This Is My Holy Grail War [171]

Blades and swords clashed, flashing arcs of silver as they weaved through the air, their glow unyielding.

The battlefield shifted with the fierce exchange, moving from a district packed with dense, low-rise buildings to a wide, unadorned plaza. By this point, neither side held back—at any moment, they might invoke the true names of their Noble Phantasms.

Just as the battle reached its peak, a carriage drawn by four black steeds burst onto the scene from the far end of the battlefield.

It moved with incredible speed, and the moment it entered, every Servant’s gaze locked onto it.

A Rider, true to their name, was a cavalry warrior, bound to a mount. Whether it was a war chariot that thundered across battlefields or a mythical beast of legend, a Rider’s steed was always a unique Noble Phantasm of their own.

The Servant driving the carriage let out a thunderous roar, and at once, every combatant hesitated, pausing their blades and swords mid-swing.

Assassin’s eyes gleamed sharp as an eagle’s, a killer’s gaze as keen as a wolf’s. Saber merely watched, the faintest hint of killing intent flickering in her gaze.

“Cease this at once! Do not let some scheming thief reap the rewards of your battle!” Rider raised both hands, signaling for the combatants to halt. His voice rang loud and clear.

Behind him, a small girl cautiously peeked out from the carriage, her large, watery eyes darting about in curiosity. That must be Rider’s Master—only a Rider-class Servant could carry their Master freely across the battlefield like this.

Saber was certain of that much, though Rider’s intentions remained unclear. Not that it stopped her from wanting to sever his head from his shoulders—after all, Saber bore an innate hostility toward most Servants.

Rider’s unwavering voice matched his resolute stance. He boldly maneuvered the carriage between the warring factions, placing himself directly in the middle of the battlefield. A clear declaration of his position—he would stand between both sides.

Every Servant, save for Saber, stared in stunned silence. But Saber, who had seen far too many warriors in her time, was hardly surprised.

“Reap the rewards?!” Assassin was the first to break the silence. He understood full well that this battle had started because of him.

“So, the one who set the fire truly had another agenda.” Caster remained as passive as ever, as if he had long since realized this was nothing but a farce. Despite being a Caster-class Servant, he had yet to cast a single spell. Instead, he had chosen to fight Saber with a sword—an absurd decision, considering the blade of [Durandal] had tasted the blood of true heroes.

Saber had assumed he simply hadn’t found the time to prepare a spell, but now she wondered if there was another reason entirely.

A misunderstanding? She thought warily. Regardless, the one who orchestrated this has succeeded.

With a quick glance at Rider, Saber assessed the situation—at least five Servants had been drawn into this confrontation.

Without Rider’s intervention, someone would have likely unleashed their Noble Phantasm by now. In a way, he wasn’t just caught between four Servants—he was entangled with five. His actions would undoubtedly enrage the mastermind lurking in the shadows.

Thankless work. Saber murmured inwardly. Rider had no obligation to interfere. He could have simply observed and gathered intelligence—perhaps even watched two Servants eliminate each other in the process.

Slowly, Saber slid [Durandal] back into its sheath. Yet, her posture remained taut, poised to unsheathe it again at a moment’s notice.

“No one would be foolish enough to bring their Master into battle.”

Saber had only just met that little girl—fragile in stature, burdened with curses. When she spoke of protecting her earlier, it wasn’t a lie. If left to wander freely in the freezing construction site, the girl would undoubtedly freeze to death.

At Saber’s words, Rider’s Master wriggled out from the crook of the cavalryman’s arm, as if to rebuke her statement with actions rather than words. There was no doubt about it—this mischievous little girl was Rider’s Master. Though she had been timid just moments ago, now that Saber had sheathed her sword, she suddenly found the courage to act bold.

She stuck out her tongue and made a playful face at Saber, like a cheeky little troublemaker. But the moment Saber shot her a glare, she immediately ducked back into hiding—so swiftly and skillfully that it was clear this wasn’t her first time doing so.

Servants summoned in the Holy Grail War were only temporary companions. There was no way this girl could move so naturally unless their roles had long since shifted—unless Rider had taken the place of a father, or perhaps a mother, in her heart.

But that only deepened Saber’s confusion. Where is this girl’s real family?

Nothing in the temple could escape Saber’s eyes. She knew that Rider’s faction had no other allies. They had arrived alone, with no reinforcements to rely on.

Saber could only see one outcome for Rider—death.

“I’ve been thinking.” Rider’s voice rang out, powerful and full of conviction. “We are all heroes, summoned by the Holy Grail War. For centuries, our names have been etched into legend, our deeds passed down through time. And so, I ask you this—”

He spread his arms wide, like an orator addressing a grand audience, his words impassioned and righteous:

“Are your wishes worthy of the name ‘hero’?”

“Before you question others, shouldn’t you start with yourself?”

The one who spoke was Berserker. He seemed particularly interested in the topic. Emerging from the shadows where he had lurked, his sunken eyes whirled in their sockets before settling on Rider, scrutinizing him closely. A chilling grin stretched across his face—though he was smiling, the sight was anything but comforting.

“I have a dream,” Rider declared. “I wish for prosperity—for all people to share in wealth and fortune.”

“Impossible.” Berserker dismissed the notion instantly. “If wealth is shared by all, then it is no wealth at all.” His voice dripped with disdain, as if he found the very idea offensive. The notion of bringing everyone to the same level—of erasing the hierarchy of power—was an affront to his very nature.

“Then I have another vision.” Rider continued, undeterred. His tone was almost that of a statesman, striving to sway those who listened. “I dream of a world where no one suffers from illness, where all people live in peace and security.”

“A humble goal, perhaps. But one I am willing to sacrifice everything to achieve.” His voice grew quieter, yet no less resolute, as if the dam had broken and his convictions could no longer be contained.

“You are all heroes. Your deeds will live on for eternity, your triumphs worshiped by generations to come.”

Then, his voice sharpened, carrying the weight of a plea—yet firm, unwavering in its demand:

“So I ask you—grant this miracle to the people instead.”

His words were earnest. His stance, honorable. His ambition, as unshakable as a mountain.

“I have no objections.”

Rider had barely finished speaking when Saber gave her answer—straightforward, decisive.

No one was more taken aback than Caster. He had crossed swords with Saber multiple times. He knew exactly how sharp, how ruthless that icy blade of hers was. That kind of killing technique could only belong to the most merciless of warriors. And yet, Saber was the first to step forward, to agree to relinquish the Grail for the sake of the people.

Caster’s astonished expression did not escape her notice. Saber merely shrugged, offering no further explanation.

All that mattered to her was victory. How the Holy Grail was used afterward—she couldn’t care less. If giving up her wish meant securing an alliance, then it was a move she was more than willing to make.

—

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!