Amidst the serene forest, birdsong heralded the dawn.
Pale blue skies were scattered sparsely with fading stars.
The earth lay under a thin veil of silver-gray, a faint mist lingering gently above the trees.
The sky slowly began to glow softly with the pale hue of dawn.
Then, a blazing orb of fire rose, warming the entire land.
"You can't fall asleep just yet, you know!"
An annoyingly mischievous voice rang out beside Arthur's ear, jolting him awake from the darkness.
Arthur felt something damp brush against his cheek, as if some creature were licking him.
Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of a tiny deer affectionately nuzzling his face.
A deep weakness and agonizing pain spread swiftly from his feet throughout his body.
He realized instantly—he lacked the strength even to stand.
Arthur inwardly cursed, realizing his situation was far worse than he'd imagined.
He possessed the heart of the Red Dragon, a magical furnace once praised by Merlin himself, granting him formidable regenerative powers through his holy sword.
In theory, any injury short of death would be swiftly healed.
Yet now, despite ample mana reserves, he felt alarmingly weak.
This means my injuries are critical… If [Avalon] wasn't constantly healing me, I would've already vanished from that explosion.
Even so, Avalon wouldn't sustain him indefinitely. In mere moments, he might fade away completely.
Arthur laughed bitterly.
If Achilles' spear had struck him back then, he would've surely exited the stage immediately.
But right before Achilles' strike landed, the Rider abruptly vanished, as though teleported away.
Arthur quickly understood what had happened to Achilles.
He was recalled by his Master.
That brief respite had given Arthur space to breathe. Instead of facing Achilles' unavoidable spear, he could focus entirely on Spartacus's Noble Phantasm.
The horrifying energy had burst outward like a tidal wave. Even Arthur, with his immense magic resistance, felt a profound sense of crisis.
If he hadn't defended himself properly, he'd certainly have become the first Servant to exit this war.
Yet this wasn't the end of his troubles. Achilles' disappearance merely offered Arthur a slim chance to survive. It didn't guarantee he could endure the devastating explosion.
Not to mention, from afar, a dangerous crimson beam was rapidly closing in.
"[Excalibur]!!"
The holy sword blazed brilliantly in his hands once again, unleashing its Noble Phantasm.
Arthur inwardly thanked his abundant mana supply. Without it, firing [Excalibur] twice in such quick succession would've been impossible.
After all, the mana required by an EX-ranked anti-fortress Noble Phantasm was beyond most magi's capabilities.
I vow to fight only for survival.
I vow to face my enemy one-on-one.
I vow never to betray humanity.
I vow never to oppose the fae.
Four solemn oaths resonated in the frozen moment, and a dazzling torrent of golden light erupted from Arthur's holy sword, colliding head-on at close range with Spartacus's catastrophic explosion.
Compared to his earlier release, the power unleashed by four oaths was immensely greater.
The blinding radiance overwhelmed the area entirely the moment it clashed violently with Spartacus's destructive energy.
The crimson beam then followed, detonating spectacularly.
The world fell utterly silent.
In the darkened night, illuminated faintly by moonlight, a single figure was hurled out from the epicenter, crashing deep into the distant forest.
[Excalibur]'s destructive power was certainly immense, but this situation differed fundamentally from the confrontation with Atalanta.
Atalanta's Noble Phantasm had been fired from a great distance, allowing Arthur's beam to consume her arrows entirely without a direct, close-range detonation.
However, Spartacus's Noble Phantasm was fundamentally explosive in nature, detonating violently at extremely close proximity.
Even if [Excalibur]'s blast had countered most of Spartacus's destructive force, Arthur still couldn't fully avoid the devastating backlash.
Now lying motionless on the ground, Arthur gazed through the foliage, weakly watching streaks of sunlight filter through. He could only manage a bitter smile.
Suddenly, he sensed something peculiar and turned his head toward the golden sword lying beside him.
[Excalibur] began radiating an exceptionally brilliant light.
Shirou Emiya's intentions were straightforward—do everything possible to help Arthur recover immediately.
Rather than carefully considering his options, recalling Arthur first, or consulting with the Black Faction, Shirou's decision was instantaneous and unwavering. Even had he paused to deliberate, his ultimate choice would've remained unchanged—to invest every last [Command Spell] into Arthur's recovery.
Magic was called magic precisely because it accomplished feats modern science struggled to replicate.
If even a [Command Spell] couldn't restore Arthur, then healing magecraft itself would be utterly meaningless.
Shirou had conversed extensively with Arthur, fully aware of why he was able to summon the King of Knights, and thus knew clearly that a sheath—[Avalon]—was hidden within Arthur's sword.
Arthur had entrusted Shirou Emiya with all his secrets, withholding nothing.
Every question Shirou asked, as long as Arthur knew the answer, was sincerely and openly answered.
Such was Arthur's profound trust in Shirou Emiya. In turn, Shirou returned Arthur's trust equally, without the slightest hesitation, directing the immense power of the [Command Spells] toward his Servant.
Arthur felt [Excalibur] beside him radiate brilliantly, warmth flowing into his broken body. Miraculously, his fragmented form began slowly stitching itself back together.
Just as Arthur regained awareness of his body, before he could attempt to stand, a second [Command Spell] activated immediately, replenishing Avalon's fading glow.
---
bonus chaps
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