"Oh, that doesn't make sense. Even if I foresaw their deaths, as their enemy, I had no position to stop or help them, did I? Objectively speaking, it was your magic sword that killed them, not me."
Arthur widened his eyes and looked at Lucius aggrievedly.
Are you kidding me? How could I, the glorious and majestic King Arthur, ever stoop so low as to orchestrate a series of murders?
This is pure slander!
King Arthur is adorable—how could he harbor any evil intentions?
With that thought, the faint trace of guilt in Arthur's heart instantly vanished.
…No, it was better to say that guilt had never existed at all.
"That doesn't matter. You still haven't answered my question," Lucius pressed, his tone serious.
He cherished the little time he had left, struggling with all his might to stabilize the collapsing core of his soul, just to speak a few words more.
The next time he might see Arthur… honestly, even Lucius thought it was impossible. This might be their only reunion, yet his wish remained unfulfilled. One more battle—such a simple wish—had been rejected by Arthur. How could Lucius accept that?
"Ah? Oh, right. A duel, is it?" Arthur nodded. "Well, that's simple. I don't like it. Whether it's fighting or you, I dislike both. So why should I force myself to do something I don't want to, just for the sake of your wishes that have nothing to do with me?"
What a willful answer.
Lucius froze for a moment.
Just because I don't like it, I give up my wish—
Am I angry?
Yes, I am. But strangely, in my anger, I also feel relieved. Ah, of course. Because I hate him, he rejected and even trampled on my wishes. He's such a selfish, insufferable man… and yet, that's exactly why I love the Red Dragon.
Lucius laughed.
He laughed so joyfully.
"Hahaha! So that's how it is. Well then, I've lost. I lost to you again. But don't celebrate too soon, Artorius. I will curse you. If you hate me, then I'll curse you. As long as even the faintest chance exists, I'll appear before you again—and hound you until I'm satisfied!"
Lucius declared his curse loudly. It carried no malice, only a fierce will. His body dissolved into points of light, and then was gone.
At this point, four of the seven knights of the Holy Grail had officially retired.
Arthur did not dwell on Lucius' parting words. He instead surveyed the ruins and cast a glance at Kayneth and Waver.
Noticing Arthur's gaze, Kayneth instinctively stepped forward, shielding Waver with his own body.
Seeing this, Arthur couldn't help but smile. "How disappointing, Kayneth. There's no need for that. While I will show no mercy to my enemies, I won't torment a child. Besides, he's your student. That alone is reason enough for him to live."
Hearing this, Kayneth almost blurted out a rebuttal.
He didn't want Waver to mistakenly believe that his survival was owed to his master's protection.
But before Arthur's overwhelming presence, Kayneth swallowed his words and—for once—accepted kindness with dignity.
"…Thank you for your mercy, Your Majesty."
"By the way," Arthur tilted his head slightly, "I thought I saw you fighting someone earlier. Who was your opponent?"
"…No one worth mentioning. We slipped away in the chaos."
"Is that so? Well, never mind then," Arthur murmured, then turned to Diarmuid. "Lancer. I've more or less guessed your wish. Serving your monarch unto death no longer satisfies you. If what you seek is the glory of a knight's duel, perhaps I can grant it."
After all, for the Holy Grail to manifest, at least one Servant had to be eliminated.
If Arthur intended to preserve Artoria, then Diarmuid was the one who had to fall.
Diarmuid's face showed astonishment. He had never expected to be allowed to depart as a knight, not after all that had happened. To be honest, from the second night of the war—when Arthur and Kayneth formed their alliance—Diarmuid had already felt he was no longer qualified as a knight.
He had failed to serve his master with undivided loyalty, and later committed one dishonorable act after another under Arthur's orders.
He hadn't resisted those commands, but in so doing, he had already forfeited his chivalric dignity.
To Diarmuid, though he had witnessed the ultimate beauty of this world, he had also fallen into disgrace because of it.
Yet if, at the very end, he could reclaim a knight's glory—it would be redemption.
"Thank you, Your Majesty King Arthur," Diarmuid said sincerely, raising his spear toward him.
"You misunderstand. Your opponent is someone else." Arthur waved a hand. "First, I am not a knight. I cannot give you the honor you seek. Second… can you truly give me your all?"
Diarmuid faltered, his cheeks flushing red.
Arthur chuckled softly.
It wasn't a bad thought—to let Artoria duel Diarmuid. But looking at her now, she resembled less a knight than a puppet whose every action was driven solely by the goals of protecting Arthur or protecting an ideal Britain.
There was no honor in dueling such a state.
So—
"Come to think of it, I haven't shown you yet. Allow me to introduce my Knights of the Round Table."
As he spoke, countless golden shards appeared behind him, swirling together before merging into a vast, resplendent door.
This was Arthur's final and greatest trump card as a Servant.
The true form of his Noble Phantasm—[I Am Britain].
To put it more simply:
Arthur Pendragon was the king beloved by all of Britain.
That love birthed an overwhelming desire to protect.
No matter what, the king must not be harmed.
No matter what, the king must not be placed in danger.
Thus, it was unthinkable for Arthur to open the [Gate of Myriad Tribulations] alone and step into an unknown world. Britain had already prepared safeguards long in advance. If they could not stop their king, they would ensure his absolute protection.
Merlin and Mary confirmed that the door led to a familiar parallel world.
Even so, there existed dangerous branches—parallel worlds where everything had been annihilated, shattered to nothing.
So Manaka and Morgan used a blank soul base seized from Rome as a template. They rewrote it into a formula allowing Arthur to create a soul-clone, ensuring that even death would not touch his true body. If the clone were erased by some terrifying existence, the original Arthur would simply lose the memories of that world.
Even so, a split soul was still Arthur.
Even as a fragment, he remained Britain's most beloved king.
And Britain would never allow its king to suffer the slightest injustice.
Thus, through relentless transformation of Arthur's spiritual foundation, they completed the broken, anomalous Noble Phantasm: [I Am Britain].
Its true ability—summoning the spirits of any Briton, at any time, in any place.
In other words, if Arthur truly chose to overturn the board, then even Gilgamesh and others could find themselves overwhelmed—by the dual might of the two Grand Swordmasters, the Root Princess, the Witch-Sisters of the Age of Gods, and the Round Table across worlds.
Indeed.
For Britain alone, every action taken to protect its King was, without question, righteous.
-End Chapter-
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