The ritual's afterglow faded, but the air in the courtyard only grew heavier.
From the black-armored knight emanated a chilling, primal aura—drawing all onlookers into a thousand years of tragedy.
Without a word, Steve activated Cosmic Magecraft, erecting a temporary mental barrier that completely severed the temple from the outside world. This allowed him to extract fragments of Artoria and Lancelot's past memories—an arrangement made with both their consent.
In an instant, the grounds of Ryuudou evaporated.
In their place was a bleak hill scattered with torn banners and shattered arms.
Camlan.
Where the dream of the Round Table was smashed—the final juncture for both Lancelot and Artoria.
Matou Kariya stood off to the side, nervously watching his Servant.
With the temple's ley lines boosting Berserker's magical energy to the peak, the rune-inscribed demonic sword Arondight howled hungrily for blood.
Kariya realized he no longer had to endure the agony of his mana being drained. But he also knew—clearer than ever—how this duel would end. For Artoria, besides her invisible holy sword, possessed a second legendary artifact: the lost sheath, symbolizing absolute protection, pre-installed inside her by Kiritsugu.
"—Aaaaarghhhhhh!!"
With a roar of bottomless pain—more beast than man—Lancelot advanced!
Transforming into a bolt of black lightning, he tore across the ground in a blink, slashing at his former king with his demonic blade, alight with thunder.
Clang!
The collision of metal, like the howl of a god, reverberated throughout the world.
At matching speed and precision, Artoria blocked the deadly strike with her kingly sword shrouded in invisible wind.
Sparks burst out, magical shockwaves cracking the ground—it was on!
What followed could not have been tracked by ordinary human eyes. It was Heroic Spirits battling—legend itself made manifest.
Figures clashed atop the desolate hill in a flurry; with each collision, the earth itself seemed to groan.
Black demon sword and invisible holy blade met a hundred times in mere minutes.
Lancelot's technique was at once wild and refined—fused with the mad enhancement of his Berserker class, his attacks could split mountains, shatter rocks.
But Artoria's sword was as steady as a boulder. She abandoned all unnecessary movement, using only the simplest, most efficient methods to counter each strike.
Her eyes held no confusion; only the utmost respect one knight can offer another.
It was a beautiful, brutal sword dance—but all knew this was just the calm before the storm.
By their 200th pass, Lancelot's offensive peaked. With a tiny opening, he spun like a black tornado, his demon sword transforming into a whirlwind of destruction, aiming to tear apart all before him—his greatest, final attack.
But at that deadly instant, Artoria did something none foresaw: she dropped her guard and allowed the storm of black destruction to engulf her.
At that moment, a blinding golden light burst forth from her body!
"—Avalon: The Everdistant Utopia!"
Golden particles coalesced into an insurmountable barrier before her.
The total assault was nullified—like a stone sinking soundlessly into a deep lake.
The result was decided.
Beneath his helmet, the madness in Lancelot's gaze was replaced, for an instant, by surprise—then understanding.
He knew his task was over.
Artoria's form flickered through the storm like an illusion.
In that instant, the sword in her hand shed its shroud, its dazzling and sacred true form revealed.
A golden flash swept the sky.
Schnt!
The sword pierced Lancelot's soul-core without hindrance.
Time seemed to freeze.
The black knight slowly knelt.
The helmet struck in the previous duel, shattered to powder in an instant, and his blurred and ugly black armor began to dissipate, vanishing like black magic.
In its place shone the glorious silver-white armor—the very emblem of the Knight of the Lake.
He lifted his head at last. The face revealed beneath his ruined helm was beautiful and sad.
"...My King..."
His voice, no longer a beast's growl, was gentle and knightly, ringing with clarity. "At last...in this form...I can meet you..."
"Lancelot..."
Artoria withdrew her sword, gazing at her most loyal knight. From her blue eyes, transparent tears rolled down.
"Please...don't grieve for me..."
Lancelot's figure was beginning to fade. "To die by your sword, to achieve this final atonement...is my...greatest...honor..."
"...I'm sorry I never understood your pain..."
"No, My King...you are...forever...the greatest...light in my heart..."
A smile of relief graced the knight's lips. His body transformed fully into golden motes, dispersed by the wind, and returned to the heroes' eternal throne.
The inner world shattered, and all was still.
Yet as Steve prepared to announce the final end of the Fourth Holy Grail War, he did not forget the promise made to his young master.
He approached the small golden Grail, now dim and fragile after granting all those wishes. Placing his hand upon it, he called forth the last remnants of its magic.
"In the name of the Grail, I order you—respond to my summons, and save their lives!"
A trembling, unstable summoning array splashed across the ground.
A man dressed in a long black robe with green markings, only two silver locks of hair visible, appeared before the crowd, scowling.
"Ugh, really, what a pain! Who dares summon me in such a rude way! Don't you know how busy I am?!"
"You are Asclepius, god of medicine," Steve replied coolly, pointing towards three coffins prepared on the floor of Ryuudou.
"I need your help."
Asclepius glanced at the coffins, then at Steve, scratching his head in confusion. "...Huh? Raise the dead? You think I'm a god or something? My Noble Phantasm has very strict conditions, you know..."
"The time of death is within three days, and the bodies are largely intact. I know the rules."
On hearing this, Asclepius grudgingly stepped forward and opened the coffins.
Inside lay three bodies, slain by blades but re-stitched perfectly by Steve's cosmic magic, and placed in virtual stasis with death within the last 24 hours. The son of Apollo whistled quietly.
"...Tch, these people are really lucky."
He fished from his robes a small bottle of strange red liquid.
"Alright, alright... since the conditions are met, so be it."
"Resurrection Fraught Hades!"
He dripped the potion into the mouths of all three bodies.
Instantly: a miracle!
Pale faces regained color at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"Cough... cough, cough!"
Three simultaneous coughs rang out.
Ken's parents and sister had truly been brought back from death's door!
"Mom! Dad! Sis!"
Ken shouted with joy, rushing forward to embrace them.
"Done," said Asclepius with a yawn, feeling his magical energy dissipate as his form blurred. "Really now—don't summon me for stuff like this again."
He faded away before he finished the sentence.
Simultaneously, the shattered golden Grail, having delivered its last miracle, and the battered treasure sword in Steve's hand burst into points of light and vanished.
And amid these warm miracles, a certain spectral crimson figure slowly approached Emiya Kiritsugu.
It was the soul of Emiya Shirou—the adult Heroic Spirit temporarily drawn from the Throne.
"Father."
He gaze at the man who was finally able to smile, eyes full of complex affection.
"...Shirou?"
Kiritsugu stared, first at the boy in front of him—then at the real, younger Shirou, still living in this time.
"I have to go now."
Shirou smiled. "It's wonderful that you and Irisviel were saved. Please give Ilya a better future."
Then, looking at Artoria, his expression softened with the dignity of a grown man.
"Saber... This time, I hope in this world you find true happiness, and reach peace with your regrets."
With this final farewell, the soul of the Red Archer finally separated from the young body, returning to the distant throne of heroes.
The red-haired boy, released, collapsed limply to the ground, falling into a deep sleep.
Kiritsugu then scooped him into his arms, hugging both Shirou and Irisviel tightly.
The Fourth Holy Grail War had truly ended.
…
Next bonus chapter at 300 PS