Chapter Fifty: My Power as

“What’s the current situation on the battlefield?” After settling the contract issue, Roland posed the same question to Medea. Earlier, Medea had already sent her familiars to monitor the area and record the unfolding events.

That said, Roland wasn’t especially concerned about the battle’s progress. On the first day, most Masters would be testing the waters, rarely revealing their true strength. Besides, the caliber of both Servants and Masters this time was exceptionally high—one could call it a contest between gods.

“The battle between Saber and Rider was interrupted by that meddling King of Heroes, but he didn’t get away unscathed either. Now that pitch-black Berserker has set his sights on him, chasing him like a mad dog.”

“Ah, so with four Servants revealed on the field, and putting aside Assassin and Caster—who, by all reason, wouldn’t make the first move—all the main combatants have made their appearance.”

“Exactly. Because of this, the current situation is chaotic. Any rational Master would refrain from reckless action.” Medea commented from a magician’s perspective.

For a Master, sitting back and watching the tigers fight was the best scenario. The hidden enemies had mostly revealed themselves, and there was little risk of unexpected interference.

“Unless, of course, that person’s goal isn’t the Holy Grail at all, but simply seeking glory for its own sake.” Shifting his gaze back to the battlefield, Roland looked with a hint of mockery at a certain lemon-haired figure clenching his fists.

—

On the battlefield, the land—already left in ruins by thunder and the storm of the Holy Sword unleashed from the chariot—was suffering a new round of devastation.

Dozens of golden ripples shimmered before the King of Gold, each one birthing a high-ranked Noble Phantasm, gleaming with the light of legend. The golden Archer’s eyes burned with murderous fury, as if deeply insulted.

“Mongrel, even when I grant you the glory of facing my might, you remain a rabid dog, unable to discern your true enemy? Very well, then pay for your insolence with your life!”

Weapons brimming with tremendous magical energy rained down upon Berserker like a carpet-bombing assault, but before his inhuman skill and unique Noble Phantasm, they were useless.

On the contrary, when Berserker seized some of those projectile Noble Phantasms, their destructive power became even greater in his hands. Amidst the relentless bombardment, he did not retreat; instead, he charged straight at Gilgamesh.

Having his treasures defiled in front of him only intensified Gilgamesh’s murderous intent. Golden wings unfurled at his sides, dazzling weapons emerging from fresh ripples—cursed swords, spiral spears, all manner of Noble Phantasms. To this Archer, they were mere ammunition, hurled one after another.

Though his words were haughty, his strength was not to be underestimated.

“That golden show-off… he’s unbelievably strong,” remarked Rider, standing atop his chariot with a grave tone.

Saber and Irisviel stood together, both regarding Archer and Berserker with wary eyes. Even without engaging them directly, the shockwaves of their clash left no doubt that the other Servants in this Grail War were not to be taken lightly.

“Master, what should we do?” Saber looked to Irisviel. Unlike what most people believed, this version of the King of Knights, the Old Sword, differed greatly in temperament from his female counterpart. He possessed a strong sense of justice and values, but was never inflexible. In fact, a certain Archer who later signed a contract with Alaya had much of his personality modeled after him.

He was gentle and honest to those he should protect, and merciless to his enemies. In him, good and evil were so sharply defined that his perfection seemed almost a flaw. He was both the noble knight and the king who could not comprehend the hearts of men.

“But…” Irisviel hesitated. Her harmonious relationship with Saber stemmed largely from mutual respect. She understood that his sense of justice was not feigned; only the coldness in his words betrayed his kingly nature.

“Against an enemy, blind chivalry is a folly. For ultimate victory, rational sacrifices are necessary.” As if sensing Irisviel’s thoughts, Saber raised his sword.

“Besides, even if we don’t attack, it seems they have no intention of letting us go.” Saber's words were no exaggeration; the rage on Archer’s face was now so intense that it made the very air tense.

What began as two playful shots soon escalated to dozens, and now, as golden ripples filled the air, Noble Phantasms rained down like a sudden storm, their explosions and clouds of smoke spreading ever outward.

Even as Saber led Irisviel to retreat, some of the projectiles began to stray dangerously close to them.

Berserker showed no sign of weakening, but Gilgamesh was no longer forced to retreat either. Seizing this moment, Gilgamesh sneered coldly.

“A mere rabid dog dares to defy its master?” As if still unsatisfied, he turned his gaze to Saber and Rider. “Well? You two jesters, who proclaim yourselves kings in this city without a throne—do you wish to try your luck?”

Having just gained the upper hand, he wasted no time provoking all present heroes. While Irisviel could remain calm, the same could not be said for everyone.

“A mere Servant dares to be so arrogant?”

Kenneth’s face turned icy. In his eyes, Servants were nothing more than advanced familiars, extensions of their Masters’ will. And as the most outstanding Master of this war, he could not tolerate such blatant disrespect before him.

“Rider, cooperate with Berserker and kill Archer.” Kenneth issued his order in a grim tone.

“I refuse,” replied the King of Conquerors without hesitation. “Though it might break the stalemate, with so many unknown factors, it would only trigger uncontrollable chain reactions. Moreover, frightening as he is, Archer clearly still holds back a trump card. Strategically, it’s a blunder.”

What a joke. That man was already flickering like a candle in the wind under Berserker’s assault. Kenneth’s keen eyes could not be deceived by such an obvious situation.

Yet no matter how forcefully he ordered, Rider refused to be drawn into the chaos. Kenneth’s annoyance grew.

Behind Rider, Kenneth removed his glove. This gesture immediately alerted Waver, who grabbed his teacher’s arm.

“Professor Kenneth, to squander it here would be a terrible waste, both for our fight with Rider and for the battles ahead!”

“Silence, Waver! Precisely because Archer is so powerful, we must seize this chance to eliminate him!” Kenneth frowned, his tone harsh.

“As magi, Servants exist only because we uphold our contracts. But if we choose to abandon them, it’s no great challenge!”

“My power as a Master is boundless!”

Their argument drew Rider’s attention, distracting him from the battle. He saw Kenneth raise his bare hand, the Command Seal on its back glowing blood-red.

“By the Command Seal—I order you, Rider: cooperate with Berserker and kill Archer!”