Chapter 33: Chapter 33

Shirou's expression was filled with mixed emotions as he gazed at Spartacus standing before him.

The world is truly unpredictable.

Spartacus who once almost took his life, now stands before him, like a protective shield.

"Mad Dog!" Gilgamesh sneered upon seeing Spartacus, his gaze filled with contempt.

"Are you the hero who manifested as a Berserker?" Iskandar smiled cheerfully, "You appear to be rational. So, would you like to serve under this king?"

Spartacus standing in front of Shirou, when facing the Servants, revealed a smile of love with an ambiguous meaning, his eyes scanning over Gilgamesh and the others, "Oppressors, abusers... Oh oh oh oh oh oh, I will never let you take away the freedom of the weak!"

But when his eyes met Artoria's, he couldn't help but hesitate, his expression becoming more excited, "My ally?"

Artoria's expression remained unchanged. This giant, who is obviously a Berserker with a disturbed mind, suddenly appears on the battlefield, provocatively challenging all the Servants and then claiming to be an ally. Is this the ravings of a madman or a scheme by the Master behind the scenes?

Artoria doesn't know, but she is already preparing to retreat from the battlefield. If she were alone, Artoria would have to fight to the death. But the people behind her are the ones she made a knight's oath to protect. As a king, she acted recklessly once and buried Camelot. She learned from her mistake and cannot afford to act recklessly again.

Artoria pays no attention to Spartacus's rambling, but someone else does.

"Mongrel! Who gave you permission to gaze upon this king's honorable countenance with such a filthy gaze?" Gilgamesh is like an angry god. In a swift motion, he unleashes several Noble Phantasms toward Spartacus.

For the proud Gilgamesh, Spartacus's ambiguous gaze can be seen as a defilement, a true dirt on his pride.

"BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!!"

With deadly precision, Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasm pierces through the body of Spartacus, sending blood splattering everywhere. The ground cracks beneath the impact and explosions echo incessantly.

This is it, Shirou thought, trying to seize the opportunity to flee amidst the chaos. But Diarmuid, who had been keeping a watchful eye on him, holds twin spears and stares at him intently. Shirou dare not move recklessly and also dared not to leave Spartacus, who was serving as his shield, too far away.

"Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh----!" Despite the numerous wounds inflicted upon him, Spartacus displayed no signs of pain on his face. Instead, his expression was one of pure excitement, as if something incredibly joyous had occurred. He shouted, "Oppressors! Tyrants! Keep oppressing me, keep torturing me. With my body, I will pave the way to freedom!"

As Spartacus spoke, his body began to expand, and his aura grew increasingly powerful.

"Tsk."

Gilgamesh's expression turns to one of displeasure, and with a snap of his fingers, the sword that had previously suppressed Spartacus materializes once again, crushing him with the force of a mountain.

"You have quite an impressive collection of Noble Phantasms, don't you?" Iskandar looked at Gilgamesh with interest, his smile turning cheerful. "You just keep getting more and more interesting to me."

"Hmph," Gilgamesh replied with a cold gaze, but Iskandar's smile remained unchanged.

'This is not good! Spartacus is being suppressed!' Shirou's heart raced with panic.

"It appears that there are no obstacles hindering me from engaging you in combat," Diarmuid said gravely, twirling his spear with a serious expression.

"Lancer, why do you have to fight me?" Shirou tightens the black cloak around his body, feeling the chill creeping in.

"How dare you claim that I, as a servant, tarnish the honor of heroes?" Shirou exclaimed, his anger flaring. He was just a young boy of six years old! His Saint Graph, merged with that of Emiya, was irrefutable proof of his identity. Where did Lancer get the notion that he was a traitor? To sully his innocence in such a manner was an outrage.

"Your Noble Phantasms or your abilities are enough to determine this," Diarmuid said.

Dammit! My Noble Phantasm, my abilities, where do I have -

Could it be that...

Shirou abruptly paused, a dawning realization hitting him. His Noble Phantasm and ability panel had all been inherited from Emiya, the only distinction being one of his skills associated with mortals.

[The Wisdom of Mortals D: We are not the chosen ones, but we are the masters of our own fate. Praise those who are good to us, and destroy those who are against us.]

But didn't Scathach say that these were merely records of human wisdom? Where, then, did Diarmuid and the other servants derive their reasons for resentment from?

Dammit! 

As Diarmuid approached, Shirou's sole focus was on survival and he had no energy left to consider other thoughts.

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"Oh oh oh oh oh--!! The weak are suffering, the weak are being oppressed, how can I stand by and watch?" The hero of the weak, the sword of the weak, the shield of the weak, the hero who clears the path to freedom for the oppressed, Spartacus, burst forth from the deep pit with a sudden burst of energy.

"Oh--?" Gilgamesh was surprised. The sword was massive, its weight beyond comparison to any earthly objects, but it was moved by Spartacus.

"He's grown even stronger than before!" Waver cried out, clutching Iskandar's cloak in alarm. It appeared that Iskandar had noticed Waver's frightened gaze.

"Not only has his momentum increased, but the great deeds he has accomplished have also been boosted. It's surprising that this Caster is unexpectedly such a hero," Iskandar said with appreciation. 

He then looked at Shirou, his eyes becoming a bit apologetic. "I must extend my apologies, as I had misjudged the situation. This person is not a traitor, but a wanderer roaming the four corners of the world, singing the praise of heroes. Although, his bravery does seem somewhat lacking."

Artoria's grip on the holy sword relaxed slightly, and Irisviel, who was standing behind, noticed and inquired, "What's the matter, Saber? Is everything okay?"

"I misunderstood him," Artoria said apologetically, before adding in a serious tone, "Irisviel, we need to prepare to retreat. It's too chaotic here, I can't protect you effectively in this fight."

"I understand." Irisviel nodded.

Artoria tightened her grip on the holy sword, her gaze scanning the area, alert for any signs of danger from the other servants as she prepared to retreat.

"Berserker, must you obstruct my path to bringing glory to my lord?" Diarmuid pointed his spear at Spartacus.

"Oh oh oh oh oh, oppressor!" Spartacus replied with an ambiguous smile. Unfortunately, the two were not on the same wavelength.

Suddenly, "Boom!" Iskandar's chariot let out a thunderous roar, splitting the battlefield in two. Its power was enough to match the combined strength of Artoria and Diarmuid's attack. Spartacus faced him with a smile, but Shirou had to quickly dodge to avoid it.

"As I said before, the fight between heroes is mine alone. I will not allow anyone to interfere, not even you, the hero in the flesh of Berserker!" Iskandar said with a cheerful laugh. The battlefield was now split in two, with Iskandar focusing on Spartacus and Diarmuid keeping an eye on Shirou.

Dammit!

Shirou cursed, he had never before been bothered by Iskandar's grandeur, but now, because of it, he was being forced to face death.

"There's one thing I must apologize for as a knight," Diarmuid pointed his spear at Shirou and said, "I thought you were a dirty and treacherous person, but it seems now that is not the case."

"For my rash judgment, I offer my sincere apologies as a knight and I will fight with all my might as an unnamed hero." Diarmuid took a stance and charged toward Shirou.

Spartacus roared, trying to intervene, but was directly knocked away by Iskandar's chariot.

Gilgamesh laughed arrogantly with a joyful light shining in his eyes.

Artoria focused on protecting herself and Irisviel from the surrounding servants and possibly the hidden Assassin, as she retreated step by step. 

The weak hero had been defeated, leaving only those known as heroes who were actually thugs. The world was vast, but gods and buddhas had retreated, leaving nothing to rely on.

The concept of the "Wisdom of Mortals" is accurate. Mortals are not predestined for greatness, but they have the power to shape their own lives. There are no gods, emperors, or immortals that mortals can rely on for guidance or protection, there is only oneself.

The fear grips tightly, causing the body to tremble and the mind to shake as death approaches. Escape and resistance seem impossible, and fear paralyzes both the mind and the body.

But, amidst all this, the brain remains active, still struggling to survive.

Move!

Move!

Shirou shouted to himself, trying to give himself suggestions.

As the weight of life and death bore down on him, Shirou gritted his teeth. With a newfound determination, he spoke a name that caused even the mighty King of Knights, Artoria, to pause and the unparalleled warrior Diarmuid, to be taken aback.

"Diarmuid," Shirou asked with a fierce tone, "Do you still remember your lord, Fionn Mac Cumhaill?!"

...

AN: Next 46 Chapters are up on my Patreon

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