She had been certain of her actions—wielding the Holy Lance, Rhongomyniad, to strike down the rebels who dared assail her. Yes, that was the memory. That was how it should have been...
"...Eh? E-Eli...? How... how can this be...?"
"*Cough*."
Why was he the one impaled upon Rhongomyniad? The blood he spat out fell, staining the divine surface of the lance.
Her gaze followed the crimson droplets downward. There, she saw it: the tip of Rhongomyniad completely transfixing his chest.
The blood flowing from Elius's heart ran down the shaft of the lance, soaking the very hand that gripped the weapon.
Staring at the sight, she let go of the lance with trembling fingers. Deprived of support, his body slumped forward, collapsing against her.
What... what have I done? Why did I... why did I strike Eli? Her voice shook with a terror she had never known.
"E-Elius...? What have I... what have I done?"
"It is... alright. It was not... your fault... *cough*."
He spat more blood, the warmth of it seeping into her shoulder. She could not bring herself to care about the ruin of her raiment.
The volume of blood escaping his body was unnatural—lethal. A human could not survive such a loss. Recalling this basic truth of mortality, she desperately pressed her hands against the wound.
The blood. She had to stop the blood.
However, he reached out and took her hand, stopping her futile effort. The touch of his palm was already frighteningly cold.
"...*Cough*. It is... too late."
She shook her head violently. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over to trace paths down her cheeks.
She could not lose him here. Not like this.
"No, no... please, Eli. Anything... anything but this..."
Then, the shaft protruding from his chest caught her eye. The Holy Lance, Rhongomyniad. The pillar that anchored the very world... and her own weapon.
It was she who had pierced him. She was the one who had brought him to the brink of death. It was her hand that drove the spear home.
"Forgive me, Eli... I... it is all my fault. So please!"
Please, do not leave me. Do not leave me alone in this world. Stay by my side.
But he spoke with a voice that held the finality of a fading ember.
"...I am sorry."
He raised a hand with agonizing slowness, pressing it against her cheek. With his thumb, he wiped away the tears that fell for him.
She could see his eyes losing their focus. The light of life was receding, and it filled her with a primal, suffocating fear.
To her, as she sat paralyzed by despair, he parted his lips with one final effort.
"...I love you. I love you, Artoria."
Her eyes widened in shock. What had she just heard? She stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief.
"Forgive me... for only saying it... as I die... I truly am... a pathetic, foolish man..."
No. It was she who was pathetic—an incompetent king who could not even protect her own knight, reduced to watching him wither away.
She wanted to tell him. She wanted to voice the feelings she had buried deep for the sake of Britain, for the sake of the crown—the love she had held for him alone.
"...I too... I love you as well. I have always loved you, Eli."
"......"
"...Eli? Elius...?"
She called his name, but no answer returned. Trembling, she held her fingers beneath his nose.
"No... no... Ah... AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
She pulled his body into a crushing embrace, a primal wail escaping her throat as tears flowed without end.
It couldn't be. If she returned to Camelot, perhaps he could be saved. She looked up in a frenzy.
"—You there! Quickly, bring a horse—bring a horse!"
She cut herself short. She had no choice. There was no one on this hill to heed her command.
Only the hellish vista of a landscape forged from corpses and broken blades met her eyes.
"Ah... ah..."
There was no one left at her side. Not the Knights of the Round Table, not the soldiers. Not even Elius.
She realized she was utterly alone. In this purgatory, she was the only one still breathing.
Everything she had sought to protect lay cold upon the earth. As the realization struck her, her legs gave way, and she collapsed into the dirt.
She bowed her head, crushed by the weight of absolute despair. In her lap lay Elius's face.
And then, she understood. This was all her doing. His death was a direct consequence of her existence.
Had she not drawn Caliburn, had she never become King, Elius would not have died.
They could have lived a simple life in some rural corner of the world. Perhaps they would have trained with the sword together, worked the fields, and lived the ordinary life of a village girl.
Yes. She... she should never have been the King.
"I am sorry. I am so sorry, Eli. It is all my fault. Everything..."
There, atop the hill, she sat clutching his corpse, weeping until she was hollow. How much time passed, she did not know.
As she crumbled under the weight of her guilt, the World appeared before her. The Counter Force presented a choice to the broken woman who clung to a dead man.
A proposal to enter a conflict known as the Holy Grail War, where the victor is granted a wish from a miracle-working cup.
Artoria turned her tear-stained eyes toward the Will of the World.
"Is the Holy Grail... truly omnipotent?"
The Counter Force offered its affirmation. Upon hearing it, she accepted the contract.
To undo the drawing of the Sword of Selection. To erase the path that led her to the throne. To annihilate this tragic conclusion.
Thus, having lost everything, the King of Knights became a Heroic Spirit while still breathing, casting herself into the eternal cycle of the Holy Grail War.