Balin quickly regained his composure after the initial joy. In his memory, the young man before him—let's call him a young man—well, Aslan, had never seemed to regret not pursuing the Holy Grail. Especially after arriving in this world and hearing the legends of old, Balin couldn't see any lingering regret in Aslan's stories or legacy.
Of course, the legends passed down to us today make no mention of Aslan awakening the dragon's blood. After all, so many years have passed. The people who truly knew Aslan are either long dead or forgotten. So, although his legend occupies a prominent place within the larger saga of King Arthur, the details are sparse.
Moreover, most of these stories were recorded by ordinary people. How could they possibly know the intricacies of the world of dragons or magi?
Aslan shrugged. "I have a few regrets, sure. But isn't it boring just staying in the Throne? If I could materialize my soul, I'd rather keep traveling with my dragon."
Balin froze for a moment, then let out a helpless sigh. That sounded exactly like something this man would say—willful, unrestrained, and so unlike himself…
"I say… Aslan. I still remember what you told me the last time we met, in the ruins of the city. You said that my journey from that point on would be the end of my life. If you made that kind of prophecy, then you must know what happened to me afterward."
Servant Aslan nodded. That much, at least, was true and not worth denying.
Seeing his response, Balin raised his swords and prepared for battle once more. "In that case, Aslan, you must understand what my regret is, right? So—even if you're my student and my friend—I will not give up the Holy Grail War!"
With those words, Balin charged forward, his dual swords aimed—one at Aslan's heart, the other at his throat.
Aslan raised the Sword of Glorious Victory to parry one of the incoming blades. With his free hand, he swiftly traced a fairy rune of gravity into the air.
The other of Balin's blades struck the rune—and instantly dropped to the ground with a heavy clang, dragged down by sudden, crushing weight.
"Balin," Aslan said calmly, "I may not have been summoned as a Caster, but that doesn't mean I can't use my specialty: fairy script."
Balin retreated at once. Fortunately, since Aslan wasn't summoned as a Caster-class Servant, the effect of the rune didn't last long. Soon, the oppressive weight vanished, and the blade returned to normal. Shaking out his hands, Balin showed no surprise—he had expected as much.
In Balin's mind, if his student could be taken down that easily, then the person standing in front of him must have been a fake or an illusion conjured by an enemy. No man who left such a deep imprint in Arthurian legend—amid the struggles of countless heroes and across the span of millennia—could be killed with a single sword stroke. Balin knew both his strengths and his limits.
Elsewhere, Artoria, observing the battlefield from the shadows, was visibly surprised when she heard the name Balin spoken by Servant Aslan. She knew of the knight Balin—not personally, but by reputation. His name, and the devastating error he once committed, were well known to her.
She had never imagined she'd witness such a momentous duel firsthand. She had never fought him while alive, but now the Holy Grail War had made even the impossible possible.
And she had to admit—this knight was indeed a formidable opponent. The Grail War was teeming with hidden powerhouses. Artoria had never expected her wish would come easily, but even so, this was proving especially difficult.
The sound of clashing swords rang out continuously. Sparks flew with each blow, and gashes were left in the stone underfoot. On a nearby bridge, a massive man stood watching the duel. Clad in a battle suit and red cloak, with matching red hair and beard, he clapped enthusiastically and occasionally shouted, "Good!"
"What a powerful warrior! If someone like that served under me, my path to conquest would be unstoppable! No, we can't let someone like that be taken out now. Come on—we have to try. Even if it's unlikely, it's better to act than not. Believe me, the name King of Conquerors still carries weight."
But before the King of Conquerors could intervene, the battlefield changed once more.
As Balin and Aslan were locked in combat, a sudden slash of golden sword light cut across the battlefield. The gleam tore across the ground with stunning speed—clearly not the work of someone unfamiliar with swordsmanship.
Both fighters immediately leapt aside and turned toward the direction of the attack.
There, a figure with silver hair and silver armor, wielding a golden holy sword—let's call him an expert—rushed toward them at high speed.
The expression on Servant Aslan's face crumpled as soon as he recognized the incoming figure. Even Artoria, hidden in the shadows, nearly lost her composure.
The swordsman yelled grandly, "How could I miss the first battle of the opening? Warriors, I come to fight you in the name of King Arthur!"
Merlin stood nearby with a smile on his face, but when he saw the silver-armored swordsman clearly, his expression twitched. This had to be a joke. What was he doing here?
If Merlin hadn't already sensed that this Aslan wasn't the one who summoned him—thanks to his finely attuned magical senses—he might have instinctively covered his head to protect himself from Aslan's forging hammer.
Merlin blinked at Servant Aslan. Aslan simply twitched the corner of his mouth. For a moment, the entire battlefield fell into an awkward silence.
And then—a sudden flash of lightning tore through the sky. At the same time, the rumble of chariot wheels and the bellowing of bulls echoed rapidly toward them.
Everyone looked up.
Another massive figure was riding in fast on a war chariot, brandishing a sword, and closing in on the scene.
-End Chapter-
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