Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

“Oh my,” Donald began, his voice gentle, a perfectly curved smile playing on his lips. “Are you the assassin Lady Morian introduced to me?”

His gaze swept over Ritsuka's entire body without any attempt at concealment, from her taut face to her bandaged right arm, his eyes filled with assessment and a secret excitement.

"Looks like you really can't judge a book by its cover." He stepped aside to make way for the interior, and in the dim light inside, the stench became even stronger. His smile deepened, and he gestured for them to proceed.

"How could a mere girl cause such chaos for Caligula—"

His tone remained polite, even appreciative, but every word sent chills down Ritsuka's spine.

"Come in quickly, come in quickly!"

The cloying, putrid stench almost solidified, slapping against Ritsuka's face like a viscous wave as Donald "enthusiastically" invited her. She held her breath, forcing herself to cross that threshold and step into a bizarre and surreal nightmare.

The interior was a stark contrast to the eerie impression from the outside; it was downright luxurious. Exquisite mahogany furniture gleamed with a soft light, heavy velvet curtains hung cascading down, and crystal chandeliers reflected dazzling colors even in the dim light. Valuable decorations were scattered throughout. However, this deliberate display of opulence offered no reassurance; instead, it felt like a carefully crafted facade, attempting to conceal a deeper, more unsettling essence. Ritsuka's gaze cautiously swept across the living room, instinctively searching for anything unusual. When her eyes fell upon the dining area in the corner, her blood seemed to freeze instantly.

On the rectangular dining table covered with a pristine white napkin lay a precisely dissected human rib skeleton. Lingering remnants of bright red flesh remained on the bones, arranged in a distorted form on a large silver platter, like some kind of offering to an evil god. Even more chilling, in a small bone china dish beside it, several pale fingers and toes were neatly arranged, their nails intact and details clearly discernible.

"!" Ritsuka's throat tightened abruptly, a surge of acid rising to her head. Morlian's nonchalant "special fetish" now took on a concrete and terrifying form—cannibalism. Reason screamed, every cell in her body urging her to flee, but her legs felt like lead, rooted to the spot. She bit down hard on the soft flesh inside her mouth, the intense pain suppressing the nausea, forcing back the foreign sensation rising in her throat, feeling only a burning sensation in her esophagus.

Donald seemed completely oblivious to her unease, or rather, he was reveling in her silent fear. He walked briskly to the table, picked up a gleaming knife, and elegantly sliced ​​a thin piece of meat from the rib, placing it in his mouth and chewing slowly. An almost intoxicated expression appeared on his face, his eyes slightly closed, and he let out a satisfied sigh.

"Oh~ It tastes like chicken, but even more..." He opened his eyes, his pupils flashing with a satisfied yet eerie light, "...Oh...that's it~" He picked up his fork, speared another piece of meat, and offered it towards Ritsuka, his tone chillingly friendly, "Would you like some?"

Ritsuka trembled uncontrollably, and she used all her strength to steady her voice. Her eyes were fixed on an oil painting on the wall, and she dared not look at the dining table again: "No need... I've already eaten..." Her voice was as dry as sandpaper.

“Ah, what a waste of these delicacies—” Donald sighed dramatically, popping a slice of meat into his mouth and casually wiping his lips with a napkin. “But I have even more ‘delicious dishes’ to serve—” He abruptly changed the subject, pointing to several gleaming medals hanging on the wall. “Merryweather Nightclub may be a small place, but one of its regulars, a lowlife scoundrel, is actually running for mayor of Oxford! This has caught my plans, which I’ve been preparing for over a decade, completely off guard!” His tone grew increasingly agitated, tinged with offended anger. “After all, think about it, I’m a respectable official, and what are they? Just maggots rolling around in the night market! Is that fair? It’s not fair!”

Ritsuka forced herself to concentrate, ignoring the lingering stench of blood in her nostrils and the surreal horror before her. She had to gather information, she had to move the mission forward. "So what do you want me to do?" she interrupted him, her voice still tense, her gaze deliberately avoiding the direction of the dining table. "To kill that 'thug'?"

“Yes!” Donald slammed his hand on the table, causing the bones on the plate to tremble. “A man like him got more votes than me! I can’t accept that! He must have bribed a lot of people with dirty money! So—” He leaned closer, his hungry eyes fixed on Ritsuka, “You know what I mean? Make him disappear.”

"Okay." Ritsuka answered quickly, wanting nothing more than to leave this hellish room as soon as possible. "So, where is that person now? I just want to get this over with quickly!"

“Heh? How impatient,” Donald said, not with displeasure, but with an appreciative smile. “But I like it! That fat pig runs in the park in central Oxford every day—go there and make him unable to run anymore!” He made a throat-slitting gesture, his face radiating cruel anticipation. “After you kill him, tell me. Take this—”

He handed her a piece of cool crystal, with what seemed like murky mist flowing inside. Ritsuka snatched the crystal almost as if she were grabbing it, and the moment her fingertips touched its slippery surface, her stomach churned again. She couldn't stay a second longer; she turned abruptly and practically stumbled out of the villa.

The heavy door closed behind her, shutting out the nightmarish sight and smell. Ritsuka ran wildly down the street until she turned into a dark, deserted alley, where she finally collapsed, bracing herself against the cold wall and vomiting violently. The little food residue in her stomach, mixed with acid, was vomited out, until only dry heaving remained, her entire body trembling uncontrollably from the intense physical reaction.

Even after experiencing mountains of corpses and seas of blood, and witnessing countless acts of cruelty, Donald's atrocities—masked with a mask of civilization, treating his own kind as food—still breached a certain line in her psychological defenses. That kind of terror, stripped bare of humanity, was far more repulsive than facing a monstrous creature. She was almost certain that her so-called election opponent was probably already Donald's next "dish." The thought sent another wave of intense nausea to her throat; she bent over, but nothing came out. Only a chilling fear and a bone-deep coldness clung to her.

In the dazzling and unpredictable land of Oxford, Donald Rowe's name represented a respectable and secure power. As a leading figure of the local conservative political establishment, he possessed enviable wealth and an intricate network of connections. In public, behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes always gleamed with wisdom and gentleness; his speech was elegant, his demeanor impeccable, perfectly matching the expectations of high society. However, beneath this carefully woven veneer of civilization lurked a genuine cannibalistic monster.

Donald has his own "efficient" process for dealing with those who stand in his way or harm his interests. He habitually spends large sums of money hiring all sorts of ruthless thugs to "friendly" erase their targets from the world. Then, naturally, there are specialists to "clean up the scene," quietly transporting the cold spoils to his gloomy lair to become "treasures" on his private dining table. This entire process, from elimination to enjoyment, is already a well-practiced daily operation for him, as natural as breathing.

The riot at Caligula's Casino, which shocked all of Oxford, naturally caught Donald's attention. The foreign girl named Fujimaru Ritsuka, with her ruthless and decisive methods, had entered his field of vision. She didn't belong to this British Outland, but she was clearly a sharp and dangerous blade. Donald admired such "unyielding figures," especially when they were in his hands.

Just then, Oxford held its mayoral election. The mayor here wasn't a powerful administrative official like those in pan-human history, but merely an administrative position bestowed by the clan elders to handle complex administrative affairs. However, for many lower or middle-class elves, being among them was an unparalleled honor and a leap in social class. Donald, from a political family, was determined to win the position.

Yet, ironically, a rival who frequented the Merryweather nightclub and whom he considered utterly worthless had also qualified to run, and whose poll numbers even posed a subtle threat. This was undoubtedly a double insult to his status and ambition. Jealousy gnawed at his heart like a poisonous vine. Fujimaru Ritsuka's mission was to eradicate this threat completely, to make that arrogant competitor disappear forever from the Oxford political landscape.

-

"Oh dear, how embarrassing, Ms. Fujimaru Ritsuka."

A sweet, mocking female voice rang out from behind, interrupting Ritsuka's painful cough that almost made her vomit. She sat up abruptly and looked in the direction of the voice, only to see Koyanskaya leaning elegantly against the mottled wall at the alley entrance, her slender fingers adjusting her glasses, her gaze behind the lenses filled with undisguised mockery.

“I never imagined that cannibal with such peculiar tastes would actually seek you out—hahaha,” she laughed, her voice ringing out like silver bells, yet chillingly cold. “What a strange ‘fate’ this!”

Ritsuka, already on edge due to extreme discomfort and anger, was instantly overwhelmed by these words that added fuel to the fire. Almost without thinking, she activated her will, and a dark flame of vengeance rose from her palm, instantly condensing into the twisted battle banner belonging to Jeanne d'Arc Alter, which, with a whistling sound, was aimed directly at Koyanskaya's throat!

However, facing this deadly attack, Koyanskaya didn't even change her stance. She simply raised her other hand casually, and with two fingers painted with bright red nail polish, she lightly and deftly pinched the tip of the banner, which was capable of tearing through steel. It was as if it weren't a Noble Phantasm, but merely a light, fluttering feather.

"Don't get so excited, my lovely client~" She tilted her head, revealing a standard but cold, commercial smile. "That little gadget that unfortunately exploded last time was purely a trivial quality control oversight by our NFF service company—who could have predicted that an expired bullet would be mixed in? Well~ it was just a momentary oversight, after all, we're very busy."

She loosened the tip of the flag, as if brushing off a speck of dust.

"However, rest assured, as NFF's valued customer, comprehensive after-sales service is essential~" Her tone was sickeningly sweet.

Ritsuka stared intently at her, her jaw clenched, forcing out the words, "Damn it! Koyanskaya, you almost killed me that time! What do you want to make up for? I didn't even attack on the spot..."

"In that case, save your breath~" Koyanskaya raised an eyebrow slightly, interrupting her, her tone laced with a lazy disdain. "You're far from being a threat to me. You don't actually think that the little bit of skill Chaldea secretly learned from Belial will make you rich and powerful, do you? ~ That won't do☆" Her voice rose at the end, carrying a teasing tone. "You're ultimately just an ordinary human, nothing special. Do you think I don't know that? Forcibly using the power of a Servant with excessively high divinity almost killed you prematurely, didn't it? So, you'd better put away that kind of unrealistic thinking as soon as possible~"

"Cough..." Ritsuka's breath hitched. Koyanskaya's words were like cold needles, piercing precisely into the most vulnerable corner of her heart. The chasm of power, the limits of her body—these were cruel realities. Her fingers, gripping the flagpole tightly, turned white with effort. Finally, she slowly lowered her arm. The black flag dissolved into spiritual particles and vanished into the air.

Seeing Ritsuka give in, Koyanskaya smiled with satisfaction and magically produced two weapons—a compact submachine gun and an M4A1 rifle painted a strange pink. They looked no different from conventional firearms, but as soon as Ritsuka took them, she keenly sensed an unusual lightness, as if she were holding not metal objects, but some kind of hollow, high-grade composite material.

"What is this?" Ritsuka looked up in confusion.

“Well, this is NFF’s latest improved magic conduction weapon,” Koyanskaya explained, her tone as if introducing the latest luxury item. “No more cumbersome physical ammunition; your own magic power is their best sustenance. Consider it compensation for that little 'accident' last time~” She then changed the subject, waving her index finger lightly, “But don’t forget, I still need to collect the final payment☆”

She turned to leave, but then, as if remembering something, she turned back and added with a knowing smile, "Oh, by the way, a friendly reminder. Miss Morian's 'troublesome antics' probably won't end easily until a certain 'troublesome woman' returns~ You'd better watch yourself."

Before she finished speaking, her figure vanished like mist at the alley entrance, as if she had never been there at all.

Ritsuka stared down at the two seemingly ordinary yet strangely intriguing firearms in her hands. Koyanskaya, true to her reputation as a ruthless businesswoman, the so-called "final payment" was undoubtedly no small sum. But at this moment, she had no time to concern herself with such things. The assassination mission was imminent. Fortunately, these two guns, like magical artifacts, could be assimilated and easily concealed by her magical power, making them feel almost weightless to carry.

Forcibly suppressing her distracting thoughts, Ritsuka took a deep breath of the air, which still carried the foul smell of the alley. With a flash, she disappeared into a more secluded side path and sped off toward Central Park.

Sure enough, on the tree-lined running track in Central Park, Ritsuka spotted her target jogging slowly—a portly, overweight man. His men, their eyes gleaming with suspicion, were scattered around the park, creating a tight security perimeter. Ritsuka, her invisibility cloak concealed, moved like a ghost, silently crossing the security lines and appearing precisely in the man's likely path.

Just as he ran close, panting heavily, Ritsuka swiftly stretched out a foot.

"boom!"

Caught off guard, the fat man's heavy body crashed to the ground. Before he could react, the invisibility effect vanished instantly, and Jeanne d'Arc Alter's ominous banner was already pressed against his throat.

"Don't move, you fat pig." Ritsuka's voice was as cold as ice. "Someone sent me to get rid of you. There's nothing I can do but accept my bad luck."

The sudden attack left the fat man stunned, fear instantly gripping his entire body. Unexpectedly, instead of immediately calling for help, he trembled and tried to negotiate: "Who...who are you...Do you want money? I can give you all my possessions...Do you want power? I can make anyone rise to the top...Tell me, who sent you? I'll pay a hundred times! A hundred times!"

Hearing this clichéd plea for mercy, Ritsuka remained unmoved. Her only thought at that moment was to complete the mission as quickly as possible and return to negotiate the pilgrimage with Morrigan. She gently shook her head, her other hand already drawing the magical submachine gun, its muzzle gleaming with a cold, eerie blue light in the dim light.

“No, I don’t want anything.” Her tone was terribly flat. “However, Mr. Donald might be very… ‘coveting’ of you.”

"boom!"

A sharp gunshot shattered the park's tranquility. The magic bullet instantly pierced the fat man's massive skull, blood gushing out and spreading a dark trail across the grass. Hearing the commotion, his henchmen rushed towards the scene, shouting in alarm. However, when they arrived, only a pool of glaring blood and a drag mark remained, stretching out towards the park's edge before mysteriously disappearing through a gap in the fence.

"Damn it! Where did the assassin go?"

"The trail ends here! How is that possible?!"

By this time, Ritsuka had already dragged the body into a dark alley. Just then, a carriage carrying liquid passed by, and the spilled murky water washed away the last traces of blood along the way. She dared not delay and immediately activated the communication crystal.

“Donald, the target is taken care of. You can pick up the goods yourself—” Her voice was weary. “I won’t go to the villa; I just can’t carry this thing.”

"Oh, oh, oh~!" Donald's voice, almost distorted with excitement, came from the other end of the crystal. "I didn't expect you to be so capable! My afternoon tea hasn't even started yet, and you've already prepared the ingredients! Excellent! I'll talk to Lady Morrigan; leave the rest to me~"

Ritsuka crushed the communication crystal expressionlessly, as if she were merely throwing away a piece of trash. She walked out of the alley, her usual cheerfulness gone, replaced by a deep melancholy. The bloodstains on her cheek, still untouched, resembled eerie tattoos in the dim light. Her eyes, which once shone with a warm orange light, were now dull, as if covered by an indelible layer of dust.

The harshness of her environment and the cruelty of her experiences are gradually carving out her soul. After taking a life with her own hands for the second time, the once bright-smiling and kind-hearted girl is irreversibly losing her former colors in the shadows of this Lostbelt.

No one can disrupt the game (Part 2) - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

Ritsuka pushed open the hotel room door with an almost inaudible voice, her "I'm back..." weak as a sigh. Ignoring her companions gathered in the living room, she ripped off her stained coat and threw it into a corner, her body sinking into the sofa like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out a heavy, seemingly exhausted sigh.

Gareth and Artoria immediately rushed over with concern, but Ritsuka simply kept her head down, her loose bangs obscuring her eyes, offering no response to their questions. Da Vinci's sharp gaze swept over the congealed, dark, mottled bloodstains on her cheeks and the back of her hands, and her heart sank. She stepped forward quickly, her voice trembling with disbelief: "Ritsuka... the blood on your face... could it be that you went to... again?" She almost couldn't bear to say the rest.

“What’s impossible…” Ritsuka finally spoke, her voice hoarse and calm, yet carrying a chilling numbness. “Now that things have come to this, what do I have to worry about?” She turned her head slightly, her gaze passing over Da Vinci and landing on Artoria, trying to force a comforting smile, but only managing to move the stiff muscles at the corners of her mouth. “Artoria… your pilgrimage… should be a little easier from now on. I… that’s all I can do.”

“Ritsuka…” Artoria’s voice was filled with regret and incomprehension, “Why… did you have to go to this extent…”

"Why?" Ritsuka repeated, her voice finally trembling with a barely audible sob. She turned her head completely away, her back to everyone, as if that would hide her true feelings. "From joining Chaldea until now... it seems I've never truly accomplished anything satisfactory on my own... I've always relied on everyone, on the Servants... I just... wanted to help in my own way... that's all..."

The room was silent, and everyone could feel the heavy weight in her words. They understood her pressure, but no one could truly comprehend the profound, piercing sorrow that lay beneath her slightly trembling shoulders. A single, glistening tear finally slipped uncontrollably down her blood-stained cheek, landing on the back of her tightly clenched hand. It was not just a tear, but a silent, relentless self-reproach.

She should have been the warm sun on a snowy plain, but now she felt like she was trapped on a deserted island; surrounded by companions in a bustling city, her heart felt isolated from the world. Friends will eventually make new friends, family has gone, and in the end, she must walk the long road alone.

The passage of time has long since taken her away from that youthful, vibrant life. Relentless hardship and the relentless pressures of reality have etched indelible marks upon her. Little of her once-sounding skin remains; instead, it is covered in a crisscrossing network of scars, and deeper, more profound wounds originating from within. Physical wounds can heal, but the bleeding within is endless, left to flow silently until the day life utterly dries up.

In the British Lostbelt, the system of governance was a peculiar hybrid. It inherited the most traditional feudal imperial system in pan-human history, while also incorporating the ancient model of layered fiefdoms. The conflict between royal power and the power of the prime minister—or rather, between Queen Morgan's supreme will and the deeply entrenched local power of the various clan chiefs—was already intense. When the separatist nature of fiefdoms was forcibly bound together with the attempt at centralization, the underlying chaos directly escalated into endless undercurrents and local wars. And the cost of all this political maneuvering was ultimately, without exception, shifted onto the common people, who were always the most silent victims of the power struggles.

To maintain her rule and select necessary talent, Queen Morgan implemented a seemingly egalitarian "cultural universal policy." However, absolute fairness was merely an illusion. To truly implement "selecting the virtuous and capable," a new examination system emerged, reminiscent of the imperial examinations in broader human history. But unlike the relatively stable norms of the imperial examinations, the difficulty of the fairy kingdom's exams fluctuated from year to year. More fatally, the power of the nobility could easily manipulate the system, making the facade of "fairness" fragile and hypocritical.

Diana Tasha was born during the height of this examination system. Her family background was rather awkward: they were poor, owning two villas; yet, they were excluded from the true aristocratic circles, unable even to cross the threshold of high-end clubs. This abrupt status stemmed from her father, who had been fortunate enough to discover a priceless gold mine during a gold rush, instantly making the family nouveau riche. However, lacking aristocratic blood, they were seen by the true upper class as nothing more than incongruous "beggars" in the wealthy neighborhood.

At that opportune moment, the Queen implemented political reforms, expanding the selection process to include commoners. Those who passed rigorous examinations could obtain an official position, enjoying a life of luxury and an extremely generous salary—equivalent to an annual bonus of $100,000 in world currency. Such allure drove almost every commoner family in Britain to madness. However, crossing this threshold was no easy feat; it was a race against time, with only a select few vying for a single spot.

Even more cruelly, under the influence of the feudal system, clan chiefs had the right to interfere with the examinations within their own territories. They often arbitrarily made things difficult for candidates, even altering the questions, instantly rendering years or even decades of hard work futile. The most ironic thing was that only those with money, connections, and influence could be exempt from this "special treatment." Countless penniless commoner candidates could only exhaust their lives on this single-plank bridge. It was common to see elderly candidates collapsing and dying from exhaustion in the examination halls, while the examiners, long since numb, would only roughly drag the bodies out of the examination hall and carelessly throw them onto the carts transporting the remains, completely ignoring the grief of the deceased's relatives.

Diana was also among this large group of candidates. But unlike most who struggled to survive, her family's wealth shielded her from blatant discrimination. Before taking the fateful exam, she had been studying at a prestigious institution in Gloucester. It was there that she met the third prophesied child—Artoria Caster.

At that time, Caster had just been placed in Gloucester by the Queen due to the changes in her hometown, and her eyes still carried a sense of bewilderment and unease from her new arrival. One day, the innocent and carefree Diana took the initiative to approach this girl who seemed to be younger than herself.

“Hey, little sister,” Diana looked at Artoria curiously, “Are you here to take that exam too? I didn’t expect you to be here at your age?”

Artoria seemed a little flustered, lowering her gaze slightly: "I'm sorry, you must have misunderstood something... Actually, I'm just here to learn a few things... And soon... I'll be leaving to support myself..."

"Eh? I don't quite understand," Diana blinked, but quickly put her confusion aside and a bright smile spread across her face. "But that's alright! Nice to meet you, my name is Diana Tasha! Let's study hard together and try our best to cross that high threshold!"

Artoria looked up at Diana's vibrant face, a complex glint in her eyes, and softly replied, "Ah... I... I hope so too..."

Fairy Kingdom, Oxford

As dawn broke, the group headed early to the Winged Clan's residence. After yesterday's "deal" with the cannibal Donald, Ritsuka hadn't slept a wink, let alone eaten. When she saw the meat on her plate this morning, the image of the dismembered body and the neatly arranged fingers on the plate flashed before her eyes, and her stomach churned violently.

"Ugh—" She couldn't help but bend over and gag, but nothing came out, only bitter bile burning her throat. This vomiting made her already weak body even more unsteady. The impact of Donald's attack far surpassed any previous battle; the scene of his desecration of life was etched deeply into her mind. Now, she could only lean against Mash, her face deathly pale, each step incredibly difficult.

Upon arriving at the clan mansion, they were surprised to find no guards present. From the second floor inside, they could faintly hear the sounds of a heated argument. Their hearts tightened, and they quickly entered the hall, where the scene that greeted them was astonishing—

The fiery red-haired fairy knight, Mordred, was gripping Morian's collar tightly, slamming her against the wall. Mordred radiated a terrifying rage, and her cicada-like wings vibrated rapidly behind her, emitting a dangerous buzzing sound.

"You damned Morian!" she roared, her voice shaking the windowpanes. "How dare you act so recklessly! Sending Fujimaru Ritsuka to work for that cannibal Donald? Who do you think you are? Even if you are the clan leader, I will not let you off easily!"

With her vital parts gripped, Morlian had lost all her usual arrogance. Her face was flushed red as she struggled in vain, "Eh... Sylph, calm down and let me explain..."

"Calm down? Do you take me for some fool you can manipulate?" Mordred's fists clenched so tightly they cracked. "I've only been gone a few days, and you've already got all high and mighty? Look at the state you've left of the Winged Clan! Disorganized! Corrupted!" Her sharp gaze fell on Ritsuka and the others who had just entered, and her voice suddenly rose, "Oh? Perfect timing! Fujimaru Ritsuka, tell me, what else did this trash force you to do?"

Upon seeing Ritsuka and Artoria, the previously arrogant Morian immediately cowered and trembled. Seeing that Koyanskaya wasn't present, Ritsuka took a deep breath and recounted in detail how Morian had forced her to infiltrate the Caligula Casino to carry out the assassination.

"Fine! Mordred's anger intensified upon hearing this. Before Mordred could even defend herself, a heavy fist slammed into her stomach. "For your own dirty selfishness, you dare to repeatedly force people to do things you don't want to do! Very well, before taking them to the Glass Forest, I'll teach you a lesson!"

Molly curled up in pain: "That was just... necessary..."

"Necessary? What's necessary? Are you kidding me? Don't give me that nonsense!" Mordred didn't want to listen at all. She abruptly let go of his hand, pushed open the window next to her, and a sharp gust of wind instantly rushed into the hall. "Get out! I don't want to see your disgusting face for another second! You don't need to worry about the pilgrimage! I'll handle it myself!"

Before she finished speaking, she actually grabbed Mollyan by the back of her collar and threw her out of the second-floor window as if she were a piece of trash!

"Ah—!" The short scream quickly disappeared outside the window.

Despite still feeling unwell, seeing the capricious and cunning Morrigan punished in such a way finally eased some of the pent-up frustration in Ritsuka's chest. Forcing herself to appear weak, she looked at Mordred: "The pilgrimage... isn't it supposed to be her responsibility?"

"Hmph, whatever." Mordred clapped her hands, as if they were dirty. "Until then, I am the rightful patriarch of the Winged Clan, and I have the same right to preside over the pilgrimage. We'll discuss the details when we get to the Glass Forest." Her expression turned serious as she looked at Artoria. "His Majesty's message is that it's almost time; we can't afford to delay any longer. Caster, come with me!"