The conclusion of this battle was something that, if told aloud, no one but Guinevere would ever believe.
In this confrontation to hunt down the traitor, the last one standing was not Lancelot—the Round Table's strongest knight—but Agravain, who had always acted merely as an administrator.
"You bastard… how many layers of Madness Enhancement did you stack on yourself?"
His vital point pierced, Lancelot collapsed to his knees, gasping like a dying fish out of water, as though by breathing harder he could prolong his life by just a little longer.
"With that much Madness, your mind's still intact?"
"You think a little bit of insanity like this could shake me?"
As he spoke, Agravain suddenly kicked Lancelot in the chest, yanking his sword free from the man's abdomen.
"This level of madness… has filled my entire life already."
"Because my mother—she was mad."
As he spoke, the unbearable memories surged up from his mind, and Agravain's eyes widened, his voice turning low and unsteady:
"She used to say she would one day become the ruler of Britain. I grew up listening to those words, full of resentment."
"I followed my mother Morgan's schemes and took a seat at the same Round Table as you all. I never wanted that seat—but it was the fastest way."
"I was nothing more than a tool—to seize the throne from King Arthur and hand it to my mother."
"I accepted that, because I understood Britain needed a strong ruler."
"My only goal was for Britain's eternal survival. For that, I used King Arthur… what I sought was a ruler who would truly serve, even if just a little, to extend Britain's existence."
"As long as they fit my vision, I didn't care who sat on the throne."
"It's just that, in the end, Arthur was more convenient to use than Morgan."
As he said this, Agravain suddenly raised his sword again and drove it down into Lancelot's chest, pinning him once more to the ground.
"I despise women," Agravain said coldly.
"?"
Lancelot could no longer speak, but the confused expression twisting his face said everything.
"Morgan was ugly and depraved. And the so-called pure Guinevere—fell in love with you, a married man. My whole life, I've loathed women as creatures."
"—Don't you dare spout nonsense like that!"
Before Agravain could continue his tirade, another voice suddenly rang out from nearby. Agravain frowned and turned toward it—only to see a crimson-haired girl leap out from nowhere, glaring fiercely at him.
"Fairy Knight Tristan, hmm… So, if you're here, I take it Tristan's dead—by your hand."
Agravain sized up Baobhan Sith, then spoke indifferently.
But she ignored him completely, shouting angrily instead:
"Mother isn't ugly! Not one bit! Mother is the most beautiful woman in the world! You're her own child—how dare you insult her like that!"
"Oh? So you're Morgan's daughter? Adopted, I presume."
"It's hard to imagine that Morgan could ever raise a child who speaks of her without disgust… or even looks proud of her. Seems in your world, that woman finally became a bit more normal after becoming queen."
Agravain's brow twitched slightly—but just slightly—as he continued, his tone flat:
"Perhaps by human standards she's beautiful; I can't tell. But her soul—her soul was the ugliest of any woman I've ever seen. She was greedy, selfish, cruel, vile, stupid, and depraved. For the throne, she nearly went insane, doing anything—everything—to seize it. She never fulfilled even a shred of her duty as a mother to her own children. I despise her. Because of her, I despise all women—cough, cough!"
He suddenly broke into violent coughing, staggering slightly.
Though he had defeated Lancelot by stacking layer upon layer of Madness Enhancement, and by exploiting Lancelot's mental hesitation, the cost had been severe. His body was already at its limit.
But Baobhan Sith, enraged by his words, could no longer control herself.
"What are you saying!? How dare you slander Mother like that! I've had enough! I'll kill you myself!"
As she shouted, Baobhan Sith swiftly drew her weapon, ready to strike.
"To think I'd ever cross blades with one of Morgan's followers… what an ironic twist."
Agravain, panting, pulled his sword from Lancelot's body and turned to face her—but even that motion was unsteady.
—In his current state, even walking back was a struggle, let alone fighting another Servant.
Realizing this, Agravain's eyes darkened.
But just as Baobhan Sith drew her bowstring to strike, another hand reached out beside her, gently pressing down her arm.
"Stop, Baobhan Sith."
"Mother—Mother?! Why are you here?"
Recognizing the voice instantly, Baobhan Sith turned around in panic—and saw Morgan standing there, her expression complicated.
"Mother? Shouldn't you be fighting the Lion King? I—I was just about to come find you…"
"Mm… I came across something that caught my attention, so I stayed behind for a while. As for the Lion King—Lot is there. It'll be fine."
"Then—you heard what Agravain said just now?"
Baobhan Sith asked cautiously.
"Yes." Morgan nodded softly. "I arrived before you did. I heard even the part you missed."
"Ah…"
Hearing that, Baobhan Sith hurriedly said, "Then, Mother! Don't be upset over his nonsense! I'll beat him up right now and make him apologize to you properly!"
"No, Baobhan Sith." Morgan shook her head gently. "Agravain isn't wrong. The me of Proper Human History truly was a foolish and obsessive woman. He only spoke the truth."
"Mother…"
"Baobhan Sith, I'm glad you'd stand up for me. But don't put me on a pedestal, and don't lose your judgment just because it's me." She rubbed Baobhan Sith's head softly. "The me of Proper Human History really wasn't fit to be a ruler—in every sense. Agravain's judgment was right. In that regard, Artoria did far better than I ever could."
—The Morgan of Proper Human History truly was as deplorable as Agravain described.
Morgan could understand her counterpart's obsession with Britain—but she could never forgive her attitude toward her own family.
She treated all her children as tools for her ambition. She drove Agravain mad and twisted Mordred's life. She wronged King Lot—no, even Guinevere, who had loved her deeply.
She had indeed loved him back, but she still placed the throne above all else—even using Guinevere as a tool in her schemes.
Even the name "Guinevere" that she gave him had been nothing but a jab at Artoria.
Her heart had always held room for only herself.
At this thought, Morgan sighed quietly.
"Perhaps even now, I still don't truly have what it takes to be a ruler. The only reason I became queen of the Fairy Kingdom was because I had the power to subdue it by force. Even Lot once told me—I wasn't fit to be king. To be hated by my own children like this… it's my own doing."
"Hmph… Putting on this act now—don't you think it's a little too late?"
Agravain cut her off coldly. "And don't you dare stand before me claiming to be my mother. You're not her. You're just another possibility of her from a different world. What could you possibly understand?"
"I carry all her memories. In a sense, I am her—and yet, not her." Morgan met his eyes, her voice soft. "She once felt guilt toward you."
"Guilt? What good is guilt? Did she ever *do* anything about it?" Agravain spat. "The only good thing my mother ever did was meeting my father. After his death, her life was worthless—cough!"
Overcome by emotion, Agravain coughed again, but before Morgan could speak, he pressed on harshly:
"Then tell me—if you have all her memories—why? Father loved her deeply, so why wasn't she loyal to him?"
He pointed at his black eyes and dark hair.
"Why do all of us siblings have black eyes? Was King Lot really our father? If not, then who was?"
"Your father truly was Lot," Morgan replied. "The me of Proper Human History, though terrible, never betrayed him."
"Then why our eyes? How could you and Father have children with black eyes?"
"Because the real Lot died long before he inherited the throne. The man you remember as your father was an outsider I found to impersonate him—a puppet I could control. His face was altered by my magic." Morgan spoke calmly. "The black-haired, black-eyed man you met later—that was your father's true form."
Agravain's expression changed as the meaning of her words sank in.
"Wait—what?"
He raised a hand to his head, dizzy. Before he could react further, Lancelot—who had been half-conscious beneath them—spoke up, shocked.
"Holy hell, that's *insane!*"
Before he could say more, Agravain drove his sword clean through Lancelot's heart.
"That wasn't something you needed to know."
After that strike, Agravain steadied himself and asked again, his voice calmer:
"Then—what about Father's death? If he was truly as strong as I saw here, how could King Pellinore have killed him?"
"I made him fake his death." Morgan said softly.
Those few words struck Agravain like thunder.
"I sent your father away from Britain. On the day he supposedly fought Arthur, I altered a guard's face with magic and sent him to die in his place."
"So… Father never actually died," Agravain murmured, a faint relief flickering across his face—but soon replaced by deeper rage and confusion. "Why?"
"Why would you do that?"
"If Father had lived, we wouldn't have lost him so young!"
Agravain's voice shook as he demanded answers.
"...Because one day," Morgan began, "the me of Proper Human History finally realized she wasn't fit to be king."
That had been her last simulation.
Or perhaps, it hadn't been a simulation at all—but a real event. Like the Singularity created by the Lion King, that world had not been pruned despite lacking a Fantasy Tree. It had instead grown into a pseudo-Lostbelt—until, at last, the heroes of Proper Human History came and restored it. Most left no memory of it behind; the record was erased entirely.
But thanks to the system's recordings, Morgan had seen it all—and returned to the beginning, with that knowledge intact.
It was within that erased Singularity that the entity was born—
The one who stole the power of the Old Gods.
The most dreadful and malevolent of all.
**Beast 0/A — The Beast of Wish, Guinevere Le Fay.**