Far beyond the clouds, at the edge of outer space, lay the geosynchronous orbit.
This realm should have been a void of endless emptiness, a desolate expanse of cold and near-vacuum where life could not survive. Yet, in this barren domain, there inexplicably floated a small, solitary island.
The island was made entirely of stone, devoid of vegetation or man-made structures, its barren landscape emphasizing its stark, unnatural existence. It defied the laws of physics, hovering motionless in orbit without any discernible source of propulsion.
At the island's center stood an ancient iron sword, deeply embedded in the ground. Rust covered its surface, giving it the appearance of worthless scrap metal, akin to an unmarked gravestone.
Over a millennium had passed, and at last, the island was found.
"At last... I've found you, my king..."
Guinevere stepped onto the island and immediately fixed her gaze on the rusted sword. Her expression wavered between joy and confusion, tinged with a bittersweet sense of loss.
She recognized it at once—it was the sword she had spent centuries wandering the earth to find. Or rather, it was the remains of her king.
Awakening her king to annihilate all the Campiones of the world was her duty, her mission.
Countless disappointments, endless moments of doubt… all had finally led to this moment of resolution.
Yet, as the moment arrived, Guinevere hesitated.
"What's wrong?"
Turning around, Guinevere saw Artoria tilting her head, her golden eyes filled with curiosity.
"Reviving your king… that has been your only purpose during these endless years, hasn't it? Or is the ritual missing some vital component?"
Guinevere shook her head. The ritual's requirements had been meticulously prepared—she would not have allowed herself to make even the smallest mistake when it came to her king's resurrection.
But still... something was amiss.
The opportunity to fulfill her lifelong wish was right in front of her.
And yet... she couldn't take another step forward.
Maybe I should just leave for now, Guinevere thought, startled by the notion. I've already found the king's resting place. There's no rush to awaken him today. I can always come back later.
The thought shocked even her.
Noticing Guinevere's continued inaction, Artoria frowned in puzzlement. Just as she was about to speak, Guinevere's voice, carried by magical energy, reached her ears.
"King Arthur... forgive my presumptuousness, but... could you not fight the king?"
Artoria froze.
With Guinevere's back to her, Artoria couldn't see the conflicted expression on her face as she made her plea.
"Our king's mission is to eradicate all the Campiones in this world. Once that mission is complete, he will return to his slumber, waiting for new Campiones to appear. He has no reason to fight you."
Guinevere's tone grew increasingly desperate. The serene wisdom and noble grace she normally exuded had utterly vanished.
"I know… I know you are kind. Even as a heretic god, even under the influence of your madness, you care for humanity. You see Campiones and gods who harm mortals as your enemies alike. You fear that the Last King's return will bring about the world's end.
"But as long as the Campiones are eradicated before the apocalypse arrives—if you could work together with the king—I'm certain no Campione on this earth could stand against the two of you!"
Her words came out in a rush, her thoughts a tangled mess.
Then… she felt a gentle pressure on her head.
"That's enough, Guinevere."
Artoria's tone was cold, yet the touch of her gauntlet-free hand brushing through Guinevere's hair carried an unexpected warmth.
Guinevere didn't resist the gesture. Lowering her head, her bangs obscured her expression from Artoria's view.
After a moment, she took a step forward and rested her head against Artoria's chest.
When she finally looked up, her tear-filled eyes shimmered like those of a kitten abandoned in the rain. Her trembling voice, thick with emotion, escaped her lips in a plea:
"Please… I'm begging you… won't you reconsider?"
Artoria's hand paused mid-stroke. She instinctively averted her gaze for a brief moment before meeting Guinevere's tearful eyes again. Her lips parted slightly.
"I'm sorry," Artoria said, her voice steady. "He and I are destined to fight."
In that instant, Artoria saw the light in Guinevere's eyes dim, her expression one of heartbreaking sorrow.
"I see..."
Turning her back to Artoria, Guinevere said no more. Her silhouette seemed lonely, her figure framed by the desolate landscape of the floating island.
The island was silent, save for the occasional whisper of cosmic winds. The thin atmosphere made sound travel poorly; even the conversation between Artoria and Guinevere had been augmented with magical energy.
Artoria didn't press further, giving Guinevere the time she needed to gather her resolve.
After what felt like an eternity, Guinevere finally moved. From her belongings, she retrieved a golden urn and a disk forged from iron and gold.
These were the artifacts of Arthurian legend: the Holy Grail and the Round Table. They were treasures the Campione Alexander had long sought.
Despite its name, the Holy Grail had no connection to Jesus. It was a vessel created 1,500 years ago by the Earth Mother Goddess Guinevere at the cost of her own life. Representing divine wisdom and the principles of the world, the Grail could absorb the Earth Mother's lifeforce and store it within.
During her centuries-long search for the Last King, Guinevere had used the Grail to gather the earth's life energy.
The Last King, having slept for so long, would naturally be weak upon awakening. The life force stored within the Grail was meant to restore him quickly, ensuring he could immediately begin his campaign against the Campiones.
The immense magical energy within the Grail—equivalent to the power of at least ten Campiones—was absorbed by the rusted sword embedded in the ground. The weapon drank it in greedily, leaving nothing to waste.
After a moment's hesitation, Guinevere spoke the incantation to awaken the slumbering [Steel].
"O Sword of the King, awaken from your long slumber! More radiant than gold, purer than silver—that is you! Born from the ashes of a dragon's bones, you are the steel that slays dragons."
"You, who outshine the sun, moon, and stars! You, before whom all treasures lose their worth! Awaken, and let the maiden who serves you witness your light once more! O divine blade of salvation, the Steel of Steels, the King of Witches implores you to return!"
A low hum reverberated through the air as cracks began to spread across the rusted sword. From those cracks burst a brilliant platinum light, shedding the corroded exterior to reveal the weapon's true form.
The blade shone with a piercing brilliance that seemed to cut through the very soul, radiating the majesty and power of a legendary hero.
The space around the sword distorted like a reflection rippling in water. Gradually, a shadowy figure took shape, stepping past the barrier of realms to stand beside the divine blade.