Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

The chains tightened abruptly, flinging her mangled body toward the churning, misty sea. Before plunging into eternal darkness, Monica's last sight was the rainbow-colored ripples painted on the water by her own spreading blood, much like the jeweled sash adorning a cape during an award ceremony.

How laughable—in the instant her consciousness faded, she stretched out her right hand towards the abyss that swallowed the light. Your Majesty, it turns out I was never able to sever... the chain of curse that shrouds Britain...

Pilgrimage of the Earth Clan - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

Pilgrimage is a ritual of atonement etched into the very marrow of the fairy kingdom. For millennia upon millennia, the fairies have followed a fixed route to repent for their original sin of killing the gods, praying to Cornunos to appease his wrath. When the bells of atonement toll throughout the six races, the calamities that have plagued Britain will recede like the tide—at least, that's what the legend says.

The first generation of Paradise Fairy, Liliana, built the framework for the pilgrimage, but rendered atonement merely a formality; the second generation, Vivian, grew up spoiled by the Eternal King, and ultimately tore up the pilgrimage scriptures, forging the ideal kingdom into the Iron Throne of the Winter Witch. Now it is the third generation, Artoria Caster's turn, and those tender shoulders are shouldering the mission that the previous two successors failed to deliver.

The royal city of Camelot continues to function with precision. The scratching of Morgan's pen across parchment creates a wondrous duet with the lark's song outside the window. The Queen has shed her imposing attire of silver hair and dark robes; her blonde hair and blue dress make her resemble a reflection of Artoria. Only the ruby ​​adorning the black velvet bow at her chest remains, now flickering in rhythm with her writing, like a warning heartbeat.

The pen stopped abruptly. Morgan looked up at the rose-colored sky bathed in the glow of the sunset, her fingertips lightly touching the pulsating gemstone. The lingering echo of distant bells seemed to drift in, and a faint, melting smile played on her lips.

'The time has come.' The whisper faded into the draft. 'Don't forget our bet, young Caster.'

Several hours ago, in the territory of the King's Clan.

The aura of the healing spell hadn't completely dissipated when Artoria looked down at the congealed dark red bloodstains on her clothes, the tear like a brand etched into her memory. She forced herself to stop imagining the consequences if Senji Muramasa's blade had arrived half a second later, but her fingertips involuntarily tightened around the hem of her pajamas.

As everyone dispersed to rest, and the blacksmith's footsteps faded into the distance, a cold, tentacle suddenly coiled around her spine—lying alone in the darkness, the lingering phantom pain from her wounds and the awareness of death were gnawing at her sanity. Clutching a pillow, she walked barefoot down the corridor. Hesitating before the village head's house, she heard a laughing voice coming from inside:

"Had a nightmare?" Muramasa lay on his side on the bed, his strong arms clearly outlined in the moonlight. "She really is still a little girl afraid of the dark."

"No, that's not it!" Artoria clutched the feather pillow in her arms, her ears turning red. "I just... wanted to check if Mr. Muramasa had gotten enough rest..."

The blacksmith gazed at the trembling body within the large robe, then suddenly lifted a corner of the blanket: 'Come here.' His voice held the warmth of the lingering heat of the forge, 'If you're afraid, don't say things you don't mean.'

The girl burrowed into the covers like a startled lark, and Muramasa's hand gently stroked her thin back through the fabric. As his body heat seeped through the fabric, she suddenly realized that this body, which always shielded her from calamity, was losing its life force at an irreversible rate. Like the hidden wound he had sustained that night while protecting her from the corrosive black mist, beneath the scabbed skin, life was silently slipping away.

Once his breathing became long and even, Muramasa gently withdrew his numb arm. He picked up the blood-stained patrol uniform in the corner and threaded a needle under the oil lamp. The bloodstains, soaked in soapberry, turned into pale pink ripples, and the tear was stitched up with silver thread to create wing-like patterns—just as he had once mended winter clothes for another girl in a white dress stained with blood on a snowy night.

As the morning light kissed Artoria awake, the dress folded beside her pillow exuded a scent of sunlight mixed with rust. She touched the repair mark, embroidered with a pattern of wheat ears in gold thread. The dying oil lamp and sewing box by the bedside told tales of a lonely, dark night. A bittersweet emotion fermented in her chest, like an unsheathed sword humming in the darkness.

"What are you daydreaming about!" Muramasa's voice came from the courtyard as he tossed the last piece of luggage into the carriage. "It's time to set off, little princess."

Fairyland Norwich (15:00)

After leaving the royal clan's territory, the pilgrimage carriage sped along the southern and eastern plains. The map provided by Noknarria held hidden secrets—winding paths and magically enhanced shortcuts compressed what would normally be a three-day journey into a bumpy one and a half days. When the weathered walls of Norwich finally appeared on the horizon, Artoria couldn't help but clutch her clothes tightly.

This industrial city, once ravaged by the phantoms of Kornunos, now radiates an unnatural vitality. The dark clouds and deathly silence that shrouded the city two months ago seem like a distant nightmare. Yet, amidst the bustling crowd at the city gate, a figure leaning against a wall causes everyone's pupils to shrink in shock.

"Have you all had a pleasant journey?" Oberon brushed the dust off his cloak, his smile as bright as if he'd just finished an afternoon stroll. "I've been waiting so long I'm practically growing mushrooms... ouch!"

The flying carriage handle struck him squarely on the forehead. Artoria leaped from the carriage like a cannonball, grabbing the poet by the ear and lifting him off the ground: 'Explain.' The chill emanating from her teeth made the surrounding temperature plummet. 'If you dare say something as stupid as getting lost, I'll use your wings as a rag.'

"Ouch! Ouch! I infiltrated to investigate!" Oberon grimaced, pointing into the city. "Lipkaner has recently neglected all political affairs; the security record is cleaner than the Queen's afternoon tea plate. Don't you find that strange?"

Da Vinci's finger traced a data stream in the air: 'Crime rate zero while economic indicators remain stable... Unless the entire Earth Clan suddenly and collectively converts to the benevolent god, a much larger conspiracy must be brewing.'

"So—" Oberon suddenly broke free from his grip, magically unfurling the parchment scroll, "Welcome to the Norwich Behind-the-Scenes Tour, and I am your guide." As he bowed, blood oozed from the bump on his forehead, making his bow appear particularly comical.

Senji Muramasa's hand remained on the hilt of his sword: "I'll lead the way, but if you keep disappearing..." The cold glint of the sword, drawn three inches from its sheath, spoke volumes.

Oberon smiled as he wiped the bloodstains from his forehead, but a dark shadow, like a raven feather, flashed deep in his pupils.

Led by Oberon, the group passed through Norwich's dark gates and entered the gloomy city, shrouded in steel and soot. The shouts of demon merchants and the hammering of orc blacksmiths mingled in the familiar clamor of the streets, while the magical artifacts displayed in the windows of elven artisans shimmered with light—this orderly prosperity sharply contradicted the rumors of the rulers neglecting their duties.

Passing by an open-air café, a figure on a cast-iron, ornate chair caused a subtle stillness in the air. A man in an incongruously tailored suit slowly stirred his coffee, the light reflecting off the diamond buttons on his cuffs brushing against Oberon's fingertips. As he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, their gazes briefly met in the rising steam, like gears turning in a cipher machine.

"What's wrong?" Artoria suddenly turned around, looking warily around the bustling street.

"Just smelled those really nice coffee beans." Oberon chuckled, pointing to the bakery diagonally across the street, subtly blocking the view of the figure adjusting his bow tie in the corner. At that moment, the jade ring on the gentleman's ring finger gleamed slightly, reflecting the hem of the poet's receding cloak.

The seed has been planted in a warm bed. The man, hidden in the shadows of the café, took a sip of his coffee. "Let me see what kind of dramatic climax this thousand-year-old hatred will ultimately ferment into."

As the procession disappeared around the corner, he flicked his finger, tossing the gold coins onto the waiter's tray. The serpent-and-scepter emblem engraved on the inside of the ring briefly glowed crimson upon contact with the bronze tray.

Salisbury, the Fairy Kingdom

The Wind Clan's territory remained shrouded in a false tranquility. Following the information provided by Hobbes, the fairy knight Mordred crossed the white jade bridge, his gilded armor reflecting dangerous glints of sunlight. The conversation he had shared two days prior before the throne of Camelot still echoed in his ears:

"Melusive has been missing for two weeks." Morgan stroked the ruby ​​on her chest. "When Aurora introduced her to me, I should have known that the Wind Clan Chief would never make a pointless investment."

The fairy knight Mordred handed over the secretly taken photograph—the moment when the fairy knight Lancelot and Aurora exchanged secret letters under the moonlight. The Queen's fingertip lingered on the image for a moment, then finally gave a sigh: 'Go and confirm it with your own eyes. But remember, never confront Melusin directly. The aftershocks of a battle between two dragon races would be enough to redraw the map of Britain.'

Standing before the ornate gates of Aurora's mansion, the fairy knight Mordred noticed an unusual silence. The courtyard, which should have been heavily guarded, was now only sparsely populated with guards, as if the owner had anticipated the visitor and deliberately removed all the obstacles.

'Playing tricks!' She sneered as she kicked open the door. A crimson storm erupted from her gilded armor, sending the onrushing guards flying into the air. The fairy sword [Radiant Blade] that appeared in her palm hummed incessantly, the hieroglyphs flowing across its blade resonating strongly with something deep within the mansion.

'Let me see your true face hidden behind the mask, Melusin!'

As she stepped into the unusually empty main hall, a figure in blue armor leaned against a pillar, toying with twin swords. 'Such a commotion…' a sigh, tinged with amusement, came from beneath the mask of the fairy knight Lancelot. 'Only Sylph would greet you like a hurricane.'

"Stop playing dumb!" The sword tip pointed directly at the dragon scale emblem on the opponent's chest. "His Majesty treated you like a precious blade, yet you threw yourself into the filthiest mire—what did Aurora promise you?"

The twin swords' bracers suddenly unfurled into dragon wings, a deep-sea-like pressure filling the air. 'You've got two things wrong.' The fairy knight Lancelot tilted his head slightly, icy blue pupils peeking through the gaps in his mask. 'First, I have never pledged allegiance to Morgan; second…'

The roar of the dragon's wings drowned out any further words, and the glass in the entire hall shattered in response.

A low, mocking laugh came from beneath the mask of the fairy knight Lancelot: 'You're making a scene over something like this? Sylph, I'm different from you, Calia, and that Bagst whose neck is bound by loyalty—' Her fingertips lightly traced the dragon scale emblem on her chest, 'Aurora is the one who gave me my name, and this love is something your weather-magic-filled mind will probably never understand.'

'Words seem superfluous.' The muscles beneath the gauntlets of the fairy knight Mordred tensed abruptly, and his dazzling sword suddenly burst forth with crimson flames. Meanwhile, the blue figure opposite him leisurely unsheathed his sword, the cold light of the drawn blades etching a cross mark in the air.

'Forget those flashy magic and sword techniques.' The fairy knight Lancelot snapped his fingers, and a deep blue barrier engulfed the entire space like a tide. 'Let's determine in the most primal way—without weather manipulation and the fairy sword, how much value does this body of yours retain?'

'Hand-to-hand combat?' The fairy knight Mordred sneered as he plunged his holy sword into the ground, his gilded armor dissipating into particles of light. 'You'll regret this arrogant decision.'

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Two figures tore through the air like comets, the explosive clash of their fists causing the barrier to tremble violently. The fairy knight Lancelot's powerful punch, imbued with the brute force unique to dragons, slammed towards his face, but the fairy knight Mordred dodged it by a hair's breadth. The red-haired girl seized his wrist, and the muffled thud of a knee strike to the abdomen mingled with the crisp crack of breaking ribs.

'Too slow!' the fairy knight Mordred roared, seizing his enemy by the throat and slamming the blue figure into the ground like a rag doll. The marble tiles cracked radially, and the fairy knight Lancelot's back slammed against the ground with a grating sound of dislocated bones. The pursuit continued relentlessly; Mordred gripped her neck and slammed her down three times in a row, finally flinging her towards a distant pillar like a warhammer.

Boom—

Half a wall collapsed in the smoke and dust, but the fairy knight Lancelot nonchalantly brushed aside the rubble and rose. His icy blue eyes gleamed through the gaps in his mask: 'Not bad enthusiasm. Unfortunately, for someone who inherited the blood of Albion, this isn't even a warm-up.'

'Looks like I'll have to tear you apart to end this farce.' Fairy Knight Mordred wiped the blood seeping from his cheekbone.

'The fate of the fantasy species is to tear each other apart until one side is reduced to a bloody mess!'

Before the words were even finished, the pebbles flicked up by the toes of the fairy knight Lancelot sprayed out like hail. In the instant the fairy knight Mordred parried the stones, a blue afterimage had already appeared in his arms. Joint locks, like venomous snakes coiling, sent Mordred spinning and slamming her violently towards the ceiling. During her fall, an even more ferocious elbow strike aimed straight for her temple, the reverberating vibrations in her skull nearly causing her to kneel.

'You fell for even a feint like that?' The fairy knight Lancelot chuckled, flicking his wrist. 'You don't actually think I'm still the Melusin who lost to you in training back in the day, do you?'

'Don't get too cocky!'

The fairy knight Mordred suddenly lunged forward, enduring the heavy blows to her ribs while simultaneously locking her hands into the fairy knight Lancelot's right arm like iron clamps. With the sound of tearing muscle fibers, she used brute force to bend her enemy's entire arm at a bizarre angle. The distinctive azure blood of dragons gushed from the gaps in his armor, and a ferocious smile curled at the corner of the perpetrator's blood-stained mouth.

'Now, we're finally on the same starting line, you scum.'

The excruciating pain elicited a pleasurable gasp from the fairy knight Lancelot. She suddenly slammed her head into Mordred's nose, breaking free from her restraints while he was dazed. Her deformed arm rapidly regenerated thanks to the dragon's regenerative powers, but cracks in her armor indicated that the damage was not entirely gone.

'Very good...that's it!' She deliberately tore off the damaged armor on her chest, revealing skin covered in dragon scales. 'Let's see how many more dragon scales you can tear off, Sylph!'

The two figures once again became entangled hurricanes. The muffled thud of a fist piercing an abdomen and the crisp sound of a leg whipping through ribs echoed repeatedly within the barrier. Fairy Knight Mordred's hook punch shattered her opponent's mask, while Fairy Knight Lancelot retaliated with a knee strike. When they finally separated, the ground was filled with a viscous lake mixed with dragon blood and ordinary blood.

'Huff...ha...' Fairy Knight Mordred gasped for breath, supporting himself on his trembling knees. His left eye was swollen shut. 'This next punch...is going to shatter your heart...'

The fairy knight Lancelot chuckled, spitting out blood, his bare dragon scales standing on end: 'If you can do it... give it a try...'

A crisp sound of shattering glass echoed from outside the barrier—but it didn't come from their fierce battle. Aurora's treasured blue-and-white porcelain vase was overturned by the aftershock, its shards scattering like teardrops in the moonlight. This insignificant incident momentarily distracted the fairy knight Lancelot, whose instinctive reach to catch a shard of porcelain became, in the eyes of the fairy knight Mordred, an eternal flaw.

Time lost its meaning in the bloody struggle. When the two figures finally separated, the marble floor was soaked with a mixture of blood. The fairy knight Mordred knelt on one knee, his exposed skin beneath his shattered armor riddled with deep, bone-revealing lacerations. Opposite him, the fairy knight Lancelot leaned against the wall, panting. His mask was shattered, revealing half of his bruised face—the iridescent blood characteristic of the Fantasy race was gushing from a gash on her forehead.

'Is this the limit?' The fairy knight Lancelot wiped his mouth with the back of his bloodied hand. 'It's a pity I had a last-minute appointment, otherwise I really wanted to dismantle you until your last cell was still twitching.'

The fairy knight Mordred struggled to his feet, his shattered shinbone cracking as it regenerated: 'Trying to escape? We haven't settled things yet—'

'Silence.' The fairy knight Lancelot suddenly raised a finger, his ears trembling slightly. 'Did you hear that? The pilgrimage bells are ringing.' Her tattered wings unfurled behind her, creating a phantom image. 'Let's end today's fun here, Sylph.'

Blue light particles began to swirl around him like fireflies, and the enraged fist of the fairy knight Mordred only shattered the fading afterimages. The twin swords and the bloodstains vanished the moment the barrier dissipated, as if the fierce battle had been nothing more than a collective illusion. Only the wounds, not yet fully healed, still burned his nerves.

'Albion's remains...' the fairy knight Mordred clenched his gauntlets, gazing towards the lake, 'You will ultimately return to that cursed lair.'

Armor reformed around her body amidst the surge of magic, and she smashed through the stained-glass window, leaping into the sky. A fierce wind howled between her wings, swirling countless shards of glass into shimmering whirlwinds. Deep within the tower's shadow, Aurora lightly concealed her lips with a folding fan. She gazed at the receding crimson meteor on the horizon, then glanced at the pilgrimage procession that had just appeared outside the city gates, a venomous glint in her emerald eyes.

'What a beautiful chain reaction.' His fingertips traced the remaining bloodstains on the windowpane, the Wind Clan Chief's whisper melting into the evening breeze, 'Continue to struggle, my lovely pawns... until you become the most dazzling jewels in my crown.'

Led by Oberon, the group traversed the desolate streets and entered the chieftain's mansion in Lipcan. The decaying wooden door groaned as it was pushed open, and moonlight shone through cobwebs onto the messy floor—overturned filing cabinets and spilled ink bottles formed an eerie still life, but not a single person was in sight.

"The Empty City Stratagem is truly executed flawlessly." Da Vinci's fingertips traced the dusty table. "Even the most basic defenses have been removed; it's practically an invitation for us to explore freely."

Artoria gripped her staff tightly, surveying her surroundings: 'Even if atonement is necessary, the pilgrimage bell shouldn't be left unattended. What is the Earth Clan Chief plotting?'

As the group passed through the courtyard and entered the sanctuary, the eerie silence was shattered by a deafening roar that shook the earth. The grass surrounding the pilgrimage bell suddenly bulged, and a stone giant burst forth from the depths of the earth. Its face, devoid of features, was marked only by the natural cracks in the rock, and each step it took caused the ground to tremble.

'It seems this is the final gatekeeper.' Starlight gathered at the tip of Artoria's staff. 'I must break through as soon as possible—'

A colossal fist, as thick as a stone pillar, crashed down, and Gareth's lunge to parry with his spear produced a metallic groan. The force of the deflected punch swept across the side corridor, and from the dust and smoke of collapsing beams came her urgent warning: 'Negotiations are futile! Prepare for battle!'

A wave of heat, like that of a forge, rose from the statue of Senji Village. The katana materialized in the flames: "You don't get many chances to stretch your muscles with a rock like this!" The sharp sound of the blade cutting through the air and the light bullet released by Artoria struck the statue at the same time, but they didn't even leave a scratch on its surface.

'Physical and magical resistance are both near perfect!' Da Vinci's scanner sparked, 'Conventional methods are completely ineffective!'

The craftsman suddenly sheathed his knife and stepped back. His pupils reflected the deadly battle he had fought in the Greek Lostbelt many years ago—the berserker who was like a moving mountain. The superposition of that image with the stone statue in front of him gave him a flash of inspiration.

"Artoria!" The katana blazed ablaze once more, "I'll use starlight to obscure my path!" He leaped towards the path of the statue's punch, "This time, I will forge—the wedge of victory!"

Artoria slammed her scepter down, causing the starlight magic circle to ripple outwards. The surging torrent of magic temporarily froze the statue's movements, its giant fist hovering three inches above Gareth's head, unable to advance an inch. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the silver-armored girl spun and thrust, the tip of her spear scraping against the rock surface with a piercing sonic boom, forcing the mountain-like creation back half a step.

"Now!" Muramasa Senji's roar resonated with the roar of the forge. Azure lightning snakes and crimson flames intertwined in a spiral, and magical inscriptions burned into his body, emitting blue smoke. In the void, an invisible hammer struck the anvil of fate, and when the ninety-ninth hammer fell, the colossal blade wrapped in talismanic cloth tore through the air.

'Shoot down a hundred heads—!'

The phantom of a hydra appeared in the trajectory of the giant blade's slash. Amidst the mournful sound of shattering rocks, a spiderweb-like crack appeared on the guardian's chest. The craftsman's figure had already transformed into a meteor, his three burning katanas precisely wedging into the cracks, like wedges driven into the heart of a giant. The statue's swinging fist suddenly froze before reaching its target—two longswords adorned with phoenix feathers had already crossed and slashed through the wound, and a crisp sound of core shattering came from the depths of the X-shaped burn.

"It's not over yet!" Senjimura leaped onto the statue's head, using the falling rubble as cover, his twin blades piercing the rocky skull like fangs. In the instant he backflipped away, all the embedded swords resonated simultaneously, blue patterns instantly spreading across the entire statue. He landed behind the starlight barrier Artoria had deployed, snapping his fingers crisply.

boom--!

The guardian spirit transformed into a massive rain of rocks. Gareth's shield trembled violently with the impact, while Leonardo da Vinci's protective membrane caught all the flying, deadly fragments. As the smoke and dust gradually dissipated, the pilgrimage bell still gleamed with a bronze sheen under the moonlight, only now the uninvited guest's figure was reflected on its surface.

"A magnificent demolition performance." Lipcan, draped in a scarlet cloak, emerged from the shadows of the colonnades, the applause as monotonous as a funeral procession. "To be able to dismantle my carefully trained watchdog into rubble—truly a craftsman worthy of a foreign land, isn't he?"

Senji Muramasa's katana stood between the two men: 'If you're here to collect repair fees, this old man didn't bring a money pouch.'

'Why such vigilance?' The Earth Clan Chief spread his withered hands. 'Now that you have all passed the trial, I must naturally abide by the ancient covenant.' He stepped aside to make way for the bronze bell, but the eerie light in his deep-set eyes remained fixed on Artoria. 'Go and fulfill your mission, Child of Prophecy.'

The starlight gathered at the tip of Artoria's staff flickered. As she passed Lipkaner, she caught the scent of grave soil and ancient covenants emanating from him. When her fingertips touched the cool bronze bell, the relief of the Six Races' Covenant shimmered in the moonlight. She remembered Morgan's whispers on the throne, Vivian's tear stains left in the fragments of memory, and finally, the words the Lady of the Lake said when she handed her the staff on the day she embarked on her pilgrimage: 'Everyone who rings the bell must be prepared to bear its echo.'

The thunderous clang of the scepter striking the bronze bell shook the dust from the beams. Ancient vibrations traveled along the earth's veins, resonating in every brick of Norwich. The bell's sound pierced the haze that shrouded the industrial city, startling the slumbering swarms of crystal insects deep within the mines; it swept across the wheat fields of the central plains, where wind-clan farmers paused to listen; it even reached the spire of Camelot, where Morgan opened her stained-glass window and gazed south, the golden bells in her hair jingling without wind.

'The Earth Clan has completed its atonement.'

Lipkaner took a deep breath amidst the lingering echoes of the bells, as if savoring a fine vintage wine. As the crowd gazed at the still-trembling bell, he quietly retreated into the shadows, his fingertips drawing a cracking shard of pottery from his sleeve. The Earth Clan crest inscribed on the shard was turning to ash, while in a secret chamber beneath the royal city, the puppet representing the Earth Clan shattered in unison. Aurora's crystal ball reflected this scene, and the Wind Clan Chief chuckled as he toppled the chess piece representing the Earth Clan.