"Rider. They've arrived. Go meet them immediately. Regardless of the method they used to reach this fortress, it won't be enough to withstand your power. Crush them completely with your chariot."
Achilles' reply carried a strange, almost feral emotion.
"If it's possible, I will… but it might take a while."
Semiramis frowned.
"What is it? Did they use some kind of technique to get here?"
With an elegant gesture of her hand, the Empress projected a magical illusion upon the fortress ceiling, revealing what approached over the nocturnal horizon. Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw the image.
"What…?"
With the knowledge granted by the Holy Grail, Semiramis recognized the objects instantly. Airplanes.
Not magic, but technology. A bold — and surprisingly effective — choice.
Ten massive aircrafts, flying side by side like a fleet of migrating iron birds, sliced through the night sky toward the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
The magical signatures inside were faint, deliberately concealed, making it impossible to determine which craft carried the enemy Servants. And yet, one presence shone through — radiant and unmistakable.
Standing atop the central plane, bathed in moonlight, was the Ruler of the Holy Grail War.
Jeanne d'Arc.
Semiramis let out a low, scornful laugh.
"So they intend to win through numbers? What a foolish strategy."
But beneath her cold exterior, even she acknowledged the audacity.
The planes flew so close together that, if one were destroyed, the Servants could simply leap to another before it fell.
A reckless, yet ingenious, maneuver.
"Even so, you will never reach this fortress."
Semiramis raised her hand. She needed only to activate the defenses, and those iron machines would scatter like dust in the wind. Simple. And yet…
To destroy them all at once would be tedious.
She wanted to watch. She wanted to see how the Saint and her allies planned to breach the wall that was the Hanging Gardens.
"Rider, wait a little longer. We'll strike only when they're close enough."
Achilles arched a brow.
"Assassin… does that mean we risk letting them come this far?"
"Precisely. Is that a problem?"
"Not at all." His voice was firm, almost savage. "As long as I stand before the Black Archer, I'll crush any metallic trash that comes with him."
A chill ran down the Empress' spine. Achilles, demigod and hero of the Trojan War, could be a formidable ally, but in moments like this, something primal surged forth — the essence of a warrior who lived only for battle.
"Then I'll leave it to you."
Semiramis exhaled softly.
Cruelty, arrogance, and absolute faith in one's strength… such were the marks of every hero.
"A pity Archer has been captured by the enemy. Otherwise, you'd have someone to share the carnage with."
Achilles' gaze turned icy.
"I need no company."
If not for the duel he had promised his Master, he would already have hunted down the Avenger. After all, it was that very enemy who had stolen Atalanta from him.
But even he knew attacking now would be suicide.
Semiramis turned away from him, fixing her attention on another figure.
"Lancer. Wait until they approach. I'll be occupied operating the fortress. As for Caster… hah, it goes without saying, he's unreliable. The last line of defense will rest in your hands."
Karna inclined his head respectfully.
"Understood."
The unshakable calm in his voice brought Semiramis an odd sense of relief.
The Empress rose in her full authority and grandeur.
"Then… let the slaughter begin. The Greater Grail is ours!"
On one side, the Black Faction, whose victory depended on invading the fortress.
On the other, the Red Faction, whose survival required repelling that invasion at all costs.
At the heart of the conflict, two irreconcilable ideals collided:
Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, who dreamed of saving humanity through the wish of the Grail.
And Jeanne d'Arc, the saint who rose to stop him.
The midnight sky split with lights and metallic roars.
The final battle of the Holy Grail War was about to begin.
---xXx---
Jeanne d'Arc's banner whipped violently in the sharp night wind.
She was no longer protected within the aircraft. She had advanced onto the metallic hull, standing atop it as though defying the heavens themselves. To ordinary human eyes, the sight would have been impossible — a lone silhouette against the moonlight, her white flag streaming as though it were the very flame of faith.
The planes' approach had slowed more and more. Not from mechanical failure, but due to the oppressive influence of Semiramis' floating fortress, which twisted the winds and warped even the laws of physics. Even so, the reduced speed was still enough to fling an ordinary man away like paper in a hurricane.
But Jeanne was no ordinary woman. Her body stood firm, her mind utterly resolute.
Her mission, now and always, was to raise the banner. As long as the sacred flag was in her hands, no hero — whether from the glorious past or the turbulent present, from the distant East or the ancient West — could make her falter.
Saber.
Archer.
Lancer.
Rider.
Berserker.
Caster.
Assassin.
She belonged to none of these seven classes. Jeanne was the Ruler.
From the heavens, the Black Faction finally sighted their target: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
What appeared before their eyes could only be described as a twisted miracle.
The colossal structure floated in the air like a hive of darkness, a palace transformed into a monstrous birdcage. Towers, walls, corridors, and gardens all interlinked, suspended over the void by sheer sorcery. The vision was at once magnificent and terrifying, a monument to the vanity of its creator.
But the Gardens were not defenseless. Encircling the fortress, massive black shields, each over twenty meters tall, gleamed like obsidian blades, forming a barrier of steel and magic. These were the very panels that, in the previous battle, had struck at Jeanne and Spartacus.
Now, however, there was no room to retreat. Jeanne and her allies advanced straight into the fortress.
The maiden raised her banner high above her head, her eyes hardened with resolve. Her voice tore through the wind, echoing like thunder:
"Shirou Amakusa Tokisada!!"
The name exploded into the air like a challenge.
But the reply did not come from the Master of Red. Instead, Jeanne's mind was invaded by a female voice — sweet and venomous.
"Don't shout so loudly, Ruler. How inelegant. The Master is busy, conducting the ritual of the Greater Grail to achieve 'the salvation of humanity.' If you hurry, you might still make it in time…" Semiramis' voice dripped with scorn.
"Saving humanity…" Jeanne whispered, clenching her fists.
The queen's soft laughter echoed in her mind, mocking.
"I couldn't care less. Salvation or damnation, it's none of my concern. What matters is that you will never cross these defenses."
In the next instant, a flash of magical power erupted from the Hanging Gardens.
The sound of hooves thundered. Achilles' chariot emerged, pulled by his divine steeds, tracing a luminous trail across the sky.
"Come, Black Archer!" Achilles' roar cracked like thunder.
On the other side, Chiron — his former master — awaited upon the metal wings of a plane. His eyes, capable of piercing even the deepest darkness, tracked the charge of his onetime pupil.
The chariot tore through the heavens like a meteor. A single strike at that speed was enough to pulp flesh, to pulverize steel or stone. And still, Achilles smiled, as though about to play.
Chiron drew his bowstring. Arrows rained in succession, whistling like invisible storms.
"I will win!!" Achilles bellowed.
The collision was inevitable.
One of the planes erupted into flames, reduced to rubble by the brutal impact of the chariot.
BOOOOM!!!
But Chiron was unharmed. With superhuman reflexes, he leapt at the very instant of the crash and landed on another aircraft, ready to unleash another volley.
The duel between master and pupil lit up the night sky. Supersonic arrows cut through the darkness like lightning, but Achilles advanced fearlessly. In one instant, he caught an arrow in his teeth, crushed it into splinters, and spat them out with a savage grin.
Chiron fell silent before such madness. This was no longer merely the student he had once trained. This was a hero.
The chariot spiraled upward, slicing the air, then plunged downward in a vertical dive. Another plane was cleaved in half with the ease of breaking a toy.
Chiron leapt from craft to craft, unleashing arrows in a rhythm so rapid it resembled an anti-aircraft gun. But Achilles never stopped. Each strike of his spear, each kick against the wreckage, turned fragments of steel into lethal projectiles, like missiles hurled by the arm of a god.
The balance of the fight began tipping dangerously.
Despite Chiron's flawless skill, Achilles' onslaught pushed him, step by step, toward the edge of defeat.
And amidst that aerial inferno, Jeanne held her banner aloft, her heart ablaze.
The battle for the salvation — or destruction — of humanity had begun.
(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."