Like some ancient beast from the primordial ages, the overwhelming pressure radiating from the phantom in the lake nearly suffocated Gawain.
And it wasn't just him—Mordred, who had always feared nothing and no one, now found herself drenched in cold sweat under the phantom's oppressive aura, her hand clutching her sword trembling slightly.
"What the hell is that thing?" she couldn't help shouting.
"I... I don't know," Gawain replied, wiping the sweat from his brow, his voice trembling.
It was strange—very strange.
Normally, whenever they encountered some special enemy, the system would immediately issue a subjugation quest, along with a dossier of information—just like when they had fought Jack, Mephistopheles, or Hohenheim's nightmare incarnations. He could even tell whether an enemy had truly been defeated based on whether the quest had marked itself as completed.
But when it came to the strange blood-colored shadow rising from the lake, the system's interface behaved in an unprecedented manner:
[Warning, warning: recognition error.]
[Special event detected. Encounter with Special Boss "????". Commencing subjug—Error.]
[@#$%@#%$@#%@...]
After a cascade of garbled text, a final line appeared:
[Error signal detected. Unable to verify player ID. System will reboot and scan for faults.]
Then—everything vanished.
All text disappeared from Gawain's field of vision. The entire system interface was simply... gone.
What the hell had he just run into?
Staring at those messages, Gawain was completely dumbfounded.
What was this? Wasn't the system acting all cocky before? It had dared to issue missions opposing the arrival of the King in Yellow—going head-to-head with that monstrosity. He'd even been somewhat impressed, thinking the system was tougher than he'd thought. But now? One weird shadow and the system completely crashes? It couldn't even identify the target?
So then—just what level of existence could force his system to crash?
Was it... the King in Yellow, descending in person?
"Whatever. If neither of you knows what that thing is…" Mordred grit her teeth. "Then I'm going in!"
Her logic, as always, was brutally simple—when in doubt, charge it down.
Before Gawain could stop her, she kicked off the water's surface. Her body became a blur as scarlet lightning tore across the lake, racing straight for the shadowy figure.
But the moment she moved, a ripple expanded from the heart of the shadow. Gawain felt as though a mountain had dropped onto his shoulders—a crushing, top-down pressure unlike anything before. It wasn't just physical; it hit his soul. The sheer authority of the being felt like a superior lifeform crushing down on its inferiors. Mordred stumbled mid-charge.
Still, she didn't stop. Regaining her footing, she raised her blazing sword high and slashed down at the phantom.
That was as far as she got.
Just ten centimeters from the figure's neck, her king's sword—sizzling with red lightning—froze in place.
The phantom had raised a single finger.
And with that single finger, it effortlessly halted her strike.
"Wh-what?" Mordred's eyes widened in disbelief.
Her sword—stopped by just one finger?
This was a joke, right?
She was the child of King Arthur, the one raised to inherit his throne! How could she be this powerless—
"Like hell I'll accept that!"
With a furious roar, she twisted her blade and brought it down on the phantom's throat from another angle.
This time, the phantom didn't even bother to block it.
The blade landed directly on its neck—
—and did nothing.
The scarlet lightning surged and crackled, tearing at the figure with full force… but it was like striking a void. No matter how the power surged, it simply vanished into the figure's body, as if it were being devoured by an endless abyss.
"This can't be real…" Mordred murmured. "I'm King Arthur's daughter…"
Schlick—!
A spear of water shot up from the lake—solidifying in an instant—and skewered her straight through the gut, shattering her armor. The impact sent her flying all the way to the distant shore.
"Mordred!" Gawain screamed, immediately grabbing Bavanzi and sprinting over to her.
But as he reached her side, his heart sank.
That single terrifying strike had instantly annihilated all signs of life from Mordred's body. Her head hung low, breath fading fast, her eyes already glazed over and devoid of light.
"...Mordred?"
Gawain called her name softly, but his body had already frozen in place.
He could feel it.
The link between them—between Master and Servant—was growing faint. On the other end of the bond, Mordred's presence was rapidly dimming, nearly gone.
Then, golden motes of light began to drift up from her body and scatter into the air.
The moment he saw them, Gawain felt all the blood drain from his face.
His heart shattered.
What the hell just happened? How was this even possible?
Was Mordred… really dead?
But just as despair began to consume him—
Mordred's body changed.
The golden motes that had been drifting away suddenly circled back, gathering around her body once more. Her wounds began to heal—as if time itself were rewinding. The cracked armor mended. Her fading breath returned. Her dull eyes regained their spark.
Her connection to him—flared to life, stronger than ever.
Gawain blinked. His labored breath finally loosened, and he collapsed to the ground in stunned relief.
Only for that relief to last a brief moment—because the pressure behind him was still there, looming.
"...Gawain? You okay?" Mordred's voice called out.
Looking up, he saw her blinking in confusion. Her gaze darted between him, the frightened Bavanzi, and the crimson shadow on the lake.
She blinked again. "Wait... I'm back?"
"...Huh?"
Gawain was still processing the fact that she'd just come back from the dead. Her words threw his mind into a minor short circuit.
"That thing..." Mordred's face turned serious. "We need to get out of here. Now. That thing is way beyond us."
"...You're right. But…"
He turned to look back at the lake. Though the phantom had no visible eyes, Gawain could feel it—
It was watching him.
"You take Bavanzi and go," he said, reaching into his coat and grabbing the Philosopher's Stone. "I'll buy you some time."
"Oh no you don't." Mordred immediately leapt to her feet, sword at the ready. "If anyone's staying behind, it's me. I'm the stronger one, and my survival odds are higher. You two go."
"Are you—"
Gawain opened his mouth to argue but stopped.
This whole thing was beginning to feel... absurdly familiar.
Like those scenes in anime where the heroes all fight over who gets to stay behind and die gloriously while the others escape.
He'd always thought those moments were stupid. All that time wasted arguing could've been spent running. Maybe then everyone could live.
And yet... now that it was happening to him, he didn't feel that way anymore.
Instead, he felt lucky.
Lucky to have companions worth dying for.
So—
"By Command Seal, I order you!"
Gawain raised his hand, and one of the crimson marks on the back of his hand lit up.
"You little—!"
Realizing what he was doing, Mordred's eyes widened in fury.
But Gawain ignored her protests.
"Mordred, I command you—take Bavanzi and lea—"
He didn't get to finish.
Something slipped out of his coat, dropping to the ground and catching his eye.
His heart skipped a beat. If it was the Philosopher's Stone, he was screwed. He still needed that as a last resort.
But when he looked down—
It wasn't the Stone.
It was something else.
Something he'd nearly forgotten.
A thin book—no, a script.
The Script of "The King in Yellow."
It had lain dormant for so long, Gawain had nearly forgotten it existed.
But now—seemingly triggered by some special event—the book flipped open of its own accord, pages fluttering, until it stopped at the beginning.
Then, several lines of text began to glow:
Queen Cassilda sits in her chamber, mourning the emptiness of her past.
Her dream disturbs the waters of Lake Hali;
Beneath the lake slumbers the ancient prophet.
"Dream?" Gawain whispered. "The prophet beneath the lake?"
The book flipped again, this time to Act Two.
Only a few glowing lines emerged now, but their brilliance was far stronger than before:
Stranger: I am Real.
Stranger: I am Reality.
Stranger: Having spent too many years among illusions, you are doomed never to perceive truth.
Stranger: I am but a phantom to you—and so is the truth.
Stranger: Truth is not a threat. It exists, regardless of human action, emotion, or thought. Truth is revealed, not created.
Stranger: I... I am Reality.
As the final line lit up—
An invisible force surged from the book, expanding outward like a vacuum. The blood-colored lake water began to fade, not through any rippling or stirring—but as if it were being drained of color. The scarlet hue vanished, leaving behind only calm, clear water.
And the phantom—so powerful it had driven them all to despair—
Was pulled toward the book.
Like a ghost caught in a vortex, the blood-colored shadow spiraled toward the script.
But just before it was absorbed—
The figure swelled with dark power and struck the book, scattering it into a hundred glowing pages that fluttered across the ground.
The phantom itself broke apart—vanishing into the distant mist, leaving behind only shocked companions and a lake that had returned to its deep, serene clarity.