That would only be putting the cart before the horse. If possible, Irisviel wanted to speak with Kiritsugu again and persuade him to give up.
But... could she really do that?
Precisely because she understood Kiritsugu Emiya better than anyone, precisely because she understood that long-held wish better than anyone, Irisviel had no confidence that she could persuade her husband.
"No matter what, we need to—"
Artoria tried to offer her opinion, but before she could finish, Irisviel's face went pale.
"Someone... has entered this forest," she said.
Saber immediately rose to her feet.
Logically, after holding that kind of gathering today, all the Masters and Servants should have tacitly agreed to a ceasefire and begun preparing to purify the Greater Holy Grail and end this Holy Grail War.
But Kiritsugu's departure midway through might have been seen as a rejection of the proposal, making him an unstable factor.
Are they going to use this chance to eliminate us? Saber guessed inwardly.
"No, the intruder who entered the forest has already stopped." Irisviel tried to focus and assess the situation.
But immediately afterward, neither she nor Saber, not even Kiritsugu and Maiya, who were making plans in the next room, had time to react.
An abnormal magical power enveloped Einzbern Castle. Everything before Saber's eyes vanished, leaving only endless darkness and silence around her.
"This is—!"
When Artoria came back to herself, the brilliant sunlight was so blinding that she could barely open her eyes. Instinctively, she raised a hand to shield them.
As her vision gradually returned, she discovered that she was standing outside a stable.
She suddenly could not remember whom she had just been looking at. She only remembered swearing a knight's oath, promising to protect that person's safety until the very last moment of something.
Was she dreaming?
Artoria looked down at the rough homespun clothes she wore.
Gradually, she remembered that today's work was to tend to her adoptive father Hector's warhorses. Perhaps she had grown tired after finishing her chores, because she had somehow ended up sitting outside the stable, staring blankly at the glaring sun.
Before her stretched a vast grassland bathed in the morning light.
Hector's home stood outside the town, far from where people lived.
"Daydreaming here, Artorius?"
Perhaps he had come to supervise her. Her adoptive father Hector approached, holding a knight's lance in his hand.
"No, I was just..." Artoria tried to explain.
But it was true. She really had been standing here in a daze.
"Forget it, taking a short rest isn't so bad." Hector did not hold it against her. "I have something for you to do. Kay seems to have forgotten something. If you chase after him now, you can still catch him. Take it to town and deliver it to him."
The words felt strangely familiar, making Artoria freeze.
There was a special festival in town today.
Kay had ridden his father's warhorse into town to attend the celebration, but he had forgotten the lance that was most important to a knight.
And there were no warhorses in the stable waiting for her to tend to them.
Artoria could never forget what day this was.
Silently, she accepted the knight's lance from Hector and ran toward the town.
It was truly an outrageous scene. It had sent her back to the day she drew the Sword of Selection, Caliburn.
She crossed farmland and fields, racing toward the town.
The town was indeed livelier than usual, but the atmosphere was slightly different from what Artoria remembered.
Everyone was heading toward the knights' training grounds outside town.
The children rushed ahead first, shouting excitedly.
The adults' eyes gleamed with excessive anticipation, but unwilling to have those expectations betrayed, they restrained themselves accordingly. Only their steps moved faster than usual.
"It's the king!"
"The king has come to town!"
"Today, the king is choosing personal knights in town!"
Those conversations, slightly different from the scene Artoria remembered, made her slow her steps.
The king? Father King Uther? she wondered.
"Huh? Isn't this Artorius? Is it really all right for you to stand around here? Even an apprentice knight is still a knight. Maybe Queen Morgan will choose you!"
A young man who knew her called her by the name she used while presenting herself as male, speaking of what was about to happen.
Queen... Morgan?
Artoria stood rooted to the spot, while the young people in town who knew her enthusiastically discussed who might have the chance to become the "queen's" knight.
Not wanting to miss this grand occasion, the young people saw that Artoria had not reacted and left her behind as they went ahead.
Only after the main road outside town gradually grew deserted, with all the excitement gathered in one place, did she see Kay walking over while leading a horse.
"Brother Kay, this is—" She handed him the lance.
"Oh, thanks." Kay took the knight's lance.
"Um... what is this selection for the queen about?" Artoria's mind was in complete chaos.
"It means exactly what it says. We don't have time to indulge Merlin and Uther's fantasies. Rather than some Sword of Selection, it makes more sense to compare troops, money, and strength. And on top of that, your sister knows how to consolidate everyone's interests, get people to work together, and take responsibility." Kay said, "That is enough."
"..."
"You can go if you want. If not, take a walk around town yourself and come home before dark." Kay mounted his horse. "You don't need to desperately carry everything on your shoulders anymore, Artoria."
As if he were telling her something, Kay spoke those words in a deeply weighted tone before leaving.
Artoria actually knew that Kay had never wanted her to bear Britain, to shoulder the responsibilities of a king. Yet he could only watch helplessly as everything happened.
And now, someone was suddenly telling her that she did not need to become king. Someone had taken over her duties.
She did not have to keep suffering like that.
Artoria lowered her head and stood where the Sword of Selection should have been embedded. The stone was empty, bearing only the marks where the sword had once stood.
Looking at the sword-shaped notch, Artoria covered her chest, as though something there had gone missing.
"Isn't this the outcome you wished for?"
A familiar voice rang out.
She raised her head and saw a Magus sitting not far ahead. The shadow of a white hood concealed most of the face, leaving only that faint, familiar smile visible.
"The outcome... I wished for." Artoria remembered.
Britain had been destroyed, so she had felt deep regret and wanted to change that ending. She had wanted to return to before she drew the Sword of Selection and choose a king more suitable than herself, changing that outcome.
That was why she was seeing all this.
Another king truly had been chosen, and everyone truly supported that king.
Queen Morgan... Artoria Pendragon's elder sister.
Whether it was her temperament as a king or her love for Britain, perhaps she surpassed Artoria in both. Yet she was a sister Artoria had never known.
"You do not need to draw that sword again. You do not need to be hated by all humanity, nor will you meet a tragic death. Whether as the knight Artoria or the girl Artoria, you can live a more ordinary life."
The correct outcome. The outcome where she would no longer be hurt.
Yet when she truly saw that outcome, hesitation arose in her heart.
Even knowing that this might only be Morgan's illusion, it had struck Artoria's heart without missing its mark.
"Under Queen Morgan's rule, perhaps Britain will meet an entirely different end." The Magus smiled faintly, yet seemed neither joyful nor sorrowful.
The next second, another voice sounded from behind her.
"Or can you not accept this situation?"
Artoria whirled around and saw Morgan.
She stood there in the sunlight, expressionless, merely asking quietly before looking at her.
"If that is the case, it would not be impossible to take it back from Queen Morgan now. You still have that qualification."
The Magus's voice rang out once more.
Then the surroundings became empty and deserted. Only Artoria remained standing there, along with... the Sword of Selection that had reappeared.
Dry wood was tossed into the fire, crackling as it burned. The flames grew a little stronger, illuminating Shiomi and Morgan's faces.
In the Einzbern Forest, roughly four kilometers from the castle.
The two sat separately on fallen tree trunks, a burning campfire before them.
"Is this far enough?" he asked Morgan.
"It is enough. When I allied with Einzbern before, I visited the castle. I had already begun making preparations then, for the Holy Grail War after the alliance ended." Morgan watched the campfire burn. "For Artoria, 'Lost Will' is very suitable."
"'Lost Will'..." Shiomi nodded.
In truth, rather than a spell, Lost Will was more like magecraft fixed into a Mystic Code.
It required no chant. As long as magical energy was supplied, it would activate according to the user's will. However, if the caster's own ability was insufficient, the caster might be swallowed up along with the target.
"But something like this cannot possibly affect only Artoria. If there are other people in the castle, they will be drawn in as well." Morgan said, "So it would be best not to go near there for now, my husband. Unless you want to experience it too."
Shiomi's facial features scrunched together as if fresh lemon juice had been dripped onto his tongue. "No thanks."
Though he did not know what he would encounter, Morgan had already explained the principles of Lost Will to him while they were starting the fire.
It wore away at a visitor's heart until it disappeared, making them suffer from self-inflicted wounds and self-reproach. It unveiled a cold courtyard beneath warm deception.
If one could endure until the end, one could leave the courtyard. But before that, the heart would disappear.
Yet Shiomi did not want to experience it, not because he feared what he might see, but for another reason.
"Do you think my magecraft is vicious?" Morgan asked calmly.
"From the moment magecraft became a tool for conflict, there ceased to be any distinction between vicious and not vicious. The Holy Grail War is a matter of life and death to begin with. If anything—" Shiomi, warming his hands by the fire, said, "Aren't you being too softhearted? With the two of us working together, reducing the Saber faction and the castle to ashes and completely removing them from this Holy Grail War would not be difficult. Yet you insisted on using such a roundabout method. This isn't what it means to subdue the enemy without fighting."
"But you did not object." Morgan smiled slightly.
"I was merely commenting." Shiomi lowered his eyes and continued spreading his hands by the fire.
The firelight reflected in his eyes, making them strangely breathtaking.
Vicious or cruel, she knew perfectly well that he would never use such words to judge her.
She had intended to make a joke, but it had inadvertently sounded like self-deprecating, self-tormenting words, and it had made him angry.
"Just sitting by the fire and waiting for the result is rather boring." Morgan said.
"Lost Will is your magecraft. You should be able to see what is happening inside, right?" Shiomi raised a brow.
"I have no interest. Whether Artoria or anyone else, what they see in the 'courtyard,' whether they can leave it, has nothing to do with me." Morgan placed her legs together and spread her palms over her knees, looking thoroughly relaxed. "This forest is so untouched. And now the night is deep and the dew is heavy—"
She lightly patted the space beside her with one hand. "Come sit here. It is a little warmer than sitting by the fire."
"No need. I am not an ordinary person. Wouldn't it be rather pathetic if a Magus of my stature did not even know how to ward off the cold—"
He stopped halfway through his sentence. Morgan had once again assumed that expression that allowed no refusal.
"We are still in the middle of battle. I will not listen." Shiomi turned his face away, deliberately refusing to look at her expression.
Otherwise, with only one glance and no enchantment from magical power or magecraft whatsoever, he would comply with her wishes.
"If you will not come over, then I will come to you."
Yet he had carelessly forgotten that they were merely sitting across the campfire from one another. No insurmountable chasm lay between them; with only a few steps, she could sit beside him.
Although Morgan had done nothing at all, merely sitting next to him, he found himself feeling somewhat disappointed, as if he had just been expecting something.
This was truly terrible.
Before you continue