Fate/Apocrypha

Chapter 4.2

As soon as she was summoned, Archer noticed that the man standing before her was not her own Master. After all, what was clearly a Servant was standing by his side and, more importantly, she felt no connection to him at all.

"I haven't, either. Then again, I suppose that's only to be expected for a bunch of magi..."

"Yet... it is still peculiar. But, considering what awaits all of us at the end, perhaps it cannot be helped..."

In this Great Holy Grail War, the biggest issue is not defeat, but victory - and what follows. Whichever camp survives, it is unlikely that all seven Servants will remain accounted for - but it is also highly unlikely for only one to remain. In the end, the Holy Grail will only grant the wishes of one Master and one Servant. As soon as victory becomes clear, the division will begin.

Who among the magi does not aim to reach the Swirl of the Origin that sits outside this world, where all futures and all pasts are recorded? With such a possibility contained within the Holy Grail before them, even the closest of comrades would gladly slaughter one another. Servants are certainly not exceptions; the only way to have their own wishes granted is to terminate the allies they stood shoulder to shoulder with. Therefore, any alliances will most likely last only until the winning side is decided.

"...hence their refusal to appear before us."

"I don't think so. They should at least show up... I just can't help suspecting that priest and his Servant."

"You refer to Assassin... Semiramis, was it?"

Both Archer and Rider became speechless when, meeting them, Assassin grandly revealed her true name.

'I am Assassin, after all... an unstable existence to begin with. Let my true name be proof of my willingness to stand together in battle.'

So she declared, with some wryness, but neither Rider nor Archer believed her. The air of decay that wrapped around her invited only irritation and mistrust from these true-hearted warriors.

"That's right, Semiramis... the queen of Assyria. Why does putting on a crown always turns you into a pompous git? Kings or queens, it doesn't matter - I can't stand them."

"Such is what becomes of one whom is served by others. It is to be expected for someone of their position... nothing you need to take to heart."

Three hours had passed. The sun had already set, the forest becoming enveloped by darkness. Berserker's steady march came to a pause.

"Is it the enemy?"

"It is... but they are not Servants."

As Archer pointed out, what stood before Berserker was the Yggdmillennia vanguard: combat homunculi and massive bronze golems that towered over Berserker. There were over a hundred.

"Should we help him?"

Rider suggested, sounding rather deflated. They were not facing Servants, after all; what was there to help with? Instead, the two Servants chose to observe.

The battle between the vanguard of the Black and the Berserker of the Red was completely one-sided.

The halberds of the homunculi bit into his shoulders. The fists of the golems buried themselves in his face, impacting directly with enough force to shatter steel. However, these attacks did not make the smile disappear from Berserker's face. If anything, his grin widened.

Berserker made no attempt to avoid their attacks in the first place. In fact, he seemingly took pains to leap into their paths.

He took their beatings again and again, simply taking it all. Regardless of pain and injury, his expression was always one of ecstasy. Soon, even his attackers - tireless homunculi and golems - hesitated and stopped. That was when Berserker moved.