At the Fortress of Millennia.
The metallic clash of swords echoed through the central courtyard. Arthur, sweat glistening lightly on his brow, pressed forward against Chiron, who received him with the serenity of a true master. The two moved in a calculated dance, swift strikes answered by even swifter defenses, each spark reflecting the growing respect between them.
Arthur twisted his blade and attempted a lateral slash, but Chiron had already foreseen the move. With natural grace, the centaur deflected the strike and forced Arthur back several paces.
"You read the flow of battle before it even happens," Arthur remarked with a sincere smile. "No wonder you trained so many legendary heroes."
"Don't exaggerate," Chiron replied, his calm voice making the duel feel more like a lesson than a contest. "You're hardly behind yourself. Your technique is solid—what you lack is discipline. You're used to overwhelming foes with power, not crossing blades on equal footing."
Arthur chuckled under his breath.
"Then teach me. If discipline is what I lack, I'll wrest it from you with every strike."
"With your adaptability, soon there will be nothing left for me to teach you," Chiron answered with a laugh.
As the two traded blows, the other side of the courtyard erupted in magical energy.
Mordred charged at Siegfried, Clarent blazing with crimson light. Balmung intercepted every swing, sparks bursting into flares that reverberated against the fortress walls.
"You're holding back," Mordred snarled, retreating after another fierce clash. "You're going easy on me, aren't you?"
Siegfried remained impassive, his stance unshakable as a wall.
"We are in the fortress. If I didn't restrain myself, nothing around us would remain standing."
Mordred's frown deepened, her eyes blazing with anger and pride.
"Don't you dare underestimate me! Holding back is the same as saying I'm not worthy to fight you!"
She lunged again, her blade cutting through the air in a devastating arc. Siegfried raised Balmung and blocked, but the impact split the ground beneath his feet into fractured lines.
The two broke apart, eyes locked in fierce challenge.
Meanwhile, Arthur dodged a precise thrust from Chiron and backed off a few steps, panting.
"You're holding back as well, Chiron. I can feel it."
Chiron gave a calm nod, not denying it.
"If I fought in earnest, this duel would never end."
Arthur grinned, spinning his sword back into guard.
"Then at least keep teaching me, even as you hold back."
On one side, Mordred and Siegfried clashed at breakneck speed.
On the other, Arthur measured his blade against Chiron's, absorbing each lesson in the rhythm of their exchanges.
---
The four continued their duels until noon, stopping only when Fiore arrived with a carefully prepared meal. The aroma of fresh dishes spread warmly across the courtyard.
Arthur, already seated at the table beside Mordred, cast her a smile that blended amusement and pride.
"The chef of Yggdmillennia truly knows his craft, don't you think, Mordred?" he said, glancing at the knight, who was devouring her food with unrestrained eagerness, her cheeks puffed out like a hungry squirrel.
"Yes!" Mordred replied between bites, too absorbed in the meal to maintain her composure.
Arthur laughed softly, genuinely entertained by the sight. Watching her so carefree, almost childlike, was oddly endearing.
"See? Even the fiercest of knights needs to pause and eat. I must admit… I find this side of you strangely cute."
Mordred shot him a sharp glance, irritation clashing with the faint blush coloring her cheeks.
"Don't think I'll go soft just because of this!" she muttered, though her tone failed to hide the flicker of satisfaction his words had stirred.
Fiore, watching the exchange between master and knight, felt a wave of curiosity—and something she dared not name. Arthur's presence radiated authority and charisma, something beyond visible power. There was balance in him: strength tempered by gentleness, authority softened by care for those around him. It was… undeniably captivating.
She approached with a delicate smile, placing her hands lightly on the table.
"Eat as much as you want, both of you. I won't allow anything to spoil this meal."
Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"Thank you, Fiore. Truly, the food here is not only delicious—it's revitalizing."
"Absolutely!" Mordred exclaimed, diving back into her plate with relentless energy, as though afraid it might vanish if she slowed down. Arthur chuckled, amused by her determination.
Fiore, standing nearby, found it difficult to tear her gaze away from Arthur. Unlike other Servants she had met, he lacked arrogance or the inflated pride of a king. Instead, there was harmony between his power and the quiet gravity of his character. That contrast drew her in more with each passing moment.
Arthur leaned slightly closer to Mordred and murmured:
"You're learning quickly, Mordred. But remember—discipline is what makes a true warrior. Even at the table."
Mordred swallowed a mouthful before grumbling in defiance:
"Who says I need discipline to eat?!"
Arthur's smile broadened, his laugh soft and warm.
"Maybe not… but it's good to see your spirit of battle doesn't waver, even in small things."
Fiore, unable to suppress her smile, left them to their meal, though not without one last curious glance at Arthur.
---
Elsewhere.
Within a grand fortress, the Red Master, Shirou Kotomine, gathered his Servants. The hall was cloaked in silence, lit only by the cold glow of torches mounted on stone walls. The air itself felt heavy, saturated with tension.
Standing tall, his expression unwavering, Shirou finally broke the silence:
"I have an announcement. Our Saber… has defected."
For an instant, time froze.
"What!?" Atalanta's voice cracked with disbelief.
Achilles felt his chest tighten, his face twisting with rare shock—the same hero who had faced countless battles at Troy was left reeling by these words.
Even Karna, the ever-serene Lancer, could not remain unmoved. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, acknowledging the gravity of the revelation.
"This is… truly a dire situation," he said gravely.
Achilles growled, fists clenched.
"Dire? No, this is the worst possible scenario!"
But Shirou remained composed, his eyes reflecting frustration tempered by faith.
"Unfortunately… we have lost not only our Berserker, but now also our Saber. That leaves us with five Servants, while the enemy commands nine."
The words fell like a sentence of doom. Yet Shirou pressed on.
"Even so, I believe victory remains within reach. What I ask of you is simple: do not let fear take hold of your hearts."
The silence shattered with Achilles' derisive laugh. He stepped forward, his voice booming with pride:
"Ha! Let them bring as many Servants as they want! They're nothing but third-rate mongrels compared to us!"
Shirou smiled faintly.
"That's exactly the answer I wanted to hear."
From the throne, a velvet voice unfurled. Semiramis, the Assyrian Empress, shifted with graceful poise, resting her chin on her hand as a sly smile curved her lips.
"With spirits this high… why don't we begin our attack? Surely you've all grown tired of these petty skirmishes, haven't you?"
Achilles and Atalanta exchanged reluctant glances, then nodded. She was right—fragmented battles were unworthy of legends such as them.
Semiramis leaned forward, her gaze gleaming with malice.
"If this is war, then let us make it grand."
Achilles ground his teeth.
"Interesting words, Empress. But if you wanted to attack, why build this fortress? Wasn't it meant for defense?"
Semiramis laughed, the sound echoing like a siren's song through the chamber.
"Defense? Oh, impetuous Rider, how wrong you are. My Noble Phantasm, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, was never meant to protect. It was created to conquer. A fortress, yes—but one designed to crush our foes from the skies."
Achilles and Atalanta faltered, stunned by her words.
Shakespeare, however, lit up like a child glimpsing the climax of a grand play.
"Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!"
Even Karna, silent and composed, could not hide the glint in his eyes as he realized what was to come.
Semiramis raised her hand, touching the jewel embedded in her throne. A crimson glow pulsed outward, seeping into the walls and floor.
Suddenly, the entire fortress shuddered.
"A quake!?" Atalanta cried, instinctively reaching for her bow.
But the tremor only intensified, until the ground seemed to dissolve beneath their feet. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
The silence that followed was more dreadful than the quake itself.
"Ha… look outside," Semiramis ordered, her smile triumphant.
The Servants rushed from the hall—and froze.
"What…!?" Achilles' eyes widened.
Atalanta covered her mouth in shock.
Even Karna's composure cracked, his gaze sharpening in awe.
The ground beneath them was gone. The fortress had risen into the heavens, transformed into a floating citadel that defied the very laws of the world. Towers, walls, and halls now loomed above the clouds, upheld by Semiramis' ancient sorcery.
Shakespeare spread his arms wide, intoxicated by the sight.
"Oh, what divine spectacle! A stage worthy of heroes and tragedy alike!"
Semiramis rose from her throne, her voice dripping with pride.
"Surprised? Then behold the true might of the Assyrian Empress! This is the Hanging Gardens of Babylon—the fortress that rules the skies!"
Though shaken, the Servants quickly steadied themselves. Their silence now was not fear—it was focus.
"Prepare yourselves," Semiramis commanded, her tone a mix of venom and honey. "In one hour, we will arrive at our destination."
That single detail—one hour—ignited a spark in each of them. Achilles clenched his fists. Atalanta adjusted her bowstring. Karna closed his eyes in solemn anticipation.
They knew: the clash between Red and Black was no longer approaching.
It was inevitable.
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."