Goetia's strike—imbued with every ounce of determination as King of the Demon Gods—shattered the battlefield's fragile stalemate like a trumpet announcing the apocalypse.
As Solomon stumbled backward, fatal cracks appeared for a moment in his previously unbreachable defensive net.
Fujimaru Ritsuka—the young man in whom Steve had placed such hopes—did not disappoint.
Glancing at the silver briefcase in his left hand, noting only three summoning attempts remained, and then at the trio of Command Spell marks blazing on his right, he drew a deep breath.
"—By my Command Seal!"
With a raised right hand, two crimson beams of Command Spell light ignited in unison. Unlike before, these were not random Shadow Servants, but battle-hardened comrades summoned by Command Spell power—bearing special meaning.
From the light, two figures stepped forward:
One, draped in an inky-black gothic dress, cold-blooded Knight King, wielding a corrupted holy sword washed in ominous light—Saber Alter.
The other, wrapped in a crimson shroud, her white hair fluttering as she wielded dual black-and-white swords—Archer EMIYA.
When Saber Alter appeared, she merely cast a detached glance at her surroundings, but when her gaze landed on Fujimaru's determined young face, the edge of her cold lips curled up, as if faintly proud.
A jet-black beam tore the temple's space, ravaged everything in its path, and struck toward the enthroned Marisbury.
"Don't even think about it!"
Despite the searing pain in his chest, Solomon instantly raised several warding walls inscribed with sacred runes before Marisbury.
Red Archer could still remember it was Steve who once caused young Shirou Emiya—untouched by fire ten years ago—to join a peaceful Fourth Holy Grail War as a pseudo-servant. In this timeline, Shirou's adoptive father Kiritsugu Emiya did not die young, and his adoptive sister Illya was not used as a vessel for the Grail; the whole family lived happily in Fuyuki.
And now—all of this, this rarest and most beautiful world, was about to be annihilated and frozen by Marisbury Animusphere, the root of all evil!
If this world were permitted to reach ruination in a decade, then the struggles and efforts of ten years ago would all be in vain. This thought fueled an unprecedented fury in Red Archer's heart: a mixing of guardian's duty and personal emotion that rarely bled into his work.
An unfamiliar, ice-cold killing intent manifested on the normally businesslike guardian's face.
"—I am the bone of my sword."
He drew behind his bowstring and loosed three arrows at once.
Shuuu! Shuuu! Shuuu!
Three streaks of unwavering light, brimming with murderous intent, pierced right through Solomon's hastily-constructed defensive walls.
At that very moment, using his last energy and the final Command Spell, Fujimaru Ritsuka summoned the third—his most special—servant.
As the light faded, a girl clad in obsidian armor, holding a crimson-inscribed black flag, stepped silently onto the battlefield.
She was Jeanne d'Arc (Alter)—the dragon witch meant to be corrected and forgotten by humanity at the end of its journey for restoration. Her presence was a living "phantom of dreams," woven from inferiority as a fraud, pride as an avenger, nostalgia for the journey, satisfaction in a young man's growth, and sorrow at parting—all quietly hidden behind a girl's faint, gentle smile.
Ritsuka met her gaze—wordlessly conveying a thousand things with just a calm, beaming smile.
Jeanne Alter smiled back. It was no longer the mad laughter of a berserker, nor a haughty sneer—but a deeply heartfelt, breathtakingly beautiful smile.
Even while risking repeated blows from Goetia, Solomon desperately recited emergency defense spells for Marisbury. But—it was too late!
Jeanne Alter's Noble Phantasm, the infernal spear woven of endless hatred and love, pierced through the fragile wards with overwhelming force—striking the throne and the terror-distorted Marisbury squarely.
The so-called omniscient lord of the Astromancy Department, who fancied himself the master of all, was finally pinned in disgrace to the very seat he cherished—brought low by the very coincidence and bonds he had once despised.