Jeanne did not struggle, did not resist; not even a flicker of emotion showed in her eyes. She remained like a delicate doll. She merely spoke again, her voice still icy: "Did you come here just to show off this... loyal hound of yours?"
"Show off? Of course you are worth showing off." Kanjuro chuckled lightly, his fingers entwining a strand of Jeanne's silver-white hair, but his gaze swept over the three 'kings' whose expressions had turned utterly grim. His tone suddenly became contemptuous and cruel.
"However, my main purpose in coming here was simply to see with my own eyes... how three self-righteous insects gather together, solemnly discussing how to oppose the heavens they can never comprehend."
Kanjuro's metaphors of "bedbug" and "firmament," which were insulting to the extreme, were like poisoned daggers, ruthlessly piercing the proud hearts of the three kings.
Golden light erupted from all around Gilgamesh, and the phantom of enkidu almost tore through space; when had he ever suffered such a great humiliation!
"Archer!" Sab barked in a low voice. Though her green eyes burned with anger, she forced herself to remain rational. "Calm down! We cannot afford the price of a full-scale war with him right now!"
Gilgamesh's handsome face was distorted by rage, and his golden pupils narrowed into dangerous vertical slits, but he gritted his teeth and did not lash out immediately.
Sab was right. The way Kanjuro had effortlessly neutralized his Noble Phantasm volley just now had already proven his unfathomable strength; acting rashly would lead to unpredictable consequences.
At this moment, the Conqueror King Iskandar, who had been observing in silence, spoke in his deep and oppressive voice, striking the heart of the matter: "The mystery of the world lies in reaching 'The Root' and obtaining magic. The essence of the Black Magic this man uses also touches upon this rank."
His sharp gaze, like a hawk's, locked onto Kanjuro. "Even if an ordinary Magician is lucky enough to touch The Root, they would surely be corrected by the world's counter force and have their memories erased. Yet he... seems to transcend this, unrestrained."
Upon hearing this, Sab felt slightly more settled; finally, someone had pointed out the key. She nodded solemnly in agreement: "Exactly. His very existence is an 'anomaly'."
Gilgamesh's expression became even more unsightly. It wasn't that he didn't know this, but it only made him feel more humiliated.
"Hahaha—!" Kanjuro laughed toward the sky as if he had heard the most hilarious joke in the world. His laughter echoed through the courtyard, filled with mockery and a kind of pity that transcended the mundane.
"What a counter force! What a reaching The Root! You frogs at the bottom of a well, how could you know what terrifying existences lie above that so-called 'Root' and outside that counter force—beings so horrifying they can wantonly toy with the laws of the universe itself?!"
His laughter stopped abruptly, and his eyes became deep and distant, as if piercing through the veil of reality to see sights that ordinary people could not comprehend.
In the depths of his consciousness, he seemed to see the myriad chaotic incarnations of Nyarlathotep again and hear the seductive and maddening whispers of the Demon Sister, Chiyo.
That was a horror more profound than The Root, more absolute than the counter force—an unspeakable horror!
It was no wonder that monster had once sneered and told him that these masses of living beings, these heroic kings, and even the entire world, might be nothing more than a brief and illusory dream.
Sab forced herself to ignore Kanjuro's unsettling expression and questioned him coldly: "So, why have you come here? Is it to slaughter us all?"
Kanjuro pulled his drifting thoughts back, his face returning to that elegant and wicked smile. He leaned lazily against the back of his chair, even comfortably tightening his embrace on Jeanne in his arms, as if he really were just a guest who had come to listen: "Kill you? Why be in such a hurry. I said, I just came to see what the three 'Kings' wanted to talk about. You can just pretend I don't exist and continue your... high-flown talk about the 'Kingly Way'."
His tone was relaxed, as if he were discussing the moonlight tonight.
In his arms, Jeanne sighed expressionlessly, her cold voice ringing out: "So you came with such fanfare just to... join the fun."
"Kanjuro!!" Sab's patience was finally exhausted. She slammed the table and stood up, her voice trembling with anger. "What exactly do you want?! What are your intentions?!"
Iskandar also clenched his fists and said in a heavy voice: "Speak! Is it war or peace? Give us your conditions! If you won't kill us, are you waiting for us to strike first?!"
Facing the anger of the two that was on the verge of exploding, Kanjuro simply spread his hands innocently, his tone carrying a hint of playful grievance: "Don't be so excited. I said, I'm just here to listen—to listen to the three 'King of Bedbugs' who once left their names in the annals of history, talking grandly here and exchanging what that so-called... 'Kingly Way' really is."
"..."
At this moment, the courtyard fell into a deathly silence.
Sab, Iskandar, and even the enraged Gilgamesh were momentarily speechless.
They had envisioned countless ways Kanjuro might disrupt the situation—a surprise attack, negotiations, a declaration of war... but they never expected that the other party's purpose was actually just... to listen?
This attitude, which completely defied logic and treated them like monkeys performing on a stage, was more humiliating and disempowering than any direct hostility.
Sab was stunned for a moment, and a sense of absurdity arose. She even felt inexplicably relieved—at least, for the time being, she didn't have to face that terrifying battle immediately.
However, Gilgamesh's hatred for Kanjuro boiled to its peak because of this extreme contempt! He stared fixedly at Kanjuro; if looks could kill, Kanjuro would have already been hacked into a thousand pieces.
"What?" Kanjuro seemed to feel his tangible killing intent. Instead of being bothered, he stood up with interest and walked slowly to Gilgamesh. Under the other's gaze, which was almost spitting fire, he actually reached out and lightly patted Gilgamesh's magnificent golden armor, like an elder soothing a junior.
"You seem... very angry?" Kanjuro's tone carried concern, but his eyes were full of playfulness.
"Mongrel! Remove your filthy hand! You are not permitted to touch this king's armor with your foul existence!!" Gilgamesh recoiled a step as if bitten by a venomous snake and let out a furious roar.
However, the moment Kanjuro's palm left the armor, Gilgamesh and everyone present clearly saw—on the part of the golden armor that Kanjuro had patted, which contained powerful magic, several tiny, spiderweb-like cracks had appeared out of thin air!
Although they were instantly repaired by Gilgamesh's mana, that fleeting damage struck everyone's heart like a thunderclap!
A casual touch alone could damage the king of heroes' Noble Phantasm armor?!
Gilgamesh's face instantly turned from a furious ashen-blue to an incredulous deathly pale. He stared fixedly at the traces of the cracks that had vanished instantly, then looked up sharply at the innocent-looking Kanjuro. His chest heaved violently as extreme rage intertwined with an indescribable chill stemming from the gap in their power levels, making him almost suffocate.
He suppressed it desperately, suppressing that rage that was about to completely explode and destroy everything.
The air in the courtyard became thicker and more suffocating because of this silent demonstration.
Kanjuro, without even needing to lift a finger, had already made the three kings clearly feel that desperate, abyssal gap. He was still smiling, as if he had just brushed away a bit of dust.
"Alright, please continue discussing what a king is, and what kind of dreams and wishes you hope to fulfill after seizing the Holy Grail." Kanjuro's gentle tone was the polar opposite of his previous dark aura, which instead caused Gilgamesh, Sab, and Iskandar to shudder with a chill.
Sab (Artoria) took a deep breath, the moonlight spilling over her resolute and beautiful profile, casting a cold light. She ignored the bone-chilling cold in Kanjuro's words, her green eyes settling with the weight of a thousand years and a hint of relief.
"My dream..." Her voice was clear and firm, echoing in the silent courtyard. "is my hope for Britain to undergo the selection of the king once more. And I... will no longer pull out that sword in the stone (Caliburn) that symbolizes destiny and responsibility."
"What?!" Conqueror King Iskandar's thick brows furrowed tightly, and he slammed his wine cup onto the table, splashing the liquid. "king of knights! You would deny the era you personally created? Deny the knights and subjects who followed you?!"
Gilgamesh let out an unabashed sneer, his crimson snake-like pupils full of disdain: "Foolish! As a ruler, would you be swayed by the wailing of ants? That unique treasure of yours (referring to her purity and ideals) has been personally defiled by you; it truly makes this king gag."
Kanjuro lightly swirled his wine cup, the dark aura swirling around him. The corner of his mouth curled into a mockery that saw through everything: "Look, even your 'own kind' cannot understand this... weak confession of yours."
Sab did not back down because of the questioning. Her gaze swept over Iskandar and Gilgamesh, finally landing back on Kanjuro with a calm that came after experiencing many hardships: "I am not denying that era, nor am I denying those who fought alongside me. What I am denying is... myself, who thought I was perfect but ultimately failed to understand the human heart and failed to bring true happiness to my people."
Her voice carried a hint of imperceptible trembling, the mark of being eroded by countless nights of regret: "As a king, I drew my sword only to protect the land and the people. I held myself to strict standards, abandoning personal desires and pursuing absolute justice and ideals.
But I was wrong... I became a perfect'symbol,' yet I moved away from the warmth of a 'human.' My subjects revered me and depended on me, but they also... could not truly understand me, and even doubted my inhuman perfection. This gap was perhaps the seed of tragedy."
She looked up, her eyes flashing with determination: "So, if the Holy Grail can truly perform miracles, I am willing to trade for a chance—a chance for Britain to escape its fate of certain destruction and choose again. A chance... that might be led by a king who understands the 'human heart' better. This is not an escape, but what I believe to be... the only possible way to make up for my mistakes."
The silent Jeanne's frozen expression showed a tiny crack for the first time.
She looked at Sab, and in those eyes that once held faith and fire, a very faint light, almost like resonance, flickered.
"Interesting..." Jeanne's cold voice rang out, carrying a hint of inquiry. "So in this world, there really exist 'superiors' who would place the suffering of others above their own glory? Even if this reflection stems from endless pain?"
"Pain?" Kanjuro spoke as if he had heard a ridiculous joke. He set down his wine cup and let out a contemptuous sneer, interrupting Jeanne's words. "Jeanne, have you also been moved by this hypocritical pathos?"
He stood up, the dark aura surging behind him like a living thing. His gaze, like cold arrows, shot towards Sab:
"Regret? Reflection? It's nothing more than the most pathetic fig leaf for a loser!"
His voice carried a kind of pleasure in trampling over everything noble and painful:
"As a king, ruling over millions, stepping through mountains of corpses and seas of blood is inevitable! Since you've chosen this path, you should follow it to the very end! Even if you bear the infamy of a thousand years, even if bones pile up beneath your feet, as long as you yourself believe this path is right, that is enough!"
He took a step closer, the invisible pressure causing the air to solidify:
"For someone like you to enjoy the power and glory brought by kingship, only to weep and repent afterward, decrying your own 'inadequacies'... isn't that the ultimate hypocrisy?! By denying your own past, you are denying the value of the knights and subjects who sacrificed themselves for you! What have their blood and loyalty become in the face of your 'regret'? Mere funeral offerings for a mistake?!"
His words were like poisonous blades, ruthlessly scraping against the deepest wounds in Saber's heart:
"A king who only wallows in past mistakes and constant regret is worse than a tyrant! A tyrant, at least, carries out their own will! But you, Artoria Pendragon, are nothing more than a... pathetic hypocrite, strangled by the shackles of your own ideals! You aren't fit to be called a 'King' at all!"
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