"Goodbye, Karna... You were an incredible opponent."
Arthur spoke those words with serenity, watching the apocalyptic spectacle unfold before him.
The crimson radiance of Enuma Elish tore through the horizon, disintegrating the divine might of Karna's Vasavi Shakti.
The air trembled, the ground crumbled, and the heavens bent beneath the weight of two warriors who had transcended the limits of mortality.
For a fleeting instant, Arthur caught a glimpse of something on Karna's face — a calm, satisfied smile, almost grateful — before the scarlet torrent consumed him entirely, reducing the hero to nothingness.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost sacred.
Arthur exhaled slowly, feeling the energy around him dissipate into the wind.
"Ahh~" he sighed softly, tinged with melancholy.
There were no more worthy foes left. No rival capable of reigniting the burning thrill of battle within his chest.
He lifted his gaze, the wind gently tousling his golden hair.
By his own estimation, Achilles had likely already defeated Chiron — though at the cost of his immortality.
A tragic, predictable balance.
Then, a flash of light tore across the distant sky — a brilliant streak descending toward the Hanging Gardens.
"As expected... their battle is over," Arthur murmured, a faint smile curving his lips.
Turning slightly, his tone calm yet commanding, he called out:
"Your opponent has arrived, Mordred."
At that moment, the air trembled.
With a metallic flash and the unmistakable sound of armored footsteps, Mordred appeared before him.
Her presence radiated impatience, her tone sharp with that same brash arrogance Arthur knew so well.
"Are you sure you can heal him? I don't want to fight some half-dead opponent."
Her voice was steady, almost disdainful.
"Absolutely." Arthur replied coolly, as a golden portal opened beside him, bathing the ground in divine light.
From within it, a sword shot forth — launched like an arrow with flawless precision — soaring through the air toward Achilles, who was speeding toward the Gardens.
Arthur smiled.
"Don't look at me like that. Have I ever lied to you?"
Mordred crossed her arms, glaring at him with that familiar irritation.
With an impatient huff, she vanished once more.
---
After his battle with his teacher, Achilles guided his chariot through the skies, his body still marked with wounds — yet his determination remained unshaken.
The wind howled around him, carrying the metallic scent of blood.
Then, something caught his eye — a sword fired from below, cutting through the air like a golden lightning bolt.
He recognized it instantly.
And in that very moment, he understood who was calling him.
With a single fluid motion, Achilles shifted his course, descending rapidly as his chariot streaked across the clouds, landing with effortless grace upon the shattered earth.
What he found was ruin — fragments of what once had been the proud symbol of Semiramis's dominion.
And at its center stood Arthur, calm and composed amidst the dust and the debris.
Achilles didn't attack.
He simply stared for a long moment, breathing deeply before speaking.
"Looks like the Lancer's been defeated too."
Arthur chuckled, folding his arms.
"I could say the same for you. Your presence here means Chiron's fallen."
There was respect in his words — though veiled with irony.
"Changing the subject," Arthur continued, voice low yet commanding,
"your opponent here isn't me."
"Then who—" Achilles began, but was cut off by a bright flash beside him.
"That would be me," Mordred declared, stepping forward with her blade in hand and a confident snort.
Arthur laughed lightly as he turned away.
"Well then, my work here is done. I've got other matters to attend to."
As he walked past Achilles, he tossed him something small — the hero caught it instinctively.
"Take this. It'll heal all your wounds."
Achilles glanced down at the object in his hand — a bean.
He frowned in confusion.
"This is... a bean?" he muttered.
Arthur merely laughed.
"Just eat it, and you'll understand. And don't bother worrying about poison — I'd sooner kill myself than stoop to something so low."
With a carefree smile and a playful wave, he walked away, leaving the Greek hero alone with Mordred.
---xXx---
"Clang!"
The sharp ring of steel on steel echoed through the ruins, reverberating between shattered pillars and broken walls.
Each clash sent tremors through the ground, scattering sparks that cut through the shadowed night like fragments of stars.
At the heart of the battlefield, Achilles grinned — the wild gleam in his eyes revealing the ecstasy of a warrior who had finally found a worthy foe.
His body, completely restored thanks to the strange bean Arthur had given him, moved with the fluidity and ferocity of living lightning.
Even without his chariot, the Greek hero seemed unstoppable.
Perhaps his chariot had made him godlike on the battlefield — but here, in a duel stripped of all artifice, no divine aid, no steeds, no relics — the true Achilles stood revealed.
A man who was, in essence, a storm given form.
In legend, Achilles was hailed as the fastest hero in human history.
That truth came alive now in the brilliance of his Noble Phantasm — Dromeus Komētēs.
When he abandoned his chariot, the very earth itself bent to his will.
In a single breath, he could cross the entirety of a battlefield — no mountain, no ruin, no obstacle could slow him.
Now, he circled Mordred like a comet of green and gold, his spear flashing in blinding arcs.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Each strike was mercilessly precise — a rhythm of destruction that rang like a hymn to war.
Mordred, clad in shining armor, roared through the impact.
Each blow forced her boots deeper into the ground, sparks erupting at their feet like meteors.
She was stronger — there was no denying that.
Her sword could split walls, cleave stone, tear through armor like paper.
But Achilles was faster.
Far faster.
The air itself seemed to scream with every movement, whipping into violent whirlwinds around them.
Each time she blocked, Mordred felt her arms shake, her muscles burn — and still, she refused to yield.
This was what it meant to fight.
To live and die for the clash of steel and spirit.
To meet a warrior who made her blood boil and her instincts ignite.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Achilles grinned — wild, exhilarated.
It was as if he were saying: "Show me more."
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."