She absolutely had to show the magus world that their family was not yet so dilapidated. Otherwise, even though her family was reduced to just herself and her mother, they would definitely be devoured whole by those old foxes. Achieving a revival would not be so easy. Although they might not be completely annihilated out of respect for her ancestors, that would be the extent of it.
The magus world itself was a place where the strong preyed on the weak. Her ancestor's teacher was, after all, not human. Therefore, her family's skills were inferior, and no one could say anything about them ending up in such a state.
Most importantly, respect gained by relying on others could vanish before one's eyes at any moment. Only respect earned through one's own strength truly belonged to oneself, lasting for a long time. Moreover, the young woman had her own pride. She also wanted to rely on herself to gain the respect of others, and she wanted to use her own power to properly slap the faces of those who had looked down on her family.
If face-slapping and revenge were not achieved through her own strength, then they would be meaningless.
Archer sensed some of this and nodded lightly. He certainly wanted to release his Noble Phantasm directly to finish off the Berserker before them. But since his own Master did not intend to do so, he would simply obey. It was precisely this kind of stubborn, beautiful lady that he admired even more.
If my Master wasn't underage, I'd really want to pursue her with a rose.
Since his Master possessed such an unyielding spirit, he supposed he had to show some skill as well. He poured magical energy into the cannon aperture and fired a blast, striking the black, giant mammoth directly. The black behemoth let out a roar, its body resembling a skeletal zombie as it rushed forward, surrounded by numerous giant skeletal tentacles.
As this enormous being moved forward, the bridge, already bending downwards and showing considerable damage, creaked even more precariously.
The bladesmith watched the continuously collapsing bridge and twitched his mouth. "Isn't this situation rather bad?"
Berserker roared, and the undead legion continued to advance. The bridge bent down a few more degrees, becoming more of a slope, which incidentally restricted the Berserker's movement.
In the distance, Waver was holding a special camera, conducting a live broadcast. Caren held a microphone, providing real-time battle commentary.
Beside them, Gray watched the real-time viewer count displayed on the instrument and couldn't help but swallow. The number of viewers was truly huge, and the number of new followers was also significant. At the same time, because Berserker had already revealed their Noble Phantasm, Caren had opened a prize-winning contest to guess Berserker's True Name. Of course, participating in this event also required paying a certain fee.
The final prize money was half of the total money paid by all participants. If two people guessed correctly, the money would be split evenly between them. If three people guessed correctly, it would be split among the three, and so on.
The remaining fixed half of the money was split evenly among Caren and the others. Gray looked at the donation money and the contest participation fees. The amount they would receive was definitely a huge sum. As just an ordinary student, Gray naturally felt shocked upon seeing this enormous amount of money.
But just at this moment, Add, which Gray had placed aside, spoke up again. "Here, here, I feel the wielder of the Holy Lance has arrived!"
Add's voice was naturally broadcast live as well. The wielder of the Holy Lance was definitely a Lancer. However, there were many Holy Lances in history, definitely more than ten. Furthermore, the same Noble Phantasm could potentially be possessed by multiple Heroic Spirits. Therefore, merely possessing the Holy Lance was not enough information for the broadcast audience to guess the Lancer's identity.
The sound of horse hooves echoed from the riverbank. A white figure was rapidly approaching the battlefield from the bank. The Lancer wore pure white armor, and the white steed beneath him was also covered in silver-white armament. Armor resembling a lion's visage completely concealed his face. At the same time, the knightly lance in his hand had marks as if it were woven, like it was covered in a special shell. One glance revealed this was a simulated external appearance.
It seemed there were also quite a few knights in the West who wielded a Holy Lance and rode a white horse.
This knight, riding a white horse and rapidly approaching the battlefield, quickly thrust the lance in his hand forward. A golden surge of magical energy thrust out from the lance. That golden light streaked across the night sky, blasting directly towards the Berserker advancing on the bridge. The magical energy, which didn't seem like much, exploded immediately upon contact with the Berserker.
But while this magical energy inflicted damage on the Berserker, it also caused the already precarious bridge to completely break. The Berserker, along with the summoned entities, fell towards the river below.
Sensing Berserker's situation and realizing that being attacked by three Heroic Spirits might not guarantee trading for one or two of them, the blue-haired magus understood that sacrificing Berserker now was clearly not worth it. Thus, he immediately used a Command Spell to issue a retreat order.
Rather than letting Berserker suffer heavy injuries, relying on Battle Continuation and Disengage to retreat, and then being unable to fight for a period, it was better to preserve their strength now and look for the next opportunity to trade for one or two Servants. Fortunately, this Berserker was not the type to disobey orders. As long as he didn't see his other Servant, he was generally quiet.
Compared to those disobedient Berserkers with massive mana consumption, I really drew a good card.
As for whether the three Heroic Spirits currently on the battlefield would fight amongst themselves, that was not something this magus needed to consider.
Standing in the shadows at the bridge's entrance, Assassin also narrowed his eyes. Evidently, it was truly rare for so many Heroic Spirits to gather on the very first night of this Holy Grail War.
The red-haired bladesmith straightened up, tightening his grip on his weapons. This newly appeared Heroic Spirit felt, in his perception, somewhat stronger than the Berserker. Even Archer thought so. The two Heroic Spirits warily watched this Lancer. The Lancer, however, merely stood not far away, awaiting his Master's command.
In truth, for that witch from the Isle of Britain, it didn't matter whether she formed an alliance with others or not. She believed in her 1,500 years of training, and she believed in her younger sister. Therefore, until someone changed her mind, the command this witch issued at this very moment was, of course—Get them!