On the battlefield of the Temple of Time, Young Gil's playful suggestion was like plucking another tense string on an instrument—it heightened the eerie atmosphere, pushing it into the realm of absurdity.
Demon King Goetia, who had just experienced the shift from ecstasy to despair, now knelt upon the ground. He supported his shattered body with only his remaining right arm and accepted, in silence, the patronizing charity bestowed by the oldest of kings.
Raging within him was a storm far fiercer than any physical battle.
The pride he held as the leader of the seventy-two Demon Gods made him yearn to tear apart that golden brat before him. Yet, the cold, calculating reason he'd inherited from countless demons whispered the cruel truth: He needed this help.
He needed someone who could stop the perfect Knight King. Without that, he would not even have the chance to stand—or, let alone, challenge Solomon.
He remained silent, gaze burning as he stared into the distance.
He saw Ritsuka Fujimaru, overwhelmed by King Solomon's magic, forced to retreat. He saw Mash desperately shielding her senpai with a broken shield. He saw Olga Marie fighting desperately using the light of the stars, struggling to give her comrades a single moment of respite.
Their struggle, weakness, and indomitable spirit resonated, in some strange way, with his own deep-seated obsession with destiny.
At last, he nodded, slowly and with effort.
This action brought a flicker of surprise to the face of Young Gil, who had been watching from the sidelines with detached calm.
Raising one eyebrow, he sneered. "Oh? With a pride like yours, I'd have expected you to hesitate for at least thirty minutes or outright refuse. I never thought you'd be so decisive."
Goetia ignored his sarcasm and replied in a cold, hoarse voice. "This isn't the time to act on emotion."
"In the face of the ultimate goal of victory, our feelings and dignity mean nothing."
"The longer this drags on, the slimmer our chances of victory become."
"To seize every possible chance and exploit it—that is the only way to win this war."
When he finished, his fiery gaze locked onto Solomon, seated upon the throne. This was no longer mere fanaticism or obsession—it was the cold decision-making of a commander.
Upon hearing these words, for the first time, the mocking expression left Young Gil's face. He put away his lollipop, and a genuine seriousness appeared in his red eyes. It was as though he was recognizing anew this embodiment of "human evil."
"…Is that so?" he murmured, deep in thought.
"You have finally transformed—from an inhuman beast driven only by ambition and dreams—into a true King of Men."
He snorted.
Goetia's ambiguous reply was tacit acceptance of the comment.
"Excellent!"
Young Gil's face lit up again, yet now his smile was no longer mischievous, but alight with pure excitement and fighting spirit in face of a worthy opponent.
"If that's the case, then there's no room for laziness!"
"As King, let me show you my true serious side!"
He felt now was the perfect moment. Above all else, the longing to fight for real—a longing suppressed for ten years since his fourth battle with Steve—now blazed up entirely!
Tired of watching from the sidelines, he was ready to step onto this grand stage himself!
"Come forth, my secret elixir!"
With his shout, golden ripples spread around him. From them burst forth a delicate, transparent glass vial engraved with serpent-like patterns.
He grabbed the vial and, without hesitation, smashed it.
This was the legendary Resurrection Perfume, a secret elixir from the Age of Gods, rumored to return the soul to the peak of its glory.
Next, dense, sweetly scented pink mist erupted from the broken vial, enveloping his small body.
Within the mystical mist, time itself seemed to surge and flow.
Before everyone's eyes, his diminutive body began to grow, childish voice deepening into a charming baritone, and those cunning red eyes transformed into the regal gaze of a lion ruling over all things, alight with overwhelming power and majesty.
When the mist cleared, the Heroic King—now more magnificent and dignified than ever, clad in shining golden armor—stood at the center of the Temple of Time.
His spirit reverted—from that mischievous youth to the adult form of the King of Uruk.
Moreover, through a combination of the divine elixir's catalytic effect and some hidden artifice, he surpassed his former limits, attaining—for a time—the supreme domain of the Grand Archer!
"Hahahahaha!"
Gilgamesh unleashed a haughty laugh so loud, the entire Temple of Time shook.
"It's been so long since I felt like this—this sense of omnipotence, as if I could grasp the entire world with my own hands!"
He turned his gaze to the other side—to Lord Logres, who stood with the holy sword raised and myriad rays of starlight blazing from its blade.
He could sense the enemy's Noble Phantasm was fully charged, ready to unleash an attack that would annihilate the world.
"Excellent! Truly excellent!"
"Knight King, paragon of Albion! Face me if you dare!"
Gilgamesh raised his right hand, and golden ripples fanned out behind him like a peacock's tail.
Yet this time, what appeared was not sword or spear or halberd, but a gigantic golden bow, apparently crafted from the World Tree's branches!
The bow was covered with magical patterns reminiscent of the galaxy itself.
Upon its massive string, there swiftly coalesced a golden arrow embodying the Sumerian concept of creation—until finally, all the chaos and light fused into a single, primordial star, seemingly on the verge of exploding.
This was his new Noble Phantasm, hidden in the depths of his treasury, more powerful even than Ea—a weapon he could wield only as Grand Archer: "Utu Duranki: The Arrowhead That Carves Open Creation's Dawn"
Its origin lay in the arrow used by the Sumerian war god Marduk to slay the mother of creation, Tiamat.
He raised his hand. The great bow automatically drew back amid enormous ripples. He aimed the Primordial Star at the opposing Knight King, intoning an ancient true name like a divine oracle:
"Nameless in Heaven. Nameless on Earth. I shall bestow you the first strike of Sumer's beginning! It's time to rend all before me! O great bow of Marduk!"
At the same time, from the opposite side, Lord Logres also raised the holy sword, now gathering the breath of the entire planet within her grasp.
Her clear, calm, and dignified voice resounded throughout the entire temple:
"Converge, breath of the planet. Show a brilliant future. Victory is in my hands! Excalibur Excelsus!!!"
As their incantations ended, the two Grand Servants unleashed their supreme attacks at once!
On one side—the Primordial Star symbolizing pioneering and creation, mercilessly tearing through space, threatening to erase all things back into the Nothingness before the world's birth.
On the other, the dazzling pillar of light symbolizing protection and ideal, establishing law everywhere it passed, striving to shield all within the bounds of Human Order.
Destruction and Protection—the two supreme but opposite forces—clashed violently at the center of the Temple of Time!
In that instant, there was neither sound nor light. As though the entire world was stripped of both hearing and sight.
Immediately after, from the point of collision burst forth an ineffable storm of energy, powerful enough to rend the very world apart.
The entire temple—an EX-rank reality marble, existing only within imaginary space and created by the Demon King—groaned, shaking violently under the impact!
…