"Oh, so you are Artoria? My na is rlin, the Court Mage of Britannia. I have sworn to train you to be as great as Rowe!"
"You must beco an excellent King. You must save Britannia from Vortigern, just like that Roman Adjutant did centuries ago, and bring true peace to this land!"
"Adjutant Rowe... though he never truly sat on the throne, he led Ro to its absolute zenith. I can see that you are worthy of inheriting his power—"
"Arthur, pull out this sword. Beco King, and draw closer to him!"
"O King, unleash the Holy Lance! Show Vortigern the storm-like power of the King of the Wild Hunt, Rowe!"
...
Rowe, Rowe, Rowe...
The girl nad Artoria was a special existence, created through mysterious ans by the half-nightmare, half-human Court Mage and Queen Igraine of Calot, inheriting the blood of the Red Dragon. Since her birth, she had heard that na incessantly.
Initially, it was from her teacher, rlin, the Magus of Flowers.
Later, it ca from the people around her—her friends, her brothers, her subordinates.
He was an ancient figure who had long since passed away.
He was a once-great existence. Magnificent and glorious.
Everyone hoped she would emulate him. Everyone felt she had the right, even the duty, to inherit his will and power. The Artoria of those early days, though she wore a smile, had felt a deep-seated sense of rejection amidst the constant noise.
Rejection. Disgust.
Even a girl destined to be King from birth possessed her own ideals.
She didn't want to be anyone else.
She didn't want to be a re successor to a ghost.
But she had seen the suffering of the people in the northern regions of Britannia, the lands ruled by the usurper Vortigern.
So, despite the rejection in her heart, she moved forward in the direction everyone pointed.
Losing herself. Abandoning herself.
To beco 'King' ant to kill the human heart.
This was Artoria's realization the mont she pulled the Sword in the Stone following King Uther's death, ascending as the new Lord of Calot.
That was what she considered to be her initial King's Road.
—However.
"This is wrong."
After becoming King, Artoria led the warriors of Calot and the knights loyal to her into war against Vortigern, who pressed relentlessly from the north.
In that final confrontation, in accordance with the prayers of her people, Artoria drew the Holy Lance, Rhongomyniad. And in that mont, she heard a voice.
"A King should stand before the people and guide them forward, not beco their puppet."
"A King should embrace their truest self; a King should uphold their most authentic being!"
That was the voice emanating from the texture of the Holy Lance.
It was the will left behind by the person who had forged the Tower at the Ends of the World—a lingering shadow.
Artoria heard it clearly.
In the ti that followed, when she was plagued by anxieties regarding the mysterious fading of Britannia and the encroaching disasters, that voice always lingered in her ears.
It was just a residual will. A phantom left in the world.
The King of Knights was well aware of this.
But it had accompanied her through countless trials. In the long years of gripping the Holy Lance, traversing the stretches of freezing history, that shadow beca Artoria's only pillar.
From rejection to acceptance.
From disgust to habit.
Then to dependence. To affection.
...Longing to approach. To touch his true being.
...
"Though I have never truly t Lord Rowe, I am intimately familiar with your appearance, your voice, and your true form!"
Soaring through the sky, the pale, magnificent steed, Dun Stallion, neighed triumphantly.
The mont she shot into the sky, the King of Knights had shed her cold, silver-white armor, revealing a beauty she had never displayed before her subjects.
Her dark green robe fit snugly, tracing the line of her smooth, flat abdon, while her majestically rising bosom surged against the fabric. Her figure was indescribably mature and alluring, yet at this mont, she clung tightly to Rowe's sacred form.
Not with her back to him.
But face to face.
"Lord Rowe!?"
Rowe looked at the beautiful face so close to his own.
Golden hair swayed in the wind, and azure eyes gazed into his with unwavering intensity. At this mont, Artoria Pendragon was smiling with pure, unadulterated joy.
But Rowe, who understood the cause and effect all too well, only wanted to strangle a certain half-nightmare mage in Avalon.
Such a promising successor.
How did she get so... distorted?!
"It is too late for regrets now—Rowe!"
Artoria saw Rowe's silence. She could guess his thoughts. Though they had never t in the flesh, the King of Knights, having communed with his lingering will for so long, understood Rowe better than almost anyone.
"Though I do not care for rlin, I must thank her for one thing: letting know you!"
"If it were not for the Holy Lance you created, I would never have been able to overco the fated end!"
"—I would only have witnessed the painful decline of Calot!"
Calot's ultimate fate was to disappear. It was the final curtain of the Age of Gods in Britain.
That was inevitable.
But an immutable outco can have different processes. Calot, after the era of King Arthur, could have naturally transitioned to the next dynasty. No upheaval, no tragic collapse. Just like the setting sun and rising moon, a new day could have arrived peacefully.
"I am grateful to rlin for introducing to your legend. Because of you, I changed."
"But in the past, I could only gaze at your illusory shadow."
"Now—"
"I want to truly touch you."
"—Rowe."
"This is precisely the wish I made when I was summoned!"
Artoria leaned forward, bringing her face dangerously close to Rowe's.
Her feelings, accumulated over a lifeti and tempered by eternity, had solidified into love.
She gripped the Holy Lance of the Storm in one hand and the reins in the other, urging the steed forward. Under her outstretched arms, the beautiful curve of her torso was clearly visible. Her rounded, full hips rested firmly upon the horse's back, and her long, fair legs tightly clasped Rowe's waist, locking him in a face-to-face embrace.
The horse's hooves struck the air, and its back undulated with the rhythm of the gallop. The two embracing figures bumped and rubbed against each other with every stride.
A faint blush appeared on the beautiful King's face.
She was joyful. Delighted.
"I have gazed at you countless tis. Now... I hope you will gaze back at ."
"Truly, co to my side!"
*Neigh!*
The Pegasus galloped on. Faced with Artoria's undisguised affection, Rowe remained silent, nursing a growing headache.
As the Sage of Uruk, he lacked specialization in Close Quarters Combat.
At such close range, his movents were restricted. Those legs clasping his body, though seemingly soft and tender, possessed the astonishing Strength parater of a Dragon Core.
He couldn't break free without escalating the situation.
A slight struggle would only lead to an extrely ambiguous compromise.
She didn't want to hurt him.
Yet, this embrace was fervent and intense—so intense that Lord Rowe could not simply ignore the weight of her feelings.
The mature Queen was acting like a young girl in love, embracing the idol she had never t.
However, Artoria's actions incurred the wrath of another King.
"Foolish woman! Release my friend!"
With a thunderous crash, the atmosphere exploded.
Golden ripples shimred violently, and the Ark of Heaven—shining, majestic, and swift—tore through the clouds.
Gilgash stood atop the prow, urging the ancient chariot of the gods forward, cutting a brilliant streak of light across the night sky.
The Ark of Heaven, woven from gold and erald, was a treasure that had existed since the era of Uruk. At this mont, it had achieved ultimate sublimation, becoming the prototype of the Vimana found in Indian epics—boasting higher performance, faster speed, and greater firepower.
In the instant it ascended, it closed the distance to Artoria.
The King of Knights' mount was an extrely powerful Phantasmal Beast, the divine steed Dun Stallion, ford from the residual aura of Rowe's eight-legged steed during his tenure as the King of the Wild Hunt.
But facing the enraged Gilgash, even a Divine Spirit-class mount found it difficult to create distance.
For Gilgash, having his friend taken away was a trauma from the past.
It had been his most painful experience.
Although they had reunited later, he would not suffer it again!
"Mongrel!"
The King of Heroes' roar exploded across the sky.
In the vast night, two shining figures clashed!
"Teacher, Gilgash is enraged..."
"Oh, King..."
"Shut up, mongrel!"
In his fury, Gilgash abruptly severed his Master-Servant contract with Tokiomi Tohsaka.
In the Tohsaka manor's basent, Tokiomi looked at the fading Command Spell on his hand and let out a bitter, resigned laugh. There was nothing he could do against the whims of the King.
"I'll go take a look as well." The voice ca from behind Kirei Kotomine.
The tall young priest gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Act as you wish. I will not interfere."
"Kiritsugu... should we retreat first?" By the Mion River, Kiritsugu Emiya's subordinate, Maiya Hisau, asked with concern.
But Kiritsugu refused. "No—watch."
"First, notify the Einzbern family. Tell them not to make any moves. Tell them not to think they can act recklessly just because they possess an incomplete inheritance of the Third Magic."
The Magus Killer rembered clearly. The Einzberns were rely the students of the 'Pseudo-Third Magician,' homunculi created to replicate a teacher who possessed an incomplete version of the Third Magic.
And that 'Pseudo-Third Magician' was rely an unaccomplished student of the true Third Magician—Lord Rowe, the Roman Adjutant from the early centuries of the Common Era.
Separated by generations, the lineage was diluted, but incomplete magic would inevitably be suppressed by the true mystery.
Therefore, before confirming Rowe's identity, no risks could be taken.
"Yes."
...
Ignoring the machinations below, a sonic boom shattered the air.
In the instant they drew close, Gilgash activated the Vimana's offensive systems.
Points of light manifested beneath the erald wings of the ship. Mana transford into tangible energy, gathering and targeting with searing heat.
"Ha, the enraged Golden King? A King should not be so easily provoked!"
The King of Knights didn't even turn her head, rely holding Rowe tighter.
The Holy Lance in her hand rose instantly, sweeping backward in a blind strike.
Golden light, like a blooming storm, rippled in layers. It collided with the bombardnt from the Vimana, igniting fierce flas that painted the night sky.
Smoke billowed, obscuring vision. By the ti Gilgash piloted the Vimana through the cloud, Artoria had already maneuvered away.
"Let go..."
"No."
"I won't run."
"I'm not worried about you running. Wherever you go, I will follow. But before that, I simply wish to hold you."
The face-to-face embrace grew tighter, her soft body pressing against him with astonishing firmness. Rowe's gaze shifted, calculating an escape vector, but the King of Knights, who understood his thought process through years of communion, anticipated him.
"Co with to Avalon, Lord Rowe—"
"No. I still have unfinished business in the present era."
"Then let us do what you wish together. I can assist you..."
"Then kill ."
"No, Rowe. That would violate the code of chivalry!"
*Why didn't you care about chivalry when you kidnapped just now?*
This impenetrable, mature King was, to so extent, a monster of Rowe's own making.
"Do not think of escaping. I can sense that your Servant container is far from your peak power."
Rowe fell silent.
Artoria's assessnt was technically correct. As the Sage of Uruk, his paraters were high, but his skillset leaned towards intellectual warfare and preparation rather than raw, sustained combat in this form.
Although he possessed a world-ending move like the Sword of Rupture, his current manifestation was limited.
However, what Artoria didn't know was that the real reason Rowe was so passive wasn't weakness. It was because he was too strong.
In the short ti he had been held by Artoria, he had contemplated utilizing his Authority as a Star Creating God.
But the Counter Force feedback was imdiate: *The World will collapse.*
It was the inevitable result of imperfect control over infinite power in a limited container. It was more uncomfortable than a giant trying to maneuver inside an anthill.
Because he was too strong, he was restricted at every turn.
Rowe was frustrated.
Artoria, conversely, was intoxicated by his presence.
In the past, she could only gaze at the idol. At this mont, he was real.
However, she never truly intended to imprison Rowe; she rely wanted to leave her mark on him.
She wanted him to beco her lover. Just as she had longed for countless tis in the solitude of the throne.
"So..."
The beautiful King leaned in, her crimson, moist lips parting slightly, moving to seal Rowe's lips.
It was at this precise mont that the divine steed, Dun Stallion, suddenly halted its gallop, letting out a sharp whinny.
In the vast night, a streaking arrow rose from a distant skyscraper. It transford into a teor, piercing through space and ti.
Had the steed not stopped, that arrow would have skewered its skull.
Accurate. Lethal.
Artoria's movent paused. Her gaze shifted, cold and sharp, toward the source of the arrow.
"Release him—"
"He is my prey alone!"
A clear voice drifted on the wind.
Standing atop the tallest building in Fuyuki City's new district, illuminated by the city lights below, stood a figure with wild, green hair.
A stern, heroic huntress in erald robes. Her eyes were narrowed, resembling those of a beast.
"Atalanta—"
Rowe looked over, hope igniting in his eyes.
If Atalanta was here...
There was no reason Enkidu wasn't nearby.
"Don't look. Lord Enkidu is lost!"
Atalanta, the renowned huntress of mythology, read Rowe's expectant gaze even from that distance. She twitched her lips, projecting her voice via magecraft: "Lord Enkidu... trusts Lady Artemis too much!"
Atalanta was a Servant summoned by the moon, while Enkidu was awakened by Alaya. However, their initial manifestation point had been Greece.
The moon guided their path.
However... Lady Artemis simply didn't know the way.
"I've known Lady Artemis for a long ti. If she goes out by herself, unless it's a route she travels daily, she will inevitably get lost!"
That Moon Goddess, despite possessing the Authority to illuminate the night for others, was a terrible navigator herself. Enkidu, trusting her guidance, had wandered off to parts unknown.
Only Atalanta, relying on her own instincts, had arrived on ti.
The Greek huntress drew her bowstring taut once more, aiming directly at the King of Knights in the sky.
"I will repeat myself."
"Release my prey."
"Strong. But not strong enough." Artoria's azure eyes hardened. She gripped Rhongomyniad tightly.
But at the sa ti, she felt a surge of mana from behind.
"AHAHAHA! I've got you now, mongrel!"
The Vimana shone brightly, its radiance rippling outward.
A bombardnt swept toward her.
Artoria turned sideways, swinging her lance. The Holy Lance erupted in a burning stream of light to parry the attack, but the hasty collision forced her and the steed to recoil.
Her body leaned back, and her grip on Rowe loosened for a fraction of a second.
It was the opportunity Rowe needed.
Golden ripples appeared above his head. A projection of the Chains of Heaven shot out, anchoring onto the empty air and hoisting him upwards.
Artoria reached for him in a panic, but her arms closed on empty air.
*Neigh!*
Dun Stallion reared.
Rowe, using the tension of the chains, vaulted into the sky.
"Hmph. It wasn't in vain for to create this opening for you!"
Gilgash stood at the prow of the Vimana. He did not continue the assault, instead concentrating his magical energy, locking onto the King of Knights.
The mont Rowe left her embrace, Artoria was instantly enveloped in her hard, silver-white armor. The magical plating sealed away the soft curves that had been revealed only for him.
A montary look of disappointnt flashed across Artoria's face, only to be replaced by excitent.
Indeed.
If Rowe had submitted so easily... he wouldn't be the man she loved!
"Are you unwilling to co to Avalon with ? Rowe."
She ignored Gilgash. She ignored Atalanta's arrow.
From the mont she appeared, the King's eyes had seen only Rowe.
"Unwilling," Rowe replied bluntly.
He stepped onto the air. The concept of the Key of Heaven solidified the space beneath his feet, forming a platform. His robes fluttered in the wind as he exhaled a long breath.
"For now... it is fine if you are unwilling." Artoria raised her lance. "I will make you willing."
"A King, as they say, must live more freely than anyone else."
"This is—what you taught !"
'That was clearly sothing I taught to a certain Pharaoh when I fell into endless reincarnation due to the Spirit of the Void!'
"Do not abandon your human desires; this, too, is what you taught !"
'That was clearly what I taught to a certain cowardly King of Magic!'
"To obtain you is my desire!"
Rowe sighed. The specific origins of the lessons didn't matter anymore. He knew the King of Knights before him would not abandon her pursuit.
However, he was out of the grapple.
The next step would be easier.
"Gil, block her."
"I'm going to make a run for it."
"Who gave you the courage to order around, you wild dog!?"
"Stop with the nonsense. I told you, a man being tsundere is disgusting."
"Hmph. Get lost!"
Gilgash feigned impatience, but he imdiately maneuvered the Vimana between Rowe and the shining tip of the Holy Lance.
"—Those who dare to overstep their bounds and claim sovereignty in my garden, unaware of their imminent demise."
"Those who dare to covet my friend."
"Your sin... cannot be cleansed even by dying ten thousand tis!"
The King of Heroes' voice echoed, and overlapping golden ripples filled the night sky behind him.
The Gate of Babylon opened a hundred portals.
Countless Noble Phantasms erged like a suspended deluge of steel, all aid at the King of Knights.
"This scale... it is indeed troubleso."
Artoria spun her lance, sparing the Oldest King only a glance. For her, Rowe was still the priority.
"Girl over there! Cooperate with !"
"Who are you calling a girl!?" Atalanta bared her teeth, her bowstring taut.
The King of Knights glanced sideways at Atalanta, noting the small tiger teeth and the wild appearance. She smiled. "If you don't cooperate with ... do you intend to let Rowe escape?"
Atalanta froze.
Artoria pressed on. "You should know that in this Holy Grail War, you and I are certainly not the only ones who have co for him."
"Now, I am blocked by the King of Heroes."
"For you, this is an excellent opportunity—"
Rowe: "???"
*Is this mature Knight King broken?*
Atalanta hesitated. The offer was... tempting.
"Don't bla , Rowe."
"No matter what."
"I must... keep you here!"
Artoria offered an apologetic expression to Rowe. "Only by keeping you here will I have a chance."
"And as a King, one should be skilled in strategy. This, too, is what you taught !"
* again? Where did all these teachings co from?*
Rowe choked on his own breath, but he retorted instantly. "It is useless. A temporary victory is rely fleeting, Atalanta."
"If more people arrive, the outco will be determined by strength, not timing."
*It seems... that's right?* Atalanta pondered.
But the next second, Artoria's words shattered her psychological defenses completely.
"That is true, but... who obtains his purity, his first ti... isn't that the most crucial victory?"
*What purity? What first ti?*
Rowe was stunned. His first ti... wasn't that lost eons ago?
Wait.
In that instant, Rowe rembered sothing.
He rembered an ability—or rather, a conceptual curse—he had received long ago.
"I, in the na of Poseidon, King of the Seas, make a covenant with you: from this day forth, you shall forever be as pure as the ocean."
???
*—This works too!?*
.....
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