Shirou, accompanied by the young villagers who had chosen to follow him, set out on the path Sigurd had taken, venturing deeper into the interior. Mounted atop his summoned Dun Stallion, he found himself standing on a snowy plain, its surface slowly melting due to the weakening of Skadi's divinity.
He gazed into the distance where he could see a faint, soft glow emanating from Skadi's wall. Her mana depleted and her body pushed to its limits, Skadi found herself unable to keep up with the subtle movements of Hel and the Valkyries. Exhaustion had taken its toll, and she could no longer see clearly through the haze of fatigue. In the end, Hel emerged victorious, as Skadi had grown too weak to bear the weight of this world on her shoulders anymore.
At the edge of Skadi's domain, flames danced in a macabre display, while the roars of giants and the cries of humans blended together, creating a haunting requiem for the end of days. Blood stained the ground, and the sky above grew even more obscured by the rising smoke and ash. Amidst the chaos, the soldiers around Shirou began to whisper about the Fourth Majesty. Caught off guard by their words, Shirou brought his steed to a halt and turned to them, confusion etched on his face. "I thought everyone referred to Galahad as the Third. Why do you call him the Fourth?"
The sergeant, his head bowed low, couldn't hide the flicker of sadness and shame in his eyes as he humbly replied, "We are the rebels who followed Mordred, my king. To us, Mordred will always be the Third..."
As the sergeant spoke, many of the soldiers around him also bowed their heads, a gesture of shared guilt and remorse. It became clear that these men had once stood alongside Mordred, raising their blades against their fellow comrades and innocent civilians in a desperate bid to destroy the coordinates left behind by the extraterrestrial invaders. In the end, their actions had led to the destruction of their own kingdom...
Shirou nodded, his expression pensive. "I see..." He understood the gravity of the situation, recognizing the sensitive nature of the topic and its far-reaching implications. Despite Mordred's heroic efforts in vanquishing the alien threat and saving the world, not every soldier had been privy to the truth behind her actions. As a result, she and her loyal followers would forever be remembered as the ones responsible for the downfall of the Eternal Kingdom, the rebellious child who brought about the collapse of her mother's reign.
Shirou's voice rang out, clear and unwavering. "As followers of Mordred who triumphed over the knights of the Second, there's no need for such gloomy expressions. If you continue to look so despondent, others will mock me, claiming that my kingdom fell at the hands of a clown. Hold your heads high. You are the ones who swore allegiance to me, who revered me, who built my grand kingdom, and yet, in the end, became its executioners. If you lack courage and confidence, it reflects poorly on me as your king."
The soldiers surrounding Shirou slowly raised their heads, their eyes drawn to their king astride his majestic Dun Stallion. Some couldn't help but choke back tears, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. The sergeant, his voice thick with emotion, dared to ask, "My king, do you not harbor anger towards us? Do you not blame us for our actions? Do you not wish to see us punished for what we've done?"
Shirou's voice softened, "The storms of the past have long since passed. What reason do I have to cling to anger? Besides, if I had been there with you back then..."
He let the thought hang in the air for a moment before shifting the conversation. "I must admit, I've been very curious about something. Can you tell me what exactly happened on the island while the Second was away, locked in battle against the Huns?"
This question had weighed heavily on his mind for quite some time. Through his interactions with the Crimson Moon and Mordred, he had pieced together a vague understanding of the events that had unfolded. While Artoria was engaged in a fierce war with the Huns, her attention focused on Attila, the Pope had somehow come into possession of the Alien's Relic. Mistaking it for the Holy Grail, the Pope had inadvertently created a set of coordinates that could be traced by the extraterrestrial invaders. In the end, it had been Mordred who destroyed the relic, an act that led to the complete destruction of the kingdom.
The Grail, Shirou knew, was the Noble Phantasm Mordred had obtained after carrying out that large-scale slaughter, serving as evidence of all she had done. But the details of what had truly transpired during that time remained shrouded in mystery. Even as the Eternal King manifesting in the Caster class, with his vast omniscience, Shirou found himself unable to penetrate the fog of history surrounding those events.
The sergeant's face grew taut, his muscles stiffening as a look of pure fear and despair washed over his face. It was clear that the mere thought of revisiting those memories filled him with a deep sense of dread and unwillingness. However, faced with Shirou's unwavering gaze and questioning, the sergeant eventually managed to suppress the terror and hopelessness that gripped his heart. "As for the specifics... I'm afraid I don't have a clear picture of everything that transpired. But I will share with you all that I do know, my king."
Shirou nodded, his expression one of understanding and encouragement. As they continued their journey, Shirou remained atop his steed, Dun Stallion, while the sergeant took hold of the reins, guiding the horse forward. Behind the two men, hundreds of young villagers and several thousand soldiers followed, the soldiers forming a protective perimeter around the civilians.
As the sergeant began to narrate the events of the past, Shirou listened intently, absorbing every detail with rapt attention. He understood the gravity of what had occurred after his departure, and while he had come to accept the ultimate fate of the kingdom's destruction, as well as the actions taken by both Artoria and Mordred, there was one aspect that continued to trouble him deeply: the infighting that had erupted among the knights and the desperate, haunted faces of those he held dear. His interest in learning the truth wasn't born of mere curiosity; rather, it stemmed from a genuine desire to understand what had truly happened during those fateful days.
As the sergeant said, he himself didn't know much either. He used to be a soldier under Artoria's command, fighting on the front lines against Attila's army with his comrades. After going through countless battles, he had his leg cut off in one of the wars. Luckily, the kingdom took really good care of its retiring soldiers, with a decent veteran's welfare and benefits plan.
Even though he had to retire and couldn't fight alongside his comrades under the Second, the invincible war god he admired so much, he could still contribute to the kingdom as a citizen. Moreover, he now had the opportunity to start a family of his own, to take a loving wife and raise a bunch of children, enjoying his later years surrounded by the peace and joy that only a close-knit family could provide.
The sergeant's dream of a brighter future was not some far-fetched fantasy. Even though he had lost a leg in battle, the kingdom's magi were capable of crafting a wooden prosthetic that would restore his mobility and allow him to remain a productive member of society. Furthermore, the people of the kingdom held soldiers in high regard, which meant that finding a woman willing to become his wife wouldn't be that difficult.
But just as he was daydreaming about his bright future, reality slapped him in the face. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed within the kingdom. It wasn't a change in politics or new cultural trends. No, the people themselves had become very strange!
They didn't look up to the Eternal King anymore, and they didn't feel grateful towards the Second who defended their front lines against Attila. Instead, they had begun to worship a new god, a deity whose nature was shrouded in mystery.
While the act of worshipping a god was not inherently strange, as the kingdom did not, and could not, prohibit faith, given its role as the foundation of ethnic and cultural identity, the god they now revered was not the great, omniscient, and omnipotent God of old. Rather, it was a deity with a most peculiar and unsettling image.
"It's difficult to put into words," the sergeant struggled to explain. "The best way I can describe it is that it has a certain resemblance to the underwater whirlpools I saw during my early years when I would go fishing out at sea. But even that comparison falls short, as the thing also had images of tentacles and other strange, terrifying appendages. What's more, when retired soldiers returned to the kingdom to receive their promised compensation and benefits, they were first required to spend a night in the chapel, worshipping before this bizarre idol."
Shirou frowned, "The kingdom's regulations for veterans don't include this condition. Morgan only cares about power and attention; she wouldn't go out of her way to change my rules. As for the Second... she's been too busy fighting to change my rules. Let me think, the one who came up with this condition must be the hidden mastermind controlling the kingdom. This so-called worship was just a way to control you veterans, wasn't it?"
To his surprise, the sergeant shook his head. "No, my king. You're wise, but you guessed wrong this time. The one who changed your rules was none other than the Third, Mordred. The so-called worship wasn't to control us, but to save us, to tell us the truth, to let us know what exactly happened in the kingdom and the forces secretly gathering to overturn it!"
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