The twilight Holy Sword began to roar. Before one wave of sword energy had faded into the distance, a second followed on its heels.
A grinding creak suddenly rang out. It was no longer the earth or clouds crying out, but space itself trembling under the pressure of an immense amount of magical energy.
The sudden, ferocious barrage stunned Gawain. A second later, the next two Noble Phantasm blasts sent him flying dozens of meters.
Without the slightest hesitation, Sieg swiftly adjusted his blade, sending the fifth and sixth beams of dusky blue light straight after him.
But Gawain's reaction was hardly embarrassing, because he was not the only one present who had frozen in shock.
To be precise, everyone except Sieg himself and Kriemhild froze at the exact same moment.
"Holy sh-... ow."
Mordred had blurted out a curse in her shock, earning a rap on the head from Sovell, who happened to hear her.
At the same time, however, Sovell had already begun considering a hypothetical question:
If he, in his Lancer Class, were standing in Gawain's place right now, what would he have to do to win?
Eventually, Sovell reached a conclusion-hold out through those five-odd minutes of madness at any cost.
If victory were his only goal, then whether he requested Command Spell support, called in reinforcements, or even fled in disgrace, he would have to endure until the 361st second after Sieg's transformation.
Admittedly, that description was somewhat exaggerated. But for Servants with the dragon attribute, facing Siegfried with unlimited firepower was no different from a little grass snake encountering a hawk.
As for Sovell and Artoria in their Servant forms... at best, they were larger king cobras. They had some chance of turning the tables, at least.
The interval between one Noble Phantasm release