Chapter Fifty: Come, for the Sake of Our Kings

Because of Lancer’s interference, Kiritsugu had never used that particular device, but now its moment to release “residual heat” had finally arrived.

“Hey, Kiritsugu, are you sure all the bystanders have been cleared out?” Lancer asked. He didn’t particularly care about this sort of thing, knowing that in the original account there were no unnecessary casualties, but with the change in timeline, he was no longer certain.

Kiritsugu simply nodded without saying much.

“Then let’s begin! This will be the final fireworks to mark the end of the Holy Grail War!” Up to now, most of Lancer’s missions had been assassinations and the like, so he’d rarely handled any real quantity of explosives. Like most men, he looked forward to the spectacle of fire.

Kiritsugu glanced at the obviously excited Lancer, then handed him the detonator. It wasn’t out of fear of guilt, but more like giving a toy to a friend.

“Bang!” A loud explosion rang out, followed by a chain of blasts.

Watching the building collapse in the flames, Lancer’s initial excitement faded, replaced by an eerie silence.

“Let’s go. Lancer and his master have probably escaped to a shelter in the outskirts. We’ll deal with them there,” Kiritsugu said to Lancer, his voice devoid of emotion.

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“They’ve arrived?” A man clad in light armor and wielding twin spears stood in the middle of the road.

“Lancer, is it? Let’s do this. This will be your final battle in the Holy Grail War.” Lancer didn’t say much. He had always respected this man—he had joined the Holy Grail War not for any wish, but simply for the chance to fight for his master.

“I am Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, this war’s Lancer!” Diarmuid spun his spears, declaring his name and role. He knew that with his current power, facing an opponent who had slain the “sea monster” head-on, he stood no chance. He had always suspected that the Knight of the Round Table’s Noble Phantasm was Lancer’s, because it was Lancer who had drawn the Sword in the Stone. Though he felt sorrow for failing his master and being unable to win the Grail, he was determined that this fight would not disgrace either his name or his summoner’s. He would ensure all remembered the names of Lancer and his master.

Lancer, abiding by many rules, still offered his name and class in return—a mark of respect for his adversary.

“…”

“…”

They exchanged silent glances, neither speaking, and then—

Drip—the sound of a droplet hitting the ground marked the simultaneous start of their assault.

Clang! The twin swords and twin spears collided in a flurry.

“Gae Dearg, the Crimson Rose of Exorcism!”

“Gae Buidhe, the Yellow Rose of Mortality!”

“Claiomh Solais!”

“Shadow Edge!”

Both called out the names of their Noble Phantasms and relentlessly aimed for each other’s vitals. The two magic spears attacked Lancer from impossible angles, while Lancer exploited the unpredictability of his weapon to counterattack.

A minute passed…

“Aren’t you going to drop the invisibility? You know it’s useless against me.” Diarmuid braced himself with his spear, his hands trembling as if holding something unseen.

“Sorry, but removing it would only make things harder for me. You’ll have to bear with it,” Lancer replied. He appeared less battered than Diarmuid, but he was well aware of his own condition. The fierce clashes had taken their toll, and since he wasn’t as agile as Diarmuid in his Lancer form, he began to loosen the seals on his body, little by little. The seals themselves did no harm, but Lancer was loath to let Toria see him in his berserk state.

“Is that so?” Diarmuid spoke, but his hands never paused—the relentless thrusts toward Lancer’s head continued.

“Yes, that’s right. My weapon’s stealth is superior even to the Wind King’s Barrier. Still, it’s only useful against ordinary people. As Lancer, you possess that cheat-like ‘Mind’s Eye’—” Lancer remarked, dodging every attack aimed his way.

“Why don’t you use your berserker transformation?”

“…”

They conversed almost like old friends, though no one witnessing the scene would ever call it harmonious.

“Still not finished?” A voice cut across the clash as they fought.

Both halted in an instant.

“Master?” Diarmuid froze, then erupted, shouting at Lancer, “Berserker! Was this your plan?” The ever-chivalrous Diarmuid’s first reaction upon seeing Kiritsugu bring out his master was that his master had been caught in a scheme.

“Wait, Lancer. I serve under the King of Knights—I would never attack a master,” Lancer declared righteously. “In truth, if your master were to die, their soul would merge with the Grail, only increasing the black mud.” But this was a reason he kept to himself; he would never say it aloud.

“Then tell me, Berserker, what is your aim?” Calming down, Diarmuid realized that if anything had happened to his master, he as a Servant would have known first.

“Let’s swear upon it—our duel will decide your master’s fate. Staking the trust of our respective kings, if you win, I’ll have that man ensure your master’s safety until the Grail War ends, and I’ll withdraw from the stage here. But if I win, I ask you to do the same.” Lancer addressed Diarmuid solemnly.

“A vow? No problem. Though, will it make a difference? I doubt our match will change the final outcome.” Despite his words, for his master’s sake, Diarmuid swore the oath with Lancer.

“Let’s begin! The second round has already started.” The two exchanged a glance and resumed their battle.

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“So it’s true?” Diarmuid knelt before Kennedy, a sword invisible to the eye buried in his chest. “Master, I truly am a useless Servant…”

As he fell beside Kennedy, the last thing Lancer saw was a woman running toward him.

“Diarmuid, no! I don’t want you to leave me!” Sola clutched Diarmuid’s head, crying out again and again.

“Sola, so it’s you… I’m sorry, I only ever saw you as her substitute. I was deceived by my own magic. Forgive me.” The moment of Lancer’s departure had come; his body began to dissolve into magical energy.

“No! Diarmuid! That’s not true! Your magic never worked on me anyway!” Sola took a necklace from her chest.

“What’s this…” Lancer didn’t understand.

“It’s a gift from my father. Your C-rank magic could never affect me.”

“I see… As a princess of the kingdom, Gráinne must have had such tools as well, but why…”

“Idiot! You idiot!”

“Idiot, is it? Sola…” As Lancer placed his right hand on Sola’s cheek—

With a gust of wind, he finally faded into prana, vanishing into the air.

“Diarmuid!”

…

When Sola returned to the Clock Tower, she resigned from her former position and became an archaeologist, dedicating herself to the study of Celtic mythology. When, in a small Celtic village, she saw a statue of Diarmuid…

“Sola…” “Sola…”

After that, no one ever saw Sola again. Rumor had it that, after fulfilling a task demanded by the Counter Force, Diarmuid had welcomed her to the outermost ring of the Hall of Heroes, where only heroic spirits could reside.