"Gilgamesh? Like… that Gilgamesh!?" — the young man with glasses asked, his voice faltering between disbelief and fear, as if merely uttering the name was sacrilege.
Arthur crossed his arms.
"There is no other Gilgamesh in history." He replied, dryly, almost with irritation.
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating.
"If he really is Gilgamesh…" — murmured a girl in a wheelchair, her voice fragile but carrying an unsettling lucidity. Her gaze flickered between Arthur and the others — "…then the Black Faction has just gained something far more precious than any of us could have imagined."
Her words fell like thunder.
Darnic, who had remained frozen until then, drew in a deep breath, forcing his composure back into place. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of ambition and fear. He stepped forward, his hand raised in a calculated gesture of leadership.
"This changes everything," he said firmly, every syllable dripping with greed and with schemes forming in his mind. "With him on our side, our strategies must be rebuilt from the ground up. Gilgamesh's presence alone… is enough to completely tip the balance of this War."
Before Darnic could continue indulging in his fantasies, Arthur raised his hand, cutting him off with disdain.
"Enough of this empty talk." His voice was cold, authoritative. "Repeating the same thing over and over is becoming tiresome."
Arthur's golden eyes locked onto Darnic, his expression hardening.
"Darnic. I want to personally deal with the Red Faction's Saber."
A murmur of surprise swept through the room.
"You… know who the Red Saber is?" Darnic asked, raising an eyebrow.
Arthur did not hesitate.
"Yes. Her name is Mordred… the Knight of Betrayal."
The mere mention of that title made several people shiver.
"Huh…? 'Her name'? The Knight of Betrayal… is a woman?" the girl in the wheelchair interrupted, shocked.
Arthur tilted his head, as if it were obvious.
"Ah… I didn't say? Both King Arthur and Mordred are women."
The impact was immediate.
"WHAT!?" — everyone shouted at once, their eyes wide in disbelief.
The revelation struck even harder than when he had revealed himself as Gilgamesh. The legendary King of Knights, idolized for generations, was not only a woman, but also had an illegitimate — and enemy — daughter who was one as well.
The air hung heavy until Vlad III intervened.
The severe eyes of the Prince of Wallachia fixed on Arthur.
"I see. In that case… I entrust the fate of the Red Saber to you, King Gilgamesh."
There was no irony in his voice, only the sober recognition of someone who understood the weight of confronting monsters. His bearing reminded all present that, even as a feared and cruel king in life, he knew how to acknowledge another sovereign's strength and authority.
A few more minutes passed in minor discussions, until Astolfo suddenly broke the tension. With a carefree smile, as if war didn't exist, he bounded over to Arthur and, without the slightest hesitation, clung to his arm.
"Gil-kun, you're amazing!" he said, laughing.
The room froze once again. Yet the innocent gesture lit a fire of fury within Celenike. Astolfo's Master glared, her eyes burning with rancor, her forced smile barely hiding her frustration.
Astolfo, ever sensitive, trembled slightly — like a butterfly sensing the shadow of a spider.
---
Guided by one of the homunculi, Arthur was led to a luxurious chamber prepared especially for him.
Away from the chatter, he collapsed onto the soft bed, his thoughts drifting. His golden eyes reflected the ceiling as if searching for something beyond it.
A cold smile curved his lips.
"I hope you can keep me entertained, Mordred…" he murmured to himself, like a predator waiting for the hunt.
---
The next morning, Arthur awoke early as usual to begin his training. His movements were fluid, almost rehearsed, the discipline of a warrior who never neglected the body, even while possessing an intellect rivaling humanity's greatest minds. After a quick session, he returned to the fortress, washing away the sweat and tension.
Clean and refreshed, he now wore an outfit that blended luxury with nonchalance. The first thing that drew attention was his dark blue shirt, unbuttoned down to his abdomen, exposing part of his chest and the flawless definition of his body. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing checkered detail at the cuffs, emphasizing the calculated casualness of his appearance.
Around his neck, a golden necklace glimmered under the light, contrasting against his pale skin, every ornament he wore more a symbol of status than mere decoration. On his wrist and forearm, thick golden bracelets shone, like the regalia of a king flaunting his wealth even in casual attire.
His pristine white trousers, perfectly tailored, contrasted sharply with the dark shirt. Fastened with a brown belt, they gave him an air of sophistication, even in a seaside setting. On his feet, simple leather shoes — modest compared to the gold he wore elsewhere, yet practical for the hot sand.
He walked with an effortless air of superiority, as though even leisurewear was a suit of armor meant to highlight his majesty.
He strolled through the castle corridors. The fortress's structure was as familiar to him as the back of his hand — his memories, combined with Sha Naqba Imuru, granted him a perspective no other Master or Servant possessed. He already knew where the Red Faction would strike.
Of course, he could directly employ the absolute power of Sha Naqba Imuru, the "All-Seeing Eye," to predict every step, every arrow, every heartbeat of the enemy. But Arthur refused to rely on it constantly. If he knew the outcome of every battle beforehand, there would be no thrill, no glory. The battlefield would lose its essence.
Reaching the ramparts that overlooked a vast plateau — the stage where the first full-scale battle between the factions would unfold — Arthur smiled to himself.
"This will be the perfect opportunity to test my Noble Phantasm… Melammu Dingir."
A long-range bombardment, a prodigy of the Age of the Gods. The concentrated power not only of Gilgamesh, but of Uruk itself. Of course, now it would be fueled not by Uruk, but by Yggdmillennia. If Atalanta dared unleash her Noble Phantasm to wipe out the homunculi and golems, then he would answer in kind.
"I'll have Darnic arrange the personnel and materials for the preparations…" he murmured, turning to leave.
Inside the castle, he paused at a window, watching Frankenstein and her Master struggle through their clumsy communication. It was almost comical, but there was also a strange tenderness in their awkward bond.
"They're kind of cute, in their own way…" he whispered.
Soon after, he left to meet Darnic.
---
"I understand. I'll arrange the resources immediately." Darnic replied without hesitation.
Shortly after, a battalion of homunculi was assigned to Arthur. With icy composure and natural authority, he led them to the ramparts, instructing them with precise clarity. There was no hesitation in his tone; every order was sharp, objective, almost mathematical.
As day gave way to night, the crimson-stained sky was swallowed by darkness. It was then that Arthur received a magical call from Darnic. Leaving the homunculi behind, he made his way to the fortress's main hall.
There, all the Masters and Servants had gathered. At Darnic's signal, the Black Caster activated a candlestick, projecting images of the surrounding forest.
The projection revealed a grotesque figure approaching. A Servant with a wild, almost indecent appearance, moving like an uncontrollable predator.
"According to the Caster's report, this Servant is heading toward us," Darnic announced.
The room fell silent. No other signs of enemy forces. Attacking alone was sheer madness — something no Servant would normally do, except perhaps one particular class.
"He's the Red Berserker," Arthur declared with conviction.
His eyes glowed with the light of the projection. Murmurs erupted throughout the hall until Vlad III raised his hand, restoring order.
"Tell me your plan, Darnic."
Before the leader could answer, Arthur stepped forward. His presence filled the room.
"Allow me," he said firmly. "I already know what each of you must do."
---
Soon after, Arthur once again stood upon the ramparts, his clairvoyance piercing the forest's darkness, revealing the silhouettes of the invaders.
"Achilles… and Atalanta," he murmured, recognizing them with ease.
The smile that spread across his lips was not just one of confidence, but of anticipation. His mind was already crafting scenarios, predicting movements, weighing advantages and risks.
"Siegfried and Frankenstein will face Achilles. Their brute strength and endurance will counter his speed. Meanwhile, Vlad and the others will handle Berserker."
"As for Atalanta… I'll deal with her myself."
---
(End of chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."
I have returned, my faithful readers.
I admit I came back later than I had anticipated, and thus only had time to complete this chapter.