This Is My Holy Grail War [150]

The moonlight seemed to shimmer with a veil of ambiguity, obscuring the stars in a haze of pale, colorless radiance.

The vast and silent night sky held only the frosty glow of the moon, an ethereal, distant presence. Homunculus Heath’s steps faltered, unsure whether to advance or retreat.

A creation of the Black faction, Heath had found himself unexpectedly becoming a Master of the Red faction. His participation in the war was a contradiction, and the Servant who answered his call offered him no clarity.

Enkidu, the divine tool crafted by the gods, a tether between divinity and humanity, was summoned without a catalyst. Treading the earth, Enkidu’s primal will to exist transcended the boundaries of time and space, bringing him to Heath’s side.

What is the purpose of my existence? Heath looked up at the moon, its light hazy and indistinct. He couldn’t tell if it was warm or cold. No, I’ll find that purpose after I survive!

Saber’s words echoed faintly in his ears, and he clenched his fists with determination.

Through their bond, Heath received Enkidu’s emotions: the earth’s sorrow and the Berserker’s seething rage.

“Give me your orders, Master.” Berserker’s eyes, hidden beneath a cascade of green hair, betrayed nothing. But the contract between them pulsed with anger and frustration, filling Heath with doubt.

Heath didn’t know what to do. It was only recently that he had first initiated contact with Amakusa Shirou Tokisada, the leader of the Red faction.

“Shirou… Father Shirou, right?”

The conversation replayed vividly in Heath’s mind. His exchange with Shirou had left an indelible mark on him.

“Yes, you must be Berserker’s Master,” Shirou replied, his efficient attire paired with a radiant smile.

“Yes,” Heath said, lifting his head abruptly to meet Shirou’s gaze. “If you win the Holy Grail… what will you wish for?”

“I desire world peace, to use the Grail to save all humanity.” Shirou’s voice was soft but clear, each word enunciated with precision.

The Holy Grail, a wish-granting omnipotent device, would surely make such a dream a reality.

“I just want to live. I don’t care about anything else,” Heath admitted. His ideals were undefined, but he knew he couldn’t bear to see the ones he cared about vanish from the world. “I want to protect Saber!” he declared. Though unrefined, his conviction was clear.

“That’s fine,” Shirou said, his tone warm and friendly. His gentle demeanor exuded sincerity as he continued, “My plan for saving humanity involves the Greater Grail. By harnessing the power of the Third Magic, all human souls will be materialized, and people will abandon their emotions. Without war, death, or sacrifice, humanity can live in peace—happy and carefree.”

His words didn’t feel like a conversation but an oration, as if he were addressing a crowd rather than an individual.

“Stripping away human emotions?” Heath frowned. Beneath Shirou’s optimistic facade, Heath sensed something sinister.

“Yes,” Shirou nodded without hesitation.

“But what does this have to do with Saber?” Heath was confused.

“Servants are mere copies of Heroic Spirits, pure manifestations of the soul,” Shirou explained. “When humanity’s souls are fully materialized through the Third Magic, Servants will remain in the physical world. They will no longer disappear due to a lack of magical energy.”

That’s perfect!

Just as Heath began to revel in this newfound hope, he stopped mid-step, his joy replaced by disbelief. He turned back to Shirou, his mouth agape.

“A homunculus—an artificial construct of flesh and magic.” Shirou spoke calmly, preempting Heath’s unspoken question. “Even if you’ve awakened to your individuality, you lack one thing that defines humanity: a soul.”

Those words hit Heath like a bolt of lightning.

He didn’t have a soul.

This meant that even if Shirou’s plan succeeded, Heath himself wouldn’t survive.

Heath pressed his hand to his chest, staring at the desolate ruins surrounding him. The Holy Grail War had reached its climax, and he knew Shirou commanded multiple Servants. Challenging him directly was impossible, especially when Saber was one of Shirou’s own.

I want to live… but what is the purpose of my life? He searched for answers. And then it struck him.

Saber!

“Will stripping away humanity’s emotions let Saber survive?!” Heath demanded, his voice trembling with urgency. “Tell me!”

“Which Saber are you referring to?” Shirou asked, intrigued.

“Black Saber,” Heath replied.

“She’ll survive,” Shirou assured him.

Those words etched themselves deeply into Heath’s mind.

Saber can survive… she can live!

“That’s enough! That’s all I need!” Heath declared without hesitation. “As long as Saber is happy, even if it’s only for a moment, I’ll sacrifice… I’ll sacrifice myself for her.” The conviction in his voice was startling, especially given his youthful face.

“Have you made your decision? I expected to use far more effort persuading you—perhaps even lies. Yet it seems I didn’t need them,” Shirou said, clearly surprised.

“Even without a soul, I can still be with her for a little while,” Heath whispered, staring at his trembling hands, the warmth in them now replaced by an icy chill.

“When everyone else loses their emotions, you’ll be the only one left with any,” Shirou added, his words cutting through Heath like a dagger. “But even so, you’ll only have a brief century to live.”

“Only three years.” Heath’s voice trembled with bitterness as he corrected the priest’s words.

“I’m sorry.”

Shirou’s tone was calm, but he fell silent after offering his apology. Heath didn’t respond either, retreating into his own somber thoughts.

He finally understood what “finding the meaning of living after surviving” truly meant.

Saber, I’ve already found my purpose for living. He was born to be a scabbard, so his sole mission was to protect the sword.

To help Saber, Heath was willing to become a demon—to strip the world of its emotions. If Amakusa’s plan succeeded, Heath might become the only human left in the world capable of feeling anything. In a sea of darkness, he would be a lone speck of white—a fleeting anomaly destined to vanish.

Both angel and demon. Heath was a paradox, a white-scaled dragon-serpent.

The recollection ended, and Heath’s gaze turned steely cold. The boy who had once been frail and uncertain now exuded a maturity tinged with madness.

“Let’s go, Berserker. Kill anyone from the Black faction you encounter!” His youthful face was twisted with fury, his voice brimming with a killing intent so potent that it startled even him.

“A weapon should obey its purpose,” Berserker said with a slight nod. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, he shot toward the battlefield with urgency.

The moon shone brightly, its light almost blinding. Under its cold glow, Heath watched as Enkidu’s form grew fainter, disappearing into the fray.

Heath’s frail body wasn’t built for battle. The bitter night wind felt icy against his skin, and the jagged ground beneath his feet stabbed sharply at his soles.

He moved slowly across the terrain, his pace far behind Berserker’s. By the time he arrived, he was too late to see Saber.

He opened his mouth to call out but was silenced by the overwhelming sight before him.

A sea of crimson stretched endlessly before his eyes, formed by countless jagged stakes gleaming with malice. The mere sight of it sent a chill racing down his spine, his body drenched in cold sweat.

Above the blood-red waves towered a colossal giant that seemed to reach the heavens. Heath realized he wasn’t even the size of its palm.

So, this is what Saber was facing all along?

The crushing presence of the Black faction’s Servants bore down on him like a mountain.

Where is Saber? Heath reached out to his Servant with his thoughts.

She’s gone to find the Greater Grail, Enkidu replied.

Where is it?

Ahead. But the path is blocked. Unless you defeat the giant and Black Lancer, you won’t get through.

Enkidu’s voice was firm, devoid of emotion, dashing Heath’s hopes of seeing Saber.

No matter. If we win, I’ll see her again, Heath thought, attempting to reassure himself. Though the words rang hollow, he said them anyway.

The battlefield was chaos—a brutal clash of titans. Red Lancer Karna and Berserker Enkidu fought side by side, challenging the mighty Adam and the king of the land, Vlad III.

The land itself seemed caught in a power struggle. Both Berserker and Vlad sought control, with the giant Adam adding to the fray.

The air was thick with raging magical energy, so oppressive that even breathing felt like inhaling fire.

An ordinary human would have been overwhelmed just by standing there. This battlefield was steeped in the divine, a space pulled straight from myth and legend.

Heath’s fragile body strained under the pressure. He forced himself to observe the chaos, using the distractions to numb his growing discomfort.

Above him, an ethereal steed soared through the skies, pursued by glimmering silver arrows.

“Yo, how are you holding up?” Despite being locked in a deadly aerial chase, Astolfo called down to Heath with a cheerful wave.

“I’m doing well. I’ve found my reason to live,” Heath replied, returning the wave with a faint smile.

“Keep it up, then—waaah!” Astolfo’s words ended abruptly as an arrow narrowly grazed his temple. He ducked low, clutching his mount’s neck, trembling in fright.

“I will,” Heath murmured, though Astolfo was already out of earshot.

Archer Atalanta didn’t spare Heath another glance. The graceful huntress focused entirely on her prey, loosing arrows relentlessly as she chased Rider through the sky.

On the ground, Heath’s attention was drawn to a bloodied girl letting out a hoarse, furious scream. Black Berserker—her voice was nearly gone, her body battered and broken.

The girl charged forward, wielding a strange, massive weapon, only to be ensnared by deep purple chains.

Red Assassin Semiramis stood in her path, her chains coiling like serpents, tightening their grip.

In retaliation, Berserker unleashed a burst of emerald lightning. Though her Noble Phantasm wasn’t overwhelmingly powerful, it was enough to shatter Semiramis’s magic. Electric currents danced across the battlefield, their arcs vivid against the night.

Without her fortress, Semiramis’s combat effectiveness had plummeted. Even against a battered Berserker, she struggled to hold her ground.

“Can you win Berserker?” Heath couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“With coordination and the use of Noble Phantasms, yes,” Enkidu replied, his voice steady even in the midst of combat.

“That’s good to hear.”

Heath raised his right hand, the Command Spells glowing faintly under the moonlight. He issued his order with quiet determination.

“By my Command Spell, you must win.”

The red sigil flared brightly, one of its segments vanishing.

The angelic and demonic wings etched into his hand blurred together, their divide erased.

Heath slowly sat down on the ground, unnervingly calm.

He was waiting—for Saber’s triumphant return.

And for his own peaceful demise.

At most, he had three years left to live.

—

T/N: IAHTIHS I MUST TRANSLATE THE OTHERRR SOTRIESO

This is a fan translation of 这是我的圣杯之战 by 向希望祈祷. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!