After obtaining the Soul of the Lord, Killer Queen fell into a state resembling deep sleep. Although Roland could still summon it, the Stand always felt fatigued, as if dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Out of consideration, he let it rest most of the time.
There was another reason as well, Roland's reliance on Killer Queen had greatly diminished. The Holy Lord's soul, as a red grads contract spirit, could now fulfill most of his needs with the knowledge, raw power and underlings, creating an unusual situation:
In many cases, Roland's body can be considered many times stronger than his Stand.
Though Killer Queen's form had shifted, no longer resembling the fragile glass cannon of old thanks to its sublimation and mad enhancement through the Holy Lord's soul, it could not escape the truth, it was still half of Roland's soul. Summoning it carelessly only created openings, since damage to the Stand inevitably returned to the user.
But this did not mean Roland had no expectations for Killer Queen.
This was power that touched upon the laws themselves, the key to heaven, the seed of a new world.
And now, its prototype had been born.
"How surprising," Gilgamesh said, his voice dripping with hostility toward Roland. "You may be an ignorant coward, but among the Masters, your are one of the bravest if you dare to stand before me."
Unlike before, the King of Heroes' mocking gaze now carried a darker, more sinister edge.
Even among the Servants gathered for the Holy Grail War, ancient legends themselves, his power drew marvel, fear, and reverence. Such emotions were the finest wine to Gilgamesh. As the original king, he demanded to be the one admired, the one worshipped.
Anyone who dared disrupt this order would be punished without mercy.
But today, twice in succession, his dignity had been slighted. The pale, broken Knight King was one thing, but to be defied by this clownish man? Gilgamesh could hardly bear it. For now, he would delay execution before his destined battle with his friend, stretching out the amusement. But this did not mean his majesty could be mocked.
"Your courage deserves some praise," Gilgamesh sneered, "but that is all. Contracting Saber changes nothing. You have proven yourselves to be nothing more than a fool cheering from the stands."
His crimson eyes blazed with cold authority.
And indeed, Saber's condition was far from ideal. Though Lancelot's blade had not struck directly, the compressed sword-light brushing past him shattered his silver armor and carved a bloody line from shoulder to waist.
Worse than his wounds was the turmoil in his heart. Even Roland, who knew little of him, could see the hesitation in Saber's face. His ideals had been denied by Lancelot. He had struck down his comrade only because that comrade showed mercy. For the Knight King, burdened by justice, this wound cut deeper than any sword.
Gilgamesh delivered his judgment from above.
"Your Servant is far too weak. To borrow a modern phrase, it's like a flying ball caught above the pitcher's head. He cannot even touch me. Do you truly think such weakness could ever triumph over me?"
"You seem to have misunderstood something, King of Heroes," Roland replied, eyes narrowed, the crimson in his pupils so dense it seemed endless. "Who said I needed Saber's strength? Some things only hold meaning when done with your own hands. If you leave them to others… it's no fun at all."
His voice sharpened like a blade.
"—like smashing in that smug face of yours."
"As a last testament, that is truly unique."
Gilgamesh's composure cracked, anger twisting his features. "Though killing worthless scum like you sullies my hands, since you dare to provoke my majesty, you will pay with your life. That is the law I have set for myself."
At the King's threat, Saber instinctively raised his sword, despite still wrestling with doubt. But Roland stopped him with a glance.
"Your loyalty is admirable. But rather than fret over me, you'd do better to guard Irisviel at the castle."
"I cannot allow you to face Archer alone, Master—"
"Then stand back and watch. If you cannot even do that, I'll be truly angry."
Saber's face fell. At last, he withdrew dozens of meters, leaving the field to Roland.
Roland's calm defiance only deepened Gilgamesh's wrath. His stare grew colder, crueler. Yet having been ignored twice, he refused to speak again lest he appear the clown himself.
A cold snort escaped his nose. The air trembled as golden ripples spread behind him, his treasury opening.
To call forth multiple Noble Phantasms against a mere magus would insult his pride. But since he had already declared his intent, the weapon that emerged was no less than the original spear of certain death, the archetype of all cursed lances.
The moment it locked onto Roland, his instincts screamed. The pressure was suffocating, inescapable.
"It's over."
With a proud tilt of his chin, Gilgamesh loosed the spear. It shot forth like lightning, aimed directly at Roland's heart.
Even now, Roland did not consider it truly terrifying. He could block with fire, with wind, or even brute force.
The true question was this: would he entrust himself to the unstable Killer Queen?
As his consciousness edged closer to his Stand, he felt it, a vast awareness, a power that could change everything, a sovereignty over rules themselves.
Would he reach for it? Would he dare seize what he did not yet understand, risking folly, disaster, perhaps even madness?
Time seemed to halt.
Roland let go of resistance and turned to look at Killer Queen.
Though its form had transformed greatly, the eyes were calm, head tilted, as it watched him.
"…This is my other half," Roland whispered with a smile, seeing the Stand once more.
And in that instant, the shriek of the lance, the shattering boom of the sound barrier, everything fell silent.
Only Roland's voice remained, calm and absolute, carrying across the battlefield:
"The rules of victory have been set—Killer Queen!"