Miracle Summoner

"Ha... ha..."

In the rubble-filled pit of debris, Tristan lay coughing violently, each cough accompanied by mouthfuls of blood, a clear sign he was at the end of his rope.

Amidst his fading consciousness, Tristan saw someone approaching—Artoria [Alter].

Gazing at the figure of the one he had once sworn allegiance to, Tristan felt a sense of bewildered nostalgia.

In the blur of his vision, he saw the king as she once was—the ruler who bore the weight of Britain with her unwavering dedication.

As one of the Knights of the Round Table, Tristan's martial prowess rivaled even Lancelot's. Yet in the end, he had chosen to leave, unable to comprehend the ways of King Arthur.

But who could have known how much pain that decision caused him?

Arthur was an excellent king—just, honest, and untainted by the personal desires of mankind. She fought tirelessly to turn Britain into a kingdom that would endure for a thousand years, a place of eternal peace.

It was this very image of her that brought Tristan such anguish.

Because she was just, he felt sorrow.

Because she was honest, he felt despair.

For the sake of the kingdom and its people, Arthur bore unimaginable suffering and sadness.

As one born cursed from the start, Tristan, unlike the other knights, could not endure seeing his king endure such tragedy—a tragedy that mirrored his own bleak existence.

And so, Tristan left.

Not for rebellion, but to escape. To flee from the sight of a king whose figure was too heartbreaking to behold.

When he left the Round Table, he had spoken words without thought.

Words that cast a shadow over the king, the Round Table, the kingdom, and even the hearts of the people.

"The king does not understand the hearts of men."

It was a sentence that, unbeknownst to Tristan, carried the weight of a curse.

A curse that fractured the Round Table and sowed division.

And yet, that statement was not born out of malice.

Tristan regretted it deeply—so deeply that it had become etched into the very core of his being, haunting his spiritual essence and very soul.

Now, before him stood King Arthur once more.

But this figure was not the just and honest ruler he once knew. This Artoria [Alter] was a cold embodiment of malice and foreboding.

The sight of her pained him even more, a pain even the blessing (curse) of reversal could not suppress.

For now...

(The king truly does not understand the hearts of men.)

Whether it was the transcendent Lion King who had shed mortal ties to become a god, or the cold, violent Black King standing before him—

This was his sin.

An unforgivable sin.

And so, as he faced the punishment to come, Tristan felt no fear, no terror—only a sense of release.

He had just one question to ask.

"My king..."

Disregarding the blood spilling from his mouth and the curse wrought by inversion, Tristan voiced the question in his heart.

"Do you hate me?"

That was all he wanted to know.

To this, Artoria Alter fell silent for a long moment before speaking softly.

"...I have never hated you."

She continued, her tone calm.

"Because the end I met was the conclusion destined for me."

Without hesitation, she raised her holy sword.

As he watched her, Tristan whispered his final words.

"How... sorrowful..."

And with that, Tristan spoke no more.

A dark flash fell, and blood sprayed through the air.

Mash lowered her eyes.

Jeanne [Alter]'s gaze flickered.

Hassan of Serenity remained silent.

Even Lancelot stood there wordlessly, watching Tristan's demise.

Rozen gazed at Artoria [Alter], who, without looking back, turned and walked away with her bloodied holy sword raised.

Her face, from start to finish, was nothing but cold and emotionless.

Clang.

Behind her, Tristan's body dissipated into particles of light.

And so, the Knight of the Round Table, Tristan, exited the stage.

But he would not be the last.

After all...

"Arthur!"

With a roar of fury, filled with anguish and hatred, the rebellious knight rose, even as blood poured from her pierced abdomen.

"Haaahhhhhh!"

Mordred howled in pain and wrath.

"I'm still here... I'm not dead yet... King of Knights!"

Mordred's blood-soaked scream drew Artoria [Alter]'s gaze back toward her.

Seeing her, Mordred bared her teeth in a grin—a grin twisted and cruel, but filled with unrelenting joy.

As Arthur's illegitimate child, Mordred's life had been one of tragedy.

She was born of Artoria's elder sister, Morgan, who had crafted her using Artoria's genetic material as part of a scheme to seize the throne. Mordred was nothing less than Artoria's true offspring, though born of deceit and alchemy.

Morgan had once told her:

"As my son, you are entitled to the throne. For now, serve under the king, and one day, overthrow her and claim your rightful place."

She revealed Mordred's origins, planting the seeds of ambition and rebellion in the knight's heart.

Yet Mordred's initial reaction was not anger, but overwhelming joy.

Despite being an artificial creation, she shared the blood of the King of Knights. To her, this made her a legitimate heir to the throne.

However, when Mordred revealed her lineage to Artoria, she was met with rejection.

"Though you are my child, the result of my sister's schemes, I do not acknowledge you, nor will I entrust the throne to you."

The king's refusal crushed Mordred.

What began as hope turned into despair and then ignited into burning hatred.

And so, while Arthur was campaigning in Rome, Mordred took Camelot by force. When the king returned, weary from war, the two clashed in a final, tragic duel.

Mordred fell by Artoria's hand but delivered a fatal wound to the king in turn, dooming the kingdom.

Even now, the rebellious knight's heart burned with the flames of love and hatred for her king.

In short, Mordred would never forgive Arthur.

(No matter the age, no matter the battlefield... the one who will bring Arthur down is me—Mordred!)

Not even the Lion King would be allowed to claim Arthur's life.

"Burn, my soul!"

Magic power erupted violently from Mordred's body.