—One-sided was the only way to describe it.
From the beginning, the two of them were in different leagues from each other in terms of their status as Heroic Spirits, the age of their mysteries and everything else.
With bestial instincts, Saber of Red didn't bother to block Rider of Black's golden lance and instead continued to cleverly dodge his attacks.
Although its offensive power was effectively nil, this was the lance that had the extremely fatal ability to "forcefully make a Servant's legs vanish"—the Trap of Argalia: Down with a Touch!.
But that ability was also useless if it couldn't deliver a direct hit. It wasn't that Rider of Black was inexperienced with handling a lance. Rather, he had participated in many jousting matches and reached a level where normal knights could not compete with him.
However, Saber of Red was not a normal knight. She was Mordred, the illegitimate child of Arthur Pendragon, the King of Knights himself, and an uncommon child prodigy who had studied, stolen and altered her father's techniques to make them her own.
"Too slow!"
Saber of Red's full-body armor was obviously in the heavyweight class even from an outsider's perspective. Even if it was made of prana, its weight didn't change. Rider of Black, who had confidence in his nimbleness, tried to completely ransack her with his speed.
But the one who was falling behind was none other than Rider of Black. He was desperately blocking Saber of Red's sword with his lance. On the blade's edge, red sparks of lightning danced before disappearing.
This was Saber of Red's prana. Since she was releasing her insane amount of prana that practically gushed out of her entire body, his arms went numb just by blocking the blade of her sword. Rider of Black was terrified. He could feel it each time their weapons clashed—her violent flame-like passion that mixed together madness, hatred and the joy of battle.
"Ah, damn it, I've got other things to do, you know... Just die already!"
Clicking her tongue, Saber of Red muttered that with a very annoyed tone. In response, Rider of Black did what was his natural specialty and which always annoyed his opponent the most—he smiled.
"No, no, don't say that. How about keeping me company a while longer?"
"Enough prattling—!!"
And Saber of Red also had a low boiling point. Overwhelmed with anger, she grated her teeth and launched an even more severe attack.
It was terrifying. And yet even so, her attacks were just barely within what could be called 'sword technique'.
As he exchanged blows with her, Rider of Black understood. Her sword skills possessed the conflicted yet perfect balance between the ferocity of a Berserker and the skill of a Saber.
To use a comparison, take a ferocious wild monkey. Say it was taught to fight to receive food and pitted against thousands of 'enemies'. Of course, it didn't have the intelligence to learn fighting techniques. But, if instinct trained it, numerous battles sharpened its mind, and the reward for doing so satisfied it...
Then what was produced in the end was an ultimate monster that had mastered not fighting techniques, but 'something else'.
Saber of Red's sword skills were extremely close to that. It was a sword technique that was produced only by those who continued fighting, fighting and killing, throwing away things like etiquette and chivalry and fighting only for the sake of survival and slaughter.
