Does a Doll Deserve to Live a Happy Life? (Patreon)

Chapter 10: The Sword That Dares to Defy the King

As the dust settled, Saber’s form finally came into view and I got my first close-up look at Artoria Pendragon.

A few words slipped from my lips:

“You really look just like her.”

The words escaped before I could stop them, making Artoria narrow her eyes with suspicion as she studied me closely.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, fiend,” she replied sharply, her tone clipped and formal. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Without hesitation, she raised her still-invisible blade—Excalibur—leveling it at both me and Tamamo.

“Enough stalling. Where is Irisviel!?”

I shook my head to clear the image of Jeanne from my mind, pushing it back behind the walls of memory. Steadying my gaze, I met Artoria’s eyes without a hint of fear.

“I apologize,” I said calmly. “You just look… almost identical to someone very precious to me. Honestly, I’m convinced she’s your descendant, it’s that uncanny.”

'So this is my first Saberface encounter,' I thought idly. 'Only, in my eyes… Artoria’s the imposter since I met Jeanne first.'

That seemed to give Artoria pause. Her brows drew together as she considered my words, a contemplative flicker crossing her expression just for a moment.

“As for Irisviel,” I continued, raising an eyebrow, “would you believe me if I said she’s fine? That I actually managed to save her?”

Her face turned to stone the moment Irisviel’s name left my lips. Her grip tightened on Excalibur.

“You dare speak of saving her?” she snapped. “You and your Servant kidnapped her—cowards, both of you! You ambushed us when I had my guard down and fighting another Servant!”

‘Knew it. She’s too stubborn to listen. Still, I had to try.’

“Very well,” I said, exhaling slowly. “Words are wasted here. Let our swords speak in their place.”

I raised my right hand to my heart. It glowed softly—green and pulsing with power.

“Master!?” Tamamo’s voice cut in sharply. “You’re not seriously thinking of fighting her alone, are you?! No! I won’t allow it!”

She stepped up to my side, frowning hard and glaring daggers at Artoria.

“This is the only way, Caster,” I said gently, my voice calm but firm.

Tamamo shook her head, ears twitching in protest. “I can’t accept that. As your Servant, it’s my duty to battle enemy Servants. You back me up, not the other way around!”

“I know. And I’m grateful,” I said with a nod, meeting her eyes with a serious look. “But I need you to cover the perimeter. Make sure no one else interferes. Besides you know I’m not like other Masters.”

Tamamo still hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her golden eyes.

So I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She froze, stunned.

“I’m counting on you, Caster,” I whispered softly.

Before she could respond, I turned away and pressed my glowing hand to my chest.

Green light surged around me, enveloping my body in a radiant pulse as I stepped forward—ready for battle.

As the light died down, my old form faded away, replaced by someone else entirely.

Gone was the pale homunculus boy. In his place stood a man with tanned skin and silver-grey hair, his body clad in radiant, silver woven plate mail that gleamed with majesty. In my right hand, I held a massive greatsword—Balmung, the dragon-slaying blade.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Saber,” I said, my voice deeper now, rougher. The transformation into Siegfried was complete. Dead Count Shapeshifter had once again worked its miracle… at the cost of a Command Spell.

Saber’s eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw genuine wariness settle into her stance. Her invisible blade stayed raised, her body poised.

“…You,” she said slowly, her gaze locked on the sword in my hand. “Who are you?”

“That’s right, this is our first meeting,” I answered calmly, keeping my voice even. “My name is Sieg. A simple homunculus… saved by a stranger and given the power to fight for my ideals.”

A half-truth. Enough to explain my presence without revealing the Company, or the memories of another world fused inside me.

Artoria studied me for a long moment, then slowly nodded, almost respectfully.

“I see. It seems you do possess some measure of honor.” She stepped forward and planted her feet, voice ringing with the authority of a king. “Very well. I am Artoria Pendragon, King of England. And as tradition demands… if you wish to prove the worth of your words, then let your sword be your voice.”

She lifted Excalibur, its shimmering outline like a mirage in the air.

“Now come, warrior named Sieg.”

A faint breeze stirred the battlefield, lifting strands of hair and dust as the final moment of peace passed between us.

I lowered my stance and adjusted my grip on Balmung, the hilt familiar, the weight reassuring.

“I only hope,” I murmured, half to myself, “that we may speak again… after this.”

Then I smiled and waited, sword raised.

=====

Tamamo’s POV

From the edge of the battlefield, just beyond the moonlight's reach, Tamamo no Mae watched in silence.

She stood shrouded in spirit form, unseen and untouched by the world around her. Yet her golden eyes tracked every movement, every spark, every heartbeat of the duel unfolding before her.

And in those eyes, there was no fear.

Only awe.

Sieg, her Master, now clad in Siegfried’s skin, shone like something out of a myth. Radiant silver armor hugged his powerful frame, and in his hand, Balmung gleamed like a divine decree. His silver-grey hair danced in the wind, and when he moved—it was with the strength of dragons and the purpose of kings.

Tamamo's tails twitched, betraying her excitement despite her efforts to remain composed.

“Oh my…” she whispered softly to herself, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “He’s so cool right now…”

‘Be still, my beating fox heart~! 💖’

Her voice was lost to the night, but her admiration shimmered like stardust.

She had seen many warriors in her time—heroes and monsters, emperors and gods. But none had ever held her gaze like this. None had ever fought not for glory, not for power, but for truth. For connection.

For others.

Every time he deflected Saber’s invisible blade or countered with Balmung’s mighty arc, Tamamo’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel the reverberations of their clash deep in her bones, and deeper still, in the place where hope lived.

Her hope.

Her Master.

And even though she ached to leap in, to fight at his side and protect him with every spell she knew, she remained where he asked her to stay.

Because he trusted her.

So she would trust him.

Still, her hands trembled slightly, not from fear—but from restraint. And love. And pride so vast it nearly made her tails puff.

If anyone had been watching her instead of the battle, they might’ve mistaken her for a lovestruck maiden and they wouldn’t have been wrong.

“I swear,” she murmured under her breath, eyes never leaving Sieg, “If you keep this up, I might just have to skip a few steps in our relationship~”

Another clash echoed through the night as silver and starlight crossed blades again.

Tamamo exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

The night was still young. The battle had only begun.

And when it was over—if fate was kind—she would be the first to run to him, arms open and heart full.

=====

Back with Sieg and Artoria

She’s incredible.

That was the first thought in my mind as our blades clashed once more, the shock of impact sending vibrations up my arms.

Artoria Pendragon—King of Knights. Her every swing was a lesson in technique. A dance of precision and power. Even with her sword hidden by Invisible Air, I had grown used to its reach and rhythm, adjusting with every clash.

Thanks to my Martial Talent perk, this battle had done wonders for my swordsmanship. I was learning incredibly fast. Fighting Artoria was like training under a divine master, and with each second, I was catching up to her in skill. Not to discredit Siegfried, he was a powerhouse, but his style leaned toward defense and overwhelming strength. Artoria, by contrast, was all finesse and lethal grace.

And still… she kept up.

Despite the limits of her current form. Despite having a subpar Master who wasn't even a real magus. Despite being weakened in her battle with Lancer.

She was still keeping up.

I was impressed.

So much so, I barely noticed the moment our blades disengaged and we found ourselves a few feet apart, catching our breath under the moonlit sky.

“I don’t understand,” Saber said suddenly, her voice quieter, confused. “Why would someone with your skill… your ability… choose to kidnap Irisviel?”

Her tone was no longer sharp with anger. Just puzzled.

I took a chance.

“It’s like I said earlier,” I began calmly, lowering Balmung slightly. “My intention was never to hurt Irisviel. Or you. Quite the opposite, actually. There are things about this war that you don’t know.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I hesitated, then tilted my head slightly.

“Is your Master listening to this conversation?” I asked, genuinely unsure. Kiritsugu wasn’t exactly known for conventional magecraft, and his methods were more guns and explosions.

Saber regarded me for a moment before shaking her head.

“He knows I’m engaged in battle, but he cannot see through my eyes or hear through my ears. His specialties lie elsewhere. Why do you ask?”

I nodded, glad she was honest. She would be, her sense of honor wouldn’t allow otherwise.

“Because your Master has already tried to kill me twice,” I said bluntly. “Before saying a single word to me. And I don’t know how he’d react to what I’m about to tell you.”

That earned me a slight wince. Saber’s posture eased, her grip on Excalibur loosening just slightly.

“I see…” she murmured. “Please continue.”

I took a deep breath.

“Did you know that in the end… only the Masters truly win a Grail War?”

Saber’s eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”

“It’s simple,” I said. “To summon the Grail and make a wish, all seven Servants must be sacrificed. That’s one of the true purposes of the Command Spells, to force Servants to offer themselves to the Grail, whether they wish to or not.”

Her jaw tightened. She shook her head, disbelieving.

“…What?”

“It’s true,” I said quietly. “And I’m afraid that’s only the beginning.”

“There’s more?”

I nodded solemnly. “Yes. This next part… involves Irisviel.”

I met her eyes with no hesitation.

“She is the vessel of the Lesser Grail. And by the end of this war, if things go according to plan, she’ll merge with the Greater Grail itself. When that happens… she’ll die.”

“What!?” Saber snapped, anger flashing across her face. Her grip on Excalibur tightened. “Lies!”

“It’s the truth,” I said simply, holding her gaze. “She’s known about her fate from the beginning. It’s the reason she exists. And your Master—Kiritsugu—he knows too. He’s always known.”

Saber said nothing for a moment. Her eyes—normally so sharp—flickered with uncertainty.

Then, softly:

“…Why are you telling me this?”

“I need your help.”

I said it softly, earnestly, pouring everything I could into those words.

I needed her to believe me.

=====

Back with Tamamo

Watching her dear Master attempt to sway the enemy Saber to their side left Tamamo with… mixed feelings.

On one hand, she was proud. Beaming, really. Her Master was clever, persuasive, and carried himself with the kind of charisma that could sway kings. Even after kidnapping someone important to the enemy, he’d gotten this far. That was impressive.

On the other hand?

Jealousy.

Tight, unshakable, foxfire-fueled jealousy.

It was already enough of a challenge dealing with Kiara’s teasing and her Master’s lingering feelings for that dumb Saint. And now? Now he was trying to recruit a new girl—a girl who, by his own admission, looked nearly identical to said Saint.

Tamamo’s ears twitched irritably. Her pout deepened.

“Mou, baka Sieg-kun…” she muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with mock annoyance and genuine affection. “You sure know how to bring out this fox’s competitive side~”

But her playfulness vanished in an instant.

A flicker.

A ripple at the edge of her senses, subtle, but sharp. Not like the familiars she’d already disposed of from other Masters.

No, this was different.

This was a Servant.

And worse… another presence followed. Stronger. Heavier. Closer.

Her tails bristled.

“Master! Two enemy Servants incoming!” she warned urgently through their telepathic link.

Without hesitation, Tamamo dropped her spirit form and flashed toward her beloved, blue light trailing in her wake as her sacred mirror materialized in hand.

She would not let them harm him.

Not now.

Not ever.

=====

Back with Sieg and Artoria — Moments Before

“My help?” Artoria echoed, confusion flickering across her face. “Why would someone of your strength need mine?”

I nodded solemnly, trying to find the words.

“Because… I want to stop this Grail War. For good. You see, the Grail—”

I never got to finish.

{Master! Two enemy Servants incoming!}

Tamamo’s voice cut into my mind like lightning, full of urgency.

I tensed, grip tightening around Balmung, my expression hardening.

Artoria immediately picked up on the shift.

“What is it?” she asked, falling instinctively into a defensive stance.

I grimaced. “Trouble. Two Servants closing in fast.”

Artoria’s expression darkened, her invisible blade already rising to guard.

“I see,” she said quietly. “Then our conversation must wait.”

“I apologize,” I offered sincerely, taking position beside her.

“No need. I understand.”

A heartbeat later, two enormous magical signatures flared at the edge of the battlefield. One to the north, one to the west.

They were close.

Then—thud.

A flash of light behind me.

Tamamo landed gracefully, her tails flaring out behind her, her mirror already in hand and humming with power. Her golden eyes swept the area like a seasoned general, and the air shimmered faintly around her from her protective enchantments.

“I’m here, Master,” she said softly, sliding into position at my side.

I felt my resolve steady.

With her here… I could face anything.

A moment later, the night was split by a roar.

Not just any sound but a howl of pure rage and hate. Primal and thunderous. It echoed across the battlefield like a curse spat from the depths of hell.

Then—he came.

A knight wreathed in shadow, cloaked in cursed madness, crashed down from above like a meteor.

Berserker.

His form blurred with black fire and twisted mana, he tore through the air with violent purpose, heading straight for Artoria.

She didn’t hesitate.

Her stance shifted, blade rising, and she braced herself. Her aura flared to meet his oncoming fury as the two clashed in a storm of steel and savagery.

I was about to move when a second sound cut through the chaos. Sharp, slicing through air like divine judgment.

The sound of something flying.

My instincts screamed.

I turned my gaze upward.

And saw the last person I wanted to deal with tonight.

Gilgamesh.

He arrived with his usual arrogance, standing atop that ancient flying chariot—Vimana—bathed in golden light like he thought himself the sun.

“Get ready, Caster,” I murmured, my voice steady as I tightened my grip on Balmung. “We’re in for a tough fight.”

Beside me, Tamamo’s tails had gone stiff, her ears pointed forward like sharpened spears.

“Yes, Master,” she said calmly, but I could feel the tension rolling off her in waves.

A voice—smooth, regal, and laced with venom—slithered down from above.

“You filthy mongrel,” Gilgamesh sneered, his crimson eyes narrowing. “I do not remember giving you permission to look upon me.”

His words dripped derision, that signature disdain only he could wield like a blade.

But I barely heard them.

Because in that moment, something awakened in me.

My Campione blood pulsed, hot and hungry. The battlefield fell silent. My heartbeat thundered like a war drum. Everything narrowed to the ¾ divine king standing above me.

My vision locked on him and for a heartbeat, I felt it.

The thrill of a god-slayer meeting his prey.

Gilgamesh, of course, knew nothing of this. He was too busy smirking, walking lazily to the edge of his golden platform.

“And I certainly don’t remember giving you permission,” he continued, gesturing disdainfully toward Artoria, “to toy with that which is mine.”

His. That possessive arrogance.

I grit my teeth.

But before I could respond—

“The only mongrel I see here is you, King of Heroes!” Tamamo snapped, her voice like a silken whip.

Her tails flared dangerously, golden eyes narrowed. That warm, mischievous shine was gone, replaced by steel and fire.

Gilgamesh blinked.

Then he grinned.

“Hoh? A Caster… who speaks out of turn,” he said with amusement. “And one I don’t recognize, at that.”

His gaze flicked over Tamamo with open appraisal, his crimson eyes glinting with interest. My own narrowed in response, a slow heat burning behind them.

But his attention shifted almost immediately to the sword in my hand.

“Curious…” he murmured. “That blade. It reminds me of one of my own treasures.”

With a casual flick of his wrist, a golden portal opened beside him.

From within, he drew a gleaming sword—resplendent and regal, not unlike Excalibur in shape and style.

Gram.

The name echoed in my mind like a whisper of steel on bone.

The sword destined for Sigurd—the dragon-slayer so often confused with Siegfried. The lines between them blurred in myth and memory, but that blade?

It called to me.

Almost as strongly as Balmung did.

“Hoh? Speechless?” Gilgamesh drawled mockingly. “You should rejoice, mongrel. I have deigned to grant you a few moments of my precious time. I could simply kill you… and take your Caster for myself.”

His grin widened, smug and radiant.

So sure of his supremacy.

So very Gilgamesh.

“You will not touch her,” I said at last, my voice steady and cold.

Balmung surged to life in my grip, engulfed in a torrent of radiant blue energy as I poured my magic into its core—ready to unleash my Noble Phantasm at full power.

“Not while I still draw breath.”

From his perch above, Gilgamesh merely smirked.

And I—watching him sneer from his throne of gold—couldn’t help but think:

‘I was right. I much prefer his Caster class over his Archer one.’