The atmosphere on Avalon Island was oppressive and heavy.
After a brief silence, Mordred bit her lip as she looked at that pale face, lowering her head and murmuring softly.
"I don't understand. Why was Mother so obsessed with that country that was destined to perish? She had countless chances to leave..."
"Because she was Morgan, the Queen chosen by this land and by nature.
"Protecting Britain and preserving Celtic civilization were duties she had been born with, and shackles she had placed upon herself..."
Aboard the ship, Samael gently held the Witch's cold hand and answered quietly.
Perhaps only he understood that kind of stubbornness.
Perhaps she and Artoria could not defy fate, but they could choose how to meet their ending.
Ten years of perseverance had bought ten years of prosperity.
Even if it was beauty that lasted only for an instant, the Ideal Homeland in the hearts of the Celts had, in the end, existed upon this land.
In the future, no matter how time shifted and the sun and moon rose and fell, even if they were no longer the masters of this land—
The sacred realm of the Round Table, the pure City of White Chalk, the eternal King of a Thousand Years... all of these would become cultural symbols forged into Celtic blood. They would never fade, binding together that people destined to be torn apart.
And in the future Samael had foreseen, that was indeed what happened.
The epic of King Arthur was sung again and again, while the creed of knights became the faith of this land.
Though the Saxons conquered this land time and again, they were never able to completely conquer the surviving Celts.
Britain still endured!
(So Britain's true legitimacy was in Ireland and Wales? The logic was complete.