The sun rose over the desert like a divine eye, silent witness to the storm that was brewing. At the Solar Temple, the activity was frenetic but orderly, an anthill of warriors in linen tunics and bronze armor, adjusting their sandals, sharpening their scimitars, and whispering prayers to Ra, the sun god. The sphinxes, creatures of nightmare and majesty, lined up in formation, their wings folded and their claws scratching the sand with impatience. The air smelled of incense, metal, and an anticipation so thick it could be chewed.
Leonel Herrera observed the scene from the top of the temple steps. His heart beat with a slow but steady rhythm, like a war drum. He had slept little. He had reviewed the plan over and over in his mind, searching for cracks, unforeseen variables, points of failure. Tezcatlipoca had helped him project mental simulations, and though most ended in victory, the cost was always high. There were always casualties. There were always losses. That was the nature of war, and even though he had known it from the start, accepting it didn't make it any easier.
"Nervous, Master of Chaldea?" resonated Ozymandias's deep voice beside him.
Leonel turned his head. The Divine Pharaoh wore his full battle armor, a work of art in gold and lapis lazuli that gleamed with the light of dawn. His scepter hung from his belt, and in his golden eyes burned a flame of anticipation. He looked like a god descended to earth. "A little," Leonel admitted. "But it's a productive nervousness. It keeps me alert."
"Alertness is the strategist's virtue," Ozymandias conceded. "But don't let it consume you. A king must radiate confidence, even when he doubts. His subjects don't follow a plan; they follow a man." He paused, and a half-smile curved his lips. "And you, Master, are the man they follow. Don't forget that."
Leonel nodded slowly. "Thank you, Ozymandias."
"Think nothing of it. Now, come. Nitocris is finalizing preparations, and your Servants... well, let's just say they are entertained."
Leonel raised an eyebrow. "Entertained how?"
Ozymandias let out a low laugh. "You'll see."
The scene Leonel found in the formation courtyard was, in retrospect, completely predictable. His girlfriends had gathered in a tense semicircle, and in the center, Serenity was on tiptoe, her lips still brushing the right cheek of... of an empty space. Leonel instinctively touched his cheek. He hadn't felt it. But from the expressions of the others, the gesture had happened.
"What...?" he began to ask.
"YOUNG LADY!" Tamamo shouted, her tails bristling like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. "We've talked about this! No stolen kisses!"
Serenity turned, her large dark eyes blinking with innocence. "It wasn't stolen. I asked him."
"And he gave you permission?!" roared Jeanne Alter, her black fire crackling in her fists.
"Well... not exactly. But I'm going into battle." Serenity's voice became a whisper. "And I don't know if I'll come back alive. So I wanted... to say goodbye. Just in case."
The silence that followed was awkward. Even Tamamo lowered her tails, her fury extinguished by the raw truth of those words. Mordred, who was leaning against a pillar, looked away. Jeanne Alter pressed her lips together and crossed her arms, saying nothing. Artoria Lancer Alter, ever impassive, watched the scene with her golden eyes, showing no emotion but not intervening.
It was Mash who broke the silence. She stepped forward and, without a word, hugged Serenity. The assassin went rigid for a moment, unsure how to react. Then, slowly, her arms wrapped around Mash.
"Come back," Mash said simply.
"I'll try," Serenity replied.
Leonel approached. "Serenity."
The assassin looked up. "Yes, Master?"
"If you see the battle getting too dangerous, retreat. The Hassan don't need martyrs; they need living assassins to protect their people."
Serenity smiled, a sad and beautiful smile. "You are kind, Master. But I can't promise that. Tristan killed my brothers. My refugees. Children." Her voice hardened. "If I die, it will be dragging him with me."
And before anyone could add anything more, she vanished into a shadow, leaving only the echo of her promise.
The army set out.
The retinue was imposing. At the head, Ozymandias rode his solar barge, the Ramesseum Tentyris, a golden vessel that floated over the sand as if it were water. Beside him, Nitocris channeled her magic, her eyes shining with determination. Behind, the sphinxes advanced in formation, their footsteps making the ground tremble. The warriors of the Solar Temple marched in columns, their spears reflecting the sun. And in the center, surrounded by his Servants, Leonel advanced mounted on Llamrei, with Artoria Lancer Alter holding the reins at his back.
Tezcatlipoca manifested in all his splendor. The golden plates of his armor shone with a blinding radiance, and his "smoking mirror" and "night wind" glyphs pulsed with energy. Around him, fragments of obsidian began to detach from his shoulders, floating in the air like a swarm of glittering insects.
«Surveillance Mirrors, activated,» the Persona announced in Leonel's mind. «I will project real-time images from all battlefronts. You will be able to see what is happening anywhere in Camelot as if you were there.»
«Perfect. Keep me informed of every movement.»
The mirrors began to multiply. One showed Hassan of the Cursed Arm advancing through the dunes with his companions, their cloaks fluttering like crow's wings. Another showed Bedivere and Artoria Lancer Alter running along a flank, their objective clear: the throne of the Lion King. Another showed Mordred and Jeanne Alter arguing about who would strike the first blow. Another showed Xuanzang and Lancelot moving with a different purpose. And a fifth mirror showed Mash, firm at his side, with Lord Camelot ready to deploy.
Leonel took a deep breath. «It's time.»
On the other side of reality, in the facilities of Chaldea, the tension was palpable. The technical staff crowded in front of the monitors, observing the readings of the Singularity with a mixture of fear and hope. Romani Archaman, the doctor, was biting his nails, his eyes fixed on Leonel's vital signs. Da Vinci, with her ever-so-slightly tense eternal smile, adjusted the observation parameters. And in the waiting room, the Servants who had not accompanied Leonel on this mission waited in a sepulchral silence.
Kiyohime was sitting in a corner, hugging her knees, her dragon eyes fixed on the screen. "Anchin-sama... please come back."
Nero, with her arms crossed, tried to maintain her composure, but her foot tapped the floor nervously. "My Caesar of the heart will triumph. He is an artist of combat. I know it."
Drake, leaning against a wall, let out a snort. "That boy has more lives than a cat. He's survived worse things." But her fingers drummed against her holster with an anxiety that betrayed her words.
Even Scáthach, who rarely showed interest in anything other than training, watched the transmission with unusual intensity. Her hand absentmindedly grazed the mark on her neck, the place where she had bitten Leonel. "If you die there, Master, I will follow you to the Land of Shadows and train you until you can defeat death itself. I promise you."
The atmosphere in Chaldea was a reflection of the battle that was about to begin. Everyone was holding their breath, expecting the worst, praying for the best.
Camelot rose before them like an aberration of white marble. The walls shone with an unnatural glow, and on its battlements, spectral figures of knights kept watch. The holy city of the Lion King was a distorted copy of the original Camelot, a monument to divine purity that excluded human imperfection. And there, in the center, the throne where the goddess awaited.
Ozymandias raised his scepter. "Ramesseum Tentyris!" he roared, and his solar barge rose into the air, growing in size until it became a colossal structure, an inverted pyramid pointing toward the walls. "Nitocris, now!"
The female pharaoh raised her staff. "By the power of the Nile, let the sand swallow the defenses!" From the tip of her scepter, a torrent of aqueous and earthen energy shot toward the walls. The combination of Ozymandias's solar beam and Nitocris's magic struck the defenses of Camelot with the force of a meteorite. The walls trembled, cracked, and finally gave way with a deafening roar. An entire section collapsed, opening a breach through which the soldiers of the Solar Temple poured like a tide of bronze and fury.
"Forward!" Leonel shouted, and his voice, amplified by Tezcatlipoca, resonated in the minds of all his allies. "Everyone to their objective! Do not stop!"
The Servants scattered like arrows.
The first to find his objective was Ozymandias.
The breach in the wall opened onto a wide plaza, a training yard where spectral knights clashed with the warriors of the Solar Temple in a chaos of steel and magic. But in the center, unperturbed, an imposing figure waited. His silver armor shone with a blinding light, fueled by the sun beating down directly upon him. His sword, Excalibur Galatine, rested in his hands, a broad, radiant blade that seemed a younger sister of the legendary Excalibur. Gawain, the Knight of the Sun, smiled. It was a kind, courteous smile, but his eyes held no warmth. They were the eyes of a fanatic.
"Pharaoh of Egypt," Gawain said, his voice resonating clear and melodious. "You have made a mistake coming here. Under the sun, I am invincible."
"Everyone says the same thing," Ozymandias replied, descending from his barge with a majestic leap. Nitocris and Tamamo no Mae landed at his flanks, the female pharaoh with her staff ready and the fox with her talismans floating. "But I am the Sun. How can a mere knight, however blessed he may be, compare himself to the deity that gives life to the world?"
Gawain raised his sword. "Allow me to demonstrate. Excalibur...!"
"Nitocris, Tamamo, now!" Ozymandias ordered.
Nitocris thrust her staff into the ground. "Mirror of Purity: Reflection of the Storm!" From her scepter, a wave of energy expanded, and suddenly, the sky began to darken. It was not night, but a sandstorm so dense that it filtered the sunlight, turning midday into an artificial twilight. The grains of sand spun in a controlled vortex, creating a dome of shadow over the plaza.
Tamamo no Mae spread her tails and threw her talismans into the air. "Spell of the Eight Prayers: Heavenly Light Absorption!" The talismans shone with a blue radiance and began absorbing the sunlight that managed to filter through the storm. The plaza was plunged into an even deeper gloom. Gawain felt his blessing begin to waver.
"This is..." he murmured, a drop of sweat on his forehead.
"Your blessing is formidable, knight," said Ozymandias, raising his scepter. "But it only works under direct sunlight. And now, the sun... is under my command." From the tip of his scepter, a golden beam began to concentrate. "Dendera Electric Bulb!"
Ozymandias's solar beam struck Gawain, who managed to raise his sword in time to block. The resulting explosion shook the entire plaza, toppling the spectral standards and making the nearby walls tremble. Gawain resisted, but his feet sank into the ground, and his armor smoked. For the first time, the Knight of the Sun seemed vulnerable.
"Impossible..." he gasped.
"Nothing is impossible for a god," Ozymandias replied.
In the obsidian mirror floating beside Leonel, the image of Ozymandias's battle against Gawain was projected clearly. Leonel smiled to himself. «The plan is working. The combination of Nitocris and Tamamo is neutralizing Gawain's blessing.»
«Correct,» Tezcatlipoca confirmed. «But Ozymandias is spending a lot of mana. He cannot maintain this pace indefinitely.»
«Then let us pray Gawain falls soon.» Leonel shifted his attention to another mirror.
The second mirror showed the interior of a cathedral. It was a building that should not exist in Jerusalem, a Gothic replica of European churches, with stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Arthurian legend. There, among dark wooden pews, the Hassan confronted Tristan.
The Knight of Lamentation stood at the altar, his harp-bow Failnaught shining in his hands. His fingers moved with supernatural precision, plucking the strings and launching arrows of light in all directions. But the Hassan were not easy prey.
Hassan of the Cursed Arm moved through the shadows, his demonic arm extending to strike Tristan from impossible angles. "Zabaniya..." But before he could complete his attack, an arrow of light cut through the air toward his heart. Cursed Arm turned at the last second, and the arrow only grazed his cloak.
"You are fast," Tristan said, his voice melancholic. "You are all fast. But my arrows are faster."
"We shall see," replied a female voice. From the shadows of the choir, dozens of figures emerged. They were the personalities of Hassan of the Hundred Personas, each physically distinct: muscular men, slender women, hunched elders, cold-eyed children. All lunged at Tristan from every direction.
The archer was unperturbed. His fingers flew over the strings, and a symphony of arrows sprang from his harp, striking the personalities one by one. Three, four, five fell, vanishing into spiritual dust. But there were too many. One managed to reach Tristan's side, plunging a poisoned dagger into him. The knight grunted and eliminated her with a point-blank shot, but the poison was already in his system.
"My poison is not lethal to a Servant," Serenity whispered from somewhere invisible. "But it will slow you down. And little by little, your fingers will become clumsy. Your strings will go out of tune. And then..."
An arrow grazed her hiding place. Serenity vanished just in time. Tristan, for the first time, showed a grimace of frustration on his melancholic face. "Damned assassins..."
"We are not assassins," Cursed Arm said, appearing behind him. "We are avengers."
His demonic arm shot toward Tristan's heart.
Leonel looked away from that mirror. The Hassan's battle was at its peak, and he could not intervene. They had asked for that fight. He trusted them.
The third mirror showed absolute chaos. The enemy Mordred faced the allied Mordred and Jeanne Alter in a devastated plaza. The surrounding buildings were in ruins, and the ground was covered in craters.
"Clarent Blood Arthur!" roared the enemy Mordred, and a torrent of crimson energy swept across the plaza. The allied Mordred threw herself to one side, feeling the heat of the explosion graze her armor.
"Damn you, stop using that!" she shouted. "You're killing yourself!"
"I don't care!" the other replied, with a manic smile. Her Saint Graph flickered intermittently, like a light bulb about to burn out. "As long as I take you with me!"
Jeanne Alter appeared at her back. "Well, it won't be today. La Grondement de la Haine!" Her sword stabbed into the ground, and a column of black fire erupted under the enemy Mordred's feet, engulfing her in a hell of hatred. The knight screamed, but not in pain—in rage.
"Not... enough!" The enemy Mordred charged her Noble Phantasm for the third time in a row. "Clarent Blood Arthur!"
This time, the explosion was so brutal it knocked down the nearby buildings. The allied Mordred and Jeanne Alter were sent flying, landing among the rubble.
"She's crazy..." Jeanne gasped.
"She always has been," Mordred replied, rising with difficulty. "But this time she's going too far. At this rate, she'll vanish on her own."
"We can't wait that long. There are civilians nearby."
Mordred gritted her teeth. "I know. Come on, princess of hatred. We have to land the finishing blow before she drags us all with her."
Jeanne Alter smiled. "For once, I agree with you."
And the two launched themselves into the attack again.
The fourth mirror showed Bedivere and Artoria Lancer Alter running through an endless hallway. The walls were adorned with tapestries narrating the story of Arthur, but distorted: in them, the king was not human, but a luminous, faceless figure. The hallway led to the throne.
"How much further?" Bedivere asked, his silver arm shining with an increasingly intense light.
"I don't know," Artoria replied, her dark lance at the ready. "But the pressure is increasing. The Lion King is sensing us."
"Let her sense us. I will not turn back."
Artoria glanced at him sideways. "You have changed, Bedivere. When you arrived in this Singularity, you were a broken man. Now you seem like a knight."
Bedivere smiled weakly. "I have had time to think. And someone reminded me what it means to be a knight."
"Leonel?"
"You as well."
Artoria did not reply. But her fingers tightened slightly around her lance.
The fifth mirror showed Xuanzang Sanzang and Lancelot advancing through a different corridor. The nun was barefoot, her light robes billowing with each step, and her usually laughing face was taut with concentration. Lancelot, at her side, walked with his sword sheathed, but his eyes scanned every shadow.
"Tell me, Sir Lancelot," Xuanzang said, breaking the silence. "Why do you want to face Agravain?"
The knight was silent for a moment. "Because he was the one who manipulated the others. Agravain was always the brains. He knew the Lion King was not Arturia, yet he followed her anyway. He convinced Gawain, Mordred, Tristan... all of them. If anyone is responsible for the Round Table becoming this, it is him."
"And were you not manipulated?"
"I was a fool," Lancelot admitted. "But my decisions were my own. Agravain only exploited my guilt; he did not force me. That is why I must face him. To settle accounts." He paused. "And also... to ask for his forgiveness."
"Forgiveness? From an enemy?"
"Agravain hates me. He has always hated me. And not without reason." Lancelot's voice became a whisper. "I sullied the queen's honor. I divided the Round Table. My sin was the catalyst for the fall of Camelot. Agravain always knew I was the weak point. And he exploited it. But that does not change the fact that I was the original culprit."
Xuanzang looked at him with her large, innocent eyes. "You are a strange man, Sir Lancelot. You seek revenge and forgiveness at the same time."
"I am a man full of contradictions," he replied. "But I no longer run from them."
They arrived at a heavy wooden door, adorned with the emblem of the Round Table. Lancelot kicked it open. Inside, seated at a table covered with maps, was Agravain. He was a pale man, with angular features and a gaze as cold as steel. His dark hair fell over his shoulders, and his gloved hands held a quill.
"Lancelot," he said, unsurprised. "I knew you would come."
"Agravain."
The brain of the Round Table set the quill aside. "And I see you have brought company. A Buddhist nun. Interesting choice."
Xuanzang pressed her palms together. "I am no ordinary nun. I am Xuanzang Sanzang, she who journeyed to the West. And I have come to stop you."
Agravain smiled, a smile thin as a knife. "I'm afraid it won't be that easy."
Leonel watched all fronts simultaneously. Tezcatlipoca's mirrors showed him every detail: the sweat on Ozymandias's brow as he exchanged blows with Gawain; the blood on Cursed Arm's arm as he dodged Tristan's arrows; the fury in the enemy Mordred's eyes as she tore herself apart; the determination on Bedivere's face as he ran toward his destiny; the tense calm of Lancelot and Xuanzang before Agravain.
«All fronts are active,» Tezcatlipoca reported. «No irreparable casualties so far.»
«Good. Keep monitoring.»
At his side, Mash stood firm, her shield ready. "Senpai, how are the others doing?"
"They are fighting. All of them." Leonel clenched his fists. "And I am here, coordinating. Sometimes I wish I could be on all fronts at once."
"You are doing more than you think, Senpai. Without your orders, without your buffs... they would be lost."
Leonel nodded, but he felt no comfort. His gaze shifted to the sky above Camelot. A white light was beginning to concentrate there. Small, but growing.
«Tezcatlipoca... is that...?»
«Yes. The Lion King is preparing Rhongomyniad. Again.»
Leonel cursed. «Artoria Lancer Alter is not in position to counter it. They haven't reached the throne yet.»
«Then we need to accelerate.»
Leonel activated his mental communication. «Bedivere, Artoria. The Lion King is charging her lance. You have to reach the throne now.»
«We're on our way,» Artoria replied. «But the hallway is protected. There are magical barriers.»
«I'll handle that.» Leonel extended his hand toward the mirror showing Bedivere and Artoria. «Matarukaja. Masukukaja.» Two buffs flowed through the bond, enveloping the two Servants in an aura of power. The barriers in front of them began to crack.
«Thank you, Master!» Bedivere shouted, and the two resumed their race.
Leonel sighed. The effort of casting buffs at a distance was draining his mana, but he still had Ozymandias's Holy Grail as a reserve. «I will not use it unless absolutely necessary,» he told himself.
It was then that he felt a chill on the back of his neck. A chill that had nothing to do with magic, but with memory. He remembered the blurry images from the game he had played in his previous life. At this point in the Camelot Singularity, the world was beginning to destabilize. The Lion King's lance was not only a destructive weapon, but a pillar that held the texture of reality in that era. If it was used incorrectly, or if it was destroyed carelessly, the collateral effects could be catastrophic. The entire Singularity could collapse. And if it collapsed... the timeline of Jerusalem in 1273 would disintegrate, taking everyone there with it.
Leonel looked at the sky again. The light kept growing. And for a moment, fear paralyzed him. Not the fear of dying, but the fear of failing. That all his effort, all his strategies, all his promises... would vanish in an instant of white light.
"Senpai," Mash said, taking his hand. "I'm here."
Leonel looked at her. Her violet eyes were full of determination and an unwavering trust. And for some reason, that was enough to dispel the fear.
"I know, Mash. Thank you."
He raised his gaze to the mirrors. In one, Ozymandias was launching his Dendera Electric Bulb at Gawain, illuminating the gloom with a golden beam. In another, the Hassan were cornering Tristan in the cathedral, their daggers gleaming. In another, Mordred and Jeanne Alter were preparing a combined attack against the enemy Mordred. In another, Lancelot was drawing Arondight in front of Agravain as Xuanzang charged her Palm of Enlightenment. And in the fifth mirror, Bedivere and Artoria Lancer Alter were tearing down the last barrier and entering the throne room.
«All fronts are reaching their climax,» Tezcatlipoca announced. «The outcome is imminent.»
Leonel nodded. "Then so be it. Let the end of this Singularity begin."
And with a silent prayer to Philemon, to Igor, to Selene... to whoever might be listening... Leonel prayed that the world would not begin to disintegrate. As it did in the game. As it would here if they failed.
He clenched his fists. «I will not fail.»