[—Embark on a spontaneous journey, like a meteor streaking across the night sky, brief yet radiant, leaving endless memories and longing.]
…
…
"Ahem, whether you ascend or fade, I won't stop you, but hold off for now."
Seeing Artoria lost in thought, looking enlightened, Roy feared she'd vanish as a defeated Servant. He sprang up, grabbed her arm, and sealed her mana to prevent her from dissolving. This fight wasn't just to beat her—he planned to counsel her afterward.
"Hm?"
Hearing his call, Artoria, about to slink away in defeat, tilted her head.
Plop.
Roy pulled her arm, and they sat side by side on the ground.
Noticing her wounds, he asked, "Hey, still hurt?"
"…"
Artoria blinked, ignoring the obvious question.
Her dull eyes regained some light, and her hand, gripped by Roy, flared with mana, a binding force cutting her mana supply and contract with Emiya Kiritsugu.
"This… is?"
Before she could ask, Roy answered.
"I know your stellar Master likely abandoned you, but I had to guard against tricks—Command Spell teleportation, healing, or Noble Phantasm release."
Holding her hand, he looked at the sky, the moonlight growing lovelier.
Artoria paused, realizing he was right. Kiritsugu, obsessed with victory, would use any underhanded tactic to win.
As the loser, she had no complaints.
Defeated by Roy, her fate was sealed—eliminated from the Holy Grail War, merely spared immediate death.
Having her mana cut, quietly awaiting dissolution, seemed… fine.
Not as grand as she'd imagined, but peaceful enough.
Less conflicted, Artoria sat calmly beside Roy, ready to hear him out.
Seeing her stop fading and listen, Roy sighed in relief.
No effort wasted.
He pulled two toffees from his pocket, offering her one, popping the other in his mouth.
"Where to start… let me think how to make this easier for you." After Artoria finished her toffee, he began.
"Alright, let's shelve earlier questions and focus on the big one. First question, again…"
"Saber, what's the end you can accept? 'Peaceful death' is too vague. Are you just rejecting death by civil war, or is there a specific end you envision? Tell me."
"End…" Artoria hesitated at the odd question.
Seeing his earnest look, she pursed her lips, sharing her thoughts.
"I want a gentler, quieter end—not my nation dying in Mordred's rebellion—"
She preferred a softer exit over Mordred's chaos.
A silent, peaceful end, free of madness or resentment, accepted by all.
But a specific end?
The question was too abstract—no sane person ponders their death.
"So, you've never thought about it…"
Unsurprised, Roy scratched his hair, exasperated.
"You don't know what end you want, so what are you chasing?"
"Even so… what king ponders how their nation should die correctly?" Artoria countered.
"True, no king dwells on their nation's 'correct' death. Every king, wise or tyrannical, wants their rule to last forever."
Roy smiled, understanding her.
Not entirely wrong, just naively so.
No end is peaceful—every dynasty's fall is bloody, filled with suffering.
He asked, "Miss Artoria, ever considered Mordred's way might be gentle? She left you a faint, tender hope."
Crunch—!!
A sharp sound rang out. Roy turned to see Artoria's hand crush a stone to dust unconsciously, her mana surging with anger, scattering dust.
"Utter nonsense!"
She glared, shouting, "That absurd end? I'll never accept it!!"
"But why not? You need a reason. Subjective rejection doesn't make it wrong. Is it just because it didn't meet your expectations?"
Unfazed by her outburst, Roy tightened his grip on her hand, gazing calmly into her eyes. "Saber, is the gentleness you expect truly gentle?"
"—What are you getting at?" She frowned.
"I'm not Merlin, so no pointless moralizing. I'll lay out the harsh truth, and you decide how to face it."
Looking into her emerald eyes, he asked, "Miss Artoria, is this the future you want—"
"Imagine: Mordred stays loyal, Lancelot's affair never happens, Guinevere's a good queen, Morgan's a kind woman, Merlin stops jesting and governs seriously. Nobles craving the throne dare not scheme, a united, loving Britain. What happens?"
"It'd… be wonderful, right?"
Artoria pondered, realizing this was her dream. If Britain were so…
"Hm… your answer: no Battle of Camlann, Morgan not your foe, Vortigern dead, no Roman or Saxon invasions, Round Table and lords united. Is that your Britain?"
"…Yes, a united, prosperous Britain…"
Artoria gritted her teeth. "Everyone coexists, king and people meeting Britain's end in silence."
"Sounds like a gentle death, everyone accepting their end."
"But…" Roy nodded, then sighed at her. "Is that realistic? Are your people and knights as noble, accepting death calmly? Have you considered that?"
His ruthless question shattered her defenses.
"As a former king, you know human nature's flaws. Even you can't control their choices."
"Think, Artoria. If Britain's state doesn't change, famine or plenty, the land yields too little food—what then?"
"No, impossible… there must be… another way."
Her eyes darted, rattled by the scenario.
"You can't dodge this with 'there's a way.'"
"Haven't you thought? Half your Round Table followed Mordred's rebellion, citizens rose from mere incitement. What wouldn't they do?"
"Human nature's complex, isn't it? The King of Heroes's harshness stems from seeing through it."
Roy's words, the final straw, deflated her resolve, her firm gaze wavering.
"Look, think. Late in your reign, when decline wasn't yet collapse, they betrayed you. At the end, what would society be?"
"No food, would citizens stay? Even ants cling to life, let alone humans. No grain, they eat horses; no horses, plants; no plants, bark, shoes, anything. To save resources, families cut members to ease burdens. Fleeing or nationwide rebellion—expected. Even—"
"In famine, cannibalism, parents trading children to eat. You can see it, right, my confused king…"
Roy mercilessly shattered her last illusion.
"Stop… no more!"
Artoria recoiled, trembling.
"Nothing's impossible. You've thought of it. Your 'gentle' end, 'natural' death, is the cruelest."
"Helpless, awaiting death, resorting to cannibalism, a torment worse than hell."
"I can tell you, your script leads to a Britain of corpses, hope extinct. Compared to that, Mordred's rebellion was angelic."
"She turned slow bleeding into hope, a grand end. Harshly put, from my view, she's your benefactor!"
His words struck like thunder, piercing her heart.
"No… impossible…"
Her eyes grew vacant.
Imagining that future, her heart trembled—it was plausible.
Her peaceful end… a hell?
What were her resentment and struggles for?
"I've said it. What you chase isn't necessarily right; what you deny isn't necessarily wrong."
"Britain at the Age of Gods' end was like a terminal cancer patient, you the doctor. Delaying death with treatments only prolongs pain. Mordred gave the patient release, leaving you a 'what if' hope."
"Drag it out, and not just Mordred—suffering people would end themselves. Morgan poisons Britain overnight; citizens die by Saxon blades or rebel to force your hand. Which is better than Mordred's way?"
Roy continued, Artoria's vacant eyes lost, unable to face the inevitable.
Her dream of a peaceful end was as fantastical as Kiritsugu's human salvation.
The core issue: this confused king didn't know what a peaceful death was.
Good grief.
Roy recalled discussing Britain's "correct" end with Merlin in dreams. Their deductions showed Mordred's rebellion, though brutal, was the optimal solution.
She stumbled into breaking Britain's stalemate. Her rebellion, though bloody, was merciful compared to letting everyone await death—better a swift cut.
Truth is the sharpest blade.
It cut Artoria to pieces.
"But… I…"
She clenched her fists.
"No more to say. Wake up, abandon this doomed end. You did your best—let go."
Roy shook his head. "Return to your era, wander, don't cling to the Grail."
"Abandon… the Grail? Impossible…"
Artoria's face twisted with reluctance.
"But you have no wish left, right? Even if you went back, how would you change it? You'd only make it worse."
"You see it now, don't you?"
"Knowing it all, would you still go back, watch your nation and people fall into worse hell? You'd be the true demon, King of Knights…"
"I…"
Her face contorted in struggle.
"…I don't know."
"If you don't know," Roy smiled, "want another's opinion?"
"Yours?"
"No, my guidance ends here. You must walk out yourself. Open the envelope—Merlin left words for you."
"That blank letter?"
"Eh?"
Stunned by her words, Roy stared, shocked.
"Blank?"
"Yes."
Artoria nodded. She'd opened it after the banquet—nothing but Merlin's petals, empty.
"So…" Roy understood.
Damn Merlin…
Tricking him, saying she'd understand after reading. He'd dumped it all on Roy.
Sighing helplessly, Roy resolved to finish what he started.
"Saber, your wish isn't wrong. Everyone has regrets, seeking miracles to fix them. You're just too deep to walk out."
He said calmly, "The Conqueror doesn't use the Grail to restart his conquests, focusing on now. The King of Heroes doesn't revive his friend. Scáthach doesn't wish for death. They're not bound by their pasts. In this Grail War, only you remain trapped."
"My wish… isn't wrong?"
Gazing at Roy, now her mentor, she asked.
"Not wrong for you—everyone wants to fix regrets. Your only mistake is, you've done your best, no regrets left to mend."
"As your mentor, a suggestion: you're half-dead, mid-sword return, right? Don't rush to return the sword and die. Take it and wander—Rome, Egypt, India, the East. See different nations, their rises and falls."
"The longer you live, the more you see—different cultures, histories—will give you new insights. When you understand or tire, then return the sword."
"Working for Alaya's the dumbest move. Those guardians get screwed over. Your first half was for Britain; your second should be for you."
His final words fell. Roy stood, dusting his clothes.
He tossed both swords before Artoria, letting her choose, then left with Scáthach, who'd listened thoughtfully, leaving Artoria alone, awaiting dissolution.
"Hey, Master, you're quite the heart-swaying maestro," Scáthach teased, raising an eyebrow.
"Heart-swaying? Comparing me to a devil? I'm a mentor, okay?"
"…"
Scáthach just looked at him.
"You done? Not finishing her off?" She glanced at the desolate Artoria. "Or more counseling?"
"Nah, she's older than us. The Conqueror calls her a girl, but she's nearly forty."
"She's old enough, just stubborn. More talk would be rude."
Roy pulled out Merlin's staff, slinging it over his shoulder, looking at the sky.
A meteor streaked overhead.
He made a silent wish, then left with Scáthach.
In the ruins, Saber gazed at the pure white figure in the golden sword, touching it softly.
"Restart my second half, a journey's end…"
"Seems like a fine choice."
She murmured, lifting her eyes to the endless sky.
***
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