Chapter 452: [452] The Saint’s Dream, Red Faction Assembles
Mordred and her Master had left—they never truly belonged to the Red Faction’s frontlines. By now, they were likely seeking shelter somewhere, quietly licking their wounds.
In the devastated ruins of Sighișoara, all lights had gone out, and even the faintest whispers of people had faded away.
Only the mercury-like moonlight silently bathed the town.
A young man strolled down the deserted streets, savoring the rare moment of tranquility as he contemplated his next move.
Due to one mishap after another, the plan to recruit Red Saber—Mordred—had ended in failure. Of course, this couldn’t be blamed on anyone. Even if the plan had succeeded as intended, unless the conflict between that troublesome father and son was resolved, she would never have joined the Blue Faction.
He had taken things for granted. Unfortunately, with the Red Faction’s Hanging Gardens nearing completion, the Blue Faction no longer had any chance to secretly recruit Servants.
The battles surrounding the Ruler, the clashes over Berserker, the escape of the homunculi, the skirmishes between Servants and Masters in Sighișoara—so far, all four battles had miraculously resulted in zero casualties among the two, no, three factions involved.
But Sakatsuki knew this was only the beginning. When the Red Faction’s Hanging Gardens launched their assault, this Holy Grail War would truly transform into a meat grinder.
And he, Sakatsuki, would become the greatest dark hand pushing that grinder forward...
"Hey—!"
A voice called out from the distance. The young man looked up to see a golden-haired girl blinking her beautiful deep-blue eyes as she jogged toward him.
Just gazing at her figure wiped away the tangled thoughts in his mind, leaving only serenity behind.
The moonlight was truly beautiful.
As this thought crossed his mind, Jeanne d’Arc had already reached Sakatsuki, pouting as she complained, "What was that about? Why did she suddenly attack me? Do I really look that much like King Arthur?"
"Haven’t you already seen Mordred’s appearance?" Sakatsuki countered.
Jeanne was left speechless. In the end, she stomped her foot in frustration. "That girl is just awful! Anyway, don’t let me see her again! Not only did she attack me with her Noble Phantasm without warning, but also, also..."
"Also what?"
A blush spread across Jeanne’s cheeks. Under Sakatsuki’s teasing gaze, she couldn’t help but swat at his arm. "You’re the worst too! Acting like you don’t know is the worst!"
Clearly, the saint was upset about having her "date" interrupted. Sakatsuki didn’t retaliate, merely smiling as he let Jeanne vent her frustration. Those soft little fists of hers had no real force behind them anyway—it was practically a massage.
Sakatsuki’s good attitude left Jeanne quite satisfied.
"Anyway, remember—you owe me one!"
With that declaration, Ruler Jeanne d’Arc, still nursing her grudge against a certain rebellious knight, hurried off to the church to begin her busy work.
Mordred’s Noble Phantasm had been far too conspicuous. Applying suggestion magecraft to everyone in Sighișoara while also repairing the destruction caused by the battle between Servants and magi—this was clearly a massive undertaking, one even the Church would find troublesome.
What made matters worse was that Sighișoara, in its efforts to fully preserve its ancient architecture, had not installed gas pipelines, leaving the church officials without even a plausible excuse... A moment of silence, indeed.
After Jeanne d’Arc departed, Sakatsuki didn’t linger in Sighișoara either. Instead, summoned by the priest, he returned to the Red Faction’s stronghold.
————
It was a nightmare so despairing it froze the mind.
That world was already on the brink of death. The malice of its rulers blanketed the land, leaving the weak powerless to resist, forced to let their oppressors suck them dry.
Everywhere, there was only despair.
After enduring relentless exploitation, they finally glimpsed a sliver of hope—a single phrase brimming with compassion and salvation.
Those words were beautiful enough to keep them from succumbing to hunger, poverty, and despair. Yet, the rulers sought to snatch even that away. It was no longer exploitation—it was outright murder.
So, they rose. More than fearing death in battle, they feared having their right to live stolen from them.
And then, led by a miraculous child, they achieved victory.
—A victory that should never have been theirs. They were never meant to win. Blinded by the desperate need to save lives before their eyes, they failed to consider the bigger picture.
Though it’s said a cornered rat will bite the cat, the enraged cat would surely tear it apart afterward—such is the way of the world.
I was far too naive.
That was the boy’s profound remorse after losing everything.
The severed head of an old man, men carved apart like lab animals, infants impaled on spears, young girls ravaged by lust and discarded like trash.
It was a place that could only be called hell. Tens of thousands of lives gathered there—and the one who took them was not the enemy, but himself.
The boy was certain of this, yet even so, he refused to yield.
The boy named Amakusa Shirou Tokisada accepted this outcome with iron will, his expression unchanging. Silently, he gazed upon the scene of ruin unfolding before him, showing no hint of surrender or sorrow—not even the agony of his severed arms could break him.
I failed—I admit that.
I will die—I accept that.
Their deaths are entirely my responsibility—I will not deny it.
But I will never allow this to end here—that is where I draw the line.
To waste so many lives and gain nothing—that, I will never accept.
The saint sighed. The saint roared.
For this unspeakable tragedy, for every soul lost here.
So, O God, grant me one more chance. This time, I will not lose sight of the bigger picture. I will eliminate every obstacle, every enemy, every hardship in my path.
This time, without fail, I will—
"Seize all the world’s virtues into my grasp—"
The dream shattered. Amakusa Shirou Tokisada awoke from the layered memories of the past—less a nap and more the stirring of an indelible recollection. He had only meant to rest briefly, yet he had fallen into a deep slumber.
"Are you awake, Master? Rider, Archer, and that Assassin have already returned."
Red Assassin, Semiramis, had apparently allowed him to sleep on her lap the entire time—an act quite unlike the empress she was known to be.
"Hmm, why was I sleeping on your lap?" Amakusa asked bluntly.
He had no memory of such a thing. He recalled lying on a bench earlier, with no one around.
"Perhaps because I am an Assassin."
With that, the empress let out a soft, amused laugh. Her elven pointed ears peeked from beneath her long hair, and though her smile had once captivated countless men in life, the white-haired priest only responded with a puzzled expression.
"What if someone had seen us...?"
"It matters not. No one saw. Hmph, I was merely indulging in a whim befitting a Servant. Do you take issue with that?"
Her expression immediately shifted to one of irritation, yet this capriciousness carried no menace—instead, it held a playful, almost childlike charm.
Faced with the empress’s favor, Amakusa merely replied with calm words like, "That would have been quite embarrassing... but thank you," before rising without hesitation.
Semiramis was accustomed to Amakusa’s obliviousness, yet she still pursed her red lips in dissatisfaction before getting to the matter at hand.
"It’s time. Everyone has gathered—though we have lost Berserker."
"...While he wasn’t entirely indispensable, having him turn against us would be troublesome."
The two sighed simultaneously. The Noble Phantasm of the Red Faction’s Berserker, Spartacus—Crying Warmonger—was an ability that converted all damage inflicted upon him into magical energy before releasing it. Though classified as an anti-unit Noble Phantasm due to its self-targeting nature, its destructive power was on par with anti-army or even anti-fortress capabilities, capable of causing catastrophic devastation.
The problem lay in its sheer scale. If used in the wrong place, it could easily backfire, inflicting massive damage on their own forces.
"At least we know his Noble Phantasm... Though we can’t predict when he might activate it, a Servant should be able to sense it coming."
Casually discussing Berserker’s potential threat, the two soon arrived at the Red Faction’s throne room.
The doors opened automatically, revealing a vast chamber where several great heroes already awaited Amakusa and the empress.