"—Cough, cough!"
He let out a ragged, hacking cough. To think he had detonated a Noble Phantasm directly in front of his eyes and lived to tell the tale. It was likely owing to the fact that he had funneled every last drop of prana into a desperate shroud of Prana Burst just before the blade shattered.
Yet, to say he lived was a far cry from saying he was well. An agonizing fire raced through his nerves; his skin was scorched, and his bones felt as though they had been ground into salt.
He wished for nothing more than to remain lying there, surrendering to the void, but he could not linger within the belly of the beast. With a grunt that felt like a blade twisting in his own gut, Elius forced himself upright.
A brief inspection revealed that the armor he had been so proud of had long since been vaporized by the blast. All that remained were the tattered remnants of his leggings and a single spare sword he had strapped to his hip.
He had to confirm these facts by touch alone. Inside the dragon's gullet, the darkness was absolute—thicker than the heaviest shroud of night.
Consequently, there was no exit in sight, but that mattered little. If there was no path, he would carve one. He had brought the spare blade on a whim; he had never imagined it would become his literal lifeline.
He needed to move, and move quickly. The dragon's blood, thick with a terrifying Mystery, was beginning to seep into his open wounds. Depleted of prana and unable to resist, Elius knew not when the vile essence of the Phantasmal Species would begin to overwrite his very humanity.
If he faltered now, he might suffer a fate worse than death—transforming into a mindless vessel of draconic curses, much like the legends of the cursed hero Siegfried. Driven by that primal fear, he forced his broken body to move.
In a haze of agonizing heat, he lost track of time. How long had he been hacking away at the dragon's flesh? Just as despair began to set in, his blade met a sudden, yielding softness.
He withdrew the sword, and a thin, piercing needle of light stabbed through the newly formed aperture. Ah, so I have found it.
Summoning the dregs of his strength, he delivered a wide, horizontal cleave. A ragged hole, just large enough for a man to crawl through, tore open in the dragon's side.
As he thrust himself through the gap, a brilliance so blinding it felt like a physical blow struck his eyes.
"—Cough! I... I think I'm dying..."
"...Eli?"
Squinting against the glare, he turned toward the voice. Artoria and Gawain stood there, their faces masks of pure, unadulterated shock.
Artoria's expression shifted from disbelief to a frantic, desperate realization as she rushed toward him.
Though her pace was sluggish—a sign that her own prana was dangerously low—she seemed not to care for her own exhaustion. She reached him and began to inspect his ruined form with trembling hands.
"Are you alright, Eli? Your body... it is..."
"Ah, well. Aside from being caught in the center of a Noble Phantasm's explosion, having half my bones shattered, and the minor detail of dragon's blood being absorbed into my bloodstream... I suppose I'm fine."
"That is not fine in the slightest! We must find a physician immediately—"
"...I would like that, Artoria. But... my strength is failing. My consciousness... it's slipping away..."
"Eli...? Eli! Stay with me! Open your eyes!"
Finally reaching its limit, his body pitched forward into Artoria's arms. Indeed, it would have been a miracle beyond miracles to remain standing after enduring a Broken Phantasm at point-blank range.
As the world faded into gray, he could hear Artoria calling his name, her voice thick with an emotion he couldn't quite name. He wanted to answer, but his tongue would not obey.
The last thing he registered before the dark took him was the sudden, sweet scent of flowers blooming in the air.
***
"Eli...? Eli! Please, you must wake up!"
Artoria paid no heed to the gore and dragon's blood staining her own garments as she cradled him, gently shaking his limp form.
But his eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow. A shimmering veil of tears began to cloud Artoria's vision.
She could not lose him. Not here. Not after everything. Her voice was no longer that of a King, but a desperate plea to the heavens.
"No... Eli... wake up. I beg of you."
"Behold! The beautiful magus Merlin makes her grand entrance! ...Or so I would like to say, but hmm... it seems I've arrived at a rather delicate moment."
"...Merlin."
A flash of genuine irritation flared within Artoria at Merlin's ill-timed levity, but she turned to the Magus of Flowers as the woman continued.
"Worry not, Artoria. He shall live. Even if Death himself were knocking, I would bar the door in the name of the greatest of magi! Indeed, indeed! Leave it to your reliable sister!"
"—Is it true? Can you truly save him?"
"Naturally!"
A fraction of the weight on Artoria's heart lifted. Despite her eccentricities and exasperating nature, Merlin was undeniably a mage of peerless skill.
Since she spoke with such certainty, Artoria could only nod in solemn trust.
"However, the final step belongs to Elius alone. He has absorbed far too much of the Vile King's blood. It is already beginning to form a Dragon's Core within him... if left unchecked, he will surely undergo draconic transformation."
"What? You said you could treat him, Merlin!"
"Ahaha, do not fret. Your dear big sister Merlin will be right by his side to ensure that doesn't happen. Hah!"
Merlin swung her staff, and a whirlwind of spectral flower petals swirled around Elius's battered body.
"This battlefield is hardly a place for delicate soul-weaving, however. I shall take him with me for a time! Farewell!"
"Wait! Just a moment—"
With a faint sound of displaced air, Merlin and Elius vanished before Artoria could even reach out to stop them.
"—MERLIN!"
Artoria's cry echoed across the scorched earth of the battlefield, but only the wind and the silence of the dead answered her.
***
"...Where am I?"
Elius looked around to find himself standing in a realm of absolute desolation. The horizon was a jagged line of scorched earth and shattered rock.
"What is this place...?"
[—So, you are the one who struck me down. Elius, was it?]
"...Vortigern?"
Elius gazed at the dying land. Great, glowing Magic Circuits were manifesting across the parched earth like ley lines of pure prana. He turned toward the source of the voice.
At the center of this burgeoning web of magical energy sat a colossal white dragon.
Elius locked eyes with the creature as it looked down upon him with ancient, reptilian coldness.
"...You still draw breath?"
[No. I am dead. To think you would detonate a Holy Sword from within... Do you possess a surplus of lives, boy?]
"Ahaha..."
Elius scratched the back of his head, feeling a strange sense of embarrassment at being scolded by the Vile King himself. To think he would be lectured on self-preservation by a dragon.
"Then tell me... if you are dead, why are you here?"
[It is simple. My blood flowed into your veins through your wounds. You are becoming a dragon, Elius. A mere human vessel cannot hope to contain the blood of the Vile King.]
"What?"
[Why the surprise? Did you not prepare for such a cost when you ignited that blade inside me? While that nuisance Merlin is currently suppressing the physical mutation, your heart has already been replaced by a Dragon's Factor. This place is your own mental landscape, given form by the birth of your Magic Core.]
"...I see. That's why you're here. The blood I absorbed... it was yours."
Vortigern inclined his massive head, studying the human before him.
[Be that as it may... I find I cannot comprehend you. Why do you struggle so against the destiny of ruin?]
Vortigern's voice rumbled like tectonic plates shifting.
[The fall of Britain is an immutable fate. It is a destiny that cannot be avoided, no matter how much one thrashes against it. Do you even realize what cataclysms will follow if Britain refuses to die?]
"—I know."
[...What?]
The dragon's eyes widened. Elius spoke with the quiet conviction of one who had stared into the abyss and didn't blink.
"I know that Britain's fall is ordained. I know it cannot be stopped. The Mystery is fading; the Age of Gods must give way to the Age of Man for humanity to survive. That is the logic of this world."
Elius continued, his voice echoing through the wasteland.
"Therefore, I do not struggle to change that destiny. I only wish to be the breakwater that lessens the impact of the crashing waves. Not to save Britain from its end, but to protect the people from the chaos of its passing."
He looked up at the dragon, his eyes burning with resolve.
"What I seek is a peaceful sunset—a gentle passing for this land. For the sake of Artoria's ideal, because she wished for the people to smile, I will stand by her side and guide this kingdom to its rest."
[Even if the end is a miserable one?]
"Yes. Even if it concludes in tragedy. We will have tried. We will have given our all. Therefore, even if such an end awaits, there may be lingering shadows, but there will be no regret. Even if I must weep and endure the agony, I will accept it."
Vortigern remained silent for a long time, watching the small human. Finally, the dragon gave a slow, ponderous nod.
[...Entertaining. It is a hollow, impossible utopia... yet, perhaps for that reason, it possesses a certain beauty. Try then, Elius.]
The dragon began to fade into a mist of white light.
[I shall watch from within this core. I will witness your tribulations, your choices, and the end you ultimately meet. It is time to return, Elius. Do not abandon the path you have chosen.]
With Vortigern's final words, Elius felt his consciousness dissolve once more.
***
When he opened his eyes, a familiar ceiling greeted him. Ah, I'm back. Recognizing the rafters of his own chambers, he turned his head toward the voices nearby.
Artoria and Merlin were standing by his bedside, locked in hushed conversation.
"When will he awaken, Merlin?"
"Ahaha... as I told you, Artoria, the rest is up to him. Have faith and wait."
"—Wait for what?"
At the sound of his voice, both women froze. They turned in unison to stare at him, Artoria's eyes wide with shock and relief.
"My, look who's decided to join us!"
"E-Eli!"
Oof!
Artoria lunged forward, pulling him into a crushing embrace. Having a beautiful girl hold you so tightly was usually a blessing, but... he was still a very broken man.
Even with a newly formed Magic Core, a human body does not knit shattered bone and charred skin in an instant. What happens when such a body is squeezed by a King with the strength of a dragon?
The answer was immediate.
"Gaurgh! A-Artoria... stop... I'm dying... I'm still... an invalid..."
"...I truly thought you were gone. I thought I had lost you. Please, Eli... never sacrifice yourself like that again. You promised you would always stay by my side..."
"Yes... I did... and I will... so if you could just... (Gulp!) Urgh!"
Elius saw stars. He had survived a dragon only to be finished off by his own King's affection. He cast a desperate, pleading glance toward Merlin for help, but...
"Hmm. What a touching scene. This pesky sister of yours will take her leave then! Enjoy your time together, you two!"
Pop!
She gave him a cheerful thumbs-up and vanished into thin air. Merlin, you absolute witch!
"...*Choke*."
"E-Eli? Eli! Stay with me! Eli!"
Beset by the agony racking his frame, the suffocating pressure of Artoria's hug, and the mental toll of Merlin's betrayal, Elius surrendered to the darkness once more.
Well... he thought as his mind drifted off, to be cared for by Artoria like this... I suppose it's not such a bad way to go.