Meanwhile, on a plain in eastern Britain, far from North Wales.
Acrid smoke blackened the sky, and the crackle of burning trees echoed from all sides. The stench of blood and burning flesh stung the nostrils, pressing down on the battlefield.
It was the army led by Artoria.
The fierce assault they had launched on a Saxon settlement had ended in what was essentially a one-sided massacre.
The problem was that this place was not merely a military outpost.
At the heart of the settlement lay elderly villagers, stabbed in the back by spears as they tried to flee with their belongings; women, unable to raise weapons, burned to death in each other's arms; and the bloodstains of trampled children starkly visible.
The horror of slaughtering not only the combatants but also the Saxon civilians who had crossed into Britain, set up homes, and tried to settle there.
Artoria leaned on her blood-dripping holy sword, [Excalibur], like a staff, staring numbly at the hellscape before her.
"…Is this really the path of a king meant to save Britain?"
Though she had waded through countless battlefields and been soaked in blood, the blade felt unbearably heavy now, its tip having cut down disarmed women and children. Her clear green eyes twisted with profound anguish and guilt.
At that moment, Goplet, who had been directing the troops, wiped blood off his armor and approached her side.
"Please, Your Majesty, do not dwell on it. This was perfectly just and proper."
There was not a hint of remorse in Goplet's voice. Instead, he looked coldly down at the strewn corpses and spoke firmly.
"These are not mere unlucky civilians. They are shameless invaders who stole our fertile lands, enslaved our people, and set up their homes. We are the true victims. If a thief breaks into your house and helps himself to your table, what reason is there to pity his wife and children?"
Gawain, the Knight of the Sun who had been trailing behind Artoria, could not stand it and stepped forward.
"Sir Goplet, you have spent so long fighting defensive battles behind the secure, sturdy walls of Orkney that you seem unaware of the true blood-soaked history flowing through these British lands."
"What did you say?"
"This is not merely a territorial war but an extermination fight for the survival of a people! Have you already forgotten the will of our great British hero, Queen Boudica?"
Goplet invoked the avenging spirit from the distant past, who rose against the oppression of the Roman Empire.
"When Queen Boudica sacked Londinium, she spared not a single one of the armed Roman soldiers, the foreign merchants living there, the women, the elderly, or even the children—she turned them all to ashes! That was Britain's true vengeance against invaders and a warning to future generations: it eradicated all chances of reprisal!"
"But…!"
"We have no need to uphold chivalry toward the Saxon bastards! If we show mercy to those children and let them live, in a dozen years they will take up the sword and return, demanding vengeance for their parents and slitting the throats of our people. To eliminate all future threats, we must uproot that filthy seed entirely—never again allowing them a foothold on these lands! That is the only way to secure peace for Britain!"
As Goplet represented the grim reality of the battlefield and Gawain championed ideal chivalry, their bloody argument echoed across the plain without end.
"…Please stop. Both of you."
A quiet but resolute voice came from behind Artoria's back.
It was Artoria's younger sister, Lily, clad in her pure white dress-armor.
On her face—usually endlessly gentle and polite—now lay deep fatigue and sorrow. The hem of her white dress-armor was stained with Saxon blood and black ash.
"The battle is over. Everyone is exhausted. Debate about right and wrong while you're back at the barracks, not here in this blood-soaked air. For now, please all return and rest."
At Lily's polite yet firm command, Gawain and Goplet bit their lips and lowered their heads.
"…As you command. We will fall back."
"Your Majesty, please preserve your health."
The knights and soldiers withdrew with heavy steps, and in the center of the ruined settlement, only Artoria and Lily, the two sisters, remained alone.
As silence fell around them, Artoria let out a heavy sigh and turned to Lily.
"…I'm sorry, Lily, for showing you such horror. I'm okay, so don't worry too much. Lily, are you hurt anywhere?"
As queen and as an elder sister, she forced out a comforting smile to soothe her younger sibling.
But the moment Lily saw that smile, the last thread of rationality she had been holding onto snapped.
"How… how could I possibly be okay…?"
Thick tears fell from Lily's large eyes. She let the bloodstained [Caliburn] drop to the ground and covered her face with both hands.
"Is this truly right…? Simply because they are invaders, are we to judge even those living children who breathe and feel warmth… does that really mean anything? I… I don't know. Every time I swing my sword, it feels as though my fingertips rot away in a curse…"
Lily's slender shoulders trembled as she wept uncontrollably.
For this pure-hearted girl—who had once lived in the forest under Kay's warm care, dreaming of flowers and noble knighthood—this merciless massacre was an unbearable, horrific trauma.
"It is at times like this… on a battlefield as hellish and frigid as this… that I miss my brother so much."
Lily collapsed to the ground and wailed bitterly.
"If Brother had been here… he would have told us to stop this madness at once, wiped the blood from our hands, asked if we were hurt, and patted our heads. Sob, waaah…!"
Brother. Kay.
When Lily uttered that name, Artoria felt something within her chest collapse as well.
Artoria dropped to her knees on the cold earth and held Lily tightly in her arms. Feeling her sister's warmth, Artoria stared blankly up at the ash-stained gray sky.
"What… what have I done?"
Five years ago that day.
When Kay disappeared, she faced two choices.
One was to abandon everything and, like her other sisters, set out to find her beloved brother.
And the other was to willingly wade through blood and become king to protect the people of Britain.
She chose the latter—for the day her brother would return, she wanted to show him a peaceful and beautiful Britain.
But what was the reality? Under the pretext of preserving peace, her holy sword had become an execution instrument slaughtering enemy children.
Lily, whom Kay had cherished and raised, was now weeping with blood on her hands, and Artoria herself was turning into an emotionless killing machine.
"…I may have been wrong."
From Artoria's lips came a frail lament she had never voiced in all five years.
"Choosing to become king… that arrogance of thinking I could save the world… it was what drove us into this hell."
She squeezed her eyes shut as hot tears mixed with the cold ones streamed down her cheeks.
If that day she had disregarded Merlin's nonsense and thrown Britain to the wolves to search for Kay—
At least Lily would not now be crushed under this terrible weight of blood, crying in my arms.
It was cruel even to her, who, unlike the other sisters, had stayed by her side.
A relentless remorse tore her heart to shreds.
On this ash heap without victory or glory, the mighty King Arthur and the pure white princess knight clung to one another, grieving for their lost sun (Kay), and nothing but tears fell endlessly.
As the two sisters sank into the mire of despair—
"Everyone! What are you doing here?"
From the entrance of the ruined settlement came the voice of a girl, clear and bouncy.
Startled, Artoria and Lily turned their heads to see Gareth, still their seven-year-old niece, but somehow looking like an early adolescent, standing there.
"G-Gareth…? Aren't you supposed to be resting at the tent? Where have you been?"
Artoria hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve and asked. Gareth grinned mischievously and slipped her wet hands behind her back.
"Oh! It's nothing! I saw a pretty parrot that could talk in the woods, so I followed it for a bit and then washed my hands in the stream! But why are both of your eyes so red? Have you been crying?"
Gareth tilted her head with an innocent expression, as if she knew nothing.
"...No. It's just the ash and smoke irritating my eyes. Now, let's quickly head back to the barracks."
Artoria forced a smile and patted Gareth's head.
Gareth giggled, washed her bloodstained hands, then took her two sisters' hands and walked toward the barracks.
The tragic choice made five years ago, triggered by none other than Merlin's lie.
The one who brought news of Kay's return was slain by Gareth right before their eyes, yet unaware of that fact, only Artoria and Lily had been marching on in deep despair.
A mistimed moment and a cruel truth.
And at that same moment—
"What, sex!?"
"No, Alter…"
"Brother Kay, is it true that while I was gone I had sex with those guys!?"
"Well, I mean, yeah, but…?"
"Oh my, doesn't she still smell like an old maid virgin?"
"Exactly. Someone with those big tits and still a virgin— they say that's what rotting looks like? Heh heh."
"You fucking bitches!!!"
Meanwhile, a melodrama of jealousy was unfolding in North Wales.