Jeanne d'Arc carried no weapons, nor did Artoria bear her sword. This was after all a world of illusions, where even the most intense battles could never determine victory, and fired arrows would prove utterly ineffective.
The arrow represented Atalanta's will - the simple retaliatory intent of "If you kill these children, I will kill you."
She hadn't fallen under Jack's charm, nor was she coerced into opposition. Every hero possesses scars they absolutely forbid others to touch. For Atalanta, the graceful huntress, her only vulnerability was children. Whenever little ones extended their hands seeking aid, she would transcend all concepts of justice and evil to answer their call.
Even if they were beings utterly beyond redemption, Atalanta would likely exhaust every possible means to save them. No matter how profound the despair she faced, she remained unwilling to surrender.
—This wasn't without reason. Atalanta had answered the summoning and manifested in this world precisely to bring salvation to all infants, to create a world where every child could receive love and happiness.
As the legends tell, immediately after Atalanta's birth, her father abandoned her in the deep mountains with the words "I don't want a daughter." Witnessing this, the moon goddess Artemis took pity and sent a she-bear to raise her, thus creating Greek mythology's most famous and beautiful huntress.
...Even now, Atalanta retained one particular memory.
She remembered with perfect clarity the moment of her abandonment.
The infant flailing limbs desperately searching for parents—but finding no mother, while her father discarded her.
She remembered craving rescue, yearning for someone to take her hand.
Yet her wish went unfulfilled. She could only extend pleading hands while crying endlessly, sinking, sinking, sinking into a terrifying abyss—
The psychological scars of abandonment never healed throughout her life.
Even after growing into a beautiful maiden and becoming a renowned huntress, she remained in perpetual solitude. She'd had friends, companions aboard the Argo who shared many adventures. Yet through her entire existence, she never found someone worthy of her love, nor did she seek to.
When finally reunited with her father, he only rejoiced at her value as marriage material. In the end, from beginning to end, her father never loved his daughter.
—All she had wanted was to be loved.
Simply to experience selfless love untainted by lust, fame, or power.
If her own life had been beyond saving, if she could receive nothing for herself, then at least she could leave this tenderness for future children.
For this goal, Atalanta would sacrifice even herself without hesitation.
The moment Jack's mist engulfed her, Atalanta beheld hell.
Foggy London, Whitechapel—to certain people, that place was undoubtedly hell. Merely surviving was difficult enough, let alone hoping for a dignified life.
In a world where even nine-year-old girls had to sell their bodies to survive, what dignity could there possibly be? The air was perpetually filled with the stench of leather factories and slaughterhouses, while rats and cockroaches strutted boldly through the streets.
There were no strong ones here—everyone was a pitifully weak victim, and at the same time, a cruel perpetrator.
Yes, this was hell. Children—so many children—with eyes as lifeless as the dead, already understanding that love did not exist in this world.
"I'll save you! I'll save you all! I, too, once fell into hell just like you, but I was saved! That joy, that happiness—I want you to feel it too!"
It was this desperate wish for salvation that made Atalanta stand in front of Jeanne d'Arc and Artoria.
Faced with Atalanta's obsessive determination, Jeanne abandoned her prayers and straightened up, speaking plainly:
"You should understand this too—these children living on will only increase their numbers. Returning their souls is the true salvation."
[A moment of respite—never forgetting song, never forgetting prayer, never forgetting myself.]
"Shut up! What kind of salvation is that?!" Atalanta, her expression twisted as if on the verge of tears, loosed arrows at the two holy maidens. Jeanne tilted her head to evade, while Artoria caught the arrow mid-flight, her gaze sharpening. But Atalanta ignored her—Jeanne, who had extended a hand of annihilation toward the children, was her primary target of hatred.
"Saint, why did you wave a banner on the battlefield instead of drawing your sword? Wasn't it to avoid killing? To keep your hands from being stained with blood—"
"—Is that what you think, Archer of Red?"
Facing Atalanta's pitifully straightforward accusation, Jeanne responded with a cold voice, pointing out the fatal flaw in her words.
"Just because I didn't wield a sword, my hands aren't stained with blood? Impossible."
Uncontrollable memories played in her mind—a girl standing atop a pile of enemy corpses, raising her arm. At her signal, the fully armored marshal drew his sword and roared, the thunderous sound of hooves shaking the battlefield as cavalrymen mercilessly swung their weapons, cutting down foes, trampling the fallen into mud, until the splattered blood dyed the girl's beautiful face—and the banner behind her—completely red.
"I took part in that war. I chose to fight. From that moment on, my hands were already drenched in blood." Breaking free from the memory, Jeanne declared without hesitation, "Do not underestimate me. I will not hesitate for even a second to eliminate them."
[With my lightness, I relieve all burdens.]
Hearing this, Atalanta's expression twisted into something monstrous for an instant, and she snarled:
"Then you're no saint at all!"
"Exactly. I have never considered myself a saint."
Compared to Atalanta's shouting, Jeanne's voice remained calm. Yet the unwavering resolve within that calm made both Artoria and Atalanta widen their eyes in spite of themselves.
"This is a world of their memories... merely illusions born from lingering regrets. Do you wish for those children to suffer eternally in this chaotic world, Archer? Please step aside!"
[Rest in my hands, for your sins, anointed and marked]
A solemn chant echoed from the distant heavens. Under Jeanne d'Arc's intangible yet crushing pressure, Atalanta's eyes flickered with struggle, her arms trembling. Yet even so, the huntress stubbornly shielded the children behind her.
"I... refuse! If I abandon these children, who else will love them?! Your God?!"
Those words—only those words—made Jeanne avert her gaze slightly.
The omnipotent Lord exists only in people's hearts. Even if such an omniscient being truly existed, it would not absolve the sins humanity wrought upon itself.
Here, there were no irredeemable villains—only a "system," an unavoidable shadow—or perhaps a festering wound—in humanity's creation and evolution. They could blame no single individual, nor save any one person. To salvage such a situation was impossible, for the act itself was unrecognized by the city.
There was only one path to deliverance—
[Eternal life, bestowed by death]
"Who—who's speaking in my ear? Shut up, shut up!"
Jeanne's silence drove Atlanta further into frenzy. Clutching her head in agony, she let the dark miasma searing her arms scorch her face. Gone was her natural grace, replaced only by the desperate thrashing of a caged beast.
[Forgiveness is now]
Footsteps and chants arose simultaneously. When the three turned toward the sound, a British gentleman in an overcoat emerged from the shadows. Under the confinement of his cane, a blurred silhouette crumbled into ash, dissipating in golden light.
"Hmm?" Upon noticing the three locked in confrontation, the young gentleman paused mid-step, as if considering a discreet retreat. But under Artoria's withering glare, he could only offer a wry smile and a courteous bow.
"Good evening, ladies. Not the most splendid of days, is it?"
Artoria gave a light hum. Jeanne remained eerily silent. Atalanta didn't even glance at him, her hollow stare fixed on the shimmering golden orb in Sakatsuki's hand—a sight that suffocated her.
"What... did you just do?"
With both Jeanne and Artoria opposing her, Atalanta clung to one hope: that Sakatsuki would firmly voice the answer she longed to hear.
If only he extended a helping hand, she would grasp it without hesitation. If only he spoke words of comfort, that warmth would earn her lifelong gratitude.
So please—help me. Don't abandon me like my father did—
Under her pleading gaze, Sakatsuki lowered his eyes and retrieved a faintly glowing card from his pocket. Its light flickered briefly before fading entirely.
Click!
The sound seemed to descend from the heavens, yet it plunged Atalanta into the deepest abyss.
"Time's up," the young gentleman said amidst the scattering card fragments. "Let's end this."
"What—no—" Sensing something amiss, Atalanta raised her her bow, yet her arms trembled uncontrollably. No matter how she tried, she couldn't aim her arrow at the young man. Biting her lips until they bled, tears streaming down her face, she could only watch helplessly as Sakatsuki gently closed his eyes, his low voice resonating with the atmosphere.
"By the oath of my flesh—'Grant mercy upon this soul—Kyrie Eleison.'"
Platinum spiritual energy instantly pierced through the air, shooting skyward like a pillar of light. It was as if a sharp iron needle had burst forth from within, piercing the shell of this tragic world and reaching straight for heaven.
The gust lifted the gentleman's coat as it rapidly expanded, sweeping past Atalanta's outstretched hands and erasing the children behind her. Before their impending annihilation, the children showed no resentment—they simply stood hand in hand, accepting it all with hollow eyes.
Those empty gazes wounded Artoria and Jeanne d'Arc, carving an indelible scar in Atalanta's heart, from which fresh blood dripped.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the illusion, a woman cradled a small child in her arms. The blood from her backlash had long dried, and amidst the agony and delirium, she heard the Black Magi card within her crumble bit by bit, wailing as it turned to dust and vanished.
The lingering malice of the illusion swarmed toward the dying mother, yet even then, she clung desperately to her unconscious daughter. Though her consciousness teetered on the edge, her face pale as a vengeful spirit, she refused to let go.
"I won't abandon you again… little Jack…"
A golden light shimmered, resonating with the distant purifying force. The distant utopia sheltered this ill-fated mother and child, shielding them from the final calamity until dawn broke and the fog of despair was dispelled from the streets of Romania.
As the mist cleared, in some desolate place, the heroes finally saw each other's faces.
"Assassin… you killed them."
Like a wounded beast, Atalanta staggered to her feet, casting a despairing gaze at Sakatsuki.
For a moment, Sakatsuki was taken aback by the unfamiliar title, but he nodded calmly.
"Yes, it was indeed I who killed them—if you consider them as something alive."
He was the enemy, an existence utterly incompatible with her—
So why did her heart ache so terribly?!
Slowly rising to her feet, Atlanta poured every ounce of killing intent into her trembling voice and cried out:
"So, you're one of those who abandon them too? Those children just wanted to live! Are you also among those who trample on them?!"
"Whatever I say, you won't accept it, will you?" The gentleman sighed. Faced with his unrepentant demeanor, Atalanta nearly ground her teeth to dust.
"Those children could have been saved!"
"They couldn't. No matter what, those things were evil spirits. No matter how much they craved warmth, those who gave it to them would be destroyed by their own hands."
"Shut up!"
An arrow left the bowstring, streaking toward the young man. Yet Sakatsuki didn't move, merely gazing into Atalanta's tear-filled eyes as the arrow pierced his shoulder.
"Sakatsuki…!"
"Are you alright!"
Artoria and Jeanne d'Arc immediately reacted, but Atalanta instantly turned her fury upon them the moment they spoke, her rage pouring forth with every flying arrow.
"They could have been saved... they should have been saved...! Even if my strength wasn't enough, the Holy Grail's power should have been able to save them!"
"The Holy Grail..." Jeanne widened her eyes slightly while blocking with her flag.
Could such a vague yet agonizing wish—to save all suffering children—truly be properly fulfilled by the Holy Grail?
"Holy Grail." Another voice came from Sakatsuki as he murmured softly, finally snapping out of his inexplicable emotions. He pulled the arrow from his shoulder and snapped it, then raised his arm toward the dawn in the sky.
"Come forth, Sul-sagana—The Horizon of Dawn that Purifies the Seas!"
Through the miracle of magecraft, the radiant dawn took physical form. A slender greatsword spread like demonic wings, scorching the surrounding atmosphere as it descended with a thunderous roar.
"Ugh!" Sensing the danger, Atalanta had no choice but to halt her movements and retreat beyond the range of the divine sword's attack. The cool dawn breeze slightly dispelled the madness in her eyes. She gave Sakatsuki a deep look before swiftly withdrawing beyond his range of vigilance.
"I will never forgive you, Sakatsuki! I will never forgive what you've done! Just wait! I, Atalanta, will shoot every last one of you down without exception!"
The huntress vanished into the darkness before dawn. Sakatsuki watched for a long moment before finally turning to look at Reika, collapsed on the ground with her life fading, and the peacefully sleeping Jack the Ripper cradled in her arms.
...No, through her mother's efforts, her child had already escaped its tragic fate.
Artoria knelt before her, channeling the power of Avalon, while Jeanne stood not far away, casting a complicated gaze toward him.
Backlit by the dawn, Sakatsuki pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a long sigh:
"As expected, humans have their limits..."