Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

Today, a goblin caravan from Manchester is traversing the eastern plains. They are transporting grain and goods to Oxford, and in one of the carriages lies a strange, purple-haired girl. A goblin merchant is carefully tending to her wounds.

'She's awake!' the cloaked goblin whispered.

"Thank goodness..." the buck-toothed goblin breathed a sigh of relief, "We're finally out of danger."

'We need to ask her properly,' the burly goblin frowned. 'We've accumulated far too many questions along the way.'

Three unfamiliar voices echoed in her ears, and the swaying sensation beneath her jolted Mashu awake. She sat up abruptly, meeting three pairs of concerned eyes.

'You are…' she instinctively touched her body, 'Your spirit-based exoskeleton is gone?'

That familiar piece of equipment is nowhere to be seen; in its place is Galahad's armor in his Ascension form.

"Miss, we didn't do anything." The burly goblin quickly explained, "We found you unconscious on the shore of Fog Coast a week ago, badly injured..."

The goblin's narration awakened dormant memories—the attack by the fairy knight Bedivere, the splattered blood, and... Mash looked down at the healing spell still lingering on her body and finally understood the situation.

'You saved me... but... why can't I remember anything?'

Although she was grateful, certain important memories seemed shrouded in mist. She remembered her identity, but forgot why she had come to this place, and her companions.

'Little girl, have you lost your memory?' The cloaked goblin leaned down with concern.

'I...don't know why I'm here...'

'Rob! Those things have appeared again!'

The goblin's scream shattered the silence. A hundred meters away, three twisted, black creatures were approaching. They reeked of decay, their oval bodies adorned only by their gleaming crimson eyes. Upon spotting the carriage, they excitedly accelerated towards it.

"Hurry!" the strong goblin yanked on the reins. "Miss! Don't go any further!"

'If Moss touches you, you'll turn into a monster too!'

Mashu ignored him. She leaped from the still-unmoving carriage to meet the oncoming shadow. A pale blue magical streak flashed through the air, revealing a massive snowflake shield. The force of the shield's swing sent the first monster flying.

Despite the menacing black monsters, Mashu remained calm. She raised a massive shield taller than herself, resolutely standing before the unarmed goblin merchant. The monsters that had been knocked away earlier were crawling back along the ground, their flowing black liquid resembling putrid sewage; their grotesque appearance was enough to crush any ordinary person's will.

'I am Galahad, the fairy knight! Born to cleanse Britain of all its filth!'

The three monsters suddenly transformed into black spheres with crimson cores, from which countless sharp blades burst forth, raining down on Mash.

"Watch out!" the strong goblin exclaimed.

Mashu neither dodged nor evaded, raising her shield to meet the blade the instant it was upon her. In an instant, the shield transformed into a towering, dark blue wall, its sharply defined battlements unfolding like protective wings, all the poisoned spikes crumbling against the indestructible shield.

'Could this be... the walls of Camelot?' the cloaked goblin murmured in disbelief.

'It's time to end this!'

Mashu charged forward like an arrow, her giant shield slamming heavily into the nearest black sphere. With a nauseating explosion, the sphere burst open like a gasbag filled with putrid liquid, its crimson, eye-shaped core rolling to the goblin's feet.

"Get this thing away!" The three retreated in fear.

Before she could catch her breath, the other two monsters simultaneously transformed, five sharp spikes shooting through the air. Just as they were about to hit her, Mashu vanished from her spot.

'She's gone?'

'It's up there!'

Following the direction, Ma Xiu stood in mid-air. The monster immediately spewed foul-smelling black liquid into the air, only to be struck head-on by the falling giant shield. A deafening roar tore through the mist, a ring of air swept across the plains, and blinding white light engulfed the entire battlefield.

'Such power…' the cloaked goblin murmured to himself.

As the bright light faded and the mist receded, Mashu gracefully landed back on the carriage: 'Leave here immediately. Details will be explained later.'

Still shaken, the three hastily whipped their horses to speed up. As the carriage sped away, Mashu vigilantly surveyed their surroundings. The goblins were filled with questions, but the title 'Fairy Knight' silenced them. In the memories of these natives, the Fairy Knight was both the Queen's protector and a perpetrator of horrific massacres. Since those rumors began decades ago, the question of who the true protector was and who the executioner in knight's cloak had long hung a sword over the heart of every resident of the Fairy Kingdom.

'Rob, we…' The buck-toothed goblin hesitated before speaking.

"Let's play it by ear," the burly goblin said in a low voice. "Being careful with our words and actions is best for everyone."

In a secluded village on the misty coast of the Fairy Kingdom, Fujimaru Ritsuka had spent seven days. Since setting foot on the land of the British Lostbelt, she had been attacked by the most ruthless fairy knight, Bedivere, and her companions, Da Vinci and Mash, were still missing. Now, she sat alone by the window of her treehouse, gazing blankly at the boundless greenery outside.

Why did I come here? Wasn't it to solve the crisis of Earth becoming a blank slate? Wasn't it to complete the unfinished mission of Kilshtalia? Wasn't it to protect the last belief in my heart? But what does it mean to be in this wretched state now?

A voice inside me asks: Should I give up just because I've been attacked upon arrival? Do you remember how you traversed the first five Lostbelts? The icy plains of Russia, the soul-chilling winds, and the unfathomable Tsar—never made you back down. The wolf boy Patsi's final words still echo in my ears:

'I will never forgive you… for letting me know about such a beautiful world that I could never reach. So stand up and keep fighting. Proudly prove how worthy your world, where you live with smiles, is of existence. Stand tall and fight for your weak world… do not lose to this empty world that possesses only power. Your sins are indeed heavy, but you must not give up. Because your world—must be very beautiful…'

On the snowy plains of Northern Europe, the captive humans and the rampaging gods did not deter you. How could you easily betray the hope that Ophnia had bought with her life?

'If... I ever meet that heroic spirit Napoleon again... please tell him for me, thank you... although I rejected his proposal... his rainbow is beautiful... Ritsuka, the future world is in your hands...'

These vivid memories, so clear in her mind, seem like they happened just yesterday to this seemingly resilient girl. Having overcome so much despair, why is she now wavering because of temporary loneliness? Is this still the same girl who made a vow before Ophnia?

'Ritsuka—relax—'

A delicate fragrance wafted from behind. Amy gently embraced her from behind, and this unexpected hug brought her a strange sense of peace.

"Though I don't know what you've been through," the butterfly fairy's voice was gentle as water, "it must have been very hard, hasn't it?"

'It's more than just hard work...'

'But Ritsuka, you shouldn't be bound by the past. You need to face the future.'

'But a girl like me...'

A sob choked her throat. The Servants who gave their lives for her, the Lostbelt residents who encouraged her, all flooded her mind like a tidal wave: the girl Gerthal who smiled after the Lostbelt disappeared, Ash who reunited with her family, and the twins and Europa who vanished in the starlight of Olympus's collapse... The grief she had been suppressing finally broke through.

'I swore to protect the world... yet I'm so weak... Thinking about this makes me feel so useless...'

"I'm sorry," Amy whispered, "Artoria and I glimpsed your memories. Those heavy past events... Cry them out, Ritsuka—"

The pent-up pain and the destruction she had witnessed poured out like an avalanche. Tears streamed down her face silently, the girl's shoulders trembled slightly, and sobs gradually drowned out her words.

Artoria quietly entered the room and, together with Amy, gently embraced Ritsuka.

"It's alright, Ritsuka...it's alright..." Her voice was as gentle as moonlight. "It's only natural for a girl who's been through all this to feel heartache."

(Only now did she truly understand the heavy burden this foreign magician carried. Just as her teacher had said, this girl had overcome countless obstacles to come to Britain, yet her heart was so fragile. Was it too cruel to place such a mission on a young girl?)

Among the many bustling cities of the Fairy Kingdom, Darlington stands as a jewel comparable to Gloucester. This city, a blend of classical European architecture and modern style, is orderly, with orcs, fairies, demons, and elves thronging the streets, occasionally punctuated by a few human residents. The rhythmic ruts of carriages and freight carts echo along the cobblestone streets, and shops and workshops of all kinds flourish along the alleyways. If one were not aware that this is a Lostbelt, the scene would almost make one mistake it for a highly advanced, ancient civilization.

Scattered throughout the city are numerous warehouses, these reserves designated by the Queen storing grain, weaponry, and magical artifacts, serving both to consolidate national power and maintain the economic lifeline of the region. Deep within one of these underground warehouses, the fairy knight Bedivere, recently released from the Void Prison, lounges lazily on a pink sofa, browsing magical newsletters. Freed from Camelot's restraints, she has removed her armor, revealing only a sheer blue blouse, her inner garments barely concealed, her legs casually swinging in the air.

In a roughly thirty-square-meter enclosed space, a dilapidated coffee table faces a pale, LCD-like screen on the wall. Beside the coffee table, on an iron chair, an elven girl is bound by chains, her eyes blindfolded, and sobs constantly escape her lips. The chains rattle as she twists her body, but she cannot break free even an inch.

'Please... what do you want... I can give you money...' the girl pleaded, her voice trembling.

"Shut up!" Bedivere slammed the text messaging device onto the girl's head. The drawer slid out, revealing neatly arranged torture instruments—a pair of pliers stained with dark red blood, a gleaming boning knife, and a curved axe, which looked like bloodthirsty fangs in the dim light.

The girl's scream was cut short by the clanging of metal as the blood-stained pliers plunged into her mouth. With a grating tearing sound, half a tongue fell to the concrete floor, splattering blood. Bedivere's bra was splattered with crimson specks. She ripped off the blindfold, admiring the other's bloodshot blue pupils.

'Why are you silent now?' She lightly tapped the girl's sunken cheek with the pliers. 'The more pain you're in, the more pleasure I enjoy it.'

The sharp sound of scissors piercing an eye socket was exceptionally clear in the confined space. Thick tissue fluid mixed with blood gushed from the girl's empty eye sockets, the severed optic nerves curling up like twitching earthworms. Bedivere licked the bloodstains on the back of his hand, turning to look at the wall covered with photographs. Images of Fujimaru Ritsuka, Mashu, and Leonardo da Vinci were pinned to the wall by a dagger, their edges curled and yellowed.

'Next time...' She threw the blood-stained scissors at Ritsuka's photograph, the blade piercing the girl's smiling face, 'I'll let you taste the pleasure of pulling out fingernails. First, I'll cut off your fingers, then I'll cut open your chest...' Blood beads from the scissors trickled down the wall, like tears of blood soaking the photographic paper.

The elven girl, growing cold in the shadows, finally stopped convulsing. Bedivere walked over the pool of blood to the wall, his fingertips tracing the relief of Mash's shield in the photograph, a sigh of pleasure escaping his throat. On a shelf in the corner of the warehouse, seven or eight glass jars containing formalin held floating eyeballs of different races, appearing like bizarre collectibles under the pale light.

Muramasa's Escape - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

In the vast central plains of the Fairy Kingdom, Salisbury shines like a dazzling jewel. This city, an important branch of Gloucester, may not be as bustling as the royal capital, but its unique charm makes it a premier resort destination in the Lostbelt. The staggered, pointed-roof buildings create a dreamlike skyline at dusk, while magical lamps along the streets gradually illuminate the stained-glass windows, making it resemble a crystal wonderland. Due to its sparse permanent population, it maintains a leisurely pace of life. Tourists from the six major clans stroll along tree-lined avenues adorned with glowing fungi, enjoying a tranquility unlike that of other cities.

As night fell slowly like a velvet curtain, the pink glow gradually faded to deep brown, and as the orange-red sunset sank below the horizon, the entire sky suddenly burst forth with dazzling starlight. Thanks to the special magical barrier of the Fairy Kingdom, the moon never appeared, but the Milky Way stretching across the sky was already enough to enchant—billions of stars, like diamonds scattered by the gods, intertwined on the night sky, creating a breathtaking brilliance.

At this moment, on the terrace of an elegant restaurant in the city center, four figures were enjoying dinner under a wisteria trellis. Morgan, now sporting blonde twin ponytails, wore a royal blue uniform, her fingertips lightly tracing the rim of a wine glass. Beside her, the three fairy knights had shed their armor: the red-haired knight wore a floral dress, the silver-haired one had donned a sharp trouser suit, and the one with iridescent insect wings was wrapped in a flowing scarf. They blended into the warm yellow light like ordinary tourists, only the occasional sharp glint in their eyes revealing their extraordinary nature.

"Your Majesty, is this really the right thing to do?" The red-haired knight stirred the mushroom soup nervously.

Morgan chuckled, the silver chains on his uniform clinking softly with his movement: 'The most dangerous hiding place is among crowds. If I revealed myself, I would only attract attention.'

"Your Highness has clearly dressed up carefully," the silver-haired knight suddenly peeked out, his hair brushing against Morgan's flushed cheek, "This uniform is much cuter than the royal robes."

The three knights held their breath—Her Majesty, with her moonstone earrings swaying gently, looked like a star fallen to earth, her shyly pursed lips a sight to behold. Morgan hurriedly raised his glass and downed the red wine, leaving a faint pink lip print on the rim of the glass.

The Insect-Winged Knight intervened at the opportune moment: 'But is it really alright to leave your daughter and that reckless behemoth to guard the city? Besides, Bedivere's whereabouts have been a mystery since his release from the Void Prison...'

'That child is like quicksand, slippery as sand.' Morgan stared at the remaining wine in her glass. 'Each punishment only temporarily restrains her wickedness. As for the capital—' she suddenly plunged the knife precisely into the skewer, 'I'm rather hoping someone will make a scene.'

Amidst the clinking of silver cutlery against porcelain plates, the three knights exchanged glances. This was highly unusual—the Queen usually traveled with only two guards, but this time she had taken almost half of the Knights of the Round Table. The insect-winged knight's wings trembled slightly in the night breeze. She noticed that beneath Morgan's seemingly relaxed demeanor, her right hand remained pressed against the magical artifact hidden at her waist. As the waiter served dessert, a shooting star streaked across the sky. Morgan tilted her head back and finished her second glass of wine, starlight reflecting into her deepening eyes.

Meanwhile, in that cold, dark underground chamber in Darlington.

The fairy knight Bedivere surveyed the lifeless body of the elven girl on the coffee table with satisfaction, then began to slowly gather the scattered instruments of torture—a short axe with a bent blade, pliers with bits of flesh embedded between their teeth, a boning knife with a reversed blade, each soaked in dark red congealed blood. She looked as if she had just emerged from a pool of blood; her silver hair was clumped together with thick, sticky blood, and her cheeks, neck, arms, and even thighs were covered with semi-congealed dark red patches. She occasionally licked the undried blood from the back of her hand, her eyes narrowed as if savoring a fine vintage wine.

After gathering the tools, she deftly untied the chains binding the corpse and, as if handling a broken doll, roughly stuffed the shattered remains into a pre-prepared burlap sack in the corner. Large patches of dark grime quickly seeped onto the sack's surface.

"What a disappointment, always so fragile..." she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with excitement. "But it's alright, that damned foreign magician... Fujimaru Ritsuka, I'll definitely give you a good time—oh ho ho ho..."

Amidst a burst of maniacal laughter, she dragged the sack towards a hidden iron door deep within the secret chamber. Removing a specially made protective mask from the wall and donning it, she forcefully turned the heavy valve. The instant the iron door opened, a pungent stench, a mixture of rotting flesh and disinfectant, erupted out, nearly suffocating any ordinary person.

The lights inside suddenly blazed on, illuminating a hellish scene: a massive cement pool, its walls covered in mold and filth, rats and cockroaches scurrying about in the corners. The pool was filled with a viscous, dark red liquid, teeming with countless corpses—elf ears, orc claws, human torsos, demon horns… none of the remains were intact. Some had their eyes gouged out, revealing empty eye sockets; others had their limbs severed, the wounds jagged and uneven; some were missing their heads; still others were reduced to half-torso, swaying slightly on the surface. Some corpses, due to prolonged immersion, were highly decomposed and bloated, their skin a disgusting grayish-green, yellow fatty tissue oozing from the ruptured skin like grotesque oil slicks on the dark red water.

The entire pool resembled a giant corpse-dissolving pit, its floor stained a deep brown by blood seeping in over the years, with congealed blood and bone fragments clinging to every inch of the surface. Everything in this pool was proof of the fairy knight Bedivere's cruel "collection," silently accusing him of countless atrocities.

She expressionlessly tossed the sack in her hand into the pool, watching it slowly sink beneath the murky surface. Then she slammed the iron gate shut, shutting out the horrific sight and nauseating stench once again.

"Soon, it will be your turn—" she whispered to the void, as if Fujimaru Ritsuka and Mashu were standing right before her. As the secret door closed, another silent, wailing soul was added to the depths of Darlington. Meanwhile, the residents living in the sunlight above ground remained completely unaware of this.

The Fairy Kingdom, Camelot Royal City Underground Prison.

Senji has been imprisoned in this dark place for over three weeks. Cold, magical chains bind him tightly from head to toe; apart from his head, which can still turn with difficulty, the rest of his body is almost completely immobile, making even stretching a luxury. The guards treat him extremely harshly, with idle jailers coming daily to provoke and humiliate him. The worst of them all is the Queen's daughter—the fairy knight Tristan.

Today, accompanied by crisp, arrogant footsteps, Tristan, surrounded by a group of bronze-armored horse-headed soldiers, once again arrived at the prison gate. Through the rusty iron bars, she sized up the wounded Senji Muramasa, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

"Oh dear, where did that madness you had when you attacked Mother go? Now you look so pathetic, it's really disappointing."

Qianzicun raised his heavy eyelids and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva: "Hmph, little girl, do you think this little show can make this old man submit? What new tricks have you prepared today? Bring them on, I've been tied up in these broken chains for so many days, I'm getting bored!"

"Ha! Still stubborn even when death is imminent!" Tristan's eyebrows shot up. "Guards! Give him fifty lashes to loosen his muscles!"

"Yes, sir!" The two horse-headed soldiers acknowledged the order and turned to fetch the instruments of torture.

At that moment, a barely perceptible glint flashed in Senji Muramasa's eyes. Several days ago, he had already noticed a tiny crack appearing in the magical chains binding him for some unknown reason. With the passage of time, the crack had quietly widened under constant erosion, and now it was deep enough for him to muster his strength for a final, desperate attack!

(Morgan: You'll run away someday, but I won't stop you.)

Morgan's words echoed in his ears, and Senko Muramasa had to admire her terrifyingly accurate prophetic abilities. It seemed that today was the day the prophecy would come true.

The whistling sound of a whip cutting through the air echoed from the end of the dungeon passage, sending chills down one's spine. Qianzicun tensed every muscle in his body, focusing his energy on a single point, awaiting the moment he could break free and reverse the situation.

"Beat them to death!" the fairy knight Tristan shrieked.