Illyasviel dreamt. To be precise, she bore witness to the past of the hero summoned as Berserker through the resonance of their souls.
He had been an ordinary boy of the countryside, a youth found anywhere, laboring in the fields to aid his father.
The only peculiarity lay in his leisure hours. While other children his age frolicked in the village, he ascended the mountain alone, wielding a wooden sword he had fashioned with his own hands to practice his strikes.
That boy, who balanced the toil of agriculture with the discipline of the blade, found his world transformed by a single day.
Sent by his mother to retrieve a kitchen knife, he arrived at a place where he would begin his true education in the ways of the sword.
Upon mastering the blade, he became a knight to the girl who had trained alongside him. He became her sword, a faithful instrument used to strike down her every foe.
As the years waned, the influence of the King he followed grew absolute. Ultimately, they overthrew the Vile King, Vortigern, and she ascended as the rightful Ruler of Britain.
An era of peace followed—the greatest golden age in the history of Britain. Under their rule, the kingdom flourished day by day.
Yet, that splendor was not destined to endure. A fracture appeared within the foundation of their utopia. A certain knight of crimson hair, unable to reconcile his heart with King Arthur's decrees, departed from the Round Table with a final, biting indictment.
"The King does not understand the hearts of men."
Following the departure of that crimson knight, Britain began its rapid, agonizing decline.
There was the passing of knights who had ventured forth in search of the Holy Grail; the betrayal of the purple-haired knight and the Queen; and finally, the tides of the Roman invasion.
Weakened and fractured, Britain met its end in a final act of rebellion. There, the knight met his demise, his heart pierced by the very lance of the lord he had sworn to serve.
His dream flickered and died with the sight of himself collapsing to the earth, blood pooling where the lance had been torn from his chest.
**
Illya stirred from her slumber, the memories of Berserker's past lingering in her mind. His life had been one of endless, unwavering devotion to a single person.
Yet, the reward for such loyalty had been betrayal. Illya felt a strange kinship with Berserker. She, too, had been betrayed by the woman he had once served as King.
Opening her door, she found Berserker waiting. Standing guard like an immovable sentinel, he turned his head to look at her as she emerged.
"You are awake, then."
"...Yes! Berserker. Where are Sella and Leysritt?"
"They have gone downstairs to prepare a meal. If we head down now, the timing should be perfect. Let us go."
"Wonderful! Give me a ride, Berserker!"
"Sigh... I fail to understand why you request this when you are perfectly capable of walking... Very well."
Illya watched Berserker with a small smile, noting how he grumbled yet never failed to indulge her whims.
"Now, forward!"
"...Forward."
She found herself wishing that these moments spent with him could last just a little longer.
**
That night, Illya and I shadowed Emiya, whom we had encountered the evening before. I looked at the boy from a distance and spoke to my Master.
"...Brat. If you intended to spy on your step-brother, you should have brought Caster instead of me. It would have been far easier for you, wouldn't it?"
Utilizing Age of Gods magecraft would have made surveillance child's play. I wondered why she insisted on taking the difficult path.
Illya merely shrugged at my remark.
"Mmm, Caster has other duties to attend to. She's currently working hard to gather prana, you see?"
"If that is the case, I have nothing more to say."
In truth, Caster was indeed siphoning prana from the citizens of Fuyuki City, though she was doing so within limits that did not endanger their lives.
I had instructed her to ensure they felt nothing more than slight fatigue, rather than collapsing as they did in the original timeline.
Though the collection of magical energy was slower this way, I chose to ignore it; I had no desire to see innocent civilians die. Medea herself seemed to prefer this arrangement.
As I sat in silence, Illya, peering through her binoculars at Emiya, suddenly spoke up.
"Berserker, have you ever been in love?"
"...That is a sudden question. Why do you ask?"
"Because I saw your memories."
"...Ah."
I had forgotten that our memories would synchronize. A look of mild discomfort crossed my face.
"Damn it. I am not particularly fond of others rummaging through my past... regardless, to answer your question—yes. I did. And I love her still."
"Really?! What was she like?"
"She was a person of boundless justice. Someone who took up the sword solely to protect the happiness and smiles of her people."
"Heeeh... Did you ever confess?"
"I did."
"Eeeeek!"
Illya hopped up and down like a common schoolgirl. Was this not the very image of a romance novel coming to life?
Eager for a tale of star-crossed love, Illya looked at me with eyes sparkling with anticipation. Feeling sheepish under her gaze, I scratched the back of my head.
"The circumstances were far from ideal. I confessed while lying in her arms, just moments before my death. It was a foolish thing. Despite being her knight, I was a coward who waited until his final breath to speak his heart."
That was the solitary regret in a life otherwise free of them. Upon hearing this, Illya asked another question.
"...Then, did you join this Holy Grail War just to see her again?"
"...Precisely. I wish to achieve incarnation with her and live in this world, simply as two ordinary people."
I wanted to live by her side, not as King Arthur burdened by the weight of a crown, but as Artoria—a simple girl. That was my prayer to the Grail. Of course, I was well aware that this particular Grail was too tainted to grant such a wish.
"Then, Berserker... what do you think would happen if you met her during this war?"
I pondered her words. I knew that she would be summoned into this conflict, using the Avalon hidden within Shirou Emiya as a catalyst.
What would I do if we stood face to face? It was a difficult question to answer. But if I had to choose...
"...I imagine I would run to her side. However, the probability of that is nearly zero. For us to be summoned together... it would be nothing short of a miracle."
Seeing my bitter smile, Illya's expression became unreadable.
"Hmm, that's quite the predicament. Because I really want to make Emiya suffer."
"...? What do you mean by that?"
"Here, look."
"??"
Illya handed me the binoculars. Confused, I took them and looked where she was pointing—toward the front of the Church.
Peering through the lenses, I saw Shirou Emiya standing with a girl in twin-tails. Standing behind them was a knight shrouded in a hood.
Though her golden hair was mostly hidden and her face only partially illuminated by the moonlight, there was no mistaking her. How could I ever fail to recognize her?
So, today was the day of her summoning.
My eyes widened in genuine shock at the unexpected development. Seeing my reaction, Illya smiled, driving the point home.
"—It's your King, Berserker. And since it looks like their conversation is winding down..."
"Shall we go say hello?"
The look on Illya's face as she spoke was that of a mischievous imp.