This Is My Holy Grail War [190]

Rider turned back and met Anya’s eyes once more.

The little girl’s tears clung stubbornly to the corners of her eyes, refusing to fall, but her trembling body betrayed her fear. She was scared—there was no doubt about that. He needed to reassure her.

“…Hmm.” Rider hesitated for a moment, then finally said, “I’m going to take a look. I need to find out who did this.”

“Is that so?” Anya stared into Rider’s eyes, not saying much else.

“Yes.” Rider nodded, then asked, “Do you want to come with me?”

“Of course not.” Anya shook her head quickly. “I just… I’m just a little angry.”

Her lips were pressed tightly together, and Rider could see the faint impression of her teeth biting down on them. A clear sign of tension—she was flustered.

Raising a child… was not something Rider was particularly good at. But Anya was far more obedient and understanding than most girls her age.

Rider wanted to find a toy or something to distract her, something to help her pass the unbearable time ahead. But looking around, he realized everything was shrouded in darkness.

He sighed and gave up. “Get some sleep. When you wake up, all of this will be over.”

“Is this a dream?” Anya asked absentmindedly.

“Yes. A nightmare.”

“You must be really angry right now.”

Her small, frail body stood against the cold night sky, swaying slightly in the wind as if she might collapse at any moment. She wasn’t fooled.

Sometimes, knowing too much was its own kind of sorrow.

“…A little,” Rider admitted, furrowing his brow. For some reason, he felt as though Anya was much older than she looked.

“Well, um… you have to stay calm.” Her voice, still carrying the softness of childhood, sounded oddly mature. “If you lose your temper, you might do something reckless. That’s what my mother always said.”

She spoke softly, cautiously, as if afraid that raising her voice would awaken some lurking ghost.

“Of course. I’m just going to take a look,” Rider reassured her. He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Anya called out again.

“You still haven’t answered me. Why do you have to go?”

“Someone has to.” Rider’s voice was steady. “If no one steps forward now, there may not be a chance to step forward at all.”

This was not a mere warning.

The little girl didn’t reply, only standing there in silence, as if accepting Rider’s decision.

He left her there, alone.

She stayed behind, alone.

One left, one remained—each leaving only a lonely silhouette behind.

The road ahead was a bloodstained wasteland, and as Rider walked, memories of the past resurfaced.

Green fields stretched endlessly, filled with the laughter of children. He lay on a straw mat, gazing up at the sky, thinking about the next harvest. But that night, everything changed. That night, he was conscripted.

In those times, every farmer was required to serve in the military at regular intervals. Rider was no exception. That was the moment he stepped onto a path of no return.

The harsh laws were merciless. He knew that if he didn’t fight, death was inevitable.

No one picks up a sword and challenges an empire unless they’re driven to the edge of despair.

And so, he rebelled.

And in doing so, he carved out his most glorious moment.

But after seeing the heights of power and prosperity, Rider had fallen. He had failed to keep his promises.

When he was summoned from the Throne of Heroes, it was before he had fully walked his path. The Rider of this era was still in the early days of his rebellion. Yet, Heroic Spirits did not experience time in a linear fashion. They had no true sense of a timeline.

Even as a Servant, Rider was no exception.

After witnessing the entirety of his own fate, Rider knew exactly what he would do in the future.

And so, he told Anya—never use your last [Command Spell].

Looking back, everything felt like a dream.

As he walked, Rider no longer needed to shift into spirit form. There was no one left to see him.

And the dead would keep their secrets.

These poor, unfortunate bones would never speak a word.

Rider followed the flow of magical energy, rushing forward, stepping over scattered remains, wading through rivers of blood. The mana inside him surged like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

His eyes burned red.

The closer he got to his destination, the clearer the magical feedback became. He felt multiple familiar presences—unmistakably the aura of Servants.

When he arrived, he saw only a lone figure standing in the street.

A strange woman.

Rider had never seen her before, but magic never lied—this woman was Saber.

Saber’s entire body was wrapped in a thick cloak, concealing everything beneath it. She stood motionless, staring ahead.

Rider followed her gaze—

At the swirling black vortex before them.

“…What is that?” Rider couldn’t help but ask.

“A sacrifice,” Saber answered. “Someone is preparing to devour this city.”

“For mana?!” Rider was incredulous. He couldn’t fathom who would be insane enough to—

It must be Lancer.

“…Archer’s group.”

Saber’s response caught Rider slightly off guard.

He studied her carefully, but the hood obscured her face completely. The black shadows concealed her expression, leaving only a faint, unsettling smile visible.

“…Are you sure?” Rider frowned, finding the situation odd.

“You can ask Caster,” Saber said, as if already expecting his doubt. “Or… you could go help him.”

Caster is fighting Archer.

That was the message hidden in Saber’s words.

“You don’t seem very concerned about Archer,” Rider noted. “Are you just going to stand there and watch?”

He had half a mind to pry open Saber’s chest just to see if her heart was made of stone.

“Does winning or losing really matter?” Saber countered. “We Servants weren’t summoned by the Holy Grail to fight. We were summoned to fulfill a wish that has never been granted.”

“…Some people must pay for that wish. In blood.”

Rider was trying to persuade her to join him.

“If you commit a crime, you must face the consequences,” Saber continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Whether you are a commoner—or a king.”

Rider froze.

For a long time, he stood in silence, caught in a memory that did not yet belong to him.

He knew.

He knew he had never truly borne the weight of his responsibility.

Yet, hearing Saber’s words made him feel more like a criminal than ever before.

“…You—” Rider started to speak, but in the end, the words never left his lips.

“I’ll help,” Saber said firmly, cutting him off. It was as if she already knew what he was going to say.

“But only after I take the Holy Grail.”

“…Where are you going?” Rider asked quickly.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

Before he could stop her, Saber’s form dissolved into a swirl of violet butterflies, fluttering toward the horizon.

If Rider wasn’t mistaken, she was heading toward—

The River of Swords.

—

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!