"Who is it!!"
Mordred's angry voice echoed across the battlefield. This was a fight between her and her father — their final moment alone. How dare anyone disturb them now? Why was someone standing between them at such a critical time?
"Your uncle! How can you talk to your elders like that?" Aslan opened the cockpit and answered Mordred's furious question without hesitation.
Mordred was stunned. Why did this boy, who looked so much like her father, call him "uncle"? Not uncle? Not related to her mother? Brother of her father? He claimed to be her uncle. Did that mean he acknowledged the bloodline between her and her father?
But why?
Why did her father refuse to acknowledge her?
If time and place had been different, Mordred almost wanted to throw herself into her uncle's arms and complain about her father's rejection.
Aslan withdrew his gaze and looked at Artoria with a complicated expression. Artoria's mood was equally turbulent. She must have known that every meeting with Aslan marked a turning point in her life — or foreshadowed a great change.
The first time they met was when she drew out the sword of kings.
The second was at the end of her journey, just before ascending the throne.
The third was after conquering Vortigern and unifying the island.
The fourth was now — after her victory in Rome.
Looking at her current state, it was undeniably tragic.
"Artoria... is it really necessary to go this far? This is the first and last time I'll ask. You've done so well. You could just go to Avalon like this... But things have come to this point, and nothing can be changed."
Artoria smiled softly, tired and dejected. Just as Aslan said, everything had reached this point — how could they simply give up now?
"Get out of the way, Aslan. We've come this far. There's no reason to stop now..."
Neither Artoria nor Mordred would yield. Having come this far, only death would end their feud.
Alaya, clad in black, appeared again in Aslan's vision.
[I told you before — you cannot change their choice. Letting them settle their grudge here is best for them.]
Aslan bit his lip and sighed. "I understand. If this is your choice... I respect it. Let me be the last witness to your battle."
The Supreme Masterpiece slowly stepped back, yielding the battlefield to the "father and child."
Perhaps because Aslan's intervention prevented a rash collision and gave them time to prepare, their next clash was more elegant and fierce. If they had rushed in before, one would have been pierced or struck down instantly. This time was a true duel between knights.
Artoria charged first, Holy Lance in hand. Mordred removed her helmet and rushed forward, Demon Sword raised. Their weapons clashed with red thunder and crackling magic — the last reserves of their power. The sound echoed across the battlefield.
At the outskirts, Belvedere — the only remaining Knight of the Round Table — crawled out from the sea of corpses, staggering toward the clash. His blue cloak was stained red, his silver armor scarred.
"Arthur!!"
Mordred's Demon Sword flashed with lightning, her body charged with magic. This was her final charge, reckless and desperate.
Artoria clenched the Holy Lance and thrust — the spear pierced through Mordred's armor and into her body.
Artoria had not expected this. Previously, Mordred had fought with skill and honor. Now she grasped the spear's shaft with her backhand, trying to pull it back, a twisted smile on her lips.
"What do you think? I surprised you, didn't I? Hahaha... cough... cough... Don't look at me the same way anymore. When it comes to surprises, I, Mordred, am the best among the Knights of the Round Table! Do you regret not passing the throne to me now, Father...?"
Her sword fell to the ground. That was the last of her strength.
Artoria knelt amidst the corpses, confused. She had known Britain's fate before inheriting the throne — sacrificing her life as a woman, freezing her heart, killing countless innocents to keep the kingdom alive. Even if the kingdom fell, her people could join other lands and continue.
But now, seeing the ruin and death before her, she could not accept the outcome.
At that moment, Alaya appeared and extended a hand to Artoria.
On a distant beach, Kay dropped his sword, wiping tears he hadn't noticed falling. Lancelot stopped in his tracks with an apology to Gawain — his heart empty.
The legend of King Arthur ended here.
-End Chapter-
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