Chapter 33 The Lionheart
Several hours ago, morning, at the Snowfield City Opera House.
This was a corner of an incident that had already passed; it had happened, but had never been depicted until now.
The dome was adorned with gilded carvings, and warm yellow light washed over the seats on the floor. Heavy curtains hung from the stage, and the woody scent in the air was being overtaken by the smell of blood brought in by the foreign guests.
When the Dead Apes—not yet charred—burst in, the Nameless Assassin was the first to charge forward, fueled by an unprecedented rage. A crimson arm erupted from a back, and as a Dead Apostole leapt into the sunlight of the main entrance, a red linear streak followed in hot pursuit.
"!?"
As a result, blood spontaneously surged from the Dead Apostole's right arm. Next, the blood transformed into a "glove." At the very moment the Assassin's hand reached for the heart of the not-yet-fully-recovered arm, a palm of blood intercepted its path, forcibly pulling it several centimeters off course with undeniable strength.
The Assassin was not immune to this maneuver; due to the deflection, her arm smashed into the Dead Apostole's shoulder, scattering flesh and blood. However, the Dead Apostole, Jester, laughed like nothing had happened. He laughed, then laughed louder; the cavity in his shoulder healed in an instant.
"A pity. The compatibility between us is poor. Specifically, your Noble Phantasm is the pinnacle of assassination techniques against humans, not something tailored for the likes of us Dead Apostles. An attack that can kill a human cannot kill a Dead Apostle."
Jester laughed heartily, flipped in mid-air, landed back on the ground, and pressed his advantage against the Nameless Assassin.
"It's not that I am stronger than you. This is a lack of compatibility! Such a gap is a threshold that simply cannot be crossed, and you are currently trapped by that very threshold!"
Crackle. Seeing this creature, who was still very much alive at the time, engaging in a frantic dance with the crowd that was playing along with his nonsense, Richard sighed silently. He drew his sword completely and gripped it straight in his hand. Within that magnificent steel sword, which bore a striking resemblance to the Sword of the Lake, a faint light shimmered. If Jester hadn't turned his gaze toward him, Richard would have released the flash of light stored within that blade.
"Please, don't be so impatient. I am indeed a monster you should exorcise, but one cannot be a King without sufficient composure."
Richard looked cold, but Ayaka, hearing an unexpected word, snapped her head ninety degrees to stare directly at him.
'A King? Seriously?' Though, she truly couldn't deny that the word matched his aura perfectly.
"...May I ask how you knew?"
"I don't know anything! It's all just a guess! But are you interested in why I guessed that?"
"I am indeed a bit interested."
Facing the provocation of the blood-sucking species head-on, Richard returned it in full, letting a smile hang on his lips. Then, he heard an answer that was somewhat expected for him personally.
"Because beneath that brilliant Saint Graph of yours, there hides a stroke of demonic nature identical to mine—one that will never vanish no matter what! To be so fair and upright to such an extent, yet to be so sincerely evil in your heart to such an extent... is there anyone else besides that one man?
You shouldn't be a Saber; you should be a Demon. Am I right—Richard the Lionheart?"
The golden swordsman fell silent.
Finally, his expression relaxed. Richard opened his mouth slightly and laughed.
"Being pointed out like that, I truly cannot argue. As expected, one reaps what one sows. Come to think of it, this is also one of the ironies of the world!"
He said happily: "I don't intend to specifically deny it. But you are wrong on two points. First, my need to deal with monsters has nothing to do with my own identity. Therefore, my sin cannot serve as your 'get out of jail free' card.
Second."
Richard shook his head and smiled very naturally:
"Didn't you say that you and I are of the same kind? Then all the more reason for me to swing my sword—don't you know there is a phrase in this world called 'like poles repel'?"
Jester stopped laughing.
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A long time ago, in the region of England, there existed a King.
This was not a story of "The King does not understand human hearts." Rather, it was something that happened far after that, even as the world gradually drifted away from the Age of Gods.
Though it is merely a legend, there is a tale that while he was under house arrest, he killed a lion—sent in to eat him—bare-handed, and was thus regarded as a monster, called "Lionheart" by his enemies.
—The King's bravery knows no fear. Thus, the King advanced further, valiant and battle-hardened.
—The King's bravery knows no fear. Thus, the King would never fear the gradual change in his own character. He would not fear the swelling anger and tyranny.
—The King does not fear. Thus, the King smiled as he cut down those related to war, or...
—The King does not fear. Thus, the King, without regret, prayed that his sins would eternally burn in the fires of Purgatory.
The life of that man, who always respected King Arthur, was as simple as that. He always knew he would never reach King Arthur's realm, but he was satisfied with his own magnificent life—like a knight in a romantic epic, or a hero whose name remains in history. Finally, his life ended brilliantly with a single arrow. And he invited the very soldier who killed him into his own Saint Graph.
His name was Richard the Lionheart.
And now, having become a Heroic Spirit, Richard is currently...
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