This Is My Holy Grail War [163]

He had no name. Since birth, he had wandered endlessly. Perhaps calling him “Nameless” was the most fitting. Yes, that was it—an anonymous traveler, full of contradictions.

Why contradictions? Because Nameless had naturally auburn hair, yet his face lacked the broad features of a European. Instead, it bore the delicate refinement of the East. This paradox left him deeply confused about his own existence, uncertain of his direction in life.

By sheer chance, he once saved a peculiar passerby. That encounter led him to the world of the occult. And more than that—he discovered that he actually possessed magical talent. As a first-generation magus, he was surprisingly capable.

But without a Magic Crest, he was fated to remain an outsider to the Mage’s Association, limited to the rudimentary spells that were common knowledge among magi.

Perhaps he should have gone to study at the Clock Tower. But to him, he was nothing more than a salted fish—drifting aimlessly, content with mediocrity. Nameless had no desire to delve too deeply into the mysteries of magecraft. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, his ears were extraordinarily sharp. The cries for help never ceased—they clung to him like a curse, an ever-present whisper in his mind.

The occult was calling him.

Nameless suspected he had awakened to his [Origin], but he couldn’t be sure. Stranger still, he could only hear cries related to the supernatural. No matter how great the disaster, if it was mundane in nature, he felt nothing.

Thus, he became a wandering magus who practiced healing magic, following the voices and saving lives wherever he went. Fortunately, for a magus, simply surviving wasn’t too difficult.

Every time Nameless intervened, he walked the fine line between life and death. Sometimes, he would encounter Dead Apostles. Other times, vengeful magi seeking revenge. There were even instances where he found himself caught in battles between lingering spirits.

Countless times, reason told him to walk away—to ignore the cries and save himself. But he could never do it. He always chose to act. By some miracle, despite his reckless decisions, he was still alive. In fact, he had even built good relationships with many magi from the underground world.

But today—today was different.

The cries were overwhelming. Nameless was engulfed in a cacophony of voices, screams pounding against his eardrums like an explosion. It felt as if the entire city was screaming directly into his mind.

He had to act.

The voices refused to let him rest, setting his nerves on edge.

A hospital consumed by flames. Cries echoed through the air. The ambient magic pulsing through the area made Nameless’s heart sink. The arsonist was still here—of that, he was certain. But why had they set the fire?

Rationality warned him that the culprit must be a lunatic. If he approached recklessly, he would die. But still, he crouched low and slipped inside.

The hospital was an inferno, flames swallowing everything in sight. Yet, amidst the heat distortion, Nameless inched forward cautiously.

Sweat dripped down his face, his body burning under the oppressive heat.

The presence of magic grew stronger. And then—he saw her.

A girl?

Doubt clouded his mind. Could she be the arsonist? He could feel her overwhelming presence, an undeniable aura of power.

Bodies lay strewn across the hospital corridor, twisted in agony. The raging fire sought to devour everything. Black smoke surged, spewing lethal toxins into the air.

The most logical choice was to turn back. To leave.

Yes, leaving would be the rational thing to do. Letting these people die might be cruel, but as a magus and part-time healer, Nameless could save far more lives in the long run. With time, he could merge magecraft with modern medical techniques, passing on his knowledge to help countless others.

He understood this perfectly. The scales in his mind had already tipped—logic dictated that he should walk away.

Yet, against all reason, he moved forward.

Near the hospital lobby, the flames had subsided. Only ashes and ruins remained. The fire hadn’t spread further in this area—perhaps it had been extinguished by the magus girl.

Nameless was not a combatant. Approaching her was a gamble with his life. If she noticed him, he would be dead in an instant.

He moved with extreme caution, the flickering fire providing just enough cover. As his vision cleared, he saw—

She was saving people.

Clumsy and frantic, she struggled with the unconscious victims, fumbling as she attempted to cast healing spells. But her efforts were futile. The problem wasn’t their injuries—they had been poisoned. Simply stimulating wound recovery was meaningless without first neutralizing the toxins.

Clearly, she had little experience with healing magic. And her understanding of modern medical knowledge was sorely lacking.

Nameless hesitated for a brief moment.

Saving lives comes first.

By now, he had long disregarded concerns about his own survival—perhaps without even realizing it.

Emerging from his hidden spot, he called out to the girl. To his relief, she was not the arsonist. Like him, she had come to rescue those caught in the disaster.

After a brief exchange, Nameless learned her name, identity, and purpose. She had nothing to hide—if anything, she exuded an air of arrogance.

Together, Nameless and Naskia began tending to the injured, evacuating civilians from the burning hospital. But the flames were too intense. They could only establish a makeshift shelter in the hospital’s outer plaza.

Naskia had already dismantled the barrier left by the arsonist magus. Now, all they had to do was wait for outside reinforcements.

As more people were rescued, the challenges mounted. To prevent the Mystery from being exposed, Nameless hypnotized each survivor after treatment. But as more eyes turned to him, maintaining the illusion became increasingly exhausting.

At this point, he should have stopped using magic. He knew this.

But… he couldn’t just stand by and watch people die.

So many were still fighting desperately to survive. How could he turn his back on them?

Inside the hospital, cries for help continued. There were at least a thousand people still trapped—many of them injured patients, the elderly, and children. They had no means of escape. Nameless had to act.

Yet, if he continued, the Mystery would be exposed. The consequences would be dire. The moment his magic was revealed, he would be stripped of his ability to use magecraft. Worse, the Mage’s Association would hunt him down. If that happened, he wouldn’t even be able to save himself.

Once again, the scales appeared in his mind.

Protecting the Mystery would yield far greater benefits than saving a few more lives. The rational choice was clear.

But once again, Nameless ignored the weight of the scales.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he pressed on.

It wasn’t the heat of the fire that made him sweat. It was the crushing pressure of life slipping away.

He was using his magic to maintain a large-scale mental field, subtly nudging the minds of the survivors—making them believe everything was normal. If not for Naskia assisting him and shouldering part of the burden, he would have collapsed already.

A small mercy: this was a hospital. Among the survivors were nurses and doctors. They could tend to some of the wounded, sparing Nameless from personally treating every injury.

As he worked, Nameless caught sight of something—a powerful Familiar assisting Naskia in rescuing the wounded.

The others couldn’t perceive it.

But he knew exactly what it was.

Although it had a humanoid form, it was in truth a spiritual entity. The sheer magical energy constructing its body blazed like a sun. That was… a Servant.

Nameless had spent years wandering the streets, but he was not some reclusive magus ignorant of the world. Of course, he knew what the Holy Grail War was—a mystical ritual, a wish-granting machine said to fulfill any desire.

Yet, he had no interest in such things. He had no wish that required a miracle.

To him, even staying alive felt aimless. His actions were driven only by the whispers in his mind. Nameless knew that, at every moment, somewhere in the world, someone was facing death. He couldn’t save them all—he could only save those he was aware of.

“You started learning medicine… just because you can hear people calling for help?”

Naskia studied him curiously, as if looking at a complete anomaly.

Nameless nodded but did not stop what he was doing. He was the only one here capable of treating the poisoned victims, and there were far too many of them.

“I know I can’t heal everyone in the world. But as long as I try my best, that’s enough.”

He was not some naive dreamer; he understood the limits of his abilities.

“You’re a good person.” Naskia affirmed, then clenched her fists. “If I find out who set this fire, I swear I’ll throw them into my grandfather’s basement!”

“Your grandfather’s basement… is it that terrifying?” A chill ran down Nameless’s spine.

“Mm-hmm!” Naskia shuddered, then quickly changed the subject. “I can sense it—someone’s coming from outside.”

“Firefighters won’t be able to save them. If their wounds aren’t treated soon, they’ll die.” Nameless kept his focus, refusing to let his hands stop moving.

No matter how much Naskia tried to persuade him, even using the authority of the Mage’s Association as leverage, it was useless.

Nameless would not back down—his mind was already made up.

Again and again, the scales of reason appeared in his mind. And every time, he chose the irrational path.

The number of rescued people kept growing. More and more eyes turned toward Nameless, filled with confusion.

The hospital remained encircled by flames, the plaza growing ever more crowded.

Every time Nameless saved someone—especially when using magic—the risk of exposing Mystery increased.

If Mystery was revealed, his ability as a healer would be diminished. And yet, the very magic he wielded could save even more lives.

Logic dictated that he should stop here, let those still trapped perish.

He had decades ahead of him. If he preserved himself, he could use his magic to save countless lives in the future.

If he pushed himself too far now, he might one day be forced to stand by, powerless, as even more people died before his eyes.

He only needed to stay still. To watch.

To weigh lives on a scale, then discard the lighter side.

But he couldn’t do it.

Every time Nameless saw a child crying, screaming for their lost parents, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

Every time he witnessed an elder mourning their fallen child, he loathed himself for failing to prevent it.

He was exhausted—so, so tired.

But never once had he abandoned a single life.

Piece by piece, he mended wounds, treating every last person without exception.

Until—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion shook the earth, a violent shockwave flattening everything in its wake!

Before his eyes, the hospital collapsed with a thunderous roar, toppling to the left—straight toward the plaza’s edge!

No ordinary human could withstand the force of a falling building. Dozens of floors crumbled like an avalanche, the burning wreckage crashing down in a fiery rain, turning the sky into a meteor storm.

Panic erupted. People screamed and scattered in chaos. In an instant, the fragile order they had established was utterly destroyed.

But—

Nameless saw them.

Two young boys with golden hair stood frozen at the collapse site, their terrified blue eyes filled with helpless panic.

Seven, maybe eight years old—how could children that age possibly remain rational in a disaster like this?

They were too frightened to move. Too petrified to run.

They simply stood there, crying.

Nameless recognized them.

Their parents were still inside.

Still trapped.

If he did nothing, these boys would die here.

Without hesitation, Nameless ran.

He threw himself into the firestorm, shielding the children as burning debris rained down. A flaming chunk of rubble crashed against his back, forcing blood to trickle from the corner of his lips.

The children were too stunned to move. Their sobs had even ceased.

Behind him, the collapsing inferno loomed like a mountain, blotting out the sun.

There was no time.

He seized the boys in his arms and bolted.

CRASH!

The hospital collapsed, sending a tidal wave of dust and debris surging outward like an earthquake.

Nameless used every ounce of strength he had to hurl the children out of the danger zone.

At that moment—

A falling steel beam, still coated in concrete, slammed into his body.

The building came down.

Ash swallowed the sky. The impact’s force was so immense that even the raging flames seemed to pale in comparison.

For a long time… an eternity… the world was nothing but dust and silence.

Then, as the smoke finally cleared—

Nameless’s form emerged from the wreckage.

He had sacrificed much to save those children.

His entire arm had been crushed.

Struggling to rise from the ruins, it was clear—the limb was completely ruined.

Blood-red flesh was torn open, revealing shattered white bone. A mess of exposed muscle and broken structure. The damage was irreparable.

The truth was, he didn’t have to save them.

If he had let those two boys die, he could have saved so many more in the future.

Once again, the scales of reason appeared.

And once again, Nameless made the wrong choice.

He was a magus. A doctor.

Even as a first-generation practitioner, there were few in the Mage’s Association who could claim greater skill in the art of healing than him.

His hands, calloused from years of work, knew every inch of the human body.

With magecraft, there was no wound he could not mend—no illness he could not cure, short of the most fatal afflictions.

And yet, losing this arm meant he would save far fewer people in the future.

—

T/N: hmm im already assuming this is a different timeline since the hgw is in RUSSIA hmmm

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!