Chapter 30. Death Match Under the Moon
The Police Chief's Office. Orlando Reeve, the Chief of the Police Department, sat by his desk, sensing the swirling auras in the southern part of the city.
The presence over there was so conspicuous that it was impossible not to notice.
A "power" was swelling—one so immense it made him shudder even from this vast distance. Even though it was happening dozens of kilometers away, it couldn't be described as "watching a fire from the opposite bank." The faint ripples made his skin prickle, setting off alarm bells throughout his body. For a moment, the Chief had the illusion that he was a bystander behind glass, watching a tsunami or a flash flood.
Now, all six Servants of the Snowfield Holy Grail War had assembled. Six—meaning every class except Saber. These first six summoned entities were known as the "False" Servants. The masterminds who had managed to let the Chief wedge his way in seemed intent on manifesting "True" Servants as well, but the Chief wasn't familiar with those details yet.
'Haha, there's no time to worry about the future. Just the results of what's happening right now...'
The spectacle laid bare before the eyes of numerous magi was a nightmare: two peak-tier Servants belonging to Uruk mythology operating at "full throttle."
"Whew..." A mixture of complex emotions escaped from his very core. With an expressionless face, the Chief recalled the assembly of the [Clan Calatin - Twenty-Eight Monsters] an hour ago.
"Though it's a cheap line, as the Police Chief, I guarantee you—and as a magus, I promise you— You are Justice."
Even now, the Chief did not doubt this. The Caster faction—they would stake their lives for the justice in their hearts. Not because they were "allies of justice," but because that was their profession. Even if it meant dabbling in things the "front side" should never touch, the Chief would obtain the power to protect the order of Snowfield. There was no hot-blooded passion in this, only the deep sense of duty and responsibility of a seasoned professional.
However, the Chief was mainly remembering the statements released alongside that declaration of justice.
"The King of Heroes, Gilgamesh... I hear the most troublesome things in his Noble Phantasm are that nameless sword and the infinite treasury.
In that case, we'll overwhelm him with numbers. Before that guy can draw his sword, no matter what tricks we have to use, we'll create an opening—and then we'll murder him fair and square.
If it's impossible to win through numbers, then conversely, wouldn't it work if we could freely utilize Noble Phantasms with a human body? Furthermore, what if those armaments possessed power far exceeding the original Noble Phantasms?"
Yes, all the above points came from the Chief's own words. There was no going back now; a word once spoken cannot be taken back. As they say in the United States, "A promise unkept is a debt unpaid."
However, looking through his familiar at that red light filling half the sky—bright enough to evaporate humans and Noble Phantasms alike—the Chief felt a slight blockage in his internal organs.
'Are we supposed to fight that thing? For real? Isn't it... a little bit difficult? Just how long will it take before we can actually beat Gilgamesh?'
The Chief coughed lightly and pressed a hand to his forehead in a headache, ruffling his naturally silver-white hair into a mess. In moments of immense pressure like this, the Chief's mind drifted back to the red-haired youth caught on surveillance. Like a benchmark, that figure silently stated just how great the gap between them and a Heroic Spirit truly was.
Without reaching his realm, they could never surpass a Heroic Spirit. Realizing this made the Chief deeply aware of his own side's weakness, yet it also made him believe firmly in a certain conclusion.
That man was currently neither foe nor friend. However, his mere existence proved it—that a path indeed exists to strike down a Heroic Spirit by human hands and shake the very foundations of the Holy Grail War.
At least, this path was not wrong.
"A person like him must live a much easier life."
With strength like his, one would thrive anywhere. Almost no one in modern society could stop him, and he wouldn't have to become a "mastermind" simply because he couldn't stop the higher-ups from starting a Holy Grail War, forced to settle for the second-best option of seeking power to prevent other Heroic Spirits from destroying the city.
Moreover, he didn't have to carry the Chief's burdens; he could live more lightly than the Chief.
In comparison, the Chief couldn't do that. The [Clan Calatin - Twenty-Eight Monsters] still needed training; the Chief couldn't let go yet. Riots were breaking out all over the city, and today was the only leisure time he had left. Since he wanted to minimize damage to Snowfield, he feared that from now on, wherever intel suggested a Heroic Spirit battle might escalate, he would have to lead his men there in a rush.
...If guys like Gilgamesh and Enkidu started fighting in the city, the Chief honestly wouldn't know how to stop them. Really.
In front of Clan Calatin, the Chief maintained a dignified air to serve as a role model, but when no one else was present, he relaxed and allowed a trace of exhaustion to show. Setting down his pen and documents, the Chief stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
What the Chief didn't know was that there were more than two peak-level Servants fighting tonight. A third peak-tier Heroic Spirit. Also the unknown second Archer. His battle was veiled by the fluctuations of magical energy. It was a fight that was both nameless and would leave no record.
"Are you also preparing for the Holy Grail War? While those monsters are still settling their score..." The Chief didn't use a familiar, but watched the growing emerald-gold glow outside the city with his naked eyes, muttering to himself.
Countdown 00:02:56
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"I'm about to die."
He had that premonition.
The ringing in his mind was incredibly annoying. Shirou Emiya gripped the dual Yin-Yang swords tightly, staring at Alcides' every move.
First, he inconspicuously observed that magnificent, chaotic bow. The moment he saw it, he began to grasp its structure. That bow—it could not be analyzed. One of its components was Divine Magic; Shirou could understand that, as his own arsenal contained chisels imbued with Divine Magic. Strictly speaking, Divine Magic was a type of magical energy Shirou could analyze.
But something else, something malignant, obstructed the analysis. That bow was like a mixture of diametrically opposed elements.
The bow moved. The next moment he realized this, his reinforced dynamic vision immediately tracked the movement of the giant's muscles. Based on a split second of data, he swung his blade in a reverse slash, parrying one end of the bow's limb outside the danger zone.
That was just a single exchange. As if showing a smile, Alcides took a starting stance for the next move. He had truly abandoned long-range attacks to focus on close-quarters combat.
Even though he should be an Archer, he was deciding the outcome through a melee brawl with Shirou!
Shirou felt only crushing pressure; the hair standing up on his neck showed no sign of relaxing. Whether at close range or from a distance, there was no dawn in a fight against Alcides.
Looking up, Shirou couldn't see the eyes of the man opposite him. However, his purity as a warrior was clearly transmitted.
Weapons clashed. One move, five moves.
As if it were a joke, the sacrilegious act of swinging a bow like a staff did not dull the sharpness of Alcides' offensive in the slightest. Shirou realized deeply that it was incorrect to view the bow as a bow—from the moment that thing was wielded in Alcides' hands, it was a staff. The slightest underestimation would result in his skull being crushed.
Within five moves, two had grazed past vital spots. Mind's Eye operated at full throttle and full speed, leading Shirou's floating blades to break through the predicament where a single touch meant death.
Simply because Shirou could not afford to be touched by Alcides even once.
Continue. This must be the tenth exchange. The longbow-staff carved out exquisite arcs, dancing frantically; again, without even giving Shirou time to fly back, he was forced to stiffly take a heavy blow from the staff. His palms went numb as Alcides' terrifying strength was transmitted through the bow's body.
The gap in basic parameters was too large. In just a brief exchange, Shirou already understood. The man from the Age of Gods possessed basic abilities on the same level as his Saber, Artoria.
Shirou's swords were swords of defense. However, when facing an enemy who was so vastly superior from the fundamental level, Shirou could only stare back with a bitter, angry glare.
The exchanges exceeded twenty moves. The sounds of strikes coming from multiple angles were continuous, turning into a piercing symphony of life and death. At this moment, Shirou understood—
Alcides' martial arts were by no means inferior to Saber's; in fact, they might even be superior. Once he realized his basic abilities were higher and that causing damage would result in victory, multiple traces of sword techniques appeared within his staff-based offense. If he had appeared in the Saber class using a proper sword, the battle would have turned into a definitive massacre by now. The only reason Shirou hadn't shown signs of defeat yet was entirely because he was "making do" by using a bow as a staff.
Even so, everything was tilting toward him. The sense of agitation swelled further. Under the psychological strain, his vision narrowed. The incarnation of fear struck with the staff, sending Shirou flying horizontally. He nearly fell off the building, but after stabilizing with a breakfall, he actively charged back in—this was to ensure he wouldn't be cornered by Alcides until he had nowhere left to retreat.
Thirty moves. Falling into a spiral toward death, he used every ounce of his strength to keep from being strangled by the spider's web.
"Exquisite attacks, and a defense that reaches even greater heights; your skills have indeed reached the realm of the gods. ...A brilliance like the warriors who boarded the Argo. I feel I must express to you, before this ends, the fact that this alone has left me in astonishment."
"Well, thanks for the compliment! You bastard!?"
Alcides, as he crossed paths with him, seemed to have uttered more praise, but Shirou had no mental capacity to pay attention. Answering by instinct, he slashed a blade toward his rear. The man wielding the bow limb didn't even look, knocking it aside; the next moment, the staff slammed down where Shirou's right foot had been. Only because his mind had returned to a state of clarity—where one move of exchange allowed him to judge the timing of survival five moves later—did he barely manage to dodge it.
He took a deep breath of the cold air. The nameless knight continued to charge toward the windmill. How could a human body possibly knock down a windmill? After all, what was the point of merely leaving a large hole in a windmill?
Yes, everything they said was true. However. Until the windmill was smashed with a gaping hole, the knight would never break.
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