Since the bleaching of Human Order began, one question had been troubling part of Chaldea: whether Morgan truly originated from a Lostbelt, and how she managed to intervene in a Holy Grail War of Proper Human History by appearing as a Servant.
"Wait a moment. Even if Morgan qualifies to become a Servant, becoming one means the death of her physical body," Romani quickly stopped them. "Are you planning to make her die just to save Shiomi?"
For Chaldea, it would be a choice that made sense in terms of cost and gain.
But everyone knew that if Morgan killed herself here, ascended to the Throne of Heroes, and then saved Shiomi…
The Shiomi who returned would never forgive them. He might sever ties with Chaldea—and even with all of Proper Human History.
—Even though everything Shiomi had done so far was already no different from rebelling against Proper Human History, they still believed that as long as they talked with him, there would always be a solution acceptable to both sides.
"Why should she die?" Grímr looked at Artoria. "In one history, the King of Knights survived Camlann. Before dying, she signed a contract with the Counter Force, offering herself after death as the price for seeking a way to save Britannia."
The implication was clear. Morgan didn't need to die. She only needed to reach the brink of death and, like Artoria, form a contract with the world to manifest as a Servant. Then she could enter the Holy Grail War and reach Fuyuki—an impossibility on this bleached Earth.
"But simply being near death isn't enough to accomplish that, is it?" Scáthach asked.
"What matters isn't the near-death itself, but the result—that the moment she reaches that state, her personal time freezes, unable to advance until she fulfills her purpose," Grímr explained. "The King of Knights here should understand that."
"You mean… deceiving the Counter Force and even the Throne of Heroes? Something like that—" As a goddess, Artoria found the idea unrealistic.
"That's precisely why I'm here," Grímr said. "Divine power can be terribly unreasonable. It allowed me to retain memories from my previous summoning and even inherit part of my predecessor's intel. Interfering with the Throne of Heroes to disguise Morgan as a Servant from Proper Human History isn't impossible."
His words shocked everyone. Most couldn't follow the logic anymore—only those with deep knowledge of the Mystery, like Scáthach and Artoria, could barely keep up.
"I see. So the plan is to have this Britannian Morgan disguise herself as the Morgan of Proper Human History and respond to my beloved disciple's summoning during the Fourth Holy Grail War?" Scáthach found the idea both reckless and unbelievable.
But with the great god Odin's intervention, it could indeed become possible.
Otherwise neither she nor Chaldea would ever have met Morgan in the first place.
"The theory and method are clear enough to me… but why would a Divine Spirit of Proper Human History help us to this extent?" Morgan asked calmly. "The last time was 5,700 years ago in Orkney. You manifested as a youth and assisted us—no, assisted my husband—for nearly four thousand years."
"I'm not really sure why the great Odin favors my junior so much," Grímr admitted with a carefree grin. "But the intel left by the previous proxy included one of his answers."
Scáthach's interest was piqued. "What did my disciple say?"
"He said he didn't know what his 'destiny' was, but he believed his 'destiny' was here." Grímr gestured for Morgan to consider his words.
With that, Morgan recalled the memory from Orkney—the moment she rang the very first Pilgrimage Bell, a memory she would never forget.
"It seems the great god Odin has accepted my husband's choice." Morgan understood, and asked nothing more. She held Shiomi's still-warm body tightly. "If I am his 'destiny,' then he is also my only 'destiny.'"
Grímr clapped his hands. "Looks like you've made up your mind, Morgan. But I'll warn you now: the Mana stored in your throne will likely be completely consumed in the process of rescuing your husband."
"What does that matter?" Morgan slowly lifted Shiomi and laid him gently upon the throne. "If my dream cannot coexist with him, then I will abandon the dream. I… just want to speak with him again, to hear his voice calling my name… Everything else is unnecessary."
"Good resolve," Grímr said, shaking his head. "And one more thing—"
"What is it?"
"Forget it. Come back and wake him up first. We can talk then." Grímr shrugged. "Though I'm sure you can already guess."
Morgan pressed her lips together without replying.
Undoing the seal meant releasing the catastrophe trapped within it.
When that happened, Britannia would be destroyed.
And Morgan herself would become the one who opened the door to Britannia's end.
She had already made her choice. There was nothing left to say.
"How do you freeze an individual's time? You know how, right?" Grímr said.
Morgan stood before the throne, slowly gathering her Mana.
"Of course. I'll use my Ice Coffin. While I'm gone, I leave everything here in your hands." She looked toward Baobhan Sith. "I'm sorry. We finally meet, and yet I don't have any time to speak with you."
"It's alright. My thoughts are the same as Mother's." Baobhan Sith gave her an encouraging smile. "I'll be right here waiting for your return, Mother."
"Then I'll leave Camelot's upkeep to you two." Morgan turned to Artoria and Scáthach. "After all, you were the ones who took this city."
The two of them nodded silently.
The Ice Coffin gradually enveloped Morgan's body.
Grímr lifted his staff and began constructing a ritual circle around the coffin.
"In my death, I speak of life! O Mímisbrunnr! Leyline of mistletoe! Sever the past, and grow towards the future! For the next nine days, no folly shall be tolerated! Cross the twilight—Gambanteinn Valhalla: The Great God's Altar!"
It was one of the manifestations of Odin's authority, the all-purpose altar.
Following the god's guidance, Grímr shaped it into a pathway that would guide Morgan—transformed into a Servant—toward the Holy Grail War that took place twenty-three years ago, inserting her directly into the ritual.
There was no need to worry about missing the destination.
From the start, the "fate" between Morgan and Shiomi had already been decided, a loop repeating endlessly along a quantum record that had yet to stabilize.
Everything Morgan had ever done was to ensure this event—the cycle itself—would not be overturned.
Following the pull of spiritrons, Morgan opened her eyes once more.
Smoke drifted away in wisps before her. In the dim workshop, a Magus was chanting the summoning incantation.
The moment she saw who it was, Morgan understood everything.
Suppressing the joy rising in her chest, she stepped toward the still-inexperienced Shiomi.
...
For more chapters, feel free to follow me on P@treon.
(100 Chapters Ahead)
[email protected]/PinkSnake