[T/N: Mass update: 4/5]
"Lancelot?"
Irisviel turned her head, her gaze fixed on Saber. Anyone familiar with the legends of King Arthur would understand the weight behind that name.
For Saber, who had sworn to restore his kingdom, this name struck like a fuse, threatening to unravel the very foundation of his resolve. But contrary to her expectations, his eyes widened, revealing an expression he had never worn since arriving in this world: confusion and anxiety.
The warm, unwavering smile that usually lit his face was gone. In its place was pure disbelief, beads of sweat sliding down his pale skin. Even during the century-long clash between Enkidu and Gilgamesh yesterday, he had never shown such vulnerability.
There was no calm composure, no tactical poise. Only a sudden, unsettling uncertainty.
"Is it possible… for such a thing to exist?" Saber whispered hoarsely. "One of us… between me and Sir Lancelot… is from another world?"
"My king…" Lancelot bowed his head deeply. "Even in this completely different world, standing before you as… a man, I am ashamed. I… I acted in ways that were inexcusable…"
"Don't worry, Sir Lancelot," Saber said, raising his sword once more. "I have never blamed anyone. The only one at fault… is myself."
"Sir Lancelot, Though I am not your king, hear this advice: Since you are fighting for your dreams, you don't have to worry about the past. Draw your sword!"
Lancelot paused, stunned by the kingly decisiveness radiating from this version of Arthur. He had expected doubt, hesitation, perhaps even contempt, but not this calm, commanding presence. Compared to his original king, Astoria, this one, Even after everything he had endured, he remained a true king: just, composed, and unwavering.
Bitterly, Lancelot smiled, his eyes regaining the serene clarity of a placid lake. This… this was a King of Knights. Even here, in a world foreign to him, the king he served could manifest such perfection.
Yet he had to know.
What dreams drive this king in pursuit of the Holy Grail? What end is he unwilling to accept? Only by understanding could he atone for his sins.
"Boring. I want rivers of blood," Roland yawned lazily. "When one of you falls, come call me. Until then… I'm going to see my dear daughter."
With Lancelot positioned to block him, Roland strolled to Irisviel and took her hand. The moment he touched her, she gave no struggle. simply closed her eyes and allowed herself to be enveloped in darkness, as if resigned to fate.
"Irisviel!" Saber cried, unable to sit idle. But the scene unfolded just as history had dictated: Roland took Irisviel, and Lancelot, ever the protector, positioned himself between them and Saber.
"Don't worry, Saber. If you truly wish to save your master, strike Berserker with all your strength. But heed my advice: even without his berserk state, he is no ordinary opponent once his sword is drawn."
Lancelot slowly unsheathed his blade, moonlight catching on its runes. The shimmering magic sword, gleaming like a placid lake, radiated immense power. In Matou Kariya's hands, wielding it could have endangered his master, but with Roland's support, Lancelot felt an endless supply of energy, an unfathomable bottomless well.
"The undiminished Lake Light…" Saber murmured, nostalgia and recognition flashing across his face. His focus sharpened; distractions fell away. The holy sword thrummed with anticipation, as if drawn to the battle ahead.
Lancelot saluted Saber, knight to king, with all the respect he could muster. The next step was inevitable: to demonstrate his loyalty and strength with unyielding resolve.
"My king, here I come."
Without hesitation, Lancelot surged forward, speed surpassing his previous attacks. Within an instant, he was nearly upon Saber, the wind slicing his armor with razor-sharp gusts.
"Though I may boast," Lancelot's words came slowly, measured, "I am among the strongest of the Knights of the Round Table in one-on-one combat."
---
"Even with Caster accompanying you, do you truly trust Berserker? Saber is formidable."
Irisviel's voice was calm as they entered Einzbern Castle, Roland holding her hand while Caster followed silently.
"On paper, Saber is the strongest in this Grail War. Unless Lancelot matches her abilities, victory isn't guaranteed. And now that Berserker has regained his sanity, these two will likely see each other as obstacles, perhaps even meal replacements."
Roland's smile widened, sharp and predatory.
"So if the guilty Berserker fights the dreaming Knight King, the outcome is obvious."
"Then why hesitate? At this rate, the Berserker you worked so hard to obtain may be defeated before even drawing his sword."
"Isn't that better?" Roland's eyes gleamed. "From the start, I looked forward to this scene. Facing a crazed Knight King and a righteous swordmaster? Much easier to manipulate."
Irisviel's face paled. Though secluded in the castle, her understanding of the world told her the truth: Roland's motives were never simple. She couldn't discern whether his visit to Illya had ulterior purpose, or was simply indulgence.
Roland, however, ignored her completely. Moving down the corridor, he reached the door just as it creaked open.
A small head of white hair peeked out, the girl blinking sleepily, her voice soft and hesitant.
"Mom… are you back?"
Roland's hand tightened gently around Irisviel's, and at the sound of her daughter's voice, Irisviel's gentle, composed smile returned instantly.
"Illya, look who I brought home."
The little girl, delicate as a snow elf, froze for a heartbeat before blushing deeply. Then, brimming with uncontainable joy, she leapt into Roland's arms.
"Daddy—!"