The journey had already stretched to a year.
It had been half a year since Bedivere's mercenary company joined them. Artoria's party had overcome countless hardships and now reached the Slith Peninsula on the Isle of Skye in northwest Britain.
Jagged cliffs, carved by savage waves, loomed before them, while ashen mist cloaked the coast like the world's edge.
They set up camp in a small fishing village called Tokabeig.
"Brother! Look at these pretty shells!"
"Got it, Lily. I'll pick them up later."
It was their first real rest in a long time.
Artoria and her sisters were busy resupplying their dwindling provisions under the warm welcome of the villagers and gauging the local sentiment.
Bedivere and his soldiers, polishing their gear, reveled in a rare moment of peace.
Seizing the lull, Kay quietly slipped away from the group, cradling Gareth—who was just starting to toddle—in his arms.
"Gareth, how about some sea fishing with Uncle today? Let's catch something big to roast for your sisters."
"Wheee! Fishies!"
Kay settled on the rocky shore of Roc Eashot.
The crash of waves, the briny scent of the sea.
He cast his fishing line and smiled as he watched Gareth digging in the sand.
It was an utterly peaceful moment, a rare reprieve from a daily grind of war, childcare, and cooking.
But that peace was merely the prelude to the storm about to break.
"Hey there, wet-nurse knight. Slacking off again?"
A familiar voice drifted from behind, but it carried a strangely dry, chilling resonance far different from its usual playful tone.
Merlin approached him slowly.
"Slacking off? Hardly. I'm securing provisions. Gotta catch fish to feed the kids."
Kay responded gruffly without even turning around.
Silently, Merlin came to stand at his side. Tapping his staff, he pointed toward distant ruins on the foggy cliff above.
"Do you know what those castle ruins are, Kay?"
"No idea. Just a pile of crumbled stones. Are you telling me it's worth anything?"
Merlin's voice dropped to a low timbre, laced with an inexplicable, uncanny mana.
"That is [Dún Scaith]. In ancient Gaelic, it means 'Fortress of Shadows.'"
He paused, his gaze empty as he stared off into the void.
"This place was once a training ground in the distant Age of Gods, where Celtic champions like Prince of Light [Cú Chulainn], Fergus, and Ferdiad risked their lives to hone their skills. Of course, that was on another plane. The key point is…"
Merlin fell silent, his vacant eyes fixed on nothingness.
"The boundary between life and death, the [Shadow Realm]. It was a gate to the land of shadows."
"…So? Why am I getting a history lesson all of a sudden?"
Kay yawned as if bored. Legends didn't feed Gareth.
"That fortress was originally the palace of the Scythian king. But when his daughter and heir was exiled into the [Shadow Realm], the castle fell to ruin, leaving only myths behind. Now it's forbidden ground, untouched by human feet, where the back side of the world meets our own."
"Cut the fairy-tale crap. If I'm hungry, just give me some bread…"
As Kay reached into his pocket for bread, everything changed in an instant.
Crack!!
An indescribable shock slammed into Kay's solar plexus.
Forget defense or evasion—there was no time to think. It was raw violence of colossal force, delivered with the might of something far beyond human strength.
He'd been impaled by a staff thrust, the force shattering his ribs.
"Ugh, huff…!!"
Kay couldn't even cry out. His breath was knocked from his lungs as his body flew backward like a projectile and smashed into the sand.
Tasting metallic blood in his mouth, he heard the dull crunch of his ribs.
"Guh, cough…."
Clutching his chest with trembling hands, he forced his head up.
His vision blurred, but set against the haze, Merlin still stood there.
No smile, no anger. No emotion at all.
Like a person crushing an ant without a second thought, he merely looked down at Kay with absolute indifference.
"Sorry, Kay. But you… are too much of an obstacle."
"You… you son of… what… did you…."
"You're the biggest blot on the king's growth, the thorn in his ideal rise to perfection."
Merlin dusted off his staff and walked toward him.
"A king must be lonely and merciless. He must sacrifice a few for his people and kill his emotions for the greater good. With you at his side, those girls will stay forever as doting little sisters. As long as they have you as their warm refuge, they'll never become the Iron King."
"What… bullshit are you… telling me… cough!"
Kay tried to push himself up, but Merlin slammed his staff into the ground again.
Vwoooom!
An immense weight pressed down on Kay's entire body. Not even a finger could move.
"It's your fault, Kay. You were born ordinary, yet you insisted on standing among geniuses."
Merlin smiled with cruel kindness.
"A talentless man daring to stand by heroes, trying to fill the gap with nothing but effort. Your arrogance and devotion that blind you to reality only makes them weaker. If you want someone to blame, blame yourself for being mediocre."
"You… you demon…!!"
Kay spat bloody saliva, but Merlin ignored him and began chanting an incantation.
Crackle!
Behind Kay, the air above the sea tore open in black rifts.
This wasn't mere teleportation. It was a dimensional isolation spell, opening a gate to the back side of the world.
From within blew a cold wind, reeking of death and not of this realm.
"Oh, and by the way, unlike in the past, this place has become inaccessible to most. Not even fairies or spirits can enter or escape now. I've drained quite a bit of my mana just opening this crack."
Merlin smiled broadly and scooped Gareth up from where he was toddling toward Kay.
"No! Gareth!! Leave the child alone!!"
Kay shrieked, bloodied hands reaching out.
But Merlin, cradling Gareth, waved Kay away as if sorting trash.
"Don't worry. I'll raise this child into an excellent knight—one of the perfect Knights of the Round Table, now that the impurity that is you is gone. Morgana herself would care little without you anyway. The king's children are tools to be used for the cause; she maintains an ideal-king stance, just like a true disciple."
"Merliiiiin!!!"
"Farewell, wet-nurse knight. May you find… eternal rest there."
Gwoooom!
A tremendous suction force pulled Kay in. He could not resist—an eddy of magic that defied gravity.
In his last sight, Merlin's expressionless face faded, and beside him, Gareth looked on, utterly unaware.
"Aaaahhh!!!"
His scream was swallowed by the jet-black void.
Moments later, the rift sealed, and only the sound of waves remained on the shore.
"…Whew."
Merlin turned away as if nothing had happened, gently rocking Gareth.
"Now then, it's time to return and deliver the sad news: that Knight Kay stumbled off the cliff by accident, fell into the sea, and was swept to another realm. Sad, isn't it? But even that sorrow will serve as the foundation for the king-to-be."
The inhuman mage hummed a tune and strolled back toward the village.
"Gasp! Gasp! cough"
Kay opened his eyes on a cold, stone floor.
Every breath felt like his lungs were torn apart.
He looked around.
The sky was ashen, with neither sun nor moon. The air was heavy and murky, bereft of any living pulse—a land of death.
This was the boundary between life and death, the [Shadow Realm].
"Damn… damn it!! You cursed demon child!!"
Kay slammed his fist into the floor. It bled, but he barely felt the pain.
Rage surged through him, his body trembling with betrayal.
But what terrified him more was the thought of the sisters and Gareth waiting alone for him.
"I have to get out. Somehow… I have to get back!"
He staggered to his feet.
His legs shook, his vision blurred, but he refused to stop.
Surely there was an exit somewhere. He vowed he would survive and return to tear out that mage's hair strand by strand.
Then—
Whoosh!
A red meteor plummeted from the sky.
No, it wasn't a meteor. It was a human-shaped red light.
Kaboom!
"Grrk?!"
The light struck Kay square in the abdomen.
Like being hit by a massive siege engine, he was flung to the ground again. His barely gathered strength shattered anew.
Through the cloud of dust, a figure emerged.
"…Weak."
A voice cold yet irresistibly absolute.
Kay forced himself to look up through the pain.
Before him stood a woman exuding a palpable aura of death.
She wore skin-tight, dark purple attire, her long hair deeper than the night sky.
Her eyes were a blood-red glare more vivid than any dye.
She held a crimson spear—[Gáe Bolg].
Resting the spear's tip against Kay's throat, she looked down with chilling composure.
"The living have no place here."
Scáthach.
Queen of the [Shadow Realm], instructor of countless heroes, Slayer of even gods—the Celtic greatest Deathmaker.
"I don't know how you entered, but forget any thought of leaving alive. This is the field of the dead."
The spear pressed into his windpipe, a single drop of blood crawling down.
She was a being of death incarnate, devoid of any malice beyond the phenomenon of death itself.
Yet Kay's eyes did not dull.
"Don't be ridiculous…."
He clenched his teeth, glaring up at the queen.
"I have to go back. My sisters… my family is waiting!"
At that desperate, yet unexpected cry, Scáthach's brow twitched.
"Oh?"
An intrigued smile curled at the edge of her lips.
Many had fallen here begging to be saved, but none had ever shouted like this.
"That look… not bad. For a man of middling talent."
Scáthach kept her spear poised and declared coldly:
"Very well. Let's see how far your persistence takes you. Welcome to Hell, stranger."
After sending off her last disciples centuries ago, the witch had fallen into a cold indifference to human hearts. But today, she felt something akin to interest.
"I shall take you as my disciple."
"What?"
"Do not disappoint me."