"Have you abandoned all reason in your quest for power?" The king's words dripped with disappointment as he spoke to the Dragon.
The two had always been on opposing paths: one chose to turn back, while the other relentlessly pushed forward. As they faced each other now, it was clear that they had reached a point of no return.
The Dragon was a passionate creature, guided by his emotions and rich in feelings. Yet this very passion often became his undoing, clouding his judgment and blurring the lines between right and wrong.
Love occasionally reached its pinnacle in the form of evil. Sadly, the person enveloped by this consuming flame often remains oblivious, lost in their own world, even as others recognize the evil taking root.
Fighting for the survival of Britain and struggling to preserve its existence was not inherently wrong in terms of human values. However, the chosen method of achieving this goal was a regression of historical progress, denying the rich history of Britain up until that point.
It overlooked the accomplishments of the British people throughout history and instead sought to rely on the power of the gods to achieve survival, even if it meant becoming their eternal puppets.
It wasn't so much a struggle as it was an act of fear and desperation. They donned the guise of "struggle" to shield themselves from an uncertain future and chose to retreat.
They clung to layers of theoretical justifications, convincing themselves of the righteousness of their cause. In the end, however, their ideas proved to be weak and lacking in substance.
Being daring in both love and hate is admirable, but being unable to look forward with one's own eyes can limit one's potential as a leader. Such a person may make a good friend but may not be fit to lead.
Focusing solely on past glories without the ability to move forward does not inspire confidence or trust. Consequently, it is difficult to entrust one's fate to such a person.
Had Vortigern possessed even a shred of courage, he would not have chosen to restart the Age of Gods or to seek the Holy Lance, but to fight against this planet and this world.
This fundamental difference in mindset set Shirou apart from Vortigern. While Vortigern chose to retreat, Shirou chose to press forward.
Consequently, Vortigern gained the power of the past, while Shirou gained the light of the future.
Many people were drawn to Shirou because those who move forward have a natural attraction. In contrast, Vortigern had no followers but only the beasts that echoed his roars. This was not because of any other reason but because he had chosen to isolate himself from the beginning.
While Vortigern was the strongest individual, the war between him and Shirou ultimately boiled down to a battle between the collective and the individual, between progress and regress.
Shirou handed Excalibur and its sheath back to Artoria, then gripped Rhongomyniad. The lance radiated intense heat, searing his skin, but he clenched it tightly, ignoring the pain.
With a resounding battle cry, he shouted to his troops, "Encircle the dragon and bring it down!"
"Bring it down!" echoed the soldiers, led by their commanders.
With their final ounces of strength, the troops ripped apart the battlefield, determined to reach the other side.
The soldiers, young men with sharp blades, pushed forward, carving a path through the chaos.
In the distance, the dragon cast its ominous shadow across the mountains and valleys, its gargantuan form resembling a mountain range, its claws embedding themselves deep into the earth.
The king lifted the shimmering Holy Lance high, its light piercing the gloom like a beacon. Those near him took their cue from the radiant glow, rallying as they surged toward the decisive battle.
Artoria, Scathach, Tristan, Kay, Arcueid, Morgan, and even Merlin had gathered at this final battlefield, whether they were magi, knights, or True Ancestors.
Together, they charged towards the end beneath the blazing light that shattered through the centuries.
Named and nameless warriors alike, armed with sharp and blunt weapons, marched forward towards their final journey.
The elite fighters moved in silence, determined to face their ultimate enemy.
It was a battle of ants attacking an elephant!
"Roar!" The dragon bellowed, unleashing a molten breath that threatened to melt everything in its path.
Artoria raised the holy sword high, and the light of the stars cleared the breath of molten metal.
Scathach danced gracefully among the mountains, her movements fluid and deadly. Her spear whistled through the air as she struck the dragon's eye with pinpoint precision.
The dragon roared in fury, its massive hand flailing, attempting to crush the Queen of Shadows Land. Yet, behind it, the True Ancestor snared its massive dragon tail.
With eyes that glimmered with a light that chase its prey, sharp canine teeth, and pallid, delicate cheeks, the True Ancestor delivered a forceful attack that sent the colossal dragon flying as though it were a mere object.
"Boom, boom, boom, boom!"
The dragon plummeted amongst the mountains, causing the earth to quake beneath its weight.
Despite its battered state, the dragon's eyes were soon restored, and it rose up with a deafening roar. But its molten breath was once again shattered by the light of the Holy Sword.
The magi chanted around them, casting a large-scale suppression field. With a resounding "boom," the giant dragon plunged into the mountains.
"Roar, roar, roar, roar, roar, roar!"
The dragon grimaced and roared in agony as countless beams of light rained down upon it.
People swarmed around the beast, relentlessly bombarding it with attacks. Though the dragon's body healed quickly, the pain still elicited deafening roars.
The monsters heard their king's anguished cries and charged forward, but the elite soldiers stood in their way, using their bodies as shields.
Blood spilled upon the earth, staining it like a flower of death in full bloom.
"Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!"
The time for recovery had come. The colossal land whale, the sovereign that dominated the earth, emerged once more.
A crimson full moon loomed high in the sky, casting an eerie glow.
Strange birds soared through the air, their calls echoing through the night.
The overlord of the land roared, seeking vengeance for the humiliation of its earlier defeat.
With a body towering over two hundred meters tall, the land whale charged forward, its feet like mountains, crushing down upon the dragon's body.
"Roarrrrr——"
The dragon howled in pain, unleashing a powerful breath towards the Land Whale's head.
Shirou swished his cape and bellowed, "Protect the Land Whale!"
The knights obeyed, their swords gleaming and the True Ether Cannons of the magi blasting the dragon's breath apart.
The Land Whale roared in response, slamming the dragon into a nearby mountain and causing boulders to shatter.
It was a god, the last of its kind.
That was why it had no companions in battle, a lone warrior.
Thus, it was a hopeless case, raging and healing its body, but always being suppressed, again and again.
It may have been the strongest individual, but it was fighting against a powerful group.
The war between an individual and a group was never meaningful from the start, for there are no absolute individuals in this world.
As was the case with Gilgamesh in the past, even if one were ten or a hundred times stronger than others, their failure was predetermined when they were forced into the role of a lone warrior.
The great war raged on for ten days and ten nights, leaving death blooming upon the earth.
The Scottish territory had already been decimated, and the once-epic battle of the dragon had become a mere mockery.
Even the dragon's body, which had been their last hope, lay defeated, revealing its original human form. It was forced to retreat to Camelot, the once-mighty fortress, where it was guarded by a horde of beasts.
Gawain and Gaheris had returned from the north.
All of the knights had returned.
Entrusting their duties to their subordinates, the knights rushed to join the final battle.
The strong led the weak, banding together into an even mightier force that shattered through the irrational defenses.
The group converged upon the once-capital city, the once-mighty fortress, Camelot.
But now it was a ruin.
Soldiers encircled the palace, and the king with his knights advanced to the throne, clutching the Holy Lance.
The last remaining god sat upon the throne, gazing at the human king as he approached.
"Arthur...!" the god spoke in human language.
"You have come to the end of the road. What else is there to say?" the king emerged from the crowd, questioning the god.
"Why do you resist me? Why deny me? Why insist on being human?" the god asked. "Britain will be destroyed, and you will also face extinction. If there is still a chance, it is by relying on the hand of God to return to the Age of Gods!"
On the throne, shadows flickered menacingly as molten iron turned into dark magma, swallowing all forms of light.
Even the glint of Excalibur, even the luminous glow of Rhongomyniad.
All was devoured.
The throne crumbled beneath the god, and the roaring black clouds decimated the palace, causing the illusory dragon's head to bellow one final time before disintegrating.
The Flower Magus quickly dispelled the impact, and as the black clouds cleared, Shirou emerged and strode forward.
As the embodiment of the Island, Vortigern became the shadow of the Island. Transformed into a white dragon, he ceased to be human but stubbornly refused to embrace the new era, clinging to the old one.
"You have no future! Extinction is your destiny!" the god proclaimed.
"The future is not something that is simply spoken, it's something that we create with our own hands. What qualifications do you, who have long given up, have to speak about the future in front of me?" Shirou countered.
"Aren't you afraid? Extinction... even a god is afraid of it!" it said.
"It's precisely because of fear that I have realized my own weakness. Only by recognizing our own weakness can we take firm steps forward."
Shirou walked step by step towards the god.
"Even if a thousand voices were to cry out, the extinction of Britain is an unalterable fact, beyond the power of even a god to change!"
"What gods cannot do, let men do it." Shirou replied.
"What a bold statement!" the god sneered.
"Humanity has always been bold, pushing forward despite insurmountable odds. While the gods may seem omnipotent, it's humans who have the ability to reach for the stars."
"You have no path ahead!" the god snapped.
"Our ancestors started with nothing more than dreams and hardship, yet they paved their own way and defined their destiny. So tell me, the last god, are you going to do it yourself or shall we send you on your way?" Shirou asked calmly, as he held Rhongomyniad.
The god burst out laughing, full of incomparable irony. He was being cornered by a mere ant - the very puppet he had once supported. How ironic!
"I may be in the abyss, but I am watching you, King of Men! Your fate will be the same as mine!" he exclaimed, his laughter growing heartier.
Suddenly, the god raised his palm and pierced through his own chest.
"It seems that you have chosen to do it on your own, so I won't send you off."
The king turned his back, gazing at Rhongomyniad in his hand. "Britain, your sorrow shall be heard by me!"
As he spoke those words, the lance began to glow with a brilliant light. The once scorching-hot weapon now felt cool to the touch, and the king sensed an immense power surging through it - the power of the Anchor of the Stars.
Without a doubt, this Anchor of the Stars now belonged to him, the last King of Men.
The radiant starlight dispelled the lingering shadow of the past. Though the road ahead was uncertain, the king pressed forward with firm resolve.
The struggle with the past had ended, but the battle for the future had only just begun!
"Have you abandoned all reason in your quest for power?" The king's words dripped with disappointment as he spoke to the Dragon.
The two had always been on opposing paths: one chose to turn back, while the other relentlessly pushed forward. As they faced each other now, it was clear that they had reached a point of no return.
The Dragon was a passionate creature, guided by his emotions and rich in feelings. Yet this very passion often became his undoing, clouding his judgment and blurring the lines between right and wrong.
Love occasionally reached its pinnacle in the form of evil. Sadly, the person enveloped by this consuming flame often remains oblivious, lost in their own world, even as others recognize the evil taking root.
Fighting for the survival of Britain and struggling to preserve its existence was not inherently wrong in terms of human values. However, the chosen method of achieving this goal was a regression of historical progress, denying the rich history of Britain up until that point.
It overlooked the accomplishments of the British people throughout history and instead sought to rely on the power of the gods to achieve survival, even if it meant becoming their eternal puppets.
It wasn't so much a struggle as it was an act of fear and desperation. They donned the guise of "struggle" to shield themselves from an uncertain future and chose to retreat.
They clung to layers of theoretical justifications, convincing themselves of the righteousness of their cause. In the end, however, their ideas proved to be weak and lacking in substance.
Being daring in both love and hate is admirable, but being unable to look forward with one's own eyes can limit one's potential as a leader. Such a person may make a good friend but may not be fit to lead.
Focusing solely on past glories without the ability to move forward does not inspire confidence or trust. Consequently, it is difficult to entrust one's fate to such a person.
Had Vortigern possessed even a shred of courage, he would not have chosen to restart the Age of Gods or to seek the Holy Lance, but to fight against this planet and this world.
This fundamental difference in mindset set Shirou apart from Vortigern. While Vortigern chose to retreat, Shirou chose to press forward.
Consequently, Vortigern gained the power of the past, while Shirou gained the light of the future.
Many people were drawn to Shirou because those who move forward have a natural attraction. In contrast, Vortigern had no followers but only the beasts that echoed his roars. This was not because of any other reason but because he had chosen to isolate himself from the beginning.
While Vortigern was the strongest individual, the war between him and Shirou ultimately boiled down to a battle between the collective and the individual, between progress and regress.
Shirou handed Excalibur and its sheath back to Artoria, then gripped Rhongomyniad. The lance radiated intense heat, searing his skin, but he clenched it tightly, ignoring the pain.
With a resounding battle cry, he shouted to his troops, "Encircle the dragon and bring it down!"
"Bring it down!" echoed the soldiers, led by their commanders.
With their final ounces of strength, the troops ripped apart the battlefield, determined to reach the other side.
The soldiers, young men with sharp blades, pushed forward, carving a path through the chaos.
In the distance, the dragon cast its ominous shadow across the mountains and valleys, its gargantuan form resembling a mountain range, its claws embedding themselves deep into the earth.
The king lifted the shimmering Holy Lance high, its light piercing the gloom like a beacon. Those near him took their cue from the radiant glow, rallying as they surged toward the decisive battle.
Artoria, Scathach, Tristan, Kay, Arcueid, Morgan, and even Merlin had gathered at this final battlefield, whether they were magi, knights, or True Ancestors.
Together, they charged towards the end beneath the blazing light that shattered through the centuries.
Named and nameless warriors alike, armed with sharp and blunt weapons, marched forward towards their final journey.
The elite fighters moved in silence, determined to face their ultimate enemy.
It was a battle of ants attacking an elephant!
"Roar!" The dragon bellowed, unleashing a molten breath that threatened to melt everything in its path.
Artoria raised the holy sword high, and the light of the stars cleared the breath of molten metal.
Scathach danced gracefully among the mountains, her movements fluid and deadly. Her spear whistled through the air as she struck the dragon's eye with pinpoint precision.
The dragon roared in fury, its massive hand flailing, attempting to crush the Queen of Shadows Land. Yet, behind it, the True Ancestor snared its massive dragon tail.
With eyes that glimmered with a light that chase its prey, sharp canine teeth, and pallid, delicate cheeks, the True Ancestor delivered a forceful attack that sent the colossal dragon flying as though it were a mere object.
"Boom, boom, boom, boom!"
The dragon plummeted amongst the mountains, causing the earth to quake beneath its weight.
Despite its battered state, the dragon's eyes were soon restored, and it rose up with a deafening roar. But its molten breath was once again shattered by the light of the Holy Sword.
The magi chanted around them, casting a large-scale suppression field. With a resounding "boom," the giant dragon plunged into the mountains.
"Roar, roar, roar, roar, roar, roar!"
The dragon grimaced and roared in agony as countless beams of light rained down upon it.
People swarmed around the beast, relentlessly bombarding it with attacks. Though the dragon's body healed quickly, the pain still elicited deafening roars.
The monsters heard their king's anguished cries and charged forward, but the elite soldiers stood in their way, using their bodies as shields.
Blood spilled upon the earth, staining it like a flower of death in full bloom.
"Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!"
The time for recovery had come. The colossal land whale, the sovereign that dominated the earth, emerged once more.
A crimson full moon loomed high in the sky, casting an eerie glow.
Strange birds soared through the air, their calls echoing through the night.
The overlord of the land roared, seeking vengeance for the humiliation of its earlier defeat.
With a body towering over two hundred meters tall, the land whale charged forward, its feet like mountains, crushing down upon the dragon's body.
"Roarrrrr——"
The dragon howled in pain, unleashing a powerful breath towards the Land Whale's head.
Shirou swished his cape and bellowed, "Protect the Land Whale!"
The knights obeyed, their swords gleaming and the True Ether Cannons of the magi blasting the dragon's breath apart.
The Land Whale roared in response, slamming the dragon into a nearby mountain and causing boulders to shatter.
It was a god, the last of its kind.
That was why it had no companions in battle, a lone warrior.
Thus, it was a hopeless case, raging and healing its body, but always being suppressed, again and again.
It may have been the strongest individual, but it was fighting against a powerful group.
The war between an individual and a group was never meaningful from the start, for there are no absolute individuals in this world.
As was the case with Gilgamesh in the past, even if one were ten or a hundred times stronger than others, their failure was predetermined when they were forced into the role of a lone warrior.
The great war raged on for ten days and ten nights, leaving death blooming upon the earth.
The Scottish territory had already been decimated, and the once-epic battle of the dragon had become a mere mockery.
Even the dragon's body, which had been their last hope, lay defeated, revealing its original human form. It was forced to retreat to Camelot, the once-mighty fortress, where it was guarded by a horde of beasts.
Gawain and Gaheris had returned from the north.
All of the knights had returned.
Entrusting their duties to their subordinates, the knights rushed to join the final battle.
The strong led the weak, banding together into an even mightier force that shattered through the irrational defenses.
The group converged upon the once-capital city, the once-mighty fortress, Camelot.
But now it was a ruin.
Soldiers encircled the palace, and the king with his knights advanced to the throne, clutching the Holy Lance.
The last remaining god sat upon the throne, gazing at the human king as he approached.
"Arthur...!" the god spoke in human language.
"You have come to the end of the road. What else is there to say?" the king emerged from the crowd, questioning the god.
"Why do you resist me? Why deny me? Why insist on being human?" the god asked. "Britain will be destroyed, and you will also face extinction. If there is still a chance, it is by relying on the hand of God to return to the Age of Gods!"
On the throne, shadows flickered menacingly as molten iron turned into dark magma, swallowing all forms of light.
Even the glint of Excalibur, even the luminous glow of Rhongomyniad.
All was devoured.
The throne crumbled beneath the god, and the roaring black clouds decimated the palace, causing the illusory dragon's head to bellow one final time before disintegrating.
The Flower Magus quickly dispelled the impact, and as the black clouds cleared, Shirou emerged and strode forward.
As the embodiment of the Island, Vortigern became the shadow of the Island. Transformed into a white dragon, he ceased to be human but stubbornly refused to embrace the new era, clinging to the old one.
"You have no future! Extinction is your destiny!" the god proclaimed.
"The future is not something that is simply spoken, it's something that we create with our own hands. What qualifications do you, who have long given up, have to speak about the future in front of me?" Shirou countered.
"Aren't you afraid? Extinction... even a god is afraid of it!" it said.
"It's precisely because of fear that I have realized my own weakness. Only by recognizing our own weakness can we take firm steps forward."
Shirou walked step by step towards the god.
"Even if a thousand voices were to cry out, the extinction of Britain is an unalterable fact, beyond the power of even a god to change!"
"What gods cannot do, let men do it." Shirou replied.
"What a bold statement!" the god sneered.
"Humanity has always been bold, pushing forward despite insurmountable odds. While the gods may seem omnipotent, it's humans who have the ability to reach for the stars."
"You have no path ahead!" the god snapped.
"Our ancestors started with nothing more than dreams and hardship, yet they paved their own way and defined their destiny. So tell me, the last god, are you going to do it yourself or shall we send you on your way?" Shirou asked calmly, as he held Rhongomyniad.
The god burst out laughing, full of incomparable irony. He was being cornered by a mere ant - the very puppet he had once supported. How ironic!
"I may be in the abyss, but I am watching you, King of Men! Your fate will be the same as mine!" he exclaimed, his laughter growing heartier.
Suddenly, the god raised his palm and pierced through his own chest.
"It seems that you have chosen to do it on your own, so I won't send you off."
The king turned his back, gazing at Rhongomyniad in his hand. "Britain, your sorrow shall be heard by me!"
As he spoke those words, the lance began to glow with a brilliant light. The once scorching-hot weapon now felt cool to the touch, and the king sensed an immense power surging through it - the power of the Anchor of the Stars.
Without a doubt, this Anchor of the Stars now belonged to him, the last King of Men.
The radiant starlight dispelled the lingering shadow of the past. Though the road ahead was uncertain, the king pressed forward with firm resolve.
The struggle with the past had ended, but the battle for the future had only just begun!
