Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King [79]

"…Is that so? Is this your answer, nameless one?

I look forward to seeing what you will choose at the world's end."

Hearing Alaric's rhetorical question, the Lionheart King smiled. Blood—crimson and blinding—poured from his mouth and nose, rendering him completely incapable of speech. As the pool of blood spread to Alaric's feet, the Lionheart King's pupils began to lose focus.

Alaric had no intention of letting the Lionheart King die before his questions were answered.

"How did you track the Holy Grail?"

Among all the mysteries surrounding the Lionheart King, Alaric's most pressing concern was his ability to trace the Holy Grail and summon Heroic Spirits. The Lionheart King demonstrated an understanding and precision regarding the Grail that Alaric could not comprehend. From a nameless mountain range, he had been able to perfectly pinpoint and strategize around the Holy Grail within Ozymandias's domain.

And then there was the summoning of Heroic Spirits—an even greater enigma.

Alaric had already deduced the source of magical energy Alaika and others used for summoning Heroic Spirits. However, he remained clueless about how the summoning system was sustained and operated. Could it be replicated? Could it be reproduced?

"…"

The Lionheart King did not respond. His pupils grew increasingly unfocused, the light within them fading rapidly.

—

It was only then that Alaric seemed to realize the Lionheart King could no longer speak or understand his words.

It was hardly surprising.

Being cleaved in two by Lancelot, the smooth, mirror-like cut symbolized the severance of his life force. Death was merely a breath away.

Alaric said no more. He simply gazed at the Lionheart King, an unspoken brilliance, like gemstones, glimmering in his eyes.

Zheng—!

With the Sword of the End in hand, Alaric approached the Lionheart King's mutilated body, his gaze fixed on the distinct death lines.

The Lionheart King had suffered a mortal wound, and his death was only a matter of time.

But Alaric wasn't one to leave things to chance.

In his eyes, the Lionheart King possessed knowledge and powers beyond understanding, and Alaika's curse and unpredictable life magecraft could potentially bring him back. Furthermore, there was always the possibility that the Lionheart King himself had mastered some form of life magecraft.

These uncontrollable variables urged Alaric to act. Letting the Lionheart King simply die was far too risky.

Thus, Alaric resolved to personally end him before death claimed him naturally.

Using the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, he would annihilate the Lionheart King.

This way, no matter what contingency plans the Lionheart King had, they would be rendered futile. Death would be his only destination.

As if sensing Alaric's approach, the Lionheart King's scattered eyes miraculously regained focus, a glimmer of vitality rekindling in his gaze. His ragged breaths, like bellows on the verge of collapse, were accompanied by bubbling blood from his mouth and nose. He struggled to speak—his words drowned in the torrent of blood.

When Alaric stood beside him, their gazes crossed once more.

This was their second and final meeting of the eyes.

"Farewell, Lionheart King."

Wasting no words, Alaric plunged the Sword of the End into the death line on the Lionheart King's chest. The last glimmer in the King's eyes extinguished.

Thus, the ruler of the Crusaders, the so-called Lionheart King, perished completely under the watchful gazes of Alaric and the other Knights of the Round Table.

"Hmm? That's it?"

Mordred, puzzled by Alaric's need for an additional strike, sheathed her sword. Electrical arcs surged around her body, evaporating the dried blood clinging to her.

"So that's the end of the Lionheart King? That was surprisingly easy."

Despite her injuries, Mordred found the battle effortless. Only the Lionheart King's ability to wield the Holy Sword had truly annoyed her.

"It's over. We should return to report to the King."

Gawain, expressionless, seemed indifferent to the Lionheart King's demise. To him, it was a trivial matter, an inconsequential skirmish in the grand scheme of the Lion King's plans.

As white hair billowed around him, Alaric turned back to face Gawain and the other Knights of the Round Table, his brows arching.

"What? Sir Gawain, why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Sir Alaric, you—"

Before Lancelot could fully voice his astonishment, Mordred's exaggerated voice cut through:

"Huh? What's wrong with you?"

Even Gawain struggled to maintain composure, remarking, "Sir Alaric, has there been further assimilation with the dragon blood granted by King Lionheart? Or… your current appearance—"

"?"

Noticing their reactions, Alaric instinctively raised a hand to his face. But realizing this revealed nothing, he asked aloud:

"So, am I now closer in resemblance to Mordred or King Lionheart?"

Alaric had experienced the changes wrought by dragon blood before and had expected further alterations. Likely, his features had shifted closer to the Lion King, Artoria Pendragon, who had bestowed the dragon blood.

But the change in his hair baffled him.

Why white hair? Both the Lion King and Mordred were blond.

Faced with Alaric's confusion, Mordred, unusually serious, scrutinized him before replying:

"Neither. Your aura now resembles my mother's more. Appearance-wise, you're closer to the masculine version of my father—"

"?"

Alaric failed to grasp the meaning behind Mordred's words.

Mother?

If Alaric remembered correctly, Mordred's "mother" was Morgan le Fay. But did Morgan resemble King Arthur?

Alaric felt utterly baffled, as Morgan's character was scarcely explored in any official works.

However, Mordred's mention of a "masculine version of father" did make sense to him.

"So I've grown even closer, though more masculine…"

Mordred's appearance was already androgynous, difficult to classify. For Alaric, the difference was just a slight shift.

"It's no big deal. Just a minor change in appearance—it's not the first time."

Alaric was nonchalant. He had prepared himself for these transformations long ago. After all, avoiding them was no longer an option. The chance to remain purely human had passed when he accepted the dragon blood.

Seeing Alaric's indifference, Gawain and the others soon came to accept his changes.

The resemblance wasn't to an unfamiliar face but to one they knew well—etched into history and celebrated by the world.

Though difficult to adapt to immediately, the Knights of the Round Table would eventually adjust.

"That's true. It seems we'll need to either find the magus or eliminate all of Richard the Lionheart's arrangements to proceed."

Gawain nodded, seemingly feeling a pang of guilt over his oversight.

"What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

Seeing Gawain join in, Mordred smirked slightly. The outcome was clear—Alaric's reasoning had successfully convinced Gawain and the others.

The group dispersed to clean up the battlefield, ensuring that any traps or remnants left by the Lionheart wouldn't cause unnecessary trouble or harm.

About ten minutes later…

"It seems there's nothing."

The group regrouped and shared their findings one by one. Despite thoroughly searching the mountain valley, they couldn't find any trace of the Crusaders' past activities or any evidence of Richard the Lionheart's supposed contingencies.

After organizing their observations, Gawain concluded.

"There are no contingencies left by the Lionheart, and the magus Alaika perished in the aftermath of the Noble Phantasm."

Hearing this, Alaric, who no longer had any reason to stop Gawain and the others from leaving, subtly glanced at Lancelot, catching his gaze at the perfect moment.

The two exchanged no words, as though nothing had transpired.

With the battlefield thoroughly cleared, Alaric and his companions had no reason to linger in the valley any longer.

After some effort, the group finally left the secluded mountain valley.

However, as Gawain and the others hurriedly made their way back to the White City—Camelot—Alaric suddenly spoke up:

"Sir Gawain, you go ahead. I still have some matters to attend to."

"Hm?"

Not only Gawain, but Lancelot and the others also turned their gazes toward Alaric, seemingly perplexed by his decision to leave the group midway.

"You sure have a lot on your plate!"

Mordred blurted out directly.

"What could be more important than reporting to Father?"

Faced with their curious looks, Alaric spread his hands.

"It's nothing major. Rest assured, everyone—I won't miss the report to the King. I'll catch up with you soon."

Seeing Alaric so resolute, neither Gawain nor Lancelot objected—nor did they intend to.

Gawain simply said, "Then, Sir Alaric, you must make haste and return before we reach the King's side."

As for what Alaric intended to do, Gawain wasn't particularly interested. So long as it posed no threat to their King, he had no reason to interfere.

And a threat to the King? That was not something Alaric would ever contemplate.

Stare—

Unlike the trusting Gawain and Lancelot, Mordred shot Alaric a suspicious glare, as though trying to glean something from his expression.

But faced with her silent interrogation, Alaric met her gaze with calm composure.

In the end, it was Mordred who awkwardly turned away, muttering, "So annoying…"

After confirming Alaric's insistence on parting ways, Gawain, Mordred, and the others quickly departed.

Watching their retreating figures, Alaric took a deep breath and turned toward the mountains.

His objective was simple: after experiencing his near-death in the flesh hell, where he felt as if he'd entered the realm of death, Alaric could sense it—

The trial was complete.

Having been born from death and experiencing it once again, Alaric realized this was the ultimate path to understanding death.

Now, in these nameless mountains, Alaric had no reason not to seek out the old man residing in the hidden valley.

The Old Man of the Mountain—Hassan-i Sabbah!

Though he possessed the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, Alaric was still a novice in their use, fumbling through techniques and methods. But time was not on his side.

He needed the guidance of King Hassan, the originator of the Assassin class and the unparalleled master of death.

Wasting no time, Alaric headed straight for the highest peak of the nameless mountains after parting from Gawain and the others.

To Alaric, this mountain range was vast and complex. Without a map, the only option was to climb to a high vantage point and rely on memory to identify the route.

When he finally reached the summit, he once again saw the brilliant Wall of Light—a magnificent sight he interpreted as the world's edge.

Without dwelling on it, Alaric quickly scanned the majestic mountain range below, recalling the paths he'd taken days ago en route to the Azrael Shrine.

Within minutes, he concluded.

"I can make it."

After confirming the route, Alaric wasted no time. He leaped from the mountaintop.

Crack—!

Scarlet lightning streaked across the sky as he raced through the towering peaks.

An hour later, after several course corrections and wrong turns, Alaric finally reached a familiar scene.

"What a long journey…"

Gazing at the Azrael Shrine, Alaric couldn't help but feel nostalgic.