"Oh~ You're asking me? If I told you to bask in my glory, yet you didn't even know my name, there'd be nothing I could do about your ignorance. But for a mongrel like you to dare question the King... You were fortunate enough to behold me, yet you don't recognize my august presence. Such a benighted fool has no reason to live!!!"
Golden ripples rose through the empty sky, accompanying the golden Heroic Spirit's words. A dazzling radiance then appeared before everyone.
Countless spears and swords emerged from the golden light, radiating such powerful magical energy that they clearly weren't ordinary weapons.
"Those are all Noble Phantasms?!"
Everyone was astonished. Was Archer really going to use his trump cards right from the start, without even making the most basic probe?
In a shadowy corner invisible to everyone, a gaunt man watched the scene through the image transmitted by his familiar. His whole body trembled uncontrollably.
"At last... Tohsaka Tokiomi..."
The man fixed his bloodshot eyes on the golden Servant in the magical projection, his gaze brimming with deep-seated hatred.
"Berserker, kill him!"
Destroy Tohsaka Tokiomi—!
A breeze suddenly swept across the battlefield, brushing everyone's cheeks. Every Servant there was a hero who had experienced countless battlefields; naturally, not one of them would miss the slightest change in the wind.
The wind gradually grew stronger. Only then did everyone realize it was being stirred by the flow of magical energy. The power of that energy was unimaginable.
Under everyone's astonished gaze, the rising magical energy gradually solidified, taking the shape of a stubborn, unyielding figure.
The figure stood about two blocks closer to the sea than the four-lane road where Lancer and Saber were fighting.
—Yes, the only word for him was "shadow."
The tall, broad-shouldered man was covered from head to toe in armor.
But unlike Saber's close-fitting silver armor or Archer's lavish golden suit, this man's armor was black.
There were no delicate decorations, no polished gleam. It was an extreme black, like darkness itself, like hell. Even his face was hidden beneath his helmet. Through a narrow slit in the helmet, all one could see was the chilling glow of eyes burning like flames.
What kind of Heroic Spirit could possess such an ominous appearance...?
But Medea had no time to pay attention to the battlefield. Wang Xiaoming right beside her was already more than enough to keep her occupied.
Wang Xiaoming was in a terrible state. Rider's appearance had already dealt his nerves a heavy blow.
But after Rider's provocation, the successive appearances of Archer and Berserker had only piled more weight onto Xiaoming's already overwhelmed mind.
Pain—!
An indescribable agony fiercely tormented Wang Xiaoming's nerves.
He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails had already pierced his palms, leaving them bloody. The veins bulged on his neck, and his twisted expression was terrifying to behold.
Medea could only watch Wang Xiaoming suffer helplessly. The problem involved his very soul; one careless move might leave him a complete idiot.
So Medea ruled out knocking him unconscious. All she could do was use minor healing Magecraft to ease his pain.
As a precaution, Medea had also set up a soundproof barrier around them.
Archer—Gilgamesh, King of Heroes.
Saber—Artoria,
King of Knights. Rider—Iskandar, King of Conquerors.
Berserker—Lancelot.
Memories of these people crashed against Wang Xiaoming's fragile yet resilient nerves in one terrifying wave after another. After a brief lull, the [Memory Wave] unexpectedly merged into a single monstrous surge, ready to launch one final, desperate charge!
"Ah—!"
Wang Xiaoming had exceeded his limit in an instant. He let out a scream, then collapsed limply to the ground, unconscious.
The dam holding back his memories was brutally smashed open. If Medea had examined his soul at that moment, she would have been astonished to find that the fine cracks covering it were gradually beginning to heal.
But Medea had no time to concern herself with that. Another sudden turn of events caught her off guard:
As Wang Xiaoming lost consciousness, Medea suddenly lost control of the magical energy she had been drawing from the atmosphere.
The runaway energy was back under Medea's control the very next second. But it was already too late—
The loss of control shattered the soundproof barrier she had set up.
"Damn it!"
The instant the barrier broke, Medea's expression changed drastically.
Her wide purple robe spread around Wang Xiaoming, who lay on the ground, and she vanished from the spot.
The next second—
Boom—!
The ground, which had been perfectly intact moments ago, was now cratered as if it had been carpet-bombed. Only a few scattered weapons remained embedded in the earth, bearing silent witness to what had just happened.
"Tch, the rats got away."
Archer glanced dismissively at the spot where Medea and Wang Xiaoming had just stood, then looked at Rider, his eyes full of mockery.
"I say, Rider, that kingly presence of yours doesn't seem to have scared even a little rat."
"Haha, but she is Caster. Her actions are understandable."
Though Rider spoke casually, his slightly displeased expression made it clear he hadn't formed a very favorable first impression of the Caster pair.
They had dared to ignore a king's invitation—
"Now that the rats have been driven away, next..."
Archer turned his head and fixed his blood-red, murderous gaze on the ominous black Berserker.
"Mad dog, are you ready to be slaughtered by the King?"
Golden light once again illuminated the warehouse district.
I have a fever, and my head's been spinning all day. I'm only updating once today.
Sorry—
(Bows)
Chance Encounter!
In a park not far from the warehouse district, a patch of purple cloth gradually expanded into the shape of a person.
A woman's hands and feet emerged from the purple robe...
After landing, Medea casually tossed Wang Xiaoming to the ground. She coughed several times, then spat out a pool of blood.
She had miscalculated—
Medea sat down on the ground, utterly devoid of her usual composure, breathing unevenly. It was hard to imagine her as the calm woman she usually was. She recalled what had just happened:
Archer had fired Noble Phantasms in her direction. Whether spear or sword, the moment they shot forth, their sheer acceleration twisted and tore through the air in front of them, carving ominous trails through the sky.
The Noble Phantasms, wrapped in a hurricane, had effortlessly pierced the defenses Medea had set up on the outskirts. Some of her injuries had come from the backlash of her own magical energy.
But most had come from the shock waves of the Noble Phantasms. Though they had escaped being hit directly by teleporting at the last moment, judging by the terrifying trails the weapons had carved through the air, even space itself might have been pierced.
Medea breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have survived, and then thought of Assassin, who had been caught in Archer's indiscriminate bombardment yesterday. Though she knew he had been acting, she couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for him.
"Cough, cough—"
After a while...
Medea stood up, but still couldn't stop herself from coughing a few times. She had already used Magecraft to treat herself, but damage caused by a Noble Phantasm wasn't so easy to heal. What was more, she had already used up most of the magical energy in her body. She would have to conserve it in case a situation like that arose again.
It was rather frustrating. Medea, one of the greatest magi of the Age of Gods, couldn't use Magecraft as she pleased, and Little Shirou, who had only just begun studying magic, couldn't supply that much energy. So the magical energy she was using now still came from the blood sacrifice during the summoning.
A blood sacrifice—
During the Holy Grail ritual, the nature of a Servant could be altered by their summoner.
A summoner with a dark side couldn't summon a hero from the side of light.
Just as Wang Xiaoming had said, if Ryunosuke Uryu performed the summoning ritual, he would certainly summon an inhuman Servant like Gilles de Rais.
A twisted summoner would call forth a twisted Heroic Spirit.
But there were exceptions—
Just as the blood sacrifice prepared by Ryunosuke Uryu had ended up benefiting Little Shirou instead.
Heh...
But without the blood sacrifice, Little Shirou wouldn't have summoned her, either.
Medea thought self-deprecatingly:
I really do live up to the name Witch.
"Mm..."
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a groan beside her. Looking down, she saw Wang Xiaoming's closed eyelids begin to twitch.
Medea suddenly wondered whether the earlier loss of control over her magical energy was connected to Wang Xiaoming's collapse.
It had been far too much of a coincidence.
"Hey—"
A blurry purple shape entered Wang Xiaoming's field of vision as he opened his eyes. Once his sight cleared, he weakly greeted Medea.
"How are you feeling?"
"I've got no strength."
Wang Xiaoming tried to stand, but his limbs were limp. After several attempts, all he could manage was to turn over and lie in a different position.
"Then lie there and cool off for a while!"
Medea spoke irritably. If not for the trouble he had caused, none of this would have happened.
"..."
Wang Xiaoming gave a helpless grin.
It was winter, after all. The ground was certainly cool~
Just then, when Medea came closer, she reached out with her fair fingers and touched his forehead.
"Don't get any ideas!"
She tapped Wang Xiaoming on the head with her staff again, making him bare his teeth in pain. That was the Staff of Hecate! Was it really okay to use it to rap someone on the head?
With her hand resting on Wang Xiaoming's forehead, Medea used a probing spell once more.
Blue-green light flickered—
Medea was astonished to discover that Wang Xiaoming's soul, which had been on the verge of shattering, was already showing signs of healing! Some of the cracks covering its surface had vanished without a trace, as if erased by an eraser.
It seemed the return of his memories had helped repair his soul quite a bit.
After lifting her hand, Medea said to Wang Xiaoming, "Looks like you've gained quite a bit."
"I guess I have..." Wang Xiaoming smiled bitterly at the thought. That feeling of his brain running at overdrive had been awful. Even now, his mind was still a complete mess.
"Let me rest for a bit."
"Rest? I'm afraid there's no time."
Medea's expression suddenly turned cold. Seeing her face, Wang Xiaoming's sluggish mind hadn't even caught on to what was happening when Medea suddenly raised her hand—
Several magic bullets appeared in her hand and shot out with a sudden roar!
Boom—
Wang Xiaoming swallowed hard as he looked at the ground, which seemed to have been plowed over several times.
Medea paid him no mind. Her cool, watery gaze was fixed on a spot in front of them.
"To think you'd take up work as an assassin. Has the glory of being the chief warrior of the Fianna been thrown into a filthy ditch?"
Before you continue