"Master, try this. It's really not very good."
Completely ignoring the escalating argument between Rider and Saber, Flandre approached Yoru with a wine cup in hand.
Archer, off to the side, showed a hint of displeasure, but said nothing.
Yoru accepted the cup from Flandre and raised it slightly in a gesture of thanks. In response, she turned her head away proudly.
Finding Archer's reaction both amusing and helpless, Yoru said nothing more and took a sip of the wine that Rider had praised so highly.
The moment the mellow liquid touched his tongue, Yoru's eyes widened in astonishment, his face betraying genuine admiration. As Rider said—it really was divine wine, worthy of the gods themselves.
Meanwhile, Flandre stared longingly at Yoru's neck. Compared to wine, it was blood that truly stirred her interest.
"Uh… there are too many people watching."
Seeing the hunger in her eyes, Yoru awkwardly said this, and she pouted slightly in disappointment.
"Then wait until everyone's gone, Master. You'll let me have some, right?"
"I understand. I'll give it to you."
Somehow, everything about that line sounded wrong. Yoru could only laugh wryly as he made that promise. Meanwhile, the clash between the two kings only grew more intense.
"To you, a king like that is a tyrant? But a king without desire is no better than a vase."
With burning anger, Rider shouted back at Saber, his massive presence making him all the more intimidating.
"Saber, earlier you said a king should 'sacrifice for ideals.' True, you were once a saint—so pure that no one could compare. But who would willingly hope for martyrdom for the sake of ideals? Who would want a so-called saint who only comforts the people but never leads them? Only by displaying desire and singing of glory at its peak can a nation and its people be led down the right path."
After emptying his glass, the King of Conquerors continued firmly:
"As a king, one must possess stronger desires than anyone else—be bolder than anyone else, more temperamental than anyone else. A king should be more human, full of both virtue and vice. Only then can subjects be truly awed, only then can the people say, 'If only I were king!'"
"Such governance… Then where is justice in that?"
"There is none. The path of a king has no such thing as justice, and thus, no such thing as regret."
"…"
His assertion was so blunt that Saber could barely contain her rage.
Though both wished for the happiness of their people, their philosophies were worlds apart.
One prayed for peace.
The other sought prosperity.
A king who quelled chaos versus one who stirred it—there was no reconciling the two.
Rider chuckled and spoke cheerfully:
"Oh noble King with the name of knight, perhaps your ideals and your 'justice' once saved your country and people—thus your name lives on. But surely you know what became of those you saved."
"What… are you saying?"
A battlefield stained with blood under the setting sun.
That scene resurfaced in Saber's mind.
"You only ever 'saved' your people. You never once 'led' them. They never knew what you, the king, desired. You abandoned your lost people, cloaked yourself in holiness, and reveled in your own small-minded ideals. You weren't a proper king. You were just a little girl, trapped in the image of an ideal king you desperately wanted to be."
"I…"
Saber wanted to argue—she had so much to say. But each time she opened her mouth, the image of that tragic scene at Camlann surfaced before her.
Corpses littering the ground. Rivers of blood. Her soldiers, her friends, even her kin—all dead.
She had known the prophecy before she drew the sword from the stone. She had been prepared for ruin.
But still, why…?
Why did it hurt so much when she finally saw it all with her own eyes? Why did she feel so powerless, so incapable of doing anything but pray?
Some magi had predicted it—overturning fate would be nearly impossible. But still… she had hoped. If only a miracle could happen…
A dangerous thought crept into her mind.
What if I hadn't protected Britain as its savior, but trampled it as a tyrant?
Surely, that path would've led to even greater chaos and destruction. It wasn't the path of kingship she had chosen. From any perspective, Artoria could never have chosen that route.
And yet… if she had, would the result have been worse than the tragedy at Camlann?
Confusion. Deep, consuming confusion spread across the girl's face. Her ideal kingship had been utterly rejected, leaving Saber speechless.
"You… what do you think? Of my kingship?"
The lost girl didn't know what else to do. She turned to Yoru, her voice almost pleading.
Yoru blinked, surprised that Saber would ask him. The wine glass he'd raised stopped mid-air, and he slowly set it back down.
"You're asking me for an opinion, Saber?"
Saber gave a powerless nod. For some reason, she felt something toward this man—something she couldn't quite name. But that night… his actions, his words, had touched her deeply.
This kind of man... perhaps he's the ideal Master.
How does someone like him see me?
"From what I know of history, all I can say is… you were a tragic king. Your entire life was lived for your people, but…"
He shook his head and sighed, recalling what he knew of the girl before him—of King Arthur.
"In the end, it was those very people you trusted who pushed you into the abyss."
Those merciless final words struck Saber like a hammer blow. Her body stiffened—she almost collapsed on the spot.
No one reached out to support her. No one offered comfort.
Rider and Archer quietly sipped their wine. The moment Saber, as a king, sought an opinion from a mere outsider at a king's banquet—they no longer saw her as their equal.
In Archer's eyes, Saber no longer stood even with an ordinary man like Yoru.
After all, Archer had acknowledged Yoru—he'd allowed him to taste his wine. Yoru might not think much of it, but for Archer, it was a tremendous honor.
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