Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

Compared to the dazzling brilliance of Gawain's Holy Sword of the Sun, the power radiating from the Supreme Masterpiece was something else entirely—almost unfathomable.

Forged from the very essence of the God of Fire and Forging, crafted with rare and sacred materials, the Supreme Masterpiece was more than a weapon. It was a god incarnate, a divine vessel of immeasurable power.

The sword Gawain wielded—the Sword of Rotating Victory—was formidable in its own right, ranking an impressive A+. Its flames blazed like a miniature sun, yet it was no match for the colossal force embodied by the Supreme Masterpiece.

And fire—the element of Gawain's power—was ironically the Supreme Masterpiece's greatest strength.

Where Gawain's flames burned, the Supreme Masterpiece's body merely absorbed and grew stronger, like a demon rising from the inferno.

Gawain watched, tense but resolute, as the Supreme Masterpiece's arm tore through the wall of fire he had summoned, emerging like a blazing titan from the very flames meant to consume it.

The head of the Supreme Masterpiece was fused with the skull of a white dragon, sculpted with fierce lines that reminded Gawain too well of an old nightmare—Vortigern.

In that moment, for a fleeting instant, Gawain felt the ghost of the dragon's smirk.

It seemed to taunt him:

"How dare you defy me... and Aslan?"

And then, almost more chillingly:

"How dare you touch my son?"

For a heartbeat, Gawain's mind wandered:

Is Vortigern still alive?

But logic struck him down.

No—only a Servant could be summoned from beyond.

This was no Vortigern, but his child.

Calm yourself, Gawain.

The Supreme Masterpiece charged forward.

Gawain responded in kind, compressing his flames into a blazing greatsword of fire—a concentrated, titanic blade forged from pure sunlight.

The flames that had spread outward were ineffective; now he would strike at the heart.

This was no unfamiliar tactic.

Back in the days of the Golden Theater in Fate/Extra, Gawain had once used a similarly concentrated strike to cleave the entire stage in two, forcing Nero to unleash her second Noble Phantasm.

A weapon of pure elemental force like this would shatter any blade caught bare-handed.

The Supreme Masterpiece could not possibly block it physically.

But what did it matter?

Raising his arms, the Supreme Masterpiece faced the blazing sword—not with a shield, but with its own fire-hardened frame.

The very body of the Supreme Masterpiece was forged to resist flame.

As Gawain's blade descended, it met no dent, no scratch.

A calm voice echoed from within the colossal mech.

"It's time to accept your fate, Gawain. You cannot defeat me. The Supreme Masterpiece itself suppresses your fire."

Gawain stumbled back.

He had already realized it—he was outmatched.

But retreat was not an option.

He was a Knight of the Round Table.

Knights do not surrender.

Silently, he raised the Holy Sword of the Sun once more.

No words were needed.

He understood.

Aslan sighed softly.

The stubbornness of this knight was endless.

This is why I must wait for another meeting, perhaps another time.

He hoped that the Gawain summoned by Chaldea would be different—more relaxed, less burdened by the shadows of the Lion King's influence.

"I see. Until we meet again, Gawain."

The Supreme Masterpiece withdrew slightly, then its chest opened wide.

Within, a core pulsed—the Mecha Core, thrumming with the souls of dragons.

Now, empowered by this core, the Supreme Masterpiece prepared an attack of divine magnitude, a punishment worthy of ancient Greek myth.

"Born of man's hand, forged from the remains of gods, I swear the Supreme Masterpiece will only fight for justice."

"Witness the reawakening of the Heart of God—[Supreme Masterpiece: Justice]!"

The core exploded with a force to shatter mountains.

Gawain, standing before it, gripped his sword and swung it in a final desperate arc.

Though defeat was certain, he fought on—until his last breath.

The sun's fire clashed against the Supreme Masterpiece's divine radiance.

But the flames of a moment could not compare to the eternal fire of the god within the machine.

Slowly, the power of Gawain's attack was consumed, swallowed by the overwhelming force before him.

His defeat was sealed.

With a deep breath, Gawain relaxed.

Relief washed over his features.

Perhaps meeting Aslan was a divine punishment.

A reckoning for the blood spilled—the innocents, the comrades lost.

Perhaps punishment for his loyalty to a king who was not truly King Arthur.

"O Lion King... forgive me. I can serve you no longer."

In the throne room of the holy city, the Lion King sat silently, her hand touching her cheek.

For all her goddess-like poise, the Knights of the Round Table had been mere tools to her—faceless soldiers in a divine game.

Yet now, something stirred deep within her.

A heart that had been calm for centuries quivered.

Tears welled in her eyes.

The bitter agony of this battle had pierced her cold facade.

Her gaze turned toward the battlefield.

"Gawain..."

-End Chapter-

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