After my crushing victory against Vortigern, even that monster was forced to acknowledge my strength and ruthlessness. He bent the knee, convinced Britannia would prosper under my rule, and swore himself to my banner. The Saxons, confused and stunned by their lord's sudden submission, didn't dare resist. They followed him, and by extension me, their conqueror. Whatever doubts they had were irrelevant, they marched when I commanded, and together we set our sights on the Picts, the stronghold where King Lot held power.
Lot didn't last long. My holy sword cleaved through him instantly, his body falling before he could even comprehend the weight of my strike. His territory collapsed in the aftermath, his men scattered, and I wasted no time consolidating my control. I ordered Bedivere, Melusine, and Kai to take fifty thousand of my soldiers and scour the north of Britannia clean, conquering every fortress and village without mercy.
As for me, I moved with greater ambition. I sped my way toward Queen Medb, coordinating a two-pronged strike with Morgan, who led her own force of fifty thousand. I marched at the head of another fifty thousand troops, advancing in thunderous fanfare. The people trembled as they saw me in the sky astride my white stallion, Vortigern soaring beside me in his true form, a massive dragon, his shadow blotting out the light above.
On the Irish front, Cu Chulainn and the Celtic champions clashed with my chosen. Knights of the Round Table — Sitri, Gawain, Gareth, Percival, and many more — held them down in brutal combat. The battlefield was titanic in scale, the fury of the blazing sun itself clashing against the feral rage of the hound of Ulster.
Elsewhere, Scathach had arrived to bolster Medb and her husband, the King of Connacht. They stood against Merlin and Morgan in desperate resistance. But with Excalibur in my grip, I unleashed the wrath of holy light. Its burning fury tore through the Celtic lines, ripping apart their warriors like paper before flame.
Vortigern's roar split the battlefield. With one sweep of his wings he unleashed torrents of dragonfire, hellish waves of flame engulfing Scathach, Medb, and the Connacht king. Two of them survived the inferno — barely — but the king fell, his chest impaled clean through by the thrust of my spear.
With my intervention, the tide turned fully. Cu Chulainn and the remaining Celtic heroes were slaughtered, crushed beneath the relentless might of the Round Table knights. Their deaths sent our morale surging, a tidal wave of triumph sweeping through my ranks as we encircled the last two standing enemies — Scathach and Queen Medb.
Their time was running out. The battlefield belonged to me.
"Surrender, Queen Medb. And you too, Scathach." My voice thundered through the battlefield, carrying the weight of command.
Scathach glared at me coldly, her scarlet eyes burning with defiance. "I will never surrender, invader. It's either your death, or mine."
I exhaled heavily, yawning in boredom, already tired of hearing the same stubborn words I'd heard from countless enemies before her. "Then so be it. I'll grant your wish, Godslayer."
Without hesitation, I marched forward, my spear raised. Her arm moved like lightning, her crimson spear darting toward my chest with blinding speed. But before the point could pierce me, a shadow loomed behind her, my clone, Krul, her hand mercilessly bursting through Scathach's back, fingers ripping out her still-beating heart.
Scathach's eyes widened in disbelief, blood trickling down her lips as the gaping hole in her chest left her frozen in shock.
"Scathach," I said coldly, stepping closer, "your time has ended."
My spear thrust forward without hesitation, the holy lance tearing straight through her throat. She was impaled from both sides, my weapon piercing her front, and the radiant holy light from Krul's hand blasting through her back. There was no mercy in our strike, only absolute execution.
The holy spear in my grasp and the archangelic light Krul unleashed were enough to grant her no escape. No resurrection, no healing, no miracle of restoration. Only a cold, final death that erased her completely.
Her shadow kingdom began to crumble instantly, purified by the blinding holy light. The curses overflowing from her body, both inside and out, were torn away and annihilated by my Rhongomyniad. The spear's holy radiance obliterated her very essence, her throat shredded beyond recognition, her body collapsing as nothing but a broken vessel.
Scathach, the Godslayer, was no more.
With Scathach dead, her legend extinguished in front of Medb's very eyes, the so-called Queen finally dropped her futile resistance. She fell to her knees, defeated, as Merlin and Morgan closed in to bind and capture her.
Another goddess slain. Another kingdom conquered.
With that, Camelot stood victorious, uniting all of Britannia under one banner. The battlefield shook with the thunderous roar of knights shouting their king's name.
"King Arthur!"
"King Arthur!"
"King Arthur!"
The chant rolled across the blood-soaked plains like a storm. The name was no longer just a legend, it was a myth made flesh. Arthur, the undefeated king who had conquered all of Britannia, who had crushed Vortigern, slain the infamous Godslayer Scáthach, cut down the pride of the Celtic heroes, and forced even Queen Medb and the shattered remnants of her forces to kneel.
Now that very king stood in the towering fortress of Camelot. Yet despite the triumph, a shadow lingered. I had killed Scáthach and united the land, but deep in my gut, there was a gnawing sense that it wasn't over. The Counter Force was far too quiet. In that silence, I felt a conspiracy building, like a storm biding its time.
I turned to Morgan, standing before me with her usual aloofness. "Did Scáthach really die?"
Morgan's lips curved in a dismissive smirk. "You killed her yourself, didn't you, Artoria?"
"I did… but it still feels unreal. That she fell so easily." I admitted with a sigh.
She rolled her eyes at me like I was a naïve child. "You used Rhongomyniad, the lance that anchors the planet itself, the weapon that slays even concepts. Of course she died. Even if she crawled out of her grave, the holy lance would kill her again."
Her words carried that cold, cutting tone she always used when she thought I was being foolish. Then she added, more softly, "Besides, she still exists elsewhere. Another parallel world, another version of her. You only killed this one. In another world, she still trains her disciples, still walks her bloody path. And who knows… perhaps one day I'll meet another you, and you'll meet another me, if we ever tear through that wall between worlds."
I frowned, unsettled. "I still don't know if it was the right choice."
Morgan scoffed, her voice dripping with mockery. "Of course it was the right decision. What, do you regret killing a beautiful woman? Don't be a fool. Beauty is worthless if it's deadly and poisonous. She held a grudge against you for killing her disciples, and all she ever cared about was the Celtics. She would never forgive you."
"Morgan… your mouth grows more venomous with each passing day. I miss the elegant and wise Vivian." I said, my voice carrying a trace of regret.
Her face darkened instantly, her eyes flashing as she glared at me. "Hmph. If you miss Vivian so much, then go back to your sweet little wife, Guinevere. She's obedient, she's gentle, she'll fulfill anything I can't."
She turned away sharply, but I caught her wrist, pulling her back toward me. My eyes locked onto hers, refusing to let her escape.
"What are you doing, Artoria?" she demanded, her cheeks turning crimson as I leaned close.
"Guess." I whispered against her ear, biting down playfully on the lobe.
She shuddered in my arms, her body betraying her despite the sharp words that followed. "D-Don't think I'll forgive you. You may take my body, but you'll never have my heart, Artoria."
What kind of hentai line was that? Straight out of an NTR heroine's mouth. I wasn't sure who had been teaching her such nonsense, but whatever.
I crashed my lips onto hers, kissing her hard without hesitation. Her resistance faltered in seconds, her body trembling as I hugged her tight, pressing her curves against me. She melted under the heat of my embrace, her earlier defiance dissolving into breathless gasps as I devoured her lips.
After conquest and bloodshed, after slaughtering legends and uniting a nation… perhaps the company of my cold, beautiful sister was the sweetest kind of rewards I could take.
Because why stop at uniting Britannia, when you can also conquer your tsundere sorceress sister's heart and body?