Beneath the crimson sky of an iron land, amidst the desolation, a massive screen of light floated as if it were the only stage in this world.
On this screen, the clash between two thrones of the Temple of Time played out in its most primal and intense form.
Steve and the seventy-one "spectators" sealed behind him looked on, forced to witness this fight despite the overwhelming disparity in power.
Theoretically speaking, Fujimaru Ritsuka had an ace up his sleeve.
That Saint Graph briefcase contained the vast battle data of the 450 Servants he had made companions of—from the moment humanity was burnt to the time it was frozen.
This was supposed to be the key that would break all his predicaments and create miracles.
But... reality was far more brutal than theory.
His opponent was the true, original magus reigning at the pinnacle of the magical world—the King of Magecraft.
And beside him stood the enigmatic head of the Animusphere family, who had planned all of this.
The gap in power between the two pairs of master and servant was a chasm, so deep it inspired only despair.
The display split in two, presenting two focal points on the battlefield with stark clarity.
On one side, a grand yet pointless mage's duel unfolded between two Solomons.
"...That guy, Flauros, is really pitiful."
The consciousness of Demon Pillar Baal let out a sigh mixed with ridicule across the collective network.
"He clearly knows the king's power the best, yet he still does something as foolish as throwing an egg at a rock."
As he said, Lev Goetia, who had assumed Solomon's appearance, was embroiled in an unprecedentedly difficult fight.
Once one of the Seventy-Two Demon Pillars, he was intimately familiar with the various spells and everyday magic of the King of Magecraft.
However, his greatest weakness was that he only possessed one of the ten rings.
In contrast, the true king before him possessed all ten and symbolized "dominion over all human sorcery."
Under this absolute authority, all Lev could do was "cancel" spells.
He seemed almost like a student taking an exam against a teacher who'd handed him the model answers.
He could anticipate every move his opponent made, but he couldn't change the final outcome.
He did his best, but only managed to offset both sides' attacks, unable to inflict any real damage.
Their fight looked less like battle and more like some strange, farcical match-three game.
"—Simeon Power x2!!"
Both the real and false Solomon chanted together, and the temperature at both sides of the throne room dropped abruptly.
White frost appeared from nowhere, uncountable sharp crystals of ice condensed in the air, almost transforming into a furious blizzard capable of freezing the soul.
But just as the blizzard took form, two types of magical energy—sharing the same origin, yet fundamentally different—clashed violently in the air, instantly neutralizing all the cold and ice into clouds of chilly, white vapor that melted away.
"—Amdusias x2!!"
Immediately after, the unknown material beneath their feet cracked, opening bottomless crevasses.
Scorching magma, as if rising from Earth's abyss, surged up and transformed into two roaring dragons of flame, which then both charged at each other.
But in the next instant, the two fire dragons collided with an ear-shattering roar in the center of the battlefield.
Rather than releasing a massive heatwave, they simply passed through each other like phantoms, and vanished.
"Look, Flauros is imitating Amdusias... how stupid! If it were the real Amdusias, the cloak would have been torn apart!"
"Oh? The king blocked it with only a tenth of his power? How boring."
The Demon Pillars Baal and Amdusias replied with sarcastic laughter.
"—Orias x2!!"
Again, the two raised their hands in unison.
A massive dark-red hurricane's eye appeared above them.
Two destructive cyclones, powerful enough to rend steel, intertwined, clashed, and screeched.
But in the end they gradually weakened from mutual exhaustion, reducing to nothing more than two breezes that rippled the curtain of the throne.
"It's like looking in a mirror,"
muttered Demon Pillar Aamon behind Steve, unable to resist complaining,
"But, the reflection in a mirror is always a hundred times more vague than reality."
Accurate, indeed.
On the display, Lev's forehead was dripping with sweat and his breathing grew labored with every chant.
He risked his life just to buy time.
Opposite him, the true Solomon maintained an expression of complete indifference, as if just going through relaxed daily exercise.
And what was even more despairing—during all this fierce magical exchange, King Solomon still had resources left over for the other side of the battlefield, to respond to Fujimaru Ritsuka's attacks.
Before his left hand could even drop from nullifying Lev's spell, his right hand casually pointed to the other side.
There, Fujimaru Ritsuka, with a resolute face, shouted, the Shadow Servant before him shining with dazzling light.
A blue figure brandishing a crimson spear flashed by in the blink of an eye—a vision of the Child of Light, Cú Chulainn.
"Gáe Bolg!"
Even as a one-shot vision, the unleashed Noble Phantasm bore the power of causality reversal—"the spear of death that pierces, irrespective of fate."
But against even this, King Solomon only needed to snap his fingers.
A golden hexagonal shield composed of countless runic characters appeared from nowhere, precisely intercepting the demonic spear.
The spear's cursed causality clashed head-on with overwhelming magical force, and in the end only let out a reluctant scream before dissolving into particles of light.
This was the true King Solomon's style—effortlessly facing two enemies at once.
Meanwhile, his master, Marisbury Animusphere, at that moment exemplified "composure" to the utmost.
He did not once use his own magical tricks, sitting firmly on the throne to the end.
He merely watched the struggle below with deep, all-seeing eyes, holding neither contempt nor pity—just a calm, pure as that of a scholar observing his experimental subjects.
He seemed utterly unconcerned with the possible defeat of his Servants, thinking only about how long this combination would last.
Steve understood everything he saw on the screen.
This was the difference made by absolute strength.
Ritsuka possessed a massive database of 450 Servants, but the act of summoning and releasing Noble Phantasms was a colossal mental burden for a six-year-old child.
His strategy of sending out each Servant in turn, like troops in battle, might have looked impressive, but in reality it was woefully inefficient.
Lev's resistance was a tragic one-man show. Everything he did used his knowledge of Solomon to snatch a few precious seconds, buying Ritsuka every moment he could.
Still, they did not give up.
On the luminous screen, the young Master gritted his teeth, again and again calling the names of the heroes who had once fought by his side.
…