The ruins stretched ahead, a monotonous landscape painted in flickering firelight and deep, unnatural shadow. We pushed deeper into the ravaged city, the silence growing heavier, more oppressive than the earlier chaos. It wasn't just the quiet of devastation anymore; it was something else, a pervasive wrongness that prickled at the edges of my awareness like static cling, but colder.

The air itself felt thick here, stagnant, almost greasy. Shadows clung too tightly to corners, seeming deeper, more absolute than physics should allow. It felt like static electricity building relentlessly before a strike, but infused with a chilling cold. A silent, watchful dread permeated the atmosphere.

Then I saw them, nestled amongst the shattered concrete and twisted steel rebar like grotesque exhibits in a ruined museum.

Figures. Dozens of them. Frozen.

Not statues merely carved from stone, but something far more disturbing. People. Caught mid-motion, their expressions locked in terrifying snapshots of terror, confusion, or mundane surprise abruptly interrupted. A woman reaching out for a child who simply wasn't there beside her. A man caught mid-stride, face contorted in a silent, unending scream. Another simply looking up towards the burning sky, hand half-raised in awe or supplication. The detail was too perfect, sickeningly, horrifyingly real – every fold of cloth, every strand of wind-blown hair solidified into a grey, lifeless permanence.

I stopped dead, a knot of ice tightening painfully in my stomach. "…Okay. Forget everything else. That's… that's not normal." This wasn't like the clean erasure of the simulation enemies, or even the brutal, messy immediacy of the Command Room bombing. This felt slower, colder... like preserved malice. This went beyond simple collateral damage. This was deliberate. Calculated. Cruel.

Mash inhaled sharply beside me, her voice trembling slightly despite her attempt at steely control. "These statues… No, they aren't statues, they're— These poor people… Just… frozen in time… Director, this texture… the residual energy signatures…"

Olga Marie's expression had gone grim, her usual aristocratic irritation replaced by a sharp, clinical focus heavily edged with barely concealed disgust. I saw her hand tremble slightly as she gestured vaguely towards the nearest frozen figure, her breath catching almost imperceptibly, like the sight evoked a memory sharper, more personal than just tactical assessment, before she quickly pulled her hand back, composing herself. "They aren't just statues, Kyrielight," she confirmed, her voice low, tight. "This is advanced petrification thaumaturgy, or..."

My breath hitched. "Or a Noble Phantasm," Mash finished grimly, her grip tightening on her shield until her knuckles were bone white, her violet gaze sweeping over the frozen figures with discernible pain and anger.

Great. Just great. Add 'instant statue transformation power' to the rapidly expanding list of horrifying bullshit this place could throw at us without warning. It wasn't enough for the entire city to be burning; it had to have personalized horror art installations scattered around like gruesome warnings.

"Someone was hunting here," Olga murmured, her sharp eyes scanning the frozen tableau with cold calculation. "Systematically. Targeting civilians."

A chill, distinct from the unnatural cold radiating from the statues, traced its way sharply up my spine. Instinct, honed by recent near-death experiences, screamed trap.

And right on cue, as if summoned by my internal paranoia, a voice drifted through the ruins. It was soft, almost melodic, yet carried an undercurrent of predatory amusement that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Oh my? More fresh souls wandering so carelessly into my garden?"

Out of the deep shadows cast by a listing, skeletal skyscraper, she emerged. Her movement was unnervingly fluid, less a walk and more a silent glide across the debris-strewn ground. Tall, undeniably an adult woman, and clad in layers of dark, practical-looking, yet strangely elegant attire. A form-fitting, sleeveless dark dress reached down past her knees, starkly accented by intricate red lacing that crisscrossed down the front and sides like stitched wounds. Over this, she wore a heavy, voluminous black hooded cloak, its edges ragged and almost feathery, shrouding her upper body and shoulders completely in shadow. Dark, armored boots covered her lower legs, and matching dark gloves or bracers protected her forearms.

Beneath the deep cowl of the hood, cascades of incredibly long, pale violet hair spilled forth, flowing down her back well past her waist like a thick, unnatural river of silk. Her face, partially obscured by the shadows cast by the hood, held sharp, pale, almost sculpted features. And her eyes – those were the immediate focal point, twin points of deep crimson light glowing with cold, unnerving intensity in the gloom. Her smile held no warmth whatsoever, only sharp edges and predatory hunger.

In her hand, she gripped a bizarre, wicked-looking weapon – not quite a traditional lance, but a long, dark polearm topped with a reversed, hook-like scythe blade. It looked brutally effective for tearing, rending, and reaping. A palpable aura of wrongness emanated from her, a chilling stillness that felt colder and more ancient than the surrounding ruins.

Mash reacted instantly, planting her shield firmly between me and the newcomer. "A Servant," she breathed, tension radiating from her stance like palpable heat. Hostile intent confirmed.

Olga already had her hand raised defensively, faint mystic energy swirling around her fingertips. "It's definitely a hostile Servant!" Her eyes narrowed, analyzing the weapon, the aura. "…The parameters scream Lancer-class."

The Lancer's cold smile widened, revealing pointed, inhuman teeth. "How perceptive of you. And how… fresh." Her glowing crimson gaze swept over us, lingering on Mash with particular, almost appreciative interest. "You're a new presence here, aren't you, little shield maiden? Unexpected."

Mash held her ground, shield unwavering, projecting defiance. "My identity is irrelevant to you."

"Oh, but everything is relevant in the end," Lancer purred, tilting her head slightly, savoring the confrontation. Her smile sharpened into something dangerous. "Especially when it comes to new prey entering my hunting grounds."

Then, with a speed that simply defied physics, she didn't just move—she exploded into motion.

CLANG! CRACK!

The sounds hit almost simultaneously, deafeningly loud. Lancer closed the distance in less than a heartbeat, her wicked-looking scythe-polearm slamming against Mash's shield with brutal, overwhelming force. At the exact same instant, serpentine chains erupted directly from her shimmering violet hair, lashing out like metallic vipers to add their vicious weight to the impact. Sparks flew like fireworks. Mash slid back several feet, armored boots digging deep grooves into the scorched pavement, her arms clearly trembling violently from the sheer kinetic energy of the impact. Her shield arm visibly shook under the relentless barrage. One chain whipped low, impossibly fast, trying to coil around Mash's ankle, forcing her to stomp down hard to crush it against the concrete before it could tighten and immobilize her.

She gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance against the onslaught. "Tch— She's incredibly fast! And the force is… overwhelming!"

Before Mash could fully recover or reset her footing, Lancer flowed around the shield like smoke, exploiting the momentary imbalance. Instead of another immediate weapon thrust, she lashed out with a viciously fast high kick, her armored boot connecting hard against the shield's top edge. The impact sent Mash staggering sideways, almost losing her footing entirely, crashing heavily against the crumbling brick wall of a ruined building beside us. Dust and debris rained down around her.

Lancer didn't pause, didn't give her a nanosecond to recover. She appeared instantly mid-air above the staggered Mash, polearm poised for a devastating downward stab aimed straight at her unprotected head. It moved in a blinding silver arc—

Mash reacted on pure, desperate instinct, twisting her shield upwards just in time, shield meeting descending death. CRACK! The force of the blow radiated outwards through the air, shattering nearby concrete. She held firm, braced against the collapsing wall, but the strain was obvious, unsustainable.

"Impressive resilience," Lancer murmured, landing lightly as a cat before Mash, her crimson eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "But persistence always breaks shields eventually…"

Her pale violet hair surged again, dozens of metallic chains manifesting seemingly from nothing, a writhing, coiling mass forming behind her like a grotesque halo. Several lashed out like living whips—this time, bypassing Mash entirely, aiming straight for me.

Why is it always me?! The thought shrieked through my brain as I scrambled back desperately, pure adrenaline overriding coherent thought. One chain materialized abruptly from shimmering air right in front of me—a phasing attack, bypassing physical barriers—forcing me into a desperate, clumsy sideways dive onto the debris-strewn ground. The other snake-headed chains whipped past my face with a sharp hiss, close enough to feel the displaced air sizzle, and impacted the pavement where I'd been standing moments before, leaving deep, steaming gouges in the asphalt. Run. Hide. Useless. My brain cycled frantically.

Mash pushed off the wall, intercepting another blindingly fast, brutal thrust from the polearm with her shield again. The clang echoed painfully in my ears. "Senpai! Stay back!" she yelled, her voice strained with effort. I was already scrambling behind her shield again, instinctively staying close enough to Olga that our shoulders almost brushed – bodyguard proximity achieved by default terror, apparently.

Yeah, working on it! Hiding behind the giant, possibly indestructible shield seemed like the only viable strategy right now against this monster.

Olga, however, wasn't just hiding. She had already gathered mystic energy, her face pale but set in fierce concentration. "Gandr!" she snapped, thrusting her hand forward decisively. A bolt of concentrated scarlet energy, like a condensed laser beam, shot towards Lancer.

Lancer simply tilted her head slightly, twisting in mid-air with impossible, effortless grace. The red spell – 'Gandr', Olga had called it – shot harmlessly past her, impacting a ruined car behind her and causing a minor explosion. So much for that attack, I thought grimly. It clearly missed. And Olga's face was set; whatever she just did looked like it took significant concentration. Maybe she couldn't just spam those things like video game spells.

"Mm," Lancer hummed, sounding mildly annoyed by the interruption. "A persistent little magus. Troublesome." Her grip tightened visibly on her polearm, the wicked weapon seeming to drink the surrounding firelight, growing darker. Her smile sharpened into something less playful, more aligned with a predator's snarl. "Very well. Enough games. Let's end this."

Her crimson eyes flared suddenly, shedding their deceptive predatory beauty, revealing raw, terrifying power beneath. A tangible wave of palpable cold malice washed over the area, heavy and suffocating.

Danger! Her eyes! A primal wave of dread washed over me, colder than the petrified statues. Something about that gaze felt fundamentally wrong, like it could stop my heart cold, freeze my blood in my veins.

Mash must have felt it too, the shift in intent. She reacted instantly, slamming the base of her shield hard into the cracked earth, creating a small shockwave that kicked up dust. "Senpai! Director! Don't look into her eyes!" she shouted, her voice sharp with urgency.

Lancer just smirked, a slow, cruel curve of her lips. "Too late."

A pulse of violet energy rippled outward from her form, washing over us like a visible wave of tangible cold. The air grew thick, heavy, pressing in from all sides. My limbs suddenly felt like lead. No… not lead. Stone.

A creeping numbness spread rapidly from my feet upwards, locking my joints, stealing my breath, turning flesh to immobile rock. I tried to move, to look away, to even blink, but my body wouldn't respond. Panic clawed desperately at my throat.

I could see Mash gritting her teeth beside me, her own movements becoming sluggish, jerky, fighting the paralyzing effect with sheer willpower and maybe her Demi-Servant nature.

Olga staggered, gasping, her outstretched arm already transforming into grey, lifeless stone up to the elbow, her face a mask of horrified, impotent realization. Just like the others outside... This was how they were made.

Lancer stepped forward leisurely through the field of paralysis, the sound of her armored boots echoing ominously in the sudden, terrifying silence. Her polearm gleamed dully, reflecting the unnatural red sky. "You've lasted longer than most," she murmured, her voice soft, almost regretful, contrasting sharply with the cold satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "But it ends now."

Her polearm blurred, shooting forward with blinding, impossible speed. Straight for Mash's exposed throat.

Mash couldn't raise her shield in time. Couldn't dodge. The petrification held her fast, a statue awaiting the hammer blow. Time seemed to stretch, each nanosecond an eternity of certain death unfolding—

CLANG!

A sound like a massive temple bell struck hard, resonating through the air, momentarily disrupting the paralysis field. A streak of brilliant blue light intercepted the deadly polearm mere inches from Mash's neck.

A simple, sturdy-looking wooden staff, wielded with impossible speed and precision, slammed hard into the side of the demonic weapon, deflecting the killing blow skyward with surprising, brute force.

Simultaneously, a ripple of warm, vibrant blue energy pulsed outwards from the point of impact, washing over Olga and me. The creeping coldness receded instantly, sensation returning to my limbs with painful pins and needles.

We were free.

A gasp tore from my throat, echoed almost instantly by one from Olga nearby as feeling returned to her arm. Just as quickly, the usual tension snapped back into place around her, shock replaced by wary assessment.

A new voice, rougher than Lancer's seductive tones, laced with wry amusement and a hint of something wild and untamed, cut through the sudden stillness. "Oi, oi, don't be like that now, lady. Where's the fun in ending things so quickly? The real party's just getting started, isn't it?"

Standing between us and the momentarily stunned Lancer was a man. Tall, lean, and radiating an entirely different kind of dangerous energy – less cold predator, more cunning wildfire waiting to erupt. He wore practical, slightly worn blue robes over tight-fitting dark gear, a ragged mantle draped casually over his shoulders. A shock of wild blue hair framed a face that was all sharp angles and an even sharper grin. His eyes, a startling shade of intense red, gleamed with feral amusement and battle lust. He now spun the aforementioned wooden staff idly between his fingers, acting like he hadn't just materialized out of nowhere and saved us all from becoming permanent additions to Lancer's creepy garden collection.

Another Servant. But this one felt… different. Volatile, maybe, but not inherently malicious like Lancer. He gave Mash an approving look, pointedly ignoring Lancer for a moment. "Have to admit, you held up better than I expected against Medusa there, young lady. Got guts."

Mash blinked, still processing the sudden rescue, rubbing feeling back into her arms. "A… Caster-class Servant?"

Lancer narrowed her glowing crimson eyes, recognition and sharp annoyance flashing across her pale features. "You."

The newcomer smirked back, a flash of teeth. "Me."

A beat of tense silence stretched between them.

Then, with a theatrical flourish that seemed utterly out of place, he dipped his head slightly towards us. "Cú Chulainn, summoned as Caster this time around. At your service… more or less."

Cú Chulainn. Wait, that name... and the blue hair... He looked disturbingly like the Lancer from the battle simulation. But this guy had robes and a staff instead of a spear and armor. Still had that same damn battle-hungry, slightly unhinged look in his eyes, though. Great. Rescued by another potentially homicidal legend.

Lancer's crimson eyes narrowed further, spitting his name like a curse. "Caster. Figures you'd crawl out of the woodwork to interfere with my hunt."

Caster just grinned wider, spinning his staff lazily. "What can I say? Always had a weak spot for a lost cause. Sort of my brand." He glanced back at me, his smirk turning slightly knowing, assessing. "You must be the kid playing Master then, huh? The new variable in this mess."

I managed a shaky breath, the phantom cold of petrification still clinging to my skin, the afterimage of Lancer's eyes burned into my retinas. "More like getting played by the whole damn situation," I corrected tiredly.

He actually chuckled, a rough, appreciative sound. "Ha! Good answer. Honest, at least." Then, without any warning, his amusement vanished, replaced by sharp, predatory focus. He stamped the butt of his wooden staff hard onto the ground—

BOOM!

A complex, glowing red rune flared instantly beneath Lancer's feet, erupting without warning in a contained pillar of intense scarlet flames. She leaped back instinctively, serpentine chains snapping out from her hair like startled vipers to anchor herself against the crumbling ruins behind her, snarling in frustration as the flames licked at her cloak.

"Tch!" she hissed, crimson eyes burning with pure hatred now.

But Caster wasn't giving her breathing room. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, another rune ignited where his staff tapped the ground lightly. Wisps of fire erupted outwards, tracing invisible lines through the air like ethereal tripwires – swiftly burning through and severing Lancer's anchoring chains before they could fully find purchase. Before she could react to being untethered, he gestured again, runes flaring brightly in empty air like projected glyphs, loosing a rapid barrage of crackling fire darts straight towards her.

Lancer spun, a whirlwind of black fabric and pale violet hair, her remaining snake-headed chains whipping out defensively, swatting the fiery darts aside like annoying insects, though a few scorched her dark outfit, leaving smoking holes. Ignoring the minor burns, she surged forward again, focusing purely on closing the distance, her terrible polearm becoming a silver-white blur aimed straight at Caster's heart.

The clash was deafening. Staff met polearm in a furious, chaotic storm of high-speed blows, sparks showering the ruined street with every violent impact. Lancer fought with pure, relentless brutality, each thrust, slash, and sweep with her wicked reversing scythe aimed to break through Caster's guard by sheer overwhelming force and unpredictable angles. Caster, however, met her ferocious onslaught with surprising, almost casual skill, his simple wooden staff blurring as he parried blows, deflected thrusts with sharp twists of the wood, used the staff's length for leverage, and occasionally jabbed hard with the butt end. His footwork was incredibly nimble, strangely reminiscent of the Lancer class, keeping him just out of the deadliest arcs of her weapon while his hands flowed seamlessly through the complex motions of both melee combat and subtle, instantaneous rune-casting. The sheer speed of their exchange was dizzying; I could barely track their individual movements, just blurs of blue and black clashing violently, punctuated by the vicious shriek of metal scraping against enchanted wood and sudden bursts of uncontrolled magical energy flaring outwards. Twice, serpentine chains phased into existence near Caster, attempting to bind him, only for him to either spin away at the last possible second or incinerate them instantly with a pulse of concentrated runic fire from his free hand.

Mash instinctively pulled me further behind her shield's protective cover as chunks of shattered concrete and superheated metal shrapnel rained down around us from their clash. Watching them fight… it hammered home just how utterly, laughably outclassed Olga and I were. What could we even do against beings moving that fast, hitting that hard? Standing here felt less like tactical positioning and more like hiding behind the tank, hoping not to draw aggro.

Caster danced and weaved around Lancer's relentless assault, laughing breathlessly at times, but there was nothing random or panicked about his movements. He wasn't just dodging; he was deliberately weaving, stepping carefully, his staff occasionally tapping the ground lightly, even his fingers sometimes tracing unseen patterns in the air or against the wood of his staff mid-parry, leaving faint traces of blue light that faded almost instantly. Runes. He was actively setting up more runes amidst the chaos, laying a trap.

Lancer's attacks grew faster, more frantic, fuelled by escalating rage at his evasiveness. The snake-chains shot out again, aiming to bind his legs this time—he vaulted clear over them with ridiculous, gravity-defying agility, spinning in mid-air and casually lobbing a condensed ball of crackling flame back over his shoulder that forced her to dodge sideways, breaking her offensive rhythm for a crucial instant.

"You can run, hound," Lancer snarled, her voice tight with fury, her polearm gleaming wickedly as she recovered her stance, "but you cannot maintain your complex spells while constantly evading!" She lunged forward again, closing the distance in an instant, polearm driving straight forward with killing intent—

CLANG!

Caster blocked the thrust, his staff groaning audibly under the immense impact but holding firm. Sparks flew. Another rapid, furious exchange erupted between them – polearm thrusting, stabbing, sweeping viciously; staff parrying, deflecting, redirecting smoothly – each brutal blow resonating through the ground like hammer strikes. Lancer was pure offense, relentless, each strike aimed to kill or maim. Caster was a dizzying whirlwind of defense and evasion, but even as he moved, dodging and weaving, his free hand occasionally brushed the ground, fingers tracing unseen patterns in the dust and debris. Another hidden rune, etched silently into the battlefield, concealed amidst the chaos.

Lancer didn't see it. Blinded by fury and focused solely on ending him, she spun her polearm for a final, overwhelmingly powerful thrust—aimed straight for Caster's chest, bypassing his guard.

"Young lady! Now!" Caster's voice cut sharply through the din, a clear command.

Mash, apparently anticipating the call or sensing the opening, moved instantly from my side. She surged forward, shield raised high defensively.

BOOM!

Lancer's devastating thrust slammed hard into the reinforced shield instead of Caster's chest. The impact force was immense, staggering Mash backwards several steps, but the shield held. More importantly, the unexpected block, forcing Lancer to adjust her footing at the last moment to maintain balance after the recoil—caused her to land her right foot squarely onto the barely visible rune Caster had drawn moments before.

Caster's red eyes gleamed with fierce, predatory satisfaction. "Who said anything about needing to chant to use Runes properly?" Lancer's eyes widened fractionally in horrified realization.

He smirked. "Go back to magic school, dimwit! You skipped too many lessons!"

The ground beneath her exploded. Not just contained fire this time, but raw, concussive magical force mixed with searing flames roared upwards violently, engulfing her completely in an inescapable pyre. She staggered back with a choked cry, serpentine chains lashing out wildly, futilely trying to find purchase as her form flickered, destabilized by the direct hit from the empowered runic trap.

Her body, scorched and fractured by the blast, crumbled rapidly like burnt paper, dissolving into fading crimson embers that dissipated into the stagnant air.

Then—silence. She was gone. Annihilated.

The battlefield fell quiet again, save for the crackling of distant fires and our own ragged breathing echoing in the sudden stillness.

Caster let out a controlled breath, the visible tension finally dropping from his shoulders. "Well now. One down."

Mash finally lowered her shield, panting heavily, but steady on her feet.

I let out a long, shaky sigh I hadn't realized I'd been holding for the entire duration of the fight. My heart was still hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape my chest cavity.

Caster turned back to us, leaning casually on his staff again, that wild, challenging grin returning, now mixed with a hint of a proud mentor figure. "And that, kids," he announced, resting the staff across his shoulders like a peasant carrying a bundle of wood, "is lesson number one: never stand still on a damn battlefield. Always be preparing your next move. Or have someone else prepare it for you."

I stared at the spot where Lancer had evaporated into nothingness. Then at him. Then back at the empty, scorched spot. "…Right. Lesson learned: I am still incredibly, fundamentally out of my league here." And probably always will be.

He chuckled, clapping me surprisingly hard on the good shoulder, making me wince. The contact felt solid, jarringly real, not like a ghost at all. "Eh, you'll learn. Or you'll die. Usually works out one way or the other in these situations." Cheerful bastard.

Mash straightened, collecting herself, her professional demeanor returning despite the near-death experience. "Thank you for the timely assistance, Sir Cú Chulainn."

Roman's voice crackled through the comms, somehow managing to sound both immensely relieved and completely exasperated at the same time. "Okay… wow. That was… intense. Are you all alright?! Mash? Senpai? Director?!" A pause. "And… uh… Caster-Servant…? Uh, thanks? I guess?" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "For now… perhaps we focus on information gathering? Director, he seems… relatively cooperative? Helpful, even? Sane, maybe?"

Caster glanced vaguely in the direction Mash held her hand near her ear, likely sensing the magic underpinning the communication, his expression turning curious. "Hoh? Long-range communication magecraft? Fancy setup you got there." He yawned theatrically, stretching languidly. "Alright, spit it out then, chatterbox hiding behind the curtain. But cut the flattery and get straight to the point. I hate time-wasters, especially weakly projecting, nervous-sounding ones."

Roman sputtered indignantly on the other end. "W-Weak—?! Look, I'm just—!" He apparently forced himself calm. "Right. Point. Caster… Sir Cú Chulainn… based on Chaldea's fragmented records of the 2004 Fuyuki War, you're likely the last Servant remaining from the original Holy Grail War Roster still active in this Singularity, correct? Assuming Saber doesn't count as 'original' anymore."

Caster's easygoing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something shadowed, more somber. He looked tired suddenly.

"Depends what you mean by 'remaining'. I didn't lose the war, if that's the implication." He crouched down, dragging the tip of his staff aimlessly through the ashes on the ground, carving meaningless patterns. "But yeah. Somewhere along the line… our pathetic little Grail War went completely off the rails. Twisted itself into this burning nightmare."

Olga, now fully recovered from the petrification attempt and her earlier fluster, stepped forward, her expression sharp and analytical again, demanding answers. "Twisted how? What happened specifically?"

Caster's gaze darkened, looking past us into the fiery ruins with haunted eyes. "Hard to say exactly when it all went to shit. But one night… the whole damn city just burned. Like this." He gestured around us at the devastation. "Normal people vanished overnight. Turned into… those bony things you fought earlier. Or petrified like those statues. Suddenly, it wasn't a secret war anymore; it was just us Servants left, wading through hell." He paused, his voice quieter, grim. "Then Saber… the original Saber… she went completely mad. Or maybe she was always like this underneath, waiting for an excuse. Started hunting the rest of us down."

Mash tensed visibly beside me. Saber, the supposed victor of the original war according to Olga's records.

Caster continued, his tone flat, devoid of emotion now. "Tore through Archer first. Then the original Lancer, then Rider, Berserker, Assassin. Wiped 'em out systematically, one by one. But they didn't just… dissipate like Servants normally do when defeated. They got absorbed somehow. Corrupted by black sludge. Turned into twisted shadows of their former selves. Running on pure hate and corrupted instinct."

"The same corruption… that affected the Lancer we just fought?" I asked, the horrifying pieces clicking into place with unpleasant clarity. Medusa turned into… that monster.

He nodded grimly. "Yeah. That thing wasn't the original Rider, Medusa. That was her shadow, what was left of her, twisted into a Lancer container somehow. Running on mindless hate and predatory instinct." He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Had to put down the shadow versions of Rider and Assassin myself after they turned. Before they could start deliberately hunting humans… assuming any poor bastards were even left by then."

Mash swallowed hard, looking disturbed. "And… the shadow Archer? And Berserker?"

Caster grimaced. "Archer's shadow is still around, yeah. Probably guarding Saber, like I said. Bastard was always annoyingly resourceful." He paused. "Berserker… Big guy. He went completely mad too, but wasn't corrupted by the shadow, last I saw him. Just pure rage. Honestly, best to just leave him be unless absolutely necessary. He's more like a rampaging natural disaster than an active threat if you don't deliberately provoke him."

Roman's voice came back, cautious, analytical. "So, Caster… if this corrupted Saber is the core of the problem… the source of the Singularity and the shadow corruption… then defeating her might stabilize the Singularity? End this anomaly? Allow history to correct itself?"

"Logically, it should do," Caster finished, standing up again and dusting off his robes with forced nonchalance. "The Greater Grail—the big magic wish-granting prize that started this whole mess—it's at the heart of this corrupted region. Saber is guarding it, drawing power from it. Probably has that shadow Archer backing her up too." He cracked his knuckles slowly, a predatory light returning to his red eyes. "Good timing, actually. You showing up. Me and Archer… we got some unfinished business to settle from the original war. This seems like as good a time as any."

I processed that grim info dump. A Corrupted Saber fused with the Grail. Backed up by a corrupted shadow Archer. A rampaging berserker somewhere in the background. Regenerating bone monsters as wandering mobs. Basically, everything was ten times worse than it looked just minutes ago.

Standard progression for my life, apparently. But something Caster said during the fight against Medusa, a practical detail amidst the supernatural chaos, kept nagging at the back of my mind.

"Hey," I said, breaking the short silence, looking towards Caster but asking the question more generally, my tone deliberately flat. "You back there... you used those rune things, the traps, the fire darts, without saying a word. But earlier, the Director yelled 'Gandr' loud and clear for her little red pew-pew spell." I glanced sideways at Olga. "So, is chanting out spell names optional? Or just for beginners who need the training wheels?"

Olga straightened instantly, perhaps seizing the opportunity to shift focus back to established magical theory and away from the immediate horror, retreating to her area of expertise. A hint of her usual lecture-mode smugness returned, battling with lingering irritation. "Not precisely optional, Hikigaya. Basic magecraft principles often require verbal components – incantations or trigger words – for stability, precise direction of energy, and focusing the practitioner's intent. However," she gave a subtle, pointed look towards Caster, acknowledging his skill grudgingly, "truly high-level practitioners, or those specialized in certain systems," she nodded towards Caster again, "can utilize advanced techniques like High-Speed Incantation, Aria Substitution via specialized Mystic Codes, or inherent mastery with specific systems like Runes to activate spells with single-action triggers, gestures, or drastically shortened incantations. It's fundamentally a matter of proficiency, talent, and specialization."

I processed that. High-level proficiency. Shortcut techniques. Sounded suspiciously like passive skill trees in an MMO, letting veterans skip the boring grind. My gaze drifted back to Olga. "Huh. So, your 'Gandr' earlier..." I paused, letting the implication hang delicately in the air before finishing with deadpan curiosity, "...just force of habit then? Or maybe just easier?"

Olga stiffened slightly, a faint flush creeping up her neck. It was that same subtle reaction Yukinoshita sometimes had when you pointed out a minor flaw in her otherwise perfect logic. Caught. "Th-That was—! Certain foundational spells become ingrained through repetitive casting during training!" she snapped back defensively, regaining her composure quickly through sheer irritation. "It promotes consistency! It's efficient! It doesn't reflect my overall capability in complex thaumaturgy!"

Right. 'Efficient habit'. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk might have touched my lips. Still reminded me of a kid trying desperately to justify getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Recalling Roman's briefing – the immense pressure, the constant expectations, the fear of failure – her extreme defensiveness about even minor perceived shortcomings made a twisted kind of sense.

Before Caster could jump in with a mocking comment, or the argument could escalate further, Olga shrewdly shifted the topic, turning her sharp gaze back to the Caster, all business again. "You seem remarkably willing to assist us, Caster. Complete strangers who stumbled into your corrupted warzone without invitation. Why?"

Caster's grin returned, lopsided and wolfish this time, though maybe less hostile than before. "Eh. Call it principle. Or maybe just boredom." He jerked his chin towards Mash. "Kid here's got guts. Stood up to Medusa, even knowing she was hopelessly outmatched. Gotta respect that kind of stubbornness." His gaze flicked momentarily to me. "And you, Master-kid. You're greener than spring grass and about twice as useless in a direct fight right now, probably," Accurate, "but… you stuck around. Didn't completely piss yourself and run screaming when things got hairy back there with Medusa's eyes. Potential, maybe. Or just too paralyzed by fear to move." He shrugged. Potential to not die immediately, probably. "…Thanks. I think." Still felt like faint praise.

He chuckled again. "Look. Your overall goal is fixing this timeline screw-up, right? Getting rid of the Singularity? My immediate goal is putting an end to this ugly farce Saber's made of our war and maybe clocking that smug Archer one last time for good measure. Goals align, temporarily at least. Simple as that." He spread his hands in a gesture of clear pragmatism. "So? We working together to crash Saber's party or what?"

Olga considered his offer for a moment, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her arm. Prudence warring with necessity. "...Your stated personal goal – eliminating Saber and Archer – goes significantly beyond our current directive of investigation and data gathering." She paused, lips thinning. "However," her tone shifted, becoming purely pragmatic, "accessing the Greater Grail cavern where they presumably reside is necessary for our investigation to confirm the source of the anomaly. Having a cooperating Servant who is intimately familiar with the local situation and the primary threats... would significantly improve our chances of achieving our primary objective without getting killed." She made her decision. "Very well. For the limited purpose of reaching the core anomaly and gathering necessary data, cooperation is deemed logically advantageous."

I have a very bad feeling about this alliance. Relying on this guy felt like borrowing money from a loan shark. Useful in the short term, potentially fatal consequences later.

Caster gave her a long, appraising look, his red eyes narrowing thoughtfully, scanning her from head to toe. "Though… it's weird." He gestured vaguely towards her with his staff. "You've definitely got the aura of a top-tier magus, princess. Powerful circuits humming under the surface. But you don't have the specific spark of a Master. No contract link. Bad luck in the compatibility lottery back home? Or just cursed?"

Olga bristled instantly, glaring daggers at him, the question clearly hitting the freshly exposed nerve of her failed candidacy again. Figures he'd pick up on that, I thought. He seemed annoyingly perceptive when he wasn't trying to blow things up. "What possible difference does that make to you, Servant?!" she snapped defensively.

He just smirked wider, clearly enjoying her reaction. "None, I guess. Just means you have to make up for the lack of a ghost partner with first-class stubbornness and a bad attitude, eh?"

Her eye twitched violently. "Excuse me?! Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?!"

Seeing another argument brewing, and perhaps sensing the dangerous undercurrents, Caster sighed dramatically and turned his attention pointedly back to Mash. "Right, right. Before I forget, Priorities." He looked her over critically, his expression becoming more serious. "You okay, shield maiden? Really? That Gorgon's stare packs a nasty punch even if you managed to resist the full petrification. Lingering effects can mess with your mana flow. Plus, you pushed yourself way too hard blocking those hits earlier, didn't you?"

Mash shook her head quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, avoiding his sharp gaze. I noticed her shoulder slump slightly again before she forced it straight through willpower. "N-No, Sir Caster! I assure you, I'm operating within expected parameters! Perfectly fine!" Her slight hesitation, the forced brightness in her tone, gave her away completely.

Olga arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her attention shifting instantly from Caster to Mash, concern overriding irritation. "Perfectly fine? Kyrielight, don't tell me... You still haven't managed to properly access your Noble Phantasm, have you? Even after that intense combat? After facing Medusa?" She sounded both concerned for Mash's capability and deeply exasperated by the lack of progress.

Mash faltered, then nodded slowly, looking downcast, ashamed. "No, Director. I… I haven't been able to invoke its True Name. I can feel the power, the intent to defend, but… I can't consciously activate it." She looked genuinely defeated for a moment, the weight of expectation crushing her.

I frowned, recalling Olga's earlier assessment of Noble Phantasms. "So, you still don't know its actual name or how to consciously trigger the super-shield move, huh? I figured a near-death experience courtesy of Medusa might have shaken something loose."

Olga sighed sharply, rubbing her temples in clear frustration. "Apparently not, Hikigaya. Wishful thinking rarely substitutes for proper resonance or conscious understanding of the conceptual framework. The Noble Phantasm remains locked behind some kind of mental or spiritual block." Her gaze snapped towards me, sharp and accusatory again. Easier to blame the incompetent Master, probably. "Honestly, it's not entirely Kyrielight's fault. An excellent, experienced Master..." She suddenly stepped closer again, invading my personal space without warning. Her hand shot out, pinching my cheek—hard. Since when were we physically close enough for this kind of casual assault?! It genuinely hurt, dammit! "Your proficiency as a Master is simply, demonstrably abysmal, you dimwit! You should be facilitating her connection!"

"Ow! What the—?! Seriously?! Owowow!" I protested, trying futilely to pry her surprisingly strong fingers off my face. This was getting ridiculous. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caster watching the exchange again, a flicker of what looked like surprised, maybe even slightly impressed, amusement crossing his face.

"Don't think I'm just standing around being useless, either!" Olga added haughtily, regaining her composure through sheer force of will as she smoothed down her own collar, pointedly ignoring my pinched cheek. "Once my personal Mystic Code arrives from Chaldea – a state-of-the-art conceptual armament garment designed by Da Vinci specifically to support Masters in combat analysis and energy regulation – our overall strategic position will improve dramatically!"

I rubbed my cheek where she'd pinched – completely out of nowhere – earlier, muttering darkly. "Oh, great. Magic clothes. Can it stop Servants from trying to kill us with eye lasers?"

She shot me a glare but a smug little smile played on her lips, confident in her technology. "It will certainly help you not be entirely useless in supporting Mash, Hikigaya. You should look forward to its capabilities eagerly." Yeah, thrilled beyond measure.

Caster burst out laughing, a loud, unrestrained sound, clearly having enjoyed the entire bizarre exchange immensely. "Alright, alright, break it up, you two lovebirds. Save the squabbling for after we survive killing Saber." He stepped closer, his amusement fading slightly, his gaze turning serious as he looked between Mash and me again. "Listen up. Noble Phantasms… they're instinct as much as they are raw power. Sometimes more. You can't always force it through logic or willpower alone. But in a real fight, when you genuinely need it most, when everything's truly on the line…" His sharp stare intensified again, becoming unexpectedly focused, testing, probing. For a fleeting, terrifying second, I felt that ancient, primal pressure bearing down again, like the weight of forgotten ages settling onto my shoulders, demanding something.

Immediately, reflexively, I braced myself, shifting into a clumsy stance that was probably a mix of fight-or-flight panic. Just when I thought the immediate threat was over… He was testing us again? Or just being an intimidating asshole?

Instinctively, almost simultaneously, both Olga and Mash shifted slightly, subtly positioning themselves more defensively in front of me. Protecting the Master. Or maybe just the guy holding the magic battery packs.

Caster saw it. His intense pressure vanished instantly. His smirk returned, softer this time, maybe even pleased. "Good instincts, all around. Protective." It was terrifying how fast he was able to switch between serious bloodlust and his usual cocky, laid-back attitude. If Mash and Olga weren't physically standing between us, I might have actually peed myself.

He tapped his staff on the ground one last time, a note of finality. "Alright. Enough messing around. We'll coordinate the assault properly later. For now, let's find somewhere less exposed, less likely to attract Saber's attention, to rest up. Scope things out properly before rushing into the boss fight." His face turned grim. "Don't wander off too far. It's only gonna get harder from here. Saber knows you're here now."

Olga stiffened, colour draining from her face. "Confront Saber? Directly?" she managed, her voice thin. "But... the mission parameters... We were only supposed to gather data, not engage! This is... this changes everything." Her protest felt hollow even as she spoke it, lost against the grim finality in Caster's tone. Looks like we are actually going to have a final boss fight after all, so much for waiting for backup.

Mash let out a soft exhale, her shoulders slumping slightly now that the immediate, unpredictable danger posed by Caster himself had apparently passed. "…Understood."