Word of mouth flew through the kingdom like wildfire.
The king, battered and drained by the brutal war, showed unmistakable signs of physical decline.
This sent waves of worry rippling through the ranks of knights, officials, and even the common folk.
Meanwhile, the power-hungry nobles, stifled by the king's rule and fueled by their own ambitions, couldn't help but relish the news, scheming behind closed doors.
And then, along came Shirou, putting an end to their machinations with swift and deadly chop.
Given his 'severe' injuries and deteriorating physical condition, it was only natural for him to make arrangements for his departure. Additionally, he devised a plan to draw out the lurking threats and eliminate those who posed the greatest danger, intending to send a clear message to others.
In truth, Shirou purposely infiltrated the ranks of these nobles to orchestrate the situation. By selecting someone to play the role of the ringleader and skillfully manipulating events, he provoked unconventional ideas within the hearts of these individuals. As a result, they unwittingly revealed their true intentions, ultimately leading to their own demise.
Following the battle, a significant portion of those who harbored personal agendas became wise enough to exercise self-restraint. However, it was possible that numerous covert figures remained, biding their time until his departure. Shirou lacked knowledge of their identities and it was impractical to confront them individually. His only option was to oversee the broader state of affairs and entrust the kingdom to Morgan.
As for those treacherous individuals, he could only left them to Aggravain.
These individuals might think that once Shirou left, the heavy burden pressing down on them would be lifted. But in reality, it was not so.
Shirou, as the king, embraced principles of benevolence, forgiveness, and justice. In simpler terms, this meant cultivating inner virtue and projecting regal conduct, governing the kingdom in accordance with just laws. Essentially, it involved upholding the core tenets of justice while handling matters with leniency. This approach fostered a harmonious atmosphere within the Camelot dynasty, endearing the people to their way of life.
On the contrary, Morgan stood apart from Shirou in her style.
While she presented herself as meek as a cat in Shirou's presence, her true nature was far more ruthless. One wouldn't be exaggerating by calling her a snake or scorpion woman.
If Shirou were a lion dutifully patrolling his territory, then she was a venomous snake imitating a lion. As long as you refrained from provoking her, things remained undisturbed. However, dare to cross her path, and you would swiftly find yourself facing a merciless massacre in the blink of an eye.
Agravain, on the other hand, was even colder and more heartless, a brutal executioner who acted with an iron fist.
...
Inside the palace.
"Check out what I've accomplished this month. What do you think?" Morgan passed the documents to Shirou, grinning like a kid eager for praise.
"This is seriously impressive. You're already a top-notch successor," Shirou glanced at the papers and gave a nod of approval.
Ever since designating Morgan as his successor, he had been discreetly keeping an eye on her.
Once entrusted with responsibilities, she had undoubtedly risen to the occasion.
As Morgan basked in the glow of his praise, a delighted smile illuminated her face.
"Come here," Shirou called out, motioning to her with a wave of his hand.
"What's the matter?" Morgan walked over, her expression puzzled.
He rose from the throne and gestured towards it. "Have a seat."
Morgan's expression froze, and she hastily waved her hands, stammering, "I'm just the successor for now. I... I'm not the king yet..."
She suspected that Shirou might be playing a trick on her.
"If I ask you to sit, then sit. It's important for you to become accustomed to this throne in advance," he gently pulled Morgan closer and guided her to take a seat on the throne.
She couldn't shake off her uneasiness while sitting on the imposing throne.
Shirou asked, "How does it feel?"
"Very... very uncomfortable," she replied hesitantly.
He nodded and encouraged her, "Then stay seated a while longer. This position will eventually be yours in the future."
"Are... are you planning to leave?" she hesitated for a moment before finally asking.
"Yes," he replied. "Next month, you can hold my funeral and take your place on the throne."
"Oh... oh... um... I'll excuse myself then..." Morgan stood up, feeling dazed.
"Alright," he nodded, settling back onto the throne and returning his attention to the documents.
Morgan made her way towards the entrance, stealing a glance back at Shirou, engrossed in the documents. Out of nowhere, an overwhelming sensation of unease washed over her, leaving her breathless.
It was an unfamiliar feeling.
She felt utterly perplexed, drowning in a sea of confusion.
She had secured the throne, hadn't she? So why this unsettling discomfort?
After all, he wasn't her true brother.
Moreover, the throne had returned to the Pendragon family.
Why, then, was she gripped by this unease?
Morgan couldn't make sense of it, but there was an unexplainable fire kindling within the depths of her heart.
She clenched her teeth and sought out Arcueid, determination etched on her face.
"What's the matter...?" Arcueid appeared bewildered.
"Use your Mystic Eyes on me!" Morgan demanded, her tone imposing.
"I don't want to!" she shook her head, refusing.
"Hurry, use your Mystic Eyes on me!" Morgan shouted urgently.
"I don't want to!" Arcueid covered her head and fled.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan chased after her, desperate to unravel the thoughts swirling within her own mind.
However, Arcueid adamantly refused to use her Mystic Eyes on Morgan. In fact, she went to great lengths to avoid her altogether.
Relentlessly pursuing Arcueid, Morgan eventually trapped her in a corner beneath Shirou's bed, where Arcueid trembled with fear, reluctant to even glance in Morgan's direction.
The situation only fueled Morgan's frustration, yet she felt utterly powerless and unable to do anything about it.
As the days passed, the inevitable day of parting drew nearer.
News of the king's grave illness had spread throughout Camelot, becoming common knowledge among its inhabitants.
Prayers for the king's recovery echoed throughout the kingdom, oblivious to the fact that the king had already resolved to leave.
Only a select few were privy to this knowledge, including Merlin, Morgan, Artoria, Kay, Agravain, Gawain, and Guinevere. They spent their days and nights together, aware of the impending separation, while the majority remained blissfully unaware.
Initially, Shirou had decided to keep Guinevere in the dark as well. However, being a fairy, Guinevere possessed a keen intuition that couldn't be deceived.
"When do you plan to leave?" Guinevere asked, her attention split between the paperwork before her.
"The day after tomorrow," Shirou replied.
A heavy silence fell upon Guinevere. She struggled to find her words, feeling a strange mix of emotions. She should be overjoyed, elated even. The bastard king, who had exploited her labor and made her suffer, would soon be gone. Liberation was within her grasp, and her hair would no longer be subject to mistreatment.
But why? Why didn't even a trace of happiness stir within her heart?
"By the way, Guinevere," Shirou began.
Startled, she quickly replied, "Yes—! I'm here!"
"Why are you in such a rush? I have no intention of pressuring you. I simply want to ask you something."
"Please, go ahead."
"The end of the Age of Gods, did it have any impact on you?"
"Yes... My very essence is that of a fairy. Without true ether, my life force would wither away," she admitted, bowing her head.
"I see... So, that's how it is..." Shirou's voice tinged with a touch of melancholy. "The Age of Gods will come to a definitive close in approximately thirty years. During this period, seek out a capable and astute successor among the younger generation. And when the time is right, depart without any lingering attachments," he advised. "A human dynasty has no need to entangle itself with the affairs of fairies."
"Yes... my king," Guinevere responded as she lowered her head.
Shirou extended his hand, and Guinevere raised her gaze, meeting his open palm.
In the past, the king would seize her hair, causing her pain and forcing her tears to flow. But this time, the king refrained from such actions.
With a gentle touch, he patted her shoulder and softly said, "You have worked hard in these past years."
Then, the king departed.
Guinevere bowed her head, tears cascading down her cheeks.
...
The day of their parting drew nearer, and Shirou found himself once again hesitant and wavering.
"Why are you hesitating now?" Merlin asked.
Shirou replied, "Once I depart, can they truly govern this kingdom? There are still hidden dangers lurking within, and formidable enemies like Attila exist on the continent. Even the Western Empire, supported by the Eastern Empire, is resurging. Especially Tiberius, the Sword Emperor, who ceaselessly incites the Western Empire to attack the Visigoths. I fear that he harbors intentions towards Camelot. If I were to leave, I worry that these external enemies might exploit the situation and sow chaos."
Unbeknownst to Shirou, Artoria stood at the doorway, listening to his words. She remained silent for a moment, then turned and walked away.
Clutching Excalibur in her hand, pressing the scabbard against her chest, and carrying ten Gáe Bolg, Artoria galloped on her trusted Dun Stallion, traversing the English Channel under the shimmering starlit sky. Her destination? The recently rejuvenated capital of the Western Empire.
"Who goes there?" bellowed the vigilant city guards.
"I am Artoria Pendragon, a knight!" she declared with resolute tone. Brandishing her sword and spear, she charged alone, mounted on her horse, into the heart of the slowly recuperating Western Empire. Her entrance mirrored the ferocity she once displayed against the onslaught of magical beasts of Vortigern, relentlessly hacking and thrusting with each swing of her sword and jab of her spear!
But she had undergone a transformation since then. In the past, her mind was consumed by thoughts of loyalty, burdened by the guilt of relinquishing the throne to Shirou. However, everything had now changed.
With him by her side, with his image constantly in her thoughts, she felt an invincible resolve. There were no boundaries holding her back anymore; she could accomplish anything!
"The Sword Emperor... The Sword Emperor has died!"
"Both emperors are dead!"
"What in the world is going on!?"
"How could this have happened?"
"Who... Who is she, really?"
The soldiers of the Western Roman Empire trembled with fear and apprehension.
Artoria surged forward, cutting through the heart of the capital, her path leading her to the palace. With sword and spear in hand, she struck down both the Sword Emperor and Emperor Valentinian III.
She beheaded them all, carefully wrapping their severed heads in cloth. The once immaculate white armor she wore was now smeared with blood, casting an unsettling aura around her. Her eyes held unwavering determination as she rode away from the terrified gazes of countless Roman soldiers.
The setting sun hung in the sky, casting its warm glow in the distance.
Artoria hurried back to Camelot under the cover of nigh and went into the palace.
"Artie, what have you done?" Shirou was taken aback as he saw her drenched in blood.
She gently placed the cloth down, revealing the heads of Sword Emperor and Emperor Valentinian III, their expressions frozen in terror. She lowered her head and pleaded, "Please... my king, abdicate the throne!"
Shirou stood there, momentarily stunned by the sight, but a smile soon illuminated his face. "Thank you, Artie. Thank you for granting me liberation."
He removed the weighty crown from his head and gently set it down on the desk.
Drawing out Caliburn, he gazed upon its blade, marveling at its icy, razor-sharp edge.
A rush of memories flooded his mind, carrying him back through time.
The year he had spent studying at Ector Manor, honing his language skills and shaping his destiny.
The wondrous journey, akin to a sprawling field of lilies, filled with beauty and hope.
The chaos that engulfed Camelot, testing his resolve and mettle.
The relentless invasion of Vortigern's army, where battles raged and lives hung in the balance.
The defensive struggle in Caerleon, as his people fought bravely to protect their homeland.
The arduous trials faced in Cornwall, where challenges and hardships pushed him to his limits.
The cataclysmic war that marked the end of the Age of Gods, forever altering the course of history.
The pivotal conflict that brought down the Crimson Moon, vanquishing a formidable foe.
And finally, the grand ceremony that crowned him as the rightful ruler, the culmination of his journey.
Unbeknownst to him, he had gone through so many things without realizing it.
In the tapestry of his existence, he had encountered moments of breathtaking beauty, moments of profound despair, moments of struggle, moments of bone-weary exhaustion, and moments of frenzied hysteria. Unbeknownst to him, he had traversed a path that stretched far and wide, a road both long and winding.
And now, the time had come to draw this journey to a close.
Shirou sheathed the sword back into its scabbard and placed it carefully on the desk. He spoke softly, "Now is the time for mourning..."
...
Get the latest chapters up to Chapter 635 on my Patreon: patreon.com/bcloud
Word of mouth flew through the kingdom like wildfire.
The king, battered and drained by the brutal war, showed unmistakable signs of physical decline.
This sent waves of worry rippling through the ranks of knights, officials, and even the common folk.
Meanwhile, the power-hungry nobles, stifled by the king's rule and fueled by their own ambitions, couldn't help but relish the news, scheming behind closed doors.
And then, along came Shirou, putting an end to their machinations with swift and deadly chop.
Given his 'severe' injuries and deteriorating physical condition, it was only natural for him to make arrangements for his departure. Additionally, he devised a plan to draw out the lurking threats and eliminate those who posed the greatest danger, intending to send a clear message to others.
In truth, Shirou purposely infiltrated the ranks of these nobles to orchestrate the situation. By selecting someone to play the role of the ringleader and skillfully manipulating events, he provoked unconventional ideas within the hearts of these individuals. As a result, they unwittingly revealed their true intentions, ultimately leading to their own demise.
Following the battle, a significant portion of those who harbored personal agendas became wise enough to exercise self-restraint. However, it was possible that numerous covert figures remained, biding their time until his departure. Shirou lacked knowledge of their identities and it was impractical to confront them individually. His only option was to oversee the broader state of affairs and entrust the kingdom to Morgan.
As for those treacherous individuals, he could only left them to Aggravain.
These individuals might think that once Shirou left, the heavy burden pressing down on them would be lifted. But in reality, it was not so.
Shirou, as the king, embraced principles of benevolence, forgiveness, and justice. In simpler terms, this meant cultivating inner virtue and projecting regal conduct, governing the kingdom in accordance with just laws. Essentially, it involved upholding the core tenets of justice while handling matters with leniency. This approach fostered a harmonious atmosphere within the Camelot dynasty, endearing the people to their way of life.
On the contrary, Morgan stood apart from Shirou in her style.
While she presented herself as meek as a cat in Shirou's presence, her true nature was far more ruthless. One wouldn't be exaggerating by calling her a snake or scorpion woman.
If Shirou were a lion dutifully patrolling his territory, then she was a venomous snake imitating a lion. As long as you refrained from provoking her, things remained undisturbed. However, dare to cross her path, and you would swiftly find yourself facing a merciless massacre in the blink of an eye.
Agravain, on the other hand, was even colder and more heartless, a brutal executioner who acted with an iron fist.
...
Inside the palace.
"Check out what I've accomplished this month. What do you think?" Morgan passed the documents to Shirou, grinning like a kid eager for praise.
"This is seriously impressive. You're already a top-notch successor," Shirou glanced at the papers and gave a nod of approval.
Ever since designating Morgan as his successor, he had been discreetly keeping an eye on her.
Once entrusted with responsibilities, she had undoubtedly risen to the occasion.
As Morgan basked in the glow of his praise, a delighted smile illuminated her face.
"Come here," Shirou called out, motioning to her with a wave of his hand.
"What's the matter?" Morgan walked over, her expression puzzled.
He rose from the throne and gestured towards it. "Have a seat."
Morgan's expression froze, and she hastily waved her hands, stammering, "I'm just the successor for now. I... I'm not the king yet..."
She suspected that Shirou might be playing a trick on her.
"If I ask you to sit, then sit. It's important for you to become accustomed to this throne in advance," he gently pulled Morgan closer and guided her to take a seat on the throne.
She couldn't shake off her uneasiness while sitting on the imposing throne.
Shirou asked, "How does it feel?"
"Very... very uncomfortable," she replied hesitantly.
He nodded and encouraged her, "Then stay seated a while longer. This position will eventually be yours in the future."
"Are... are you planning to leave?" she hesitated for a moment before finally asking.
"Yes," he replied. "Next month, you can hold my funeral and take your place on the throne."
"Oh... oh... um... I'll excuse myself then..." Morgan stood up, feeling dazed.
"Alright," he nodded, settling back onto the throne and returning his attention to the documents.
Morgan made her way towards the entrance, stealing a glance back at Shirou, engrossed in the documents. Out of nowhere, an overwhelming sensation of unease washed over her, leaving her breathless.
It was an unfamiliar feeling.
She felt utterly perplexed, drowning in a sea of confusion.
She had secured the throne, hadn't she? So why this unsettling discomfort?
After all, he wasn't her true brother.
Moreover, the throne had returned to the Pendragon family.
Why, then, was she gripped by this unease?
Morgan couldn't make sense of it, but there was an unexplainable fire kindling within the depths of her heart.
She clenched her teeth and sought out Arcueid, determination etched on her face.
"What's the matter...?" Arcueid appeared bewildered.
"Use your Mystic Eyes on me!" Morgan demanded, her tone imposing.
"I don't want to!" she shook her head, refusing.
"Hurry, use your Mystic Eyes on me!" Morgan shouted urgently.
"I don't want to!" Arcueid covered her head and fled.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan chased after her, desperate to unravel the thoughts swirling within her own mind.
However, Arcueid adamantly refused to use her Mystic Eyes on Morgan. In fact, she went to great lengths to avoid her altogether.
Relentlessly pursuing Arcueid, Morgan eventually trapped her in a corner beneath Shirou's bed, where Arcueid trembled with fear, reluctant to even glance in Morgan's direction.
The situation only fueled Morgan's frustration, yet she felt utterly powerless and unable to do anything about it.
As the days passed, the inevitable day of parting drew nearer.
News of the king's grave illness had spread throughout Camelot, becoming common knowledge among its inhabitants.
Prayers for the king's recovery echoed throughout the kingdom, oblivious to the fact that the king had already resolved to leave.
Only a select few were privy to this knowledge, including Merlin, Morgan, Artoria, Kay, Agravain, Gawain, and Guinevere. They spent their days and nights together, aware of the impending separation, while the majority remained blissfully unaware.
Initially, Shirou had decided to keep Guinevere in the dark as well. However, being a fairy, Guinevere possessed a keen intuition that couldn't be deceived.
"When do you plan to leave?" Guinevere asked, her attention split between the paperwork before her.
"The day after tomorrow," Shirou replied.
A heavy silence fell upon Guinevere. She struggled to find her words, feeling a strange mix of emotions. She should be overjoyed, elated even. The bastard king, who had exploited her labor and made her suffer, would soon be gone. Liberation was within her grasp, and her hair would no longer be subject to mistreatment.
But why? Why didn't even a trace of happiness stir within her heart?
"By the way, Guinevere," Shirou began.
Startled, she quickly replied, "Yes—! I'm here!"
"Why are you in such a rush? I have no intention of pressuring you. I simply want to ask you something."
"Please, go ahead."
"The end of the Age of Gods, did it have any impact on you?"
"Yes... My very essence is that of a fairy. Without true ether, my life force would wither away," she admitted, bowing her head.
"I see... So, that's how it is..." Shirou's voice tinged with a touch of melancholy. "The Age of Gods will come to a definitive close in approximately thirty years. During this period, seek out a capable and astute successor among the younger generation. And when the time is right, depart without any lingering attachments," he advised. "A human dynasty has no need to entangle itself with the affairs of fairies."
"Yes... my king," Guinevere responded as she lowered her head.
Shirou extended his hand, and Guinevere raised her gaze, meeting his open palm.
In the past, the king would seize her hair, causing her pain and forcing her tears to flow. But this time, the king refrained from such actions.
With a gentle touch, he patted her shoulder and softly said, "You have worked hard in these past years."
Then, the king departed.
Guinevere bowed her head, tears cascading down her cheeks.
...
The day of their parting drew nearer, and Shirou found himself once again hesitant and wavering.
"Why are you hesitating now?" Merlin asked.
Shirou replied, "Once I depart, can they truly govern this kingdom? There are still hidden dangers lurking within, and formidable enemies like Attila exist on the continent. Even the Western Empire, supported by the Eastern Empire, is resurging. Especially Tiberius, the Sword Emperor, who ceaselessly incites the Western Empire to attack the Visigoths. I fear that he harbors intentions towards Camelot. If I were to leave, I worry that these external enemies might exploit the situation and sow chaos."
Unbeknownst to Shirou, Artoria stood at the doorway, listening to his words. She remained silent for a moment, then turned and walked away.
Clutching Excalibur in her hand, pressing the scabbard against her chest, and carrying ten Gáe Bolg, Artoria galloped on her trusted Dun Stallion, traversing the English Channel under the shimmering starlit sky. Her destination? The recently rejuvenated capital of the Western Empire.
"Who goes there?" bellowed the vigilant city guards.
"I am Artoria Pendragon, a knight!" she declared with resolute tone. Brandishing her sword and spear, she charged alone, mounted on her horse, into the heart of the slowly recuperating Western Empire. Her entrance mirrored the ferocity she once displayed against the onslaught of magical beasts of Vortigern, relentlessly hacking and thrusting with each swing of her sword and jab of her spear!
But she had undergone a transformation since then. In the past, her mind was consumed by thoughts of loyalty, burdened by the guilt of relinquishing the throne to Shirou. However, everything had now changed.
With him by her side, with his image constantly in her thoughts, she felt an invincible resolve. There were no boundaries holding her back anymore; she could accomplish anything!
"The Sword Emperor... The Sword Emperor has died!"
"Both emperors are dead!"
"What in the world is going on!?"
"How could this have happened?"
"Who... Who is she, really?"
The soldiers of the Western Roman Empire trembled with fear and apprehension.
Artoria surged forward, cutting through the heart of the capital, her path leading her to the palace. With sword and spear in hand, she struck down both the Sword Emperor and Emperor Valentinian III.
She beheaded them all, carefully wrapping their severed heads in cloth. The once immaculate white armor she wore was now smeared with blood, casting an unsettling aura around her. Her eyes held unwavering determination as she rode away from the terrified gazes of countless Roman soldiers.
The setting sun hung in the sky, casting its warm glow in the distance.
Artoria hurried back to Camelot under the cover of nigh and went into the palace.
"Artie, what have you done?" Shirou was taken aback as he saw her drenched in blood.
She gently placed the cloth down, revealing the heads of Sword Emperor and Emperor Valentinian III, their expressions frozen in terror. She lowered her head and pleaded, "Please... my king, abdicate the throne!"
Shirou stood there, momentarily stunned by the sight, but a smile soon illuminated his face. "Thank you, Artie. Thank you for granting me liberation."
He removed the weighty crown from his head and gently set it down on the desk.
Drawing out Caliburn, he gazed upon its blade, marveling at its icy, razor-sharp edge.
A rush of memories flooded his mind, carrying him back through time.
The year he had spent studying at Ector Manor, honing his language skills and shaping his destiny.
The wondrous journey, akin to a sprawling field of lilies, filled with beauty and hope.
The chaos that engulfed Camelot, testing his resolve and mettle.
The relentless invasion of Vortigern's army, where battles raged and lives hung in the balance.
The defensive struggle in Caerleon, as his people fought bravely to protect their homeland.
The arduous trials faced in Cornwall, where challenges and hardships pushed him to his limits.
The cataclysmic war that marked the end of the Age of Gods, forever altering the course of history.
The pivotal conflict that brought down the Crimson Moon, vanquishing a formidable foe.
And finally, the grand ceremony that crowned him as the rightful ruler, the culmination of his journey.
Unbeknownst to him, he had gone through so many things without realizing it.
In the tapestry of his existence, he had encountered moments of breathtaking beauty, moments of profound despair, moments of struggle, moments of bone-weary exhaustion, and moments of frenzied hysteria. Unbeknownst to him, he had traversed a path that stretched far and wide, a road both long and winding.
And now, the time had come to draw this journey to a close.
Shirou sheathed the sword back into its scabbard and placed it carefully on the desk. He spoke softly, "Now is the time for mourning..."
...
Get the latest chapters up to Chapter 635 on my Patreon: patreon.com/bcloud
