IBHJ 1106

"What... what happened here..."

Xuanzang stared at the devastation before her. She'd felt the earth shake and rushed to investigate, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

The scene looked like the aftermath of a massive earthquake.

A pile of rubble shifted nearby. Xuanzang turned to see Guinevere emerging from the ruins, pushing aside a mangled body. She was covered in dust and blood.

"Princess Guinevere?"

"Master Xuanzang."

"What's happening here?" Xuanzang asked.

"The Apostle is fighting Shirou." Guinevere's face was ashen.

"What?"

Xuanzang felt her mind go blank. She had spent days traveling through nearby cities, learning how the Apostle protected the empire. Why would they attack Shirou, the hero who had saved one of their cities?

Then she noticed the body.

"That... that crushed body, is it..."

"Yes. My father."

Xuanzang's heart sank. In all her travels to the West, she'd rarely met a king so devoted to Buddha's teachings. Now he was gone, his questions about Buddhism forever unanswered, his body reduced to meat paste. Such a cruel fate.

Xuanzang sat in meditation beside King Leodegrance's meat paste, turning prayer beads while chanting Buddhist sutras.

"What are you doing, Master Xuanzang?" Guinevere asked.

"This humble monk performs last rites for your father, Princess."

"Last rites? What's that?" Guinevere tilted her head.

Before Xuanzang could explain, the crushed meat paste beside her spoke: "Yes, I'm quite curious too. What are these last rites, Master Xuanzang?"

"Eek—a demon!"

Xuanzang jumped back, watching in horror as King Leodegrance's body reconstructed itself before her eyes.

"Demon? What's that?" Leodegrance asked with genuine interest.

Xuanzang's face went pale, her eye twitching as she stared at him. Pure fear wrote itself across her face.

Wukong, help! Your master has found another demon!

"Guinevere, are you hurt?" Leodegrance turned to his daughter.

"I'm fine, Father—you protected me. But we have to stop them somehow." Guinevere glanced at the ongoing battle. "The Apostle and Sir Shirou..."

"We can't." Leodegrance shook his head. "When Apostle Pendragon starts fighting, only His Majesty's orders, another Apostle's intervention, or her own choice can end it. Last time, she took a dislike to King Onyx and cut him down for five hundred years."

A mass of flesh flowed out from under the rubble, reforming into King Landram. "You must be mistaken, Leodegrance. I recall Onyx saying it was five thousand years. That was... about thirty thousand years ago."

"Ah, you might be right. It's been so long, my memory is hazy."

"Ha! I can barely remember myself. Who keeps count of such things?"

"This can't be happening..." Guinevere watched the flashes of light dancing through the ruins, her hands clasped tight with worry.

King Leodegrance placed a gentle hand on Guinevere's shoulder. "There's no need to worry so much. Another Apostle was scheduled to visit Tintagel today as well. Once they arrive, everything will settle down."

Guinevere gave a small nod, though anxiety still clouded her face.

"And speaking of worry..." Leodegrance turned to Xuanzang with a warm smile. "Master Xuanzang, you look quite pale. Don't tell me you're frightened as well? Ha ha, you're just like my daughter! But please, there's no need for such fear. Everything will work out just fine. And besides," his eyes brightened, "I'm still looking forward to learning more about Buddhism from you!"

King Leodegrance maintained his usual gentle expression as he looked at Xuanzang, completely unaware of how his friendly demeanor was affecting her. The Buddhist monk couldn't stop her body from trembling, and her pretty face grew whiter by the second.

Wukong, there's a demon right here! Please save your master!

...

Shirou thrust his spear at Morgan's head, expecting her to dodge. Instead, she charged straight into it.

No!

His heart stopped—he hadn't meant to kill her, but it was too late. Gungnir plunged through her eye and out the back of her head with a wet sound.

But Morgan kept swinging her sword as if nothing had happened. Shirou abandoned his spear and leaped back, barely avoiding her blade.

She pulled Gungnir from her head as her face healed instantly.

"You're... immortal?" Shirou stared.

"You're perfect!" Morgan's cheeks flushed red, her body trembling with excitement. Her eyes grew wild as she panted. "Not since that bastard dominated me have I felt this alive. Oh no... my mind is being tainted by your color." She licked her lips. "Let's start round two. Pick anywhere—my right eye, my brain, my heart... Pierce me, conquer me, dominate me!"

Shirou: "..."

Even knowing this was an alternate version of Morgan, this was too much.

He could imagine how horrified the Morgan he knew would be seeing "herself" like this. Morrigan would probably bury her head in the sand like an ostrich.

He couldn't take any more of this.

As Morgan charged at him, her invisible holy sword aimed for his neck, Shirou didn't block. Instead, he tossed Gungnir aside.

Morgan's love-struck expression vanished. She pulled up short. "What are you doing?"

"I'm done fighting."

"What?"

"I said I'm finished."

"What did you say?" Morgan's eyes flashed with fury, like someone who had just been aroused only for their partner to stop playing. This awkward situation left the Apostle Pendragon very uncomfortable.

"Your sword has no soul, no pride, no joy. You're trapped in base desires—you don't understand what it means when two souls meet through their blades, the pure joy when two people clash through steel." He shook his head. "I won't waste more words. I don't fight low-level swordsmen. Come back when you've found the soul of your sword." He turned his back on her.

Low-level?

Morgan's teeth clenched as she gripped her sword. She started forward, ready to cut him down, testing if he would reach for his spear.

But he spoke without turning. "I won't fight back. If you want to stay trapped in your base desires, then strike me down now. I won't resist."

Sensing no movement behind him, Shirou let out a quiet breath. She had stopped.

His talk about soulless swords and base desires wasn't entirely honest. He'd seen she was immortal and eager to fight him forever, so he'd ended it quickly. Plus, he couldn't bear seeing Morgan's face twisted by such crude desires.

"Fine! I'll find this sword's soul you speak of," Morgan spat. "Then I'll return to fight you, to taste this pure joy you claim exists!"

It wasn't that she didn't want to fight him now. She lived for conquest, loved conquering and dominating others, and also loved being conquered and dominated by others. After hearing of Shirou's deeds from the strategist, she had followed her usual urges.

In her world, nothing mattered except the Emperor's absolute commands and satisfying her own desires.

Nothing.

But Shirou's words about souls meeting through swords and pure joy had caught her attention. For now, she would hold back her overwhelming urges.

The battle had finally come to an end, and Shirou let out a sigh of relief. This entire situation had exploded out of nowhere, spreading destruction everywhere. The people of Tintagel in this Britain had suffered for no reason at all—though what else could they expect when they had a queen who cared only about satisfying her own twisted desires?

He turned around to leave, but before he could take more than two steps, something settled heavily over his head. In an instant, his strength drained away as if a vampire had latched onto him and sucked out every drop of his blood. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, feeling the color drain from his face.

His magical energy... something was terribly wrong. He couldn't feel his magic circuits anymore, couldn't sense even a trace of magical energy flowing through his body. What was happening to him?

As his consciousness began to fade, his blurring vision caught sight of a figure stepping into view—a swordsman clad in black armor. Through the growing haze, he heard Morgan's voice rise in outrage:

"What do you think you're doing? He's my prey! I should be the one to crown him with thorns, Apostle Ector!"

Ector?

His fading mind struggled to make sense of the name.

This was... really Ector?

The same old knight from his memories?

"You're too slow about everything, Morgan. When dealing with foreign threats, you must be quick, precise, and ruthless."