Chapter 146: Fatal Strike

"A senior? But if you are indeed a senior, why not sleep soundly down below instead of causing trouble for us juniors?" Placing both hands against his chin in a basic fighting stance, Lancer let a cold smile, one that no one else noticed, flash across the corners of his mouth as he heard the other man's words.

"Well~ who knows? Perhaps I am merely an insect drawn by the Holy Grail," Lancer replied before reversing his grip on the two long swords. Though they were Chinese swords, their design was that of traditional bronze swords, which still allowed for a reverse grip. While it was slightly regrettable that they were not daggers, Lancer still felt a faint surge of satisfaction.

"Truly, compared to long swords, I much prefer daggers!" After uttering this strange exclamation, Lancer suddenly burst into rapid acceleration, crossing the two swords in front of his chest. Though similar to the scissor-like motion used with a standard grip, it was undoubtedly much more fluid. Yet his opponent was no novice to be defeated by a single blow; armor of the highest density blocked the path of the weapons. Countless sparks showered from both sides, but it was unquestionably futile—neither side achieved victory this round.

"The senior is truly showing no mercy." A strained smile traced the corners of the adversary's mouth.

"Of course. How could I possibly hold back against my adorable junior? My blood is already boiling, wouldn't you say the same?" Lancer raised his head at that moment.

"..." The fanatic froze entirely. What kind of expression was this? It was not as though he had never seen madmen; if anything, most of his enemies ultimately descended into madness when faced with his impenetrable armor. Yet this opponent's face was far more bizarre—wild, murderous intent intertwined with an indifference as though looking at a corpse. The man was a walking paradox of frenzy and apathy.

"An opening!" Although he had summoned Medusa to assist, Lancer's primary objective was to eliminate his opponent. For the sake of this goal, he had set aside idle pride, yet if there was a way to slay the foe while retaining that very pride, it was unquestionably the ideal method.

Through countless assassinations, discovering an opponent's vulnerabilities had long since been ingrained as an instinct. Whether the opening was genuine or deliberately manufactured no longer mattered; even if it were fake, he would make it real.

However, as an Assassin, brute strength was ultimately his weakness. Direct slashing would naturally fail, but physics taught them that rotation could generate greater force.

Releasing the two long swords he held in his hands, he began chanting the liberation spell for his other weapon.

"Sword of Thirst, Caladbolg!"

At Lancer's cry, a strange long sword materialized in his hand.

"Is this truly possible?" The thought flashed only briefly through his mind before he hesitated no longer, gripping the sword with both hands and thrusting fiercely toward the vulnerable spot beneath the opponent's armpit, exposed moments earlier by surprise.

"Demonic sword of thunder! Pierce through him!" Its original owner and a certain battle-maniac had been close friends; while the weapon could not be completely replicated, countless clashes had engraved that distinct sensation into his memory. Coupled with the fact that the weapon had now transformed into a long sword covered in spiral grooves, it had become exceptionally adept at penetration.

"Finally using a Noble Phantasm? But it seems you are different from the rest of us—it appears you have become a native resident." The scale-like armor, previously evenly distributed, instantly converged entirely upon the attacked underarm. Even though excessive haste prevented it from achieving maximum defensive density, the sheer quantity undoubtedly compensated for it.

"Well~ who knows? But can you truly determine my identity based solely on a single weapon?" With that, he lowered his entire body, pressing even closer to the ground than during their initial exchange.

━━I put to you this question! Are――you――a――King――?!

"No!" Though he did not understand why, his intuition screamed at him to deny it here and now; otherwise, the outcome would undoubtedly be miserable.

"Is that so? But—" Lancer raised his head, revealing a cruel, smiling expression as he declared, "I decree that you shall become a king!"

At Lancer's words, the fanatic caught sight of a short sword—or rather, a long dagger—concealed beneath Lancer's right hand.

"The comet strikes the moon, the white rainbow pierces the sun, the goshawk strikes the hall—Fish-Intestinal Sword!" Hearing Lancer's words, the opponent jolted in shock, instinctively leaping backward.

"It's actually the Fish-Intestinal Sword! Just what is your identity?!" He had already sensed trouble earlier, but only now did he realize where the true danger lay.

"You've noticed? But I am no villainous boss who will sit here explaining things to you. Come, let us wager our lives on a match! A gamble paid with each other's blood!" The speed, already enhanced by class adjustments, accelerated once more. Though the opponent had not stated it aloud, he had vaguely guessed the ability of this Noble Phantasm and could not help but contract his defenses further. Originally, the fish-scale armor could spread outward to maximize lethal output; while gaps were created, the overall impact was minor. But this time, he genuinely felt the threat of death and gathered his entire set of armor together into an airtight shell.

"Tch~ weren't you acting quite fierce just a moment ago? How did you shrink into a turtle shell now?" A sinister smile appeared on Lancer's face as the opponent contracted his defenses, followed immediately by a storm-like barrage of attacks. Yet the adversary seemed utterly resolute, ignoring Lancer's assaults entirely and turning a deafening silence to his persistent taunts.

"Just wait until the vice-captain arrives, and we shall see if you remain so arrogant!" Though suppressed, his combat intelligence was by no means low; he knew that the moment he dared to relax, a tempestuous storm of death would befall him. Doing this not only drained his opponent's stamina but would also simplify the impending pincer attack.

Completely unaware that the cicada awaiting its predator was not only him, but that a powerful ally was also involved, Lancer nonetheless sensed a strange anomaly at that moment. Judging at least from their previous encounter, his opponent was definitely not the type to take a beating without retaliating, yet he had turtled up completely. This was something Lancer simply could not comprehend.

"No matter what plans you have, at the very least, you are a dead man!" Within Lancer's range of perception, a familiar presence had already registered—it was Medusa from their last meeting, along with... Sakura?!

"What is the meaning of this?" Lancer believed Medusa would never ignore Sakura's life, so why would she act this way?

Though countless thoughts flashed through his mind, a far more pressing matter was at hand.

On the rooftop, a man silently watched the sparks generated by the continuous clashes of metal below, remaining wordless.

"Have you simply abandoned your subordinates like this?" Suddenly, a voice broke the stillness, yet the man maintained a cold expression without turning back, as though he had anticipated the question all along.

"Trash that possesses no utility value and merely holds me back naturally needs to be disposed of. As for subordinates? Are subordinates not merely consumable items?" Seeing the sparks of metal clashes finally cease, he turned around and uttered these utterly cold words.

"This is why I despise your kind." The newcomer made no effort to conceal his disgust toward the other man, but the latter completely ignored him, merely wearing a mocking smile as he retorted, "To be honest, I despise you even more. Playing the saint while being a mere executioner."

"I have never intended to play any saint!" The newcomer raised his voice sharply, though it quickly subsided. "Very well, perhaps I truly am an executioner, but I have never given up." With those words, the figure vanished.

"Tch~ pathetic wretch, too cowardly to even face your own desires!" Shortly after, he too disappeared from the rooftop.