The setting sun dyed the meadows outside Trifas a vibrant orange-red. Gordes stood before Jeanne d'Arc, his expression shifting from anticipation to stiffness.
"Ruler, how about returning to the Millennia Fortress with us? We would like to treat you with the utmost courtesy—"
"I refuse."
Jeanne d'Arc's answer was crisp and decisive, without even giving him a second glance.
She turned and left, leaving only the words that lingered in the air. "My stance is neutral."
Gordes opened his mouth, but said nothing.
On the afternoon of the day they returned empty-handed from Trifas, the atmosphere in the main hall of the Millennia Fortress was so heavy it was almost palpable.
Darnic sat in the main seat, his fingertips rhythmically tapping the armrest.
"The outer barrier sensed the Servant's intrusion an hour ago, Independent Action, broke through head-on, and destroyed three waves of patrolling golems along the way."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Master present.
"Judging from his modus operandi, he should be Berserker. His real name is unknown."
"Berserker? By day, alone?" Celenike raised an eyebrow. "What's going on in this guy's head?"
"I don't know. But this is an opportunity for us." Darnic's lips curled into a slight smile. "A lone Berserker, if we can capture him alive—"
"Capture alive?" Caules repeated softly.
"Yes, as a chess piece." Darnic ignored Caules's mutterings and continued, "Berserkers are usually extremely powerful fighters. If their thinking abilities can be sealed and controlled, Black Faction will have another shield."
In a corner of the hall, a man wearing a golden mask stood quietly. Avicebron didn't speak, but there was a subtle sense of anticipation in his silence.
I agree with Darnic's opinion.
A steady voice came from beside the head of the table. Vlad III slowly stood up, his dark golden pupils like two pieces of burnt amber in the dim hall.
"I will personally take action."
His gaze swept over Fiore.
"Berserker, you're here too. Caster is coming along to oversee the sealing."
Heracles nodded. This tall, imposing man, whose physique seemed to burst out of his collar, now spoke clearly and in a deep, powerful voice.
If someone had told them a week ago that this Berserker could communicate like a normal person, any Master from the Black Faction would have thought the other person was crazy.
"Saber, Rider, and Archer, stay behind," Vlad III concluded. "Beware of being lured away from the main force."
Mukuro Hoshimiya yawned.
"Alright, I'll stay here then."
Astolfo leaned closer, put his arm around her shoulder, and lowered his voice.
Of course, lowering one's voice simply means speaking at the volume of an average person.
"Hey, don't you want to go see the excitement?"
"In no mood."
"Real?"
"... Okay, a little. But an order is an order."
Siegfried stood a short distance away, silently watching the three leave.
The outer perimeter of the fortress, to the east, is a forest.
Spartacus smashed the last three golems with a single punch.
Wood chips and metal fragments flew through the air as he stood amidst the chaos, his chest heaving violently, his muscles bulging as if filled with magma, and his eyes burning with madness.
"Oppress... smash... everything..."
He growled indistinctly, about to take a step.
The earth was shaking.
No, it wasn't the earth. Something was approaching at an astonishing speed over an extremely short distance.
Spartacus whirled around and saw three figures rushing out from behind the trees in the distance.
There was no time to think.
A giant figure crashed into his field of vision.
Heracles's attack was so fast that it was almost impossible for a person of such a large size to make such a move.
His hand gripped Spartacus's shoulder like an iron clamp, then his knee rammed into Spartacus's abdomen, followed by a twist and press using the momentum:
"Ugh!"
Spartacus's roar abruptly ceased. He was pinned to the ground, his face pressed against the dirt and splinters of wood, his arms bound behind his back by Heracles with one hand.
He struggled desperately, his muscles bulging, but his hands were like a mountain, completely unmoving.
"Resistance is futile," Heracles said in a deep, calm voice. "Give up."
Avicebron, who arrived from behind, didn't waste any words. The figure behind the golden mask strode forward, his withered fingers pressing directly onto a patch of bare skin on Spartacus's forehead.
"Seal."
Dark purple lines spread from Avicebron's fingertips, wrapping around Spartacus's head like living things.
The Berserker's body stiffened for a moment, then his eyes, burning with madness, slowly dimmed, becoming empty and dull.
"Alright." Avicebron released his grip, his voice devoid of any emotion. "He has lost the ability to think independently. This will be his state for now."
From beginning to end, Vlad III didn't even have the opportunity to intervene.
When Darnic saw this scene from inside the fortress through the puppet's vision, he remained silent for three seconds before slowly exhaling.
"As expected, Heracles who has regained his sanity is the true strongest."
"Next."
Vlad III's dark golden eyes turned towards the depths of the eastern grove.
I sensed the presence of two small fish.
Avicebron had already begun to lead the unconscious Spartacus back, while Heracles stood still.
Vlad III had instructed before leaving that he would personally handle the two tails.
In the bushes.
"Hey, hey, hey, isn't this development a bit off?"
Achilles crouched behind a large oak tree, a few leaves clinging to his short green hair. He parted the branches to look out, his lips twitching slightly.
"What happened to scouting enemy positions? That guy was pinned down in three seconds."
Beside him, Atalanta did not answer. Her attention was not on the captured Berserker at all, but fixed on the tall figure in the distance who had subdued Spartacus.
Her cat ears perked up slightly. Her pupils contracted to thin slits.
How could that be?
"Hmm? What's wrong?"
"That man," Atalanta's voice was low, trembling with disbelief, "I know him."
"Huh? You know her, ma'am?"
"He is Heracles." Atalanta's throat was dry. "I saw him... aboard the Argo. I have no mistake for him."
Achilles ' expression froze for a moment.
"Spread!"
Atalanta almost instinctively lurched backward. The next second, an iron stake as thick as an arm shot out from where she had just been crouching, piercing the trunk of the large oak tree, sending splinters flying.
The earth began to roar.
One, two, ten, a hundred—countless iron stakes erupted from the ground, like a forest of metallic thorns, turning the surrounding forest upside down in the blink of an eye.
Trees were uprooted, rocks were pierced, and soil and wood chips tumbled through the air.
Vlad III stood in the distance, his dark golden pupils reflecting the ruins ravaged by iron stakes.
"You scoundrels lurking in the shadows, come out!"
"Okay, okay, I'll come out, alright!"
Achilles leaped out from behind a pile of rubble, dusted himself off, and even looked somewhat relaxed.
"Fine, you guys on the Black Faction are too aggressive, always trying to destroy the whole forest."
Vlad III sized up the young servant Servant. Short green hair, frivolous demeanor, and an aura of naivety mixed with belligerence emanating from him.
"State your name."
"Hmm--"
Achilles scratched his head. He secretly glanced at the Black Faction Servant in the distance. The eldest sister had already vanished, disappearing from contact the moment the iron stake was thrust out.
That tall man, judging by his physique and fighting style, is he Archer? Or Lancer? No, he's a Servant...
Achilles thought for a moment, then smiled.
"I'm Rider from the Red Faction. As for my real name—"
He put one hand on his hip, raised his index finger with the other, and spoke with the arrogance typical of young people.
"I may tell you. I am Achilles, son of the sea goddess Thetis and the hero Peleus."
Vlad III did not respond immediately.
Achilles ' Godspeed is renowned, and once his real name is revealed, the other party will understand the terrifying mobility and near-immortal defense possessed by this seemingly carefree young man.
But Vlad III was Vlad III.
" Achilles..." The dark golden pupils narrowed. "The legendary hero who is said to be immortal except for his heels, dares to reveal his real name."
"Oh dear, it's not cool to say things you don't know how to be confident."
Achilles grinned, lowered his body slightly, and assumed a fighting stance. "Moreover, the only one I can truly take seriously is Heracles, who is beside you."
Even our crazy guy was subdued by him in no time.
Heracles, standing in the distance, ignored his words and remained quietly in place, like a statue.
Achilles wondered to himself, what class does that guy... actually belong to?
"Now that you have introduced yourself," Vlad III slowly raised his right hand, causing the ground around him to tremble slightly, "Then I need not hold back."
Dozens of iron stakes emerged from the ground, forming a huge encirclement around Achilles, like a hunter's net.
"Come, descendant of Xenos."
"Oh, you even know about Xenos. You know me pretty well."
Achilles smiled, but the frivolity in his eyes was gone, replaced by pure fighting spirit.
"But let me make this clear first, I'm incredibly fast, those iron stakes of yours won't hit me."
The iron stakes shattered the ground.
Achilles ' figure appeared thirty meters away in the next second.