In the lakeside cabin, Fujibayashi Kyō and Katsura Hinagiku stood with their arms crossed, tapping their feet a little absentmindedly. Tachibana Kanade stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, while Cirno zipped back and forth overhead, never settling for a moment.

“Get some proper rest; we need to prepare for the next battle.” Just then, a powerful voice echoed near their ears. The four girls reflexively turned to look.

“A battle?” Fujibayashi Kyō instantly jumped up, her tone laced with excitement, “The Battle of Camlann?!” Lin Luo shook his head. “No, we don’t need to interfere in that war.” “Can we really leave it be?” Katsura Hinagiku asked with unease.

Vivian’s recent words had delivered a harsh lesson, making them understand what history truly was. Although the truth of history varied greatly from legend, the general direction remained similar.

Even as the Host, perhaps Artoria couldn't withstand the tide of history, could she? To them, Lin Luo’s current course of action seemed completely out of character for him.

However, Lin Luo simply smiled faintly. “Whether you can leave it be isn't the main point.

What matters is how one chooses, and what one chooses to believe. At least, that is what I believe.” The world did not revolve around him alone.

He wanted to forge history, but in reality, history didn't need his creation. The bonds connecting countless people had already formed history.

He was not the protagonist within it, merely an insignificant splash of spray in the vast ocean, capable of influencing only minute details at best. And now, that splash had already merged back into the sea.

There was no need for him to step onto the grand stage of history again. Let both Hades and Lin Luo disappear into the torrent of that era’s history.

But he trusted that even if he did nothing, the established history would not change. Everything was already moving toward an end, which was simultaneously the beginning of another history.

“Then what battle are we preparing for?” Fujibayashi Kyō inquired. “It’s simple.” Lin Luo walked towards the outside, his gaze passing through the blue and white sky, fixed far in the distance as if trying to pierce through it.

“To protect the trajectory of our own existence.” The same sky held different colors. Lin Luo saw a boundless, free blue, while Artoria saw a bleak, despairing gray.

When she and Bedivere arrived at Camlann, the war had already erupted. The two warring sides were knights who had originally stood together against foreign enemies and protected the nation, viewing each other as brothers.

These knights had once sworn eternal allegiance to her. Under her command, they were invincible, unstoppable.

Every victory symbolized glory, every campaign shone with brilliance, and every triumphant return was met with the people’s praise. They were the nation’s guardians, the people’s heroes, radiating an unparalleled radiance.

But now, Artoria could not see the heroic light upon them. All she saw was disorder, screams, and the futile clash of battle devoid of hope.

The spirit of chivalry had become ephemeral in this fratricidal war. Even Heaven and Earth seemed to mourn this conflict, unleashing a torrential downpour.

Rain mixed with blood flowed across the land, emanating a foul stench that warned others away. Artoria stood far outside the battlefield, not rushing in immediately to stop the fighting.

She had initially believed she could halt it, but now she realized that even if she screamed herself hoarse, she could not stop the two sides within the fray from slaughtering each other. Nor did she charge into the battle to strike down the rebels, because this war had lost all sense of righteousness.

Both sides were fighting merely to fight, killing merely to kill, with no connection left to the people or the nation. The knights who branded the King of the Britons a rebel lacked the conviction to protect the nation; they possessed only a naked desire to slay the enemy.

They were no longer heroes, merely executioners. The knights still following the King roared their battle cries, yet the King’s mistaken commands and flawed judgments had plunged them into an unprecedented predicament.

They, too, began to doubt. Moreover, shortly after the fighting began, the King’s figure vanished from sight.

What were they fighting for? The voices of the few knights who still held fast to their belief in the King were insignificant in this war.

The last remnants of hope had been utterly extinguished in this chaotic battle. Watching this pathetic war, Artoria suddenly recalled a battle from years ago that had violated the spirit of chivalry.

It was in that conflict that the Sword in the Stone was defiled and broken, and it was the only victory in her life that brought her no joy. “My King,” Bedivere’s sorrowful voice held an undisguised sadness.

She didn't need to see the King’s face to know the depth of her King’s grief at this moment. “I am fine, Bedivere.” Artoria’s voice trembled slightly.

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, determination hardening on her rain-washed face. “Since my nation no longer needs me, since my people no longer need me, since my knights have forsaken me, since everything I guarded can no longer bring happiness to anyone—then the one who founded this nation was me, so let me be the one to destroy it!” “One last time!” The young girl raised the Holy Sword high in her hand.

In the name of King Arthur,” she proclaimed her title with dignity. “I fight for my country and my people!” She charged fearlessly into the fray.

“Annihilation, strike together!” The brilliant Sword of the King swung towards the knights who had once guarded her and whom she had protected. Amidst the horrified gaze of one knight, it cleaved into his body.

With a shriek, blood sprayed forth, and the knight collapsed. “My King!” Artoria’s sudden appearance caused the knights of the old empire, who had been on the verge of defeat, to cry out in alarm, reigniting the hope of victory.

Simultaneously, the knights of the new empire were stunned, but instead of fear, they pressed their attack with even greater ferocity. With Artoria’s entry, the battle between the two sides escalated into a white-hot frenzy.

There was no confusion, no hesitation, and certainly no mercy. Every person held only one thought: Kill!

The rising and falling sounds of slaughter, the continuous shrieks of pain, blood spurting from bodies issuing cries of agony, the piercing clash of spears and swords meeting, the mournful weeping sound of the heavy rain falling from the dim sky—upon this battlefield, there were no heroes! The earth was stained crimson, the sky shrouded in ragged clouds, mirroring Artoria’s heart, filled with despair and wails.

Yet, even as her heart was steeped in bitterness, her movements did not pause. She swung the still-sacred Holy Sword towards the knights who had once followed her.

With every knight she felled, she silently recited a name—the name of the very knight she had just slain! When Artoria finally regained her senses, she found herself standing atop a hill of swords, a mound built from the corpses of her enemies.

These bodies were either whole or fragmented; some severed limbs were so mangled that it was impossible to tell whose they belonged to. The lingering blood flowed unrestrained across this battlefield heaped high with corpses, sliding past the cold blades standing erect like thorns, emitting a glaring scarlet hue and a pungent, foul odor.

Her body was drenched in blood. Looking up, there were no enemies left to kill at her side.

Looking back, the handful of knights who had followed her were nowhere to be seen; she couldn't even tell where they had fallen. All she could see was the interweaving tapestry of blood, corpses, and blades… a slaughterhouse!

“Is this what I wanted?” Gazing upon this carnage, Artoria felt no joy of victory, nor the pain and exhaustion from her own wounds. Her eyes held only infinite emptiness and bewilderment as she questioned herself.

Even the piercing pain seemed insignificant before this single query. She remembered Merlin’s words when she first obtained the Holy Sword: The Holy Sword can indeed grant you victory wherever you go, but the power to attack alone cannot protect a nation.

As a king, if one fails to realize the importance of self-preservation, the nation will ultimately head toward ruin. Recalling those words, she finally understood.

While Morgan manipulated events from behind the scenes, the root cause of today’s war lay with herself. She had single-mindedly believed that the sword in her hand was enough to guard the nation, acting as a perfect king who processed decisions like a machine, but she had never considered that the nation did not need a perfect king.

Ordinary people could not comprehend what a perfect king required, and a perfect king could not understand what ordinary people needed. This gap in belief led to the disintegration between her and her subjects, and the disputes among the Knights of the Round Table, thus creating an opening for Morgan.

If that false king had acted as she had, would she not have done the same? The moment she decided to become a perfect king, she was already wrong.

Everything after that, no matter how flawless her judgment seemed, was just walking further and further down the wrong path. This battle today was the ultimate proof: she had won the war, but she had lost her life.

Forged of steel, her heart like frozen, cold stone. Rampaging on the battlefield for ten years, never defeated, never retreating.

Yet, despite her invincible form, she was lauded by the world. But she was never understood by the people.

Standing alone on the hill of swords, immersed in victory. This life, utterly meaningless.

The conviction Artoria had pursued and upheld her entire life shattered at this moment! “Finally, only you and I remain.” Just then, a familiar voice reached Artoria’s ears.

Looking up, she saw Mordred approaching her, holding her long sword. Artoria’s empty gaze suddenly brightened.

No, her life had not ended in utter defeat; she still had things she could protect—not as King Arthur, but as Artoria, as a wife and a mother! Her life still held a goal worth striving for!

Lifting the Holy Sword stained with the blood of knights, Artoria stared at the approaching figure. “Mordred, this is the end.”