"Guhhhhhh..."
Woodwose clutched the wound in his chest as he staggered back more than ten meters. His breathing grew even harsher than before, yet the hole torn through his heart still refused to heal.
"What was that... what in the world was that... a fairy domain?" Woodwose was still trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Shiomi had dragged him into a strange world of ice and snow, and from that moment on, the fight had turned into one-sided suppression. After taking blow after lethal blow, Woodwose found himself back in the familiar streets of Camelot, his body still covered in unmelted shards of ice. Even staying upright took effort.
"Reality Marble. In a sense, it's similar to a fairy domain, but not entirely the same," Shiomi said as he stood there. "Still, I didn't expect it. You really are a good deal stronger than Wryneck. To still be standing after that arrow."
"I am the clan chief, the inheritor of the Duke's name—Woodwose! I will never lose to a human!" Woodwose roared.
Footsteps echoed from the rooftops on both sides. Dozens of Camelot soldiers surrounded them, bows drawn and aimed at Shiomi.
Woodwose, who a moment ago had sought a fair one-on-one battle, now felt humiliated. He was about to shout at the soldiers, ordering them to fall back and reinforce the gates, when a flash of light streaked across his vision.
Relying solely on instinct, Woodwose ducked. A split second later, the soldiers encircling the area were severed cleanly apart. Blood and organs sprayed across the street, staining everything red.
"What happened?" Woodwose raised his head, fighting the pain.
Shiomi now held a silver spear. The killing intent radiating from it made Woodwose's body react with instinctive fear.
"The 'Chosen Spear.' She gave it to me back then, hoping that if I ever faced a night like that again, I'd have an edge against the fairies." Shiomi spoke quietly, half stating, half remembering. "Feel honored. Even the previous Wryneck never experienced this spear firsthand. You actually have that privilege."
He pointed the spear at Woodwose, though he had no intention of invoking its True Name.
This Noble Phantasm existed originally to discipline the fairies of Britain, burdened with original sin.
Shiomi knew exactly how much power it would unleash if he called its True Name.
But he could not use it that way now.
Not because he lacked control over the spear—but because he feared his curse would contaminate the pure white spear the moment its True Name was released.
Thus—
"This is my fantasy, my expectation, my path, the fate of one who is both human and not human—"
Overwhelming Mana surged forth, impossible to contain. Woodwose's instincts screamed that this was going to be a wide-area, linear bombardment.
The correct response would be to evade the line of fire entirely, using speed to prevent Shiomi from locking onto him.
But Woodwose's body was far too heavy now to move freely.
Even though his agility still rivaled that of Faerie Britain's fairies, it was nowhere near enough to handle the immediate threat.
The current head of the Fang Clan crossed his arms.
He still had one last trump card—the unique "Inherited Defense" of the Fang Sub-Bell.
"Only attacks capable of killing me instantly can harm me."
"—'Noble Phantasm: To Reach the Ultimate Ideal.'"
A blinding white light swallowed his vision, bleaching everything out. The immense magical energy tore into his supposedly invincible body, and for the first time, he understood how foolishly he had underestimated this man.
The previous Sub-Bell had not lost unjustly.
The man before him could not be judged by human standards at all.
The flash roared skyward, sending Woodwose flying diagonally off the ground, through the air, past Camelot's borders, and crashing down somewhere far to the southwest.
As the blow ended, Shiomi watched from afar as Woodwose, still clinging to a single breath, fell helplessly toward the southwest.
"Tenacious—he actually endured that," Shiomi muttered, unable to hide a hint of surprise.
Then he sensed a gaze on him and turned toward the mountain range directly south of Camelot.
High above, Koyanskaya aimed a long-range sniper rifle into the city. Through the scope, her sight aligned perfectly with Shiomi's smile. Even though his eyes were closed, she instinctively covered the scope with her hand, as if shielding herself.
Nothing happened.
Cold sweat gathered on her cheek. In just three months, this man's presence pressed on her with a force she had never felt before. If she had fired in that moment—when she was certain of hitting him—she had the terrifying impression that the bullet would have turned back and killed her instead.
A baseless, visceral instinct.
Britannia had never been a high priority in her plans. If the Storm Wall of Britain hadn't been replaced by the Wall of Light—if Chaldea hadn't shifted course—if Shiomi and Morgan hadn't both vanished—she should have been focused entirely on other Lostbelts.
She clicked her tongue inwardly. Her plan to devour Shiomi as the "tail" had already begun to crumble.
Slowly lowering the sniper rifle, Koyanskaya let out a helpless sigh. It seemed there was no place for her to interfere in Britain's war, no chance to stir the waters.
When the gaze on him finally faded, Shiomi turned away and continued up the long staircase of the royal citadel. But upon reaching the first landing, he abruptly stopped.
"...Reality Marble, Imaginary Noble Phantasm. Normally, burning through this amount of Mana wouldn't feel this difficult." Shiomi pressed a hand to his heart, calming the turbulence in his Magic Circuits. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Calm down, Cernunnos. You're a dead god now. Sleep quietly… with me…"
He lifted his head again, brushed the travel-worn dust from his robe, and continued toward the palace.
The staircase wasn't long, and he soon reached the top.
The palace doors stood wide open, as if anyone could enter freely.
But whether any fairy who entered uninvited could walk out alive was another matter.
As he stepped into the royal keep at the center of Camelot, the sounds of battle at the three gates had faded completely. Only his quiet footsteps echoed through the vast, empty council hall.
At the center, upon the throne, sat the figure he knew so well. Her right leg crossed elegantly over the left, her weapon resting casually at her side.
Morgan waited for him, serene and unshaken.
"What a long journey it's been. Are you well, Morgan?" Shiomi asked, stopping before the jade steps.
"Always well. Always..."
...
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