Chapter 301: Lancer, Let's Go Watch a Movie!
Just how strong Saber—to be precise, Arturia—really is has always been one of the most hotly debated topics among Fate fans.
The reason is simple: Saber is supposed to be the strongest Servant in the Holy Grail War, yet her actual performance in battle has been… let's just say, complicated.
In Fate/Zero? She loses the use of one arm right at the start.
In Fate's original route? Crushed by Gilgamesh and Heracles, only managing to turn things around thanks to her Master's protagonist plot armor.
In Unlimited Blade Works? Tricked by Caster and benched for most of the route, and when she finally gets a new Master, her one big highlight is just firing off her Noble Phantasm to clear a field.
And Heaven's Feel? Don't even mention it—taken out early on by a low-tier Hassan, returns in a blackened form with more power and presence, only to end up getting stabbed to death by a human with a knife. Talk about an anticlimactic exit.
Of course, no one denies that Arturia has plenty of spectacular moments across the various Fate works, nor do they deny her strength. Fans understand perfectly well that the reason the peerless King of Knights keeps getting beaten down boils down to one thing: plot necessity.
Still, while most fans accept that explanation, the more mischievous ones refuse to stop dissecting her combat capabilities.
After a very "serious, thorough, and rigorous" analysis by a few particularly bored fans, they reached a conclusion:
Arturia's problem is that without Avalon, her defense is terrible.
Sure, her Magic Resistance skill looks impressive on paper—but in practice? Not so much.
Physical attacks—like Berserker's stone axe—hurt her.
Area-of-effect energy blasts—like Gil's Ea—hurt her.
Even magically enchanted attacks—like Diarmuid Gáe Buidhe—hurt her.
Characters like that have an official gamer term: glass cannon.
That magical armor of hers? Might as well be tissue paper—anyone can pierce it.
Over time, this opinion became something like gospel truth in the Fate discussion boards.
But today's episode of Magical Illya shattered that belief.
Faced with Rin and Luvia's combined super beam—a blast with visual spectacle on par with Excaliblast or even Ea—Saber took it head-on and… came out standing.
Well, not completely unscathed—her black armor was shattered in several places, revealing the black knight's dress beneath, making her look almost fragile.
Almost.
Because when that "frail" knight stood upon the water, framed by the ruins of a shattered street and a river nearly torn apart by the explosion, not a single viewer thought she looked weak.
This was the figure of a king standing upon the waves.
"After taking that attack…!"
Even Rin and Luvia, their faces pale with shock, couldn't hide the creeping despair in their eyes.
No matter how clever the strategy.
No matter how overwhelming the firepower.
This black sword-wielding knight would always counter with the perfect strike.
With absolute, crushing strength!
Black magical energy condensed along her blade, the raw, manifested mana swelling the weapon's size by a third. Even the sight of that thick, surging aura was enough to make viewers at home shiver.
"That's incredible!"
In front of his TV, Gawain was openly crying as he shouted in awe.
"This is my King! The ruler who conquered Britain!"
Tristan, ever the eternal buzzkill, plucked idly at his harp strings, his expression as sour as ever.
"Ah, my King… even corrupted by darkness, you still shine so brightly… truly, you will forever—"
BANG!
Before he could finish, several of the other Round Table knights had slammed him face-first into the floor.
"Stop playing music, you idiot! We can't hear the TV!"
"Tristan! You're ruining our chance to watch Father!"
"Will you just shut up for once?!"
—The silenced Tristan could only let out a pitiful, muffled groan.
Back on screen, Saber finally moved.
She raised her knight's sword high, then brought it down in one clean, decisive swing.
And spoke her only line in the entire episode:
"Ex—calibur!!!"
Black light swallowed the screen.
The surging wave of magical energy roared like a raging sea, obliterating everything within the mirrored space.
Chaotic black mana swallowed everything in an instant, merciless and all-consuming. Even the mirrored space's barrier—normally so solid—cracked apart under the overwhelming force of the strike.
And just as every last glimmer of hope was crushed, just as despair weighed down heavier than ever before—
Click
A faint unlocking sound rang out. Something within Illya's body was released.
Wings of light burst forth from her back—an all-new Illya was about to—
[Wings of Light have appeared behind Illya!]
[One storm ends, another begins!]
[Why do unexpected events keep piling up?!]
[Ehhh!!! Σ(?д?|||)??]
[That red-clad girl—could it be Illya?!]
[Can this familiar-yet-strange figure defeat the invincible Saber?!]
[How are we supposed to seal these cards?!]
[Hang in there, Illya!]
[Don't lose, magical girl!]
[Next Episode—Fate/Kaleid Liner Magical Illya! The End of the Empty Night!]
[Next week, be sure to Compact Full Open!!]
"Oh, come on! Not at the best part! Damn you, cliffhanger trash!!"
Across Japan, the moment the next-episode preview ended, countless viewers wailed in unison, cursing the series staff with every ounce of their souls.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
Far away in Italy, Shinji had no idea he had just become the unwilling vessel for the grudges of every Magical Illya fan in Japan.
At that very moment, Shinji was thoroughly enjoying himself at the Venice Film Festival.
No nagging little sister to make him mind his image.
No watchful Lissy to keep him in check.
No secretary prying into his past, present, and future.
Here in the City of Water, Shinji had entered full "let loose" mode.
After all, his whole purpose in coming to Venice was to sample the fruit. How could he possibly not enjoy himself to the fullest?
And Venice during festival season was nothing less than a grand, open-buffet fruit market. If he didn't take advantage of his world-class-director status to savor the selection, Shinji would feel downright cheated.
Of course, even while "sampling fruit," he wasn't without standards or restraint.
It had nothing to do with size—whether papayas or cherries, as long as the fruit was ripe, it was fair game.
The real selection criteria? The background of the "fruit" he was chatting up.
He wasn't here to bring home a girlfriend, nor to scoop up an aspiring actress.
Any "fruit" with designs on his fortune, or hoping to land a role by undressing—Shinji immediately wrote off.
Yes, his magecraft could ensure a woman would leave his bed utterly drained yet still murmur, dazed, "Thanks, that was great~~"
But this trip? This was about relaxation. No schemes. No politics. Just fun.
Fortunately, Venice in this season had no shortage of young fangirls. From among them, he could pick a few pure, genuine admirers—girls who neither sought a career in entertainment nor expected commitment—and enjoy a no-strings-attached exchange of hormones, just enough to soothe his restless heart.
Put simply, Shinji was ready to let his "you-know-what" take a holiday.
And for a man who hadn't "feasted" much since returning to Fuyuki, it was a much-needed break.
A man shut in too long will go stir-crazy.
A rooster kept penned up too long will suffocate.
Sadly, even this modest dream of his didn't go smoothly.
On the second day of the festival's opening, Cloris arrived in Venice—bringing with her not only a storm of personal grievances but also questions about Gucchan.
Shinji just barely avoided being beaten to death by Lissy.
The truth was, Cloris had already learned everything from Sakura and no longer suspected anything between the ancient woman and Shinji. She was simply using it as an excuse to make trouble.
Shinji could see right through her little performance—but with his self-control already loosened and his desires stoked, Lissy's provocations made it hard to hit the brakes.
And so the "cry, shout, threaten to jump" melodrama morphed into an 18+ "cry, shout, tie-up" erotic sideshow.
By the festival's third day, Cloris had become Director Matou's one and only female companion in Venice.
And as for the fact that she'd turned his grand all-you-can-eat fruit buffet into a pineapple set meal… Let's just say Shinji had feelings about it.
So, while the two of them did appear at the film festival as a pair and even "went to the movies together," in reality… they were literally just going to the movies.
They'd walk into the theater side by side—then immediately split up, each picking a completely different film to watch, only meeting again after to leave together.
And when questioned about this bizarre routine, Shinji actually had the gall to explain with confidence:
"There are too many films at the festival. To find the best projects, we have to divide and conquer!"
Which earned him a smack from Cloris so hard he almost literally "divided and conquered" into two separate pieces.
Still, temper aside, even Cloris knew Shinji had a point. A platform as good as the Venice Film Festival was the perfect place to hunt for quality films worth licensing—it would be a huge waste not to.
In the end, though, for all the rare chance of going to a film festival together, the only movie they actually watched side by side from start to finish… was their own Ultraseven X.
This alone was enough to make Cloris sulk.
Not because Ultraseven X was bad—but because the story was definitely not date material.
Unlike Cloris's ulterior expectations, Venice's film lovers received Ultraseven X with glowing praise.
Though it hadn't been chosen as the festival's opening film, this cyberpunk wave from the Type-Moon stable was highly anticipated. Its premiere was sold out, and the buzz spread fast.
On screen, Cu Chulainn's melancholy gaze and the way he stood back up again and again in the face of defeat made his presence no less commanding than Diarmuid's in the Spy Among Spies craze earlier.
Equally striking was Ultraseven X's heavy, thought-provoking core.
Unlike Type-Moon's usual more commercial fare, this one's theme was bleak. By the end, not a single character in the story found redemption.
The grim, unflinching tone hit squarely in the sweet spot for Europe's art-film-loving audiences. Within just a few days, Ultraseven X had become one of the most talked-about films at the festival.
From a Venice local paper's review:
[To be honest, I disliked the ending. The director and screenwriter clearly could have given us a happy resolution, but instead chose to close with the world slipping back into chaos.]
[And yet, I was still shaken by it. I could feel the protagonist's helplessness in that final scene: he freed humanity from the shackles that bound them, yet in doing so took away their stability and peace.]
[If you can look past the neon dreamscape of the city and focus on the story's core, you'll see something far more jarring than light pollution—human ugliness.]
For once, unlike the scathing treatment Type-Moon works often got from European critics, Ultraseven X was showered with positive words from the art-media crowd.
Even Cu Chulainn basked in the glow, becoming one of the most talked-about male stars of the festival.
This should have been a good thing—yet Shinji couldn't shake a trace of unease.
Not because he was a masochist who missed being criticized, but because of something Denis had said before:
The higher the media praise, the lower the chances of actually winning an award.
If Shinji didn't know for certain that the European press was genuinely in love with this film, he might have suspected they were buttering it up on purpose—just to sink it later.
To avoid killing their chances with too much hype, Shinji adjusted their promotional strategy.
First, he ordered Cu Chulainn to keep silent—no interviews with any media during the festival.
Next, he had Cu Chulainn attend screenings of every high-profile art film with strong award buzz—so the judges would see him as someone who respected their tastes and cinema as an art form.
This meant Cu was stuck watching four or five movies every day, with all of them the kind of highbrow arthouse work that could put him straight to sleep.
After several days, he hadn't grasped a single "artistic point" from any of them—only learned which theaters in Venice had the comfiest chairs for naps.
"Master, if I've committed some crime, just use a Command Seal to punish me. But please, don't make me watch any more movies— I've already slept through a year's worth of afternoon naps!"
Shinji calmly raised his right hand.
"By the power of my Command Seal—Lancer, go watch more movies. Arthouse ones."
"…Master, if I didn't like you and didn't have enough mana to do it, I would have used my Noble Phantasm on you."
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