Southwestern England, Somerset.
The Hill of Camlann.
Three thousand... and seventeen.
The King of Knights mechanically swung the Star Holy Sword, its light dimmed by the desolation in her heart, keeping herself focused by silently counting the rebels who died beneath her blade.
To keep innocent soldiers from being drawn into this battle, she had specifically ordered the rear guard to follow closely behind the central army, while she sought an opportunity to slip away under the pretext of discussing strategy with Bedivere.
Artoria knew that, in Mordred's eyes, she would always be the highest-priority target.
Thus, even with the vanguard and central army left undefended without their rear guard, there was no need to worry about pursuit.
Events unfolded exactly as expected.
When she cast aside her Lion Head Helmet and drew the Holy Sword, Mordred immediately abandoned the pursuit and moved to surround her instead.
At this moment, she finally understood what the Vile King had meant by those words before his death.
The power at their very core could never coexist with humanity.
It had been neither a jest nor an expression of despair, but the truth the Vile King had seen through Britain itself.
Sovell had given everything he had to completely pacify Britain's northern frontier.
The King of Knights looked toward the foot of the hill, at the Rebellious Knight wearing the Horned Helmet.
Then...
If I, too, cannot see the dawn of the Age of Man...
Let me stake everything I have to illuminate the final night of the departing Age of Gods.
"King Arthur!"
Crimson thunder leaped into the air, crashing toward the King of Knights like a meteor. The king raised her sword to block, stopping the Rebellious Knight's desperate blow.
Through the Hole in the helmet, the king