When Darnic and Fiore arrived at the hall, which served as the site for the summoning ritual, six Masters were already present.
The rest of the miscellaneous tasks were being handled silently by homunculi, who were transporting the necessary tools.
The patterns of the magic circle had already been carved. The mixture of gold and silver, dissolved into a solution, remained in a liquid state due to the incorporation of a temperature-maintaining spell. This meticulously drawn, complex magic circle was specially designed for the simultaneous summoning of Servants.
Before anyone knew it, the noise had disappeared.
Observing this scene, Darnic moved beside the throne and opened his arms, declaring:
"Now, place the catalysts you have each collected on the altar."
The Masters nodded in acknowledgment.
Darnic then greeted Roche, who had already summoned his Servant.
"Roche. It's rare to see you step out from your workshop."
"That's because... witnessing a Heroic Spirit summoning is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Since I got to see it a second time, I had to come out from the workshop."
Roche's tone carried a mix of bravado and maturity. Usually engrossed in his homunculi creations, he mostly stayed in his workshop and rarely interacted with others, hence appearing somewhat reserved in front of Darnic. Incidentally, his creations, while high-performing, often lacked aesthetic appeal as he did not prioritize outward appearance or design.
Two months ago, almost simultaneously with the summoning of Berserker, he had summoned Caster and had been working tirelessly in the workshop with him to produce the soldiers necessary for combating the Mage's Association—golems.
"Where is Caster?"
"Teacher said he'll be here soon. He's currently immersed in designing Noble Phantasms."
"You should probably apologize to Caster first, and then take this opportunity to witness that mysterious ritual once more."
"Got it."
Roche shrank back slightly. He respectfully referred to his Servant as "Teacher." To him, the legend that Caster had established was worthy of reverence. The boy placed complete trust in Caster and was genuinely happy to assist in the workshop.
Soon, Caster materialized beside Roche. He wore a blue cloak and a form-fitting bodysuit, with a faceless mask covering his entire face. Roche greeted his teacher joyfully, and Caster silently nodded in response.
After confirming that the four summoners were in their designated positions, Darnic respectfully bowed toward the empty throne.
"Now then, Grand Duke, the ritual will commence."
"Indeed."
Particles of light gathered on the throne, forming the shape of a person. This was Vlad III, the original Berserker and now the "Black" Berserker after a form change, prepared by Darnic as the most powerful trump card of the Yggdmillennia clan. He had once reigned over this land as a grand duke.
In Romania, his fame was the highest, rivaling that of Heracles in Greece and King Arthur in England.
Berserker cast a glance at Darnic, and his dignified voice resonated through the hall:
"Quickly, summon the Heroic Spirits who will become my brethren."
"Understood."
After respectfully bowing, Darnic announced to the four:
"Then let us begin. Magi of Yggdmillennia, whom we take great pride in. Once this ritual concludes, we will embark on an irreversible path of battle—are you prepared?"
The four Masters silently conveyed their unwavering determination.
The atmosphere within the hall shifted once more. The Masters tensed their nerves; at this moment, they could no longer feel the oppressive presence of the "Impaler" watching over them.
Summoning a Servant, while simpler than the typically complex and strange grand rituals, carried the inherent danger of fatal failure due to the extreme mystery of "summoning Heroic Spirits."
Rushing headlong or hesitantly tapping a stone bridge were both actions of fools. What was needed now was the coldness and courage to point the barrel at their heads and pull the trigger swiftly.
"Silver and iron as the essence, the foundation of stone and the Archduke of Contracts. The color I pay tribute to is 'Black'. The swirling winds shall be blocked by the four walls, closing the gates in all directions. From the crown, let the three-forked road to the kingdom manifest."
Despite no prior rehearsal, their chant was perfectly synchronized.
With each verse, the magic circle's radiance intensified. The surging mana ravaged the four, but even the weakest among them, Caules, stood firm and continued chanting without hesitation.
"—Declare!"
"Your body is under me, my fate rests upon your sword."
"Follow the call of the Holy Grail. If you accept this will and reason, then respond at once."
Their chant and the mana coursing through their magic circuits summoned the Heroic Spirits from the "Throne of Heroes." They were conversing with the supreme beings etched into myth and legend.
"I hereby swear. I shall be all that is good in the world, I shall defeat all that is evil in the world."
The pain from the rampaging magic circuits and the fear of them running amok tormented them continuously. Nevertheless, the four felt almost reluctant to let go of this moment. Such was the elation this ritual brought. Even so, they had to declare, to firmly grasp the highest mystery in their hands.
"Entwine your words thrice, emanating from the Wheel of Restraint, O Guardian of the Scales!"
As they pronounced these words, a raging wind erupted. The homunculi hurriedly crouched down, and Roche shielded his face with his hand. Berserker, Darnic, and Caster, however, stood as if merely bathed by a cool breeze.
Thus, "they" manifested on the ground.
From the intricately woven magic circle, a dazzling light burst forth.
In an instant, the miracle materialized. Heroes who transcended humanity, embodying people's fantasies, appeared.
The storm subsided, and the blinding light gradually dimmed. There, within the magic circle, stood four figures.
Leading them was a young man with deep blue curly hair. His body was cloaked in a dark cape, and an evident confusion was etched on his handsome face as if he had just awoken.
Another was a youth of androgynous beauty, dressed in lavish attire, the only one among the four smiling brightly at the Servant had summoned.
Next was a young man holding a bow and arrow. Draped in a grass-colored cloak, he knelt on one knee, bowing deeply.
Lastly, there was a young man clad in resplendent armor, carrying a great sword on his back. His silver-gray hair swayed gently in the breeze.
"Oh..."
Someone gasped. Even Darnic's gaze was captured by this majestic sight. Then, as one, the assembled Servants spoke their first words.
A Holy Grail War of unprecedented intensity, where seven Servants battle against seven others—a battle of tragic ferocity—to mark the opening of this new conflict.
"We, the 'Black' Servants, have come at the call of your summons. Our fate is entwined with Yggdmillennia, and our swords are your swords."
Magnificent and grand, solemn and awe-inspiring, no amount of praise could adequately describe this scene.
In a Holy Grail War, it was rare for more than two Servants to be present in the same space simultaneously. Even when due to alliances or combat, it was typically at most two or three, and usually, they were in a state of mutual slaughter, constantly wary of their opponents.
Yet here and now, there were six Servants. They had acknowledged this new form of war—the Great Holy Grail War—and promised to fight together.
"Oh dear, I was summoned to a Holy Grail War with particularly strange rules. But I don't mind at all, it feels like it's going to be a lot of fun, and everyone looks so strong. So, how about we introduce ourselves? Sounds good? I'll start! I am a Servant Rider, real name Astolfo. And you?"
Astolfo was the first to speak, more quickly than anyone else.
The serene young Servant standing next to him, though momentarily at a loss, smiled and responded:
"Servant Archer, real name Chiron."
"Thanks, Chiron. I'll be counting on you for a while!"
Rider extended his hand, and Archer, looking puzzled, responded.
"Rider, use your class name for greetings, not your real name."
Darnic sternly stopped Rider. Rider nodded in sudden realization and then spoke to the young man with the large sword on his back:
"Hey, what about you?"
"Wait, Saber. Don't speak."
Before Saber could respond, his Master, Gordes, interrupted. He seemed to be addressing everyone, including Darnic.
"I do not intend to reveal his real name to anyone but Darnic."
A hush filled the room. Celenike asked in a deliberately cold voice,
"—Wasn't it agreed beforehand to reveal their real names? This is extremely unpleasant."
"That's because, at the time, I hadn't obtained the catalyst."
Gordes said this as he carefully cradled a box in his arms, seemingly intent on hiding even the catalyst completely.
"Uncle Gordes, is hiding one's real name truly that important?"
Facing Fiore's inquiry, Gordes nodded solemnly.
"Revealing the real name is fatal to my Servant; the fewer people who know, the better, to minimize risk."
A Servant's real name was crucial information they needed to protect at all costs. No matter how famous the hero, their end was often tragic.
Exposing one's real name would reveal the cause of their death as a critical weakness.
If they had died by poison, then any form of poison could be their weakness; if they had been killed by an arrow, then shooting an arrow would suffice. If a specific body part was their weakness, then targeting that area would be the key.
Even if no specific cause of death could be found, heroes with dragon-related traits would have a poor affinity with dragon-slaying weapons. Even if one did not have the good fortune to possess such a weapon, merely informing other Masters could likely lead to some form of countermeasure.
Of course, there were some Servants for whom revealing their true names posed no problem. Rider Astolfo was a typical example of such.
Darnic quickly glanced at Vlad III, who acknowledged the look with a bright smile. As Darnic's Servant, Vlad III certainly knew the identity of the "Black" Saber summoned by Gordes. Hence, the Grand Duke, known for his cruelty, readily agreed.
"I understand. I will make an exception for you."
The Grand Duke's words brought a satisfied smile to Gordes's face.
"Your Highness, thank you very much. Now, we shall take our leave."
Gordes straightened his back and led Saber out of the throne room with dignity. Celenike, watching him leave, grumbled discontentedly.
"He's just summoned a Saber. Why the airs?"
"That's just the kind of person he is."
Darnic murmured with a mixed smile.
Returning triumphantly to his private chamber, Gordes once again faced Saber. He was captivated by the magnificent and imposing figure before him. Although he was almost certain, Gordes still asked to be sure:
"Saber, answer me this: your true name is Siegfried, isn't it?"
Receiving a confirming nod, Gordes reached the peak of his joy.
Siegfried—a hero known to every household in Germany. He appears in various legends, but the most famous is the epic "The Nibelungenlied." Born as a prince of the Netherlands, he went through countless adventures and ultimately earned the title of Dragon Slayer.
He had never been defeated in any battle until the only weak spot on his back was struck by a treacherous blade, leading to his demise.
In his hand, he held Balmung, the holy sword of the Nibelung. With this sword, he vanquished the evil dragon Fafnir. Having bathed in the dragon's blood, he was impervious to any weapon.
Despite being a noble hero, his body harbored a fatal weakness—the spot on his back that was covered by a leaf of a linden tree when he bathed in the dragon's blood. Needless to say, this was the weakness that would lead to Siegfried's death.
The catalyst used to summon Siegfried was this very linden leaf stained with dragon blood.
Gordes pondered for a moment. While having the strongest Servant was a good thing, the widespread and well-known legend about his back was also a fact. How long could such a fatal and obvious weakness remain hidden?
"Saber, from now on, keep your mouth shut unless you're using your Noble Phantasm. You may only speak with my permission."
Gordes ordered Saber to keep silent, thereby minimizing any clues to his true identity. He flaunted the Command Seals on his hand to emphasize the strictness of the order. Was it permissible to treat such a great hero so imperiously—or rather, would the hero forgive such treatment?
On the other hand, Gordes couldn't shake the notion that "he is just a mere Servant." To him, Servants were merely temporary guests who relied on their Masters for survival.
A brief moment of tension passed in the room.
After a while, Saber nodded in agreement, signaling his acceptance of Gordes's command. Siegfried, both a royal and a legendary general, was also a great hero who continually accepted the reliance and pleas of others.
Even if ordered not to speak, Siegfried would have no objections if it were necessary. He was willing to carry out any command willingly as long as it allowed him to fulfill his wish. This was Siegfried's way of life, unwavering until death.
Meanwhile, back in the throne room, Astolfo turned his gaze to the last remaining Servant.
"So, what's your name?"
"Sorry, I can't tell you that." The blue-haired young man scratched his head somewhat sheepishly.
"So, you're also one of those heroes whose weaknesses and true name are widely known?" Darnic frowned. He was already aware that Fiore had been searching for a new catalyst, but the Servant she intended to summon should be like Astolfo, without any weaknesses.
"Uh, no." The young man scratched his head even more vigorously. "It's because I don't know my true name."
"Huh???"
PS: Who's that Pokemon?