Shreveport.
On his way back from Alexandria, Jemia encountered a band of Celts.
There was no doubt that this group of Celts was led by a Servant as well.
"Stop right there, Celt." Without hesitation, Jemia stepped in front of Shreveport. His face, not particularly appealing by ordinary human standards, wore a serious expression as he warily watched the figure at the head of the Celtic formation.
The figure wore heavy white armor and held a sharp lance. Upon hearing Jemia's words, he did indeed stop where he stood.
".You're telling me to stop?"
Jemia narrowed his eyes. He could sense a faint scent of blood permeating the air.
It came from the Servant in heavy white armor—a thick, nauseatingly pungent stench of blood.
Jemia's five senses had been heightened by his demonic body, allowing him to smell things ordinary people could not.
The smell emanating from this Rider-class Servant had seeped deep into his Saint Graph. Even Jemia could not help but feel a chill run down his spine.
Unlike Jemia, who had earned his fame by slaughtering Demonic Beasts and protecting the people, this Servant had undoubtedly become renowned because he was a natural-born killer.
Jemia said nothing more. Bone plates silently emerged across his body, fusing into something like armor. Multiple keratinous spikes jutted out from it, making Jemia look like a heavily armored tank.
"Say, that town behind you should have plenty of people in it, right?" The Servant took the lance from his shoulder and struck it against the ground, shattering a stone as he asked Jemia in a loud, casual voice.
"You're not getting through." Jemia's voice was filled with calm confidence.
"You and your soldiers are a pack of genuine lunatics—your king behind you included." Anger was hidden beneath Jemia's voice.
"Well, this