"Ugh...!"
Every word Bedivere spoke seemed to transform into a tangible attack, making Artoria's head ache more and more. Clutching her head, she kept letting out pained groans.
"Neigh!"
Don Starlion seemed to sense that something was wrong with his master and cried out, but Artoria gave him no response.
At that moment, as she stared at the holy sword in Bedivere's hand and sensed the familiar aura and fluctuations coming from it, then looked at Bedivere's resolute face, Artoria felt as though her head were about to split apart.
Then, Artoria vaguely saw it.
She saw an unbelievable scene.
She saw herself lying before the trees in a forest, covered in wounds and stained red with blood, barely clinging to life, before she had taken up the holy lance.
Artoria knew that this was her past self—the self who had not yet abandoned her human body or cast aside her humanity, but had already lived out her life as a human and was about to die.
The pain from the wounds she had suffered back then seemed vivid enough to still be present, making Artoria feel a dull ache throughout her body.
The end she had felt at that time also began to emerge, making Artoria feel as though she could not breathe.
And standing before that version of herself was a knight holding her holy sword, his face covered in tear marks as he wept in utter grief.
That knight's face and figure overlapped with the Bedivere before her.
Artoria did not know the knight's name, nor could she recall anything related to him.
But...
"I know that face of yours...!"
Artoria clutched her head in unbearable pain while staring at Bedivere, her voice filled with struggle and turmoil.
"You're... You're...!"
Artoria kept repeating herself, yet no matter