Chapter Fifty-Nine: He Is Practically Superman

The materialized stream of flames struck Berserker squarely in the chest. Though he instinctively tried to resist, the immense force blasted him away, leaving only a few wisps of scorching air tinged with the scent of burning. Berserker smashed straight through the wall, his momentum carrying him into a nearby house, where he vanished beneath collapsed rubble and swirling dust.

"Master, it's done."

At some point, Medea had summoned chains of magical energy from the void, binding Kariya Matou. She had pierced him with a talisman capable of breaking all spells, severing the contract between them. If she had struck a Servant instead, she could even forcibly seize control of the contract, though the risk would be far greater.

After all, dealing with a Servant and a Master are challenges of vastly different magnitudes.

Using her chains woven from magic, Medea lifted Kariya's hand and easily transferred the Command Spells from his skin.

With that, Kariya Matou was completely eliminated from the game.

But matters would not end here. With the contract broken, any rational Servant would cease expenditure of magical energy; otherwise, even if their bodies were saturated with mana, lacking supply and without the skill for independent action, they would vanish after a brief battle.

Yet Berserker was an exception. In his mad state, he had no rationality and no awareness of his predicament.

A wild figure erupted once again from the cloud of dust. Even when bound by a contract, his obsession drove him to rampage; now, contractless and unchained, he would obey only the urge to destroy, annihilating any foe before him.

"Should I kill him? Berserker's mana won't last long, he'll dissipate on his own," Medea raised her staff, proposing a prudent course.

"That would be a waste," Roland laughed. "He may not match those extraordinary ones, but he has his uses. Right now, Saber is still in her original form, dreaming of the restoration of her kingdom. To harness the power of her holy sword, she must be awakened from that dream. But I have no desire to talk sentiment with a man; I'll leave this troublesome task to the mad dog."

Roland shook his hand, molten crimson light streaming within his eyes like lava.

"Step back, Caster. Next, I intend to teach this mad dog obedience."

He raised his hand once more. Violent, dazzling flames gathered into a vivid scarlet, surging toward Berserker again. The crimson blaze, as if poised to incinerate all creation, exploded the instant it touched Berserker, engulfing him in an instant and burning away his form. The armor forged of magic on his body disintegrated once more.

Though such damage could be repaired with mana, given Berserker's current state, these expenditures of magical energy were by no means good news.

Amid the tide of fire, Berserker's frenzied thoughts did not impede his instincts. His unparalleled skill allowed him to make the most precise judgments in any situation.

In a flash, he reformed his armor and seized a shattered iron rod, dark red patterns transforming it into a conceptual Noble Phantasm. His body, as steadfast as steel, charged forward like a battering ram, making the earth moan in agony.

In an instant, Berserker became a blurred phantom racing across the ground, even faster than before. Knowing he had no mana supply, he chose an all-or-nothing tactic! Even from Caster's perspective as a fellow Servant, Berserker at full force was a streak of black brimming with battle intent and madness. The ground behind him shattered and collapsed beneath his iron boots, as if a tidal wave had swept across the plain.

But Roland simply stood his ground, pressing his foot lightly to neutralize Berserker's assault. Dense cracks, radiating outward like a spider's web, formed with him at their center, followed by searing flames.

With a mere thought, the earth beneath Roland was wrapped in flames, melting into a mix of amber and glass. Surrounded by waves of heat, even Berserker had to step onto the molten ground, shattering this direct defense and leaping high, wielding his crude weapon to slash down in a frenzy!

"Are you insane? Go help your Master!"

Recovering a shred of consciousness, Kariya Matou snapped back to himself and saw this scene.

A Master could never stand against a Servant; this was common knowledge in the Holy Grail War. Even the proudest magus had to admit it.

Even Assassins, heroes from ancient times, were not something ordinary magi could contend with.

Berserker was even more so—he was Lancelot. Among the famed Knights of the Round Table, he was second to none, the very spark that ignited the collapse of Arthur's kingdom.

Even among the monstrous Servants of this war, his mind lost, he was still a first-rate Servant. Though his madness impaired his use of Noble Phantasms, in one-on-one combat, Lancelot's prowess was only enhanced.

Even the legendary Knight of the Sun, Gawain, had been slain by Lancelot.

"No need to worry. As a magus, do you not even know reinforcement magic? With me as Caster, even an ordinary person would have a body rivaling a Servant," Caster glanced at Kariya Matou and spoke calmly.

"Then use it! If your Master dies, with no mana supply, you'll just be another pointless soul slain by Berserker," he retorted.

"That's the issue. I've already used it, but the reinforcement pales in comparison to what Master achieves on his own," Medea murmured, a touch of resentment in her voice, gazing at the battlefield.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Kariya Matou dumbly turned to look at the scene. As the black knight descended from the sky, Roland merely drew a deep breath. Crimson flames swirled in the air, transforming into burning mana within him, turning his flowing blood into searing fire.

Medea's reinforcement magic was indeed effective, but compared to the mana supplied by Roland's soul, it was negligible. Even unconsciously, this body possessed physical abilities enough to leap onto the roof of a four-story building with ease.

What consequences would come from unleashing his power to the fullest? Roland was testing that for the first time.

He slowly exhaled a breath potent enough to ignite matter. Servants were monsters born of the Throne of Heroes—that had always been Roland's belief.

With a casual blow, they could devastate their surroundings; the aftershocks of battle would cause countless casualties among ordinary people. That was what Roland had always thought.

But witnessing firsthand the clash of Servants had changed that view. The power flowing in his body, even without exerting his full strength, could match this level of combat. So then, what could he achieve if he unleashed everything?

The answer lay before him.

"I can see it—"

The shadow that awed even Servants was caught firmly in Roland's gaze.

In his eyes, the world seemed stretched and elongated. Lancelot's movements appeared dull, as if displayed in frame-by-frame slow motion, every detail clear.

Such attacks, such speed—the swelling desire and arrogance curled Roland's lips into a smile. Almost infected by Berserker's madness, he too let out a wild laugh.

"Weak! Weak!"

He no longer waited. Leaping into the air ahead of Lancelot, he easily caught the iron rod as it crashed down with tremendous force, then seized its end and slammed Berserker violently into the ground!

A Master, stronger than a Servant?

Witnessing this scene that shattered his worldview, Kariya Matou could only stare wide-eyed and voice his most genuine amazement.

"He’s a superhuman."