Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

"Béryl… you're still alive!"

At the sight of that shadowy were-wolf, Artoria reflexively reached for a weapon—only to find her hand closing around the bulky Staff of Selection. She'd completely forgotten that her sword, Eikōmaru, had been flung away long ago by Guinevere. Since she'd personally nullified all ranged magic, the Staff of Selection was now no more than a walking stick.

Beryl burst into mocking laughter as he strode forward. "Hahaha—so the sorceress who bans her own spells now brandishes that stick—what do you plan to do with it—"

Before he could finish, Artoria conjured a burst of flame in her free hand and incinerated the book—the final volume of her Merciless Grimoire—in a single flare. It was useless now: none of its three prohibited schools of magic applied to Beryl. Better to burn it and free her own power.

With the fiery tome gone, Artoria no longer felt that oppressive binding. Raising her staff, she unleashed a full-power Mana Cannon, sending Beryl sprawling back. "Guinevere! Use my—"

Her shout was cut off as Beryl charged through her blast and hurled her aside like a ragdoll. "Use your blood to heal? Hah! Once I learned you rely on blood, I'd never grant you the chance again!"

With that he turned his blood-red eyes on the recovering Guinevere, still leaning on his Holy Lance. "So I see even your Demon Form can't hold anymore. In that case, prepare to settle the score with me!"

Guinevere said nothing. He clutched his lance's haft and silently worked the numbers in his head: he'd poured almost all his life-force into that last strike against Albion. He didn't have enough left for a killing blow right now—unless…

What if he drew on his remaining lifespan too? Even a body as resilient as Aleron Vorst's could be shattered by a lance imbued with that price…

"Perfect," he whispered. "As long as I can keep paying the price…"

If he killed Beryl here, every obstacle would be cleared for Lady Bavanzi. Then, after swearing victory for her, he would at last atone for all the lives he'd taken—even if that meant ending his own.

Just as he readied that final thrust, he noticed Beryl stumble two steps back. "Wait—Bavanzi? You're here? And that spell of yours—?"

His heart froze as he sensed magic surging behind him. He spun around just in time to see Beryl's chest erupt in a geyser of blood—his heart itself gone.

"You… you used the incantation I taught you to kill me…"

"I never met this Mashu… but like your own 'heart,' yours is worthless, Beryl," Bavanzi said coldly, tossing the black-stained organ to the ground like rubbish.

Then she lifted her foot and crushed it with a vicious snap.

Beryl's head lolled back, his eyes losing their light. He collapsed, dead upon the battlefield—slain by the very magic he'd used to betray her.

Artoria, still shaken from her own ordeal, barely registered. Instead, Guinevere sprinted to Bavanzi, panic straining his voice, "Bavanzi—?"

"Did I do well?" Bavanzi chirped cheerfully, as Guinevere caught her in his arms. "I defeated Beryl! Aren't I great? Praise me!"

He grabbed her shoulders, mouth opening, desperate to speak—yet words failed him. He could only bow his head, voice thick, "Why are you so… foolish, Bavanzi? I've never… been the one who couldn't win…"

Seeing his distress, Bavanzi's bright smile faded into something gentler. She stroked his cheek. "Because you always look so lonely, Guinevere."

He looked up, meeting her bittersweet gaze. "I know I'm not smart… but I still feel things. Like how you and I are always so far apart… like a kite on a string—you never know when it'll fly away."

"Tch…" He closed his eyes in shame. "I'm sorry—staying here, slaughtering fairykind every day… it must be so empty for you. Deep down, I know you never wanted this. I know that you, first of all, wanted to travel with Artoria."

Guinevere's tears fell as she reopened her eyes. Bavanzi placed a finger on his lips to silence him. "I know you're clever, Guinevere. But this time, don't treat me like a little girl. You told Artoria you were so happy when she first chose you as her comrade—I heard it myself."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering his head. Indeed… he was that happy.

For all these months by Bavanzi's side, he'd felt nothing but boredom and distance. He had chosen this path as the only way to remove the "vermin" of fairykind—but every morning, he woke to a stranger in the mirror, a demon whose craving for blood had nearly consumed him. He'd resolved that when it was all over, he would end his own cursed life.

He'd even thought of training Artoria to kill him in the end—so she'd live with that regret. It had seemed… fitting.

But Bavanzi's words before the final battle had changed him. He would win this war for her. Yet now… she had paid the price instead.

His chest tightened, tears welling unbidden. Bavanzi reached out and brushed them away. Then, alarmed, she stumbled and fell into his arms. Tears tracked down her cheeks too.

"Don't cry, Guinevere‐baby—please," she whispered, gently wiping his face with trembling fingers.

He choked back sobs. "It's my fault… if I hadn't held back against Artoria… if I'd controlled them earlier… none of this would've happened…"

She shook her head. "It's okay. If you had truly steeled your heart, you'd have ceased to be Guinevere. I knew you'd never abandon your comrades—even if they abandoned you. And that…I love the most about you."

His tears failed again. She did not wipe them away. Instead, she placed her hand on his cheek, eyes soft as dawn.

"So now, Guinevere—tell me: do you… like me? Even just a little?"

She waited, heart beating between hope and fear, for the answer his lips could scarcely form.