The Battle of Milenia Fortress
With Vlad III's roar echoing across the walls, war erupted like fire on dry straw.
All the Servants of the Black Faction, except for Vlad III, Chiron, Avicebron, and Arthur, advanced rapidly. Vlad, imposing atop the walls, maintained his unshakable kingly posture, radiating confidence, as if this night were merely another inevitable chapter in his legend.
The current situation of the Black Faction was not as desperate as in the original story.
Thus, there was no need for Vlad III himself to enter the battlefield.
Mordred was the first to leap from the fortress walls. Her armor glistened under the moonlight, and her wild scream echoed through the surroundings. Right behind her, Frankenstein descended heavily like an uncontrolled lightning bolt, followed by the slender figure of Siegfried, whose sword reflected the night's light. In the sky, Astolfo rode cheerfully on his hippogriff, flying straight toward the enemy's aerial fortress.
Behind them, in nearly endless waves, marched the armed homunculi and golems raised by Avicebron.
The initial clash was anticlimactic. Mordred, Siegfried, and Frankenstein expected to face Servants. However, what appeared before them were not heroes, but a horde of Dragon Fang soldiers.
Mordred widened her eyes, disappointment and anger etched on her face.
"Seriously!? They send a bunch of rotten skeletons against me? This is a joke, right!?"
She raised Clarent and swung the blade, halting the advance of her allies.
"These bastards are about to learn exactly what happens when they waste my time!"
As the ground shook under the clash of the two armies, the true prelude of the battle unfolded in the sky.
At the edge of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Atalanta maintained a feline posture, her long green hair fluttering in the cold late-autumn wind. The hunter's ears twitched, sensitive to the air currents and the night's murmur.
With fluid movements, she placed two arrows on her bow, raising it not at the soldiers below, but at the very sky. Her voice echoed, soft and devoted:
"With my bow and my arrows, I call upon the protection of the god Apollo… and the goddess Artemis."
Her feline eyes gleamed with devotion and fury.
"I offer you this calamity!"
The arrows began to glow golden, pulsating like stars about to fall.
"Phoebus Catastrophe!"
The two arrows shot into the sky, disappearing among the clouds, and for a moment, all was silent. Then the firmament opened. It was not rain, not hail: it was countless arrows of light falling like a divine storm upon the enemy armies.
The ground erupted in flashes. Homunculi and golems were pierced from all sides, their ranks shattered within seconds.
On the wall, Arthur observed, a cold smile forming on his lips.
"Very well. Time for retribution."
He raised the stone tablet that shimmered with golden inscriptions.
"At my command, prepare the arrows!"
"Use my treasures to show them the power that protects Yggdmilenia!"
"My determination will flood the earth!"
His voice grew, deep and sovereign.
"MELAMMU DINGIR!"
The magical bombardiers along the fortress responded to the call. A symphony of magic resonated, and in unison, bursts of energy rained down on the enemy soldiers. The explosions spread like hellfire, reducing two-thirds of the skeletal army to ashes.
Earth, dust, and bones flew through the air.
But before the defenders could celebrate, an emerald green flash emerged from the enemy fortress. Magic emanated from a heroic, vibrant, and overwhelming presence.
And then, from the sky, brandishing the reins of his chariot, Achilles charged forth.
"Come, warriors!" His proud voice cut through the air. "I am the Rider of the Red Faction! And I will lead the attack!"
The chariot descended in a devastating swoop. Homunculi and golems tried to block its path, but were crushed like clay dolls. Even one-ton creatures were thrown like dry leaves under the divine charge.
Achilles raised his spear, defiant.
"Come on, Servants of the Black Faction! If anyone can stop my chariot, come and try!"
Mordred burst into laughter. Her eyes burned with excitement.
"Heh! Finally! Someone worthy!"
She advanced without hesitation, Clarent in hand, and struck Achilles' spear with explosive fury. The impact sparked and thundered.
Achilles, to her surprise, stood firm. But Mordred did not relent: she followed the attack with a brutal kick to the Greek hero's stomach, sending him flying back, away from his chariot.
Achilles spun in the air, landed on his feet, and smiled like a warrior facing a worthy opponent.
"You must be the Saber who switched sides!"
"Exactly!" Mordred lifted her chin, her voice filled with pride and challenge. "And now enough talk! I'm not here to argue!"
She roared, the echo reverberating like thunder across the battlefield.
"I'm here to fight until I crush you!"
And so, the two collided.
---
Unlike Mordred, who was already locked in a fierce battle with Achilles, Siegfried found no immediate opponent. Only an endless horde of Dragon Fang soldiers charged at him.
The blade of Balmung cut the air in gleaming arcs, shredding dozens of enemies with each strike. No dragon bone could withstand the weight of the sacred sword.
"It seems our battle is inevitable. It's wonderful to continue our duel, Black Saber." A voice sounded near Siegfried.
From the flames of battle, Karna appeared, his spear glowing like a terrestrial sun.
Siegfried smiled serenely, his steady gaze reflecting the honor of a knight.
"I agree, Lancer. I could not wish for a more worthy opponent."
Without further words, sword and spear clashed. The shockwaves swept the field, opening space between the ranks of the undead.
---
Inside Milenia Fortress, Vlad III, Chiron, and Arthur watched the battle unfold from atop the walls.
"Mordred is fighting Achilles while Karna is battling Siegfried," Arthur said as he analyzed the scene.
"Meanwhile, Astolfo flew straight to the enemy fortress," he added, glancing at Astolfo on his hippogriff in the distance.
"Frankenstein seems to have been drawn to an enemy Servant and entered the forest. I suppose it's the Red Assassin," Chiron spoke.
Even his wisdom could not have imagined that the true enemy Assassin controlled the Hanging Gardens. To any observer, that airborne castle could only be the work of a powerful Caster.
"We have the advantage now," Vlad III murmured, crossing his arms.
"Indeed, but the Red Archer, Atalanta, has also appeared. Should I intervene or send the Berserker?" Chiron asked.
"Let him deal with Atalanta. After all, you still need to monitor the battlefield," Arthur said while watching Mordred fight Achilles in the distance.
"I understand."
After receiving the order, Avicebron extended his hand, undoing the seal. Spartacus was freed.
The Berserker emerged like an avalanche of muscle and fervor, his eyes burning with ideological fire.
"Hah! You dare raise this fortress in the sky to oppress the weak?!" he roared, pounding his chest.
"I will crush each of you, damned tyrants!"
With a manic laugh, he charged forward, breaking the ground with every step.
---
"Berserker? Now that I think about it, you truly are a pathetic creature," Atalanta said as she recognized who approached.
She drew her bow with skill and released a precise arrow.
The arrow cut through the wind and pierced Spartacus' shoulder.
To her, Spartacus was nothing more than a massive target.
His blows and strength were useless against her speed.
Yet he did not slow down. On the contrary, he spread his arms as if embracing his own pain; his muscles remained unmoved, no matter how many arrows pierced him.
"Hahaha! Wonderful! Every wound proves that the enemy fears my freedom! Keep going! Pierce this body that belongs not to me, but to the revolt of the people!"
Atalanta frowned, nocking another arrow and firing. Then another. And another.
The projectiles tore holes throughout Berserker's body, but his muscles throbbed and healed immediately, swelling grotesquely as if his own flesh fed his fury.
Seeing that she could not stop him from a distance alone, Atalanta advanced with feline speed. She slid under his arm, narrowly evading a strike that would have left a crater in the ground. Her arrows struck his jaw, throat, and chest.
Spartacus only laughed, spitting blood.
"Pain! More pain! This purifies! This feeds the flame of freedom!"
Before she could retreat, Spartacus' foot struck her abdomen. The impact was brutal, sending her flying. Atalanta passed through a line of Dragon Fang soldiers and a group of homunculi before hitting the ground, sliding nearly twenty meters.
"Argh…!" she gasped, spitting blood. If she hadn't protected her torso at the last moment, she would have been torn apart.
Catching her breath, she watched in horror: Spartacus' wounds healed themselves, deforming his body. The magical energy around him grew stronger by the second.
She regretted her oversight.
Despite all the arrows she had shot at him, his speed had not decreased even slightly.
"The arrows must have damaged him, right?"
But Atalanta soon realized something was wrong.
Spartacus' wounds had already healed.
The pierced areas swelled like tumors.
Atalanta's arrows must have created countless holes across his body.
"This monster… is growing."
Moreover, an even stronger wave of mana could be felt emanating from him.
With his body shrouded in thick mana, Spartacus wielded his sword with even more force and speed than before, laughing uncontrollably.
"Tsk!"
Atalanta narrowly dodged the attack.
Spartacus' Noble Phantasm, Crying Warmonger, was a continuously active Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm. It converted part of the damage received into magical energy, storing it within his body.
"What a grotesque sight."
With his wounds growing larger, Spartacus no longer seemed even human.
The Berserker raised his sword, his deformed muscles vibrating with mana.
"Suffering strengthens me! Oppression feeds me! You tyrants will never understand that the more you try to crush me, the closer I get to the victory of the enslaved!"
Atalanta fired three arrows at the hand holding the sword. The hand opened, forced by pain. She ran, grabbed the fallen weapon, and drove it into his chest.
Spartacus did not scream. He merely laughed, spitting blood from his split lips.
"Yes… more… pain!"
He staggered for a moment, giving her a brief opportunity.
Spartacus could have simply severed his wrist and escaped, but due to his excessive regenerative ability, the wound had already fully healed.
Atalanta stepped back, nocking two special arrows and raising her bow. Her rapid breathing betrayed her tension.
"Alright, hold still for now."
After confirming that only the Dragon Fang soldiers, homunculi, and golems were nearby, Atalanta reloaded two arrows and aimed them at the sky.
She compressed her area to the limit, concentrating the arrows on a single point. Although this was her second use of the Noble Phantasm that day, it was the only attack she had that was suitable for the situation.
Fortunately, her Master did not complain.
"Phoebus Catastrophe!"
Spartacus looked up at the sky and laughed.
The arrows soared into the heavens, and within seconds, a rain of divine light poured down.
Each beam pierced Spartacus, shredding muscles, bones, and nerves. He fell to his knees, his body in pieces, almost beyond recognition.
If he had been an ordinary Servant, he would have undoubtedly died on the spot under such circumstances.
Atalanta gasped, thinking she had won. But then, his flesh began to writhe. His muscles regenerated in grotesque forms, and the wounds exploded into mana-infused tumors that closed and further strengthened his body mass.
"This can't be…" she murmured.
---
On the other side of the battlefield, Karna raised his head. He understood: this was the moment Shirou Kotomine had been waiting for.
The Lancer withdrew from Siegfried, his spear still blazing.
"Black Saber… unfortunately, our duel must end here."
---
(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."