From that first clash, a dozen more followed in the span of a breath. Blade struck blade. Sparks scattered across the field, and the shriek of riven metal rang out like a cry of anguish.
I turned aside the storm of blows as they came. Then, when the mad knight brought his sword down in a stroke meant to cleave me in twain, I drove upward with my own blade, prana surging through it in a burst of force.
Our Strength was equal. Yet my sword bore [Mana Burst] besides. That alone was enough to hurl him into the air.
I cast him back, watched him twist himself upright in midair, and saw him land upon the earth. The next instant, I clutched my throbbing side.
"Damnation. My wounds... and worse, the affinity of our blades is against me."
Though the exchange had been brief, the violence of it had already begun to drag at my injuries.
And then there was the sword he wielded—[Arondight].
Though corrupted by the wielder's own depravity, it still retained the nature of a holy sword. In life, it had borne the legend of dragon-slaying. Against one such as I, who possessed a dragon's heart, it was a most ill-starred match.
"...And what of it?"
Steadying my sword once more, I swung at the beast as he charged with a cry steeped in madness. The blades met again, and sparks flew in a radiant shower.
I possessed the martial discipline I had forged through all the years of my life. If his was a sword raised high by inborn genius, then mine was a sword tempered by ceaseless labor.
Unlike him, who squandered his gifts in idle indulgence and neglected his training for the sake of women, I had never once allowed my talent to rust. No matter how burdened I had been, I had trained without fail, every single day of my life.
Even if I lagged behind in speed. Even if the affinity of our arms favored him. A man who had scorned effort could not but be outstripped by me in the way of war.
Without a moment's respite, attack and defense crossed between us. Not only swords, but fists, knees, and feet as well—every part of the body became a weapon. Each strike that flew toward the other was deadly enough to decide the battle in a single blow.
"...Good heavens..."
Watching the battle through the monitor, Romani's eyes widened in astonishment.
In truth, he had thought endurance would be Elius's limit. Berserker, Elius, was indeed a hero of renown even within the legends of King Arthur, yet not one whose fame in battle rivaled Lancelot's.
For whereas Lancelot was celebrated as a knight of peerless combat, Elius was remembered chiefly as the pillar who had supported Arthur and the other knights, enabling their deeds to shine. And for a Servant, legend mattered more than one might think.
There did exist a tale that he had once defeated Lancelot. Yet because Elius's image as an administrator had overshadowed all else, scholars had long dismissed it as little more than rumor. Thus Romani had judged this battle to be Lancelot's advantage.
But upon seeing the fight with his own eyes, he was forced to cast aside that belief. One need only look.
At first, the battle had unfolded just as he had expected, with Elius being steadily pressed back. Yet little by little the scales had righted themselves—and now, if anything, it was Elius who was driving his foe into retreat.
"...So the tale that he defeated Lancelot was true after all."
"...History is preserved, yes, but most of it begins as oral tradition rather than written record. And when such tales are finally set down, distortion enters somewhere along the way."
At Da Vinci's words, Romani nodded as though in full agreement. So all the historians of the world had been made fools of, he thought.
And at that very moment, the duel at last neared its end. The Servants who had finished their own battles and freed their hands came rushing in to support Elius.
Lancelot, though already being driven back, tried to withstand the combined assault of the arriving Servants with skill worthy of his name. Yet before long, even he could no longer keep every blow at bay.
He lost both legs beneath the rain of attacks and fell. Even so, with eyes still burning in madness, he glared up at me.
I drove my sword into his chest—precisely into his spiritual core.
Only then, as his body began to dissolve, did the madness fade from his eyes. Yet even stripped of frenzy, his gaze remained full of hatred and wrath as he stared at me.
Looking down upon the wretch who glared as though he would kill me with his eyes alone, I spoke in a voice cold as winter steel.
"It ends here, you accursed traitor. Defile the honor of the Round Table and the King no further."
"If there is a next time, I shall kill you without fail."
"Hah. Even now, you have not come to your senses."
"Gahhh!"
Wet crunch
I twisted the sword buried in Lancelot's chest. He screamed in agony. Watching him, I tore the blade free with brutal force.
As soon as the sword left him, his body began to break apart into particles of prana and scatter upon the wind. Before he vanished completely, I spoke in a low voice.
"For a traitor, there is only death."
"E-Elius, you ba—!"
Thrust
Before he could spit out more nonsense, I drove my sword into his mouth once more. Only then did Lancelot finally vanish in full.
When I saw him wholly reduced to motes of magical light and blown away, the strength left my body at last, and I sank to one knee.
"Elius!"
"...Jeanne."
Just barely managing to keep myself upright by using my sword as a support, I looked up to see Jeanne hurrying toward me, having already slain her own foe. She reached me in haste, examined my condition, and cried out in shock.
"Your body—! You fought in this state all this time? Your internal injuries are severe!"
"It seems... affinity matters more than I thought... cough!"
Though I had raised my sword and blocked [Arondight], resisting the dragon-slaying force it emitted had required me to drive my prana through my body with reckless violence.
I had succeeded, to a degree, in resisting that dragon-slaying power. Yet the price of forcing such violent prana through an already wounded body was grievous internal damage.
Had my Endurance not been so high, I would have been unable to hold out at all and would surely have dissolved on the spot. In any case, after coughing up blood from the severity of my wounds, I looked at Jeanne as she hurriedly wrapped me in her holy mantle and asked,
"More importantly—what became of Fafnir and the Dragon Witch?"
"Is that truly what matters right now!? Your body is—"
"...Jeanne."
At my quiet insistence, Jeanne, as though exasperated beyond words, answered at last.
"...They escaped by spatial transfer. Their preparations on that side were incomplete, and even with Fafnir, our side held the advantage with so many Servants gathered together."
"...That is a relief. Spatial transfer, then... the Holy Grail, I presume."
At my low murmur, Jeanne nodded and said she had reached the same conclusion.
Seeing that, I inclined my head and spoke.
"Then... I leave myself to your care for a while, Jeanne. Beyond this... I can no longer..."
"Yes...? ...Wait, Elius!?"
With a dull collapse, I pitched forward.
Though [Battle Continuation] had carried me this far, my body had already reached its limit. I had driven it onward by sheer obstinacy alone, and now even that final reserve was spent. As I fell forward without strength, Jeanne caught me in her arms, her eyes widening.
"Elius? Eli—"
Within my dimming vision, I heard her voice calling to me in mounting alarm, though it seemed to come from farther and farther away.
She would manage the rest well enough. With that thought, I surrendered myself to the sleep that came rushing in.