Even Vortigern could not withstand the combined assault of so many.
The white dragon that had loomed over Britain for decades
Was now reaching its final moments.
It had swallowed the radiance of Excalibur, endured the rainbow hues of Joyeuse, but when faced with the blazing light of Galatine, it had no strength left to resist.
The beam unleashed by Gawain pierced through the body of the Tyrant King.
Finally, it collapsed with a slow, heavy thud.
"Father, how did I do!?"
Turning around, little Gawain looked at Lot with eager anticipation in her eyes.
Her expression was strikingly similar to her mother's in that moment.
"Mm, not bad. Truly my daughter worthy of my teachings."
Lot nodded emphatically.
Though it was unclear exactly what he had taught her.
Now,
The white dragon's form dissipated, leaving only a humanoid figure propped up by his sword.
A gaping wound pierced his chest, a pitiful sight.
Uther was the first to approach him.
Grinning, he said, "Well, brother, it seems I've outlived you after all."
"If not for your fortunate daughter and son-in-law, victory would have been mine," Vortigern retorted with a sneer, turning his face away.
"Hahaha, you always refuse to admit your own inadequacy. Just as you believed only you could represent Britain."
Uther's words were pointed.
"If not me, then who? You were never worthy. But your niece and that brat? I'll concede they surpassed me in every way."
Vortigern's voice was bitter.
"True. Compared to them, we both fall short."
This time, Uther acknowledged Vortigern's words.
"Hearing such praise from you two is almost embarrassing."
At that moment, Lot hobbled over, using Joyeuse as a crutch.
Then,
He noticed both men staring at him.
"Hey, don't mind me keep going! Vortigern, if you can shame me to death, maybe you'll still turn this around?"
"..."
"..."
Vortigern muttered, "With skin as thick as yours, you'd feel embarrassed?"
"Don't slander me. I'm a politically innocent young man!"
Lot immediately defended himself.
Now, not just Vortigern and Uther, but even Morgan who had just walked over rolled her eyes.
"If your heart were pure, I'd qualify as a righteous knight. The sheer indecency of your tactics only you could come up with them."
"Not my ideas. That's wisdom from the East."
Lot's reply was smug.
"The East? Rome?"
Vortigern frowned.
"No, further than Rome."
Lot couldn't be bothered to explain China to Vortigern.
Rome knew of China, but Britain? Not a clue.
And in the world of Type-Moon, China was even more enigmatic.
"Is that so?"
Vortigern didn't press further.
He struggled to his feet, locking eyes with Lot.
"The victor reigns supreme. You've won this battle. Now keep winning. Whether against the fairies, or any other foe, even the so-called Will of the World itself do not lose. You led the Celts to defeat me. Now ensure they bow to no one else."
"Other enemies? The fairies?"
Lot seized the chance to pry for intel from a dying man.
"Who knows what they plan? But when it comes to schemes who could outwit you? The only way to beat you is to discard all tactics and crush you outright. Those fairies? The moment they try to outmaneuver you, I already see their defeat."
As he spoke,
His body began to burn.
[Stop putting so much faith in me! All I want is to laze my way to victory. Who has time for endless scheming? My hair is precious I can't afford to lose a single strand!]
Nearby, Morgan barely suppressed the urge to facepalm.
Her husband's greatest trait wasn't his intelligence it was his laziness.
But for the sake of his hair? Worth it.
Vortigern continued burning.
His gaze locked onto Lot as he roared:
"If you want me to die resentful then lose!"
"Tch, how am I supposed to respond to that? I don't want to lose, but I also don't want you to die satisfied!"
Lot was almost speechless at Vortigern's parting words.
What kind of last words are these!?
For a second, he wanted to resurrect Vortigern just to kill him again.
Then, Uther coughed and interjected:
"Ahem. At least he died like a warrior. Lot, give him a proper burial."
"Hard pass."
Lot's response was instant.
Morgan immediately backed him up.
"Does he deserve a proper burial? Father, have you been brainwashed by his last act of valor? Beyond that final moment what else did he ever do?"
She gestured toward the lands they had come from.
"Ask the people whose homes he ruined if they'd agree. Ask the soldiers who died for his greed if they'd forgive him."
Had Vortigern ever done a single good deed?
No.
The money saved on his funeral could go to the families of the fallen.
Morgan no longer needed to read Lot's thoughts in moments like these.
Because,
Their minds were already in sync.
What Lot thought, she now understood instinctively.
Uther looked at his daughter,
His expression complex.
My sweet, obedient girl…
What has this husband of hers done to you?
She used to be so lively, so dutiful
Always listening to her dear father.
And now?
She's arguing with me?
My precious daughter!!!!!!
His gaze shifted to his other daughter, still unconscious on the ground.
Artoria…
He sighed.
Even if he revealed his identity now, this girl would probably be swayed by two steamed buns from Lot.
(And don't ask how Uther knew about steamed buns Lot's influence had the entire Camelot army reciting The Menu like a mantra.)
Then, Uther's eyes landed on Gawain, still clutching Galatine.
Ah, right.
This girl had called herself
Gawain?
His daughter and Lot's child?
"How did she… end up like this?"
Uther's question was directed at Lot.
"Uh…"
Lot glanced at Morgan.
Morgan, in turn, looked at Gawain.
"Perhaps you should explain, Gawain. It's your story to tell."
Gawain stepped forward, tilting her head at Uther.
"So… Grandfather?"
"Yes, that's me."
Uther's voice was suddenly gentle.
Looking at Gawain, he saw an opportunity.
Revenge.
If this guy can turn my daughter against me, I'll make sure his own daughter roasts him one day.
"Nice to meet you, Grandfather."
Gawain nodded politely.
Then
"Now, how did you grow up so fast?"
"Because I wanted to help my father!"
Gawain answered without hesitation.
Immediately, she turned to Lot,
Eyes widening at his injuries.
"Dad! Are you okay!? I'm sorry I was late look at all these wounds!"
"Don't worry. With you here, I don't feel any pain at all."
Lot grinned.
Morgan, meanwhile, was already casting healing magecraft.
"Don't lie. These injuries have to hurt. Let me treat them you need rest."
Nearby,
Someone else was far more injured.
My daughter… why ask about your husband but not your father!?
And my granddaughter why couldn't you inherit this from your mother!?
Your filial piety is too filial. My daughter's is… something else.
Uther, who had never shed a tear even in the darkest days of war against Vortigern, now felt his eyes sting.
Fortunately,
While Morgan wasn't the most filial, she wasn't unfilial either.
"Father, let me heal you too. When you disappeared… I thought I'd never see you again. I'm just glad you're safe. Come back to Camelot with us."
But as she reached out,
Uther gently stopped her.
"My wounds are nothing. As for Camelot… no. That city belongs to you now. I'd rather find somewhere peaceful live out my remaining years in comfort."
With that,
He turned to leave.
After a few steps, he paused
Hoisting Vortigern's body onto his shoulders.
"This bastard was a monster… but as his brother, I'll bury him myself. Don't trouble yourselves."
"Lot take care of my daughter. And my granddaughter. Morgan, you too."
Though unspoken, the meaning was clear:
All three of them.
Including your unconscious sister-in-law.
Keep her safe.
Uther couldn't say it outright not with Galahad present. The revelation could destabilize Camelot.
"Understood!"
Lot and Morgan answered in unison.
Uther, back still turned, allowed himself a small smile.
Content.
His daughter and son-in-law had strength, renown, and love for their family.
Camelot would thrive in their hands.
And
His greatest enemy had fallen before him.
By any measure,
He was no failed king.
Once out of sight,
Uther's legs finally gave out.
He slumped to the ground,
Breathing heavily.
Is this… the end?
Vortigern had been right.
Sheer willpower alone had sustained him these past years.
Minimizing every exertion, clinging to life
Just for this moment.
Now, with his purpose fulfilled, his life was spent.
No need nor ability to hold on any longer.
His enemy was dead.
His daughter was happy.
His granddaughter he'd even met her.
Perfect.
So this is death?
Then
Lot's voice rang out.
"Really, old man? Couldn't let your kids see you weak even once?"
"Of course not. I am Uther Pendragon."
The dying king smirked.
This brat never one for pretenses.
"Yes, yes. Uther Pendragon."
Lot's grin matched his.
He knew Uther wanted no tears.
"Uther Pendragon who defeated Vortigern."
Uther insisted.
"I defeated Vortigern!"
Lot argued.
"Without my daughter, could you have won? Thus I am the victor."
"By that logic, Adam's been playing chess against himself this whole time."
"...I'm dying. Could you at least pretend to be sad?"
Uther gritted his teeth.
"Nope. Because you don't want me to."
Lot's smile didn't waver.
"Hah! True. A victor's death is a joyous thing."
Uther's voice grew softer.
"Bury me somewhere simple. And him too no coffins, just a hole in the ground. But far apart. In hell, if we're too close, I might not beat him. Can't exactly call for your help then…"
With those words,
Uther closed his eyes
A smile still on his lips.
Lot's own smile faded.
"This stubborn old man…"
He lifted Uther's body gently.
From the shadows, Morgan emerged,
Her voice thick with exasperation.
"Even at the end he couldn't yield, not even once."
She helped Lot carry him.
Glancing at Lot, she said:
"Come on. Let's give him the burial he asked for."
"Yeah."
Lot's gaze lingered on Uther's peaceful face,
Then shifted to Vortigern's charred remains.
Two kings,
Locked in strife for decades,
Had fallen on the same day.
Britain,
Now belonged to a new era.