Shinji Matou At Your Service

Chapter 41: Saber and Jeanne

"Assassin!" Irisviel exclaimed, her hands instinctively grabbing onto Saber's clothes.

Saber patted Irisviel's shoulder but didn't draw her "Invisible Sword." She simply asked, "The Queen of the Land of Shadows, what brings you here?"

"I'm not here for you," Scáthach replied.

Scáthach pointed her spear forward, surrounded by the remains of defeated monsters. Caster used them as shields, blocking Scáthach's attacks.

"Caster is my prey, and he is the target my Master must kill. I've been searching for him these past few days. You wouldn't want to steal my prey, would you, Saber?"

"Do not interfere with me and my Saint, Assassin!"

Before Saber could respond, Caster's roar filled with immense anger broke through the dust.

"If Saber truly is that Saint, Jeanne, I wouldn't be surprised. But unfortunately..."

At this point, Scáthach's eyes revealed a hint of mockery and two parts of sympathy.

"While Saber and Jeanne are very similar, she is ultimately not the Jeanne you loved."

"Similar? How similar?" Irisviel's curiosity was piqued by Scáthach's words, and her question echoed Saber's thoughts. Even Caster momentarily suppressed his anger.

Scáthach tilted her head to the side, pondering for a moment before answering, "They hold similar historical positions—one as the savior of France, the other as the noble king who saved Britain. Their appearance is also quite alike, especially their faces—it's almost identical. I observed that Saint through clairvoyance over 600 years ago, and if my memory serves me right, the only difference between you two is the color of your eyes. But the most similar aspect is your essence—both of you possess resolute characters and pure hearts."

"I see." Saber nodded thoughtfully, her face losing some of its coldness. She addressed Caster with utmost seriousness.

"I don't know anything about you and that Saint, but I'm sorry, I am not your Saint," Saber said.

Strangely enough, upon hearing Saber and Scáthach's words, Caster didn't show any hint of disappointment. Instead, he had a face filled with happiness and intoxication.

"Oh, my Saint, your tenderness is still so intoxicating. But please rest assured, even if your heart has been clouded by the unfairness of the gods and you have lost your memories, you are still you. I will break free from the shackles of the gods and save you."

Caster had completely gone mad—this conclusion was reached by Saber, Irisviel, and Scáthach all at once.

This guy hadn't heard a word of what Saber and Scáthach said, or perhaps he had no intention of listening from the beginning. For his Saint, he casually formed his conclusion based on his fantasies and firmly believed in it. Caster, under the domination of this idea, couldn't hear anything else.

"It seems there's nothing more to say." Scáthach shifted from holding her spear with one hand to holding it with both hands. The already cold temperature in the mountains became even more bone-chilling. "Saber, Irisviel—"

Scáthach didn't need to say anymore. Saber already understood her intentions.

"May fortune favor you, Queen of Shadows."

After saying that, Saber pulled Irisviel into the sports car, skillfully shifted gears, and started the engine, driving away. Compared to the newbie driver, Irisviel, Saber with her A-ranked Riding skill, capable of handling almost any mode of transportation, was the true expert driver, skilled and experienced.

"Wait, Jeanne!"

"Your opponent is me!"

Caster reached out his hand, wanting to stop them, but Scáthach forced him back with her spear. He could only watch in despair as his vision of the goddess drifted away.

It wasn't until the pure white sports car disappeared into the night that Caster turned around, glaring at Scáthach with intense hatred in his eyes, as if he wanted to crush her.

"It's all because of you, it's all because of you! You servant of the gods, you villain who hinders my reunion with the Saint! You've already separated us once, and now you want to stop us again. Die, die, die!"

Anger and hatred transformed into substance, emanating from the Noble Phantasm in Caster's hand, giving birth to countless monsters that did not belong to this world.

The first "Die" sounded, and small monsters formed by countless sea anemones and corals appeared, accompanied by black magical mist.

The second "Die" sounded, and enormous tentacles resembling octopuses emerged from the ground, thrashing wildly.

The third "Die" was indescribable—an unspeakable abomination descended from the sky. It was not a creature belonging to Earth but rather an insane and terrifying entity originating from the dark cosmos.

The demons danced wildly!

Faced with a scene that could drive ordinary people to madness, Scáthach's heart was not filled with any negative emotions. Instead, a genuine sense of joy radiated from within her.

The magical energy materialized and flowed slowly through Scáthach's crimson spear, giving the illusion of flames burning from a distance.

"Finally, I can have a proper fight."

With a breath, the corner of her veil was lifted. In that instant, the closest circle of small monsters to Scáthach all burst, as if they had been filled with explosives, resulting in a martial arts spectacle with limbs and flesh flying everywhere.

Amidst the nauseating debris, Scáthach fused herself with the spear, becoming like an arrow shot from a siege crossbow, mercilessly crashing into Caster's horde of monsters.

The grim fate of their comrades did not cause the other monsters to retreat. Driven by their summoner, they advanced one after another, flooding Scáthach's field of vision like a tidal wave.

Scáthach remained undaunted. No matter how numerous the rabble, it would not pose a threat to a true powerhouse.

The demonic spear pierced, and a tentacle burst.

The demonic spear swept horizontally, causing five small monsters to fly in disarray.

The demonic spear struck repeatedly, inflicting considerable damage upon the repugnant creature.

In just a few minutes, dozens of monsters had fallen under Scáthach's spear.

However, compared to the massive army of monsters, it was merely a drop in the ocean.

Monsters with severed tentacles continuously sprouted new ones at the points where they were severed.

Destroyed monster remnants gave birth to new, identical monsters.

What's more troublesome was that the spreading pool of filthy blood continued to produce new reinforcements.

Under the relentless summoning, the distance between Scáthach and Caster did not diminish; instead, it grew increasingly distant.

"Oh, you lapdog of the gods, be consumed by my anger!"

In the endless darkness, the humanoid demon wielding the human skin grimoire let out a piercing and grating scream.

It was as if it came from hell.

PS: "I am not a lapdog of the gods; I am a godslayer." - Shinji.