The Last King, who had sent Salvatore flying like a meteor with a single strike, slowly sheathed the Divine Sword of Salvation and silently gazed at the Italian Campione now hundreds of kilometers away.
"My King, should we not pursue?"
Seeing that the Sword King—who had stalked her like an obsessed fan for over a year—was finally gone, Guinevere sighed in relief and stepped forward to ask.
The perpetually melancholic yet refined nobleman shook his head. "...No need, Guinevere. I have already activated the Great Ritual of the Old Covenant. The Heretic God's influence on nature has reached its limit—we must end this battle quickly and return to slumber."
"...Prepare a battlefield. One that will minimize harm to humans. There we shall await the arrival of the Demon Kings."
"What if the Campione flee instead of appearing?"
Guinevere asked with visible concern.
"Haha, they won't! After battling these Demon Kings for so long, I know their nature well. Challenge them, and they will answer—never retreat!"
Veeraj laughed brightly, his tone lighthearted. It was clear he bore no hatred or particular dislike for the Campione; fate alone compelled him to eradicate the Demon Kings.
Guinevere offered no rebuttal. Though she outwardly accepted Veeraj's words, inwardly she was troubled. Unbidden, Roy's face—handsome yet beautiful—flashed through her mind.
If other Campiones were truly as Veeraj had said—absolutely certain to engage in battle—then Guinevere wasn't so sure about Roy.
Only fools could slay gods. This was an eternal truth. Every Campione was a child of folly, wielding immense power yet dashing themselves against rocks like eggs—a path no wise man would choose.
Roy alone was the exception among Campiones. He bore no resemblance to a child of folly, but rather resembled Prometheus the Foresighted, using knowledge to conquer ignorance and wisdom to slay the divine!
Guinevere felt a faint unease, but the thought of Veeraj's invincible power, now activated by the "Oath of the Great Covenant," helped suppress the anxiety in her heart.
"Hanuman, I am grateful for your unwavering loyalty all these years! Once again, I must trouble you—please use your power of wind to seek out a battlefield capable of withstanding the battle against the Demon Kings."
Veeraj's expression was one of both apology and gratitude, tinged with reverence as he addressed the god of wind and steel beside him, whose entire body was wrapped in bandages, obscuring his face.
In myth, it was with Hanuman's aid that Veeraj had triumphed over Ravana. In reality, Hanuman had followed him for thousands of years, diligently fighting the Demon Kings by his side.
The divine monkey Hanuman nodded. He was not one for words. After signaling his understanding with a glance, he transformed into a gust of wind and vanished to fulfill Veeraj's request.
"Time is of the essence. Let us also search for a suitable battleground. Whether I annihilate the Demon Kings or they slay me, I wish for this outcome to arrive swiftly. Only then can the people of this world continue to thrive."
Veeraj urged with urgency before turning to Lancelot. "...Sir Lancelot, these past centuries have been arduous for you, protecting Guinevere. And Guinevere, you must be exhausted from delivering the Holy Grail to me all these years. To have you all suffer for someone like me is truly my sin. I wonder when such a fate will finally end."
Veeraj spoke with heartfelt sincerity as he apologized to Lancelot and Guinevere.
This was Lancelot's first time meeting the Last King. As the guardian deity of witches, her primary duty was not to awaken the Last King but to protect Guinevere.
Yet even Lancelot had to admit that the Last King possessed an undeniable charisma—one that inspired others to follow him. He was like the perfect protagonist of a novel, his gentleness utterly genuine, his humility extraordinary. Truly, he lived up to his reputation as the greatest hero of Indian mythology.
Guinevere sighed softly. It was precisely this charm, this kindness and sincerity, that had drawn her in—compelling her, an Earth Mother Goddess, to sacrifice herself so he would not wander or suffer.
But seeing Veeraj's forced smile and the weariness hidden beneath, Guinevere knew this mighty and benevolent hero was finally exhausted. That was why he had neglected his duty to eradicate the Demon Kings last time, remaining dormant until now.
A sudden regret gripped her. Had she made a mistake? Would it have been better to let Veeraj continue his slumber? It was clear he no longer wished to carry out this mission.
As Guinevere wrestled with her thoughts, Veeraj seemed to read her mind and comforted her. "...Do not blame yourself, Guinevere. Even if you had not tried to awaken me, I would have inevitably risen this time. With so many Demon Kings in the world, neither fate nor duty would allow me to escape..."
His words of solace only deepened Guinevere's sorrow. A rebellious thought suddenly took root in her mind—
If only, if only those Campiones could defeat Veeraj—a defeat from which he could never return, not like the past where even in death he would rise again from the grave. If only Veeraj could return to myth, then he wouldn't have to endure such exhaustion anymore.
However, Guinevere soon let out a self-deprecating laugh. With the Oath of the Great Covenant activated, Veeraj in this world was simply unbeatable by the Demon Kings. Even if the Campiones joined forces to kill Veeraj once, so what? As long as myths still existed, as long as the gods' covenant remained, Veeraj would inevitably revive again and continue his mission to annihilate the Demon Kings.
...
Salvatore felt like he was dying, but his robust physique and formidable vitality stubbornly clung to life.
He had no idea how long he had been drifting on the ocean, only that he had finally spotted land after endless days adrift in the vast sea.
In this dazed, half-conscious state—where his awareness seemed on the verge of flickering out to embrace death—Salvatore's body was at last washed ashore by the waves onto a sandy beach.
At this moment, Salvatore desperately wished someone would appear and take him to a hospital, just like the scenes often shown in TV news reports. If he could be saved, he swore he would thank them properly.
Just as the Sword King used this self-amusing thought to keep his spirits up and stave off the lure of eternal sleep, the sound of footsteps approached across the sand.
Salvatore forced his swollen eyes open, his vision first catching a vivid red robe. Struggling to widen his puffy eyes, he craned his stiff neck upward. When he finally saw the owner of the red robe, he managed to crack a grin.
With a mouth missing several teeth, he wheezed, "...Hey, my friend! We meet again!"
Roy couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head at the Sword King's undying optimism, even in his half-dead state.
What a fool—but then again, only such a fool could slay gods!
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