Fate: Hero of Justice Takeover-Chapter 125: [] Then, Let’s Tell the Story of a King...

Rider frowned slightly at Sakatsuki's abrupt interjection, clearly displeased.

"Master of Caster, Sakatsuki, before you speak, consider your position and identity—are you truly judging the achievements of two kings from the perspective of a modern human born thousands of years later?"

Before Sakatsuki could respond, the golden Heroic Spirit seated nearby suddenly ceased his laughter. He tapped his goblet against the edge of the table and spoke a warning in a slow, deliberate tone.

"Be mindful, King of Conqueror. The one before you is not just an ordinary human. If you continue to deceive yourself with such twisted logic, not even I can save you."

"Archer?"

Iskandar hadn't expected the proudest of kings to speak in his defence. After a brief silence, he let out a deep breath, and the oppressive aura surrounding his imposing frame slowly dissipated.

"Very well, let's hear what you have to say, Sakatsuki."

"Oh? Should I thank the King of Heroes for this?"

Sakatsuki chuckled, then casually picked up the wine jug, refilled his cup, and downed it in one gulp. His voice was calm and steady.

"Then, let's tell the story of a king..."

The overly familiar tone made Saber's ahoge twitch slightly. It also caused both Archer and Rider to fall into quiet anticipation.

This was an epic tale—one that had endured through the ages.

In the 5th century AD, a vessel was created by blending the bloodline of Britain's royal family, the ideology of Britain's Red Dragon, and the female lineage necessary to perfectly merge the two. And so, the legendary King Arthur—Artoria Pendragon—was born in silence.

At the age of fifteen, upon the death of Uther Pendragon, Artoria pulled the golden sword Caliburn from the stone, proving her right to rule. From that moment on, time stood still for the king—her body and appearance ceased to change, frozen eternally at that age.

After vanquishing Vortigern, King Arthur turned her focus to rebuilding the ruined fortress cities. With the return of the wielder of the Holy Sword, the cities regained their former mystique, and the White Citadel of Camelot was reborn.

The ten years between the completion of Camelot and the battle at Camlann Hill marked King Arthur's reign over all of Britain. It was, in truth, the final era of romance on this planet—a twilight period where remnants of magic, fairies, and sacred lands still lingered.

The Twilight of Mystery.

The laws of physics on this planet changed based on the lifeforms inhabiting it. In ages past, magic and mysticism overflowed. But as humanity became the dominant force on Earth, that era came to an end, and the decline of mystery accelerated. The once-sentient forces of nature faded into mere natural phenomena, and the ether in the atmosphere began to dissipate.

After the death of the King of Magic, Solomon, this process quickened.

Five centuries ago, the Age of Gods completely ended. The planet severed itself from the natural cycle and became independent.

But this island was different.

Britain still retained the air of myth and mystery. The more isolated a land was from the mainland, the easier it was for mysticism to linger.

Britannia was of particular importance—it was like the navel of the planet.

It was the final vestige of the Age of Gods—a fulcrum capable of upending the world.

But in another sense... this island was merely the remnants of mystery, an anomaly of the planet.

In the glorious future of humanity, such lingering shadows had no place.

The Age of Mystery had long since ended.

What followed was an era of civilization—an era of mankind.

King Arthur's fundamental nature was incompatible with humanity. As long as she lived, Britain had no future.

Thus, during her reign, the land suffered year after year of famine. This was not due to any failing of the king but simply because the world itself rejected this final stronghold of mystery.

Britain was destined to perish.

Yet King Arthur, the radiant and ideal monarch, delayed that inevitable destruction for ten whole years.

When the young man finished recounting this distant tale, a suffocating silence filled the table of kings.

Neither the most naive of homunculi nor the magus still learning the ways of mystery could bring themselves to speak. Even the King of Conquerors and the most ancient of Heroic Spirits remained motionless.

Only the protagonist of the tale—the king, still in the form of a young girl—sat in silence, pouring herself another drink, taking small sips. Her sacred green eyes stared into the distance, lost in thought.

At last, Rider exhaled deeply and broke the silence.

"Is this story true, Saber?"

"Aside from making me sound far too noble... most of it aligns with what Merlin told me."

Saber nodded slightly, her voice heavy.

To others, this may have been a grand and stirring epic—a song of a king's honour and glory.

But to her, it was nothing more than an old wound that, when torn open, still bled.

Though surprised by Sakatsuki's extensive knowledge of her past, the way her ahoge drooped made it clear she had no desire to continue the conversation.

However, Rider's next words shocked her into looking up.

"I see... then I must apologize for my earlier rudeness, Saber."

Faced with Saber's astonishment, Rider bowed his head sincerely and expressed his apology.

"To be honest, in all of my thirty-three years of life, I have never faced a dilemma like yours. Sakatsuki was right—my conquest could only ride freely across vast lands. But for an island shattered into pieces like this, only hands like yours could mend it."

"To think that such a burden was placed upon the shoulders of a young girl... what a bleak and sorrowful tale."

Archer, for once, abandoned his usual mockery and simply sighed.

At that moment, he suddenly realized the difference between this girl and his dearest friend.

Both reached for heights beyond what was meant for humans—but while Enkidu's heart belonged to one person, Saber's heart bore the weight of an entire kingdom.

Even the Red Dragon of Britain would let out cries of anguish under such a burden.

Yet this young girl bore the weight of Britain for ten whole years and, when her kingdom faced its inevitable destruction, still hoped that someone—anyone—could take her place and change that cruel fate.

For the sake of her country.

For the sake of her people's smiles.

She was willing to abandon everything she had ever possessed.

She was willing to sacrifice even her own afterlife.

Saber was different from kings like Rider or Archer, who were born to rule.

Beneath the mask of the ideal king, hidden beneath all that radiance, was a girl plagued by sorrow and regret.

"If it weren't me..."

"If someone else had drawn the king's sword..."

Her path, her beliefs, her life, her ideals, her dignity—

The moment Britain fell, all of it shattered.

Wishing upon the Holy Grail to change Britain's fate was not because she denied her past.

It was because Artoria truly believed that her knights—those who followed her light—deserved a better ending.

Not one where they turned against one another.

Not one where they were forced to rebel.

Not one where they died with regret.

So, Holy Grail...

Please, save my homeland.

Change the fate of Britain.

Only I need to disappear.

Only this foolish king should meet a foolish end.

This was Artoria Pendragon's true wish.

And the final sacrifice of the King named "Arthur."

***

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