The sun slowly sank toward the horizon, its dying light staining the heavens a blood-red hue.
Across the vast and desolate wilderness, Knights gathered behind thirteen figures, their gazes fixed upon the thousand-year-old fortress weathered by wind and frost, and the lone, majestic figure standing before the gates of the Holy City.
"Mystery will not fade. The world shall be gathered into my hands, and Britannia will follow me into eternity."
"I have summoned you because your strength is necessary for my plan."
"Even if I alone am capable of annihilating the enemy, I cannot carry out the Holy Selection by myself. I require Knights who can serve as my hands and feet."
"However."
"I understand that this course of action cannot coexist with your convictions."
"You may obey me. You may leave me. Or you may join forces here and defeat me."
"Give me your answer by sunset. That is all the time I can grant you."
The King looked upon the Knights with a calm, impassive gaze. There was not the slightest impurity in her eyes, nor the faintest ripple of emotion. She was merely declaring the future fate of this land.
And behind her stood the Temple of God, the Gate of Heaven.
Across the wilderness, the gathered Knights of the Round Table remained where they were for a long time. They silently exchanged glances, then gradually began walking toward the sides they had chosen.
"Sir Gawain, I believe the King's decision is correct. Britannia is collapsing. We have maintained this thousand-year kingdom, yet even we are slowly decaying along with it. Only while the King exists can the nation remain whole. Therefore, only the King can grant salvation to this world and lead us into an eternal ideal land."
Standing atop a gentle slope, the red-haired Knight gazed across the scarred earth, where bare rock jutted from the devastated landscape, and toward the lifeless fortress gradually sinking into darkness.
Behind him, the Knight of the Sun fell silent. He lowered his eyes and offered neither response nor advice.
Not interfering with or judging another's choice was the last respect they could offer one another as comrades.
"But I'm afraid I cannot endure such a thing..."
The voice was as gentle and emotional as ever.
Then the man rose, and crimson blood splattered into the dust, leaving behind two glaring stains.
"Tristan..."
The Knight of the Sun raised his head in shock. His voice trembled faintly as he stared at the two horrific trails of blood running down his comrade's face and the tightly closed eyes beneath them.
If he could not bear to witness it, then he simply would not look.
He would reduce himself to a tool and carry out the King's commands.
Thus chose the most sentimental Knight of the Round Table.
"This is where we part, Sir Gawain. The next time we meet, the man you once knew will already be gone. I hope you can think of it that way..."
Tristan walked past the stunned Gawain and headed toward the setting sun.
Two hours later, the Knights who had once stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the same banner had chosen their respective sides.
Gawain, Tristan, Lancelot, Agravain, and Gareth stood behind the King.
Percival, Gahoris, Palamedes, Bors, and Pellinore chose the opposing side.
The two groups stared silently at one another.
Then they slowly raised the weapons that had once drunk deeply of their enemies' blood and pointed them at their former comrades.
...
As the last traces of sunset were swallowed by the darkness spreading across the land, the clash of spears and swords and the sound of blades sinking into flesh gradually faded from the wilderness.
Squelch!
Gawain stood motionless for a long time before finally moving forward. He stepped over streams of blood winding across the ground like crimson serpents and crossed the field of corpses.
Then he reached down and pulled his own Holy Sword from Gahoris's chest.
Beneath the blood-red sunset, the Knight blessed by the sun turned and walked back toward the side he had chosen.
Behind him, the wilderness was already carpeted with corpses. Broken swords, shields, spears, and lances lay scattered everywhere.
Faces whose names he could call without hesitation rested pale and silent, their eyes forever closed.
Within that absolute stillness and terrible beauty lay a vision of hell painted in flesh and blood.
Under the setting sun, the Lion King quietly surveyed the battlefield where the outcome had already been decided.
There was no pity in her eyes.
No hesitation.
She slowly raised her right hand.
From a palm untouched by even a single drop of blood, dazzling starlight erupted into the darkening sky.
In an instant, an Anchor of Light pierced heaven and earth, tearing open the surface of the world and exposing the cruel truth beneath it.
The Tower at the End, which supported Britannia's continued existence, began to contract. A vast hollow visible to the naked eye opened in the world, and a freezing Ether storm howled through the breach.
Wherever it passed, life vanished and earth and stone collapsed.
At the same time, the ground shook violently.
Pillars of light descended across the entire Holy City, searching among countless lives and marking those fortunate few whose souls had not yet been tainted.
This was the Holy Selection, the choosing of immaculate souls.
Only a small number of people possessed the right to bid farewell to this decaying world, walk beside the King, and enter the Temple of God, the Gate of Heaven.
And after the Holy Selection came... purification.
Countless points of starlight gathered together.
A spiraling spear of light descended inch by inch, crushing the impure lives upon the surface and declaring the end of their journey.
The blond Knight who had refused to choose either side and withdrawn from the Holy City stood upon a distant height.
He stared at the thousand-year kingdom breaking apart beneath that brilliant radiance.
Human bodies twisted and burned like weeds.
The remains of his comrades on the battlefield dissolved beneath the light.
His pupils contracted sharply.
No!
Stop!
...
Inside Sir Ector's residence in Camelot, a figure murmuring in agony abruptly shot upright in bed.
Kai leaned against the headboard, gasping for breath.
A full fifteen minutes passed before a trace of color finally returned to the blond Knight's pale face.
Again...
That dream again...
Kai raised a hand and rubbed his aching temples, muttering under his breath as an indescribable mixture of agitation and dread filled his heart.
For the past half month, he had dreamed the same dream over and over.
A nightmare concerning the future.
A nightmare concerning Britannia.
At first, the dream had been vague, nothing but disconnected fragments without beginning or end.
But as time passed, everything became clearer and more vivid.
He saw more and more, as though what appeared before him was something destined to happen in reality.
Or perhaps something that had already happened.
And tonight, he had finally witnessed the entire dream.
Including its final conclusion.
Is this... how it ends?
Kai murmured, his expression turning distant.
He raised his eyes toward the pitch-black sky beyond the window and remained silent for a very long time.
...
At the same time, at the Witch's House, a breeze swept through the courtyard, making the plants along its edge rustle softly.
Samael, who was drinking tea in the hall, suddenly paused and frowned.
"You're coming back to your own house. Do you really have to sneak around like a thief?"
"Ahem... occupational habit."
The air distorted slightly, and the white-haired Succubus appeared, shifting her eyes evasively as she defended herself.
You're a Succubus!
The Grand Sage!
A Paradise Fairy!
The Lady of the Lake!
Could you stop describing yourself like some petty burglar?
Samael rolled his eyes at Mari, who radiated unreliability from head to toe, and rubbed his forehead. Then he pointed behind himself.
"Forget it. Morgan is waiting for you in the workshop."
"You told her?"
Mari shrank her neck, looking unmistakably guilty.
"Half of it."
Samael answered casually.
Then he glanced at the hesitant Mari and impatiently waved her away.
"Go on, go on. Why are you asking so many questions? Just do your job!"
Outmatched and left with no choice, Mari reluctantly slipped through the entrance leading to the Magical Workshop, nervously heading inside to assist the Witch.
Once the living room became quiet again, even the air seemed noticeably fresher.
Samael stretched comfortably, the corners of his lips rising in satisfaction.
He had told Morgan everything that needed to be said.
As for what did not need to be said, he had not mentioned a single word.
In Morgan's eyes, he was still her competent Guardian Knight.
He helped her raise the children, protected her from threats both open and hidden, and was willing to stand beside her and drag the goddess of Camelot from her divine pedestal so that Morgan could reclaim the power that rightfully belonged to her.
As for the Paradise Mission and bringing the Age of Gods to an end, if the final result was the same, then the reasons and the process hardly mattered.
Besides, he was not some lunatic who slaughtered crowds of people for amusement.
If stripping Artoria of her Divinity and carrying out a peaceful coup could solve the problem, why insist on turning everything into a bloodbath?
At that thought, Samael raised his gaze toward the royal palace and the direction of Sir Ector's residence.
A pleased smile slowly appeared on his face.
Well then, Your Majesty the Lion King.
It's my turn.
Overthrow the Ahoge tyranny!
The future belongs to Royal Sister!
***
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