Deep within the ruins of the Matou Family residence, Kariya Matou closed his eyes, feeling the fluctuations from the other end of the contract weaken little by little.
Berserker's magical energy was nearly depleted.
More than half the energy poured into him by that Command Spell had already been spent.
Successive battles, turning objects into Noble Phantasms, repairing his Spirit Origin-all those costs fell on that little pool of magical energy.
Kariya himself could no longer supply anything.
The Crest Worms had gnawed his body down to a shell that was still breathing.
The sounds of battle in the distance had changed, too.
There were fewer sounds of clashing metal.
Not because the fighting had slowed, but because Berserker was striking back less often.
The impacts reaching him had also become far more monotonous. Almost all of them came from Saber, while Berserker's responses grew weaker each time.
He's going to lose.
Kariya Matou held Sakura a little tighter in his arms.
Once Berserker was defeated, the rules of the Holy Grail War would consider his Master eliminated.
In theory, a Church overseer would take over, but that was only in theory.
In a place like this, a mage without a Servant was no different from prey waiting to be dealt with.
Not to mention that Kariya still held Sakura in his arms.
That King of Knights had just destroyed the Matou Family residence with a single slash, making her stance perfectly clear.
When the next attack came, there would not even be a wall here to block it.
Kariya Matou's right hand trembled.
Two Command Spells remained on its back.
Two.
They were the last things he could cling to.
Kariya was not a proper mage, at least not one who had received complete training.
He had left the Matou Family long ago, only for Zouken to later force Crest Worms into him. He had pitifully few abilities he could actually use.
He had no tactical knowledge, nor had anyone taught him how to use Command Spells in the Holy Grail War.
He had only instinct. That little scrap of instinct a dying man had forcibly dredged out of his mind.
Berserker's true name was Lancelot.
The strongest of the Knights of the Round Table, the Knight of the Lake, the most skilled knight in the legends of King Arthur.
And Saber, his opponent, was King Arthur herself.
In life, Lancelot had served under King Arthur and wielded a holy sword named Arondight.
In legend, that sword's power rivaled Excalibur's, sometimes even surpassing it.
If Berserker could use Arondight.
If he could release its true name.
Then there would at least still be a chance.
But the problem was right before him, too.
Berserker had already lost his reason. Mad Enhancement had suppressed even his ability to think.
Even if he retained his combat instincts, something like a True Name Release still required a lucid will to drive it.
A beast could not do that.
Then I'll use a Command Spell to bring Lancelot back temporarily.
Kariya's mind raced. Thinking like this placed a heavy burden on his body in its current state. His temples throbbed, and the edges of his vision began to darken.
Restore Lancelot's reason, then have him use Arondight.
That would be a Knight of the Round Table's full-powered strike.
Even King Arthur might not be able to withstand it.
But there was another problem.
Once his reason returned, would Lancelot keep fighting?
He had betrayed King Arthur in life.
His affair with Guinevere had ultimately dragged both the Round Table and Camelot into the abyss.
Being summoned as Berserker and losing his reason had, in a sense, instead become a way to avoid those memories.
But once he regained his senses, the person standing before him would be his king.
He might very well give up the fight outright.
Kariya Matou bit his lip, breaking the chapped skin. The taste of rust spread through his mouth.
Gamble.
I can only gamble.
First, use one Command Spell to restore Lancelot's reason.
If he's willing to keep fighting, all the better.
If he isn't...
Then I'll use the last Command Spell to force him.
Kariya lowered his head and glanced at Sakura in his arms.
Purple hair, purple eyes, skin so pale it was almost bloodless.
This child had done nothing, yet she had to endure this.
He had come back here for her.
For her, he had let Zouken stuff worms into his body.
For her, he had entered this damned war.
Now was not the time to hesitate.
Kariya Matou raised his right hand.
The second Command Spell on its back lit up.
"By my Command Spell, I command you-Berserker-"
He forced the words out of his throat, his voice barely sounding human anymore.
"Please-regain your reason."
Red light burst from the Command Spell.
After delivering its command, the markings of the second Command Spell vanished from his skin, becoming a stream of pure magical energy that rushed along the contract link into the deepest reaches of Berserker's Spirit Origin, slamming into the class skill, Mad Enhancement.
The effect was immediate.
On the battlefield three streets away, Berserker abruptly froze in the lull after their fifteenth exchange.
The black mist began to disperse.
That layer of black mist, which had roiled for two whole nights, was swiftly suppressed under the Command Spell's forced intervention. It thinned, then became a few wisps of black smoke that scattered in the night wind.
What emerged was a full suit of black knight's armor.
It had been black to begin with. The color was not a result of Mad Enhancement.
Ever since Lancelot betrayed the Round Table, his Spirit Origin had been this color.
It had merely been obscured by the black mist before. Now, the entire suit of armor was exposed, its outline suddenly much clearer.
A black visor concealed his face, leaving only points of light shining through its slits. Their formerly scarlet color had turned dark purple.
No longer that maddened red.
Artoria stood twenty meters away, holding Excalibur.
She had already been preparing to launch her sixteenth attack, but the instant Berserker stopped, Instinct gave her a different signal. Not danger, but change.
Her opponent's state had changed, drastically.
Artoria stopped.
Excalibur remained raised before her, ready to strike at any moment, but she did not move.
Last night at the harbor, Diarmuid had caught her in a trap with his yellow spear. That experience had made her more cautious.
In battle, whenever an opponent showed an abnormality, it often signified another trap.
She had been too careless last time. She would not make the same mistake again.
Watch first.
See what this Berserker intends to do.
From twenty meters away, Artoria watched the black-armored knight opposite her.
The armor revealed as the black mist dispersed made her brow furrow. No matter how she looked at it, that suit of armor resembled...
No.
I can't be certain yet.
It could also just be a disguise he deliberately created.
Watch his next move first.
The black-armored knight stood opposite her, motionless.
Lancelot's consciousness was forcibly dragged out of chaos.
It felt like someone who had spent a long time submerged being suddenly pulled ashore.
Light, sound, touch, smell-everything returned at once, too dense, too chaotic. Even his Spirit Origin felt as though it could not bear it.
Where am I?
A wrecked street in a residential district.
The road is cracked, the houses are in ruins, and the air is filled with the smell of burning and dust.
Who am I?
Lancelot.
The Knight of the Lake.
The most skilled knight of the Round Table.
What am I doing?
I am the Servant summoned by Kariya Matou, of the Berserker class.
Having lost my reason to Mad Enhancement, I have been fighting in the Holy Grail War as a mad knight shrouded in black mist.
Now, my Master has brought me back with a Command Spell.
All his memories surged up in that instant.
His betrayal in life.
His love for Guinevere.
His loyalty to King Arthur, and the debt he owed her.
Camelot's collapse.
The splintering of the Round Table.
And the wish he had entrusted to the Holy Grail when he was summoned as Berserker.
"I wish to receive my king's punishment."
Lancelot's gaze passed through the slits in his visor and settled on the figure twenty meters away.
Blond hair, emerald eyes, silver-and-blue armor.
In her hands was that holy sword shining with golden light, Excalibur.
My king.
Something deep within Lancelot's Spirit Origin snapped.
Artoria stood right there, almost unchanged from when she was alive.
Her face was still so restrained, so young, and would never age.
He wanted to kneel.
He wanted to remove his visor, walk up to her, kneel on the ground, and tell her everything.
Tell her how much he regretted it, tell her he had never truly wanted to betray the Round Table, tell her Camelot's destruction was his sin, not her fault.
King Arthur had already done well enough. She had never been the one at fault.
Then ask for punishment.
For her to run him through with Excalibur.
If I could die at my king's hands, if I could atone like this-
Then that wish would be fulfilled.
Lancelot thought no further.
The moment his reason returned, the moment he saw Artoria, his fighting spirit, his urge to destroy, all those things held beneath Mad Enhancement were pressed down by another, heavier emotion.
It was guilt.
It was harsher than Mad Enhancement, and clearer than reason.
Lancelot did not want to fight.
He was unwilling to fight.
Nor could he go on fighting.
Twenty meters away, Artoria saw it clearly.
After the black mist dispersed, her opponent stood where he was, neither attacking nor taking a defensive stance.
The gaze behind his visor had changed from red to dark purple.
And there was that stance.
That was not someone preparing to fight.
That was someone who had given up.
Artoria tightened her grip on Excalibur's hilt.
Instinct gave her no warning.
Her opponent no longer showed any intent to attack.
The sounds of battle stopped.