[Upon receiving news of the attack on Lentinien, you immediately set out on a forced march, rushing back to Lentinien. Aside from the Round Table Army soldiers, you and your party rode in Rydra's carriage, moving ahead; half a day later, you finally arrived back at Lentinien.]
[When you reached Lentinien, Rydra collapsed on the spot, unable to continue.]
[However, by the time you learned of the attack, it was already too late. When you finally arrived, all you saw was Lentinien engulfed in flames, and the enemy responsible had long since vanished.]
[After an entire night of effort, with the returning Round Table Army soldiers' help, you managed to extinguish the great fire in Lentinien.]
[Amid the ruins of Lentinien, you could find no survivors: aside from the main force of the Round Table Army that went to Oxford, the remaining soldiers and all the inhabitants of Lentinien perished.]
[Not even the children were spared.]
[Every Round Table soldier was plunged into profound grief.]
[You finally located Gareth's motionless body in the command room of Lentinien.]
[When you found her, Gareth was covered in wounds; even the once-silver armor was dented and shattered.]
[Judging by the numerous slash marks and dents on her armor, you could imagine how brutal that fight must have been.]
[Hoping against hope, you checked for Gareth's breath.]
[You confirmed that Gareth had indeed fallen in battle.]
Although he had braced himself mentally, when Guinevere truly saw Gareth's body, he felt a sudden, intense dizziness. He staggered back a few steps and sank to the ground.
It was strange: before confirming Gareth's death, he never imagined he would feel such sorrow. They had known each other for barely a month; he had exchanged few words with this spirited, diligent young knight. Even in the game, his impression of Gareth had always been average. By rights, the one most grieving should have been Artoria, who spent more time with her—yet here he was, overwhelmed with sadness.
For some reason, seeing that lively young knight now gone forever, and recalling the admiration in her eyes for him, Guinevere felt his heart overwhelmed by an uncontrollable emotion.
At that moment, his hand brushed against something; instinctively he looked and found his palm covered in a fine layer of explosive powder.
[You suddenly realize the command room still hung thick with the smell of saltpeter, yet you find no trace of explosive devices nearby. You deduce the enemy had stockpiled powder here intending to blow up the command room, though for some reason they failed.]
[Through a breach in the command room, you see explosion marks a dozen meters away, with several corpses in unfamiliar armor; you surmise Gareth hurled the powder keg out, killing those trying to flee. Even to the end, that young knight guarded the city.]
A nameless fury surged in Guinevere's heart.
A heavy thud came from behind; Artoria turned and saw Guinevere's fist smash into the wall, easily cracking the old bricks as fissures crawled across the surface.
Then Guinevere strode out of the command room. Once outside, he headed straight toward the open ground in the city. He knew Percival was there. He had questions to ask Percival, face to face.
[While seeking Percival, you spot a corpse in the ruins that looks vaguely familiar.]
[You recognize it bears a massive lance wound.]
[In Britain, now free of cavalry, the only one using such a cumbersome lance would be Gareth.]
[You remove the helmet: it is someone you know.]
[Back in Salisbury, you met this person; he was one of Aurora's zealous followers and your comrade when you served as a guard.]
At that point, Guinevere's suspicion was confirmed—and his rage deepened further.
Soon, he found Percival on the open ground, directing Round Table soldiers carrying the bodies.
"Percival!"
"...Guinevere?"
Hearing the suppressed anger in the voice behind him, Percival turned in surprise, only to see Guinevere storming toward him. Guinevere gripped Percival's pauldrons and drove him to the ground.
The surrounding Round Table soldiers instinctively moved to protect their captain, but when Guinevere shouted next, they froze:
"Why were you not on guard against people from Salisbury? Didn't I warn you?! I told you Aurora's people were suspicious! Right from the start I told you to watch out for Aurora's agents! Why didn't you heed me?!"
Who else could be behind this attack but Aurora? No one else in Britain would commit such a reckless, harmful act when all face the Great Calamity's threat. So when Aurora proposed sending people from Salisbury to join the Round Table Army, Guinevere had Oberon warn Percival to be wary—but looking at the ravaged city now, if Percival had listened, this would not have happened.
Yet now, as he angrily seized Percival's collar, Percival's face was blank:
"Aurora... did Aurora do this? But why? Why would she?"
Percival's confusion was genuine; he truly did not know Aurora was the mastermind. Realizing this, Guinevere paused two seconds, then grasped the key point:
"Oberon didn't tell you?!"
"Guinevere, don't blame Percival... it's my fault—I didn't inform him."
At that moment, Oberon's familiar voice came from behind. Guinevere hesitated two seconds, then released Percival's collar and turned to demand:
"Why?!"
Not only Guinevere but Percival and the Round Table soldiers all fixed their gaze on Oberon, seeking an answer.
"Sigh..." Oberon shook his head lightly, then turned around.
"You two come with me. Soon you will understand..."
[With confusion and doubt, you and Percival follow Oberon, dispersing the other soldiers who wanted to come. Though displeased, out of trust in Percival, they do not follow.]
[Then, guided by Oberon, you arrive at Lentinien's Bell Chamber.]
"Artoria is inside."
Looking toward the Bell Chamber, Oberon spoke slowly.
[As you step in, you hear a long, resonant bell toll from within the Bell Chamber.]
[You recognize it as the sound of a Pilgrimage Bell being struck.]
"She is clever... seems she realized it without my reminder." Oberon murmured.
"How\... wasn't the Sixth Bell's location unknown?" Percival shook his head in puzzlement.
"No. Though said to be unknown, in fact the Sixth Bell does not exist."
Oberon spoke quietly:
"Because that bell was destroyed in past calamities; naturally, we cannot find it anywhere in Britain."
"But if the bell is broken, we can remake it... You know how Pilgrimage Bells are born, right?"
"You mean... using the remains of the Chief of the Mirror Clan...?" Percival's eyes widened.
"Yes," Oberon nodded. "As the heir of Einseil, the Mirror Clan Chief, it follows that Gareth's remains should become the Pilgrimage Bell... But the Mirror Clan differs slightly: those who can see their own and their descendants' fates see no distinction between generations—it's all themselves."
"Fate is like that... Einseil, who foresaw the Mirror Clan's destruction, who knew she could never protect everyone to her death, could never accept that fate... Yet when the round fortress burned and the Water Bell appeared in the world... that was the destiny Einseil—or rather, Gareth—predicted. Without her death, the Chosen One's pilgrimage could never be fulfilled—"
Before Oberon could finish, Guinevere's fist struck his face from the side, sending him crashing to the ground:
"What nonsense is this?! What bullshit reason is that?! You're spouting lies?!"
Already boiling with rage, Guinevere straddled Oberon and landed another heavy punch on his face:
"To hell with fate! Is that your excuse for watching her die? If you had told Percival everything, Gareth wouldn't be dead!"
As Guinevere raged and punched, Oberon raised his arms to block and shouted:
"Do you even understand my meaning?! Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I was willing to watch her die? But there was no other way! If she did not become the Sixth Bell, Artoria could not complete the pilgrimage! Britain cannot be saved otherwise—I had to do this!"
"Don't you see?! To defeat the Calamity, to save Britain, all we can rely on is hoping Artoria completes the pilgrimage, fulfills the prophecy!"
"What do you mean..."
[Hearing Oberon, you feel he is still hiding something, yet he gives no further explanation.]
[Meanwhile, Percival pulls you back. While holding you, Oberon quickly shrinks and mounts Branca, fleeing the scene.]
"Guinevere... enough, it's enough!"
Seeing you about to throw your weapon, Percival holds you tightly:
"Even if you kill Oberon, Gareth won't come back! Enough! Even if Gareth were alive, she wouldn't want to see you like this!"
"It's not only you who's grieving! Everyone is grieving! Stop this!"
[After Percival's long persuasion, you gradually calm down.]
"...I'm sorry. You're right. Let me be alone for a while."
Pausing, Guinevere looked at Percival, seeing his reddened eyes. After two seconds of silence, he sighed softly:
"I'm sorry for losing control... You spent more time with Gareth; you should be the one most saddened, not me. I... I apologize."
After offering a solemn apology to Percival, Guinevere fled the Bell Chamber. He knew that, having spent far less time with the fallen than Percival and the soldiers, it was not his place to speak; they were the true companions. Even in time spent with Gareth, Percival far exceeded him.
Yes: in any case, the one who should be most sorrowful and enraged was not him.
Yet, as he walked slowly through the charred ruins of the city, the grief in his heart felt as intense as theirs.
In a daze, images of unfamiliar light and shadow flickered before him. In those long-lost visions, he saw a burning city, knights betrayed by those thought to be allies, and that vile, shameless murder.
Two thousand four hundred years ago, that once-glorious Lentinien—built for ideals and hope—was likewise destroyed by capricious, treacherous faeries.
"...Again."
Then, without realizing it, a fury not belonging to this time filled his soul once more.
"Why, why, those damned faeries! Bastards! Worms that should not exist! How could they, when we had already conceded so much... still burn our Lentinien to ashes again?!"
"You damned creatures... do you want to die?!"
[Unable to suppress his anger, you rush back to the central plaza ruins, finding the Round Table soldiers struggling to repress their grief as they lay out their comrades' bodies.]
[Your earlier conversation with Oberon and Percival has spread; you hear soldiers whispering "Aurora," "Salisbury," "traitor," "Wind Clan" among other terms.]
[Then you raise your arm and shout:]
"Brothers! You know by now, right?! It was that Wind bitch from Salisbury who did this!"
"She destroyed our home, killed our kin; this hatred cannot be forgiven!"
"If you want vengeance, then follow me!"
"We're going to Salisbury—let's shred that Aurora bitch to pieces!"