Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

"Come... the power I've longed for! The crown I've dreamed of! Come—!!"

Her screams echoed through the hall, mingling with the faint groans of the dying on the ground and the roar of battle within the crystal ball, weaving together a bizarre symphony foreshadowing final destruction and a brutal coronation. All the traitors gathered there wore expressions of certainty or ferocious excitement, as if they could already see the queen's throne crumbling and a new order being established beneath their feet.

Children of Paradise: Fated Showdown - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

Is my country...beautiful?

Please tell me—was this struggle and journey spanning two thousand years worthwhile or in vain?

What is the purpose of everything I do? Is it for the intoxicating, unrestrained pleasure of domination? Or is it merely an indulgence in the illusory satisfaction of controlling everything?

From a delicate flower needing shelter in a greenhouse to a queen single-handedly holding up this crumbling sky... what did I rely on? Was it fleeting luck? Was it blood-stained slaughter? Or was it ruthless domination?

No… there has never been a moment of “smoothness.” What remains in my heart is only this suffocating, day-to-day pressure, and that endless… betrayal, like a leech.

So what exactly is it that has kept me from giving up?

Was it the teachings of the first emperor, long since blurred yet etched into my very bones? Was it the complex ripples in my heart that arose upon seeing Caster—the girl who shared a similar starting point with me—arrive? Or perhaps… a faint hope that these “children” from a foreign land could help me break free from this nightmare that is swallowing everything like a whirlpool?

No...none of those.

Everything I have done... from beginning to end, has been for this Britain, for this land inhabited by fairies, to fulfill... that unbearably heavy "responsibility" that His Majesty once tried to teach me.

This is a long, recurring dream of destruction, witnessed over and over again. There is no reward, no redemption. Even at the "end" to which all things will eventually reach, those birds with outstretched wings will still sing in vain for tomorrow.

So… please offer guidance. Guide this weary soul to that… "ideal land" it can never truly reach.

-

Though not yet the dead of winter, the air atop Camelot's tallest tower was as biting as an Arctic wind, each gust carrying a piercing edge. In the howling wind, the queen's black robes fluttered wildly, her long hair, now a pure silver-blue, stripped of its golden luster. Each gust of wind seemed to stir not merely up air currents, but rather up two millennia of melancholy, loss, and unfathomable sorrow.

That was the price she paid for her mission as a "savior": constant loss, fleeting gains, and then, even more complete loss. The pitch-black magic circle unfolding beneath her feet, its edges flowing with icy blue magical runes, was the "result" she had gained after relinquishing all the warmth, innocence, and illusions of being "Ash." This power was cold and mighty, yet permeated with a chilling loneliness and pain.

At this moment, the queen, who was essentially "displaced," stood alone on the edge of the tower, waiting—waiting for the magicians from foreign lands, and for the third one to inherit the title of "Child of Paradise," Artoria Caster.

The wind suddenly picked up and violently ripped off the black veil she used to cover her face.

Beneath the veil was a face so pale it was almost transparent. Her once bright blue eyes were now as dim as dying embers, filled with endless weariness, vicissitudes, and an unyielding sorrow. Yet, when her gaze fell upon the figures who had finally overcome numerous obstacles and stepped onto this final stage, a subtle ripple of... almost relief flickered in those dim eyes.

They did it. The hardships, betrayals, and sacrifices along the way could not stop them. Now, like swords forged in fire and butterflies emerging from their cocoons, they stand proudly before her.

"...Looks like you haven't disappointed me." Morgan's voice cut through the howling wind, calm yet carrying a strange sense of relief, as if some burden had been lifted. "The people of Chaldea. And you... Caster."

“Your Majesty…” Castor stepped forward, his icy blue eyes filled with complex emotions—worry, confusion, and a hint of heartache. “Do you… really want to do that? This is everything you’ve painstakingly maintained for two thousand years… Don’t you… have anything to say?”

“Is that so?” Morgan tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost self-deprecating smile curving his lips. “What else… is there to say?”

Her tone suddenly turned cold, carrying an almost resolute sharpness:

"Cast! Look closely—at my original form!"

Before she finished speaking, a powerful blue magical light suddenly erupted from her body! Complex magic runes spun and converged rapidly around her, as if peeling away a thick outer shell. As the blinding light gradually dissipated, what appeared before everyone's eyes was a figure that made everyone hold their breath in disbelief.

Her knee-length hair, now streaked with her signature silver, was strikingly similar to Castor's. Gone was the imposing black robes of a queen; instead, she wore a white dress and lightweight breastplate, almost identical in style to Castor's. A black ribbon held her hair back, and a black bow tied at the neckline—these details silently spoke of her origins as "Ash," so remarkably similar to Castor's, and the long-buried attire of a "savior."

Mashu suddenly realized—Morgan's insistence on using the water mirror to send her back two thousand years was not only to let her witness history, but also to let her, and everyone else, see clearly how "Morgan" went from being an idealistic "ash" to being crushed by reality, burned by betrayal, and finally giving up the path of redemption, and donning the cold mask of a queen.

Looking at the "girl" before them, whose appearance and temperament were strikingly similar to Castor's, yet shrouded in the endless vicissitudes of time and the sedimentation of despair, Fujimaru Ritsuka and Da Vinci were speechless for a moment. A thousand words were stuck in their chests, and they did not know where to begin.

Morgan, revealing the "ash" posture, pierced Castor with a gaze like an icicle, his voice filled with two thousand years of suppressed pain, self-reproach, and unvented rage:

"Cast! Do you still think all of this is a lie?!"

She took a step forward, as if she were standing not on the edge of a tower, but on the abyss of memories.

"After King Uther died... I have been filled with self-blame! I could not protect the entire Fairy Kingdom! I could not achieve the glory that the first emperor had forged! All I can do is... wield my power as I please! All I can do is use my strength to vent this boundless anger and powerlessness!"

Her gaze abruptly shifted to Mashu, her eyes sharp as knives:

“Mash! You should know very well! At that time—I watched the Black Knight die right in front of me! That was the 'beauty' I had so painstakingly grasped, so fleeting, so like a bubble! Right before my eyes… it was completely crushed and destroyed!”

Memory of Londinium—this is the remnant of the "ideal land" that the savior "Fan" glimpsed at the end of his dreams during countless weary and hopeful nights. Now, it is no longer an illusory solace, but has transformed into the sharpest curse and trial, manifesting itself in this realm of water mirrors.

The ripples on the water resonated with the remnants of that distant dream. In an instant, countless phantoms of weapons—swords, spears, halberds…—gleaming with a cold metallic luster or an illusory magical glow, appeared densely in the air around them, like ghosts awakening from the dust of history. They were not physical entities, yet they exuded the heavy aura of their former wielders' will and glorious past. These phantoms of radiant weapons existed for only a moment, then, like sandcastles scattered by the wind, silently turned into specks of light and dust, vanishing into nothingness.

However, dissipation was not the end. The conceptual impact released by the forced erasure of the weapon's "existence" transformed into an invisible yet terrifying shockwave, which erupted with a deafening roar centered on the Water Mirror Domain!

"Ugh—!"

"cough!"

"Well!"

In the instant the impact swept past, everyone—whether it was Mashu struggling to get up, Ritsuka and Senji Muramasa standing ready, or Da Vinci and Percival trying to analyze the battle from the rear—felt as if a scorching hot iron had been plunged directly into their chests! Their internal organs convulsed and burned violently under the indescribable power, and their vision was completely swallowed by a pure, senseless white light that stripped away all senses! Consciousness flickered and threatened to go out like a candle flame in a storm.

As the devastating white light finally faded and vision refocused, what came into view were his comrades lying haphazardly on the ground. Some were barely supporting themselves with their weapons, while others collapsed to the ground, all pale-faced and breathing rapidly, clearly suffering from severe internal injuries.

Morgan stood still, looking at their disheveled appearance. His eyes did not show the arrogance of a victor, but rather a deep, almost disappointed weariness.

"Is this all you can do after all this time?" Her voice was calm, yet more hurtful than any rebuke. "Just as I said before, if we stop at the end of this road... then everything is meaningless."

So strong...

Overwhelmingly strong.

It wasn't simply a matter of vast magical reserves, nor the bizarre nature of their attacks. It was a deeper, almost rule-based difference in "existence." They faced not just a powerful enemy, but the very "result" condensed from two thousand years of desperate choices and sacrifices. It wasn't that they lacked a chance of victory, but rather that before this colossal being, even the qualification to "confront" it seemed so insignificant.

However, Morgan did not go all out. This was more like a severe "test," a cold "reminder."

Gritting their teeth, enduring the excruciating pain and weakness within them, they helped each other to their feet, staggering back to their feet. Their eyes met, and they saw the horror and determination in each other's eyes. Morgan was clearly holding back, but even this casual strike, delivered while "holding back," nearly routed them. Conventional fighting methods offered absolutely no hope.

"This can't go on!" Leonardo da Vinci quickly analyzed in a low voice, his eyes sharp. "We have no advantage in a head-on confrontation, and a war of attrition is a dead end! ...That's it! Perhaps we can try the same tactics we used against Melusine? Focus our efforts on one point and disrupt their rhythm!"

Fujimaru Ritsuka glanced at the Spirit Origin Capsule, brimming with violent power, clutched tightly in her hand, then looked at the figure in the distance who seemed to be one with the heavy history of Britain. She took a deep breath: "Can it work?... But now, we have no choice but to take the plunge!"

There was no time to hesitate. Morgan's power was like a bottomless abyss; every second they delayed diminished their chances of victory. Everyone quickly exchanged glances and assumed fighting stances. Ritsuka gripped the capsule containing the Awakening of Rage Flames in her palm, ready to unleash its destructive power at any moment.

Watching the crowd below quickly regroup and their fighting spirit reignite, Morgan was not surprised at all. Instead, a faint, almost approving glint flashed in the depths of her icy blue eyes. They had to find this method, and they had to muster this courage—this was the proper posture for reaching the end. She slowly raised the black staff in her hand, its tip shimmering with an eerie light, preparing to meet the next onslaught.

however--

"and many more!"

Castor's clear voice rang out, interrupting the impending melee.

She stepped forward, standing between Morgan and the others, her clear, firm icy blue eyes scanning Ritsuka, Mashu, Muramasa, Percival, and Da Vinci in turn.

"The battle to come... I ask that none of you interfere." Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable resolve. "This is... a battle between Her Majesty and me. I must prove to her—prove that all the path I've walked and the efforts I've made over the years have not been in vain!"

Before she finished speaking, she slammed the chosen staff into the ground!

"Om-!"

A dazzling, massive barrier of light, swirling with intricate star patterns and illusory petals, rose from the ground like a city wall, instantly creating a barrier between her and the Chaldeans! The barrier was solid and warm, yet it completely isolated them. Caster stood alone on the inner side of the barrier, facing Morgan across the distance; while Ritsuka and the others were completely blocked on the outer side.

"Miss Artoria?!" Ritsuka exclaimed in surprise, instinctively reaching out to touch the light barrier.

A large hand covered with a rough gauntlet pressed down on her shoulder. It was Senko Muramasa.

“Child, let her go.” The old swordsman’s voice was deep and solemn, his gaze piercing through the light barrier and landing on the petite yet upright figure. “You must know that there are inviolable ‘principles’ in all things under heaven. When two beings standing at the pinnacle are making a final judgment for their respective ‘paths’ and ‘territories,’ the unauthorized intervention of others will only taint the essence of this duel.”

He paused, a complex light flashing in his eyes.

"This is not merely a contest of strength... but also the passing down and conclusion of the destiny of the 'Children of Paradise.' We have no right to interfere, but we must... witness it with our own eyes."

Mashu stepped forward and gently took Ritsuka's other slightly trembling hand, her azure eyes filled with understanding and support: "Senpai... this is Ms. Artoria's own choice, a 'proof' she must face alone. All we can do is believe in her and be here... to witness it to the end."

Within the barrier of light, Caster turned away from the worried gazes of her companions, facing once more the one who had taught and honed her, the one she now had to overcome as the final "obstacle." She took a deep breath, holding the chosen staff firmly in front of her, her icy blue eyes now devoid of any hesitation, filled only with the purest resolve and fighting spirit.

Outside the barrier of light, Ritsuka slowly loosened her clenched fist. She gazed at Caster's resolute back, then at Mash with her unwavering gaze and the solemn-faced Senko Muramasa beside her, and finally, nodded gently.

Silent trust transforms into a profound vigil.

The final stage has been cleared. Only the second generation and their successors, spanning two millennia, remain, to engage in the long-awaited, fateful duel concerning the future of Britain and the true meaning of "salvation" against the backdrop of the ruins of this ideal land.

Helpless. Separated by a warm yet unbreakable barrier of light, the Chaldeans were like observers placed outside a glass box, forced to watch helplessly as the resolute fighting spirit within reached its zenith, almost solidifying. They could do nothing; any intervention would be blasphemous, any cry a disturbance. They could only silently and anxiously bear witness.

However, these were just assumptions. The pressure that actually arrived far exceeded Castor's most severe estimates.

His Majesty's strength... is dozens of times greater than his own? No, perhaps hundreds of times more. It's not a simple difference in magical power, but a near-instinctive difference in "density of existence" accumulated over years, through experience, countless life-and-death trials, and rebirths from despair. Before engaging in a full-blown magical duel, Caster decided to probe with physical techniques first, searching for any possible weakness.

However, the body's instincts were frantically sounding alarms! Every cell was screaming to "escape"! The instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm was trying to seize control of consciousness, because it clearly "saw" that rashly approaching that figure would be tantamount to courting death.

Escape?

If she chooses to back down now, all her previous vows, her accumulated resolve, and the expectations placed upon her will vanish into thin air. What awaits her will be an abyss of self-denial that is more unbearable than death.

"Haa—!"

Consciousness overwhelmed the screams of fear with greater force! Caster exerted force with her feet, her figure shooting towards Morgan like lightning. Her fist, brimming with power, tore through the air, carrying all her determination and the sharpness of a newborn calf, aimed straight at Morgan's face!

Then--

"Snapped!"

A soft click, crisp and clean, even with a touch of casualness.

Morgan didn't even move a step; just as the fist was about to strike, she raised her hand, her five fingers like iron clamps, firmly and easily gripping Caster's wrist. The powerful impact was like a stone thrown into the sea, failing to budge her in the slightest.

Before Castor could even gasp in shock, Morgan's other hand shot out like a ghost, not to attack, but with its five fingers spread wide, and suddenly gripped her entire face!

"Uh!"

A tremendous force surged through her, and Caster was shoved backward by Morgan without any resistance, her back slamming hard against the cold wall! A suffocating sensation instantly gripped her throat; Morgan's fingers, like cold steel hoops, pressed against her cheekbones and jaw, making it difficult for her to breathe, and her vision darkened slightly due to lack of oxygen.

"Haven't I... taught you many times?" Morgan's face was close, his icy blue eyes were devoid of any emotion, only pure sternness, and his voice was low and cold, "You just can't remember. Starting with such a straightforward and unprepared attack, once the opponent catches your trajectory, the result will be an instant counterattack."

Her fingers tightened slightly, bringing even more intense pressure and pain.

"Since you've chosen not to let those foreign children interfere..." Morgan's tone suddenly turned cold, and a chilling killing intent spread like a tangible current, "then this time, I will show absolutely no mercy."

Before she could finish speaking, she suddenly tightened her grip on Caster's face, slamming her entire head and body against the wall behind her! Dark purple magic erupted from her palm, flowing into the wall through the point of contact!

"Crack... Boom—!!!"

The sound of the wall cracking under the strain and the muffled explosion rang out almost simultaneously! The solid stone wall was pierced through by this violent force, blasting a large hole in it! Caster was thrown out like a stone from a catapult, amidst flying debris, and tumbled several times in an open area in the distance before barely coming to a stop, his body covered in scrapes, dust and blood.

Before she could even catch her breath, a dark shadow rapidly enlarged in her field of vision as she propped herself up!

Morgan's pursuit was relentless; a fierce spinning kick, accompanied by a sharp whistling sound, had already struck at his waist! Caster only had time to barely manage to turn to the side—

"Oh!"

A heavy thud! Even though she avoided a direct hit, the residual force of the leg's sweep still grazed her ribs. A sharp pain exploded, and blood spurted from beneath her torn skin, staining the ground and the billowing dust beneath her.