In the Common Era... No, even the measure of time had lost all meaning. From this moment onward, every vestige of the old order was swept into the trash heap.
Beneath the Swirl of the Root lay countless parallel worlds. Although they shared no unified concept of time, every intelligent being could clearly sense that, after awakening from a single night's sleep, the world had become unfamiliar. They were no longer the rulers of nature.
On that day, humanity finally remembered the terror of being ruled.
The sky shattered, and the concepts known as myths descended upon the earth. Ancient taboos awakened... Unknown darkness spilled across the cosmos, devouring everything...
Mysterious large-scale bounded fields of every variety, sorcerers with strange and secretive methods, human heroes whose names had been recorded in history, Heroic Spirits, Demigods, Divine Spirits, and even the more wondrous Phantasmal Species of legend—Dragons, Demonic Beasts, Fairies... For the first time, they revealed themselves in the human world without the slightest concealment!
Standing shoulder to shoulder and united as one, they launched a heroic counterattack toward the alien heavens, their fighting spirit soaring into the clouds!
Although ordinary people in the secular world had no idea what was happening and could make neither head nor tail of it, the return of a battlefield straight out of an ancient mythological epic did not stop all living beings from praying to and cheering for their kings, saints, heroes, faiths, and totems...
The outcome, however, had been foreseeable. Their heroes were defeated.
When lances of light, plasma, and macrocannon shells that pierced heaven and earth came crashing down, when war machines vast enough to blot out the sky filled the heavens, and when drop pods and assault ships fell like fiery meteors to land upon the surface, warriors clad in advanced armor and wreathed in flame surged forth like a tide beneath the scorching sky, paralyzing all resistance with an unstoppable lightning assault.
When the Heroic Spirits were defeated and the Phantasmal Species surrendered as the Swirl of the Root transformed into the Swirl of Honkai, the secular armed forces had almost no ability to resist the fully armed Imperial Army. Even before the rather archaic-looking Servitor Army, they were virtually helpless.
Although some hardliners fought stubbornly and created countless tragic yet stirring acts of glorious suicide, that did not prevent the world from ultimately becoming a colony of the Holy Selene Empire. Every nation and every faith was stripped away.
Even ethnic names were forcibly replaced with designations such as Imperial Central Direct-Control Greater Star Region XXX-XX-XX, categorized according to parallel universe, galactic region, and stellar district. Beneath the written seal of the Imperial Bureau of Statistics, they became mere numbers—XX.
One week later...
The universe once known as Chaldea from Fate/Grand Order was now officially designated by the Imperial government as Parallel Universe 49—Milky Way Galactic Region—Orion Arm—Solar System—Earth.
The British Isles.
Britain was one of the few places where Mystery still lingered in the Common Era. The entrance through which Avalon, the Inner Sea of the Planet, connected to the present world was located here.
The weather did not seem particularly cold that day.
But the people's hearts were frozen.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Towering Astartes warriors slowly marched forth, carrying the Third Legion Black Marlin's roaring dragon standard and the Imperial double-headed eagle banner. Their steps fell in perfect unison, and they were clad in armor and armed for war, resembling a moving wall of purple and gold. Every street seemed to echo with a deep, resonant toll like that of an enormous bronze bell.
The muffled roar of hydraulic pistons reverberated through the air. Fully armed Servitor Army soldiers leaped from their vehicles and sprinted past the Black Marlin warriors. Men and machines together unleashed a metallic roar of war. Commands, battle cries, and engine noise merged into a unique symphony within the metropolis, both silent and deafening at once.
A succession of gunshots and explosions erupted from a house that had been stormed. Then the screams and roars ceased. Servitor Army soldiers emerged, dragging out several men and women dressed in various clothing. Without exception, each still clutched a firearm. One powerfully built middle-aged man even had slabs of TNT strapped across his body.
He had not even had time to detonate them. Both arms had been blown apart together with his shoulders, and a laser shot had punched a large hole through the center of his brow. His skull and brains had been instantly melted away, releasing a sizzle and the browned, roasted aroma of cooked meat and brain tissue.
Another group of Engl... Ah, fools who had intended to disrupt public order.
At a church not far away, an elderly priest withdrew his gaze.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that from this day forward, along the banks of the Thames, from England to Wales and Scotland, nowhere in this world will permit the display of any privately affiliated flag. All heretical shrines and faiths will be abolished. The God-Empress..."
"Today will also be the final day this church exists." The elderly priest forced out those words with great difficulty.
"God, what are you saying? How could God abandon His lambs...? Satan's army is trampling the mortal world..."
The devout men and women stared blankly at the elderly priest. Their lips trembled, and even their voices had become distorted.
Those who had never experienced Catholic faith could not understand such heartfelt worship and obedience. The shallow believers who merely went through the motions no longer dared come to church. Everyone present was middle-aged or elderly, perhaps the final generation to have been deeply influenced by Catholicism before the information explosion.
The elderly priest looked around. Many had already fallen to their knees and begun weeping, while others shouted and screamed. The sudden collapse of the spiritual foundation they had believed in all their lives left them visibly grief-stricken and heartbroken. The pain cut deeply into their bones, and some even displayed a more severe emotion—despair.
"Hey, look at how ridiculous they are."
Watching the agitated crowd surrounding the small church scheduled for demolition, a squad of Imperial Servitor Army soldiers burst into laughter.
"Their god is nothing but a fart. A rotten piece of wood, a broken lump of plaster, a dead stone."
Tap...
Merlin's group walked slowly through London's deserted streets. At the head of the strangely dressed group, who looked as though they were cosplaying, strode an Imperial Inquisitor. He wore a peaked cap marked with the scales-and-skull insignia and a finely tailored military greatcoat fastened with two rows of buttons. Pinned to his chest was an enviable medal depicting a golden double-headed eagle with its wings spread.
The instant people saw him, doors and windows along the entire street slammed shut as though a man-eating tiger had come to clear the road.
The unlucky souls who could not escape stood trembling in place with their relief rations in hand, their arms shaking like sieves. Their complexions looked poor and slightly pale, making them seem ill and devoid of vitality. The beards on their chins were sparse, and their dull eyes held only numbness.
"Sir!"
The squad of Imperial Servitor Army soldiers instantly snapped to attention.
The Inquisitor raised a hand in military salute and continued through their jurisdiction.
"So this is Camelot a thousand years later... Britain..."
Looking at the residents suffering from postwar trauma, Artoria sighed helplessly. She wanted to comfort them and wanted to intervene, but she herself was merely living under another's roof. Her kingdom had long since fallen, and she was no longer their sovereign.
The reasoning offered by the planetary governor's office of the Imperial authorities was even more concise: postwar reconstruction, preservation of order, and the protection of the majority's lives and a portion of their interests. Nothing more was required.
Crack!
Artoria extended a hand enclosed in an armored gauntlet and tried clenching it. Every bone in her body produced a crisp, dripping-water-like sound. She could feel her blood flowing. Her body had completely recovered, and even the physical imprisonment caused by the holy sword had disappeared.
It was all thanks to a certain someone!
Artoria glanced toward a certain Magus of Flowers. The white-clad young man had already regained his former bewitching, handsome elegance. There was no trace of the miserable state he had been in several days earlier, when a group of Valkyries had pinned him to the ground and beaten him savagely.
Sensing Artoria's gaze with perfect understanding, Merlin immediately laughed heartily. He raised a hand and swept back his flowing white hair as pale pink petals seemed to drift past him. "Hahaha, how is it? Are you used to your body again? Isn't it just as adorable as before—my Artoria?"
His voice overflowed with pride, while the white-robed mage wore an utterly harmless expression.
"And... my king, what is with that look? After such a long separation, Art is actually glaring at me as though I were garbage... Are you trying to hide your embarrassment?"
Her sacred blue eyes calmly regarded her court mage before Artoria quickly looked away.
"Hey, you old bastard. Sure, we were brought back to life, but doesn't this just mean we bowed our heads and traded one master for another?" Carrying her royal sword over her shoulder, Mordred walked over beside Merlin. She first glanced at the Imperial Army warriors marching past in formation along the roadside, then muttered in a low voice.
"Oh, changing masters and all that... It's all the same. This is called making your position clear. Little Mo, you're still young. You have much to learn," Merlin said with a deliberately profound air.
"What?!" Mordred's voice suddenly rose several pitches.
"This can be considered a favor the Empire grants to those who come over early," the Imperial Inquisitor leading the way suddenly said.
"Tsk, tsk..."
Turning his head, he chuckled twice before sighing. "I submitted a request to examine the report on the battle at Avalon. Across the entire greater star region's war zone, Nightmare, you were the first to surrender voluntarily. Your reputation appears to have been considerable as well. You actually persuaded every resistance force in the Avalon theater to surrender with you."
"Meanwhile, security operations and counterinsurgency campaigns are still raging across the other war zones."
Merlin merely smiled faintly in response. "Does that not demonstrate my wisdom?"
Needless to say, the group consisted of the Knights of the Round Table of Camelot, led by Artoria and Merlin.
Among them were Lancelot, Gawain, Tristan, Agravain, Mordred, Bedivere, Kay, Percival, Gaheris, Palamedes, Gareth, and even Galahad.
This was not something Merlin could have accomplished. It was obviously the work of a certain Selene, who had gained control over the Throne of Heroes.
As the Imperial Inquisitor had said, this was preferential treatment for a "wise man" who understood the times. Truly, after seeing that the tide had turned, Merlin changed his attitude and surrendered so quickly that he could be called the first "wise man" in the entire Type-Moon world to lay down his weapons and persuade the local resistance forces to surrender alongside him.
Naturally, the Empire had to grant him special treatment. There was also the matter of compensating him for the savage beating he had received from Imperial military commanders. Together, those two factors gave Merlin the opportunity to state a wish voluntarily.
At the time, a certain Selene, who had entered a state of post-release sage-like repose, also wanted some entertainment. She wished to see what kind of desire this childlike Magus of Flowers would express.
That led to the present situation. To be honest, Merlin's wish had somewhat exceeded Selene's expectations.
'Please give my king one more chance.'
'I watched her grow up, and I was also the one who personally pushed her onto a throne she never desired.'
'The tragedy at the conclusion of King Arthur's epic certainly arose in part from Art's personal flaws, but a portion of the fault also belongs to me.'
'Whenever Art participated in the Holy Grail War, her wish was never for herself. She wanted a more capable ruler to replace her and guide her people... Now that wish has come true,' Merlin added in a fawning tone, 'but I want her to live and witness it for herself, rather than remain trapped in a twisted state between life and death beneath the curse of the holy sword!'
'Whether she chooses to remain a knight in the future or retire to the countryside and become an ordinary person, that path will belong to Art alone. It will be a new life, one in which she no longer bears everything as a king—the life of an ordinary girl named Artoria.'
Those had been Merlin's exact words.
The line about her "wish having come true" carried an obvious hint of flattery. How could Selene possibly fail to notice?
Merlin's implication was that the new "king" was an even more capable sovereign than Artoria.
Who else but Selene could that be?!
Look, Selene had never liked sycophancy, had never hinted that her subordinates should flatter her, and no one in the Empire had ever risen to a high position through empty praise. Still, Selene's response was simple: keep talking. Whether it worked was another matter, but she liked hearing it.
Artoria was noble, observant of proper etiquette, and had even been judged a king who did not understand the human heart. She was unsuited to rule. At least in Selene's view, she was merely the archetype of a noble knight, yet precisely because she was a perfect knight, she was unfit to be a king.
As Merlin had once told Artoria: if your life remains unsullied to the very end and proves worthy of pride—if you are loved by all the people—then so long as human history continues, you will become an eternally preserved record, a star.
But that was exceedingly difficult. Without the integration of interests, political skill, absolute power, or personal prestige, relying solely upon personal charm could only produce an unattainable ideal. Even if one possessed followers loyal unto death, their devotion would eventually be exhausted.
Among the countless masses, ordinary people remained the majority. What they needed was something they could see and touch.
Thus, the delighted Selene invoked the authority of the Swirl of the Root. At that moment, purple auspicious clouds seemed to arrive from the east, blessings descended from the heavens, golden lotuses blossomed from the earth, and a strange fragrance wound through the air. From beyond the sea of stars came an ethereal and incomparably sacred presence, while golden light bloomed into flowers with every step.
Not only did King of Knights Artoria step directly out from the boundary between life and death, but her entire Knights of the Round Table were included in the package.
Truly, resurrecting Heroic Spirits required only a single thought from Selene, who had completely mastered the Throne of Heroes. It was not as though she needed to reverse time or create consciousness from nothing. Their imprints were already there. All she had to do was incarnate them, which required only a thought.
At the same time, Selene intended to thoroughly remodel the parallel-world mechanism of the Swirl of the Root.
Simply put, Selene would completely separate worlds on different timelines and thoroughly divide parallel worlds from one another.
She would increase the divergence of their evolutionary processes. They absolutely could not be allowed to converge.
This was one of the primary methods through which Selene intended to alter the operating principles of the Swirl of the Root.
Selene would gather and conceal the threads of every timeline and parallel world. From that point onward, those higher-dimensional strings would no longer be accessible or observable to beings such as possessors of EX-rank Clairvoyance, Magicians, or even Divine Spirits.
Anyone who attempted to touch them would either observe nothing at all or be instantly exterminated and erased by the defensive mechanisms Selene had established.
Whether large or small, Selene would forcibly guide every world toward independent evolution, preventing them from being influenced by projections from other higher-dimensional universes. She wanted a hundred flowers to bloom.
In any case, Selene was extremely busy at present. She had only slacked off for a moment when the countless sights and experiences of the parallel worlds were transmitted back to her primary consciousness by the divided spiritual avatars she had dispatched. That was when she discovered the problem.
Too many worlds possessed an excessive degree of convergence. It did not matter if their Milky Ways, solar systems, or Earths were similar, but even the people and their experiences could not be identical in such large segments. One word: change it!
Although the people and events within most universes of the Type-Moon world were still different, there were always certain portions—and certain people—with excessively high degrees of similarity. [PS: Ahem, blame Nasu and Urobuchi.]
Then there was the Throne of Heroes. Selene had great plans for it. She intended to expand it across the entire Honkai Dimension.
The Cursed Legion!
That was yet another project that would require Selene's energy and long-term effort.
Selene had no intention of abusing resurrection. Her broader plan was to guide the heroic souls of Imperial Army warriors who died in battle into the new Throne of Heroes, transforming them into Selene's spectral soldiers. They would become yet another legion exclusively under her control—the hideous, elusive Cursed Legion!
As for the Heroic Spirits who had originally occupied the Throne of Heroes, apologies, but their supreme superior was now Selene. She was not as easygoing, detached, or incapable as Gaia and Alaya.
Take the unruly Heroic Spirits of the Throne of Heroes, such as Gilgamesh. In the past, you could ignore the Counter Force as you pleased, but try acting arrogant before Selene. Complete erasure? You want to die permanently? Not a chance!!
Selene was no devil. She would merely tear them into several equal portions, either keeping them in torment or altering their minds so they would serve eternally as her tools and executioners.
Before Selene, you would not even have the opportunity to clutch a blade and die fighting for freedom. Kneeling and swearing loyalty was your only choice.
Unwilling to submit? Selene had more than enough methods to force you to surrender willingly in both body and mind.
As for Merlin...
Truly, one thought of surrender to Selene, and suddenly the world seemed vast. Every problem that had troubled him for so long was immediately resolved.
His entire body felt light.
Although he was a sage, Merlin was still fundamentally not human. After all, he was a hybrid born of an incubus and a human.
Merlin loved the world of humanity most of all, but when it came down to individual people, well, what was it again? That thing... Mm! All right, he always felt it was better not to say.
That was his attitude. In any case, as one could see, he was not truly humanity's ally. He fed upon human dreams.
Merlin's fondness for humanity was more like a personal interest. All he desired was that humanity not become extinct. Selene had no intention of exterminating humans, so this merely meant changing the heavens above them. There was nothing unacceptable about that.
After they crossed the lengthy security perimeter, Artoria's request to see the descendants of Britain's people a thousand years later came to an end. The countdown on their remaining time in the Type-Moon world began.
Led by the Inquisitor, Merlin, Artoria, and the others passed through layer after layer of Imperial Army blockades. The number of parked military vehicles, Astartes warriors, and officials from the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs visibly increased.
The enormous plaza stretched flat and unobstructed before them. It was difficult to imagine that only a few days earlier, this place had been a vast crater encompassing the Clock Tower, the River Thames, and several city blocks, all erased by lances of light. Now, an enormous fortress had risen from the ground.
Aside from the straight road leading toward the fortress' main gate, the surroundings were completely empty. Every commercial district had been razed. In their place stood terrifying war machines ranging from dozens to hundreds of meters tall, their vicious cannon muzzles and blades enough to chill the soul.
Under the watchful gazes of the heavily armored warriors standing all around them, Artoria suddenly asked halfway across the plaza, "Lord Inquisitor, is that our destination?"
"It is here."
The Inquisitor stopped and raised his head without offering a direct answer.
Before his voice had even faded, hum—!
A pillar of light piercing heaven and earth shot through the clouds. The thick cloud cover above Britain was forced apart, revealing a metallic firmament that stretched beyond sight.
Enveloped within the pale blue beam, Artoria's coiled, silken golden hair and blue ribbon fluttered in the wind. Drawn upward by gravity, the group slowly began to rise.
The next moment, the Inquisitor raised one finger and grinned.
"The realm of the gods—the Imperial Capital."