Facing the collective gaze, Saber didn't waver. Her wish was her kingly way, her pride. To hesitate would admit her path's flaw.
She raised her head, meeting the heroes' eyes firmly. "My wish is to save my homeland. I will use the omnipotent wish-granter to change Britain's doomed fate."
Silence fell over the starry void. Shock rippled through the group... then...
"King of Knights, did I hear that right?"
Iskandar spoke first, his face etched with confusion.
"You said 'change fate'? To overturn history?"
"Exactly. Even if it's beyond miracles, if the Grail is truly all-powerful, it must..."
Saber's resolute words chilled the room. Jeanne's expression grew complex, Kingu sneered, Karna looked puzzled, Roman showed pity, and Iskandar's face flared with anger.
Reines, propping her cheek, smirked with delight at Saber's expression.
Samuel understood but wholly rejected her wish.
"Saber, to confirm, Britain fell during your reign, correct?"
"Yes! That's why I can't forgive myself."
Saber's anger flared at their reactions, her tone sharp.
"That's why I regret it and want to change that outcome! It's my fault it ended that way."
"Boring. Your wish is like rust on chains—repulsive. Father, isn't this banquet about done?"
Kingu's flat tone stung Saber more than any mockery.
"Archer... my wish—"
Saber didn't notice Iskandar, seated diagonally, his brows furrowed, his rare displeasure fixed on her.
"Hold on, King of Knights. You want to deny the history you created?"
Saber had never questioned her ideals, nor expected such a challenge.
"Exactly! What's surprising? What's amusing? I raised my sword for my nation, gave my life, and it fell. Is it wrong to grieve?"
"Grieving your nation's fall isn't wrong, but—"
Jeanne began, but Iskandar's firm tone cut her off.
"No, you're wrong."
He denied her outright, correcting, "It's not the king who sacrifices for the nation, but the nation and people who offer everything to the king. It must never be the reverse."
"What did you say?"
Saber's voice hardened with barely contained fury.
"That's a tyrant!"
"Exactly. Because we are tyrants, we are heroes."
Iskandar replied calmly, unshaken.
"But, Saber, a king regretting their reign's outcome is merely a fool—worse than a tyrant."
Unlike Kingu, who dismissed Saber's way, Iskandar rejected it fundamentally.
Saber's brows knit, her sharp tone retorting, "Rider, your empire fractured too. Your hard-won domain split into four. Don't you regret that at all?"
"None!"
Iskandar answered instantly, chest out, meeting her stern gaze.
"If my decisions or my followers' ways led to that end, its fall was inevitable. I'd mourn, shed tears, but never regret."
"How?"
"Let alone overturn it! Such folly insults everyone who built that era with me."
Saber countered his proud declaration. "Only soldiers see ruin as glory. The people don't. How can we not protect the weak? They need salvation."
"You say they want a king's salvation? I don't get it. What's the point?"
"That's a king's duty! Righteous rule, proper order—that's what subjects expect."
"So you're a slave to 'righteousness'?"
"If that's what it takes, sacrificing for ideals befits a king."
The young King of Knights nodded, her voice unwavering.
"The people rely on the king's law and order. A king embodies not fleeting illusions that die with them, but something loftier, eternal."
Iskandar shook his head, pitying the resolute Saber.
"That's no way for a 'human' to live."
"Of course not. A king can't expect a commoner's life."
To be a perfect monarch, to embody ideals, Artoria shed her mortality for agelessness, her heart for sainthood. Her life as a girl ended the moment she drew the Sword of Selection. She became King Arthur—undefeated legend, epic poem, fleeting phantom.
She knew pain and doubt, but her pride outshone them. Her unyielding conviction still fueled her, steadying her sword-wielding hands.
"King of Conquerors, someone like you, driven by self-interest, can't understand. You became a hegemon to sate endless desires!"
Saber's rebuke struck like a fatal blow.
Iskandar's eyes widened.
"A desireless king is worth less than a trinket!"
His fierce shout made his towering frame seem twice as large.
"Saber, you say 'sacrifice for ideals'? So, you were a pure, flawless saint in life, your image lofty and untouchable. But who dreams of such a painful path? A saint may comfort people but can never lead them. Only by showing tangible desires and embracing ultimate glory can a king guide a nation!"
Draining a goblet of wine, Iskandar continued.
"A king's desires burn brighter, their laughter wilder, their rage fiercer—clear yet turbid, more real than anyone. That's why subjects admire them, are captivated. It sparks a fire in every heart: 'I, too, will be a king!'"
"What justice is there in such rule?"
"There is no justice. The kingly way has none, so no regrets."
Iskandar's blunt words shook Saber with rage.
What was true happiness for the people? Their fundamental divide was vast.
One sought peace.
The other craved prosperity.
A king calming chaos and one stirring it could never align.
Iskandar grinned fearlessly. "King of Knights, your banner of justice and ideals may have saved your nation and people once—a feat worthy of legend. But you know what becomes of those 'only saved' people, don't you?"
"What are you saying?"
A blood-soaked hill at dusk.
The image flashed in Saber's mind.
"You 'saved' your people but never 'led' them. You showed no 'king's desire,' leaving them lost, rushing alone to fulfill petty, beautiful ideals in a holy guise. You're no true king—just a girl bound by an image of living for others, not yourself."
"I..."
Saber had a thousand retorts, but each attempt summoned Camlann's hill—endless corpses and rivers of blood. Her subjects, friends, and kin, all ended there.
She recalled the prophecy when she drew the Sword in the Stone: a future of ruin. She thought she'd prepared.
But witnessing it, her heart yearned, wishing for another possibility, one defying that mage's prophecy.
A dangerous thought crept into her heart's void.
Had she not guarded Britain as a savior but ravaged it as a hegemon, the chaos would have worsened. It wasn't her kingly way. Never could Artoria, the girl, choose that.
But compared to Camlann's hill, which was the true tragedy?
***
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