"Artoria? What are you doing here?"
At the sudden sound of a familiar voice, Artoria—tied up like a rice dumpling and hanging upside down before the temple, dejectedly counting the grains of sand on the ground—suddenly raised her head in delight and looked toward Gawain.
"Gawain?! You finally came to find me?!"
Excited, she began wriggling about, but since she was bound so tightly, she only looked like a dangling caterpillar swaying helplessly in the air.
"What's going on? Who is this woman, and why is she hanging here…? Sir Gawain, you know her?" Cursed Arm scrutinized Artoria, frowning.
"Also—is it just me, or does she look a lot like the Lion King in the Holy City…?"
"Well… Cursed Arm, you can be confident about that," Gawain said with a wry smile as he hurried over to cut Artoria down. "They look exactly alike."
"? What do you mean?"
"Let me explain." Gawain caught Artoria as she fell, quickly tearing off the ropes binding her. "This is Artoria, the prophesied Child of Salvation in the Fairy Kingdom. In other words, she is our world's King Arthur—an alternate counterpart of the Lion King."
"Huh?" Cursed Arm froze.
Nearby, Fujimaru Ritsuka and Mash ran forward happily.
"It's been so long, Miss Artoria!"
"Ritsuka! Mash!" The three young women embraced joyfully. To them, finding a familiar ally in such a strange land was a tremendous relief.
"Alright, catch-up later," Gawain interjected, shaking his head. "First, tell us—why are you hanging here? Though, to be fair, it does kind of fit your image… still, it's strange."
"Ah, well…" Artoria scratched her head, looking embarrassed. After thinking for a few seconds, she began, "Honestly, I think it's pretty strange myself. Right when I arrived at this Singularity, I was immediately dropped into this desolate place…"
"Miss Artoria, please mind your words," Cursed Arm interjected sternly. "This is our Order's most sacred ground, where the First Hassan resides. Do not use such disrespectful terms."
"Ah—r-right, sorry, sorry! I spoke without thinking… I'm really sorry!" Artoria flinched, then quickly clasped her hands together and bowed deeply toward him.
"Uh, you don't have to go that far," Cursed Arm said awkwardly. "I just meant you should be a bit more respectful, that's all."
Seeing her apologizing so sincerely—even fearfully—made him wonder if he had been too harsh.
Still, Gawain noticed something was off. This reaction was familiar—typical of Artoria when she had done something wrong—but she seemed especially guilty this time.
"Anyway," Artoria continued nervously, "like I said, I was dumped here, surrounded by wilderness. I heard an old man's voice telling me things like 'immature Crown Candidate,' 'this place is not for you,' and 'you still have an unfinished mission.' Then he basically kicked me out."
"Since he told me to leave, and the atmosphere here was creepy, I tried to head out. But after half a day of mountain roads with no people in sight, and the path being way too rough, I came back to ask for directions. I lingered here for a while… and then I ran into you."
Gawain frowned, glancing at the temple behind them. "So then… why are you tied up like this?"
"Uh… that…" Artoria's eyes darted nervously. Sweat formed on her brow as she stammered, unable to produce an answer.
After a few seconds of silence, Gawain asked the true question: "How did you manage to eat for the past two days?"
"Ah—that, well… let me make something up—I mean, explain…" Artoria jolted, but before she could invent an excuse, Gawain cut in sharply:
"You came back here to steal the offerings, didn't you?"
"…Ah, I'm doomed."
—As expected of Gawain. He knows me too well.
With no hole to crawl into, Artoria had no choice but to confess everything:
"…I-I really didn't have a choice! I was starving! There was nothing out there, not even grass to chew, no animals anywhere. I didn't want to just starve to death. So I figured, someone must live here, right? I came back to look for food…"
She spoke haltingly. "And yeah, the atmosphere was scary, but I searched the temple and eventually found a lot of dried rations. The taste was awful, but it filled me up. After I ate, I saw there was still plenty left, so I thought… maybe I could pack some for the road. That's when everything went black—and when I woke up, I was tied up here."
"Wait." Gawain's expression finally cracked. "So you not only stole offerings from the temple, but also tried to take the leftovers with you?!"
"I-I only thought the road ahead would be long and I'd need supplies, so…" Artoria lowered her head at last. "I'm sorry. I know I was wrong."
"Don't apologize to me! Apologize to Sir Cursed Arm and the First Hassan himself!" Gawain scolded. "How could you be such a glutton?"
"I'm very sorry… Sir Cursed Arm, and the First Hassan in the temple… I'll reflect on my actions…" Artoria bowed again, looking ready to burst into tears.
"…Forget it." After a pause, Cursed Arm sighed. "Since the First Hassan has not punished you further, I have no right to judge you. Just don't do it again."
"Oh! Thank you! You're so kind!" Artoria beamed with relief.
Gawain sighed. "If the Old Man of the Mountain declared you the Lion King's fated enemy, then so be it. Since you're also Artoria, it makes sense. The Lion King has abandoned her humanity—she's no longer truly Artoria. Facing her is your role. In a way, it fulfills the prophecy."
He waved to the group. "Let's go. With you joining us, Artoria, our fighting strength just increased a lot."
But when he turned to pull her along, he noticed she had somehow produced a piece of jerky and was gnawing at it.
Gawain: "?"
"Wait—you said you didn't eat anything. Don't tell me… that's still from the temple offerings?!"
"Huh?" Artoria blinked innocently. "But… the Old Man of the Mountain didn't take it back. Doesn't that mean it's mine now?"
The group fell into long, speechless silence.
After Gawain and the others departed, a towering figure slowly emerged at the temple's entrance. Behind the skull mask, the Old Man of the Mountain watched their retreating backs in contemplation.
Then he turned his gaze slightly toward the empty air at the temple's side. "Since you have come, why not reveal yourself?"
"…Hmph. Sharp as ever. Well, you are the Grand Assassin. It makes sense." Slowly, the silver-haired queen, spear of rain in hand, appeared from the glow of the skull's hollow eyes. "I thought you would agree to help them."
"Fate will always bring the most fitting ones to their place." The Old Man replied calmly. "The Lion King's fate is clear. Both holy sword and spear are already here. I need not intervene. She will meet her destined end."
"But you—why do you come here armed, carrying hatred in your heart?" His great sword struck the ground with a sharp ring. "Leave, foreign queen. Between you and I, there is no destined battle—not in the past, nor in the future."
"And if I say there is?" Morgan's hand caressed her black spear, eyes narrowing. "In one possibility already erased, you joined the crusade against my beloved. You were the key who delivered death to him, who should never have been slain. Is that not hatred enough for me to fight you?"
"Perhaps you speak the truth," the Old Man murmured, glancing once toward Gawain's distant figure. "If Calamity's Waters threaten mankind, then among the Grand Servants, I too would rise. Yet even if your words are true, they belong to a Singularity long dissolved."
He shook his head. "I have no record of what you claim. Which means—it was not this me. The blade that killed your beloved was not mine. The queen who lost him was not you. We share no grudge. Go."
But when Morgan showed no sign of retreat, he narrowed his eyes. "If you insist, then I will fight you. But think carefully. When the Death Knell tolls, all ties to this world are severed. Do you truly wish to cast everything aside for this battle?"
Her silence deepened the suffocating stillness.
At last, Morgan glanced at the simulated record before her—the one numbered 999, titled The Tyrant of Vice—then at Gawain in the distance, leaving with Chaldea. Slowly, she shook her head.
"You're right."
The Old Man's stance was clear. If she forced a battle for the sake of her resentment, one of them would remain here forever. And if she lost, even as a simulated body, the Old Man's Death Knell would reach her real self.
That was a risk she need not take.
For in the end, the Morgan who loved that Tyrant existed only in another possibility. She was not this Morgan.
Compared to the weight of that phantom memory, the ones who still lived before her were far more important.