As the blinding light faded, Gawain regained his vision—only to find himself once again in that same familiar room.
Something felt different, and yet... everything looked the same.
Only the mist had grown thicker.
"What just happened... that flash of light... I feel so dizzy..." Bavanzi murmured, clutching her forehead.
"No, that's not the important part!" Mordred suddenly sprang to her feet. "That was Father just now! That had to be Father! But why would Father be here... Oh! No wonder I'm that so-called Prince Vocht. Turns out Queen Cassiluda was being played by Father!"
But then, recalling the tall, voluptuous figure from earlier, Mordred frowned and slapped her forehead again.
"Wait, no... Father isn't that tall. And she's definitely not that stacked! Honestly, her figure is way closer to Mom's!"
"The reason the Artoria you remember is so petite and flat is because the Sword of Selection keeps its wielder in a state of eternal youth... which means, her body never grew past the point when she first drew the sword as a trainee knight," Gawain said, stepping in calmly.
"In other words, if she had chosen the Holy Lance instead and taken a different path, one where her body continued to mature... she might've ended up looking like that. Don't forget, she and Morgan are sisters. Genetically speaking, their growth potential shouldn't be that different."
When Gawain first saw Cassiluda deep within the nightmare, he had confirmed it immediately. The Servant summoned to play the role of Queen Cassiluda was, quite clearly, Lancer Artoria—an alternate version of the king who had chosen the lance over the sword, ruling Britain as a sovereign rather than a symbol.
Because she wasn't frozen in time by the sword, her body matured to match her regal status.
And, considering the original London Singularity scenario, this Lancer Artoria must be the Alter variant—infamously known as the Black Lance.
"Huh? So that's another version of Father... Is it really that easy to just make up new Servant variants?" Mordred asked, eyes wide.
"Wah!"
A sudden shout interrupted them—Jack's voice rang from the direction of the balcony.
"Daddy! Mommy! Look over there! There's so many tall towers!"
Gawain's heart skipped a beat. He immediately walked toward the balcony and looked out over Lake Halley.
On the opposite shore, countless towers pierced the heavens. Two moons—one golden, one crimson—hung in the sky, nestled between the towering spires.
"The Thousand-Towered City... Carcosa. But how can this be? It's not even nighttime yet... No—wait."
Gawain paused, then suddenly came to a realization.
"We've arrived."
"Huh?" Mordred asked.
"We've already reached the depths of the nightmare," Gawain explained. "Carcosa... it's the ever-lurking horror in Queen Cassiluda's dreams. Her nightmare... is the arrival of Carcosa."
"That means—it's time to move. I'd wager the banquet below hasn't ended yet."
With that, Gawain turned and strode briskly toward the door.
Bavanzi quickly followed, muttering as she caught up:
"Wait a minute, hold on. I have a very serious question."
"What is it?" Gawain asked.
"Why did she just call you 'Mommy and Daddy'?" she said, pointing at Jack. "You're the only guy here, so obviously you're the dad... but who's her mom?"
"Uh..." Gawain's brow twitched. Bavanzi's gaze then locked onto Mordred, whose eyes had begun to drift away suspiciously.
"My dear little sister," she asked sweetly. "Why won't you look me in the eye?"
"Well..." Gawain sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Jack's technically Mordred's adopted daughter. So she calls her 'Mommy.' And since I've been partnered with Mordred this whole time... she just started calling me Daddy too. That's all. Kids, you know? Don't read too much into it."
"Really now?" Bavanzi narrowed her eyes, staring hard at him. "You and my little sister really don't have any special relationship?"
"None whatsoever!"
"My, my... a passionate young man caught between two royal sisters... what a delightful drama I've stumbled into."
Just then, a flamboyant male voice echoed from the hall ahead. Gawain's expression turned serious, and he looked up to see they'd somehow arrived once again at the grand ballroom they'd visited before.
Only this time, it was no longer empty.
The hall buzzed with life. Guests in white masks mingled and danced, the clinking of glasses and hum of conversation filling the air.
Standing at the entrance to the hall, dressed in a guard's uniform and smiling serenely, was the long-missing Shakespeare.
"You were S all along... weren't you, Will?" Gawain said coldly.
"Oh, astounding! You figured it out so quickly?" Shakespeare blinked, then grinned. "But for now, I'm merely a humble guardsman named Bramshass. I'd appreciate it if you respected my role a little more."
"Come on, you weren't even trying to hide it. The whole PBM thing uses initials, and you didn't even bother to fake yours. You vanished suspiciously right before things went to hell, and you're the most dramatic troublemaker around. It was obvious."
Gawain stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"But why, Will? Why help people like Makiri? What does the destruction of humanity gain you?"
"Ah, alas. I had no choice," Shakespeare sighed. "I was summoned by Makiri. A Servant must obey their Master's will, even if their own heart protests. What can I do?"
"You don't look reluctant. If it weren't for your contribution, they never could've pulled off this nightmare-summoning ritual."
"Ah, give a humble playwright a little credit!" Will grinned. "Still, if you want the full truth, you'll have to beat it out of m—"
Before he could finish, a blood-red arrow whizzed through the air and pierced his chest, hurling him against the wall with a sickening crack.
"Well now, that was impatient of you," he chuckled, unbothered by the gaping wound. "But no matter!"
Spreading his arms wide, Shakespeare proclaimed:
"Then let the climax begin! Thunderous applause, please! Ladies and gentlemen—truth unveiled! The time has come to show your true selves. Take off your masks, and reveal who you've been dancing with!"
Special Mission Triggered: Nightmare Avatar Hunt VII – Bramshass, Witness to the End
You have returned to the depths of the nightmare and reached the grand banquet once more. Awaiting you is one of the avatars of the Nightmare—S, the one pulling the strings behind the scenes: Shakespeare. For reasons unknown, he has chosen to stand against you. Defeat him.
Mission Objective: Defeat "Bramshass – Witness to the End."
Reward: "The King in Yellow" Manuscript: Truth Edition
As the system prompt faded, the masked guests began to move in eerie unison.
Each raised a hand and removed their white masks—only to continue the motion, digging their fingers into their own eye sockets, gouging out their eyes and tearing the skin from their faces.
Blood gushed like fountains as they peeled away their own flesh, revealing pallid, expressionless white masks beneath—featureless except for dark, empty holes that now wept blood.
Then they all turned, their hollow sockets fixed on Gawain's group, and charged forward while chanting:
"Sir, please remove your mask."
This scene, once enough to make Gawain shiver in terror, now barely stirred his heart.
Because repetition is the enemy of fear—what had once been horrific was now merely grotesque. He'd seen this all before.
Back then, he'd been alone. Weak. Powerless.
Now?
Now he had four Servants at his side—and not a single one of them was non-combat.
Fear comes from insufficient firepower. Ghosts and monsters are terrifying... until you're holding a rocket launcher.
"In that case—ladies, if you please."
He pointed toward the charging horde.
"Crush them."
First to strike was Mordred, surging forward in a flash of crimson lightning. Her sword cleaved through the front line of enemies, splitting them clean in half before she dashed into the fray, her magic bursting in violent red arcs that hurled foes in all directions.
Behind her, crimson arrows shot from Bavanzi's bow, blasting apart any monsters that survived Mordred's assault. And those who somehow lived through that were promptly hammered into paste by Frankenstein's merciless blows.
Meanwhile, Jack danced through the chaos like a phantom, guarding her allies' backs. Any creature that tried to flank or sneak up on them found themselves instantly eviscerated.
Red lightning and blue thunder crackled in concert, while blood-tipped arrows and dagger flashes cut through the dark. The monsters fell back under the onslaught, shredded and torn.
But something was wrong.
No matter how many times they were beheaded, impaled, or pulverized... the creatures refused to stay dead.
Their bodies knit themselves back together, fleshy tendrils growing from severed stumps, reattaching limbs—or worse, transforming the pieces into independent horrors, shambling forward on grotesque appendages.
"What the hell is this?!" Mordred yelled, watching in horror as a monster she'd split into four simply became four monsters.
"Because they dwell in the realm of the King Eternal... they are already dead!" Shakespeare declared, rising with blood still pouring from his chest.
"They are undead, immortal! And how do you kill that which has already died?"
"Who said we had to kill them?"
Another voice rang out—calm, steady.
Shakespeare turned, surprised, to see Gawain standing on the far side of the hall, by the balcony overlooking Lake Halley.
Dodging a lunging monster, Gawain simply grabbed it and hurled it into the waters below.
The moment it hit the lake, it sank like a stone—only bubbles remained.
Gawain stared for a moment, then turned back to Will with a cold smile.
"We just have to drown them."
"I wonder... between these undead guests and the thing sleeping in the lake... which one's scarier?"