Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

"Trying to run? Do you think I'll let you get away?"

To be honest, Melusine was a little angry. Declaring a retreat in front of her—it was practically an insult to her speed. She was the fastest dragon, after all! Trying to escape in front of the fastest dragon? That was a joke.

Tristan, just about to retreat, was swiftly intercepted. Melusine's dual swords struck without hesitation, targeting fatal points. She even delivered a kick to Tristan's face, leaving his once-handsome features bruised and bloodied.

After taking the blow, Tristan rolled to the side and crashed to the ground. The knight who had been so calm and refined before now looked utterly disgraced.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Tristan gritted his teeth. As one of the Knights of the Round Table unfamiliar with Aslan and Melusine, he hadn't identified the girl attacking him. Of course, that was partly because he was blind. If he could still see, he might have noticed how closely Aslan resembled the Lion King himself.

Melusine pointed her sword at his neck, tilting her chin up with pride. "It's over, Knight of the Round Table. Come to think of it, you reek of blood. A Knight of the Round Table shouldn't smell like this."

Tristan scoffed. "This is a protection that overcomes our weaknesses! A blessing given to us by our king. What would you know?!"

Aslan, still approaching from behind, suddenly looked up at the sky. His expression sharpened. "Melusine! Get out of there!!"

He drew the Sword of Glorious Victory and poured a massive surge of magical energy into it. A golden beam of light descended from the sky—visibly the Holy Spear's strike, albeit weaker than normal. The seal must not have been fully lifted, or the wielder was not at full strength.

But that was good news. If it had been a full-powered Holy Lance, even Aslan might have needed Melusine's dragon form or to deploy the Supreme Masterpiece just to counter it.

The Holy Spear's weakened form descended directly toward Melusine. She could have finished Tristan off then and there, but doing so would have risked being caught in the attack—and worse, the town could have been obliterated.

Reluctantly, she withdrew.

Tristan used the opening to flee. His face, once noble and serene, now twisted with humiliation and resentment.

That the king had to intervene and save him—while still injured—was a disgrace. They had sworn to help the king... and now this?

If he survived the king's wrath this time, he swore he would not fail again.

Aslan raised the Sword of Glorious Victory high. The golden light surged upward to meet the descending lance. At their clash, light erupted across the sky. Even those in distant heavens and underground churches could see it.

In New Camelot, within the gleaming halls of the royal palace, the remaining Knights of the Round Table and the Lion King herself witnessed the collision.

Gawain's face tightened in disbelief. "That power... why?!"

He was shocked to see Aslan summoned as a Servant. After the battle against the evil dragon, he had asked Merlin about him. Aslan, and the dragon Melusine—both should have had long lifespans. Who could have possibly killed them?

And now, Aslan's light was colliding directly with the king's spear. Did this mean he stood on the opposite side?

"Lord Gawain," the Lion King's calm voice called from behind, "do you know whose power that was?"

Gawain hesitated. The king didn't recognize her own brother?

But this wasn't the Artoria he remembered. This was the Lion King—a divine figure, more goddess than woman. This world wasn't one where she had lost the Holy Sword and claimed the Lance out of necessity. In this singularity, she had never known Aslan.

Realization dawned on Gawain, but he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. "No, my king. I was merely surprised someone could resist your spear. Whoever it is... they are only an enemy."

The Lion King did not react. "My power has not fully recovered. It is expected the Lance's light could be blocked. Prepare yourself, Lord Gawain. When Lord Tristan returns, he will be punished."

Standing nearby, Agravain watched silently. As a civil servant and loyal retainer, he sensed the shift in the king's demeanor—but he said nothing. This king was still his king, and he would help her complete what she could not in life.

He noted Gawain's silence, though. The old Gawain would have protested.

This was growth.

-End Chapter-

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