The grueling siege of Camelot, spanning ten long hours, finally drew to a close with the victory of the British forces. Without the central figure of Lucius to bind them, the Romans were reduced to little more than a disciplined yet hollow rabble.
So absolute was the power concentrated within Lucius Tiberius that the Legions had never even conceived of a reality where she might fall. With her death, the Roman morale did not merely waver—it withered into dust.
An army stripped of its will to fight offered no resistance against our counteroffensive. Their ranks collapsed, helpless against the tide of our blades.
By the time the slaughter ceased, the Roman host of over fifty thousand had been butchered down to a mere fifteen thousand. Those who survived fled in terror toward the landing ships that had brought them to our shores.
Upon the white ramparts—scarred by siege engines and stained crimson with the lifeblood of both friend and foe—the exhausted defenders let out a ragged, triumphant roar.
Watching the horizon, I allowed a heavy sigh of relief to escape my parched throat. We had triumphed over the Roman Empire. Against a force five times our size, we had held the line and preserved the Holy City, Camelot.
Dragging my leaden limbs, I found a pile of fallen masonry that had once been part of the battlement and used it as a makeshift seat. Every inch of my body screamed in protest.
"I'm half-dead already..." I murmured, casting my gaze upward. The sun, which had been high during the heat of battle, was now beginning its descent into the twilight.
As I sat in a daze, the sudden, ethereal scent of flowers caught the wind. I turned my head slowly, my senses sharpening despite the fatigue.
There stood Merlin. The Magus of Flowers watched me with an inscrutable gaze, and I met her eyes with weary resignation.
"...What brings you here, Merlin?"
"My, my, Eli! Must we always have a 'purpose' just to share a moment together?" she teased, her tone airy and light.
"Yes."
"...Even I have a heart, you know. Such coldness wounds me. Nevertheless, I have come because there is something I must ask of you."
I frowned, lowering my head. Did she not see the state I was in? "...I have no intention of listening to any requests at this moment. Return later—"
"Even if it concerns Artoria?"
"...What did you say?"
The mere mention of her name acted like a tonic. I snapped my head up, fixing Merlin with a sharp look.
Seeing my reaction, Merlin let out a faint, maddening smile—the smile of one who knew exactly which strings to pull to make her puppet dance.
"Well then. Do I have your undivided attention now?"
***
The tidings Merlin brought were nothing short of catastrophic. Rebellion had ignited across the breadth of Britain.
Morgan le Fay, the King's own sister, had gathered those lords who harbored resentment against Artoria's reign and raised the banners of insurrection.
The timing was impeccable and malicious. To strike while Rome was at our gates... the coincidence was too perfect. Morgan, as the 'Owner of the Island,' surely felt the shifts in the land's Mystery and timed her move precisely for this moment of vulnerability.
I had sensed something was amiss. Though a considerable amount of time had passed since we dispatched the messengers, Artoria's main army had yet to reach the capital.
The rebels must have intercepted her. It was the only explanation; otherwise, her vanguard would have graced the horizon long ago.
Merlin claimed that no fewer than twenty lords had joined the treason. The sheer scale of the insurrection was staggering.
Even by the most conservative estimates, if each lord provided but three thousand men, we were facing a host of sixty thousand. In reality, it was likely closer to eighty thousand.
Artoria led fifty thousand men at most. She was outnumbered and outmaneuvered.
Furthermore, the logistical situation would be dire. When a King marches to meet a foreign threat, they rely on the surrounding lords for grain and supplies. But if the lords themselves are the enemy, there is no hope of replenishment.
To summarize the King's plight: she was surrounded by a superior force of rebels, cut off from all supplies, and likely pinned down in hostile territory.
It was a truly wretched situation. As soon as Merlin finished speaking, I forced myself to stand and sought out Mordred. There was no time for the luxury of rest.
I ascended the ramparts in a hurry. I found Mordred there, her armor battered and her breathing heavy. She looked spent, but the emergency allowed no room for pity.
Mordred noticed my approach and turned toward me, her eyes widening as they swept over my blood-soaked bandages.
"—You! Your arm..."
"Forgive me, Mordred, but we are out of time. Morgan has turned traitor. She has raised a rebellion and is closing in on the King."
"...What?"
"I am taking a detachment of cavalry to reinforce the King immediately. You are to remain here and hold Camelot at all costs."
"...Wait! If you attempt to mount a horse in that condition—"
"...."
She was right. My collarbone was shattered and several ribs were broken. I was in no state to ride, let alone lead a charge.
Riding for days and then plunging into a melee... even with my Dragon's Magic Core, my physical vessel was still human. I was risking permanent disability—perhaps even a life as a cripple. But I had no other choice.
I offered Mordred a bitter, thin smile.
"...If I do not go, Mordred, the King will fall. The situation is that dire. I cannot let my own injuries outweigh her survival. As of this moment, I transfer all command of the capital's defense to you, save for the one thousand cavalry I shall take with me."
Mordred stared at me for a long beat before finally nodding slowly. Satisfied, I turned toward the stairs leading down to the courtyard.
Before I could descend, Mordred called out to my back.
"...Why? Why do you offer such absolute loyalty to the King?"
I paused and looked back at her over my shoulder.
"...Because I made an oath, Mordred. An oath to protect her. And..."
Because I have finally realized the true nature of my heart. I left the second part of that thought unspoken. Mordred watched me, her expression unreadable.
"...Is that so? Very well. See that you win and return. I shall be waiting."
"...I will."
With a curt nod, I descended to the courtyard, gathered one thousand knights, and rode out from the gates of Camelot into the brewing storm.
-----------------
Side Story. ???
Deep within the Throne of Heroes, the place where those of legendary renown dwell beyond the reaches of the universe—specifically, in the quarter where the Knights of the Round Table gathered.
I was currently slamming my fist into the floor, lamenting my miserable lot in life.
"...Why?! Why am I never summoned as a Servant?!"
THUD!
I struck the ground again and looked around. The other Knights of the Round Table were scattered about, watching me with expressions of profound pity.
I snapped at them, my pride stung by their stares. "Every single one of you has been summoned at least once! Even Galahad has gone! So why in the world am I the only one left behind?!"
"Your plight is indeed tragic, Sir Knight," Gawain said with a helpful smile. "Perhaps some of my specially prepared mashed potatoes would help bolster your spirits—"
"I'm not eating that!"
CRASH!
I swiped my hand, sending the bowl of unidentifiable grey mush flying.
"M-My mashed potatoes! Nooooo!" Gawain wailed.
Galahad, one of the few truly sensible knights of the Table, stepped forward to offer genuine consolation.
"—You will have your turn soon, Sir Elius."
I looked up from my dejected position on the floor, my eyes searching Galahad's. "Sir Galahad..."
"I mean, look at that wretched creature, Lancelot. Even that man-shaped disaster was summoned. Surely you will be as well."
"...That is a valid point."
I nodded slowly in agreement.
—Urgh!
Overhearing the insult, Lancelot clutched his heart and collapsed onto the floor. Galahad spared him a look of utter contempt before turning back to me.
"Regardless, if even Sir Lancelot could be summoned, there is hope for anyone."
"My thanks, Sir... wait, OH!!"
As the words left my mouth, my body began to radiate a brilliant light. Galahad smiled.
"See? What did I tell you?"
"Oh! Ohohoho! Truly, the Knight of the Grail speaks with wisdom! Well then, comrades, I shall be off!"
"Go forth and win!" Galahad called out.
I gave a final nod and surrendered myself to the call of the Grail. I wondered who my lovely Master would be. Already, a sense of loyalty began to blossom within me—loyalty I had previously reserved only for Artoria.
Whoever they are, I shall cherish them! With that vow, I allowed the guidance of the Holy Grail to deposit me into the living world.
Feeling the manifestation complete, I turned toward the figure standing before the summoning circle and announced my arrival with grandeur.
"—Servant, Saber! I have manifest in response to your summons. Are you my Mas—ter..."
My voice trailed off. My jaw hung slack.
Before me stood a young girl whose beauty was nothing short of breath-taking. To an observer, it might have appeared that I had simply been stunned into silence by her peerless visage.
But I was no green youth to be paralyzed by a pretty face. I had lived a lifetime of war and hardship.
The reason I could not speak was far more terrifying.
She had platinum-blonde hair styled in a bob cut and eyes like sparkling azure gems. Her face was one of absolute, kingdom-toppling beauty.
For any other man, this would be a moment to prostrate oneself in gratitude. But for me—someone who possessed the memories of 'Fate' from my past life—it was a nightmare.
No, 'nightmare' was too soft a word. I stared at the girl who was blushing like an innocent maiden as she looked at me, and one single thought echoed through my mind.
'...I am utterly, completely screwed.'
It seemed the World's cruel sense of irony, which had plagued me since my time in Britain, was far from over.
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