"Hoo… hoo—ugh!! Hoo hoo hoo—!!"
After seeing the scene projected on the virtual screen, Lancelot began hammering his chest with both hands. The clang of armor rang out, loud and heavy, each dull echo through the basement a testament to the sheer force he was using. He gasped for breath, unable to breathe properly.
His brain—already frayed by the frenzy—seemed unable to process what he was seeing. It was like a computer crash; he simply couldn't handle it. First, the information told him his son had turned into a daughter. Second, that daughter was unbelievably cute. And finally—
Yes, this was the most important part!
My lovely daughter calls me Dad!
"Aaaaaaa——!!!"
It was an unprecedented experience. Was this a dream? No—it was reality. The throbbing pain in his frenzy-addled mind, the suffocating pressure in his chest, the blood racing faster and faster through his veins—none of it was a dream.
These overwhelming sensations only reinforced his conviction!
An illusion? Impossible! Lancelot could never mistake the shield in the girl's hand. That shield was the very table that symbolized the Round Table! If even that could be forged, then the Aslan before him was truly terrifying. And besides, in what little coherent thought he had left, Lancelot knew Aslan wasn't the type to indulge in cheap tricks.
His frenzied mind suddenly latched onto the three words Aslan had said—singularity.
Yes… this had to be a singularity! In ordinary circumstances, his son calling him "Father" would mean little—merely a begrudging address from a brat. But this? This was different. A daughter! A daughter! God knew how envious he had been of his king, who had a daughter of his own. Even if that girl was a rebellious little turkey, she was still a daughter. And this daughter before him—she wasn't like the female knights of the Round Table in his memories. She was young, adorable, fair yet gentle, serious yet warm.
No—just thinking this made him go madder. His brain kept whispering one insane idea: use the Holy Grail's power to travel to the past, put Galahad back into his mother's womb, and wait for the birth of a daughter!
No, no… how could such a thought take root? He had come here to have his king punish him for his sins!
The more confused his mind became, the faster his heart pounded. His chest felt ready to burst. But as a Berserker, Lancelot had no means of calming himself. Beneath his helmet, blood now streaked his face. The violent pounding of his heart had ruptured blood vessels, and he coughed up crimson.
It was just a video—but to Lancelot, it was more exhausting than the battle with Gilgamesh moments ago. Even the last two words of that short clip had nearly taken his life!
If this kept up, he'd be eliminated on the very first night of the Holy Grail War! No—that couldn't happen. Whether it was to receive his king's judgment for his wrongs, or to see his beloved daughter with his own eyes, he could not be eliminated now!
He had to speak to his three-dimensional, living, warm daughter!
"Ah…"
With a roar toward the ceiling, Lancelot thought of the only way to keep himself from burning out—completely abandon reason and let instinct take over. If the raging flood couldn't be contained, then better to open the gates and let it all out. Trouble would come, yes—but it was better than holding it in until his heart exploded.
Resolved, Lancelot cast off the last remnants of reason. He reached up, removed his helmet, and revealed a blood-streaked, wild-eyed face. His gaze locked obsessively on the screen before him.
Noticing this, Aslan smirked and set the short memory video to loop. After all, he wasn't a devil. Surely, Lancelot would want to know more about his daughter—and Aslan was only being helpful.
Every time he thought about it, Aslan felt downright charitable. In this Holy Grail War, there was no one kinder than himself.
Lancelot kept reaching out toward the virtual screen, trying to grab it. But it was only a projection, floating in midair; no matter how hard he clawed, he couldn't touch it.
From the perspective of the old worm's spies, Lancelot, after standing frozen for a moment, was now pawing at some strange glowing image. The worm's power was limited, so the old magus could only tell that his Berserker was not attacking the pursuers as expected.
In other words, the Berserker he had painstakingly summoned was doing nothing to protect him. The old worm was also curious—what could possibly capture the Berserker's attention so completely? Little did he know that the legendary Knight of the Lake, Lancelot, was actually a doting father at heart.
Fifteen hundred years ago, Lancelot had no chance to have a daughter, so of course there were no records of this side of him.
Even Kariya, who had been retreating, felt the shift in Berserker's state. The strain on his body suddenly grew worse—worse even than during the battle with Gilgamesh. Through the Command Seal's link, some of Berserker's emotion spilled into him, adding a sharp edge of restlessness.
"Berserker… Lancelot, what the hell are you looking at?"
Kariya collapsed to his knees from the pain, cursing under his breath. Thankfully, he had already left the port—otherwise, he might have become the first Master to expose himself out of sheer physical agony.
-End Chapter-
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