I'm in another world, and I start out transformed into Lancelot.

His words were unfinished, but the warning and conviction they contained were crystal clear. Next time, they would be enemies with clearly defined positions, locked in a life-or-death struggle.

A clear sneer came from Gawain's loudspeaker, carrying a hint of barely perceptible familiarity.

"Hmph! What a stubborn fool..." The engines around the black machine suddenly lit up with light, and a powerful gust of air stirred up dust.

Its massive body soared into the air, the levitation system activated, and it flew straight into the blue sky like a giant golden bird, leaving behind only this short sentence that seemed to be both a complaint and an acknowledgment, which drifted away in the wind.

As the altitude increased, the tense atmosphere in the cockpit seemed to relax.

CC leaned lazily against the passenger seat, munching on a pizza while glancing sideways at Lelouch (Zero), who had just put on his helmet, with his seemingly insightful golden eyes.

“Hey—” she drawled, her tone clearly mischievous, “I thought you’d take this opportunity to blackmail Suzaku into doing things for you or something… Such a good opportunity is rare.”

The Zero helmet's mirrors coldly reflected the faint light of the control interface, and the voice coming from below carried a hint of rational weariness and complex understanding:

"If that's really the case, that indecisive guy might be so caught up in the dilemma that he'll freeze up on the spot... and then he'll just run away."

Lelouch knew Suzaku's stubbornness; it was an almost clumsy persistence. Trying to force Suzaku in the name of Euphemia or "justice" would only backfire.

The Black Knights' ships are already on standby in the designated waters, and there are still more complex situations on the chessboard that require his moves.

He maneuvered Gawain, turned the car around, and sped away from the Britannian army.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Lancelot was skillfully unloaded and prepared. Suzaku Kururugi had just jumped out of the cockpit, not even having time to wipe the thin layer of sweat from his forehead.

A light, graceful figure quickly approached with a relieved smile.

"Welcome back, Lord Kururugi!" Princess Euphemia's voice was filled with joyful warmth.

A relieved smile appeared on her face, her eyes full of concern.

The princess's concern was so genuine that it warmed Zhuque's heart slightly. He bowed respectfully.

But as he stood up, a question that had been lingering in his mind finally couldn't be contained and asked, "Your Highness Euphemia, um..." He chose his words carefully, his voice filled with confusion and curiosity, "...it's just that I think I saw someone using the name Lancelot...very, very powerful. She destroyed a key defensive point in one move...is she an acquaintance of Your Highness? She didn't seem to rely on Knightmare?"

His gaze was fixed on Euphemia, his emerald green pupils filled with pure inquiry. The power emanating from that figure completely transcended the realm of Knightmare, mysterious and formidable.

Euphemia's smile remained elegant, but a fleeting, almost imperceptible ripple crossed the depths of her purple eyes. She clasped her hands in front of her, her posture impeccable royal etiquette.

"Oh dear~" Her voice was soft and natural, "Who did Lord Kururugi see? I don't know~"

Her denial was swift and clean, as if she truly knew nothing about it. But the pink-haired princess's heart was far from calm. The figure who had swept across the battlefield like a meteor at her request last night—the fairy knight Lancelot. The fleeting glimpse of his stunningly beautiful face beneath the mask, and his inhuman power—just recalling it made her heart skip a beat.

She was incredibly grateful that she had been using a completely private communication frequency. Her sister Cornelia's attention was entirely focused on the massive, frontal assault, and her brother Xiuzanne's strategy was centered on the overall picture, not these details. No one noticed the tiny, yet deadly, change occurring in an inconspicuous corner behind the battlefield. Otherwise…

A chill crept up Euphemia's spine. Given Britannia's pursuit of absolute power and control, and their intolerance of dissent... how could they possibly tolerate such a treasure, such a mysterious and powerful force, existing peacefully in the hands of a princess whom some secretly ridiculed as a "vase" and a "puppet"?

She seemed to see those greedy gazes, viscous and almost tangible, enveloping that ethereal, beautiful figure. Commands, coercion, throwing her into endless battles, draining her strength like a weapon… Just imagining the future that figure might face made Euphemia's slender hands, hidden behind her wide skirt, clench unconsciously, her nails almost digging into her palms. That pure power should not be desecrated! That beautiful being should not be imprisoned and destroyed!

A strong protective instinct surged within her, overwhelming all other thoughts. She looked up at the loyal and upright knight before her; his emerald eyes still held confusion, but even more so, genuine concern.

Euphemia took a deep breath, shedding some of the aloofness of royal etiquette, her voice becoming low and unusually earnest, even carrying a hint of barely perceptible pleading: "Suzaku," she addressed him by his name directly, as if in a private conversation between close friends, "Please forgive my request, it may be somewhat willful, but..." Euphemia's gaze was incredibly earnest, "As a princess, I beg you, please... keep the existence of that Lancelot a secret."

"Let's pretend...that person never existed. Whether it was on the battlefield just now, or at any time and place in the future."

"Huh?" Suzaku Kururugi was clearly taken aback, a deep sense of bewilderment flashing in his emerald eyes. He didn't understand why Euphemia was so reluctant to talk about it, but the heaviness in her eyes and a hint of...fear? made him instantly abandon his desire to ask further questions.

He was a soldier, and he had struggled at the bottom of society. He had seen too much of the infighting within the Britannian army, the power struggles at the top, and the darkness and filth hidden beneath the glory of victory; he had even experienced some of it firsthand. Some of this darkness far exceeded the limits of what a naive princess like Euphemia could imagine—human modification, forbidden experiments, the pursuit and research of those with special abilities... He had glimpsed those "specially treated individuals" on the documents during a transport mission.

"What happened to that girl later?" Zhuque once asked his superior.

"Don't ask any more questions, Lieutenant. That's just the property of the Empire." His superior's cold reply still sends a chill down his spine.

The Fairy Knight Lancelot... that terrifying power unleashed by "humans" (as he tentatively believed) without relying on any machinery... power sufficient to rival, even surpass, the Knightmare! This is truly a unique "specimen"! If the Empire were to discover this... Suzaku felt a chill run down his spine. A laboratory? A dissection table? Endless testing and torture?

The young knight snapped back to reality, his eyes filled with a steely resolve replacing the confusion in them. He didn't even ask another "why."

Facing Euphemia's expectant yet slightly nervous gaze, Suzaku Kururugi did not hesitate for a moment. He took a step back and knelt steadily on one knee before the young princess with a standard knightly salute, a gesture representing absolute loyalty and commitment.

"Yes, My Highness!" His voice was firm and clear. "I swear to keep this secret, for the honor of a knight."

Euphemia's expression softened. "Thank you, Suzaku... I know this was difficult for you."

Suzaku shook his head, revealing his usual sunny smile. "Protecting the innocent from harm—isn't that a knight's duty?"

Although he knew he was breaking his oath as a soldier, Suzaku didn't know the consequences of his decision, but at that moment, he chose to trust the gentle and kind princess before him, just as he had once trusted another black-haired boy.

Chapter 9 Ta-da! Spirit Origin Ascension!

The heavy burden in her heart temporarily dissipated like dark clouds, and Euphemia let out a long sigh of relief.

As if exhaling the tension she had felt for the fairy knight, sunlight once again shone into her clear purple eyes.

That signature, gentle smile, capable of melting even the hardest ice, bloomed on her face once again.

“Suzaku,” she turned to her knight, her voice light as a throbbing penis in the forest, “I know what I want to do.”

"?"

Suzaku Kururugi was so engrossed in the solemnity of keeping the secret that he didn't catch up with the sudden turn of events.

A look of obvious confusion instantly appeared on his handsome face, and his green eyes widened slightly.

It was as if he was saying, "Huh? Did we change the topic too quickly?" He looked completely dumbfounded.

This adorable reaction made Euphemia laugh so hard she bent over, her soft laughter like pearls falling onto a jade plate.

"Pfft... Suzaku, you... really..." Her smile diluted the lingering smell of gunpowder from the battlefield and dispelled the heaviness between the two of them from the previous moment.

She slightly suppressed her smile, but the light in her eyes became even clearer. She gently shook her head, her cascading pink hair swaying in the breeze.

"Not those grand ideal nations... nor those so-called righteous causes that require debate, sacrifice, or even battle to achieve."

Her words were calm yet carried a certain liberating power: "These...are all too complicated and too heavy."

Euphemia lowered her head slightly, her long eyelashes casting gentle shadows under her eyelids.

Many images flashed before her eyes: Nina, who was carefully studying in the classroom and smiled shyly after being encouraged by her;

The faces of those who received relief supplies during the disaster, originally filled with sadness and despair, regained their vitality and gratitude;

Even the relief that flashed in the eyes of those who temporarily reconciled and avoided unnecessary conflict because of her efforts.

Countless smiles converged into a warm river in her heart. It wasn't a testament to any grand achievement, but rather the most sincere connection between lives.

"I just... I just wanted to see smiling faces."

She raised her head, her eyes as soft as a lake in early spring, yet containing emotions as heavy as a mountain. "That's all."

Her mind flashed through images of her friends on campus, everyone at the academy, and... that figure buried deep in her heart, unspeakable.

"...all the people I know, past and present." Her words carried a gentle prayer.

"I hope everyone... can show a genuine smile and still find moments of happiness in this chaotic world."

This wish is so simple it's almost extravagant, yet so heavy it feels like entrusting the whole world to someone.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Waaaaah... This scene is just too beautiful!"

The red orb system vibrated wildly in the air, and the realistic teardrop-shaped rays of light were almost about to burst out.

"Ideals! Bonds! A vow made for a better future! This is simply a miracle of spiritual energy! I... I'm so moved I'm being formatted!"

"Tsk!" A crisp click of the tongue. The steam in the bathroom parted like a curtain, and Lancelot stepped out barefoot onto the cool floor.

She wore a loose white bathrobe tied casually, and her wet, silver hair cascaded over her shoulders like flowing mercury.

She couldn't even be bothered to look at the noisy ball of light, and simply brushed it away casually with her hand as if swatting away mosquitoes.

"Smack!" A gentle gust of wind struck the surface of the light sphere precisely, instantly flattening the "tears streaming down" system against the soft cushion on the opposite wall, emitting a whimper simulating death.

All the noise subsided under this palm strike, and Lancelot's gaze had already transcended the mundane world, focusing on that sun-kissed land in the distance.

In her eyes, the light of ideals and hope that flowed around Euphemia was clearly reflected.

That ideal scene illuminated by the sunlight is so bright, yet so... in need of protection.

“That’s it…” Her voice was very soft, and a faint, almost lingering tenderness flickered deep in her amber eyes.

"Keep going, steadfastly, Euphemia."

In a daze, that slender yet upright figure gradually blurred in the bright light, overlapping with a certain eternally aloof image in the memory of the heroic spirit.

Queen Morgan sits on a cold jade throne at the edge of Lostbelt, attempting to solidify a false sense of "happiness" at her own cost.

The lessons learned from the past are like cold chains binding my heart.

"And!" The flattened ball of light stubbornly bounced back up with a "pop," making a joyful sound with all its might.

"They just made a special agreement! They'll keep your existence a complete secret, Fairy Knight! Lord Kururugi even swore an oath to the princess's skirt!"

The faint smile on Lancelot's lips deepened suddenly. "Heh...they really are...kind children who are so gentle it's heartbreaking."

She whispered, her fingertips unconsciously twirling a strand of damp silver hair.

The feeling of being protected by humans in such an awkward yet sincere way was a rare experience for her.

“So,” she said, her gaze fixed on that radiant place, as if she could see through the surface to the river of will flowing at the bottom of the world.

"Is it because the world's consciousness is so biased, even stubbornly pulling the threads of fate through them?"

"This pure goodness and wish that comes from the soul deserves to be given a... fitting ending."

[Compatibility increased to 60%, Ascension form unlocked - Melsin]

A soft light, like flowing water, enveloped his entire body, and the cold, lake-blue armor seemed to merge into the light, quietly disappearing.

The silver-haired girl, whose true name had been confirmed as Meloshen, lowered her eyes slightly, examining the new clothes that replaced the cold armor.

With its simple and clean cut and elegant and flowing lines, this dress is no longer an outer shell symbolizing power, but rather an everyday look that is more in line with her current mood.

Her fingertips brushed against the delicate fabric, and she nodded slightly.

"Hmm, feels good~"

Even Meloshen (Halonia), who was used to seeing elaborate court attire, was pleased with the lightness and elegance of this aesthetic from the Throne of Heroes.

Feeling this sense of relief and comfort, she felt even more excited about unlocking the Albion form in the future.

Chapter 10 The struggle for princes has always been like this.

The heavy ideals dissipated like clouds and mist, as if an invisible burden had been lifted, and Euphemia walked lightly through the corridor.

Now that the direction of your heart is clear, action is the only option – “Do it if you want to do it!”

In any case, in the eyes of the old-fashioned nobles in Britannia, she has always been an unconventional, naive and willful "vase princess," hasn't she?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In the Vice-Governor's study, the afternoon sun lazily spilled onto the large oak desk.

Euphemia sat upright at her desk, her slender fingers gripping the pen tightly. The nib flew across the smooth paper, making a soft scratching sound.

Outside the window, the sacred and silent snow-capped peak of Mount Fuji stood out clearly against the blue sky. Its existence was the source of her inspiration.

The proposal that would soon be a boulder thrown onto the map of the empire was titled "A Plan for Establishing a Special Administrative Region of Japan Around Mount Fuji".

Under her focused and slightly excited contemplation, words took shape. Between the black and white pages, an ideal place was sketched out: a place where different races could live together peacefully and reduce conflict.

The twilight is closing, and the lanterns are starting to turn on.

Euphemia carefully bound the finalized documents, gently stroking the cover with her fingertips, feeling the barely perceptible tremor in her fingertips.

This document felt both as light as a feather and as heavy as Mount Tai. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding with trepidation and a desperate resolve, and walked toward the Governor of the Eleventh District.

Her brother Schneizel El Britannia's office, who was known as the "empire's foremost strategist."

As you walk through the quiet corridor and push open the heavy, carved wooden door, the distinctive aroma of the Governor's office—a blend of paper, cigars, and fine leather—comes out.

Schneizel stood with his back to the door in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the neon-lit night view of District 11.

Hearing the noise, he turned around gracefully, his handsome face displaying that unchanging, gentle, and impeccable smile, like the most exquisitely crafted mask.

"Euphrates, it's so late?" His voice was gentle and pleasant.

His amethyst-like eyes, seemingly holding all-seeing starlight, rested on his younger sister's slightly tense face. "Is there anything I can help you with?"