After the fairy Lancelot flew straight up into the sky, Guinevere soon witnessed her ultimate trump card, her Noble Phantasm.
Across the vast heavens, she turned into a shooting star, piercing through the surging clouds, rising higher and higher, until she reached the very highest point she could attain.
And as she ascended, that once pure and immaculate blue radiance gradually took on a tint of scarlet, and in the end, transformed completely into a dazzling crimson.
At the very top of the clouds, the fairy Lancelot, whose thoughts were becoming increasingly blank, slowly lowered her head and gazed down at the earth below.
At the same time, no one could see her from this distance.
Only then, when she was certain that no matter what expression she showed, no one would ever notice, did her face finally reveal emotions she had never shown before.
"…Even though it's not the first time, I still can't help but feel a little nervous."
She muttered bitterly to herself.
It wouldn't be long now. Soon, every single record belonging to the fairy Lancelot within this vessel would be formatted. Her memories, her emotions, her obsessions, her joys and sorrows… in just a few minutes, they would all vanish completely.
At that moment, the being here would no longer be the fairy knight Lancelot, but rather some terminal weapon of Britain known as "Albion."
This was not the first time she faced such a scene—in truth, it was the third.
The only difference was that the last two times she abandoned her human self were during moments of utter despair. But this time was different.
This time, it was because she carried hope that she chose this path.
Because in the end, she could die at her beloved's side. For that reason, she felt no pain—only genuine joy. And precisely because of that, she felt a slight regret at having to lose these memories.
The lights scattered across the land beneath the night sky reflected in her eyes like a slowly unfolding painting. From this distance, even the colossal body of Cernunnos seemed almost insignificant.
To be honest, from up here, even war-torn and scarred Britain still possessed a strange beauty.
If only… if only I could bring him up here to see this view with me.
"But… for his sake, I'll have to give it everything I've got now."
Whispering thus, Lancelot slowly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was no longer a trace of shadow within. She raised in her hand that distorted, projected colossal spear, and began the final chant of her Noble Phantasm:
"Offer up the strongest heart of this star!"
"From withered bones, emerge—the breath of flame, the wings of steel!"
"This name is Albion. The final one to open the boundary…"
"In the twilight sky, like the cry of a newborn child…"
"Fly forth, toward the distant heavens—even if you are but a broken husk!"
With that lofty incantation, the crimson magical energy surrounding her body grew denser and denser, accelerating the transformation of her body into more and more dragon-like forms.
Until finally, after crossing a certain threshold, she lost the last of her human shape, becoming the Dragon of the Boundary, becoming the Albion that soared into the heavens.
And at that moment, her Noble Phantasm reached its climax.
Still, she couldn't help but feel a little regret.
That last small wish… I never managed to fulfill it after all.
She couldn't help but think.
Then, in the instant she fully became a dragon, the final words of release rose up as the dragon's first thought:
"Unknown, unsullied heartbeat—Hollow Heart Albion!"
And then, a torrential beam of energy burst forth violently from the dragon's chest, like a satellite's beam from outer space, crashing down upon the massive hollow in the earth, striking the endlessly growing calamity within.
After that, violent magical energy swept across everything. Blinding light shot to the heavens, a violent explosion erupted, and the gusting winds it unleashed blew Guinevere's hair across his forehead.
Staring at that pillar of light soaring into the sky, sensing the complete disappearance of a certain fairy's presence above, Guinevere stood in silence for a very long time.
He had always disliked her… and yet, now, his opinion of her seemed shaken, swayed by her uncompromising and selfless act.
At the same time, his mind couldn't help but recall the final wish the fairy Lancelot had left with him:
"If possible, Guinevere, I wish you could call my name once more."
"It is the name you gave me back when you pulled me out of the abyss as Uther, the first gift I ever received after I came into this world as a living being."
"My name is Mélusine."
It was, truly, such a simple, simple wish.
But whether it was because he couldn't understand why she would ask such a thing, or because deep down he had never been able to see himself and that Uther in the history of Fairy Britain as the same person… Guinevere did not respond to the fairy Lancelot right away, but instead chose silence.
And by the time he hesitated too long, the fairy Lancelot had already bid him farewell and flown toward the clouds.
"…Whatever the case, now it's my turn to act."
Shaking his head lightly, Guinevere once again looked toward Cernunnos, whose form had been struck down and diminished by Mélusine's Noble Phantasm, and gripped tightly the Knight of Karia's sword in his hand.
At his will, faint sparks of flame quietly flickered along the scabbard. Then, as he slowly drew the longsword free, those scattered sparks coated the blade.
Though they looked like nothing more than faint sparks, the air around them was already warped by intense heat.
Then, gazing at Cernunnos as it gradually regenerated from Mélusine's strike, Guinevere stepped forward, gripping the hilt with both hands, raising the Karia knight's sword high overhead.
A massive amount of magical energy gathered upon his sword, condensing swiftly into an enormous blade. With more and more magical energy pouring in, the blade grew ever larger, until, when Guinevere had poured nearly all his mana into it, the Great Karia Sword had reached tens of meters in length.
Because the Heavenly Fire Judgement required no mana—only life force—Guinevere did not need to conserve magical energy for it. So he devoted nearly everything into forging a sword that could contain the maximum amount of heavenly fire.
Then, Guinevere drew in a deep breath, and once more spoke aloud:
"Brahma's hundred beasts—bless this body!"
In an instant, scorching flames burst forth from his body, waves of heat surging outward from him as their center. The seething inferno surged upward, as if to devour the very sky.
The flames roared, their might resplendent.
"Demons sink into the abyss—salvation unsheathes its blade."
With his chant, the flames extended from his body, covering the titanic Karia Sword in his hands, becoming a colossal blade of fire pointing obliquely toward the sky.
"Step forth—this is the inscription of salvation!"
Guinevere leapt forward, soaring toward the massive hollow, landing atop the battered surface of Cernunnos exposed by repeated strikes, great sword raised high.
Then, crimson firelight surged skyward along the path of his blade, tearing apart the black night like a thunderous streak of flame, a shooting star burning itself out to illuminate the darkness.
Next, like a volcanic eruption, violent and searing flames exploded outward from Guinevere, scorching hot currents scattering the clouds above. The dreadful force even made the endless curse-miasma leaking from the hollow pause for a heartbeat.
"For the one I love, I willingly offer my life."
"Heavenly Fire—unsheathe!"
Guinevere roared, straining to swing the great sword that was nearly burning through his hands. Endless fire gathered upon it, extending without limit, becoming a colossal blade that seemed able to cleave the world in two. With his swing, it ripped the clouds apart, shattered the sky, and cut through all between heaven and earth!
The earth shook violently, the thunderous roar like the world itself crying out in pain. The raging flames crashed down upon Cernunnos like a furious dragon, exploding into a towering pillar of fire.
But even then, Guinevere did not stop.
As the Heavenly Fire struck, he reached out, and the storm greatsword entrusted to him by Baġst fell into his hand.
"Burn it brighter, O King of Storms!"
With this roar, Guinevere slashed once more, lightning-swift. In an instant, lead-gray winds surged from afar, forming a roaring tornado that merged into the inferno within the hollow. Wind fanned fire, sparking an even more violent explosion. The backlash of the storm sent Guinevere flying, slamming him hard onto the ground near the hollow's edge.
But when the flames finally subsided, and Guinevere barely dragged himself up again, he was met with a sight of despair.
The hollow before him had widened twice over from the bombardments. The upper body of Cernunnos that had once protruded from it had been completely blasted away…
But he was still not destroyed.
That was the greatest problem.
As long as any of his body remained, he would not die. His remaining flesh would continue endlessly multiplying, and even now, as the hollow's bloody mass expanded ceaselessly, the rock beneath Guinevere's feet cracked and collapsed, consumed by the spreading flesh.
By the time he noticed the cracks beneath his feet, it was already too late. He tried to retreat, but the ground behind him gave way, and he plunged straight down into the writhing flesh-pool below.
Though the flesh cushioned his fall, the height was too great, and his strength was nearly gone. He slammed onto Cernunnos's body, dazed nearly to unconsciousness. If not for the resurrection state still lingering on him, he would surely have died outright.
"…So in the end, is my strength still not enough?"
Lying amidst the burning flesh, choking on the stench of scorched meat flooding his nose, Guinevere nearly vomited. Yet the blow to his spirit was far greater.
That last strike had been everything he had. Yet even with the Storm King's wind fueling his flames, he had only managed to burn away half of Cernunnos's remaining body. As for the other half—his mana spent, his strength drained, his final chance to unleash Heavenly Fire already used—he had no means left.
"This is fucking bullshit… Is this really how I lose?"
Guinevere lifted his head, staring up at the towering cliff walls. Despair weighed heavy on him.
Let alone defeating Cernunnos—he couldn't even climb back up.
It wouldn't be long now. Once his strength gave out, the ever-growing flesh would swallow him whole, assimilating him into its power. It really wasn't enough.
Perhaps it truly was as the prophecy said, as fate had written from the very beginning—without the Holy Sword of the Stars, all was destined for ruin. Thus Artoria's sacrifice had become inevitable.
"…Unacceptable."
Guinevere clenched his teeth in unwilling fury.
But what could he do now?
He couldn't even save himself.
And then, at that very moment, a crimson meteor suddenly streaked across the sky.
In the next second, Albion's colossal body plummeted from the heavens, crashing down upon Cernunnos's form, unleashing yet another storm of blazing fire.