kirei’s actions.

“However…” He shifted, narrowing his eyes inquisitively at Kurama: “Did you foresee things would turn out this way?”

Risei’s unexpected murder, using his last breath to transfer the method for passing on the surplus Command Spells accumulated during the Holy Grail War to his trusted son, who was now not a master but a fair overseer. Yet, Kirei’s obsession drove him to regain the Command Spells, consciously hiding this from Tokiomi and Risei.

If Kurama had not predicted this outcome, why would he have made that tempting proposal—one even Gilgamesh could not refuse?

The King of Heroes’ hypnotic red eyes stared unblinkingly at the red-haired youth before him.

But Kurama did not answer his gaze or question.

“Sorry, we’re preparing to leave, Your Majesty.”

He smiled, disregarding Diarmuid’s instant rigidity upon hearing this.

“I think another matter of concern will also reach its conclusion tonight.” He spoke softly, rising under the King of Heroes’ raised eyebrow.

“The fate of the other Lancer.”

***

When Kurama, Diarmuid, and the curious Gilgamesh arrived at the abandoned factory where Kenneth and the others were hiding, Lancer and Saber were locked in fierce combat in the courtyard.

From their vantage point, in the shadowed recesses of the building, another battle was underway—not master against master, but more a one-sided, merciless crushing.

Diarmuid had no time to intervene; the blonde master’s dull gaze fell, letting the contract slip from her hand.

Meanwhile, on the paused battlefield, red flowers suddenly bloomed all over the ground.

Saber and Irisviel stared in shock as the red lance, once wielded with vigor against Saber’s golden sword, was abruptly reversed and plunged into its master’s own chest. On the black-haired lancer’s face was the same sudden disbelief.

The three gazed blankly toward the factory, where the emotionless Kiritsugu and blood-soaked fiancée cradled an absent-minded Kenneth, standing in the moonlight—a scene at once ironic and chilling.

“You… want victory so badly?!” Kneeling in a pool of blood, Lancer spoke in a hoarse, anguished voice. “You crave the Holy Grail so much you’d go this far?!”

“To trample even my only true wish… Don’t you feel shame?!”

His beautiful face twisted by hatred and bloody tears, the kneeling figure was no longer a radiant hero, but a wraith consumed by resentment and obsession.

“Unforgivable… I will never forgive you!” He raised his head, shouting as his body dissolved into particles.

“You dead, ruled by fame and fortune, who dishonor knightly glory—your dreams shall be tainted by my blood! I curse the Holy Grail! I curse your wishes to become calamity! When you fall into the fires of hell, remember the fury of Diarmuid!”

With a final shout, not as pure white particles but as black grains scattered in the wind, the lance-wielding spirit vanished completely.

Yet what shocked everyone—making them forget even the bitterness and hatred of the lancer’s last curse—was that the black spirit particles did not simply dissipate. As if seeking someone, they gathered, forming a lance that streaked like black lightning through the air!

At the end of its arc, where there had been nothing, another deep green figure slowly appeared…

—It was another Lancer.