Perhaps to the others present, this was just an ordinary quirk of kingship.
As a king, every word, every gesture, even a casual remark to a minister could be steeped in Machiavellian intent. In fact, even ordinary rulers who ascended to the coveted throne had long since honed political cunning into an instinct, securing victories on invisible battlefields.
But Artoria was different.
Her life had been decided before she was born; everything had been predetermined.
The knowledge she learned, her thoughts and attitudes toward the country and its people, even her very path to the throne—all had been arranged, manipulated, and guided by others. She had never experienced what a normal king endured, nor had she needed to concern herself with court intrigues or deception.
In such an environment, even independent thought was unnecessary.
Because, in truth, it didn't matter.
From the very beginning, her mind had been confined within the circle drawn by Merlin and Uther. That circle was both the armor that protected Artoria and the cage that imprisoned her.
So Arthur said, "You are a man-made god, a man-made king, a man-made dragon. I don't blame you for that. But… you truly are unfit to be a king."
"You—"
Artoria wavered, yet still clung to something.
If she admitted the truth now, her heart would yield.
His pride as a king could not bear the weight of the burden he carried: his father's will, the loyalty of his knights, the people's hopes for the future. To agree with Arthur's words would be to betray all those who had entrusted their dreams to him.
I have already carried too much, so—
"You've already shouldered too much," Arthur said coldly, "and so you feel you must answer to them no matter what. Your image, your actions, even the will with which you lead Britain—everything must be what the people want to see. That's what you call sacred… isn't it?"
"How could it be—"
"How would I know?" Arthur shook his head, disappointed. "It's not your fault, but it still angers me. Listen carefully—precisely because I know that way of thinking leads to ruin, I reject it."
Vision? Longing? Hope?
Nonsense. A king's duty is responsibility. If he fulfills that duty, what does it matter what fantasies his people hold?
Is the king also to bear the weight of every crime his subjects commit?
If so, why have laws at all?
The king is the will of the state, and the state is the reflection of the king.
If the people's aspirations become chains that bend the king's will, then that king has no dignity.
"Public will may prevail over nature, but it is an unstoppable torrent and an unscalable calamity. Human desires are endless. Satisfy one, and two more will take its place. How can you ever fill infinity? Thus, a king must become the limiter of the people—controlling or guiding them. That is the role of a king."
"That's… not right! It's not like that! I want to protect the people and the country—what's wrong with that?!"
At that moment, Artoria looked like a wounded lioness—fragile, yet dangerous.
Her eyes were wide, her face twisted in defiance as she struggled against a truth she could not accept.
She didn't notice that the conversation had shifted. She didn't dwell on it, as though subconsciously accepting that using checks, balances, and other "dirty tricks" to maintain Britain was the correct path.
Iskandar sighed.
Faced with a stark contrast, few could remain unmoved.
Still, this was perhaps too much for a girl like her.
He was about to speak when Arthur shot him a warning glance.
At the same time, Gilgamesh, clearly entertained, and Lucius, fiercely loyal to Arthur, stepped in to block him.
"Don't spoil my fun, King of Conquerors. Or do you think King Arthur's words are nonsense?"
"Watch closely. This is my Red Dragon. It's rare for me to put it on display."
Iskandar frowned but let it go. Sometimes, though the truth was cruel, facing it could be a kind of salvation.
"Protect the people and the country? Fine. You take action. Then what?" Arthur asked.
"Then?"
"Yes. Then—what did you gain?"
"I… reached the end. Where… there is—" Artoria faltered.
At the end of that road lay only hills carpeted with corpses and rivers of blood.
Am I… wrong?
She stared at her hands, stunned.
In truth, she had always known she was wrong. It was because she became king that Britain fell apart; because she failed to grasp human nature, her knights abandoned her one by one. What if someone else had drawn the sword instead?
If Britain had a king who understood its people, it might still stand.
That was why she had come to this era—to seek the miracle of the Holy Grail.
From the very beginning, you knew you were mistaken.
And the answer stood before you now.
This man is—
"Yes," Arthur said, as if reading her thoughts. "I am the embodiment of your ideal, the one who fulfills your regrets. Why resist me? Are you afraid to give up your throne? Or is it that you want to realize this ideal yourself—and you cannot bear the thought of anyone else being King Arthur, so you're jealous of me?"
The words struck like a blade to the throat.
Artoria had no reply.
Yes—if the other is better, you should rejoice. Why feel resentment? Is it truly such a base emotion as jealousy?
And yet, King Arthur was not supposed to have such human flaws.
She had been fine before, but now…
The truth was, Artoria had perished long ago—lost in the sea of corpses at Camlann.
Arthur's words tore open the cracks in her heart.
The pain crushed her spirit.
She sat motionless in her chair, eyes lifeless.
Ah, the heart is dead. Good. Now for the next step—
"Don't look like that. I told you—you're innocent. People make mistakes. As kings, we guide them to the right path, help them form the right mindset. But you've never thought that way—not because you refused to, but because you couldn't."
Arthur stepped closer, lifted her chin.
Emerald eyes met—one bright as a star, the other dim and hollow.
In that brief gaze, something passed between them, and Artoria finally spoke.
"You are—"
"Yes. I am right, and you are wrong. But the fault is not yours—it belongs to the one who shackled your mind. Think—who taught you to rule? Who stayed by your side, leading you to ruin?" Arthur leaned in and whispered, "Who shaped you into this?"
The image of a man with a playful smile surfaced in her mind.
Merlin, the great sage of Britain.
"It's… Merlin."
"Yes. Merlin. A being who wears a human face but is anything but human. How could such a creature create a human king?" Arthur's eyes flicked toward the door. "An incubus."
The door burst open, scattering cherry blossoms, dispelling an illusion.
Tōsaka Tokiomi lay asleep against the frame.
A white-haired man with a sly smile strolled toward them.
"What can I say? I didn't expect my king from another world to appear in this Holy Grail War. And to see my Artoria bullied like this—well, I had to step in." Merlin scratched his head, feigning innocence.
"Are you displeased to see me?"
"How could I be? I'm simply astonished that my counterpart's king is a man—one this beautiful, no less. My heart's aflutter. And look—he's even abandoned Avalon."
Gasps came from the gathered magi.
Irisviel fumbled over herself in panic.
"The legendary Flower Magus appears! How thrilling. What say you, Flower Magus—will you join my army? I offer generous terms." Iskandar raised his glass in amusement.
Neither Arthur nor Merlin paid him any heed.
Arthur drew Artoria to her feet, holding her like a puppet, forcing her to face Merlin.
"See, sister? This is the sinner who destroyed Britain and ruined you."
"Merlin… is a sinner."
"Indeed. So, do you want revenge?" Arthur's voice dropped to a hypnotic murmur. "In my Britain, there is a rite to curse the incubus."
"…"
Cold sweat beaded Merlin's brow.
Was this a joke?
What kind of Britain was this? Where were Gaia and Alaya? Did they not fear what such a nation could become?
"Ahaha… you have quite the sense of humor. My counterpart must be a riot. Still, if I were there, I'd be teaching my king a lesson. Parallel worlds truly are fascinating."
"It's a pity. I was raised by Morgan." Arthur smiled.
The words carried a promise—they would not fight here.
Merlin exhaled in relief.
This was no true body, merely a projection bound by his oath to Avalon. If it were destroyed, he could simply make another.
And yet, for some reason, he felt a very real threat from Arthur—one that seemed to pierce the barrier and reach his true form.
A Servant's spirit should not have been capable of that.
Curious.
There was no fear—life was trivial. If it could be done, it could be done.
Perhaps his counterpart in this other Britain was already dead? Wouldn't be surprising. After all—it was Merlin.
He felt oddly proud at the thought.
"My king from another world is quite… forceful."
"Really? I'm not fond of your type either. My two Merlins are far cuter." Arthur's smile deepened. His resolve to kill Merlin and Mellie upon returning only hardened.
Merlins, in any world, were a plague.
"And now, I've no interest in you. Since you're here, you know this is Artoria's chance to break the cycle. Miss it, and she'll be trapped at Camlann forever."
Merlin said nothing.
At Arthur's gesture, Artoria followed him out.
Master and apprentice had much to discuss.
Pain, complaint—whatever it was, let it out. Without words, how could they know each other's hearts?
"What's this? King Arthur, bullying Saber—that was your plan?" Iskandar chuckled.
"Hmph. Pathetic. I'm disappointed, you miscellaneous cultivator." Gilgamesh's sneer was predictable.
As expected, Lucius bristled and immediately picked a fight. The two clashed.
Arthur didn't bother to stop them.
Suddenly, he raised a hand toward Irisviel. The shadow beneath him surged upward, forming a massive sword that flew.
"Bite—"
Something blocked it.
-End Chapter-
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