Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

As the aroma of dinner filled the corridor, a certain empty seat stood out starkly. Artoria hadn't returned since her departure, and the staff by the wall, which Senko-mura had meticulously cleaned, seemed to silently condemn everyone's negligence.

'Castor still not back?' Kalia looked towards the door for the third time. 'Is he still sulking?'

Senji Muramasa gripped his teacup tightly, his knuckles white, his gaze fixed on the open doorway: 'There's a limit to recklessness. To barge into Orkney's night without even a weapon... Does she think this is a fairy tale?'

"Speaking of this..." Kalia suddenly lowered her voice, "Orkney is notoriously unsafe in the Fairy Kingdom. Those bandits not only rob people, but also engage in human trafficking and organ smuggling, like..."

Her words were interrupted by a table suddenly overturned. Chizuru grabbed her collar, his eyes burning with rare panic: 'What did you say?! Those bastards will try to lay a finger on her!'

The sound of shattering ceramics startled the entire restaurant. Under the astonished gazes of everyone, the old man grabbed his staff from the wall, the clanging of his armor like thunder before a storm. As he rushed out the door, the gust of wind he created whipped Kalia's hair across his forehead.

(Turns out this old guy... cares about that kid even more than he seems to.)

As Kalia watched the figure disappear into the night, a sudden sense of foreboding arose within him.

"Why did Grandpa suddenly rush out?" Ritsuka asked, staring at the still-swaying curtain. "By the way, hasn't Miss Artoria returned yet?"

Sei Shonagon counted the seats: 'I haven't seen her since the discussion ended this afternoon... Did something unpleasant happen?'

"With Mr. Muramasa going to look for him, there shouldn't be any problem," Gareth said casually as he chopped at the roast meat. "That old man is a powerful figure who can even tame dragons."

Across the table, Noknaria silently swirled her wine glass, her gaze lingering subtly on Gareth and Sei Shonagon. Just three hours earlier, Aurora's shrill voice still echoed in her ears from the crystal communication:

'Those two sisters from the Mirror Clan are still alive? Good, let them enjoy the starry sky for a few more days. Anyway, this clan is destined to disappear from the Fairy Kingdom—'

"Why not just get rid of them?" Nocnarria asked, puzzled. "Keeping them around will only cause trouble."

"I will make those strangers witness the Mirror Clan's last hope extinguished," Aurora laughed like a viper's tongue, "and that Percival too...let them understand in their despair the consequences of defying the Queen."

At this moment, the real Artoria sat alone on the stone steps outside the city gate. Starlight shattered on her trembling shoulders, and memories flooded back like a tide—

Backstage at the Gloucester pageant that year, she was shoved and ushered out of the dressing room by staff. Her cheap cloth shoes clashed starkly against the opulent carpet.

'How could they treat you like this?' Nocnaria chased after them, lifting her skirt, her jeweled crown gleaming under the lights.

Artoria awkwardly straightened her pilling cuffs: 'A poor girl like me shouldn't even be in a place like this...'

As she turned to leave, her friend grabbed her wrist tightly. Nocnarria's eyes gleamed with a defiant light: 'Come with me! I'll show those snobs that you shine brighter than any of them!'

Before the mirror, the silk dress flowed over her like moonlight. Artoria stared blankly at the unfamiliar girl in the mirror, experiencing for the first time the sweetness of being cherished. But this warmth had now turned into a poisoned dagger—the girl who had once stood up for her was now wearing a mask of hypocrisy, pushing everyone into the abyss.

(If we expose Nok's true colors... everyone will be in danger. But if we continue to remain silent...)

She suddenly stood up, and the distant howls of wolves echoed in the night. It was time to go back, back to that banquet filled with lies, and continue playing the naive and ignorant 'child of prophecy'.

(At least... we need to protect Ritsuka and the others first.)

Artoria leaped lightly from the stone wall, only to crash into a cold embrace the moment she landed. The crisp sound of armor clashing shattered the night.

"Who are you?" The sinister question carried a murderous intent.

'Kelby?!' Artoria blurted out, immediately regretting it. Just then, moonlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the scar on the other person's face and their single eye.

"Get out of the way!" Kelby exclaimed, his body steaming. "Otherwise, I wouldn't mind killing one more in the way!"

'Wait, listen to me—'

The sensation of the water blade piercing her abdomen was colder than she had imagined. Artoria stared blankly as blood spread across her white clothes, then was violently grabbed by the throat and slammed against the wall.

'I gave you a chance.' Kelby's breath tickled my ear like a viper's tongue.

Amidst excruciating pain and dizziness, Artoria was flung several meters away like a rag doll. The faint glow of a healing spell had barely appeared when a column of water bound her legs like chains—she instinctively reached for the air, only to realize with horror that her staff had been left behind in that banquet hall filled with lies.

Kelby's figure instantly appeared before her with the flow of water, and her arms, transformed into sharp blades, mercilessly pierced through her shoulders, pinning her to the ground.

'You maggots from the fairy kingdom... you've taken everything from me!' A frantic roar accompanied by blood splattering on her face.

Through her blurred vision, Artoria saw something deeper than hatred in that single eye—a despair on the verge of collapse. She spoke through the excruciating pain, her voice broken and fragmented due to the piercing wound:

'Wait... I'm not your enemy...' Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 'Your eyes tell me... you're looking for your way home, aren't you? Ioruf... survivor...'

Kelby's pupils suddenly contracted.

Throughout the long history of the Fairy Kingdom, the six major clans—Wind, Earth, Fang, Wing, Mirror, and King—have acted as six pillars, supporting the kingdom's order. However, there are always souls unwilling to be bound by these constraints. They break free from the existing system, either establishing utopias in the deep mountains or forming entirely new ethnic groups. These mavericks often give birth to civilizations that overturn tradition—

Blood gushed from the piercing wound in Artoria's shoulder. Suppressing the excruciating pain, she revealed a secret buried deep within her heart for over a decade: 'His Majesty told me ten years ago...about the last survivor of Iorph...'

Kelby froze. Aside from Morgan and his cronies in the gutter, no one should have known about this wiped-out race. She released her grip, her voice wavering for the first time: 'How could you... be that bastard Merlin...'

'It has nothing to do with Merlin...' Artoria coughed up blood, 'It was His Majesty...ten years ago in Gloucester...'

Gloucester ten years ago

Morgan let down her silver hair, which she always wore in a high bun, and changed into a simple white dress before entering the ward. This change of appearance left Artoria bewildered: 'Your Majesty... my injuries have long since healed...'

'That riot was my dereliction of duty.' Morgan lightly touched the fading scar on the girl's neck with her fingertips. 'If only I had noticed the antipathy in the Lake District sooner...' A year ago, on that snowy night, when she found the frozen Artoria in the cave, those bluish-purple frostbite still burned in her memory.

To change the subject, Artoria asked softly, "Your Majesty... are all six clans so resistant to atonement? You too..."

Morgan sat naturally on the edge of the bed, their two disheveled figures appearing like sisters in the morning light. 'All the children of prophecy have faced the same predicament.' She tucked the blanket around the girl, 'The fairies take original sin for granted, and atonement is heresy.' Her fingertips brushed a stray strand of hair from Artoria's ear, 'So I hid you in the Lake District, but alas…'

'Is there not a single clan willing to confront original sin?'

"Ensell and Lady Adimhead of the Mirror Clan are exceptions," Morgan said, looking out the window. "And then there are the isolated tribes who, though well-intentioned, have committed the most fatal original sin—acquiescence."

'A race that separated from the main race?' Artoria sat up straight. She was very familiar with the story of the Mirror Clan, but this previously unheard-of race attracted her like a firefly in the dark night.

Besides the six major clans, are there other branches?

Morgan smoothed the folds of her skirt: 'Most of the scattered clans have long since vanished into the annals of history. Other clans saw them as a threat and often...' She paused slightly, 'Remember the fairy knight Bedivere?'

'That nightmare that caused countless tragedies...' The image of the silver-armored knight appeared before Artoria's eyes.

'Before becoming my knight, she belonged to a scattered clan called Ioruf.'

'Iorph?' Artoria leaned forward eagerly, 'They're now...'

Morgan's long, silver hair obscured her expression. No words were needed; her silence spoke volumes about the painful truth.

'It was...nine hundred years ago, wasn't it?' Artoria's voice was as soft as a sigh.

"The Wind Clan slaughtered the entire Iorph." Morgan unconsciously gripped the sheets. "Machia Kelly—that's her real name, the last survivor."

'But you always call her Kelby...'

'That was the name of the water fairy who gave her life.' Morgan gazed into the void, as if she could see the fading image of two dying girls embracing, 'Two people who met in dire straits... one chose to let the other carry on with double the life.'

Artoria treasured these words like pearls in her heart. When she raised her moist eyes, Morgan knew—the seed had taken root and sprouted in the girl's heart.

It was the era when Morgan first ascended the throne, and the six great clans had just ended a thousand-year war. Amidst the growing pains of rebuilding order, Eton Éorf, a nobleman of the Mirror Clan, weary of the endless war, quietly gathered like-minded companions. This fairy, who had witnessed the transition between the Eternal Calendar and the Queen's Calendar, ultimately chose to lead his followers to the harsh north, Ensos. Before departing, they took with them the Mirror Clan's heirloom—the [Eternal Lamp], capable of gathering the light of life.

This isolated group, calling themselves the Iorph Clan in the name of their leader, became one of the few scattered clans recorded by the royal family during this turbulent era. And tonight, nine hundred years later, as Artoria trembled as she uttered this long-forgotten name, the murderous glint in Kelby's eyes suddenly intensified.

'So you knew all along…' The water-based blade sank even deeper, and a gigantic hand formed from solidified ice gripped the girl's throat. 'The blood of our Ioruf race must never be defiled by you again!'

Artoria's fingertips scratched bloody marks on the stone ground, and the lack of oxygen began to blur her vision. An unprecedented chill seeped into her bones—it turned out that what she saw on her deathbed was not a revolving lantern, but a revolving lantern of unfulfilled vows.

"Farewell!" Kelby's frenzied roar shook the air, "Let your blood be a sacrifice to the souls of my fallen race!"

In the instant before her consciousness faded, the instinct for survival broke free of its shackles. With her last strength, Artoria raised her head and cried out in a hoarse voice:

'Mr. Muramasa—save me! I don't want to die!'

A crimson sword aura tore through the night, blasting Kyle away like a kite with a broken string. Before she could struggle, three katana blades pierced the air, pinning her to an ancient tree trunk with a clang. Senji Muramasa's figure appeared in the moonlight, his iron-like hand gripping the traitor's throat:

'Who gave you permission to touch this child!'

'Muramasa...you...' Kelby coughed up blood and struggled.

The old man grabbed her long hair and yanked her violently, sending three katanas flying off the tree trunk along with splinters of wood. The next second, her head was slammed hard against the ground, sending shards of stone flying with a deafening crash, and the out-of-control fairy knight finally lost consciousness.

'Cough...cough cough...' Artoria curled up on the ground, the stinging sensation of icy water lingering in her throat. Then, warm arms encircled her trembling shoulders, and blood-stained white beard gently brushed against her forehead:

'Silly girl...do you have to scare this old man to death before you're satisfied?'

'Mr. Muramasa...'

She wanted to reach out and hug him back, but the piercing wound in her shoulder made her gasp in pain. This protection, which always appeared in her most desperate moments, reminded her of the years under Morgan's wing. They were clearly not related, so why did these hands that forged swords always hold her up?

"Hold on! I'll take you back to heal your wounds!" Muramasa tore off a piece of his shirt and pressed it against her bleeding wound. "As for that crazy woman... humph!"

The chill from blood loss washed over her, and before she sank completely into darkness, she felt the warmth of the old man's broad back. Like the blacksmith's shop outside a cave on a snowy night, always lit for her.

early morning

Morning light filtered through the gauze curtains, dancing on Artoria's trembling eyelashes. When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Senjimura's bloodshot pupils.

"You're awake!" The old man gently stroked her cheek with his rough hand, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, "You silly girl... if I had arrived even a moment later..."

"Muramasa...Muramasa!" Artoria buried her face in his chest, tears soaking the old man's clothes. "I'll never be willful again...I really thought I was going to die back then..."

She felt the old man's trembling embrace and noticed the dark circles under his eyes and his weary face. This swordsmith, who was always so stubborn, had stayed by her side the whole time she was unconscious.

(If it weren't for him... I would have been a cold corpse in the wilderness long ago...)

Kalia sighed with relief: "When I saw you being carried back covered in blood, I almost thought you wouldn't make it..."

"Grandpa's still the most reliable!" Ritsuka broke the heavy atmosphere with a smile, her gaze shifting to the figure bound by chains in the corner. "But... what should we do with this attacker?"

All eyes were on Kelby. His mottled armor was stained with dark red blood, and even in his unconscious state, he exuded a dangerous aura. Ritsuka unconsciously clenched her fists, and the terrifying memory of being hunted resurfaced.

Kalia grabbed the traitor's silver hair: "Stop playing dead!" She slapped him across the face. "Tell me, what trick are you planning this time?"

Kelby spat out blood, his one eye burning with hatred: 'I want my land back! I've had enough of being enslaved by you goblins!'

'Slavery?' Kalia grabbed her collar. 'It's ironic to hear this from the mouth of an executioner like you!'

"You've taken my village! My children!" Kelby suddenly roared, his voice shattering like broken glass, "The blood debt of the Ioruf...you can never repay it!"

'Iorf?' Sei Shonagon repeated in confusion.

Suddenly, the communication crystal in Kalia's arms lit up. Morgan's holographic image floated in the air, his silver hair flowing like moonlight.

'She wasn't lying.' The Queen's voice held everyone's breath. 'Makia is indeed the last vestige of Ioruf.'

Kelby—or rather, Machia—trembled violently upon hearing her real name.

Morgan continued, "Even if you betrayed your oath, I will still give you a choice. I have uncovered the truth about those victims, and there's also what you've hidden in the secret space..."

White-eyed wolf - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

The light projected from the crystal ball spread across twelve files on the wall, each densely packed with photos and information about the victims. When Ritsuka counted the statistics at the bottom of the files, she couldn't help but gasp—a staggering two hundred and fifty-six lives!

The scene abruptly shifts to a gloomy basement. The walls are splattered with blood, the still-drying crimson suggesting the facility was recently operational. On the chained operating table in the center of the room, congealed blood pools are scattered with bone fragments, and deep scratches on the restraints bear witness to the victim's final struggle. Tool shelves on the walls display saws, cleavers, and various other unidentifiable sharp instruments covered in filth, while swarms of writhing maggots churn amidst the blood and gore.