What was Merlin truly thinking? What was the real reason for his return?
Guinevere had no answers, but she could answer his question without hesitation.
She stepped forward, embraced the King of Knights tightly, their eyes locking, and declared:
"No matter what the future holds, I will never let go of Lia. Together, we will reach an ending of absolute happiness."
Flames seemed to burn in her eyes, their fervent intensity threatening to incinerate the doubt in Merlin's heart.
But alas, Merlin had yet to glimpse the rewritten ending, and his doubts remained unchanged.
He merely exhaled deeply, a smile spreading across his face, for he already understood...
Regardless of Artoria's ultimate fate, before it arrived, she had already attained a happiness that none of the countless Artorias across infinite timelines had ever achieved.
"Guinevere, thank you. I hope the future... truly unfolds as you say."
His words dissolved with the fragrance of flowers as Merlin departed, leaving the King of Knights and Guinevere alone in the Throne Room.
Still holding her close, Guinevere snapped out of Merlin's bewildering words and couldn't resist nipping the King of Knights' earlobe, whispering:
"Lia, you have a biological father, an adoptive father, and Merlin—shouldn't he be considered your godfather? I neither want nor could obtain your biological father's blessing.
I already received your adoptive father's blessing on our wedding day.
Now, I've finally earned your godfather's approval, haven't I?"
Wicked Queen—this prophecy had originated from Merlin himself. Therefore, gaining his acknowledgment filled Guinevere with extraordinary joy, convincing her that her recent efforts had borne partial fruit.
As for the King of Knights in her arms, while she remembered Merlin's words, her thoughts were more focused on Guinevere's hand inching forward, forcing her to push Guinevere away.
"Guinevere, don't forget this isn't the bedroom!"
"Understood. Shall we head back to the bedroom now? We need to work extra hard to maintain the illusion of my pregnancy."
Guinevere pressed herself against the King of Knights, showering her with affection, only to be met with the King's stern refusal.
Though she was undeniably delighted, she remained stubbornly rigid. When the sun hung high in the sky outside the window, she would never agree to retreat to the bedroom for battle with Guinevere.
Meanwhile, in the castle of a certain Vassal King, a reconnaissance mage had finally infiltrated the stronghold, coming face-to-face with the hypnotized monarch and...
"An Agent of the Church!"
Death bloomed instantly. His death—and the final vision he witnessed—were directly transmitted into the mind of another through the eyes implanted in his sockets.
Yet even with this sliver of his schemes exposed, Priest André Godbeback, No. 2 of the Holy Church Burial Agency, remained unfazed. A greater crisis loomed before him!
"Merlin..."
As the floral fragrance dissipated, Merlin reappeared, standing directly before André and his faction of Agents. By any conventional means, it would have been impossible for anyone to locate them so easily.
A Black Key slipped from his sleeve and hurtled toward Merlin, but instead of piercing through the floral shadow, it was cleanly struck down by the Holy Sword in Merlin's hand.
"How should I put it? Magecraft isn't really my forte. I prefer solving problems with my sword."
He casually held the sword in one hand while scratching his head with the other.
To the Priest, No. 2, Merlin was a renowned prophet, so he could accept his sudden appearance.
But Merlin drawing his sword...
He raised his right hand, pointed forward, and the dozen or so Executioners around him revealed their Black Keys and attacked in their respective fighting styles.
If Guinevere's swordsmanship relied on her keen eye for spotting weaknesses, and Lancelot's was forged through endless martial training, what about the King of Knights' extraordinary swordsmanship before she drew the Sword in the Stone?
Even back then, Kay and Sir Ector were no match for her, and her methodical, precise sword techniques differed completely from theirs, suggesting she hadn't been taught by either of them.
Therefore, the King of Knights' swordsmanship could only have originated from the Great Mage Merlin himself.
His blade was more agile than the King of Knights', more flawlessly complete than Lancelot's, and more directly aimed at his opponents' vulnerabilities than Guinevere's.
It was as if Merlin, the foremost 'magician' of Great Britain, was also its greatest master swordsman.
Blood bloomed, yet death did not immediately follow, for Merlin cherished humanity and wouldn't easily extinguish its dreams.
"Well, well, now that I have your attention, will you listen to me properly?"
Merlin's Holy Sword, identical in form to the King of Knights' blade or the Replica in Guinevere's hand, gleamed in the twilight.
After effortlessly cutting down over a dozen formidable Agents, his hair remained perfectly unruffled, and neither his sword nor his robes bore a single drop of blood.
His composure and elegance deterred Priest No. 2 from rash action, forcing him to watch as this "Magician," who would undoubtedly attain the Grand class if summoned as a Heroic Spirit, approached step by step.
When Merlin, leaning on his sword, halted three paces away, the Priest's face continued to shift rapidly, yet beads of cold sweat began to trickle down his brow.
Observing this, Merlin smiled gently. "Apologies, you're making me dizzy with all that shifting. Could you please stop?"
Though the tone lacked threat, the words carried undeniable menace. The Priest clenched his fists, his face settling into a blank, featureless void.
Once again, he understood: Great Britain, still steeped in mystery, truly teemed with monsters. There was good reason why No. 1 advocated for resolving conflicts through negotiation.
"Church intelligence suggests you only intervene in prophecies that directly involve you. Did you come here because the future unfolds this way?"
His face remained blank, his voice devoid of emotion.
In this era, the Church possessed fewer Holy Relics and Miracles compared to later times. Most individual members were far less powerful than their descendants. The Church's dominance over Mages stemmed primarily from its superior talent density.
These mages, not only relying on hereditary traditions, were also fiercely exclusive. Before Guinevere established the Magecraft Department, there wasn't a single educational institution in the world open to commoners.
"Well, don't you think you're asking too many questions?"
Though Merlin had sheathed his sword, the Priest remained frozen in place, his composure gradually returning as he accepted the possibility of death.
"Too many? But Merlin, you must tell me—why did you reveal yourself here without killing us all? What do you want us to do?"
"Ah? Didn't I mention it?"
Compared to the Priest's sense of standing on the edge of the Abyss, Merlin remained completely at ease, as if everything were perfectly under control.
After tapping his forehead, Merlin suddenly turned serious, adopting a threatening tone as he said:
"I am, after all, a guardian of Great Britain. Shouldn't matters involving children be left to the children to resolve? What do you think?"
Merlin had come here because he foresaw this situation and, in his own way, was trying to avert what he considered the worst possible outcome.
If he didn't intervene, Guinevere would be severely wounded in this battle, preventing her from maintaining the pretense of pregnancy. He didn't like that.
After all, 'Mordred' had already taken shape. She wouldn't wait for Guinevere to recover from her injuries.
"Great Mage Merlin, do you mean you simply want us old fogies to stay out of it?"
"Ah, you understand. That's all that matters," Merlin said with a smile, beginning to steer the future toward sweeter shores.
In his heart, he reasoned that since the stage had already become unpredictable, adding himself as a director to trim away the worst possible paths couldn't make things any worse.
But deep down, he knew he was merely pruning what he perceived to be the worst paths.
This unprecedented action stirred doubt and unease within him.