Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

　　Guinevere snapped his eyes open.

　　Before he could make out his surroundings, a wave of vertigo crashed through his mind—like fog lifting from sections of his brain that had been shrouded in mist, now suddenly cleared.

　　In an instant, memories flashed through his head in rapid succession. That exhilarating clarity mixed with an intense headache from the onslaught of thoughts left him utterly conflicted.

　　"What… what is… happening?"

　　Rubbing his temples, Guinevere winced in pain.

　　"Tsk… London's law and order is a joke? Who gets kidnapped in broad daylight? No wonder Holmes's case load never ends… N—no, wait—"

　　"I'm recalling things now… and they're awful… the Demon God Götia, the simulator, Singularities, Artoria… damn, why only now?"

　　Clutching his head, Guinevere staggered to his feet. At the same time, unfamiliar sights flooded his vision.

　　He was in a vast chamber whose grand architecture spoke of noble lineage, yet all decoration was missing—old, musty, and crumbling. A corroded sword hung on one wall; a tapestry depicting a girl leaping over a bull's horn on another.

　　To the left, a balcony overlooked a fog‑shrouded lake; the sun's rays could not penetrate the dense mist—confirming this place as the Misty City, London.

　　Yet even to one raised in London's perpetual fog, this haze seemed excessive. Though daylight, he could not see the sun—only two pale orbs of light glowing behind a rose‑tinted sky.

　　Two suns? And pink skies?

　　Guinevere's head throbbed anew. Where was he? Who had kidnapped him? The system had said "import complete" as he was attacked—had his memory lock been released because the Fourth Singularity had begun? But none of this matched his recollection of the Fourth Singularity's plot.

　　Questions piled up with no answers.

　　Behind him, on a grand bed, lay a richly dressed woman, breathing evenly—but her furrowed brow betrayed a nightmare.

　　Summoning courage, Guinevere approached until he fully saw her face… a woman uncannily similar to Artoria, yet more mature—her very presence radiating aristocratic command, her chest bearing a gravitas Artoria could never match.

　　Her gown was even more splendid: wing‑like drapes of fabric fanned out like a vast butterfly behind her, reminiscent of Oberon's attire.

　　…An adult Artoria in Oberon's clothes?

　　What? If this was the start of the Fourth Singularity… could it be the Black Lancer? But the Black Lancer only appeared after Tesla in the Fourth, not here…

　　He recalled system messages: "external interference detected," "worldline altered," "scenario rewritten," and something about a Mythic Artifact.

　　His head ached. He had too little information to make sense.

　　He decided to try waking the woman for clues—at least learn where he was, who she was, and why he'd been bound here.

　　"Hello? Wake up? Excuse me?"

　　Guinevere called softly, then louder—but the sleeping noblewoman did not stir.

　　Hesitant, he reached to shake her shoulder—but as soon as his hand moved through space, it passed right through her shoulder as though she were a hologram. He felt only air until his hand struck the mattress.

　　Completely baffled, Guinevere withdrew his hand.

　　He exhaled. He couldn't stay here and do nothing.

　　He scanned the room's right side and spotted an arched corridor leading into the fog—its only apparent exit. He chose that path. But before departing, he reached up and removed the sword from the wall. Drawing it, he tested its balance and sharpness, then lightly sliced a corner off the wooden table: the blade cut through effortlessly—clearly a masterwork.

　　Opening the system to inspect the blade:

　　[Name: Queen Cassilda's Sword]

　　[Rarity: ?]

　　[Found in Queen Cassilda's bedchamber, this sword cleaves iron as though it were paper and once drew Prince Adonis's blood. It seems infused with special power.]

　　[Queen Cassilda, the twelfth monarch of Karti, learned a terrible truth from prophecy: her dynasty's inevitable fall. Though she strove to defy fate, ambitious Prince Adonis and High Priest Nautoba conspired against her, depriving her of all her children.]

　　[While a true sovereign wields this blade, its attack power increases. (Active)]

　　"Queen Cassilda? Prophecy? Inevitable doom?"

　　Frowning, Guinevere closed the menu.

　　No time for deep thought—he strapped the sword to his back and entered the corridor. The mist was too thick—he could not discern what dangers lay ahead—so he gripped the sword in hand, hoping it might help.

　　Yet his combat edge was dull: after the Dual Persona split, he retained only the Tags Blacksmith and Fated Prodigy—neither built for battle. Blacksmith granted +1 Strength; Fated Prodigy removed a rank of Endurance, leaving him frailer than most. He worried how he'd survive any tough fight.

　　Pressing on through endless fog, droplets soaked his coat, and a chill crept up his wrist. He raised his senses, ears tuned to any rustle in the mist… but silence persisted.

　　After three more arches, the stale corridor decor gave way to festive banners and balloons. The mist thinned, and he realized he'd emerged into a grand ballroom—filled with revelers in opulent attire dancing to lively music.

　　"Hello?"

　　A voice at his side startled him; he swung his sword instinctively only to feel a white‑gloved hand clamp onto the blade—immovably.

　　Panic flared. But then the grip relaxed, and the woman said calmly,

　　"Holster your sword, Guardsman. These are the nobles of Eghthu—if you injure one, you'd face worse than any blade. I am Captain Ayla of the Queen's Guard. If you have complaints, bring them to me after the Masquerade."

　　"A—ah! Sorry!"

　　Realizing she'd mistaken him for a royal guard, Guinevere sheathed his sword. Ayla nodded curtly, then added,

　　"Since you've arrived, you'll need a mask. Forgot yours? I have an extra—you may borrow mine."

　　She retrieved a pale, blank mask and handed it to him. Guinevere reached for it… then froze, struck by an electric shock of recognition. It was identical to the mask worn by his assailant back in London. After Ayla cleared her throat, he snapped out of it and gratefully accepted the mask, stammering thanks.

　　Ayla, seeing his stunned expression, muttered,

　　"What a strange one,"

　　and vanished into the crowd.

　　Left alone, Guinevere examined the mask: blank except for holes over the eyes—the very mask worn by his kidnapper. What connection did this Masquerade Ball have to his abduction… or to Magiria's plot?

　　He tried to question a nearby guest—only to discover the stranger ate with apathetic ease despite plaster and dust falling into his food. When asked, the guest sneered,

 "This isn't London or Queen Victoria; you're at Queen Cassilda's Masquerade of Eghthu. Queen Cassilda rules here—I'd think her Guard would know that."

 Spotting Guinevere's sword, the guest's tone softened and offered him a roasted ham.

 "No, thanks!" Guinevere nearly gagged when he saw the ham end was a charred human hand.