The desert wind lashed their faces as Artoria Lancer Alter's spectral mount devoured kilometers at an impossible speed. Leonel, once again imprisoned against the ice queen's chest, could barely process what had just happened. The images of the massacre repeated in his mind over and over: the golden light of Excalibur Galatine, bodies disintegrating, ashes covering the square like a macabre snowfall.
Behind them, at a distance that remained constant thanks to the Servants' superhuman speed, the rest of the group kept pace. Mash, as a demi-Servant, could run at speeds rivaling the mount, her shield firmly strapped to her back as she maintained the step. The others had opted for partial spiritual forms to conserve energy, appearing and disappearing like ghosts in the trail of dust they kicked up.
And in the arms of Mordred, who had insisted on carrying him despite his protests, traveled Bedivere. The silver knight was too shocked to resist. His mind was still in the square, watching Gawain, Lancelot, Tristán, committing atrocities with smiles on their faces. Men who had been his comrades, his friends, his brothers-in-arms. Now they were monsters with the faces of angels.
What happened to them? he asked himself over and over. What happened to my king?
Artoria Lancer Alter, at the front, maintained a steady course. Her golden eyes scanned the horizon for signs of danger, but also for a suitable place to stop. Leonel needed rest. She could feel it through the bond: his mana reserve had dropped dangerously during the combat, and although it wasn't yet at critical levels, the accumulated fatigue of the last few days was beginning to take its toll.
They went on like that for what seemed like an eternity, though in reality it was barely twenty minutes. Finally, when the walls of Camelot were just a white blotch on the horizon and the desert had given way to rockier, more uneven terrain, Artoria slowed the mount.
"Here," she said, her grave voice cutting through the silence. "It's safe. We can stop."
The mount halted and Leonel, with trembling legs, dismounted with Artoria's help, who held his arm with a firmness that brooked no argument. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his other Servants began to materialize around him.
Mash was the first to arrive, panting slightly but showing no signs of real exhaustion. "Senpai! Are you alright?"
Leonel nodded, though his pallor suggested otherwise. "Fine... just tired."
Tamamo appeared beside him, her hands running over his body checking for injuries. "Wounds? Pain? Any discomfort?" She asked with the intensity of an overly worried wife.
"Relax, Tamamo, I'm physically fine," said Leonel, catching her hands with a weak smile. "I just need to recover mana."
Jeanne Alter materialized a few meters back, leaning against a rock with her arms crossed. Her expression was one of deep disgust, but her eyes never left Leonel. "Tsk. Good thing that shield held up. For a moment I thought we were going to get fried like those poor devils."
Jeanne Ruler, her face still pale from what she had witnessed, clasped her hands in a gesture of prayer. "What we saw today... it shouldn't have happened. Those souls... they need to rest in peace."
"They will rest," said Mordred, depositing Bedivere on the ground with more care than her defiant attitude would have suggested. "But first we need to make sure there are no more victims. And for that..." She looked at Leonel. "We need a plan."
Bedivere, once on the ground, stood up slowly. His eyes scanned the group, evaluating, processing. Finally, his gaze settled on Leonel.
"You... are Chaldea's Master, aren't you? The one leading the fight against the incineration of humanity."
Leonel nodded. "I'm Leonel Herrera. And you are Bedivere, knight of the Round Table."
Bedivere blinked, surprised. "You know me?"
"I saw you face Gawain. And I heard your name when he called you." It was a half-truth, but sufficient. He couldn't reveal that he knew him from a previous life, from a game he had played in another world.
Bedivere accepted the explanation with a nod. "Then... what are you doing here? Why did you risk your life and your Servants' lives for me?"
"Because we need you," Leonel replied honestly. "Because what you carry in your arm can defeat the Lion King."
Bedivere's eyes widened. Instinctively, his left hand closed over his right arm, the one that shone with silver light. "How... how do you know about my arm?"
Leonel held his gaze. "Let's say I have my sources. The important thing is that Excalibur is there. The sword you should have returned to the lake. And that sword is the only thing that can wound the Lion King."
A heavy silence fell over the group. The other Servants looked at Bedivere with new expressions: respect, curiosity, and in the case of Artoria Lancer Alter, an intensity that was difficult to interpret.
"Excalibur...", Bedivere murmured, his voice full of pain. "For fifteen hundred years I have wandered with this guilt. For fifteen hundred years I have wished I could go back and make things right. And now..." He laughed bitterly. "Now it turns out my greatest mistake is the only hope of saving what's left of humanity."
"Fate is ironic," said Tamamo, with an unusually serious tone. "But it's also fair, sometimes. Your guilt has kept you alive, has brought you here, just in time to use that sword for good."
Bedivere looked at her, and for an instant, something like hope shone in his eyes. "Do you think... that I can redeem myself?"
"I don't know," Leonel replied. "That depends on you. But you can try. You can fight for what's right. And we will fight by your side."
Bedivere was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he knelt before Leonel.
"Then... allow me to swear loyalty, Leonel Herrera, Master of Chaldea. As I once swore loyalty to my king. I will not fail again. I will fight by your side until the end."
Leonel felt a lump in his throat. He helped Bedivere to his feet. "You don't need to kneel. Here we are companions, not lords and subjects. But I accept your oath. And together, we will defeat the Lion King."
The moment was interrupted by a harsh sound: Mordred, who had been watching the scene with a complex expression, snorted.
"Nice speech. But how the hell are we going to defeat that monster? You saw Gawain. Under the sun, he's invincible. And Lancelot and Tristán aren't far behind. Not to mention Artoria herself... the Lion King, I mean." She corrected herself quickly, glancing sideways at Artoria Lancer Alter, who remained impassive.
"She's right," said Jeanne Alter, pushing off from the rock. "We're at a clear disadvantage. We need more power, more allies. We can't face all the Knights at once."
Tamamo nodded, her fox ears drooping. "And let's not forget the other kingdom. The one the pharaoh mentioned. If that's hostile too, we could be caught between two fronts."
Leonel closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He knew more than he could say. He knew they needed to go to the mountains, seek out the Hassans, the third faction in this war. He knew Ozymandias, the Divine Pharaoh, wasn't an enemy, but a potential ally if they could earn his respect. But he couldn't reveal that information without raising suspicion.
"There's more at stake than it seems," he said finally, opening his eyes. "Camelot isn't the only power in this Singularity. Remember what Nitocris told us: there's a kingdom of pharaohs. And if there are pharaohs, there is a Pharaoh. Probably Ozymandias, the King of Kings."
"Ozymandias," Artoria Lancer Alter repeated, and for the first time, something like interest shone in her eyes. "I've heard that name. A divine king from ancient Egypt. Powerful, arrogant... and dangerous."
"Exactly," said Leonel. "But not necessarily our enemy. In fact, he could be an ally. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and Ozymandias doesn't get along with the idea of another divine king trying to rule the world."
Bedivere, who had been listening attentively, frowned. "Do you think we could convince him to join us?"
"It's possible. But it's not our priority right now." Leonel made a decision. "First, we need a safe place to regroup, where we can plan without being discovered. And second, we need more information about Camelot, about its weaknesses, about how to approach the Lion King."
Jeanne Ruler, who had remained silent, spoke softly. "There is someone else in this land. Someone who might be able to help us."
Everyone looked at her.
"The Hassans," she continued. "The ancient assassins of the mountain. If anyone knows the secrets of this land, it's them. And if anyone can face the Knights from the shadows, it's also them."
Leonel felt a chill. Jeanne Ruler, without knowing it, had hit the nail on the head. The Hassans were exactly who they needed.
"You're right," he said, nodding. "The Hassans. They live in the mountains, right? Away from Camelot and the pharaohs' kingdom."
"That's what I've heard," Bedivere confirmed. "During my time in this land, I heard rumors of a village in the mountains, ruled by the ancient assassins. They stay out of conflicts, but if anyone knows how to move through this land undetected, it's them."
"Then, we have a goal," said Leonel, his voice regaining the firmness of a leader. "We'll go to the mountains. We'll seek out the Hassans. And once we have their help, we can plan our next move."
Mordred raised an eyebrow. "And how do we know they'll help us? Assassins aren't known for their hospitality."
"We'll have to convince them," Leonel replied. "And we have something to offer: our fight against Camelot. If the Hassans have stayed out of it, it's because they know they can't face the Lion King alone. But with us, with our strength and with Bedivere's sword, maybe they'll see a real opportunity."
Artoria Lancer Alter, who had been observing the conversation with her usual impassivity, finally spoke. "The mountains are to the east. Two days' journey, if we use the mount. But Leonel needs to rest first."
Everyone looked at Leonel. She was right. His face was pale, and there was a barely perceptible tremor in his hands. The battle, the flight, the constant tension, it had all taken its toll.
"We'll rest here tonight," Leonel decided. "Tomorrow at dawn, we'll leave for the mountains."
The camp was set up in a small cave that Tamamo found in the rock formations. It wasn't luxurious, but it offered protection from the wind and potential predators. Mash and Bedivere volunteered for the first watch, while the others would take turns during the night.
Leonel leaned back against the cave wall, closing his eyes. Exhaustion wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, but his mind couldn't rest. The images of the massacre were still there, seared into his memory.
He felt warmth beside him. Tamamo had curled up against him, one of her tails wrapped around his waist. "Sleep, Leonel-sama," she whispered. "I'll watch over your dreams."
On the other side, he felt another presence. Jeanne Alter, with her usual "I don't care" attitude, had sat nearby, close enough that her shoulder almost touched his. She didn't say anything, but her presence was comforting.
Mash, from the cave entrance, cast furtive glances inside, a soft smile on her lips. Mordred was leaning against an outer rock, arms crossed and eyes closed, though her ears twitched at the slightest sound. Artoria Lancer Alter had positioned herself on a high point, from where she could see the horizon in all directions.
Jeanne Ruler, in a corner of the cave, prayed silently. Her prayers were for the souls lost in the Holy Selection, and also for the strength to continue.
Bedivere, sitting near the entrance, looked at his silver arm. The light it emitted was faint, but constant. Excalibur was there, waiting. Waiting to be used once more.
Leonel, surrounded by his Servants, his loved ones, his allies, felt for a moment a fragile but real peace. They had survived. And tomorrow, they would continue fighting.
He closed his eyes and, finally, sleep overtook him.
Morning came too soon, as always. Leonel woke with the feeling of having slept barely a few hours, but his body felt slightly better. The night's rest, though short, had allowed his mana reserve to recover enough.
Outside the cave, the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It was a beautiful dawn, a stark contrast to the horror of the previous day.
They breakfasted on the provisions they had bought in the border town. Hard bread, cheese, dried fruit. It wasn't a feast, but it was enough. Artoria Lancer Alter, to no one's surprise, devoured her ration with a speed that belied her usual elegance.
"You have a problem with food," Mordred commented, with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
Artoria ignored her magnificently.
When they finished, Leonel gathered the group. "Alright. Today we begin the journey to the mountains. Artoria, how long do you estimate?"
The ice queen assessed the horizon. "Two days, if we encounter no problems. The mountains are to the east, beyond the dunes. The terrain will become rougher, but the mount can handle it."
"Then, let's leave as soon as possible," said Leonel. "The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can plan."
Before mounting, Tamamo approached him with an expression Leonel knew well: that of a wife about to make a request.
"Leonel-sama," she said, her voice sweet but firm. "Today, could I perhaps...?"
"No," Jeanne Alter interrupted, appearing at her side. "Today it's my turn. Yesterday was Artoria all day. Today is my turn."
"Your turn?", Tamamo snapped, her ears bristling. "Since when are there turns for that?"
"Since she started using it as an excuse to hog him," Jeanne Alter replied, pointing at Artoria with her chin.
Artoria Lancer Alter, who was already mounted and extending her hand towards Leonel with her usual impassivity, raised an eyebrow. "There are no turns. Only efficiency. Leonel travels with me because it's the fastest and safest."
"Efficiency, she says!", Tamamo exclaimed. "You spent two days rubbing your breasts against his back!"
Jeanne Ruler blushed intensely. Mash looked down, her cheeks flushed. Mordred burst out laughing. Bedivere, who wasn't aware of the complex dynamics of Leonel's harem, watched the scene with a mix of confusion and fascination.
"Girls...", Leonel tried to intervene, but was ignored.
"I can run as fast as her mount," Jeanne Alter insisted. "And I don't need to have Leonel stuck to me to do it."
"But if he goes with you, he'll get more tired," Tamamo argued. "You radiate fire, heat. I can create a cool barrier around him..."
"I can protect him with my shield while we run!", added Mash, surprising herself with her own intervention.
The argument threatened to escalate when a cold, authoritative voice interrupted them.
"Enough."
Artoria Lancer Alter had dismounted and was approaching them. Her presence commanded silence naturally.
"If you want turns, establish turns. But not here, not now." She looked at Leonel. "He needs to get to the mountains as soon as possible. I am the most efficient means. When we arrive, you can fight over his attention all you want. Understood?"
There was a moment of tension. Then, Tamamo sighed, resigned. "Understood."
Jeanne Alter grumbled something unintelligible, but nodded.
Mash nodded with relief.
Artoria Lancer Alter returned to her mount and extended her hand to Leonel. "Get on."
Leonel, grateful for having ended the argument (though suspecting this was just the beginning of many more), took her hand and settled into his usual position. He felt the warmth of her body through their clothes, the pressure of her breasts against his back, and forced himself to concentrate on the horizon.
Two more days, he thought. I can endure it.
The journey to the mountains began.
The first day passed without major incidents. The desert gradually gave way to rougher terrain, with rock formations rising like stone sentinels. Artoria's mount moved nimbly among the rocks, and the rest of the group kept pace without trouble.
Leonel used the journey to talk with Bedivere, who traveled near the mount, sometimes running, sometimes in spiritual form to conserve energy.
"Tell me more about the Lion King," Leonel asked. "About the Artoria you knew. How is she different from... this one?" He gestured towards Artoria Lancer Alter.
Bedivere was silent for a moment, ordering his thoughts. "My king... the Arthur I knew, was human. A great king, yes, but human. He made mistakes, doubted, felt. But he also had an ideal, a dream: to create a kingdom of peace and justice." His voice broke slightly. "The Lion King... is not human. He is divine. He has lost everything that made him human. His justice is cold, absolute, without compassion. He believes the only way to save humanity is to preserve only the 'pure,' eliminating the others like refuse."
"How did he come to that?", asked Tamamo, who had shortened the distance to listen.
"I don't know for certain," Bedivere admitted. "When I arrived in this land, he was already like that. The knights... had also changed. They aren't controlled, they aren't enchanted. Their loyalty has been... distorted. They blindly believe that what the Lion King does is right, without question. It's as if the essence of their chivalry had been twisted, bent until concepts like 'justice' and 'compassion' meant something completely different."
Leonel recalled his knowledge from the game. He knew that the Lion King, Artoria Lancer, had accepted the lance Rhongomyniad and, with it, divinity. In doing so, she had lost her humanity, becoming a being that saw salvation as a cold, mathematical process. The Knights, in turn, had been "blessed" with gifts that made them more powerful, but at the cost of their free will.
"It's a tragedy," murmured Jeanne Ruler, who had also drawn near. "They believe they are doing what's right. There's no evil in their hearts, just misguided faith."
"Misguided faith can be more dangerous than evil," Jeanne Alter replied bitterly. "The evil know they are evil. You can confront them. But those who believe they are doing good while committing atrocities... those are the hardest to stop."
The group fell silent, processing her words.
At sunset on the first day, they camped on a rocky plateau that offered good visibility in all directions. While Mash and Mordred prepared a place for Leonel to rest, Tamamo approached him with a small surprise.
"It's not much," she said, offering him a bowl of steaming soup she had prepared with her magical culinary skills and the few remaining ingredients. "But it will help you regain your strength."
Leonel accepted the bowl gratefully. The soup was simple, but warm and comforting. As he ate, he felt the fatigue dissipate slightly.
"Thank you, Tamamo. You always know how to take care of me."
The fox smiled, her cheeks rosy. "It's my duty as your wife, Leonel-sama. Although..." Her gaze drifted towards Artoria, who was on guard on a nearby rock. "...there are those who don't understand boundaries."
Leonel sighed. "Tamamo, you know that thing with Artoria is... practical. We need to move fast."
"Practical, practical," Tamamo repeated with a hint of disbelief. "Sure. Very practical, having her breasts pressed against your back all day."
"Tamamo..."
"It's fine, it's fine." The fox raised her hands in surrender. "Just... promise me that when all this is over, we'll have time. Real time. No schedules, no turns, no interruptions."
Leonel looked into her eyes and saw the sincerity in them. Tamamo, despite her jealousy and her sometimes exaggerated personality, truly loved him. They all truly loved him.
"I promise," he said. "When all this is over, we'll have all the time in the world."
Tamamo smiled, and for a moment, the harshness of the desert, the horror of the massacre, the tension of the mission, all seemed to fade away.
The second day dawned with clear skies and a sun that, although hot, was less relentless than in the desert. The mountains were getting closer; they could see their peaks silhouetted against the horizon, majestic and ancient.
The journey continued without incident until past midday. It was then that Mordred, who was scouting ahead, returned with an alert expression.
"There's something there," she said, pointing towards a ravine between two mountains. "Movement. I can't tell what, but they're not animals."
Leonel frowned. "Could it be the Hassans?"
"It could be," Bedivere replied. "The mountains are their territory. If anyone is here, it's probably them."
"Then, let's approach carefully," Leonel ordered. "We don't want to appear as a threat. Get close, but with no hostile attitude."
The group advanced cautiously towards the ravine. As they got closer, they could make out figures among the rocks: humanoid silhouettes, dressed in dark clothing, moving with a fluidity that betrayed years of training.
Suddenly, a figure appeared before them, materializing out of nowhere. He wore a tattered robe and a skull mask. A Hassan.
"Halt," he said, his voice resonating with a strange echo. "These lands belong to the followers of the Mountain. Outsiders are not welcome."
Leonel raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "We seek the Hassans. We seek to speak with your leader."
The masked Hassan observed him for a long moment. Then, without warning, he disappeared.
The group tensed, ready for combat. But instead of an attack, what they heard was a different voice, deeper, that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"The last Master of humanity... in my domains. What an unexpected honor."
A figure emerged from the shadows of the ravine. He was tall, imposing, dressed in dark clothes and light armor. His face was hidden behind a skull mask, but through the empty eye sockets, two eyes shone with an ancient and wise light.
Hassan-i-Sabbah. The Old Man of the Mountain. The leader of the assassins.
"We have been watching you since you entered the mountains," he said, his voice calm but penetrating. "You fought against the knights of Camelot. You survived the Holy Selection. You rescued a lost knight." His gaze rested on Bedivere for an instant. "And now, you seek our help."
Leonel stepped forward. "We seek allies. Camelot is a threat to everyone. The Hassans stay on the sidelines, but if the Lion King decides your souls are not 'pure,' he will come for you too."
The Old Man of the Mountain was silent. Then, a dry laugh escaped from behind his mask.
"Cunning, the boy. And direct. I like it." He turned and began to walk towards the interior of the ravine. "Follow me. We will talk. But be careful: in the village of the Hassans, every misstep could be your last."
Leonel exchanged glances with his companions. Then, with determination, he followed the Old Man of the Mountain into the depths of the mountains.
The village of the Hassans awaited them. And with it, perhaps, the key to the next stage of their fight against Camelot.