Combat does not require deep thought.
All it takes is a space where two wills clash—doing what the enemy hates, forcing through what you want to do, and rendering the enemy powerless. That is one complete cycle.
In short… battle is simple.
The one with the stronger will claims victory and glory.
And when it comes to forcing one's will, there is no one who can stand beside the King of Heroes.
He has endless wealth.
Endless options.
And above all, the wisdom to choose among them.
With all of that in hand, the only way to be defeated would be through carelessness or arrogance.
And the Gilgamesh here, due to special circumstances, possesses almost none of that.
An absolute powerhouse, yet with grounded thinking and awareness.
With those two qualities combined, there was no way an ordinary being could surpass him.
"—You. Are you the Servant of those humans?"
"That would be correct," I answer, inspecting my fingernails. "I hardly look like a vagrant, do I?"
Standing before me is clearly a Lancer-class Servant.
Though shrouded in haze, he carries many weapons on his back and wears robes like a monk.
…Japanese, perhaps. I can't read his real name.
It seems the vessel believes the personal feelings of a Shadow Servant are irrelevant. Dust that will soon vanish is not worth attention.
But the soul within the vessel is not careless. If I lose, there is no second chance. I am always fighting with my back to the wall.
"Wandering alone is the height of foolishness," the Lancer growls, shifting his stance. "I will pierce you and present your head to your Master."
"Do as you like. If trash that strays from a hero's path can manage it."
I realize again—when I speak my thoughts aloud, the words come out arrogant.
That must be the pride of this vessel. Be haughty. Look down on all. Be a king.
I do not wish to dominate this vessel.
I only wish to sharpen my soul through it.
To see the world through a hero's eyes.
To act with a hero's judgment.
To protect lives that struggle forward.
To protect the future.
So that one day, those girls may reach a peaceful tomorrow.
If that happens… perhaps then I can say I truly lived.
Believing that—
I will do what I can in this second life.
"Very well. Let us clean up the trash. This will not take long."
From the golden ripples, I draw a sword different from the one that fires beams.
"You roar boldly, golden Servant. Come—your life is mine!"
The Lancer lowers his stance and charges straight at me, turning his entire body into a spear.
The distance vanishes.
This is a killing range.
"Nggh!!"
A strike fueled by raw strength and killing intent rushes straight for my neck.
—but its beginning, its motion, everything is visible.
The crimson eyes saw it all.
I tilt my head slightly, avoid the strike, and swing my sword carelessly, sending the Lancer flying.
"—What!?"
Shock spreads across his face.
Of course it does.
His all-out thrust was brushed aside with a single, minimal movement.
"What's wrong? My head is still attached, you know?"
"You use strange footwork…" the Lancer snarls, resetting his grip. "Then I'll crush you with repeated strikes!"
"Hah. There will be no 'next' for you."
—Blood splashes.
And then, a clean cut appears on his torso.
"——!?"
There is no time even to think why.
The Lancer's core has already been severed.
"Ah, what a puzzled face. I'll explain out of mercy," I say, flicking the blood off the blade. "This sword fixes cause and effect. The moment it is swung, it guarantees that 'something was cut.' Blocking or dodging means nothing. Because it was 'cut,' the result of being 'cut' must follow."
"So… that is why my core—"
"Exactly. I have no interest in sweating it out with lumps of flesh. Choosing and drawing the right sword is troublesome enough."
I sheath the blade back into the golden ripple.
"Compared to that effort, dodging a strike as light as a breeze should be easy, no?"
"—Regret…!"
The core shatters completely, and the Shadow Lancer disperses into mist. It is a swift and empty end, with no time for curses or prayers.
"…Among Lancers, there is only one who could truly stand beside me."
The words slip out quietly, carrying a faint sense of loneliness.
Now then, the obvious Lancer is dealt with. Next—
"Alright. Let's go with the easy one."
———
"⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛——!!!!"
"You really know how to roar, you filthy beast! A Berserker should be like this!"
With storm-like pressure and destruction, the Berserker goes wild.
The next target is indeed a Berserker—a mad warrior who has abandoned reason.
A massive body of muscle and bone, tall and powerful like a living rock. Its size even surpasses this vessel, an embodiment of pure menace.
Yes. I'm glad I didn't bring the Master along. Anyone with normal senses would faint from that presence alone.
Thankfully, this vessel feels no fear at all. An absurd level of confidence and ego. If the body is unfazed, then I can't afford to hesitate either.
"——⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛!!!"
A single swing unleashes overwhelming force. The ground shatters like thin ice, exploding into fragments.
If I had been even a moment slower, I would have been minced meat. I was saved by this Servant's physical ability.
"Now then… how should I dispose of you?"
I say it out loud, but a method comes to mind faster than expected.
This Berserker clearly relies on raw strength and toughness. One look is enough to tell. With reason completely discarded, its violence is obvious.
But that also means something else.
Without reason, it has lost the delicacy needed to deal with careful tricks.
So there is no problem. If it had a thinking Master, things might be different. But a beast that only rages is easy to remind.
I reach into the golden ripples and take hold of a golden staff.
"Mm. This will do."
After confirming its effect, I deliberately step into the Berserker's sight.
"Here I am, muscle-brained lump! If you think that packed meat of yours can crush me, then try!"
I raise my voice and provoke it. The moment it turns toward me, it smashes the ground and closes the distance.
"⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛——!!!!!"
The weapon swings down from above. Death waits just a moment ahead.
"—Fool."
I tap the ground lightly with the staff.
That is the signal.
Countless hands burst forth, seize the Berserker, and lift it up like an offering to the heavens.
"⬛⬛⬛⬛!!?"
At the same time, a "ritual altar" rises around it.
Shaped like a place meant to offer a sacrifice—
"!!!???"
Arms, head, legs, body.
Countless hands writhe and chew, tearing pieces away as if devouring it.
"This is the original altar of human sacrifice, a Noble Phantasm once offered to nameless gods. Any being it captures is declared a sacrifice—and then consumed."
That overwhelming presence rapidly fades away. Eaten, scraped, bitten, devoured. Its very existence is erased.
"⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛,⬛⬛⬛⬛—"
At last, even its core is devoured, and the Berserker disappears completely. Not even a trace remains, greedily licked up as part of the sacrifice.
"Next time, choose a Master with a brain. A beast has little chance of beating one with wisdom."
I exhale and return the staff to the treasury.
Now then. The Berserker and the Lancer are both dealt with. Next is the real problem.
Assassin.
Allowing that existence to remain is unacceptable. I refuse to allow an ending where the Master's head falls without warning one second from now.
"Now then… what should I do—"
"The Assassin is already gone. I took care of it."
A voice comes from behind. I turn around.
"You are—"
"Yo. Been a while, you golden bastard."
There stands a man with blue hair, wearing a hood and holding a staff.
"I see. So you are the Caster. Hound."
This vessel clearly knows him well.
(End Of Chapter)
--
Explaining tools while fighting—this really is Gil-emotion.