"Master Merlin, if Guinevere truly does as you say, will she gain the sword's recognition?"
"My King, Guinevere herself is acutely aware of what she lacks. First, the path she learned from Hassan has yet to be properly mastered. Second, as she just mentioned, a mental barrier still exists between her and the Holy Sword; she subconsciously doesn't believe it's strong enough."
"So, your Magecraft is meant to create a shared consciousness between Guinevere and the Holy Sword, allowing her to witness its birth and its growth alongside her over the years?"
Several days later, in a bedroom at the Uruk State Guest House, the King of Knights and Merlin sat at a small table, sipping drinks. Guinevere lay flat on the bed, her hands tightly gripping the sword resting on her body.
Her brow furrowed slightly, her breathing a little rapid; clearly, she was having a bad dream.
It was the year 507 AD, not long after the King of Knights had proposed to her and she had demanded a Holy Sword comparable to Excalibur as a betrothal gift.
In Avalon, the Realm of Faeries, Merlin had gone from one Lady of the Lake to another with a forced smile, his handsome face earning only their sighs.
Once the decision to forge the sword was made, its primary materials were the remnants left after the planet forged Excalibur and Gawain's Galatine.
In terms of its origins, the Sword of Destined Judgment, though inherently flawed, was undeniably a Holy Sword from the same series as Excalibur.
"So, your design to absorb and store Mana was also for the purpose of continuously forging yourself?"
Guinevere had been to Avalon before. Although Avalon disliked her, she could still name many of the Ladies of the Lake.
Now, watching the Magic Circle that nearly covered Avalon continuously condense, as over a dozen Ladies of the Lake jointly performed the forging ritual, and seeing the "iron scraps" gradually transform into the shape of a Holy Sword under the ritual's influence...
For the first time, Guinevere understood where her sword truly came from.
Subsequently, she understood even more clearly that whether it could overcome its inherent flaws, whether it could truly rival the Holy Sword of the Planet, and in what direction this sword would grow in the future—all of this depended entirely on her, its wielder.
Because she wielded it, the Sword of Destined Judgment was stained with blood; because she wielded it, it gained a Noble Phantasm Release similar to Excalibur's.
And because she wielded and named it, the sword truly became entangled with the karma of judging destiny.
It had seen Guinevere personally alter the fate of the King of Knights and an entire era; it had seen Guinevere defy the Human Order.
It believed that Guinevere's Noble Phantasms as a Caster should be integrated into the sword, allowing every strike to wield the power of Reality Falsification.
"Saber is you, Caster is you, Rider is you, Berserker is you, and Ruler is you. All of you should converge into one to forge the strongest sword you desire.
A fragmented you, an incomplete you—how can you possibly merge all you have learned into one and complete the Sword of Destined Judgment you seek?"
Were these the sword's words, or the inner voice Guinevere was gradually becoming aware of? Or perhaps a warning from Merlin, from beyond the dream?
Guinevere couldn't tell.
She only knew these words were true; how could her fragmented self possibly integrate everything?
Then, Guinevere looked further back, seeing the Sword of Destined Judgment's accumulation over 1,500 years, seeing its joy and resentment each time it was summoned with her.
It was deeply indignant: why, in every final crisis, did Guinevere rely on Noble Phantasms other than itself?
Over 1,500 years, steeped in countless baths of blood and Mana, Guinevere's Holy Sword had indeed developed the most nascent form of self-awareness.
Acknowledge it, believe in it, unite with it—and this sword could, at the very least, unleash power surpassing a standard Excalibur when released as a beam-type Noble Phantasm.
Unlike Excalibur, forged by the Planet, whose upper limits were set at its birth...
...this Holy Sword, forged by the Ladies of the Lake and nurtured by Guinevere, had no end to its growth.
"Mmm..."
A dream of a thousand years, its end marked by the moment she fell asleep. Having reached this point and gained a deeper understanding of the sword, Guinevere finally opened her eyes, completely abandoning the idea of calling it the "Replica Holy Sword."
This dream had also completely altered one of Guinevere's long-held beliefs.
Namely, she had always thought her Holy Sword was inferior to Excalibur. Now, she realized that if her Holy Sword was indeed inferior, the only reason could be that she, its "Mother," was utterly useless.
"Lia, how long was I asleep?"
"Counting from the moment you fell asleep, ten minutes."
The sleep duration was shorter than Guinevere had imagined, and it gave her a new appreciation for the power of Merlin, the half-incubus.
She rose, got out of bed, straightened her skirt slightly, then very seriously lifted its hem and performed a curtsy she had rarely used even in her past life.
With this gesture, Guinevere conveyed her earnestness.
"Sir Merlin, rest assured. I know you like faeries, and not all faeries like you, but in the booklet I draw, I can make all the faeries fall in love with you!
After all, what you truly desire is spiritual satisfaction! Oh, right, I won't draw Sister Morgan in it!"
Was this repaying kindness with malice? Seeing Merlin's exasperated expression, he probably both wanted it and didn't.
"Rest assured, I won't publish this booklet. I'll give it directly to you."
"But in the future I just saw, why is the protagonist of your booklet Magi Mari-chan?"
"Huh? Is that what you're bothered by? Surely you don't expect me to draw a booklet with a male protagonist? That kind of thing, I'd only ever look at, at most."
"Huh, Guinevere, you actually read those kinds of booklets?"
"Lia, don't misunderstand! I'm just studying them for reference. My love for you is as clear as the sun and moon, and my preference for girls is witnessed by heaven and earth!"
The joy in her heart made Guinevere feel mischievous, but unfortunately, neither Merlin nor the King of Knights appreciated this particular brand of mischief.
So, Guinevere could only step forward and firmly press a kiss to the King of Knights' cheek.
Just before she kissed her, Merlin had already vanished in a scattering of petals, accompanied by a faint, wry smile.
"Lia, want to have a match?"
Somewhat surprised, somewhat heartbroken, the King of Knights turned to gaze at the night sky outside the window, then reached for her shoulder, as if to remove her blue long dress.
But she saw Guinevere donning her armor, the Holy Sword sheathed, and opening the window to reach out to her.
Her eyes widened. Seeing the playful look on Guinevere's face, the King of Knights' fighting spirit instantly surged.
She realized she had misunderstood; Guinevere's challenge to "have a match" hadn't been about the bed.
"Lia, you're quite the lecher yourself, aren't you!"
After saying this, Guinevere ignored the King of Knights' shame and anger, leaping from the window first and racing toward the city outskirts.
At the same time, everyone in the City of Uruk was subtly weakening, and many who were already frail stepped directly into the Underworld.
Amidst this silent transformation, more than a day's journey away, the war on the Northern Demonic Front raged on, growing fiercer by the day.
In just a few days, the horde of Magical Beasts, whose numbers Guinevere had greatly reduced, had regained their strength and were launching ferocious assaults with ever-increasing forces.
The Goddess of Magical Beasts, and Kingu, who was currently by her side, seemed unable to sit still any longer.