Chapter 22: My Blood Has the Taste of Iron
"Lion King, I have no fear of divine punishment or the like. Let you and your kind taste the bitterness of my tomb! Even the Holy Spear, under such an impact, will be like a ship shattered in the waves!"
Ozymandias looked down upon the Holy City with a disdainful gaze.
"Stele of the sun, monumental megalith, pyramid that governs the universe! My infinite radiance, the sun descends here—descend! 『Ramesseum Tentyris』!!"
The massive pyramid soared into the air, tilting over toward the Holy City. Amidst the earth-shaking roar and the explosive, dazzling brilliance, the Tower of the Edge collapsed.
Ozymandias's voice, which had softened in a rare moment of tenderness, reached Nitocris's ears.
"Hmm... it seems this is the limit... I shall rest now, Pharaoh Nitocris."
The title of "Pharaoh" acknowledged her. Upon hearing the King's final address, Nitocris could not hold back her overflowing tears. Looking back one last time with reluctance at this world and the subjects she had protected, Ozymandias's figure gradually turned into points of starlight and returned to the Throne of Heroes.
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Outside the gates of the Holy City.
The duel between Gawain and King Hassan had already lasted for an hour. The two were locked in a stalemate, with no clear victor. This was not because Gawain lacked strength, but because King Hassan was merely defending—like an elderly man playing with a child.
Gawain launched a relentless, pressing offensive, yet King Hassan defended with effortless ease. Without a single wasted movement, he managed to deflect Gawain's attacks at the perfect moment.
"To think there is not even the slightest sign of fatigue..."
Gawain didn't even have the breath to wipe away his pouring sweat as he reset his stance. Just as he prepared to charge once more, King Hassan suddenly spoke.
"That is enough. Your funeral bell has ceased."
King Hassan said calmly, "This daylight is a reflection of the Lion King's sins; the funeral bell shall move into the city."
Gawain bit his lip tightly. "This body is willing to end for my King!"
Flames ignited upon "Excalibur Gallatin," and the length of the blade extended accordingly. The blazing sun-flames were enough to incinerate all. He unleashed an arc of scorching fire, slashing toward King Hassan's body.
Clang—!
Upon hearing that clear, resonant sound, Gawain's expression froze, and he looked at King Hassan in horror. The Holy Sword, radiant as the sun, had been blocked by a rusted, scrap-iron-like greatsword. This near-impossible situation, occurring clearly before his eyes, shook Gawain to his core. King Hassan's strength brought Gawain a sense of despair; a feeling of helplessness, much like the time he was easily crushed by that red-haired youth, flooded his heart once more.
"It is merely sunlight, unable even to wake a sleeping man."
As King Hassan spoke, the flames in his eyes surged for an instant, and Gawain was sent flying backward. Yet, worthy of being a Knight of the Round Table, he stabilized his figure in mid-air, landed, and gripped his sword to confront King Hassan once more with difficulty.
"Why... even before that man called Shirou Orihara arrived, you possessed enough power to stop our actions. Yet, you remained silent until now...?"
Having experienced the terrifying strength of this King Hassan, Gawain was filled with endless confusion. However, King Hassan only shook his head.
"Not so. My sword only strikes those who go against Heaven's Mandate. But the Lion King's mandate is not with me; it lies with 'that person.' Therefore, my sword was useless."
"Those who... go against Heaven's Mandate..."
Gawain pondered the meaning behind the words. Black smoke gradually shrouded King Hassan's tall frame, his voice echoing from near and far.
"'Sun Knight,' you have used this sword to prove your innocence; the departure of the funeral bell is proof."
"Wait, please wait! We have not finished our duel...!" Gawain hurriedly tried to reach out and stop him, but the space before him was already empty.
Gawain looked back at the pyramid crashing into the Tower of the Edge, then peered through the main gate at the chaos within the city.
"In other words, are we destined to meet a more cruel end...?"
As Gawain muttered to himself, the soldiers cheered. "Sir Gawain, thank goodness you are safe! You even drove back such a formidable opponent; you are our pride! Please continue to serve as the guardian of the main gate; leave it to us to repel the invading army. Please rest here for a moment, Sir Gawain."
The soldiers' words made Gawain blush. He quickly shook his head.
"No, my apologies. I must return to the Royal City first; I leave the main gate to you all."
Having issued his orders, Gawain scanned the battlefield.
"In another half-moment, the tide of the battlefield will be decided. If the Royal City is set ablaze, then mobilize the troops and head north. Though the journey will be arduous, but..."
Saying this, a smile appeared on Gawain's face that the soldiers had never seen before. In their hearts, Gawain had always been powerful and stern, but the smile he displayed now was as warm and radiant as a sun dispelling the night.
"But, I hope that more of you will be able to return to your homelands."
Gawain's words surged into the soldiers' hearts like a warm current.
"This expedition was never destined for victory from the start. Thank you all for staying by our side until now. The Singularity will likely be corrected soon, and when that time comes, you will return to where you belong and reunite with your families."
Finishing his words, Gawain sheathed his sword, placed his left hand over his right chest, and bowed slightly. This was a standard knightly salute of gratitude.
"I am Knight of the Round Table, Gawain. It has been a great honor to fight alongside you all!"
"Sir Gawain...!!"
Watching the back of the "Sun Knight" as he turned away with grace, the soldiers were all moved to tears.
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Corridors, stairs, and the path leading to the palace—the silver-haired knight advanced with great difficulty. Having barely defeated the "Knight of the Lake," Lancelot, at the cost of grievous wounds, Bedivere was breathless, every step an agonizing exertion.
"Ha... ha..."
Bright red blood had long since stained his garments. Yet Bedivere paid it no mind. He gently wiped the blood from his wound, licked it, and whispered.
"My blood has the taste of iron."
The murmurs of a fading consciousness sustained him as he continued to advance toward the highest point.
Blood has the taste of iron.
Transforming the faith deposited in his right arm into a will as hard as iron, Bedivere's eyes became steadfast and unmoving.
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