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Chapter 59: Farewell, Lancelot
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 10:56:08 +0000 UTC"Do you still hate me so much?"
Artoria silently looked at Lancelot, who stood opposite her. The Lancelot who had regained his senses now gave off a chilling presence—not just on the surface, but a coldness that reached into the depths of despair.
"Hate you? No, I hate myself!"
Lancelot shook his head self-deprecatingly. "As a knight of the king, I committed such a deed."
"You know, I don't blame you, my dearest friend... Knight of the Lake."
"Knight of the Lake? More like the Knight of Betrayal!"
Lancelot expanded his aura to its maximum. With a single step, he charged directly at Arthur.
"Arthur! My king! If you truly consider me a friend, then please—punish me!"
"I understand. I, as King Arthur, bestow upon you... my final judgment!"
Artoria's aura surged to its peak. Perhaps, at this moment, nothing could stop her.
Artoria understood. In this instant, she finally saw why Lancelot was so obsessed—not with hatred, but with self-reproach. His heart was consumed with guilt. He longed to be judged.
And now, her aura reached its zenith.
Lancelot reached Artoria in an instant, his sword swinging down, its intent powerful enough to tear through flesh.
Artoria didn't meet the blow directly. Instead, she retreated half a step.
In that moment, the Wind King Barrier cloaked her sword.
Not to conceal her Noble Phantasm—this time, it was to defend against Lancelot’s ultimate strike: Knight Did Not Die With Empty Hands.
With a burst of movement, Artoria slashed horizontally.
Empowered by the Wind King Barrier, the strike surged like a tornado.
Lancelot pushed his Eternal Arms Mastery to its limit. In an impossible motion, he contorted his body into a C-shape, narrowly avoiding the blow. The tornado crashed into the ground beside him—
shattering a massive rock into powder.
"The king's attack... still so sharp," Lancelot muttered.
"The feeling is mutual," Artoria replied faintly.
A tear had appeared on her sleeve—the result of Lancelot's blade.
"Be careful."
At this moment, Artoria accepted the truth:
The man before her was no longer the Knight of the Lake. He was the Knight of Betrayal.
Powerful. Earnest.
Tightening her grip on her sword, Artoria charged forward once more.
Elsewhere, the sea monster continued its relentless onslaught against the gathered Heroic Spirits.
Iskandar and Diarmuid were beginning to falter.
Watching from above, Gilgamesh finally stepped forward, albeit reluctantly.
"Honestly, out of respect for my dearest friend's kingdom... letting trash like that defile it would be an insult."
With clear disgust, Gilgamesh extended one hand.
Suddenly, several golden Noble Phantasms appeared at her sides, glowing with brilliant radiance.
They were swords. They were blades.
Weapons of dazzling power flew directly toward the sea monster below.
Upon impact, the Noble Phantasms exploded with tremendous force—
blasting away nearly a quarter of the monster's body.
The beast’s advance halted momentarily, its body beginning to regenerate.
Gilgamesh sat down again.
"That should hold it for a while."
"Strange," Iskandar said. "Gilgamesh, why don’t you just finish it off? With your power, defeating it shouldn’t be difficult, right?"
"This is my friend's kingdom. Interfering too much would be an insult to him. What I’ve done is the most I can offer... as a friend," Gilgamesh replied, then closed her eyes and waited—for Arthur to arrive.
Finding reason in Gilgamesh’s words, Iskandar asked no more.
The scene shifted back to Artoria and Lancelot.
Several rounds had passed.
Artoria thrust her sword into the ground, panting heavily as she looked across at Lancelot.
"Lancelot... this time, I'm going to use my newest move."
Lancelot’s expression turned grave.
He noticed that the Wind King Barrier on Artoria’s sword had changed. It no longer formed a swirling current—
it had become a concentrated, compressed line of air.
The power of the wind had reached its limit.
And now... there was no escaping it. No one could outrun the wind.
Artoria raised her sword and swung downward.
The Wind King Barrier unleashed its mightiest strike.
A massive wind blade tore through the air, chasing Lancelot with incredible speed.
Lancelot had no time to dodge.
All he could do was raise his sword to his chest,
hoping that his physical might could withstand the blow.
The blade of wind crashed into Arondight.
Though undamaged—true to its status as a high-level Noble Phantasm—
the force behind the wind pushed Lancelot backward, inch by inch.
Sparks flew from the impact, momentarily blinding him.
This was it—Artoria’s chance!
She had waited for this moment—
the one moment when Lancelot could no longer move!
With all her strength, Artoria hurled herself forward,
using the Wind King Barrier’s burst as a boost.
This strike carried everything she had—
her resolve, her sorrow, and her promise.
"Lancelot!!! My friend!!! Accept my judgment!!!"
The Wind King Barrier faded, no longer concealing the sword in her hand—
Excalibur.
The blade that had haunted Lancelot’s dreams now appeared before him one final time.
"Thank you... my king. I… have finally received your judgment."
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