War had come.
Not a war between men, but a slaughter between man and beast.
With ruthless, purpose-driven ferocity, the beast tide swept through the northern city-states, erasing each one in its path before surging relentlessly toward Uruk.
Though Ophis had long stationed scouts to monitor the surrounding regions, the advance of the demonic beasts was terrifyingly swift.
By the time they reached Uruk's hastily erected outer fortifications, the city's main defensive wall was still only half complete.
The time that remained could only be bought with the blood and valor of Uruk's warriors.
Standing atop the city walls, Ophis gazed silently at the distant frontlines where the soldiers clashed with the beasts.
Her body lacked the Mystic Eyes of Clairvoyance, but a dragon's sight combined with simple magecraft easily allowed her to observe from afar.
Normally, she would have used familiars rather than climbing the wall herself—but against this dense and overwhelming tide, no familiar could even approach.
On the battlefield, monsters surged like a living sea, slamming again and again into Uruk's lines—yet they could not break through the wall of black-armored soldiers.
Five hundred warriors, bathed in dragon blood, stood as the unyielding first line of defense.
With a brief, precise glance, Ophis analyzed the enemy. Most of the beasts were unknown species—none recorded anywhere in Mesopotamia's history.
Each one's strength, by her estimation, rivaled that of a small tank.
Terrifying in isolation—terrifying beyond reason in tens of thousands. And beyond that, she sensed even more approaching.
To Ophis, their numbers were meaningless. Whether one or a thousand, they were ants before her.
A single thought could erase them all. A single burst of magic could wipe the plain clean.
But she knew better than to act.
Doing so would trigger consequences beyond repair.
This battle was still only a "skirmish," a cruel game of despair played by her unseen enemy. For Ophis, this was only a delaying war—a struggle to buy time.
If she unleashed her true strength now, Uruk would be destroyed by her hand.
She had already seen that future.
And besides—she was not in any condition for direct combat.
The dragon blood she had given the soldiers had not been mere blood—it was power crystallized from her own essence, a fragment torn from the concept of Infinity itself.
Doing so had not shattered her Infinity, but it had left her fragile.
Not weak in body—her combat power remained untouched—but fragile in principle. Should she call upon Infinity's full scope again, her very core would begin to unravel.
Normally, that limit meant little. Rarely would she ever need to exert herself to such an extent.
Yet now…
Her gaze followed the battle below: Altera cleaving through beasts like wheat, Arjuna loosing arrow after arrow from his vantage point, Jeanne's banner blazing as she led the defense.
But for every moment they fought, Ophis's magic drained away.
These six Servants she had summoned were powered directly by her infinite energy. Yet now, her "infinite" supply was throttled—limited by the damage done to her own foundation.
Still, even at full power, the outcome would not change. The moment she entered the battlefield herself, Uruk's destruction became certain.
Since fighting was forbidden to her, better to pour her strength into her soldiers instead.
She could have created more "snakes," but the process was long, complex—and ordinary humans could never bear such power.
On the day she had summoned the Servants, she had caught a glimpse of fate itself. Among the endless branching futures, not one led to salvation.
Every path ended the same: Uruk's annihilation in half a year's time.
That was the longest future she had seen. Many others ended even sooner.
Still, until that inevitable end came, she had to hold the line. What she needed was not a handful of heroic figures—but an army of iron that could anchor the world itself.
On the battlefield, Altera unleashed her Noble Phantasm for the thirteenth time, wiping out another massive wave. But moments later, she stumbled, expression tightening with frustration as she fell back into formation.
Servants were not made of flesh, but they still obeyed certain limits. Even with infinite mana, continuous battle eroded their forms.
For a brief instant, the army regrouped. Then, as the horizon darkened again, another wave appeared. Losing even one Servant's offensive might strained the troops severely.
The tide never ended.
Ophis rubbed her temples.
At this rate, the temporary fortifications would hold for at most three days. The main wall was still under construction; until it stood completed, there would be no rest for anyone.
"Send orders. Have the reserve legion reinforce the front. Once Altera and Arjuna recover, they'll jointly unleash their Noble Phantasms to open a corridor for rotation. Altera should handle the coordination."
"Yes, my King!"
The messenger took off running with the stone tablet in hand.
"Urgent report!"
Almost immediately, another messenger arrived.
"A vast jungle has suddenly appeared to the south! Following your previous orders to stay alert, no one has entered yet. Awaiting your command, my King!"
Unfortunate timing.
Ophis's eyes narrowed.
There was no chance to think it through.
A blinding streak of azure light carved across the heavens—a massive magical cannon, tearing through the sky, aimed straight for Uruk itself.