This Is My Holy Grail War [108]

The sword known as [Durandal] shone brilliantly for but a moment. Exposing one’s weapon to the public, however, was rarely a wise choice. Saber opted to sheath the indestructible blade within [Avalon], [Excalibur]’s fabled scabbard.

Though Avalon was designed for a heavy two-handed sword, it seamlessly adjusted to accommodate [Durandal]’s form, wrapping itself perfectly around the long blade.

Saber remained in a quiet corner of the castle, listening intently to every word spoken by those around her, unwilling to miss even the smallest detail that might prove useful.

Only after the meeting dispersed did she pull out a black magic tome.

The grimoire, once belonging to Medea, carried echoes of Saber’s past. Despite the effects of the [Oblivion Correction] that usually obscured memories after death, this particular chapter of her existence remained vivid. She still remembered the witch’s profound love for her Master and her unyielding devotion.

Gently brushing her fingers across the black cover, Saber opened the book. Wasting no time, she began studying its contents after processing the information gleaned from the meeting.

The hall was now deserted; even her Master had retreated to his room. Saber sat alone, her solitary figure dwarfed by the vast, dimly lit chamber.

“Saber, you know magic?!”

The youthful voice startled Saber, prompting her to glance up in mild confusion.

“Hm?”

Before her stood a curious boy, his wide-eyed expression brimming with innocence. Despite being a magus, he had retained a childlike purity and unquenchable curiosity.

Roche Frain Yggdmillennia. 

At just thirteen, the boy from the Yggdmillennia family was already a skilled homunculus craftsman and the Master of Caster.

Based on prior intel, Saber knew he was an ally of the Black faction.

“I know a little,” she replied, closing the grimoire. “There’s still much to learn. Combat doesn’t rely solely on martial prowess; magic often proves crucial.”

“To maintain combat effectiveness, I believe studying magic is necessary. Learning to dispel, reinforce, or even launch magical attacks can turn the tide of battle. In some cases, killing a Master outright with magic is the best course of action. After all, this is war—there’s no room for mercy.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Roche exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “So, this is your approach to magic? My teacher is also a powerful mage!”

“Your teacher?”

“Caster!”

“And what kind of mage is he?” Saber asked with mild curiosity.

“A puppeteer! My teacher’s skills are incredible,” Roche boasted, his enthusiasm practically glowing. “He can input multiple commands into a puppet in an instant and create new ones with ease!”

Under the hall’s dim light, Roche gave a thumbs-up, his admiration for his teacher evident.

“In the blink of an eye, my teacher can create countless puppets. Even Servants like you would struggle if surrounded by them!”

“That does sound impressive.” Saber’s mind flickered briefly to the memory of being surrounded by dragonscale soldiers. She hadn’t found those constructs particularly challenging but decided not to comment.

“Hey, Saber! Want to visit my teacher’s workshop?” Roche asked excitedly, his enthusiasm uncontainable. “The puppets there are amazing!”

Seeing the eager gleam in Roche’s eyes, Saber found herself unable to refuse. “Very well. Lead the way.” She agreed, partly out of curiosity and partly to assess her ally’s capabilities.

The puppeteer’s workshop was nothing like Saber had imagined. Expecting an archaic, mystic laboratory, she was surprised to find a space aligned with modernity.

Cutting-edge production equipment, assembly lines, and industrial efficiency defined the workshop. Puppets were crafted at an astonishing pace, transitioning rapidly from raw materials to finished constructs.

If asked to describe it, Saber would call it a weapons factory. While these puppets were no match for a Servant in terms of combat power, their overwhelming numbers more than compensated for their individual weaknesses.

Workers in uniform moved ceaselessly, manufacturing puppet after puppet. The workshop’s owner, Caster, meticulously inspected each creation until his gaze fell upon Saber and Roche.

“Master, this is…?” The masked Caster’s eyes narrowed, his tone laced with hostility as he scrutinized Saber.

“This is Saber,” Roche answered cheerfully. “She seems to know a bit about magic and was curious about the puppets, so I invited her to see the workshop!”

Turning to Saber, Roche added enthusiastically, “So, what do you think? Aren’t the puppets incredible?!”

“They are impressive,” Saber admitted, nodding. “Even the strongest Servant would find it difficult to contend with such overwhelming numbers.”

As she spoke, her gaze shifted to the workers. “And these people… what are they?”

It didn’t take long for her to notice something unusual. These weren’t ordinary magi. Their movements were mechanical, devoid of autonomy.

“Homunculi,” Caster answered curtly. “Artificial life created through alchemy.”

“Homunculi? They’re made here?” Saber asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes.”

“Could I see more? I’m curious about artificial life.”

Caster hesitated, but after a long pause, he relented. “Fine. Follow me.”

Rows of homunculi stood before Saber, their lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead.

She couldn’t shake the impression that if ordered to die, they would obey without hesitation. These were no more than machines wearing the guise of life. Without a will to survive, they were merely tools following the programming of their creators.

The sight evoked a pang of pity. In the dimly lit underground hall, countless incubation tanks lined the walls, each containing a developing homunculus. They grew slowly, only to become batteries—disposable sources of mana.

Saber realized the source of her immense mana supply.

It must be these homunculi, she speculated, scanning the room.

The air was damp and cold, a faint draft adding to the somber atmosphere. The homunculi stared at her with dull, unseeing eyes, yet she caught a glimmer of confusion within their gaze.

They know their mana and lives are being consumed by Masters and Servants alike, yet they remain unmoved—indifferent to their own existence.

The scene brought to mind the image of Gilgamesh, the oldest Heroic Spirit, who viewed creations such as these as mere tools. Saber began to understand that perspective.

For a long moment, she stood silently, contemplating. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and left the factory.

Halfway to the exit, she glanced back one last time at the tanks where artificial lives continued to form.

Through the glass, she saw their decay—the inevitability of their deaths.

Saber’s footsteps slowed, each one heavy with thought. Yet eventually, she closed the doors behind her, leaving the eerie workshop and its lifeless creations behind.

—

T/N: …I think Seig will really hit home for her.

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!