In the deserted park, the Servant Aslan raised the sword in his hand and charged toward Merlin. Halfway through the sprint, however, Aslan abruptly shifted his trajectory, using sheer force to redirect his advance. He swung the holy sword toward a spot some distance away from where Merlin stood.
Before anyone could make sense of the sudden change, the metallic clang of impact rang out. The place where Merlin had been a moment earlier dissolved into a flurry of petals, vanishing without a trace.
"You old pervert, I know all your tricks by now! Even if you make a dozen clones, I won't hesitate or get confused! Honestly, I should never have told you about that skill I haven't even put on my status bar—my instinct to smash a weapon into your skull is foolproof!"
Merlin could only give a wry smile. He hadn't even been enjoying himself for a full day before his identity was exposed. Sighing, he removed his knight's armor, revealing a magic staff in his other hand. He couldn't help but wonder—how could Aslan's body possess such instincts and skill?
Aslan swung at Merlin's head again. Merlin swiftly raised his holy sword to block, thrusting the staff forward. Pink magic flared from its tip, surging toward Aslan. Without the vast ceremonial arsenal his true body commanded, Merlin had no shield to summon on a whim. His only choice was to dodge.
As he sidestepped, Aslan's holy sword traced runes in the earth—fairy words that made the ground churn upward like a giant stone hand reaching for Merlin. Merlin reacted instantly, plunging his own holy sword into the dirt. A burst of magic erupted from the blade, shattering the stony grasp.
From the sidelines, Irisviel and Akuta Hinako both twitched at the display. Hinako eyed the long-haired white dog before her and wondered if he was truly a magus—and not a swordsman masquerading in the Holy Grail War. The Great British Swordmaster's close-combat prowess was enough to give anyone pause.
Merlin, realizing there was no avoiding melee, abandoned any pretense. As King Arthur's swordsmanship instructor—mockingly dubbed the Sword Saint of Great Britain—he wasn't afraid of fighting up close.
Dreamlike Charm—activate.
Hero Creation—activate.
Merlin planted his staff into the ground, gripping the hilt of his holy sword with both hands. There was no way he'd meekly stand still to be struck. If Aslan wanted a clean hit to his skull, he'd have to pin him first.
"Aslan, be warned—though I've never crossed blades with you before, I am still King Arthur's swordsmanship teacher!"
As Merlin closed the distance, Aslan drew in a deep breath. Knocking down the old fox cleanly in this form would be no simple feat—but it wasn't impossible. He only needed to be careful.
While running, Aslan murmured a string of fairy words, his form growing blurred. In Merlin's eyes, Aslan's appearance shifted—and in the next instant, Artoria stood before him.
It was no random illusion. Aslan had been summoned through King Arthur's connection, inheriting traces of her concept. In this guise, there wasn't a hint of falseness to detect.
Merlin, sensitive to magic, had been ready to sense any trick—but in that heartbeat, nothing felt amiss. And Artoria… she held a special place in his heart. Even a moment's hesitation between heroes could decide a match.
Aslan seized the opening. Grabbing Merlin's wrist with one hand, he brought the Sword of Glorious Victory's hilt crashing down toward Merlin's skull.
The sharp clang was like striking steel. Aslan blinked in surprise—Merlin's head really was as hard as metal. Thinking back, perhaps that was inevitable; over fifteen hundred years of repeated blows had forged his skull like armor.
By now, Merlin's head might qualify as high-grade defensive gear—and, with some work, a formidable offensive weapon. Perhaps even a fine material for forging.
Aslan wondered idly whether he'd someday dig up Merlin's grave for it. If not, he resolved to leave himself a reminder in this timeline.
Merlin, he decided, would surely prefer his skull repurposed into a masterwork than left to crumble into dust. And when Aslan forged that weapon, he would name it Merlin—a tribute to their… unique friendship.
It was almost touching. Only a true friend would immortalize someone in a weapon made from their remains.
He pictured future battles—drawing an arsenal of weapons: This one's called Merlin. That's Hinako. Others forged from the bones of immortals. Perhaps someday he'd complete the Immortal's Mobile Cemetery.
The spar ended there. After all, this was a demonstration for the alliance, not a fight to the death. If it had been a real duel, Akuta Hinako would have self-destructed countless times by now.
Unlike the previous pact, this agreement lacked any "last two standing" clause. The Saber faction couldn't just sit idle until the end—they would have to move.
-End Chapter-
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