[Although Morgan had become the rightful King of Camelot, and you fulfilled your earliest promise to her by casting the crucial vote as the Duke of Windmill City,]
[you did not slacken in your teaching of Artoria.]
[It was only that, after the girl became a true knight, the lessons that once took place in dreams shifted into reality.]
[Only after she stood among the knights surrounding the throne did your guidance no longer need to be hidden.]
The sweep of the tricolored spiral flashed across like a folded rainbow bridge, rippling as it passed, the straight sword wreathed in storm winds pierced through in an instant, stabbing out with a single thrust.
Facing that sword of the God of War woven together in a single blow, the golden-haired girl halted in shock, her body instinctively trying to retreat—but her eyes widened as she realized in a flash that the sword-light before her split apart. Without the slightest delay, it was as though three strikes had landed at the exact same time.
Artoria froze in place.
Above her head, a lock of golden hair floated down—the garden's lush foliage stirred softly in the palace's gentle breeze, leaving only a single stubborn ahoge standing proudly upright.
"Teacher Su... what is this new technique?"
Her gaze fell upon the handsome young man across from her, who had casually retracted his blade after releasing what seemed like three effortless strikes at once. Ripples of admiration sparkled in her eyes.
"This is swordsmanship from the East—'Tsubame Gaeshi'."
Lucan spoke.
But in truth, strictly speaking, this was nothing more than his own backward imitation, reconstructed from the impression in his mind of how 'Tsubame Gaeshi' would appear in later eras.
The true 'Tsubame Gaeshi' was an unparalleled sword technique of the East, never before and never again seen, reaching into the realm of true Magic—the Second Magic, the concept of Time and Space. A technique capable of striking three blades in one and the same moment, in the truest sense.
What Lucan had just performed was still lacking. At most, it was a continuous series of seamless strikes, enabled by the extreme frequency of his thought circuits and the peak Martial Refinement within the [Armory], folding only space, not spacetime.
"Eastern swordsmanship, is it... It really isn't like the swordsmanship of Britain!"
Artoria said, unable to hide the sincere respect and admiration in her eyes as she looked at the young man before her.
"Teacher Su, you truly understand everything!"
Now sixteen years old, Artoria had gradually matured. Her golden hair was tied up, and in the sunlight of the palace garden her features were carved delicate yet heroic against her fair skin. Her figure had taken on graceful curves: the cinched knight's uniform outlined the slight swell of her chest, her slender waist belied hidden strength, her hips taut beneath leather greaves, legs long and toned with clean lines visible when she stood at attention during training.
Light streamed through the gaps of her light armor, scattering over her collarbones and the hollow of her throat.
She gazed at the handsome young man before her, dressed casually in loose training wear, her eyes filled with admiration.
It had been this way in her dreams before—
and now, in reality, it was all the more so.
"I wouldn't say I know everything—" Lucan replied, "At the very least, I can't quite understand how such a small body can eat that much."
"Eh..."
The remark left the girl speechless. As the incarnation of the 'Red Dragon', an existence on par with Vortigern, Artoria's very breathing generated immense magical energy—resulting in an endless consumption of energy that made her, in truth, a bottomless eater.
It was unavoidable.
Yet Lucan still couldn't help but tease her.
He added, "Well, at least Merlin's earlier teachings weren't wasted."
"In this respect, you've already become a 'king'!" he mocked without restraint.
"—Teacher!" Artoria blurted out, blushing in embarrassed anger.
For once, she was not the King; she didn't need to carry the composure of one who never flinched even if Mount Tai collapsed before her eyes.
Just then, a warm, smooth voice spoke from the side.
"Good morning, you two."
"Good morning, Magus Merlin." The girl turned slightly, stepping back and bowing.
Merlin only smiled and nodded at her respectful demeanor, then watched as Artoria excused herself.
Unlike Lucan's casual but genuinely warm attitude, Merlin's ever-present smile was hollow, so hollow that it was impossible for anyone to feel truly close to him.
Lucan waved her off. "Go on."
Watching her retreating figure, Merlin narrowed his eyes slightly.
"It seems... Lia is living rather well."
"At least better than under your hand. She doesn't have to train all year round without rest." Lucan gave him a sidelong glance.
"But... does it have meaning?" Merlin said instead.
"To live inside such a 'dream'..."
"It's a dream," Lucan replied, glancing at the self-proclaimed nightmare who claimed to see through all.
"But a dream is not necessarily false."
Leaving those words behind, Lucan turned away decisively.
Merlin remained, muttering to himself:
"If it's not false... then what is it?"
"Truly impossible to see through you..."
What he could not see through was not the scene before him—
but Lucan, and Morgan, and what they were truly trying to do.
"The deviations are growing larger... Those people are about to move!"
...
[You did not heed Merlin's inquiry.]
[What you intend to do—only you, and Morgan who knows your past, truly understand.]
[The sunset of years ago...]
[That regret left unresolved still clung to your heart, refusing to fade.]
[In the end, you still wanted to try once more.]
[To 'rehearse' again.]
[To alter Human Order, to deceive the Counter Force.]
[You stepped deeper into the palace.]
[Now you stood in the highest of positions: Prime Minister of the Kingdom, Captain of the Court Guard, leader of the knights—an undisputed Duke.]
[None would bar your path.]
[You saw Morgan slumbering upon the throne.]
[She looked the same as she had years ago, save for her royal attire and the thorn-crown of kingship upon her brow, her golden hair turned silver from the awakening of her Origin.]
[She leaned against the throne, silver hair spilling like a waterfall, black ceremonial dress clinging to her form, outlining the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist. From the slit of her gown stretched long legs wrapped in black stockings, flowing lines running from her hips to her toes. Beneath the thorn crown, her exquisite face lay serene, lips faintly parted.]
[You quietly watched her.]
[And then before you appeared seven figures—summoned forth by the Counter Force.]
"Servant shadows?"
Lucan turned, smiling.
"I've been waiting for you."
The seven black silhouettes did not speak. Though they were but shadows, Lucan knew well—they were surely the marks of seven great heroes, engraved upon the surface of the world.
Seven Heroic Spirits.
Seven Guardians of the Counter Force.
One against seven—even for Lucan now, the pressure was enormous.
Yet he showed no fear.
Unlike years ago, when he had left immediately after a day of kingship.
Unlike when he had first slain Vortigern, filled with wariness.
Now his expression remained calm.
He asked plainly:
"And what have you come here for...?"
For what?
Naturally, to correct the errors of Human Order!
By instinct, the Guardians stirred—
but froze the very next instant.
Through the youth before them—no, the boy—they looked to the throne behind him, and saw nothing. No 'kingly shadow' occupied it.
"All of this is illusion."
"All these years, and you're still falling for my tricks... Alaya."
Lucan, reverted to his twenty-one-year-old self, spoke with a smile.
[You turned the timeline of Britain backward.]
[Back to shortly after Vortigern's death.]
[Back to before he laid siege to the city.]
[With the fragment of the Fifth Magic you commanded alone, you could not have done this. But with the aid of the Fairy Realm, and the power of the Holy Lance Rhongomyniad which nails the world's surface in place, it was far from impossible.]
[As said before—in the Age of Man, the surface of the planet is woven by Human Order, and the Holy Lance is the anchor pinning that layer in place.]
[Tilt the Lance ever so slightly, loosen the weave of the world's surface—]
[Unleash the Fairy Realm's function of storing 'fantasy'—]
[And once again, you deceived the Counter Force.]
"The game with the heavens has only just begun."
The seven Guardians' shadows faded.
Lucan stood before the throne, thinking: as expected, the Counter Force is nothing but a rigid program.
Merlin, entering from the palace gates, caught sight of this and paused.
...
"Mother, I'm exhausted—Father truly knows how to drive us!"
Meanwhile, in the Fairy Realm.
Amidst the seas of flowers, Baobhan Sith grumbled aloud.
She was promptly cut off by Barghest at her side:
"To serve our Master is what we should do."
As fairies, they had aided Morgan le Fay in briefly opening the door of the Fairy Realm.
It was like a black hole opening for a moment upon the surface of the world—
drawing in the "thread" of two years of Britain's time, cut out by Lucan's near-Thaumaturgical great sorcery, pulling it down here.
Deep within the Fairy Realm, Morgan le Fay lifted her eyes to the sight above, silent.
Her gaze flickered, as if she had, in an instant, seen the future of the world.
"...Camelot's destined collapse..."
"So that is why you would make that child king?"
"Uther... placing your hope in another—how pitiful you are."
In that instant when the Holy Lance tilted slightly, Morgan's awakened Origin—the Trinity of Fairy, Nature, and Goddess—opened her vision to the future.
"Merlin... as expected, utterly repulsive."
She confirmed it.
[This was the 'plan' you and Morgan shared.]
[You sought to contend against the heavens.]
[She sought to see the future—to understand the reason behind King Uther's final choice.]
[To her, that mattered far more than becoming king.]
"But that's fine."
"The future between Su and I..."
"I already know it."
At last, Morgan murmured these words, a smile blooming across her lips.
Yes.
That was the future she most wanted to see—
the one belonging only to her, and her knight.
[...]
[In this year, you returned to twenty-one.]