Chapter Forty-Eight: Gathering Once More—The Knights of the Round Table-The Roaming Homebody(Just a lolicon.)

Watching the monstrous sea beast rampage across the water, the Emperor couldn’t help but scratch his head. “How are we supposed to deal with this thing? Even my legion might not be able to handle it.” He’d seen Lancer unleash his Noble Phantasm on the creature before, but it had recovered in mere minutes. If only his soldiers could regain their original strength, it would be a matter of moments to dispatch such a foe. Yet, his troops had already exhausted themselves just to gather at his side, forced to accept demotion and the sealing of their Noble Phantasms as the price of their appearance. At their current strength, he wasn’t sure they could finish the job—especially when the monster’s regenerative abilities were so absurd.

“What do you all think? Will Gilgamesh lend a hand?” the Emperor asked those behind him.

“Not likely. This thing is so foul, and knowing her habits, she wouldn’t let her treasures be contaminated by something like that.” In the original story, Gilgamesh did fire several shots, but honestly, they had limited effect. Now, Lancer seemed to have thought of something and decided to make a grand move before leaving.

“Hey, Berserker, do you have any other powerful Noble Phantasms?” Hearing Lancer’s explanation, the Emperor accepted this reasoning and continued to press him.

“That sword is my only anti-army Noble Phantasm. All my other weapons, while A+ or higher, are single-target, meant for individuals, not something like this,” Lancer explained. Just as the Emperor was about to ask the others, Lancer added, “But there’s another way.” He looked toward Artoria standing nearby.

“Forgive me, my king, for revealing my identity only now, though I expect you already guessed,” Lancer said, dropping to one knee before Artoria, to the astonishment of the Emperor, Lancer (Weber), and the others.

“Lancer, you’re finally willing to tell me…” Artoria, seeing Lancer remove his mask of his own accord, found herself at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry. This time, I still cannot accompany you to the very end,” Lancer said, and began to use the reward he’d received upon accepting his mission.

“Comrades, gather once more! Let us take up our swords again for our king!” As a radiant light shone, a knight’s sword studded with gems appeared in Lancer’s hand.

“My king, since you are no longer lost, then please, take up this sword again,” Lancer said, bowing his head and presenting the sword with both hands.

Artoria, her expression trembling with emotion, took up the sword that had once guided her to become the King of Britannia.

And as she grasped the sword—

A brilliant flash of light. A knightly order bearing the red dragon banner appeared on the shore.

“God save Britannia!”

…

With thunderous roars echoing, a knightly order of fewer than one hundred and fifty stood before everyone.

“What is this…” Both Weber and Irisviel were dumbstruck. Before them stood a knightly order composed of Heroic Spirits, none lower than rank A-.

“No, something’s wrong!” The Emperor, strongest among them, suddenly realized something.

“How can this be!” A group of black-clad figures, no fewer than the Knights of the Round Table, appeared simultaneously on the battlefield. None among them surpassed A-rank, most ranged from A- to B or B+, yet their sudden arrival had gone completely unnoticed.

“What’s going on?” All present knew Assassin had been wiped out by the Emperor’s hand, yet the masked, black-clad figures before them forced everyone to recall that already departed group.

“You…” Artoria was no longer clad in her blue dress, but a white one.

“My king~ We have served by your side for nearly ten years—did you think we wouldn’t notice?” Gaheris, ever the most relaxed, spoke first.

“It’s true, my king. Regardless of your gender, we joined the order drawn by your charisma. Even now, we choose to follow you,” said Gawain, as the knight closest to Artoria, speaking on behalf of the others.

Looking at the twelve knights before her, Artoria was deeply moved. She hadn’t expected that, even as a woman, these knights would still follow her without hesitation.

At that moment, Artoria noticed someone in red armor standing behind Lancelot.

“Father.” As her gaze met his, he stepped forward and knelt on one knee before her.

“There’s no need for that, my child. You did nothing wrong. You proved, with your actions, that you could lead the nation to prosperity.”

“Yes, Father.”

Seeing that Artoria had forgiven him, he returned to the ranks, visibly moved.

Now, everyone present understood the identity of this knightly order: the most dazzling sword at the King of Knights’ side—the Knights of the Round Table.

All eyes now turned to Lancer, who had once more donned white garb and a mask, standing opposite the black-clad group.

“We are the shadows beneath the light. I ask you again—do any of you regret your choice?” Lancer ignored the others, turning instead to his own assembled followers.

“Never have we regretted it!” The Stingers, each generation numbering over a hundred, were represented here only by their captains. When they joined, they had all either pursued or been told by their predecessors the story of the man before them. As the most devoted to Artoria, to Britannia, they had never regretted their choice—not even in death, when their names went unknown to all save their enemies.

“We are the king’s sharpest blade! Follow me—clear the path for the knights!” Lancer wasted no time with pleasantries. He knew his mana couldn’t sustain this many for long. Since Gawain and the others could appear again, as long as he could entrust the true “Sword in the Stone” to Artoria, there would yet be another chance.

As the King’s sole assassination corps, they possessed not only excellent skills in the shadows, but many were reserve members of the Round Table itself; yet, for their own ideals, they chose this path—a unit with a death rate over 40% and injury rate over 50% in any era. Born in darkness, now they finally had a chance to face the abomination before them. At Lancer’s command, they understood instantly—they were to be bait. Yet, none hesitated. Having already given their lives for Britannia, regret had never crossed their minds.

The black-clad warriors, led by Lancer, charged relentlessly against the sea beast’s defenses. To keep the path open, some fell, only for others to take their place.

As the way was cleared, the knights began their assault.

“Under our king’s guidance, we shall surely return victorious!”

The twelve Knights of the Round Table drew their swords and led the cry, and all those who had ever received a Noble Phantasm from the Lady of the Lake unleashed their treasures.

And then—

There was nothing more to say. The radiant, unblemished blade of the lake and the Sword of Promised Victory, only half a tier below the legendary holy sword, joined by over a hundred and thirty Noble Phantasms of unknown rank, flooded the battlefield with their light, engulfing Caster in a torrent of power.

“So this is light? I’ll go with you now—Jeanne.” In these past two days beneath the sea, he’d thought long and hard, especially after talking with the Lancer who’d once hunted him. He realized perhaps he’d taken the wrong path, and regret weighed heavily on him. As the Noble Phantasms overwhelmed him, the black grimoire slipped from his grasp, and he saw once more the girl who always smiled at him after victory.

…

After a brief, chilly silence, a wave of cheering erupted. But just then, Artoria raised her hand to halt the celebration, her gaze settling on someone standing amidst the black-clad figures.