[After an agonizingly prolonged battle, thanks to the fearless charges of Nokknarei's faerie troops who absorbed most of the Chocolate Beast's onslaught, you finally managed to destroy the creature Artoria had crafted.]
"This is absurd…"
Amid the wreckage of the ruined confectionery arena, Guinevere wiped melted chocolate from her greatsword, feeling that the past two days had been so fantastical she must have stumbled onto a comedy set.
At that moment, her peripheral vision caught Percival kneeling beside Oberon, grasping his fallen comrade's hand with tears in his eyes.
"How… regrettable…" Oberon lie weakly on the ground, voice barely a whisper.
"I know," Percival said, sorrowful, squeezing Oberon's hand. "Rest here. I will go on to Orkney in your stead."
Oberon nodded faintly, voice fragile.
"Then… Artoria… I entrust her to you. She's… impulsive… watch over her…"
"I will," Percival vowed, gripping his hand tightly. "I'll fight for both of you."
"Brother, can you stop this melodrama? You two sound like Oberon's actually dying."
Guinevere, unable to bear it, stepped forward to chide them. Though dubbed the "Murder Chocolate," and despite its bug-level "Instant Death" effect onscreen, it hadn't killed anyone—only inflicted a debilitating "weakness" debuff. Still, the ability to fashion such a monster from ordinary ingredients amazed her.
"Guinevere?"
Artoria approached hesitantly, voice soft.
"What is it?" Guinevere looked up.
"Well… since the Chocolate Beast is defeated… would you like to taste some?"
Artoria's fingers wove nervously as she offered, eyes big with innocent pleading—few could resist such charm. Guinevere merely tapped her on the head:
"If you want me dead, just say so plainly."
A sigh came from behind. Guinevere turned to see Nokknarei.
"This is… quite the spectacle." The queen ran a hand through her hair. "But a monarch must own her words. The verdict's been rendered, and I will honor our pact—command passes to the Prophesied Child."
"I would hear your strategy," Guinevere said.
Nokknarei hesitated, then amended:
"No—Artoria is best suited. You shall command my armies on her behalf."
[Despite many twists, you successfully forged the alliance with Nokknarei and gained the initiative.]
But matters were not yet done. As Guinevere exhaled in relief, a line of text shimmered across her vision:
[That same evening, upon returning to the chamber Nokknarei prepared, you hear someone opening your door.]
[You discover someone has slipped in behind you.]
"What?"
Guinevere blinked. Who in the simulation had snuck into her room? Her companions and Nokknarei's retinue were all polite—they would knock… Unless a burglar had broken in?
She yawned. Was this just exhaustion from last night's gaming session? Sleep claimed her before she could think further—she toppled forward, face-first into the bed.
Unbeknownst to her, the door creaked open.
Meanwhile, the simulated captions continued:
[You feel an overwhelming drowsiness.]
[Before you can think, you collapse onto the bed and drift into a deep sleep.]
And the final scene displayed a shadow at her bedside, hand reaching toward her forehead—matching a real shadow in the room.
[Player input lost. Simulation switches to auto-pilot. The system will continue your character's actions based on your personality.]
…
[Despite all obstacles, you achieved the alliance and seized initiative.]
[You thwarted Nokknarei's schemes to claim Guinevere.]
[Time did not permit further rest in Edinburgh.]
[The next morning, Nokknarei's scouts reported that Lancelot had retreated from holding back the 'Beast Calamity' and withdrawn, allowing the "Beast Calamity" Black Hound to advance.]
[Its next waypoint was Gloucester.]
[After Lancelot's defeat, Woodworth himself led troops north to intercept the beast.]
The vision shifted to Gloucester's outskirts: a white wolf in a suit snarled orders to its underlings:
"Advance! No retreat! Britain's sustenance was for this day!"
"You are the Queen's army—her spear against the Calamity, her shield for Britain!"
"Cowards, behead them! We are the Tooth Clan—Britain's fiercest! That pompous faerie knight fell! I will not let your disgrace stain our pride!"
[The Beast Calamity Baugast was halted by the Tooth Clan's defenses.]
[Yet Baugast's own domain, already formidable, had been further empowered by calamity—costing the Tooth Clan grievous losses.]
[Recognizing the urgency, you set out immediately for Orkney.]
[With Oberon still healing, Percival joined your expedition.]
[Departing Edinburgh and skirting the perilous lake districts, you soon reached Faerie Britain's northernmost shore: Coast's End.]
"It's so desolate… no wonder it's called the Coast's End. It truly feels like the edge of the world."
Guinevere caught a pale flake of snow drifting from the gray sky.
"Yes… are these the tears of the Rain Clan?" Percival leaned on his spear, awed.
"You know this place's history?" Artoria asked.
"Percival gave me Oberon's notes on Orkney." Percival produced a worn journal.
"Six thousand years ago, in Faerie Year 4000, the Rain Clan was wiped out by the others. This snow is all that remains— tears of atonement to the 'Paradise Faerie.'"
"Paradise Faerie? There's a link here?" Artoria's eyes lit up.
"You're called a Paradise Faerie too, aren't you?" Guinevere added. "Why did the Rain Clan fall? Mors disease? Northern faeries?"
Percival flipped pages, face darkening.
"No—it was the alliance of the Wind, Earth, Tooth, and Wing Clans. Overnight, they extinguished the Rain Clan."
"A Four-Clan Alliance…" Artoria shivered. "Before Morgan united Britain, the clans were at each other's throats! Why unite?"
"According to these notes, the Rain Clan sheltered the drifting Paradise Faerie—believed her pitiable, raised her as their princess. The others saw that as betrayal."
"So they banded together to prevent pilgrimage—they exterminated the Rain Clan."
Artoria covered her mouth, speechless.
At that moment, a wolf's howl echoed at the shore. Artoria jumped; Guinevere and Percival drew weapons in an instant.
"Huh? Where's that wolf?" Percival panted. Rhadra was the last to don her blade.
Their gazes converged on a white wolf before them.
[You encounter a white wolf on Coast's End.]
[It seems sentient—no hostility. It nods once, then turns and walks off.]
[After brief deliberation, you follow the wolf.]
[It leads you to a small boat.]
[Half an hour of rowing brings you to the snowy ruins of a once-great city.]
[There you meet a blue-haired man in a pale-blue robe.]
[Guinevere notices a flicker of recognition in her eye—he seems to know that face.]
"You're finally here, Prophesied Child and outsider magician—Sage Grimm has been awaiting you. But… you? Where is Fujimaru Ritsuka?!"
The man's shock at Guinevere's appearance was palpable.
"You know me?" Guinevere asked, finger raised.
Grimm only studied her thoughtfully, then nodded:
"So there's no record here—your timeline is… interesting. But not unexpected. Servants tend to be rather unique."
"What are you talking about? Stop speaking in riddles—talk plainly!" Guinevere demanded.
"You have a point… but—" Grimm laughed.
"I must refuse. Being enigmatic is fun, and your constipated expression pleases me. By the way, though your identity's confirmed, your status as the Prophesied Child remains… debatable."
"Eh?" Artoria blinked, bewildered.
"In short, let's test your mettle!"
Grimm swept his staff in a grand flourish.