33 CHAPTER 4.7 - ROUNDTABLE

"You don't wanna talk?" Mordred sneered "Fine suit yourself, father"

Leaving streak of red Mordred leaped towards Artoria and swung her sword hard at Artoria. Sparks appeared as Artoria use her arm gauntlet to easily hold Mordred's attack. Artoria didn't even bother to use her blackened sword. Artoria then push Mordred's Clarent off her and swung her blackened sword upwards at Mordred. A nasty sounds of Mordred'as armor being hit was heard followed by Mordred flown backwards at incredible speed before she managed to stop herself after stabbing Clarent to the ground to stop.

She gritted her teeth and shot a defiant glare at Artoria. Pushing against the resistance of the muddy ground, she slowly began to regain her footing.

Artoria, undeterred, surged forward. Her blackened sword gleamed with an ominous aura as she swung it in a fluid arc. Mordred raised Clarent just in time to parry the strike, the clash sending shockwaves through the air. The sheer force of Artoria's attack pushed Mordred back again, the ground beneath her trembling from the impact.

Mordred's heart raced as she fought to hold her ground, muscles straining against the overwhelming power of Artoria's assault. Her mind raced, analyzing Artoria's every move, seeking an opening, a weakness. With a fierce growl, Mordred lunged forward, launching a rapid series of brutal strikes, each blow fueled by her anger.

Artoria met each attack with unwavering composure, her movements precise and calculated. She sidestepped, parried, and countered with grace. The clash of steel and the crackle of magical energy filled the air as the two knights engaged in a fierce battle.

Mordred's breathing grew heavier, sweat trickling down her forehead as she struggled to keep pace. Her arms ached from the force of her swings, and her muscles screamed in protest. But she refused to yield.

With a sudden burst of energy, Mordred unleashed a powerful strike, channeling every ounce of her strength into the blow. Artoria met the attack head-on, their swords locking in a contest of sheer power. For a brief moment, the two combatants stood locked in a battle of wills, their eyes fixed in a fierce gaze.

They disengaged and leaped backward, creating a brief respite in the heated clash. Mordred's grip on her sword, Clarent, tightened beside her body. A surge of magical energy coursed through her sword, unleashing a torrent of bright red light followed by crackling red sparks.

Artoria, mirroring Mordred's intentions, charged her blackened sword as well. Grasping it with her right hand, the sword was consumed by a swirling shroud of ominous shadow.

Mordred's gaze locked onto the tainted sword in Artoria's hand, her teeth clenched in frustration. "Rebellion against my beautiful father!" she roared.

Clarent crackled with a surge of energy, ready to answer her call.

Then, for the first time since the battle began, Artoria opened her mouth. "Vortigern, Hammer of the Vile King, reverse the rising sun."

Mordred shifted her stance forward. "Clarent!"

Following suit, Artoria tensed her body. "Swallow the light, Excalibur."

"Blood Arthur!!" Mordred's battle cry rang out.

"Morgan!" Artoria's reply echoed through the air.

With a powerful downward swing, Clarent descended, unleashing a torrential surge of red energy that surged toward Artoria. Simultaneously, the blackened Excalibur Morgan was raised in an upward arc, its dark beam a stark contrast against Mordred's attack. The two attacks clashed with deafening sounds, each refusing to yield to the other's might.

In this titanic clash, Excalibur Morgan proved its might, gradually overpowering Clarent's assault. Mordred's eyes widened in disbelief as her own Noble Phantasm was negated, the dark beam striking her head-on. Helpless, she was sent hurtling backward, her armor shattering upon impact.

Struggling to regain her footing, Mordred glimpsed Artoria already on the move, charging at her. Excalibur Morgan, still enveloped in its shroud of shadows, descended ready to cleave through her. Just as Artoria was about to split Mordred in two, a young girl clad in armor charged at her with a shield, forcefully pushing Artoria away.

"Your Majesty, please wake up!" The young girl's desperate cry rang out, a jousting lance firmly gripped in her hand as she lunged at Artoria.

"I am a wolf!" With a fierce battle cry, the young girl attacked Artoria with her lance. Her assault was unrelenting, each strike delivered with determination and grit.

Caught off guard, Artoria found herself driven back by the relentless charge of the young girl. The clash of their forces sent sparks flying.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty!" The young girl's eyes blazed with fiery resolve. She propelled herself forward, summoning all her strength to thrust her lance at Artoria. "Ira Lupus!"

The jousting lance struck Artoria squarely in the abdomen, propelling her backward. Artoria's body skidded, but she quickly regained her footing, the attack having minimal impact on her.

Frowning in frustration, the young girl suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Mordred beside her, her armor shattered, revealing the garments she wore underneath that barely covered her torso.

"You saved my ass, Gareth. Thanks, I guess," Mordred stated casually. "But this is my fight."

Gareth eyed Mordred up and down, her cheeks reddening slightly. "Ah, Sir Mordred, um, your... clothes."

Mordred gave Gareth a quizzical look. "What about them?"

"Isn't it a bit... improper for a fight?" Gareth mumbled, her words hinting at something more indecent that she chose not to voice aloud.

"Nah, it'll do. Now stay away. I'll deal with our king alone," Mordred tightened her grip on Clarent.

"No, no," Gareth shook her head insistently. "We will deal with our king."

"Huh?"

Suddenly, chains materialized, attempting to bind Artoria. However, Artoria easily seized and shattered the chains with her strength. The dark sky above suddenly illuminated as a slash of flames streaked toward Artoria. Undaunted, Artoria effortlessly tanked the fiery assault. A barrage of homing projectiles followed, yet Artoria deflected each one with remarkable ease.

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance. "So you guys came."

Emerging from behind, a figure clad in all-black armor walked forward. "...Mordred," Agravain, the Iron Hand Knight, raised his brows looking at Mordred's face.

A man with long red hair and a harp-bow in hand gazed at the scene, his expression filled with sorrow. "My king..." Tristan, the Knight of Lamentation, murmured with a heavy heart.

Not far away, two men frowned as they observed Artoria. Gawain of the Sun, well known as someone who adored the king, seethed with anger at the sight of her reduced and corrupted state. Lancelot of the Lake couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for the circumstances that led to Artoria's current condition.

A silver-haired, tall man clenched his spear tightly, his conflicted emotions palpable. He had answered the summon to save the world, fulfilling his duty as any noble knight would. Yet, he had never anticipated reuniting with his king in such a dire situation. The Holy Knight of Dove, Percival, found himself torn.

Beside Percival stood Bedivere, the Knight of Loyalty, who had been with Artoria during her final moments. He stood in silence, his remembered her last smile. Determination fueled him as he drew his sword.

For his king, for her reunion, for her happiness. Her final order no—request echoed in his heart, and he embraced it willingly.

"Please wait for me, my king," Bedivere whispered.

...

Merlin mused as he observed the battle unfolding. It didn't take him long to realize how the Shadows were slowly adapting, despite being pushed back. They morphed into fake shadow versions of servants and mimicked their abilities, down to their Noble Phantasms. Merlin grimaced as he concluded that a prolonged battle wasn't an option.

There was also the problem of being in this cursed world. If his assumption was correct, then this world was actually another layer of reality, made to exist without The World's influence on it. The longer they stayed here, the more pressure from whoever controlled this cursed world would weigh upon them. They needed to get Shirou out fast, and Merlin was working on it.

Then she came – his foolish, dear student. It was one thing to see Artoria using clairvoyance, and another to see her directly. The sword, once bathed in light, was now dimmed, replaced by corrupted shadow. He wondered what Vivian would say if she saw the blackened Excalibur.

With Artoria here, Merlin's plan was nearing completion. Now he had a bad student to scold.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" A confused Shirou asked as he stood in the center of an array of magic circles.

"Of course it will," Merlin replied with a smile. "You're talking to someone who is eligible for the Grand Caster position here."

"Grand what?"

"Not important for now, master. Do you remember what you need to do?"

Shirou nodded. "I need to reach and grasp... Avalon inside me."

After Merlin had explained, and after a quick Structural Grasp on himself, Shirou now knew that something was planted inside him – Avalon, the Sheath of King Arthur. He had been kind of scared at first finding that inside him, but Merlin told him that Avalon had actually helped him on many occasions. He even told Shirou that the reason why his body could handle the enormous Magic Circuits he had was because of Avalon helping to reconstruct his body to suit it.

Merlin patted Shirou's head. "Good, now let's start so we can get out of here and save her."

To save Artoria Pendragon, the Once and Future King, from the corruption that gnawed at her existence. With determination in his eyes, Shirou replied, "Yes."

The magic circles around Shirou and Merlin lit up with bright lights. Focusing on himself and using the power of the jerk servant who had helped him, Shirou chanted, "Trace On!"

Simultaneously, Merlin chanted his Aria. "Under the sky that is the beginning of all things, there are no walls, no castles, no nations." Flower petals materialized around them and floated gently. "The Primordial Planet dazzles from the bottom of the earth." A small smile blossomed on Merlin's face as he stared at the distance where Artoria was currently fighting against her own knights. Swarms of flower petals covered his body before dispersing along with him.

When a student did something wrong, it was logical for the teacher to help.

...

The battlefield crackled with tension as Mordred's Clarent clashed against Artoria's unyielding Excalibur Morgan. Metal met metal, sending sparks flying in all directions. Mordred's eyes blazed with swirling emotions as she drove forward, launching a flurry of strikes that Artoria expertly parried.

"You're getting stronger, father," Mordred exclaimed. "Does dyeing your armor black do that to you?"

With a sudden burst of energy, Artoria swung Excalibur Morgan in an upward arc. The ground trembled as the shockwave tore through the air, but Mordred's instincts kicked in just in time. She somersaulted backward, narrowly evading the devastating attack.

"Damn it, that was close," Mordred grumbled.

Seizing the opening, Gawain charged forth with Excalibur Galatine in hand. The sword radiated a blinding brilliance like the sun as he closed the distance with Artoria. Their swords clashed, the impact creating a shockwave that sent ripples through the very atmosphere.

"Forgive me for this, my king," Gawain grunted as he pushed Artoria's Excalibur Morgan with his Galatine.

The two exchanged blows in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. Gawain's strikes were powerful, each swing leaving behind a trail of scorching air. Artoria met his onslaught with unwavering strength, her armor glinting in the sunlight produced by Galatine as she expertly deflected his attacks.

But then, like a tempest, Lancelot entered the fray. His movements were a whirlwind of calculated chaos, each strike aimed with deadly accuracy. He and Gawain coordinated seamlessly, their attacks coming in waves that forced Artoria onto the defensive. Lancelot's finesse with the sword was evident, his skill nearly surpassing even Artoria's current raw power.

Yet, Artoria was not one to be cornered. Tensing her body, she summoned a surge of mana that engulfed her very being. Her sword blazed with incandescent light as she brought it down with unstoppable force. The shockwave rippled outward, sending Gawain and Lancelot hurtling through the air.

Percival rushed forward with his spear, and Artoria's instincts kicked in. She shifted her weight, pivoting gracefully to meet his charge head-on. The clash of metal against metal resounded through the air, each strike a testament to their determination. Percival's spearwork was swift and precise, his attacks a relentless barrage aimed at overwhelming Artoria's defenses.

Meanwhile, Gareth circled around with calculated moves. She closed in from behind, her lance poised for a swift and deadly strike. Just as Percival's assault seemed to push Artoria back, Gareth lunged forward, her lance aimed at Artoria's flank.

But Artoria's senses were finely honed. With a lightning-fast pivot, she parried Percival's spear with Excalibur, the clash sending sparks cascading like fireworks. Simultaneously, she deflected Gareth's attack with precise and fluid movements, their weapons meeting with a resounding clang.

Seizing the moment, Artoria unleashed a burst of strength that surprised them both. She caught Gareth's jousting lance, tugged the weapon aside, and swiftly twisted it, sending Gareth hurtling through the air. The young knight hit the ground with a thud, rolling to a stop some distance away.

"Gareth!" Percival's voice rang out.

Percival redoubled his efforts. He lunged forward with renewed determination, his spear a blur of motion. Artoria met his aggression with measured force, their weapons locked in a fierce clash. Percival's muscles strained as he pushed against her, his eyes locked onto hers in a battle of wills.

But Artoria's strength proved too much. With a calculated twist of her sword, she broke through Percival's defense. She closed the distance between them, her sword pressed against his spear. Percival struggled against her might, his muscles trembling.

A shadow seemed to envelop Excalibur Morgan, its brilliance dimming as it transformed into a dark, ethereal force. With a powerful swing, Artoria unleashed a soaring shadow attack at Percival, the energy of the strike tearing through the air. Percival managed to deflect the attack with a burst of his own energy, but the force sent him skidding backward, his boots carving furrows into the ground.

Then Agravain's chains shot out, snaking through the air with deadly precision. They wrapped around Artoria, binding her in a vice-like grip as Bedivere charged forward. He leaped towards the captive Artoria, his sword poised for a decisive strike.

Locked in the chains' embrace, Artoria watched the incoming Bedivere impassively. With a surge of power, she channeled a burst of energy that crackled through the chains like lightning. The chains shattered into oblivion, freeing her just as Bedivere's sword came crashing down. Artoria's own sword, Excalibur Morgan, met the strike with a resounding clash, the force of their clash sending shockwaves through the air.

In a swift and fluid motion, Artoria deflected Bedivere's attack and countered with a powerful swing of her own. Bedivere was forced to retreat, his footing unsteady as he sought to regain his stance.

Agravain charged towards Artoria with his halberd held high. His movements were swift and calculated. Artoria met his assault head-on, their weapons clashing in a symphony of steel. Each strike reverberated through the air, the intensity of their battle escalating with every passing moment.

As the clash continued, Agravain's chains lashed out again, seeking to pull Artoria off balance and hinder her movements. They wrapped around her wrist, her forearm, her ankle, attempting to hold her in place. However, Artoria's strength was too much for the chains to handle. With a powerful surge of energy, she broke free from the chains once more.

"To break my chains that easily, as expected of you, King Arthur," Agravain muttered.

With a final surge of energy, Artoria stabbed Excalibur Morgan into the ground, the sword sinking deep into the earth. A dark shockwave rippled outward, its force shaking the earth. Bedivere and Agravain were caught in its wake, their forms sent tumbling backward as the shockwave swept over them.

Artoria let out a deep breath. Even with the corruption running through her veins, boosting her strength, fighting against many of her knights at once still demanded her best effort. Artoria frowned as she noticed something unusual. Delicate flower petals were drifting gently in the cursed world.

"Took him long enough," Agravain muttered impatiently.

Mordred looked at the petals and immediately understood what was happening. "The hell is he doing?"

The petals swirled, revealing Merlin with his usual smile. Magical energy surrounded him, ready to be unleashed. Tapping his staff on the ground, Merlin released a burst of magical energy, causing it to disperse all around.

"Hello, Artoria," Merlin greeted with a nod before chanting, "I'll show you the domain of the soul... Garden of Avalon!"

A bright, warm light radiated out, engulfing the cursed world. As the light faded, all the servants, the grassy plains, and even Artoria disappeared, leaving the confused shadows and an irritated Beast behind.

...

Merlin's plan was simple. He used his own method to connect with Avalon. Then, with Avalon, the sheath inside Shirou, he forged a stronger connection with Avalon through him. At the same time, he would pull Shirou out of the cursed world to Avalon before later returning him back to the proper world. With Shirou gone from the cursed world, the other servants soon followed.

Moving on to Artoria, he would utilize Avalon's natural influence to cleanse the corruption from her. He also established a link between her and Shirou, activating the requirement to use the full power of Avalon's sheath, and then ensuring the link would affect both Artoria and Shirou.

Given the limited time he had to accomplish all of this, Merlin believed he had done a damn good job. He smiled from inside the tower he currently occupied and watched the outside. He observed Artoria and Shirou lying unconscious side by side on the flower bed.

With his part completed, all Merlin could do now was wait for both Shirou and Artoria to overcome the corruption.

...

The King does not understand human feelings.

She pulled the sword back in her younger days. As she pulled the sword, she also shouldered the burden of the entire kingdom.

To pull the sword is to sacrifice a part of yourself. A miracle has a price after all. You will not remain human once you take hold of the sword. Those were the words of her teacher, the one who guided and paved her way to the sword. His words were filled with warning and caution for her. Yet in her mind, it was a small price to pay for her people.

And so, she pulled the sword.

Appearing as a small child, a fact that many knights scorned and disapproved of when pledging their allegiance to her. However, her ability to draw forth the sword they couldn't led to begrudging compliance. They accepted the humiliation, expecting it to be temporary.

Although she drew the sword, she was still just a child. Even with Merlin's assistance, her failure seemed inevitable. In such an event, they only needed to strip the holy sword from her and select a new king. This was the prevailing sentiment among most knights.

Yet, reality diverged from their expectations. The young king who had recently transitioned to adulthood was impeccable. She brought tranquility to the warring lords and promptly repelled invading forces.

Of course, it wasn't solely because of the power of the sword. The sword only protects the king. It's the king's own power that safeguards the country. The sword's protection works only against enemy swords. It does not help in ruling over people's hearts. Thus, she worked hard to be an ideal king for her people.

As time passed, the knights began to suppress their feelings and follow their king. Their dissatisfaction with the young king slowly faded as they witnessed the perfection of her rule.

She strove to be an ideal king. Being an ideal king was the condition for their support. There was no room for her to be human. To be an ideal king is to forsake her human essence.

A king cannot allow personal feelings to influence decisions. She suppresses her emotions to make a decision, and the knights quell their personal feelings to obey. And after many sacrifices and continuing victories, the country became stable.

Yet, the price she reaped was a revolt against her and her kingdom.

The king does not understand human feelings.

...

So close, she was so close.

To atone for her wrongdoings. To save her kingdom from its downfall. To let a better king lead instead of her foolish self.

She bet everything and tried her best to achieve this, but it was all robbed from her. Betrayed, again, by someone who should have been on her side. What a foolish king she was.

As she closed her eyes, she expected to come back to that wretched battlefield. But what she found was worse. It was dark, so dark that it was suffocating. She couldn't see anything, hear anything, or do anything.

Then the pain came. It stabbed her very being to her very soul. It bent and twisted her as if she were a mere puppet under the mercy of a malicious puppeteer. It gnawed and corroded her mind to the point where she couldn't even process what had happened properly.

It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt, It hurt.

How long had it been since it started?

She couldn't tell. Days, weeks, months, years.

She couldn't tell exactly, but it felt like a long time to her.

She could feel how the darkness toyed with her mind. Her resentment, anger, and anguish that she had suppressed were unveiled and fanned by the darkness. What were once mere embers were now blazing flames.

It was not her fault. If only no one had betrayed her. It was not her fault. If only everyone had listened to her. It was not her fault. If only she had used more of her power.

....She understand now.

It was far better to be feared than loved. A bubbling darkness swallowed her whole and gave rise to The Once and Future Tyrant

Awakened from her torment, only to be greeted by the sight of a battle in the vast, cursed world. She clenched her sword, now as tainted as she was, and stood tall. A power unlike anything she had ever felt surged through her.

Her knights stood before her. She fought against them, not holding back her attacks. She unleashed all of her strength with the intention of defeating them all.

Mordred, her foolish "son" who insisted on being named the heir without comprehending the harsh reality of becoming a king.

Gareth, the young and high-spirited knight whose promising future was prematurely stolen.

Agravain, loyal to the very end yet consumed by fanaticism. His views indirectly contributed to the chaos that unfolded during her reign and his death hastening Camelot's downfall.

Gawain, her right-hand and trusted knight. So blinded by adoration that he failed to recognize her agony and only saw her flawless facade as a king.

Percival, a caring friend, comrade, and brother to all. The one in whom they placed the most trust.

Lancelot, a conflicted knight who was both loyal and treacherous. The one who triggered and perpetuated much of her suffering directly and indirectly.

Her grip tightened.

...

The last thing she could recall was Merlin appearing before her just before darkness swallowed her once more. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for another torturous ordeal to ensue.

'Are you okay?'

Yet, instead of agony, she heard the voice of a young child asking about her well-being.

'Hey, can you hear me?'

She could indeed hear, though she lacked the capacity to respond.

'I will get you out of there, just wait for me, okay?'

A glimmer of amusement touched her amidst the darkness as the young voice spoke. Corruption had already sunk its teeth deep into her heart. Her mind bore the scars of prolonged torment and the erosion of amplified dark thoughts. She seemed beyond salvation, even in this fleeting moment, sensing something crawling and polluting her thoughts.

'Wait... almost there.'

Surprisingly, a dot of light materialized before her.

'Ah! I found you.'

The light began to grow, gradually easing the pain that had gripped her being. While the sinister emotions and thoughts lingered, they no longer seemed to corrode her mind. The years of torment felt as if they were drawing to a close.

'Come on, grab my hand!'

An outstretched hand of light reached toward her, and without hesitation, she accepted it. Whoever this child was, she felt an eternal gratitude toward them.

...

Merlin arched a brow as he observed the scene before him. So the young boy had succeeded, just as he had foreseen. Witnessing the outcome firsthand was undeniably intriguing. With a sigh and a smile, Merlin tapped his staff and employed his magecraft.

Two unconscious Artoria Pendragon lay before him, he lifted them gently with his magecraft. One of them tightly embraced Shirou, who was also unconscious.