West Village—the knight let out a savage roar, gripping Clarent.
East Village—the knight spread her wings, wielding a lance and shield.
What a despairing sight. Even Fujimaru Ritsuka, who occasionally looked up, felt a chill run through his entire body.
Though she had been parasitized by white flesh, wreathed in thick black mist, and hovered high above with tattered wings spread wide—no longer resembling a knight at all—she still clutched a knight's weapon and watched the people below.
Mash felt her palms sweating as she looked up at the creature that should still have been Mordred.
Artoria had already raised her barbed black lance, still stained with blood, and pointed it toward the sky.
Anno gritted his teeth. Veins bulged on the hand gripping Chalk, yet light began to shine from Chalk once more.
Though grieved, they still had to leave this sorrowful knight, helpless against her own fate, here. As fellow Knights of the Round Table, they naturally understood what she desired.
But.
Holy City.
Within the courtyard of the Royal Court, an enormous Dragon rested there.
It was larger than any other dragon, flawlessly white and utterly free of decay. Its scales reflected the sunlight, giving it a faintly sacred appearance.
It lay prone there, seemingly taking a nap. Air streamed from nostrils like deep pits, flattening the lawn before it.
In the Royal Court's circular corridor, a knight clad in black armor stopped and looked toward the white Dragon in the courtyard. His brow furrowed deeply as he sighed.
Vile King was this Dragon's name.
He was no longer Vortigern. The name Vortigern had vanished along with his death.
King Arthur had driven the Holy Sword into his chest, leaving behind only a human corpse.
Yet now, he had appeared here in this form.
Moreover, the ominous