Due to the influence of Chaos, Nrvnqsr Chaos had lost most of his emotions. Only when speaking about his pursuits and achievements would he display such expressions.
These were feats that no one had ever accomplished since time immemorial, belonging solely to the supreme domain of Tiamat, the Mother of All. Though his internal chaos was composed of 666 genetic factors, the number of species it could evolve into far exceeded that figure, holding nearly infinite potential.
While Nrvnqsr Chaos could not yet compare to Tiamat, who created half of the Earth's biosphere in terms of scale and stature, he had already stepped into this realm. He was convinced that one day, he would accomplish that great feat and evolve a brand-new Soil of Genesis.
"Become part of the Sea of Chaos, protector of humanity."
As Nrvnqsr Chaos laughed triumphantly, the newly born beasts devoured all the soldiers within the Sea of Chaos and then launched an attack on the external army, seemingly intent on using the Athanaton Ten Thousand as nourishment for the chaos.
This arrogance finally enraged Darius III. It was the ultimate denial of a Heroic Spirit's life, the greatest insult to a hero's pride. Even when he had witnessed the army of Macedon ravage his country, he had not been this furious.
"Unforgivable! Unforgivable! Unforgivable!"
Already weakened by the effects of Madness Enhancement, Darius III's ability to think dropped to its lowest at that moment. The Berserker-class Servant finally went berserk. He roared, swinging his battle axe, and charged toward the Dead Apostle who sought to swallow his existence whole, riding his war elephant.
"Gah-ohhhhhhhhh!"
In that instant, the morale of the undead army reached its peak.
The commander is wise, the soldiers serve with their lives!
The commander fears no death, the soldiers fear no sacrifice!
With their king personally leading the charge, how could the soldiers fall behind? In life, they had followed their king into countless battles, and in death, it was no different. Whether facing an invincible army or a monstrous force beyond logic, they would fight alongside their king!
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
The soldiers' weapons pierced the beasts' hides, while the beasts' claws and fangs tore through the soldiers' bodies. Two black armies of the undead clashed, engaging in the fiercest combat imaginable.
At the forefront, Darius III was the most ferocious. With his enormous size and even more massive war elephant, he alone crushed more than ten fantastical creatures, scattering the beast horde in all directions. If not for Roa intervening in time to stop the rampaging Persian king, the newly reborn beast horde would have been wiped out again.
Herein lay the beast horde's only weakness—chaos and disorder.
Nrvnqsr Chaos could not command the beast horde with precision. Born of chaos, they mostly acted on instinct. Although powerful and capable of endless rebirth, they were disorganized. Without intellect, they were a scattered force. Against well-ordered, disciplined human elites, they could not convert their advantages into victory.
The war had entered the most brutal and bloody tug-of-war.
Nrvnqsr Chaos's beasts were killed again and again, only to be reborn from the Sea of Chaos.
Darius III's undead soldiers were knocked down repeatedly, yet continually rose from the ground.
The humans could not utterly defeat the beasts, nor could the beasts completely vanquish the humans.
Seeing this stalemate, Darius III's Master knew the battle could not continue.
At this point, the fight was a contest of endurance, and that was the vampires' specialty. Though he still had some magical energy left, he wasn't foolish enough to believe he could outlast a vampire during the night. During the day, perhaps—but there were still several hours until dawn, and his magical energy would never last that long. The longer the battle dragged out, the worse it would be for him.
To survive for long in the dangerous world of the supernatural, one had to remain calm and make rational judgments. Darius III's Master understood this well. So, after one last charge, he quietly dismounted from his war elephant and began to descend the mountain in silence.
Of course, he wasn't planning to abandon his Servant. Once he reached a safe distance, he would use a Command Spell to perform a spatial transfer—he had already learned how to use Command Spells from Darius III.
Although Darius III had lost the ability to speak, the two shared a contract, and with the help of certain Buddhist esoteric techniques (similar to telepathy), they could communicate simple messages. This also allowed him to grasp the basic concepts of Masters, Servants, and Command Spells. The reason he boldly attacked two powerful vampires with his Servant was because of the assurance provided by the Command Spells.
"I didn't expect these two heretics to be so strong. Even with the power of the Persian king, I can't win. It seems this situation is beyond what I can handle alone. I must report this to the higher-ups as soon as possible."
As the monk reached the edge of the battlefield, he cast one last glance at the two vampires locked in battle with the Athanaton Ten Thousand, gritted his teeth, and quickened his pace.
Just then, he suddenly stopped, his expression turning grim as he stared ahead, asking in a cold, cautious tone:
"Who's there? Come out!"
"Oh, you noticed me."
With a voice full of oppressive power, the air in front of him began to distort, and a man in black, with a sorrowful expression, slowly revealed himself.
"I'm Souren Araya, a participant in this Holy Grail War just like you—and the one who will kill you."
"!!!"
The monk's pupils contracted sharply, but before he could utter a word, Araya continued.
"Do it, Assassin."
"Understood."
An identical voice echoed from behind the monk. Almost simultaneously, the monk felt his vision spiral uncontrollably upward, before slowly descending.
The familiar body below him—he saw it every day. That—that's my body, isn't it?
My head... fell off?
In that instant of realization, the monk's consciousness rapidly plunged into chaos as his soul departed from his body.
In a daze, he glimpsed a blurry image—a world of absolute silence, with pure white feathers fluttering everywhere. Amid the feathers stood a towering figure, leaning on a sword with both hands.
Instinctively, the monk widened his eyes, trying desperately to discern the figure's face. Yet no matter how hard he tried, all he could see was darkness.
Suddenly, within the darkness, two pale points of light flickered to life.
These two lights seemed to be a signal—a signal that shattered the silence of this world.
"Bong~"
"Bong~"
"Bong~"
It was the sound of a bell.
A bell that guided the souls of the dead to the underworld—a bell symbolizing the end of all things. Its tolling marked the final tribute to the journey of life, and its sound signaled that the wandering souls must now depart.
At the very moment his life was declared over, the monk heard one last voice:
"The mandate of heaven has arrived!"