Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

Aslan studied the girl before him. Each person's vision of inhibitory power differed; to him, this was what the Alaya Consciousness looked like.

His pale blue eyes fixed on the Alaya-vijnana.

Admittedly, her words had merit—but the choice lay between Artoria and Mordred, and he could not stand idly by. After all, he had tried—and failed—to change the course of fate. That was very different from refusing to try because he feared failure.

"The Alaya-vijnana is the collective will of mankind... If you are truly its embodiment, then you should know what I think."

Because it collected human wills, Alaya could better influence hearts and minds—and more easily bind radiant human souls into heroic spirits.

Alaya closed her eyes, sighing softly.

Is this truly your choice? Then answer me this: are you willing to sign with me and become a guardian?

You should understand—I will not let you wander aimlessly forever. Don't worry, you are unlike those mere tools.

He was accompanied by a legendary top-tier dragon—destined to be a heroic spirit. Even if Gaia did not claim him, he would join their camp.

Though the inhibitory forces worked together now, if humanity destroyed the Earth and the Land of Steel came, Gaia would surely oppose it by any means.

Though the Land of Steel was but one possible future, vigilance was crucial.

Aslan twitched his lips. If Emiya heard this, he'd probably cry. Not only cry—but call him a terrible boss!

Since he couldn't beat this being by force, he could only evaluate the offer—and refuse if it did not meet his bottom line.

At least Alaya would not treat him badly.

After all, following Aslan was a fragment of Albion—the Horizon Dragon born with Earth. Should Alaya and Gaia clash one day, Albion would be Gaia's target, and Aslan might leave with him.

If someone like Emiya could never be poached, what was there to worry about?

Alaya smiled professionally, clearly aware of Aslan's modern sensibilities. She even presented a recruitment form detailing benefits and wages—listing famous colleagues like Ramses II the Conqueror, Solomon the Mage King, and others, though not all in the same department.

It was like a renowned company visiting a school to recruit students.

Aslan chuckled. He'd never before encountered such treatment.

This also made him realize that, among heroic spirits, he was special—maybe not unique, but certainly better treated than Emiya.

Pulling out a pair of glasses from his magic costume, Aslan said, "I see. Truly first-class treatment—but... I must respectfully decline."

He removed his glasses, smiling, awaiting her response while testing the limits of her offer.

Alaya sighed and withdrew. Since Aslan refused, she would keep watch from afar. With no major crisis, she could not act.

Whether this would alter King Arthur's fate, she did not know. Arthur and Mordred had come too far for an easy resolution.

Though Alaya stepped aside, she still deployed tricks.

The battlefield Aslan arrived at was distant from the front lines—two days after the main clash.

The scene was more devastating than the coast—bloody corpses piled in small hills, many fallen together in close groups.

No place to set foot without stepping on bodies, Aslan skirted the corpses and battered armor.

Faint sounds of battle still echoed, but exhaustion drained most voices. Some soldiers collapsed directly into the blood, resting after their kill—likely never to rise again.

"See? King Arthur, your kingdom is finished! No matter who wins between us—look around! It's utterly destroyed!"

Mordred stood amid the carnage, arms wide, accusing the king.

"Shouldn't you have realized this long ago? If you had passed the throne to me, this wouldn't have happened! Am I... your hated clone, Morgan's spawn?"

Arturia stared at the armored knight—her own child—and spoke coldly, "I never hated you. The only reason I withheld the throne is because you lack the qualities to rule."

Under his mask, Mordred paused, then twisted in fury and frustration.

Why did he keep saying this? I am just. I am just! All he wanted was her approval.

"Ah—Arthur!"

He raised his magic sword, charging, and Artoria lifted her holy spear to meet him.

Seeing this, Aslan grit his teeth, spitting bitterly.

No wonder they summoned him—Alaya must have calculated that if he arrived one moment later, it would all be over.

"The Supreme Masterpiece!"

Aslan's shout echoed as the red pendant around his neck glowed, then dissolved into magic particles, merging with his back.

He leapt as the cockpit closed around him.

Without command, the Supreme Masterpiece's intelligence unleashed a burst of magic ether, propelling it toward the combatants.

In the chaos, Aslan failed to notice a pendant fell from his waist into the sea of corpses.

clang—

The Demon Sword clashed with the Holy Lance.

Fortunately, the Supreme Masterpiece's unique materials withstood the collision unscathed. Both wielders had nearly exhausted their magic power—no damage remained.

-End Chapter-

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