"Clang—"
"Clang—"
"Clang—"
When that ancient bone-like toll rang once more across Britain, the familiar glow enveloped Artoria again.
"It's quite moving—looks like we finally cleared this trial."
Unnoticed, Grim had come to stand before Gawain, murmuring:
"Ingenious to split them into separate duels… This year's Child of Prophecy really is unpredictable. Though she appears identical, in personality and methods she differs greatly from the Knight King I once knew."
"But that's for the better."
"According to the previous records, that greatest human knight died protecting his lover, dragged to death by the Fairy Clan through dishonorable means."
"Even though here remains only his shadow from when he was still human, being defeated honorably like this might bring him some small solace, I think."
"…I understand, but why tell me this?" Gawain asked, puzzled. "Wouldn't Percival be more interested in the history of that knight of Lentiniën?"
"Hmph… indeed, why come to you?" Grim shook his head with meaning. "Perhaps simply because I find you interesting… you always introduce some amusing novelty."
"Huh?" Gawain was still baffled as Grim laughed and walked away. After a moment's thought, Gawain silently raised a middle finger behind Grim's back.
"…Damn, can this riddle-man just die already?"
…
[As a reward for striking the Prophecy Bell, Artoria's non-Luck attributes have all increased again.]
[Strength B→B]
[Endurance D→D]
[Agility B→B]
[Mana B→A]
Hmm, this time only her Mana rose? Gawain pondered. It seems each Bell strike can boost all her attributes, but those others have reached her servant-class cap, so only Mana could increase. Is there a way to raise her cap further? He thought for a while but found no answer. Then he noticed something odd:
[You suddenly realize Artoria lingered unusually long before the Prophecy Bell, standing dazed and staring up at it until you called her.]
[Even on the journey back, she occasionally drifted off; when you called, she seemed half-asleep.]
[Instinctively you sense something happened, but you don't know what.]
"Don't worry, nothing to fret about," Grim reassured Gawain, seeing his concern. "She's just internalizing the Child of Prophecy's mission; she'll snap back in time."
[Hearing Grim, you relax somewhat but keep watching Artoria's state.]
"Eh? Strange—this is Ashen Coast? Oh… right, we've returned… Has the Bell been struck? Any change in me?"
[Only upon reaching Ashen Coast does Artoria seem to awaken, returning to normal.]
[Seeing her recovered, your lingering worry finally eases.]
[After traveling by carriage for half a day, you recall something you had planned to do once the Bell was struck.]
[You know her feelings, and she knows yours. You two have maintained this ambiguous relationship for a long time.]
[Now, you wish to take a further step and break through this barrier.]
[At night, while others rest, you confess to Artoria.]
[Artoria is surprised; even you, poor at reading expressions, can see she's genuinely happy.]
[Then, she rejects your confession.]
"…Huh?" Gawain was stunned.
…
[After striking the fourth Bell, in a drowsy state you seem to have dreamt again.]
[In that vague dream, you saw strange scenes anew.]
[The Bell revealed your true mission to you.]
"Ah… again?"
At night, while the others slept, Artoria sat alone in a corner, whispering. This was not her first such occurrence. After the first Bell, one night she also had a similar dream: seeing another herself from human history, with the same name, neither mage nor fairy—worthy of the Red Dragon title, the exceptional one: Artoria Pendragon. The legendary king who united the island lords, defended Britain from foreign invaders, built Camelot—the ideal ruler, trusted and loved by all, shining and righteous, with twelve knights of the Round Table and vast cavalry, wielding the Holy Sword to forge many future kings. Truly remarkable, beyond what Artoria Caster could imagine. But… she could not accept it. Seeing such a dazzling life, she thought: "What kind of life is that? No peers, no escape, no understanding companions, no affection, no rest, no margin for failure." Such a life stirred in her heart a firm rejection. Unbelievable, unacceptable. How cruel must circumstances be for people to accept such a ruler? Artoria Caster could never accept that life.
Yet, most ridiculous of all: when that ancient bone-like toll circled in her ears, she learned her true mission. It was not merely Bell sounds, but the evidence of fairies' atonement—their souls accepting guilt. A thoroughly bone-deep voice. Far off, she seemed to hear someone singing a Prophecy Song on the wind:
"Though the harbor returns to the shore, calamity goes to the heavens."
"When the Round Fortress burns away, the Water Bell appears in the world."
When all bone Bells ring—
"Sinners confess; the executioner's blade falls."
"The Child of Prophecy ends their mission and departs their origin."
Vaguely, she saw a past image: in a solemn hall, a girl identical to her spoke before a throne:
"Yes—I will not save the fairies; I will only protect my own realm. With the magic stored in this throne, the Great Calamity is nothing to fear. Yuser… Yuser… Yuser…"
"I will not forgive the pests who killed you… But so that you have a home upon your return, I will protect this realm—our realm."
That image vanished, but she again heard the former Child of Prophecy's voice on the wind:
"If you insist, then continue that ridiculous prophecy. But have you considered: after completing that absurd mission, where will you go?"
Ah—the most absurd thing: her life, too, was as cruel as that Artoria of human history. Yet she had already chosen: if that power is needed to protect him, she must retrieve it, no matter what. But then he might never see her again… Yes, Gawain would be heartbroken. But there was no choice: for him to live well, the power of the "Sword" was necessary. So at least, when parting comes, she would try to lessen his sorrow…
Thus, under starlight, gazing at his puzzled face, she suppressed her initial joy and later disappointment, striving to show no emotion:
"I… I have always regarded you only as a comrade."
[Facing Gawain's confession, you reject him.]
[Gawain says nothing further, merely "Oh," scratches his head awkwardly, and turns to leave.]
[Since your Fairy Sight loses effect on him, you cannot know his current feelings.]
[Your Mood drops by 30 points.]
[Because the reason is special, your passive "Quick Recovery" cannot trigger.]
[Watching Gawain's lonely back, you spend the night alone in the cold wind.]
[You feel you need a night alone.]
…
[At night, unable to sleep, you remain outside the carriage, staring at the stars.]
"I don't understand…" Gawain murmured. Could it have been his self-delusion? Though he had known life's three great illusions, this time he felt it could not be. "What exactly happened?" he pondered. Could Artoria actually like Oberon? But no—that was a multiplayer game; the Artoria who married him before and this Artoria are controlled by the same player, right? …Ah, could it be she thought: I already pursued him once, so this run I try someone else? Slapping himself, Gawain thought: Don't suspect pure Artoria of such schemes! So… calamity yet unconquered, hero has no home? But that was just guesswork.
[After much thought, you still cannot understand why.]
[Finally, you give up and decide to sleep.]
[Entering the carriage, you find Artoria is not there.]
"That fool can't still be outside in the cold—what if she catches a chill?" Gawain sighed, grabbing an unused blanket.
[Though your confession was rejected, out of concern for Artoria's health you take the blanket and go seek her.]
She may not be your wife, but she's your companion—how could you ignore her?
[Soon you find Artoria alone at the spot where you confessed, enduring the cold.]
"Artoria? What are you doing?"
"Eh, eh?" Startled to see Gawain return, Artoria hurriedly turns away, wiping tears, drawing in a breath to steady herself, then timidly looks back:
"You…?" She utters the first word, then realizes her voice still quavers; she coughs softly to interrupt and says: "Why did you come?"
"Well, for this reason." Gawain sensed something odd in her tone, but now was certain she might be freezing. He draped the blanket over her:
"Idiot, this is the northernmost Britain—nights are cold. You alone here, weren't you afraid of freezing?"
"Ah, oh… oh!" Artoria stammered, then found herself at a loss as Gawain wrapped the blanket around her. After several inarticulate sounds, she lowered her head like a chastised kitten. Yet as Gawain finished adjusting the blanket, warmth bloomed in her heart. Instinctively, her hand under the blanket reached toward its neckline to tuck in more, but her hand met Gawain's. She expected recoil, but memories not from this world surfaced faintly—those of an ordinary villager life influenced her. She unconsciously clasped his hand and drew it under the blanket. When she realized what she'd done, she looked up to see Gawain equally surprised.
"…You've been carrying it all this way; your hand must be cold too," Artoria flustered, averting her gaze. "So… why not slip your hand in to warm it?"
Gawain froze. After thinking, he carefully slid his hand under the blanket, and under Artoria's guidance, placed it on… her thigh? Though the blanket blocked further view, the smooth, soft sensation through his fingertips… His fingers twitched slightly. Yes, though he lacked experience touching stockings… by elimination, this texture couldn't be ordinary cloth, so it must be stockings! Ah… does this count as sexual harassment? Then he heard Artoria softly scold:
"Idiot."
His hand stilled.
Yet looking at Artoria's expression, he saw she faced him but her gaze was clearly elsewhere, seemingly beyond him toward some unknown distance. Was she signaling that though they had this small contact, her heart was not with him, so she acted indifferent to keep him from overthinking? Realizing this, Gawain's inner flame was quenched; he bowed his head, speechless. Meanwhile, Artoria's mind raced: What just happened? What was I saying? I just rejected him, and now let him slip his hand under my blanket—am I some loose woman? What do I do now? Let him keep his hand there? But that'd be too abrupt; I can't just sit here. Ah, so awkward, how did it come to this? Her mind nearly overheated.
After three seconds trying to analyze but finding no solution, Gawain abandoned thought and went straight for:
"So, can I understand that although you rejected my confession… our relationship remains as before?"
"—Yes."
Not fully hearing his words but feeling following along might resolve the awkwardness, Artoria nodded without thinking.
"Then… may I understand that your rejection wasn't because you dislike me, but simply that it's not the right time for a romance?"
Ah, what was I saying? Well, on first hearing it seems reasonable—might as well nod along:
"—Yes."
"Indeed, Britain still suffers under calamity; our savior squad being lovey-dovey seems inappropriate… Then, once we dispel the calamity, may I confess again?"
By now utterly abandoning thought, Artoria instinctively nodded:
"—Yes."
"Great! I fully understand your meaning!" Gawain suddenly stood, withdrawing his hand from the blanket:
"Then I'm no longer confused. Let's work together to dispel the calamity, Artoria. When all is over, we'll marry."
"—Yes… ah?"
Catching a strange keyword, Artoria's mind rebooted. Facing Gawain's renewed cheerfulness, Artoria.exe crashed again. So why had things developed this way? Seriously—had all her careful efforts been wasted? Artoria thought with both happiness and sorrow. Finally, she bowed her head and softly said:
"Gawain is an idiot."