Less than a second ago, Mayuri's boot soles had still been planted on cold stone, and the wind had still carried November's biting chill.
Now scorching sand and gravel lay beneath her feet, and waves of hot wind blew against her face.
There was desert beneath her feet.
Desert ahead.
Desert behind.
Desert to either side, too.
Yellow-brown sand stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by a few rolling dunes, with no buildings, no trees, and no water.
The garden of Einzbern Castle was gone.
Mayuri folded away the four wings behind her. Her rose-red eyes swept around, quickly locating everyone.
Artoria stood about five meters to her left, her silver-blue armor bleached pale by the sun, her emerald eyes fixed on their surroundings.
Irisviel hid behind Artoria.
Waver was still sitting on the sand, looking as though the King of Conquerors' display just now had frightened him all over again.
Kid Gil stood a little farther away, his crimson eyes studying this unfamiliar place.
The nearly one hundred Assassin bodies had all been transported three hundred meters away.
Their white skull masks stood out against the yellow-brown desert. A mass of black robes clustered together like a pool of ink spilled over the sand.
Iskandar stood in front of everyone.
The hot wind spread his great scarlet cloak like an unfurled flag.
Facing the desert, the King of Conquerors spread his arms wide.
It was neither a defensive stance nor an attack. It looked more like he was embracing this land.
"This is the land where my army and I once rode."
His voice carried across the desert, clear in the open emptiness.
"A landscape that the brave warriors who shared their king's joys and hardships seared into their hearts together."
The King of Conquerors turned to face Artoria, Kid Gil, and Mayuri.
His amber eyes shone in the sunlight, and he still wore that broad smile.
"Behold!"
He swept his right arm behind him.
"This is my peerless army!"
The horizon began to tremble.
Thousands upon thousands of feet struck the sand together, their rhythm unmistakably uniform.
Countless figures began to appear on the horizon behind the King of Conquerors.
Heavy infantry came first, marching out from behind the dunes in orderly ranks with bronze breastplates, round shields, and spears.
Then came the second rank, the third, the fourth. More and more, packed ever closer.
Then came the cavalry.
Groups of light cavalry charged out on both flanks, riding warhorses of different colors, their hooves throwing up vast clouds of yellow sand.
Then came chariots and archers.
And finally, more infantry.
More. More. More.
Reflections off metal and the cold gleam of weapons filled the entire horizon.
Armed warriors stood everywhere within sight.
Their equipment varied in style, too: Greek bronze armor, Persian scale armor, Indian curved swords and round shields, Egyptian light archers-there was everything.
These were all followers Iskandar had won over during his eastward conquests in life, drawn from different peoples and civilizations.
They were not silent shadows.
"Alalalalai-!!!"
The front ranks erupted in a battle cry first, and then the entire army joined in.
Spears struck shields in a continuous roar.
Warhorses neighed, chariot wheels rolled over the sand, and the shouts of tens of thousands bore down on them.
Mayuri could sense the fluctuations of every soldier's Spirit Origin.
Every single one.
They were all Servant-class.
They had been manifested by the King of Conquerors' Reality Marble, vessels for Servant Spirit Origins, real historical figures who had followed him in his conquests.
A conservative estimate put their numbers above ten thousand.
Over ten thousand warriors with Servant-class Spirit Origins.
This was not one person's inner landscape.
It was a landscape left behind by a king and his subjects together.
The King of Conquerors demonstrated his way of kingship in this fashion: his treasures were neither gold and silver nor holy swords and divine spears, but these people. People willing to fight for him, willing to live alongside him.
"My bonds with them are my greatest treasure. My way of kingship!"
Iskandar's voice rang out through the army's shouts like a bugle.
"This is my greatest trump card, Ionioi Hetairoi!"
A long neigh sounded behind the King of Conquerors.
A black horse far larger than an ordinary warhorse charged out from the middle of the army.
His coat gleamed black, and the sand thrown up as his four hooves struck the ground rose higher than that of the other horses.
His muscles bulged visibly, and his chest was extraordinarily broad. The whole horse looked like a giant beast draped in a horse's hide.
Bucephalus.
Iskandar's beloved horse.
The King of Conquerors took two steps forward, pressed his left hand against the horse's neck, and swung onto his back.
Once he was seated firmly, Bucephalus gave a short neigh and pawed the sand twice, his whole body stirring with excitement.
Mounted on his horse, the King of Conquerors drew the long sword at his side.
Its tip pointed toward the skull masks three hundred meters away.
"Charge-!!!"
Ten thousand voices answered as one.
For an instant, the earth seemed to buckle beneath their weight.
Countless feet and hooves churned up the yellow sand, raising a vast curtain of dust.
The King of Conquerors rode Bucephalus at the very front, his scarlet cloak spread behind him, followed by a torrent of armor and spears.
Three hundred meters away, the Assassin bodies reacted differently to the sight. Some turned and fled, some drew concealed weapons, and some tried to hide in the sand with Presence Concealment.
It was useless.
Against the charge of over ten thousand Servant-class warriors, running, fighting, or hiding all led to the same result.
A little over ten seconds later, the first wave of Macedonian cavalry struck the Assassins' outer perimeter.
The King of Conquerors' short sword fell first, while Bucephalus's massive body sent two Assassins who had failed to dodge flying.
Their Spirit Origins began to disintegrate while they were still in the air.
The cavalry behind him charged in like a sledgehammer smashing into a pile of porcelain. Spears pierced, hooves trampled, and short swords slashed. Wherever they struck, an Assassin body fell.
Some Assassins tried to slip through gaps between the cavalry, but the infantry behind them immediately closed those openings.
Some highly mobile bodies leaped into the air, trying to get past overhead. The archer formations loosed a volley at the same moment, and a rain of arrows sealed off every escape route.
The slaughter ended in less than a minute.
Nearly one hundred bodies of Hassan of the Hundred Faces were wiped out, with not a single one remaining.
Remnants of Spirit Origins dissolving into black motes of light littered the sand, and the hot wind swept them toward the distant horizon.
Assassin.
The second Servant eliminated from this Holy Grail War.
Mayuri stood in the distance and watched it all from beginning to end.
Her rose-red eyes narrowed slightly, not out of fear, but as she assessed just how powerful the King of Conquerors' trump card was.
Over ten thousand Servant-class warriors, with a Reality Marble deployed-this Noble Phantasm had gone beyond individual martial prowess and become the power of an army.
But her Astral Dress could block these attacks.
Even if ten thousand swords struck her at once, she would not be injured.
As long as they were not special conceptual attacks, human wave tactics were useless against her.
After the battle ended, the King of Conquerors rode Bucephalus around the edge of the battlefield. Once he confirmed there were no survivors, he raised his short sword.
The Reality Marble dissolved.
The desert, blazing sun, hot wind, and army numbering in the tens of thousands all vanished within a second, like a mirage.
November's cold wind replaced the scorching air.
The sand beneath their feet turned back into neat gray-white paving stones, =.
The midday sun overhead receded as well, replaced by the cold white moon hanging between the castle's corner towers.
The courtyard garden of Einzbern Castle had returned.
Waver was still sprawled on the paving stones, panting heavily, his face deathly pale.
Irisviel stood beneath the archway, lingering shock still visible in her wine-red eyes.
Artoria remained where she stood.
Her emerald eyes watched the King of Conquerors, her silver-blue armor cold beneath the moonlight. There was no telling what she thought of the scene just now.
Mayuri bent down and picked up the plastic bag and cola bottle she had left on the paving stones.
Some of the chips in the bag had been crushed during what had just happened, but the cola bottle was still intact.
Holding her things, she turned toward Iskandar.
The King of Conquerors had already dismounted from Bucephalus.
His warhorse had vanished along with the Reality Marble, leaving him standing alone in the center of the garden.
His amber eyes moved over everyone present, one by one.
Mayuri spoke.
"King of Conquerors."
Her voice was much steadier, without the forcefulness of her earlier drunken state, but her words remained the same.
"Tomorrow. The southern outskirts of Fuyuki City. You and me. Be there."
Iskandar's gaze settled on her for two seconds before he smiled.
That smile was a little different from before, less casual, with a little more serious appraisal and anticipation.
He did not answer.
But no answer was an answer in itself.
Mayuri said no more. Her four wings spread slightly, and she rose silently from the paving stones, flying into the night sky with a bag of snacks and a bottle of cola. A few seconds later, she disappeared into the darkness above the castle.
Kid Gil rose from the ground and brushed nonexistent dust off his black-and-gold formal attire.
"Bye-bye. I'm leaving, too."
The boy waved to the King of Conquerors and Artoria, a hint of ease in his crimson eyes.
"I'll come watch tomorrow."
"Come by all means, King of Heroes."
Iskandar's voice returned to the volume it had held during the banquet.
"We'll have a battle of our own afterward."
"I'm looking forward to it, Uncle King of Conquerors."
Golden particles of magical energy climbed upward from Kid Gil's feet.
The boy's figure gradually faded, finally becoming a cloud of golden motes that scattered into the night.
Only the King of Conquerors, Waver, and the two from the Einzbern side remained in the garden.
Iskandar's gaze lingered briefly on the spot where Kid Gil had vanished, then returned to Artoria.
His gaze rested on the King of Knights for about three seconds.
The holy sword Excalibur, plus Avalon, the Everdistant Utopia. Both offense and defense were already maxed out.
Without a way to counter Avalon, there was little chance of breaking through head-on.
She was probably the toughest nut to crack in this Holy Grail War.
As for that blond brat Archer, he hadn't revealed much tonight.
All he'd shown was taking a wine jug and cups out of golden ripples.
Those golden ripples most likely connected to some kind of separate storage space. How much it could hold and what it contained were still unknown.
But combined with the name Gilgamesh, the title King of Heroes, and the legends of the King of Uruk, Iskandar already had some idea.
He just needed to find an opportunity to test it later.
The King of Conquerors looked down at Waver, who was still sprawled on the ground.
He bent down, lifted the boy off the ground with one hand, and tucked him beneath his arm like a kitten.
"We're leaving, boy. We gained quite a lot tonight."
With a wave of his right hand, Gordius Wheel emerged from Spirit Form.
Two black divine bulls appeared in the garden clearing, treading on purple lightning, the chariot gleaming coldly beneath the moonlight.
The King of Conquerors tossed Waver into the back of the chariot, jumped into the driver's position, and took the reins.
"Saber."
Before driving away, he looked back at Artoria, who still stood where she had been.
"I don't think you lost tonight's debate. But I don't think you won, either. I hope you'll have thought things through by the next time we meet."
The reins snapped down.
The divine bulls set off.
The chariot charged out through the gap in the garden, rolling over the path it had plowed on its way in. The glow of purple lightning slowly receded into the dark forest.