The light of the Rayshift dissipated, and with it, the familiar sterility of Chaldea was replaced by something completely different. Leonel blinked, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the blinding brightness. When they did, what he saw left him breathless for a moment.
Desert.
As far as the eye could see, there were only dunes of golden sand stretching out like petrified waves on an infinite ocean. The sun, relentless, beat down upon them, and the heat was so intense that the very air seemed to vibrate, creating mirages on the horizon. A warm, dry wind kicked up small whirlwinds of sand that swirled at their feet.
"Wow...", Tamamo murmured, raising a hand to her forehead to shield herself from the sun. Her fox ears twitched slightly, uncomfortable with the heat. "This is hardly the cozy paradise one likes."
Jeanne Alter snorted, the black fire on her fists flickering weakly, as if even it found the environment hostile. "A desert. Great. Just what we needed."
Jeanne Ruler, in her white armor, seemed like a ghostly vision against the infinite yellow. "The Holy Land... I didn't expect it to be like this." Her voice was soft, but her eyes scanned the horizon with a mix of respect and apprehension.
Mash stayed close to Leonel, her shield ready even though no enemies were in sight. "Senpai, Da Vinci-chan's readings indicated two kingdoms, but this... it's just desert. Where are Camelot and the Egyptian kingdom?"
Leonel remembered the distorted maps. "They must be beyond. The desert is huge, and sandstorms might be hiding them." He looked around, assessing. "We need to move forward and find a landmark."
Mordred, with her usual defiant attitude, stepped forward. "So, we walk? Because at this rate, we'll melt before we get anywhere."
It was then that Artoria Pendragon (Lancer Alter) did something no one expected.
With a minimal gesture of her hand, a rune shimmered in the air and, out of nowhere, a mount materialized. It wasn't a common horse. It was a creature with a ghostly appearance, with black armor and a mane that seemed made of shadows and ice. Its eyes glowed with a cold light, and its breath formed small crystals of frost in the scorching air.
Without a word, Artoria mounted with the natural grace of a warrior queen. Then, she extended her hand towards Leonel.
"Get on," she ordered, her voice flat but undeniable.
Leonel blinked. "Huh?"
"We don't have time to walk," Artoria said, her golden eyes fixed on him with an intensity that brooked no argument. "The mount is fast. You come with me. The others can follow or find their own means."
It was an order, not a suggestion. And before Leonel could fully process it, Artoria leaned over, grabbed his arm with surprising strength, and in a fluid motion, hoisted him onto the mount, placing him right in front of her.
Leonel suddenly found himself sitting on the creature's rump, his back pressed against Artoria's chest. Her armor was cold to the touch, but through the metal, he could feel the solidity of her body, the strength contained in every muscle. And right behind his head, level with his shoulders, were her breasts. Huge, firm, pressed against his back by their position. There was no real intimacy, the armor was a barrier, but the sensation of their volume, their closeness, was absolutely inescapable.
Leonel's face flushed like a torch. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, which had nothing to do with the desert sun. Every slight movement of the mount made the contact readjust, made the pressure change, sending tiny electric shocks down his spine.
"It's... it's not necessary...", he stammered, trying to sit up, but Artoria's arm, wrapped around his waist to hold him, kept him firmly in place.
"Be still," she said, her voice low and close, right behind his ear. Her breath, cool despite the heat, brushed against his nape. "You would fall."
Leonel went rigid, afraid to breathe. He was trapped. Literally and figuratively. Trapped between the arms of a warrior queen from Arthurian legend, with her breasts pressed against his back and her voice whispering in his ear.
The reaction from the others was immediate and spectacular.
Tamamo no Mae was the first to explode. Her ears perked up, her tails puffed up like balloons, and her golden eyes shot sparks. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! That's my position! My place! I'm the one who should be carrying my husband!"
Jeanne Alter wasn't far behind. Black fire erupted around her, forming an aura of fury. "Let him go, ice queen! You have no right to... to...!" She couldn't finish the sentence, the image of Leonel so close to Artoria blocking her thoughts.
Mordred stood with her mouth open, her expression a mix of disbelief and, strangely, a pang of something she didn't want to acknowledge. "Father?! What the hell are you doing?! You don't even like people getting close to you!"
Jeanne Ruler blushed intensely, her hands clasped in a nervous prayer gesture. "T-this is... inappropriate... but... but perhaps it's necessary for the group's efficiency..." She murmured, not convincing herself.
Only Mash maintained her composure, although a faint blush adorned her cheeks. "Artoria-san... don't you think you should have consulted with Senpai first...?"
Artoria Lancer Alter ignored the uproar completely. Her face remained impassive, her eyes fixed on the horizon. With a slight movement of her heels, the mount began to move forward, leaving the others behind.
"Follow or stay," she said without turning around. "I have no time for childish arguments."
Leonel, from his privileged (and terribly compromising) position, could only raise a hand in a gesture of apology as they rode away. "I'm sorry! I didn't ask for this! Really!"
Tamamo, Jeanne Alter, and the others stood in the sand, dumbfounded, as they watched their beloved ride away in the (literal) arms of the competition. It was a humiliating tactical defeat.
"No way...", Tamamo murmured, clenching her fists. "She beat us by... by having a mount. That's cheating!"
"Idiot!", Jeanne Alter shouted into the void. "When he comes back, I'm going to... to claim my turn!" She blushed upon realizing what she had said.
Mordred, for her part, just shook her head, an ironic smile on her lips. "Well, well. Turns out the old 'father' knows how to play her cards after all." She couldn't help but feel a strange pride in Artoria's cunning, even if it was in such an... absurd field.
Thus began the journey through the desert of the Sixth Singularity. Leonel, riding in front of Artoria, enduring (or enjoying, depending on the moment) the constant contact of her body, while the others ran (or tried to keep pace) behind, throwing murderous glances at the ice queen's back.
The landscape was monotonous. Dunes, dunes, and more dunes. The sun didn't move, as if it were eternally at its zenith, punishing them without mercy. The only variation was the intensity of the wind, which sometimes raised clouds of sand that reduced visibility to zero.
Perhaps twenty minutes had passed (or an hour, it was impossible to know precisely in that golden hell) when Leonel, squinting against the wind, saw something on the horizon.
"Over there!", he exclaimed, pointing. "I see something!"
Artoria stopped the mount, and the others approached, panting from the effort of running after them. In the distance, through the curtain of sand the wind was raising, silhouettes could be discerned. They weren't dunes. They were structures. One, imposing, rose towards the sky with perfect, ancient geometry: a pyramid. In the Egyptian style, with its sharp point and smooth faces that, even from a distance, seemed to absorb the sunlight.
And beyond, almost hidden by the storm, another shape could be guessed. Not a pyramid, but a city. A city of white walls and tall towers, gleaming with a supernatural brightness. Camelot.
"Two kingdoms," Tamamo murmured, momentarily forgetting her jealousy in the face of the magnitude of the discovery. "Just as they said."
"Egyptian and British," Mordred added, with a grimace. "Quite a pair. This is going to be fun."
Suddenly the sandstorm intensified, the wind howling more fiercely and visibility dropping to just a few meters. Leonel coughed, covering his mouth with his arm. "We have to push towards them! We can't stay here!"
Artoria nodded and spurred her mount. The others hurried to follow, although the sand made every step difficult. It was in the midst of that storm, with the world reduced to a golden whirlwind, that they heard the sounds.
They weren't the howls of the wind. They were shouts. Human voices (or Servants') mixed with the noise of scuffles and the clashing of weapons against something.
"Over there! Something's moving!" Mash shouted, pointing to one side.
Through the curtain of sand, they saw a group of figures. There were five or six, dressed in dark clothes that blended with the storm. The most distinctive thing was their masks. Skull masks, white and macabre, covering their faces completely. Hassan. Members of the Order of Assassins.
They were struggling with something... or someone. Among them, they carried a large cloth bag that moved and writhed violently. The bag wasn't just moving: it was fighting. From inside came kicks, punches, and what seemed like attempts to bite through the fabric, all accompanied by muffled, indignant shouts.
"Mmmmph! Mmmmmmph!" was the sound the bag emitted, clearly someone gagged and furious.
One of the Hassans received such a well-placed kick through the fabric that he was sent flying backward, crashing into a dune. Another tried to hold the bag from above, but an invisible elbow struck him in the mask, making him stagger.
It was a comical, almost absurd scene. A group of professional assassins being defeated by a cloth bag writhing like an enraged animal. But finally, working together, they managed to subdue the bag and began to move away with it, while the fallen ones got up and followed.
Leonel didn't hesitate. "Stop them!"
His Servants acted instantly. Artoria spurred her mount, launching herself at the Hassans. Mordred drew Clarent with a fierce smile. Jeanne Alter already had black fire in her hands. Tamamo began weaving a spell. Mash raised her shield to protect Leonel in case of a counterattack.
The battle was quick and uneven. The Hassans, though skilled, were no match for a group of elite Servants. Artoria, from her mount, took down two with a single sweep of her lance. Mordred faced another, her sword singing in the air. Jeanne Alter incinerated a third (literally, turned him to ashes that the wind carried away). Tamamo trapped another with a spirit vine spell. And the last one, seeing the massacre, tried to flee, but an arrow of light (from whom, none saw, but probably from some archer in the dunes) struck him in the back, disintegrating him.
Within seconds, the assailants had been eliminated. The bag fell to the ground, still writhing, though less violently now that its captors were gone.
Leonel dismounted (with some relief and a hint of regret) and approached the bag. Artoria followed, her lance ready just in case. The others formed a protective circle.
"It's okay, we're here to help," Leonel said, trying to calm whoever was inside. He knelt down and began to untie the ropes that closed the bag.
When the opening was large enough, a face emerged.
It was a young girl, with skin bronzed by the desert sun and dark, silky hair falling in waves around her face. Her eyes were large and expressive, a deep amber color, and at that moment they were full of fury, confusion, and wounded pride. She didn't have the exaggerated physical attributes of Artoria or Tamamo; her figure was slimmer, more delicate, but she radiated an innate dignity, a royalty that transcended proportions.
Leonel recognized her instantly. Memories from his previous life, from the game he knew so well, flashed the name to him.
Nitocris. The Pharaoh of Ancient Egypt. A powerful Caster, although at this moment, tied and gagged, she didn't look very pharaonic.
"It's okay, it's over," Leonel said, offering a reassuring smile as he finished freeing her from the ropes and removed the gag.
Nitocris's reaction was... immediate and intense.
The moment her hands were free, she jumped back like a startled cat, her eyes scanning the group with a mix of fear and fury. But the fear lasted only a second. Quickly, her expression transformed into one of supreme indignation.
"H-HOW DARE YOU?!", she shouted, her voice high-pitched and trembling with rage. She jumped to her feet, striking a pose that tried to be imposing despite her disheveled clothes and sand-covered hair. "I am Nitocris! A Pharaoh of Ancient Egypt! And you... you dare to... to...!"
She raised a hand, pointing accusingly at Leonel. "Surely this was all a plan! Kidnap me to... to do all sorts of disrespectful and unmentionable things to me that cannot be mentioned before a Pharaoh like me! It's a conspiracy! I knew it! Everyone wants a piece of me!"
Leonel blinked, bewildered by the torrent of accusations. "Wait, no, we rescued you from those guys with masks. The Hassans. The ones who had you in the bag."
"Lies!", Nitocris shrieked, her eyes filling with tears of frustration. "You have masks too! Masks of... of normal faces! It's a trick!"
"But... we don't have masks," Mash tried to explain gently. "We're travelers. We heard the noises and came to help."
"Help! Ha! The last person who said they wanted to 'help' put me in a bag!", Nitocris exclaimed, her logic clearly clouded by panic and wounded pride. "I don't trust anyone! I'm a Pharaoh! I am sufficient unto myself!"
Tamamo sighed, rubbing her temple. "Look, girl, calm down. We don't want to hurt you. In fact, we did you a favor. You could say thank you instead of shouting."
"Don't call me 'girl'!", Nitocris retorted, her face flushed with anger. "And I don't have to thank some kidnappers with fake faces!" She took a step back and raised both hands. "If you don't leave, I'll be forced to use force! And you don't want to see me angry!"
Leonel raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Calm down, really, we just want to..."
But Nitocris wasn't listening. She was too upset, too scared, and her Pharaoh's pride wouldn't let her back down. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating, and began to recite a spell.
"By the power of the heavens and the earth! By the glory of the Pharaohs of Upper and Lower Egypt! I summon the guardian of the tombs, the devourer of souls! SPHINX!"
The air around her vibrated. The sand began to swirl, forming a whirlpool that grew and grew until, with a roar that shook the desert, a creature emerged from its center.
It was a Sphinx. Not the small, tamable one from some tales, but a colossal beast, with the body of a lion, wings of an eagle, and a humanoid face with severe, imposing features. Its eyes glowed with a golden light, and its power was undeniable, a magical pressure that made the air feel heavy.
Nitocris, now behind the beast, pointed a trembling but triumphant finger at Leonel and his group. "Attack, Sphinx! Show them the power of a true Pharaoh!"
The Sphinx roared and lunged at them.
"No choice," Leonel sighed, activating his Magic Circuits. "Defend yourselves! But try not to kill it! Just immobilize it!"
"I'm not promising anything," Mordred growled, charging at the beast with Clarent raised.
The battle against the Sphinx was intense, though not impossible. The creature was powerful, its claws capable of pulverizing rock and its wings raising hurricane-force winds. But Leonel's Servants were top-tier.
Artoria Lancer Alter faced it head-on, her lance clashing against the beast's claws with sparks of ice and power. Mordred flanked, looking for weak points in its legs. Jeanne Alter hurled bursts of black fire that made the Sphinx recoil, though its magical skin resisted the damage. Tamamo wove support spells, slowing the creature's movements and enhancing the others' attacks. Mash protected Leonel, deflecting the energy projectiles the Sphinx occasionally launched.
Jeanne Ruler, with her banner, tried to calm the beast, to use her authority as a Ruler to impose order, but the Sphinx was under the direct control of Nitocris and her fury, and it didn't respond to reason.
Leonel, from behind Mash's shield, watched the battle, his mind analyzing every move. The Sphinx was powerful, but its fighting style was predictable. It used its size and brute strength, but lacked the cunning of a more experienced opponent. If they could immobilize it...
But then, something changed.
A silver flash crossed the battlefield. It was so fast that even the Servants' eyes couldn't follow it. They only saw the result: a perfect, clean, surgical cut that sliced through the Sphinx's neck from side to side.
The giant beast stood still for an instant. Then, with a pitiful groan, its body began to disintegrate into motes of golden light, dissolving into the air as if it had never existed.
Everyone turned towards the source of the attack.
There, standing on the sand, a silver sword in his hand and a stoic expression on his face, was a man. His hair was silver, almost white, tied back in a low ponytail. He wore light armor, blue and silver, and his face, though young, bore the marks of an ancient weariness, a deep sadness that no number of battles could erase.
Leonel recognized him instantly. His heart skipped a beat.
Bedivere. The most loyal knight of King Arthur. The man who, after the Battle of Camlann, had returned the sword Excalibur to the lake, fulfilling his king's last wish. A tragic character, trapped in a cycle of guilt and devotion, seeking redemption.
Bedivere didn't look at them. His eyes were fixed on nothing, or perhaps on something beyond them. He sheathed his sword in an invisible scabbard and turned to leave.
"Wait!", Leonel exclaimed, stepping forward. "Thank you for your help!"
Bedivere stopped but didn't turn around fully. "It was nothing. The beast was interfering with my path." His voice was soft, melancholic, like the whisper of wind through dry leaves.
But then, something caught his attention. He turned his head slightly, and his eyes met Artoria Lancer Alter's.
The impact was immediate.
Bedivere's eyes widened. His body tensed. For a moment, his stoic melancholy transformed into an expression of astonishment, of hope, of an almost painful devotion. He took a step towards her, his hand rising as if to touch an illusion.
"My... my lord?", he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion.
Artoria looked at him with her cold golden eyes, expressionless. There was no recognition in her gaze. Only the distant assessment of a warrior facing a possible opponent.
Bedivere stopped. He blinked. And then, something in his face changed. The hope faded, replaced by a bitter understanding. He slowly shook his head.
"No... you are not." His voice was now a whisper, filled with infinite sadness. "You are different. The armor... the color... the aura. You are not my king. You are... another."
He forced himself to look away from Artoria, as if it took a physical effort. He turned back to Leonel, though without meeting his eyes directly. "I seek the Lion King. The ruler of the white city. If you seek the same, follow the path west. But be careful. That city is not what it seems."
And without another word, he vanished. Simply faded into the air, as if he had never been there, leaving only a trail of silver particles that the wind carried away.
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"What... what was that?", Mordred asked, frowning. "That guy... knew 'father'." She looked at Artoria Lancer Alter with a complex expression. "Or rather, he knew another version of father. The one he's looking for."
Artoria didn't respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the spot where Bedivere had disappeared, and for an instant, something flickered in her gaze. Curiosity? Recognition? It was impossible to know.
Leonel, for his part, did know. He knew who Bedivere was, knew the tragedy he carried, knew he was searching for the Lion King, the divine version of Artoria who ruled Camelot with an iron law. But he couldn't say it. That knowledge was his secret.
It was then that a scream snapped them out of their thoughts.
"WHAAAT?!"
Nitocris was standing there, where the Sphinx had been, her eyes so wide they seemed about to pop out of their sockets. Her face had paled under the tan, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
"My... my Sphinx!", she stammered, pointing at the empty space. "A... a simple knight defeated it! With a single cut! Impossible! It's... it's humiliating!"
She dropped to her knees in the sand, hands on her head, completely overwhelmed by the reality of what she had just witnessed. She had summoned her most powerful guardian, her pride as a Pharaoh, and a stranger had annihilated it like it was nothing.
Tamamo, despite the jealousy and exhaustion, couldn't help but feel a pang of pity. She approached her, though cautiously. "Hey... are you okay?"
Nitocris looked up, and her eyes, now full of tears, met Leonel's. The fury was gone, replaced by a mix of shame and confusion.
"I... I...", she stammered. Then, she took a deep breath, trying to regain some dignity. She stood up, brushed the sand off her clothes (a futile gesture, she was covered in it), and fixed her gaze on Leonel.
"It seems... it seems I was wrong about you," she said, forcing the words out as if it took a superhuman effort to admit it. "You weren't my kidnappers. In fact... you rescued me. And then I... attacked you."
She blushed intensely but continued, with forced dignity. "As a Pharaoh, I must acknowledge my mistakes. And... and apologize. I'm sorry. I was hasty and ungrateful."
Leonel felt immense relief. "Don't worry. Anyone would have been scared in your situation. We're glad you're okay."
Nitocris nodded, a little calmer. Then, as if remembering something, she straightened her back and adopted a posture intended to be majestic. "As a token of my gratitude and to make up for my... error, I offer you hospitality in the lands of my Pharaoh. You can rest, replenish your strength, and perhaps get answers about this place."
Leonel hesitated. The offer was tempting. The desert was exhausting, and an allied base would be invaluable. But his main mission was Camelot. They needed information about the Lion King's kingdom, and the path west, the one Bedivere had mentioned, would lead them directly there.
"We appreciate the offer," Leonel said sincerely. "Truly. But we have to head to Camelot. We need to know what's happening there."
Nitocris nodded, though her expression showed slight disappointment. "I understand. Camelot... is a dangerous place. I've heard rumors. Strange things. But if it's your mission, I cannot stop you." She paused, then added, in a tone that tried to be magnanimous but betrayed her youth and inexperience: "I grant you, then, permission to depart. By my great magnanimity as a Pharaoh, I let you go."
Mordred snorted, suppressing a laugh. "'Grant permission'? Wow, how generous."
Nitocris shot her a glare but didn't respond to the provocation. Instead, she turned back to Leonel and, with a gesture meant to be regal, said: "If you ever return to these lands, or if you need the help of a Pharaoh, you only have to ask. I will apologize properly then. With a banquet. Or something."
Leonel smiled, genuinely grateful. "I'll keep that in mind. Take care, Nitocris."
The Pharaoh nodded, and then, with a flash of light, she vanished, probably teleporting back to her domain. The desert fell silent again, broken only by the whisper of the wind.
Leonel looked towards the west, where the silhouette of Camelot was barely discernible through the sandy haze. Bedivere was there, somewhere. The Lion King awaited them. And the Knights of the Round Table, distorted and lethal, patrolled those lands.
"Well," he said, turning to his group. "We have a path. And a ton of questions. Let's go."
Artoria had already mounted again and, to the consternation of the others, extended her hand to Leonel once more. "Get on."
Leonel sighed. There was no escape. As he felt the warmth (and pressure) of Artoria against his back once again, and as the murderous glares from Tamamo and Jeanne Alter bored into the back of his neck, the group resumed their march.
Camelot awaited them. And with it, the next chapter in this war for humanity's history.