C287

These two kings differed greatly from her own king, displaying stark contrasts in their personalities and ambitions.

One of them embodied a proud and domineering ruler, firmly convinced that all worldly treasures belonged exclusively to him. He exuded arrogance, placing himself at the center of everything and judging others solely by his own standards.

On the other hand, the second king possessed a bold and ambitious spirit, fueled by an unwavering dream of conquering the world. He traversed vast lands and engaged in epic battles with renowned heroes, finding immense joy in the grandeur and glory of his pursuits.

In comparison, she seemed rather fragile and delicate in nature.

Throughout her existence, she had tirelessly followed the path of the Eternal King, constantly chasing after his shadow without carving out her own unique path.

If one were to identify a regal quality within her, it would perhaps lie in the genuine smiles of the people residing in her kingdom. However, even that seemed too ethereal and intangible.

And so, she began to narrate her personal understanding of the Eternal King's extraordinary journey.

"I see, so it's a flame," remarked the conquering king, his hand gently stroking his chin as he erupted into hearty laughter. "There are indeed some intriguing similarities between us, this Eternal King and myself, two conquerors bound by a shared spirit of ambition. Hey, Archer, don't keep quiet. Share your thoughts."

"Hmph," Archer scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly before responding, "I do not concern myself with passing judgment on those who dare to defy fate. Such individuals hold little interest for me."

"Very well. But King of Knights, here we are, three kings gathered from different nations and eras. It is now your turn to share your story. I hold great admiration for you, as someone who defeated Attila, a conqueror similar to myself. You possess the qualities of a true king who can rival me. It's your turn to speak about yourself." Iskandar expressed.

"I am merely a guardian of my homeland."

"A protector of your country, huh? Speaking of which, King of Knights, we've all shared our wishes upon obtaining the Holy Grail. What is your wish?" Iskandar asked.

"I want to save my homeland. I want to change the fate of the kingdom's downfall. I wish I could go back to the day of selection and refuse to draw the sword!" the girl said resolutely. As she finished speaking, a heavy silence descended upon the group.

The first to be puzzled by this silence was the girl herself.

Although her words were grand, the others present were not easily swayed. While her statement was unexpected, it was also understandable.

Typically, when faced with such a statement, whether in praise or refutation, someone would promptly respond. Yet, an eerie silence hung in the air.

"I say, King of Knights, could it be that I misheard?" Iskandar finally broke the silence, his face displaying a confused expression for some reason. He asked, "Are you suggesting that you wish to alter fate? To overturn history?"

"Yes. No matter how impossible it may appear, with the almighty Holy Grail in our possession, I believe it can grant even the most unimaginable wishes," the girl nodded, affirming her stance.

"Ah, Saber? Just to confirm, the destruction of that kingdom should have taken place during your era, under your reign?" Iskandar asked.

"Yes! That's why I can't forgive myself," the girl replied, her tone growing more determined. "I'm filled with discontent and I want to change the outcome! After all, I'm the one responsible for such a tragic ending."

Suddenly, laughter erupted from Archer. It was a crude laughter, lacking any sense of understanding, coming straight from Archer's mouth.

Confronted with this overwhelming humiliation, anger consumed the girl's face. Archer had just mocked the very thing that meant the world to her.

"What's so funny, Archer?" she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.

"Look at this masterpiece before me, how can I suppress my laughter? Saber, you're the ultimate clown! It's downright impossible not to burst into laughter."

"You—!"

"Hold on a moment! Just a moment, King of Knights. Are you seriously trying to deny the very history that you, yourself, created?" Iskandar frowned, looking at the girl with a hint of displeasure.

"That's right. Is there a problem with that? Is it something to be ridiculed? As a king, the kingdom I devoted myself to was destroyed. I grieve over it, and I want to change the course of events. Is there something wrong with that?"

"I see now. I get it. You're not a king. You're just a dissatisfied little girl living in the past," Iskandar sighed, expressing his disappointment.

"What are you trying to say, Rider?"

"Saber, you get it, right? What I really want is to take on a physical form and start a fresh adventure in this time, not go back to my era, my empire. And as for Archer, his desire is to get his hands on the Holy Grail. He sees it as a valuable treasure, not as a way to go back to his kingdom where he already had all the riches a king could ask for. Do you understand the significance of this, little girl?"

The girl engaged in a heated argument with him.

In the end, Iskandar delivered a harsh statement, devoid of mercy, "You simply don't deserve to be a king!"

In the end, she became the subject of laughter.

Rider told her that only the greedy can obtain everything.

Archer told her that those who defy fate can reign over the future.

Ultimately, she found herself unable to respond.

She had been merely chasing after the shadow of that king, without discovering her own path.

However, throughout it all, she never understood what exactly was so laughable about her wish.

She want to return to the past because she was far from being mature enough.

If she had refrained from drawing the sword, if she hadn't become a king, that child wouldn't have suffered such a fate, and the kingdom wouldn't have crumbled entirely.

What would the king say in such a situation?

She didn't know, or maybe she did know, but she was reluctant to accept it.

She skimmed through the king's book of wisdom and eventually stumbled upon that sentence - "Only history cannot be undone."

She swiftly closed the book, refusing to look at that particular sentence.

Later on, Berserker went into a wild frenzy, transforming into a colossal giant and wreaking havoc in the streets.

Then she witnessed Caster's true form.

To her surprise... it was a child.

And not just any child, but a child bearing Guinevere's face.

She made a vow to protect Caster with her sword, yet her heart was overwhelmed with confusion. How could she continue fighting in this war?

She knew that Caster was merely a child. How could she bring herself to harm him?

She had already caused harm to a child in the past.

And now, that same face... The face resembling Guinevere, the face resembling that king...

She was deeply confused.

Later, Caster used a technique, projecting countless swords to kill Berserker.

An indescribable sensation surged through her heart.

Because that move, the king had also used it.

The same face, the same technique...

So when the battle ended, and her Master intended to shoot him, she immediately chose to protect him and admonished her Master not to continue.

Later, Archer caused the Holy Grail to manifest.

However, what materialized was an ominous, foreboding version of the Holy Grail, seemingly capable of wreaking havoc on everything it touched.

Normally, she would have swiftly destroyed such an object without a second thought, but this time, she hesitated.

She found herself unable to take action, paralyzed by her internal struggle.

Eventually, she was transported back to Camelot, the era in which she reigned as its King.

Lancelot, Gawain, Geraint, Gareth, Galahad, Gaheris, Bedivere, Kay, Lamorak, Percival, Tristan... All the Knights of the Round Table, along with her trusted court magus Merlin, stood by her side.

The external enemies were eliminated, and there was no internal strife within the Round Table. Everything was in order, and everyone survived.

Guinevere had no internal injuries and was studying with Mordred. When she saw her, she waved at her.

And...

And there was the king.

"Back already?" the king regarded her warmly, his radiant eyes gleaming like flames. "Why are you crying? Were you bullied?"

She knew it was false.

Because... the king could never come back.

However, she couldn't bear to break this beautiful illusion and sank into it.

Even her own will had succumbed to the influence of the Holy Grail.

The thought crossed her mind that she might forever remain trapped in this spiraling abyss.

Yes, both kings were correct in their assessments.

Mordred, too, had been right.

She was unworthy of kingship, incapable of bearing its burdens. Just a pitiful, self-destructive young girl.

So, she allowed herself to sink further into this beautiful illusion, escaping from the harsh reality.

But in the end, someone woke her up.

She had believed she was beyond awakening.

As her consciousness underwent a reversal, she grew cold and detached, free from unnecessary emotions.

However, the person who woke her up was Caster.

The one who had once wanted to understand her inner sorrows.

But looking at that face, whether it was the gentle Guinevere or the wise and benevolent face of the king, they merged with that empathetic listener.

No longer could she continue sinking, nor indulge in self-destruction. She was awakened.

And then...

She committed suicide.

She found herself unable to overcome her opponent, and the thought of her innermost thoughts being exposed was unbearable. She couldn't bear to even look at his face. In her mind, suicide seemed to be the only way out—an extension of her desperate escape.

But then, unexpectedly, he reached out and took her hand. He spoke of a place, a true Camelot that resided deep within her heart.

What that person did and said didn't change anything, yet he managed to alleviate her inner sorrow and reawaken the beauty of long-forgotten memories within her.

In her mind, she pictured a grand feast from a night long past. Tears streamed down her face as her very being seemed to vanish like a fragile bubble.

Before parting ways, she expressed her heartfelt gratitude to that person.

There was something about him that reminded her of the king, perhaps in essence or maybe not—it was hard to say.

But there was a distinct difference.

The king stood as a towering figure, the embodiment of strength and the one who forged a path into the future from a desolate wasteland.

A hero, yes, but more than that, a king.

This person, however, was just a hero.

He was the only hero she knew who chose to listen to the innermost desires and struggles of others.

And so, her Holy Grail War came to an end.

She made her way back to the final battlefield of Camlann, where the sun was setting, casting a blood-red hue across the sky.

The land before her was a gruesome sight, saturated with blood. The once vibrant and hopeful souls now lay lifeless on the ground. These were the very people who had once placed their faith in a young girl, hailed her as their king, and united their voices in songs of praise.

They had been torn apart by the machinations of a traitor, dividing into two factions and mercilessly slaughtering each other. In the end, they all met their tragic fate on this very battlefield, comrades turned enemies, united in death.

This was the place where King Arthur's journey came to an end, at the foot of Camlann Hill.

Cradled in her arms lay the lifeless body of the traitor she had fought against nine times. Tearfully, she had ended her life.

In their ultimate confrontation, exhaustion had consumed Artoria, leaving her with just enough strength for a final thrust. Yet, the traitor had a chance to evade, to strike her down first, or to perish alongside her.

However, in the end, the traitor chose only to admonish her, declaring her mother unworthy of kingship. With a swift motion, the traitor severed her mother's crown, closed her eyes, and took her last breath.

In the years to come, the mother would be celebrated as the revered King of Knights, adorned with glory and radiance. However, her child, once denounced as a rebellious knight and the executioner who brought about the kingdom's downfall, had become a symbol of betrayal. The weight of guilt was placed upon her shoulders alone.

What was this child thinking? What was she doing?

Even now, the mother still didn't understand.

All she knew was that this child had been responsible for the death of Agravain, the catalyst for internal strife within the kingdom, and the instigator of a rebellion against her.

Yet, in the end, all she had done was strip the crown from her mother's head.

That was the ultimate result of the war—a war that had brought about her greatest punishment.

She was a woman plagued by failure. A failed sister, a failed mother, a failed knight, and above all, a failed king.

"Ugh..." Uncontrollable sobs escaped her lips, unable to contain the weight of her anguish.

She found herself transported back to those distant days, when she and the king were building their dynasty. Memories flooded her mind—the lively sparring sessions with fellow knights, the peaceful moments in the manor with her cherished child, and the thrilling battles fought against the mighty Attila.

But why was she the only one left alive, all alone?

She made a deal with the Counter Force, entrusting her soul to it after her death. Her goal was to alter this inevitable outcome, embarking on a journey to seek a miracle.

Initially, she had resolved to never come back to this place, convinced that she would never witness this scene again. However, against all expectations, she found herself still kneeling on this familiar ground, tears cascading down her face without pause.

But this isn't the end, it's merely a moment in the never-ending cycle of her journey.

Artoria, the woman who had been released from the Servant's contract, didn't ascend to the Throne of Heroes. Instead, she found herself back at Camlann Hill because her story wasn't over yet. She had unfinished business in this very place.

Before becoming a summoned Servant, Artoria wasn't a conventional Heroic Spirit born from a true death in the real world. Rather, driven by a mix of overwhelming despair and a glimmer of hope for change, she was selected by the Counter Force. In return, she made a pact, pledging to transform into a guardian after her demise. The cost of this arrangement was to obtain the Holy Grail. This is the true essence of the Servant known as Artoria.

To fulfill the contract, she must acquire the Holy Grail. Failure to obtain it would mean that time in this realm would forever stand still, isolated from the rest of the world. It would condemn her to an unending cycle of torment, relentlessly trampling upon her heart, while denying her the release of death.

Until she secures the Holy Grail, her only choice is to engage in battles across different dimensions and time periods.

Between each summoning, Artoria finds herself immersed in a heart-wrenching and eternal moment of weeping and remorse, trapped in an everlasting state of condemnation.

She suffered through unbearable agony in endless punishment.

She held deep fear and guilt for the unspeakable wrongs she had committed.

Maybe, ever since she betrayed her king, this fate had been inevitable.

This was her ultimate retribution.

"Please summon me... no matter who it may be, please summon me... this time, I will definitely--"

She extended her hand and reached towards the colorless sky.