In that moment, whether they were gods, Campiones, or progenitors, all extraordinary beings in the world sensed the disturbance.
The seas roared with violent waves.
The earth trembled relentlessly.
Volcanoes edged toward eruption.
Thunderstorms veiled the skies.
The world, the very planet itself... was quaking in fear.
[Steel]-based heretic gods and beings connected to dragons and serpents felt this power more acutely than others. They could clearly sense the direction of this overwhelming force that terrified the world.
And some among them knew even more.
---
This was the rift between life and undeath—a realm utterly distinct from the material world, a domain where spirit reigned supreme over substance.
For any living being from the physical world, even the air in the Netherworld was toxic.
Yet, within this hazardous place stood a humble thatched hut.
A tea cup suddenly slipped from its owner's hand and shattered against the ground with a crisp sound.
Tea spilled across the floor as the cup lay in pieces.
A burly old man clad in coarse robes, his muscular chest exposed, his skin ruddy, and his beard thick, stared slack-jawed. His wide eyes brimmed with shock.
"This... Is this the Final King? But... how could this be possible?!"
"Could it be that the seal... has been broken?!"
The old man's astonishment was echoed across the world. Many other beings wore expressions of the same disbelief and terror.
---
Meanwhile, in Britain, Saint George and Nuada, who had been locked in fierce combat, had unconsciously ceased their battle.
This was nothing short of miraculous—two beings driven by madness had stopped fighting to the death.
Shock, confusion, and doubt filled their hearts.
Being the closest to the source of the disturbance, they could sense the power that transcended all comprehension.
Following their gaze led to a scorched crater—the place where the red dragon's corpse had once lain.
Hot winds continued to blow, the dry air devoid of moisture.
Amid this desolate scene stood a figure shrouded in black.
Heavy black armor enveloped her form, and a mask of the same dark hue obscured her face. Blood-red, ominous patterns, resembling veins, spread across the armor and mask, radiating a sense of foreboding. Spines jutted menacingly from her skirt, gauntlets, pauldrons, leg armor, and waist, giving her an aura of pure terror.
Black flames of malice coiled around her body, distorting the surrounding space. Though she remained motionless, a suffocating pressure naturally emanated from her presence.
A pitch-black knight's sword was planted in the ground at her feet, its blade etched with blood-red, sinister patterns.
The mask covering her face dissolved, revealing her exquisite yet icy cold expression—void of any warmth or emotion.
Ceasing her active absorption of mana from the ley lines, Artoria's power stabilized at a constant level.
Then, she raised her head, her cold gaze locking onto Nuada and Saint George.
Her crimson lips parted, and her voice, calm yet commanding, rang out:
"I don't like anyone standing above me."
At her words, both Nuada and Saint George's expressions shifted dramatically.
The sky tore open.
A rift darker than the tranquil night spilled forth—a torrent of black light stretching to the heavens.
Neither Nuada nor Saint George had expected this newly arrived, overwhelming god of rebellion to launch an attack without so much as a word of warning.
The terrifying heat within the flood of black light forced both to regard it with utmost seriousness.
In the nick of time, they evaded Artoria's onslaught, the black pillar of light striking the ground instead. Both warriors landed on the earth below.
Under the weight of their furious gazes, Artoria remained indifferent, her face void of emotion.
"Now, I give you two choices," she declared, planting the [Excalibur Morgan] into the ground. Her tone carried a tyrannical finality that brooked no argument.
"Bow your heads and swear fealty, or be reduced to ashes."
Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as though her words were not a threat, but an inevitability.
It was precisely this tone that made her words all the more unbearable for Nuada and Saint George.
One was Nuada, king of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
The other was Saint George, a saint of Christianity and a heroic dragonslayer.
For a god of rebellion to manifest, they must possess an intense sense of self and an unyielding pride.
Artoria's dismissive attitude was, without question, trampling on their dignity.
"You shall pay dearly for your arrogance, nameless goddess!"
Mana surged wildly, whipping the animal pelts on Nuada's body into the air.
The Celts revered absolute strength, and as the god-king of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Nuada was undoubtedly their mightiest deity.
Hot-headed by nature, Nuada struck first. His silver arm radiated blinding light.
"With this Silver Arm, I shall sever all that exists!"
Through his words, his authority expanded.
In an instant, silver light engulfed the skies and seas. Everything it touched—rocks, clouds, even the ocean—was ruthlessly cleaved into countless fragments, as though rendered solid and irreparable.
It was truly the divine light that severed all things.
Faced with this apocalyptic radiance, Artoria merely raised her [Excalibur Morgan].
Then, with a casual swing, she unleashed a torrent of black light.
The surging flood of black light devoured Nuada's silver slash.
The divine light that severed all things split the black torrent, yet it failed to harm Artoria. With a graceful step, she avoided the remnants of the silver light, which curved harmlessly around her.
Nuada, however, was not so fortunate. The torrent of black light consumed him, slamming him into the earth.
Ignoring the fallen Nuada, Artoria turned her piercing gaze toward Saint George.
"Ho? It seems I've caught your attention," Saint George remarked, a smile playing at his lips.
As he stared at Artoria, the blood in his veins boiled with excitement.
Saint George, patron saint of England, Georgia, Moscow, Catalonia, Malta, Lithuania, soldiers, and sufferers of skin diseases, was also a symbol of England itself.
His legend was inextricably tied to the image of a knight clad in armor, bearing the sacred sword [Ascalon], riding a white steed.
In the most famous tale, Saint George slew a dragon to rescue a princess set to be sacrificed and liberated a village suffering from a lack of water due to the dragon's presence. The dragon's blood formed a massive cross on the ground, hence the origin of the Saint George's Cross.
As a dragonslayer, his [Ascalon] responded with fervor when facing Artoria.
What puzzled him, however, was the dual nature of her presence. Not only did she emanate the aura of a dragon, but she also radiated the divine essence of a [Steel Heretic God], akin to himself.
[Dragon] and [Steel]—two diametrically opposed forces—had somehow merged perfectly within this goddess.
It was incomprehensible.
"Who are you? Why do I sense both the essence of dragons and the spirit of [Steel] from you?"
---
Artoria Pendragon (Alter)
Class: Saber
Level: 90
Skills: Mana Burst (Reverse Scale) A, Twilight Star A, Charisma E
Class Skills: Magic Resistance EX
Extra Skills: Final King (Pseudo) EX, Sovereign of Britain EX
Parameters: Strength A (EX), Endurance A (EX), Agility D (EX), Mana A++ (EX), Luck C, Noble Phantasm A++
Noble Phantasm: Excalibur Morgan
T/N: remember that the spirit origin has been modified!!! also i forgot alter was a 4 star... also the way morgan talked made it sound like alter was a nice bubbly fool LMAO
...
Huh. You really stuck it out all the way to the end.
Didn't think you had the patience. Guess I was wrong.
WiseTL's the one who actually made all this come together. I'm just here putting a bow on it... or, well, shoving it in a backpack and calling it a day. Same thing.
If you had fun, you know what to do:
👉 [patreon.com/WiseTL]
And if you're the social type, there's a Discord too. Pretty decent spot to hang out—no battles required.
👉 [discord.gg/wisetl]
Alright. That's enough standing around. Go on—before you make it weird.
—Leaf