The battle on the top floor of the Hyatt Hotel had undoubtedly already come to the attention of the Holy Church. So even as the alarms blared, Shiomi knew the Church would take over swiftly, handling the cover-up and cleanup.
Now, all that remained was for him to evacuate the hotel with Morgan.
But before that, one final obstacle stood in their way—the Lancer-class Servant.
At this moment, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne was a bloodied wreck. His light armor hung in tatters, his exposed skin was covered in wounds, and blood soaked his entire body. He looked as if he had just crawled out of hell.
He leaned on his red spear with his right hand, barely managing to lift the yellow one with his left. One of his eyes was swollen shut, blood streamed from his forehead, smearing half his face, and crimson stains lingered at the corners of his mouth.
"You're still alive?" Shiomi asked with genuine respect.
Lancer had no legend of fighting on despite mortal wounds, so as a Servant, he shouldn't possess Battle Continuation.
Which meant what brought him back to the top floor wasn't skill or magic, but pure will—a resolve to fight until his Spirit Origin burned out, or perhaps a long-held vow.
"Just to be clear, I didn't hold back," Morgan murmured with an inaudible sigh.
The five clones she had left behind should've been enough to kill Lancer downstairs. Yet he endured, destroyed every one of them, and dragged his ruined body up here after them.
"Of course... I just fought with everything I had..." Lancer's voice was growing faint.
In just a few minutes, his existence would vanish completely—his Master, Kayneth, was dead, and his Spirit Origin was nearly spent.
Though Kayneth had deciphered the Holy Grail summoning ritual in Fuyuki and entrusted mana supply to his fiancée, Sola-Ui, the only Master Lancer recognized was Kayneth.
"Your Master has already fallen. There's no need for you to fight anymore," Shiomi said with a slight sigh, eyes downcast.
"Yes... I know..." Lancer managed a faint smile.
Even battered and bloodied, Diarmuid still radiated the striking charm of a true warrior.
He cast a brief glance at the weeping Sola-Ui.
Though he had given his all to get here, only to find Kayneth already slain, a strange sense of peace and quiet satisfaction took hold in his heart.
Lady Sola-Ui, who had never truly liked Kayneth, might finally have realized the value of something precious—only after witnessing him sacrifice everything to save her. So Lancer thought to himself.
"...But..." He forced himself upright and let the yellow spear fall from his hands. "...If my lord fought until the very end... then a knight must follow him unto death..."
He dragged his battered body forward, gripping the red spear with both hands to steady himself.
In his condition, he could probably manage just one more strike. Whether it would be enough didn't matter. This Celtic hero was simply doing what he believed in, fulfilling his duty to the very end.
"I understand."
Shiomi answered quietly, spreading his hand to summon the Soaring Spear of Piercing Death.
It was a parting gift from his master—an actual Noble Phantasm still existing in the world, not one bound to a Servant.
He had never used it as a catalyst for two reasons.
First, because his master, Scáthach, could never be summoned.
Second, because Shiomi simply didn't wish to summon her.
To him, this spear was one of his trump cards.
Yet as soon as he extended his hand, the black magic spear fell neatly into it.
He turned to Morgan. She handed him the weapon in silence, her expression unreadable, eyes steady and unwavering—offering no room for refusal.
With a quiet nod, Shiomi gripped the spear one-handed, turning his body to point its blade straight at Lancer's forehead.
The air on the ravaged top floor was thick with the scent of blood and fire, clinging to his senses. And slowly, Tenkei Shiomi's heart grew still.
Everything was silent. His palm was dry, the magic spear fitting perfectly into his grasp.
Crack—
The sound of crumbling plaster from the ruined wall became the cue for battle.
Lancer's eyes snapped open, shining with a deadly light. He charged forward with all his strength, the tip of his spear weaving an erratic path as its blade flashed with cold brilliance.
He heard the slicing of air—like the hiss of the fiercest serpent lunging at its prey.
But what Lancer saw was Shiomi's form dissolving into a blur. From that blur, a blade pierced the air in a straight line, whistling sharply as they passed each other.
More blood spilled, splattering across the floor. Lancer's red spear slipped from his grip, clattering to the ground.
The pool of blood beneath him slowly expanded as Lancer collapsed to his knees, utterly spent.
"...Beautiful..." he whispered with his final breath.
Shiomi gripped the upper shaft of the magic spear and gave it a sharp flick, casting the blood onto the floor.
"You're too kind."
Morgan, who had silently observed the battle, slowly walked up beside Shiomi. Without a word, the two of them turned and left together.
Lancer felt his consciousness fading. The strike from Shiomi had completely shattered his Spirit Core. Even with three Command Spells remaining, he could no longer continue the fight.
Lancer had lost—but in that moment, he felt a sense of peace.
In life, he had failed to serve his lord to the very end. But now, in death, as a Servant, he had fought beside his Master until the last moment.
It would be a lie to say he had no regrets. In life, he had never known defeat, yet as a Servant, he hadn't claimed a single victory. He hadn't been able to present a single triumph to his Master.
He hadn't even protected him. His Master had died in battle, just the same.
War is merciless. The tides of battle are ever-changing.
The Holy Grail War had gathered heroes from across time. He simply wasn't strong enough. That was all there was to it.
He saw Sola-Ui faint from the shock of everything that had happened. He wanted to offer one final gesture of respect as her subordinate, but the short distance between them—barely ten meters—might as well have been an uncrossable chasm. He couldn't move another step.
The darkness was slowly torn apart by the first glimmers of light. Diarmuid opened his eyes one last time. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows atop the hotel, he saw this distant city—far removed from the time he once lived in—greet another morning.
And suddenly, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne felt as if he saw Princess Gráinne... Fionn mac Cumhaill... the members of the Knights of Fianna.
If he could, he wanted to tell his old comrades about these past two days of battle.
About the foes who had far exceeded anything he could have imagined.
'First... let me begin with the warrior who appeared before me like the great god Odin himself, cloaked in crows...'
Having begun the tale in his heart, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne gave a faint smile at the thought, then vanished into the soft morning light of Fuyuki.
The Holy Grail War—second night.
Lancer, defeated.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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