C462

"How can that be... the holy sword?" Crimson Moon's eyes were fixed on the blade in Artoria's hand, her expression filled with confusion.

She was absolutely sure she had destroyed the real holy sword, not some mere Noble Phantasm!

Artoria's icy gaze met hers through the slits in her lion-shaped helmet.

Excalibur was not just any weapon; it was forged by the planet itself. It also served as the planet's most formidable line of defense against threats from beyond the stars.

Fourteen thousand years ago, a Giant God had laid waste to the Age of Gods, toppling its pantheons and empires. Yet, it was this very sword that vanquished those invaders and protected Earth's civilization.

That very invader, known as Velber 02 or the Giant God of Destruction, was none other than the original form of Attila.

The sword of the planet didn't have a fixed form; it would change based on its wielder. Over fifteen hundred years ago, it came into Artoria's hands, taking on the shape of the Sword of Promised Victory and vowing to secure victory for Shirou. What Crimson Moon had destroyed was this Sword of Promised Victory.

But that was just one manifestation, not the true holy sword. The Sword of Promised Victory was merely an earthly expression of a much greater cosmic principle. The real holy sword was a convergence of the planet's own energy, an indestructible force that would only perish if the planet fueling it were destroyed.

Artoria was the true wielder of the holy sword and deeply understood its nature. When Add, which housed Excalibur, was destroyed by Crimson Moon, she remained unfazed, knowing she could summon the sword whenever needed.

That's why the first thing she did was question Crimson Moon about Mordred. She was biding her time and fishing for information—there's nothing better than information from someone who thinks they already have victory in their hand.

From Crimson Moon, she'd learned much about Mordred, and as a mother, she felt a strong need to dig deeper. But the truths she uncovered broke her heart into pieces.

She had never truly understood the weight of the trials her daughter faced.

And now she understood all too well.

She had been thoroughly torn apart by Crimson Moon—emotionally, mentally, almost existentially.

Hatred and murderous intent churned within her, blending into a maelstrom of raw emotion. Never before had she felt such a strong urge to destroy someone.

With the holy sword in her grasp and clad in the lion-themed silver armor crafted by her sister, she radiated a magical energy tinged with a hysterical edge. It was as if the aura itself mirrored the true fragmentation of her inner world.

For more than fifteen hundred years, she'd been shackled by guilt and sorrow, caught in an unending loop of torment within a temporal and spatial prison. Initially, she had believed that all her suffering was her own fault, a fitting retribution for her sins. She had accepted this as her just dessert, enduring it in silence.

But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that someone else had orchestrated all of it, that her agony was the result of someone's malice.

Crimson Moon had shattered her once-pure heart, stained her pride, and wrecked her life, reducing it to rubble. More than a millennium and a half of guilt and suffering had crystallized into one single, all-consuming emotion: hatred!

Her once-open heart was now closed off, her compassion snuffed out. All that was left was the burning need to obliterate the one responsible.

Gripping the holy sword, she fixed her eyes on Crimson Moon and lunged, fueled by every fiber of her being screaming for vengeance.

Even though she was filled with hatred, she maintained her composure. After five long years battling it out with Vortigern, dealing with the Dead Apostles, and engaging in a drawn-out war with Attila, she'd become the top strategist in Camelot. Even Merlin and Shirou couldn't match her skills. That's why she could stay so calm under pressure.

And as a Rider-Class Servant, she had some top gear: Rhongomyniad, the Sword of Promised Victory, and its scabbard Avalon. She could even call on her horse, Dun Stallion, when she needed to.

But she knew all too well that her Noble Phantasms wouldn't do a thing against Crimson Moon. Even Avalon might not protect her; Guinevere had once mentioned that Crimson Moon had a way to bypass Avalon's defenses.

She had taken Guinevere's words to heart, not just as a warning but also because they came from someone she deeply cared about. That was why Guinevere had never dared to hide in Avalon all those centuries ago.

So, she was clear on one thing: the only thing she had that could take down Crimson Moon was the sword of the planet.

Wielding the Sword of Promised Victory, she was basically Earth's ultimate line of defense.

Without hesitating, she swung her sword at Crimson Moon, even though her foe had taken over her friend's body.

And it wasn't just the sword; she had a little extra help. Morgan's ritual had tied her to Gray, allowing her to tap into Gray's magical energy to power up her fighting skills.

Gray was equipped with the Red Dragon Factor and Heart, supplying Artoria with a massive surge of magical energy with every breath she took.

This version of Artoria was different—she might even be stronger than her original self. The original was human, after all, subject to the fluctuations of emotions that could impact her fighting ability. But this Heroic Spirit form, summoned through her Class Card, embodied a specific aspect of her.

As a Rider, she was the battlefield warrior, the King of Knights who had destroyed Crimson Moon's physical form and taken down Attila.

"Damn it," Crimson Moon muttered under her breath.

She knew she couldn't afford to meet the blade of that holy sword head-on. It held immense power against extraterrestrial entities, making it a significant threat to her.

Crimson Moon used her exceptional durability and agile reflexes to dodge Artoria's blade. But now, she had additional problems as Attila, Galahad, and others joined the fight.

"Don't get too cocky!" She swung her hand, sending several of her opponents flying backward.

The power of her vessel, Arcueid, was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear: her capabilities were not significantly weaker than Crimson Moon's over fifteen centuries ago.

"Very well, all who dare oppose me will—"

Crimson Moon's words were cut short as Artoria aimed her sword right at her forehead. She dodged just in time, but not without losing a few strands of her golden hair.

Surprised, she looked at Artoria. Didn't she care that she was inside her friend's body?

The cold light emanating from Artoria's helmet told a different story. In addition to her deep-rooted hatred, this incarnation of her was focused solely on the battlefield, with no room for distractions.

Crimson Moon wasn't scared of Artoria per se. While the sword of promised victory was a big concern, Artoria herself wasn't.

Sure, Artoria was strong, but she still paled in comparison to Arcueid. Even so, Crimson Moon chose not to engage her directly.

She had learned the hard way to be cautious. Ever since she had been secretly plotted against by Shirou over fifteen hundred years ago and had seen how Mordred skillfully manipulated situations through flattery and deceit, she had become much more careful.

She had explained so much to Artoria earlier, only after she had confirmed the destruction of her Class Card. She had vented her frustration after secretly ambushing her, but who would have thought there was a second Class Card?

Dodging the incoming blade, she yelled, "White Wing, attack her!"

The Dead Apostles began to stir, their nasty forms swarming menacingly toward Artoria.

A smile crossed Crimson Moon's face. She'd been coordinating with White Wing for over eight centuries, and the current situation had been meticulously planned by that guy.

Facing Artoria and her holy sword, Crimson Moon wasn't about to take any chances. Her plan was to keep her distance and let the Dead Apostles do the dirty work.

The holy sword had a massive damage bonus against her, but it was utterly ineffective against regular Dead Apostles, especially against the Twenty-seven Dead Apostle Ancestors.

However...

Camelot's soldiers around them were armed with Gae Bolg and took on the Dead Apostles.

"Too few of them to stop us," Crimson Moon smirked.

"Are you sure about that?"

A chilly voice cut through, and she spun around, her face a mix of shock and disbelief.

A silvery figure materialized next to Ritsuka.

"Brother...!" she looked up, relief washing over her.

"How... How could this be? Shirou...?" Crimson Moon stared at the figure standing next to Ritsuka, her face full of disbelief. "You should be in the temple, shouldn't you? This can't be... How are you here?"

"Someone tried to stab me from the back, so I had no choice but to show up," Shirou said, his voice ice-cold.

Artoria slid her sword back into its sheath and watched him through the narrow slit in her helmet, saying nothing.

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. The truth was, he was too ashamed to face her.

Shirou took a step forward, and as he did, a blinding light burst forth, engulfing the area. From within the light emerged a legion of Camelot soldiers who swiftly launched a relentless assault against the Dead Apostles.

Crack...!

Bang, bang, bang...!

Swords clashed fiercely, and guns erupted in flames, mirroring a battle from over fifteen hundred years ago—a war between humans and Dead Apostles. The difference this time was in the weaponry: Camelot's soldiers wielded Noble Phantasms, while the Dead Apostles were armed with modern firepower.

"You had an ace up your sleeve!" Crimson Moon clenched her teeth in frustration.

"Wouldn't you expect as much?" He shot back, his eyes icy. "Arcueid, how much longer are you going to sleep?"

There was no response, and she smiled, saying, "It's useless. she can't resist me."

He kept his eyes locked onto her. "One question: why didn't she detect you inside her? If you've been making appearances, she should have noticed."

"She couldn't sense me," she said, smiling at him. "Do you know why? Those dreams you experienced inside her castle were real."

"What are you saying?"

"You entered her dreamworld. Everything you saw there, including the facts about the Millennium Castle, actually happened. Eight hundred years ago, it was Arcueid who slaughtered those True Ancestors within the castle—before her vampiric impulses even awakened. She took them out, and only then did Roa show up," she explained with a smile.