Despite using Grand Magecraft to erect a barrier against the Holy Lance, the sheer force of the blow still far exceeded Shiomi's expectations.
Had Morgan actually activated the Tower Magecraft earlier—never mind the devastating collision of the Holy Lances—there was no guarantee that, in her current state, she could've overwhelmed the oncoming spear.
His judgment had been correct.
Very few could survive an attack from the Holy Lance. Letting her retreat with the others had been the right decision.
Shiomi lay in the sand, head half-buried in the golden dust, and weakly turned it to the side.
His limbs and internal organs were nearly ruined. One eye wouldn't open, his skull was fractured, and he'd lost more blood than a human should be able to live through.
And yet, he wasn't dead. Not even unconscious.
He could feel his body mending—noticeably so.
How long would it take?
Ten minutes? An hour... half a day?
The air burned in his lungs. The scent of sublimated sand mixed with steam clung to the heat, strange and unfamiliar.
Eventually, he regained control over his right fingers. They twitched. Then came his toes, ankles, and calves.
His body was still weak, but he could at least push himself upright and crawl from the crater.
Above him, the clouds pierced by the Holy Lance were slowly dispersing. The rain had stopped long ago. He looked up at the round opening torn in the sky and saw the bands of light belonging to the King of Magecraft.
It was the same vision that appeared in every Singularity—a declaration that the world had already been incinerated, and the King was beginning the next stage of his plan.
He needed to recover quickly. Rejoin Morgan and Master.
That was the thought—until he looked around and gave up on it.
Longswords pointed at him from three directions.
Three Knights of the Round Table had surrounded him in a semicircle.
Tristan stood silently, bow in hand, his expression solemn.
"To survive the Holy Lance of our king... I now understand why she commanded us to intercept you," Tristan said. "You are truly a warrior unmatched in history. But we act under orders. Prepare yourself."
He declared Shiomi's death in a voice slow and heavy.
At those words, Mordred's grip on her sword tightened. A flicker of hesitation crossed her mind.
If she struck now, she couldn't defeat all three—but she might be able to retreat with Shiomi.
Without a steed, she could accelerate using Mana, outpacing the others.
But that would mean a complete betrayal of her father.
And it would be her second time...
Her inner turmoil barely lasted two seconds before Agravain's exhausted voice came from the slope of the crater.
"Wait. Our king issued another secret order. If the leader of Chaldea is captured, he must be brought back to the Holy Capital. The king will judge him personally."
Agravain was gasping for breath as he spoke, looking far worse off than the other knights.
Blood covered his head, and his armor was battered and torn.
"Agravain? You're still alive?" Lancelot exclaimed, startled.
Everyone had assumed Morgan had finished him off. But he had survived.
His injuries were from being caught in the Holy Lance's blast radius—he'd been hit by the shockwave before he could fully retreat.
"I barely made it... only thanks to the king's protection," Agravain said coldly.
Though he'd refused the king's Gift, the king had given the Round Table Knights an additional blessing before they departed.
It was clear the king had expected them to fail against Chaldea—and had already prepared to unleash the Holy Lance.
The purpose of the blessing was to ensure they could survive it... and continue to serve.
"So what you're saying is, we're taking this man back to Father for judgment?" Mordred was the first to sheath her sword, slinging it over her shoulder as she asked.
"That's right," Agravain replied, raising his hand.
Chains of Magecraft wrapped tightly around Shiomi's body—for caution's sake, even his neck was looped several times.
"I wouldn't be able to run even if you didn't," Shiomi said with a chuckle.
At that moment, Gawain crouched down, hoisted Shiomi over his shoulder, and took charge of transporting the prisoner their king had designated.
"By the way, I'm not the lead Master. The Director and the others already escaped," Shiomi added.
"No. You are the core of Chaldea's team at this Singularity. There's no mistaking that," Tristan said, turning away.
The Knights of the Round Table began their march on foot, carrying the captured Chaldean Master as they returned to their holy city—Camelot.
From his perch on Gawain's shoulder, Shiomi could see it clearly in the distance: the white city rising at the edge of the desert, where sand met sky.
Though traveling on foot, the Knights of the Round Table remained disciplined and treated him with restraint. There was no abuse—not unless you counted the nausea from being jostled during Gawain's run, his armor digging into Shiomi with each step.
Then again, he was the one who wiped out all the Enforcement Knights. This rough handling was to be expected.
Shiomi's recovery couldn't keep up with the pace of the knights. By the time he could move his limbs again, they had already reached Camelot's main gate.
Passing through the city, which looked utterly out of place in the desert, Shiomi couldn't help but feel a twinge of disbelief.
Could buildings like these really have existed in the 4th or 5th century?
Was this truly the fabled ideal city?
All around him were pristine white streets and buildings, while heavily armed Enforcement Knights patrolled in perfect formation.
But besides them, Shiomi sensed the presence of ordinary people. They didn't seem capable of movement—as though they were... asleep here.
Led along the long, straight road to the palace gates, the group climbed the steps.
Shiomi, nearly lulled to sleep by the jolting ride, suddenly felt himself being placed down on an immaculate floor.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the grand hall paved in black-and-white tiles.
"On your feet. You're before the king," Agravain said coldly.
"There's no need."
Before Shiomi could react, a familiar, emotionless voice cut him off and turned to commend the Knights of the Round Table:
"Though you failed to destroy Chaldea, capturing this man is still a significant accomplishment."
"You honor us," Lancelot responded with solemn gratitude.
Shiomi rolled onto his side and sat upright on the floor.
The grand hall was empty save for the five Knights of the Round Table and the king seated high on the throne.
The armor was familiar in design, the cloak lined with white fur, and the face identical to Morgan's—but with a completely different presence.
Artoria Pendragon.
But her eyes were neither the original deep blue nor the golden hue of her altered form.
They shone with a sacred glow, like chrysoberyl.
She slowly raised her hand, and the chains binding Shiomi vanished.