Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

He really had nothing more to say.

The wind howled, dust swirled through the air, and the atmosphere on the battlefield reached a fever pitch. Iskandar raised his sword high, as if his direction pointed to the entire army. With a fierce swing, and with a roar, the cavalry charged towards Diarmait like wild beasts. Each rider was filled with immense courage and determination, as if this battle was the only thing left in the world. The clash of armor and the neighing of horses blended together into a symphony of murderous intent.

Iskandar raised his sword, let out a deafening war cry, and charged forward. Waver gripped his saddle tightly, his gaze still tense, yet his expression was resolute. The dust stirred up by the hooves rose like smoke, and the shouts of the army's charge resounded throughout the world.

Diarmait…Diarmait just stood there without moving.

It wasn't that he had given up resistance, but rather that he needed to wait for an opportunity. Since Iskandar was charging towards him first instead of holding back from behind, he still had a fight to do—

——Just find an opportunity to take the lead from the army.

As the cavalry approached, Diarmait suddenly leaped to his feet, wielding his lances in two lightning-fast arcs. His spears danced through the air, creating sharp gusts of wind. He struck the first cavalryman off his horse with a single blow, his blood splattering in the air, staining the golden sand red.

"This was a mistake," Diarmait thought to himself. The pressure after entering the battle formation was much greater than he had anticipated. He tried to break away from the formation, but the enemy didn't give him the chance. The cavalrymen's coordination and martial prowess far exceeded Diarmait's expectations. Despite his agility, Diarmait was still vulnerable in such a dense attack.

A fierce wind whipped up more dust, blurring the view. Blood splattered across the battlefield, and the sounds of pained groans and war cries mingled with the sandstorm, creating a magnificent yet poignant scene. As time passed, the battle intensified. Diarmait's body was stained with blood, and he couldn't tell whether it was his own or his own.

Although Diarmait had repelled several cavalrymen with his unparalleled speed and skill at the outset of the battle, the enemy was too numerous, and for every cavalryman he defeated, two or three more would immediately charge forward.

A cavalryman's spear lunged forward, and Diarmait dodged quickly, but another cavalryman's sword had already reached him, slicing through his shoulder and sending blood gushing out. He gritted his teeth, swallowing the pain, and fired back, attempting to knock the cavalryman down. However, his comrade's shield blocked the blow. Diarmait's movement was slightly delayed, and the cavalryman's blade wouldn't give him time to adjust.

Diarmait's fighting spirit remained unwavering, but he could also feel his strength draining away. Each swing of his spear became heavier, and the pain from his wounds continued to attack, interfering with his judgment and movements.

The enemy's attack intensified, the encirclement tightened, and Diarmait's situation became increasingly difficult. His body was covered with wounds, and blood stained his clothes and dripped onto the golden sand. His movements became slower and slower, and his vision began to blur.

The surrounding cavalry gradually formed a circle, trapping Diarmait within it. Enemies surrounded him from all sides. Even though Diarmait continued to swing his muskets, the enemy's attacks grew more and more fierce and intense. Each attack was like a wave, one after another, leaving him no chance to catch his breath or adjust himself.

The surrounding cavalry continued to close in, and each of Diarmait's counterattacks seemed increasingly powerless. A spear thrust from behind him, and Diarmait barely dodged it, but another cavalryman's sword had already reached him, slicing through his abdomen. He gritted his teeth, swallowing the pain, and struck back with his spear once more.

The spear thrust forward once more, but Diarmait parried it with his pistol. With his other hand, he thrust his scarlet spear straight into the rider's heart, striking him with a single blow and knocking him off his horse. Just as Diarmait was about to seize the opportunity to break free from the encirclement he had just broken, another rider's axe had already fallen, striking him hard on the back.

Severe pain spread throughout his body in an instant. Diarmait could hardly stand. He fired a shot with his backhand and barely repelled the axe-wielding cavalryman. However, the opportunity he had just gained with great difficulty had passed. The encirclement was filled again by the subsequent cavalrymen, and he once again became a trapped beast in the army.

　"Keep attacking! Don't give him any chance to breathe!" Iskandar's voice echoed in the desert. Although it sounded ruthless, both Diarmuid and Iskandar knew that this was not the end of their rope.

Iskandar remembered very clearly that there were still two Command Seals on Kenneth's hand. This was what Iskandar saw when the two first met.

Since the Command Spell hadn't been activated, it meant Kayneth was still waiting for the right moment to use it. Diarmait was well aware of this, and rather than passively taking the beating, he was using it to observe the enemy's formation.

He left the timing of his attack entirely to Kenneth's judgment—

——And Kayneth quickly responded to Diarmait’s expectations and chose to use the Command Spell.

"In the name of Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald, I give you the command seal. Diarmait, vent your wrath to the fullest and continue fighting at your peak."

"I command you, Diarmait, by the command seal, to move to the side of the enemy Rider and do not fall until victory is achieved."

The Command Seals transferred from Matou Kariya had now completely dissipated, and violent magic power erupted from Diarmait. His body shook violently, and all his wounds healed in an instant. His fatigue also vanished in an instant. He was like a sword unsheathed, its edge exposed.

The first order Kayneth gave through the Command Seal seemed quite vague, but it was also what Diarmait had told Kayneth before the battle.

"I'm not sure if it's possible, but my lord, could you add 'Rage Outburst' and 'Pure Form' when you cast the Command Spells?" Diarmait said. "Even with my twin pistols, I'm not in my perfect form. If a matter of life and death were truly at stake, I would be carrying the magic sword 'Mor-alltach' and this magic spear 'Red Rose of Demon Breaker'."

"I'm not entirely sure if I can summon this miracle through the Command Seal, but since it can even repair a broken spirit core, it shouldn't be impossible to summon my demonic sword."

At Iskandar's side, Diarmait, who had just been transported there by the Command Seal, descended like a flash of crimson lightning, his hand tightly grasping the crimson sword that gleamed with a fiery light. He swung the sword fiercely, and the crimson blade drew a dazzling arc of light in the air, slashing fiercely at Iskandar.

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I don't know how good the fighting scenes are. I was writing them when I suddenly wanted to write a fighting scene in the style of Ninja Killing. Fortunately, I resisted.

New author, new book, looking for suggestions and feedback, and also asking for a vote, thank you!

Volume 54: Alchemy Apprentice from the Fourth War: . Fall of Glory

The scarlet sword trembled slightly in Diarmait's hand, as if eager to tear everything in sight. Without a moment's hesitation, he stomped his feet onto the ground. The wind whistled in his ears, and dust swirled behind him. Like an arrow from a bow, he instantly rushed towards Iskandar.

"Mor-alltach," among the many weapons Diarmait acquired throughout his life, the most powerful was undoubtedly this terrifying demonic sword. Gifted by Mananan, the Celtic god of the sea and otherworldly realms, this demonic sword even possesses the power to control fate. When its True Name is unleashed, it transforms into three blades, like the legendary "Foot of Mananan," to crush its foes.

This sword was terrifying, a single strike guaranteed to kill, a first strike guaranteed to secure victory. With Diarmait's swiftness, the three crimson blades pierced Iskandar's face like lightning. With every step he took, the ground trembled, dust billowed, as if the entire world was trembling beneath his feet.

The cavalryman, holding a silver round shield, struggled to stand between Diarmait and Iskandar, attempting to block the fatal blow with his shield, but Diarmait's sword shattered the shield and the cavalryman into pieces as easily as tofu. Blood splattered, and the body fell limply to the sand, its eyes still filled with unfulfilled loyalty and unwillingness.

"Peucestas!" cried Iskandar in grief.

Peucestas, one of Iskandar's generals and the eighth personal guard appointed by Iskandar as an exception, stood guard beside Iskandar when Diarmait was teleported nearby by the Command Spell, so he was able to block the route in time and try to save him.

He was holding a sacred shield that Iskandar had personally taken out from the Temple of Athena in Ilia City. Although it was not as powerful as the real Shield of Athena, its defensive power should not be underestimated.

However, all this pales in the face of Diarmait's magic sword. Peicestus's eyes were filled with determination and loyalty, but the magic sword easily ripped through his defenses. Peicestus's body was instantly cut open, blood gushing out like a fountain. His vision gradually dimmed, and he collapsed in a pool of blood.

While Peucestas's sacrifice slightly eased Diarmait's attack, it didn't completely halt it. The crimson blade, still swift and furious, slashed upwards towards Iskandar's head. The air was thick with tension, as if the entire battlefield held its breath for this moment.

"In the name of the Command Seal, Rider, get out of the way!"

I hadn't expected the famous Pokémon move, "Get out of the way!", to be reappeared in this dark Pokémon tournament. Even so, the order just now was given by Waver via the Command Seal—

Iskandar vanished just before the sword struck him, leaving a brief gap. Diarmait's blade was unstoppable, unstoppable, its momentum undiminished. If he had continued to strike, Waver would have been the one to lose his head.

The crimson blade sliced through the air, emitting a sharp whistling sound and a trail of blood. It finally severed the head of Iskandar's mount. The mount neighed shrilly and collapsed to the ground. Iskandar's steed was dead, its blood staining the sand red.

Diarmait killed Iskandar's horse.

Waver was thrown from his horse's final violent movement and fell to the ground. He rubbed his aching waist in pain and struggled to get up.

Then he found himself lying in front of Diarmait, with his face no more than thirty centimeters away from the bleeding gun tip.

"Woooooa ...

"Why not put your Master somewhere safer?" Diarmuid couldn't help but complain. If he had just killed Waver, he would have won the victory long ago. But as a knight, he would not allow such an unfair victory, not to mention -

—This kid is my master's student. It's clearly the Holy Grail War, but my master seems to be either assisting or personally teaching the students.

Diarmait sighed, and gently lifted up Waver, who was lying on the ground, with the barrel of his gun, and threw him into the arms of a man with long black hair and a gloomy expression.

"But if it's just a trick like this, it's not that serious," Diarmait thought. He didn't just throw Waver at any random person, but rather, based on his perception, selected someone who was considered a leader in the army, thus using Waver to limit his performance.

"Protect this kid well, seriously." Diarmait saw the man trying to hand Waver over to other soldiers and shouted at him, "I can't control where the battle goes next. If I accidentally kill this kid and win, it would be too ridiculous."

"Well, at least it relieves some of the pressure and increases my chances of winning," Diarmuid thought, watching the gloomy man holding Waver as he retreated. He didn't know why, but he felt that the man, in both his face and his demeanor, bore a resemblance to Waver in his arms.

"But in this situation, it's difficult to find Iskandar who has been moved away." Diarmuid fended off the enemy's siege while observing the battlefield, trying to find Iskandar. It was quite difficult to find someone who was not riding a mount among a group of cavalry and infantry.

The enemy surged forward like a tide, their spears and swords slicing cold arcs through the air. Diarmait wielded the crimson sword, "Grand Fury," and the magic spear, "Demon-Breaking Red Rose," alternating attacks, each slash and thrust delivered with precision and deadly force. His movements were graceful, like a dance, yet brimming with murderous intent, each strike claiming a life. Amidst the flashing swords and shadows, he seemed a ghost on the battlefield, stalking among the enemy with swiftness and deadly force.

While Diarmait is often depicted in the Fate series as wielding either dual pistols or dual swords, his true strength lies in the combination of a single pistol and a single sword. For ordinary adventures, he wields the "Small Fury" and the "Yellow Rose of Destruction." When faced with a life-or-death situation, he wields the "Grand Fury" and the "Red Rose of Demon Breaker."

Diarmait wielded a red sword and a red spear, a true testament to his former glory. Reclaiming his familiar weapons, Diarmait faced the siege of the enemy. Although he was still in a state of slow death due to his only anti-human Noble Phantasm, he was now much more at ease than before.

The enemy cavalry charged, spears raised, attempting to pierce Diarmait's chest. Quick-witted and quick-handed, Diarmait dodged to the side, his crimson sword slashing down, cleaving the enemy cavalryman and his horse in two. Blood splattered in the air, then rained down on the ground. Another infantryman seized the opportunity to attack from the side, but Diarmait's spear flicked, piercing the enemy's throat with pinpoint accuracy, instantly ending his life.

As he pierced the enemy's throat, Diarmait swiftly twisted his waist, swinging his sword to block another enemy's attack. The blades clashed, sparks flying. The enemy gritted his teeth and tried his best to bring down the sword in his hand, but Diarmait's strength far exceeded his imagination. He pushed the enemy back several steps, then took a quick step forward, and the magic sword flashed with a scarlet light, instantly piercing the enemy's chest.

Amidst the fierce fighting, Diarmait never relaxed his observation of his surroundings. He scanned the surroundings, trying to locate Iskandar amidst the chaotic crowd. The cacophony of cavalry and infantry, coupled with the dust rising from the battlefield, made it difficult for him to discern his target's location.

"Hahaha, what a sturdy figure!" Iskandar's voice echoed from the enemy camp. "The more I see of you, the more I want to recruit you! Charge forward and let me see more of your heroic form!"

Iskandar's way of conquest would not allow Diarmait to fall in such an encirclement where he did not even know the enemy's position. Even if it meant exposing his own position, he would make sure Diarmait died in the process of charging towards him.

Iskandar's condition was truly horrific: his chest and abdomen felt as if plowed by a giant sword, the horrific wounds trembling with every breath. With each breath, blood gushed out like a spring that refused to stop. His internal organs lay exposed in the dust, a bloody mess. His shattered ribs, wedged against the surrounding muscle tissue, were a particularly horrific sight. Every movement strained the wounds, causing unbearable pain.

Shifting his gaze upward, his neck was almost completely severed, leaving only a few shreds of skin and spine barely connecting his head to his body. A section of his jaw had been shaved off, revealing teeth and flesh. As he spoke, blood dripped from the severed area, staining his chest red. His face was covered in blood and dust, but his eyes still shone brightly, a look of pity yet filled with the majesty of a king.

His armor had been torn, shattered pieces dangling from his body like tattered battle flags. Blood flowed from the wounds, staining his entire body red. Despite this, he refused his subordinates' help, standing proudly on his own, as if these wounds were nothing more than a trivial matter.

Diarmait, hearing Iskandar's cries, did not respond, but swung his weapon even more fiercely. The enemy before him was cut like straw, blood and severed limbs flying through the air, leaving the battlefield a bloody mess. The wind whistled in his ears, and the swirling dust formed a long trail behind him. Every step was filled with power, and every swing was filled with the determination to kill.

During the charge, Diarmait's eyes never left Iskandar. He knew his target, and his heart was filled with a strong will to fight. However, the enemy's siege was like a tide, and countless attacks were coming at him at every moment.

Diarmait's movements grew more and more ferocious, his already crimson spear and sword stained with crimson blood, appearing even more eerie. Yet, he could also feel his strength draining away. Every swing, every block, consumed a significant portion of his energy. Even a battle-hardened warrior would tire when facing such a massive enemy force.

His breathing became rapid, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. The enemy's attacks became more frequent, and Diarmait's defenses began to show holes. The wounds on his body also increased, but due to the effects of Kayneth's previous command spells, these wounds did not affect his charge at all.

Kayneth's first Command Seal restored Diarmait to full strength and retrieved the sword he hadn't brought with him. The second Command Seal transported Diarmait and granted him a degree of combat resilience. These two Command Seals accomplished four things. Compared to a Master who abused Command Seals, Kayneth's efficiency was truly impressive.

Diarmait gritted his teeth and continued charging forward. His gaze remained resolute, but fatigue was already beginning to show. His movements were becoming less fluid, and each swing of his sword seemed heavier. The enemy's siege grew more ferocious, and he was struck countless times, his body becoming more and more wounded, with blood constantly flowing from his wounds.

Finally, Diarmait's steps began to slow, his legs feeling heavy as if they were filled with lead. He struggled to maintain his balance, but the enemy's attacks were like a storm, making it difficult for him to withstand them. A fierce blow knocked him to the ground, and although he quickly rolled back to his feet, his exhaustion made it difficult for him to continue.

“Is this all I can do…” Diarmait lamented silently, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with helplessness and pain. “Even so, I still cannot win victory for my lord…”

"Diarmait, why do you lament?" Kayneth's words reached Diarmait's ears clearly. "You have done well, haven't you?"

As the director of the Spiritual Summoning Department, it would be quite easy for Kenneth to communicate with Diarmait even if the connection of the Command Spell was lost.

"Why are you lamenting?" Kayneth continued, a hint of disapproval in his tone, "Who would have thought that this Rider's Noble Phantasm was an inherent barrier, and he was f**king leading an army of tens of thousands. And he wanted you to win against an army of ten thousand on your own? Do you think I'm such a fool?"

Diarmait held his spear and magic sword tightly, his body covered in blood, but he still stood firmly in the center of the battlefield with a sharp gaze.

"I ask you, are you satisfied?" Kenneth paused and continued.

The sharp blade pierced Diarmait's soul core, shattering it. Even so, Diarmait did not stop charging. The power of the Command Spell and his will allowed him to continue forward.

“My lord, I will never be satisfied if I fail to bring you victory…” Diarmait’s voice was low and firm, but his eyes were flashing with uncontrollable guilt and regret.

"Victory in the Holy Grail War is not what I need, but I do see the chivalry you uphold," Kayneth said. Although he didn't fully agree with Diarmait, he certainly felt his loyalty. "I also feel the loyalty you've shown."

“…I am truly fortunate to have met a lord like you…” Diarmait stopped, breathing heavily, covered in blood and wounds, almost unable to fight again. “My lord… If I could meet you again… I would abandon everything and offer my loyalty to you…”

Kenneth's words echoed in his ears, bringing him warmth and comfort, like a ray of light in the darkness.

“…I will give my all to help you win.” Diarmait’s voice gradually became low, and the last bit of strength in his body also dissipated.

He still gripped the magic sword and magic spear tightly in his hands. Although he no longer had the strength to lift them, he refused to let go. Blood flowed from his wounds, dripping onto the ground, splashing blood. Diarmait's vision gradually blurred, and he felt his body growing lighter and lighter, as if he was about to be swallowed by darkness.

Although he said he was unwilling, a satisfied smile appeared on his face. He knew that he had tried his best and fought for his lord and honor until the last moment.

Finally, Diarmait's body could no longer support him. He slowly fell to the ground, his hands still tightly grasping his weapon, as if guarding his last bit of dignity. Blood stained his armor and the battlefield red. Diarmait's breathing gradually stopped, and the light of life in his eyes gradually faded.

“How wonderful it would be if such a hero could serve under my command…” Iskandar gazed deeply at Diarmait’s remains, his heart filled with uncontrollable emotion. “He is truly a straightforward man whom I cannot help but admire!”

After a brief silence, he turned and called to the gloomy black-haired man who had his arm around Waver's waist, "Eumenes, count the casualties."

Eumenes carefully set Weber down. His face was covered in dust and blood, and he looked utterly miserable. Iskandar frowned slightly at this, then burst into laughter. "Oh, that kid Weber is with you too... Hahahaha, suddenly I feel like you two are alike!"

Eumenes, the royal secretary. Diarmait's judgment was actually quite correct. Although he was a scholar, he was also a formidable warrior. Ptolemy himself called him "the only man I didn't want to fight" and "the chief secretary who reached the pinnacle of both civil and military prowess."

Eumenes' face remained expressionless as he quickly reported, "The cavalry lost approximately 127 men, and the Silver Shields lost approximately 144... The total casualties were close to half."

Upon hearing this number, Iskandar couldn't help but sigh, "Oh, what a brave man!" He immediately gave the order, "Give the order now, adjust the formation immediately! The real enemy is coming!"

Iskandar's King's Army had been gathering strength from the beginning to counter those two men. Now, though one of them had no idea how he had appeared within the range of his Noble Phantasm—

——But this also means that the battle is over and this person is the winner.

Iskandar looked solemnly at the two tiny figures in the dusty sand. The wind and sand whistled around them, obscuring their features. Only vaguely could one make out one of them, holding a golden cup and muttering something.

Image: "Eumenes", Location: "Images/1720799554-100406584-111884544.jpg"

Eumenes looks exactly like the Second Emperor, plus the complaints in the Eye Train and the Emperor's voice, what the hell, isn't this the Second Emperor (boo)

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I don't know how the brush was shaped, but anyway, the brush just left the stage.

New author, new book, please vote first

Volume 55: The Alchemist's Apprentice from the Fourth War: . Does Yezora Know Everything?

"He should have disappeared here in the end..." Xing Qingfeng climbed up the shore, all wet, and looked around. The beach seemed particularly quiet under the night sky, with only the waves gently lapping against the shore. There were still some traces of the battle on the sand.

He approached the site of the battle, his footsteps softly touching the damp sand. He could feel the lingering warmth of the battle. A salty sea breeze lashed against his face, ruffling his soaked clothes and sending a shiver down his spine. The waves surged behind him, as if telling of the fierce battle just now.

He scratched his head in annoyance. Originally, Kenneth had a magical connection to the cup in his hand, but after a while, the magical connection inexplicably disappeared. Originally, Xing Qingjiu didn't have to be so embarrassed, but the battle between Gilgamesh and Newton blew up the dock and the bridge.

——That was the only bridge between Fuyuki Fukayama Qi (II) Sanreiji ⒐qid Chansi Town and Shinto.

As a result, Xing Qingjiu, unable to rent a boat, had to go swimming himself. He didn't just rely on his four arms and legs to paddle across the Weiyuan River. Instead, he used the Uruk Cup as an engine, continuously emitting magical currents in the opposite direction, gliding across the water.

He gripped the Uruk Cup tightly in both hands, and a powerful stream of magic erupted from the cup's mouth, propelling him out of the water and gliding across it at high speed. The Weiyuan River shimmered in the night sky, a faint blue light, and the magic stream streaked white streaks across the surface. A strong wind, mixed with spray, hit him in the face, soaking his clothes and hair. Xing Qingfeng kept his gaze on the distant coastline while adjusting his magic output to maintain a steady pace.

Although he felt very comfortable lifting his shirt, and reached the beach very quickly——

——But he added the urban legend of the Mion River sea monster to Fuyuki City.

The traces left on the beach proved to him that this was indeed the scene of the battle between Iskandar and Diarmuid. The two dead cows were still hard on the sand. He squatted down and gently brushed his fingers over a charred stone, feeling the lingering heat. It seemed that the two men had just left.

Standing up, Xing Qingyu looked up at the distant horizon. A waning moon hung high in the night sky, casting a cool, clear light. The sea surface shimmered with its reflections, and a gentle breeze rippled the surface, like shimmering silver scales.

"Guess I can only wait here," Xing Qingfeng sighed helplessly. He could clearly sense the intense fluctuations of magical energy, but he couldn't find anyone. He paced slowly around the battle site, the wet sand beneath his feet making a subtle crunching sound. The beach at night was silent and mysterious, accompanied only by the distant sound of waves and the whisper of the wind.

Suddenly, a mercury bead leaped from the sea, gleaming faintly, and landed gracefully in Xing Qingqi's arms. Encased within it was the tissue he had previously cut from the Hassan.

I don't know why, but even though Hassan's spirit core was completely shattered and his spirit base had completely lost its response, the rest of Hassan's normal body turned into ether and dissipated again.

——But this mass of proliferating tissue still exists normally. It seems that as long as it is supplied with magic power, it can continue to survive and even continue to grow.

In a sense, this could be considered a "HeLa cell." Xing Qingfeng deliberately preserved it, intending to later study the difference between ether-simulated flesh and real flesh.