The King of Knights poured all the magical energy in her body into the arms gripping the sword's hilt and raised the golden holy sword formed of radiant light high above her head. Beneath its brilliance, not a trace of girlish immaturity remained on her valiant face. Anyone seeing her solemn figure now would have no doubt whatsoever about her status as a king.
Faint light rippled.
As though illuminating this golden holy sword were their highest purpose, radiance flowed from beneath the shattered earth, from within the restless sea, and from the murky sky, gathering endlessly upon the blade.
Centered upon the sword, the light converged into a dazzling golden beam. The brilliant radiance unfurled like a blossoming flower of light, turning the entire coastal warehouse district as bright as day.
"The light is gathering. What exactly is..." Waver reached out in astonishment. Golden particles passed through his body, and even the magical energy stored within his Magic Circuits seemed to sense something and resonate with it. His emotions surged along with them, and his gaze involuntarily settled upon the golden holy sword.
Iskandar, the King of Conquerors, stood aboard his chariot with his eyes widened in disbelief. Lancer Zhao Yun, watching from the shore, revealed a look of admiration. Far away atop the bridge, the golden Gilgamesh gazed at that heroic figure with keen interest...
No one could utter a word.
They could only stare as that fierce yet crystalline radiance illuminated the night sky.
Irisviel softly recited a prayer. "The heroic figure that once illuminated the darkness of an age more turbulent than the deepest night—unyielding through ten years, undefeated through twelve battles. Such achievements were unparalleled beneath heaven, such glory beyond comparison. Her valor inspired the aspirations of every knight, transcending time to become immortal."
That dazzling holy sword was the crystallization of the prayer known as "glory"—the lifelong dream pursued and yearned for by every knight who had ever fallen upon a battlefield.
What had the knights who followed the King of Knights once seen in their king?
The existence they had yearned for could never have been a false ideal, nor could it possibly have been the mere game Iskandar, the King of Conquerors, had called it.
Humility, honor, sacrifice, valor, compassion, honesty, justice, spirit.
Phantoms created long ago by Artoria, the King of Knights, emerged one after another.
The oath of a knight.
Drawing the Sword of Selection.
Everything she had sacrificed for her nation as its king.
Even when no one understood her, she had never regretted her path.
Her knights offered her their highest respect. The convergence of countless rays of light was like voices rising among the stars. Even though the King of Knights had long since entered her final slumber upon the Hill of Camlann, even though prosperous Britain had vanished long ago, even though every physical trace had faded with time...
...
Her people offered heartfelt praise, pleading for their king's return.
"My King, please do not abandon your people. Your people will forever await you."
"O King, you shine as brilliantly as the sun."
Her subjects cried out in anguish.
"My King, we await your return."
"So long as our King remains, we shall fear nothing!"
"You are the brightest star in the heavens."
Her knights remembered her in sorrow.
"Without you, Britain will lose its brightest radiance!"
"Victory shall forever belong to you, our revered King."
All of it seemed to cross the boundaries of time and space.
Unfulfilled wishes. The true feelings hidden within the hearts of her subjects. As time passed and settled into history, her figure had been engraved deeply into the heart of every person of Britain.
Artoria Pendragon, the King of Knights, had failed to guide her subjects correctly.
Yet she had guided the course of an entire age.
Though dynasties rose and fell and eras changed, the noble spirit she embodied remained forever within the hearts of knights, becoming the ideal toward which they aspired.
The King of Knights deserved to be king!
"Iskandar, King of Conquerors, I once envied you, simply because the bond between you and your subjects was so close."
"I have made many mistakes. Correcting those mistakes is why I wish to return to my own era. But this light is the only answer I can give to what you said at that banquet."
Artoria, the King of Knights, murmured.
Standing upon the sea, she took a single step forward. The water surged violently, as though unable to bear the weight of her presence. The boundless radiance intensified with her movement, piercing the heavens as it pointed toward the deep-sea monster floating upon the ocean.
Irisviel clasped her hands before her chest and continued in a grave, sorrowful voice.
"That light is the faint yet noble final wish carried by every knight upon every battlefield, from the distant past to the present. Their longing gathered within the hands of the Ever-Victorious King. Now, raise that glory high and proclaim the True Name of this miracle..."
.
.
.
Its name was—
"Ex—calibur!!!"
.
.
.
Immeasurable light surged forth.
Infinite light roared.
Boom!
The magical energy accelerated through the unshackled bloodline of the dragon and erupted into an overwhelming pillar of light.
Night itself vanished.
The stars and moon disappeared beneath its brilliance. The torrent of light burst forward, churning countless vortices in its wake as darkness was utterly devoured. The sea split beneath the tangible golden radiance, sending raging waves surging toward the shore. Even the incomparably enormous deep-sea monster seemed tiny before that solid wall of light.
The golden radiance cleaved through the water and divided the sea.
The deep-sea monster extended countless colossal tentacles. Innumerable eyes densely covering those tentacles snapped open, their pupils reflecting a light of astonishing purity.
It still attempted one final act of resistance.
Mysterious runes deep within its eyes manifested once more, becoming tangible and transforming into an intricate magical formation before its body.
But all of it amounted to nothing more than an insignificant struggle.
Across different eras and different nations, knights had perished upon battlefields while yearning for glory and victory. The power formed by those accumulated final wishes could never be matched by an evil god worshiped only by the fallen.
The mysterious magical formation lasted for less than half a second before being annihilated.
Inside the deep-sea monster, cracks spread through the iron wall of defense formed from the creature's own flesh.
Threads of light gathered through those cracks, resembling the salvation pouring down from the legendary gates of Heaven.
Bathed in that faint radiance, Caster Gilles de Rais seemed to recall memories from a distant past.
He had once fought alongside Jeanne d'Arc.
And he had once felt this very same light from her.
This was the existence Gilles de Rais had always pursued.
The existence for which he had descended into madness.
"This light is..."
Caster Gilles de Rais involuntarily reached out, wanting to receive the light's baptism.
He had always believed that God had abandoned him here.
Yet now, at last, it seemed God's grace had descended upon him once more.
He saw it.
Inside that magnificent, resplendent cathedral, his friend Jeanne d'Arc silently invited him forward. Just as she had always done, she wore a gentle smile.
Just as she had always done, she extended her hand toward him.
"Ah~~"
Gilles de Rais shed tears of pure joy.
As though salvation had finally come, he gently extended both arms and peacefully embraced the light.
"There can be no mistake. This is the light of the Lord's blessing upon Jeanne and me..."
At the very end, he remembered everything he had done until this moment.
And with a complicated sigh, he left behind one final question.
"What... happened to me?"