This Is My Holy Grail War [59]

The air fell silent.

Emerging from the shadows of the street atop a white horse came the Archer, her appearance arresting in every sense.

White armor, white cape, white bow, white crown. White hair, white skin, white eyes. A knight wrapped entirely in white.

At first glance, her face resembled that of a delicate maiden, beautiful and almost otherworldly, save for her piercing, hollow white eyes that exuded an unsettling chill. If one focused solely on her face, they might mistake her for a beautiful young woman straight out of a fantasy tale.

But everything else about her told a different story. Her broad shoulders, flat chest, and sharply defined armor had none of the softness of femininity. Her sharp, angular silhouette carried an air of merciless precision, not gentleness.

Her long white hair flowed with her cape in the night breeze. She was like an image plucked from a painting, but one that seemed eerily removed from reality, hovering on the edge of the surreal. Her stark whiteness, instead of clashing with itself, seemed as if it was meant to be—a natural manifestation of an unnatural existence.

Assassin stared as the white knight approached, her posture regal, head held high. Each step of the horse’s hooves rang out clearly, a cadence that spoke of authority and certainty. The white knight’s very presence seemed to declare that all beneath her gaze were insignificant.

The longbow on Archer’s back confirmed her identity as one summoned under that class. But as Assassin examined her face closely, a strange realization struck her.

The knight’s face bore a striking resemblance to Artoria’s, the same face Assassin currently wore due to her guise as a Saber. Yet there was something unmistakably different.

The resemblance was uncanny, but this face wasn’t entirely Artoria’s. No, it was closer to the Saint, Jeanne d’Arc—the maiden idealized in countless tales and revered as a holy figure.

But this was no saint.

Assassin scrutinized the knight further. This pure white figure, far from exuding saintly purity, radiated an oppressive pallor. Hers was not the luminous white of divine sanctity, but the drained, lifeless white of death—ashen, bleached, and tinged with decay.

Could it be her? Assassin couldn’t tell who or what this knight truly was. This wasn’t the Shirou Emiya of another timeline, nor a figure Assassin recognized from her own experience.

The knight’s emblem of a bow and crown hinted at worldly power, while her white hue symbolized conquest.

This was no ordinary Servant. She was the Heretical Knight, the White Horseman of the Apocalypse. The first of the Four Horsemen, embodying a victorious force that heralded the end times—a Servant whose very summoning into a Holy Grail War was a violation of the system itself.

Her existence was an anomaly, yet none present could fully grasp her identity or the breach in the Grail’s rules that her presence signified.

“Wow, three Sabers!” Illyasviel tilted her head in surprise, her crimson eyes widening. “Is it some kind of skill or Noble Phantasm mimicking Saber’s appearance?”

“No… that face is Jeanne d’Arc’s,” Assassin began to explain, only to be interrupted by Archer’s sharp voice.

“The Witch Jeanne,” Archer spat, contempt twisting her expression.

“Huh?! Wasn’t ‘witch’ just a slander the English forced on Jeanne d’Arc?” Illya asked, her voice incredulous.

“When I call her a witch, she is a witch,” Archer declared imperiously. Her commanding tone brooked no argument as she turned her scornful gaze on Illya. “Silence your prattling! When I speak, interruptions are intolerable!”

Archer’s absolute authority silenced Illya’s protests. Her domineering presence allowed no one save Assassin to meet her gaze.

“Her stats… they’re all A-ranked,” Rin’s voice echoed in Assassin’s mind, trembling with disbelief. “Strength, Agility, Luck… every parameter is A! Completely flawless, not a single fluctuation!”

“Saber-level stats, Berserker-level power, and now Archer too?!” Rin exclaimed, her thoughts racing. “This Holy Grail War—none of it makes sense!”

The desecration of the Grail. The blackened mud. The apocalyptic summons. Everything about this war defied convention.

“Prattling?! You’re the one spouting nonsense!” Illya snapped, stamping her foot in frustration. She turned to Berserker, shouting, “Berserker, kill her!”

With a guttural roar, Berserker charged toward Archer, his massive sword raised to crush the white knight. Yet Archer remained unfazed. Calmly, she turned her horse and prepared to meet the charge head-on.

BOOM!

The impact was deafening, shaking the very air around them.

To everyone’s shock, it wasn’t Berserker who stood victorious. It was Archer. Her horse had barreled into the charging giant and sent him flying.

Berserker, the unstoppable juggernaut, had been overpowered by a mere charge from Archer’s steed.

“H-how is this possible?!” Illya faltered. For the first time, hesitation crept into her voice. She was no fool—her lack of tactical finesse didn’t mean she couldn’t calculate. Three Servants, all capable of matching Berserker, now stood against him.

Berserker had already lost two lives. If the three combined their efforts, he could lose all twelve.

“Assassin… you and your manipulative, conniving Master better remember this—I’m not done with you!” Illya hissed, her fury palpable. “Berserker, we’re leaving!”

In a flash, Berserker retreated, following his Master’s command.

The battlefield fell silent once more. Archer’s presence had tipped the scales so decisively that even Illya dared not press the fight further.

Assassin narrowed her eyes. She didn’t understand Archer’s intentions. The white knight now approached her slowly, horse trotting with unhurried precision. There was no hostility in her movements, but her aura radiated unshakable authority.

As she neared, Archer’s lips curved into a haughty smirk. Her voice, laced with both mockery and command, broke the silence.

“Last night… that black shadow—it was you, wasn’t it?” Archer’s tone was not one of curiosity, but of accusation.

—

T/N: WHAT A HORSEMAN OF THE APOCALYPSE? it’s overr

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!