Chapter 230 – 230: Mutual Admiration Society

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The battle at the Einzbern Castle gates was a mirror image of their earlier duel at the docks, though this time, the clash between the two knights was even more ferocious.

Their movements were brutal, direct, decisive—a pure contest of strength and skill.

No more testing, no more feints, no more holding back.

They were both giving it their all.

Saber had already analyzed Diarmuid’s fighting style, his five-weapon mastery, and the power boost granted by his broadsword. And Diarmuid, having learned from his earlier defeat, was now prepared for Saber’s concealed blade and her Invisible Air barrier.

They clashed, steel against steel, the golden blade of Excalibur, etched with Fae runes, meeting Diarmuid’s spear, short sword, and broadsword in a shower of sparks.

The ground around them, scarred by dozens of crisscrossing sword slashes, was a testament to their power, the earth itself pulverized.

Trees, severed by the vacuum created by their clashing blades, were reduced to splinters before they even hit the ground, the air filled with the scent of freshly cut wood.

Whenever a stray blast of energy reached the castle, it was met by an invisible barrier—a wall of compressed air, created by Haru using his [Sky Authority]. The barrier, stronger than diamond, held firm, allowing those inside to watch the battle unfold without risk.

The intensity of the duel escalated.

Sword and spear danced, their movements a blur, a dazzling display of skill and power.

Wielded by superhuman strength and speed, their legendary weapons clashed, their blows exceeding three times the speed of sound—if not for the Counter Force’s restrictions, they would have broken the sound barrier.

At such speeds, the very concept of turns was meaningless. Thousands of blows were exchanged in every second.

Then, after one final, resounding clash, they separated, creating a distance between them, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.

Saber, wiping a trickle of blood from a shallow cut on her cheek, her voice filled with respect, said, “You are indeed a master swordsman, a knight worthy of your reputation. In terms of pure skill—I am defeated.”

“Not at all, King Arthur. Your strength and stamina surpass mine. Though your technique may be—slightly less refined, you’ve evaded every one of my killing blows. Your [Instinct] must be at least B-rank.” Diarmuid smiled, a genuine smile of respect.

Then, the two knights, recognizing each other’s prowess, began to chat, their earlier animosity replaced by a—camaraderie, a shared understanding of a warrior’s spirit.

Inside the castle—

Kiyohime, sitting in Haru’s lap, stared at the two Servants, dumbfounded. They were—chatting? Praising each other? After such a brutal fight? She looked up at Haru, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Haru-sama, what are they doing?…”

“Just bonding. A friendly chat between colleagues,” Haru replied, his eye twitching as he watched the two knights engage in their mutual admiration society. It wasn’t their first time, clearly. Had—commercialized flattery—always been a part of knightly duels?

“If you two don’t continue soon, the sun will rise,” he added, interrupting their conversation.

“Ahem.” Diarmuid coughed, his face flushing slightly at having his flattery—so blatantly called out.

Saber’s cheeks turned crimson. She glared at Haru, then turned back to Diarmuid, her voice serious, her hand gripping Excalibur. “I am at a disadvantage in close combat. I will now—unleash my [Noble Phantasm].”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Diarmuid replied, grinning, his body tensing, his stance shifting, like a cheetah preparing to pounce, his spear and swords pointed at Saber.

The weapons glowed, their magical auras intensifying, their usual restraints—their curses, their power to sever and bind—no longer suppressed. He was ready to end this.

A gust of wind swept through the courtyard as Saber’s Invisible Air barrier dissipated, revealing the golden blade of Excalibur, the legendary sword of promised victory.

“A beautiful sword, King Arthur. A blade that embodies the hopes of an entire era.” Diarmuid’s eyes, fixed on Excalibur, were filled with admiration.

“But I won’t let you use it.” He lunged forward, his spear and swords a blur of motion.

Clang!

Excalibur clashed against Gáe Dearg. Saber pressed her attack, her blade slashing towards Diarmuid’s left hand.

Diarmuid, unfazed, released the spear, his right hand, veins bulging, swinging his broadsword towards Saber’s neck.

Saber’s eyes widened. She couldn’t dodge. Instinct screamed danger. She focused her will, invoking the power of Avalon, ignoring the approaching blade as she swung Excalibur towards Diarmuid’s chest.

Thwack!

Clang!

Diarmuid, snatching Gáe Dearg from the air with his left hand, leaped back, staring at Saber in disbelief.

Blood trickled from a deep gash on his chest, staining the ground beneath him crimson. The wound, deep enough to reveal his ribs, was—ignored. He looked at his broadsword, its edge chipped, then at Saber’s unblemished neck.

What—just happened?

That wasn’t some cheap, meat cleaver he’d bought at a market. It was a [Noble Phantasm], a genuine, A-rank [Noble Phantasm]!

A blade that represented his mastery of swordsmanship, a skill honed over centuries, capable of—obliterating his opponents. And yet, it hadn’t even broken her skin? Any ordinary blade, even a butter knife, would have drawn blood.

Was her neck made of Orichalcum or something?

As Diarmuid stared in disbelief, Saber channeled her magical energy into Excalibur. The A++ rank, Anti-Fortress [Noble Phantasm], could convert magical energy into a beam of light, a concentrated blast capable of destroying anything in its path.

Diarmuid, sensing the surge of magical energy, his eyes widening, quickly drew Moralltach, his A+ rank, Anti-Army [Noble Phantasm].

Unlike Excalibur, which required time to charge, Moralltach, the demonic sword gifted to him by Manannán mac Lir, the god of the sea and the Otherworld, could be activated instantly by speaking its True Name.

He drew the blade, his voice a roar.

“Moralltach!”

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