All the Masters present stared at Gilgamesh in shock. The reason was simple—how could someone possess so many Noble Phantasms at once?! At first, they thought Gilgamesh's Gate of Babylon was simply an illusion or that his treasury contained fake replicas. But upon closer inspection, they realized—every weapon was genuine. No, more than that. Some were even fragments pieced together from countless treasures across timelines.
Meanwhile, somewhere deep in the shadows, a mysterious figure burst into laughter.
"It appeared! Hahaha! It finally appeared!"
With a wave of his hand, a black shadow emerged behind him and vanished into the darkness.
. . . . . . .
Gilgamesh didn't move from his position. Instead, one by one, Noble Phantasms launched from his Gate of Babylon, propelled by waves of pure magical energy.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
A barrage of treasures hurtled toward the group. Arthur—unfazed by Gilgamesh's arrogance—narrowed his eyes in irritation. Magical energy surged around him, and a brilliant suit of radiant armor began to form across his body.
The treasures reached him, but Arthur remained calm. In a flash, a golden sword manifested in his hand. With a single swing, he deflected several Noble Phantasms effortlessly, sending them crashing into a nearby abandoned building.
The structure groaned under the impact—then,
Boom!
The building collapsed in a cloud of dust and rubble.
Everyone turned toward Arthur's majestic figure—his golden sword gleaming, his armor shining with an ethereal light. His strength, his presence, left them stunned.
But the most shocked of all was—
Artoria's voice rang out from behind Arthur, hoarse and shaken.
"Impossible! That sword… How can you have it?!"
There was no mistaking it. Others might be fooled, but she knew—she would never be wrong about this sword.
That golden sword that once signified her claim to kingship…
It was Caliburn—the Golden Sword of Assured Victory!
The very sword she had drawn from the stone… the one she had long since lost and thought gone forever!
"No way... Is he—?"
Arthur stepped forward calmly, his voice carrying a regal tone.
"Everyone, allow me to introduce myself formally. I am Arthur. Arthur Pendragon, King of Britain. I am not a Heroic Spirit summoned by the Grail, but... given this opportunity, how could I possibly ignore it?"
His voice was soft—neither as bold as Iskandar's, nor as cold as Artoria's, nor as arrogant as Gilgamesh's. There was a distinct indifference in his tone, yet within that indifference was an overwhelming presence—an aura of true royalty that could not be denied.
"Impossible... There can only be one King Arthur!" Artoria's expression turned frantic, teetering on the edge of emotional collapse. And honestly, who wouldn't react that way upon seeing an alternate-gender version of themselves?
Arthur gave her a faint smile, calm and slightly teasing. "Why are you so surprised? You should've known this already."
Artoria's eyes widened. She remembered the scene in the theater... Everything suddenly made sense.
"But... you're—!"
"What's so strange? Haven't you seen alternate versions of yourself before?" Arthur replied casually, that teasing look on his face pushing her to the brink of exasperation.
Her memories resurfaced. Sixty years ago, during the Third Holy Grail War, she had been summoned by twin sisters from a foreign land. Those sisters, thanks to a unique bloodline and summoning ritual, could summon the same Heroic Spirit—but as mirrored opposites, light and dark. That was when she first encountered Black Saber—a version of herself corrupted by hatred and twisted ideals.
So yes, Artoria had come to accept parallel selves... But this one? A male version of her?! That was something she was not ready for.
"Still can't accept it?" Arthur asked, watching Artoria's ahoge twitch wildly. It was so ridiculous that it was almost comical—but he wisely kept himself from laughing.
"Ahahaha!!"
"HAHAHAHA!!" Two voices burst out laughing. Diarmuid managed to stifle his chuckles, but Iskandar? He roared without restraint.
"Oi! So you're the same person?! Hahaha! This is fantastic!"
Arthur gave Iskandar a weary glance. "Not exactly. While Artoria and I both bear the title of King Arthur, our experiences, our worlds, our choices—they're all different. We are... different people sharing a legend."
Seeing Artoria flustered, Arthur kindly stepped in to ease her discomfort. And truly, while others like Lancer Artoria, Saber Alter, and even Lion King shared a core identity, they were all ultimately variations born of different fates. But Arthur... he was fundamentally something else.
Artoria nodded hesitantly. "Yes... that's right." Her voice was resolute—but her face clearly showed she wasn't convinced.
"Enough! You dare mock me with this farce?! If you're the same as that woman—then die with her!"
Gilgamesh's eyes gleamed with fury. He unleashed the Gate of Babylon once again, countless treasures raining down toward the two Kings.
But then—suddenly—the very earth trembled.
A dense surge of magical energy began to gather at the ground.
A black mist coalesced into a form—a figure slowly emerged, clad in dark, forbidding armor. But this wasn't armor forged by human hands—it was almost primal, crude, forged of pure black iron. Ominous red light seeped from the gaps between the plates.
This was no ordinary Heroic Spirit.
Darkness. Malice. Death.
That's all anyone could feel as they beheld the terrifying presence before them.
A new Heroic Spirit had arrived—but what was it?
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Need More Chapters?
Give this fic more Power stones!!!!!
Every 250 Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter
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