After shedding her armor, Artoria picked up speed.
But without its protection, she had left exactly the opening Diarmuid had been waiting for.
The twenty-seventh exchange.
The red spear swept across, forcing Artoria to lean back to evade it.
The moment her weight shifted backward, Diarmuid kicked his left foot behind him, hooking the shaft of the short golden spear half a meter away with the tip of his shoe.
The yellow spear sprang off the ground.
Diarmuid opened his left hand, which had been empty all this time, and caught the shaft perfectly. He had kept this move hidden for a long time.
Since the battle began, that left hand had always held something in reserve, as though waiting for something to return to its palm.
Amid their high-speed exchanges, Artoria had no attention to spare for such details.
The yellow spear landed in his hand.
In the same breath, Diarmuid thrust his red spear straight at Artoria's chest with his right hand.
The thrust was heavy and its path direct, plainly staking the outcome on this single strike.
Artoria's Instinct supplied her response.
Her invisible sword swept across her chest, blocking the red spear's tip.
The weapons collided with a piercing scrape.
The red spear's thrust was only a feint.
Diarmuid absorbed the recoil and turned halfway sideways in the direction the red spear had been deflected.
The yellow spear in his left hand cut in from below, slipping around the sword's lower edge to stab at Artoria's exposed left arm.
Artoria's Instinct sounded a warning.
Too late.
She had only just blocked the red spear, and her left arm was still drawing back. There was no time to dodge or push her sword down.
The golden spearhead pierced the outside of her left forearm and sliced across the base of her thumb, leaving a long wound.
Blood spread across her white underlayer.
Artoria swung her sword backhanded. The blade grazed Diarmuid's right ribs, slicing through his combat clothes and opening a bloody gash.
The dark green fabric quickly darkened with blood.
An injury for an injury.
Both knew who had come out ahead in that exchange.
Artoria retreated five steps, her left hand hanging at her side.
Blood ran down her forearm, over her wrist and the back of her hand, then dripped from her fingertips onto the concrete.
She tried to clench her left hand.
The pain at the base of her thumb left her whole hand unresponsive. The moment she channeled strength into it, part of that strength was forcibly cut off.
On Fuyuki Bridge.
Iskandar had seen that strike.
The King of Conquerors uncrossed his arms and rested his right hand on the sword at his waist.
"This won't do."
The low voice rumbled from his chest.
Iskandar kept his eyes fixed on the battle at the center of the docks.
"That Lancer has made up his mind to end this quickly. That yellow spear is clearly his trump card. At this rate, Saber might lose."
Beside the bridge railing, Waver Velvet crouched behind the metal bars, peering down with only half his head showing.
The sea breeze blew his unruly hair across his forehead. His face was horribly pale, his teeth chattering, whether from cold or fear was impossible to tell.
"Isn't that better?"
Waver's voice was considerably shriller than usual.
"With one powerful Saber out of the way, won't our chances of winning the Holy Grail War be higher? Isn't it good for us if our enemies wear each other down?"
Iskandar glanced down at him.
"Idiot."
Coming from the King of Conquerors, the word carried little real abuse. It was more exasperation, with a touch of a teacher facing a slow-witted student.
"I am not waiting here to profit from someone else's struggle. I intend to wait until all the Servants have gathered, then catch them all in one net. Far more satisfying than hunting them down one by one."
Waver opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Besides, if Saber is eliminated here and now, won't I lose my chance to face her head-on?"
There was genuine regret in Iskandar's tone as he said this.
"A feast where heroes from every era gather together-opportunities like this don't come every day."
"Isn't this Holy Grail War supposed to be a battle to the death?"
Waver still did not understand.
To his mind, war meant killing your enemies, keeping yourself alive, and then winning.
One fewer powerful enemy meant one less danger.
What was so complicated about that?
Iskandar's large hand landed on the back of Waver's head.
He controlled the force precisely, just enough to knock Waver's head forward and bump his lips against the cold railing. Waver hissed in pain, but there was no blood or damage to his teeth.
"Defeat them, but do not destroy them. Rule over them, but do not humiliate them. That is true conquest."
Iskandar turned to face the docks.
The night wind sent his red cloak billowing.
The King of Conquerors drew the Sword of Cyprus with his right hand.
A clear metallic note rang through the wind as the blade left its sheath.
"Master, I am going down to stop them."
Waver held his reddened lips, still not having caught up.
"Will you come along?"
Iskandar grinned.
His expression was less an ordinary smile than irrepressible excitement before going into battle.
He raised the Sword of Cyprus overhead, its tip pointing into the night sky.
Magical energy surged.
Golden summoning patterns spread across the bridge from around the sword, extending along the roadway until they covered roughly ten meters.
Light rose from the patterns, accompanied by a low rumbling.
Two black divine bulls stepped out of the light.
Purple lightning coiled around their long, curved horns, and red-and-gold faceplates covered their heads.
Their hooves struck the bridge, cracking its surface.
Behind them trailed an ancient Greek two-wheeled chariot. Curved blades mounted on the outer rims of its wheels reflected lightning as they turned, and the patterns on its body lit up as well.
Gordius Wheel.
Waver's mind was a jumble.
The hulking man before him was doing something that completely violated the basic strategy of the Holy Grail War.
Exposing himself, charging into someone else's battlefield, and intervening in full view of everyone.
Wasn't that asking to die?
"I'm coming too."
The words startled Waver himself as they left his mouth.
But he had already said them.
After saying them, the fear that had been racing through his body seemed to recede a little.
Only a tiny bit.
"Take me with you!"
Iskandar looked back at his Master.
His unruly hair had been blown into a bird's nest, his face was still pale, his lips were red, and his legs were trembling.
But his eyes did not turn away.
"Very good."
The King of Conquerors climbed into the driver's position, took the reins in one hand, and reached down with the other to lift Waver aboard like a chick.
"Now that's my Master. Let us march to war together!"
The reins snapped down.
Both bulls bellowed.
Purple lightning burst beneath their hooves as the chariot soared off the bridge.
At the center of the docks.
Artoria's left arm was still bleeding.
Faint golden curse patterns hovered along the edges of the wound. The blood flowing through them did not clot, as though that power were keeping the wound bleeding.
Her left thumb barely bent, and her grip had weakened considerably.
Irisviel's anxious voice came from behind her.
"Saber! Let me see the wound!"
The silver-white figure hurried forward and covered Artoria's left arm with both hands.
Pale blue light shone in Irisviel's wine-red eyes as she poured an Einzbern healing formula into the wound.
The light covered the wound for three seconds.
The wound did not change.
The muscle did not knit together, nor did the blood vessels close.
The faint golden curse patterns were still moving, keeping the incoming restorative magical energy out.
"How strange... why isn't the healing magecraft working?"
Clear bewilderment entered Irisviel's voice.
Her healing formulas were by no means poor.
Einzbern bodily reconstruction magecraft should not have taken long to treat a penetrating wound like this.
Yet now, the wound showed no sign of closing.
Artoria looked down at her left arm.
That yellow spear had left more than a wound.
It had left some kind of curse that rejected healing within her flesh.
"That yellow spear carries a curse that prevents wounds from healing."
Artoria's voice was steady.
"As long as that spear exists, this wound cannot be repaired by any means."
She looked back at Diarmuid, twenty meters away.
Two spears, one red and one yellow.
The red spear could break through magical defenses.
The yellow spear could leave wounds that would not heal.
Twin spears, a knight, and the beauty mark beneath his right eye that carried charming magical energy.
"...Diarmuid Ua Duibhne."
Artoria spoke the name.
Opposite her, Diarmuid's hands paused.
His golden-amber eyes held a mixture of emotions: wariness at having his true name exposed, satisfaction at being recognized, and respect for the king before him.
Diarmuid looked at Artoria.
During their exchange, the magic-piercing Gáe Dearg had scraped across her blade, stripping away Invisible Air for less than half a second.
In that half second, the golden holy sword had been revealed.
Few on the Throne of Heroes would fail to recognize that blade.
"Arthur, King of Knights."
Diarmuid's voice was low and solemn.
"King of Britain. Wielder of Excalibur. To cross blades with you is the greatest honor of my life as Diarmuid."
The two knights met each other's gaze across twenty meters.
Diarmuid held both spears, blood still seeping from his side.
Artoria held her sword in one hand, blood from her left arm dripping beside her feet.
After their brief acknowledgment, thunder sounded in the distance.
It was not the dull thunder of the sky.
The sound bore down from the eastern side of the harbor at an absurd speed.
Purple lightning streaked across the night sky, illuminating half the harbor.
With it came the sound of wheels grinding through the air, the bellowing of divine bulls, and a man's voice so loud he might have been addressing an army.
"Both of you fighting there! Sheathe your blades before the king!!!"
Gordius Wheel charged in from the eastern bridge.
Two black thunder bulls raced through the air on purple lightning, the huge chariot's blades slicing through the night wind with a shriek.
The chariot landed directly between Saber and Lancer.
As it touched down, lightning spread out from beneath its wheels, blasting charred cracks into the concrete.
Artoria and Diarmuid both retreated three steps.
On the chariot, a burly man more than two meters tall stood in the driver's position.
His red cloak billowed high in the rushing air.
He had short red hair, amber eyes, and hard facial features. Just standing there, he exuded more pressure than those two thunder bulls.
He looked around at everyone present.
"I am Iskandar, King of Conquerors! In this Holy Grail War, I have manifested in the Rider class!"
Everyone fell silent for about two seconds.
Not because they were awed.
It was because both the Servants out in the open and the people watching from the shadows needed a little time to process what had happened.
Someone had announced his true name in front of everyone during the Holy Grail War.
At the back of the chariot, Waver Velvet gripped the edge with both hands, his face having gone from white to green.
The flight from the bridge to the docks had been far too thrilling for him, and the contents of his stomach were rising.
But even worse than that was the fact that Iskandar had announced his true name.
"What are you doooooing-!!!"
Waver all but squeezed the words out of his throat.
The answer he received was a flick to the forehead.
The King of Conquerors flicked his thick finger against the center of Waver's forehead, with just enough force to make his head tilt back and then bounce forward again.
"Quiet, Master. Do not interrupt when a king is speaking."