"I see. I think I understand, more or less."
The King of Conquerors' gaze swept over the two girls before him—both of whom looked no older than fifteen.
"One of you never had desire from the very beginning, and the other has strangled her own desire completely?"
"Oh? Someone like you, chasing the Holy Grail for the sake of desire—can you even understand my kingship?"
"A king without desire is worse than a decorative vase!"
Unmoved by Artoria's questioning, Iskandar drained his cup in a single swallow.
"Saber—when you lived, you must've been a saint of spotless virtue. So noble people couldn't get close to you. Walking a road like that, bristling with thorns… who would ever yearn for it? How many would ever dream of it?"
He slammed the cup down on the ground and spoke with sudden gravity.
"A king is someone who lives greedier than anyone, more unrestrained than anyone, quicker to anger than anyone—light and shadow together. Only then will the people long for their king, bow before their king, and in every heart, a fire will ignite: 'I want to be a king too!'"
As he spoke, Iskandar fixed Artoria with a piercing stare.
"Saber—king who prides herself on chivalry. Your ideals might save your nation and subjects for a time. But just as Archer said: without guidance, people who only know how to be saved… you were the one who just told us how that ends, weren't you?"
"Perhaps that's true."
Artoria closed her eyes and accepted the King of Conquerors' words without flinching.
"But I won't regret what I did. Even if you gave me the choice again, I would still save them. That was the vow I made the moment I drew the sword from the stone."
"Is that so?"
Iskandar didn't press the argument. He only curled his lips.
"Then it seems the two of us, standing at opposite extremes, were never meant to be compatible. And when I think of that… this two-against-one situation is strategically a bit unfavorable for me, isn't it? What do you think, little girl who also has no desire?"
Ophis—eyes still closed, silent all this time—opened them a fraction and looked at the King of Conquerors.
"Iskandar. Wrong."
"Oh?"
Denied again, the King of Conquerors showed no displeasure—if anything, he looked intrigued as he met her gaze.
"And where, little girl, do you think I've gone wrong?"
"Mm… Iskandar is an excellent leader. Too excellent."
Ophis nodded faintly, her eyes drifting back to the ripples in her drink.
"That talent gathers the people beneath Iskandar's banner. They follow Iskandar in pursuit of his desire, and even awaken a desire within themselves—to become 'king'… But it also means that once Iskandar can no longer lead them, everything he built is destined to fracture at tremendous speed."
Then Ophis looked up again.
"Like Britain's downfall, the splitting of Iskandar's empire was decided from the start. Iskandar's tyranny led your nation to ruin. Did Iskandar truly never foresee that?"
Her tone was perfectly even—nothing more than plain narration—yet the content landed like a sword point driven straight toward the King of Conquerors' heart.
"Hahahahahaha!"
And yet Iskandar didn't bristle or flare. He threw back his head and laughed, loud and carefree.
"What a sharp remark, Archer. True—my kingship doomed my empire to never endure forever. My vassals were a pack of men who pursued tyranny themselves. With me gone, there was no way they'd stay settled. But…"
When his laughter faded, the King of Conquerors calmed, speaking in a gentle, unhurried voice.
"My empire shattering into pieces—perhaps it would make me grieve, perhaps it would make me weep. But I would never regret it… That ending was forged by my choices, and the choices of my men. Joy or sorrow, it is glory we carved into history—glory that permits no denial!"
"You—!"
A flash of anger crossed Artoria's face.
They were both unwavering in their kingship, yet Artoria and Iskandar stood as perfect opposites.
One for an ideal. The other for desire. They could never coexist.
"Hahaha. Saber—set your objections to me aside for now. You, Archer. As far as I'm concerned, out of the three of us, the one least qualified to be called a king is you."
The circle of argument swung, inevitably, back to Ophis.
"Saber's idealism isn't something I agree with—but I can't deny it's one kind of 'kingship.' But you… in my eyes, you don't even see yourself as a king, do you?"
At those words, Artoria looked slightly startled and turned her eyes to Ophis.
"Everything you say keeps stressing your duty and your position. Even when asked why you became king, your answer is only that you were meant to be king… The way you are, little girl… you're nothing more than a mechanism that 'executes the responsibilities of a king,' aren't you?"
As everyone's focus settled on her, Ophis's expression didn't change—still that faint smile—as she gently set her cup down.
"Once, someone said something similar to me."
As she said it, Ophis flicked a quick glance at Artoria.
That "teacher" Artoria spoke of—the one who had said those words—was the same person.
"Then how did you answer, little girl?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter?"
Even the King of Conquerors widened his eyes slightly, as if he hadn't expected that.
"At the time, I thought whether I was king or not would not change anything. So it didn't matter… But now, I can give you another answer."
"Oh? That's rare. Let's hear it."
"As I said before, the meaning of my existence is to guide humanity and stabilize the world. As humanity's observer and adjudicator, the identity of 'king' the gods arranged for me from the beginning was fixed—but in the end, it was only a means to complete my mission. For me, there was no need to devote all my body and mind to that identity."
"Oh. In other words, you really don't consider yourself a king?"
"Not so."
At that moment, the smile that had sat on Ophis's face like a preset expression softened.
"I am king. It has nothing to do with whether I think so, and nothing to do with whether others think so. As long as that one person still regards me as king, then I will forever exist as king."
"…"
Silence fell again.
Ophis's words… could only be called strange.
A king not for her subjects, not for herself—only for one person.
"Hahahahaha."
Then the King of Conquerors suddenly burst out laughing.
"I see. A god who fell into the mortal world and became humanity's king because of a single person… With your legend in mind, I can guess who that person is. Still—I can't agree with you. And I can't agree with that little King of Knights either. I'm sure she feels the same, yes?"
Artoria gave a cold snort in tacit agreement.
Ophis, from a god's vantage, fulfilled her duty as a king bound to only one person—then watched humanity's growth with chilly detachment.
Artoria sought to strangle her own humanity, to carry out a god's 'correctness,' yet could not discard her feelings.
Iskandar bared human desire without reservation, guiding his vassals and pursuing tyranny.
Their kingships were utterly different. Perhaps they could understand one another—but they could never accept one another, much less accommodate one another.
In the end, there was only one place left to speak: the battlefield—answering with swords, deciding the victor.
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