Leaving everyone behind at high speed, Dracula finally reached a chamber only a few meters away from the Greater Holy Grail.
Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and found exactly what he had been searching for.
A wide staircase of orange bricks stretched out before him, leading up to a massive structure that pierced through the highest floor.
It was the universal wish-granting machine, the Greater Holy Grail, radiating a bluish-white light.
At last, Dracula had reached his goal. Now, all he had to do was forcibly activate it and fulfill his wish.
"That's enough, Darnic Prestone Yggdmilenia. It's over."
A figure slowly descended the staircase leading toward the Grail.
At the sound of that voice, Dracula instinctively froze.
Something about it felt strange—something that stirred an instinctive fear within him.
"Who are you?" Dracula demanded.
"Why… why am I so afraid?" he muttered under his breath.
The figure continued to descend until it stopped just a few paces away from him.
"But why are you asking? This isn't the first time we've met…" Shirou answered.
For Darnic, even if he had forgotten his own name, there was still one memory that could never be erased.
The memory of the Third Holy Grail War.
"Answer me! Who are you!?" Dracula shouted again.
"No… it can't be! That's impossible! How are you still alive!?" he roared as realization dawned.
Standing before him was a young man with dark skin and white hair.
That young man was none other than Semiramis's Master—Shirou Kotomine.
"If I've been alive all this time, why are you so surprised that I would still be here?" Shirou replied.
"But… we met during the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki," Dracula said.
"Listen, Darnic. I've waited sixty years for this moment. Try whatever you want, but I will never allow you to claim the Greater Grail," Shirou declared.
"Stop your nonsense!" Enraged, Dracula stepped forward to attack, only to stumble awkwardly and collapse.
"Grr!?"
Looking down, he saw something sharp impaled in his knee.
It was a Black Key—a Sacrament of the Church, one of their many weapons designed to slay demons and vampires.
"Vampires are powerful beings… which is exactly why they also have countless weaknesses."
As Shirou spoke, he hurled more of the blades at Dracula, each one burning the monster's flesh.
"Purification weapons, for instance, are extremely effective." He raised one of the Black Keys as he spoke.
"Now… it's time for prayer, nameless vampire."
"[I kill, I let live. I cause pain, yet I also heal. There is none who can escape my grasp, none who can evade my sight.]"
"[Laid low are the old and defeated. I welcome them. Dedicate your life to me, learn from me, obey me, and you shall find rest. I am the light that eases your pain. Seek forgiveness here—for I, the incarnation, swear it.]"
"[Kyrie eleison.]"
"Ahhh!!!"
Amid Dracula's anguished screams, the monster's body turned completely to ash and crumbled away.
For Vlad III, who had once been a devout believer in life, to be purified by a saint even after his fall was, in its own way, a form of relief.
It was the sacrament of baptism—a mystery freely taught to all members of the Church.
At that moment, Mordred arrived, followed by Arthur, Jeanne, and Chiron.
The knight stopped abruptly, her eyes widening at the sight of the floor covered only in smoldering ash. For a moment, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. The foe she had longed to face had already been defeated, without her blade even tasting battle.
"But… what the—?" The words tore from her lips, ragged with disbelief. Her grip on her sword trembled—not from fear, but from sheer frustration. She clenched her teeth, her face twisted with suppressed fury. "You're telling me that bastard's already gone?!"
The disappointment burned in her throat. A fight that could have been legendary had ended without her. To Mordred, that was nothing short of an insult.
Her blazing eyes darted toward Arthur, seeking some kind of explanation—or perhaps just a target to unleash her anger upon.
"Damn it! I ran here for nothing?! I wanted to crush that bastard with my own hands!" she shouted, kicking the ashes, scattering them into the air like dust in the wind.
Jeanne sighed quietly at the scene, while Chiron's expression remained calm, as though he had already predicted her reaction. Arthur, meanwhile, said nothing—he only watched her with an amused smile.
Mordred huffed, finally turning her gaze away. Her wounded pride was written in every gesture.
At the same time, the eyes of all present turned to the one figure standing apart from them.
A young man with dark skin and white hair.
Over his priestly robes, he wore a red sash and mantle.
"You finally arrived…" Shirou said.
The instant Jeanne laid eyes on him, she understood everything.
"No… it can't be…" she whispered, stunned.
Precisely because she understood, she faltered.
The young man before her was indeed a Servant.
That alone was not the issue. The problem lay in his class.
He was Ruler.
"A pleasure to meet you, Ruler of this war. I am the Red Master you've been searching for. My name is Shirou Kotomine."
He smiled faintly, almost bashfully, at Jeanne's shocked expression.
"I'm embarrassed to see you so surprised," he said.
"Of all things… I never thought I'd encounter a sixteenth Servant," Jeanne admitted.
"That's where you're mistaken. I am the first Servant. A Ruler, just like you," Shirou explained.
"Then explain this: if you are truly Ruler, why are you breaking the rules of the Holy Grail War?" Jeanne demanded.
"Rules? Even when I lived by them, I couldn't save a single soul." Shirou's voice was calm, yet filled with conviction.
"So if I must break them, then so be it. I won't let anyone stand in the way of my dream."
"What are your objectives, Shirou Amakusa Tokisada? What is it you seek?" Jeanne pressed.
"The answer is obvious. I seek the salvation of all mankind, Jeanne d'Arc."
What a strange feeling… While he seeks the salvation of humanity, I once desired its destruction… Arthur thought, recalling his counterpart from another world.
Just then, the Servants of the Red Faction appeared, the heavy silence of the battlefield deepening. The air itself seemed to tremble with the hostility they carried, each step echoing like an omen.
Atalanta, narrowing her eyes, was the first to speak:
"Sorry to cut in, but our Masters were replaced earlier… I assume you know the reason why, Father."
At the accusation, Shirou Amakusa smiled serenely, almost paternally, as though the tension meant nothing.
"You're right. The Red Masters and I held a friendly discussion. We spoke at length, and in the end… they entrusted their Command Seals to me."
His tone was calm, but every word carried immense weight.
"This means that all Red Servants—except Mordred—are now under my command."
"Ruler, Shirou Amakusa is your new Master," he finished.
No sooner had he spoken than a melodious, venomous laugh echoed through the air. From the mist at his side, Semiramis—the Assassin of the Red Faction—materialized.
Jeanne's eyes narrowed at the proud, exotic figure.
"Empress of Assyria… the ancient poisoner. So this was all part of your plan?"
Semiramis chuckled softly, covering her lips with graceful poise.
"Are you suggesting I deceived my Master? That I seduced him, guiding him through shadows into ruin?" she tilted her head, eyes gleaming with malice. "You're mistaken. I'm nothing but a humble Servant. I simply follow his orders."
Atalanta snarled in fury.
"Assassin! What did you do to our Masters?!"
"You mean… your former Masters, don't you?" Semiramis replied, laughing with disdain.
Atalanta's muscles tensed, bow already drawn—but Achilles stopped her with a firm gesture. Even so, his own expression had hardened, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained hostility.
Shirou remained unfazed.
"Do not worry. They are still alive. As I said, the Command Seals were transferred peacefully. Of course… I required Assassin's help to make the persuasion a bit more… convincing."
Those words were the final spark. Atalanta loosed her arrow in a swift, deadly motion, while Achilles hurled his spear at Shirou's throat.
Both attacks were intercepted. Karna caught the arrow midair as if it were nothing, while Semiramis, with a single graceful motion, deflected Achilles's spear with scales that sprouted along her arm.
Facing Karna, Atalanta spat with rage:
"Lancer! You would actually accept this man as your Master?!"
Karna's calm gaze did not waver.
"There are still questions unanswered. We should delay reckless violence until the truth is known."
Grinding her teeth, Atalanta reluctantly lowered her bow.
Achilles, who had shattered the scales on Semiramis's arm, also withdrew his spear—though his glare remained fixed.
"Thank you, Lancer," Shirou said softly.
"Save your words. I have not yet acknowledged you as my Master."
Shirou only smiled calmly.
"Very well, then. I suppose we may now proceed with the war between Black and Red."
Losses had already piled up on both sides: the Red Faction had lost their Saber and Berserker, while the Black Faction had lost their Saber and Lancer. Still, in sheer numbers, Black remained in the lead.
Shirou's gaze swept over the gathered Servants with tranquil composure that veiled deeper intent. His eyes lingered on Mordred for a heartbeat.
But then, deliberately, he fixed his gaze on Arthur, who had remained silent all this time.
"Well, well… I didn't expect to find a Guardian among us." His tone was almost playful, though his face betrayed nothing. "Tell me—your presence here… is it because of me?"
---
(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."