Meanwhile, on a plain in eastern Britain, far from North Wales.
Acrid smoke blackened the sky, and the crackle of burning trees echoed from all sides. The stench of blood and charred flesh hung heavy over the battlefield, stifling the air.
It was the army led by Artoria.
The fierce assault they had launched on a Saxon settlement had ended in what was, in truth, a one-sided massacre.
The problem was that this place had been more than just a military outpost.
At the heart of the village lay the elderly, stabbed in the back as they tried to flee with their belongings; women, unable to even raise a weapon, burned to death in each other’s arms; and the vivid bloodstains of trampled children.
It was a scene of absolute carnage, where not only the combatants but even the Saxon civilians—those who had crossed into Britain to build homes and settle—had been slaughtered without mercy.
Artoria leaned on her blood-dripping holy sword, Excalibur, using it as a staff while she stared numbly at the hellscape before her.
…Is this truly the path of a king meant to save Britain?
Though she had waded through countless battlefields and been drenched in blood, the blade felt unbearably heavy now, its edge having cut down unarmed women and children. Her clear green eyes twisted with profound anguish and guilt.
At that moment, Goplet, who had been directing the troops, wiped blood from his armor and approached her.
“Please, Your Majesty, do not dwell on it. This was a perfectly just and necessary action.”
There was not a hint of remorse in Goplet’s voice. Instead, he looked coldly down at the strewn corpses and spoke firmly.
“These are not mere unlucky civilians. They are shameless invaders who stole our fertile lands and enslaved our people to build their own lives. We are the true victims. If a thief breaks into your home and helps himself to your table, why should you pity the thief's wife and children?”
Gawain, the Knight of the Sun, who had been trailing behind Artoria, could no longer contain himself and stepped forward.
“Sir Goplet! Even so, is this not too cruel? To kill warriors is the way of war, but to slaughter women and children who cannot even hold a blade is not the way of a knight!”
As Gawain’s voice rose in anger, Goplet scoffed and questioned him.
“Sir Gawain, you have spent so long fighting defensive battles behind the secure, sturdy walls of Orkney that you seem to have forgotten the true, blood-soaked history of this land.”
“What did you say?”
“This is not merely a territorial dispute; it is a war of extermination for the survival of our race! Have you already forgotten the will of our great British hero, Queen Boudica?”
Goplet invoked the name of the avatar of vengeance who had once risen against the oppression of the Roman Empire.
“When Queen Boudica sacked Londinium, she spared no one—not the armed Roman soldiers, nor the foreign merchants, the women, the elderly, or even the children. She turned it all to ash! That was Britain’s true vengeance against the invaders and a warning to all who would follow: leave no one behind to seek revenge!”
“But…!”
“We have no need for chivalry toward the Saxons! If we pity those children and let them live, in a dozen years they will return with swords in their hands, claiming they are avenging their parents while they slit the throats of our people. To ensure peace, we must uproot the filthy seed entirely so they never dare set foot on this land again! That is the only way to protect Britain!”
The tension between Goplet, who represented the grim reality of war, and Gawain, who championed the ideals of knighthood, reached a breaking point. Their bloody argument echoed across the plain without end.
“…Please stop. Both of you.”
A quiet but resolute voice drifted from behind Artoria.
It was Artoria’s younger sister, Lily, clad in her pure white dress-armor.
Her face, usually filled with endless kindness and polite smiles, was now clouded with deep fatigue and sorrow. The hem of her white skirt was stained with Saxon blood and black ash.
“The battle is over. Everyone is exhausted. If you wish to argue over what is right or wrong, do so back at the barracks, not here where the scent of blood is so thick. For now, please, everyone return and rest.”
At Lily’s polite yet pointed command, Gawain and Goplet bit their lips and bowed their heads.
“…As you command. We shall withdraw.”
“Your Majesty, please take care of yourself.”
The knights and soldiers retreated with heavy steps, leaving only Artoria and Lily, the two sisters, alone in the center of the ruined village.
As silence fell, Artoria let out a heavy sigh and turned to Lily.
“…I am sorry, Lily, for making you see such a sight. I am fine, so please do not worry. Are you hurt anywhere?”
It was a forced smile, an attempt to soothe her sister both as a queen and an elder sibling.
But the moment Lily saw that smile, the thin thread of composure she had been clinging to snapped.
“How… how could I possibly be okay…?”
Large tears spilled from Lily’s eyes. She let her bloodstained Caliburn clatter to the ground and buried her face in her hands.
“Is this truly right…? Simply because they are invaders, is it truly meaningful for us to judge even those children who still breathe and hold warmth? I… I don’t know. Every time I swing my sword, I feel as though my fingertips are rotting away under a curse…”
Lily’s slender shoulders shook as she sobbed.
For the pure-hearted girl who had grown up under Kay’s warm care in the forest, dreaming of flowers and noble knights, this merciless massacre was an unbearable trauma.
“It is at times like this… on a battlefield as hellish and cold as this… that I miss my brother so much.”
Lily collapsed to the ground, wailing in grief.
“If Brother were here… he would have told us to stop this madness immediately. He would have wiped the blood from our hands and patted our heads, asking if we were hurt. *Hic… waaaah!*”
Brother. Kay.
As that name left Lily’s lips, Artoria felt something inside her own chest crumble.
Artoria sank to her knees on the cold earth and pulled Lily into a tight embrace. Feeling her sister’s warmth, Artoria stared blankly up at the ash-gray sky.
What… what have I done?
Five years ago, on that day.
When Kay disappeared, she had been faced with two choices.
One was to throw everything away and search for her beloved brother, just as her other sisters had done.
The other was to willingly stain her hands with blood and become king to protect the people of Britain.
She had chosen the latter, hoping that when her brother eventually returned, she could show him a peaceful and beautiful Britain.
But what was the reality? Under the guise of maintaining peace, her holy sword had become a tool of execution for the children of an enemy nation.
Lily, whom Kay had raised with such love, was now weeping with blood on her hands, and Artoria herself was devolving into an emotionless killing machine.
“…Perhaps I was wrong.”
A frail lament, one she had not uttered once in five years, escaped Artoria’s lips.
“Choosing to become king… the arrogance of thinking I could save the world… in the end, it was that very thing that drove us into this hell.”
She closed her eyes tightly. Her eyelids grew hot, and cold tears streamed down her cheeks.
If she had ignored Merlin’s nonsense that day—if she had cast aside the fate of Britain and chosen only to find Kay—
At least Lily would not be crushed by this terrible weight of blood, crying in her arms.
It was a cruel thing to do to the sister who, unlike the others, had remained by her side.
A bitter remorse tore her heart to shreds.
Upon a heap of ash where there was neither victory nor glory, the great King Arthur and the pure white princess knight clung to each other, weeping endlessly for their lost sun—Kay.
As the two sisters sank deeper into the mire of despair—
“Everyone! What are you doing here?”
From the entrance of the ruined village came a girl's voice, clear and spirited.
Startled, Artoria and Lily turned to see Gareth. Though only seven years old, she had grown significantly, appearing more like a young teenager.
“G-Gareth…? Why aren’t you resting at the camp? Where have you been?”
Artoria hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve. Gareth gave a mischievous grin and quickly hid her wet hands behind her back.
“Oh! Nothing! I saw a pretty talking parrot in the woods and chased it for a bit, then washed my hands in the stream! But why are your eyes so red? Have you been crying?”
Gareth tilted her head with an innocent expression, seemingly oblivious to everything.
“…No. It is just that the ash and smoke are irritating my eyes. Come, let us return to the barracks.”
Artoria forced a smile and patted Gareth’s head.
Gareth giggled and, with the hands she had just "washed" of blood, took the hands of her two sisters and led them back toward the camp.
A tragic choice made five years ago, sparked by a single lie from Merlin.
The messenger who had brought news of Kay’s return had been slain by the very girl standing before them; yet, unaware of this, Artoria and Lily continued their march of deep despair.
A cruel twist of timing and a brutal truth.
And at that same moment—
“What?! Sex?!”
“No, Alter…”
“Brother Kay! Is it true that you had sex with those girls while I was gone?!”
“I mean, yes, but…?”
“Oh my, can’t you still smell that old-maid virgin scent on her?”
“Right you are. To have breasts that big and still be a virgin—isn't that what they call 'spoiled'? Hehe.”
“You… you damn bitches!!!”
In North Wales, a romantic melodrama was unfolding.
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