Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

His body felt like it was carrying an immense burden. The dull pain in his arms had long since numbed; his body felt like a patchwork of broken parts, barely held together. He didn't know when it would finally give out. But before that moment came, there was still something he had to do. A mission he had carried like a sin for a thousand years.

The more devastation he saw, the heavier that punishment weighed upon him. This was all his fault. If he hadn't been so insistent on fulfilling the king's orders to the end, the world wouldn't have ended up like this.

No matter what, he had to complete his mission this time — to return it.

So even if his limbs screamed in agony, even if his senses were dulled by pain, he had to keep moving forward. He'd heard of the Sacred Selection from those he encountered. Weren't knights meant to protect the people? Even if they came from different lands, in a crisis like this, what difference was there between one person and another?

But what he heard had shaken him — horror stories that made him question whether the ones he had once called comrades could truly be responsible. Had all the knights who descended here come from a fallen world?

The more he heard, the firmer his resolve became. He would complete his mission. Even if it meant facing his former companions. Even if those companions had become strangers. Even if it meant carrying the weight of his sins to the end — he would go forward.

He entered another ruined city and made his way to the center, where a dilapidated wishing pool sat. Though broken and crumbling, clean water still flowed from beneath the pool. He drew it with his kettle and finally breathed a small sigh of relief.

He was not a Heroic Spirit.

Strictly speaking, this knight was still alive. In order to obtain the strength to battle servants, he had taken on an unbearable burden. As the clean water slid down his throat, the refreshing coolness eased some of the internal torment caused by that burden.

With the shortage of manpower, the war-torn lands, and the altered terrain, even finding drinkable water had become difficult.

Sitting in the shadow of the ruins, drinking from the spring, the knight briefly considered resting. But he quickly shook the thought away. He couldn't stop until he corrected his mistake. He couldn't betray the Flower Magus who had reawakened him.

He gripped his right arm — the source of power that enabled him to stand against his former comrades. It was not an arm that belonged to him by birth. Within it flowed a strength he had no right to wield, and that was why it felt so unbearably heavy.

Not just physically, though it certainly appeared weighty — the burden was spiritual, symbolic. A knight's burden.

He stood again, but then his ears caught something: a sound that did not belong to the wind.

Metal clashing. Heavy impacts striking stone. And most of all — the cries of terrified civilians.

The knight opened his eyes slightly, sharpening his senses. There was no mistake. This was the sound of battle.

He rushed toward the noise. If this was another incident caused by one of his former comrades, he would stop it — no matter what.

On the outskirts of the ruined city, Aslan's holy spear pierced through the chestplates of several Knights of Justice. With his explosive magic techniques and absurdly fast magic recovery, even if these knights were twice as strong, they couldn't last more than a blow.

When Aslan and his companions arrived, it was already too late. The Knights of Justice had rounded up the civilians and were preparing to transport them to New Camelot for the Sacred Selection. What had been a protection mission had now turned into an interception.

Fortunately, the Knights of Justice had limited self-awareness and functioned mostly by order. They didn't take hostages, or the situation might've become a dangerous standoff.

This wasn't a game. There were no "health points." The Knights of Justice simply could not withstand Melusine's overwhelming speed. The sheer impact of her strikes crushed their cores with ease.

Besides, their armor no longer fit properly. Aslan would have to reforge them anyway. So why preserve it? Let the armor shatter. The more the knights were enhanced, the less use the militia had against them.

And so, when the knight arrived, what he saw was a one-sided slaughter — Aslan and Melusine devastating the Knights of Justice with ruthless precision.

The knight felt a flash of relief. Even if it hadn't been him, someone had made it in time. He had heard too many cries of slaughter along the way. He had feared he'd arrive only to find corpses.

But then he saw it — some Knights of Discipline were still attempting to round up civilians.

His eyes narrowed.

He dashed forward, drawing the sword at his waist. Compared to his former comrades, the weapon was plain — a standard knight's sword.

And against the newly enhanced Knights of Justice, such a weapon offered no clear advantage.

His blade met the heavy axe of one of the knights. Sparks flew from the clash, and both parties recoiled. He glanced at the unmarked axe and felt a sinking weight in his chest. This sword had been forged by one of Great Britain's finest blacksmiths. And yet… he couldn't even scratch them.

But even if the sword was ineffective — he still had his arm.

He lifted his right arm, still hidden beneath the cloak. In the sunlight, the metal gleamed. A prosthetic — a full metal arm.

He poured a stream of magic power into it. A golden light surged across the surface. Then he thrust.

The shining limb punched into the Knight of Justice's chest and, with a crunch of ruptured plating and a burst of sparks, destroyed the core within.

-End Chapter-

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