Dust kicks up. The bounded field snaps into place.
A legion fades in behind Rider.
Rider's Reality Marble: Ionioi Hetairoi—the Army of the King.
"Form up, my comrades!"
He swings into the saddle, sword raised high. "Tonight, we carve our names onto the mightiest legend!"
In a blink, ranks upon ranks fill the horizon.
"Our foe is the peerless King of Heroes. That alone demands everything we've got. Warriors—let the first of the Heroic Spirits witness our dominion!"
"Ooooooh—!"
Rider lets out a battle cry and, with his Master in tow, spurs his horse straight at Archer.
The kid who'd been green a moment ago wears only resolve now. He's a soldier of the King of Conquerors, ready to charge and kill at his side.
Ten thousand riders roll forward like thunder, pressure so heavy it rattles your bones. Even from afar, Saber feels it and goes still.
This is what it means to command a conquering army.
If she were in Rider's place, she wouldn't stand a chance.
It's one man on the other side, but Rider doesn't dare slacken for a second.
Archer, facing the onrush, is cool as a breeze. No panic. A hint of a smile, even.
He lifts his hand, and a long golden device shaped like a key appears.
The Key of the King's Law—the key to Archer's King's Treasury, the Gate of Babylon.
He's about to show his real power—as a mark of respect.
He twists the end of the key. Metal shifts with precise clicks, the golden shaft reconfiguring like clockwork.
Crimson lines vein the sky, as if the world itself is being unlocked.
An instant later the red lattice tightens, compressing into a golden sphere of light that drifts down before him.
Archer extends a hand. Something drops from the light into his palm.
Its shape resolves—and defies naming. Not quite a sword. Not quite a spear.
A golden hilt. A silver body built from three interlocking cylindrical segments, etched with red sigils.
"That…!" Saber can't help the gasp.
"An Anti-World Noble Phantasm—the Sword of Rupture," Shichen says, eyes fixed on it, voice low and hot.
"Sword of Rupture?" Saber frowns. She's never heard the name.
"It outclasses your Excalibur."
"What?"
She stares at the bizarre weapon, stunned.
"So that's Archer's true Noble Phantasm?"
Archer raises it. The three cylinders begin to spin in opposite directions.
"Awaken—Ea."
The weapon whirs into a screaming blur, vomiting a storm of red force that tears at the very air of the field.
"Look upon it—Enuma Elish, the Star of Creation that Split Heaven and Earth!"
A second sun seems to ignite inside the bounded field. Then a clear, invisible wave shears across everything.
Boom.
It doesn't look heavy—but the world lurches. Ground splits. The marble breaks.
Anti-World doesn't mean "anti-barrier." It hits the concept of the world itself.
Ea can cleave reality. A Reality Marble doesn't even slow it down.
"Aaah—!"
The legion collapses in an instant, men and horses plunging into yawning rifts, their screams ricocheting through the breaking space.
Moments later, the army is gone. Wiped clean.
Not just the host—Rider's Reality Marble shatters too. Only Rider and his Master remain, astride a single horse, stranded at the center of the bridge.
Archer hasn't moved an inch. The weapon in his hand pulses with red veins of light. It's terrifying.
Rider stares, blankly.
He'd imagined outfitting his companions with treasures from Archer's vault and conquering the world.
Turns out, Archer never needed anyone else.
The King of Conquerors doesn't retreat. He sets Waver down and charges alone.
"Rider!"
Waver's voice breaks. He pours every drop of power from the Command Seals into Rider.
Hoofbeats hammer the bridge. Steel flashes. Rider commits without a shred of doubt.
The answer is a storm of Noble Phantasms.
Blades. Spears. Swords. Halberds. An endless hail.
He splits one. Then another. But there's no splitting them all.
A few spike into his sword hilt. He ignores the burn and drives on.
A blade punches through his mount. The horse crumples; Rider hits the ground, rolls, comes up.
The steed dissolves into motes. He rises, lifts his sword, and keeps going.
He closes the gap, but the weapons lodged in him multiply—shoulder, chest, gut, hip, thigh. His body bristles with steel. Blood paints a long red line behind him.
Even so, he reaches Archer. Certain, he raises his blade to cleave down—
—and freezes.
Chains are around him. When did they coil there? They bite in and lock tight, sealing his strength. He can't move an inch.
Shhk.
Archer doesn't hesitate. He drives the Sword of Rupture through Rider's chest, out the back.
"Awake from the dream, King of Conquerors?" he asks, voice level.
"You… do have a lot of weird tricks…" Rider breathes. His eyes slide shut. A heartbeat later, his body scatters and fades.
"Rider—!" Waver drops to his knees and wails.
Archer doesn't look. He lifts his gaze to the bridge superstructure where Shichen and Saber stand watching.
"Well? Do you mean to challenge me now? This king doesn't mind."
"Archer…" Saber's white fur mantle flickers away; blue armor plates snap into place. Excalibur fills her hand in its true form—no Invisible Air to hide it. There's no point concealing anything from Archer.
"Huh? You're really going to fight him?" Shichen asks, surprised.
"Eh? We're not?" Saber blinks.
"Look at the sword in his hand. One misstep and the city's gone. You want civilian blood running in the streets?"
"Then what do we do?"
"Easy. Leave it to me."
"You're stepping in?" she blurts.
If Shichen takes the field, what's left for her?
"Relax. I'm not ending Archer tonight."
"Then what are you—"
"Come on."
He takes her hand. Space folds. They drop onto the bridge before Archer.
"Long time no see, Archer." Shichen smiles like they're old friends—but his eyes never leave the weapon.
Maybe it's his imagination, but Archer thinks that look is a little too hungry.
"You'll do it yourself, then?"
"What's wrong—getting nervous?" Shichen tilts his head.
"Hmph. This king knows no fear."
"Oh? Confident."
"Hmph! Even with that absurd mana, you can't match this king. You saw the King of Conquerors' end."
"So I can't withstand your treasures, is that it?"
"Without question," Archer says, full of himself.
"In that case… what if you didn't have those treasures?"
"What are you implying?" Archer's brow knots. Something feels off.
Saber's eyes widen. She remembers—Shichen ripped Lancer's Noble Phantasm away bare-handed. Don't tell her he can do that to Archer too—
That's exactly the plan. Take every last thing Archer owns.
Ever since he realized this was the world of Fate, Shichen has been eyeing that vault. It has everything—and holds anything. If he gets it, he can carry whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
"She" told him this world contained something of his.
Think it through. It's not Excalibur—Saber herself will be his one day, and her sword with her.
The only prize worth coveting is Archer's King's Treasury. It isn't his yet. It will be. In that sense, "she" wasn't wrong.
"Archer, do you know what despair feels like?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"No need to say. You'll feel it."
Shichen smiles and reaches out. "Steal."
Holy light blossoms in his palm. Archer stiffens, confused.
Nothing happens. The light dies. Shichen's hand is empty.
"What are you—"
Archer stops dead. Golden ripples bloom beside Shichen—those unmistakable rings.
No one knows them better than Archer.
He tries to summon the Gate of Babylon.
Nothing answers.
"What… did you do?" There's a crack in Archer's voice now.
"Obviously—taking back what's mine. Steal."
Light flares again. This time, the Sword of Rupture lands solid in Shichen's hand.