The massive iron gate of Camelot’s inner wall tore apart like tissue paper from a single swing of Kay’s axe.
Kay let out a beast-like roar as he sprinted up the spiral staircase toward the highest levels of the castle.
Countless royal guards tried to block his path, but they fell like autumn leaves before Kay’s sheer breaking power—or, recognizing his face, lowered their weapons and opened the way.
But at the entrance to the final corridor leading to the king’s private chamber—
Two people stood blocking the path.
The Knight of the Sun, Gawain.
And the niece he had once raised, Gareth.
“...I’ve been waiting for you, intruder.”
Gawain stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding.
In his hand gleamed the holy sword of the Sun, Excalibur Galatine.
Blessed by the power of sunlight, he was nothing more than a knight faithful to his oath to protect his king; he had no idea who the man before him really was.
Gareth’s eyes, by contrast, trembled with conflicting emotion. Having already learned of Kay’s survival and news from North Wales through Merlin’s messenger, she forced a smile to appear calm.
“You there, stop! I, Gawain, will not forgive the crime of staining holy Camelot with blood! If you call yourself a knight, state your name and raise your sword!”
Gawain thundered as he leveled Galatine’s tip at Kay.
Amused by his rigid, blind zeal, Kay halted and let out a low, mocking chuckle.
“You’re the one who forgot the proper greeting. Your uncle is home, you idiot.”
“...What? Uncle?”
Gawain’s eyebrows twitched at the unpleasant jest from the burly stranger he’d never met, just as he prepared to tighten his grip on his sword.
Kay’s figure blurred as he darted toward Gawain with animal-like speed.
Keeping his torso bent low, Kay hauled his right arm back in a wide arc, gathering all his strength—a clear trajectory of a powerful uppercut aimed at the chin.
Foolish! Trying to shatter my sword with your fist head-on?
Gawain had timed his strike to bring Galatine crashing down vertically, intending to cleave Kay’s arm in two. But it was a grave miscalculation.
As Kay drew back for the uppercut, his body suddenly dipped toward the ground, twisting the strike’s path 180 degrees.
Thwack!!
“...Hrak?!”
The blow Kay had thrown, which Gawain expected to strike his jaw or breastplate, instead slammed violently into his most vulnerable point—the joint of his calf.
A bone-shattering crack echoed as Gawain’s massive frame wavered and lost its balance. Even a Knight of the Sun was powerless when his legs were buckled.
And, of all times, no sunlight filtered in. The cheat-grade blessing known as the Saint's Number remained dormant without the sun’s rays.
As Gawain collapsed, Gareth at his side gasped out in panic.
“Uncle Kay! It’s me, Gare—”
She intended to tug at Kay’s heart with familial affection to shake his resolve, then thrust her spear into him the moment he hesitated—a twisted, psychopathic cheap trick.
But.
Before her treacherous lips could even close—
Crack!
“—Ah, ugh—?!”
Kay’s left fist cut short her words, mercilessly crushing her ribs.
Gareth let out a scream of agony that threatened to tear her lungs as she crumpled backward.
In that moment, Kay spun his body and drove his elbow down into the nape of her neck as she arced through the air.
Crraaaack!!
Gareth’s small body slammed into the marble floor of the corridor, rebounding slightly before falling limp.
The stone cracked in a spiderweb pattern; she coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed into unconsciousness.
“...I held back. She won’t die.”
Kay bit his lip until it bled as he gazed down at his fallen niece.
“I’m sorry, Gareth. Five years ago, when I was driven into the Abyssal Realm... I should have taken you with me at any cost. I’m sorry I let you rot like this until you broke.”
His voice carried bone-scraping guilt and sorrow.
“GARETH!!”
Gawain, having lost his balance, roared in fury as he saw his sister trampled so cruelly.
“You bastard! How dare you harm my sister!!”
Gawain unleashed a blast of solar heat and swung Galatine with all his fury, but Kay simply stepped back and easily dodged the enraged blow.
“Protect your sister? Don’t make me laugh.”
Kay’s gaze turned as cold as if staring at an insect.
“What did you do as her brother while your own flesh and blood twisted into this wreck? You worshipped your king with blind devotion and never even noticed your sister rotting away as a tool for a nightmare.”
“Shut up! Who do you think you are—”
“Who do I think I am? While you were in the kitchen mashing potatoes into dirt-laced slop, I was tearing my hair out wondering how to keep these children from starving. You’re nothing more than a worthless, garbage potato-gorilla.”
Before Kay’s tirade ended, the giant stained-glass window in the corridor shattered, and two ominous silhouettes charged in.
One bore the black flame banner of Jeanne d’Arc Alter; the other, a dark holy sword slung over her shoulder—Artoria Alter.
“Haah!!”
Their attacks struck Gawain at once. Jeanne d’Arc Alter’s black flames clouded his vision, and in the blink of an eye, Artoria Alter’s heavy blow knocked Galatine aside, sending him crashing ten meters down the hall.
“Tch, what a stubborn gorilla. He's tough as nails,” Jeanne d’Arc Alter clicked her tongue.
“Don’t get in my way, charger—watch my back. I’ll crack that idiot brat’s skull myself,” Artoria Alter commanded.
“Watch your own back! Don’t get roasted by my flames!”
Though it was their first time fighting side by side, they fell into a perfect rhythm and pressured Gawain relentlessly.
Kay didn’t spare Gawain even a glance. He surged through the path they’d opened and finally arrived before the king’s inner chamber at the very top of the fortress.
Bang!!
Kay kicked open the king’s door without a second thought.
The moment he stepped inside, Kay’s brow twisted in disgust.
In this windowless, sealed room, the air was thick with the sickly sweet, acrid smoke of marijuana.
This scent... It’s the same aroma I smelled while researching medicinal cuisine in the Abyssal Realm. Marijuana? And those white powders scattered on the floor... Osekisan?
A lethal drug that induces extreme alertness and hallucinations.
Kay’s fist shook with rage as he stared at the figure slumped on the ornate throne in the room’s depths.
“...Artoria.”
At his summons, the silhouette on the throne slowly lifted her head.
The great prophesied king, Britain’s savior Artoria Pendragon. But she wasn’t the kind, valiant younger sister Kay once knew.
Her green eyes were dead and unfocused. Smoke poured from her pale lips as she stared blankly. She had become a hollow shell, utterly ruined by drugs.
“...Who are you?”
Artoria lurched to her feet. The drugs’ hallucinatory and cognitive effects prevented her from recognizing the man she’d longed for so dearly.
“Ah, I see. An intruder. I felt a disturbance.”
She drew the holy sword Excalibur with trembling hands and leveled it at Kay.
“Artoria. It's me. Your brother is here. Throw down that damned weed and lower your sword right now.”
Kay tried to approach, swallowing his fury, but Artoria’s eyes flared with sudden madness.
“Don’t lie!! Brother... you died five years ago!! You abandoned me!! All my sisters, they abandoned me too! Are you another phantom come to deceive me?!”
She screamed as if coughing up blood, clutching Excalibur with both hands and charging at Kay with ferocious intent.
The drug’s awakening effect had imbued her sword strikes with terrifying magical power.
But Kay did not flinch. He walked straight through Excalibur’s golden arc and into her embrace.
Then Kay’s merciless knee drove into Artoria’s solar plexus with pinpoint accuracy.
“Ugh...hnh...!!”
A breath-stopping blow, and Artoria’s eyes rolled back. Excalibur clattered to the floor as her frail body collapsed into Kay’s arms, unconscious.
But Kay felt his own chest warm with blood.
In piercing her with his knee to knock her out, Excalibur’s blade had carved deep into his chest.
“...So broken you can’t even defend against an attack you can see coming in a straight line.”
Ignoring the wound in his chest, Kay cradled the unconscious Artoria to his heart.
As he ran his hand down her emaciated back, his face darkened with despair, grief that tasted of blood, and a shadow black enough to burn everything away.
“...”
Kay gently laid Artoria on the throne, then crushed every drug bottle strewn across the floor with his boot until they were nothing but powder.
He stared at the empty space and muttered in a voice so cold it could freeze.
“Stop hiding and crawl out, Merlin.”
Flap.
Responding to Kay’s deadly summons, a ragged parrot, missing feathers, swooped in through the window and landed precariously on the throne’s backrest.
[...Long time no see, Kay.]
The source of all evil, the familiar of the incubus Merlin.
[Honestly~ You’re such a problem child. I really shouldn’t have entrusted the children to you that day. You’re still such a thorn in my side. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn't have had to do this~]
“…Why? Why would you do this? There's no way you didn't know what those things were.”
Kay, trying to remain calm, asked about the drugs.
[Ah~ It’s simple. I’m healing Artoria’s mind. She’s of the Pendragon blood, a dragon. Her body won’t break that easily. When state business calls, I can use my illusions to bring her back to normal.]
“That’s not what I’m asking...”
[Oh~ Is that it? You think I’m evil for ruining Artoria like this? But in the grand scheme, I’m doing a great job. The process might differ, but the result is what matters, right? Artoria will act as Britain’s perfect king and oversee its doom. Even if the steps change a bit, the outcome remains. If the world avoids being pruned, then the end justifies the means. As long as the result is good, it's okay.]
“I’m not asking that.”
[Hmm, then what? Why drugs? Well, it’s the easiest method, right? Artoria stays happy and performs well as king. Perfect, isn’t it? Even if it’s all a dream or illusion, she can be happy. That’s a luxury~ Uther had no emotions, so he died without knowing happiness. But Artoria can be happy until the moment she dies. It’s a bit sad, of course. A perfect king is too much of a puppet. But there’s no choice~ You ruined the children too badly. I should’ve raised her from the start.]
“...Merlin. What do you consider Artoria? A disciple? A daughter? What is she to you?”
Merlin, after pausing, answered.
[A king. A perfect, ideal king. One who can lead Britain.]
A device called a king.
Nothing more.
If Artoria failed, he would have simply swapped her for Lily. Anyone would do.
The Pendragon sisters were merely sacrifices for Britain.
Martyrs who died for Britain, bearing the title of king in name only.
Nothing more.
Uther, and Merlin too.
When they forged them with the heart of the Red Dragon, they had thought this from the beginning.
They had to be perfect kings. For Britain, for the world... they had to be perfect. For the sake of this world, they would be sacrificed.
Sacrificing the few for the many. That was the history and truth of humanity. It was the way this world’s human history had endured.
“This girl is not some 'king'.”
Of course, there was one man who could not accept that.
“She just loves to eat. She laughs and talks with joy and loves adventure... she’s my precious family.”
Even if the world turned against him... he was a man willing to give up everything for his family.
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