The dawn over Camelot was deceptively beautiful.
The first rays of sunlight kissed the white walls of the city, making them shine with a light that seemed divine. The elegant, slender towers stood out against the blue sky like marble fingers pointing toward heaven. Banners bearing the red dragon of Pendragon waved gently in the morning breeze. It was a scene from a fairy tale, the kind of image that made pilgrims believe they were indeed standing before the gates of paradise.
And that was exactly what the more than two hundred people gathered before those gates believed.
Leonel watched from the side, mingled among the crowd but with his mind as sharp as a blade. Around him, men, women, and children waited with a mixture of nervousness and radiant hope. A peasant with his pregnant wife, holding her hand tightly. An old woman with gray hair, kneeling in prayer with tears of anticipated gratitude. A large family, with small children running between the adults' legs, oblivious to the gravity of the moment. Young, old, healthy, sick, all united by the same dream: to enter Camelot and be saved.
They don't know what awaits them, Leonel thought, his stomach tightening. They think they're going to a paradise. They're going to a slaughterhouse.
Around him, his Servants remained materialized, though discreetly. Mash, with her shield, looked like a maiden escorting her lord. Tamamo, in her miko robes, drew some curious but not alarmed glances. Jeanne Alter, hooded to hide her distinctive white hair and perpetually disgusted expression. Jeanne Ruler, in her white armor, easily mistaken for another pilgrim, though her bearing exuded saintliness. Mordred, in modified armor to appear less conspicuous, watched with hawk-like eyes. And Artoria Lancer Alter... she was the most at risk. Her resemblance to the Lion King was undeniable. That's why she stayed apart, in the shadows of a nearby building, watching with her cold golden eyes.
Leonel looked away from the crowd and scanned the surroundings. And then, he saw him.
In a corner, away from everyone, leaning against the wall of a stone building, stood a hooded figure. He wore a shabby brown cloak that hid most of his body and face. But in a moment of carelessness, the wind slightly lifted the edge of the hood, revealing a profile.
Silver hair. A firm but weary jaw. Eyes that looked upon the white city with a mixture of pain and determination.
Bedivere.
Leonel held his breath. There he was. The loyal knight, the bearer of Excalibur in his arm, the man who had wandered for fifteen hundred years seeking to redeem his failure. And at that moment, his expression was that of someone who knows what is going to happen and can do nothing to stop it.
Not yet, Leonel thought. Wait. Your moment will come.
The sun continued to rise. The first direct rays began to bathe the walls, and as if responding to a signal, the enormous gates of Camelot began to open. They didn't creak, they didn't groan. They slid inward with an unnatural smoothness, in absolute silence.
And from within, the Knights of the Round Table began to emerge.
Leonel recognized them all, although seeing them in person, in this living nightmare, was very different from remembering them from a game. The presence they emanated was overwhelming, a magical pressure that made the air feel dense.
Gawain was first. His golden armor shone with the sunlight, making him look like an angel fallen from heaven. His blond hair, his blue eyes, his kind but empty smile. He bore the sword Excalibur Galatine at his waist, and his white mantle billowed behind him like wings.
Behind him, Lancelot. The Knight of the Lake, of serene beauty and noble bearing. His blue-silver armor seemed made of frozen water, and his eyes, though beautiful, looked without seeing, as if constantly evaluating everyone present.
Tristan arrived next, with his bow in hand and his melancholic expression. His long, disheveled hair fell over his face, and his fingers caressed the strings of his bow as if it were a musical instrument.
Other lesser knights followed, forming an imposing line before the gates. And above, on the battlements, more figures appeared. Knight archers, lancers, guardians of the holy city.
The crowd held its breath. Some women crossed themselves. A man fell to his knees. The children stopped running, hypnotized by the gleam of the armor.
Gawain stepped forward and raised a hand. His voice, when he spoke, was clear and powerful, like a church bell.
"Sons of humanity. Pilgrims of hope. Welcome to the Holy Selection."
The crowd responded with a murmur of contained excitement.
"We, the Knights of the Round Table, under the command of our glorious Lion King, have been entrusted with the sacred task of preserving the essence of humanity. Of separating the wheat from the chaff, the light from the darkness, the pure from the impure."
He smiled, and his smile was as radiant as the sun that bathed him. "Today, you have the honor of being evaluated. Those found worthy, those who possess pure souls without the stain of sin, will be welcomed into the bosom of Camelot. There you will live in peace, protected, saved from the incineration that consumes the outside world."
He paused, and his gaze swept over the crowd. "Those who are not... well, fear not. Your existence, though unworthy, will not be in vain. You will be freed from the burden of living. Your energy will be recycled to maintain the purity of the chosen ones."
Leonel felt his blood run cold. They say it so openly. As if it were a natural process, a necessary sacrifice. There's no malice in their words, no sadism. It's worse: there's conviction. They genuinely believe this is just.
The crowd, of course, didn't grasp the implicit horror. They only heard "saved," "peace," "protected." The nuances of "freed from the burden of living" went unnoticed by ears that only wanted to hear hope.
Gawain stepped back and all the knights bowed slightly. A figure emerged from the gates of Camelot.
The Lion King.
Artoria Pendragon Lancer.
But she was not the Artoria Leonel knew.
But she was not the Artoria Leonel knew. Not the just but human queen of legends, nor the cold, altered version that had led him through the desert. This one was different. Her armor was neither black nor blue, but white. White as snow, as marble, as death. Her hair, styled in an elaborate updo, was golden but without the warmth of gold, more like the cold gleam of brass. And her face... her face was of a breathtaking beauty, but completely expressionless. Her eyes, the same gold as Artoria Alter's, looked without seeing, without feeling, without judging. She looked as if everything she beheld were merely chess pieces on a board.
In her hand, she bore the lance Rhongomyniad, not in its dark, corrupted form, but in its original state: a beam of solidified light, the very lance that held the nails of the world.
When she appeared, absolute silence fell over the square. Even the birds stopped singing. The pressure of her presence was such that Leonel felt his knees wanted to buckle. Beside him, he felt Mash tense up, Tamamo hold her breath, Jeanne Alter clench her fists with impotent rage.
The Lion King spoke no word. She didn't need to. She simply raised her free hand, and magic began to emanate from it.
It wasn't an aggressive spell. It was a soft, golden light that spread over the multitude like a blessing. But it wasn't a blessing. It was a scanner. A judgment.
The light bathed each person, one by one, and Leonel saw how some of them began to glow.
It wasn't a metaphorical glow. Literally, their bodies emitted a faint but unmistakable light. They were the "pure," the "worthy" in the eyes of the Lion King. A young woman, with an innocent face, glowed. A small child, who hadn't had time to sin, glowed. An old man with a peaceful look, perhaps a monk or a hermit, glowed.
But the majority did not glow.
Leonel swept his gaze across the crowd, making a quick calculation. Of the roughly two hundred people gathered, perhaps twenty or thirty emitted that glow. The rest, the vast majority, remained in darkness, illuminated only by the external light.
Common men and women. Peasants who might have lied to survive. Mothers who might have stolen bread for their children. Fathers who might have fought, who might have felt anger, who might have desired. Children who, though innocent of grave sins, bore the stain of "original sin" in their very conception. Elders whose souls were toughened by a lifetime of small and large transgressions.
One in seven, Leonel thought. If this is absolute purity, humanity is doomed.
The Lion King lowered her hand. The light faded. And then, she spoke.
Her voice was like wind in a crypt. Cold, distant, but undeniably beautiful. "Those marked by the light, pass through. You will be led into Camelot, where you will live protected. The rest..."
She paused. Her expressionless eyes swept over the mass of the non-chosen. "You are free from your burdens. Your existence ends here."
For a moment, no one moved. The crowd didn't understand. The words "your existence ends here" took time to process. Then, someone screamed.
"What does that mean?!"
Another knelt, pleading. "Please! I can be better! I promise!"
A woman hugged her son, who had not glowed, in desperation. "No! My child is innocent! He hasn't done anything wrong!"
But the Lion King had already turned away. Her role was finished. As she walked back into the city, her final order hung in the air, absolute.
"Eliminate them."
The massacre began.
The Knights of the Round Table didn't hesitate for an instant. They showed no emotion, neither pleasure nor remorse. They simply acted, like machines designed for a single function.
Gawain was the first to move. His sword Excalibur Galatine rose, and an arc of golden light swept through a section of the crowd. Where it passed, bodies simply... disappeared. There was no blood, no prolonged screams. Just a flash, and then emptiness.
Lancelot moved among the people like a ghost. His lance, Arondight, did not kill with light, but with lethal precision. One blow, one life. One blow, another life. His face remained serene, almost beatific.
Tristan, from an elevated position, played his bow. But the notes that emerged were not heavenly music. They were arrows of light that found their targets with terrifying accuracy. A man running towards the gate fell with an arrow in his back. A woman trying to protect her daughter was pierced along with the girl. Tristan showed no reaction. He simply kept "playing."
The lesser knights joined the slaughter, forming a cordon around the crowd so no one could escape. It was efficient, orderly, perfect.
The square became an inferno of light and disintegration. The screams of terror, the pleas, the weeping, lasted barely seconds before being silenced forever. The chosen ones, those who glowed, were quickly pulled aside by other servants and led into the city, many of them looking back with expressions of horror, unable to process what they saw.
Leonel watched everything in a fraction of a second, but his mind, trained by Tezcatlipoca and battles, was already in motion.
"NOW!", he shouted, activating his Magic Circuits. "PROTECT THOSE YOU CAN! MASH, WITH ME!"
His Servants reacted instantly.
Mash raised her shield, Lord Camelot, just as a lesser knight lunged at a group of people trying to flee. The shield stopped the blow, and Mash counterattacked with a shove that sent the knight several meters back.
Tamamo began weaving a spell, her tails glowing with energy. "Protection barrier, now!" A translucent golden shield extended over a group of survivors, protecting them from Tristan's arrows.
Jeanne Alter didn't hold back. Black fire erupted around her as she threw herself against the lesser knights. "GET AWAY FROM HERE, DAMN YOU!" A blaze of pure hatred swept through three of them, who disintegrated into ashes.
Jeanne Ruler, with her banner raised high, tried to impose divine order. "In the name of heaven, stop! This is not justice! It's an abomination!" But her authority as a Ruler clashed against the will of the Lion King, and her words barely managed to slow the attackers.
Mordred, with a fierce smile that hid her own shock, faced two knights at once. "Come on, cowards! Let's see if you can handle the true heir of Camelot!"
Artoria Lancer Alter, from her position in the shadows, didn't hesitate. Her black lance extended and struck down a knight trying to flank Leonel. Her expression was as cold as ever, but there was something in her eyes, a flicker of something that might be... anger?
Leonel, protected by Mash, ran towards a group of people still alive, pushing them towards the shelter of Tamamo's barrier. "Come on! Quickly! This way!"
But it was a losing battle. There were too many knights, too powerful. And then, the true threat materialized.
Gawain.
The Knight of the Sun stood before them, his golden armor shining with an almost blinding light. The sun, now fully risen, bathed his figure, and with each ray, his power seemed to multiply.
"So the last Master of humanity has come to visit us," he said, his voice still kind, still smiling. "What an honor. But also what a pity. You should have stayed on your spaceship, boy. Here, there is no place for the impure."
Leonel clenched his teeth. "Impure! You're killing innocents! Children, the elderly! And you call them impure?!"
Gawain tilted his head, as if the question were strange. "The Lion King has decreed that only the pure deserve to be preserved. Children... well, they might be pure now, but who knows what they'll be tomorrow? Original sin is already in them. It's safer... to eliminate them now."
"You're insane!", Jeanne Alter shouted, hurling a blast of black fire at him.
Gawain didn't even bother to dodge. The black fire crashed against his armor and simply... vanished. The sun's blessing protected him from all harm.
"The sun is with me," he said, almost tenderly. "As long as it shines, I am invincible. Didn't you know?"
Leonel knew. He remembered the lore. The Lion King's blessing granted Gawain the power to be invincible while the sun was in the sky. And the sun had just risen. They had hours of daylight ahead.
They couldn't win this battle.
"Fall back!", Leonel ordered. "Protect those you can and retreat!"
But Gawain wasn't going to allow it. He raised Excalibur Galatine, and the sword began to glow with the fury of concentrated sun.
"You have seen too much," he said. "And you have interfered with the Lion King's will. I cannot allow you to leave."
The glow intensified. The air around him began to vibrate. The lesser knights moved aside, knowing what was coming.
"EXCALIBUR..."
Leonel felt the power accumulating. It was like standing before a nuclear reactor about to explode.
"MASH! NOW!"
Mash didn't hesitate. She planted herself in front of Leonel and the group of survivors she had managed to gather, raising her shield with both hands. "LORD CAMELOT!"
The shield expanded, forming a barrier of unbreakable white light. Mash's will, her desire to protect her senpai, materialized into an absolute defense.
"...GALATINE!"
The world turned white.
The explosion of solar light was so intense that Leonel, even with his eyes closed and protected behind Mash's shield, saw the glare through his eyelids. The heat was scorching, a wind of fire that lashed the square. The screams of those not protected were heard for an instant, and then, silence.
When the light faded, Leonel opened his eyes.
Lord Camelot had held. Mash was still standing, though trembling, her shield smoking. Behind them, the group of survivors they had protected was safe, though terrified.
But outside the shield... nothing remained.
The square, once full of people, was now a desert of ashes. The bodies of the non-chosen had simply ceased to exist, disintegrated by the light of Excalibur Galatine. Only the chosen ones, those who had glowed, remained, but they had been quickly withdrawn by the servants during the chaos.
Two hundred people. Reduced to ashes in a single attack.
Leonel felt tears burning his eyes, but he couldn't afford to cry. Not now.
Gawain walked towards them through the ashes, his sword still glowing, his smile intact.
"Impressive," he said, looking at Mash's shield. "That defense... is worthy of a knight. Too bad it's on the wrong side."
He raised his sword again. "But how much longer can you resist, shield maiden? The sun will keep shining for hours. And I, meanwhile, am eternal."
He prepared for another attack. Leonel knew they couldn't withstand many more. Mash was already at her limit. His other Servants were exhausted from combat. They needed an escape, a miracle...
And then, it happened.
A figure leaped from the shadows, interposing himself between Gawain and them. A silver sword rose, blocking the blow of Excalibur Galatine with a metallic clang that echoed in the empty square.
Bedivere.
His hood had fallen, revealing his tired but determined face. His left arm, the one not made of flesh, glowed with a silver light, and in his right hand he held his sword, blocking Gawain's attack.
"Stop, Gawain," Bedivere said, his voice firm despite the effort. "This is not right."
Gawain blinked, surprised. "Bedivere? You still live? I thought you died long ago. And what are you doing? Protecting the impure?"
Bedivere clenched his jaw. "There are no 'impure' here. Only people. People who came seeking hope and found death. Is this what we have become? Is this what it means to be a Knight of the Round Table?"
Gawain frowned, his kind expression turning slightly annoyed. "We are loyal to the Lion King. We carry out her orders. That is what it means to be a knight."
"No!", exclaimed Bedivere, pushing back and separating from Gawain. "A knight serves his king, yes! But he also has the obligation to question when his king is wrong! To protect the innocent! To keep the ideals of chivalry alive, not just the orders!"
Gawain shook his head, as if speaking to a stubborn child. "Ideals... changed, Bedivere. The Lion King has shown us the truth. Humanity is imperfect. Only by preserving the pure can we save it. You would see it too, if you stopped clinging to the past."
"The past is all we have left!", Bedivere shouted, and for an instant, his pain was so palpable that even Leonel felt it. "I... I failed my king once! I failed to return the sword! And I have wandered for fifteen hundred years carrying that guilt! But at least, in all that time, I never forgot what it meant to be a knight. I never forgot that compassion and justice were more important than blind obedience!"
Gawain sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that, Bedivere. But I cannot let you interfere."
And he attacked.
The combat between the two knights was swift and brutal. Bedivere was skilled, experienced, but Gawain, under the sun's blessing, was simply superior. Each of Bedivere's blows was easily blocked or dodged. Each of Gawain's counterattacks drove Bedivere back, leaving marks on his armor, making his silver arm glow more dimly.
"You cannot win!", Gawain said, as their swords clashed again and again. "The sun gives me strength! I am invincible!"
Bedivere didn't respond. He just kept fighting, desperately, buying time.
Leonel watched, his mind working at full speed. They needed to escape. They needed Bedivere. But if they intervened, if they tried to help, Gawain would crush them all.
"We have to go," Tamamo said, touching his arm. "Leonel-sama, we cannot win this now."
"I know," he replied, his voice hoarse. "But we can't leave Bedivere."
It was then that it happened.
Gawain, tired of the game, decided to end the combat. His sword blazed with all the fury of the sun, and he delivered a blow that Bedivere couldn't fully block. The silver knight was sent flying, crashing to the ground, his sword falling several meters away.
"Farewell, Bedivere," Gawain said, raising his sword for the final blow. "May you find peace in death."
Leonel wanted to move, wanted to do something, but he knew he wouldn't make it in time. Mash was exhausted. The others too far away.
But then, something whistled through the air.
Arrows.
Not one, nor two, but a rain of silver arrows that fell upon Gawain, forcing him to stop and defend himself. They weren't ordinary arrows; each carried a charge of energy that, although it couldn't seriously harm him under the sun, did manage to distract him, unbalance him.
"What...?", Gawain growled, turning to look for the archer.
But there was no one. The arrows kept falling from nowhere, as if the sky itself were launching them.
Leonel didn't waste time. He ran towards Bedivere, helping him up. "Come on! We have to go!"
Bedivere looked at him, his eyes full of pain and confusion. "You...? Why...?"
"Later!", Leonel insisted. "Now we have to flee!"
Mordred and Artoria Lancer Alter joined them, covering the retreat while the arrows kept falling. Gawain, frustrated, tried to advance, but the rain of projectiles was incessant.
"This isn't over!", he shouted as Leonel and his group moved away, disappearing into the streets of the outer city, losing themselves among the buildings.
The rain of arrows ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Gawain stood alone in the ash-covered square, his sword still glowing, his expression of annoyance slowly replaced by a smile.
"Interesting," he murmured. "The last Master, a traitor knight, and a mysterious archer. The Lion King must know of this."
He turned and walked back towards Camelot. The Holy Selection was over. But the war had only just begun.
Leonel and his group ran until they were sure no one was following them. They took refuge in an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, the same one where they had spent the previous night. Bedivere, wounded and exhausted, collapsed against a wall.
"Why...?", he panted, looking at Leonel. "Why did you help me? Who are you?"
Leonel knelt before him, his eyes filled with fierce determination. "I am Leonel Herrera, Master of Chaldea. And you, Bedivere, are the key to defeating the Lion King."
Bedivere blinked, confused. "Defeat... the Lion King? Are you mad? You saw her power. You saw Gawain's power under the sun. It cannot be..."
"It can be," Leonel interrupted. "But we need your help. We need what you carry in your arm."
Bedivere's eyes widened. He looked at his left arm, the one that glowed with silver light, the one not made of flesh. "How... how do you know...?"
"I know," Leonel said simply. "I know that in that arm is Excalibur. The sword you should have returned to the lake. The sword that can wound the Lion King."
Bedivere was silent for a long moment. Then, a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Fifteen hundred years... I have wandered for fifteen hundred years with this guilt. And now, a youth from another era tells me that it is precisely this guilt that can save the world." He shook his head. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor."
"Fate doesn't exist," said Leonel. "Only us and our decisions. And now, you have to decide: do you keep running from your guilt, or do you use it to do what's right?"
Bedivere looked into his eyes. He saw in them the same pain he felt, but also an unshakeable determination. He saw a young man who had witnessed a massacre and, instead of giving up, was already planning how to stop the next one.
Slowly, a tired but genuine smile formed on his lips.
"It seems... I have found a leader to follow."
Leonel returned the smile, though his eyes were still moist from the images of the massacre.
Outside, the sun continued to shine over Camelot. But inside that abandoned building, amidst the pain and hopelessness, a small flame of resistance had begun to burn.
The Sixth Singularity had only just begun. But now, they had a new weapon.
And a new ally.