"With that guy's achievements, he's nowhere near qualified to become a Heroic Spirit."
Hearing Gawain sigh like this, Guinevere frowned and asked:
"Who exactly are you talking about?"
"This has nothing to do with you," Gawain said coldly, suddenly raising his head.
"But… since your voice sounds so much like his… it would be a shame to kill you. Your martial skills aren't bad either. If you're willing to swear loyalty to my lord right now, I'll spare your life. What do you say?"
"Not interested."
Guinevere snorted, and in the next second, he lunged forward with his spear, red lightning sparking along its shaft, thrusting straight toward Gawain's face.
"So stubborn," Gawain muttered, shaking his head slightly. At the same time, he suddenly raised his right hand, not dodging at all, directly grabbing the approaching spear. The crimson lightning crackled across the weapon but failed to harm him—only making his hand slightly numb.
Even Guinevere couldn't help but curse. "What the—?!"
Before he could recover, Gawain lifted his holy sword, Caliburn, and swung down at Guinevere. Acting fast, Guinevere activated Time Stop, observing the trajectory of Gawain's strike carefully to figure out how to evade.
Fortunately, the strike seemed to be a simple, non-magical slash. But considering Gawain's monstrous strength, if it landed, it would still likely result in serious injury—or worse.
After a moment's thought, Guinevere released his spear and dodged to the side just as Time Stop ended. Even with this preparation, he barely avoided the strike; the wind pressure alone tore his clothes.
But before he could activate Time Stop again, Gawain grabbed the spear by the blade and swung it at him, smashing Guinevere across the waist and sending him flying.
"Damn… total stat monster…"
Feeling like his spine had almost snapped, Guinevere gritted his teeth, picked up his fallen spear, and used it to support himself as he stood again.
"That strike should've made you realize the difference between us," Gawain said calmly. "Give up. You can't win. I'll give you one last chance. Refuse… and die."
Guinevere spat to the side. "Big words. Sorry, I don't understand what 'can't win' means. You just caught me off-guard. I've seen worse. Next time I'll dodge them all."
But Gawain didn't seem to hear his words. He froze, his expression twisting.
"Can't win… don't understand? Why… why would you say that…?"
Seeing him distracted, Guinevere took his chance, thrusting his spear again, rune circuits overloading and ancient dragon lightning coating the tip. It pierced Gawain's chest—barely breaking the skin.
"You've got to be kidding me—"
Guinevere felt a wave of helplessness. He had used nearly everything—yet it barely hurt Gawain.
Then he realized something: he wasn't here to defeat Gawain. His real mission was simply to buy time for Fujimaru Ritsuka and the others to evacuate the refugees. He only needed to keep Gawain focused on him—dodging and surviving—not win.
But Gawain suddenly shook his head violently, muttering:
"No… no, this is just a coincidence… Even if it isn't… it has to be!"
With a shout, he raised Caliburn high and swung again.
"This sword now swings only for my king!"
Though Guinevere didn't understand his rambling, he had no time to think. Gawain charged, but his attacks, though powerful, were disordered—he was losing composure. With repeated Time Stops and careful movements, Guinevere narrowly avoided his strikes for dozens of exchanges.
Finally, frustrated, Gawain hurled Caliburn into the sky.
"Holy Sword, Draw!"
The weapon ascended, glowing like a miniature sun. Guinevere's eyes widened—this was the prelude to a Noble Phantasm. If unleashed, it would obliterate him and everyone nearby.
He immediately aimed his spear at the hovering blade, ready to knock it away.
But Gawain grabbed his spear mid-throw and reached up to catch the descending sword, chanting faster:
"This sword is the replica of the sun, the purifying flame that burns away all impurity—!"
Just then, a spiral of golden light shot from the distance, slamming into Caliburn and knocking it away.
"Who?!"
Gawain turned in shock to see a young female knight wielding a mithril shield and golden spear.
"You… Gareth?!"
His eyes widened in disbelief.
While he stood stunned, Gareth slammed her shield into his face, knocking him flying.
But she didn't follow up. Instead, she asked, puzzled:
"You know me?"
"How could I not know my own sister…? Unless… you resent me for raising my sword against you?"
Gawain rose, clutching his face, pained and confused.
"But that time… you restrained Lionheart Richard at the cost of your life, allowing us to strike you both down. If I hadn't swung, your sacrifice would've been in vain…"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Gareth said. Then she suddenly realized:
"Wait… is it like Artoria and King Arthur? In Proper Human History's Round Table, there's a knight who shares my name and looks like me?"
"Proper Human History…? Another Gareth…?" Gawain froze, beginning to understand.
"I'm not the one you know!" Gareth declared. "I may be the same person in a sense, but I come from another possibility—another world and history. I'm no sister of yours, just a knight who can't bear your slaughter and chooses to fight!"
"A Gareth from another possibility…" Gawain murmured. "Looking closer… even your eyes aren't black…"
"Eyes?" Gareth didn't react, but Guinevere suddenly did—realizing what had been bothering him. Gawain's eyes weren't their usual blue—they were black.
But what did that mean?
Before he could ponder further, Gareth shouted:
"Sir Gawain! If you refuse to stop this massacre, then fight me honorably!"
"So be it," Gawain said after a pause. "Since you are not the Gareth who shared our sins… then let us battle."
"Even if I must slay you again, I shall uphold my loyalty to the king to the very end!"
He retrieved Caliburn and charged. Gareth raised her shield, but Gawain's monstrous strength still hurled her back.
Before he could finish her, Guinevere leapt in—but was swatted away like an insect. Gawain's blade descended again.
Just then, a silver arm blocked the strike, its owner forced to one knee from the impact—but buying Gareth time to recover.
"You… Bedivere?" Gawain gasped, eyes widening.