"Oh."
A sigh of admiration escaped her vibrant red lips.
When describing a woman, people often use scents as metaphors—like the fragrance of flowers, musk, or something else.
This female Servant was no different; she exuded the scent of iron.
Not the unpleasant smell of rust, but a unique aroma, like that of a sword, a shield, or armor—a quality unique to those who thrive on the battlefield.
"Impressive. You faced me head-on. It seems you're a bit stronger than the Persian rabble."
The female warrior smiled as she applied more pressure to her sword, causing the originally straight whip to bend under the force.
"But being slightly stronger than rabble makes you, at best, an elite rabble—"
Before she could finish, the whip suddenly recoiled. The flexible weapon deflected the warrior's sword, and the gust of wind it created scattered her long hair.
"Then you're just elite rabble yourself."
Lorelei Barthomeloi, who had deftly counterattacked, taunted her as she shifted from defense to offense.
"So, this is all the great Macedonian hero Hephaestion is capable of? Or perhaps, you and your master are both fakers?"
As she spoke, the whip and the sword clashed over ten times, the aftermath of their battle wreaking havoc on the auction hall.
Fortunately, the acting manager made a quick decision to open the ceiling of the Mystic Eye Collection Train; otherwise, the surrounding valuable Mystic Eyes would have been affected.
However, by doing so, an escape route for Harthless was also opened.
"Shinji!"
As starlight poured in, Waver turned to Shinji, who responded with a smile.
"Don't worry, with me here, they won't escape. If anyone could leave in front of me, it would have to be Iskandar himself, and this woman doesn't measure up!"
Shinji's arrogant attitude completely infuriated the female warrior, and Lorelei suddenly felt immense pressure.
It was an indescribable sensation.
The strength transmitted through the sword hadn't changed, nor had the warrior used any magecraft or other mysteries. However, the aura this woman exuded while wielding her sword made Lorelei incredibly uncomfortable.
It was as if what she held was not a sword, but something beyond a mere weapon.
—What's going on?
"Strange, isn't it? Even though your strength and magic are not inferior to mine, why is it so hard to fight?"
The female warrior, clearly perceiving Lorelei's confusion, let out a soft chuckle.
"Remember this: having combat skills doesn't make one a warrior. To be a warrior, you must meet the conditions in body, will, and soul. Your body and will are sufficient, but as long as you don't grasp the soul of a warrior, you'll remain stuck like this. It's a shame—such great potential. If I were alive, I'd have taught you properly."
"The soul of a warrior? I don't need that; I'm a magus!!"
Lorelei scoffed, and her whip sliced through the air, creating a vacuum, displaying the signature technique of the Barthomeloi—Vacuum Blade. With her current skill level, executing this technique with full force could split the entire train car lengthwise.
"Sigh."
The female warrior sighed regretfully, muttered a short incantation, and in a manner no one could understand, filled the vacuum. Then she blocked the whip's powerful strike with her sword once again.
"What—"
A hint of astonishment appeared on Lorelei's face. This woman, this sword-wielding woman who exuded the scent of iron, was also a highly skilled magus? Considering the era Hephaestion lived in... was she a magus from the Age of Gods???
To modern magi, such an opponent would be the worst possible enemy.
"There's nothing to be surprised about."
The female warrior—no, the magus—uttered another syllable, one that did not belong to the modern age, carrying immense power. With just one syllable, it brought pressure equivalent to that of her sword, forcing Lorelei to retreat.
"I'm a magus too. But when I mentioned magus and warriors earlier, I wasn't talking about professions, but something more fundamental. Whether it's using a sword, magic, or anything else—it's all the same. My Master is like that, and so are you. The others—"
Taking advantage of the time Lorelei spent regrouping, the strange bicolored eyes shifted their gaze to the back. During the battle, the magi had retreated to the connecting section of the train cars.
"—seem to be the same. The current magi have fallen to such a degree; it's truly disgraceful."
"I agree with that sentiment."
The only ones who didn't retreat—one human and one True Ancestor—were Matou Shinji and Arcueid, and it was Shinji who spoke.
"However, I need to correct two points. First, although the mainstream of the magical world is indeed disappointing, not all magi have fallen. The overworked middle-aged man you look down on and his students are examples of those who haven't fallen. It's not right to generalize. Second, the woman standing before you is not a warrior, nor does she need to grasp the soul of a warrior. She is the head of the Department of Policies, the queen who governs the Clock Tower. Her primary duty is to lead, not to fight; that's what warriors are for."
"Queen? Her?"
The bicolored eyes revealed a hint of strangeness and scrutiny.
"Magus, your name."
"Head of the Department of Policies, Lorelei Barthomeloi!"
"Very well, then, Lorelei, let me see if you have what it takes to be a king!"
Lorelei raised an eyebrow, her amber eyes meeting the bicolored gaze head-on with an unyielding, commanding aura.
"Whether I do or not is none of your concern and a faker like you has no right to judge."
"That response is unworthy. A true king would never fear anyone's scrutiny. As for my qualifications—you'll soon understand!"
With that, the female warrior swung her sword again.
Lorelei didn't back down and struck with her whip.
The crisp clash echoed, repeating the scene from the beginning of the battle.
This time, however, instead of Lorelei standing in front of Shinji, it was Shinji who stood in front of Lorelei, wielding a black scythe—the Scythe of the Grim Reaper, which he had just borrowed from Gray.
"Step aside, this is no place for you to interfere."
The female Servant roared, unleashing both her magical and physical strength simultaneously.
Despite the overwhelming pressure far beyond human capabilities, Shinji remained unmoved, fully absorbing it and even finding the strength to respond.
"That's not right. Your target from the beginning was me. Strictly speaking, Lord Barthomeloi was the one who intervened."
"You—!"
The female Servant wanted to retort, but suddenly felt her sword become heavier; the guy had pushed it back.
"Moreover, didn't you say you wanted to evaluate her qualities as a king? The quality of followers is also an important factor in judging a king."
Compared to the long-handled Scythe, a one-handed straight sword was not suited for contests of strength. Within a few breaths, the female Servant found herself at a disadvantage. Shinji seized the opportunity and successfully forced her back using Mana Burst.
"I am one of the countless insignificant magi under her command, one of the rabble you mentioned. If you want to fight my Queen, you'll have to defeat me first."
Shinji slung the Scythe over his shoulder with his right hand, while his left hand beckoned provocatively. A dark, joyous, and sinister smile spread across his face.
Seeing this smile, the female Servant's expression changed too—first disbelief, then a smile full of iron and blood, identical to him.
It was a smile unique to warriors.