The evening breeze blew, carrying with it a faint scent of burning gunpowder. The heroes opened their eyes, surveying the ruins of the house before them. From the scene, it wasn't difficult to guess what had happened—someone had attacked this place after they had left.
Considering Gilgamesh's overwhelming power, it wouldn't be surprising if a Master had chosen to eliminate his contractor in order to force him from the field.
On the contrary, all the heroes exhaled in relief. At least they had returned to the real world safely.
"The King of Conquerors!"
Balin instinctively looked for the Conqueror King, only for his gaze to fall on a golden chain.
Not far away, the King of Conquerors' sword lay shattered. A thin cut marked Gilgamesh's neck, but golden chains already bound the Conqueror King's body, and a bizarre weapon had pierced his chest.
"King of Conquerors, I acknowledge you as a warrior. Your fangs have indeed wounded me, and I will remember your valor. But even so, you still have no chance of victory. King of Conquerors, have you finally awoken from your dream?"
The Conqueror King smiled.
"Really? You won't grant me the chance to triumph, even in my dreams? But know this—my conquest will not end here..."
Golden ripples shimmered in Gilgamesh's hand, producing a chalice of gold and wine the color of blood.
"How bold you are, King of Conquerors. But you are always welcome to challenge my garden. No matter how many times you try, however, you will meet the same end—defeat."
The golden chains withdrew, and the Conqueror King's massive figure dissolved into golden light. Gilgamesh did not drink from the chalice. Instead, he poured its contents onto the earth, a silent offering to a warrior who had dared to oppose the First King.
Balin swallowed hard. Even drained of vast amounts of mana, Gilgamesh stood nearly unscathed after facing such an army. He was truly terrifying. Still—having spent so much power, he was not invincible.
"I'll launch a frontal attack," Aslan said, taking a steadying breath. "Whether we can finish him depends on you."
The Servant Aslan knew full well the headache that came from existing alongside his original self in this world. Against his true self, he would have no chance of victory. Worse, he was summoned in a flawed state, without his dragon at his side. He felt incomplete—lonely.
And truth be told, he had no desire for the Holy Grail. In the days spent with Artoria, she had repeatedly hinted at whether he should take the mantle of Britain's new king. That was a burden he'd rather not shoulder.
If his true self were here, perhaps he could fight Gilgamesh properly. But like this? Forget it. Before they departed, Kiritsugu had made it clear—if necessary, Aslan could be sacrificed. Even Artoria could be revealed in this battle if it meant eliminating Gilgamesh.
Among all the Heroic Spirits, none were more dangerous than the King of Heroes. Kiritsugu's judgment was correct. Now that the Conqueror King had fallen, if they could only defeat Gilgamesh, Kiritsugu was certain King Arthur would never lose to the remaining Servants.
Balin glanced at Aslan, guilt flashing in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Aslan. There's something I must do... I can't be the vanguard."
To this, Aslan only smiled faintly. Victory wasn't guaranteed, and sacrifice didn't matter. Deep down, he was curious to see how the gilded, arrogant king would react when tricked.
With a shared glance, Aslan charged forward. What met him were weapons designed to slay dragons. He could only give a bitter smile. Not every legend claimed he bore dragon blood, but myths had a way of reshaping truth—enough that even without blood ties, the taint of the dragon clung to him.
And he was, after all, the true son of Britain's White Dragon.
Against weapons made to pierce dragons, he could not afford even a single hit. He lacked his utopia, his means of rapid recovery—if he fell now, there would be no return.
Merlin, watching Aslan rush ahead, inhaled deeply. He pointed the Sword of Promised Victory at him, weaving dream and miracle into a blessing. Power surged into Aslan's body. He swung his holy sword forward, his magic bursting as he cleaved aside the first volley. Merlin raised his staff, gesturing with courtly grace, and the second volley of weapons dissolved into petals.
Gilgamesh raised his chin, unimpressed. He had already displayed the Enkidu chains once, so he no longer cared to conceal them. From the golden ripples, the chains lashed outward toward Aslan.
Balin saw the chains and set aside his swords. In his hands, a silver-white spear appeared, radiating a terrible light. This was his greatest sin—the spear that had destroyed a city, gravely wounded the Fisher King, and cursed four kingdoms. A weapon he hated to wield.
But if it could save his brother, then even his own destruction would be worth it.
"Holy Spear, double restraints removed! My sin, but also my light—[Spear of Destiny, Illuminated by Light]! Pierce through, and open a path for my dearest friend!"
Balin hurled the spear, silver brilliance tearing across the battlefield to meet the golden chains.
Perhaps out of remorse for his past failure to master it, this time his strike was flawless. The weapon struck not Aslan, but the golden ripples themselves, shattering the chains' path with miraculous precision.
-End Chapter-
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