Chapter Sixty: True Heroes Slay Their Foes with a Glance

Thrown onto the ground scorching like molten lava, Berserker let out another furious roar. Yet, having understood what had just occurred, he did not charge as recklessly as before. Instead, he gripped the steel rod in his hands as if holding a knight’s sword.

With both hands grasping the weapon, his strength and speed increased. Then, as Roland landed, the steel rod in Berserker’s hands, corroded by magical energy, abruptly accelerated. It tore and compressed the air with sheer force, unleashing a terrifying blow.

Yet Roland extended only one hand to intercept the incoming weapon.

A thunderous explosion erupted the moment they met. The overwhelming force radiated outward, and around them, the raging tempest peeled away, twisted, and destroyed the scorched, shattered earth in layers.

But no matter how hard Lancelot tried, he could not advance even an inch before that pale hand.

“Is that the extent of the legendary Knight of the Round Table’s strength?” Faced with the title he once bore, Lancelot seemed stung. He opened his mouth and let out a terrifying roar, yanking back his steel rod and launching into a frenzy of strikes.

Each blow brought forth a burst of storm, each clash like an eruption of flame. The entire street trembled as if on the verge of collapse, blazing embers swept up by the tempest, soaring into the sky.

As the shockwaves spread and dust billowed, Lancelot’s movements suddenly shifted. His right arm dropped quietly, positioning for a thrust.

Encased in dark red veins like leaf patterns, the steel rod’s tip—sharpened by repeated blows—drove forward with savage, ferocious momentum, aimed directly at Roland’s heart!

All those seemingly wild slashes had merely been feints, setting up for this moment.

Even devoid of reason, Lancelot’s experience told him that, no matter how physically superior his foe, a treacherous change of tactic could easily pierce the enemy’s chest.

But in that instant, a gleam flashed in Roland’s eyes, and he offered a regretful smile.

As the steel rod drew closer, Roland calmly extended his left hand.

The gesture made Berserker’s frenzied pupils flicker. Unlike the previous strikes, this thrust carried nearly all of Lancelot’s remaining magical energy, almost equal to his peak power.

Without a weapon or technique, facing such a thrust with a bare hand could only result in shattered flesh and bone, even if blocked.

But unexpectedly, a layer of crimson flame quietly enveloped Roland’s hand.

At the very moment the steel tip touched Roland’s palm, it instantly melted into a pool of searing molten iron.

Lancelot’s eyes betrayed disbelief. Even if the material was ordinary, in his hands it was akin to a D-rank pseudo-Noble Phantasm, its toughness beyond question. Yet Roland’s palm-fire had melted it in an instant—how could he command such furious flames so perfectly?

Yet, stunned as he was, Lancelot’s charge did not cease. As his weapon melted, he flung his arms wide, seizing Roland’s wrist, engaging in the most primal and direct contest of strength.

Is battle impossible without a weapon? Are weapons so unreliable?

Watching his wrist ensnared by Lancelot, Roland let out a word of praise. Such fluid movement would make any onlooker believe Lancelot had intended close combat from the start.

In terms of combat wisdom, the so-called “Holy Master’s intelligence,” unable to even use Command Seals, offered Roland little aid. Against Lancelot’s mastery, setbacks were inevitable.

But before true strength, all else is mere illusion.

“If you had your Noble Phantasm unleashed, perhaps you’d display even more astonishing power. But alas, you no longer have the mana for that. Besides, for me, flame is but a toy to be shaped at will.”

Roland smiled, grappling with Lancelot’s strength, while gazing at the knight’s exposed chest and abdomen, left vulnerable by the struggle.

“Do you think, by seizing my hand, that I cannot wield fire?”

Within Roland’s eyes, searing, surging flames blazed and compressed. A scarlet beam of heat slowly coalesced into substance, aimed straight at Lancelot’s chest!

“Weapons are unnecessary—a true hero slays with his gaze!”

The violent heat vision blasted apart Lancelot’s armor, effortlessly shredded flesh, pierced bone, and exposed his most fragile innards.

On the brink of death, Lancelot’s grip only tightened. He was a mad beast, not a lamb for slaughter. Even dying, he would tear a piece from his enemy!

Yet Roland’s cold voice halted him once more.

“Killer Queen, come forth!”

With countless cracks and scarlet pupils matching Roland’s, the cat-eared Stand appeared from thin air. Its hand formed a blade and, with a single strike, pierced through Lancelot’s back.

Berserker instantly lost all strength. Roland broke free, thrust his hand into Lancelot’s spiritual core, and with a surge of searing mana, forcibly established a contract of Master and Servant.

“Beast, obey your new master!”

Under the new contract’s binding, Lancelot fell silent again, his grievous wounds slowly beginning to heal.

“Now, let your madness hone Saber into the weapon I desire.”

“Arthur…”

At the mention of Saber, Lancelot seemed to find his anchor. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head like a knight pledging fealty to his king.

Roland, pleased with Lancelot, turned to gaze at Kariya Matou, standing behind Caster, his face filled with disbelief.

Seeing Berserker now more obedient to Roland than he had ever been to himself, and Sakura gleefully running into Roland’s embrace, Kariya’s lips twisted into a bitter smile.

He watched as Roland approached. Confronted with true death, his madness faded, replaced by a strange calm.

“Have you made up your mind?” Roland asked quietly.

“With a monster as powerful as you, I suppose my worries for Sakura’s future were unfounded. Please, take this wretched life of mine.”

Roland frowned. “Who asked you that? Your life means nothing to me, even less so now that you’ve lost your Master’s status. The only reason I’ve kept you alive is because you bear the Matou name.”

“You want to ask about the Matou family’s destruction? Unfortunately, I only learned of it today myself. I can’t help you.”

Kariya’s eyes widened in realization, then he shook his head in resignation.

“The only clue I can offer is that Matou Zouken might not be dead. The worms in my body—many of them came from him. If their master had died, they should have run wild.”

“Is that so? Besides this, has there been anything else unusual from yesterday to now?”

The annihilation of the Matou family could not have been without reason. The family was deeply rooted in Fuyuki City and valueless to outsiders. If none of the other seven Masters was responsible, then the culprit must have some connection to the Matous—however slight, there had to be a link.

“Anything else?” Kariya hesitated, thinking. “No, after returning Rin—who’d run outside—back home yesterday, I went to the docks to fight…”

“Wait,” Roland paused, his expression odd.

“You said—Rin Tohsaka came to Fuyuki City?”