Fate: How About a New Savior?

She gripped her longsword, using it to steady herself.

The feeling in her arms was fading. Soon, she wouldn't even be able to hold her blade.

Mordred dropped to one knee, her armor battered and torn beyond repair. She no longer had the Mana to restore it.

Archer had already collapsed on the bridge. His form was beginning to destabilize, and in moments, he would vanish as his Spirit Origin failed to hold.

The Reality Marble, "Unlimited Blade Works," had been torn apart in an instant—shredded by the weapon called "Enuma Elish," along with the infinite blades it contained and the Noble Phantasm she had unleashed with its true name.

A total defeat.

Her mind drifted, consciousness slipping, as if returning to that place she had dreamed of countless times.

The Sword of Selection stood before her, but she couldn't bring herself to reach for it.

"Oh? You're not going to pull it out?"

It was within arm's reach. All she had to do was stretch out her hand.

But Mordred hesitated.

Should she? Could she? Did she even have the right?

"This country is doomed. Even if it lasts another hundred years, it won't change the course of this island's history. In fact, it's already finished. Britannia ends here… If I told you that, what would you do?"

As her vision dimmed, the voice of the court Magus echoed in her ears.

Mordred froze.

"If that's one of your usual cruel jokes, I'll be angry. Britannia won't fall. That's why I have to do whatever I can."

That was her father's reply.

Mordred stood stunned.

It was the last conversation between the King and Merlin before the campaign to Rome.

Before her rebellion, Mordred had been stationed near the harbor—as one of the knights left behind in Britannia.

She had to make sure the King had truly departed before launching the uprising.

"The fall of Britannia is inevitable."

She recalled the words of the man called Shiomi.

Rebellion or not, Britannia could no longer endure.

Her father had always known how it would end—yet she never turned away.

In ten years on the throne, she had shown not a flicker of hesitation or doubt. She believed he would triumph. She believed he could do what had to be done.

Even if she lost everything. Even if the world came to hate her.

She chose to fight. That was Artoria Pendragon's vow as a king.

She gave up her own fate to protect the people of Britannia.

Even knowing destruction was inevitable, she chose it anyway. Even offered herself after death—to become a guardian, a cog in the system—if it meant saving Britannia.

That question still lingered in Mordred's heart as she stepped onto this final battlefield.

Was it really worth it?

All that effort would come to nothing! And still you would draw that sword?

She saw the girl standing before her, next to the sword, shouting in anguish.

"—So many people smiled. I thought that meant I was right."

Was she speaking to the Magus? Or to the dreamer who had seen this place again and again?

It no longer mattered.

Because Mordred finally saw the answer she had ignored from the start.

Her father didn't become king and then choose to protect the people.

She chose to become king because she wanted to protect them.

The reason Mordred clung so desperately to that silhouette was because it wasn't grand or towering—it was slender, almost sorrowful.

"…ber… Saber!"

Sakura's voice yanked Mordred from that hazy dream and back to the present.

Her Spirit Origin hadn't collapsed yet. The Knight of Rebellion still lived.

She lifted her head, glaring defiantly at Gilgamesh as he slowly descended.

"Step… back, Master…" Mordred rose shakily to her feet, sword raised. "…This battle… isn't over yet…"

The Oldest King of Heroes.

Mordred knew she couldn't win.

But she had a duty—to protect her Master to the very end, as a knight should.

Battle Continuation.

The fact that she had once survived being pierced by the Holy Spear—and dealt her father a fatal wound—had granted Mordred this ability. One she found disquieting.

But right now, it had its use.

"Oh? So the doubt in your eyes has finally vanished, Knight of Rebellion," Gilgamesh said.

"Tch... if you want to fight, then bring it on already..." Mordred growled through clenched teeth, forcing a defiant grin as she stepped in front of Sakura to shield her.

But Gilgamesh only cast them a glance before turning away slowly.

"Left alone, you wouldn't last two minutes. I've fulfilled my promise to the King of Magecraft. What happens next is none of my concern."

With those words, he dissolved into golden particles and vanished from the weathered Fuyuki Bridge.

"Bastard... just how far is he going to look down on us..." Mordred cursed under her breath. Her sword slipped from her hand, and her body collapsed backward onto the ground.

"…Saber…" Sakura called softly.

"Sorry… Master…" Mordred looked at her with a faint smile. "Looks like I won't be able to carry you to victory."

Sakura shook her head. "We did everything we could. The enemy was just too strong."

"Yeah… My father beat that guy. But I couldn't." Mordred gave a weak, bitter laugh. "I really am not as strong as my father…"

"Saber…"

"…In the end, maybe I was chasing the wrong wish all along…" Mordred looked up at the sky stretching above the bridge. "All I ever wanted was to ease my father's loneliness… to retrieve the things she abandoned to become king…"

Because she was admired by all, she wasn't allowed to cry or scream—

If someone else had taken the throne, that weight wouldn't have been necessary.

"…In the end… maybe it would've been better if I'd just died as her knight… That would've suited me more…"

Her voice grew softer and softer. After gently brushing the tears from Sakura's cheeks, Mordred smiled—and vanished.

...

Only when the Servant's presence had completely disappeared did Sakura rise from the ground. She turned to face her sister, who had also lost her Servant.

"Even if it's just the two of us, we should go meet up with Father—"

She voiced what was in her heart.

She could feel the surge of overwhelming Mana coming from the direction of the church. The battle there still hadn't ended.

But before she could finish, Sakura turned sharply, warily eyeing a young man approaching slowly along the still intact road of the bridge.

"That would really be a headache for me. Without Caster, we can't claim the Holy Grail," said the white-haired man, his age impossible to guess. "Not when the other side consists of those two."

Sakura recognized him. "The Lord of the Department of Astromancy—Marisbury Animusphere."

"Then let's continue. A Holy Grail War… between Masters."

With his hands clasped behind his back, Marisbury calmly initiated the next phase of the conflict.