The enemy had a total of three Servants... or perhaps four. "Black" Archer, "Black" Rider, and "someone" who did not belong to the "Black" faction. The problem was "Black" Saber. Sometimes she was there, sometimes she was not. She felt somewhat elusive.
In contrast to her own appearance, words, and behavior, "she" was extremely cautious in her actions. For this collection of vengeful spirits born specifically to kill, murder was neither work nor a hobby. If she had to put it into words, killing was the meaning of her existence—or rather, the value of her life.
Just as everyone had to leave footprints to prove the meaning of their existence, the way she proved that she "existed" was by killing.
She waited cautiously, very cautiously, for that moment to arrive.
The decisive moment was always at night. She would never stake her own life on anything. The key was how many chances to kill there were, and how many of those chances "she" could seize.
Battles were always fought one-on-one. But killing had to be unilateral slaughter. Considering that, her battle with "Red" Saber must have been quite unexpected for her as well.
"So I really did lose back then."
Just remembering it irritated her, but when they had faced each other head-on, "she" had unquestionably recognized her defeat.
Her strike had failed to sever the other party's throat, while her opponent's strike had cut off her head.
The difference in parameters, the unfavorable combat situation, the disparity in their standing as heroes, and countless other factors had all led to a result against her... but there had not been no openings to exploit. That was what "she" believed.
The gap in parameters could be compensated for with her own abilities. As long as she concealed her presence at night,