Shinji Matou At Your Service - Chapter 464: Red vs. Black Showdown · Spartacus Takes the Field

“You’re the only one left, Black Berserker.”

Red Lancer Karna descended gracefully to the ground. Despite having been subjected to various forms of discrimination during his lifetime as a charioteer’s son (a consequence of India’s caste system), his demeanor and character were far nobler than most aristocrats and nobility.

Of course, this did not include Vlad III, who, even in his anger, maintained his composure in front of Karna.

“To have managed to restrain Saber in such a manner, I must commend you and the supporting Caster. However, if you think this alone can defeat me, you are gravely mistaken—are you prepared? Unrepentant sinners who dare to trample upon my homeland, now is the time for execution. Join those dragon-toothed soldiers and be left to rot in the wilderness.”

With a slight movement of his fingertip, spikes burst from the ground, aiming to impale Karna.

Karna reflexively leaped into the air, aware that remaining grounded would make him an easy target. Yet, iron stakes simultaneously emerged, seemingly intent on piercing his descending form.

With a flash of his divine spear, the stakes shattered.

However, in the next moment, new stakes sprouted from the gaps where the destroyed ones had been.

“So, destruction is meaningless.”

Reaching this conclusion, Karna grasped an iron stake with one hand, only to be assaulted by an even greater torrent of stakes, resembling a deluge of iron.

Even so, Karna responded to the situation calmly and methodically. The armor he wore, “Kavacha and Kundala,” granted by the gods, provided absolute defense with the radiance of the sun, effortlessly deflecting the stakes’ thrusts.

Yet—

“Impressive armor.”

The voice was closer than expected. Vlad III, gripping a long spear with one hand, had approached Karna unnoticed.

Mounted on a steed of bronze and iron, Vlad III ascended the stakes, thrusting his spear towards Karna’s neck, now immobilized by the stakes.

“But once I’ve closed in this much, it’s meaningless.”

In a state where he could not call for help or move his body, with the spear tip aimed at his throat, Karna remained extraordinarily calm.

Just as Vlad III prepared to thrust his spear, Karna’s body erupted with a blinding brilliance, as if to split the night—Mana Burst: Flame!

Unlike Artoria, Karna’s Mana Burst manifested as flames, a specialized form of mana release.

The stakes he held and those binding his body instantly melted and fell to the ground. His figure, resembling a god of flame descended upon the earth and radiated an inferno that seemed poised to scorch the ground to ash, yet it did not singe a single hair on his head.

“As expected of the son of the Sun God, it seems you won’t be easily dealt with.”

Vlad III spoke coldly as he brushed aside the remnants of the stakes on his body.

“Surrender?”

“Don’t make such a preposterous suggestion, Red Lancer. As long as I have a wish I want to entrust to the Holy Grail, I will not surrender. And your divine spear, your armor, your flames—how long can your mana supply last? Shouldn’t it be you who surrenders?”

Indeed, as Vlad III said, Heroic Spirit Karna is undoubtedly top-tier. However, his perpetually deployed golden armor, the magnificent divine spear he wields, and the “Mana Burst” he just used—all consume an extraordinary amount of mana. If it were an ordinary magus, they would likely be rendered unable to move a single finger immediately. Even a first-class magus would fall into a state of complete exhaustion, unable to perform their magecraft.

“In the end, as invaders, you shall receive no mercy from me!”

Vlad III raised his right hand, and the ground around him surged with intense murderous intent.

…

From the aerial garden, Red Assassin Semiramis frowned as she observed the scene. Despite Karna burning so many of them, the number of stakes seemed inexhaustible. In the vision provided by her clairvoyance, the stakes were densely packed and endless, covering the entire ground.

The Empress of Assyria finally realized the characteristic and terrifying nature of this Noble Phantasm—its overwhelming quantity.

Among Anti-Army or Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasms, there are indeed those capable of annihilating hundreds or thousands of people in one blow. However, Noble Phantasms that can deal with tens of thousands are exceedingly rare.

This is because his Noble Phantasm is not something like a holy sword or spear, but a reproduction of a historical “actual event”—the legend of impaling 20,000 Ottoman Turkish soldiers on stakes.

Indeed, each stake may be considered insignificant, not even qualifying as a Noble Phantasm.

But with the overwhelming number of 20,000, even the bravest Heroic Spirits would feel an invisible pressure. Though it exudes an aura of madness, it is the most intense and impactful military demonstration. It is something utterly impossible for a human to achieve.

Hence, this Noble Phantasm is called “Kazikli Bey,” the title of the most terrifying Noble Phantasm, named after its owner. Perhaps not high in rank, but Vlad III’s Noble Phantasm, like her manifested garden, is of an extraordinary level.

“No choice.”

The Empress, exuding an air of decadence, dispelled her lazy, spectator-like demeanor. With a crisp snap of her fingers, four massive magical formations appeared at the garden’s apex. While the mana contained in each formation might not surpass the earlier mana cannon individually, combined, they were undoubtedly more terrifying.

“We cannot afford to lose Lancer now; I will provide support.”

“No, it’s not time yet.”

Shirou’s voice interrupted the imminent spellcasting. Facing the puzzled gazes of Semiramis and Shakespeare, he explained.

“This level of attack is not enough to threaten Karna.”

“But—”

“Don’t forget, the Black faction still has pieces to play. If I were the Master of the Black faction, I wouldn’t miss this prime opportunity to unleash the mad dog.”

“Mad dog…”

Semiramis extended her other hand, pointing at various locations on the battlefield map. Soon, the image revealed a masked magus and a man who could be described as a mass of muscle. The former was unbinding the latter—Black Caster Avicebron and the Berserker Spartacus, formerly of the Red faction.

…

“Spartacus, your Master is me, understand?”

Breathing heavily, his blood boiling from the distant sounds of battle, Spartacus responded with the last vestiges of his reason:

“Ah, I understand. It seems I cannot exist without your power. It is an unforgivable subjugation.”

“…So, will you kill me?”

“But I cannot kill you. I must stay in this world as long as possible to fulfill my mission. I must reach the oppressors and cling to the faintest hope in the depths of despair. In the end, I must kill all the greedy power-seekers drawn to the Holy Grail.”

“—I see. But first, you must eliminate our enemies. Go, Berserker. Your opponents are invaders, the lackeys of those in power. That should be ample motivation.”

Spartacus’s restraints were gradually lifted. As if he couldn’t wait, he struggled desperately until he finally took that first step.

Upon gaining freedom, he looked at Avicebron with a calm smile reminiscent of a tranquil sea. However, Avicebron did not react. Wearing a mask, it was impossible to tell if he felt any fear.

“…Hmm.”

Spartacus seemed to lose interest in Avicebron and turned his face toward the battlefield. Breathing deeply with apparent glee, he gripped a sword so large it could hardly be called a short sword and walked toward the battlefield. His wild demeanor, the thunderous sound of his steps, and his unabashed laughter quickly became the loudest noises on the battlefield.

Watching his retreating figure, Avicebron sighed helplessly. If he inadvertently displayed an arrogant attitude, Spartacus might immediately retract his words and kill him.

“Because I am too fragile… for him, it would only take one strike.”

Despite his deathly pale blue-white skin, the man’s body was packed with muscle. He was a demon of chaos on the battlefield, reducing everything to nothingness.

“Now then, next—next is the core of my Noble Phantasm.”

“—Teacher!”

A voice called out from afar. Turning, Avicebron saw his Master Roche waving innocently from the castle walls. Though they could see each other, the distance was too great for a conversation, so Roche used telepathy to communicate.

“That’s very dangerous.”

“Yes! Um, when you come back… can you look at the golem I made!? I think I did a really good job this time!”

Oh—Avicebron nodded in admiration. Roche’s enthusiasm for golems was indeed intense. Whenever Avicebron gave him advice, Roche immediately made corrections and aimed for higher goals. If it were in his lifetime, Avicebron might have taken Roche as an apprentice—a truly rare talent.

More importantly, Avicebron felt deeply satisfied that the secrets he and his ancestors had pioneered were still being passed down by a family line to this day.

“I’ll take a look when I have time.”

“Y-yes!”

Roche seemed like he wanted to say more but shyly lowered his head.

“That being said, I’m not good with children.”

In his lifetime, Avicebron was frail and sickly, living in a nearly isolated environment with little interaction with people. He even created servant golems to handle household chores.

Because of this, he was almost entirely disconnected from children, and this kind of admiration only left him feeling bewildered.

How ironic it was.

Avicebron, who strove to recreate God’s miracle and aimed to create the original human (Adam), actually disliked humans.

“—What a predicament.”