Life is full of farewells, and this was a truth that Alaric understood the moment he set out on his journey. As long as he wished to move forward, parting was an inevitable outcome.
A Heroic Spirit is a being that emerges when a hero, whose great deeds have turned into legends after death, becomes an object of faith.
Servants, on the other hand, are the incarnations of Heroic Spirits.
The information (soul) that constitutes a Servant returns to the original Heroic Spirit upon the Servant's death. The original can then perceive the Servant's actions as if reading a recorded book.
Gazing at the girl before him, who bore a resemblance to himself—or rather, perhaps he was the one who resembled her—Alaric saw her golden short hair tied up neatly, giving her a refreshingly clean appearance.
The armor, which should have been heavy, fit the girl perfectly as if it had been made for her from the very beginning.
The silver king's sword in her hand gleamed brilliantly, devoid of any hateful intent.
At this moment, the overwhelming battle spirit accumulated through countless fights quietly faded away, leaving only a sense of nostalgia in his heart.
That rising longing ultimately transformed into a faint smile.
Alaric loosened his grip on the holy sword in his hand, gestured slightly, and laughed, "I'm doing better every day."
"Not bad at all!"
The knight Mordred suddenly got up, patted Alaric on the shoulder, and grinned, showing her sharp teeth. "If Father were here to see this, she'd probably think you've done well, too?"
"If we're talking about the King—"
Walking alongside Mordred, Alaric immediately recalled that embrace at the end of the world. Smiling, he said, "I don't think I've disappointed her."
The long-awaited reunion brought Alaric a sense of happiness. But as he followed Mordred's steps, he saw the Heroic Spirits engaged in battle against the Nine Demon Pillars.
Ozymandias, Nitocris, the Old Man of the Mountain, and the Knights of the Round Table.
The blazing sun flames erupted as if purging the entire space-time domain, eradicating the aura of the Beast of Calamity, Beast I within its inferno.
The deafening sounds of battle shook the atmosphere, invisible slashes howling through the air like a storm, severing the Demon Pillars one by one!
Sphinxes, like constellations in the night sky, roared from the ground, beams of starlight piercing through the Demon Pillars.
Atop the lead, Sphinx stood a self-proclaimed ruler of all things on earth—the Pharaoh. Wielding a staff, he laughed wildly:
"Hahahahahaha! Pathetic. Too pathetic!
Is this all the Demon Pillars under King Solomon's rule amount to?"
Beside him, another floating Pharaoh swung a scepter, instantly opening the Gates of the Underworld. A tidal wave of spirits surged forth, seemingly endless.
But what truly caught Alaric's attention was a blue sword light, as serene as the surface of a lake.
A light he had seen countless times. A light he knew intimately—the radiance of the lake.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Arrows streaked through the air like shooting stars, each one striking the Demon Pillars' eyes with impeccable precision and power.
The great Persian hero noticed Alaric's arrival and broke into a hearty smile.
"Hey! Looking good today, Brother Alaric!"
Alaric laughed as he replied, "It's great to see you again, Brother Arash."
"You fool of a disciple! What about your master?"
With a few agile steps, Xuanzang leaped in front of Alaric and vigorously ruffled his hair. "You've grown strong! Even stronger than Wuneng!"
"I'll take that as a compliment."
After letting Xuanzang have her fill of ruffling his hair, Alaric laughed and pulled away from her embrace. "Though to be fair, my appetite has grown a lot, too."
"The Last Knight of the Round Table—"
At that moment, Gawain's voice, tinged with amusement, echoed across the battlefield. With Alaric's arrival, nearly everyone had taken notice of him.
The Heroic Spirits, seated in the Throne of Heroes, had already received the information about Alaric's return from the singularity. They knew of the final Knight of the Round Table born within the singularity.
His being, his existence, and his heart—would forever be remembered by the Heroic Spirits.
He was one bound by fate to a distant figure beyond the stars.
After a brief exchange of greetings with Gawain and the others, Alaric was about to leave and head to the Life Institute—
When a white horse, bearing a king, blocked his path.
The horse, known as Dun Stallion, stood tall, clad in armor, exuding a sharp and overwhelming aura.
Upon its back sat a pure-white King, similarly adorned in dazzling white armor, with a light-blue knight emblem engraved on the chest plate.
Despite the armor's rigid structure, it accentuated the King's form perfectly, revealing an undeniable elegance.
In the King's hand was a spear—one that Alaric had once longed for and had now completely mastered:
The Holy Lance Rhongomyniad.
The Storm Anchor that binds the stars, a lance said to be the pillar connecting the world inside and out.
Without the helmet adorned with the crest of the White Lion, her revealed face bore a striking resemblance to Mordred's.
Golden hair, like fine grains of sand, was neatly tied up, with only a few strands cascading over her temples.
No longer did her eyes gleam with the golden radiance of absolute divinity, but instead shone a gentle, human emerald hue.
This was the gaze Alaric had once seen—a fleeting glimpse, like a shooting star across the night sky.
Her being, her existence, her divinity—was someone Alaric could never forget.
Mordred had already thrown herself into battle against the Demon Pillars, leaving Alaric alone at this moment, facing the pure-white King and the violet-clad silver knight beside her.
A knight with only one arm—one who had once existed only within the singularity, yet, for his singular act of heroism, had earned a place among the Heroic Spirits.
The Knight of the Round Table, Bedivere.
Alaric had no interest in exchanging pleasantries with Bedivere.
At this moment, his eyes were solely focused on the pure-white King—
The King of Knights. The Lion King.
Artoria Pendragon.
All the emotions he had stored in his heart felt impossible to express through words.
Even Alaric himself could only smile, overwhelmed with unspoken joy.
"It's been a long time, my King. I have kept moving forward."
"Sir Alaric, you have worked hard."
Unlike Mordred's still-maturing voice, this was a gentle tone akin to that of an elder sister.
As the white horse, Dun Stallion approached, the Lion King dismounted and stood before Alaric.
Though smaller in stature than Alaric, she exuded an undeniable, regal presence.
Tap.
Though she wore metal gauntlets, Alaric could somehow feel the warmth and softness of her fingertips.
Artoria Pendragon gently cupped Alaric's face, her emerald eyes curving into a smile.
"With how much you have grown, Sir Alaric, you are now a fully-fledged knight.
Had history been different, you would surely have left your name in the annals of humanity."
"Of course. After all, I am a Knight of the Round Table."
Alaric raised his hand, grasping the one on his cheek, and smiled.
"No matter when, I will never stop moving forward, my King."
"Then go, my knight.
I am the King of Storms, the one entrusted with Rhongomyniad. No matter when, I will be watching over your journey from the farthest horizon."
Artoria Pendragon slowly withdrew her hand, stepping aside to clear the path.
With her blessing in his heart, Alaric once again set forth on his journey—beyond the cosmos, beyond time, into the imaginary space of the Divine Temple.
Chasing after Fujimaru and Mash, who had already departed, Alaric forcefully entered the domain known as the Institute of Life.
The battle unfolded before Alaric just as expected—
The mistress of the sky soared high, laughing loudly as she hurled the gemstones in her hands, dealing massive damage to the towering Demon Pillars.
The sacred goddess of magical beasts spread her wings, while countless serpents of cursed hair danced wildly through the domain, unleashing beams of mystic eyes.
Running atop these serpents was the young form of the goddess—the girl once known as Ana.
Wielding a scythe capable of severing the undying, she struck with godlike speed, inflicting terrifying wounds upon the Demon Pillars.
Even more striking was the silver dragon that danced wildly, known as the Chains of Heaven.
But this time, Alaric was certain that it was not Kingu, but rather a more primal machine-like persona—the ancient hero, the bosom friend of King Gilgamesh—Enkidu himself!
Beyond Enkidu and Ishtar, Alaric also saw many Servants he had encountered at the Seventh Singularity. The fearsome Quetzalcoatl and Jaguarman, as well as Ushiwakamaru and others summoned by Gilgamesh, were all present.
However, what truly caught Alaric's attention was the figure standing behind them all—
The mistress of the underworld—Ereshkigal.
If Alaric felt only regret for not having had the chance to bid farewell to the others, then Ereshkigal was a different matter entirely.
After the battle against the primordial god Tiamat had ended, Alaric had distinctly sensed Ereshkigal's Saint Graph fading away.
Logically, this should not have happened.
Ereshkigal had not suffered any serious injuries, nor had she burned her Saint Graph to resist Tiamat, yet she had still vanished uncontrollably.
Why was this? Through his interactions with the Demon King, Alaric had seemingly found an answer.
The laws of the underworld were immutable. Even though Ereshkigal was the cornerstone of the underworld and its ruling goddess, she lacked the power to alter its fundamental principles.
By aiding Alaric and Chaldea, Ereshkigal had undeniably violated the eternal laws of the underworld...
"Ereshkigal, are you alright?"
It wasn't just Alaric who had noticed Ereshkigal—Ereshkigal, too, had noticed the approaching Alaric.
As she fought against the Demon Pillars, her cheeks flushed slightly upon seeing Alaric's familiar face. Though she still appeared in the form of Tohsaka Rin, a faint shyness was evident in her demeanor.
But that shyness quickly vanished, as Alaric's unwavering gaze seemed intent on uncovering something from within her.
Realizing what was happening, Ereshkigal instinctively turned her face away, but Alaric was faster—he cupped her small face in his hands, forcibly turning her to face him directly.
The warmth of his breath brushed against her cheeks, a sensation of life's vitality that Ereshkigal had never felt before.
An incomprehensible emotion surged within her heart, and the unfamiliar embarrassment that erupted from her very being caused her pale cheeks to flush with a deep red, her body temperature rising rapidly.
But none of this affected Alaric.
His golden dragon-like eyes locked onto the goddess's face, and at this moment, there was only one truth Alaric wished to uncover—
"Ereshkigal, when you bestowed your blessings upon us and allowed us to fight in the underworld, what did you sacrifice?"
Faced with Alaric's resolute questioning, even Ereshkigal could not hide the truth.
Or rather, she had never intended to hide it.
Ereshkigal hesitated for a moment before stammering, "I just broke the rules of the underworld, so I got punished... You have to come and save me, alright?"
"I will come and save you!"
Alaric, the knight from beyond, made his promise, and Ereshkigal immediately beamed with joy, responding with a simple, "Mm!"
After exchanging a few words with Ereshkigal, Alaric prepared to head directly for the throne—
Until that golden figure once again appeared before him.
The king whom Alaric had once personally slain.
The oldest hero of humankind—Gilgamesh.
It was the youthful version of Gilgamesh, the one who had appeared during the battle in the underworld. His younger body, coupled with a vastly different intellect, embodied the very essence of a youthful tyrant.
"You've done well, Alaric."
Instead of joining the others in the battle against the Demon Pillars, Gilgamesh stood alone at a high vantage point, as if refusing to share the same space as the rest. With a smirk, he said, "Your performance has been commendable, but are you sure you want to continue down this path?"
For this knight from beyond, Gilgamesh expressed a rare approval.
He admired those who pursued their desires, those who embodied their worth—and Alaric was precisely such a person.
In his actions, his presence, and his achievements, Alaric was worthy of being called a hero.
Though his deeds, like the last Master of Humanity, Fujimaru Ritsuka, might never be remembered, Gilgamesh had a premonition—
The future that Alaric would reach would be something truly remarkable.
And it was precisely because of this that Gilgamesh posed the question—was Alaric certain he wanted to join the next battle?
"Of course, King Gilgamesh."
Alaric lifted his head, looking up at the golden king standing at the highest point, and smiled.
"If I turned tail and ran now, wouldn't that make me a deserter?
Besides, as someone who has witnessed this battle for humanity, I must see it through to the end."
"Hmph, then go."
Still gazing toward the throne in the distance, Gilgamesh's smirk remained as he muttered, "How utterly dull."
"Oh, right—King Gilgamesh, do you have a suitable sword to lend me? My projection doesn't seem to be holding up too well."
Just as Alaric was about to leave, a thought struck him.
Although he had changed jobs, he realized that he had never received any compensation from his previous employer.
After enduring intense battles, Alaric had come to understand the limitations of his armaments.
While he could wield the Holy Spear Rhongomyniad, he still preferred using a sword. However, the only sword he could project was an empty shell of Excalibur, which was proving ineffective—especially when battling heroic spirits, as it struggled to last more than a few exchanges.
Yet Alaric had reached his limit in terms of projection capability and had no idea how to improve further.
So why not just borrow a real Noble Phantasm instead?
Gilgamesh's presence gave him an idea.
"Hah… coming to me to ask for a treasure—"
Standing atop the highest point, Gilgamesh smirked.
"Very well. This is the reward you deserve for this battle!"
Hum!
A golden portal unfurled before Alaric.